Early September found our family sitting in front of a university, again. 

Like many Catholic parishes, our little flock smack in the middle of Nova Scotia is facing a financial crunch and Canada Day serves as one of our biggest moneymakers.

A few weeks back, I attended a funeral Mass about a half hour from my home. With the priest’s comforting words and the heavy smell of incense still commandeering our senses, the congregation filed out and into the nearby church hall for sandwiches, tea and a story or two about Sandy, the deceased. The elderly man, from all accounts that flowed from inside the church and out, was a kind, gentle soul who put family and God above all else.

It was a dark, overcast and drizzly morning in the beautiful city of Vancouver. Tens of thousands of runners passed by the hotel in the mis-named Vancouver Sun Run, the largest annual 10-kilometre road race in the country and the second biggest of its kind in the world. The taxi driver deftly manoeuvred through a number of side streets to avoid the countless runners in an effort to bring his fares to the busy airport in time for flights.