Preachers’ Kids

There is no separate peace for the children of educated Mennonite parents, trying to get their bearings beginning in 1968 in a private boarding school, the boys all marrying out, and all divorced before the 21st century; the girls all marrying in and still married, always exceptions proving the rule.


Looking for Look Shrapnel in sight

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Also posted in Abject Alphabet (Fits and starts), Blog, Jimmy Bang, MANIFESTOS, My Life in Pieces, pain room blogish, Preachers' Kids, Preachers' Kids, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A POEM FOR SUNDAY

LEAVING BOISSEVAIN I like how I smell when I wear cool blue deodorant lying in bed listening to  girls with guitars rocking this way rocking that way where was she last night counting the tips at the end of her shift she was listening to girls with guitars dishing the blues Because there may be

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Also posted in ARCHIVES, Blog, My Daily Fog, My Life in Pieces, Poems, Preachers' Kids | Leave a comment

WHAT’S SUNDAY TO YOU

Sindach Hoole* Most families I knew in southern Manitoba growing up knew Sunday was a day of rest, for prayer & church, or a day to play. He was a strong believer in Sindach Hoole, despite beginning with Sin it actually means *”holding Sunday,” which was the same as keeping the Sabbath. My father must

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Also posted in Blog, Preachers' Kids, Shit My Mother Said, Susann with Two N's, Uncategorized, What Men Do | Leave a comment

from “NOTHING TO SEE”

  IT DEPENDS WHAT YOUR DEFINITION OF IT IS It doesn’t matter. Yes it does. No it doesn’t. Yes it does. Why say it doesn’t matter. You know it does matter. So making a longer sentence makes it matter more.  No sentences don’t make it matter. Can you imagine a book without it. Oh, like

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Also posted in Blog, Jimmy Bang, My Daily Fog, My Life in Pieces, Pain Room, pain room blogish, Preachers' Kids, Preachers' Kids, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

RESCUE

PERISHING Billy Graham has one finger in the holy data. The other pointing with authority to the Lord.  Only in pictures in magazines does this image jump up And throttle me. Just a little boy with rumours\and a bag full of cliches I forget what comes next. I have forgotten most of what I believed

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MISSING CONFESSION OF ST AUGUSTINE

It was regrettable, blessing the donations brought by the devil to the church by pirates, whore-masters, slave-traders, and worse. I swear the money was put to good use to feed us, and have hats, garments and distinctive robes made (employing many I would add) so needed for our public appearances, and banquets, now such an important

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BELIEVE YOU ME

MY ANGER AND PAIN MANIFESTO  There will always be someone who suffers more deeply, more righteously, more rigorously, more appropriately with higher levels of pain, with higher levels of accomplishment achievement than me like the amputee running a super marathon across the Sahara desert. Good for you. Good for God!   Me how do I

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Also posted in Abject Alphabet (Fits and starts), Blog, Family Matters, Jimmy Bang, Pain Room, Preachers' Kids, Preachers' Kids, What Men Do | Leave a comment

Acute Memories & Promises to Children

Excerpt from the Memoirs of Frank F Enns When children have acute memories for promises made to them by adults what may seem a minor triviality to an older person, may appear as a thing of greatest importance to a child. But a child expects that a promise made by an adult must most certainly

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Also posted in Blog, Preachers' Kids, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

from THE LETTERWRITER #1

Dear Max Ferguson, My name is Victor Enns. I am a grade 12 student in the Mennonite Collegiate Institute, the oldest coeducational boarding school in Canada. The school has several other distinctions, and is renowned for its music program. I have enclosed two records of our choral singing that were made in the last two

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Also posted in Blog, Listening, My Daily Fog, Preachers' Kids, This & That, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

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