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The other day a very angry man called me the awful word that must not be spoken, which women especially detest being called. Later, I wondered if I would have even started our little fight if I hadn’t already had an intractable construction problem that morning followed by leaving Jiffy Lube without my snow tires […]

My friend Susie loves Blackwing pencils, so very much. And let me tell you, they aren’t your ordinary pencil. They are very lovable. They are “signature pencils made in Japan from sustainably-sourced genuine California Incense-cedar and premium graphite.” Some of you might remember that I’m doing a doctoral program in the Sacred Art of Writing.

In the last several months, I have eaten breakfasts on Friday mornings in 15 diners scattered across Ottawa. I did some quick math at just my level and calculated that means 30 sausages, also 30 poached eggs (medium) because my order quickly fell into a pattern. The Classic. Two eggs. Poached. Healthiest Bread you have.

When I turned 50, Brent had a surprise birthday party for me. We drove down a dark country road to a community hall with a packed parking lot. Still I didn’t catch on. Our friends who were with us told me someone had turned the hall into a temporary restaurant out here close to the

I left my suitcase in Montreal. When I flew home from Mexico a few months ago, after a 10-day self-directed writing retreat during which I worked my process (the Mexican version which involved a terrace and sun and flowers) and made progress on a project — I plotted out my trip home very carefully. It