neumann's blog
Monday, November 2, 2026
Bibi-Donnie bromance shows signs of severe strain
Saturday, October 31, 2026
How your perspective on dying changes when you realize you're dying
Some of the kids are still alright
With apologies to Roger and Pete, it brings me joy to say so. We're so used to imbibing wall-to-wall doom & gloom about the future prospects for our children, we're blind to the good news, even when it's sitting right next to us.
That's happened here a couple of times of late. Back a few months ago, during the height of high summer, we found ourselves on the patio at the Erie Belle, a seafood joint down Kincardine way we've been patronizing sporadically for at least thirty years, whenever we're down Kincardine way.
There's a boisterous gaggle of twenty-somethings in the street in front of us. Two-three couples and maybe 3-4 singles, but all one happy, ethnically diverse crew, vaping their way down the street, and about the time our drinks arrive, they arrive at the other end of the patio.
They're a little on the noisy side for our ears, but by golly there's an animated conversation happening over there about what sounds to me like office politics. Fifteen minutes in we concluded they were co-workers from some high-tech outfit in Waterloo, just an hour down the road, but here's what was so amazing; in the hour or so we shared that patio, none of them ever pulled out or consulted any "device."
That gives me hope. I made a point of mentioning that on my way out. I'm guessing they marveled at how little it takes to give an aging boomer hope!
Fast forward to this morning in one of our favorite local joints, Dockside Willies, named after the famous rodent, Wiarton Willie. The Farm Manager had a brutal week in her day job, and we were down for a quiet breakfast. We weren't settled into our window seats, overlooking Wiarton harbour and Colpoys Bay, more than a few minutes, when a crew of six kids, barely if at all out of their teens, take the next table.
Believe it or not, none of that crew ever consulted any device in the 45 minutes we shared their space, and while we weren't "evesdropping" per se, their chit chat was mostly about the jobs they had and a couple of recent job interviews. Clearly, these are kids not hiding in parental safe houses seeking comfort in their video games and AI therapists.
Maybe it's easier to find engagement with the real world in these rural communities, where most of the folks still trust their neighbours.
Friday, October 30, 2026
Mavis Gallant, fathers and daughters and fathers and sons
Fathers and daughters
I happened to be watching the Daytona 500, and the race got red-flagged early on, so I took the opportunity to drive into town for a sixpack, and had the immense pleasure of hearing an interview with the late Mavis Gallant on the car radio.
Canadian literature has always left me a little cold. I think it's that "Canadian" label. Why do we need to have labels for literature? Isn't it enough that it's in a language I can read? As long as you're writing in English should it matter whether you write from India or Ceylon or Nigeria or the US or England?
Or Canada?
It struck me as a way to get some spotlight for otherwise mediocre writers who would have drowned in the big pool but were able to become big fish in the segregated pool we call Canlit.
So Michael Ondaatje came to Canada and is now a great Canadian writer; Malcom Lowry did some of his best work here but was never a Canadian writer. Elizabeth Smart was a Canadian but didn't write here so is excluded from the Canlit canon... it all seems a little arbitrary to me.
Mavis was a Canadian writer who wrote elsewhere and was therefore a Canlit outsider of sorts; proudly embraced after the fact of her international success, which only underscores my point that these labels of national identity are irrelevant if not illegitimate.
Good writing is always universal. Love, death, peace, war...
The father-daughter bond is one of those universals, and it was poignant to hear the octogenarian Gallant reminisce about events in her life from over 80 years ago. The father-daughter relationship was evidently a crucial one in her formative years. It's remarkable that she can wistfully recollect memories even though he died when she was ten years old.
I've had the extreme good fortune of not dying when my daughter was ten. That's allowed me to be a coach and cheerleader as a shy but precocious little girl has negotiated the innumerable hazards that lie in wait for a girl growing up, and I do believe it's tougher for girls than for boys.
For well beyond the first year of her life I walked her to sleep every night to Sing it again, Rod. At some level that hour-long walk every night created bonds that have been strained at times, by divorce and adolescence and all the baggage that goes with that, but have never been seriously threatened.
It's a joy I can scarcely articulate, to drive to the big city and visit with her, an independent and successful young professional making her way in the world.
The last ten years have also gifted me a step-daughter. That relationship did not have the benefit of that crucial first year of being walked to sleep to Rod Stewart tunes. As a result, we had to fight through a lot of that adolescent baggage, a process that had both highs and lows. But we made it.
She too is a fiercely intelligent and independent young woman successfully making her way in the world.
I feel bad for Mavis' dad. He missed so much.
And I am the luckiest dad in the world.
Thursday, October 29, 2026
Is Canada a serious country?
Congrats to Steve Liebig on his re-election win!
Hey Steve, good to see you prevailed in spite of my endorsement!
I've got nothing but respect for the folks who try to make a go of governing at the local level. Insofar as our democracy has any claim to authenticity, it's found at the grass roots of local politics. That's gotta be a thankless task. In one of my previous lives I occasionally had dealings with local officials around minor zoning variances and such, and it was always a little disheartening when county councilors began to audibly snore during my presentations.
Once you go up the value chain in power politics, you soon realize actual democracy is limited to that very elemental "grass roots" level... anything beyond that, well by golly, thank God we've got some sensible mayors who appreciate their "strong mayor" powers. That ain't democratic, but at least it gets things done! Benito would be proud, and Doug Ford is too!
God bless the folks who give up their evenings to attend council meetings. You're keeping democracy alive!