Everybody was buzzing about it. There had been a new arrival. We knew it was a boy. But nobody knew what he would be called. We were all breathless with speculation. Then after a couple of days, we saw the announcement from the parents on social media.
“All right,” the mother said by text. “It’s official. Tell the press and the paparazzi. We have a name…”
One spring weekend in 1967, I managed to convince several of my friends to accompany me to the family’s property in the country. The weather forecast promised to be sunny and warm. My mom promised some of her renowned Greek cuisine. My dad said he’d allow us a few beers at the end of the work day.
“Work day?” one of my friends, Michael Clancy, wondered.
“Yeah, just a bit of planting,” I said, “about two thousand evergreen trees.”
This week, summer settled in. The news isn’t worth reading for a while. The backyard is halfway between being under some control and being taken over by weeds. Any songbirds that are coming, have come. A lot of neighbours have disappeared to their cottages. I’ve slipped into a summer break like a pair of favourite sandals. Then, the other day, my daughter dropped by.
“Taking two of the kids to summer swimming camp,” she told me.
“Yup. It’s summer,” I sighed.
They wore uniforms highlighted in grey, and broad-brimmed army slouch hats. They carried tents, kit sacks, ammunition and Enfield rifles considered state-of-the-art during the American Civil War. They were troops of the Confederate Army of General Robert E. Lee. And last weekend they were defeated by the Federal Army of General George G. Meade in a re-enactment of the 1863 Battle of Gettysburg. To my surprise, several Canadians were among the Confederate re-enactors, including Lesley Peplinski, of Paris, Ontario.
“I am the colour sergeant for the 10th Louisiana Regiment,” she told me between re-enactment stages of the famous battle. “And it’s historically accurate.” (more…)
I have lots of thoughts associated with this time of year. Most are memories of the beginnings of summers past. The smell I most relate to this time of year is that of a high school locker; this time, it had to be cleaned out right to the bottom. The sight I most associate with early summer is an open road. It seemed with the first of July we drove to a cottage, a farm, maybe a campground. And the sound? Yes, mosquitoes, but mostly…
“Sittin’ in the sun and listenin’ to rock and roll,” sang Skip Prokop. “Sunny, sunny, sunny days…”
Part way through B.J. Byers’ concert last Saturday night in Uxbridge, the young pianist finished one of his toughest pieces – an etude by Chopin. He wiped the perspiration from his face with a towel, smiled broadly – as if he had just conquered Everest – and acknowledged the packed house at Trinity United Church.
“There was once a time, I wouldn’t have been able to face this,” Byers said. “I would have just turned and run away.”
It happened one morning a couple of weeks ago. I was driving down Brock Road in the southbound rush-hour east of Toronto. In the stop-and-go-traffic just below the village of Brougham – near the intersection of Brock and Hwy 407 – I pulled up beside a pickup truck with a construction logo on the door. I had my window down. So did he.
“Construction season’s started, eh?” I said so the guy could hear me.
“Oh yeah,” he said and smiled. He seemed glad to be working.
“Big time 407 overpass?” I asked. (more…)
It was a new idea at the time. In the late 1990s, students in college were certainly used to attending classes during which experts lectured them. But perhaps not quite the way I envisioned such a thing. I was interested in having the journalism and broadcasting students I teach at Centennial College meet contemporary media figures, who were highly visible in the profession. One of the first to agree to come to engage my students was quite eager.
“I truly enjoy, and still feel flattered when I’m asked to chair a symposium, referee a debate, or give a speech,” she told me in March 2000.
My guest speaker was Pamela Wallin. (more…)
As those Canadians engaged the enemy in a fierce campaign that would, 11 months later, see the surrender of a defeated Germany, they had no idea that one of their countrymen had played a small but critical role in bringing D-Day about.
(Full story published in the National Post, June 6, 2013)
I was on my cellphone several times during a recent trip to Ottawa. I had a couple of conversations with family while I was in the National Capital attending meetings of The Writers’ Union of Canada. I also texted several of my colleagues back at the college about some of the writers’ workshops I attended. But once, last Thursday, I was doing something completely unrelated when I took a cellphone call from newspaper reporter Katie Starr of the Kitchener-Waterloo Record.
“I’m doing a story about a veteran friend of yours,” she said. “Do you have time for an interview?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’m in the middle of something.”