Four Versions

I have always loved music. I like most genres, except for opera – which I don’t understand.  Obviously, the artists are exceptionally talented, but I don’t enjoy that type of music. And learning the words to my favorite songs is something that I’ve always done, ever since first listening to music on a $6 transistor… Continue reading Four Versions

A Beaver Tale

Growing up in the ‘50s and ‘60s was a difficult period for me, but not because I grew up in Canada – the land of the Beaver. I have always loved being Canadian, but not always in love with living here. There were many times, as a teenager, I wished that I lived in the… Continue reading A Beaver Tale

Empty Sidewalks on Tobacco Road

Home where Danny was born and raised

This is a continuation of a previously published story that I wrote in 2012.  Please read The Summer of ’66 before reading this story; otherwise, it won’t make much sense.  Thanks! ~ Hugs, Danny The road to Tobacco Road had sidewalks, but there were none on Vittoria Road – or at least, none on the… Continue reading Empty Sidewalks on Tobacco Road

A Coffee Break

I have always loved waking up to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee in the morning. And there is always an energy boost from the caffeine to kick start my day. It leaves me with the feeling that an extraordinary person has just hugged me – and that makes me smile because I know it is… Continue reading A Coffee Break

Musical Fruit

Home where Danny was born and raised

Beans, beans, the musical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot, the more you toot, the better you feel, so, eat your beans at every meal!  That was a poem that every kid learned as a rite of passage.  Actually, I’m referring to boys, not girls. Passing gas, passing wind, and tooting are… Continue reading Musical Fruit

Hidden In A Pocket

Have you ever put on a sweater, coat, or pair of pants that you hadn’t worn in a long time and found a twenty-dollar bill in the pocket? Or have you been thinking of someone you hadn’t seen in ages, and then suddenly, your phone rings and that person is on the line? ******* I… Continue reading Hidden In A Pocket

A Smokin’ Gun

I started smoking in 1963, at the age of thirteen.  It was during my first year of high school. I started smoking because of several factors, namely: My dad and uncles all smoked.  My mom didn’t smoke, but she was exposed to second-hand smoke for most of her life. My family doctor smoked.  He always… Continue reading A Smokin’ Gun

Cold Feet, Holly, and a CT Scan

My Holly Golightly - she's a Coton de Tulear

It used to be a relatively simple thing to do – buying a pair of slippers.  Then again, a lot of stuff used to be simpler than they are nowadays.  I hate sounding like one of those old-timers who used to tell me how things were better ‘back in the day.’ But at least things… Continue reading Cold Feet, Holly, and a CT Scan

Seventy Years Ago

Ma and me at the house I grew up in. (circa 1951)

On January 8th, seventy years ago, at precisely 10:30 in the morning, a scream of joy erupted from my tiny mouth as I gasped my first breath of life. I don’t know if I was a planned addition to the St. Andrews clan or not, but I always felt loved by my mom. My dad… Continue reading Seventy Years Ago

A Visit to my Hometown

Back Home Again

I was finally at the hotel in Mississauga, Ontario.  But I was exhausted from the long flight from Vancouver. “Good afternoon, sir!” chirped the lady at the front desk. “Oh, uh, yes,” I stuttered. “Your name please?” “It’s St. Andrews,” I replied. It had been a long flight from Vancouver – almost six hours –… Continue reading A Visit to my Hometown