Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)

Posted on August 7, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

“We all scream for ice cream.”

 

“I found out long ago,

 (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh),

It’s a long way down the Holiday Road,

(Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)”

Holiday Road – Lindsey Buckingham (From National Lampoon’s Vacation)

In a few weeks’ time, somewhere across this vast land in a school classroom, a well-meaning teacher will ask their students to write a time-honored essay. “What did you do on your summer vacation?” This will be one of the earliest experiences of students reminiscing. For some of us it is akin to a drug addiction that we just can’t shake.

I am often asked where I get my ideas for stories. As long as there are 8 billion people living on this planet, I’m not worried about running out of storylines. Coming up with an idea is not that difficult. Backfilling it with loads of manure is a whole different matter. How is it possible to write 800 words about the proper way to launder your wife’s bras? I have done the laundering and written the story so I can attest that it can be done!

Once I come up with the idea, the backfill normally comes when I’m walking. I brainstorm ideas and the moment I get home, I jot down “bullets” in my trusty Hilroy scribbler.  Unfortunately, every so often, inspiration comes in the middle of the night. Because of my age, I sojourn to the bathroom at least once a night. Normally, I go right back to sleep. Normally. But if a fleeting thought enters my head, I’m screwed.

Last week after my trip to the loo, I settled back into bed. Despite the recent spate of hot weather, I leave my bedroom window open at night. The main reason is not for the fresh air. I want the window to be open so that I can wake up to the sound of birds singing in the trees surrounding my apartment building. On this night, the humidity gripped me like a grandmother’s hug. Try as I may, I couldn’t get back to sleep. August had just arrived a few hours earlier. I started to think about the things that I had done so far this summer.

My essay (which I’m preparing for my teacher in advance!) is called “You Know It’s Summer in Nova Scotia When…

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you shower and discover that your bathtub has the remnants of Pomquet or Queensland Beach on the bottom. Of course, this sand, moments earlier, was lodged between your toes.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you grab a beach chair and sit on the sidewalk on Main Street to watch the Highland Games parade. The Clydesdales and the pipe bands are most impressive.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you go to a lobster boil at someone’s summer home. If you love lobster and cook them in sea water the day they are caught, then you have glimpsed paradise.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you enjoy a cold beer at a restaurant patio. If that beer happens to be Alexander Keith’s, then a tour of the Alexander Keith’s original brewery in Halifax is mandatory.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can watch live professional theatre at Festival Antigonish or enjoy a brilliant local production called The Ships of 1801.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can attend the world-famous International Tattoo in Halifax. A must see whether you’re a local or a come from away. If you’re driving from Antigonish (The Highland Heart of Nova Scotia) to Halifax, you will pass Riverside International Speedway. On several weekends during the summer, 10,000 hearty souls from all over the Maritimes and beyond congregate to watch car races at this 1/3 mile, high banked asphalt short track. I took my 85-year-old mother there once. She was disappointed that there weren’t more crashes!

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you drive (or walk) the Cabot Trail. I can assure you (having done both), that the 300km trip is much easier in a car but not nearly as much fun as on foot when you get to experience the legendary hospitality of Cape Bretoners. The stretch from Cape Smokey to Neil’s Harbour is one of my most favourite pieces of real estate in the world.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you attend a Thursday ceilidh (pronounced kay lee) at the Antigonish Heritage Museum. You can hear some fiddle tunes and enjoy a singalong. They’ll even give you a cuppa tea and some homemade oatcakes at intermission.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can travel to Seawind Landing in Charlos Cove and enjoy first class accommodations and fine food along with entertainment. On your drive through Guysborough County, you can stop at Hart’s of Boylston General Store and grab some food and unique gifts. You can even purchase cowboy boots!

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you attend reunions. These can be large family affairs or high school class gatherings. Lots of laughs and nostalgia flow as freely as the beer.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can attend a wedding and a funeral on the same day. A dear friend of the family passed away a few weeks ago. Around the same time, one of my brothers became a grandfather for the first time. The circle of life.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can go dancing at the Shore Club in Hubbards. This family owned business featuring lobster suppers and live entertainment, has been serving up surf and songs for 88 years. I was there a few weeks ago and was treated to amazing music by the Mellotones. If you like the music of Chicago, Stevie Wonder, James Brown, you’ll love these guys. Lots of horns.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when a rained-out lobster boil at the beach turns into a 3-hour kitchen party at my apartment. Three sisters from B.C. were here for “The Games”. When rain thwarted the lobster boil, we pivoted quickly and moved the party to my apartment. You definitely know it’s summer in N.S. when you feed your guests Wheel Pizza. Singalongs are not common on the west coast. Our friends got a real eye opener especially when my 90-year-old neighbour invited us upstairs to her place where she played the piano and sang songs in Gaelic. It doesn’t get more authentic than this.

Did I mention ice cream?

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you make regular trips to the local ice cream stand to cool off.

And this was just July.

We’re just scratching the surface.

Come and play in Canada’s Ocean Playground.

And eat lots of ice cream.

Sweet dreams (if you can get back to sleep!).

Have a great weekend.

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Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)

Posted on July 31, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

To the sea. To the sea

 

“Time, flowin’ like a river,

Time, beckoning me,

Who knows when we shall meet again,

If ever,

But time keeps flowin’ like a river,

To the sea.”

Time. The Alan Parsons Project

Listen.

Can you hear it? It started out as a trickle, barely discernible. Then it picked up speed. It’s not quite a torrent yet but the momentum is definitely there. The giant whooshing sound you’re hearing is the month of July making its hasty exit.

“Life runs on fast legs.”

I saw this line a few weeks ago. I want to assure my readers that I’m not deep enough to claim its authorship. Regular subscribers to my Week45 site know that I have written about the passage of time on numerous occasions in the past. I’m like that irritating 33 vinyl album that started skipping after one too many plays. I mean, is it possible to ever get tired of Procol Harum’s Whiter Shade of Pale?

I learned how to crawl in the winter of 1952. Fifty years later, I was crossing the finish line at the Boston Marathon. Time flies. My feet didn’t on that particular day. These days, I am relegated to walking and there are days when it feels more like crawling.

My first test run at school just days after my 5th birthday lasted until lunch time on the first day of school. A few weeks ago, I was teaching music to a pre-primary class at the age of 72. Tempus fugit.

“It’s a long way to Tipperary.” You musical historians would know that this famous piece of music was used as a marching song among soldiers in the First World War and is remembered as a song of that war. Originally it was a lament from an Irish worker in London missing his hometown. We learned this song from our parents at a very early age. Sixty-five years later, I’m still singing this song during my weekly visits to the nursing home.

My very first job at the age of 13 was cutting grass at St.Ninian’s Cemetery. I was paid the princely sum of $1.00 per hour and only got a break when there was a burial. Sixty years later, I’m still working (by choice) and have secured my burial plot in that same cemetery. At 13, mortality seemed a long way away. These days, not so much.

Oops. It would appear that Len is about to go maudlin on us.

Absolutely not.

It’s just a fact. Our row is being hoed.

I am just astonished that so much of life has happened in the blink of an eye. I am one of the lucky ones. I am rarely bored and am blessed with many friends and good health. Loneliness must be the worst of afflictions. There are many people my age who track their days like Crosby’s molasses being poured out of a carton.

The best we can do is savour the day in front of us.

“If you wake up and don’t want to smile,

If it takes just a little while,

Open your eyes and look at the day,

You’ll see things in a different way.

Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow,

Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here,

It’ll be here better than before,

Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.”

Don’t Stop – Fleetwood Mac

Life runs on fast legs.

They’re just not my legs!

Have a great weekend.

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Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom (And Whimsy)

Posted on July 24, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with 3 comments

How the years fly by

 

“There’s a time for joy,

A time for tears,

A time we’ll treasure through the years,

We’ll remember always,

Graduation day. “

Graduation Day – The Four Freshmen

It’s reunion season.

We are just a few weeks removed from high school graduations celebrated across the country. Young people, brimming with confidence, crossed the stage, staring off into the future and endless possibilities. The first rite of passage in the books.

Do you remember your graduation?

I was part of the very last graduating class of Antigonish High School in 1970. We were a small group – 62. I have been carrying around our Graduation Exercises program for 54 years now. Some of my classmates were brilliant students. Some excelled at sports. We were debaters, singers, cheerleaders, members of student council, writers for our yearbook.

My most vivid and lasting memory of grad night was a gathering at my parents’ house on Hillcrest where several of my classmates came to enjoy one last singalong together. Well into the festivities, my dad entered the living room with a single bottle of beer which was shared amongst those in the room. “One bottle of beer on the wall…”

Every year around this time, grads of our beloved AHS gather at a local pub to reminisce, revel, regale and reconnect. We don’t move as quickly as we once did. There are a lot of nuts and bolts and titanium holding us together but the glue that binds us all is friendship and laughter. We are a collection of old folks looking in the rear-view mirror but still treasuring what we have.

Years of successes, failures, love lost, and love found, grief and pain etched on the lines of our faces.

Stories, stories and more stories.

For a few hours, we deposited our aching bodies (most of us have at least one body part that has given up on us) at the entrance of the pub’s patio and talked about those halcyon days when our only care in the world was finding the right dance partner for the last waltz at the Parish Center.

In the absence of name tags this year, much of the time after arriving was spent trying to figure out who everybody was. Most of us have changed our looks over the past 50+ years which is hardly a surprise.

Of course, there’s always a lot of catching up to do. What has everyone been doing all these years? Children, grandchildren, employment, births, deaths. Once these details have been dispensed with, we start to talk about our alma mater. The stories are heartwarming and funny.

The owners of the pub know their audience well. With the Brierly Brook gurgling in the background, the speakers churn out hit after hit from the 1960s. The smiles on the faces says it all. We are with our tribe. “Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)”. While the original tribe sadly continues to thin out, the addition of children and grandchildren ensures that our legendary stories of smoking under the Brierly Brook bridge, sitting on the railing outside the Alleys, or going to the Saturday night dances (fights!) at the Parish Center will remain long after we have “slipped the surly bonds of earth”.

Now, most of us know our tribe so when a few people from the county school arrived at our gathering, a few eyebrows were raised. Back in the day, there were fierce rivalries between the “townies” and the “country hicks”. There are two adjoining patios at Piper’s. I knew these folks. They were lovely people.  I wasn’t expecting a melee to break out with their appearance. I decided to broker a peace deal. Toting a cold bottle of Alexander Keith’s finest, I approached their table. One of the people at the table had recently lost her husband and this trio had just come from a wake at one of the local funeral homes. They had endured enough sadness lately and banishing them didn’t seem the right thing to do. They were quite surprised to see so many people at the pub on a Tuesday afternoon. I jokingly suggested that they could move to the upper patio!

We laughed and laughed some more. We hugged. We said our goodbyes.

Until we meet again.

“When the ivy walls,

Are far behind,

No matter where our paths may wind,

We’ll remember always,

Graduation day.”

Have a great weekend

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