“I can still taste the simple, pistachio pasta we ate,” was the first thing Teresa said when I told her we were going to Sicily.
Torn ligaments and meniscus. Heart attack. Heart valve replacement surgery. A respiratory illness requiring oxygen. A gall bladder attack. Waitlisted for heart ablation surgery. Pulmonary
1. “Aye yi yi. But that Zelenskyy, he’s a peppy little guy.” Were he here, I imagine this is what Grandpa Danchuk (whose favourite term
Sicilians have a special word for silence, Antisa. “Like the silence as you wait to hear the call of a bird…before you shoot it,” Matteo
“How do you choose your travel accommodation?” Teresa asked us at dinner one night. We review our favourite sources. Book it ourselves. And our choices,
Circa Diem. Let’s start with the translation of the Norwegian birthday card Magellan got me:
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