Posted on June 24, 2014 under Storytelling with one comment

 

 

The MacDonald clan has been known to hold grudges for long periods of time.  We still haven’t gotten over the Glencoe Massacre, and that was a mere 322 years ago.  We will avoid a Campbell at all costs unless it comes in a can and can be heated in less than two minutes.  Some would say that we’re just plain poor sports, but I beg to differ.  We may be poor at sports, but otherwise we’re a reasonably cheerful lot.

It’s hard to imagine talking about a winter sport during the dog days of summer.  Mind you, the hockey season drags on so long these days that hockey is a fair topic at just about any time of the year.  And summer still eludes us.

A chance meeting with an old childhood friend rekindled lots of memories.  And not all of them were pleasant.

When we were growing up, our street teemed with humanity as our parents took the baby boom very seriously.  You were never without someone to play with, even if you were a touch weird.  Mind you, looking back, we all seemed a bit off kilter.

We played hopscotch, red rover and tag.  We then advanced to more serious pursuits like baseball, football and hockey.  There was never any trouble rounding up a dozen kids or so and playing a game of softball in the back field.  Different streets in town had similar demographics and were also able to field teams; this produced some incredible rivalries.

Everyone, boys and girls, played street hockey.  When we weren’t on our knees in the living room saying a decade or two of the rosary, we were out on the street pretending we were Rocket Richard.  And our street was a particularly hot bed for street hockey as it was a dead end street … and the mayor lived at the very top with the best view of the action.

And speaking of Mayors, it seems like just about every mayor in the 125 year history of the town has been a Chisholm or a MacDonald.  This fact did not provide a “pass’ when it came to Mayor Chisholm’s children.  If they were going to play with the other kids, they would get their noses dirtied by times.

The Mayor’s eldest daughter was de facto his eldest son … if you ask her.  When it came to the rough stuff, she could give as good as take.  So when the street hockey season ramped up, she could be found right in the thick of things.

Not everyone can be Jean Belliveau or Bobby Orr.  Someone has to play nets and Mary Beth was thrust into the role of Johnny Bower.  She learned very quickly to take shots.  Some of them verbal and some of them launched from the end of a hockey stick.

I think I had a crush on her at the time but then again, young boys have crushes on just about every member of the fairer sex at that age.  I thought I would impress her with my slap shot.  Back then, we weren’t sissies.  None of this soft tennis ball crap.  No, we played with a real puck.  Real pucks hurt even when you’re wearing appropriate gear.  She didn’t have any real equipment, so when my shot came at her at pretty good velocity (about 8 mph!), it struck her in the shin with brutish force, leaving her slumped on the asphalt in tears.

I was taught to be a gentleman, and when a young lady is in distress you’re supposed to ride in on the white stallion and save her.  My offer of a hand and a kind word was met with a scowl, followed quickly by two of the fastest left/right combos ever seen.  She laid a first class beating on me.  Now it was me lying on the pavement with a bloodied lip and a tear forming in the corner of my eye.

We both raced to our respective homes.  She wept as she explained to her father the thuggery of her neighbor.  I wailed as I explained to my mother that the fair haired girl from just up the street had beaten the tar out of me.

And that was the end of it, until just a few days ago when we met to go over details of an upcoming community event.  To the utter amazement of the other people in the room, she lifted her pant leg ever so slightly, to show a small indentation in her shin.

It seems like the MacDonalds aren’t the only clan with long memories.

Posted on June 23, 2014 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

Heading to a 100th. birthday party – July 1/89

 

 

The picture above was taken 25 years ago, almost to the day. In 1989, the Town  of Antigonish celebrated its 100^th birthday. To commemorate the event, there were all kinds of special events. I was a member of Town Council at the time and on July 1^st., we dressed up in period costumes. We were driven through the town in horse drawn buggies and attended a citizenship ceremony at the old Court House. It was a great day and one I won’t soon forget.

By the way, the first mayor of Antigonish was Leonard Archibald. I don’t think there has been another mayor named Leonard since then and if Betty has any say in the matter ( which she does! ), there won’t be another… at least not from this household!

I was very happy to attend a benefit concert last week for Andrew Murray. Andrew lost many of his possessions in a fire a few weeks back. It was a wonderful evening and was held in the newly renovated St. James United Church. It was hastily put together but the organizers managed to collect a fantastic lineup of talent. The evening was topped off by a monologue by Andrew that was witty and poignant. Andrew is an amazing talent and we are fortunate to have him in our community.

Later this week, I will be the master of ceremonies for “Art in the Park.” This summer long program is an attempt to spotlight all of the artistic talent in our community. The opening night is Friday, June 27^th. at Chisholm Park starting at 5:30 and going until 9:00. I will be at the gazebo introducing a wide array of talent. There will be singers, highland dancers, belly dancers ( I won’t be one of them ! ), a fire eater and much more. If the weather cooperates (?), there will be all kinds of kiosks and tents where local artisans will be showing their work. There will be food vendors as well. It sounds like it’s going to be a great evening. Please join me and stop by and say hello while you’re at it. In case you’re out of town that day, the Art Fair will be held every second Friday of the summer , with different performers and vendors.

And speaking of the Art Fair, I attended an organizational meeting last week to get my marching orders as MC. One of the co-chairs is a dear old friend ( she’s not old…she’s the same age as me ) and we got chatting. She reminded me of the time growing up on Hillcrest Street when she lay a beating on me, after I hit her in the shins with a slap shot playing street hockey. I know it’s not winter, even though it feels that way, but I had to chronicle this story. “The Puck Stops Here” will be published shortly.

Sorry, but with all the buzz about “Chase the Ace” I couldn’t resist the opportunity to write a slightly satirical piece on this phenomenon. “Chasing Clouds” takes a look at our collective “lottery mentality.”

I want to give a shout out to the good folks of Heatherton who are in the process of taking over their school after its closure. They are ramping up a major fundraiser so that they will have the resources to keep the building going as a community center. Support them if you are able.

Check out this week’s Casket for my story on piping and drumming called “Pipe Dreams.”

Have a great week.

Posted on June 21, 2014 under Storytelling with one comment

Mary Ann Falls

 

 

It’s almost time to bring the bathing suit out of hibernation.  Almost, I say, because we have had one of the longest winters and coldest springs that anyone can remember.  In a few days’ time, young children will burst through the doors of the school and face the endless possibility that is summer.  There is no better feeling in the world than being a child with two months to do nothing but have fun.

We were fortunate to have had a place to spend our summers when we were kids.  We would hop into the car with our parents and make the twenty minute drive to Bayfield.  This is where most of us learned to swim, some of us much better than others.  Our own four kids spent many happy hours at the same beach.

Some people swim year round.  When they’re not swimming in the ocean or their own pool at the house, they may be found at the university doing laps.  As part of my marathon training I used to do pool running.  It is exactly as it sounds. You simply mimic the running motion is water without the pounding on the knees.

There’s swimming and then there’s skinny dipping.

I would like to say that I am an expert on skinny dipping but I am not here to bare my soul or any other body part.  I may have swum “au natural” when I was two or three and that’s all I’ll admit to.

When I lived in Victoria I occasionally drove to the famous Sooke Potholes to go for a dip.  I didn’t know much about this place the first time I went there.  There is a river that comes down from the mountain, forming several natural pools in a step-like fashion.  The pool closest to the bottom is the warmest and is most often frequented by families with small children and senior citizens who don’t want to take the hike all the way to the top.  I quickly discovered that the higher up I went, the skimpier the bathing suits became until the final pool where no bathing suits were required.

I haven’t been there in years but am threatening to go back to Sooke to check it out.  I’m wondering if I will have the energy, or the nerve, to make it back to the top of the mountain!

I remember vividly a trip my future wife and I took to Neil’s Harbor when we were courting.  My brother was the doctor at Soldier’s Memorial Hospital.  He and his wife suggested places to swim, including all of the wonderful beaches in and around Ingonish.  Over the years I had seen the signs for Mary Ann Falls and was intrigued to go there when it appeared on my sister-in-law’s list.  She was a native of Neil’s Harbor and knew the area well.

We drove into the secluded forest glen that enclosed the Falls.  We changed into our bathing suits and securely locked the car, with our wallets and dry clothes inside.   I didn’t think twice about putting the keys in my swimming trunks.

We had a glorious swim and when we exited the chilly waters, I discovered that the car keys were missing.  Nobody could accuse us of skinny dipping that day.  The keys had to have sunk to the bottom of the deep, dark pool at the base of Mary Ann Falls.  The locals told me that I would need scuba equipment to retrieve them.  With no towel or dry clothing we walked a few kilometers to get to the highway and hitchhiked back to Neil’s Harbor.  My sister had to drive three and a half hours from Antigonish to bring us the spare keys.  Can you say, “Not amused”?

Some people even swim in the winter … outdoors.  And I’m not talking about the polar bear dips which are popular on New Year’s Day.

The story is told of two couples who got together one New Year’s Eve for a meal and some revelry.  It was a stormy evening with the wind whipping the snow into impressively high drifts.  The wine was flowing.  Late into the session, one of the men thought it might be fun to skinny dip in a massive snowdrift just off the back deck.  This made perfect sense to the other guy.  The women would have none of it.  That is, until the bribes surfaced.  In exchange for “taking the plunge”, one would receive a coveted dining room table from her spouse while the other would be rewarded with a long desired leather coat.

After many hours of silliness this all made perfect sense.  Shortly after midnight, the lights were dimmed to avoid the prying eyes of neighbors.  The clothes came off and the giggling began as, one by one, the participants, male and female, plunged into the snow bank.

“Now a promise made, is a debt unpaid” (Robert Service).  Two weeks later, a lovely birch table graced the house of one of the woman.  Sadly, the other woman did not receive her leather coat.  She did, however, receive an 8 lb. 6 oz. daughter, exactly 9 months later.

Look before you leap.