Notice

 

The minutes and hours click by as you scroll on your phone, bored and interested at the same time. Your eyes begin to blur and hurt, you look up, hours have gone by—days maybe—what have you done recently? Who have you talked to? Did you notice the breeze? The taste of Autumn in the air? The edges of leaves turning gold? The raptors on the wing—riding the thermals? You haven’t? Where have you been? This isn’t criticism. I, too, have trouble being present. I, too, feel numb of late. I, too, let the world pass me by. 

Image of what you might be missing right now. Inspired by September Mourn

 

September Mourn

Last Monday I saw a skeleton with a Halloween sign, and I felt myself becoming Laurie’s recycle-bin-lady. This is so wrong. But why do I care. It’s a pervasive state of being where we can no longer be contented with the beautiful lingering warm days of September. There must be something more to do, to be over the top about and spew hyperbole. I miss the peaceful Septembers we used to call (inappropriately) Indian Summer. It was a time of reflection as we prepared for the Fall. Halloween wasn’t even on our radar until mid-October. Patience was still a virtue.

Inspired by Don’t Quit Your Day Job. Photo by Wendy Whelan.

The Fear of Skidding Out

Cycling up the new asphalt on Sorauren last week took me back to the town where I first learned to ride, where every summer, the approach to road renewal was to spread a thin layer of tar and a second of very fine gravel, with the expectation it would slowly work its way into the existing surface. The immediate result for a nine-year-old boy, though, was a coin-toss between the most awesome skid ever and one nasty bloodied knee.
     Decades later, I can still feel the thrill my first bike gave me, still haunted by the fear of skidding out.

Inspired by The End of August. Image by ChatGPT.

Already Committed

Dad volunteered for the RCAF in 1940, but they made him wait. Impatient, he joined the army. He landed in Normandy in July 1944 and was deployed to the front. The Allies had a German army encircled near Falaise; the enemy was intent on breaking out. In the fog of war, Allied aircraft mistook the advancing Canadians for Germans and bombed them. It’s called “friendly fire” these days. Shortly afterwards, during a lull in the fighting, a much-forwarded letter arrived for Dad from Canada. The RCAF had finally accepted him. Years later, he related this story with a rueful shrug.

Inspired by a battlefield visit and battles past. Image from the Warfare History Network.

Golden Brown

Fall smelled like new Woolco clothes, a PVC school bag with yesterday’s banana. Fresh Crayolas. Then Avon perfumes (samples) and lined-paper diaries (with lock and key). And on Mondays, a freshly-scrubbed Mike, the boy who sat ahead of me.  Later, cafeterias and university course catalogues off gassing cheap acidy papers, promising much but delivering little. Fast forward ten years to the first (perfectly burnt) toast before kindergarten. Fifteen more years to Canadian Tire and dorm smells and sad/happy Tim Horton’s. Ten more years to slower coffees and Saturday’s Globe dampened by a window left open to let September in. 

Inspired by The End of August. Image—Cat’s paws and pencils—by the Author.

The End of August

I confess I don’t know what to write about. Not one clever line or idea has come to me. I’m in that dull transition phase—my breath held—before the onslaught of September. I always feel like this at the end of August—after the quagmire heat of high summer, just before everyone comes back from vacation and the school across the street is once again alive with children’s voices. I have shut off the screens. I am in the backyard listening to the cicadas, anticipating that perfect bit of coolness in the evening. I am wondering what comes next.

Inspired by not much really. Image is of Nancy’s overgrown, late-August garden.

Ungilded

Walking past the US Consulate in Toronto recently, I spotted a plaque in a bed of greenery. It celebrated a unique friendship that was forged over many years through many painful challenges. 

     Dear America, we’re honoured you deemed us the “best neighbours any nation ever had.” (Ask yourself if that applies to you.) 

     “Neither terrorism nor any adversity will conquer free peoples.” (That sounds ironic now.) Yes, we were with you in your then-darkest hour. (Who knew it could get darker?)

     The plaque (bronze, not gilded) was almost overgrown. Perhaps that’s a metaphor. Perhaps it will soon be taken down.

Inspired by domineering belligerence, imperial grandiosity, and a stunning ignorance of history, economics, and geopolitics, which culminated in the imposition of yet more punitive US tariffs on Canada on August 21. Photo by the author.