After a Book is Published: We Were Not Spoiled.
What happens after a book is published? As readers of this blog know, I recently published my mother’s memoir, We Were Not Spoiled. The book had been five years in the writing and had gone in and out of my focus. When I started to interview my mother and write the text, she had been […]
Guest Blogger: Heroic Annie Hill
She’s more than a name on the genealogy chart, although I don’t know what she looked like or the sound of her voice, the color of her hair. Her heroic character shows in census records. Her scarred and paint daubed blanket chest sits in a place of honor in my home. My great grandmother, Annie […]
My father-in-law’s 100th birthday
On February 24, 2013, I celebrated my father-in-law’s 100th birthday. Arthur Blowen has been gone now for 28 years, and the people who were his peers and friends are mostly gone. There are many family stories about him. They are told as mythic journeys, Arthur slaying the dragons that assailed him. Here’s the plot line […]
Getting My Dream Coat
From We Were Not Spoiled, the memoir of Lucille Verreault Ledoux as told to Denis Ledoux. My mother-in-law had a lovely black Persian lamb coat. It had large buttons that were very fashionable at the time. That coat was heavy and warm, and Mrs. Ledoux wore it everywhere. She looked good in it. Rhéa had a raccoon coat […]
Childhood Memories: The Price of Happiness
In 1953, we left our one-bedroom basement apartment on 7th Street in Toronto to live in the small town of Tottenham, Ontario. We moved into a three-bedroom flat above a hardware store. There was no central heat or hot water, but I thought it was a palace, compared to the tiny apartment we had left. The centre of activity was the huge kitchen, where a massive Finlay wood stove kept us warm in the winter months. Pale green cabinets sprawled along the opposite wall. They came to an end at the four-burner Frigidaire range. Every week, my mother would get down on her hands and knees and apply a coat of Johnson’s paste wax onto the green-and-white checkered linoleum floor. When we arrived home from school, my brother Stephen and I would delight in wrapping old rags on our feet and “skate” all over the floor, bringing it to a glossy sheen. This was my mother’s Tom Sawyer act, and it worked every time. I have fond childhood memories of this time. [Free Membership required to read more. See below. ]
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The First Months of My Marriage
e left Lewiston and our wedding guests to travel to Albert’s base in Syracuse, New York, at 1:30. Since it was still summer…
The Story of Why My Parents Came Down
While my parents were immigrants to the US, they had not really come to be immigrants. My father’s health had been affected by the tiny, deadly filaments called asbestos dust in his hometown…
Lightning or When Young Love Strikes
It was the summer the city burned. The weather was dry and hot, but the real tinder was a mixture of frustration and anger, white and black, promises and demands. If I paused to consider these things, the pause was imperceptible. I stood at the edge of the pool contemplating…
A Grandmother Story: Nothing Broken
In this grandmother story, I look back on the life of my mother’s mother.
“Look at this,” my grandmother said. “Not a tooth broken.”
We kids looked at the comb. We were not impressed. This grandmother story had to offer more!
“I made this when I was 8 years old.”
I looked again. Now I was impressed. I was 8 years old, and I had no idea how to make a comb. This one was big, maybe eight inches long, thick and creamy white. Indeed, not a tooth was broken. It looked nothing like the flimsy black plastic one my father carried in his pocket. My grandmother kept this one in the top drawer of her dresser with her small assortment of jewelry. This grandmother story impressed me for sure. [Free Membership required to read more. See below. ]