“Morning, Cookiey.” The voice was gruff, but soft; his face weathered and lined, but shy and kind. I became Cookiey a while ago. I love it. Even if it’s simply a variation of my position – “cook” – it’s a name. An acknowledgement. And he says it so nicely. It brings me back to Mongolia,…

I don’t get out much. But when I do, I forget to wear pants. JUST KIDDING! Sometimes when I get a week off in Manitoba I am spoiled by my Momma and she comes to visit. And we go to thrift shops. And try on old coats that make me look pantless. But I’m wearing…