It’s November. And where I am (which is not where you are, I realize), it is warm and quiet outside. The leaves, for the most part, have fallen from the trees and are resting on the forest floor while transforming themselves into something else. The leaves in October have a […]
Wendi Stewart – Wendi with an ‘eye’
Wendi lives in Nova Scotia’s Annapolis Valley, but the farm on Rainy River in Crozier will always be her home. MEADOWLARK, her debut novel released September 15, is published by NeWest Press of Edmonton. She is the mother of four daughters who did the unforgivable: they grew up. http://wendistewart.writersresidence.com
I’m not a city person. There is no part of me that could pull off being a city-dweller. Still, I think it’s good for our global understanding that we rural and small-town folk are able to glimpse the reality that most of the world’s population experiences living in cities. Observing […]
I’m not a fan of crowds; not a fan of large gatherings of any kind. The noisy chatter is like litter on a windy day, blowing up in my face and making me wince. What happened to sitting quietly and waiting, for whatever we are waiting for, to begin? I […]
November is Diabetes Awareness Month. I’ve been “Diabetes Aware” since Thea, my youngest daughter, was six. And thanks to the dedicated efforts of Sir Frederick Banting and his colleague, Dr. Charles Best, Thea is alive at age 21. Ninety years ago that wasn’t the case. Those with Type 1 diabetes, […]
I don’t suppose many of us can recall the day we took our first steps, the letting go of the coffee table, with our arms raised for balance, our legs slightly stiff, undoubtedly a look of surprise on our face and a feeling of being almost superhuman. It must have […]
My mother is gone. As a dear friend’s grandmother used to say: she is away. I like that better than gone because my mother will never truly be gone. She was away on Oct. 14 at 5:35 a.m. Thirty-nine years and two days after my father and two days before […]
I walk early in the morning, and I walk with “Gracie.” I head out the lane and turn up the neighbour’s hayfield, heading away from the rising sun. I look forward to this particular morning responsibility. I contemplate a lot of ideas, worries, and hopes on my morning walks; letting […]
My father died on Oct. 12, 1974. It was the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend. The day was cold, a light skiff of snow lay on the ground, and my heart seemed to stop beating with his. I’m not sure when my heart started beating again; I can’t remember. Didn’t notice […]
I like to iron. I like how the task takes all the creases and lumps and bumps and makes them smooth—a metaphor for life. I like the bursts of steam—the warmth and the pssst; a bit of music to my ears. Men used hankies when I was a kid, big […]
I am a hurrier. If a group existed where I could join in with other such flawed individuals to help me kick the habit, I would do so with an eager heart. I would raise my hand and say, “My name is Wendi Stewart and I hurry.” I can’t help […]
My parents used to have parties when I was little—parties with lots of people; invariably my mother on the piano and a stack of records on the record player. They danced. I suppose they drank, though I don’t recall that part. My sister and I watched, through the heat grate […]
Do you remember being eight or nine years old and reciting Walter De la Mare’s poem, “Some One?” It was one of my favourite poems. Someone came knocking at my wee small door; Someone came knocking I’m sure sure sure. Ringing any bells? I clearly recall standing at the front […]
