On a corner of the old Mennonite pine work table, which, if you are a truly faithful Faithful Reader you will know is where I write, is the legendary paper-pile. Since 1982, through several old typewriters and at least three old computers (all except the current one have gone to their just reward), I have had sufficient scraps of paper with scribbled notes to compose the columns. Today the paper-pile yields three notes. By very good fortune, F. R, I recall what they remind me to say.

The first says“ShellV power”. Hands up, do you know why this TV advertisement had me sputtering? You are excused if you are under 40 and shook your head. I don’t know who began it but Winston Churchill made it his, the Allied Forces and the free world (even today) the symbol for victory. Not the “thumbs up” greeting. No, this is a two fingers V.

The next note says “Kids paintings on DVSA fence.” DVSA is the locals’ affectionate short-form of Dundas Valley School of Art. A very old red brick building, corner of Hatt and Ogilvie streets., once a factory and now a renowned art school during the summer there are special art programs for children. One results in painting on very large sheets of plywood attached to the high fence.

That fence is old and respected. The block between King and Hatt, has recently been designated as “Artists’ Way” because it connects DVSA and the Carnegie Gallery. During the summer I am patient when the corner traffic light is red as I travel up Hatt St. Time to enjoy these expressions of joy, exuberance, childish innocence in riotous colour. Thank you, DVSA students and teachers.

The last note left me baffled when I read it, poorly scribbled, I faintly recall it was in response to something I heard on the radio. “Crime of indifference”. Michael Enright on CBC. That station has been my lifeline. When I travelled by car across Canada, stopping at studios along the way, inevitably their radios would be tuned to CBC. There have been times when I have heard these same artist friends interviewed.

Once, it was my turn to be interviewed by Erica Ritter. Not a shining moment, as I remember it. But I digress.

Given some time to ponder if one could commit a crime of indifference, I have concluded ye, indeed. Time has become precious. From early childhood, we are urged not to waste time, to hurry, to concentrate.

Frequently this summer I’ve stopped to gaze at the clouds, drifting over the Escarpment. Recently they were breathtaking, enough for me to encourage passing strangers on the street or in a parking-lot to stop and look. A moment of annoyance before a smile spreads across a face that had been tight with the tensions of their thoughts.

There is a line from a prayer learned early in my upbringing. “Make us mindful of the needs of others.” Lacking that, do we succumb to a crime of indifference? Is crime to strong a term? Is indifference? Have we become so supersaturated in the negativity of newscasts, of friends and associates that indifference has become our defence?