Our eight year old is holding a saw. And she is jubilant. A faint haze and the smell of fresh- cut pine hangs in the bedroom and four piles of sawdust lie on the floor like little Mayan pyramids. “We’ve finally figured out what to do with the bunk beds!” she exalts. To her right, the bunk beds sit, carefully severed, top bunk from bottom. Continue reading
My family has had the amazing good fortune of spending time with Jozsef, Timea, and Lulu (who is 6 years old). My three kids corresponded with Lulu, made the arrangements and were so joyful to play and talk together, make music (Jozsef is an amazing guitarist!), perform a magic show and hear brave stories and be inspired by strong hearts. What a gift they have given to my family. Please take up this opportunity to learn and to lend a hand to justice and community well-being. Continue reading
“People aren’t sentences. People are stories.” David heard this at a conference and is pondering it, in a cross-eyed, exhausted kind of way, during our wee-hours catch-up, a rarely guaranteed ritual when all the kids are sleeping, the cat is fed, and tasks rendered urgent (through neglect) have miraculously been dispatched, ignored, delegated or completely forgotten. Neither of us is socializing with friends, talking to family, or addicted to technology. We are together, a preciously infrequent moment lacking the usual interruptions.
Lately I’ve been sorting out what I feel about Mother’s Day, so my mind perks up when he says this. I actually open my eyes. Cock my head to one side. Hmmm. Continue reading
“Go quick, mom. So we don’t miss the party!”
So says our little one, urging my partner Kathy back from the washrooms toward the large crowd of people gathering for May Day in Allan Gardens. A sea of the most unapologetically political groups in the city surround us: Idle No More Toronto, No One Is Illegal, Two Row Society, the Ontario Coalition Against Poverty (OCAP), Migrante, The Greater Toronto Workers Assembly, Maggie’s. And others. Continue reading