In 2010, my husband and I left the city to escape to rural life in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada, and we're savoring every moment.
I update my blog with everything I love through prose and photography, as well as posts about writing. My first novel was released in March 2016 and its sequel was released in March 2017. My third novel, The Women of Wild Cove, was published in September 2025, this time of the speculative genre.
I’m shaking things up for Friday Bouquet this morning. Usually I award it to a fellow blogger found doing something wonderful in the blogosphere, but this time I am throwing the bouquet to mysister and the therapy dog program.
Lynn is an assistant professor and nursing instructor at the Memorial School of Nursing in St. John’s, but her contribution to health care and humankind hasn’t stopped there. Please click on the link below – wouldn’t you know it, a WordPress blog by Eastern Health Story Line – to find out what she and her little dog Abbey have been up to, and be sure to look for their photos. All of my animal lover friends are sure to enjoy it. 🙂
When my husband Paul was six years old, he and his family moved from Newtown – the little community in which we live now – to live in the capital city of St. John’s. Their parents relocated so that Paul’s oldest sibling David could attend the Vera Perlin school for his special needs.
On the day of the big move, Paul crawled up under the house – the actual house we live in now – in a show of protest. “Everyone should be able to live where they were born,” he argued through tears, but the die had been cast. He was pulled out and packed into the car with everyone else.
On the very first day at their new school, Paul and his other brother Kevin, who is one year older, decided to walk home from school for lunch, despite being told to stay there and eat the lunch they’d brought. But when they saw other children going home, they wanted to go as well. Unfamiliar with their new neighbourhood, the two boys got lost, and Kevin started to cry.
Brave little Paul tried his best to console his big brother by distracting him. “Don’t cry, Kev. Look at the pigeons,” he said, pointing at a bunch of them as they waddled across the sidewalk, hoping the strange, tame city birds might cheer him up. It worked, and they ended up following a classmate to his house. Between the jigs and the reels, their dad had to leave work and go pick them up.
Let’s go back a couple of years when Paul was four and Kevin was five, to another time the younger boy displayed his wisdom. A new addition to the family of three boys had arrived, and this time, it was a girl! When their mom brought baby Julie Ann home, the boys crowded around to get a look at their new sister. Kevin’s eyes opened wide when her diaper came off to be changed. “Look, Paul,” he said, incredulous. “She ain’t got nar topper!” (penis)
“No, ya foolish,” Paul said, enlightened beyond his years. “She got whatever Mom got.”
Now before you think I’m beating up on my brother-in-law, I’d like to share one more tale. Okay, two. When Paul was about nine and enjoying his summer vacation in Newtown, Kevin saved him from drowning. Paul was diving with some other boys off of Burnt Island, but he tired in the deep water and panicked. Kevin grabbed him by the hair on top of his head and pulled him to safety.
Years later, when Kevin was just beginning his teaching career, he and Paul were driving along in St. John’s one evening. Without warning, Kevin pulled over, stopped the car, and jumped out. He’d spied two teenage boys in a fist fight near the local hockey rink, and he wanted to stop them. Paul watched as he parted the boys, reasoned with them, and ended the scuffle.
It was a day he never forgot. Where most people would just keep going and not get involved, Kevin stepped in and tried to solve the problem. It made Paul really proud of his brother.
Paul confessed there were other boyhood fights where Kev stepped in and rescued Paul himself, fights my husband started and couldn’t finish. I would say he’s grateful for those too. And so am I. 🙂
L to R: David, Paul, Julie, and KevinThirteen-year-old Paul
For one of the weeks of our vacation in Italy, our party of eight stayed in a stone farmhouse villa in the Tuscan region near Siena and Florence. It is known by the Italians as an Agriturismo.
Located in the province of Arezzo, this ancient agriturismo, the Scarpellino, had been renovated in 2005. All of its original architectural details were restored.
I loved how warm and homey the villa felt with all of its stone walls, inside and out.
I also loved where it was situated, nestled in the middle of vineyards and olive trees.
Complete privacy was a given.
Here are some inside shots:
One would think the hard stonework of the walls would make one feel cold.
Perhaps it is my “inner cavewoman” that likes the atmosphere stone walls create.
Siena, one of our beloved destinations during our trip to Italy,
is a walled city in Tuscany that has preserved its medieval, gothic appearance.
This World Heritage Site seemed a fitting showcase for this week’s Photo Challenge.
Surrounded by olive groves and the vineyards of Chianti, Siena is set on three hills,
drawn together by winding alleyways and steep steps.
It offers a bustling life throughout its streets and squares with its many boutiques and shops, cultural events, theater, and a range of sporting activities.
The centre of Siena is accessible primarily on foot.
Cars, other than taxis and police, are prohibited, but motorcycles and scooters are allowed.
Come back tomorrow for a look at some other walls. Arrivederci!
One Wild Word is an excellent blog and a trove of information for developing wordsmiths and published authors alike. Cousins Carol Despeaux and Carly Sandifer both have MFA degrees and writing careers, yet still find time to offer tips covering all things literary. Their advice is proving helpful to my writing applications, and could do the same for you. In their own words:
About Us Are you looking for a jolt of inspiration, a new way of approaching your writing practice? Maybe you’re stuck on a scene or looking for a way to describe the nuance of a character. Sometimes all it takes is one wild word to make a poem sing or a sentence fly. In that spirit, we’ve created this blog in hopes you’ll find a dose of wild writing mojo to fuel your next sentence.
I’ve chosen the post below, as it is one of my favourites:
Mark Bialczak is a prolific blogger, writer, veteran journalist, and columnist in the Syracuse, New York area. He shares his thoughts on a variety of topics such as community, music, movies, sports, life, and he even offers himself as an advisor. Being an avid movie lover myself, I have enjoyed reading his reviews on a number of current films.
Today, however, I share a link below from his periodic feature, Free Advice.
In Mark’s own words:
My qualifications: 57 years of open eyes and ears but no stalking charges…Four decades of writing in public about people, places and things. Send questions to markbialczak@gmail.com. Anonymity is assured.”
A couple of weeks ago, we weathered yet another “lovely” ice storm. The freezing rain painted every surface with sleet, resulting in slippery walks, treacherous roads, and a thick coat of glittering rime on just about everything. Oh Joy!
Our neighbour’s view of our point of land, with the ocean view lost in the fog beyond
If you’ve never heard about the phenomenon of “ice-fog”, this is what it looks like.
A ghostly mist hangs in the air, glazing everything in a sheet of ice.
I hoped to capture some shots of sunshine on the glitter, but the forecast wasn’t cooperating. Not one to miss an opportunity, however, I headed outside to see what artistry I might find under the heavy grey overcast of gloom.
The scene is still, frozen in windless silence. I find a stalk encased in a shell of ice.
Abandoned clothespins encapsulated on our summer neighbour’s line.
Who knew they would prove useful for this shutterbug?
My ClotheslineA Frozen Bud
Fences are crusted with frost, and icicles trickle in abundance.
A Twig in its Icy Tomb
The fog begins to clear…
…and the clouds lift a little, allowing a few thin milky rays to shine through.
All at once, everything glows with a sparkly sheen…
…and the “batty catters” take on a cold blue tint at the ocean’s edge.
A wide band of slobby ice meanders in the water near the coastline.
Grass that reminds me of glass straws
The opening sky colours our sea blue once again.
So far, we’ve enjoyed countless sunny days and not too much of the white stuff.
But that may be about to change; a winter storm alert is issued for the weekend.
How are you braving the winter?
Are you longing to put this season behind you?
Or are you finding beauty in unexpected places?
Jennifer's Journal 