Posted on August 8, 2019 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Hands that care

 

Early this afternoon, I will be at a local nursing home as the guest speaker at a graduation for successful C.C.A. candidates. The Continuing Care Assistant certification is a requirement for individuals providing direct care and support services In Nova Scotia Department of Health and Wellness funded nursing homes, homes for the aged and home support agencies.

It is summertime and it is obvious that finding any speaker is a coup as most sought after speakers are hanging out at the beach sipping on a beer. All joking aside, I feel very honoured to spend some time with the graduates. Full disclosure- the grads took up a collection and paid me if I promised to keep my speech under five minutes! It has been so hot lately, that the last thing needed at a summer graduation is more hot air.

I am certainly no expert on the health care system but I have been a consumer all of my life and lately have been given a front row seat in a nursing home setting. My mother was a resident in this nursing home a year ago until she passed away. I got to see the day to day inner workings of a long term care facility. Further to this, I have been working part-time at the home providing music services.

While every component of the health care system is vital, today I want to pay tribute to C.C.A’s. This in no way diminishes the role of everyone else.

Flat out, their work is hard. It is not glamourous work. In many ways it goes unnoticed and in the eyes of many, it is undervalued.

C.C.A.’s are the people who are closest to the people they serve, the residents. They are often the eyes and ears for those who sometimes are unaware of their surroundings.

In my experience, I have found C.C.A.’s kind and generous and many of them have a great sense of humour.

The ultimate honour is to spend time with a resident and their families when the resident is in their final hours. Nothing is so precious and sacred. I have watched C.C.A.s perform their duties at this difficult time with professionalism, grace and dignity when residents and families need it the most.

I salute the newest C.C.A. graduates and say thank you to all the hard working men and women who look after our loved ones. Simply put, they are terrific people.

Speaking of caring, the response for financial aid for Simone MacDonald is quite something. There are three or four initiatives going on to provide financial resources for Simone and her family as she faces a long rehabilitation. Many of you have already donated but I certainly don’t want anyone to feel left out! In a few weeks’ time, I will be walking around the Cabot Trail and I will be dedicating the walk to Simone. I will also continue to raise money for her. So far, you have contributed over $2,000 to my “trek around the trail”. If you would like to make a donation, you can send me an e-transfer at lenpdmacdonald@gmail.com or send me a cheque at 8-9B Court Street, Antigonish, N.S. B2G 1Z7

One last thing. I have finished writing my Camino book and it is in the final editing stages. I have yet to decide whether or not to do a launch but regardless, the book will be available in the next few weeks. You can get them locally at the 5 to $1.00 store or track me down. For those of you out of town, and my Camino friends from around the world, it will be available on Amazon.

The book contains interviews of fellow walkers from Czech Republic, Poland, Germany, Ireland, France, Portugal, Spain, USA, Canada, Great Britain, Argentina, Denmark, Finland, Sweden, Italy, Costa Rica, and South Korea. Some of the stories are quite remarkable.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. In preparation for the Cabot Trail, I am doing two, long, back-to-back walks on Friday and Saturday, 68K in total.

 

 

Posted on August 5, 2019 under Monday Morning Musings with 5 comments

A walk on the wild side… 60 years later

 

On my long weekend walk on Saturday, I was making my way along a country road when I heard a very familiar sound from my childhood. The only time I hear this sound is when it is hot and on this day the temperature was nearing 27. I am not an entomologist so I have no idea if my hypothesis is correct but that classic cricket sound on a hot day, might it be the Dog Day Cicada? When you hear that sound you know it is a very warm day.

As happens so very often on my long walks, I daydream and as I get closer to 70, my thoughts often go back in time, to a simpler time when the sound of the cicada (cricket) meant that you were heading for a walk in the woods.

Our small three bedroom home, with one bathroom (!)  , that housed 10 of us, abutted a field which led into the woods behind our old high school.  If you walked through the woods, you would arrive at the Bishop’s Bowl, a large field at the bottom of a ski hill, and eventually meet up with the road to the cemetery.

As a child, I lived in these woods. Not literally of course but I’m sure there were days when our mother would have like to have abandoned us to one of our tree houses.

Leaving the house, lush fields of grass would come up to my waist. I would pull a stock of grass from its moorings and chew on the end of it. That was just one of the crazy things we did back then. The very end of the blade of grass had a surprisingly pleasant taste. My guess is that a few of you partook in this pastime as well. On very hot days, the air would be alive with the sound of these noisy crickets or cicadas.

There would also be hundreds and hundreds of grasshoppers. If you stopped for even a few seconds, one would land on you. If it happened to be your hand or bare arm you might end up with something resembling grasshopper poop as a reminder of their presence. And speaking of bare arms, there was no such thing as sunscreen back then. I guess we hadn’t totally wrecked the ozone back in the 60s. Colorful butterflies, including the majestic monarch, flitted among the flora.

I also remember that field being full of wildflowers, especially daisies. “She loves me, she loves me not.” Come on, admit it, you plucked your share of petals trying to unravel the mysteries of love. What could a 9 year old possibly know about love? Probably as much, if not more, than a 68 year old!

The ground on the path was dusty with each step releasing a puff of smoky soil.

When the path met the woods, you entered a magical place filled with trees and wonder. On hot days, this was a cool place to be. This was your escape, the place that you would build your fort and live happily ever after. There were various trails throughout the woods and you knew them like the back of your hand. Each path had its own unique character.

On most days, you just wandered aimlessly listening to the birds and the chatter of squirrels. Occasionally you might come upon a harmless garter snake.

When your 9 year old legs got weary, you sat down in your favourite glen and munched on a peanut butter sandwich, washed down with a thermos of Cool Aid. The night before a hike in the woods, you’d take out one of those small packages of the sugary drink and make a pitcher, praying to God that one of your 7 siblings wouldn’t drink it all before morning.

You batted away horse flies and looked at your bloody limbs after an army of mosquitoes had marched through the forest with you as their target. And you were quite OK with this.

You probably picked some spruce gum from a tree. I know I had my share and can still smell and taste it and the black mark that it left on your hands, a sign of the outdoors. A healthy sign.

Will our grandchildren ever experience this magic?

This message sent to you by just another old, nostalgic fool.

Have a great holiday Monday.

 

 

Posted on August 1, 2019 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Highlands Hostel – Cape North

 

Yup. That whooshing sound you just heard was July of 2019 leaving through the back door.

The days. The weeks. The months. The years. The older I get, the faster they go.

I took a road trip earlier this week on Monday with a couple of friends. Armed with our Cape Breton passports, we successfully negotiated the Canso causeway without incident and headed off for the Cabot Trail. My mission was quite simple. I wanted to do a detailed mapping of the mileage (kilo meterage… is that a word?) of The Cabot Trail starting at the Red Barn near Nyanza and going clockwise through the Margaree Valley, around the west side of the island and around to the east side ending up once again at the Red Barn.

We picked a great day to drive. We saw a bear on French Mountain, visited some friends and had an ice cream at the Farmer’s Daughter. Yes. We got caught in that terrific thunder and lightning storm and torrential downpour. I have done a lot of driving in my life and that may have been one of the most challenging except for blizzards in winter.

I think I can safely say that besides the fantastic lunch at Kathleen and Alfred’s in Cape North (her butterscotch pie is a perfect 10!), I think the most interesting stop of the day was at the Highlands Hostel in Cape North. Bricin, a very interesting guy and likely the subject of a full blown story,showed us his property. He bought a church a few years back and converted it into a hostel. It’s hard to describe. They’ve done a fantastic job re-purposing the building and it might be the most unique hostel I’ve ever seen. I have no doubt that I will spend a night there when I circumnavigate the Trail in late August.

I simply can’t drive by the Clucking Hen without stopping in. It’s like there’s a giant magnet pulling me off the road. I stopped in to chat with Melody and Marion, a friend of hers. Marion walked a large chunk of the Trail many years ago and shared some of her experiences.  Even though me and my companions had only had lunch a few hours earlier, we couldn’t resist a bowl of their famous seafood chowder.

Ok. So here’s the deal. I will likely head off to start my walk around the 20^th of August. I’ll need to bum a ride to get to the Red Barn. I’ll buy you a coffee and homemade muffin at the Herring Choker as your reward. And gas money, of course. My plan is to find accommodations with families along the way. Tentatively, here’s where I’ll be stopping. If you know anybody in these communities maybe you can ask them if they’ll take in a vagrant for the night. In exchange for a room, I’ll interview them for my book.

Day 1 – North East Margaree

Day 2 – Grand Etang

Day 3- Pleasant Bay

Day 4 – Pleasant Bay *

Day 5 – Cape North

Day 6 – Cape North **

Day 7 – Ingonish (close to Dino’s former restaurant)

Day 8 – Wreck Cove (nearest to the base of Cape Smokey)

Day 9 – Tarbot

Day 10 – Big Harbour exit on the 105

Day 11- Pick up at Red Barn

*My most pressing need is on Day 3 and Day 4. There are no amenities or homes from Cheticamp to Pleasant Bay. I need to find someone from Pleasant Bay to pick me up on French Mountain and take me to Pleasant Bay. If I can’t find a home there, I will stay at the hostel in the community. On Day 4, I need someone to take me from Pleasant Bay back to French Mountain where I stopped walking the previous day. I will then walk to Pleasant Bay and stay there once again at a home or the hostel.

Day 6. I’m thinking of taking a rest day in Cape North after walking for two days in the mountains. I know my quads will need a rest. I’ll either stay at the hostel or with a family if they’re brave enough to have me.

Some of these logistics will be a little tricky to coordinate as there is poor cell phone service for large swaths of the Cabot Trail.

Besides walking and writing a book, most of you know that I am dedicating my walk to Simone MacDonald who suffered a devastating stroke a few weeks ago. I will collect pledges or donation before or after the walk with 100% of the money going to assist Simone during her rehabilitation. You can send me an e-transfer at lenpdmacdonald@gmail.com or mail me your donation at my home address: 8-9B Court Street, Antigonish, N.S. B2G 1Z7.

Any leads on accommodations along the Trail greatly appreciated.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. I was walking home from the bakery last night with a bag of dinner rolls. Nobody stopped to say that I had nice buns. I was mildly offended.

 

The bear went over the mountain to see what he could see.