On dying & grief (Part 3)
My parents’ deaths were 15 years apart and each occurred within the context of such a dysfunctional family dynamic, that it’s difficult (and unnecessary, for the purposes of this piece) to describe it all.
On dying & grief (Part 2)
I got a call on a cold November evening in 1979 while I was engrossed in the first few months of my University of Alberta studies, living in my cozy little off-campus Edmonton basement suite; bear in mind that those were the days before call display and when calling long-distance wasn’t an expense to be taken lightly. It was my high school basketball coach.
On dying & grief (Part 1)
I think about death. Not in a fearful or worrisome way, or about what happens after we die, but about the role that death and grief play in our lives.
The junkyard
I want to go to a junkyard again with the old shiplap garage that has a potbellied stove in the corner...
The fraternal occupant / Братський окупант
Our free people will trample your tricolour rag, over and over, in the meadows where the bent red viburnum rises once again
(Our) Love at 60
Though truly finished only on the last day, the joy comes in the artistry of the build, with materials at 60 not the same as those of 38