It was a tea house and I was having, funny enough, coffee, and the woman waiting on me was pleasant. She brought extra cream and looked at the book I was reading. It was my birthday, a summer day. The book was, “Count Your Blessings.” Then she said somewhat indifferently, “My father would
She was a friend and it was her funeral and we were reminded how life is little more than a fleeting mist.
Moments of her life were shown. Photos. There she is — her name is Wendy — as a young girl. Later, a graduate. Then Wendy the writer and editor, the years I knew her. I found her to be a thinking person who laughed easily
(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, October 8, 2016)
MUKONO, UGANDA ✦ Someone (a writer, naturally) once said that writing is like prayer. Prayer, it seems to me, is like gardening. I’ve struggled with all three.
The small garden behind our African home is testament to this. Many seasons it’s been a disappointing annoyance. Nearby trees steal valuable sunlight and nutrients. I suppose the space should never have been chosen to start.
KAMPALA, UGANDA✦It’s the children who in the end will be given the keys to the Kingdom.
This is what Jesus said on the matter. Be a kid again. The way up is down. If you want even half a shot at eternal life, as if it were somehow possible, go and grow young.
The Pilgrims landed on the shores of North America, not Africa, which is one reason we’re having chicken and lasagna for our Thanksgiving dinner in Uganda this evening. No, there is no Thanksgiving in this country, except for Canadian expatriates who make due with what happens to be available. In this case, regardless of what …