Posted on June 4, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with 4 comments

It’s good to be back home again!

 

“Our house is a very, very fine house,

With two cats in the yard,

Life used to be so hard.”

Our House – Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

I was out for my daily walk last week. There was a time when I would have chosen a walk in the woods but with the infestation of ticks in recent years, I tend to stick to paved and graveled roads. There is one exception. On the campus of St. Francis Xavier University, there is a lovely trail system that was originally designed for cross country running but has become a popular walking trail for locals. The path is well trodden with no high grass where ticks can lurk.

As I exited this trail, I found myself in the backyard of the home where I spent my early childhood. The house has been a rental property for some years. There were three men on the back deck chatting. They were doing some renovations. I walked past the house and then spun around. I asked the men if it would be ok if I took a walk through the house.

And just like that, I found myself in a place I last inhabited 64 years ago. Of course, the memories poured out.

Here is an excerpt from my upcoming autobiography:

Three bedrooms. Nine bodies. You do the math. There was a bedroom for Mom and Dad.  That left two bedrooms for the seven of us. The boys’ room (for 5) had two bunk beds and a single bed while the girls’ luxuriated in a small room with a single set of bunks. No wonder we all became lousy sleepers. At the top of the stairs, leading to the bedrooms, there was a large floor grate to allow heat to travel upstairs from the living room. Of course, this provided an excellent opportunity for me and my siblings to occasionally eavesdrop on our parents’ conversations.

I attribute the punctuality gene to the above-mentioned bathroom. Our mom ruled the house like a sergeant major. If you happened to be playing in the woods behind our house and supper was at 5:00, then 5:00 it was. Nothing stood (knelt) in the way of the rosary. And when it was your turn to use the bathroom on a school morning, pity help the poor child who didn’t march down the hall on time. With so much demand and so little time, you either showed up for your turn in the bathroom or you were shit out of luck.

It is astonishing to think about the workload of our mother and the other mothers on the street. Most of them rose long before the sun made its appearance. With store bought bread expensive, most of these women made homemade bread every day. Arriving home from school, the wonderful smell of bread just out of the oven wafted throughout the house. How discouraging it must have been for Mom to watch several loaves of toil vanish in a heartbeat.

Laundry was another thankless job. Automatic washers and dryers hadn’t appeared in stores yet, so clothes were laboriously processed in a wringer washer and the clothes were hung out to dry in all seasons. The wringer washer served another purpose. When not in use, it was used as a wheelbarrow, as one of the smaller kids were placed in the tub and wheeled around the living room. On bitterly cold days in the winter, the clothes stood stiffly at attention on the clothesline. Trying to match socks must have been a challenge.

Never far away from the washing machine was the diaper pail. There were no such things as disposable diapers back then. Every home had a shelf dedicated to cloth diapers. When one of the children had done their “business”, the soiled diaper had to be rinsed, by hand, in the toilet. The wet, soggy diaper was then tossed into a large pail to be stored in safe keeping for next laundry day. With several little ones in diapers at any one time, the diaper pail was always overflowing. It is a miracle that none of us were asphyxiated with the malodorous smells emanating from the pail.

We weren’t Pampered, literally or figuratively.

Because there were so many of us crammed into such a small space, when an illness struck, it roared through the house like a California wildfire. The small den downstairs was the unofficial sick bay. I can still remember lying there with the smell of Friar’s Balsam emanating from a hot plate to assist with croup. When we had chicken pox, Mom would toss us in the bathtub filled with water and corn starch and pour this itch- reducing potion over our bodies with a plastic measuring cup. And who can possibly forget the cure-all for a bad cold: a large dollop of Vick’s Vapo Rub with a towel wrapped around our necks. The towel was fastened with a large diaper pin. The one Mom used had a pink tip. The smell of the Vicks and the comfort of the towel was offset by the abject terror of the diaper pin. Firstly, considering where that pin was normally fastened, one wondered if the pin might transmit some germs. The bigger fear was that the pin would snap open while we were sleeping, piercing our jugular, bringing us one step closer to God. Anxiety, disease, paranoia, and insomnia wrapped up into one neat package.

After completing my brief tour, the thing that surprised me the most was how small this house was. I simply can’t imagine how 9 people could inhabit such a small space without grievous bodily harm inflicted.

As I was leaving the house, I stopped to chat with one of the workers. He came from a family of 13 and he grew up in a three-bedroom house with no central heating. When winter set in, the children would write their names on a frost covered window. The signature would remain there until spring.

Yes, “Life used to be so hard” but ask any child growing up at that time and they would tell you, “Those were the best days of my life” (Bryan Adams).

Have a great weekend.

Posted on May 28, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with one comment

The spirit is willing but…

 

“It’s a heartache,

Nothing but a headache,

Could have been a toothache,

Hits you when you’re down”.

With apologies to Bonnie Tyler.

“Love hurts”. Nazareth.

So do my lower back and my arm.

It would appear that the warranty is set to expire. Do you remember when you were perfectly healthy? When you were lean and fit and you had all your hair and your wits about you? When all your body parts were functioning at their optimum? When you were sure footed and confident? When you could recite Abou Ben Adhem in its entirety?

Come to think of it, neither can I.

These days, there are times I can’t remember why I went into the kitchen.

We used to recite the Litany of the Saints in our childhood when we said the rosary. It is a traditional prayer that calls upon the Blessed Virgin Mary, the saints, and the angels for intercession, asking for mercy. Our litany is now one of ailments, when we call upon doctors, podiatrists, chiropractors, massage therapists, acupuncturists, plastic surgeons and many others for their intercession.

When I was a teenager, we sat on the railings outside the bowling alleys and talked about sports, cars, and girls. Not necessarily in that order.

When I was a young man we talked about university, careers, and travel.

As newlyweds, we talked about the price of pampers, car seats, and ear infections.

As we got older, we talked about RRSP’s, paying off the mortgage, and the prospects of retiring.

We retired and talked about a life of leisure, golfing, fishing, going on river cruises and spending quality time with our grandchildren.

Now we’re old.

Stop in at McDonald’s on any given morning, or your local coffee shop and you will invariably see a group of gray haired folks. There is probably a 99% chance that the bulk of the conversation revolves about health or lack thereof. The other 1% is about the Leaf’s playoff futility.

I once thought that the only place that had a parts department was an automobile dealership. Eavesdrop for a few minutes. “New knee.” New hip.” “New heart.” It’s a wonder that screening devices at airports are not chirping every minute of the day as titanium filled seniors pass through the metal detectors.

I am blessed to have a lot of friends and other than my children and grandchildren, most of them are older. Birds of a feather flock together. Sadly, many of those friends have already “flown the coop”. The last six people that I talked to? Torn meniscus; incurable itch over the entire body; two hip replacements; memory issues; bypass surgery and prostate cancer.

Yes indeed. If we ever needed the power of saints and angels, it is now when we’re in the late innings. However, in our case, it might be dubbed “The Litany of the Aint’s”. We ain’t doing all that great.

However, despite all of our collective aches and pains, we’re still trucking along, making the best of the time that’s left.

“Now I’m old and tired, bent and busted, gray and wrinkled and I can’t be trusted…”

Dirty Old Man – Valdy

There are days that I feel old and tired, bent and busted. I’m definitely gray and wrinkled.

I had a new walk-in shower installed last week. I was having trouble getting in and out of the tub. Waiting for the paint to dry and the caulking to be finished, I wasn’t able to shower for several days. One explanation of a “dirty old man”.

I am proposing a new television show. It will be called “What Ails You?”

It’s bound to be a smash hit with tens of millions of boomers with something to complain about.

Me? I’ll just grab a cold beer.

That’s what ales me!

When my mother was well into her 80s, she often commented that she didn’t feel her age.

However, she also had a cushion on her sofa that said, “Screw The Golden Years”.

I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

Have a great weekend.

 

 

Posted on May 21, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with one comment

No regrets

 

“I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done in my life, any choice that I’ve made. But I’m consumed with regret for the things I didn’t do, the choices I didn’t make, the things I didn’t say. We spend so much time being afraid of failure, afraid of rejection. But regret is the thing we should fear most. Regret is an eternal question you will never have the answer to. “What if…” “I wonder what would have…”You will never, never know, and it will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Born a Crime – Trevor Noah

None of us wants to limp to the finish line.

Life is one long, difficult race. There are peaks and valleys, and mercifully flat plains where the going is relatively easy. We’ve won a few and lost some. We’ve had incredible highs and endured the depths of despair. We’ve laughed, we’ve cried and times when we’ve just had to gut it out. It’s a marathon but finishing strong is our ardent desire.

I have experienced all of these emotions running marathons. They certainly rate as one of the most physically and mentally grueling things I’ve ever done. Walking the Camino twice is right up there. I know all too well what it feels like to limp to the finish line. It’s not a great feeling.

“Regrets I’ve had a few,

But then again, too few to mention.”

My Way – Frank Sinatra

I just finished reading Trevor Noah’s excellent book “Born a Crime” about his life growing up in South Africa around the time of apartheid. It was a very difficult childhood. His quote about regrets leapt off the page.

Loyal readers have heard me go on about this topic and time again, but I feel it bears repeating.

What if?

We all have regrets, but the trick is to minimize them. Many of you have retired and are enjoying the fruits of your labours. You’re travelling, playing pickle ball or making quilts. You have the time, the resources and the good health to be “living the dream”. Many are not so fortunate and struggle with retirement, finding the time long and loneliness your only companion.

The hourglass is not working in our favour.

I spoke with a friend recently. Like so many women, she dedicated her life to her family and her career and had very little “me time”. She’s thinking about doing a solo trip where she can go somewhere “far from the madding crowd”, where she can enjoy peace, quiet and seclusion. I urged her to do just that. If not now, when?

The last thing any of us want is to arrive at the finish line with a litany of regrets.

It doesn’t mean that you have to do something grand or dramatic, or something that requires a big outlay of time and money. It could be as simple as an apology to someone you’ve wronged. That doesn’t take money. It takes courage.

As the sand seeps to the bottom of that hourglass, it might be time to take action.

Please don’t limp to the finish line. Run to the finish line, or jog, or walk. Or wheelchair. Or skateboard or cycle. Or crawl, if necessary.  Go screaming, chanting, singing, praying.

Don’t be the one who says, “I wish I had…”

There’s still time.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. It’s hard to imagine that a proximal humerus fracture could ever be considered a good thing but this unfortunate accident provided me the time to work on a project long in the works – my autobiography. Breaking my arm was a mixed blessing. Last week, I was able to finish the first draft. Those of you of a certain age (!) will be able to relate to many of the stories, growing up in this part of the world as part of a large family. My plan is to publish in the Fall.