I hate name tags, probably as much as a steer, on the range, hates brands. For the most, part I live a name tag free life. They were part of another time, when for practical reasons, it was supposedly necessary to label the people who were floating through each other's lives, like ships in the night.
On the other hand, in this small community life, there is the time to get to know a name as as we get to know the person. Some names become an integrated part of everyday living.
I see from my daughters' photos, that sometimes they wear lanyards around their necks, attached to plastic pockets holding, no doubt, their names as well as the necessary business information of their being, as they navigate their way through business doings. Very practical, but try to imagine name-tagged guests at a wedding. Somehow it goes against the spirit of the celebration,
A family story I love is about an encounter, my favourite aunt had in her later years. She and my uncle were at a neighbour's cocktail party, an event that was not all that common in her life. At some point she became part of a conversation with an older gentleman, about her age. My aunt for me was an especially interesting woman, because she was always interested in what was going on around her. She was engaged in a long animated conversation, not always the hallmark of cocktail party chatter. In time, they parted and my aunt went off to find her somewhat shy husband. His eyes were sparkling with amusement. "What on earth were you talking about all that time ?", he wanted to know. My aunt said she was telling the tales of her childhood growing up in the house across the street that her grandfather had built and where she had raised her family and continued to live.
My uncle asked if she knew the name of the man with whom she had been talking. She replied she had no idea. My uncle was delighted to tell her, the man was none other than Marshall MacLuhan, the guru of communication theory, the medium is the message. My aunt laughed at the amusing serendipity of the encounter. If he had been wearing a name tag, it wouldn't have happened. She likely would have been uncomfortable with the conversation. My aunt and Marshall MacLuhan would have been the lesser for it.
If others want to join the name tagged, I have no objection, but I know I am not the only one who is uncomfortable with the practice. Some do not want a sticky piece of paper shoved on a favourite sweater, some do not like the aesthetics of it all and some think that it in some way diminishes a sense of privacy.
I perceive there are those who are affronted, when some individuals decline the fine offer to be labelled, along with the other labelees and valiantly try to make contact between name tag and the nameless.
Whatever the reason, just let the nameless be. Put down your pen and sticky paper. They know who they are and just like me, may hate name tags.
Thursday, 28 January 2016
Sunday, 10 January 2016
Kitchen Renovations
I am about to start a kitchen renovation. Some may be surprised that I am taking on such a project. House renovations, aside from a coat of paint or two are just not my thing.
Unfortunately, this past year my dishwasher died. Before I had put this dishwasher in, I had written with a marker at the back of the space where the dishwasher was to go, DISHWASHER. CHRISTMAS GIFT 1998. So I guess it didn't owe me anything. I am saving euphemistic pennies for a new roof and thought a dishwasher was not as essential. My family thought otherwise.
My daughter lives in an area outside Halifax, that has a local community website. Lo and behold, she opened the site to find a working dishwasher, was going to be put out on the street nearby. She called to ask what I thought of the idea, which was not much.
Nevertheless she called the owner and learned only a small attachment piece, was missing.
In the stealth of night my daughter, her husband and small son set out to somehow force the big dishwasher into their small car. The strength of their next-door neighbour was required, as my daughter's older sister still every so often refers to her as spaghetti arms.
The strength of my neighbour was required to get the dishwasher from the small car to my kitchen. There it sat waiting. I finally gave up and on a second try I found the missing attachment at a hardware store.
The dishwasher is the moveable type that I push to the sink, plug in the cord and attach to the faucet. When all goes as planned I have clean dishes to put away. This isn't my first choice, but the dishes get washed, my kitchen is big and there is that extra surface space, whenever I am in the frenzy of creative cooking, which is not that frequent, or just plain cooking. There is also a place for my dirty dishes. I don't have a "dumb waiter ", a cupboard on pulleys going down into the cellar, as my great aunts did with their dirty dishes, when unexpected guests arrived at the door.
I have made peace with the dishwasher.
During the Christmas holidays my kitchen was sometimes filled to capacity with rambunctious little boys. They claimed the opening the dishwasher left. Much to their delight I found a box of stickers and some small stick on, coloured lights. Later I found an old kitchen cabinet door in the basement that my cousin reluctantly attached to the opening.
So I begin my kitchen renovation, on a scale perfectly suited for me. My little grandson and visiting children will soon have a tastefully decorated "snug away" place of their own, and if I am lucky I will be able to find a cart to roll in and out to hold kitchenware excess.
Thursday, 7 January 2016
I am not sorry to say goodbye to 2015
I am not sorry to say goodbye to 2015.
No year comes without joys and sorrows, surprises, disappointments. This year just broke my heart. The world seemed to whirl in incomprehensible ways.
Close friends died and my lifelong compatriot in adventure left so unexpectedly.
In a very small community each loss diminishes us all, and we seemed to lose so many. The Harbourville "originals" leave one by one taking untold stories and other perspectives of place with them.
Moses, my dog, who shared so many of my stories, wore out and died.
Happiness is a vapid and overused concept. We all know what it means, sort of. But the pursuit of happiness seems like such a hollow pursuit.
I would rather create space for joy, though joy just seems to burst in through sorrow, uninvited to help mend a broken heart and sprinkle living with the new and the familiar possibilities that make life liveable.
The universe sent sweet infants to waiting, loving arms. I watch all of them grow with the little ones, who came before them. Dark and light times wait ahead for all of them.
I am thankful for the joy they bring all of us, from the twinkling stars with their twinkling eyes, filling all darkness with light.
No year comes without joys and sorrows, surprises, disappointments. This year just broke my heart. The world seemed to whirl in incomprehensible ways.
Close friends died and my lifelong compatriot in adventure left so unexpectedly.
In a very small community each loss diminishes us all, and we seemed to lose so many. The Harbourville "originals" leave one by one taking untold stories and other perspectives of place with them.
Moses, my dog, who shared so many of my stories, wore out and died.
Happiness is a vapid and overused concept. We all know what it means, sort of. But the pursuit of happiness seems like such a hollow pursuit.
I would rather create space for joy, though joy just seems to burst in through sorrow, uninvited to help mend a broken heart and sprinkle living with the new and the familiar possibilities that make life liveable.
The universe sent sweet infants to waiting, loving arms. I watch all of them grow with the little ones, who came before them. Dark and light times wait ahead for all of them.
I am thankful for the joy they bring all of us, from the twinkling stars with their twinkling eyes, filling all darkness with light.
Sunday, 27 September 2015
The crows tumble
The sun is shining, the wind is strong enough to let me know the time of summer zephyrs has past for now, it is cold enough to cull through my loved winter socks to warmly decorate my feet, and the wood is stacked and ready for its final call to duty.
Good people fill my life. We gathered at a home, high on a cliff along the Fundy, last night, to celebrate birthdays. In reality we were celebrating friendship, indeed life. Each arrival was greeted with enthusiasm and introductions were hurled through air, often missing the mark, but nevertheless, confirming everyone was welcome.
Meat roasted on the large outdoor grill, the salads and other accompanying dishes gradually filled up one table and then took over another. Wine bottles gathered on another table with a motley assortment of glasses. Many remained uncorked, ready for another time.
As it got dark, it got colder. Car blankets draped the cold shoulders of the unprepared. Ever changing groups of people filled and refilled their plates. In time the weaker among us sought shelter inside the house with its heated floors. Hugs and laughter. Laughter and hugs. Friends of friends have become friends.
My cousin and his band clunked around their equipment in a corner for awhile, then the music began. Refugees from the sixties, moved their longtime moves. Mountain dancing has evolved its own unique style. The few younger participants, with mesmerising moves, let us know time had moved on, but that didn't seem to matter. The combinations of dancers was ever changing. The music was good and my cousin was happy.
This morning is a" back into bed morning". Sunday morning reverie is enhanced as I hear from my kids and grandkids that for the most part, all is well in their worlds.
I patiently, and a wee bit apprehensively, await the eclipse of the blood red moon and the highest tides in years, tonight
For now, I'll watch the crows tumbling through the sky, for the sheer love of it.
Good people fill my life. We gathered at a home, high on a cliff along the Fundy, last night, to celebrate birthdays. In reality we were celebrating friendship, indeed life. Each arrival was greeted with enthusiasm and introductions were hurled through air, often missing the mark, but nevertheless, confirming everyone was welcome.
Meat roasted on the large outdoor grill, the salads and other accompanying dishes gradually filled up one table and then took over another. Wine bottles gathered on another table with a motley assortment of glasses. Many remained uncorked, ready for another time.
As it got dark, it got colder. Car blankets draped the cold shoulders of the unprepared. Ever changing groups of people filled and refilled their plates. In time the weaker among us sought shelter inside the house with its heated floors. Hugs and laughter. Laughter and hugs. Friends of friends have become friends.
My cousin and his band clunked around their equipment in a corner for awhile, then the music began. Refugees from the sixties, moved their longtime moves. Mountain dancing has evolved its own unique style. The few younger participants, with mesmerising moves, let us know time had moved on, but that didn't seem to matter. The combinations of dancers was ever changing. The music was good and my cousin was happy.
This morning is a" back into bed morning". Sunday morning reverie is enhanced as I hear from my kids and grandkids that for the most part, all is well in their worlds.
I patiently, and a wee bit apprehensively, await the eclipse of the blood red moon and the highest tides in years, tonight
For now, I'll watch the crows tumbling through the sky, for the sheer love of it.
Saturday, 13 June 2015
Karen, An individual who will not be forgotten.
Karen asked me several times to write her eulogy. Unfortunately, I live too far away to be at her Memorial Service. I will be there in spirit. Here is some of the material I would have included.
Here goes it Karen.
1. There has never been, nor will there ever be another just like her.
2. I don't know anyone who embraced motherhood with more enthusiasm.
3. Karen loved being pregnant.
4. With husband Bill she produced four, unique, talented human beings in five years. ( Ok, there was one set of twins. )
5. Her children, were always at the hub of the neighbourhood.
6. Karen's mother, with a voice that was seldom restrained, was a frequent fixture on Karen's front lawn.
7. Karen loved family and it was lucky she did. She was part of an active brood of siblings.
8. Karen loved all kids, especially the children she spent so much time with at a school/hospital for multi-handicapped children.
9. I don't think there was a kid who didn't love Karen.
10. I don't think there was a child she couldn't bring a smile to the face.
11. I don't think there is a limit to the number of babies, Karen wanted to have. The family would NOT have been of the Dugger mode.
!2. Karen's strength didn't lie in organization and housework skills.
13. There is nobody I would rather have on my team for a grand celebration.
14. Karen was a strong supporter of The Royal Family. One year to her surprise she found herself a member of The Monarchist League of Canada.
15. The membership came with a fine pair of white gloves.
16. She loved pushing her children throughout the neighbourhood in their fine British perambulator.
17. For many years it remained empty and disconsolate on her front porch.
!8. I don't know whether she loved The Canadian National Exhibition or Christmas the best.
19. At one point, she insisted she wanted her ashes spread on The Ex grounds.
20. Some christmas ornaments stayed up from one Christmas to another.
21. The neighbourhood Christmas Carol Party was legend.
22. One year Rudolph the Reindeer arrived with treats for the kids. I don't think Emily ever got over it.
23. Karen filled her children's lives with music.
24. Music remains an important part of their lives.
25. Karen liked teaching Sunday School.
26. She was a little under confident of her theology, but her class made mighty fine crafts.
27. She was a favourite.
28. For much of her life the YMCA Camp Pinecrest was the centre of her universe.
29. She was very adept at all camp activities.
30. One memorable time she chose to impress a young gentleman friend, that she was impervious to the ravages of poison ivy. She rubbed the leaves all over herself. Unfortunately, her immunity was limited. For some time her life was very uncomfortable.
31. To the delight of many, Bill's hands broke out shortly after in a poison ivy like rash.
32. Karen was a proud graduate of Lawrence Park Collegiate.
33. She wore her LPCI blazer for many, many, many years after graduation.
34. Karen was very pleased when her vocational aptitude tests suggested she would make a fine carousel operator.
35. There was never a house with more stray socks than Karen's.
36. Karen was a member in good standing of The Kashe Lake Literary Society. This had nothing to do with books, but was a yearly gathering of neighbourhood friends at our President, Joyce's cottage.
37. The centre of interest was good food, some wine and much merriment.
38. The last meeting was held was held in Harbourville N.S., some years ago.
39. Throughout Karen's life there were more than a few significant challenges.
40. Karen met her challenges with courage and humour.
41. Years ago, Karen was diagnosed with a very rare form of Pancreatic Cancer. She lived a long, rich time after the diagnoses, with much medical intervention.
42. Thankfully, Karen enjoyed almost all things medical.
43. Karen loved dogs. Bandit was a favourite.
45. When my father was dieing, Karen brought her kids home from her cottage for several days so my kids would have kids to play with.
46. Karen was up for almost anything. She kept a container of ladybugs and a praying mantis in her frig, a surprise for my mother, an organic gardener, on Mother's Day. Unfortunately, her kids opened the lid and her frig was filled with hundreds of ladybugs.
47. When I was out and my invalid father did not answer the phone. Not having a key, she sent her smallest boy through the milk door to check on him.
48.She was a great sports fan. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgoooooooooooooooooes.
49. Most years her kids were in the Santa Clause Parade, an event that meant getting up very, very early.
50. Her young daughter invited the teachers to lunch. In a flurry of faux tidying, her friends helped fill the small room by the back door, from floor to ceiling with stray things, then closed the door. Allison brought the teachers to the back door.
51. Karen loved toys. It wasn't long after the twins were out of diapers, she began putting things away for grandchildren.
52. Karen became a grandma after I left the neighbourhood. I hope she was fully appreciated by her grandchildren.
53. Thanks Karen for leaving so many wonderful memories.
Travelling Mercies.
Here goes it Karen.
1. There has never been, nor will there ever be another just like her.
2. I don't know anyone who embraced motherhood with more enthusiasm.
3. Karen loved being pregnant.
4. With husband Bill she produced four, unique, talented human beings in five years. ( Ok, there was one set of twins. )
5. Her children, were always at the hub of the neighbourhood.
6. Karen's mother, with a voice that was seldom restrained, was a frequent fixture on Karen's front lawn.
7. Karen loved family and it was lucky she did. She was part of an active brood of siblings.
8. Karen loved all kids, especially the children she spent so much time with at a school/hospital for multi-handicapped children.
9. I don't think there was a kid who didn't love Karen.
10. I don't think there was a child she couldn't bring a smile to the face.
11. I don't think there is a limit to the number of babies, Karen wanted to have. The family would NOT have been of the Dugger mode.
!2. Karen's strength didn't lie in organization and housework skills.
13. There is nobody I would rather have on my team for a grand celebration.
14. Karen was a strong supporter of The Royal Family. One year to her surprise she found herself a member of The Monarchist League of Canada.
15. The membership came with a fine pair of white gloves.
16. She loved pushing her children throughout the neighbourhood in their fine British perambulator.
17. For many years it remained empty and disconsolate on her front porch.
!8. I don't know whether she loved The Canadian National Exhibition or Christmas the best.
19. At one point, she insisted she wanted her ashes spread on The Ex grounds.
20. Some christmas ornaments stayed up from one Christmas to another.
21. The neighbourhood Christmas Carol Party was legend.
22. One year Rudolph the Reindeer arrived with treats for the kids. I don't think Emily ever got over it.
23. Karen filled her children's lives with music.
24. Music remains an important part of their lives.
25. Karen liked teaching Sunday School.
26. She was a little under confident of her theology, but her class made mighty fine crafts.
27. She was a favourite.
28. For much of her life the YMCA Camp Pinecrest was the centre of her universe.
29. She was very adept at all camp activities.
30. One memorable time she chose to impress a young gentleman friend, that she was impervious to the ravages of poison ivy. She rubbed the leaves all over herself. Unfortunately, her immunity was limited. For some time her life was very uncomfortable.
31. To the delight of many, Bill's hands broke out shortly after in a poison ivy like rash.
32. Karen was a proud graduate of Lawrence Park Collegiate.
33. She wore her LPCI blazer for many, many, many years after graduation.
34. Karen was very pleased when her vocational aptitude tests suggested she would make a fine carousel operator.
35. There was never a house with more stray socks than Karen's.
36. Karen was a member in good standing of The Kashe Lake Literary Society. This had nothing to do with books, but was a yearly gathering of neighbourhood friends at our President, Joyce's cottage.
37. The centre of interest was good food, some wine and much merriment.
38. The last meeting was held was held in Harbourville N.S., some years ago.
39. Throughout Karen's life there were more than a few significant challenges.
40. Karen met her challenges with courage and humour.
41. Years ago, Karen was diagnosed with a very rare form of Pancreatic Cancer. She lived a long, rich time after the diagnoses, with much medical intervention.
42. Thankfully, Karen enjoyed almost all things medical.
43. Karen loved dogs. Bandit was a favourite.
45. When my father was dieing, Karen brought her kids home from her cottage for several days so my kids would have kids to play with.
46. Karen was up for almost anything. She kept a container of ladybugs and a praying mantis in her frig, a surprise for my mother, an organic gardener, on Mother's Day. Unfortunately, her kids opened the lid and her frig was filled with hundreds of ladybugs.
47. When I was out and my invalid father did not answer the phone. Not having a key, she sent her smallest boy through the milk door to check on him.
48.She was a great sports fan. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgoooooooooooooooooes.
49. Most years her kids were in the Santa Clause Parade, an event that meant getting up very, very early.
50. Her young daughter invited the teachers to lunch. In a flurry of faux tidying, her friends helped fill the small room by the back door, from floor to ceiling with stray things, then closed the door. Allison brought the teachers to the back door.
51. Karen loved toys. It wasn't long after the twins were out of diapers, she began putting things away for grandchildren.
52. Karen became a grandma after I left the neighbourhood. I hope she was fully appreciated by her grandchildren.
53. Thanks Karen for leaving so many wonderful memories.
Travelling Mercies.
Tuesday, 2 June 2015
First Nations Truth and Reconciliation Report
June 2, 2015 am
It is a time to listen and absorb. The story belongs to all Canadians, and all of us are a part of the story. But, now is the time to listen to the voices of the First Nations people whose lives and living remain bound in ways, that were not theirs and not of their choosing.
Silence was demanded of them. Right now. the least we can do is listen with open hearts. In time, we may be able to find the paths through listening and striving to understand, that can lead us to reconciliation.
The truth is hard to hear. Imagine how much the truth is to bare.
It is a time to listen and absorb. The story belongs to all Canadians, and all of us are a part of the story. But, now is the time to listen to the voices of the First Nations people whose lives and living remain bound in ways, that were not theirs and not of their choosing.
Silence was demanded of them. Right now. the least we can do is listen with open hearts. In time, we may be able to find the paths through listening and striving to understand, that can lead us to reconciliation.
The truth is hard to hear. Imagine how much the truth is to bare.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Grandma's Rx. Visit to Faraway Grandkids
Somewhere in the mists of time, in the childhood literature of Dick and Jane and The Golden Books, a vision of a Visit from Grandma took form.
Mother dries her hands on her gingham apron as she opens the front door to welcome Grandmother. Grandmother emerges from the taxi, in her best suit with her arms filled with wrapped presents for everyone. The taxi driver carries her leather suitcase. Perhaps there will be a new hand knit sweater for little Susie.
Within moments Grandmother is in the kitchen, wearing an apron over her housedress. Her sensible shoes shine. A perfectly baked apple pie is being lifted from the oven. Father will soon be home from the office carrying the newspaper and his brown briefcase.
I have left the mists of the Bay of Fundy, to find myself, a grandma, visiting in the heart of a very large city. Not surprisingly, the scene has changed a bit.
I do not own a dress, let alone a house dress. I left my Frenchy 's collection of aprons, behind in the attic. I am bearing gifts, with some specially bagged presents for a little birthday girl.
This visit from grandma is stripped of preciousness. The little birthday girl lies languidly on the living room couch, disturbed by intermittent coughing spells. She takes up residence in her mother's room, as I takeover her lower bunk in the room she shares with her sister. My life is inundated with Monster High dolls and unidentified tiny objects.
The Birthday Party with friends is postponed, but the family party takes place. Decorations are limited to May Day flowers and a few party pretties. The "cake mix" cake has been imaginatively decorated by the birthday girl. A grand celebration is had by all.
But the unseen viruses and bacteria begin to expand their territory. The sickee becomes sicker. As her body conquers the invaders, her sister's health begins to wane. This is not a happy situation. Little people like older people are not at their best when sick.
Mummy reluctantly sets off to work. Grandma strives to bring comfort, support and a little fun to the sickees, sometimes with success, sometimes not. Weary momma arrives to a home without a sweet smelling pie baking in the oven, but a credit card waits by the door to take care of supper.
This may sound like a sad story, but it is not. I get to be a real grandma to my faraway grand daughters and get a chance to know them on their own territory, in ways not as possible on summer vacations and Christmas visits. For a short time, I get to be a real grandma. The impossible happens and I find myself loving them even more.
Mother dries her hands on her gingham apron as she opens the front door to welcome Grandmother. Grandmother emerges from the taxi, in her best suit with her arms filled with wrapped presents for everyone. The taxi driver carries her leather suitcase. Perhaps there will be a new hand knit sweater for little Susie.
Within moments Grandmother is in the kitchen, wearing an apron over her housedress. Her sensible shoes shine. A perfectly baked apple pie is being lifted from the oven. Father will soon be home from the office carrying the newspaper and his brown briefcase.
I have left the mists of the Bay of Fundy, to find myself, a grandma, visiting in the heart of a very large city. Not surprisingly, the scene has changed a bit.
I do not own a dress, let alone a house dress. I left my Frenchy 's collection of aprons, behind in the attic. I am bearing gifts, with some specially bagged presents for a little birthday girl.
This visit from grandma is stripped of preciousness. The little birthday girl lies languidly on the living room couch, disturbed by intermittent coughing spells. She takes up residence in her mother's room, as I takeover her lower bunk in the room she shares with her sister. My life is inundated with Monster High dolls and unidentified tiny objects.
The Birthday Party with friends is postponed, but the family party takes place. Decorations are limited to May Day flowers and a few party pretties. The "cake mix" cake has been imaginatively decorated by the birthday girl. A grand celebration is had by all.
But the unseen viruses and bacteria begin to expand their territory. The sickee becomes sicker. As her body conquers the invaders, her sister's health begins to wane. This is not a happy situation. Little people like older people are not at their best when sick.
Mummy reluctantly sets off to work. Grandma strives to bring comfort, support and a little fun to the sickees, sometimes with success, sometimes not. Weary momma arrives to a home without a sweet smelling pie baking in the oven, but a credit card waits by the door to take care of supper.
This may sound like a sad story, but it is not. I get to be a real grandma to my faraway grand daughters and get a chance to know them on their own territory, in ways not as possible on summer vacations and Christmas visits. For a short time, I get to be a real grandma. The impossible happens and I find myself loving them even more.
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