Spelling Bee (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

Some children like the challenge of spelling bees. Some children enjoy testing their abilities against others. Some children enjoy spelling bees. Me?

photo by ldyck

Spelling Bee

"Class," my teacher says, "line up in front of the blackboard. We are going to have a spelling bee."

I find my spot in front of her one-woman firing squad. 

"Tom spell..."

Tom fires back with a series of letters.

The teacher smiles.

Tom stands taller.

"Sally spell..."

Student after student returns fire and remains standing.

"Leanne, spell..."

My heart pounds in my chest. But I heard the word. The problem isn't with my hearing. My challenge is identifying the letters in the word and putting them in the correct sequence.

I'm the first...to sit down.

My classmates snicker.

My teacher frowns.

Isn't that fun?

photo by ldyck

On this blog in June

Sunday, June 21

Sharing the Light by Monique Gray Smith (book review)

Sunday, June 28

"My Aunt's Kitchen" (short memoir)

New content is published

each Sunday

at approximately 4:40 PM PT.

Flare for writing (short story) by Leanne Dyck

What did your parent think about your plans to become a writer?

photo by ldyck

 Flare for writing

A fashion magazine lay on our kitchen table. I reached for Flare, and something fell out.

"What's that?" Mom asked.

I kept my eyes on the magazine, on the dresses, and on other distractions. "I don't know."

"It's a career planner," Mom told me. "Occupations for the women of today, along with the education you require to obtain them."

What I was going to do after grade school weighed heavy in my seventeen-year-old brain. It crushed me.

"This is what you should do." She spread the pamphlet out in front of me.

"Writer? I can't be a writer."

"I would believe you if I didn't know that you write all the time."

"What publisher is going to want a writer who can't spell and doesn't know the rules about grammar or punctuation or—"

"Well, something in the publishing industry then."

"Yeah, I could be an editor and teach everyone how to spell the dyslexic way—backward and upside down."

Mom didn't laugh. She didn't even argue. She was stuck in my fantastical future.

But I knew better. I knew that some dreams, no matter how alluring, will never come true.

photo by ldyck

On this blog in June

Sunday, June 14

"Spelling Bee" (short memoir)

Sunday, June 21

Sharing the Light by Monique Gray Smith (book review)

Sunday, June 28

"My Aunt's Kitchen" (short memoir)

New content is published

each Sunday

at approximately 4:40 PM PT.

Don't Worry (memoir) by Leanne Dyck

In my mid-twenties, I was a hopeless romantic, hopelessly lost in dreams. Luckily, I had a friend that assured me that my hopes and dreams could become reality. Fortunately, I still have that friend today; "Don't Worry" was written with appreciation for that friend.

photo by ldyck

My husband Byron and our dog Abby on a recent visit to Vancouver Island.

 Don't Worry

Come with me for a sec, and we'll travel to the past—1989. Yes, we're walking through the University of Winnipeg campus. Our destination is that three-story building just across the street. There's a day care centre on the main floor. Follow me up the stairs.

Yes, this is the classroom. Looks familiar, huh? The rows of steel-framed desks? The large window at the back of the room? The teacher's desk? The blackboard? Yes, you've—we've been here before. 

Oh, you noticed them too, eh? Don't worry. They can't see us. We're safe behind the one-way glass of time. 

Words flow easily between the two women. They chat about assignments, classes, professors, children, and... The brunette produces a photo of her two-year-old son. 

"He's adorable!" The blonde coos. "You're so lucky. You have everything."

"Well, I don't know if I have—"

"Everything. A husband. A son. I don't even have a boyfriend. I don't think I'll ever have—" 

"Sure you will."

"I hope so."

"Don't worry. It'll happen."

"How do you know?"

"I'm lucky, and I share my luck with my friends. So..."

"So?"

"So, don't waste time worrying. Have fun. It'll happen. Trust."

She sounded so sure that the blonde had no choice but to believe. And you know what? The brunette was right. It did happen. The blonde fell in love, she got married, and she lived happily ever after. And it was all because the brunette helped her belief. 

written in February, 2026

photo by ldyck

On this blog in June

Sunday, June 7

"Flare for Writing" (short memoir)

Sunday, June 14

"Spelling Bee" (short memoir)

Sunday, June 21

Sharing the Light by Monique Gray Smith (book review)

Sunday, June 28

"My Aunt's Kitchen" (short memoir)

New content is published

each Sunday

at approximately 4:40 PM PT.

CGIT by Leanne Dyck (memoir)

Groups have shaped many aspects of my life. I had a fourteen-year career as an Early Childhood Educator caring for groups of children. In my twenties, I became a Katimavik participant and volunteered in three eastern Canadian provinces. And when I was twelve, I joined CGIT. What's CGIT? Well...

photo by ldyck

CGIT

Linda, Colleen, Susan, and...and... How many of us were there? Maybe eight or nine or maybe even ten. We met at our leader Donna's house each week—she lived in "town", very close to the school. She and her co-leader, Bobbie, always had something fun for us to do.

As a Canadian girl in training

under the leadership of Jesus

It is my purpose to

Cherish health

Seek truth

Know God

and serve others

And thus with His help

Become the girl God would have me be.

We began each meeting by reciting our motto, and it was as religious as we got. Or maybe there was a short prayer that followed. We were mostly Protestants, but I think there may have been some Catholics. CGIT is a non-denominational Christian organization.

After the reciting... After the prayer... What exactly did we do?

I remember once Donna or maybe Bobbie presented us with this moral dilemma. We were to imagine that we were stuck on a deserted island and only had enough rations for half the group. We were all assigned roles—some of us were to play senior citizens. Others... Well, the castaways were a diverse group. But I choose, or maybe I was assigned, to play a twenty-something guy. Individually, we were to present our case for why we should be allowed to live. Few got into their roles as much as I did. I used all my creative energy to craft his character. He spoke to me so clearly. It was like he was alive.

"Without me, all the rest of you would die," he told that group of girls—through me.

It was the 70s. The time of women's liberation. So they thought they didn't need him. I can't remember the verdict, but I do remember how hard I defended him. 

I remember Donna got this letter from the head office in Toronto. In the letter the CGIT higher-ups explained that we were supposed to buy this uniform—they called it a middy. We all pooh-poohed that idea immediately. A dress? That dress? No! We were modern gals. We put our heads together and designed our own uniform—jeans and a sky blue scoop-neck tee with black felt letters—CGIT—across the front. 

"What do the letters stand for?" some asked.

"Cutest Girls In Town," we said.

As a group we went to the CGIT conference in Winnipeg. All the other groups were in middies. They stared at our jeans and tees. We thought we could read their minds. They judged us to be hicks from the sticks. 

One of the girls broke away from her group and came over to talk to us. "Your uniforms are so cool," she told us. "Everyone wishes that they thought of it. Instead of having to wear these stupid dresses."

Oh, yeah, and I almost forgot. We also drove to a lodge somewhere close to Eriksdale to camp. I made breakfast but, unfortunately, burnt the French toast. And my friend Susan and I went to CGIT camp in Lake Brereton. It took hours and hours to get there. It was the first time I was away from home. And I wasn't homesick. Well, not much. We had a talent night. My cabin acted out the words to the folk song The Harlem Goat. You know, the song about the goat who ate three red shirts and flagged a train. And-- And-- So much more. But that's enough for now. Except to say that when I had my eighteenth birthday and aged out of the group, Donna asked me to welcome the new girls by reciting our motto. I can still remember standing at the front of the church, behind the pulpit, and leaning into the microphone...

As a Canadian girl in training

under the leadership of Jesus

It is my purpose to

Cherish health

Seek truth

Know God

and serve others

And thus with His help

Become the girl God would have me be.

written in 2025

On this blog in May

Sunday, May 24

"Don't Worry"

Written with much thanks to a friend who helped me believe in "happy ever after" endings.

Like Him (memoir) by Leanne Dyck

As a dyslexic student in the 1960s, school definitely had its challenges. Some were academic. Others were interpersonal.

photo by ldyck

Like Him

He is a mountain of a boy. His catcher's mitt hands are calloused from farm work. His body is a solid mass of muscles. The government informed his father that he needed to be in school. So in school is where he is, but he refuses to learn. Teacher after teacher failed the challenge. Now he is in class with me. I don't know who I'm more afraid of, him or the young teacher, fresh out of university, who thinks she can make him learn. Wielding a yardstick, she storms up the aisle. The rest of us freeze—too scared to breathe. He disentangles himself from the desk and towers over her. She swings. He meets wood with fists.

Someone is going to get hurt.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

His cornea is scratched. Her hair is pulled; her nose bleeds. He stops when he realizes what he has done. What has he done? He squares his shoulders and marches out of school—free.

He'll be back. The months have taught me that, but little else. My classmates continue to learn regardless.

"Leanne?" the teacher calls on me to supply an answer.

I rack my brain in my desperate attempt to find the correct answer. All I can think is how much she must hate me. In her eyes, I'm like that mountain of a boy—a black smudge on her career. When will she whack me with that yardstick?

I have a new favourite film.

Please watch What Is Dyslexia

On this blog in May

Sunday, May 24

"CGIT"

Groups have shaped many aspects of my life. I had a fourteen-year career as an Early Childhood Educator caring for groups of children. In my twenties, I became a Katimavik participant and volunteered in three eastern Canadian provinces. And when I was twelve, I joined CGIT. What's CGIT? Well...

Sunday, May 24

"Don't Worry"

Written with much thanks to a friend who helped me believe in "happy ever after" endings.

Pregnant (short story) by Leanne Dyck

This story was inspired by imagining what it was like when my 35-year-old mother told my 42-year-old father she suspected she was pregnant. 

photo by a nurse (I'm guessing)

'Dad, Mom and me (I'm five days old)'

Pregnant

Before he left for work, she gave him his customary two kisses along with "I'm late" and "Next month, I turn thirty-four. It could be the change or..." Pregnant passed between them in a smile. He'd left with that smile, and it remained with him for most of the day—like lyrics from a favourite song.

His youngest son was seven. His oldest twelve. He thought the months of diaper changes and early morning feedings were behind him. Still, he filled out forms, sorted mail, sold stamps with an extra supply of glee. He whistled while he worked.

"You're happy today, Jim." His assistant Lorna caught herself in time to add. "Not that you're usually grumpy." She chuckled. "Oh, you know what I mean."

He wanted so badly to tell her, to share the joy, but it was too early. They didn't know yet. It could be the change. But what if she was pregnant and there was something wrong with the baby? What if...? 34? The older the mother, the higher the risk. That had begun the spring blizzard of worry. That's why he had decided to take the long way home. He couldn't bring the worry home to Ollie. So he was driving through the back roads of Eriksdale looking for early signs of spring. His car's tires crunched melting snow, dug up the slush, and showered it into the ditch. The melting snow, the slush cheered him, but the worry didn't release him. It countered with four kids on your salary. Four mouths to feed. Four bodies to dress.

We'll manage. Ollie's calm, clear voice. We'll manage. It was like she was in the car with him.

And he knew she was right. Together they could conquer the world. He pointed the nose of the car towards home. 

written on February 16, 2026

Have you seen the film

What Is Dyslexia?

I highly recommend it!

On this blog in May

Sunday, May 17

"Like Him" (memoir)

As a dyslexic student in the 1960s, school definitely had its challenges. Some were academic. Others were interpersonal.

Sunday, May 24

"CGIT"

Groups have shaped many aspects of my life. I had a fourteen-year career as an Early Childhood Educator caring for groups of children. In my twenties, I became a Katimavik participant and volunteered in three eastern Canadian provinces. And when I was twelve, I joined CGIT. What's CGIT? Well...

Sunday, May 24

"Don't Worry"

Written with much thanks to a friend who helped me believe in "happy ever after" endings.

Playmates (memoir) by Leanne Dyck

I was blessed to have fun male cousins to entertain me as I grew. 

This short memoir is a tribute to them. 

My photo of the street where I live

inspired me to share this link to one of my favourite songs.

The Street Where You Live sung by Dean Martin

Playmates

My playtime was enriched by three male cousins. One was a parkour enthusiast before parkour became a thing (in the 1990s). He would scale high heights and dangle precariously. Another, a sorcerer's apprentice, swallowed a piece of thread. He pulled one end of the thread out of his mouth and the other out of a nostril. As I watched, amazed, the thread see-sawed between mouth and nostril. The eldest of the three was the author of our playtime adventures. He instructed us to haul an old door to the slough. The door became a raft, and we sailed the seven seas.

On a different day, we were playing inside, and he told me, "We're cowboys, and we're going to ride off on our horses. But you stay here," he told me. "Scream when the bad guys come. We'll rescue you."

I waited, as directed. Judging it was time, I let loose a mighty scream.

My aunt raced in just before the boys did. "Are you okay, Leanne?" she asked.

"We're just playing," I assured her.

She frowned at me and my party of would-be rescuers. "Go play outside," and she added, "Play quieter."

So we ran outside to play superheroes. I was no longer a damsel in distress. Instead, I put my fists on my hips and shouted, "Wonder Woman!" Then I leapt into action—throwing my lasso of truth and deflecting bullets with my gold bracelets. Our invisible foes didn't stand a chance.

written in 2025

On this blog in May

Sunday, May 10

"Pregnant" (memoir)

Inspired by imagining how my dad reacted to my mom suspecting she may be pregnant with their fourth child—me.

Sunday, May 17

"Like Him" (memoir)

As a dyslexic student in the 1960s, school definitely had its challenges. Some were academic. Others were interpersonal.

Sunday, May 24

"CGIT"

Groups have shaped many aspects of my life. I had a fourteen-year career as an Early Childhood Educator caring for groups of children. In my twenties, I became a Katimavik participant and volunteered in three eastern Canadian provinces. And when I was twelve, I joined CGIT. What's CGIT? Well...

Sunday, May 24

"Don't Worry"

Written with much thanks to a friend who helped me believe in "happy ever after" endings.

You Knew (Poem) by Leanne Dyck

She said, "I really enjoyed reading your poem."

"Thank you, but I don't write poetry." I told everyone, including myself.

But lately...

photo by ldyck

You Knew

I knew I wasn't.

You told me I was.

I thought I wasn't.

You insisted I was.

I explained that I wasn't.

You showed me I was.

And now I see

That I might be...

A poet.

Written in February 2026.

More Poems

Please click on this link to read more of my poems. 

I'll be delighted if you do. 😊

Submit to the 2026 CBC Poetry Prize!

April 1 to June 1

On this blog in May

Sunday, May 3

"Playmates" (memoir)

a tribute to three cousins.

Sunday, May 10

"Pregnant" (memoir)

Inspired by imagining how my dad reacted to my mom suspecting she may be pregnant with their fourth child—me.

Sunday, May 17

"Like Him" (memoir)

As a dyslexic student in the 1960s, school definitely had its challenges. Some were academic. Others were interpersonal.

Sunday, May 24

"CGIT"

Groups have shaped many aspects of my life. I had a fourteen-year career as an Early Childhood Educator caring for groups of children. In my twenties, I became a Katimavik participant and volunteered in three eastern Canadian provinces. And when I was twelve, I joined CGIT. What's CGIT? Well...

Sunday, May 24

"Don't Worry"

Written with much thanks to a friend who helped me believe in "happy ever afters."

Good People in the World

My brother-in-law Tim and his wife Carol travelled to BC from Saskatchewan for a

Bouquet (Poem) by Leanne Dyck

Witness the magical transformation as a pile of weeds becomes a bouquet of flowers...

photo by ldyck

Bouquet

He pulled the fuzzy-headed weeds

one by one by one

from the soil.

He wrapped his chubby little hand

around the bundle

of stems.

With a smile,

he presented the dandelions

to his mother.

She filled a vase

with them,

treasuring them

as flowers.

Dandelions: The Good and the Bad by Tracey Etwell

On Mayne Island

photo by ldyck

Mayne Island's shiny new dock.

photo by ldyck

The best news about the shiny new dock: the ferry schedule is back to normal. So the first sailing has been moved back to 7:10 am—from 6:40 am. This is really good news, especially with regard to these next week, as I'll be on the ferry a lot.

Items of interest for writers and readers...

Writing Lessons (poem) by Leanne Dyck

This poem is titled 'Writing Lessons.' I'm not extremely happy with the title. I'd rather

 something like, 'This is what I learnt about writing. It's what works for me. It's what I want

 to remember. It may work for you too. Or it may not.' 'Writing Lessons' is just shorter. 

Abby demonstrating the correct method for drinking from a pond.
photo by ldyck

Writing Lessons

In order to grow
As a writer,
You need to be courageous
Enough to try something new

You need to be brave
Enough to risk 
the possibility of failure.

You have to realize that not everything
That flows from your pen
Will be gold—
And still have fun.

Have fun writing.
It makes everything easier.

written in February 2026.

On Mayne Island

photo by ldyck

Items of interest for writers and readers...

Poet Tea reviewed...
What I learned at this year's Poet Tea...

A Love Letter (poem) by Leanne Dyck

Years ago, I wrote this as a piece of prose, but I always thought it could be something more. A couple of months ago, in February, I transformed the prose into verse. What do you think? Happy poetry month!

photo by ldyck

A Love Letter

We have always had a special relationship.

When we met, you wooed me with your clever tricks.

You were never the same way twice.

Sometimes your ‘b’ looked like a ‘d.’.

Sometimes your ‘p’ looked like a ‘q.’.

I was surprised that you didn’t entertain everyone in this manner.

Our relationship grew

and I learnt that you could be collected in a group.

I was informed that

this group was read as a word.

Ah, how your words danced

before my eyes.

Sometimes ‘w-a-s’ danced.

How it waltzed.

How it jigged.

How it jived.

Watch it now

as it twists into ‘s-a-w.’.

Amazing!

Thrilling!

Yet you only danced for me.

Your behaviour does make our relationship challenging. 
Words dance before my eyes.
Sometimes I’m forced to guess at your intent.
You are always a puzzle, a surprise.

You intrigue me.
You entertain me.

You embarrass me.
Do you remember the time I was reading you
to a group of children?

I thought we were having a merry time
until
one of the children stopped me.
It seems you had fooled me,
but you hadn’t fooled the child.

Never mind,
it was long ago,
and I have forgiven you.

It doesn’t matter to me
that your relationship
with others
is easier
and more harmonious
My passion for you
grows
stronger
every day.

16 Poetry Book Publishers

On this blog in April

New content is added to this blog 

every Sunday 

at approximately 4:40pm (Pacific Time). 

April is poetry month.

So I will be sharing 

one of my poems

 every Sunday

to celebrate.

On Mayne Island

photo by ldyck

Terrill Welch Gallery Pod 

428 Luff Road

Art and nature connecting one brushstroke at a time. 

Large and small acrylic paintings by internationally collected landscape painter 

Terrill Welch (from the pamphlet)

photo by ldyck

I began my tour in Terrill's pod, which is located close to her home. 

Paintings are attractively displayed on four walls in this inviting space.

photo by ldyck

I followed these helpful instructions and found...

photo by ldyck

I know it looks like Terrill is outside,

but we're not.

She has skillfully captured nature and brought it inside.

photo by ldyck

There's much more to discover. I encourage you to visit Terrill's gallery pod. 

Open daily 11 am to 4 pm PT

She's a warm, inviting, and very talented artist who I am proud to call a friend.

Items of interest for writers and readers...