This little flag has been hanging on our front door for a few months now. It was made by a longtime friend who happens to be an amazing quilter. 

If you want to see just how intricate her work is, you might want to click on the photo to look closely at the patterned stitching inherent in the design. 

The whorls and complex stitching aren't produced by AI or any program on her sewing machine--they're all her devising. 

Looking at these complex patterns, I think they serve as a good metaphor for the fabric of our country--a mix of so many cultures and people. 

This year, with the multitude of threats coming from the south of us, it seems all the more important to take this day to think about not only who we are, but who we want to be. 

O Canada, our home on native land...

Standing on guard for thee

This is the day for the introduction of tariffs on items shipped to the US from Canada. 

According to much of the analysis I've been seeing, the plan seems ill-conceived and quite possibly even illegal--not that the person behind this decision cares about such matters, after all, he's been declared above the law, immune.  

About the only positive slant I can find in any of this is the fact that many Canadians have determined they won't be travelling south--maybe not for the next four years. And, of course, that we'll be more than ever, buying our own products, especially the tasty treats in the photo above. 

Long time coming

Today is the first time we in Canada are observing National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. Many businesses are closed, though not all. As is so often the case with a newly introduced tradition, it takes some of us longer to learn than others. 

I was fortunate to be in Victoria, our provincial seat of government, earlier this week. It was good to see the steps of the Legislature Building filled with reminders of the 215 children whose graves were discovered earlier this year. 

Even wet with rain, the memorial to them evokes sadness -- and for some of us, difficult memories of our own, especially recollections of experience with actions taken in the name of religion. 

I was especially pleased when this morning's 'Poetry Pause' from the League of Canadian Poets arrived in my inbox, as it was "Angels: 215" a poem written by our current Parliamentary Poet Laureate, Louise Bernice Halfe / Sky Dancer. Not only is she our country's first Indigenous Poet Laureate, she knows all too well the experience of residential schools. And in case you'd like a poem emailed to you every day, here's a link to the form where you can sign up. 

The message, "Every Child Matters" is important and one we can only hope will soon become universally true, one that will remain true always.  

Aside from listening to different broadcasts today, this little post is about all I am able to do. That and wear my own orange shirt. I did at least do my best to buy a new shirt with a design that was created by an Indigenous artist. 

I felt fortunate to find one bearing the work of Art W. Charlie II, a man from near Tofino here in B.C. 

O, Kanata

This year's July 1st has come to mean quite different thoughts than the proudly patriotic ones of the past. The reason, of course, is the sadness that descended on our country over the recent confirmation of the many deaths -- mostly of children -- that occurred at Canada's residential schools. 

For weeks now, nearly all flags have flying at half-mast in recognition of these lost souls. 

Many of us are wearing orange shirts today, a sign that we choose to remember the children who were taken from their homes and who had their culture, their families, and their language taken from them. 

The wearing of orange shirts has its origins in the story of Phyllis Jack, who had an orange shirt she loved when she was only six years old. Excited about her first day of school, she wore the bright orange shirt, a gift she'd received from her grandmother. But upon her arrival, the nuns took away her shirt and never gave it back. Recent years have seen the tradition of wearing orange shirts, many of which bear the reminder that Every Child Matters. 

As for the 'Kanata' reference at the top of this post, it's part of Canada's origin story. Sadly, it's yet another example of how colonizing settlers took from the people they met here. We took a word from a language that wasn't our own -- a word that meant 'village' -- and applied it to the whole country. Stolen words, stolen lands. 

Much to learn, and much to heal from. A time for listening. 

Who knew, eh?

By one of those flukes of taking my time reading the weekend newspaper, I ran across an article on 'homegrown literature' and the importance of reading exactly that. It claimed that today has been proclaimed as "I Read Canadian Day."

Only, as it happened, I was in a bookstore today and as I made my purchase, I asked about the observance. The employee gave me the deer-in-the-headlights face, and said she didn't know what I was talking about. If the booksellers don't know about it, no wonder there's no promotion.

I remember that, during the '80s we had "Canada Book Day" and it fell on, I'm pretty sure, April 23rd. And whaddya know, apparently it still exists (though even the entry about it admits that few people know about this).

It really was quite the celebration, as the Canada Council provided a box of Canadian books to libraries that made a request.

And next week, there'll be another Canadian literary observance. If it doesn't come to mind immediately, you might have to check back here, as who knows, I might even do a post about it.

Read on -- and when you can, think about reading something written by a Canadian author.

Who knows?

Election day in Canada, and who knows what the result will be.

The flag out in the field holds its own foggy prediction, encouraging my hope -- that even the wind appears to be sending it to the left.

We'll see what tonight's results reveal.

History matters

As we've been reminded by all forms of the press, today is the 75th anniversary of D-Day. So, what's a photo of a foggy day in Nova Scotia got to do with it.

For one thing, the photo is from one of the Maritimes' most iconic seaside spots, the famous Peggy's Cove. The morning I took this was foggy and peaceful, something those beaches at Normandy were not -- especially the peaceful part. 

As we travelled around Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, it was hard not to be impressed by the respect the townsfolk show for their history. 

Not only are old buildings preserved, they're still used, not demolished -- the way buildings less than fifty years old are routinely torn down here. A family we met live in a house that's over 200 years old. Sure, they've had to do plenty of updates, but it's standing and they're living their lives in it. 

I know we can't go back in time, but I certainly believe that it's important we remember -- and honour -- the past. How else can we know how to best go forward?

Destination nowhere?

Even though it was way last week when I attended a panel presentation at the Surrey Art Gallery, I'm still mulling what sort of enlightenment it was supposed to bring. And sadly, I'm still not feeling any more enlightened now than I was then.

I'd understood that the topic, "Reflections on Canada" would offer some kind of vision on what contemporary Canadian Art is, and where it might be going in the future -- especially now that the hoopla over Canada 150 has eased.

The roster of presenters seemed pretty terrific -- a potter, a poet, a musician and an artist. With this in mind, I expected a diverse view of 'art-now'.

Unfortunately, not all of the presenters were there to talk about Canada. One seemed most intent on ensuring we understood she was not 'of Canada' while another spent much of the time displaying a personal C.V. of accomplishments. And as for discussion, there was hardly any. The bulk of the evening had been eaten up by some of the presenters going overtime. Moderator, where were you? Hello...

I was -- and remain -- curious about what constitutes Canadian art. Even in the limited area I know best, literature, it seems to be all over the place.

But maybe place -- the very place each of us stands upon -- is as far as any of can go, whether in understanding or in making art that might (or might not be) 'Canadian'.

Whatever, next time there's a panel on what seems to be a specific topic, I hope it will in some way deliver more on that promise.

Post-performance notes on an evening of song and light

All right, the photo is duller than most of the pics I post, but that doesn't mean that what I'm writing about was dull in any way. I'd have taken photos of the presentation if I'd been able, but cameras weren't allowed at the event.

Vancouver's Arts Club Theatre offers a program where certain of the plays they put on in the city circulate later at theatres in the suburbs. I've been a subscriber to this series in Surrey for several years, and last night's show was one of the best I have seen.

I'll admit, beyond knowing that the play had been written by Tomson Highway and that it was essentially a one-woman show, I knew almost nothing about The (Post)Mistress in advance.

The playwright's bio states that he grew up speaking Cree and Dene. So it wasn't too surprising to find the interplay of languages playing an important role in the script.

The main character, Marie-Louise Painchaud (indeed, that means 'hot bread'), who plays the all-knowing postmistress in a small Ontario town, spoke and sang in French, English and Cree. The French was easy enough for even me to understand, though English sub-titles appeared on a screen for both the Cree and the French. So yes, the show was wonderfully inclusive.

Beyond being inclusive, the message of the play was powerful. It probably sounds simplistic to say the focus of its themes was the importance of love, kindness and laughter, but that would be true.

The show seemed to be the quintessentially Canadian play -- from its use of language to its portrayal of life in a small town. How very appropriate for this, our country's 150th anniversary.

Marie-Louise was played by the remarkable Patricia Cano, who has a voice big enough to blast away anyone's winter blahs and a stage presence that nearly overfilled the theatre. She had all of us in gales of laughter and also drew us to tears (even hard-hearted moi, who rarely cries, even privately).

There are elements of the play that I can't give away; I can only encourage anyone who has the opportunity to see it to do so. Because truly, as the show ended, as I and the rest of the audience rose with applause, I could only feel that it had been an honour to be able to attend this amazing show.

When is a promise not a promise?

When it's a political lie.

I had misgivings about Justin Trudeau's promises last May when announcements about the Kinder Morgan project started leaking out (sort of like a pipeline or a tanker might?).

I don't think I'm the only one who remembers that he said, "Governments may be able to issue permits, but only communities can grant permission." If you consider the massive protest that took place barely over a week ago, it's clear that the community has not given its permission.

Today's news conference contained a surprise that almost no one was expecting. Maybe waiting until December 19th, as had been the previous understanding, would have seen any announcements overshadowed by pronouncements scheduled to come from the US Electoral College. It seems more likely that this was just some smelly little political game of see-saw meant to keep everybody happy. Sort of.

This nasty surprise bombshell sends an undeniable message. Yes, we need to go back to the mountain, even if it means as it did two years ago, that we'll be standing in the rain.

And if that doesn't work, come the next election, I think we'll all be warier of buying anyone's promises, even if they're coming from a guy who once seemed worth believing.

A gooey Canada Day?

I suppose my celebratory image for Canada Day looks as though someone might have spilled maple syrup on the berries resting on this maple leaf look-alike. The gooeyness is just the result of a few squished berries. Because I didn't have a container when I picked them, I used the leaf they'd grown near as an impromptu wrapper.

They're thimbleberries -- a fragile and somewhat fleeting gift of summer, a forager's delight. Even the way that I came upon them was a surprising treat.

I'd had to have a test at the nearby hospital, and on my way home I took a shortcut through a parking lot. Along the undeveloped, non-street side, I ran across a plenitude of thimbleberries and couldn't resist picking a few.

These berries, native to our region, must be some vestige of a once-upon-a-time forest that was here in what's now a settled (though undergoing change) neighbourhood. I'm just glad some little piece of our native wildlife remains. Next year, if I want the taste of thimbleberries, I'll know where to go looking.

And if you'd like to know more, I'd encourage you to visit the site of The Northwest Forager where there's a video with lots of info about these berries -- even some interesting applications for the leaves!

We did it!

Earlier today, I had the privilege of breaking out of my usual pattern by watching daytime TV. The reason? Our new prime minister, Justin Trudeau, was being sworn in. This felt like history-in-the-making.

Already, from seeing the members of his cabinet and from hearing his responses to questions from the press, it appears that we really are going to get our country (and all it's always stood for) back. No more one-man rule.

Hurrah and onward!

Canada, renewed

Last night's election results are still reverberating across the country. News coverage of the change seems non-stop, all of it about going forward. It's as if a weight has been lifted. Even the sun has come out.

Two bits of oddness were handed to me by the Universe today.

One arrived while I was sorting a box I'd run across while cleaning my office. I found some items wrapped in newspaper, some personal treasures I'd put away when we travelled in 2011 and rented out our house. The date on the paper affirmed this theory, March 9, 2011. A headline on a letter to the editor caught my eye, The Government of Harper.

The letter, sent by Jeanette Campbell of Mission, B.C. read:

     The media announced recently that federal civil servants were ordered in a December 2010 directive that all federal communications, such as press releases, had to replace the words "the Government of Canada" in their missives with "The Harper Government."

     Have Canadians lost their identity and sense of national sovereignty and pride?

     Prime Minister Stephen Harper appears to think so. Incandescent outrage?

     You'd better believe it. Next misnomer on the plate for Canadians? You guessed it! President Harper. 

Fortunately, things didn't sink low enough for her last prediction to come true. But 'incandescent outrage'? Yes. That seems to be the reason we've had this wonderful change to the Government of Canada.

As for that other bit of oddness sent my way -- it arrived in the post, an opportunity to renew my subscription to a magazine. Yep, Harper's.

Election worries

A federal election is approaching. Unfortunately, it might not get here soon enough to save us.

Overly dramatic thinking? Maybe.

But again, maybe not.

Meetings to finalize details of the Trans-PacificPartnership are about to take place in Atlanta – too soon to have representatives from our (hopefully) new government in attendance.

Instead, Canada will be represented by Ed Fast, Minister for International Trade (and the Pacific Gateway) in the current regime, the self-proclaimed (by the PM himself) “Harper Government”.  

I’m still wondering how it’s fair or democratic for a government that’s long since dismissed its still-currently-elected Members of Parliament to act on the world stage as if it’s still in power.

When it comes to my vote, it will likely once again be a wasted one, as the candidate in our riding appears to be a shoo-in.

Dianne Watts served as the Mayor of Surrey for nearly a decade, and on many accounts, seemed to do a good job. When she announced her plans to run federally, I wasn’t alone in thinking she would run for the Liberal Party of Canada (not to be confused with BC’s provincially based so-called ‘Liberal’ Party).

We looked forward to the thought that our riding would finally be rid of the do-little Member of Parliament we’ve had for the last three terms and thought that Watts might bring a semblance of actual representation to us. But then Watts surprised us by announcing she was running for Harper’s Conservatives.

She’s had some less than stellar moments during the campaign, notably thanks to a pamphlet bearing her name and likeness that raged about ISIS being the greatest threat to everyone in our riding, as if it were the most important issue this election.

It seems more than worrisome that she could be elected on what appears to be almost a non-campaign, one that's based on a platform of fear and the fact that she’s a ‘name’ around here. And even more frightening to consider what our country will become if the Tory government regains power.

As Heather Mallick commented in an article in the September issue of Harper’s magazine (no resemblance whatsoever to our Prime Minister), if the Conservatives get into office again, there might be a few of us thinking about moving to Denmark. 

Fifty years and counting

The maple leaf. Hard to imagine us having anything else as a flag. Even when only half the design shows, it's totally recognizable.

But that maple leaf wasn't always on Canada's flag. Until fifty years ago today, we had several over the years including the Red Ensign which turned out to be just a little too British for some. Since then, that red maple leaf has proudly adorned backpacks, hats and even Olympic mitts.

Still, I worry now and then that the next fifty years may see this no longer be the case.

So many changes have taken place over the past decade, it's getting harder and harder to recognize our country. Peacekeeping is no longer a priority. Now we seem keen to be leading the pack into combat in Iraq. Safe haven is also no longer the case. Witness those seeking asylum who've been refused.

Exactly one month ago today, I jotted this in my notebook:

Today is the day I stopped feeling special for being Canadian.
Target closed.
Cuba opened.
We're done.
Amen. 

Nonetheless, it's far too beautiful a day to not get out into the Canadian landscape -- quick, while it's still something to call our own.

A shirt named Dave

I was going to write about a shirt named Dave. Or else about an author named Kate. Or about a book called A Surrealist Alphabet. Or maybe even about Mashed Poetics, which just celebrated the Tragically Hip.

But all of that seemed less important after yesterday's miserable news -- that the CBC had fired Jian Ghomeshi. Huh?? He's almost single-handedly revitalized our public broadcaster, bringing it -- more than anyone else -- to an audience of people under the age of 50.

The Giller Awards have already joined the bandwagon, announcing Ghomeshi won't be hosting their upcoming award ceremony. And I think now of 'Canada Reads' -- yet another institution that's bound to trickle away into lassitude without the vigour Jian injected into it.

I'm reminded of Good Morning, Vietnam and its story of how a powerful entity -- in that case, the U.S. military -- got rid of Adrian Cronauer, a DJ who was actually connecting with listeners.

I'm also reminded of Pierre Elliott Trudeau's famous statement, presented (somewhat ironically, I suppose, on the CBC archive), "The state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation." Nor, I contend, does the CBC.

When I was little, I had my own terrifying way of understanding the term 'getting fired'. I thought you got set on fire -- and worried that might some day happen to my dad.

This weekend's firing might as well be that literal, though I don't think it's going to be Jian going up in flames. With this action it seems more that the CBC has set light to its own self-destructing fuse. 

Canada Day

The weather is perfect -- clear and sunny. The flag is a little bit wrinkled, but hopeful as ever. Hmmm. I suppose some may apply the same descriptors to me.

A day to be lazy, maybe turn pages while I lie about in my outdoor 'reading room'.

Happy 147th birthday, Canada!

A coming out, of sorts

Today is the anniversary of my arrival in Canada, a country I came to by choice. That was an awfully long time ago, forty-five years to be exact. Startling.

All of my adult life has been spent in this country. I earned my university degree here, I had a sort-of-career (or, at least a long-term job) working in public schools, mostly as a teacher-librarian. My kids grew up and went to school here. I say 'zed' and watch hockey. I've learned to appreciate curling.

I make a mean butter-tart -- and every Christmas make 'em by the dozens. The only passport I've ever had says I'm a Canadian citizen. This is the only country I vote in. I'm even a reasonably well-respected member of Canada's arts community and have works published in books like the one above.

Yet now, the country where I happened to be born (trust me, I had no say in the matter) seems to be coming after me and my kind, claiming we need to file taxes there. Because the fines they're threatening are hefty, it seems I have no choice but to comply. Comply. Hmm. Isn't that the word the Borg used when they sucked away an individual's consciousness?

This makes about as much sense to me as if the Pope were to phone and tell me I have to start going to Mass again and that I better start saying thousands of Hail Mary’s to make up for all those years I missed doing so.

It's hard to imagine that the U.S. would tolerate similar claims being made by Canada on people who went the other way. Can you say "Alex Trebek"?

So here I am feeling disgusted and disheartened. Some way to celebrate an anniversary, eh.

It's over

Last week meant another round of Canada Reads. I know I'm not the only one who looks forward to this annual debate. Face it, it's a tradition, and the place where I've discovered several books I'd never heard of before. Most notable of those would have to be Rockbound and lullabies for little criminals.

Since the theme for this year's competition was "One novel to change our nation," the book I figured would (and should) win was Margaret Atwood's Year of the Flood. It's the second in her three-part dystopian trilogy with its predictions of GMO-ed just-about-everything, including people. I thought that might well be the best book to shake things up, maybe even get us thinking about getting off the oil teat sooner than later. And really, with Stephen Lewis defending it, I figured Flood was a shoo-in.

But it turned out to be the first book voted out -- gone at the end of Monday's discussion. I guess my choice was based too much on my particular biases -- some of the things I think we need to change to save ourselves -- like stopping all this mucking around, playing God with genes. 

Still, Wab Kinew did a masterful job of convincing the committee -- and listeners -- that Joseph Boyden's The Orenda was the book to bring about what we most need, reconciliation. And really, if a book could accomplish that, who could possibly complain. 

Just dessert

As opposed to just deserts, meaning things that are deserved, whether reward or punishment. Weird, but I always thought those were 'just deSSerts' -- like, your reward for having eaten that pile of overcooked Brussels sprouts on your plate. Not though. In this case, it's just a single 's' though it's not pronounced like desert, as in Sahara. Really, what an impossible language. Enough to make you want some kind of reward just for figuring out one of its mysteries. 

This ice cream with fruit is just a dessert, not a 'just desert' just a treat. I could hardly believe it when I saw the carton of ice cream actually called ‘Canadian Vanilla, eh’. What an easy way to celebrate today, Canada Day.

Raspberries fresh-picked from the little garden out back are supposed to form the red bars either side of the maple leaf. A flag that looks good enough to eat. Here I go!