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tori

tori
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I’ve been reading about Tori Stafford.

I struggle with this.  I wonder:  am I some kind of sick voyeur or nosey neighbour who needs to know all the seedy details?

What I figured out is, this little girl didn’t ask to die this way.  So why is it my choice to ignore the details?  I feel like I owe her this, to listen to her story however godawful it may be.

She looks like a little girl I know.  When I see her face I think of this other little girl who is happy and living and unharmed.

When Kristen French disappeared, I was working at a restaurant in downtown Toronto.  I waited and read and watched the news and I kept hoping they would find this beautiful little girl.  When they found her body, I felt real despair.

Now I am a parent.  My daughter was the same age as Tori when Tori was taken.  So I see my daughter now as Tori should be.

This morning was hard.  I felt sick to my stomach and I thought I might throw up.  I cried.  But I sat in my comfy family room with a hot cup of coffee while my kids played video games downstairs.

I owe her this.

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pretty as a picture

pretty as a picture
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I have been taking candid shots for the yearbook, mostly at lunch while I work.  There was this one boy whose picture I still needed.  He appeared before me and I said:  “Oh!  I need a shot of you.  Smile for your yearbook picture.”

So as snow fell on him, he smiled and I snapped it.   I thanked him and then he said:

“I just threw up in my mouth, can I go to the office and call home?”

The picture turned out great.

And now my choice for my second most favourite Oscar dress.

Michelle Williams was as pretty as a picture.

 

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february 3

february 3
february 3 Print

I was waiting at a red light and I looked over at the road beside me.  There was this crack in the road and there were these cigarette butts.  I thought:  How did they end up there?  Did they fall from hands extended out car windows and roll into the crevice?  Or were they intentionally dumped there?  But it was the middle of the road.

The crap that gets caught in crevices.

It was a long red.

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january 27

january 27
january 27 Print

 

 

A couple of times in the winter, once in the fall, I go to my vein doctor and she gives me 44 needles per visit.

 

 

 

 

I pay for the privilege.

I wear the bandages for a week following while the bruises heel.

Admission:  I lie to my doctor.  She asks if I continue to wear support stockings and I say:  Yes.  But I don’t.

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