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Wendi Stewart - Wendi with an 'eye'

Wendi lives in Nova Scotia’s Annapolis Valley, but the farm on Rainy River in Crozier will always be her home. MEADOWLARK, her debut novel released September 15, is published by NeWest Press of Edmonton. She is the mother of four daughters who did the unforgivable: they grew up. http://wendistewart.writersresidence.com

I’ll not trade my works of art

I was thinking about artwork the other night when I caught some program on television discussing the investment value of owning a renowned artist’s work.

I’m willing to bet most of us will never own a da Vinci or a Monet or a Renoir (and I had to look those up to get the spelling right).

I could go on to say that da Vinci was an Italian Renaissance artist from the 15th century while the other two were more contemporary in that Monet was a French Impressionist who died in 1926 and likewise was Renoir, who died in 1919.

Reflecting on my personal column milestone

This is my 100th column. I suppose in the grand scheme of things, a column being number eight-nine or 512 really hasn’t a whole lot of significance, not exactly “shut the front door” worthy.

But it certainly means something to me.

First, it makes me feel a deep sense of gratitude to Jim Cumming for giving me the opportunity to record on paper those thoughts and memories that tumble around in my head.

It’s ‘better never than late’

George Bernard Shaw won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1925, so I grant him some clout when he puts his own twist on tardiness.

He is credited with saying “better never than late.”

That particular combination of words is my best ever mantra—and a code I live by. And when others cause me to break that promise to myself, well, suffice to say, things go terribly wrong from there.

Worried about our honey bees

I’m worried about bees. I love big fat bumblebees and bumble just happens to be one of my favourite words.

I wasn’t always a fan, though. There was an incident when I was six involving my brother, a hornet’s nest, and a lit firecracker. I don’t recall much about the event but I do remember my brother’s words, “Don’t tell mom,” as he packed river mud onto the 14 stings on my back.

October sunny days a delicious surprise

I love the warm, sunny days of October. These kind of days feel like a delicious surprise; an oh, I forgot how lovely fall can be sort of day.

October can come with a lot of rain and dark skies, so I can’t help but feel blessed when I hear and feel the warm wind; a wind that is fairly insistent on moving things such as leaves of every colour, and laundry off the line, and anything I had meant to put away but didn’t—and now wish I had.

I hit a culinary home run

I am not a good cook. There, I’ve said it. I confess.

At times I’m a reasonably fair cook; I can prepare meals that are somewhat tasty and usually edible. But every now and then, not often, I prepare a meal and absolutely knock it out of the park (it’s October—the baseball reference is obligatory).

This Thanksgiving was one of those grand slam events and though the leftovers have nearly been consumed, I’m still walking around with a proud smile on my face and an upright posture, wanting to stop traffic to announce to anyone who will listen: “I did it!”

Memories of my hometown still treasured today

I am missing my hometown today, the place where the stories and people include me.

I am missing the geography that is sealed tight in my memory; the turns in the roads, the grade of the hills. I am missing the clickety-clack sound of the car going over the bridge to International Falls that made me feel I was on a train.

I am missing the trees on Second Street that leaned in, wrapping their branches around each other like the old friends they had become.

We’ve lost respect for all living things

“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way in which its animals are treated.”

Gandhi said that, a very wise man who lived his life as an example of non-violence and justice.

Those are words we all should live by. Justice and fairness and kindness seem so dim some days, as if we are ready to abandon our humanity at the least provocation or challenge.