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  • Writer's pictureClarke Wallace

My mother, Louise (Lockhart) Wallace, who has

been dead these many years,. She was really

something. Born in the upscale Rosedale area of

Toronto, she didn’t let anything get in her way. That

was my mom.

She was one heck of a mother. I’d tell her when I

couldn’t have be much more than eight-years -old. that

I was going up to the ‘mountain’, a hilltop on the farm, to

stay overnight. She’d nod, shrug.

I had my small tent and sleeping bag  and away

I’d go a mile up the dirt road. Put the tent up, crawl in  

my sleeping bag and drift off.

        Little did I know, she’d only tell me years later, how

she’d slip up around midnight, open the flap, smile to

herself and away she'd go back home

       That my mother. Born and brought up in the

uppity  (trendy?) Rosedale part of Toronto,. She went to

Bishop Strachan private school . She would marry

a clergyman, Nathanael Clarke Wallace, from the village

of Woodbridge.

        I had an older sister, Ann (she added an ‘e’ later. Why?

I have no idea.)  Mom would come skiing with Ann(e) and I,

not far from the house. She was somewhat wobbly, but she

couldn't care. less. Neither did we.

       I remember living on Kilbarry Road, moving from

Birchcliffe east Toronto where my father, a clergyman, had

been assigned his church. Christ Church, Anglican. We ended

up living near Upper Canada College in Toronto. It was a fair

distance  from Kilbarry to Brown Public School. I insisted

on walking there and back every weekday.

            One freezing, wet winter afernoon I started home carrying my

books. I was cold and felt sorry for myself and teary-eye when

I heard a car horn.

Mom had pulled over to the curb despite cars honking

behind her. She got out, hugged me and helped me into

the passenger seat.

Writer’s comment: She was born a Lockhart, living in

Rosedale., as I mentioned. She had brothers that she kept up

with. her. Or was it the other way around?

A wild bunch. But lovable.

 

 

  • Writer's pictureClarke Wallace

I had a desk in my small home office which sucked up

whatever I put on it. Until I couldn’t find anything I wanted

in the mess I’d created.

                I talk myself into thinking the solution was a larger desk.

Not new or expensive. Yet one big and wide enough to do the job.

I had come into Toronto from Woodbridge to poke around

in the older business district to see what might be available.

I was surprised when I found what I wanted in an old

antique shop. It was an old pine desk. Seven feet long and

four feet wide.

I shook it to see if it wobbled. Brought on when one old leg

over time is shorter than the other three. No wobble. And sturdy.

It had two large drawers on the same side. Perfect.            

Author’s comment: There was a problem. How to get it home.

I’d come in my two-door Miata sports car not thinking  I’d find

what I wanted. In one trip. I tied it down on the Miata with both

ends going well out beyond the car. I got it home in one piece.

More good luck than good management.

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