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Canadian Senior Years

Which Province in Canada
  British Columbia

  Grey Bruce

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Do you have a talent that you would like to share with everyone at Senioryears.com? Do you write poetry or short stories? Are you an artist or photographer? Send us your Word files, text files, jpg's or gif's and we will display your work on this page. If your work is already displayed on another web page, send us the link and we will add it to this page.

Here are some short stories written by some of our visitors:

  • A Tribute To A Woman With Heart-My Mother
  • Mother's Day At Those Old Roadside Picnic Areas
  • Quitting the Color Bottle
  • Come to the Church in the Wildwood
  • The Landing
  • Not Another Storm Day
  • My Grandmothersí War
  • The New Razor
  • Up in Smoke
  • Cinnamon Hearts And Rocky Mountains
  • The Phone Call
  • Valentine's Day, The Toughest Test Of All
  • Knowing When To Quit
  • The Perfect Christmas Tree
  • The Mountiesí Original Hairdo
  • Lest We Forget
  • Becoming A Long Distance Nanny
  • Hammock
  • A Mere Mortal's Eyes
  • Pie Simple
  • A Stitch In (The Teenage Equivalent Of) An Eon
  • Handstand
  • What Say, Tom?
  • Five Minutes
  • Far Out Moo Moo
  • Hot Stuff
  • The Magic Of Christmas
  • The Tequila King Of The World
  • Little Truths
  • Me? Afraid?
  • Old Age is NOT for Sissies
  • Icing - The Queen Dropped the Puck
  • Famous Uncle (Canada's only Air Chief Marshal)
  • Mr. Fibreglass
  • It's Cold Enough to Freeze the Balls
    off Brass Monkeys
  • Fire Retardant Diapers
  • Never Stick Your Nose Out A Porthole
  • Pop Wagner's Store
  • Seniors Need a Tropical Province

  • * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
    written by Paul Douglas Scott

    My first contact with infinity
    was as a child twisting the loose spiral pillar
    of our old glass fronted bookcase.
    In response to my own two small hands
    it appeared to emerge or withdraw as it revolved
    in the seeming solid oak base
    with a soft and celestial squeek
    phenomenon, preoccupying me for hours.
    And now in pleasant memories,
    still nurturing a thoughtful wonder
    in an older adult who thinks he understands,
    at least, optical illusion;
    still continuing to be engrossed
    as life's ongoing, common mysteries unfold.
    my hands now quiet in my lap,
    my thoughts still cycling with awe.


    This was written by an 83-year old woman
    to her friend:

    I'm reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time working. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them. I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous. I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. I'm not sure what others would've done had they known that they wouldn't be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. I think they would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, or for whatever their favorite food was. I'm guessing; I'll never know. It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and parents often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift.

    "People say true friends must always hold hands, but true friends don't need to hold hands because they know the other hand will always be there." I don't believe in miracles. I rely on them. Hello Friends.

    Author Unknown

    Check out the following website: www.geocities.com/nutyscribe/
    It features original recollections, short stories, musings, and poetry written by 28 authors, all of whom are also seniors.

    My Poetry Garden: www.heartwarmers4u.com/members/?laryalee
    I'm a granny who writes "old-fashioned" rhyme, and this is a quiet, easy-loading site. My themes include nature, coping with life's ups and down, a sprinkle of humor, and hopefully a dash of inspiration! I do hope you'll drop in for a visit!


    Do have a column that you'd like to write or an idea for Canadian Senior Years? E-mail us: ideas@senioryears.com

    This web page was designed and developed by Ericka Hardy in Owen Sound, Ontario, Canada. She looks forward to developing a site for you!

    For more information, visit Webcraft
    or email hardy@bmts.com.

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