Posted on November 18, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Life isn’t always a bed of roses

 

“Let us pause in life’s pleasures and count its many tears,

While we all sup sorrow with the poor,

There’s a song that will linger forever in our ears,

Oh, hard times, come again no more.”

Hard Times Come Again No More – Stephen Foster

I am a storyteller. Someone once referred to me as a diarist. I guess in many ways, my website has chronicled my life and that of my family. I usually talk about the mundane because, lets face it, most of us happily live pretty ordinary lives. I also document the lives of others from time to time in a feature called “Faces in the Crowd”. I use humour to tell my stories and often include the lyrics of a song to bring home my point.

I can’t be funny all the time. I also like to share information that is educational. I try not to preach but rather to inform.

Today I want to use this space to talk about mental health, trauma and its unwelcome partner PTSD… and an amazing guy that I’ve just come to know.

Last week I received mail from home. My daughter, Betsy, sent me Vernon Theriault’s book “Westray – My Journey From Darkness to Light”. I opened the book and started to read and was transported back in time 29 years ago.

On the morning of May 9^th, 1992, I was awoken by a call from our then Mayor, Colin Herman Chisholm. I was a Town Councilor at the time. It was a Saturday, and I was easing into the day. To receive a call from the Mayor at that time of the day was most unusual. He informed me that earlier that morning, there had been an explosion at the Westray mine, just up the road from Antigonish in Pictou County. He asked me to go at once to represent the town and to bring a cheque in support of the families. At that point, there were no details of the explosion or how many men were underground at the time. I spent the next two days at the firehall in Plymouth just across the road from the mine.

Vernon Theriault was a miner at Westray. He worked the day shift on May 8^th and would have worked the day shift again on the 9^th but that was not to be. Instead of performing his duties as a miner, he and many other brothers were faced with the grim and dangerous task of trying to rescue their fellow miners.

Twenty-six of his co-workers were killed that day. In the aftermath of this traumatic event, Vernon and many others suffered from PTSD.

Vernon was courageous on many levels. He was awarded a medal of bravery as part of the recue team. He was brave to seek professional counselling. He was also very courageous in admitting that he had serious literacy issues that needed to be addressed for him to move forward with his life.

I am not a trained psychologist or therapist so I’m on very thin ice discussing trauma, PTSD or mental health. Trauma comes in many forms. The sudden death of a loved one, witnessing tragedies (like first responders) or being caught up in natural disasters can all bring on many unwanted consequences. Trauma can and does affect one’s mental health. Sadly, many people are born with bad chemistry in their brains and through no fault of their own, live lives filled with mental health challenges.

Some of my readers have deep, personal connections to this story, having lost siblings, spouses or close friends. It has been 29 years which seems like a long time, but time never heals every wound. This summer on one of my long walks, I was invited to the home (garage!) of friends for a bite to eat. Unbeknownst to me, the wonderful, personable woman sitting beside me was the sister of one of the men who was killed in the disaster. Only in the course of our friendly chat, when I inquired about her maiden name, did I make the connection.

Vernon worked tirelessly for over ten years lobbying the Federal Government to make changes to the criminal code to hold accountable companies, their owners and managers for safety violations in the workplace. The Westray Bill, as it has become to be known, is aimed at protecting worker’s safety.

When I finished reading Vernon’s book, I reached out to him to congratulate him. We exchanged several messages. I discovered that he was interested in writing a follow up book on mental health. I assumed that his cousin, Marjorie Coady, who co-authored his first book, would assist him with the second. Sadly, Marjorie died a year after the book was published.

I plan to meet with Vernon when I go home for Christmas. I have offered to assist him with the writing of his next book. It would be an honor to be involved in this project. Vernon tells me that all proceeds of the book will go to mental health.

In the case of so many out there suffering from trauma and poor mental health, it is my fervent wish that “hard times come again no more”.

Have a great weekend.

Posted on November 11, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with 2 comments

The joys of fatherhood

 

A few days ago, my friend, and occasional co-author, Shelly Carroll, posted a story on her Facebook page. It was called “Mom Guilt”. (https://vocal.media/families/mom-guilt-y12g030vpl?fbclid=IwAR0n1fHiHLP_CqlsUzzqp3gfntUPny-5zCWATCLssVjLJfqhIRGuZVBGr3I) Please take a few minutes to read her thoughtful piece. I figured it only appropriate to write a companion piece called “Dad Guilt”. Of course, I could come up with a much more imaginative title like “Dopey Dads” but to achieve synchronicity, I’ll stick with Shelley’s appellation.

Dad Guilt.

I know a thing or two about guilt.

I was born Catholic. Enough said.

I am hoping not to be pilloried by those who are less guilt ridden than me.

What is an appropriate job description for a father? Especially a first- time dad? Here is what I learned from experience, not in a “how to” manual: “Sit back, shut your mouth, and do what you’re told.” That might sound a bit cynical and harsh but there is a great deal of truth in this statement. You see, mothers are the boss. They bore your children and have maternal instincts. The male species is not so blessed. Men have instincts to hunt, fish, go to sporting events, drink beer, and fart in public.

I know I have told this story too many times, but it bears telling again. With the impending birth of our fourth child, I knew what to expect. I was hardly blasé about it, but I wasn’t filled with terror the way I was on the way to the hospital when our son was born.

We were greeted on the maternity ward by the irrepressible, unflappable wonder nurse, Jenny MacNeil. I am quite certain that Jenny brought more children into the world than the obstetricians. Once she got my wife settled in at the labour room, I knew the waiting game was on. I was also aware that there was another game on… an NFL football game to be more precise. Now, Jenny and I were good buddies. Over the years, I had the pleasure of going to her home on more than one occasion. Her husband, Nick and I were golfing buddies at one time.

It wasn’t particularly busy on the maternity ward this particular Sunday. When Jenny suggested that I wasn’t needed in the room for a while, I wandered out into the hallway. I noticed several rooms were empty and one had a television set. I sheepishly asked Jenny if I might watch a bit of the game. She propped up a few pillows and allowed me to lie in a labour bed. “I’ll come and get you when the baby is arriving,” said Jenny. I often wondered if these events were a precursor of things to come as our fourth child, Margaret, was a very good soccer player!

I have often thought about writing a book for expectant fathers. “Fatherhood For Dummies” comes to mind. Watching your wife giving birth is one of the scariest and most humbling experience a man can have. It’s one of those things that can’t really be described.

I’m not sure if any male was born to be a dad. It is a very delicate balancing act. You are expected to step up and do your share but don’t ever think for a moment that your opinions on weighty matters, like breast feeding or the pros and cons of cloth diapers, will ever be seriously considered. Take out the garbage (without being asked). Do the dishes. Never put your wife’s bras in the dryer. And the most important thing of all? Make damn sure that you put the toilet seat down after taking a pee. And for gods, sake, watch where you aim.

See. Being dad is pretty simple if you observe these cautionary anecdotes.

Remember this too. You are a parent for life. When your progeny leaves the nest, this does not mean your duties as a parent have ended. They may have flown the coop, but they know where to find you!

Whether you’re an amazing mom or a flatulent father, keep this in mind.

We did our best.

I still feel a bit guilty (after 33 years) about watching football while my wife endured labour!

Have a great weekend.

P.S. When is “up” down and “down” up? This is a real headscratcher. Back in the dark ages, If I said I was climbing up a hill, most people would accept that without another thought. Conversely, when I reached the summit of the hill and decided to descend it, I would say that I was going down the hill. Stay with me you old timers. Several weeks ago, I asked a young, female colleague if she would like to go for a walk. “I’m down with that” was her reply. I asked her to clarify, and she assured me that she was “up” for this. How can you be up and down at the same time? This all leaves me feeling upside down.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN AND IN THE MORNING,

WE WILL REMEMBER THEM” 11/11/11

 

Posted on November 4, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with 2 comments

Len’s Auto Sales

 

“Baby you can drive my car,

Yes, I’m gonna be a star.”

Drive My Car – The Beatles

I’m thinking of starting a car dealership.

The only statement that would be more ridiculous is if I told you that I was going to go back and try and get into med school so that I could become a famous brain surgeon, like Derek Shepherd on Grey’s Anatomy. And why, pray tell would I have the foggiest idea who Derek Shepherd is? Like millions of others, I got sucked into the vortex of steamy romances, along with lots of blood and guts. When you’re in the north and you don’t have cable, Netflix and Prime are your friends.

“So why this sudden interest in the automobile industry, Len?” It certainly has nothing to do with my knowledge of cars and trucks. Au contraire. I know how to start a car. I know how to drive a car /truck/tricycle. I know how to put gas in the tank. I can even put air in the tires. “Wow, Len, that’s pretty impressive stuff.” Disclaimer. Once, many years ago, arriving at the Tampa airport, I picked up a car rental. It was a Toyota Prius. Yep. I can see a few of you nodding your heads already. It was one of the first hybrids on the market. The only hybrids I was aware of at the time were those that were offsprings of parents that differed genetically. I think we studied this in Mr. Chew’s Grade X Biology class. I had no idea how to start it and had to sheepishly walk back to the Hurts (Hertz) counter for instructions. I received some very weird looks. Even when I started the car, I wasn’t sure it was actually working, it was so quiet!

I still remember my first car. A first car is like your first love. Or your first kiss. Sort of. Shitty comparison, Len. All are thrilling except a car has a much longer life expectancy. I bought a used VW Beetle in Victoria back in 1973. I think I paid about $500. A brand new one was around $2,000 which was well out of my price range. To gas up a big truck in 2021 might cost just about the same as my purchase. A tank of gas cost $5.00 and I could drive forever. It was a standard shift. “Yes, I’m gonna be a star.” Sadly, it was a poor excuse for a muscle car and rarely attracted my female friends unless they needed a ride home on a rainy night. It met its untimely demise when I was back east on some sort of business. I had it parked at my brother’s place on a side street and someone side swiped it and it had to be written off.

Truthfully, I was never a car guy, and I basically viewed a vehicle as something necessary to get me from point A to point B.

The other day, I was chatting with a classmate who owns a car dealership. We went to school all through the years. I asked him about the state of the car industry. Covid has changed everything, and it now appears that the supply chains, so vital to his and other’s businesses, have encountered a kink. Cars and trucks are not arriving quickly enough to meet demand and the price of used vehicles has risen quite dramatically.

I am happy to report that the supply chain is working just fine in the north. The last cargo ship of the season was here last week and among other things, it delivered several brand-new cars and trucks. A sample of them is pictured above. I have decided to buy all of them and ship them back to the east coast to fill the void. As long as no one is in a hurry, they should arrive next May when cargo ships start plying our waters again.

I guess if I’m going to open a car dealership, I should probably buy a car, but I haven’t owned one in years. I don’t need a car where I live back home. I can get everywhere on foot quite easily. With my penchant for walking maybe I should open a footwear store. My motto could be “walk a mile in my shoes”. (With thanks to Elvis for the one liner).

Honk if you think I’m on to something.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. Speaking of the weekend, don’t forget to turn your clocks back. You too, Bell. Will the time change make me an hour younger or older?

P.P.S. How do you know when you’ve eaten enough Halloween candy? Will accept any suggestions.

P.P.P.S. I knew I couldn’t fool you eagle eyed people. If you zoom in on the picture, you will see a boat at the top of the airport hill. I could sell you a boat too!