This morning, I met with Mr. Mayor for our weekly “Spud meeting.” This is where ideas and plans come to life, where we create our “potato lists” (that’s our version of a to-do list), and where the real magic happens behind the scenes. We have quirky, fun names for everything we do because being a…
It begins, as these things often do, with an image. Not an abstract idea of “a farm,” but two very specific landscapes—two childhood worlds that happen to share the same word, and almost nothing else. If you arrived at Ismar’s farm in Brazil, you would first notice the house. A wooden structure, painted yellow, standing…
I remember that morning quite well, sitting there and talking with The Mayor. He had this question in his head—how to make work more fun—and I could already feel where this was going. I told him straight away, “Sometimes difficult… better we leave that topic.” We both laughed. But in general, yes… in general, it…
Whenever I pass a café in my city—one that sits quietly, emptied of voices, or where the owner is gently gathering the remnants of a day—I feel something inside me ache. It’s the same quiet sorrow that autumn carries in its air: soft, elusive, and impossible to fully name… a tender loneliness that settles deep…
There are weeks that pass quietly. And then there are weeks that leave something behind — not loudly, not dramatically, but in fragments. A conversation here. A memory there. A moment that stays longer than expected. This has been one of those weeks. It begins, as it often does, somewhere familiar.In conversations about work —…
Okay… we are live.Are we live? Yes, we’re live. And before anything sensible happens, there’s singing. There has to be singing.A slightly off-key, fully committed, no-going-back-now kind of singing. “Happy birthday, Mr. Mayor…” And just like that, the tone is set. A birthday, a joke about age, and a gentle reminder that time is doing…
Do you ever look at your child’s homework and feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to hand in your resignation as a parent-teacher? Because today, I officially quit Grade 1. I remember my own time in Grade 1 quite fondly. I remember sitting on the carpet listening to stories. I remember the tactile joy of playdough…
The conversation started in a very simple way, with weather. Sarah was enjoying sunshine and light clothes, while Fruitloop was talking about cold rain, wind, and even snow in some parts of South Africa. It was one of those funny little moments that reminds you how different two places can feel on the same day….
She still feels it in her legs sometimes — that strange, pleasant heaviness from walking all day without really noticing. Twenty thousand steps, maybe more. It didn’t feel like exercise at the time. It just felt like moving from one place to another, slowly, without urgency. The hotel had been that big. Big enough that…
There’s something bittersweet about endings—and for Maxime, this week in Laval is exactly that. As he logs into his regular session with Fruitloop (aka Janita), his voice carries a mix of excitement and quiet nostalgia. “It’s my last week here,” he admits, reflecting on the friendships and routines he’s about to leave behind. Around him,…
