Posted on October 10, 2015 under Storytelling with 4 comments

One of a kind

 

 

As I do most mornings, I head off to The Landing for an early walk. It is a place of beauty and serenity. And it is a place of friendship. The regulars are there just about every day except in the winter, when the river overflows its banks, turning the gravel covered trail into a skating rink. Today is different. It feels different and it looks different. A fog hangs over the water. It is hard to see a hundred yards ahead. I am looking for a familiar face, a barrel chested man who walks his trusty canine, Bailey. He is one of the regulars.

Often on my morning walks I can hear him before I even see him, as he greets other walkers. Benny is as gregarious as they come and has a voice that is jovial and distinctive. But not today. His voice has been stilled. And even though the sun comes up part way through my walk, the fog has not lifted in my head. How could someone so vibrant be gone?

I got to know Ben Druhan through running. He wasn’t a marathoner like his decorated wife, Charlene.  He would laugh when I suggested that he try to qualify for Boston … maybe a Boston cream pie, he would say, but certainly not the famed road race. Benny was the best one man support team that you could hope for. Eternally optimistic and cheerful, he would hop in his truck with Bailey and drive the backroads when a group of us was out on one of our long runs. He would grab the morning paper and stop every 5k or so just to make sure his charges were doing OK. I travelled to the Boston Marathon with him and Charlene on two occasions, trips that I’ll never forget. I can still see him at his familiar perch along the side of the road just outside of Fenway Park.

He was a pillar of strength in his home parish of St. Joseph’s, serving as a reader at church, and was one of the driving forces in bringing the Community Centre project to fruition. It seems only fitting that his friends and community came there yesterday to share tears of sorrow and laughter with his family.

Benny was a well-known collector of old Volkswagen vehicles and made many trips across the continent to buy cars and take them home to be restored. He and his close buddy, William, were fixtures at the Highland Games Parade. These cars were his pride and joy and on warm summer days you’d see him driving around with the top down, accompanied by Charlene and Bailey, enjoying one of those simple pleasures in life.

He was an engaging personality and a terrific story teller. And that laugh of his was simply infectious. He loved going to the camp with his buddies and enjoyed recounting the legendary bacon saga. Apparently they had a massive cast iron skillet at the camp, and one morning Benny was on cooking detail. He grabbed a large package of bacon, heated up the pan and within minutes that distinct and wonderful aroma filled the cabin. He and his two buddies sat down a short while later and plowed through a feed of bacon and eggs. Benny seemed to think that there was more bacon than usual. Upon investigation, the fellow who had purchased the groceries reported that he had bought two pounds of the salty delicacy.   Ben went to the garbage and hauled out the discarded package. The label clearly stated that the three of them had just consumed 2 kilograms of bacon!

Benny was extremely well read and could carry on a conversation with anyone on any topic. He had the common touch. We had many conversations about politics, business, sports and religion on Saturday mornings after a run, when we would congregate with our spouses for cinnamon rolls and coffee. This was a routine that we all enjoyed.

Benny was generous with his time and was also not reluctant to pull out his wallet to support worthy causes. I know of many acts of charity that will never become public. That was just his style. He “paid it forward” long before that catchphrase became fashionable.

And did I mention sweets? Benny and I were forever discussing the merits of sweets, in particular, pies. No, not that kind of pi.  Although I’m sure if you asked him about π, he could tell you what it was and likely had a story about it in his incredible memory bank. Any time we got together to share a meal, I made sure that we didn’t skimp on dessert. I am trying to picture us arm wrestling for the last slice … he with those powerful forearms.

Ben was a great guy, plain and simple. He worshipped his family, especially the grandkids. He loved all small children and could engage them just as easily as he charmed the grownups. I have seen him down on the floor with that big grin on his face, just hanging out and playing.

The fog will eventually dissipate, but the memories of Ben Druhan will forever linger.

 

Posted on October 7, 2015 under Storytelling with 2 comments

There’s no cure for this malady

 

 

If a person lives long enough, they will come down with some form of affliction or another. I bumped into a buddy in the automotive section of the Canadian Tire store the other day, and he told me his knees were shot and one of his shoulders was always achy. I suggested to him that, like an automobile, the warranty on our bodies eventually expires.

We all get colds and the flu, despite our best efforts to ward off evil spirits, with many of a certain age resorting to an annual flu shot. Heck, some people try to ward off evil spirits with evil spirits in the form of a hot toddy laced with dark rum.

There are more serious illnesses that pose risks, including diabetes and heart disease. Cancer continues to be a scourge on the health landscape. And despite mankind’s best efforts, there are some conditions that can be managed but remain incurable.

I was out for my morning walk a few weeks ago and met a friend going in the opposite direction. His wife is normally on the walk with him and, upon inquiry, I found out that she was under the weather that morning. She has Irritable Bowel Syndrome and on days when it strikes she has to stay close to home. While not wishing to minimize her discomfort, and at the risk of seeming heartless, I quipped, “It could be worse. She could be suffering from Irritating Husband Syndrome.”

And what, you ask, are the tell tales signs of Irritating Husband Syndrome? Rolling of the eyes is a dead giveaway that a gal suffers from this condition. Other clues include heavy sighs, both hands gripping the hair, hands on the hips and, the most dreaded of all, the silent treatment. Yes, men, when you have rendered your wife speechless you know that the doghouse can’t be far behind.

I polled several of my female friends to try to get to the bottom of this epidemic. I discovered the following as the most egregious offenses: putting laundry in the dryer when you should know it has to be hung to dry; yelling and burping and farting while watching sports on television; failure to notice the tub when you offer to clean the bathroom 5 minutes before company arrives; leaving stubble clinging to the side of the sink after shaving; and finding any excuse to miss a social function that calls for more than jeans or sweat pants. I guess there’s no cure for a pain in the arse.

But the single most aggravating thing that a man can do is wield the remote control with impunity. We try our best to explain that it is not easy to watch golf, football and baseball, at the same time, while avoiding all advertisements; even with split screen TVs.  My wife has discovered that it is almost impossible to pull her hair out with her hands on her hips.

Let’s face it. There is simply no cure for IHS. As long as men and women continue to cohabitate, this plague will persist. Thankfully there are support groups – just bring wine and your sense of humour.

The other day, my bride of thirty three years and I decided that it was time to review our estate plan. We did some minor tweaking to our wills, powers of attorney and personal health care directives. As is often the case, we discussed mortality and what life would look like if one of us died. “Do you think you would marry again?” I asked innocently enough. “Êtes-vous fou?” was the quick rejoinder. She can speak French when she needs to. “I have spent 33 years training you. I’m not about to start training anyone else.”

We briefly touched on the notion of eternity. My guess, without asking, is that living with IHS is as close to eternity as most women want to get.

Posted on October 5, 2015 under Monday Morning Musings with 2 comments

Ripley’s Believe it or Not

 

 

I have been reporting in this space for some time now about my personal “makeover.” I could NEVER have imagined eating the following for lunch: cottage cheese, sweet potatoes and a mixture of steamed veggies. I am a month into my new healthy eating regime and hope to have found something that I can sustain over the long haul. It’s a lot of work and a lot of discipline but I must say that I feel much better and my energy level is as good as I could hope for at this point in my life.

The other morning, I went for my daily walk. Nothing new about that. However, it was raining at the time and I decided to walk in the rain without rain gear or an umbrella. It was one of those very unseasonably warm mornings. I knew I was going to get wet ( duh ) but funny thing, once you’re wet, you can’t get wetter. As I was making my way up the long stretch of highway from The Landing towards St. Martha’s Hospital, I felt pretty lucky. You see, I have a friend in St.Martha’s who is dying of cancer and I know that he would like nothing better than to be out walking too. I reflected on a forum I attended the night before on the topic of end of life issues. I also thought about two recent sudden deaths in our community. It reminded me that life is not a dress rehearsal. We have one kick at this and need to make the very best of it.

Ok. Enough of the serious stuff. I have so many stories in the works that I scarcely know where to start. Quickly, looking back, many of you enjoyed my story called “The West End.” Actually, this story easily got the biggest response of any piece that I’ve written over the past 3 years. I guess we’re all suckers for nostalgia. Life wasn’t perfect by any means growing up in the 60’s but it was a much simpler time. We were innocent and our lives were uncomplicated.

In that piece, I made reference to the Marian Boy Choir. They were a world class boy’s choir that started in 1952 under the direction of Fr. Terry Lynch. A few people commented on this so I decided that the choir deserved a separate piece. So, bright and early yesterday morning ( 5:30 ish! ), I penned a piece called “ Oh, How They Could Sing.” As part of my research, I met with seven former members of the choir on the weekend for coffee. It was fascinating to hear their stories. I have been asked to consider writing a book about Fr. Lynch and the choir. I have been loaned tapes of many of their performances. They really were that good.

Coming up later this week ( Wednesday ) is a story called “ An Incurable Condition”. A light hearted look at the trials and tribulations of married life.

A friend of mine recently took a road trip to visit friends in Ontario. Her new car broke down and the resulting story was a comedy of errors. Well, it wasn’t funny but the story is so unbelievable that I’m going to try and retell it once I’ve met with the protagonist. Coming soon, “Judy’s Joyride.”

And what if you were taking part in a very important video conference with people across the country and right in the middle of it, your dog walks by you and farts? Luckily, the technology for transporting smells through the computer hasn’t been developed…yet. I was chatting with the young woman who was taking part in the call. I think this deserves my full and undivided attention.

Finally, check out the cover for my third book. It’s on my home page. www.week45.com. And while you’re there, scroll to the bottom and enter your e-mail address. That way, you won’t miss any of my incredibly stimulating (!) posts. Facebook is simply not a sure fire way of getting my stories out there anymore.

Have a great week.