Posted on April 29, 2015 under Storytelling with one comment

Our only cat these days

 

 

I wasn’t always a “cat person” but when you raise four children, you are bound to acquire pets.  We nurtured out share of the animal kingdom when our kids were small, including a flock of chickens that we kept in our back yard in town.  We even harboured snakes and frogs.  But our trio of felines was the cat’s meow in our household.

The kids have flown the coop, along with the roosters and hens.  We nurtured our geriatric tabbies until the end.  These days, the closest I come to cats is having a cat nap.  Yes, at the tender age of almost 64, I have mastered the 20 minute power snooze.  It is the most amazing gift to be able to nod off for a short time and wake up feeling re-energized.  As long as it doesn’t happen in the middle of a meeting!

However, eleven years ago I might as well have been napping and I laugh about it to this day.

In 2004, I ran for mayor of our fine town.  I entered the race late in the game and had to do a lot of catch up.  Trying to mobilize blocks of voters became an important part of my strategy.  I launched a website to engage the youth.  I met with representatives of the Chamber of Commerce.  I even had lunch with a local congregation of sisters.  They promised to pray for me but didn’t show their hand.

Senior citizens take their civic duty very seriously.  Who better to approach for support than the silver haired crowd and, amongst this august group, who might provide the endorsement?  The Antigonish Manor held the solution: Peggy “A.B.”, of course.

I had known Peggy for many years.  This amazing 90+ woman had seen it all and done it all.  By all accounts she was the unofficial “Mayor of the Manor” and, if you could get Peggy’s support, there was a better than average chance you might get everyone else’s.   When Peggy called you with a request, as she was apt to do, you never said no.  It simply wasn’t an option.  “P.D. We’re having a birthday party for a few of the residents.  Would you be available to come to the manor and sing a few songs?”   I had learned that you just said yes to Peggy and went about re-arranging your schedule and your life to accommodate her.  My reward was always a fresh baked apple pie, and no one in the history of mankind made pies any better than she did.

I arranged to meet with Peggy to lay out my platform to see if I could get her royal assent.  We had a very pleasant chat on a wide range of subjects.  She told me what was most important to her cohort and I assured her that I would work diligently on their behalf.

And then she asked me a loaded question.  “Do you like cats?” I felt like my entire campaign might hinge on my reply.  I mean, you either love cats or you don’t.  “Did she or didn’t she,” raced through my mind. Relief washed over me as out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the most beautiful calico cat I had ever seen.  She was curled up on a chair in the living room.  I waltzed over and was almost about to pat it when I thought to myself, “Let sleeping cats lie.”

“Yes, I love cats,” was my enthusiastic reply as I started to mentally count up the possible votes in the manor.  She leaned over, whispering in my ear.  “We’re not allowed to have pets in this complex.  Would you consider adopting her?”  I felt a lump in my throat mixed with an ample dose of trepidation.  We already had three cats and the addition of a fourth might cost me a vote or two at home.  Remember, Peggy didn’t do “no” very well.  I did what most good politicians do.  I used delay tactics.  I told her that I would broach the subject with my wife and would get back to her within 24 hours.

After an exhausting day of going door to door, I arrived home and stated my case for a fourth cat.  There was absolutely no debate.  The vote was 5-1 in favor of the status quo.

I didn’t sleep well that night and the following day, after putting it off as long as I could; I picked up the phone and called Peggy to break the news.  I realized that any chance of getting the seniors’ vote was about to evaporate.  I started the conversation with my throat dry and constricted.  I hadn’t gotten very far when I heard convulsions on the other end of the line.  I thought that she might be having a heart attack right on the spot.  But, no, she was laughing … hysterically.  I could barely understand her but between belly rattling guffaws I heard the following: “P.D. How can I possibly vote for you as mayor when you can’t tell the difference between a real cat and a fake one?”

I had been “had” by this sprightly and mischievous nonagenarian.  She went on to tell me, that after I left, she attended an evening session of the rosary in the common room.  She explained that part way through, she broke the silence in the room with fits of giggles, realizing how she had gotten me good.

I lost that mayoral race by a few hundred votes and have often wondered if the cat controversy was my undoing.

With federal candidates about to come calling maybe I should plant one of those decorative little critters on the sofa.

Posted on April 15, 2015 under Storytelling with 2 comments

Andrew’s tribute to the veterans

 

 

What do most of us see when we walk the streets of our home town?  We observe the obvious: storefronts made of bricks and mortar, with displays in the window beckoning us to enter.  We pass trees, telephone poles and fire hydrants.  We see playgrounds and train tracks.  And lights telling us to stop, go or slow down.  Pretty mundane stuff.

Andrew Murray sees a whole other landscape and Antigonish is all the better for it.  The most ordinary object suggests limitless possibilities.  As someone described it: “He has magic eyes.  He sees in design.”

His talents emerged at a very young age.  To the Highland Drive gang he was “Wonder Boy”.  He regularly amazed his peers.  At a time when kids can be cruel, he was always kind to his friends.  Even then he saw the world differently than most.  And he wasn’t beyond mischief.  One day an outdoor water fight turned into a full-fledged war.  Before good judgement could prevail, the garden hose had found its way into the Murray home, still gushing full throttle.

Andrew attended Mount Allison University and, according to a classmate in the Fine Arts program, he was a superstar.  His projects were “eye popping” as he demonstrated an exuberance and flair that left his colleagues and audience breathless.

He took his considerable talents afar and dazzled people at the Stratford Festival and the CBC.  He designed the sets for “The Nutcracker” at Neptune in Halifax. But Antigonish has a way of drawing you home and, after many years, he returned and began to transform the town; store by store, window box by window box, mural by mural.

His talents were instrumental when the good people of St. James United Church undertook a major renovation a few years ago.  This stately structure has been standing sentinel at the corner of Church and Main since 1861.  Andrew made sure that his vision for renewal would not be done at the expense of the church’s rich history.

He was involved in theatre at an early age and, in addition to his skill as a designer, he was also a prodigious talent on stage.  He performed in a number of productions at Theatre Antigonish.  According to one of his directors, his dedication and hard work set an example for university students who were cutting their teeth.   Sometimes, to the chagrin of those in charge, he would ignore standard practices and procedures and create his own rules; because he saw things that nobody else saw.  And he would usually succeed, leaving the entire cast and crew in awe.

People in Antigonish have embraced Andrew.  They have come to trust his taste and judgment.  He has been an integral part of a team that has transformed our Main Street.  As one person said, “He has a feel for the town.  He has sensitivity to its sensitivities”.   He has transformed many businesses by designing unique surroundings and exteriors that are eye-catching and classy.  His window displays are what one might see on 5^th Avenue.

Despite his immense talents and his incredible, exhausting work ethic, there is one demon that Andrew has yet to conquer: raccoons.  It seems that raccoons follow Andrew wherever he goes.  Apparently, a number of years ago when was in Toronto he was at the wheel of a convertible with the roof down.  He pulled up for a brief stop.  He parked at the rear of the building near some dumpsters.  Having completed his errand, he jumped into the car and made his way onto the 401.  As he reached cruising speed, he heard a rustling coming from the rear.  He adjusted the mirror and spotted a raccoon in the back seat, chewing on a piece of watermelon.  I can imagine that the critter had one paw draped carelessly over the seat and its head flung back, enjoying the sun and breeze.  One wonders what the conversation would have been between Andrew and an OPP officer, had he been pulled over.

The cornerstone of every community is its cultural base.  We have to nurture our artists and musicians and crafts people because they are the product of our rich history and the conduit to its preservation.  “It takes a village …” as the saying goes.   I like to think that we have joined hands with Bob and Mavis to become Andrew’s extended family.  And we enjoy the give and take that goes along with that.

Andrew is a rare gem.    He is a visionary with a brilliant mind and a quick wit.  In the words of one long-time resident; “Andrew’s contribution to the town and business community is incalculable.”  We are so very fortunate to call him one of our own.

Even the raccoons think he’s special.

Posted on April 11, 2015 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Enjoying a light dusting of snow

“Right smack dab in the middle of town, I’ve found a paradise that’s trouble proof (up on the roof)”

Up On the Roof – The Drifters

I have an aversion to heights.  No, let me rephrase that.  I have a fear of heights and I am definitely not what one would call a thrill seeker.  So, just what would possess me to risk life and limb by climbing onto the roof of our house?

It was a beautiful spring day in 1986 in Los Angeles, California, when my fear of heights reared its ugly head for the first time.  I was soaking up the rays in Chavez Ravine.  Lest you think that this is some trendy spa on the Pacific Coast, Chavez Ravine is the home stadium for the Los Angeles Dodgers baseball team and I was there with a friend to catch a spring training game.

Coming from harsh winter climes, getting a good seat wasn’t a big priority.  There are cheap seats and there are nosebleed seats.  Our seats were closer to San Diego than they were to L.A.  It was a splendid day for baseball.  A warm breeze blew and cold beer flowed.  Two promising pitchers were in the lineup for the Dodgers: Orel Hershiser and Fernando Valenzuela.  They would later become household names.

Part way through the game (and our second beer!), we spotted empty seats much closer to the diamond and, seeing no security guards, we ambled down to take our perch.  The seats were in the first row of the third balcony.  As we approached our new location, I took one look over the balcony and was struck with inexplicable fear.  I beat a hasty retreat.

That fear of heights remains with me to this day.

For the past 30 years I have avoided heights.  I was a chaperone on a school trip years ago and could not muster the courage to go up in the C.N. Tower.   I would never consider going on a roller coaster and I have to be mildly sedated to accompany a grandchild on the Ferris wheel.  You get the picture.

I don’t mind going up on a stepladder to do small household repairs, but forget about scraping the eaves of the house atop an extension ladder.

Our house is for sale and until the lawyer places a cheque in our hands, the house is still our responsibility.  We have had a fair bit of snow this year, in case you might have missed it while hibernating in a cave.  So much snow that we had some concerns about the volume of the white stuff on our roof.  With an offer to purchase our house on the table, we didn`t want to take any risks of the deal (or our roof!) falling through.

Speaking of caves. My wife is a tax preparer and has been seen as infrequently as Shubenacadie Sam lately.  She is usually the high wire act when it comes to household chores.  So, with heavy rain in the forecast and about four feet of snow and ice drifted into one corner of the roof, I knew that I must act.  I hauled out the step ladder, plunked it into a snowbank and scrambled onto the shingles.

It was a brilliant morning and after a half an hour, the coat and hat came off along with the first few layers of snow.  I had absolutely no fear of falling.  My brother happened along and he pitched in with some much needed snow removal around the basement windows and oil tank.

By the time I finished, I had worked up a sweat and a hearty appetite.  I decided to treat my brother to lunch.  Before climbing down, I asked him to take a photo of the conquering warrior on the roof.  Then a childhood memory flashed before me.  The pile of snow just below the gutters of the house had grown exponentially.  “Why not jump off?” I thought to myself.  There was zero percent chance of harm and it would make me feel like a kid again.

I asked my brother to take a picture of me “in flight”.   He did one better.  He grabbed his cell phone and put it on video mode.

Every so often you see a video on YouTube and you wonder about the sheer ineptness of people who have inherited the “clumsy gene”.  My “fall from grace” took all of three seconds.  With arms raised to the heavens, I did a small bunny hop … and hooked the toe of my boot in the gutter.  Before you could say “arse over kettle” I was hurtling down the snowbank on my belly.

It was a classic face plant.  I would love to report that I landed in soft powder but most of it was the very snow (and ice) that I had just removed from the roof.  Carpet burn – on the rocks.

Our kids are scattered from coast to coast.  We usually don’t hear from all of them on a single day unless it is Christmas.  Well, as soon as I uploaded the video the phone started ringing.  They were convulsed with laughter.  I couldn’t understand a word they said.

Glad I could entertain.  You gave us a few chuckles too.  Too bad there were no mobile phones back in the day.  I’ll just have to write some stories.