JONATHAN VAN BILSEN

by Jonathan van Bilsen September has always been one of my favourite months. The heat of summer begins to disappear, jackets make their annual return, and leaves slowly transform into brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow. There is a freshness to September, a feeling of change and anticipation. At least there used to be. Twenty-five years ago, on September 11th, 2001, that changed forever. It is difficult to believe a quarter of a century has passed since that terrible m

by Jonathan van Bilsen The internet has helped me research history, plan trips to far-flung corners of the globe, and settle countless debates over obscure trivia. Recently, I had a run-in with the one online expert, who always seems to know everything: Dr. Google. Like clockwork, I went for my routine physical. I dutifully endured the blood work, ECG, ultrasound, and the usual poking and prodding. A few days later, the doctor called with good news. Everything looked great. I

by Jonathan van Bilsen Summer gardens are glorious; vibrant flowers, freshly mowed grass, and everything lush and green. There is absolutely nothing negative about the season... except the weeding. Don't misunderstand me; I genuinely enjoy cutting the grass and general maintenance, but weeding? That's simply not my thing. It's tedious, back-breaking work which seems never-ending. For that reason, I'm always searching for new and improved ways to complete this chore as quickly

by Jonathan van Bilsen As a child, I was remarkably selective about anything which ventured near my mouth. If food looked unusual, smelled unfamiliar, or possessed a texture which suggested it might still be alive, I wanted no part of it. As the years passed, however, my culinary courage grew, or perhaps deteriorated, depending on one’s perspective. Travelling tends to do that. You become curious. You convince yourself, tasting local food somehow deepens cultural understandin

by Jonathan van Bilsen Visions of orange jumpsuits and rusty shackles ran through my head, as I confronted the policeman writing my parking ticket. I was innocent. I had parked in a perfectly legal spot and told him so, triumphantly pointing at the post clearly marked ‘Parking.’ He agreed and I was about to ask why he was ticketing me. I froze when he silently gestured toward a fire hydrant, tucked neatly behind someone’s hedge. Mouth open, I stared at the yellow cylinder, mo

by Jonathan van Bilsen I have stayed at Selsdon Park Hotel, in Surrey, more than once before, and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings, steeped in history. The manor traces its roots back to around 800 AD, though the current structure reflects centuries of additions and alterations. Henry VIII acquired the estate because of its proximity, barely twenty minutes, to Hever Castle, the childhood home of Anne Boleyn. Convenience, even in Tudor times, appears to have mattered. On my

By Jonathan van Bilsen History has a habit of hiding in plain sight. It is often the smallest, most unremarkable details that are overlooked, set aside, or forgotten entirely. And yet, when chance brings those fragments back together, they can form a story far larger than any one moment. This was one of those occasions. I arrived in Canada with my family on August 14th, many years ago, unaware at the time that the journey itself would later take on a deeper meaning. We flew f

by Jonathan van Bilsen Christmas always carried its own collection of memories, but there was one which never faded. It went back more than fifty years, to when I was in my early twenties, and somehow found myself hosting a local television talent show, in Peel Region. Our very first taping took place during the first week of Christmas, which already felt like a risky choice. The show was called Cowboy Pete’s Talent Time, and there I was in a television studio, dressed head t

by Jonathan van Bilsen I never planned to spend a night in jail, but then again, few seventeen-year-olds do. Most people never see the inside of a cell, unless it is on television, and that is probably a good thing. It is certainly not the Marriott. Still, I can honestly say, I have done time in ‘the Big House’. It all started with a heartbreak. My first, in fact. She was the prettiest girl in my class, and for two glorious weeks, I thought we were destined for greatness. The