Posted on October 11, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

The hallways of the old Antigonish High School

 

 

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes words alone simply don’t do justice; it is hard to describe the wonder of nature painted in a sunrise or sunset.  But just as often pictures don’t tell the whole story.  Sometimes a word can say more than a thousand pictures.

When you hear someone yell “Fire!” you immediately spring into safety mode. The triumphant shout of “Bingo!” indicates the end of the game … and the possibility of a stampede.  And if you’re a golfer, the cry “Fore!” means duck your head because someone has launched an errant shot.

I was at the Farmer’s Market recently and bumped into a couple of old friends. The subject of education came up and we shared stories about the impact that certain teachers have had on our lives.  In some cases, their influence has been life-changing.  In the middle of this animated conversation, one of them uttered a word that stopped us all in our tracks.  We gave each other knowing glances.  No need to explain or draw a diagram for this one.

Provincials. As in provincial examinations.

In life, there is black and there is white and there are shades of gray. It’s ok to have an off day at work or to have a sub-par (over par!) round of golf.  But when your entire academic year hangs in the balance, depending upon the successful completion of a set of exams set by the province, there are no shades of gray.

Pass or fail. All or nothing.

Not everyone thrives on pressure. Standing up in front of a crowd to make a public presentation is among the hardest things for most mortals to do.  Sometimes you nail it while other times you just stink out the joint.  But you almost always have a chance to redeem yourself.  Provincials leave you either standing or lying in the dust.  You pass … or you fail.  Period.

Provincials were always held in June and invariably exam day was unseasonably hot.  When I think about it I remember sweaty palms, perspiration on the forehead, and palpitations of the heart.  The walk into the examination room made me feel every bit as uneasy as Daniel in the lion’s den.  Luckily, just about everybody in the class came out, like Daniel, unscathed.  Thanks in large part to those extraordinary teachers we were talking about the other morning.

I’m not sure how I feel about the ordeal of Provincials. We all dread a root canal but when it’s over and we have relief, we look back and say it wasn’t so bad.  These “make or break” exams certainly prepared us for the life challenges that were ahead.

I sometimes take the pressure cooker out of the cupboard to prepare the spuds, especially for large gatherings. Writing provincials was another kind of pressure cooker – I’ll keep that one in storage, thank you very much.

That is, until the next time a crony utters that word.

Posted on October 9, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Oak Manor – classy window dressing

With apologies to all other retailers in Antigonish, I think the window dressing at Oak Manor is always among the best in town. Caught this picture at 6:30 a.m. yesterday on my morning walk.

The Fall colors are simply majestic, wouldn’t you say? While most of us enjoy the warmth of the summer, it seems that everybody loves this time of the year. Throw in some unseasonably warm weather over the past few weeks and just about everybody is smiling.

It is Thanksgiving weekend which is always a good time to take stock and be appreciative for all the things we enjoy living in this part of the world. I was chatting on the street corner the other day with a friend and we were marvelling at our town, our province and our country. All you have to do is flick on the TV and watch 10 minutes of the news to realize how unbelievably fortunate we are to live where we do. The late Fr. Pops McKenna , who came to our house for New Years dinner every year , often said, “: we live in paradise but just don’t realize it.”

Life is not all peaches and cream but if you have family, something meaningful to do with your life, have food on the table and enjoy reasonably good health, be very thankful on this Thanksgiving weekend.

On my way to the football game last weekend, I passed by the Psychology building which used to be the old Antigonish High School. So many memories including writing provincial exams in grade 12. For most of us of a certain age, this was our first ( of many ) pressure cooker situations in life. When your entire academic year hangs in the balance, it is pretty nerve wracking. I tried to recreate the sensation in the story, “ All or Nothing,” which will appear on my website soon.

I am still putting the finishing touches on the story about going to the Capitol Theater when we were kids. There’s still time to add a line or two so if you have a memory that you would like to share, please pass it along and I’ll try and incorporate it before publishing. Coming soon, “ A Capitol Idea.

You are about to be “earwormed.” I noticed in the paper the other day, the passing of Paul Revere of “Paul Revere and the Raiders.” This was a 60’s band. One of their lesser known hits of 1967 was a song that a local band, “The Strangers” perfected. It was called “Him or Me.” Go to Youtube and give it a listen. The Strangers were one of my all time favorite bands. It probably had something to do with me being a teenager when they were in their prime. Al, Charlie, Jody and Pat were extremely talented guys. I rarely wish to be 16 again (!) but if I could time travel, I would be beamed back to the mid 60’s to the Parish Center to hear these guys play one more time.

Lots of other stories in the works.

Please keep November 5^th at 7:00 p.m. open on your calendar. My sidekick, Phil Milner, will be launching his new book, “ The Antigonish Book of Days” at the Legion. I will be away on vacation but hope some of you can make it out to support Phil on his latest endeavour.

Have a great Thanksgiving weekend.

Be “thankful and grateful.”

 

P.S. Let your eyes roam to the right. Here’s the book cover for my 2^nd. book. Hope you like it.

Posted on October 7, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Proof that I kissed the Blarney Stone

 

 

“If you ever go across the sea to Ireland…”

Galway Bay – Arthur Colahan

I was chatting with a friend the other day. It was a business meeting, but invariably these kinds of discussions always get around to the family.  I asked him casually, and a bit tongue in cheek, how many of his children were still “on the payroll”.  He knew what I meant.   As it turns out, his daughter is currently working for a year in Ireland, the home of leprechauns and Guinness beer.  She is employed in the city of Cork.

Upon hearing this I had an immediate flashback. I was lying flat on my back, holding on for dear life to two iron bars, kissing a stone that was centuries old.

Ten years ago I ventured to Ireland on a golf vacation. The first week I explored the island with my brother and we were joined for a second week by six lawyers from Vancouver.  Sounds like the start of a lawyer joke to me.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to arrive in Ireland (Shannon Airport, to be precise), take the wheel of a standard shift car rental and navigate your first roundabout … on the wrong side of the road? It is slightly disorienting and extremely nerve wracking.   Now try this with no sleep for the past thirty hours.  Welcome to Ireland.

On or about day five we headed for the city of Cork, the home of Blarney Castle. It would be deemed sacrilegious to pass through Cork without kissing the Blarney stone, not that either my brother or I needed extra help with “the gift of the gab”.  You see, our mother’s people were from Tralee so we already had the proper DNA to ensure verbosity.

We arrived on a particularly drab and miserable day. It was foggy, rainy and the air had a decided chill.  We saw the first sign for the castle.  It wasn’t the last.  Some places on this planet are simple to navigate. Either the streets are laid out on a grid or signage is easy to follow.  Let me say this to the Fathers (Mothers) of the city of Cork; your streets make no sense and your signs might as well be in Gaelic.  Oops.  Most of the signs were in Gaelic.

In most countries where we speak the language, asking for directions is a reasonably simple exercise. We hopscotched all over Cork trying to find someone who could explain to us (in English or a reasonably good facsimile) how to make our way to the Castle.  Oh, they all did a fine job explaining but we couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

“And the women in the uplands digging praties speak a language that the strangers do not know.”

Slightly exasperated, we arrived at the Castle, purchased our tickets and made our way to kiss the stone. To get to the top of the castle you have to navigate a very narrow, winding staircase which, in and of itself, is no big deal.  Except for one thing.  The stairs were a series of smooth stones completely exposed to the elements.  Treacherous does not even begin to describe the footing.  Walking on sidewalks after a mid-February ice storm is child’s play compared to our ascent to kiss the blessed stone.  Luckily they had stolen some huge ropes from local tug of war teams and these allowed us to reach the top.

The deed of kissing the stone was somewhat anticlimactic after several hours of trying to find the damn castle and risking life and limb to fulfill our quest. Travelling back down those same stairs was every bit as daunting an exercise as the ascent had been.  We were in dire need of refreshments.

With rain pelting on our backs we hustled to the car.

Our vehicle was locked. Not so unusual seeing that we were the ones who had locked it.  Problem was, the keys were inside the car.  And the downpour continued.

It took some time, skill and several strings of expletives to finally gain entry to the car.

We had indeed received the gift of the gab. Luckily it was “in a language that the natives did not know”.