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Ali was not a boy, rather a man of at least 60 years, slowed by arthritis and weather-beaten by years of desert wind and sand. When Ali was young he had studied languages, becoming proficient in English and French as well as his native Arabic.  The year was 1942 and

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(Excerpted from my unpublished book ‘K444 – Growing Up In The Shadow of a Rusty Boat‘) The view from the maple tree outside my bedroom window was spectacular, stretching from Cape Mudge lighthouse to the northeast to the smoke rising over the pulp mill in Powell River in the distant

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(From the unpublished ‘K444 – Growing Up In The Shadow of a Rusty Boat’) Childhood is made up of exploring our senses; tasting everything with an eye to disliking it, touching objects to learn their density, hardness, warmth or cold, watching pets and older siblings to mimic them, listening for

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The year was 1978, I was stationed next to the Sweetwater Canal in beautiful downtown Ismailia, Egypt and feeling very, very far from home. A lot of things had happened in my family that year I was away, some good things like the birth of my nephews Matt and Kris,

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