Anna Maria Junus

The next time you meet an abused woman, you don't have to ask her this. Because here are the answers.

I have never understood why some people think retirement is a punishment or a death sentence. Why wouldn't you want to give up a 9-5 for freedom to do whatever you want within your financial and health abilities? "I'll be so bored. What will I do?" Look, I get it if you LOVE your career. If you have a career that makes your heart sing, your brain dance, and your toes tap, then by all means keep doing it as long as you can. As for the rest of you, there is life beyond someone

Throwback Thursday means I get to cheat and publish something I wrote a long time ago. This was from my humour column Annamaniacs and it was first published in 2003. I must have been a child genius to have published something twenty-three years ago when I'm only twenty-nine now. It's actually appropriate for now because the city I just left is debating this very topic. Sure, everything else has changed, but we're all still fighting over cats. Catrophy By Anna Maria Junus I re

Years ago, 2011 actually, that was - my gosh! That was FIFTEEN YEARS ago! I blogged about hats. I thought it was time to do it again. Every fifteen years, you have to blog about hats. Now, mind you, these are not hats that people did just for the sake of doing a really bad hat. People actually wore them to events. In this case, to the Royal Ascot Races. That's the fancy outdoor shindig where everyone dresses up to watch horses race and bet their castles away. The men wear

Throughout my life, I have been in and out of community theatre. I've played Cinderella's step-sister, a saloon owner in an improv murder mystery, village people, a male puppet mayor, a reporter, a candy shop owner, a nun, and even Jesus in an all-female readers' theatre (along with being the crowing rooster). My favourite role was when I played the White Witch in Beyond the Lamppost - a play written from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. That was the most fun I've ever h

Stitch by stitch, row by row, I love to see this sweater grow, It's for someone that I know, Who has my love to keep them warm. Stitch by stitch, row by row, The scarf, the gloves, the hat all grow, To protect someone from cold and snow, And keep them safe from harm. Stitch by stitch, row by row, God loves to see our character grow, He knits us carefully to and fro, And protects us in the storm. For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. - Psal

Genesis 32:24 Then Jacob was left alone, and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day. Now, when He saw that He did not prevail against him, He touched the socket of his hip, and the socket of Jacob's hip was out of joint as He wrestled with him. And He said, "Let Me go, for the day breaks." But he (Jacob) said, I will not let You go unless You bless me!" So He said to him, "What is your name?" He said, "Jacob." And He said, "Your name shall no longer be called

Happy 4th of July to my American friends! Although I'm Canadian, my history on my mother's father's side traces back to the Revolutionary War. The Silliker brothers (I can't remember their first names) appeared in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I'm not sure from where in the 1770's. My mother thinks Ireland, but I have no record of it. They fought in the war, but they chose the wrong side. Yes, they fought on the British side. Which makes no sense to me. The king was demanding

I put out the question: What would you like to see me write on my blog? I got one answer: How about how modern families are becoming more and more disconnected? I’d like to know what the new families starting out can do better…. So thank you, Karin, for that question. Here we go. So last year, on a lovely summer day, as I was sitting on my favorite bench in the park, I saw two different occurrences. A young couple with a baby in a stroller walked by. The mother was scrollin

Mr. Hoagie. Mr. Hoagie was my 7th-grade teacher. At that time, 7th grade was still elementary school. The top grade, the kings and queens of the school, but still elementary. We had one teacher who taught it all. Mr. Hoagie loved creative writing. He would give us a topic, and we would have to write stories related to the topic. The first topic he ever gave us was, "If I had a million dollars." This was back when a million dollars was a lot of money. And so I decided not