Ah, my younger self… with my daughter Kathryn – back in the days of post-Woodstock Nixon’s U.S.A.; before personal computers, smart phones and big-box stores.
Poignant
Quintessential Montreal: The Little Bike That Fit
I give up, I said to my friend John. The bike shop bicycles are soooo expensive! I’m gonna go the Craigslist or Kijiji route.
The Kids are All Right
These pictures have something in common. I mean, besides the fact that they show my two children at different ages. What they depict are my daughter, Kathryn, and son, Jeremy, out on the town without me. To be more precise, they are with their father.
Stuck in Beginners B Forever!
I have such fond memories of the Hampton Street YMCA! Also known as the NDG Y, due to its location in the leafy Montreal borough of Notre-Dame-de-Grâce, it was my second home during the summers when I was eight, nine and ten years old.
Food, Glorious Food!
I can safely say, having grown up in a Jewish family, that Jews are into food in a big way. As the old joke says, every Jewish holiday can be summed up thusly: “They attacked us, we won, let’s eat!”
A Letter to Lily June on her First Birthday
Dear Lily June,
At the risk of appropriating your mother’s salutation for her own online letters to you, just let me say that I’m responding in a humble way to her request for letters – letters to be addressed to you, in honour of your upcoming first birthday.
Me and My Dad
Here’s the thing: my dad was always there for me; in a pinch, you would’ve wanted him in your corner. I think if I relay a handful of incidents where he ‘saved’ me in one way or another, you’ll see what I mean.
Oh, to be 4 again!
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?
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.
Crossed Eyes and Dotted Tees 