Posted on January 8, 2018 under Monday Morning Musings with 2 comments

Ubiquitous storm chips

 

Some of you who read my column religiously are not Facebook users. Facebook users: almost sounds like an addiction!? Last Thursday, I posted a cheeky piece about the hype surrounding storms. I wasn’t overtly criticizing weather forecasting but merely pointing out that all news, even when it’s weather, is so filled with drama. I mean, is every piece of news “Breaking News?” It seems that every time a ‘nor easter is brewing; it is being touted as “the storm of the century.” I have a theory on this.

Collusion.

I believe that “storm hysteria” is created by the potato chip industry that have a vested interest in bad weather news now that “storm chips” have become as essential as water, candles and matches in one’s storm prep. I haven’t checked but I’m guessing that with some digging, you might find out that a potato chip company is the major sponsor of The Weather Network!

My post touched off a mild frenzy with readers weighing in on storms, storm procedures and storm food. While I wasn’t pointing any fingers, it seems that school closures are a source of angst for many people.

So here goes. A few thoughts on school closures.

First of all, full disclosure. I can claim the following: I was a school aged student once; I was a parent of four young children who attended school; I was a school teacher; I was a school principal and was a member of the school board. And now, I’m a grandparent of  school aged children… the best role in the education chain.  I think it is safe to say that I understand all sides of the debate. I even learned to drive a school bus in rural Northern Alberta (as a spare driver).

So, let’s start off with all the nostalgia stuff. I bumped into a retired school principal who reminded me that school was never called off back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. There were town schools and there were county schools in the days before that charming architectural structure, the J.H. Gillis Regional School was erected.

Those children in the town, who cared to wade through waist high snow drifts, could go to school. (Parent’s decision). Invariably, they would be met by a very small number of their peers. Of course, it turned into a fun day. In the county, it was ultimately the decision of each individual (parent, teacher, bus driver) as to whether they would try and get to school. Most times, nobody was able to make it to the county schools rendering cancellation a moot point. When I taught in the Peace River country, buses were not allowed to run once the temp got to -40. Of course, the motors wouldn’t turn over at that temp… another obvious redundancy.

Many of the comments I received were from people close to my age who remember storm days fondly. Many people had wood stoves so keeping warm and cooking weren’t problematic. Candles were lit. Books were read and you might also get trounced in cards by granny!

I wouldn’t dare try to comment on the dicey and oft times emotional debate on school closures in 2018. The dynamics at homes and in schools have changed so radically that trying to make any comparison, between “then” and “now” would be ludicrous.

Think I’ll grab a bowl of chips.

Do you have a sense of humour? Would you like to become rich and famous?

I am in the throes of writing my India book. I need a title… something unique and catchy. Please private message me or send me an e-mail with your suggestion. If I choose your title (drum roll….), I will acknowledge it on the inside cover of the book, assuring your immortality. You will also receive an autographed copy of the first book off the presses. You’ve heard the expression “Go west, young man”? My daughter suggested that I call the book “Go east old man.”

“Silence and smiles are two powerful tools. A smile is a way to solve many problems and silence is a way to avoid them.” ( Unknown )

Have a great week.

Posted on January 3, 2018 under Storytelling with one comment

Hear! Hear!

( With the impending storm, thought I’d get this to you now. Don’t want you suffering withdrawal if the power is out in the morning which seems likely ).

Fred (*) grew up in the Gaspe, the 15^th. of 15 children. With no running water or electricity, life was not easy. Most of his male siblings died in infancy and one died in the war making Fred the only boy in a house full of females. One might suggest that he was a bit spoiled by his sisters. He had some serious health issues in his youth requiring lengthy periods of hospitalization. If possible, his sisters doted on him more than before.

The family eventually moved to Montreal to improve educational opportunities… especially for Fred, the one who would carry the family name into the future.

Fred worked in the shipbuilding industry as a pipefitter on the waterfront in Montreal. It was a noisy and dangerous place to work resulting in a number of injuries and gradual hearing impairment. Everyone, except Fred, recognized the problem. Over time, family members had to start talking louder to be heard. The volume level for the radio and television were ratcheted up when Fred was listening. So loud was Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights, that some claimed you could hear the broadcast clearly in the next time zone.

Fred continued to refuse to acknowledge that he had a hearing problem. Oddly enough, he seemed to have a knack for hearing some things, especially when the family was trying to keep something from him.

He remarried after the death of his first wife and she made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t going to tolerate all the loud noises and shouting. She insisted that Fred get his hearing checked and if necessary, get hearing aids. Fred’s “selective” hearing was in full force when this subject came up. He pretended not to hear.

In 1978, unbeknownst to his wife and family, Fred took a trip to the Hudson Bay store and went to a hearing clinic on the second floor. He was tested and not surprisingly, discovered that he would need to wear hearing devices. He came home with his “Bay bag”, dropped it on the kitchen table and said, “There. I hope you’re satisfied.” And that was the last time anyone saw the hearing aids. He never put them in once.

Fred passed away in 1992 and his daughter Susan (*) went to his house to collect a suit for the wakes. Yes, there were to be two wakes held: one in Montreal and the other on home soil in the Gaspe. She grabbed a suit from his closet along with a tie and then went to the dresser to get socks and undergarments. While rifling through a stack of underwear, she came upon a Hudson’s Bay bag which had been sitting there for 14 years. The hearing aids were still in the original packaging.

Before the viewing at the funeral home in Montreal, Susan placed Fred’s Masonic apron and a copy of the Bible inside the coffin to carry Fred along his journey. The hearing aids were in her purse and she was sorely tempted to put them in the coffin, or indeed in his ears. But superstition got the better of Susan and she decided not to tempt fate. In her purse they remained.

Until she got to the wake in the Gaspe.

At the conclusion of the wake and prior to the funeral service, she removed the hearing aids from her purse and placed one by each ear just before they closed the lid of the coffin.

One can only imagine that when Fred reached the pearly gates, he wouldn’t have had to yell at the angels. He will forever be able to hear their soft voices… with his never before worn hearing aids from the Bay.

*Names have been changed.

Posted on January 1, 2018 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

Product of the year 2018?

 

I report, with a great deal of pride, that I ushered in the New Year for the first time in recent memory. I’m normally a “no show”, having neither the stamina nor interest in staying awake for the countdown.

When our children were small, staying up until midnight was a myth as sleep took precedence over just about everything else. As the kids got older, they shamed us into staying up. Frequently, we would go to bed and then get them to wake us at 11:55. We even went out to a few New Year’s Eve bashes, usually house parties. But you get the picture. We were never super keen on New Year’s Eve.

So yesterday afternoon, I started the countdown at 2:29 Atlantic Standard Time. Huh? With a 9.5 hour time difference, I celebrated the New Year with my friends in India at 2:30 (12:00 a.m.  IST ) sharp… bright eyed and bushy tailed!

Did you get a “Fitbit” for Christmas? They’re all the rage you know and this gadget will calculate just about anything, anytime, anywhere.

I did NOT get a Fitbit. However, after my eating spree, I’m thinking about marketing a new device next year called the “ Fatbit.” It charts the calories you consume during the twelve days of Christmas. This puppy is not one bit interested in the amount of calories burned. No, this is a shaming device trying to do the impossible: calculate the gargantuan number of calories that you consumed while eating and drinking like a drunken sailor during the holiday season.

My “ Fatbit” finally gave up the ghost on the 11^th. Day of Christmas as I single handedly tried to eradicate all the sweets in the house before January first. Come on, admit it. You’re doing the same thing. You know that you must curtail if not eliminate your sugar intake come January 1^st and the only way you’re going to do this is to remove every vestige of sweets in the house, even if you have to do this on your own. You know you can do it. You did it last year and the year before.

Yes, those last few days before the New Year are not something I’m proud of but I AM pleased to report that there are no sweets in the house as I launch a new year of unfulfilled promises. I’ll go “cold turkey” for the month of January to give my vital organs a well-deserved rest. I will eat fresh fruits and vegetables as if they were the greatest gifts of the magi. I will eat arugula salad with avocados. I will flush my system with 64 ounces of water daily and pee like a racehorse all day long. I will show restraint in portion sizes. I will avoid going to the Maritime Inn lest I be tempted by their bread pudding.

February will come and I will acknowledge my hard work by moving my belt buckle back one whole hole. My sugar craving will have passed and I will allow myself one dessert every two weeks…. Ever the disciplinarian.  By spring this will have eased into once a week and by next December, I will be full throttle again.

Fatbit. Don’t leave home without it!

Happy New Year!