#68- The Singing Bus Driver

It all sounds like the plot of a corny movie from the 1950s.

The happy-go-lucky bus driver who sings on the job is told to button it by city council after years of serenading public transit riders. Of course the public valiantly rallies around the driver with the golden pipes, flooding councillors with letters and emails demanding them to stop the ban.

The happy ending, though, may not be coming. Mayor Jim Watson seems adamant about turning down the driver’s; whose name is Yves Roy, volume.

While it heartens me to see how Ottawa is standing up for Roy, council's decision very sad.

I have had the pleasure of hearing Roy sing on many occasions and on dreary, cold days when riding the bus is the last thing you want to do (which happens often in an Ottawa winter), hearing the crooning driver has brightened my day.

Listening to the joy this man has for his job, for life, for music, is invigorating and I would bet you everything I have that no one could keep a smile off their face after his contagious good spirits hits you on a wave of knee-tapping song.

After seeing videos in the last week of bus drivers swearing at riders and illegally talking on a cell phone while driving, hearing Roy's optimism and passion restores my faith in city drivers and makes me more attentive to the smiles, nods and thank you’s I get every day from OC Transpo employees.

So I am grateful for Yves Roy, the singing bus driver. I am grateful for his joy in life that everyone should strive to achieve. I am grateful for the simple, but hugely important, gift he gives hundreds of people every day with his voice. I am grateful for everything he stands for and for the people who stand for him. So Jim Watson, if you happen to stumble across this post, please don't make Roy stop singing, write the last scene in this movie, make that happy ending.

#67- Chai

Forget the DeLorean; my nose is the only time machine I need.

My shnozz can take me back to any time or any place. All I need is the smell of something that opens the gate on a memory and the sights, sounds and feel of the some of the best, worst and ordinary times of my life play on the screen in my head.

The smell can be anything, from a whiff of cardboard that makes me think of my summer at the box factory or the harmonious odors of gasoline, tobacco and popcorn that fling me back to my childhood at the Canadian National Exhibition.

Today it was the smell of Kenyan chai.

Chai is the Kiswahili word for tea and when I smelled it wafting through the event I was photographing, my trip to the wonderful East African country of Kenya played itself out like I was there again.

Chai was the morning wakeup call when I was in Kenya. It was there every morning, freshly made from scratch by the Kenyan staff at the camp. The warmth it gave, the energy it instilled, the simple joy it brought was amazing.

Even before those things, came the smell. It was mesmerizing, comforting, even inspiring in a way. Chai was my alarm clock in Kenya (along with the bird that loudly chirped outside my tent every morning) and it signaled a new day in the country I had fallen in love with at first sight. I came to associate the amazing memories I had with chai. The friendships made and strengthened, the lessons learned, the showers missed, the awesome people met. These all came during or after a nice cup of chai.

So I am grateful for chai. I am grateful for taste that leaves my taste buds in awe. I am grateful for its warmth and its comfort and its enchanting smell. I am grateful for the people who grow the ingredients and the people who make the tea. And most of all I am grateful for the way chai can take me back and help me relive some of the best times of my life with some of the greatest people I've ever met and look forward to the day when I can do it all over again.

#66- Rick Mercer

There's a point in many slap stick movies where the main characters is reduced to a blubbering mess or a dazed out zombie by some overwhelming conflict in their lives. This cues the character's best friend/sidekick/rival-turned-friend to slap the guy or gal in the face to bring them back and ultimately topple the obstacle standing in the way of a happy ending.

Thankfully we have Rick Mercer to be that slap in the face for our country.

I'm thinking mostly about his rants, the minute or two-long monologues he has on his show where he vents about something in society that he thinks isn't quite right.

When youth weren't voting, Mercer made us realize how lucky we are to be able to mark the ballot and that we actually could make a difference.

When the Canadian government refused to name asbestos as a hazardous material, he shamed them for shipping the cancer-causing material to developing nations.

And in the wake of another devastatingly tragic teen suicide he came out and gave us the walloping we needed to hopefully take action.

In his latest rant, Mercer talks about Jamie Hubley, a 15-year old gay boy from Ottawa who took his own life after years of bullying, which mostly targeted his sexuality.

Mercer gets angry, and rightfully so, that this horrible bullying is not only still happening, but appears to go unpunished and urges his fellow Canadians to stand up and do something about it now.

"It's no longer good enough to tell kids who are different that it's going to get better. We have to make it better now," he says, "Every teacher, every student and every adult has to step up to the plate."

"Adults don't need role models, kids do," Mercer says in his rant, ending by saying "300 kids, is 300 too many," talking about the number of kids who commit suicide every year in Canada.

Reading the news stories, it's easy to see how amazing a kid Jamie Hubley was and how devastating a loss it was for everyone who knew him and for a world that needs people like him.

It’s also easy to see that we need to join together and take action now against every form of bullying, especially homophobic language which is so prevalent in hallways and classrooms of schools.

So I am grateful for Rick Mercer. I am grateful that he stands up for those causes and people that many others ignore. I am grateful that he's brave enough to grab millions of people in this country by the shoulders and shake them with the (sometimes) hard truth. And I am grateful that he's there to give us those slaps in the face that we need. Hopefully now we can wake up out of our daze and make this world a better place. I see hundreds of awesome things every day; there’s no way this isn’t possible as long as we work together for good.

See Mercer's video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wh1jNAZHKIw

#65- Street Musicians

There couldn't have been a duller start to the afternoon for me.

The skies were grey, the trees were beginning to go bare and I was just beginning an hour and a half round trip to school just to hand in an assignment.

If the people of the street could read my mind, all they would have seen was the word BLAH in caps and 72 size, Times New Roman font.

But suddenly the air was full of rhythm and movement, vivid colours and dreams and passion. It was full of something that blasted away the greyness, defied the blah, attached itself to everyone who walked by and, I'm certain, strolled along with them all say. Even if all those business people and mall shoppers tried to look too busy or too cool, I could them glance at the source of the music, a man playing the saxophone, and smile somewhere deep inside. And so did I.

Street musicians are willing to go out and liven everyone's day, put a little tune in their heads and a jump in their step, without a promise of any sort of return, not a Loonie or a quarter or even a nod from some people. They do it anyways, because the music is just as important as or greater than the desire to be recognized. Doing what makes them happy is payment enough sometimes.

So I am grateful for musicians who bring their talents to the spots outside the mall or the bus stops or crowded city corners. I am grateful for the inspiration and joy for life they give me. I am grateful for the pride they give me in the city where I live and the world I inhabit, because if there are people here that make people happy doing what they love without asking for anything in return, than we're definitely better off than some people think.

#64- Clean Slates

Thousands of people all over the province and a couple dozen warriors of the ice will begin to sketch a new landscape on a fresh canvass, a clean slate, today.

Today is the day when change could sweep Ontario or the status quo may reign supreme as voters get to flock to the polls and cast their ballot for the premier of the province.

Tonight will also mark the first game of the season for the Toronto Maple Leafs, ready to take on a 54 year Stanley Cup drought and bring glory back to Yonge Street.

These two things have more in common than (ego) bruising fights, cheap shots and people in blue who haven't won anything significant in a while. They are both an example of clean slates, and that's what's so magnificent about them.

A fresh start, a blank canvass, a clean slate. Whatever name you prefer, it invokes a feeling of optimism, a shared hope for something better, something that you can have a hand in creating even if it's just to experience history or jump in the air with crazed excitement.

It offers the opportunity to participate, not only know that the slate is there, but to draw on it, critique it, have your voice heard by voting or yelling at the TV screen at the local bar.

So go out there and make a mark on the slate, or make a huge drawing and colour it in while you're at it. Every day can be a blank canvass ready for your ideas and goals and actions and passion to be dabbed, brushed and thrown on.

So I am grateful for blank slates. I am grateful for our democratic system that allows for citizens to wipe everything clean and plan together what the new one is going to look like. I am grateful for what we can't see on a clean slate, but what we can feel; hope and optimism and a call to action. Take advantage of the clean slates in life and give others a chance to erase their mistakes and draw a new picture. Most of all be proud of where you're from and go out and vote today, it's not too late!

#63- Bookstores

The feeling I get when I walk into a book store is what I imagine it must be like for a fashion lover to enter through the doors into Saks Fifth Avenue in New York City or stroll down the Champ de Elysee in Paris.

It is the feeling of being surrounded by the stories of people past, present and future, the journeys of artists, the passion of the words, the knowledge and wisdom. It's like walking into a giant party where ideas are mingling around sipping cocktails or playing a cordial game of pool while others hang from the ceilings and a few have jumped into the pool with their clothes on and are seeing who can hold their breath the longest.

In short, bookstores to me feel alive, life each and every book has its own pulse, its own history. Just thinking about this gives me a head rush

Have you ever noticed that bookstores are designed like a maze in which you can find your own little corner while you lose yourself in another world? It's like bookstores are a gym I can go to to let my imagination run a few kilometres and lift some weights (although I wish going to the actual gym was this easy).

It's good to see that in an age when you can read Shakespeare on an iPad and the newspaper on your phone, it's still possible to hole up on a window sill of a bookstore on a rainy day with a book in your hands and read for hours.

So I am grateful for bookstores. I am grateful that they inspire me, enliven me, refresh me and make me explore. I am grateful for the people who make bookstore a possibility, especially the people who work there and the authors, who have lent their minds to others so they can be entertained or enraged or educated or confused or joyful or sad, but always feeling something.

#62-Autumn Leaves

Autumn leaves are nature's gift that keeps on giving.

Sadly I'm not talking about the Toronto Maple Leafs, who seem to be giving in to other teams every other game, but the leaves that are metamorphisizing, dancing and falling all over the place right now.

The other day I was looking out from the quad of my university along the Rideau Canal, I saw the trees lining the water waving their branches like flags of a dozen proud nations. All had different colours, different hues of red, orange, brown, yellow and green, like the trees had suddenly decided that with the sun deciding to sleep less and less these days that it was up to them to be vibrant and colourful.

It was a sight to see, but it wasn't just each individual tree that caught my eye, sparked my imagination and slowed my pace, but the way each tree covered in beautiful colours came together to create a huge living canvas right in front of me. I guess the individual trees coming together to create an amazing, hopeful and inspiration event could teach us all something about ourselves too.

But the leaves don't just stop there. One of my favourite smells in the entire world is the smell of fallen leaves when autumn comes around. It is the smell that reminds me of Thanksgiving turkey and mashed potatoes, of family sitting around the living room talking and laughing and of friends reminiscing about old memories while sipping on some nice pumpkin beer. Most of all it reminds me that falling down isn't always the worst thing that can happen.

So I am grateful for autumn leaves. For the beauty in their colours, the joy in their smell and the lessons they can teach.