Posted on November 12, 2016 under Storytelling with 10 comments

Sandy Ross 1920-2016

Gen.tle.man : a man who treats other people in a proper and polite way

( Source : Merriam- Webster Dictionary )

There should be an asterisk besides this definition. It should include the name of Sandy Ross.

Sandy and Rita were part of the old gang that called Hillcrest Street home. For most of their married life, this beautiful couple would start their day by walking up past Mount Saint Bernard  and around the corner to St. Ninian’s Cathedral to attend mass at 7:00 a.m. And then it was down the hill and on to the Main to the Bergengren Credit Union for Sandy ,where he and his good pal and confidant, P.D. MacDonald,  toiled for oh so many years. These two quiet and unassuming men, took the Credit Union from humble beginnings and turned it into a tour de force.

Many words have been used to describe Sandy, none better than those of Iain Boyd,  an old family friend. “ Upon hearing of Sandy’s death, the following thoughts came quickly to mind: a true gentleman – they don’t come any better; a smart, kind and thoughtful fellow; respectful, a quick wit. He was debonair, shrewd, a faithful Catholic, a loving husband and father. A person you aspired to be. And a baker’s helper.”

Sandy had a keen interest in so many things, in no small part because of his voracious appetite for reading. He consumed the Globe and Mail and the New York Times long before it became fashionable. Although he would never admit it, Sandy was quite sophisticated and urbane. He could carry on a conversation with anyone, at any time on virtually any subject. When he retired and had more time for leisure, he would stop you on the street to find out what was going on in your world. And more often than not, he would tell you a funny story.

 “ Sandy was the best dressed man in Antigonish. He was always impeccably turned out, with crisp shirts and lovely silk ties, shoes always polished and sharp creases in his trousers,” according to Boyd.

He had a passion for many things but nothing would get Sandy’s attention quicker than a discussion on sports. His memory of statistics for hockey and baseball was legendary. You could ask him about almost any player from his era and he could give you an answer just as quick as a Google search. As the years went by, he no longer watched most sports on television fearing for his health, such was the passion he had for athletics.

He worshipped Patsy and Allan and any time you met him, their names would inevitably come up in conversation.

In his final years, he resided , first at the Sylvan Valley Apartments followed by Green Meadows. The residents of both places had great admiration for Sandy.  His mind stayed sharp right up until the end. One thing that most people would not know is that Sandy had a lovely voice. Whether at mass or at one of the sing songs at Green Meadows, he added harmonies that were subtle and sweet.

And no one can ever remember him uttering a disparaging word about anybody … but he came close when queried about Donald Trump!

When you book a first class ticket on an airplane, you get the best of everything. When you are a first class person, the best is expected. Sandy never disappointed.

 

Posted on November 10, 2016 under Thursday Tidbits with 2 comments

One of the many street level farmers’ markets

 

Food.  Lots of food. Lots of spicy food.

It has been almost two weeks since I arrived in India and my stomach is slowly adapting. While I haven’t had any problems with the intake of food so far, I know my body is going through culture shock as it tries to figure of what in the hell I’m up to. As I said in Monday’s post, “ life only begins at the end of one’s comfort zone.” I’m sure if you’re in India as a tourist and are only staying a short time, you can work around food issues, especially  if you’re in the big cities. But if you’re staying awhile, then you better be prepared to adapt. “ When in Rome….”

I think breakfast is the biggest adjustment. At home, my breakfast is bland to the nth. degree. I start every day with a cup of black coffee ( more on this later ), and a slice of raisin toast with peanut butter. Then it’s out the door for a brisk 8K walk. The walking here is very challenging. I’m still trying to figure this one out.

Hyderabad is known for its spicy cuisine and breakfast is just another meal laced with all manner of wonderful seasonings. It just feels weird washing down breakfast with curd ( sort of like yoghurt ) just to cool the mouth down a bit. I now have a fairly intimate knowledge of idli, dosa, sambar, coconut chutney and wada. And I have now nearly mastered the art of eating with my hands… one hand that is. I have not progressed to that rarest of art forms of eating with one hand and texting with the other , which is as common as walking and  chewing gum around here. It took the CEO and the Executive Director to demonstrate the refined art of eating with one meat hook! It’s amazing what you can learn when you’re hungry. One of first nights that they let me out in public with Nagendra,  we went to a small outdoor restaurant to have chicken biryani, and a gaggle of young boys chortled the whole time watching me ( try to ) consume this popular entrée with my mitts.

My new best friend, Nagendra has been my go to guy for food. His English is limited and my Hindi is not what it used to be (!) , so ordering food is a delicate mix of gesturing, pointing and translating. Somehow we’ve made it work and I am now comfortable enough that the last few days, I’ve been able to wander off and get my own grub. A major grocery store is a few miles away and I am able to get whole wheat bread and a jar of peanut butter… for emergencies. Oh yes. My breakfast haunt is Bheema’s hotel. The café opens at 7:00. By this I mean , the doors open at 7:00 but they do not begin to serve until a small shrine in the corner is prepared. Candles and incense are lit and the incense is carried to different parts of the room as a sign of reverence, I believe. The first day I found it odd but now I have come to admire this ritual. Take time and give praise before eating seems pretty sensible to me.

One thing that has struck me, and I’m not one bit surprised, is that language is so crucial. I have a much deeper appreciation for our new Syrian friends as they try to make their way in a language that is completely foreign to them. Most times I have a translator with me but I don’t want to use this as a crutch or else I won’t learn anything. I have learned how to say “ my name is Len MacDonald “ in Hindi. It’s a start.

Ok. I have one eeny teeny complaint. Coffee. I love the thimble sized cups of coffee that I can get at breakfast ( for 15rs or about .30 ) but there’s not enough caffeine in it to get a squirrel’s heart started. In order to lock in some kind of routine ( an early morning cup of good, strong, black coffee ), I must acquire a coffee maker. The quest began in earnest on Tuesday. Qadheer is my designated chauffeur at the office and a really nice guy. We went scouting and after a few unsuccessful attempts, a drip coffee maker, very much like the one we have at home, was sitting in front of me. Having just purchased a big bag of coffee moments earlier, I was salivating at the thought of a large cup of java at suppertime. There was a small problem. They didn’t have any others in stock and the young clerk was adamant that I could not buy it. Very menacing thoughts ran through my head. The poor unsuspecting young man probably had no idea what a two week coffee drought looked like. I took a couple of deep yoga breaths and left the store. I will let you know when “ the eagle has landed.” !

Have a great day.

P.S. I must admit that I shed a tear when I watched the CBC video of Alaa’s arrival at the airport in Halifax.

 

 

 

Posted on November 7, 2016 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Mundy Tomato Market in Madanapalle , India

 

 

“ Life only begins at the end of one’s comfort zone.”

A young female colleague at the APMAS office, Madhu, shared this gem with me the other day. She is young, very bright and has an excellent command of the English language.  It’s so true. Most of us get into our comfort zone and rarely deviate. We like things structured and change is to be avoided. But if you want to discover who you really are, take a step outside your comfort zone. You will encounter some remarkable things.

Quite simply, after a week and a half in India, my head is spinning… but in a good way. I scarcely know where to start. Most have you have been following my antics on Facebook but if not, here’s a brief snapshot of the last several days.

I will be attending a traditional Indian wedding later this week on Thursday morning at 3:00 a.m. No, that’s not a typo. Apparently the ceremony takes a long time and for some reason starting in the wee hours of the morning is supposed to be a good omen. Truth be told, I inadvertently attended an Indian wedding a few nights ago in Madanapalle. I was staying at a local hotel during a field visit. After a bumpy train ride the previous evening and a long day of visiting farms, I arrived at the hotel at 6:00,  barely able to keep upright. I lay on the bed and like a bolt of electricity, a deafening noise emanated from the adjoining room. It was the beginning of an Indian wedding ceremony. Blaring horns and thundering drumming greeted the new bride. After an hour, I went to the front desk and asked when I could expect the music to stop. The clerk assured me that it would be 9:00. He just didn’t say which day! The music lasted until 6:00 a.m. the following day. Oh do I have a story to tell. Stay tuned in the days to come.

In order to get to Madanapalle, I had to take a 13 hour train ride. Half of the ride was extremely bumpy. While I cannot claim to have ever been inside a washing machine during the “ agitate cycle”, I think this must be what it feels like. Our bodies were thrown from one end of the berth to the other.

I was taken on many field visits by the affable and accommodating APMAS staff. Many thanks to my colleagues, Vinayaka, Praballabh, and Jegan.  I saw the amazing work that was being carried out to improve the lives of many farmers. While each and every visit was interesting, the two hours that I spent with the women farmer’s group is the one that I will long remember. These women have very little and in many cases are supporting extended families. Several of them are widows. They were gracious, witty and intelligent. They provided me with snacks like fresh coconut and a mixture of warmed ( fresh ) peanuts, fresh garlic and salt…yummy. I will fill you in later on how you folks back home might want to get involved in helping these women.

The most mind boggling thing I saw ( and trust me, I saw a LOT of them ), was the wholesale tomato market where upwards of 1000 metric tonnes of tomatoes exchange hands every day. It is the largest wholesale distributor of tomatoes in Asia. Farmers, commission agents and buyers get together to establish prices for different grades of tomatoes. Covering 19 acres, the site employs over 5000 workers. A picture cannot convey the scope of the operation.

After my visit with the women farmers yesterday, I had no choice but to travel from the village of Embadi to Madanapalle by motorcycle. I have had an inherent fear of this mode of transportation as my one and only time on a bike was when a dear ( deceased ) friend “ Slim” convinced me to go for a ride after school in grade X11. We had scarcely left the premises when he hit some gravel and we went “ arse over tea kettle.” I had many scrapes and bruises and vowed to never get on one again. Now, when you’re in Embadi and you have no other choice… well… I hopped on the back of the bike ( no helmet – there wasn’t one available ) and had one of the most pleasant experiences of my life as we cruised through the countryside in 30+ temperatures. Even when we got into the city , amidst all the traffic chaos, I was very serene.

I travelled back to Hyderabad Saturday evening, an overnight trip of 11 hours. This was my first solo venture with no field staff or colleagues. I wasn’t nervous but these trains are very busy and English is not the working language. When I got to my seat ( a lower berth ) there were two guys occupying my seat. They were having their supper. Somebody in the next seat suggested I just take any available seat and wait till they were done. Of course, as has become the case everywhere I went, I drew a crowd… bees to honey ( there are other analogies that I won’t use! ). I ended up having a lively discussion with 4 university professors. They were quickly joined by three incredibly bright children and about 15 other people ( standing room only! ) as I answered every possible question about Canada for two solid hours. I managed to make it to my seat and then encountered many more people who wanted to shake my hand and take selfies.  Indian people are unbelievably friendly.

So, somehow, one of the local papers found out that I was in the area. They did a write up about my visit and referred to me as Dr. Len MacDonald, a visiting professor from Germany. Their fact checker must have been on lunch break when the story was being prepared!

Have a great week. I know I will.