sassykg • July 12, 2020

We live storied lives and our stories are a powerful way to help us understand our world, inspire us and create solid connections with each other. Whether it is a parable from Aesop’s fables or a lyric laden country western song, storytelling is universal. Stories transport us from the mundane to the extraordinary and often allow us to walk in someone else’s shoes. Stories assist us in making sense of what can seem an illogical world. Certainly, telling our stories during this current pandemic could provide a vital connection to each other and perhaps strike a collective nerve. And if we are lucky enough they could help us escape to another reality.

Who does not have “that” friend who can be relied on to tell a great anecdote remembered from the past or maybe embellished from the present. With the current concern about “fake news” I can understand some reluctance to rely on the veracity of a personal narrative. But the reality is that stories whether factually accurate events or aggrandized versions of authenticity, are an opportunity to recognize reflections of ourselves and learn about each other.

It seems I have become a blog writer and the truth is – it was the result of happenstance. First of all, when covid hit I really would have been hard pressed to define the word blog let alone have a clue about how to create one. In fact, my grandson Ryder was working on a school project that required him to write a blog. I made the deduction that it was an assignment to write a paragraph or two about some particular topic. Over the years I have taught grade six, grade three and adults preparing to write their GED. I understood the importance of creative writing and was pleased that respect for writing and telling stories was enjoying a renewed respect. My blogs are basically personal stories often rooted in the past with links to today.

My recollection of starting this blog was a chance text with one of my American friends just about the time we became aware of the Covid threat. My husband and I were in Palm Desert on Sunday March 15. We were looking forward to a yearly birthday celebration on St Patrick’s Day with our friend – intentionality and appropriately named Patrick. We were happily anticipating his annual birthday celebration when Covid issues were emerging. Canadians are for the most part compliant with government directives. Our Canadian national “motto” is “Peace, order and good government.” So when our Prime Minister summoned us home due to Covid concerns- the good government piece kicked in so… home we went.

The day after we arrived back in our home town I was connecting with one of south of the border friends. We were musing about the Covid threat and jokingly shared how we might write a blog about the whole situation. My friend texted this as her possible initial blog:

“I can start the blog by saying, when I watch TV and see how people actually leave the house, hug their friends and family- just do normal things…I can’t believe that we are living like this. It is very lonely.”

There are countless media stories that highlight how the Covid pandemic has created a new reality. From uplifting stories about neighbours helping neighbours to young children setting up lemonade stands to raise money to provide face masks to health providers, the narratives capture differing responses.

In keeping with the story theme I want to offer a sequel to the story I told about my friend Deb and her husband that I previously recounted. Here is the recap.

Deb’s husband Craig was scheduled to return to Edmonton from Switzerland where he is currently working. He planned to stay for three weeks, the first two of which required self isolation. At the last minute Craig heard that the Swiss government could require him to isolate upon his return to Lausanne. So the staff at Craig’s office who are accustomed to organizing international travel booked Deb’s flight scheduled for last Sunday departing in the early morning.

The evening before her departure, Deb attempted to print her boarding pass but was denied. Thinking that this was a minor inconvenience resulting from Covid restrictions she was not overly concerned. Soon she would learn differently!

On her departure day Deb arose at 3:15 am and determined not to miss her daily running regime, completed a 45 minute run on the treadmill. In Alberta, early mornings in July burst through the darkness around 5 -5:30 am. Deb drove the 35 minute airport run with the sun shining – such a promising day.

The Edmonton airport was deadly quiet that day and Deb was happy to see there was no line up at the check in desk . Despite her required face protection, my friend approached the Air Canada agent with an undetectable smile. She handed the agent her passport and began to load the heavy suitcases she had packed. The representative keyed in Deb’s travel information. Although the agent was masked, Deb could see her furrowed brow. A warning sign had appeared on the Air Canada computer: Entry Denied!

The story of why this happened is not entirely clear. Certainly Air Canada was not aware of why a Canadian was denied entry to Switzerland. Should she have needed a visa, was this a new Covid issue that sprung up overnight? The Swiss travel site indicated that Canadians were free to enter Swiss territory.

The Air Canada agent valiantly retried entering Deb’s travel details. Encountering no success she called her supervisor but to no avail. Deb retrieved her bags and drove back home.

On her drive back to Edmonton Deb gave me a call. She knew Craig would feel let down. But always one to be ready with a laugh, Deb quipped “ My kids will be most disappointed!’

Originally I had intended this blog to be a tale about travel during Covid. For some reason the theme song from a Western tv show aired between 1957 and 1963 came to mind. The lyrics of the chorus were “Paladin Paladin – Where do you roam? – Paladin Paladin – far far from home.” This old song may not be a profound story but what could be it’s takeaway? Here is my thought:

During this unusual year we may all feel “far far from home.” But I am confident our stories will keep us connected, humanize us and help us find commonality.

“So powerful is our impulse to detect story patterns that we see them even when they are not there.”

So click in the music video below. Sometimes our stories just have to be hokey !!!






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Kathy's Blog

Aging: Boldness and Courage

By K Grieve • February 20, 2026
“Helen Mirren, who turned 80 in 2025, rejects the term “aging gracefully,” preferring to describe her approach as "aging with fun, commitment, and unapologetic realism". She advocates for embracing the natural process of getting older as a "beautiful thing" rather than fighting it, encouraging others to live in the moment and accept physical changes.” Aging is not for the faint of heart! It creeps up on you before you actually know it’s happening. It demands courage, boldness, wisdom, resilience, and realism. Add to that, growing older centers on the stories you carry and the memories you hold. For me, many of those lessons were learned from stories about my mother’s life, her choices, and the way she met hardship and joy. How Mom lived her life gave me my first understanding of what it means to live and to age with determination. My mother Marjorie lived until 95. Mom’s married life was pretty much emblematic of her generation. A devout Catholic, she learned the hard way that the ‘Rhythm Method’ (the practice of choosing specific days for intimacy to avoid pregnancy) of birth control was not in the least dependable. Think five kids with the last, our youngest brother Doug, born when my mom was 40. She smoked Crave M cigarettes. Back then, you could send a kid to the local drugstore with a quarter and a note to the pharmacist to get your cigarettes. Unheard of in today’s world. Almost weekly, my mom made homemade bread which filled the house with a yeasty and comforting smell. And her doughnuts were the talk of the neighborhood. Deep-fried and laid out on brown paper to cool, she dipped them in sugar, and we ate them while they were still warm. It was one of Mom’s ways of showing us love: one delicious donut at a time! My mom’s early life was less typical. Born in 1921 in Saskatchewan, she was a child of the Dust Bowl era. The middle child of six kids, she had a pleasing personality and was known as a hard worker. Perhaps that explains why, when she was just nine years old, she was sent to her Aunt Kate, where she helped in the Red and White store that Kate managed. Mom cried her eyes out for a year after she arrived because she missed home. Seven years later, she cried her eyes out when she was sent back home. My mom met those challenging years away from home with realism that helped to shape her resolve and solidified her perseverance. Her way of handling hardships and setbacks helped shape my understanding of how to approach life’s highs and lows. Looking back, it’s hard not to appreciate Mom’s handling of her early life challenges. At a time when most children are living with their parents and siblings, she learned to adapt, work, and endure separation. The tears marked her sadness, but the fact that she endured it speaks to her strength and courage. As she aged, life asked more of her, not less. She met aging the only way she knew: steadily and cheerfully. Aging didn’t soften her resolve; it strengthened it. My mother was lucky in many important ways. She was surrounded by her family and wonderful caregivers that went above and beyond the call of duty. In the last chapter of her life, she lived with my sister Gail and her partner Andrew. Helped by my other siblings, she was given something money can’t buy: a life that felt like hers. One special caregiver, Helen, understood that caring for another is more than schedules and medications. She would play one of Mom’s favourite songs, and the two would dance, smiling and giggling as they moved to the rhythm of the song. And God only knows why Mom had a parrot for a pet; a parrot that hated everyone but Mom. That bird squawked and tried to attack anyone who entered: except my mom. Strange as it may seem, that annoying parrot triggered my mom’s lifelong ability to tolerate difficult personalities. It seems to me that Mom’s life may have slowed, but it remained rich. Hearing my mom’s stories showed me that tears do not mean fragility. Tears mark courage, determination, and boldness. Now, as I grow older, I begin to see these same qualities as the core to aging. Aging hasn’t softened me: it has required me to stand more firmly, speak more directly, and, like Mom, to keep moving forward with resolve. “Do not go gentle into the night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” (Dylan Thomas) For most of my life, I believe I have been considered outspoken. But with aging, I have honed that characteristic to a fine point. Not long ago, I was part of a conversation about “the state of the world.” All of us were well into our seventies. We lamented days gone by and talked about how chaotic and fractured everything seems and how our reality is disturbing and disconcerting. The group represented different points of view, and the talk moved rather awkwardly but cautiously into politics. Definitive statements were made as if all would agree. Boldness took over me! I spoke up, standing my ground without apology. I felt something in me shift. It would have been easy to try to smooth things over, but instead, I chose to be bold and stand my ground. I am older now and believe aging is not about retreating from the world. It’s about resolve and courage in the face of opposition. Aging, of course, isn’t just philosophical. It shows up in physical ways. Knees and hips need replacing, bodies that don’t bounce back the way they used to, medications and vitamins galore to swallow. And tragically for some, illnesses occur that can be life-threatening. There is no bravery in pretending otherwise. But boldness and courage still have a place here. They help in deciding to face head-on what lies ahead, to ask the right questions, and to endure treatment and recovery. Aging asks us to be realistic, accepting the challenges aging can present. Aging isn’t always about changes to ones body but the evolving nature of our character. Inspired by my mother, I now feel that I am entering a period of my life where I am more determined to uphold my principles and stand up for the things that I believe. Time won’t always be on your side. It’s the simple truth, and it’s no surprise. But now and then, like my mom, there is still time for a dance!! “The years teach much which the days never know.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Inner City Hope

By K Grieve • January 9, 2026
Inside One Inner City School and the People Who Refused to Look Away Every morning, there are children who walk to an inner city elementary school in Edmonton Alberta carrying backpacks far heavier than books. Some of the weight is invisible: fear, hunger, worry. Burdens that no child should be forced to endure. The daily journey to school is not the “stuff” of fairytales. These young students must step carefully over sleeping bodies-the smell of alcohol and human waste filling the air. They pass by unhoused men and women bundled up in rotting blankets as they huddle on concrete doorways. People shooting up drugs is a regular scene. Some of these people the kids know-some are even family members. Shocking? unthinkable? Not for many of these children. It is simply the reality of their childhood. Inside the school walls, conversations are a chorus of languages and a mosaic of accents and cultures. Many have emigrated to Canada and English isn’t their first language. Some are Indigenous children. Some are housed in shelters or even live on their own. Most are trying to learn how to be heard, struggling with how to tell teachers they have a tummy ache or to confess they are afraid. Yet they are all determined to belong, to be noticed, to be loved and to have hope. Far too many arrive hungry, their empty stomachs growling. Food insecurity is a reality. No breakfast nor lunch packed in cute little personalized lunchboxes. Kim, a dedicated teacher at the school told me there is a breakfast program the school calls “morning meal” that is available to all kids. It may be simple but it matters greatly-yogurt, bananas and sandwiches are given to any child who needs it. There is no formal lunch program, so when extra food is available, it is saved for students without lunch. Slim pickings by most standards. During the school day, these children carry a heavy weight of uncertainty; they are not sure how to make sense of addition and subtraction, not sure what the teacher is saying, not sure where their next meal is coming from, not if the person greeting them at home is friend or foe. The uncertainty fuels their anxiety. The uncertainty robs them of joy. The uncertainty intensifies their fear. Beyond this there are stories even more disturbing. Abuse. Neglect. Physical violence. These realities have taught some children to be on their guard and to always be on the defensive. These children are not “difficult.” They are hurt. A number of the children arrive each day living in what we adults call “fight or flight”. Their antennae are on high alert. Teachers gently tell them how to breathe, how to name feelings and how to calm their bodies. As if these challenges weren’t already overwhelming, the school faces a constant battle with head lice. Despite these struggles, teachers and school administrators show up, day after day, ready to provide stability and predictability. They notice who hasn’t eaten or who is wearing the same clothes day after day. These teachers wear many hats. They are educators, counsellors and protectors. Most classrooms in this school follow a “trauma informed approach”: soft lighting, minimal clutter, consistent routines and predictable schedules. For children whose lives are filled with trepidation, school becomes their dependable constant. The goal isn’t just academics-it’s helping children feel safe and strong enough to begin to heal. Enter my friend Deb! Deb, who is affectionately called Miss Deb, volunteers at this challenging school. Two to three times a week she shows up at the school and does what committed school volunteers do. She gives her time, her heart and her presence to children who need all three. Kim says this about Deb. “I can recall a moment this fall where a student was upset. I was trying to distract him and get him thinking positively so he would calm down. I asked him to tell me things that made him happy. He listed three things. One of them was Miss Deb.” That says it all. But for Deb the stories she hears about the kids have keep her up at night, anxious and worrying. Could there be some tangible way to help? Deb knew the principal and staff had been working for a long time to secure the funding needed to build a new playground for the school. They managed to raise some of the money but were short by $35,000 to make the playground a reality. And for that reason, Deb sent out a heartfelt plea to community members to help fund the long needed play ground. This could not be some ordinary playground. Because of the surrounding environment, it needed to be “ special”: fully enclosed and carefully designed to protect the kids from hazards, like discarded needles from drug use. This playground had to be designed to prevent it from being used as sleeping spaces for the homeless or individuals affected by addiction. What should be a simple place to play must also be a protected space where children can feel safe and simply just be children. And then something special happened. Deb’s plea did not fall on deaf ears. Within minutes of Deb’s email being sent, the local community stepped up. The response was overwhelming. One donor, a well known Edmonton philanthropist, immediately responded and pledged the full $35,000! Others stepped up as well. And most recently a charitable foundation matched the $35,000 which will fund other critical school priorities. It was an astonishing level of generosity and a reminder of how much people care when they are asked. As a former teacher and one who has spent years in public service in Edmonton, I have witnessed first hand how these serious struggles intersect - each intensifying emotional and physical strain. Poverty, homelessness, addiction and family violence are profoundly intensified by our already strained and outdated support systems. Certainly, this local community response was remarkable. It’s proof of the power of a combination of compassion and generosity. This story exemplifies that help can be available when need is shared; it underscores the positive and critical impact of volunteerism. “Sometimes miracles are just good people with kind hearts” But it also leaves us with a bigger and more disturbing question: What can we do as a society to address the deep challenges that at-risk children face? How can we break the cycle that has trapped them? How can we help them envision a brighter future? A playground is a powerful beginning, but it cannot carry the weight.