Showing posts with label Montreal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Montreal. Show all posts

Saturday, May 19, 2012

What if 11/22/63 didn't happen?

I finished reading 11/22/63 a few weeks and decided that it was time to put fingers to keyboard to share my thoughts.

You might have stayed away from this book because of the Stephen King name and his propensity for scary things that go bump in the night. It was bit of a surprise when I first heard that King was going to tackle this subject. The date of J F Kennedy’s assassination is marked in many of our minds as one of our earliest encounters with tragedy.

Immaculata School (off Decarie in St. Laurent) sent all the students home that day. We watched the news and saw Kennedy’s blood splatter over his wife’s clothing on our black and white televisions over and over. It is an image etched in my memory, even though I didn’t quite grasp the magnitude of the event.

This book however is more about the Time than about the Date. It is about a naive nation, about mystery and hope and love. I won’t spoil the story for you but the walk down memory lane, the references to cars with chrome and fins, candies, clothes and music are on their own worth the cost of the book (paper or digital).

*11/22/63 is the first book I have read on my Kindle. The Kindle was very light weight and has an easy-on-the-eyes screen for reading on the beach or on a plane. I am very fond of it! It was relatively problem free to get used to making notes and highlighting passages for future reference. It is my newest favourite thing since I discovered post-it notes…



                                                         

Click here to check out my new favourite thing, my Kindle!        
      

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

November in Pte. Claire


step into the golden
crunch beneath my feet

reach the past
with mistaken turns
down roads unwinding.

reach the past
memories falling from nowhere
unbid but oh so clear

reach the past
through dark spaces
hidden in corners.

There they are!
like puddles with floating leaves
reached into the past
wound around familiar places
and touched
the me
I used to be.