Posted on January 13, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

Hats off to balloons

 

“Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?
Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?
We could float among the stars together, you and I,
For we can fly, we can fly.”
Up, Up and Away – The 5th. Dimension

I was having a WhatsApp phone conversation with a buddy of mine on the weekend. For some reason unbeknownst to me, he reads my twice weekly column, something he’s been doing for years. I won’t embarrass him by outing him for this serious lack in judgment. We’ve been friends for well over forty years. Our conversations are easy and usually filled with insults. We have laughed together, lamented, commiserated and even shed a tear together. That’s what friendship is all about. Especially the insults which keep us humble.

I chuckled when he said that I could probably write an entire story on farts and farting. Sometimes I even surprise myself when I write 500 words about absolutely nothing. I guess I’m channeling my inner Jerry Seinfeld. I will not insult your intelligence or spoil your first coffee of the morning by discussing flatulence. Safe to say that it is impolite to fart on an elevator.

Now that I have your curiosity piqued, I want to have a serious discussion about balloons. Some of you probably popped a few on New Year’s Eve at midnight. Balloons are popular at birthdays. A few have been lucky and brave enough to fly in one. Up, up and away.
So, what’s with the picture at the top of the page? The geniuses amongst you will know exactly what that picture is all about.

When I was home for Christmas, I received a beautiful gift of a hat. Yes, that hat. It was made in a northern community decades ago. The colors are beautiful and the craftmanship simply amazing. The problem is that it is a few sizes too big. You may wonder how this is possible as some of you think that I have a swelled head as it is!

I know a bit about knitting. Forty years ago, I had my first of three knee surgeries. All that kneeling and praying on hard wooden floors saying the rosary finally took its toll! Truth be told, it was a hockey injury. During my convalescence, I learned how to knit. I went on a rampage and knitted about 10 lopi sweaters which were all the rage back then. When I screwed up a pattern (knit one, purl one), I would make a mad dash out to Marie MacKenzie’s home in Morristown and magically, she would clean up my mess. I knew enough that the knitted hat that was given to me couldn’t be fixed.

Rather than go to Google, I went and talked with the woman who made my parka. She told me to wash the hat in hot water and then blow up a balloon and sit the hat over the top in order to maintain its shape. My own solution is to go to the drugstore and get some Rogaine and see if I can grow some of my hair back.

So there. Just shy of 600 words about nothing.

Speaking of flatulence, I think I’ll go and listen to Mason Williams’ Classical Gas.

Have a great week.

P.S. If you’re ever bored, you can call me, but not by phone. Facetime, Messenger, WhatsApp and Skype all work reasonably well. The video occasionally works. The audio can be a bit spotty. I’m not lonely by the way, but I’m always happy to chat. If you think my writing is boring, you should hear me on the phone.

Posted on January 9, 2020 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

Kangiqsujuaq – January 2020 (avatit avatit)

 

Photographs and memories, Christmas cards you gave to me,
All that I have are these, to remember you.
Photographs and Memories – Jim Croce

Just before Christmas, we had “picture day” at our school. Surely you remember this day when you were in elementary school? There’s a lot of energy in the school getting the class ready to walk down to the room being used by the photographer. A lot of energy. As a teacher, it is one of those days that you simply try and endure. But don’t feel badly for the teacher. What about the poor photographer? Is there a tougher job in the world than doing school photos especially with younger children?

When I was home for Christmas, I went looking through some old photo albums from my last teaching gig, forty years ago. I had a full head of hair back then and I was certainly thinner through the waistline. I still have almost all my school photos thanks to our amazing mother who kept all these things over the decades.

Pictures were also taken in high school and I carried a few of the wallet sized photos of classmates around with me for literally decades. They were all pictures of girls.

Of course, my most famous school related picture is my university grad photo from St.Francis Xavier. I clearly remember the day that I stood in the kitchen of our house on Hillcrest Street with my massive afro. I was trying on the gown that was to be worn for the sitting. My mother was not amused. “For God’s sake, go and get your haircut. You’re a damn fool if you get your picture taken looking like that.” I forged ahead with my afro intact and it has provided so many laughs over the years. Sorry mom!

A few days ago, I handed out the proofs to the students along with the class photo. I had to look twice. I still find it hard to believe that I am a classroom teacher at the age of 68 in Northern Quebec.

On my return trip to Kangiqsujuaq, I was carrying a photograph taken 50 years ago by a retired teacher who lives in Antigonish. The picture was of three young boys at the school where he was principal. The boys were from Kangiqsujuaq. He was curious to know of their whereabouts. I showed the picture to the Inuit staff on Monday. I was thrilled to hear that all three are alive and well and one of them still lives in Kangiqsujuaq. I plan to meet him on the weekend and show him the picture.

Photographs and memories.

When I was home for the holidays, I had the opportunity to chat with lots of friends and family about my first six weeks of teaching after a 40 -year hiatus. For privacy reasons, I obviously can’t say much in this space. I will share two things that happened this week because of their importance.

We had a staff day on Monday to start prepping for the days and weeks ahead. That’s a bit of a fallacy. While having a long- range plan is wise, the reality is that teaching in the north is a very fluid situation and planning a day at a time is a more prudent approach.
Our staff meetings typically begin with a prayer. We gathered in a large circle and held hands while an Inuk woman prayed. She spoke passionately in Inuktitut. I understood not a single word she said but I could feel the energy being passed from hand to hand. I found it quite moving.

You sports lovers are aware of the phrase “The TSN turning point”. In virtually every sporting event, there is a moment when something happens that changes the course of the game. I had my own “TSN turning point” on Tuesday. The first week back at school after the holidays is tough on everyone. Everyone is tired and a bit out of sync. Tuesday was the first day with my new teacher’s aide. She is a young, bright, personable Inuk woman. I can’t give you details but she is going to be my savior!

Have a great weekend.

P.S. Passings. I was saddened to learn of the death of a good friend, Beth Cooper. I met her several years ago when she was living in the same apartment complex as my mom. She was very bright and loved life. She was a sports fanatic and she could tell you what was going on in just about any sport. We were great friends. I also heard about the death of a former staff person at the nursing home where I worked last year. She died far too young of cancer. I didn’t know her but from all accounts she was a tremendous care worker.

Get out there and live life to the fullest while you’re able.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on January 6, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Communal kitchen – Kuujjuaq Co-op Hotel

The transition from Christmas to January is amongst the toughest times of the years. Euphoria has been replaced by harsh reality. Your clothes don’t seem to fit, and your bank account has suffered a major hemorrhage. Carefree days of visiting friends or sitting at home in your pajamas reading a good book have been replaced with the humdrum of your normal routine. For most people under the age of 65, it means a return to work.

For some people over the age of 65, it means a return to work.

I often get puzzled looks from people who hear that I have returned to the work force after 4 years of retirement.” Why would anyone in their right mind return to work after settling into a life of leisure?” is a question I get a lot. Let that question settle for a few seconds!

After a fantastic holiday, it is time to head back north to fulfill my commitment teaching at the Arsaniq School in Kangiqsujuaq, Quebec. After a six-week trial run before Christmas, it is time to put the work boots back on. I mean mukluks.

I started my journey north on Saturday. Knowing what I know about northern weather, I decided not to check the forecast. There’s really no point. The weather is very changeable and travel interruptions are normal. Why fret about something over which you have no control. It was mild in Halifax and my 6:30 a.m. flight to Montreal proceeded without any issues. By the way, there’s one good thing about an early flight. There are no lineups going through security.

Now that I am a veteran of flying to the Nunavik region of Quebec (2 flights!), I know exactly where to go at Dorval airport to catch the Canadian Northern flight to Kuujjuaq, the capital city of the Nunavik region. Once again, the flight was on time and the two- hour flight passed quickly. The service on this airline is excellent, by the way.

The weather was clear in Kuujjuaq, a good omen for the next leg of the trip. Wrong. It doesn’t take long for bad news to travel fast. You could hear the groans from fellow passengers as we discovered that our next flight with Air Inuit had been cancelled due to blizzard conditions further up the line, including Kangiqsujuaq. This meant an overnighter in Kuujjuaq.

There are two hotels in Kuujjuaq. One is privately owned and near the airport. It has all the modern amenities including a restaurant, a bonus for stranded travelers. After waiting in line to use the phone, I was unable to get anyone at that hotel to answer the phone. My second and only other option was the Kuujjuaq Co-op Hotel. Nunavik co-op hotels are located in 13 communities in northern Quebec. Each hotel is owned by the local cooperative.

I called the hotel and spoke with a pleasant woman about getting a reservation. She gave me an 800 number to call which I found slightly odd in a community as small as Kuujjuaq. I dialed the number. The line was staticky. “Can you hold the line a minute? I’m just going through a green light.” The reservation agent was driving in rush hour traffic in Montreal. He carries a computer with him. He eventually pulled off to the side of the road and completed my booking. Once confirmed, the young woman at the hotel front desk was able to leave her post and come fetch me at the airport.

I grew up in one of the cradles of the cooperative movement, so it gave me pleasure to do business with this establishment. I checked in and was assigned a room with a code. The clerk had to make another airport run so she left me in the lobby with my bags and the code. I wandered down the hall, found my room, and entered the code. I entered it a half -dozen times. Twenty minutes later, I could hear the clerk returning with another load of stranded travelers. My room was visible from the front desk and I was desperate for her not to see this doddering old man camped out in the hallway. I reviewed the code one last time, saw my mistake, and just managed to slink into my room before being discovered.

If I was to describe my lodgings, I would say that it had components of a hotel and one of the many hostels I inhabited while walking the Camino. The rooms are private – no hundred- bed rooms filled with bunk beds and snoring pilgrims! It is the common areas that really define these types of facilities. Typically, there is a communal kitchen and dining area. If you like meeting new people, a hostel or a co-op hotel will provide ample opportunity to mingle with interesting folks.

It so happened that the Canadian Junior hockey team was playing its semi-final game when I arrived at the hotel. I flicked on the television and drew a blank. I nearly drove myself mad trying to get the g.d. thing to work. I went across the hall and asked my neighbor, a young, intelligent Inuk man for help. His television was working fine. He tried unsuccessfully to get mine going and then he remembered that his room came with two remotes. Can someone explain why, in 2020, do we need two remote controls to get a television set to work? My room came with one remote. Once I got my hands on the second remote, all was well with the world.

Although I had packed a box of Kraft Dinner (KD) in my carryon luggage on the advice of Maggie MacDonell for instances just like this (I also had three boxes of chocolate and four chocolate bars from Peace by Chocolate as gifts), I decided to go to the Northern grocery store for something more substantial.

I’ll spare you the details of my meal preparation in the beautiful and well-equipped kitchen (pictured above). My only regret is that there were only a small handful of hotel guests. I can only imagine what the kitchen looks like when all 32 hotel rooms are occupied, and everyone is making their own supper.

The only other thing of note about my room was the soundtrack. The plumbing must be old (like me) and I could hear water running through the pipes at 2- minute intervals during my entire stay. The Camino taught me many lessons about sleeping. You can get used to almost anything. Snoring, farting, and burping became so commonplace in the hostels that when I occasionally booked a hotel room, I found the silence deafening!

Oh yes. The staff on duty on the weekend, two young women, were simply wonderful. They were smart, pleasant and very helpful.

The final leg of the trip from Kuujjuaq to Kangiqsujuaq had a few glitches. At one point, an electrical problem with the plane had us concerned that we might get grounded.

We arrived early in the evening.

Stepping back into my warm apartment felt like coming home.

Have a great week.