This is my final post as the Gearhead’s wife. I feel bad wounding you, loyal readers. All of you who laughed and commented and sought me out at various gatherings…
“D’ya wanna go for a couple spins round the track this eve?” This was the Geahead, calling from the kitchen window. The sun had just crested the horizon and the…
Teaching almost broke me. Really. There was a point, right after my final lecture, where I could finally say to myself: you did it; you got through it. But then…
• It’s reading week, or, as I like to call it, breathing week. • Yes, my head is above water. Barely. My lips keep slipping below the surface and I’m…
The Gearhead complained that we never do anything together. I was surprised; I thought he was perfectly content tinkering away on his cars in the barn, (in our garage, tucked…
The Gearhead is a charmer. Not like a snake charmer, more like a snake oil salesman. He’s a person who, given a reason and a mind to do so, could…
I’m going to get a t-shirt made. I wife and complain. It’s more accurate. After almost twenty years of marriage, wife as a noun is simply a romantic idea. Let’s…
This is a one way ticket to oblivion. Sometimes you need something that will blow your mind. To smithereens. Especially when your teens manipulate you into escorting them [wife edits:…
The Gearhead asked me out on a date. Well, sort of. It was only to accompany him to Canadian Tire to buy a new serpentine belt for my car [wife…
The Gearhead collects stuff. [Gearhead edits: hence the moniker] [Wife edits: don’t you love how the Gearhead leans toward formal English when waxing eloquently about the barn? He reserves redneck…
Food by the Gearhead's Wife 