Economic historians have called ours “this improbable land.” The poet Al Purdy famously called ours the country that hardly knows itself. But we have made it to 150. We have moved from improbable to inevitable.
All becomes concentrated these last weeks or days. The care offered is very focused. Earthly possessions are reduced to a quilt and some key photographs. Affairs are put in order; conversations more pointed and emptied of dross. All becomes distilled
There are many ways to get fired up again for the muscular reformed Christianity of my youth. I did not think that a scotch at the Toronto Sheraton bar would be one of them.