Childhood . My Mother . Nostalgia
Make Mine a Troll
On May 29, 2026 by Speranza
Anyone who knows me well has heard about my devotion to “Trolls” (aka “Gonks” in the UK) the popular, hi-liter haired dolls that were very popular in the sixties. While other girls were collecting the newest Barbie, it’s probably quite telling in some weird psychological way that I was never impressed or even remotely interested in regular dolls and instead much preferred my growing tribe of Trolls. Each one had a different hair colour, including two with striking, snow-white tresses whom I presumed to be elderly and accordingly named Martha and Frank. I saved diligently to increase my collection whenever possible and expanded to include the tiny Trolls sold as pencil toppers or key-chain danglers although their hair was never the same caliber as the larger ones and would routinely tear off in one piece, like a bright conical flame with a stiff headband of adhesive.
This was always a sad moment because a bald Troll is suddenly a bit too close to a perverted uncle for anyone’s liking.
Divorce . Gardening . Retirement . The General
Nine to Five No More
On May 28, 2026 by SperanzaIt’s been almost two months to the day since I cleared out my desk and began my (super early) retirement. I have purposefully not shared this information here because it is has been such a churning and peculiar adjustment, full of highs and lows, more than a few bracing 3 am walks around the hardwood floors but mostly, because I fear being judged as old and irrelevant, there I said it.
British Stuff . My Father . My Mother . Self-Esteem
Shoes I Have Known
On May 3, 2026 by Speranza
Although I am not an introvert in the typical sense, I know that I am not a “joiner” either. I had a deep loathing for both Brownies and Girl Guides although I liked the accessories – who wouldn’t want that interlocking belt or that much coveted pencil on a retractable cord? But even though I kept forcing myself to join (book clubs, school committees, yoga) when the appointed night came around, I couldn’t bear the thought of going. Surprisingly then, it was unusual for me to attend not one, but three sessions of writing classes at our little library, where a wonderful writer – talented, gentle and quirky – was leading creative writing classes. One of the suggestions she offered for a daily writing warm-up was to choose any random word and write, stream of conscious style if we liked, about whatever drifted forward.
And to date, this method has never failed me.
