Until I was six, I thought Uncle Sally’s name was Who-Gives-A-Sh*t. Everyone called him that – the neighbors, the few friends he had, his business associates, the family – even his mother, my Nana. She’d hoped the label wouldda’ forced her caro Salvatore to change his lackadaisical attitude towards everything.
But it never did.
I think having a nickname like that weighed on Nana’s dear Salvatore, more than the truck load of 50 pound sacks of flour he lugged on his shoulders six days a week delivering to all the bakeries in the county. Yes. I said ALL. Still, it’s no excuse for his disrespect. Some say it was Continue reading
Our angel is weary.
It is finally time for me to toot a dear friend’s horn today. I am honoured, happy, and proud to share with you the début of a book that has changed my life.
It’s somehow fitting.
Certain words in the English language make me cringe. The short, staccato sound of them wrinkles my nose, puckers my lips, and stabs my ears. One of the two most wince-worthy in my book of offending words has recently sent me on a quest to finding an acceptable replacement even though the short burst that thrusts forth from pressed lips when expressing it ‘speaks’ for its meaning.
Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner 