Posted on April 26, 2021 under Monday Morning Musings with 2 comments

 

Hey man. Which way to the beach?

 

What is heaven?

Now, there’s a heady question as you start off another week. According to that unimpeachable source, Wikipedia, “heaven or the heavens, is a common religious cosmological or transcendent supernatural place where beings, such as gods, angels, spirits, saints or venerated ancestors are said to originate, be enthroned, or reside.” Surely, they must be talking about our family’s two cottages at Bayfield. I can hardly wait to sit on a lawn chair, cradle a cold beer, and feel a warm breeze waft over my body as I watch the waves caress the shores of St. Georges Bay.

And why would I be contemplating heaven while living through the hell of a third quarantine? (It’s actually not bad at all.)

Music.

I am convinced that if there’s a heaven, then it must be a place where music is omnipresent.

As most of you know by now, I have a few (?) idiosyncrasies. How many people do you know are crazy enough to walk 40 kilometers just to get a cold beer? I do this quite regularly during the summer back home. When I am doing the dishes (by hand), I like to listen to classical music. I am still dumbfounded how one person can produce so many dirty dishes in a single day.

Last Saturday as I was running the water to fill up the sink, I went to the television and dialed up one of the many available classical music stations. They always let you know the name of the upcoming piece. When I saw that Mozart’s Ave Verum was next, I quickly turned off the taps and plunked myself down on the sofa. Sitting there with my yellow rubber gloves still affixed to my hands, I closed my eyes and inhaled the magnificence of Mozart.

For close to 40 years, I sang in a church choir and the Ave Verum was performed on very special occasions. The way our choir loft was configured, the altos and basses were on one side of the massive pipe organ while the sopranos and tenors were on the other. In other words, it was almost impossible to hear all four parts clearly. Maybe once or twice a year when the atmospheric conditions were pristine in the gargantuan cathedral, one could hear all parts. I’m not a particularly good singer but I have a good ear. On these rare occasions, I would be filled with awe and joy, and could see that our organist and choir director, James MacPherson was in his glory. We would share a knowing glance realizing that this was something special.

Mozart and art.

I happen to love the music of Mozart. My students are forced to endure me as an “art teacher” which is the greatest oxymoron of all time. My students have art in their blood. I’m a fraud and usually steal art ideas from fellow teachers. I always play music while they’re doing art. From time to time, I let them choose the music but most of the time, I play classical music. They are getting heavy doses of Beethoven, Bach, Handel and, yes, Mozart. Art classes can be chaotic affairs but not when soothing music is being played in the background.

I am working on my last big 1000- piece puzzle as I wrap up my third quarantine. Are you a puzzle maker? Putting the frame together is a cinch, most of the time. Invariably, despite your best efforts to gather up all the outside edge pieces, you are missing two or three of these pieces. Most frames have around 100 pieces so that leaves 900 to go hunting for the missing pieces. I was pretty proud of myself when I discovered that I was only missing one piece. Now, this is not exactly “needle in a haystack” sleuthing but it does take time to wade through a huge collection of different looking puzzle pieces. I meticulously started to dig through the pile and was convinced that that single piece was missing until I finally found it. It was the 899^th piece!

There will never be another Merle. My buddy and everyone’s best friend, Merle Taylor died last week. She was easily the most remarkable person I have ever met. Here is the story I wrote about her many years ago. https://www.week45.com/faces-in-the-crowd-for-home-and-country/ Just a few weeks ago, she messaged me on Facebook. There were no flies on Merle. There are not many of us lucky enough to have a 97-year-old Facebook friend. Knowing that my school year was winding down and that I would be back in Nova Scotia in early June, she invited me for biscuits and tea. Having tea with Merle was one of my greatest joys. To be in the presence of someone who lived life so fully was truly inspiring. The last time I saw her in person was last summer when I walked to her home in Lochaber. During these Covid times, she had set up a little table on her back deck where we could enjoy each other’s company… from a distance.

Simply put, I loved Merle. And I respected her.

I had hoped to do a musical tribute to Merle (Taylor, not Haggart!) last evening but sadly my internet signal wasn’t strong enough to allow me to do this. I did 56 Facebook “live” music shows and she listened to every single one of them.

So, Merle, you’ll just have to wait until June when I come home. In the meantime, fly high, my friend.

Heaven bound, for sure.

“There’ll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover,

Tomorrow just you wait and see,

There’ll be love and laughter, and peace ever after,

Tomorrow when the world is free.”

Farewell, my friend.

Posted on April 19, 2021 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Yes you are.

 

The diary of an habitual quarantiner.

(Sung to the tune of Abilene)

“Quarantine, quarantine,

Shittiest time, that I’ve ever seen,

People there, are never seen,

In quarantine, my quarantine.

 

I sit alone, all day and night,

Watching the planes*, fly out of sight,

Lord I wish they were carrying me,

Out of quarantine, my quarantine.”

Chorus

*I live near the airport.

 

Third time’s a charm?

Hardly.

Yes, I am in the throes of my third quarantine, so I consider myself somewhat of an expert. I expect to be considered the crown prince of isolation when I complete my fourth, upon my return to Nova Scotia at the end of May.

With all of this expertise, I thought it only fair to share some pearls of wisdom on how to survive being with oneself for 14 straight days.

What does a typical day in quarantine look like? Obviously, it is different for everyone. However, I believe that many of you can check off some of these boxes.

After you’ve wiped the sleep from your eyes in the morning and paid your respect to the great porcelain bowl in your bathroom, you head immediately for the fridge because the fridge will be the center of your universe for the next 14 days, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes or 1,209,600 seconds. But hey, who’s counting?

You make your first cup of coffee (tea/margarita) of the day and settle in to catch up on the latest news and sports stories. For the past year, the news is one repetitive loop. Latest Covid figures. Social distancing. Masks. Hand sanitizer. Bonnie Henry. Deena Hinshaw, Robert Strang, Janice Fitzgerald. Doug Ford about to explode. Jason Kenny being Jason Kenny. (insert your own comment) Teresa Tam. Dr. Isaac Bogoch. Federal updates at noon. After watching the news, you run around the room ten times (for exercise) saying “I can’t take it anymore”. Because you are a masochist by nature, you will watch the same newscast multiple times. If you start singing “My Bonnie (Henry) Lies Over The Ocean”, they might come and haul you away.

Most of the sports stories are about Covid related cancellation of games. Where is Dan O’Toole when you need him? Non-sports enthusiasts will not understand this reference.

You walk back to the fridge.

Thank god for social media. Facebook. Check. Messenger. Check. Instagram. Check. Twitter. Check. Is it possible to watch Downton Abby and Outlander five times on Netflix? Of course it is if you are cooped up for days on end.

The best part of the day is checking the obituaries. You want to make certain that you are still alive and haven’t succumbed to boredom.

You walk to the fridge.

Coffee, tea, margarita refill.

You can’t go outside unless you are quarantining on a desert island so of course, your curiosity is piqued. What IS the temperature today? This is possibly the most useless piece of information you will gather on any given day. Whether it’s -40 or +40, why should you care in your climate-controlled prison cell?

You check your e-mail. Despite the fact that Facebook says you have 859 friends, you know that’s complete bullshit. On a good day you might have five. When you’re quarantining, no one wants to write to you because they know you have absolutely nothing of consequence to say to them. But you still check it incessantly throughout the day. When all hope is lost, you bring up YouTube and delude yourself by singing along with Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend”.

You walk to the fridge.

Day 7. You’re starving for human contact, so you go and look in the mirror. It’s not a pretty sight.

You have a nap; one of the three or four you will have on any given day.

Day 9. You’ve got three books on the go and try and decide to read them all at the same time.

Baking. You should have bought shares in Robin Hood flour. If you had been smart, you would have bought one huge mother of a bag, like maybe 100 kilograms so that you wouldn’t have to repeatedly pester someone to go to the grocery store for another 10kg. You have never baked so much in your entire life. I see nods of agreement. You have never eaten so many baked goods in your life. The Bible says that it’s a sin to waste. You give most of it away, but your waistline is a dead giveaway. It looks like you’ve done your share of the eating of these baked goods.

Day 11. You rearrange the angle of your favourite television chair just a tad so that things look different on the screen. The first warning sign of quarantine burnout.

You walk to the fridge.

Day 12. You decide that the silver needs polishing until you realize that you don’t own any good silverware or silver polish.

You walk to the fridge.

Day 13. It’s time to do some light dusting. You even dust and vacuum the floor vents. You now realize that you are in deep, deep trouble.

You walk to the fridge. (Do you see a pattern?)

Day 14. You’ve watched the Prime Minister tell us for the billionth time that “we’re all in this together”. Your eyes are glazed over as you count the holes in the ceiling tiles.

You walk to the fridge.

What? It’s Over? I’m allowed to go outside? Can I really go out in my rubber boots and splash in the puddles? Can I go and play in the sandbox?

Not before one more pass by the fridge!

Have a great week.

 

 

 

Posted on April 12, 2021 under Monday Morning Musings with 6 comments

 

Old hippies never die. They just lose their hair.

 

I’m in the home stretch.

By the time some of you read this, I hope to be winging my way back north to complete the school year. Because school starts in early August in the north, it also finishes early, in late May. It is all still a blur and before I know it, I will be back in my apartment in Antigonish hunkering down for my fourth quarantine. Unless something changes at the last minute, my time in the north will come to a close.

My regular readers know that, deep down, I’m an old softy who spends way too much time reveling in the good old days. Nostalgia could well be my middle name.

My first trip To Victoria was in the spring of 1972 (49 years ago -yikes!) after completing my junior year at St.F.X. I decided to come out for the summer to hang out with one of my brothers who was living there at the time. With absolute clarity, I remember stepping off the ferry from Vancouver and being picked up by my brother for the 35 -minute drive into the city. Cresting a hill at Royal Oak, I saw the majestic snow capped Olympic mountains for the first time on a sun dappled day. The love affair was instantaneous. I got a job driving forklift at a furniture warehouse and met some great people who became lifelong friends.

Over the ensuing decades, I made many trips back to Victoria. To this day, it remains a magical place to me and is truly one of the most beautiful cities that I have seen in my travels.

My most recent trip was very special. Despite some misgivings about travelling during Covid (and suffering the wrath of some readers who gave me a serious dressing down for my reckless behaviour), I came to Victoria to rest but mostly to remember.

Prior to this trip, I came to Victoria in December of 2018 to spend Christmas with my late brother Tom. I stayed for the better part of two months. During that time, we walked hundreds and hundreds of kilometers along with Tom’s trusty sidekick, Oslo. Tom knew and loved every square inch of the city, especially the trails.

He had an army of friends, many who became my friends.

I decided on this trip to try and walk as many of the trails that the three of us had walked before. Sadly, Oslo, Tom and Catherine’s beloved Golden, died just a few months before Tom. For the past 8 days, I have walked and walked and walked some more. I also took the time to meet with as many of Tom’s friends and family who were able and willing to meet with me. I also had the pleasure of meeting some new friends , who , for reasons that leave me puzzled (!) have become Week45 readers. Thanks to IC and MG for the warm welcome.

The weather was perfect all week so arranging socially distanced back yard get togethers was easy.

Pete accompanied me on most of my walks and visits. We quaffed a few Stella’s together and shared many fine meals.

My Air B&B was conveniently located in James Bay, a stone’s throw from the Inner Harbour, the legislature and the downtown core. Just around the corner from my rental was a restaurant on Belleville Street called “Belleville’s Premium Quality Watering Hole and Diner”. Because my accommodations did not include cooking facilities, I was forced to eat all of my meals at restaurants. A few days prior to my arrival in B.C. the province shut down indoor dining. Luckily, Belleville’s has a very large patio with well spaced tables and propane heaters at virtually every table. It’s spring here and although everything is in bloom, the temperatures are cool… not quite as cold as Kangiqsujuaq, mind you! The first meal I had was excellent and from that point on, I decided to consume all my meals here knowing their strict protocols were being followed carefully. The music playing in the background was mostly 60s and 70s with a bit of Green Day thrown in for good measure. At the far end of the patio was a huge mural with scenes from the hippie era. While dining there a few days ago, they were adding a few more panels to the mural. Two local artists (“Long haired, freaky people” Do you know the tune?) were supervising the installation of their work. I got quite caught up in the vibe and in short order had the owner of the restaurant, the artists and the carpenters laughing heartily looking at my grad photo … the one with my huge afro.

Will the “summer of love” ever die? Not likely as long as the Boomers are around.

Groovy. Far out, man.

“Will ye no come back again”? I certainly hope so.

Have a great week.