It’s been an important day in the life of this country: the first national day of Truth and Reconciliation with the nation’s Indigenous peoples. The CBC has dealt with nothing but, and many of us are wearing orange shirts today. 

We – we settlers, as Anna would say – grew up knowing nothing about the suffering of Indigenous children in residential schools. It’s good we are being forced to learn. In only a couple of years, this country has taken a huge turn toward the truth. During a trip to Berlin years ago, I was impressed by how open the Germans were in dealing with their appalling history; there were reminders of the Holocaust all over the city. Canada is getting to that stage with its own appalling history. 

My job is to help beginning writers uncover and tell their truth. I feel as if my country is doing just that.

In other, less vital news: I went back to the Y yesterday for the first time since last year. Word went out: Carole is teaching again! I’ve been going to her class Wednesdays midday for decades, and here it was for the first time since March 2020, Wednesday midday, with Carole. Of course, it wasn’t the same. My Covid credentials were sternly checked, we had to wear masks at all times even when exercising, and in the gym, Carole was standing masked behind a plexiglass shield; despite her mike, we couldn’t understand a word she said. But we were there! The rusty lock on my locker opened. And I didn’t fall over by the end, though it hurt. Art, Elisabeth, Lolita, Margot, Debra – I’ve been sweating with these Y friends for many years. So good to be back.

Today, my home class – a hybrid, two here and four on Zoom. We heard essays on porches, penises, puzzles, the past on an island, and policy, Canadian cultural. What a diverse group and again, how stimulating to see and hear from them all. 

I’m trying to be less frazzled as I get the basement suite ready for a new short-term tenant tonight, prepare the garden to go to sleep, get ready to leave my nest, and try to imagine what I’ll need for BC besides rain boots. But frazzled is my second name. 

Here’s the last garden bouquet of the year, I think, lots of mint and rosemary among the flowers:

And student Sam couldn’t make the class tonight because she was up north. But she sent this pic of her with her husband for your hit of beautiful, flawed Canada on the last day of September.