That’s why Valentine’s Day was always special to me. It allowed me to do things that normally would have been seen as too much or just plain crazy. 

For example, when I was working at CINI-FM in Mistissini during my 20s, I would often go to Chibougamau for the weekends. Yes, some weekends were spent fishing, hunting, cutting wood or working on the car. But I had a sweet thing on my weekends in Chibougamau. A friend of mine rented out her spare room for $25 per weekend, which saved me from drinking and driving and no doubt an accident or two.

Whilst in Chibougamau I met a nice girl. We got along fine and then Valentine’s Day was just around the corner. I told this sweetheart that she would be getting a special gift from yours truly. The day arrived and I employed a couple friends (who may have had a drink or two) to help me out. They delivered a huge box to her place. Then, wearing an all-white tux with matching fuchsia and polka-dot cummerbund and bowtie, I popped out of the box. Between my teeth was a red rose and in my hands were two blue crystal wine glasses and a bottle of vino.

She laughed her head off… and so did her whole family. Did I mention that she lived with her parents and her dad was a sergeant in the local police force? But no problem. Daddy was impressed that someone would go to such lengths for his little angel. 

Sometimes, that big effort pays off. Though I caution you Romeos that sometimes it does not. But I’ve never worried too much about the speedbumps on the road of love.

Continuing my escapades later in life, I convinced a band to join me on one of my Valentine romps. With the approval of her boss, I went to the girl’s workplace and prepared a table while the band got set up. I had a nice meal brought in and the band played her favourite song. She entered the room with a startled look that changed to a huge smile. Her co-workers loved it almost as much as she did.

You don’t have to go that far… unless you want to. Flowers are always nice and have the benefit of being around for a week or so. During that week she’ll be looking at them and thinking of you fondly. 

If you choose to give roses, look up online how to make rose beads. It’s easy and they are used in dresser drawers to make things smell good, ensuring even longer that your loved one knows that they are “that one.”

Happy Valentine’s Day, and may your love be shared in the best spirit of your imagination.

I was a soft-spoken Cree when I first got to know her. Life was intimidating when I first started to live and work as a writer away from my home community, but Emmy made sure I was always safe, comfortable and looked after. I owe a lot of my transition to a new life to her.

Born in 1926, Emmy grew up during the Great Depression and as a young woman she endured the loss of family and classmates during the Second World War. She often told me stories of those days and what life was like growing up in an Irish family on the less-than-prosperous side of the tracks in the northern Ontario town of Iroquois Falls.

She grew up in a time of racism, McCarthyism, bigotry, homophobia, and with no public health-care system. Emmy had close friends who came from diverse cultures and some who were gay because she believed in getting along with everyone. It was also a time when worker solidarity was the norm, and she was an active member of her union at the pulp and paper mill.

I enjoyed sitting over tea and listening to her stories. Although she was older and frail when I met her, she still had the strength to stand for positive movements and democratic ideals. I felt very safe and comfortable in her home with my partner Mike as there was no alcohol or drugs in this environment.

Her goodness was obvious in what she did for her community and her family. Emmy was recognized for her many years of volunteering as a Girl Guide leader with an award at Queen’s Park. She was also a volunteer at an elderly care home, and she supported the development of the Emma Ciotti art gallery named after her good friend Emma Pierini (née Ciotti).

I think of how she would feel about seeing two modern wars killing thousands of people and putting us on the brink of nuclear war, rapidly advancing climate change and the development of far-right anti-democratic movements. She had been through tough times as had my parents. I think all of them would be distressed that our world has taken this negative direction. They believed that life was going to be better for future generations.

My partner Mike is a journalist who is a child of the 1960s. We are very worried about the current situation facing our world. Although he is struggling with a severe lung disease, he believes we can still stand up against negative right-wing movements. To keep him cheered up, once in a while I bake him Emmy’s chocolate cake recipe and today I am sharing it with you. It is an easy, rich and tasty recipe that you can share in memory of my friend Emmy.

Emmy’s recipe starts with preheating an oven to 350°F. Then mix two cups of flour, a cup of white sugar and half a teaspoon of salt in a bowl. Then in a second bowl mix four tablespoons of cocoa, a cup of miracle whip, two teaspoons of baking soda and a teaspoon of vanilla. Pour the cocoa mixture into the flour together with a cup of cold coffee and mix it well. Lastly, pour the batter into a round bundt cake pan or pan of your choice and bake for 50 minutes.

Emmy always insisted on homemade frosting. To make it, melt 1/4 cup of unsalted butter and three squares of unsweetened chocolate over a second pot of hot water and stir to blend. In a bowl mix two-and-a-quarter cups of fine confectioners’ sugar with 1/4 teaspoon of salt and slowly add in a 1/3 cup of warmed milk. Then add the chocolate mixture and a teaspoon of vanilla extract until you get a creamy consistency.

As a child of the Depression, Emmy was sparing with her frosting, which is why I often double this part of the recipe. On these cold winter nights listening to the latest news of war and climate change horrors, Emmy’s chocolate cake at least makes the world feel a little better.

Life continues to be difficult for Indigenous people living in remote First Nations. Although in general it is getting better with important things like employment, education and respect and support from some governments, it is still a challenge for many. There are still problems with water quality, housing needs, the cost of food, access to health care. With the possibility of more right-wing governments gaining power that are not Indigenous friendly, these problems may not improve soon.

Over the past year, my family and friends have been experiencing health problems, mostly with seniors and the very young. There has been a surge in flu and Covid and this continues to affect many people. My partner struggles every day with a lung disease, yet he puts on a brave face and continues to be supportive of many people. I hope that 2025 will find all of us in a healthier state and coping with all the challenges that poor health brings.

I like to keep a positive look on the future, but I have to admit it is concerning that we have two major wars going on that have taken many thousands of lives and destroyed cities and villages. How can we call ourselves civilized with wars happening all over the world? I hope that our leaders and those who are the warmongers come to their senses and move towards ending these conflicts and making our world more peaceful. Right now, we are too close to experiencing a nuclear nightmare either by force or accident.

That would certainly make 2025 a very sad year. I want to say something reassuring to encourage myself and others, however it looks like much of the world is moving to right-wing anti-democratic movements. All we can do is to stand up to war, hate, racism, bigotry and oppression every chance we get. If we don’t, then the next generation will pay the price.

Climate change is a huge problem and we can see proof of that right in our own areas where the weather is all over the place. Glaciers are melting, fires are becoming more intense and more frequent and huge storms are causing loss of life and property. Even with all the evidence there are still people who are in denial of the human causes of this problem. 

This is another case where we as individuals can educate ourselves and push governments and industry to cut back on emissions that are accelerating climate change. Indigenous Elders have been warning us for many years of the dangers of putting profit and money above all else including the care and love for our Mother Earth and one another.

I hope and pray that we all land on our feet this year. We can still do much to make changes that will push back against the warmongers, those spreading hate and racism and continuing to hurt our Mother Earth. We have that responsibility and 2025 can be the year that we really understand that we have a voice and that we believe in democracy and good will to one another. We have time, but time is slipping away. 

One of the biggest problems that keeps us from acting on these important global issues has to do with alcoholism and drug addictions. I am very grateful for my sobriety for more than two decades now and I have many people to thank for helping me along this journey. Still, I am on guard all the time to keep on a good trail and not fall into relapse. My sobriety has helped me on many levels and I encourage anyone who thinks they might have a problem with any addiction to reach out for help. 

If you need help, reach out to your local mental health care or health care organization. There are many Indigenous and non-Indigenous organizations that have developed services to help those with addictions. If they cannot provide the assistance, then they will guide you to someone who can. You can also do a search online with the Alcoholics Anonymous website at www.aa.org to find services, organizations, groups or individuals in your area that can help. 

Hopefully, 2025 is going to be a year of positive change for us and, of course, it starts with me and you. 

Today’s young dancers are an impressive bunch, and everyone seems to be synchronized to the newest addition to the band, the electronic drummer. Other than those slight changes, the traditional square dance remains basically the same – play and dance all night. Oh yeah, these days dances are smoke-free events so there’s no chance of inhaling second-hand smoke. 

As the Christmas holidays came to an end after two weeks of merriment and New Year’s cheers, the only real downfall was that the temperatures remained unseasonably high with no danger of frost to bite your nose. It was only a few days before this new year that we had enough snow to keep the snowmobile afloat and speeding around without bashing into tree stumps and fire hydrants.

The end of this millennium’s first quarter slipped by so quickly and quietly, save for a few wars to interrupt global peace. I wonder if time is just speeding up or life in general is getting compressed to the point where age is measured by the decade. The newly grey-haired people born in the early 1990s can already feel the need to act young until youth becomes an outdated fad. 

Soon the ancients, like me, will be called upon to save the digital network. We will be the ones rewriting the code to open the matrix. Not to mention to correct the fixes that artificial intelligence entities will have imposed on human flaws with smooth skin and incorrect speech or thoughts. 

Most human responses are made with grunts or facial expressions. Soon, anyone who isn’t perfectly corrected by artificial intelligence will stand out in the crowd as vocally and facially challenged. The monosyllabic answer will require at least a breath and a half to spit out and anyone colloquially inadequate will suffer the speaker’s worst nightmare – the loss of words. Oh the horror, not being able to speak without eloquence and anyone around dumb enough not to notice. 

Other than those peeves, I’ve decided to stick to one resolution this year and that is not to complain about the complainers who complain about people who complain a lot. I’ll just not complain about anything, which is the complete opposite of my usual self, complaining about anything and everything. I shall be at peace with my empty complaint box. 

Hopefully this new year will take its time. The years go by too swiftly and silently and age just seems to show up as quickly as rust on an un-oiled machine that has fallen out of favour with the new times. Why two stroke it when you can four stroke it? Or terabyte that file instead of that measly gigabyte limitation of last year. Yes, just upgrade your profile and no one will ever know the real you. So are the times these days. 

This sounds like Vegas on a good night, but no, it was my mother’s night with the other ladies and grannies, gambling until the wee hours of the morning, until only the winner took all. Of course, throughout the whole evening, the talking never stopped unless a big bet was made. The cigarettes, which were still allowed and socially acceptable, made the atmosphere at the table serious. All of this usually happened after a bingo game, which was around once a week back then. Yes, gambling was an acceptable social risk back then.

The parish hall, which seemed huge, fit a lot of players on bingo night. It was most certainly the social event of the week. Weddings, parties, other holidays and celebrations, were celebrated on that day or days. Halloween lasted 24 hours maximum, Christmas was a 48-hour affair, the same for New Year’s, so gambling and socializing was a more common fare of entertainment. In other words, having fun at home was the only solution.

I, too, took up gambling for serious money at the local restaurant in Fort George, where just about everything was acceptable. Many a day of Acey Deucey, 7 Come 11, Hearts Wild and all the variants of poker were played. These games’ rules were strictly adhered to, as anyone who guessed wrong, well, they lost. 

Once, I was the second last guy standing, facing a formidable foe on the poker table. The classic Five Card Stud was the game, and I went all in with my last 35 cents, and won on a lucky flush of clubs. I was going to grab my claim when my wily foe uttered the dreaded Double or Nothing game. I quickly refused, saying that I had to buy a pack of smokes and head out somewhere else. I made a quick getaway with my winnings intact.

Then radio bingo started offering larger prizes like snowmobiles, airline tickets, large jackpots, and became the king of gambling games. This large-scale bingo event grew flush with cash. Literally, large garbage bags of cash had to be handled, counted and deposited into the bank. 

After just one night of managing a large live bingo, I was exhausted from double counting and confirming every bill and coin. Then calling the police to escort me to the bank down on the main floor before rousting the bank manager out of bed to come accept the deposit at 5am.

This swayed onto the other side of gambling to just being the player and not the house. I could not imagine myself counting millions of dollars of cash for the rest of my life. Thus, I realized that being just the player put me in the class of people called losers, and I just didn’t like the idea of gambling, even though I still play.

As the experts say, it’s all in the chemicals in your body that produce the effect called happiness and pleasure. We get addicted to that feeling, wanting more and more of it. Yes, happiness can be addictive. This is achieved by producing a man-made object that is supposed to create your own happiness, called money. This money, when lost, creates a stronger desire to be happier and another bill slips into the machine and some ringing and dinging go off, relieving you of all pressures and creating a chemically induced happiness. 

Thus, the game of gambling is no longer a game, it’s an addiction and obsession, relieved only by the sound of winning. Give me back the smoke-filled family room where the stakes are affordable, and the stimulations are few and far apart.

My dad Marius was an entrepreneur who was constantly searching for ways to build a business wherever he could. Although English was his second language and his skills mostly had to do with how to survive on the land, he was bright and confident enough to search for opportunities in the big city. 

He was never afraid to manage a construction project, find heavy machinery or gather the materials needed for his next big project in the North. He usually arrived in Timmins in November or December to prepare ahead of the winter season. That way he could transport everything he needed to the rail service in Cochrane and then over the winter road back to Attawapiskat. 

As soon as he arrived in Timmins, he was always happy to see his sons who were attending secondary school – my older brothers Philip, Antoine, Mario and myself. I also remember that it was always difficult. Dad couldn’t rent a vehicle because neither he nor his sons had drivers’ licenses. 

So, dad spent a good portion of the money he had raised on taxis and hiring other people to move about town to get to where he needed. I can still remember him constantly moaning in Cree of how much more he could do if he had his own vehicle.

Since then, things have changed a lot for people on the James Bay coast. More are attending post-secondary school in the south, and have better jobs and opportunities. More people have acquired drivers’ licenses and own vehicles. Many, like me, are driving around on the highways now. Dad would be amazed to see so many of his grandchildren driving and owning their own trucks and cars. 

As happy as I am seeing these changes, I am also worried about the dangers of the highway, especially during the winter. The combination of fast highway driving at this time of year when temperatures fluctuate between freezing and thawing makes for a dangerous mixture of icy roads and misplaced confidence. 

Over the past two decades, I’ve known several people who have been in minor mishaps and a few who have died from major accidents on Highways 11 and 101 in northern Ontario. There are too many transport trucks on the highway and training requirements for drivers don’t seem adequate. This winter has just started and almost daily there are reports of serious accidents. 

According to Ontario Provincial Police statistics, there were just over 350 highway fatalities in the province in 2022 and that statistic increased to 411 in 2023. 

I’ve been driving on Ontario highways since the late 1990s. Back then the roads were busy but manageable. I’ve also been riding a motorcycle every summer for the same number of years. Riding on an open seat on top of two wheels and an engine with nothing to protect you in an accident makes you very aware of what is on the road. I can definitely say that there is a lot more traffic on the highway than there was 20 years ago. 

In his final years dad was able to see his sons and daughters and grandchildren driving their own vehicles, which made him very happy. However, he saw the same dangers I do now and he was always quick to warn everyone to watch their driving, especially this time of year. 

So, I caution everyone out there to be careful on our icy roads. Please slow your speed and check weather updates. If the roads are dangerous and a storm is happening, then stay put. Personally, I would prefer if you were more cautious and live to drive another day. 

Philip was a very charismatic character. Everyone loved him and wanted to be around him. I always felt that he was a great combination of so many characters in our family all rolled up in one person. He was handsome, slender and tall like the men on mom’s side of the family. He was exciting, quick witted, funny and ready to laugh like dad’s side of the family. Guys wanted to be his friend. Girls hovered around him because he was a handsome, confident young man. He was well connected with our traditional culture as dad had often taken him out hunting, trapping and fishing from the time he was very young. 

Philip was the youngest of my four older brothers with Lawrence being the eldest, then Mario, Anthony and lastly Philip. I and my younger brothers Joseph and Paul always looked up to our older siblings as real traditional hunters who knew how to survive on the land. Philip was theatrical and sensitive and could easily send my mom Susan and sisters Jackie and Janie into fits of laughter. He was the type of guy who lit up the room when he walked in. 

Whenever I think of him, I see him in so many different ways. He will always be my older brother, so I always see him as wiser and smarter than me. Now 34 years later, I think of him as a young 16-year-old who was getting ready for the world. 

Like all our Christmases when I was growing up, 1990 was a chaotic mess of activity. Philip took part in it all as a teenager and like many of us, impervious to the dangers surrounding us in the middle of the wilderness during freezing weather. In the midst of Christmas party culture, Philip innocently grabbed a snowmachine on Christmas Eve to visit his friends in Kashechewan, 90 kilometres to the south. The winter road was still a very rough road back then, but it was a path that he had gone on with our dad several times. 

He left the community on his own with the confidence he had been taught about living on the land, but he was unprepared and ill equipped for this freezing ride. He ran out of fuel a third of the way and ended up near the Kapiskau River which dad had taken him and my brothers hunting to years before. He knew there were hunting cabins nearby, so he made his way there to shelter himself from the cold. He arrived at the cabins with nothing and no way to keep warm. 

Christmas Day arrived without Philip. My parents and family were worried, but they thought he must be overnighting at a friend’s home in town. It didn’t take long for everyone to sound the alarm that he was missing. Search parties started wandering the community and then fanned out further. They found his abandoned snowmachine a day later and soon after discovered his final resting place at the hunting camp. 

I was only 14 and suddenly my life had taken a dark turn, and everything was just a blur in time. I was numbed to the point that all I could do was carry on but with a sadness and guilt that tore at me. My entire family changed that day. But thankfully my parents were soon comforted because our family was growing with dozens of grandchildren. This made things easier although Christmas had become a bizarre mix of joy and deep sadness. 

My siblings and I will never forget our brother Philip. So many of our relatives and friends all along the James Bay coast will never forget him. He was loved by so many in the short time he was with us. My brother’s memory and so many other tragedies that my family and others had to endure this time of year is the reason why I am always adamant about reminding everyone of the dangers of addictions, alcoholism or abuse and taking risks in the freezing cold. What seems like casual partying can take tragic turns. These days I worry about all those teens as I realize the risk that one little pill laced with a tiny amount of fentanyl can easily kill.  

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas but with the memory of my amazing brother Philip, I urge everyone to be easy with each other and watch out for one another during this festive but chaotic time of the year. 

By the end of November an estimated 10 million parcels went undelivered. Ironically, one of the sticking points of the strike is parcel delivery. 

To be sure, the strike isn’t hurting everyone. We can all imagine the round of high fives Amazon’s upper management are giving each other in anticipation of higher Xmas bonuses.

But that isn’t true for many small businesses, including home-based artisans. Already hit by Covid, the postal strike may be the last straw for many of them as Christmas purchases are a large part of their annual revenues.

Rural locations, including many First Nation communities, are hardest hit. Limited choices and merchandise in those places will see many trees looking understocked come Christmas morning. There will be a lot of disappointed kids as the postal workers’ union show their power over the rest of the country.

So, there is a new Grinch this Christmas and unfortunately their hearts have remained three sizes too small.

My parents’ generation grew up with limited formal education. What schooling they had was in the residential school system, where they faced abuse, colonization and a sense that they were less than human. They passed this trauma on to their children. Some families survived this communal trauma to varying degrees, but many others were unable to cope – falling into drug addiction, alcoholism and mental illness. 

Some went to southern communities to find a way out of poverty through work, education and other opportunities. Instead, they found little help and far more ways to complicate their lives. Those who failed to find a life in the south returned defeated to their community. This was difficult as there was a lack of housing or any kind of dedicated care to deal with addictions and mental health conditions. 

According to the Homeless Hub, a Canadian Observatory on Homelessness project at York University, 80% of homeless individuals surveyed in the Cochrane District of northwestern Ontario in 2021 identified as Indigenous.

Over the decades, conservative-leaning governments at every level have had simplistic responses to this problem – by stepping up policing and creating rules to outlaw homelessness. Trying to hide the problem only makes matters worse. The homeless, addicted and those with mental problems were ignored or worse, condemned. 

It’s necessary to spend money to assist people suffering from these situations. But when you think about it, society always ends up paying for it by spending huge sums in health care, policing and incarceration. There’s also the violence that goes along with these tragic situations. We need to realize that it is best to deal with all these critical problems now to help people heal.

If we don’t care enough to come up with healing solution, those people who are unwell will go on to harm themselves or others, which leads to more emergency health care. People who are homeless, addicted and mentally unwell fall into criminal behaviour, which then leads to increased public costs of judicial services, courts, incarceration and band-aid social services that don’t really work. 

The alternative is to take care of people now before things get worse. When people are not left to fall through the cracks of society, they are less likely to drift into criminal behaviour and less likely to hurt themselves or others. The savings appear because more people are well, fewer use public health care and far fewer end up in the judicial system.

There is a bonus to taking care of people and in helping them to live healthy lives. They go on to take care of others around them and they participate in the community in positive ways. 

There is already a precedent for this in Canada. At the end of the Second World War, the country provided a national housing program for low-income families by creating what is now known as the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation. The need corresponded with a population boom at the time. If those families had not been helped, they would have naturally fallen through the cracks and the country would have in turn paid for the consequences of a struggling population. 

A more modern example is in Finland, where government programs promote a “housing first” initiative to house people. In Finland, a country of 5.5 million people, these programs have reduced homeless from 18,000 in 1987 to 4,000 now with less than 500 actually spending the night outside. They don’t just provide housing, they help people deal with drug abuse, mental-health problems and in finding jobs. 

This is in contrast to what Canada has been doing for the past few decades: cutting social-program funding with the results being an increase in the number of homeless people, people living on the verge of homelessness and higher rates of incarceration. 

That’s what happened when Māori MP Hana-Rawhiti Kareariki Maipi-Clarke performed a haka in New Zealand’s parliament – it went viral. Known as a “war challenge” or “war cry” in Māori culture, the haka was traditionally performed by men before going into battle. The aggressive facial expressions were meant to scare the opponents, while the cry itself helped lift their morale and call on the gods to help them win the day. This tradition became a part of today’s validation of Māori culture and lifestyle.

In the past it meant a lot, and even today it has power. For example, during WWII skirmish, Māori soldiers were outnumbered by the Japanese, but when they chanted the haka the Japanese surrendered because they found it so beautiful.

On November 14, members of the New Zealand Parliament voted on a contentious bill that would reinterpret the Treaty of Waitangi signed by the Māori and the British in 1840. That was when the youngest Māori MP stood up, ripped up a copy of the bill and started chanting a haka. She was joined by other MPs as well as spectators in the visitors’ gallery. When the Speaker declared the session suspended and asked that the gallery be cleared, supposedly a security guard could be heard joining the haka.

Later, when the session resumed, Maipe-Clarke was suspended from Parliament for the afternoon, and her action called disrespectful and disruptive. While this may be true, it is an action all too familiar to Indigenous Peoples across the world. The desire to limit or erase treaties and agreements by settler governments is nothing new and will continue as long as there are politicians ready to create divisions between Indigenous and settler residents for their own benefits. 

The demagogues, or those who claim to speak for us all, love these moments. Who are they to continue to cost us? A statement that ignores the past and the present. While people will give and accept legal rights to places rented to them, the claims of Indigenous Peoples are regarded as a thing of the past and no longer valid. Even as they respect the claims of landowners and landlords to charge them rent for where they live.

Fighting for their rights in New Zealand in a traditional manner is something sublime. Years may pass by but as with mainstream society the same rights and laws should always be respected regardless of race, culture or even opinion.

The time when governments could ignore Indigenous Peoples is no longer possible. Elijah Harper with his feather would have gotten a far larger audience today via social media which unfortunately did not exist back then.

But today there are changes and we can all hope that one haka will lead to many more to ensure that we are respected as Peoples in this world.