Maybe I was 4. Maybe I was 5. It doesn’t matter.
“Go play with G!” and so I did. I had a beautiful playroom, then. One that my parents had painted and beautified for me before deciding to move to America. 127 more words
It was a tremendous day for a lift-off. Against that endless blue the Prairies are famous for, the plane reached into the sky as Winnipeg shrunk into itself, slowly enough to show me my old school, the long stretch of roadway strung up with fast food outlets and rodeo bars that I’d take every morning to get there, the shadow of the office buildings, and even my old street, cornered between the bends of the river. 1,433 more words
Yesterday was a day of remembrances, and remembrances are queer things indeed. At the beginning of the day a friend asked if there would be any official events to mark the twentieth anniversary of the massacre of Bosniaks at Srebrenica, and my reply was something between a snort and a laugh. 453 more words