Joni Mitchell’s young voice had the pure tone of flute, if the breathiness of a flute tone was burned away by fire.
My Canada, 26/150: Joy will find a way
Ah, Bruce. Bruce Cockburn, Canada’s Bruce, the quirky, prickly, questing, gentle angry man who has provided the soundtrack to most of my life.
My Canada 25/150: A different flight path
For nearly four decades, my Aunt Blanche commuted across the river from Windsor to Michigan to work for the Canadian Consulate in Detroit.
My Canada, 24/150: The food of love
My mother was an indefatigable worker. She just was never paid for her labours.
My Canada, 23/150: How warm fur cooled
That coat my mother is wearing, was known at the time as a “Hudson Seal”. It was not seal at all, but in fact muskrat.
My Canada, 22/150: When Irish eyes are smiling
Having both Ukrainian and Irish heritage has served to make me more Canadian than if I had only one ethnic background.
My Canada, 21/150: Rough waters on the journey
Some people are polished by adversity, while others are scratched by by it.
My Canada, 20/150: A nation molded by immigrants
Unless you are a member of one of Canada’s aboriginal First Nations, the truth about being Canadian is that you got here because you, or your ancestors, moved here from somewhere else.
