“I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” ― Jane Austen, Persuasion Mom, I don’t envy your granddaughters, growing up amongst this interconnected, opinionated, expectant, perfect seeking, exposed and socialized society. Media professing save the earth, woman’s rights, and wrongs. The door … Continue reading Would Jane Play Hockey?
Hey Mom… been one of those GD, f’en sort of weeks. Not bad in a I hate my life, hate my job, woe is me…sorta way, no. Just one of those weeks where you wonder if your paying some bad karma off, or somethin’. Got the cold back AGAIN. So it was a sniffling, sneezing, coughing, sore throat, god, please, have mercy, or kill me … Continue reading Why?
For the last couple days the National media in North America has displayed image after image of how unprepared Russia is for these Olympic Games. I’m sure there are many pockets that have been lined with Rubles, and those rich cats don’t give a care to how their shoddy workmanship and selfishness looks to the rest of the world. They probably have never considered how … Continue reading From Canada, with Love
Ones Hometown can often be this entangible thing over time. Changing, growing, or atrophying from the core out. I grew up just 20 minutes outside of London, and I lived in London from 1987 until just after Mom died in 2001. I’ve been away ever since. In that time, but for brief visits back, I have seen the main streetscape in London change and decay. … Continue reading On Returning to my Hometown
As the bile that rose in my throat brought forth a rage that I could not ignore, I found myself verbally attacking this racist, Nazi sympathizer. Young though he may have been (21 perhaps), the garbage he believed was quite unbelievable. I don’t know what crap he’d been reading, or what he was involved with, but at some point he’d been made to believe that the Holocaust was no big deal, and that there really were not that many Jews who died…that it was all this North American propaganda or some such. Continue reading The Neo-Nazi and the Dutch Guy
AT VERONA by Oscar Wilde HOW steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread, And O how salt and bitter is the bread Which falls from this Hound’s table,–better far That I had died in the red ways of war, Or that the gate of Florence bare my head, Than to live thus, by all things comraded Which seek … Continue reading Oscar Wilde | At Verona
by PaulaB 