I never met the man. "Morningside" was an occasional radio treat for me, and I've never actually read one of his books. But I knew his face, and more importantly his voice, instantly. Peter Gzowski died yesterday, and I cried.

The Canadian news is full of every condolence and praise imaginable. I even saw Lloyd Robertson, news anchor on the competing CTV network, lamenting on the greatness of Peter Gzowski. An enormous number of people say that his passing, at the untimely age of 67, is a great loss (even though some of you out there may not even know who Peter Gzowski is, which to me is an even greater loss). But in life, in such a seemingly short amount of time, he did so much and touched so many.

His death has made me think about crazy things - things I'm worried I'm not thinking enough about. Things like reading, music, Canada, and the CBC. Here's an example: I took a roll of film in for developing yesterday and one hour later discovered a year's worth of forgotten photographs (visiting Mom & Dad in Victoria, B.C., Christmas in Toronto, Ontario, a Business trip to Banff, Alberta). Wow, pretty much coast-to-coast on one roll of film. Day to day I live and work in Toronto and, my heart sinks when I say this, I forget about what's outside this circle. I forget that great things are happening in Calgary, Moncton, Yellowknife, and Dawson Creek.

Peter Gzowski, Shelagh Rogers, Rex Murphy, Bill Richardson, and many others at the CBC remind and reveal to us many great things. Thanks to them, we hear and see a wide range of voices in our Canadian family. Being happy in your own neighbourhood is fine, but ours is a country wide and rich.

To be perfectly honest, I was a bit nervous as a Torontonian heading to Calgary this past week. In the end I was proven an idiot (as happened many years ago when I headed to Halifax), as Calgary greeted me with open arms and a hearty slap on the back.

Sometimes I think I'm a bad person. I don't read enough, I watch too much American television and don't really give a crap about independent Canadian film (except "The Big Snit" and anything with Mary Walsh in it). Then again, I do try to read at least one of the Giller Prize shortlisted authors every year, I love "This Hour Has Twenty-two Minutes," "Da Vinci's Inquest," and I do fly Air Canada and Tango (although I have little choice now).

I guess the point is, I'm trying. I'm trying to figure it all out; trying to hear Canadian voices, and see Canadian faces. Which is really what Peter Gzowski meant to me. He was just trying to figure it all out too, trying his best to give a damn about Canada and Canadians. Going from one spot to the next listening, inquiring, celebrating. Never in a pompous fashion, always with a tender heart, he would ask the questions we would ask and then just listen with the rest of us.

Andrew Duff, with renewed enthusiasm, calls Canada home.