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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.

The Leaves Fly

My Grandpa Stewart took me on adventures, before I was old enough for school and while my father was busy clearing land and though it seems in my memory as if there were only a few such adventures, the importance is found in the details.

Second Floor, Men’s Wear

The Hudson’s Bay store in Downtown Winnipeg is closing soon. I heard the announcement today (October 4) on CBC Radio while I was driving, and I gasped. I didn’t gasp because the Hudson’s Bay Company is in financial difficulties, as many companies are in financial difficulties during this pandemic, the landscape of our “shopping” experience often changing and shifting.

The Notorious RBG

Ruth Bader Ginsburg learned at a young age, before her age could be counted in double digits, that she could change the world if she tried, and sometimes using only her words. Not many children grow up feeling so empowered.

The Thing About Rules

I was thinking of rules the other day and the unwillingness of some of us to follow any kind of instruction, to obey as it were, rules meant for the benefit of the greater good, such as not running red lights or driving while impaired, paying for goods and services rather than stealing them, contributing our share of taxes to keep the country running and filing our returns in a timely manner, and it got me thinking.

Look Where You Are Going

I learned to drive before I turned sixteen. That wasn’t uncommon for a farm kid. Deb and I used to take her dad’s farm truck out for a spin on the back roads, sitting on the edge of the seat in order to push the clutch in completely and trying not to stall the truck while it rolled backwards down the incline at the stop sign and laughing really hard when it did. What a lot of fun that was.

In a Cat's Eye

Finnegan is my cat. He used to be part of a furniture-scratching duo, Olympic level. I’m sure you can guess the name of his partner if you put some thought to it. Casey. Casey and Finnegan were brothers, two tiny malnourished abandoned orange kittens who found sanctuary in my house. It wasn’t long before they had perfected the destroy-everything-in-sight approach in response to my welcoming generosity.

Farewell, summer

It was warm today, the sun persistent, but trying not to be hot, surpassing that threshold without intention. August is ending, as I write this, the calendar waiting for lift-off, for the checkered flag that says August is over.

A Misplaced Imagination

I have heard from other writers in the last several months, each expressing a sense of stifled imagination, despite having more time to dedicate to their craft, time they would have spent commuting and/or at work outside the home. Worry and changes in their creative patterns have, at times, choked off the flow of ideas, blurred the images knocking on the inside of their heads trying to find their way to paper. I am familiar with the discomfort of a misplaced imagination.

Choose The Wild One

‘Tis the season for blueberries. A neighbour of mine had a recent trip home to New Brunswick to visit her family and brought me back a large bowl of the wild blue delight, their sweet magic able to cure almost every malady. Wild blueberries seem like more work, more effort required, a bit of hiking and exploring, keeping a look out for The Three Bears on their way to the Teddy Bear’s Picnic where no humans are allowed, but the reward is worth every step.

A Side of Grumpy

I am a bit on the grumpy side today, as if grumpy came with the t-shirt I pulled over my head this morning while getting dressed or from the kink in my hair from having fallen asleep last night while my hair was still wet. It doesn’t happen often, the grumpy, though often enough that I recognize it after a few minutes, the way you might notice you left a bit of your supper between your teeth, having not flossed with enough focussed intention.