Forty odd years ago from my writing this, I would be exiting the hallowed halls of Emily Carr Public School with squeals and shouts of pent up excitement following a year of dedicated learning.
I love our flag.
That’s what my friend told me after I picked her up for a girl’s day away in Stratford. Zipping across the 402 overpass where the massive maple leaf billows in quiet – but suitably substantial – pride she was gushing. She loves this country. She loves the sight of the red and white, the peace of the leaf, and all she stands for.
As I sit writing tonight, Callie the Wonder Dog is laying on the rug at my feet. She’s limped to the spot on her crippled legs, the dysplasia making her gimpy walk a stagger with an alternate delay as her left side is pulled along.
Her spirit still mighty, her flesh is now weak.
It’s time. It’s half past time.
The federal government’s push to legalize the sale, purchase and use of marijuana is a massive step in a progressive direction. And it looks like that step is coming soon. Finally.
Get weed out of the hands of children and the profits out of the hands of traffickers, and into the purview of licensed dispensaries and government coffers.
Take a deep breath and think about what you’re about to say.
Will it help? Will it edify the person you’re speaking with? Will it shine a light of truth on a matter? Or are you just ready to jump on the bandwagon of bashing that has seized the world in a frenzy of negative madness in the last year.
In my 30 years of gathering around the workplace water cooler, I have never known the conversation to be so pointedly angry. At everyone. At everything.
I speak with dozens of business owners and opertors in the course of a month.
I hear struggles and challenges, and government gripes.
In business, there is a general community of forward thinking movers. Push, grow, succeed. More. Always more. I have seen relative kingpins bowed under the weight of their worry that the better of bigger was not being achieved.
Oh, January, you harbinger of change, improvement and declarations of future failures.
As I write this, people around me are itching to scratch open their Christmas presents to discover the jewels inside. Such is the reality of deadlines. Print still needs time to… well… print, deliver and land in your hands.
But in the last day or so I am starting to hear the familiar refrains of the season: Starting January 2, I am off carbs! I’m going vegan! I’m cutting up my credit card! I am committed to working out 6 hours a day!
So there I was, sitting on the couch polishing off the last of the Halloween treats when my phone chimed the incoming text alert.
My friend was decorating her Christmas tree and wandering down memory lane, remembering when getting the shimmery bulbs on the perfect branch included her folks. Time marches on and some of us are lost in mind or body or spirit. As much as my friend was enjoying the decorating, she was desperately missing her mom.
Memories, I posited, are the great gift of Christmas.
If I’m right, I’m greedy with my gifts.
Dear Citizens of the United States of America,
The world is watching.
When your polls open to the electorate on November 8, the world will slow to watch how you choose between a party and a hard place.
My social media feeds are choked by Wynne-hating memes, headlines and video clips.
Sometimes its Hillary Clinton, but Wynne seems to win the contest for most social media shout-outs from politico haters.
I should say up front that every month when I open my hydro bill, I rethink my political bent. Nothing about the total in the bottom right hand corner makes me feel very liberated. Although it does make me see red.