Once upon a time there was a girl named Rose. She loved books and read voraciously. Her dad was a trained pressman who eventually became the head of printing at University of Toronto Press, overseeing the production of hundreds of monographs.
This is my great-grandfather, Robert Kilgour — a handsome dude! It’s a haunting, melancholic portrait, a black-and-white photograph colourized by hand. His beard and countenance resemble Sigmund Freud, who lived during roughly the same era in a different part of the world.Read more
I’ve come to adore my cardiologist, even though he sometimes delivers disturbing news and forces me to contemplate my mortality every time I’m in his office. I didn’t always feel this way about him. Read more
IT’S MARCH 1945, just two months before the end of WWII. Bill Barker, 27, is flying his Spitfire on a bombing and strafing mission over Germany. He gets hit by enemy fire, his plane is damaged, but Bill isn’t hurt. He radios his squadron to say he’s returning to base in England as quickly as possible.