Posted on September 9, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Annie and her small friend. At the end of a long walk, this puppy needed a lift!

 

I think I’m going to the dogs.

Is it my imagination or has there been a decided proliferation in the number of dogs in recent years? Even before Covid hit, it seemed that almost everyone owned a dog. There are some neighborhoods in Canada where it appears that there are covenants requiring one child and at least one dog. I am told that as a result of the pandemic, there are long waiting lists to get a dog. This makes sense. With so many people cooped up in their homes for extended periods of time, having someone to keep you company (who won’t get on your nerves!) must be a blessing, especially for seniors who tend to find isolation more challenging.

When I first arrived in India five years ago, I was astonished at the number of dogs in villages, towns, and cities. Most of them were strays roaming in packs in search of food. They never bothered me on my walks. Yes, I did a lot of walking in India too.

I don’t know if anyone has ever conducted a study comparing the number of dogs per capita from one region of the world to another but I feel quite confident that villages in Canada’s north would be strong contenders for the title of dog capital of the world. I might be barking up the wrong tree on this one.  There are a lot of dogs in my village. They never growl or bark when they come near you. The only time I hear barking is from a pack of sled dogs who live a stone’s throw away from where I’m living these days in Kangiqsujuaq. You always know when its feeding time as they make quite a racket when their owners show up with bearded seal meat or fish.

Invariably when I go walking in the north, it is with a group of colleagues and many of them own dogs. They seem obsessed about their dogs and have Messenger pages dedicated to their four-legged friends. I tease my friends and call their page “Pooch Porn”. When my friends take their dogs, several of the community’s unclaimed canines join us. The dogs are great company and act as an early warning system. When they start barking out on the tundra or in the mountains, you know that some kind of wildlife is nearby. Might be a case of the tail wagging the dog.

I like dogs but I don’t have any plans to own one any time soon. I have Sirius satellite radio in my new digs and can dial up radio stations from all over the world.

I have already written about this but my return to the north for the third time is certainly a charm. Never before have I felt a sense of belonging like I am experiencing now. I truly feel like I’m part of the community. It can take a long time to be accepted in any small community in Canada when you are an outsider but if you’re patient and stay long enough, the rewards are, well, rewarding. I can’t go very far without someone calling my name or stopping to chat. I am a well known walker in the village. The local community buses have stopped offering me rides to the grocery store! Even people who seemed reticent to engage me during my first two years are now friends. Belonging is one of those things that’s hard to describe. It is a feeling and a precious one at that.

I feel so fortunate that I have a purpose in life as a septuagenarian. I think it is a major contributor to good physical and mental health, particularly in the third period of life. You don’t have to keep working in your 70s but finding a meaningful activity to keep you stimulated is pretty important. It could be employment, a hobby, visiting the sick and shut-ins or simply trying to stay fit through exercise or some intellectual activity.

Or it may be as simple as walking your dog.

(With apologies to my cat loving fanatics!)

Have a great weekend.

Posted on September 6, 2021 under Monday Morning Musings with 4 comments

 

Why?

Why not.

Life continues to be a never ending, unfolding mystery and for that, I am grateful… most of the time. When travelling, knowing where you are going and how to get there are rather important. However, as many of us know, sometimes “the road less taken” provides unimagined experiences. There’s nothing wrong playing it safe. There is comfort in routine and the known.

“So, you’re back up north, Len. Did you take a wrong turn on one of your long walks? Heat stroke? Early onset dementia?”

Truthfully, when the Air Inuit flight left Kangiqsujuaq at the end of May, I never thought I would ever see the place again. I was mentally, emotionally, and physically fatigued. I limped home to Antigonish and cocooned for two weeks, save for a Covid approved daily walk. I didn’t cook a single meal. Family, friends, and neighbors looked after that during my 4^th quarantine. I didn’t bake. Not even once, a streak that lasted all summer. After a winter of baking every third day, I figured that I had contributed enough to the stock price of Robin Hood flour.

Once out of self-isolation, I discovered Fast Food Matters, a wonderful food emporium just around the corner from my apartment. Their wide variety of soups, salads, hummus, and prepared meals was the perfect solution for a single person, bored to death with their own cooking.

I ramped up my walking and got back into decent walking shape, culminating with my 77 km walk on my birthday. I started to socialize, as Covid rules in my home province were relaxed. I swear to god, I kept several restaurants in business single handed, enjoying lunches and dinners on their patios. I spent more time at Bayfield, where family members own two cottages, than I had in decades. Long walks on the beach and bonfires are the perfect tonic for stress reduction.

I had a chance to spend time with my granddaughters. Need I say anything more?

I had company from outside the province and had a chance to show off Nova Scotia in the summer.

I always seem to be meeting new people and this summer was no different.

All of this being said, by mid-summer I felt totally relaxed and rejuvenated. A bit of restlessness started creeping in. The days were flying by which is nothing new.

I was also keeping a close eye on Covid, at home and abroad and what I saw was not encouraging. Fourth waves were breaking out all over the place. Personally, I wish authorities would stop using this terminology. It sets up expectations both positive and negative. I knew that any thoughts of international travel in the near term weren’t realistic. Even domestic travel was iffy.

Around this time, I became aware that there was a teacher shortage in the north. This is nothing new, but it seems that the pandemic has exacerbated things and convincing teachers to go to remote, fly-in communities was a harder sell than ever. This included my school. This is when I started corresponding with my principal. I told her that I might be available to come to help out on a short-term basis with teacher shortages. We continued to dialogue in the waning days of the summer and a ten days ago, I received a call offering me a position in the school as a jack of all trades. I will do some teaching, but I will be used in a variety of ways.

It didn’t take me long to commit. I didn’t relish the idea of sitting around my apartment, twiddling my thumbs for the fall and winter. I plan to come home for Christmas unless Covid says otherwise. And then reassess.

Before I accepted my first teaching position in the north, I conferred with Wab Kinew who is an indigenous member of the provincial NDP in Manitoba. I asked him for some advice for a newbie heading to the north. “Learn more than you teach.” I will continue my education.

I arrived last Thursday at suppertime. After being treated to an awesome meal by six of my colleagues, I made my way to my new home on the shores of Wakem Bay (see photo below). Another colleague has gone on sabbatical, and I am fortunate enough to be staying in her house. The beauty of this arrangement is that I didn’t have to haul everything but the kitchen sink from home. The house is fully equipped and (gasp) has excellent satellite internet. I might even dust off the guitar one of these evenings and do a Pillow Talk show.

My first full day in the village was last Friday and it was filled with mixed emotions. I visited with teachers and students. I went for groceries and walked to and from my home several times. I was treated like a rock star. Very few people knew I was coming back. Let’s just say that I received incredible doses of love. I felt like I truly belonged.

The afternoon was much different. I attended the funeral of a young man who died suddenly. The grief at the gravesite was indescribable. The keening of the grieving mother was gut wrenching.

On my first full day back in the village, I experienced the north in all of its triumphs and tragedies.

On Saturday, I went berry picking with one of the young teachers. She is an avid outdoors person, recently completing a big section of the Appalachian Trail in Quebec. Simply put, she is a badass. Ingrid is strong mentally and physically which is in stark contrast her berry picking partner! There are many varieties of berries but one of the most cherished is the arpik or cloud berry. Our walk (24km) took us through the tundra which can be spongy in spots with rocky, uneven ground. We stumbled upon an amazing patch of the coveted berries. Against my better judgment (bad back, bad knee, weak mind…!), I decided to get low to the ground to pick. We were surrounded by mountains and a pristine lake a few meters away. The only sounds that broke the deafening silence were the honking of a few geese and a haunting call of a lone loon. Pure magic.

Pure magic was soon followed by pure hell. I realized on the inward part of our walk that trying to pick berries in my fragile state was a piss poor idea. I barely made it up the flight of stairs into my house. I showered, had a bite to eat and remained virtually motionless for the remainder of the day, except to get up to walk off some muscle spasms.

I have a few goals on this third trip to the north. I want to take yoga and partake in daily stretching exercises… so that I can go picking berries (and mussels on the shoreline outside my house) without requiring traction. If I can find a patient Inuk, I also want to learn some basic Inuktitut. I am already able to sing a handful of songs in this language but have no idea what I’m singing!

So, there you have it. In these most unusual times, I feel a deep sense of gratitude that I can pivot quickly and stay engaged and interested in life.

Have a great week.

 

Posted on September 2, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with 3 comments

 

 

“Bye bye love, bye bye happiness,

Hello loneliness, I think I’ma gonna cry.”

Bye Bye Love – The Everly Brothers

Don’t go running for the kleenex box right yet. This is not a tearjerker nor is it about romance so don’t go trying to read anything into the start of this piece. I’m not sure that romance writing (or romance!) is my strong suit. Actually, I’m not sure I even have a strong suit even though I’ve bid six spades occasionally playing bridge.

Bye bye, Don Everly. Don Everly died two weeks ago. His brother and singing partner, Phil, died seven years ago.

I could hardly be called a music aficionado. While I am enthusiastic about music, I am not particularly knowledgeable. I never took formal music lessons and unlike many of my contemporaries, I never dug too deeply into the music of the day. I’m not one of those music junkies who knows the names of every band member of every group that played back in my time. I know the names, John, Paul, Ringo and George but don’t ask me the members of The Band.  I have friends who are sports nuts. No, they are just plain nuts because they can still dredge out the most mundane statistics from virtually every sport. They are walking encyclopedias of totally useless information.

Lyrics to songs never completely captivated my attention. One of the beauties of country and western music is that even a casual listener can understand a wife leaving, the truck breaking down and the dog dying. I didn’t dive into the lyrics looking for symbolism or hidden messages. I never played a vinyl album in reverse to see if a song was written by or for the devil. In other words, I was a bit of a musical simpleton. If the song sounded good, I would listen to it. If I loved it, I would go to the music store, lay down a few bucks, and then wear out the grooves on my turntable.

“Dream, dream, dream, dream,

Dream, dream, dream, dream,

When I want you , in my arms

When I want you, and all your charms,

Whenever I want you, all I have to do is,

Dream, dream, dream, dream.”

I loved groups that harmonized. I still do which is why The Everly Brothers remain one of my favourite duos of all time. Their harmonies were pure and sweet, and their lyrics were beautiful in their simplicity. Of course, they were a big deal in the 1960s, right around the time that I was discovering the mysteries of biology, chemistry, trigonometry, poetry and women. I was a pretty good student in high school. I uncovered many of the mysteries of academics. Learning about women was much trickier. I’m still working on that one!

All I have to do is Dream. Wake up Little Susie. Take a Message to Mary. Cathy’s Clown. So many of The Everly Brothers hits were about love lost and found.

Many of you know that I played in a band when I was a teenager, called The Escorts. No, we weren’t an escort service! We performed at the Parish Center in my hometown and had a regular gig in Ingonish Beach in the summer. We weren’t flashy. The musicianship was top notch but none of the band members were going to blow you away with jaw dropping riffs. The band was known for its harmonies. We gave dance goers exactly what they wanted. We could do a reasonable imitation of The Beatles, The Beach Boys, and The Young Rascals. We played songs that were popular on the hit parade.

“Sitting alone in an old rocking chair,

I saw an old mother with silvery hair,

She seemed so neglected by those who should care,

Rocking alone in an old rocking chair.”

Rocking Alone in an Old Rocking Chair was always a bit of a puzzle to me. I didn’t seem to fit the mold of other Everly Brothers songs. That didn’t stop us from singing it because, well, it sounded great. I didn’t know a damn thing about old age when I was a teenager. Our grandparents seemed ancient and with very large, Catholic families it was hard to comprehend how an old person could be neglected, as the song goes. Much later in life, I learned the sad reality that many old people die of loneliness.

I didn’t know much about love or old age when I was 16. I am much better acquainted with old age now, but love remains a mystery.

“I’m through with romance, I’m through with love,

I’m through with counting, the stars above.”

I would like to emphatically state that I am neither through counting stars nor with love!

Thanks to Don and Phil who helped shape my childhood. May you harmonize in the heavens above.

Have a great weekend.