“I love the old-time basin and pitcher,” I told Arlene, the principal’s wife.
For the sake of my bridegroom, Gavin, I wanted to make a good impression on Arlene and her
husband. The china pitcher, holding dried grasses, sat in its matching bowl on the table under the window.
“They came from Simcoe’s Antiques, which you passed on your way into town,” she told me. “I saw it in the window when we first moved here, and fell in love with it. Since then, I’ve seen similar sets at estate sales at much lower prices. Cy Simcoe really ripped me off.”
What do you do when there is no hope,
When the disease that you have iS incurable?
They can buy you some time with surgery and treatment -
But how much time
And at what cost.
The treatment itself can be hard on the system
And offers no real guarantee;
I’ve seen others go through it and I’m not so sure
That it’s the right course for me
Volume 20, Number 114, April/May 2017 War - A Memoir by Margot Maddison-MacFadyen
I am writing a series of stories about growing up in West Vancouver in the 60s and 70s. This is the first, and it has the earliest date. My own name - plus the names of my sisters, playmates and neighbours - has been changed. Otherwise, this is a true event, right down to the talking crow.
I could stay in the garden under the giant maple tree all day, making elf houses out of moss, twigs and bright blue bachelor buttons, but my best friend Sky Anderson, a boy who is a year older than I am, wants to play.
We stand at the gate leading into the pool, a group of middleaged people decked out in all kinds of bathing suits, from the simple and sober to the fanciful and slightly cheeky. We are waiting for the music to begin. It’s time for my aquafit class and we’re a tough bunch of men and women.