Clare McCarthy
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Clare McCarthy

     I enjoy walking alone, on country roads, in the sunshine. At one time, I planned to walk the 500-mile pilgrimage from France, over the Pyrenees to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. I have walked from Orangeville to Grand Valley; and, from Orangeville to Hillsburgh. I have walked along the ocean, in the Seychelles — a thousand miles off the coast of Africa. My destination was a topless beach, and a pizza cook-out in a woodfire oven. This was all part of a belated honeymoon trip with my wife, Dorothy.

    Instead of the Santiago pilgrimage, I visited the cemetery in Dunkirk, where Dorothy's father's name is engraved on a column, thus providing some closure to his loss.

Dana Webster

I have always loved words. Puzzling out how to pronounce a word when I was a kid was a great joy of mine. I spent a lot of time in grade one trying to figure out what mosquito spelt. It was our word for the week, and I’d never seen anything as complicated as that. I can still see my six-year-old self sounding out the syllables just under my breath until, finally, I got it. It was a proud moment. Perhaps not surprisingly, I went on to study English Literature at University and am a writer today.