Posted on January 11, 2018 under Thursday Tidbits with 3 comments

The Missouri River

( Peter MacDonald photo )

 

“ Naboline, naboline,

Nastiest drug that I’ve ever seen”

(Sung to the music of “Abilene”)

Pain.

Chronic pain.

Show of hands. How many of you suffer from chronic pain? Thought so. Lots of us. It goes with the turf when you’re north of 65. We’re all looking for something magical to minimize pain. This could be through aquasize, chiropractic medicine, acupuncture, therapeutic massage, cortisone injections heating pads, extra strength Tylenol and when things gets really serious, Captain Morgan dark rum.

Oops. Forgot one. Medical marijuana. Having run out of options, I spoke with my doctor about medical marijuana. When the discussion ended, I had in my possession, a prescription for Nabilone which is a synthetic drug having some of the characteristics of marijuana… minus the high.

A few days ago, I took my first pill.

You’ve all seen the ads in the U.S. when they’re touting a new “wonder drug.” Yes, it’s wonderful for the pharmaceutical companies but the side effects are what get me. The list is gobsmacking and runs from benign to lethal. I read the sheet that accompanied my prescription to see what I might expect… besides relief from pain.

I will not bore you with all the sordid details of the next 18 hours other than to say that I now know what it might be like in the Sahara Desert; such was the dryness in my mouth. Throw in confusion (more than normal!) and mind racing all night and I concluded that the remedy was worse than the pain. The next day, I trotted back to the pharmacy to return the 59 unused pills.

I think I’ll just wait until pot is legalized, go to NSLC and grab a few joints ( ones that don’t creak and ache! ) and then listen to George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord.”

I sing in the Antigonish Chorale Ensemble (ACE). It is an excellent choir. The musical arrangements are quite challenging for someone who doesn’t read music very well. Having talented people on either side of me who can read and sing very well it an enormous help. But I am trainable and after several practices, I can follow along. The choir had its first practice of the New Year a few evenings ago with a whole new batch of songs to learn before our spring concert.

“Oh, Shenando, I long to see you and hear your rolling river…”

Shenandoah is an American folk song classic. At least it was until I started to sing it. I was drifting along, like the Missouri River when all of a sudden; I got caught in the current. I kept looking at the page and what I was reading was NOT what was being sung. I wondered if I was suffering a delayed reaction to the Nabilone! I then did what I do best. I started faking it. It was something between a mumble and a stutter. I turned to Michael on my right. “Where in the hell are we?” I queried. He pointed to page 5. I looked at my music. Page 5 was missing… as were pages 6, 7 and 8.

I opened my music folder and sitting there amongst the other half dozen pieces that we would be working on, were the missing pages.

“Growing old graciously…. Priceless!”

Have a great weekend.

Posted on January 8, 2018 under Monday Morning Musings with 2 comments

Ubiquitous storm chips

 

Some of you who read my column religiously are not Facebook users. Facebook users: almost sounds like an addiction!? Last Thursday, I posted a cheeky piece about the hype surrounding storms. I wasn’t overtly criticizing weather forecasting but merely pointing out that all news, even when it’s weather, is so filled with drama. I mean, is every piece of news “Breaking News?” It seems that every time a ‘nor easter is brewing; it is being touted as “the storm of the century.” I have a theory on this.

Collusion.

I believe that “storm hysteria” is created by the potato chip industry that have a vested interest in bad weather news now that “storm chips” have become as essential as water, candles and matches in one’s storm prep. I haven’t checked but I’m guessing that with some digging, you might find out that a potato chip company is the major sponsor of The Weather Network!

My post touched off a mild frenzy with readers weighing in on storms, storm procedures and storm food. While I wasn’t pointing any fingers, it seems that school closures are a source of angst for many people.

So here goes. A few thoughts on school closures.

First of all, full disclosure. I can claim the following: I was a school aged student once; I was a parent of four young children who attended school; I was a school teacher; I was a school principal and was a member of the school board. And now, I’m a grandparent of  school aged children… the best role in the education chain.  I think it is safe to say that I understand all sides of the debate. I even learned to drive a school bus in rural Northern Alberta (as a spare driver).

So, let’s start off with all the nostalgia stuff. I bumped into a retired school principal who reminded me that school was never called off back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. There were town schools and there were county schools in the days before that charming architectural structure, the J.H. Gillis Regional School was erected.

Those children in the town, who cared to wade through waist high snow drifts, could go to school. (Parent’s decision). Invariably, they would be met by a very small number of their peers. Of course, it turned into a fun day. In the county, it was ultimately the decision of each individual (parent, teacher, bus driver) as to whether they would try and get to school. Most times, nobody was able to make it to the county schools rendering cancellation a moot point. When I taught in the Peace River country, buses were not allowed to run once the temp got to -40. Of course, the motors wouldn’t turn over at that temp… another obvious redundancy.

Many of the comments I received were from people close to my age who remember storm days fondly. Many people had wood stoves so keeping warm and cooking weren’t problematic. Candles were lit. Books were read and you might also get trounced in cards by granny!

I wouldn’t dare try to comment on the dicey and oft times emotional debate on school closures in 2018. The dynamics at homes and in schools have changed so radically that trying to make any comparison, between “then” and “now” would be ludicrous.

Think I’ll grab a bowl of chips.

Do you have a sense of humour? Would you like to become rich and famous?

I am in the throes of writing my India book. I need a title… something unique and catchy. Please private message me or send me an e-mail with your suggestion. If I choose your title (drum roll….), I will acknowledge it on the inside cover of the book, assuring your immortality. You will also receive an autographed copy of the first book off the presses. You’ve heard the expression “Go west, young man”? My daughter suggested that I call the book “Go east old man.”

“Silence and smiles are two powerful tools. A smile is a way to solve many problems and silence is a way to avoid them.” ( Unknown )

Have a great week.

Posted on January 3, 2018 under Storytelling with one comment

Hear! Hear!

( With the impending storm, thought I’d get this to you now. Don’t want you suffering withdrawal if the power is out in the morning which seems likely ).

Fred (*) grew up in the Gaspe, the 15^th. of 15 children. With no running water or electricity, life was not easy. Most of his male siblings died in infancy and one died in the war making Fred the only boy in a house full of females. One might suggest that he was a bit spoiled by his sisters. He had some serious health issues in his youth requiring lengthy periods of hospitalization. If possible, his sisters doted on him more than before.

The family eventually moved to Montreal to improve educational opportunities… especially for Fred, the one who would carry the family name into the future.

Fred worked in the shipbuilding industry as a pipefitter on the waterfront in Montreal. It was a noisy and dangerous place to work resulting in a number of injuries and gradual hearing impairment. Everyone, except Fred, recognized the problem. Over time, family members had to start talking louder to be heard. The volume level for the radio and television were ratcheted up when Fred was listening. So loud was Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights, that some claimed you could hear the broadcast clearly in the next time zone.

Fred continued to refuse to acknowledge that he had a hearing problem. Oddly enough, he seemed to have a knack for hearing some things, especially when the family was trying to keep something from him.

He remarried after the death of his first wife and she made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t going to tolerate all the loud noises and shouting. She insisted that Fred get his hearing checked and if necessary, get hearing aids. Fred’s “selective” hearing was in full force when this subject came up. He pretended not to hear.

In 1978, unbeknownst to his wife and family, Fred took a trip to the Hudson Bay store and went to a hearing clinic on the second floor. He was tested and not surprisingly, discovered that he would need to wear hearing devices. He came home with his “Bay bag”, dropped it on the kitchen table and said, “There. I hope you’re satisfied.” And that was the last time anyone saw the hearing aids. He never put them in once.

Fred passed away in 1992 and his daughter Susan (*) went to his house to collect a suit for the wakes. Yes, there were to be two wakes held: one in Montreal and the other on home soil in the Gaspe. She grabbed a suit from his closet along with a tie and then went to the dresser to get socks and undergarments. While rifling through a stack of underwear, she came upon a Hudson’s Bay bag which had been sitting there for 14 years. The hearing aids were still in the original packaging.

Before the viewing at the funeral home in Montreal, Susan placed Fred’s Masonic apron and a copy of the Bible inside the coffin to carry Fred along his journey. The hearing aids were in her purse and she was sorely tempted to put them in the coffin, or indeed in his ears. But superstition got the better of Susan and she decided not to tempt fate. In her purse they remained.

Until she got to the wake in the Gaspe.

At the conclusion of the wake and prior to the funeral service, she removed the hearing aids from her purse and placed one by each ear just before they closed the lid of the coffin.

One can only imagine that when Fred reached the pearly gates, he wouldn’t have had to yell at the angels. He will forever be able to hear their soft voices… with his never before worn hearing aids from the Bay.

*Names have been changed.