FRIENDSHIPS — wrinkles in time!

 

The Evolution of Eva

I seem to start friendships in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Sometime around maybe the 1980s, I met Eva. She was the roommate of the president of the Burnaby Federal Liberal Association. She had zero interest in the political scene. But, we did hold our meetings in their rec room. She made it clear that it was ok to use the rec room, but we had to enter and exit from the basement door. We had to be quiet and only use the upstairs bathroom in emergencies. Yes she was that strict and often that grumpy.

At the time the seventeen year old me was rambunctious and sometimes disobedient.  In the case of Eva, I was curious. I eventually ventured upstairs to say hello. Hello is about all I got back because she was intently watching a serious documentary on her black and white tv. She clearly had no desire to interact. Her behaviour intensified my determination to crack her shell. Crack her shell I did.

Eva was a fulltime biophysicist professor at Simon Fraser University. She came to Canada from Germany  in her twenties, completed many, many classes and degree programs to earn her stripes as a world class researcher and professor. She was brilliant in the world of academia, but flat in social skills. For some reason I did not want to walk away because her demeanor intrigued me. 

Eventually she did ask me to come fully into her living room on those political meeting nights. Eventually she told me about the atrocities she experienced under Hitler. Eventually she offered me a glass of champagne even though I was still under age. She told me she admired my boldness in my attempts to draw her out of her very serious demeanour and dissipate her very unsocial manners. I told her I was curious about different personalities and talking to an intellectual felt beneficial to my efforts to break away from being seen as rambunctious and without a hope in hell of making my life’s journey amazing.

From then on, every visit became a cerebrally strained exercise in looking beyond the obvious, dissecting topics to the nth degree, and bringing those pieces back together with a very different outcome. 

Even though my time with her, usually at the tail end of a political meeting, resulted in my having a fast pulsing brain and often a very stressed headache, that’s when I learned how to debate for or against any topic. That’s when I started to write really good essays and grant applications. That’s when I was able to see a future for me to turn heads, to look around corners and beyond the obvious, and to move forward with confidence. I guess you could say Eva was somewhat of a mentor to me.

Fast forward several decades —  Eva is now in her 90s and living in a swank care facility. She has no family but has the most phenomenal of neighbours. He secured her spot at the new home where she will spend her last years. He has undertaken the onerous task of meticulously going through her massive amounts of academic dissertations, hundreds of scientific books, significant amounts of clothing, toilet paper, paper towels, office supplies, LPs, 45s and CDs, and every single drivers license and passport she has ever had.

The guy is amazing. He even set aside a box of stuff he thought I would appreciate, and that’s where my motivation to write this story began.

When I arrived at the house I saw the box sitting on a chair in the kitchen. It was full of Dutch things from Delft blue items to pewter caldrons, some ceramics, and a beautifully hand drawn scene of a neighbourhood in Utrecht. It’s labeled authentic, numbered and signed by the artist. I will treasure it.

In addition to all of the above, I will also treasure something else. On the kitchen table there was a copy of one of my earliest self published collections of short stories and poetry entitled Wrinkles and Rhymes. My jaw dropped as my hands picked it up carefully and my eyes looked at the date — 1996.   

Inside was a handwritten note on pink paper on which Eva had inscribed a personal note. It was very appreciative and complimentary. She never got around to sending that note to me. As a few tears descended down my cheeks,I think I might have understood why — she was never comfortable in expressing personal thoughts or feelings, but she really wanted to be sure I knew what hers were. As to why she never mailed the note to me, perhaps it was her wish to be sure I knew later.

As the readers of this story might deduce, Eva is no longer with us — at least not the Eva I once knew and loved to be around. Her memories are no longer with her, and when I see her I don’t really think she realizes who I am. 

I do plan to visit her at her new “home” next week. I will bring Wrinkles and Rhymes with me, and her note, and see if they trigger some level of recognition. Either way it doesn’t really matter. We had a connection. It was a connection that inspired me and drove me forward, and although her voice never told me how proud she was of me, the personal handwritten note truly says it all. 

With my glass of champagne in hand, the champagne she left behind in her fridge, I raise a glass to her and thank her from the entirety of my very happy heart. ♥️ 

A LIBERAL IS A LIBERAL IS A LIBERAL

MORE MONTREAL MEMORIES

It has been a few decades since I have attended a federal Liberal Party convention. Returning to that opportunity in early Spring 2026, has been the most exciting and reinvigorating experience of my year so far. What took me so long?

To make that long story short, let me just say being physically present in a federal Liberal milieu, be it a meeting, event or occasion, was strictly prohibited when I worked as a provincial political employee. It was seen to be politically damaging — enough said. Silence and secrecy was the price I had to pay to retain the greatest and best job I had ever had, that being the greatest and best job I had ever dreamed of having. Happily I was not a lone wolf Liberal; the few other colleagues and I kept our silence as a pack.

Retirement has brought many positives to my life and the ultimate of freedom summarizes that truth very nicely. I proudly attended the 2026 Federal Liberal Party Convention in Montreal! I proudly told everyone, including naysaying acquaintances — even most of them were supportive. I embraced the feedback.

On departure day, I jumped out of bed at the sound of a Céline Dion tune. Showered, dressed, gathered my things and off I drove to the  Vancouver International Airport. I smiled from ear to ear every moment of the 45 minute drive. I easily found a parking spot in Long Term Parking. The mini SkyTrain was there to drive me to the terminal. I pranced through the NEXUS line of security, with an extra jump in my step,  found my departure gate with a Starbucks flat white in hand. I was ready to go.

At the Montreal Airport, I easily found the highly recommended best and cheapest way to get to downtown. It is called Express Bus 747. Everyone there knows about it. Everyone there knows where to find it. Everyone there highly recommends it. It costs a mere $11.75 and there’s a fresh clean bus every ten minutes. The ride is usually 35-45 minutes and all drivers know exactly which of the seven downtown stops is best for whatever hotel you have booked. It’s impressive. It’s amazing. It’s Montreal!

I arrived deliberately a day early because that’s just who I am. I like to get to where I need to be, acclimatize , orientate myself, know the route I need to walk to get to the Palais des Congrès for 9:00 registration. I enjoyed a relaxing Italian meal in the hotel restaurant with like minded company. I read the convention materials, turned off the light and slept very well.

The three block walk took me through some very familiar territory since I had been to Montreal frequently in my younger days. My mind quickly realized a lot had changed — more buildings, many more buildings. Iconic brasseries and churches were mixed in with the new. Fewer shopping shops but many more eateries. I still felt the magic of French Canadian culture — the language, the music, the support of the arts, the fashion and the grace of the proud people who live there. It felt great to be back.

At the Convention, I was one of 4400 delegates. I did not expect to see many familiar faces because western Canada does not have much support for federal Liberal ideals or policies. It is just one of those truths about people who fear politics or see politics as a game of some sort — a game of liars and cheaters, coming and going, talking through both sides of their mouths and just saying whatever you want to hear. It is quite a sad statement, but I have lived it for over 50 years. So many people fear the unknown and just prefer to be negative or critical about everything they don’t understand. They prefer to either be silent or jump on the loudest bandwagon, supporting the candidate with the nicest hair style, funniest sox or the most people attending rallies. Understanding policies means little or nothing. Asking them about the political spectrum draws blank looks. This has always been perplexing to me. But I digress.

From the moment I opened the glass doors to the Palais des Congrès on each of the three day Conference, I felt at home. Greeted, welcomed, offered coffee, tea or water. People were friendly, kind, helpful. The agenda was packed with options. Special guests like Mrs. Fox Carney, Rick Hansen, Olympic athletes, scholars, & entertainers, delivered inspirational speeches. New policy recommendations were discussed, debated and voted on. Federal Ministers were grouped in panel style to discuss their goals and objectives, successes and failures. Delegates were all given plenty of opportunities to ask questions. 

I met people from all across the country. 

At registration I met ‘Jacques from Yukon’ — as soon as I saw him I remembered meeting him decades ago at a Liberal Convention in Western Canada. He introduces himself in that way to everyone — it is hard to forget someone like that.

In the security line up, I met two ladies who live in Coquitlam! What are the chances? They are long time Liberals originally from Northern BC carrying the Liberal banner wherever they go. We exchanged contact information.

In the hotel elevator on Day 2, I met Shamus from Halifax. A dapper dresser, happy man. He is the author of the Liberal policy resolution to promote better trade with places other than our neighbours to the south.  He offered me a seat in his UBER ride. I accepted. I saw him a few more times that day and the next.

One evening in the hotel dining room, I met Peggy and Liz. They hailed from a small constituency on the north section of the Greater Toronto Area. It has been consistently Conservative forever, but Peggy and Liz have never swayed. They feel more sure than ever that next time the political map will show something very different. I yearn for that feeling too, and I share their optimism.

And then there is Gary. He is a guy I have known for over 30 years. I met him in Victoria. He was a new Member of the Legislative Assembly in the year when the BC Liberal Party (now defunct) won 17 seats. I was called to work there to help the caucus get organized. Gary is a true Liberal and never looked elsewhere. We have kept in touch over the years, and made a point of connecting at the Conference. He is principled and believes in balance, and being with people like that is very rewarding.

People like the ones I have met are not populists. They do not jump from party to party, depending on where the grass seems greener. They are not bandwagon jumpers. They are people who are in touch with their feelings about the country in which we live. They understand that as a diverse country with different geography, cultures, generations, history, and different strengths and weaknesses, a middle of the road approach to governance makes the most sense. We are all in this country together and together we need to figure out balanced solutions — not too right wing, not too left wing, but a balance much like an evenly weighed teeter totter. The Liberals are the middle of the political spectrum, the middle of that teeter totter. 

It has been a long sometimes difficult road for the Liberal members across the country, especially those of us in British Columbia. Conferences like this one and a new fresh Leader with a proven track record on effective problem solving, negotiations and decision making, leaves us all with a renewed sense of optimism in our wonderfully diverse country proudly called CANADA.

Acknowledging

 

ARE TIMES A-changing?

Well tonight we in British Columbia, Canada are taking a bold step forward in moving forward our clocks for one last time. Like usual when a change is implemented, there is a surge of negativity which, sadly, seems to be the norm in modern society. It takes a heck of a lot of patience to tolerate negativity; but, with the backbone and determination of progressive thinkers, eventually the naysayers go back into their knolls until something else new comes along.

When it comes to change, I am an optimistic — albeit a cautious optimist. I once had high hopes that Canadians from coast to coast to coast would eventually embrace French-English bilingualism. It did not happen in most of western Canada but it sure feels good to be one who did and does. As a solo, I learned a lot and that’s a plus.

I once had high hopes that the political tide of my chosen political party would rise from the ashes. That was more than 40 years ago. It was a very long haul and massive change to come from zero wins to substantial wins. Then that too changed, and we are now bewitched with no pegs on the provincial political board once again. I learned a lot about people from that changing experience and that’s a plus.

So now this weekend we are supposed to be acknowledging International Women’s Day. I do acknowledge the day. I am a woman and when I compare what is now with what was then, times have changed for some, but progress continues to be slow. In fact progress is not even steady and often times it seems like a solo struggle to keep that light shining in civilized society— even that word “civilized” is an oxymoron when it comes to defining this topic. 

I think the purpose of declaring March 8 as International Women’s Day was to bring civility to society. When it comes to the lives of women and girls, generally, the realist side of me fails to feel civility. The movement started in the early 20th Century! We are now at 2026. Placate comes to mind. Tokenism. Crumbs. It’s best to soar solo like the eagle, rise from the ashes, change course, pave your own road because the intended international goal frightens the very people, locally, provincially and nationally, who can do something about it, with you or for you.

But I digress, or do I? My backbone and determination says: It’s time to change TIMES again, for one last time.

FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY

FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY

Why poetry? I am currently carefully reading Margaret Atwood’s Memoirs in which she spans many details of her entire personal and professional lives. It is very intriguing, interesting and inspiring.  There is one section that I just now read explaining her love of poetry.

I stopped after that chapter because poetry has always been a passion of mine. I can remember back in my high school days, poetry was hardly touched in the curriculum and when it was, it was likely in the month of June when time to cover the curriculum was running out, marks for the year had already been amassed; but, the teacher had to be sure we had something to do. Making poetry sound inspiring or important was difficult for teachers because they themselves had little or no experience nor pedagogical training.

At the time, I could feel a curiosity within me about poetry and a sadness that little time was spent on it. I decided  back then I would make time to figure it out later in life. 

Poetry is just something some human beings do, and I am one of them. I love the rhyme and rhythm type; they are like symmetry , balance, evenness, a mathematical equation in a way. All of those things are just how I love my life to be.

If I step off that balanced path, I feel my time is being wasted, I am heading into an abyss of sorts from which I may never return — swirling and swirling, twisting and turning, gasping for air. It is weird to admit, weird to hear me say it and probably weird for others to hear. My type of poetry and my life are existing as parallels. 

I call my poems ‘gifts to the receiver’ not to turn them into poets nor poetry lovers, but to exercise their minds beyond the distraction of the rhyme scheme. I think it is fair to say whatever time we spent on poetry during our school years was basically limited to identifying the rhyme scheme and memorization. 

Poetry is meant to exercise the mind, to expand our thinking beyond the obvious. It is meant to motivate, intrigue, inspire and interest the reader in ways not like any other. “Stop, Read, Listen, Think, Realise”

The message is likely not obvious nor literal. It may not always be personalized nor personified; it may well be off the paved path, a diversion, worldly, wild and weird. It will definitely be thought provoking and as such intellectually stimulating — if you let it.

For me, poetry is all of the above in addition to a mathematical exercise, a mathematical sentence where what is to the left of the equal sign matches that which to the right. What is to the right, however, is what is left for the reader to fill in. Make it balance.

Embrace it as a new form of playing solitaire. The magic is in how you play your cards.  [Thank you Margaret (Peggy) Atwood]

@MargaretAtwood

SPINNING VOICES

Getting it together means we must listen to our inner voice for guidance as we continue life’s journey, our life’s journey.

SPINNING VOICES

In my world of politics there’s lots of spin

The needed answers come from within

Within the body, the mind and the soul

We must focus on the ultimate goal.

Our lives are like that even as we grow old

We mustn’t allow that path to go cold

Listen to that voice within — every day

She knows what’s best — come what may.

Speak to that voice, feed her your thoughts

Hear that feedback as you continue to walk

It’s nature’s way to block out the negative

And zeros in on what’s truly imperative. 

You and her are what matters the most

She’ll walk you forward rather than coast!

Take a walk in the woods, sit on a trunk

Stretch up your arms, be sure not to slump.

You’ve got what it takes to live life with grace

Feel it in your head, heart, arms, legs and face,

Stay focused on what’s life’s ultimate goal

Love yourself completely in order to feel whole.

Antoinetta DeWit

February 2026

COMMUNITY SPIRIT

BINGO BINGO

This has been a whirlwind week of different activities from social, to personal to business to future planning, but the highlight has been a bonus night of community bingo at our Maple Ridge Library.

Although the once small town I moved to a few decades ago is no longer considered small, we do still hold on to small town activities like the occasional bingo night.

The games were to begin at 6 pm and since we had never gone before, and because we all know how popular bingo is, we decided it would be best to show up an hour early. We get there and the room door is locked. As we hold our ears to the wall, we hear a voice from behind say “are you here for bingo?”. 

The gal welcomes us and reminds us we are early. We chat back and forth with Marguerita, humourously, as she sets up the room, and agree to come back in half an hour. 

We cross over the street for a five dollar burrito take out, bring it to the bingo room where there were still no others, and we looked forward to winning all the games. But it was still ten minutes to game time.

At six pm a few more people came and by the time it was 6:10 we might have been around 15 when the first ball was called.

The ball dome was the smallest bingo ball dome we had ever seen and the balls were smaller than marbles. Three local grade 12 students undertook the calling process. They would spin the globe round and round, wait for a ball to drop, and call it. One had the voice of a whisper, one could not stop giggling and the other was a five star caller.

Midway through game one, more people were arriving and being accommodated. Everyone who knows me will know how annoyed I felt. Latecomers were a distraction from my attention spam, they slowed the game and they engaged in much conversation before sitting down to focus.

I tried to calm my inner self reminding me it is a small town, it is a free game, take it as a study of people for an upcoming story. Those thoughts were effective as I continued to cover my numbers, with translucent colourful chips, as they were called.

After game one, we were reminded there is a snack table at the back of the room: Bublé, chips, and gummies. Of course almost everyone was excited and went to gather their stash. My game companion and I did that before game time and turned the eye rolling interruption into a talking point. 

Finally the flow of the evening got back on track. Faye won a game and picked her prize — a mini deck of cards with dice, in a handy pouch. A few games later she won again and then me too. I picked an absorbent foam pad imprinted with the library motto: Read, Learn, Play.

Our new experience ended with a smile and a sense of community pride. It was a delightful event in a room of proud people enjoying the pleasures of how once small towns still celebrate. 

In the end, we were all winners.