I find these photos so evocative. It’s not just that they were taken in the glorious fullness of summer, which seems eons away right now. It’s not just that each one includes an image of little me from 60-something years ago. No. It’s the innocence. It just wafts right off of the screen, don’t you find?
Memoir
Play
Play. Girls’ play. What does that word even mean, to a kid of the 21st century? As a child of the ’50s, I can tell you what it doesn’t mean.
So You Think You Can Dance?
Well, I for one sure couldn’t! Mind you, I was only 13, it was 1958, so whaddya want, right? Well. At the community group ‘youth’ dances which I started attending, hoping to meet a [Good grief! What was my rush?!] boyfriend, dancing was a necessity… unless you wanted to spend a couple of hours holding up the wall.
Spots
It’s winter. It’s a time of snow, it’s a time of sleet. It’s a time of ice, it’s a time of… sickness!
Goodbye to an Embarrassment of Riches
English newspapers! A whole big bunch! If only we had fully appreciated them at the time.
Apartment 34
1952. It’s the second day at my new school. We just moved, and I am no longer at Royal Vale School in the Snowdon area of Montreal; I am now going to Willingdon, in leafy Notre-Dame-de Grace.
The Day I Beat the Machine
A Winter Montreal Story (1969)
It was 47 years ago. Almost made me lose my faith in humankind. (Mind you, I’m sensitive, so it doesn’t take much!)
Remember the smell of wet wool mittens?
I had forgotten it – until I looked out the window a minute ago. What did I see?
Spelling, back in the day
I was always a pretty good speller. I would see the word once, in my school book or a library book, and somehow it was burned in my memory.
Crossed Eyes and Dotted Tees 