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Sunday, October 17, 2004
Sunday, October 2, 2005
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Lynn's Comments: I don't know what passes for the average allowance now. A buck a week was fine when Kate and Aaron were kids- they seemed to make do. As I recall, however, no matter what the folks decide to bestow.....it's never, ever enough!
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Lynn's Comments: We had an enormous cherry tree in front of our house. One wouldn't think a tree could be so much work, but ours was. Dad pruned it, mom watered it, we treated it like the gift it was and after the blossoms fell, the cherries ripened, we had pies, preserves and fresh berries all from our own garden. The problem was, it dropped stuff. Like a pet, it had to be picked up after. How we resented raking the blossoms and the leaves, how we resented the litter of twigs and the caterpillars that had to be picked from its branches. The tree was not to be climbed and not to be punctured. It was a rival for our affections and sometimes, I think, rightfully so. Sad to say that a few weeks after my parents sold their house the new owners wanted less shade in the garden and cut the tree down. What we'd give now for the right to rake up the leaves and watch the cherries grow again!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Lynn's Comments: The yard I drew here was the yard in front of our house on Tally Ho Road in Dundas. We had a number of big leafy trees and the amount of raking to be done in the fall was overwhelming. The good thing was that they created a wonderful playground. We could bury Aaron and each other in the leaves. We rolled in them, used the leaf bags as beanbag chairs and enjoyed the crackle, the colour, and the smell.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Lynn's Comments: This little one liner I used once before in a single panel cartoon, which I submitted to the Dundas Valley Journal. It was the first cartoon I had published in a newspaper.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Lynn's Comments: I rarely saw my parents kissing. Sometimes they held hands but it was a discreet show of affection--which was quickly over if someone drew attention to it. Still, they were very romantic. They thought about each other and did things for each other easily and naturally. They were husband and wife, but they were also the best of friends. I often made fun of the two of them and their mushy ways, but in the end, I wish for all the world I could have had a marriage like theirs.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Lynn's Comments: One of the children's books I loved best was about a family of rabbits who painted the woods with all the colours of the rainbow. In spring they painted the buds bright green, in the fall they painted the leaves different colours, and in winter, they painted the shadows on the snow. Even now, whenever I see long turquoise-grey shadows stretching across a snowy lane, I remember the illustrations in that book.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Lynn's Comments: When I was a kid, my friends would come to my house to talk to my mother. She and I didn't always see eye to eye, so it surprised me when my friends considered her advice worth seeking. I accepted her relationship with them with admiration and jealousy: admiration for her, jealousy because I couldn't confide in her the way they did.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Lynn's Comments: I had so many wonderful letters about this strip. Sometimes, we have to be reminded to count our blessings.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Lynn's Comments: We once owned the full set of The Encyclopaedia Britannica. I bought this enormous set of books when we lived in tiny Lynn Lake, Manitoba. It was an arctic community into which you really had to fly. At the time, the population wasn't much more than 1200. There was only one radio station, there was no library, and the newspaper came a day late. Other than folks selling things like Avon, there were no door-to-door salespeople--it was just too far to go! When a young Britannica salesman came to our door, I was surprised. I invited him in. I had been thinking that in this area some encyclopaedias would be a great investment. He started to rattle off his pitch, but I stopped him and said it was OK! I was going to buy the whole set! He looked me in the eye in absolute disbelief. "Lady," he said, "I have flown to just about every small community in northern Manitoba, and you are my very first sale!"
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Lynn's Comments: I had such an island. I don't know if it was the story of Peter Pan or a project my mom gave us to do, but I had an imaginary island, and it was real.
One rainy North Vancouver day, my mom mixed up a paste using flour and water (and some other things), cut out flat cardboard bases, and helped my brother and me form an island in the middle of each one. We had to make mountains and bays, and when the paste was dry and hard, we coloured our islands with poster paint.
I took this project seriously. The ocean around my island was the deepest blue-green. There was a sandy beach in a rocky horseshoe-shaped bay. There was a forested mountain, and a jungle where I could pick tropical fruit. As I painted my island, I thought about how I got there and what I had to work with. A shipwreck was part of my story, of course, and I built an imaginary shack out of the remnants of a washed-up hull. I had a garden and I made a path to the mountaintop where I could watch for ships. Sometimes, a sailor or a passenger would be washed up on my shore and I would have imaginary adventures with this visitor. The visitors never stayed for long. It was, after all, my private imaginary space.
I daydreamed about this island all the time. When I was being bullied, I went to my island. When I was in trouble (sometimes for being a bully!), I went to my island. If I had a crush on a boy, he might be washed up on the island. Sometimes if a teacher was particularly nice, she might appear there, too. This fantasy went on until I was in high school! Even when I was well beyond childhood, I'd still find myself thinking, "You are allowed on my island." Or, "You are NOT allowed on my island!" It was a refuge. I was safe there. I had supreme control. There were no rainy days. It was a place of peace, and I think it helped me to survive some difficult times.
The island disappeared after many years--but I can still bring it into focus if I try
One rainy North Vancouver day, my mom mixed up a paste using flour and water (and some other things), cut out flat cardboard bases, and helped my brother and me form an island in the middle of each one. We had to make mountains and bays, and when the paste was dry and hard, we coloured our islands with poster paint.
I took this project seriously. The ocean around my island was the deepest blue-green. There was a sandy beach in a rocky horseshoe-shaped bay. There was a forested mountain, and a jungle where I could pick tropical fruit. As I painted my island, I thought about how I got there and what I had to work with. A shipwreck was part of my story, of course, and I built an imaginary shack out of the remnants of a washed-up hull. I had a garden and I made a path to the mountaintop where I could watch for ships. Sometimes, a sailor or a passenger would be washed up on my shore and I would have imaginary adventures with this visitor. The visitors never stayed for long. It was, after all, my private imaginary space.
I daydreamed about this island all the time. When I was being bullied, I went to my island. When I was in trouble (sometimes for being a bully!), I went to my island. If I had a crush on a boy, he might be washed up on the island. Sometimes if a teacher was particularly nice, she might appear there, too. This fantasy went on until I was in high school! Even when I was well beyond childhood, I'd still find myself thinking, "You are allowed on my island." Or, "You are NOT allowed on my island!" It was a refuge. I was safe there. I had supreme control. There were no rainy days. It was a place of peace, and I think it helped me to survive some difficult times.
The island disappeared after many years--but I can still bring it into focus if I try
Sunday October 23, 2016
Lynn's Comments: When you are writing material for a comic strip or for any other dialogue, be it a stage play or even stand-up comedy, you create a situation in which there is sentiment, a reason to question, observe or pontificate. Then you write a possible exchange of views as you see here. Sometimes the exchange is within yourself, but there is always a path to the punch line. In writing with the voice of a child, I wrote a question I thought would be realistic using the right turn of phrase. With luck and a little guidance from the "muse," I got a funny response. On days when the writing goes well, you feel like a genius. On days when the writing goes badly, you feel like a jerk. The roller coaster of this job sure made life interesting!
Sunday October 22, 2017
Lynn's Comments: My son got away with a lot of stuff…because he was so darned funny.
Monday September 30, 2019
Lynn's Comments: Now that I live on the West Coast, I see these images of an Ontario winter through different lenses. I miss the beauty of the autumn leaves, the warmth and the smell of a wood fire…but I sure don't miss the snow!
Sunday October 13, 2019
Lynn's Comments: We had a small piece of property near our house in North Bay. Friends who were involved with a tree planting program gave us two dozen evergreen seedlings to plant—which we did, hoping to see at least some of them survive. All of the seedlings grew, and today, there is a forest on that land. Hard to believe I have lived long enough to see a forest grow!
Friday November 1, 2019
Lynn's Comments: There were times when I truly wished I was expecting another baby. To make this story real, I had to imagine myself pregnant. Seriously. All of the sentiments, all of the sensations were very real.
Tuesday October 27, 2020
Sunday October 9, 2022
Sunday October 15, 2023
