Those of us living with serious health concerns know the days can be long. I have always appreciated an expression I heard years ago: The days are long, but the years are short. 

Most of us muddle through life oblivious to the symphony of roosters crowing in the background. 

Lent is a time for reflection and renewal.

Amid the January inundation of news from south of the border about insurrection, impeachment and inauguration, a significant piece of Nova Scotia legislation took effect with little fanfare.

By my estimation memory loss ended my career 12 years before I was ready or able to retire. Even worse, in the four years since, the doctors haven’t been able to determine what happened or whether my memory will ever improve.

The doors to our Catholic church swung open again on Sunday morning, weeks after in-person Masses were shut down for the second extended period of the coronavirus pandemic.

Archbishop Anthony Mancini could hardly have envisioned a more atypical adieu to his service with the Halifax-Yarmouth archdiocese.

It is late, dark and cold outside. Neve, our 97-pound dog, is standing in the middle of the road in front of our house. I think, silly dog, but just as quickly it occurs to me I am standing right beside her. As Neve and I look down Vincent Street I admire the Christmas lights which make our neighbourhood sparkle.

On a recent Saturday morning I revisited simpler times. After returning home from morning Mass the Bride and I were welcomed at our front door by Rose Anne, our eldest, and her two boys Jack and Beckett. Rose Anne had dropped by for a visit and had managed to rouse her sisters, Clare, Emma and Hope, from their beds. 

Is there no middle ground to be found?