The Reason I Write

I wrote "What Are You Going To Do With It?" late last night, and have read it many times to re-live it, and also for editorial purposes. There are many stories in draft mode in my blog. Often I remember something and I start the post because I do not want the thought to go to sleep again.

Many years ago, around the time I arrived from the United States to join my wife for good, I told Christina that perhaps we should write our story.

"Write it" - she said to me. I meant to tell her, that we should write it together; but she was adamant.

"No, this is something you need to do. Write it".

It is amazing how much I remember.

Comments

It's been a Long Time Since I've Seen Her

To our daughters; I learned so much from your mother! She was my lover and my bosom friend. The summer of 1992 was running in earnest and Mom and I were escaping every day to many different places around the mainland. We were having the time of our lives! At the end of the summer, I did not have a penny left but was the happiest man alive! Mom had a white 1989 Chevrolet Cavalier station wagon. Her car smelled like a wet dog, Sam, her dog, was the main passenger before she met me. That car would break down every 100 kilometers or so and would run out of gas as soon as the gas red light went on, and guess who had to push; your Dad! But, we were like peas and carrots and as happy as they came. You always tell me - " Dad, you know strange old words and expressions no one uses these days! " Your mom is responsible for that! I learned what a "Sea Shanty" is in that white Cavalier listening to CBC radio. The station had a show on sailors and fishermen and how po

Settling the Score

Today, completely out of the blue, I remembered a story from my childhood. In my neighborhood, there was a child whom everyone called "Buchee". This fellow was a lot older than me, about three or four years older. Therefore, if I recall correctly he must have been a young teenager when these events happened. Buchee lived near my maternal grandparents, who lived two blocks from where I lived. Every time I visited my grandparents I had to walk by Buchee's house and we would exchange hellos and sometimes we would tease each other lightly, nothing offensive. I would visit my grandparents daily after school therefore I would walk the distance every day and most days Buchee and I would exchange friendly words. One evening a group of children, including me, were playing cards on the sidewalk, a few doors from my grandparents. These games could be very competitive and the currency used at that time was crystal marbles. At some point, the stakes were very high and the poo

Dear Love

Dear Love, Forgive me, it has been a while since I have written to you. It is not for the lack of news; home is buzzing with events typical of growing pains and gaining experience. For me, it is just about missing your hands, warm body, your words; missing planning something to do together. I must admit, you always had the best ideas. Recently I became a Master Chef , but not the kind of chef popular among all ages; oh, no! I cook your dishes, daring, adventurous, and full of flavor! I set the table and see you on your chair , right opposite to mine displaying my favorite smile, approving the dinner. I remember when you made Spaghetti Tomato Bassilic for the first time. You thought that I was not going to like it. Boy, were you in for a surprise! It became my favorite dinner! You made it for me. What a treat! Oh, Christina, you were the wife I always wanted to have! The fact that we found each other made me feel very special. We worked hard to be together and celebrated

My Family After Tragedy

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