Opening scene: close-up on a fireplace. So hyper-real we could almost feel the embers and we could certainly see and hear it crackling. The extreme close-up lingered. We sat watching for several minutes. Evelyn was enraptured.
Apart from import-friendly grocery stores in the United States, Ribena comes at a hard-fought effort. It also bears the calorie toll of sugar, both added and natural, and unnatural ingredients infused into the “black currant fruit drink” mix. A surprisingly delightful, and calorie-free alternative, comes in the form of Ahmad Teas Blackcurrant Burst.
I never believed the concept that animals didn't have thoughts, feelings, or emotions. And one Christmas Eve, my beloved lab-retriever mix, Sandy, showed me that I was right.
The idea of not having Christmas caused him to go into a tailspin, but within a week or two, he was back to talking about Calgary and everything he missed about it…
In this comics Emylle, our heroine, who’s a woman in a wheelchair with curly, short hair sits beside a friendly lion who shows her around the place. The lion greets her, "Oh Emylle, you’re gonna love it in here!”
Our bedroom walls were shiny with posters of boy-band chests and bad-boy grins hiding unicorns and floral wallpaper. Our mothers fought us, our little sisters wanted to be us, our fathers avoided us.
As a thank you for the work, I brought you a gift.” From the little pocket of his work suit, he took out the book that increased the visual centimeters around his stomach. “While I was fixing the plumbing problems upstairs, the door at the bottom of the hall was open so I could see the many bookshelves you have there. I hope this novel adds to your already rich collection of covers and stacks of papers you keep in the room upstairs.”
In the morning, I look out over the vegetable patch. Leaves are scattered. There is a hole in one of the beds. Someone has been pinching my carrots. I notice paw marks on the conservatory window and a deep scratch on the glass.
“I think we have a visitor,” I say to my wife. “A squirrel.”
Three little girls were walking up the steep part of a dirt road toward the wooden railroad bridge. So much happened at the railroad bridge. It was where they could find all the other kids in the neighborhood who had bare feet and scabby knees like they had. It was a place to play, and talk, and underneath was a perfect hiding place.
As a person who has worked with the Foster Care system, this storyline grabs me by the throat. I found myself choking up as I read about the sorting of children, like socks, at Kringletown. Ryder didn’t deserve that. No child does.