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I must admit: she caught my eye as I walked past.

Normally, I maintain it's about function, not form, but it was both her prettiness and her price that drew me back to test drive this one three times and finally take her home despite some dissatisfaction with the fit.

Bullwinkle here replaces my dearly departed Bigfoot fatgirl which grew wings and flew off my third-floor balcony where she was locked.

She went for her first winter ride October 26. It was slippery after a nasty combination of rain and cold temperatures all morning. I expected to think she was overkill by the time I headed home at the end of the day, but the icy road conditions had worsened. Unusually for Manitoba, the bridges were skating rinks, causing multiple car pileups in a city crisscrossed by rivers.

Skyline was okay the next day, but then I was out of province for a week, returning to a winter wonderland in November. Bullwinkle and I will be getting to know each other well from now on (as long as I am willi…
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TRC in the Middle East

Truth and reconciliation in Palestine.

Jonathan Kuttub, a Palestinian and American and Mennonite lawyer addressed a crowd at Sam’s Place tonight.

“Truth, justice, and peace – in that order,” he quotes, cautioning that if we try to start with peace, before learning the truth and working for justice, we may simply perpetuate injustice for the sake of a false peace that disillusions instead of heals.

Truth: Palestinian Christians are not the result of Western Christian mission efforts; Western Christians are the result of Palestinian mission efforts.

We need to stand in solidarity as brothers and sisters.

Truth: evil carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction. History contains many examples of tyrants regimes suddenly collapsing. “The arc of history is long but it bends toward justice,” Kuttub quotes Martin Luther King Jr.

Don’t despair due to today’s or even next week’s or next year’s trials. In the long view, things may get better. 

Truth: hope is spiritual. But not ether…


Glowing autumn air
Your fiery source of warmth slips
’neath the horizon

I’m sorry. Beautiful skies motivate me to write bad haikus in hopes that someday, through practice, I might write a good one.

Irreligious iPhone

There was an article making the rounds lately about “Xennials” – the group in the shoulder space between Gen X and Millennials, who relate with some of the characteristics of each and not at all with others. A tongue-in-cheek Guardian quiz declared me a true Xennial because “you understand modern technology but are not so emotionally needy as to need constant validation from strangers you will never meet.” Another article said Xennials “possess both Gen X cynicism and Millennial optimism.”

You can probably tell that I regard myself as fitting into this group (as much as a nonconformist leaning individual raised in a bizarre subculture ever fits). What it has to do with smartphones is that I’m not “digital native” enough to be good at texting. (I try the two-handed thing, but it seems just as laborious and inaccurate as one-finger hunt and peck.) So I speak to my phone. (Kind of like in the old fashioned days. Except not.)

This dictate function works brilliantly for some people. Desp…

Not quite a poem

...but poetic.

In the humidity, the mist from Emptyful hangs a dreamy fog about the library plaza, diffusing the glaring lights.

It used to be so dodgy, you’d avoid it even in daylight; now the park invites a stroll on a dark, rainy night.


Presuming to know something about this medium (HA! My one follower may belie such pretensions), I conducted a workshop on blogging during a short-term mission orientation session.

I continued to hang out with the young people for the rest of the day, lured to stay with the promise of a square dance later that night.

What happened there was noteworthy, so I feel I must practice what I preach and write up this event.

But what did I learn? Oh my! I probably wouldn’t have plumbed the experience for insight had I not sat down here to reflect here, but here goes. (And that’s one of the points I tried to make to the young’uns: writing serves critical reflection.)

Lloyd had gone out to the asylum shelter and invited sundry newcomers to join us at the square dance – “a genuine Canadian social activity”. (Actually, it’s probably more accurate to call it American.) Halfway through the evening, they joined us, so I was paired with a young man from Bangladesh.

Things weren’t quite as smooth with…