In September of 1995, Cathy Ostlere visited her family in Calgary to celebrate her younger brother David’s birthday. It had been a family tradition that no matter where globe-trotting David might be, he would call on his birthday to reconnect and reminisce. But Cathy knows something she hasn’t admitted — David had begged her not to tell their fretting parents about his lat...more
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The narrative begins with those first few days of waiting for a phone call that never came. It tracks back and forth through t...more
I am the author Cathy Ostlere. For information on the book or to contact me please visit cathy-ostlere.com.
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The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph, the teak-carved bird -- a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting's grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger's home.
Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one.”