Amid election cynicism, everything is right on this one night.

Amid election cynicism, everything is right on this one night in Burlington.

Community Living’s talent show cuts through the fog of election campaign cynicism.

Jeremy Goode, Emily Arbic and Ashmit Pal celebrate their winning performances at the Burlington Performing Arts Centre following Community Living’s Got Talent Saturday Sept. 21. - Snapd Burlington , Jodi Carr.

Judges (left to right) River Christie-White, Pat Leyland, Connie Smith, Amber Armstrong and Sarah Lisi compare notes backstage at Community Living Burlington’s Got Talent. - Snapd Burlington, Jodi Carr.

It was a welcome reprieve from this depressingly frustrating federal election campaign that's seeing politicians and pundits alike fighting for attention in such desperate, oh so transparent and — thanks often to social media — somewhat twisted attempts to get our votes. So I hope this little story gives you reason to have hope and smile.

The Burlington Performing Arts Centre exploded in unbridled joy and jubilation on this Saturday night in September, after the performances of a lifetime for a group of entertainers I must call my newest heroes, competing in Community Living Burlington's Got Talent #YESWEDO.

I meet up with my fellow judges backstage. River is last's year's grand prize winner who blew us away with his traditional hoop dancing which he performs to raise awareness for Autism, inclusion and diversity. He is one of the most well-spoken and insightful young men I have ever met. Sarah, a rhythmic gymnast, is also a former talent show contestant who won seven medals, most of them gold, at this year's Special Olympics in Abu Dhabi. She returned to Burlington to a hero's welcome.

Before the show, the excitement backstage is as electric as the costumes, from Bollywood gowns, to traditional Indigenous robes and headdress. We find ballerina Emily, a vision in flowing white, stretched out on the floor in splits, preparing for her number. Emily graduated with honours this spring from Conestoga College's Early Childhood Education program. Her stage presence is so engaging you can't help but smile in wonder and her dancing exquisite.

I could have been in Carnegie Hall listening to 12 -year-old Ashmit on piano segueing effortlessly and elegantly from "Classical Sonatina in D Major" to Billy Joel's "Piano Man." His manners and poise are incomparable. Ashmit has received numerous Royal Conservatory of Music awards and scholarships and wants to teach in his own studio one day after he masters several other instruments. Did I say he was 12?

I learn that Jeremy suffered a stroke at two months of age. As a young man today, conversations are difficult and it's hard to tell if he is even cognizant of what's happening around him but when he steps out on stage, and with a little imagination it could have been on Broadway itself, he steals the show and the grand prize performing "Les Poissons" as Chef Louie from "The Little Mermaid." Jeremy received a mark of 88 on his Royal Conservatory of Music voice exam.

At the other end of the age spectrum, Gary, over 50 and Anne, 67, partially blind and deaf, bring me to tears with their hauntingly beautiful renditions of "Green Green Grass of Home" and "You Needed Me." Anne's dream is to meet her idol, Anne Murray one day and how wonderful it would be to make that dream come true (watch for an update…).

For the judges it's a near-impossible feat to mark and rank 15 outstanding performances in all for I can honestly say for once in my life, they all get my vote!

It sounds like a cliché to say they all are winners but they are and they are not the only ones. Just to know there are individuals out there so pure of heart and intention, so authentic, inspiring and joyful in the face of their own lifelong personal struggles is a gift … a gift of hope for our often sad and downtrodden species so focused so often on everything that is wrong. For on this night everything feels right and everyone, on stage, backstage and in the audience is, indeed, a winner.

Now back to your regularly scheduled news from the election campaign trail … with a little more hope, I hope.

OPINION Oct 04, 2019 by Connie Smith - Hamilton Spectator.

That Other Language

Reflecting on La Belle Province and that time we almost lost it.

Spring is a good time to consider taking advantage of all that our French-Canadian cousins have to offer.

Media personality Connie Smith recently returned from a vacation in Quebec City for the annual Carnaval de Quebec, and reminds us Le Belle Province has much to offer the rest of Canada. - The Canadian Press file photo

As we say goodbye, finally, to winter, Connie Smith reflects on a chilling chapter in Canada's history after a visit to Quebec City for the annual Carnaval de Quebec, one of the largest and most celebrated winter festivals in the world.

We were once referred to as TROC … The Rest Of Canada. During those sovereignty debates, sign law controversies and that ever-so-close referendum, the province of Quebec came so perilously close to saying "au revoir" to TROC.

It was a historic period in Canadian history during the eighties and nineties with premiers Rene Levesque then Jacques Parizeau leading the separatist movement. I was a young TV news reporter covering the stories from the Hamilton and southern Ontario perspective: interviewing members of the local French community, authors, history and language scholars and, of course, politicians.

In addition to the daily news, I worked as a correspondent for a weekly public affairs program called, "One Canada," dedicated entirely to the national unity debate and specifically, to try to keep the country together. I also hosted and produced sovereignty debates and citizen forums, where TROC and francophones shared space on-air and eventually, in friendship.

As journalists, we remain objective professionally and publicly, exploring all sides of a story equally and as a result, it sometimes becomes difficult to even form personal opinions. All I knew and felt was the knowledge that something profound was about to happen between "les deux solitudes." The country had become so polarized (is it becoming so again over a different issue?). Many people in TROC bristled at the bilingual signs and the sound of the French language in PA systems and during flights. It was "us versus them."

Joni Mitchell sang about it in a song: "You don't know what you've got till it's gone." Thankfully, TROC figured that out in time during the 1995 Quebec independence referendum. Canadians by the car and busload, including schoolchildren, flooded into the Quebec capital in a show of national fervour and flag-waving seldom seen in modern history, outside a sports arena, imploring Quebecers to just say "non" to separation. It was an emotionally-charged time.

We filed our stories, went "live' from various locations, gathering the thoughts of ordinary citizens and legions of pundits. We held our collective breath as those votes were counted and even the most "just-let-them-go" among us let out a sigh of relief, if not outright cheer when the move to move out was defeated by 50.58 per cent.

Life got back to normal. Quebec worked hard to enshrine the French heritage into the Canadian identity while some in TROC still tended to complain about official bilingualism but the stories about national unity began disappearing from assignment meetings.

Fast-forward to present day: Carnaval de Quebec in Quebec City, rated as one of the top winter festivals in the world. It was a bucket-list trip to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Aside from some short-stay visits to "La Belle Province" for work, I had never visited as a tourist. This would be one of those seminal moments, no longer beholden to the journalistic law of objectivity, when I could, would, form an opinion about something of such significance.

The place is beautiful, from the modern outskirts to the historic city core, where the cobblestone streets and quaint storefront to the magnificent Chateau Frontenac and National Assembly.

The cuisine is second to none in the world, at least the major European cities my husband and I have visited.

The people are warm and welcoming, and boy, from the ice sculptures, to the Caribou (the hot wine drink variety), and the wild and crazy outdoor activities, like canoe races over a semi frozen St. Lawrence River, they know how to enjoy winter! Everyone appreciated my heartfelt and not bad attempts to converse in French and always offered "anglais" with a smile if that made it easier. I loved the sound of our other language and seeing the French-only signs.

The history is stunning, significant and such a visceral part of what it means to be Canadian.

So here's the thing: I now realize, more than ever, just "what we got" and Joni I don't want "it" gone.

My message to TROC, and my wish is for that term to no long have relevance: Go there, soak up the beauty, the food, the people, the history, the language, the uniqueness. Brush up on your high school French.

Encourage your kids to learn it. La Belle Province is wonderful, it is ours and be proud that it is.

OPINION Apr 01, 2019 by Connie Smith - Hamilton Spectator.

6 millimeters and yet so far!

We strategize about so many things: career moves, financing, making our kids do things and playing chess, something I just can’t get into despite my dad and now my son’s best efforts. But I never had to strategize how to get to the bathroom to wash my hair before....wait yes I did...about 30 years ago.

I slipped and fell at a Christmas party when I became too adventurous with a certain dance step. Some of you reading this blog may remember.

I jumped up out of sheer embarrassment hoping to finish the dance with no one noticing until I looked down and saw my misshapen left wrist and I began to faint. A lump of cartilage or calcium or something and a dull ache when it rain reminds me of that night in the hospital emergency department in my black, lacey cocktail dress.

Fast forward.

Sunday morning, breakfast table..."I think I will just top up my cof.....”

I stand up, turn and over I go on that weakened right ankle I sprained so many times before. I inherited my Dad’s weak ankle ligaments. Here I go again.

24 hours later, after hobbling to teach my last class for the semester, we are back at the same Urgent Care Centre we visited two years ago.  Just a sprain then but I needed crutches to MC an outdoor concert with Robbie Lane. Some of you reading this blog may remember that!

 Just in case, we bring those crutches and a pair of baggy pants with us in the car. The doctor says he’s never heard of anyone coming to the hospital so prepared for a broken bone. And sure enough it was broken…it being the 6 millimeters above the tip of my fibula. And yes they still use plaster casts.

Well I got that pendulum swing action down with the crutches. Stairs were a different matter at first. I bummed it. I can lean on things and thanks to years of yoga, I balance on one leg pretty well and hop. A week later after watching videos online, I manage up and down steps.

But it was that old keeping-the-cast-dry-conundrum .

So this brings us to mission: hair wash.

Garbage bag-check

Masking tape-check

Shower bench that belonged to my dear aunt-check

Hand shower-check

Shampoo, Conditioner-check

Razer ( for my good leg)-check

Body wash while I’m there anyway-check

They say you should do something that scares you every day. I thought I had conquered all: live TV without a script, interviewed prime ministers and movie stars, climbed up blast furnaces in high heels and hidden behind a tree during a stand-off between police and someone holed up with a gun. But here I am facing a 2 1/2 foot gap between the toilet and shower. It might as well have been 2 1/2 miles over burning hot coals. I pendulum swing into the bathroom, settle onto the bench, Dave (my Uber driver and general slave now) in tow with garbage bag and tape. Waterproofing complete;hand shower on!

 I throw back my head and turn to the warm, welcoming water and for a brief few moments I know victory! I am free and euphoric as water cascades over my body....just like Daryl Hannah in the movie, a green garbage bag as my tail, I am....a mermaid! 

***UPDATE:

*The following night I manoeuvre into the bathtub, celebrating with candles and wine! (thanks to my Uber slave).

**One week later I graduate to an aircast and discover the incredible Iwalk! -to be continued...