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

Posted on July 10, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with one comment

A stroll down memory lane

 

“Memories,

Like the corners of my mind,

Misty watercolor memories,

Of the way we were.”

The Way We Were – Barbara Streisand

Quickly. What is the first thing that crossed your mind when you saw the picture in this post?

The human brain. Easily the most astonishing part of the human body weighing in at around three pounds, the brain is “a complex organ that controls thought, memory, emotion, touch, motor skills, vision, breathing, temperature, hunger and every process that regulates our body.” Johns Hopkins.

And if you’re counting, there might be upwards of 100 billion neurons, our own version of the Milky Way which contains billions of stars.

Now, “dear gentle reader” (I sound a bit like Lady Whistledown from Bridgerton!), why on earth have I chosen the human brain, and more specifically, memory, for today’s missive?

I saw the picture of the schoolbooks wrapped in brown paper and my brain instantaneously carried me back in time over 60 years when we all had to cover our school textbooks. On the first day of school, we were handed all the books we would need for the year. We immediately marched home after school and the first order of business was to cover these books. Every household had a large roll of brown paper. With eight of us all vying to complete the task simultaneously, it was the definition of chaos. I learned at a very early age that I lacked some core competencies, one of them being the ability to wrap things. Fast forward to wrapping Christmas presents. I was an abject failure at this and kissed the ground of the person who invented gift bags.

How does the brain process so much information at warp speed? When I saw the picture, I could quickly visualize our kitchen table covered in brown paper, scotch tape and markers. And in the same breath, I thought about that same table and the same roll of paper as we gathered around to package a side of beef from John D’s Meat Market. Each sibling was assigned a task. Weigh the meat (ground beef, roasts etc.) on an ancient baby scale, cut an appropriate size piece of brown paper, wrap the meat, tie it up with string and indicate the contents and weight. Transport to the freezer in the basement.

All of these images created by a simple photo.

Of course, this took me down that rabbit hole we call nostalgia. I thought about the large barrel of powdered milk (Starlac) which produced some of the most unsavory, warm, lumpy milk imaginable. Some of you might remember the packages of margarine, the ones with a dab of coloring which you had to squeeze to make it come out looking like actual margarine.

My mind drifted to the rotary telephone. One of the blessings of the old technology is that you had the opportunity to slam the phone down on an unwanted caller. Very therapeutic.

Nesbitt orange soda bottle caps.

K-Tel.

Writing out the lyrics of songs by repeatedly lifting the needle off of the vinyl record.

All of these things are stored somewhere in this giant processor inside our skull.

Sadly, as time marches on relentlessly, memories fade and some of our neurons stop firing. Nowhere is this more evident than in an Alzheimer’s unit. Last week, I had the privilege of playing music at one of our local nursing homes. I performed for a large gathering in one of the lounges and afterwards went to the Alzheimer’s unit. If you haven’t been to one, it can be a sobering experience, especially seeing people you grew up with.

This awful disease has robbed so many people of their memory and dignity.

Last week, I included a quote at the end of my piece which bears repeating. I saw this while reading a book by Jodi Picoult. Not to press the point too far but reading a book illustrates the power of the brain. As the words are lifted off the page with our eyes, the brain instantaneously converts the words into images. Every person reading the same lines sees the image differently.

I digress.

“If you ask me, music is the language of memory.” Jodi Picoult

This is apparent in an Alzheimer’s unit. Electrifying might be a stretch. Maybe heartwarming is a more apt description. It seems like it takes a while for old neurons to start firing when your memory bank is almost empty. But fire, they do. I discovered that a woman who was staring blankly into space, was originally from Mabou, the heart of Celtic music. I asked her husband, who was visiting, what musicians she liked most. Not surprisingly it was the Rankins and John Allan Cameron. I played Four Marys. You know what it’s like when you decorate your Christmas tree and turn on the lights. It’s magical. A few lines into the song, the most beautiful smile, bordering on angelic, broke out on her face. She was struggling to find the words but there was no doubt that she recognized the tune. Another resident sitting nearby was unresponsive for most of the time I was there. When I played Mairi’s Wedding, one of the amazing staff came over and the two of them danced. Pass the tissues.

I couldn’t agree more with Jodi. Music IS the language of memory.

That’s a wrap.

Thank God for gift bags!

Have a great weekend.

 

 

Posted on July 3, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

On the wings of a dove.

 

“School days, school days, dear old golden rule days,

Readin’ and ‘ritin’ and ‘rithmetic, taught to the tune of a hick’ry stick.”

“School Days” – Cobb and Edwards

I recently finished up another school year as a substitute teacher. Over the past two years, I think I have taught every conceivable subject and have seen students from as young as pre-primary to grade 12.

I have a few observations.

First of all, some clarification. I did not technically “teach” every subject at every grade level. No school administrator in their right mind would turn me loose in an auto mechanic shop or woodworking shop and ask me to instruct.  Liability insurance has its limits. Let’s just say that in addition to shop, at a minimum, I have taught, and in many cases observed, Gaelic classes, grade 12 physics, music, physical education. “Cead mile failte.”

I have also filled in for guidance teachers, a case of the blind leading the blind!

What has changed since I entered the teaching profession 48 years ago?

In many ways, the model hasn’t changed much. An educator stands at the front of a group of students in a rectangular classroom and imparts knowledge. The students consume this information and regurgitate it in some form. The tools for instructing and learning have changed significantly with Smartboards, Chromebooks and Google Classroom but the principles are more or less unchanged. Principals have changed, or should I say, their job description. Like hockey, the enforcer role, has all but been eliminated.

I spent most of my substitute days with Junior High students. This has always been a very challenging age. I need not elaborate. Back in the dark ages, a teacher’s primary role was to teach. The students listened, teachers had the support of the parents, and authority was rarely challenged.

These days it is difficult to tell just who is in charge.

The cases of anxiety amongst students (and teachers!) have risen dramatically over the years. In my own mind, there is little doubt that the internet and social media are the main culprits. I am neither a psychiatrist, physician, or addictions counsellor but I think internet addiction is very real. Students and adults alike are tethered to their electronic devices. Walk into a school cafeteria these days. They are still very noisy places but virtually every student is holding a cell phone. One wonders what this is doing to our collective brains.

Hands up. How many of you know the name Ken Dryden? If you’re a hockey fan, you know that he was a storied goaltender for the Montreal Canadiens back in the 1970s. Some of you remember him as a Member of Parliament. He is also a prolific author. Ken is smart and thoughtful. A “must read” for educators (IMHO) is Ken’s book “In School: Our Kids, Our Teachers, Our Classrooms”.

What actually goes on in schools?

Ken decided to find out. From September 1993 until June 1994, he attended a high school in Ontario moving from class to class. Even though this was written more than a quarter of a century ago, many of the problems plaguing schools continue to exist. His observations are still relevant.

It’s easy for armchair quarterbacks to lay out the myriad of problems facing the education system but there don’t appear to be any easy solutions.

I do know one thing for certain. Schools have always leaned heavily on secretaries and janitors. I have always felt that these were key positions in schools. More than anybody, these people know EVERYTHING that’s going on.

I also tip my hat to TA’s (Teacher Assistants). They work extremely hard with some of our students who face significant challenges.

I know that my opinion won’t be roundly applauded but I think we could use a bit more of the ‘hick’ry stick’.

Do you remember when you were sure footed? When you were brimming with confidence? When you rarely screwed up? When your mind was like a steel trap?

Neither do I!

“And there’s a rose, in the fisted glove,

Where the eagle flies with the dove.”

Love The One You’re With – Stephen Stills (Of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young fame)

I’m a lifelong list maker. I know. I know. You can just as easily make a list on your portable electronic device but it’s hard to break lifelong habits. Now, being Scottish, I don’t go out and buy fancy stationery for lists or even use post it notes. I never waste paper (I also eat leftovers for three days) so I routinely cut up used paper (drafts of my stories) into strips and these I use for my lists.

I usually have a couple of lists sitting on my dining table. When I run out of a food item, I immediately write it down for my next trip to the grocery store, lest I forget and have to make a second trip to the store. The other list is more generic. It is more like my “to do” list. Return library book. Learn the lyrics to (Enter name of song), visit so and so in the hospital.

Two important things about lists. Don’t leave them at home when you head out to do your errands and secondly, make sure you actually read the list…and check off each item as you go along.

I do a Costco run every couple of months. Yes. I have a Costco list and when I run out of something it goes on the list. A few weeks ago, I made my way to Dartmouth Crossing. It was an unusually quiet day at Costco. It may have had something to do with the temperature similar to that in Kuwait. In other words, the aisles weren’t crowded and gasp, I even did a bit of browsing, a very dangerous thing to do in this store.

You must be wondering why a person living alone buys things in bulk. When you crunch the numbers, it does make a lot of sense especially when you travel to the city regularly to visit family and friends.

I have a closet. Actually, I have several. One is for my unsold books; one is for cleaning supplies and dry goods like toilet paper, paper towels; one for towels and one for my extensive wardrobe. Now, I know that some of you routinely switch out your wardrobe when the seasons change but if I did that, my closet would be empty. I am a minimalist and that might be the understatement of the year when it comes to clothing.

Returning home from Costco, I started to put things away. In my dry goods closet, I also keep toothpaste and other toiletry items like razor blades, shaving cream and bars of soap (Dove unscented). And anti-perspirant. When I opened this closet, to my chagrin, I realized that I had just purchased a second box of Dove Men Care deodorant. I now have enough deodorant to start trafficking it. In fact, I reckon that I have enough anti-perspirant to keep me smelling just fine until the Second Coming.

Because I made the fatal mistake of browsing at Costco, I inadvertently bought something I didn’t need and forgot something that I needed which was on my list.

So much for lists.

Steel trap? Highly unlikely at 72.

No fools. No fun.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. Saw this and love it. “If you ask me, music is the language of memory”. Jodi Picoult