Darrin called me this week. And he talked to me as if we were best pals, as if we’d known each other for years. I asked for an explanation.
“I’m Darrin,” he said, cheerfully. “from Rogers Communications.”
And I knew instantly this call was a pitch. I decided to listen to what he had to say, because my wife and I have been concerned about what’s happening to our cable TV service. (more…)
We hadn’t seen each other or talked for a while. I had gone outside Sunday afternoon, partly to get some air, but also to escape the assault of bad news about the coronavirus pandemic. But suddenly this friend dropped by for a visit in my backyard. The conversation was really welcome, but of course it was mostly about things closing, Canadians trying to get home or when this all might end. Eventually I asked how he and his family were doing.
“OK, mostly,” he said, and he then gingerly explained a member of his family had been diagnosed with cancer and was undergoing treatment.
“I’m sorry,” I said. But what I meant was, “Sorry that I let all this global chaos get in the way of caring about you and your family first.” (more…)
They’d just turned off the lights and cameras. The Rogers on-air microphones had gone silent. I’d finished my wrap-up of the second candidates’ forum over at the Uxbridge arena on Monday night. But we still had people standing in line at the floor mike eager to pose a few last questions. Then, with the broadcast done, a woman stepped to the mike and began to describe an eye-sore – a grain elevator – in her part of town. I wanted her to bring her concern to a question for the candidates, so I butted in.
“And the problem?” I said, expecting her to pose a question to one of the mayoral or councillor candidates.
“You’re the problem,” she said. (more…)
Their enemy was water above and below the ground. And gravity, since the water and rock underground were sealing off any escape. Days passed and nothing seemed to happen, at least not on the surface anyway. Underground, it was different. People were holding on, conserving, surviving. Then, when communication was finally made, it seemed like a miracle.
“Hello, hello!” the voice shouted from underground. “Do you hear me up on the surface?” (more…)
It’s an image that endures. It’s not old enough for us to call it historical yet. It only goes back about 30 years. But the frames of video taken by an amateur videographer show a man in a white shirt, dark pants, facing a column of military tanks. It was June 4, 1989. It was the final day of the student-organized, non-violence demonstration at Tiananmen Square in Beijing, just before China’s People’s Liberation Army gunned down hundreds of civilians for protesting government corruption and lack of free speech.
“Tank Man,” they called him. But the Sunday Express newspaper in Britain later claimed the man was Wang Weilin, a 19-year-old student, who’d joined the weeks-long protest, despite the threat of annihilation. (more…)
A number of weeks ago, neighbours and friends gathered in the basement of the United Church in my town. The church auxiliary served sandwiches, cakes, cookies, coffee and tea. A Syrian family had finally arrived in this community and the gathering at the church allowed townspeople to greet and meet them. They kept thanking the town for its generosity and initiatives to help. One thing the couple said that first day we met has stuck with me.
“Thank you for this welcome,” they said. (more…)