I shot an arrow into the air
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- Published on Sunday, May 24, 2015
By Rita Friesen
“I shot an arrow into the air, it fell to earth, I know not where”. This line from an American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, has been circling around in my thoughts this week. My reflections had me centering around that actions go out into our universe and we never really know the actual results of what we have done. The words entered and re-entered my consciousness enough that I resorted to searching for a copy of the poem.
Faithfully Yours - Not amused; definitely amazed
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- Published on Saturday, May 23, 2015
By Neil Strohschein
When they designed the front page for their May 16, 2015 edition, the editors of the Winnipeg Free Press were trying to be funny—and initially, their plans succeeded.
My perspective - It sounds great, but...
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- Published on Friday, May 22, 2015
By Kate Jackman-Atkinson
The Neepawa Banner
As we start the run up to the next provincial election, the government has been busy trying to convince voters that it’s small business friendly. It’s an interesting move for the NDP, long seen as the party of large unions.
Right in the centre - Why can't we fix the roads?
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- Published on Thursday, May 21, 2015
By Ken Waddell
The Neepawa Banner
That’s a question I am often asked. It can be applied equally to all levels of government but mainly to municipal and provincial governments. The federal government gets involved in roads and bridges to some extent, but generally in very large projects. A case in point is the new Gordie Howe Bridge between Windsor and Detroit. The day-to-day, garden variety road projects fall to the municipality and the province to build and fix. Our roads are generally deplorable, in spite of a lot of work being done from time to time. So why are they so bad?
The answers are fairy simple.
Read more: Right in the centre - Why can't we fix the roads?
Homebodies - No higher praise
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- Published on Sunday, May 17, 2015
By Rita Friesen
A soft, sticky hand slid into mine. The little fingers entwined, as best as possible, with mine. “Great gran, will you come play in the sand playground with me?” The four year old had not been sent, nor coerced to ask me to come and play. He only sees me once or twice a year, but is always open and loving.
