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Fathers Who Harm

Father's Day has become a more highlighted day of celebration than when I was a child. My father was born in 1927 and lived a pretty long life: he died in 2013, a few months into his 86th year. He was not a bad father. He did struggle with alcohol addiction and was imperfect in other ways, but he was basically loving and kind. He was a workaholic, so we did not have access to him for emotional affirmation, but he told me in his old age that he always loved everything about us kids and felt sad that he had not been a better parent, and he was sorry he was most of all that he had not spent more time with us.  Other men in my family– my grandfathers, my husband, son, uncles, brother– have all shown themselves to be good guys and have adult children whom they love(d) and who love them back.  But I think to myself, having been a social worker to women and children who fled lives with men who put them and their children through Hell, that there are probably a fair number of children, te

Be Anxious For Nothing

I love tissue paper art.  I love working with a medium that doesn't smell or end up in hard-to-remove globs on clothing or furniture.  I love the colours.  I love the fact that it is a pretty inexpensive way to express myself.  I love layering the tissue and seeing what emerges. So, one dreary day I got out the layers of coloured paper and decided that I would do an ocean piece.  I had purchased a couple of canvases at the local Dollarama ($4 each I think), and I had a good supply of white glue from other projects for myself and my granddaughters. I cut out different configurations and colours of layered waves and billows .  I changed the trees and mountains into just the dark band of sea along the horizon.  I did this over a series of weeks when the urge hit.  This morning I collaged a sort of seashore with some money plant husks, quinoa flakes, and a few kinds of salt: ground kelp, celtic sea salt, and some pink Himilayan salt. Finally, after that had  come together, I