Ms. Carroll is a 40-something year-old veteran public servant and mother of three adult children. She and her partner Hal live in Amherst NS with a sweet, anxiety-ridden rescue dog. Shelley loves running, red wine, and laughter.
A Thank-You Letter to the 2021 Toronto Blue Jays
I don’t know if there are any baseball fans among my readership. I’m not a big ball fan, myself. Granted, I certainly used to be once upon a time. As a recent collaboration with my friend Len will attest, the Montreal Expos were my childhood dream team.
All Hail Apollo the Grand Dog
Let me be clear: I did not want another dog, per se. Well, to be perfectly honest, I was actually receptive to the idea, just not without some reservations. My husband, however, was not on board… and for good reason: we already have a dog, Nikki. She is cute as a button, but geriatric: older, quiet, deaf, often incontinent and well, she is just happy simply to be. Moreover, she is easy – part of the furniture, namely the living room couch. We have our little routine with her and as such, our household enjoys a comfortable rhythm.
And Your Bird Can Sing...
I sat there on the leather couch in the orthodontist's office waiting room, looking at my phone. It was 10:48. I was quietly seething. My appointment has been scheduled for 10:25 and I was not only frustrated at having to wait, but also hungry because foolishly, I had not eaten before leaving the house. Therefore, I was crooked, impatient, and slightly ravenous. All I could think about, besides being selfish and snotty, was the small litany of tasks that I had planned to complete that day. This setback was only serving to put me even further behind my own self-imposed itinerary.
I Want to Have a Beer With Scott Brison
I’m officially non-partisan. Let’s make that clear right off the hop. I’m a federal public servant up here in the area north of the 49th Parallel, and specifically out here on the East Coast of Canada, so I don’t play favourites or actively promote or endorse any particular candidate.
Barely Scratching the Surface
It was late August. The fabled Nova Scotia summer humidity was finally passing and the evenings were becoming cooler. The days were growing shorter although the sun still shone brightly between occasional periods of rain. The weather was still respectably t-shirt and shorts appropriate.
Spectacles, Tentacles, Water & Whine
Last month, I turned 48. My very thoughtful partner Hal bestowed upon me as a gift a paddle board. We have a cottage along a river-bend in beautiful, scenic Tidnish NS. It’s a lovely and quaint little spot where everyone knows everyone - and if they don’t know you, they soon will. The community is bursting with a sense of sharing and camaraderie. And because this is cottage country, we know a lot of folks from “town” who also choose to spend their summers out here.
A Letter to the Folks who Just Bought My Old House
First of all, thank you. I really appreciate you having made the offer to purchase that 90-year old house with so much character. Thanks even more for coming through on the deal! Oh sure, some of your asks rather annoyed me, but I’m easily annoyed anyway. And I get it: you’re investing in your future - you want to make sure certain things are in place. Although I wasn’t tickled at the time, it was well worth bringing in a plumber and an electrician to update those items - you were right; they weren’t exactly up to code. So I hope you’re happy with your new pipes and taps in the upstairs bathroom and that you’re safe with the new wiring that honestly needed to be brought into the current century. So good on you - and by extension, good on me and great all around because you still bought the house.
I’ve been 48 years old for the past 24 hours…
There’s no shame in admitting one’s age. As the saying goes, growing older is a privilege denied to many, so I don’t dare complain or deny. I’ve earned every one of these grey hairs, crow’s feet, stretch marks, and scars. I may not have them all proudly on display, but I acknowledge they are a part of me and every one tells a story. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
I Taste Snot
I taste snot. But I’m used to it. It’s probably because I keep picking my nose and eating it, but I can’t help it. When I get nervous, I jam my finger up my nose - and if there happens to be a nugget, well, in my mouth it goes. Somehow, the taste makes me less nervous and it reminds me that I can take care of myself.
Nannie's Water Closet
You know how certain fragrances can trigger memories? My husband had just finished shaving as I walked by the bathroom door. I don’t know whether it was the shaving cream he had used or the soap by the sink or the fact that the bathroom window was open just a crack. Maybe it was the leftover steam from the shower or the fabric softener in the linens. Maybe it was something emanating from the garbage can. Maybe it was all of those things combined.