Posted on January 25, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

 

 

We are all well aware of the evils of smoking, so let me assure you that I am not about to preach to you.  I have smoked just about every legal substance and a few that weren’t.  But that’s all in the rear view mirror now.  I haven’t smoked anything in well over thirty five years and am not likely to resume this habit so late in life.

My first memory of smoking was literally at my grandfather’s knee, as he lit a pipe filled with the original blend of Amphora tobacco.  It’s hard to describe how sweet and wonderful the smell was.  Today I am certain I could pick it out easily while blindfolded.

I shared my very first cigarette with my father.  Left to my own devices, I would have eventually discovered tobacco at school but my dad was blessed with wisdom.  He beat me to the punch.  He offered me an unfiltered Buckingham cigarette as a young teen and encouraged me to smoke it to the bitter end.  It was ten years before I pulled a stunt like that again.

I also had my first beer with my father.  I didn’t wait another ten years before trying my second.

I smoked anything that I could get my hands on in university.  It was just the thing to do back then.  I can’t remember if I inhaled but who cares.  I won’t be running for public office anytime soon.

It wasn’t until I took a fishing trip to Newfoundland that I discovered the wonders of chewing tobacco.  A group of us, including my brother-in-law and his old uncle Mike, headed out to a pond to do some “trouting”.  And it was foggy.  So much so that when we arrived at one of several thousand ponds in the area we had to hold hands to make sure that we didn’t get lost.  We were on our way to the Promised Land.  Mike was our fearless leader.  He had an inner GPS long before these devices were invented.  Even when we arrived at the first lake, you had to squint through the mist in order to see the water.

I had all of the modern gear.  Uncle Mike had a huge bamboo pole that made a whooshing sound as he cast his line.  He pulled in a beauty on his first cast and his catch that day was of biblical proportions.  I was standing no more than two feet away and hadn’t gotten a single bite.  Exasperated beyond belief, I turned to Mike for help.  He looked over my rod and its’ setup and quickly discovered the problem.  I hadn’t put any chewing tobacco spit on the worm.  Of course.  How stupid of me.  With two university degrees to my credit, surely I would have learned this somewhere along the line.  Success was instantaneous.

Later that evening as the fishing crew consumed copious amounts of Screech, Mike suggested that I try some chewing tobacco.  I eagerly embraced the notion and put a plug in my cheek … just like Mike.  I think the brand was Copenhagen.  I didn’t read the instructions on the package and I couldn’t understand a word Mike said … sober or under the influence, his accent being so thick.

Mike’s house was near the ocean and a steep cliff abutted his property.  After swallowing the juice from a massive plug, I hurried to the edge of the cliff and prayed for a stiff breeze to come up to put me out of my misery.

There was a lady from Guysborough who had a similar experience.  Fran came from a family of sixteen and her father chewed tobacco.  She absolutely loved the smell of it.

Her father was a hard worker and an outdoorsman.  Keeping a supply of firewood in the house at all times was necessary.  No scrap of fuel went unused.  And so it was that her father was cutting up some pieces of wood on the old sawhorse.  Cutting and balancing a long, slender piece of pine board was a nuisance and he was having a bit of trouble

Fran peered out the window and understood his plight in an instant.  She also saw a package of her father’s chewing tobacco on the counter and decided to help herself to a chaw.  She filled her face with a plug, put on her boots and headed out in the yard to lend a hand.  By the time she got to the sawhorse, the juice from the tobacco was sloshing around in her mouth.  The ground was covered in three feet of pure white snow.

Her father, appreciating the help, thanked her.  She was about to respond with “You’re welcome!”, but that would have required opening her mouth.  Her cheeks were now nearly overflowing with tobacco juice and saliva.  She made a run for the house, not daring to expel the black juice on the white blanket of snow, for surely the jig would be up.

She entered the pantry and spied her mother in the kitchen.  With no other options or escape routes, she swallowed everything, tobacco plug and all.  This was followed by a mad dash to the bathroom.

It didn’t take long for a volcano similar to Mt. Vesuvius to erupt.

Occasionally people tell me that I’m the spitting image of my grandfather.  Hopefully they haven’t heard about my exploits with chewing tobacco, picturing me instead seated calmly with pipe in hand.

 

Posted on January 24, 2014 under News & Updates with one comment

He was a constable with the Town of Antigonish police force.  He was a goodwill ambassador and tourist guide.  He was a community man and a family man.  He was a nice guy.

Joe Judique knew himself and his town very well.  He had common sense and he cared about people.  One woman I met recently spoke of the time she and a friend were walking down The Main with Joe after a Parish Centre dance in the ‘60’s.  He checked the door of every single establishment to make sure that the doors were locked, then he ushered the young women home safely.

Joe was a true gentleman and no one can remember him ever uttering a bad word toward another human being.

To many teenagers, back in the day, he was as much a father figure as he was an officer of the law.  He nudged, coached and cajoled a lot of us, keeping countless young people out of harm’s way.   Many a young man was escorted back to his house by Joe, after a night of partying.

These days, excessive force by law enforcement officers is all too common.  If Joe was guilty of anything while he patrolled the streets and alleys of Antigonish, it was of excessive kindness.  His first instinct when encountering a youth who was heading for trouble, was to make sure that everyone got home safely.

Joe had a keen wit that he applied liberally and effectively.   One evening, he received a phone call regarding a domestic disturbance.  Sensing an altercation, he deputized a friend who happened to be with him at the police station.  They arrived at the residence to find the male occupant rather intoxicated.   When Joe politely suggested that he come willingly to spend the night in jail, the man suggested that Joe wasn’t tough enough to carry out the task.  Joe replied, “Fine.  I’ll take you in two pieces, then”.   In another instance, he responded to a call from a local restaurant where a giant of a man was causing a disturbance.   Joe took one look at the fellow and said, “You can come peacefully or I’ll make two trips if I have to”.

Joe’s sense of humour diffused many conflicts.

He had the common touch and could easily carry on a conversation with anybody, regardless of financial means or stature in the community.  He could relate to people and had empathy for all; a gift that he was blessed with in abundance.

And he loved music, especially the Scottish variety.  His favorite fiddle player was Angus Chisholm.  Angus travelled from the New England States one year to play at the Highland Games.  Joe came armed with a tape recorder and recorded a piece called “Tullochgorum”.  He nearly wore out the tape over the years.

With Joe, family came first and he loved going back to his beloved Judique to spend time with his clan.  There’s probably a story or two there as well.

He was no ordinary Joe.

“Ar dheis De go raibh a anam”.  Rest in Peace, Joe.

Posted on January 23, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

Don’t be fooled for one minute. We are definitely not down south. I had to put a picture with today’s post so rather than “after the storm” pictures, I thought an “after the vacation” picture was every bit as good. Don’t you agree?

Those of you not from the area, bear with me as I pass along this piece of information. Those of you who grew up in Antigonish in the 1960’s and 1970’s will remember a wonderful member of the Town’s police force: Joe “Judique” MacDonald. Joe was a wonderful and decent man and I did a tribute to him which appears in this week’s Casket newspaper. It’s called “No Ordinary Joe.” Please support our local newspaper and pick up a copy or go to their website.

As some of you know, I also write for The Fairview Post, in Fairview  Alberta. The editor of the paper was in touch with me this week and specifically asked if I would prepare a piece for Valentine’s Day. As they say, ” be careful what you wish for.” While home yesterday afternoon riding out the storm, I took a crack at the first draft. This one will undergo a serious edit, similar to the story on menopause, methinks. It’s hard to put me and romance in the same sentence without evoking snickers. The story starts with cut out Valentines cards in elementary school and ends up at the present day. Tell me women, are you treated like royalty on Valentines Day by the special person in your life? The story is called “The Heart of the Matter” and will be appearing sometime around Valentines Day.

I have a slightly longer piece coming this Saturday. It’s about tobacco, particularly chewing tobacco. I got chatting with this lady from Guysborough a few weeks ago and somehow we got on this topic. Have you ever tried chewing tobacco? Have you ever swallowed the juice? Wasn’t that fun? So curl up with a coffee at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday and check out ” The Spitting Image.”

A few of you have come forward expressing an interest in helping out with the hot meal program at the St. James United Church. I am meeting with their people next week and will have an update for you shortly.

Don’t let the weather beat you down. From ” the 10 habits of optimists” … “be a positive forward thinker”

 My “gratitude jar” for the month of January is filling up. Something as simple as a good meal is one thing  to be thankful for.

Have a great day and a great weekend.