Posted on April 6, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

The inventor of the telephone, Alexander Graham Bell,  spent his summers  a few hours down the road from here in the scenic town of Baddeck.  He named his summer property Beinn Bhreagh.  Roughly translated these Gaelic words mean “my cell phone contract is indecipherable”.  My office is in the old telephone switchboard building and its owner has adorned the place with antique phones going back well over one hundred years.  The only thing missing is two old Campbell soup cans attached with a string. The advances with phone technology is quite staggering and now we carry our phones with us, take pictures with them; even pay bills with them. They are a wonder and a marvel when they are fully operational. Sometimes they become dysfunctional and temperamental like a teenager.

When I taught school in Alberta in the ‘70’s, I had the pleasure of living with five other transplanted Maritimers for the better part of three months… in a two bedroom apartment.  I arranged for telephone service and at the end of the first month, the phone bill arrived. It was eleven pages long and the total was in excess of $1100. Long distance love is costly.

My sister does shift work and the shifts are irregular and unpredictable, something akin to her phone service lately. For a few days, incoming and outgoing calls were problematic to say the least. When the phone was working, the receiver was filled with static. It was something like a guy waking up after a big night with the boys and having his wife give him his chore list, while screaming in his ear. With a mind seemingly of its own, the phone would ring at all hours of the day and night.

A few nights ago after a particularly long day shift, she retired early . Occasionally she will get a call late in the evening to work the next morning. The phone rang. No one there. This continued unabated on the hour until 4:00 a.m. Now delirious with fatigue, the phone rings  again and it is the good folks at 911. They are responding to her call that she purportedly made a few minutes ago. They want to confirm her address and ask her the nature of her distress. The obvious answer would have been that her telephone service provider was driving her insane. She chose the high road and suggested politely that she had not called 911. Unless, of course, her cat had hit the speed dial on the phone.

She hung up and crawled back into bed waiting for this nightmare to be over. As she was drifting off to sleep, she thought she heard sirens in the offing. The sound became more pronounced and seconds later lights from the ER vehicle splattered off her bedroom wall. This was followed by feverish pounding on her front door.

Alexander Graham Bell also invented the metal detector which will come in handy as hospital officials try and locate phone parts imbedded in the skulls of the first responders.

 

Posted on April 5, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Well, it’s time for a new story. Just to let you know, the response to the tribute I did for James MacPherson was quite mind boggling. In one 24 hour period, my blog traffic quintupled. So, to those of you who are new to my blog, a hearty welcome.

I am putting the finishing touches on two stories. The first one is about phones. Have you ever had a bad experience with your phone provider? Have you ever had a good experience with your phone provider?! I’m sure that there are hundreds of stories on this topic. By the way, is anyone able to understand a cell phone contract?

Another story about to be unleashed is about “really important jobs”. Betty gave me this idea on the way to work the other morning. Let’s face it, women always have good ideas. Problem is, most men don’t listen to their wives.

I have a truck load of shopping stories. I was talking about this with a colleague at work today. Why would men rather do almost anything else  except go shopping with their spouses?

If you have any good ideas for a story ( men, you are welcome too! ), just drop me a note. My e-mail address is len.macdonald@eastlink.ca

 

 

Posted on April 3, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

Easter is over.  Another successful egg hunt with the grandchildren has concluded and the Easter bonnets are back in their boxes.  And the choir master is already thinking about the next major engagement – the opening mass for the Highland Games.  He is known by many names; James, Jimmy and affectionately the “mortician musician”. To those who know him best he is called friend.  A man of staggering talent, an imposing figure and musical genius; he is, simply put, “the master”.

Many years ago a Russian hockey team was touring the province and James was asked to sing both National anthems prior to the opening faceoff.  Any Canada/ Russia hockey game is filled with emotion but even before the puck dropped, the always stoic and stern faced Russian players appeared misty eyed as James flawlessly performed the Russian national anthem, in Russian.  He has performed for the Pope and for royalty but is most comfortable seated at the pipe organ at the cathedral – unless of course you can cajole him to join you at a house party equipped with a piano.

Many in our community, upon facing the end of life’s journey, have requested that James sing at their funeral.  He has sung at hundreds, probably thousands of funerals over his long tenure as organist and choir director at the cathedral.  Many of these occasions are tragic and just as many are celebrations, none more so than for a war veteran.  To hear his spine tingling rendition of “The Battle’s O’er” is as close to paradise as I may come in this lifetime.  For those of us needing a little boost heavenward at the end, having James sing at our funeral gives credence to the old saw “ hope springs eternal”.  I definitely want James on my side when my time comes.  I will take all the help I can get.

Besides funerals and weddings, James has been a fixture at concerts, ceilidhs and variety shows for well over fifty years.  He has enriched thousands of church services including many multi faith gatherings. Hearing his towering voice on stage, on a warm summer’s evening at the “Concert under the Stars” at the Highland Games, inspires awe.

But nowhere is he more comfortable than in front of the pipe organ at St. Ninian’s.  He filled some mighty big shoes after the tenure of Mrs. W.J. ended.  Watching him, as I have done for years, ad-libbing magnificent pieces of organ music with hands and feet working in perfect synchronicity, is something to behold.  And when his beloved choir hits all the right notes, in perfect harmony, you can see the utter joy in his face.  Ecstasy.

He is truly a man for all seasons.  A man of great faith, his unstinting loyalty to his church and his community are unparalleled.  He is one of us.  He could have pursued the bright lights of the big city to ply his talents but he chose us, which has made us all the richer.