Nothing changes, maybe even me. I wrap my scarf around my neck three times and nestle in. I drive my father's car in the dark, in the rain, winding my way around random streets, wandering until I run out of coffee. Or I'm an early morning passenger with a bagel in my hand,…
Memorial plaques for three of the family members of Plum Johnson, author of the memoir They Left us Everything (check it out at amazon.ca or amazon.com), which I mentioned in a recent entry. I would hesitate to call this "history," but seeing these plaques (I had forgotten they were there, so…
Days that feel like older days. Lazy suburban summer drives, windows open, listening to a short story read on the radio. Sitting by the lake for an interminable length of time. Browsing at the bookstore I used to spend so much time in, tripping over the carpet. While my mother looks at…
