Early every morning, the sound of heavy equipment isn’t open for debate. Like clockwork, the earth shudders and my eyes open, the same for all my neighbours, I imagine. It’s the modern-day version of the rooster – its shrill crow replaced by low rumblings and the screeching of cold metal.
Every year many of us gather at the local city and town cenotaphs to remember the sacrifice of the men and women who fought in past wars. Many thousands were killed in battle, many more wounded and they returned to their communities after war, but things were not the same.
Scary things disturb people and sometimes I give my old beating heart a little jolt when I think I see something unusual out of the corner of my eye in the darker corners of the room. I think there’s some sort of movement and I quickly look again to see what
I remember when Richard Wagamese’s Indian Horse novel was adapted for the screen. It took me a while to watch the film because I didn’t see the purpose of retraumatizing myself all over again with facts I already knew.
As proud Quebecers, we reject your government’s impractical and ill-advised decision to label our community as “historic anglophones” and your plan to limit government services to citizens who are eligible to attend English schools.
I experienced a theft of an array of tools from the back of my truck a few weeks ago. I had left things in the truck overnight because I had planned to leave early the next morning. I do my best to be careful to put away valuable items in a safe place, but I was a little careless on that night.
I waited in the dark in my office, the light flickering loudly. The stench was unbearable as both my panic and the hair on my arms rose in tandem.
I was relaxing one morning with the sense of well-being that a great breakfast brings. For the curious, it was a Spanish omelette with multi-grain toast and hand-cut, double-smoked bacon.
September 28 marked the anniversary of Joyce Echaquan’s tragic death at a Joliette hospital. Many of us were outraged at the FaceTime video of her last hours and the vile racism she endured from hospital staff as she begged for help. Instead of being provided life-saving medical care, she was mocked, insulted and taunted.
I was not expecting much from a federal election in the midst of a fourth wave of Covid-19, but I must say that it was the most boring election I’ve ever witnessed so far in my life.
