Duckish. At the head of the Baie Verte peninsula in northwestern Newfoundland, it’s the word the folks in the port of La Scie use to
Do you know what’s wonderful about sitting down to write a story about some place we’ve travelled? The waves of memories that roll in. And
“Well this could be the last time This could be the last time Maybe the last time I don’t know.” The Last Time The Rolling
Visiting Þingvellir, spelled Thingvellir in English because the Icelandic letter Þ is pronounced like th in English, was one of the highlights of our trip.
One of the joys of hiking in Europe compared to most anywhere else in the world is the reward of eating lunch at a restaurant
Last night my mother, Maxine MacLeod, passed away peacefully. Today I’m sharing a memory of mom from 1947. (Not a lived memory—I wasn’t born yet!)
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