Posted on May 31, 2014 under Storytelling with 8 comments

Peek a boo. Alison sees you.

 

 

“Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek, and ye shall find …”

Matthew Chapter 7

One of my favorite childhood games was “hide and seek”.  Do you remember the days when kids spent most of their free time outdoors?  Some would say that those were truly the good old days.  If you were “it” you hugged a tree and counted to ten while your friends ran off in all directions.  It didn’t take too much time or ingenuity to track down one of your buddies.

I recently played a slightly different version of this age old game.  We recently put our big old house on the market after realizing, once and for all, that the kids won’t be moving back in with us.   In preparation for visits from potential buyers we de-cluttered the house.  This being our third house sale, we consider ourselves somewhat experts when it comes to fooling people into thinking that we are always neat and tidy.  Like cooking a turkey dinner together, getting organized for a house viewing is a wonderful piece of choreography.  My wife and I each have separate job descriptions.  I do my thing.  She does hers.  And when I stray off course, a nod or a raised eyebrow is all it takes to get me refocused.

One of her jobs is to remove just about every vestige of well-used household paraphernalia and stash it away, lest people think we actually live in the house.  After a successful open house or private showing, things get a little testy as I play my private game of hide and seek.  Where are the aprons?  In the dining room closet, of course.  And how about the toaster?  Why, any sensible person would automatically look under the sink.  The salt and pepper shakers are carefully concealed in a cupboard, along with yesterday’s newspaper and a handful of screwdrivers.  It’s a good thing that we don’t have cats anymore – they are difficult to conceal.  It usually takes a few days of playing the Hardy Boys, but eventually normalcy returns.

There are other forms of hide and seek.  When I was single, I did my own laundry.  Still do by times.  Back then, all of my socks were white.  Nerd personified.  But I’ll tell you something really cool.  Matching socks was never a problem.  A package of 12 pairs of white socks would last me forever, and I never had to think much about finding partners for my socks.  This was BK.  Before kids.  All of a sudden, there was a sock explosion and matching socks became as difficult as figuring out how the Egyptians built the pyramids.  I was the designated “sock matcher” and once every two years or so I would round up all the singles, toss them in a bag and throw them out or take them to the Opportunity Shop.  I figured that someone else might throw in a similar bag and you might just end up with a bunch of matches.  But as surely as I did this, the mate of a recently discarded sock would suddenly show up in the laundry basket.

But if you’re really interested in driving yourself around the bend, try finding the right lid for your Tupperware containers.  It does not matter how many of these you own, finding a perfect match defies the laws of physics.  Even if the lid looks like it should fit, it won’t quite snap shut and you will tear the house apart trying the find the second half of the elusive combo.  I know some people have gone so far as to number their plastic containers and lids so that even a pre-schooler has a fighting chance of getting the perfect match.

And if this doesn’t work and you’re still trying to find the elusive lid, just try some unlikely place like the china cabinet.  It could be right beside the oven mitts that were hidden there during the open house.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on May 29, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Lochaber Rowing Facility

 

 

In case you haven’t noticed, we live in one of the most remarkable areas in this province.  We have a distinguished university and a regional health care facility second to none. Our primary industries remain primarily strong despite challenging global conditions. We have a plethora of recreational facilities. The region is teeming with artists, musicians, writers and dancers. Sometimes we take all of this for granted.

We shouldn’t.

Betty and I took a ride last Sunday and drove out to Lochaber to see the new rowing facility. If you haven’t had a chance to go yet, you really ought to. While no expert on the subject, it appears to have all the requirements to attract rowers from around the region, the country and maybe even internationally. Very impressive.

And from all accounts, the new trail facilities at The Keppoch are amazing. We are lucky that so many people care enough to pour hundreds, if not thousands of hours into making Antigonish a great place to live.

Some of you know that we are trying to sell our house. You might be familiar with the term “staging.” You have to get the house looking just so before people come to view it. I didn’t realize until recently that part of the preparation requires hiding things. So the other day, after a showing,  I went looking for the toaster and was was surprised to find it under the sink. This went on for the next 24 hours. I couldn’t resist the temptation to write a story about this. I also incorporated another tidbit into the story.

Have you ever had trouble finding the right lid to go with the right Tupperware container? Sure you have. All the time, as a matter of fact. Thrown in some unmatchable socks and you have “ Hide and Seek.”

I also had great fun writing my very own gardening story. From my first feeble attempts at a garden in Northern Alberta , to the present day where watching the garden grow is about all I’m allowed to do, I take a look at my futile attempts to grow things.

If you happen to be reading this post in Cape Breton, I have a story in today’s Cape Breton Star called “ Mind Games.” It’s a golf story and I know some of you are golf enthusiasts. The story is about the first hole at the Cape Breton Highland Links in Ingonish. This hole has been my nemesis for over 50 years.

And next week, the Cape Breton Star will be paying tribute to miners during William Davis Memorial Day. My knowledge of mining is pretty minimal but I was asked to write a serious piece for that edition. Part of my story is about Westray. I was in Plymouth a few hours after the explosion, representing the Town of Antigonish. This left a lasting impression on me. I will probably republish that piece on Week45 at a later day. If you happen to be in Cape Breton, the Star is free.

Off to PEI for the big newspaper convention.

Have a great weekend.

 

Posted on May 28, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

There’s labour….and there’s labour

 

 

Mother’s Day is in the rear view mirror.  It strikes me as just a bit odd that we only shine the light on mothers on one day of the year.  They nurture and mold their youngsters and sometimes mother turns into s’mother!  They are the masters of multi-tasking.  They are the cement that keeps most families grounded and solid.  There have been many generations of mothers, but they all have one thing in common.  Raising their children is a labour of love.

Many of my neighbors are avid gardeners.  Every spring, I watch with fascination and admiration.  They can’t wait for the frost to come out of the ground so that they can dig their fingers into the moist soil.  It borders on a mystical experience.  They will wave politely as you walk past their yards, but one mustn’t disturb them when they have that “zen-like” look in their eyes.

There are many other labours of love.  A man in his shop, creating things out of wood or fixing his motorcycle is something to behold.  The passion for his work is only exceeded by his passion for his wife.  Well, most of the time, anyways.  I can neither build nor repair things.  I am pretty good at damaging things so if you want something destroyed then I’m your man.

Quilting can be a life-long love affair for many women.  Ditto for knitting.  I even tried knitting for a short stint back in the early 80’s while recovering from knee surgery.  I made about a dozen Lopi sweaters in a short period of time.  I attacked this with the zeal of someone sitting down to his first feed of lobsters.  Many times the knits and purls resembled the aftermath of a tornado.  I distinctly remember driving like a maniac out to see Marie Mackenzie in Morristown when I just couldn’t get something untangled.  It was the first time in my life that I encountered a real magician.  She always laughed when she saw me turn into her driveway.

With the passing of the years, grandchildren come along and this becomes the new and greatest labour of love.  New grandmothers exhibit boundless energy and a new spring in their step.  It is all the joy of parenthood and none of the responsibility.  Priceless.

New parents today have small families compared to previous generations.  A family of four children is uncommonly large.  I recently met a couple who had come from families of 13 and 14 children respectively.  Which got me thinking about labour and delivery.

I witnessed the birth of our four children.  After getting over the complete shock the first time around, a man knows what to expect.  And so does his wife.  Delivering four children is one thing … and I don’t want to minimize the effort that went into producing our own offspring.  But going through labour and delivery 14 times?

That’s what I call a “love of labour”.