peachmanstewart

I am famous for carrying stuff. LOTS of stuff. My daily commute involves the train, subway and bus (one way).  My job involves shopping for stuff and bringing said stuff to work in bags and satchels and once, a suitcase. Wool and decorations and books and food in a crock pot. My most notorious journey

One of the ways to cope with change is to deny it. Refusing to see what is in front of you, although not an effective strategy long term, can help you get through today. Trouble is, tomorrow comes. When Bill was sick, there wasn’t a time until the last week of his life when it

Remember when you had your first baby?  When I brought my daughter home, I was terrified. I had all kinds of experience with kids, including babysitting, but this little person was depending on me in ways no other child had. My husband had to work that first night, and I was sure something terrible would

A year ago today, my life changed forever. It started on Valentine’s Day, when I received my first email from the man who was to become my husband. Both of us had been actively searching for a long time, and both had almost given up. Both had made mistakes, and both had an “Oh wow!”

Our dog has a dual personality. When my husband is home, he is the most compliant, peaceful little fellow. If he is in trouble, Hunter only has to call his name and he stops the bad behaviour. I have seen his already short legs at half mast as he crawls to him, craving approval. His

Some people are so good at the boundaries thing. When you approach them about doing something, you know they will carefully consider it.T hey will look at the busyness of their schedule, the demands of their family and whether they are actually drawn to an activity. They may pray about it. When they come back

Barbara was at her wit’s end. She had made the difficult decision to give up a job in finance to look after her mother. She knew she’d be alright financially, but wondered if she could really fulfil that role in her mother’s life. She’d prayed about it, and it seemed the right thing to do.

“Good fences make good neighbours.” said the poet. Maybe his neighbour said it, too. I have no fence on my front yard, and my neighbour and I share the space. Their kids run over my part and my dogs run over his. We both make it work, and it’s not a big deal. Why? Because

We are painting. If you live anywhere in the vicinity or follow me on Facebook or work with me, you are groaning  now. One of my co-workers said, “Please! No more painting stories.” One of the problems is that it’s a big area. Living room, dining room, hall up to and including the front door,

Muriel was caregiver for her husband, who had Parkinson’s disease. At this point, he needed minimal help, but in the last year, she had seen a lot of changes, and they haunted her. She had done extensive reading, and knew that the disease was progressing more quickly than it did in some people. The drugs