I am a fifth-generation Irish descendent from Southern Ontario, and a third-generation teacher.

A glimmer of light is now visible at the end of our 15-month-long tunnel of unnatural existence.

In our corner of the country, we fancy ourselves as extremely welcoming and hospitable folk.

Those of us living with serious health concerns know the days can be long. I have always appreciated an expression I heard years ago: The days are long, but the years are short. 

Most of us muddle through life oblivious to the symphony of roosters crowing in the background. 

Lent is a time for reflection and renewal.

Amid the January inundation of news from south of the border about insurrection, impeachment and inauguration, a significant piece of Nova Scotia legislation took effect with little fanfare.

By my estimation memory loss ended my career 12 years before I was ready or able to retire. Even worse, in the four years since, the doctors haven’t been able to determine what happened or whether my memory will ever improve.

The doors to our Catholic church swung open again on Sunday morning, weeks after in-person Masses were shut down for the second extended period of the coronavirus pandemic.

Archbishop Anthony Mancini could hardly have envisioned a more atypical adieu to his service with the Halifax-Yarmouth archdiocese.