Greg Boyd Saying What I Was Trying to Say...

... but only better :)


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Chasing Fireflies

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Memory: Fireflies in New Rochelle 1968  There's a memory that nibbles at the corners of my mind that never quite takes complete form. I checked with my mother so I know it was 1968. We were living in Montreal at the time. My dad had aunts -- his mother's younger sisters -- in the United States and they scolded him for living so close but never visiting. So after my dad bought his brand new powder blue Chevrolet Impala, we loaded into the car and off we went to New Rochelle, New York.  We left in the dark of night. Our parents would've woken my brother and I up from a dead sleep, but I'm sure we stayed awake for the whole six hour trip.  I remember counting the highway location markers as we got closer to our destination. What did they mean? They were counting down, I think... But counting down to what? My dad said they seemed to be coming every mile, but he also didn't know what they were counting down to. Speaking of my parents: I did the math when I was thinking o...
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Italian Group Therapy... Oxymoron?

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At last month's book club, we read Montreal, Italo-Canadian author, Mary Melfi's book, Revisiting Italy: Conversations with my Mother . We were graced with the presence of the author and hosted by one of our book club members in her beautiful home in Montreal Nord on the shores of the St. Lawrence River.  I know I've written about our book club before, but here's a bit more background. Several years ago, one of my cousins pitched an idea: You know, Rocco... I can still hear Sal's voice; I know when it starts with,  You know, Rocco... I'm in for a ride :)  The idea was a book club for cousins from what we at the time thought would be Niagara and Montreal. It has since blossomed to include Ontario, Canada (Niagara Falls and Kitchener), Montreal, Connecticut, California and Nardodipace, Italy (which is of particular importance because, with the exception of our Noank, Connecticut cousin who married into our fold, all of our forebears came from this small southern I...
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1969. Good Bye, Montreal -- I forgot to say it then so I'll say it now

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It's very difficult for me to say goodbye. I'm not sure why. Case in point: I started a blog post when I left teaching in Fort Erie in 2007. The post was about how difficult it is to say goodbye.  I never finished that post. I'm not even sure where it is. I looked for it in my draft section but couldn't find it. I started another post on the difficulty in saying goodbye after leaving a brief stint as a consultant with the school board from 2012-2015. I never finished that post either. My first memory of needing to say goodbye was in 1969. I was born in 1960 in Niagara Falls, Canada. I lived in a small wartime house on Franklin Avenue with my family of four plus my maternal grandparents. The house is still there (minus the pink aluminum siding); I think my parents paid six thousand dollars for it. We moved to Montreal in 1965. I don't remember needing to say goodbye to anyone that we left behind in Niagara because our entire extended family was either moving with...
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