Posted on August 1, 2013 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Yup, it’s true. The streets are paved with gold in Alberta. Had to see it with my own eyes.

Did you ever notice that economy class travellers don’t get the same treatment as first class? I just love when you’re airborne and the flight attendant announces that a hot meal will be served shortly in first class. It’s like they’re rubbing it in your nose. Meanwhile, the rest of the cattle are getting water and peanuts. Anyway, I couldn’t let this pass. We flew Tango from Toronto to Edmonton so I hastily penned a story called “Last Tango in Toronto”. I’ll be posting this soon.

If any of you read this week’s Casket, you would have seen my story “Uncontrolled Remote”. Those of you with delicate constitutions might be offended by my use of the word “arsehole” but when it comes to remotes, you just have to call a spade a spade. I will be posting this story on Saturday.

I received a lot of nice comments on my story about the 1000 aprons. It was a bit more on the serious side but obviously struck a chord with several of you. It’s really worth your while to go up to Bethany and see the display.

Lots of new stuff. I was in the Credit Union on “cheque day” earlier this week. I should have turned heel and beat a hasty retreat but sensing a story opportunity, jumped into the queue. It’s quite the spectacle. Every conversation was about one of two things. Go ahead and guess. You’re right. The weather… ” awful weather we’re having” or “jeez, but it’s muggy”. And ailments. You will hear every conceivable complaint about every body part if you get in a long enough lineup. The story is called “Chequed”.

The long weekend is almost upon us. Have a great one.

Posted on July 31, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

They stand on guard as if saluting their owners, most of them no longer with us.  They display every color of the rainbow as they hang in silent tribute as far as the eye can see, with strings fluttering in the gentle breeze.  They reflect the work of two thousand hands; in some cases a lifetime of seemingly endless toil. They represent pride and industry. These are the One Thousand Aprons and they hang majestically on the grounds behind the Motherhouse at Bethany.

With the exception of a handful of extremely talented chefs that I happen to know, most men will only don an apron when wielding barbeque utensils.  This is more for show than utility.  I know a few brave men who will tackle bread making and can whip up some pretty impressive fare, but truthfully, the aprons in this presentation are a reflection of a peerless generation of women from an era gone by.

The creation is the brainchild of Margaret Nicholson, an instructor with the St. F. X Fine Art Department.   The exhibit is called “One Thousand Aprons Waving Goodbye”.  The aprons are hung on continuous clotheslines approximately one kilometer long.

Where do you find one thousand aprons in the first place?  I suspect that every second hand shop, flea market and yard sale was explored over a long period of time.  According to a press release put out by the Bethany and CSM Leadership groups, “the aprons were worn by women for generations but they are a style of garment seemingly passing into obscurity as the women who used them are fewer in number with each passing year.”

My wife and I walked by the exhibit on a Sunday morning.  Neither of us said much as we gazed skyward at the impressive display.  Oh, if those aprons could talk, the stories they would tell.  Each apron has a history and one suspects that each of them bore witness to trials and tribulations, joys and sorrows, pain and pleasure.

These were the aprons worn by women of another era who worked the land and raised large families.  These women did the laundry by hand, prepared home cooked meals and toiled from sunrise to sunset.  Many of them grew up in a time where there was no electricity or running water.  That’s what the aprons are telling me as my gaze wanders from one to another.

The fact that they are hanging from a clothesline is no accident.  Once again, quoting from the press release, “the form of display on an outdoor clothesline symbolizes another form of domestic service and another disappearing household artifact, the clothesline”.  Many of us remember the day when our own mothers hung out laundry 365 days a year.  The only time that it was not advisable to hang laundry in the county was when the farmers were spreading manure.  In the dead of winter, the blue jeans would be stiff as a board coming off the line.

Is there a better smell than laundry dried in a warm breeze?

If you want to get in touch with the past, take a stroll along the rolling road behind the giant water tower at Bethany.  The exhibit ends with the Antigonish Arts Festival in late September.

Posted on July 30, 2013 under Storytelling with 3 comments

Don’t you just hate it when old folks lament the good old days?   They go on and on about life in a simpler time.  You know the drill: walked both ways to school (uphill!) had no running water or electricity, no indoor plumbing and for entertainment they counted the stars.  They talk lovingly about the general store as if it were Disney World, where they could load up on supplies and gossip, in equal measure.  It all sounds pretty romantic.

My grandfather owned a grocery store in Montreal.  Long before the days of shopping bags and the eco- friendly canvass bags that we all forget in the trunk upon entering the store, many goods were dispensed in jars.  You could buy sugar and flour in bulk along with other staples.  Everything was measured and weighed and you carried it home.  When it came time to cook supper or do some baking, the containers were accessible and easy to open.

Fast forward to 2013.  The packaging of goods has become part of the grand marketing scheme.  It is open warfare in retail stores and grocery stores alike.  Buying the goods is the easy part.  Extricating them is a whole other story.

By and large I am a patient man.  I grew up in a family of ten and we raised four of our own.  You either learn patience or die.  There are still a few things that test my patience.  Just yesterday at a local farm market I came close to threatening a woman, my hand hovering over my weapon of choice, a nearby parsnip.  She was at the head of a lineup of customers.  There was one till and a summer student (obviously trained earlier in the day) trying to deal with this woman who kept changing her mind.  You’ve been in this situation.  Enough said.

These days, companies have hired specialists from National Defense to design “easy to open” packages.  These items can also be designed to be child proof, senior proof and ultimately human proof.  They really don’t want you to get into them easily.  I know of someone who recently had an altercation with some clever packaging prior to going to work.  After feeble attempts using hands (remember the good old days when hands were enough?), he resorted to a combination of scissors, knives, a crowbar and a light saber.  Even though I never went to trade school (just tirade school), I have been forced to learn how to use a blow torch, when every other avenue of forced entry has been exhausted.

Oh yes.  I know what you’re going to say.  Industry has designed a cutting tool for this kind of packaging.  Only problem is that the bright lights who designed this device put it in an “easy to open” package.

And don’t you just love medicine pill bottles.  Sometimes you need to take anxiety medication just to get into the next bottle of anxiety medicine.

So let’s just add packaging rage to road rage.  And please bring back the general store.