Month: June 1997

OK, so I was stupid. I can be forgiven for a bit of stupidity. I sailed over to Pictou Island to spend the night in the safety of the Western Wharf with my family. The next morning I planned to … Read more

You have no idea how much work goes in to preparing for the sailing season. Hours and hours are spent on the hard stuff – scraping and sanding and smoothing and then painting and polishing. Making the boat look good … Read more

When you sail, everyone thinks they have instant gifts for you. All they need to find is something with the word in it and 'presto', an instant gift. Take the new mug in my office. It contains a picture of … Read more

It's the race of the year. Every bit of gear has been checked and rechecked, every piece of rigging gone over again and again. We are ready for anything. The starter's horn sounds and we're off! And there we sit, … Read more

OK. Why is the Church like a sailboat? Give up? Because so much energy goes in to keeping the thing repaired and so little time is left to do the activity it was made for. When I talk about sailing, … Read more

Recently I was talking with one of my neighbours over the back fence as we hung out our laundry. Suddenly the conversation plunged from trivialities into one of those deep places that are always there, just under the surface. She … Read more

We live on a quiet street in a pleasant neighbourhood of old houses and old trees and good neighbours. Our back yard stretched unimpeded across four homes. Once the snow has disappeared in spring, housewives abandon their clothes dryers and … Read more

As Ghandi stepped aboard a train one day, one of his shoes slipped off and landed on the track. He was unable to retrieve it as the train was moving. To the amazement of his companions, Ghandi calmly took off … Read more

The phone rings in the night. A childhood friend has just died. I sit in the dark and wonder again about life and what life means, especially for her now that death has come. She found out many years ago … Read more

Yesterday I passed by a young boy learning how to mow the lawn. He stretched his arms up as high as they would go just barely reaching the mowers' handles. Even over the motor you could hear the young child's … Read more