Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (and Whimsy)

Posted on December 4, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

 

 

 

“Oh, the good ol’ hockey game,

Is the best game you can name,

And the best game you can name,

Is the good ol’ hockey game.”

The Hockey Song – Stompin’ Tom Connors

Who is your superhero?

When we were younger, most of us had a superhero. Someone we admired and looked up to. Typically, these characters came leaping off the pages of a comic book which many of us collected and ravenously digested in our youth. Batwoman. Superman. Wonder Woman. These heroes were larger than life, accomplishing superhuman feats like leaping out of tall buildings to rescue someone in distress. We were awe struck, plain and simple.

I would like to add one more to an updated list: hockey moms.

When I was growing up, hockey was not the 24/7 obsession that it appears to be today. Back then, minor hockey mostly happened just on the weekend. The youngest boys (yes it was all a male domain back in the dark ages!) played the earliest on any given Saturday morning. Most of us put our gear on at home and those of us who lived in town walked to the old Memorial rink in our skates! You see, no one could tie skates like mom so just as well to get it done right in the comfort of your own home. With 8 children in the house, mom’s didn’t attend a lot of games. My mother never saw me play. She didn’t miss much!

The legendary Frank McGibbon single handedly ran the minor hockey program and he had the keys to the rink. On bitterly cold mornings, if you arrived before Frank did, you simply walked next door to the university’s boiler room to keep warm. Back then, the university burned coal. The evidence could be found on the white sheets hanging on the clothesline.

Most people use two-by-fours to build things. Frank used them as ice dividers. It was a stroke of genius on Frank’s part. How could he possibly teach 100 kids at the same time? He divided the ice into sections using lumber. At any point in time, four games could be happening simultaneously with Frank masterminding the entire process. Later in the morning as the older boys arrived, boards were removed progressively and only the oldest got to use the entire surface. If you wonder why so many of the old timers can stick handle so well, it probably came from learning how to handle the puck in tight quarters.

Frank was also building other things with those two-by-fours: character.

Hockey mom 2024. Definition: n. Superwoman (Webster’s Dictionary*)

Job description:

Professional fundraiser

Chauffeur

Laundress

Consoler

Medic

Sports psychologist

Physiotherapist

Nutritionist

Lace tying expert

Professional worrier

Professional warrior

Totally committed

Totally dedicated

I spoke with some hockey moms who gave me some deeper insights. These days it is not uncommon for a 12-year-old to be on the ice two mornings a week (school days) at 6:00 a.m. That would suggest a 5:15 wake up call. Then there are games every day of the week except Friday. I am exhausted just trying to imagine this routine… for mother and child.

Then there is travel. One mom talked about the willingness to spend countless hours in a car driving all around the Maritime provinces in all kinds of weather. It’s one thinks that a hockey game is nerve wracking, just getting to the game can be even more stressful. There are benefits to spending all this time on the road. One mom said, “These hours gave me the precious time to spend listening and learning what is important to my daughter and her take on the world. Making memories.”

Time well spent.

Perhaps a hockey mom’s worst nightmare (besides selling a bazillion raffle tickets and having to fill them out), is having her child play in the nets. Everyone wants their children to do well in whatever endeavor they pursue. Your worst fear (and theirs) is that they will fail at a crucial time whether it’s missing a step in the middle of dancing the Seann Triubhas, tripping before the finish line of a race, or forgetting the words to a song at the Christmas concert. Sorry, but all of these pale in comparison to being a goalie in hockey. The potential to be the hero or the goat looms with every shot directed at the net, especially in a playoff game… especially in a shootout. Hockey moms and moms in general can easily explain the appearance of gray hair but nothing will make a mother go gray faster than realizing her child wants to be a goaltender. Not to mention the cost.

Honestly, I don’t know how hockey families afford this passion.

And if you think it’s tough being a hockey mom, try doing it as a single mom. Take everything I’ve written and add a factor of x5.

Make no mistake. Hockey is a fraternity. It takes a village to raise a hockey player.

Hockey moms. Superheroes.

Look it up or better still, stop by a freezing cold arena at 6:00 a.m.

“We are family,

I got all my sisters and me.”

We Are Family – Sister Sledge.

Have a great weekend.

*Not in the Webster’s Dictionary… but it should be.

 

 

 

 

 

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Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)

Posted on November 20, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with 2 comments

 

Long may you run.

 

It’s stock taking time in the late innings.

Just about every business that I know is compelled by their accountants to do an annual inventory. It is a time to find out what’s on the shelves. Every item in the store has to be counted in order to get an accurate picture of the business’s financial health. Everything is put under the microscope as it were, so that the accountant can determine the relative health of the business.

When was the last time that you took stock? I’m not talking about your business if you happen to own one. I’m talking about examining your life closely to see how you’re doing at any point in your life. Nobody else is going to do this inventory for you. Remember what our old buddy, Socrates once said: “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

And why, pray tell, am I going all philosophical on you? With 8 days of rain in the forecast, it’s as good a time as any to weigh in on weighty matters.

Obituaries. I see them almost daily which is sobering. None of us wants to die but it is inevitable. For many of us in our golden years, we are looking at an ever-shortening runway. How will we spend our remaining years? Yes, we want to live longer but what about the quality of our life. There’s “lifespan” and “health span”. Why do some people live exceptionally long lives and enjoy good health when the vast majority of old people spend their final years in declining health.

Longevity has been studied to death. Pun intended. There are no magic bullets. There are so many factors that determine our life span, some of which are completely out of our control… like genetics. But luckily, most of us have to power to improve our chances of living longer and healthier lives. Its’s not just about how long you live but how well you live.

A friend of mine recommended a book on this topic. While I have found “Outlive” by Dr. Peter Attia to be much too scientific for my liking, his underlying thesis is powerful. Essentially, we are the sum of our life experiences and what we have done over the decades will have a great influence over how our remaining years might unfold.

Unless we die accidentally, we will in all likelihood succumb to one of the following: heart disease, cancer, neurodegenerative disease (dementia, Alzheimers etc.) or diabetes. Attia refers to these as The Four Horseman. For many, the “die is cast” and it might be too late for the Titanic to avoid the iceberg, but the good news is that it’s never too late to try and optimize one’s chances. I am not going to recommend this book to my loyal readers as you will certainly hate me for the recommendation. Truth be told, I skipped over sections that were too technical.

It would take me far too long to explain the basic precepts, but one thing continued to leap off the pages. “I used to prioritize nutrition over everything else, but I now consider exercise to be the most potent longevity “drug” in our arsenal, in terms of lifespan and healthspan. The data are unambiguous: exercise not only delays actual death but also prevents both cognitive and physical decline, better than any other intervention.” Attia.

I decided to pull out the microscope and closely examine my life. I did a “personal inventory”. I made a list of all the things that I have done over my lifetime (from childhood play like playing pond hockey to walking the Camino) that might increase my longevity and the quality of my life. The list was surprisingly long. I also made a companion list of the things that I have done (and continue to do!) which won’t improve my odds. My dependency on sweets is at the top of that list.

Enough pontificating.

One of the things on my inventory list was music. I won’t drone on about how fundamental music has been to my life and overall happiness. I have tilled this ground numerous times in this space.

Over my lifetime, I have attended dozens and dozens… and dozens, of banquets. Often these affairs were held at the end of business conferences, but I will also include wedding banquets and awards banquets. They all have a similar trajectory. They invariably begin with a cocktail hour. When I was much younger, the cocktail hour set the tone for the evening. You get my drift. You are then seated at a round table with 7 others, preferably of your choosing. The chair of the event makes opening remarks and then salad or soup is served. More speeches. Main course. More speeches. Guest speaker. Dessert. Closing remarks.

Some of you might know the name of Judge Joseph Kennedy. The best and only after dinner speech that I can remember.

I was invited by a friend to attend a 50th anniversary dinner for a Halifax community choral group last week. See above for the trajectory with two exceptions. Cocktail hour is much more restrained when most of the attendants are north of 70! With the exception of my friend, I didn’t know another soul. I am not known to be shy so that didn’t throw me off in the least. Having to have my trousers let out by a skilled seamstress (Thanks, VN) earlier in the week threw me off a bit. It’s shocking how clothes shrink in the closet!

This might have been my favourite banquet ever. The food was good and the company at my table couldn’t have been better. There is something special about a room full of people who love to sing. There was a warmth that was palpable. At the very end, the choir’s accompanist came up and led the group in a singalong. It was quite a thrill to hear a room filled with joy and four-part harmonies.

“You express, when you sing, your soul in song. And when you get together with a group of other singers, it becomes more than the sum of the parts. All of those people are pouring out their hearts and souls in perfect harmony, which is kind of an emblem for what we need in this world, when so much of the world is at odds with itself… to express, in symbolic terms, what it’s like when human beings are in harmony.” John Rutter, composer and conductor.

Might it be time for you to take stock?

Have a great weekend.

 

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Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)

Posted on November 13, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

Shame faced

 

“Shame, shame, shame, hey shame on you.”

Shame, Shame, Shame – Shirley and Company

As human beings, we are prone to failure. We make errors in judgment. Sometimes these are trivial and become an afterthought. Others unleash unwanted consequences and remain with us for long periods of time. Failures are unavoidable.

A crying shame.

Halloween has come and gone for another year. I live in an apartment complex that doesn’t attract trick or treaters. Most of us are older and a “treat” is a mid afternoon nap. A “trick” is something earned in a hotly contested bridge game. The odd grandchild of a resident might stop by but those are few and far between. However, I get to experience Halloween vicariously. As a substitute teacher at a junior school, Halloween is still a very big deal especially on costume day. I dress up as an old man.

A doggone shame.

I won’t bore you with too many Halloween stories of my childhood and youth. It was not uncommon to fill two or three pillowcases full of cavity inducing candies and chocolate bars. Very often, October was the harbinger of winter, and it was not unusual to receive our first snowfall on that date.

During my first teaching stint in the Peace River country of Alberta, I lived, for one year, in a remote log cabin. The owner was an incredibly gifted German who wintered in Florida. He had built the cabin himself, and it was a marvel. He did all the work, including plumbing and electrical. He installed such things as a dumb waiter and an indoor cistern. He had light sensors affixed to a garage next door so that when you entered the property, deep in the woods, a floodlight would come on. He was a gifted woodworker and an exceptional cello player. He was truly a renaissance man.

Of course, being this far off the beaten path, I didn’t expect any trick or treaters. The day after Halloween was a school day so I headed to bed at my usual time. Around 10:00 p.m. I was awoken from a deep sleep from someone pounding on my front door. Honestly, it scared the crap out of me. I stumbled to the door and opened it. There stood four adult trick or treaters, holding empty glasses in their hands. Their intent was obvious. They wanted a drink, and I don’t mean water. They were all masked and I had no idea who they were. I invited them in, and they didn’t utter a word. I filled their glasses with rye and coke (a northern Alberta delicacy!). I played along with their ruse but when they asked for a refill, I refused unless they revealed themselves. It turned out that it was the principal and vice-principal of my school and their spouses. We had a great laugh… and another drink.

Fool me once, shame on you,

Fool me twice, shame on me.

What is shame?

“Shame is an emotion that arises after a person makes a choice that does not align with their values. They may believe they made this poor choice because something is inherently wrong with them. These negative and self-critical internal judgments can leave many feeling inadequate or unworthy of being loved.” Source unknown.

If you’ve ever been a college student, you are most likely aware of the “walk of shame”. This happens when you’ve had way too much to drink, and you end up spending the night at some unknown location with someone you met only hours earlier. The morning after, hungover and embarrassed, you slink out of the apartment, house, cabin, hotel room and start the long, embarrassing walk back to your dorm. Your head is down because you can’t lift it up. Your boots are unlaced, and your winter coat is wide open – that is, if you still have a winter coat. It is pathetic to witness and even more shameful if you happen to be wearing those unlaced boots.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

I must come clean. Shame has overtaken me, and it is time to purge my guilt.

Halloween day was a long one. My first of many excuses. I was up at my usual time that day (around 5:15) and had spent the day at school where the energy level was off the charts. I had a few chores to do after work and missed my power snooze. Excuse number 2. I had already agreed to teach the following day. Excuse number 3. I had a few things on my mind. Excuse number 4. The sum total of these excuses was that I was in bed much earlier than usual. It was about 8:30 and I was drifting off to sleep while watching a Netflix documentary.

Forty-five years to the day, I was awoken from my reverie with a knock on my door and the ringing of my doorbell. It didn’t register at first and I thought nothing of it. The knocking and ringing persisted but in my delicate state of fatigue, a herd of Clydesdales wasn’t going to get me out of bed.

Someone was very determined to get my attention. I succumbed and staggered to the door. There was no one there. Just as I was about to close the door, I caught my neighbour out of the corner of my eye as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment.

“Len. Would you like to join a few of us for a glass of wine to celebrate Halloween?” This sounded about as appealing to me as taking a laxative. I begged off citing my litany of excuses. See 1-4 above. She was a good sport about it.

Relief washed over me as I crawled back into bed.

And then I was struck by an overwhelming sense of shame.

You see, the woman who invited me was 90 and her wine drinking guest was 96.

That is what you call being put to shame.

Have a great weekend.

 

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