Happy Birthday, George

Ah, the stories we have from growing up. A lanky, flat-chested, pimple-faced girl of 12, I would sit on my front porch (the back patio at that point was yet to be built) reading magazines, books, whathaveyou. Always reading. And George, an older boy who I’d known seemingly forever in this neighbourhood, would happen by sometimes and ask what I was reading. Often I was reading things I planned for him to ask me about. He was good looking. Tall, skinny-ish, dark hair… the rare, … Continue reading

You know, when you really think about it, you might say I’m leading the life I dreamed of as a child: Staying up late, doing whatever I want, spending my own money, having my own room, not going to school (because it’s summer for 8 months), I have my own kitty, I’m eating chocolate cookies for breakfast. …Should’ve aimed higher. But for now, these cookies are delicious. Share the post “” FacebookTwitterGoogle+PinterestStumbleUponE-mail Continue reading