Posted on September 9, 2015 under Storytelling with no comments yet

A crow seeking redemption

 

 

The wind is howling and rain is falling in buckets as I pull into the parking lot at the hospital for an early morning shift. A work crew of arborists is in the final stages of delimbing several beautiful, stately pine trees that guard the entrance to the hospital. Truthfully, until this very moment, I had never noticed them before. The branches of the trees looked perfectly healthy. A few hours later, I happen to be outside when the cleanup is winding down. I casually ask a member of the hospital’s maintenance crew, who supervised the work, the reason for the felling of the trees.

“Crows.”

It seems that many people are fascinated by birds and spend a lifetime watching and photographing them, cataloguing their every move and habit. Many species are noted for their brilliant plumage while others are held in awe for their spectacular feats of long distance travel. But in many small towns and cities, the humble crow has become something of a nuisance.

I must admit that I have never paid much attention to birds other than my quest to score at least 1 under par over the years! Our family had a budgie which was all the rage back in the 60’s. We all had to take a turn cleaning the floor of the cage which had back issues of the newspaper to catch the droppings. It’s funny how these memories stay with us all our lives; like eating liver for the first time.

Back in 1974, on a road trip to California, I was on a tour of San Francisco Bay … a harbor cruise that included a circumnavigation of Alcatraz. It was a spectacular day and the boat was packed with tourists. I was enjoying the scenery when I noticed almost everyone on the boat moving from one side of the vessel to the other. I thought this rather odd. Actually, I wasn’t thinking at all as moments later I felt a splat of excrement as it nestled into my afro. High above, on the ships mast, sat a seagull that seemed to be laughing at me along with all the other passengers.

This past January, on a road trip with my son, I was at Fisherman’s Wharf and was dive bombed by an aggressive gull who was quite interested in the crab roll that I was consuming. Could this possibly have been an offspring of the bird who rained on my parade (literally!) some forty years ago?

According to people who know these things, crows are among the smartest birds in our hemisphere. Apparently, a crow’s brain is the size of a human thumb; huge relative to its body size. This puts their intelligence on a par with primates, allowing them to solve complex problems. I wonder if they can crunch the numbers to define a recession?!

It seems like the most pressing question about crows is this:   Why do they congregate in such large groups (known as “roosts”), keeping neighborhoods awake at nightfall?

One theory is that they gather in a favorable spot to protect themselves from predators, such as owls; the “wagon train” analogy. Another has to do with food and food sources. Apparently the crows communicate with each other about such weighty matters, so they get together before dark to compare notes. A third explanation is that they assemble around a reliable food source; the “bed and breakfast” concept. I guess this explains why hundreds of crows routinely hang out in the large trees adjacent to The Wheel Pizza and Sub Shop!

Crows are able to recognize human faces. They have long memories and tend to take things personally.  The story is told of an incident at a golf course in Dartmouth when a woman inadvertently struck and killed a crow with an errant drive. It was early in the round. A murder of crows followed her for the remainder of the game … and every day she golfed after that. She joined a new club: The Raven`s Roost.

Meanwhile back at the hospital, an animated discussion ensues about the crow problem. They have become regular denizens of this stand of trees and routinely pester hospital patients, staff and guests as they make their way from the parking lot to the entrance of the hospital. There are reports of unprovoked attacks, some of the boldest birds grabbing food from unsuspecting pedestrians. They also forage in garbage cans and routinely pillage the beds of half ton trucks looking for food and building material. They are known to perch on the roofs of vehicles as they sort through the garbage, scratching paint and occasionally leaving droppings.

We know that crows are very smart, recognize people, retain knowledge, recall events and are known to be somewhat vindictive.   One wonders what they will do now that their roost has been eliminated.

I notice that the trees haven’t been cut down to the ground. Apparently a local artist has some ideas on what to do with what’s left of the firs. Perhaps he will carve a parliament of owls from the stumps.

There’s a roost on the loose!

 

Posted on September 5, 2015 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Zen and the art of coloring… for grown ups

 

 

Where would you least like to be on the hottest and most humid day of the summer? How about in car dealership loaner car with the air conditioner not working 100%? Oh, and you are on your way to one of the busiest shopping malls in the province and there is road construction between you and your destination. And all for a colouring book.

A family vacationing in Nova Scotia decided to get their regular vehicle service and maintenance done in Halifax. They weren’t terribly keen on using a valuable vacation day away from their seaside cottage. However, with their return trip to Ontario fast approaching, it was decided that a low-key day doing chores would be time well spent.

John and Mary Anna dropped off their vehicle at the dealership. The loaner car was a new, eco-friendly model that turns the gasoline engine off and on automatically when the car is idling. The maintenance would take about an hour and a half, just enough time to zip over to Bayers Lake for a brief shopping expedition.

Always a very busy route for traffic, on this day the vehicles in the distance were moving at a snail’s pace. In short order the snail seemed like Speedy Gonzales as the cars and trucks further reduced speed, inching along like slugs after a rainfall. All the while, the mercury continued to climb along with the tempers of the drivers. Sometimes you can feel collective rage when you get these interminable construction delays. Driving the hybrid car is fraught with anxiety if you’re not used to it. You can’t help but wonder if the engine is going to start again when it goes into sleep mode.

They eventually reached the shopping centre, did their errands and headed back to retrieve their car. The construction was worse than before, if that is possible. They were halfway back to the dealership when John’s phone rang. It was the mechanic at the dealership informing them that they had discovered a significant problem that need to be rectified before the long road trip back home.

Their patience meter dropped a few notches.

And then they received a text from one of their teenage children. “Can U pick up 2 Enchanted Garden adult colouring bks for trip home?” They cringed when the daughter directed them to the closest store: Chapters in Bayer’s Lake.

They managed to get the car turned around and headed back upstream. Traffic was now all but stopped. They could almost see steam rising from the asphalt … and from the drivers all around them. They realized that they were going to be stuck in traffic for a very long time.

“Let’s take the next exit ramp and head to the Mic Mac Mall in Dartmouth, “said Mary Anna. They didn’t have a GPS and weren’t 100% sure of the quickest way to get there. As they were nearing the turnoff for Bedford, they thought of checking out the Sunnyside Mall first. Before going off on a wild goose chase, Mary Anna looked up the number for the good folks at Coles.

“How may I help you?” “I am looking for an adult coloring book,” was Mary Anna’s reply. There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What business are you looking for, ma’am?” Clearly exasperated, Mary Anna clipped off the words like a Gatling gun. “I. Am. Not. Looking. For. A. Business. I. Am. Looking. For. A. Colouring. Book.” The voice on the other end, obviously trained to deal with all manner of calls, said in her calmest voice possible, “This is the mall information desk.” Frustration turned to laughter on both ends of the line.

The call was patched through to Coles. The cheerful clerk indicated that they only had one copy of the colouring book but that Chapters in Bayer’s Lake had plenty!

You know that feeling when you aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry? This was one of these times.

The reassuring voice on the other end of the line spoke up again. “Coles at the Sunnyside Mall has plenty of copies also.” “Wait a minute. Aren’t I talking to the Coles Bookstore in Sunnyside at this very moment?” “No ma’am, this is the Coles store at the Bedford Place Mall.

It was only because the Sunnyside Mall and the Bedford Place Mall were across the street from each other that the marriage didn’t dissolve at that very moment. John couldn’t wait to get back to his high stress job in Ontario.

Mary Anna ran into the store and bought three copies of the colouring book along with a selection of pencil crayons. She returned to the car without uttering a word. As John slipped out onto the highway, Mary Anna carefully took the cellophane wrapper off one of the colouring books and grabbed a crayon. John looked puzzled as she started to colour, something he couldn’t ever remember her doing.

Adult colouring books are supposed to promote mindfulness and relieve stress.

Mary Anna decided to put the theory to the test.

Posted on August 29, 2015 under Storytelling with 3 comments

Playing the pipe organ is nothing to sneeze at

 

 

It seems that we’re all caught in one long, perpetual cycle of catching a cold. In the middle of winter, you always meet someone who utters these words: “Terrible cold goin’ around.” We have a winter cold, a spring cold, a summer cold and a fall cold. That pretty well takes care of the whole year. It’s pretty annoying and aggravating to you (and those close to you) when your nose is perpetually running; you’re sneezing incessantly and hacking profusely. The only people that truly love you are the manufacturers of tissues … and possibly your dog. Dogs are always compassionate.

Having a cold, in private, is bad enough but when you are out in public, that’s where things can get dicey.

The organist and choir director (he does both) entered the choir loft a few minutes before Sunday Mass. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was very much under the weather. He was exhibiting all of the classic symptoms. The choir “mothers”, who treat the organist as family, made quite a fuss about this unfortunate turn of events. Equally troublesome was the fact that the Bishop would be presiding, which always put the choir and organist on a higher level of alert.

With five minutes to go before Mass was to begin, he fished around in his sweater looking for a Kleenex but none was to be found. There is usually a box in the choir loft, but cold season had taken its toll and there wasn’t a tissue anywhere. The choir members shuffled through their purses and pockets and could only muster Kleenex of the “used” variety; hardly something that one would share with a friend.

A member of the alto section leapt into action. With the minutes ticking away before the opening hymn, she descended the spiral staircase two steps at a time to the main floor of the cathedral. She literally ran down the aisle and entered the sanctuary area of the church. The Bishop, rector and altar boys were all in a state of readiness, waiting for the first thundering notes of the grand pipe organ.

She entered the nearest washroom. It was now three minutes before the commencement of the service. She couldn’t see a box of tissues and there was no time to track down the custodian. She ran down the hallway that connects the cathedral to the parish centre. She searched every washroom to no avail. Nothing in the kitchen or in any of the classrooms. Aha! There, through the office window, she spotted a large box of Kleenex. One minute to show time. She rattled the doorknob of the locked office to no avail as the box of tissues on the desk taunted her.

Defeated, she retraced her steps and almost missed the fresh roll of toilet paper wrapped in paper in the sanctuary washroom. She grabbed it and, realizing that she couldn’t very well carry it back down the aisle, raced for the back door. Despite the chilly temperatures outside, she had worked up quite a sweat.

She furtively placed the offending object behind her back as she waved to the bishop who was now on his way to the altar. She was enormously relieved when she failed to encounter anyone else in authority. Does the parish employ security cameras, she wondered? If so, she would have some explaining to do.

She exited the sanctuary into the parking lot, ran around to the front of the cathedral and up the winding staircase; almost taking out the bell ringer on his way down. She thrust the roll of t.p. at the bewildered choir director and was completely out of breath as she returned to her spot in the choir loft. The organist struck the first notes to a familiar hymn. Psalm 23 had never sounded better.

She paused as she pondered the first few phrases: “The Lord in my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want.” A wry grin crossed her face as she was tempted to add a few words. “… except maybe some Kleenex up here.”