A country road. A pickup with a hay haul passes through a village and past women picketing in front of a school. The guy in the truck honks, waves and gives a thumbs up.
Another big week of realities which hurts the guts a little and which leads to other endless reasons to be outraged. Here and there a victory for the CH or the Alouettes becomes a buoy; it indicates the distress or the importance of ventilating. Sometimes a game of cards with the children, or old board and board games in the dark November evenings.
I love the game of Snakes and Ladders. The snake in box 98, which goes down to 13, hurts. So close to the goal, we say to ourselves, exhilarated by the idea of victory. Resigned, we roll the die again and try to go back up and we hope for 23 and its scale which brings us back to 82. The probabilities are such that someone will always reach 100 and win. It’s a wonderful idea, isn’t it? At some point, after the falls and setbacks, we will end up getting back up, we tell ourselves. And sometimes we have to repeat it out loud to ourselves. It’s also a board game that, strangely, can be played alone.
Right now, the dice rolls all seem to land on snakes, but that’s how it is. Politicians, public sector employees, the fall of the media, culture, and just about everything that breathes humanity has taken a toll in recent months.
After the rain comes the good weather, says the adage. The hay harvests were catastrophic this year. Bad weather. So we roll on the one from the previous year. And when it’s missing, I go get some from a producer in a district in the canton.
I love November’s Christmas decorations that appear at night here and there, as if to brighten up the surrounding darkness. Reindeer, snowmen, Santas, trees and houses surrounded by multicolored lights. There is in these simple gestures an immense confidence in a continuation and a kind of idea of beauty. As if to piss off the darkness a little. And the outdoor skating rinks that unfold. We will be able to skate and play outside in the depths of winter. Yeh. The future will be bright.
We end up smiling, and rolling our eyes, every time the dice lands a landing. But it’s a game, we understand. Like just about everything else. We start again, telling ourselves that things will get better. There puck will end up rolling away from us.
PHOTO ALAIN ROBERGE, LA PRESSE ARCHIVES
Strikers from the education sector picketed in Montreal earlier this month.
More strikes this week. Rumor has it that public opinion is in favor of these walkouts. And that’s joyful. Not in opposition to the government in place, but because sometimes there is a little looseness in our values and it feels good to take the time to tighten them up. It’s so easy to get lost in forms of narcissism and instant gratification. And we end up feeling our way around a bit. Outrage, while useful, also has limits.
Raising a hand of approval to the women and teachers who demonstrated the other morning in the village, I understood, for a second, that certain values are worth defending.
My four children spent time there in this small village school, in their hands and their kindness. If a large part of education falls to parents, teachers and technicians in special education (TES) also have an immense role, often neglected or taken for granted.
Dominique, Julie, Vicky, Sonia, Julie again, Laurence, Ken, Nancy, Elena, Caroline, Catherine, Stéphanie, Pénélope, Isabelle, Audrey… I don’t know if your salary and working conditions requests will be fulfilled and improved. And I know this word won’t pay the rent or the groceries, but this: thank you.
Christmas music started playing on November 10 this year in my pickup. And this week I’m going to play with the dice and climb the big 28 foot extension ladder and set up lights in a maple tree at the end of my arms.