Transition

We leave the position, then the room, then the village or city, the province or state and go upward into the air.

We leave the atmosphere and looking down, notice the blue sphere surrounded by vapor, rotating into and out of the sunlight.

We go further up and out.

There is no more up or down.
These terms are irrelevant and so too are day and night from this vantage point.
There is only space -the 'heavens'.

How far can we go?
Miles turn into days in terms of ticking seconds, minutes and hours...Ah! OK - "time" is really nothing more than the infant mind attempt of measuring of space. And "our time"- locally, is really a measure of repetition of our 'species living' upon a globe going round in circles, cycles or seasons.

But could it be that the earth is an egg-incubator for our transcendent 'species-being'?

Could it be that our individual perception of the passge of time is a required cosmic element of gestation for our next evolutionary birth leap?

Could our quantitative perspctive on time be necessary for the heralding of our collective next phase?

Would we be ready? Would you be ready? After all, the species is only as strong as it's weakest link. Have you brought your inner being and spirit within it's flesh framed egg to the point of readiness ? Has your inner being taken control of all your child like outer temptations, inner and outer turmoil and compulsions?

There are no resolutions, just as there is no meaning to the concept of 'trying'. There is conscious action or it's passive opposite- inertia- lulled by the spell of illusion and material distraction.

Ultimately there is only your eternal... 'now'.

Are we ready?

Happy New Year.

(The image of this being, kindly provided by my friend (and good friend of Colleen Hillock) -Artist and scupltor- Narelle Nicholls -NSW Australia).

Small World and six degrees divided by two.

A few weeks back, I was at the local Blockbuster Video Store seeking some distraction for the evening. I would have loved to just sit and write, but after 7:00PM my energy level seems to fade and I need some escapism (and chocolate). I know, I could do some yoga and re-energize, but...

Scanning the movie rows, there was a subtle movement on my right, someone else doing the same thing. I glanced up sneaking a peak and quickly looked back at the selections -lest I be construed as peering a little too long at the wrong merchandise- but then it hit me- I knew that face -a familair face from highschool. Anne Wells, a graduate of Chateuaguay High (pre HSB). See her below from the1969 Year Book.

You might recall the math teacher - Mr. Wells (ex Military). Great teacher! Well, Anne is his daughter. You might recall her sister Jacquie, (whom I shall never forget, but let's not go there now. Perhaps some time I'll recall the night of the party...I met Lyda Young there! I digress as usual.)

Anne lives with her husband Kevin (Grad 1968) and son just a few streets over from us. As it turns out, my son and hers are great friends. Anne is now the head of a translation department for an Insurance Company.

They are a fine family.

"Hmm let's click on their high school pictures below to see what they thought they might be doing in the future!" I'm not sure what Kevin does, but my son thinks his buddy's dad is in computer programming "...or something like that."














Some of the people we might recall who graduated in Anne's year were:

Carol Wares, Barbara Ann Wells, Karen J.McConnell (no relation to me as far as I know), Valery Mumford (Molly), Arthur Preston, Shirley Ascroft, Pierre Filion, Dale Kiperchuk, Pat Kobernick, Bob Marsh -who reminded us all of John Lennon, the inimitable and mysterious Shannon McManus, the late Blake Jennings, Ray Mcleod, the late Russel McKoy, Shirley Bulmer, Bev Jones, Carla Klop, the King twins- Carren and Carrol, Larry Busch and of course Darlene Hodge (Doll), Peter McHardy, Brent Timms, Amelia Agnew, Mitch Morrison and Randy Phillips (Sports writer in the Gazette these days..wonder what his thoughts on Tigre are) ...just to name a few.

Going back to the year before, when Kevin graduated, another set of names putting a unique spin to the times:

Consider...Chateauguay High still had a grade 12 in that year -1968.
It was the year after expo. I was only about 12 or 13! I think that was the last year of grade XII, their pictures were set aside from the Grade 11 graduates in the same Yearbook...correct me if I'm wrong.

Some of those in Grade 12 were:
Anne Russell, Ron Jaieson, Dave Beauchamp, Bruce Poirier, Bob Morrison, Tom Burkhardst, Susan Nussey, Mike St.Louis, George Eldridge and Judy Layzell, again only a few.

Some of the grads from garde 11 that year were:
Darlene Hilton, David Holt, Andrew Hooper, Mike Horrocks, Joyce Horton, Ceryl Johnstone -who later married H.Gordon Green, Donna Jobber, Stephen Legassic, Doug Lilly -wasn't he in the Sundowners? Margie and Peter Maclean, Marcus Martin, Murray Millett, Bruce Maybury, Pat O'Brien, Wayne Oliver,Margaret Vella, Bob Waterson (who used to live down the steet but I believe may be now in USA), Francis and Marie Kavenaughe, Jane Kennedy, Dave Kiperchuk, Keith McDowell, the late Fred Sailer, Ken Schillgallies, Eddy Smeall (from West End), Dieter Stamm, Lorraine Scott again only a few.

Sitting in Bed

I am sitting in bed, cross-legged, covers over and 'lap top' on top.

Slept in this moring.

It's 10:02 A.M. Got up 40 minutes ago, made tea, fed the five cats, gave Sylvester-cat his needle. He's diabetic you see.

I put the raisen toast in the toaster, retrieved the Sunday paper from the door step, poured the tea, prepared the toast for us and came back to bed.

While Jane read the paper I wrote my dream in my journal.
Dreams are just so damned strange.
Do you write yours down? Most people don't. Some feel it's a waste of time while others claim they don't remember them. But they could -if they wanted to, they just have to know how.

But those of us who do write dreams, tend to collect them. And some are really quite intriguing.

One just never knows where one (and I do mean YOU) as a character are going to pop up in a given dream or even how the landscape is going to be.

I've had dreams where the ocean meets the shore, -down by the Maple shopping centre -... so much for Lorraine Robichaud's house, or the late Scott Brydon's, or Scott Roger's place on Massey Drive, somewhere beneath the waves.

I had one where, just off Craik street in the woods, a great earth mound swells up the height of Mercier Bridge in the middle of the night. At it's apex a ridge circling a crater appears, jagged edge glowing as people run in terror towards Saint Francis Street, as the ominous sound of a bass fog horn vibrates from within.

In my dreams, I also hear music, see colors, and have drawn out conversations with people.

This morning I awoke with a beautiful refrain stuck in my head. I've never heard the song before, but the notes are really quite haunting. I sang them to Jane. She had never heard the melody before, but she agreed, it did sound catchy. It had a hook. I should quickly record it into my recorder before I forget it.

In this morning's dream I was walking over to the highschool from the Shopping centre to make sure my son wouldn't miss having his picture taken by the picture man who comes every year. (Do you remember him? He was about 5'7", thin, wavy hair, had an elfin face and always got us laughing despite ourselves. Then he would snap the picture!)

I never did find my son at the school, so I went back to the shopping centre where I came upon brothers Mark and John Stafford.

All together, we proceeded down the mall towards the Super C (used to be Steinburgs back in the day), entering into a deli (where Deutshe Jewlery used to stand). It had all kinds of wonderful things imported fron all over the world (Hmmm! We could use one of those right about now!) Mark selecetd a plastic transparent bucket and handed it over the counter to the proprietor who then placed it under the spigot and began extruding soft chocolate icecream. "Wow" I thought, Mark must like his chocolate icecream!"

I went further into the store, to the back where I came upon a serving area for teas, coffee and smoked meat.

Behind that counter was the pretty Rene Robitaille from Seignory Park area, who used to live down the street from my parents, beside the Chappels place. (I thought, "That's strange! Isn't she actually a brain surgeon or Doctor of some sort down in the USA? What's she doing serving smoked meat in Chateauguay?) (Now those kind of things are hints from the subconscious directed to me, to let me know I am in fact dreaming, so keep mind memory rolling for what is to come...)

We decided to have a coffee. Trying to find a seat, I noticed at one table, Mr.Spratt and his daughters. That would be the father of Jane, Elaine and Sally. I greeted him and and chattted breifly, introducing him to Mark and John. (Now, just for the record, I never knew him outside my dream but what the heck! It was a dream! But I do remember him at the highschool teaching the finer points of table tennis. (I never participated but only passed by when he was there once.) He was a champion in England I believe. (Or so Bob Houston says.)

Ah! I am being called to breakfast again. Gotta go!

Get A Life!

When I review this blog -going back over the past three years, I can see how one might conclude that I might have no life other than memories. But that conclusion would be a distortion.

I really have quite an ideal life with two wonderful children -one who is now a teacher at a prestigious French college and the other, in Communciations specializing in film at University.

My partner, wife and best friend -Jane, is a highschool teacher in the French system. I truly lucked out with her 30 years ago. Her beauty, intelligence, poise and balance were beyond compare. Why do I include 'balance'?

Well, to answer that, one has to go back to highschool times,- girlfriend experiences.

I had a number of girlfriends -just as you may have had a number of relatioinships of your own.

The thing about those times, (for most of us) our senses, emotions, hormones and body parts were their freshest and most potent -as new powers to a superbeing.

It was a time to experiment pshycologically, emotionally, spiritually and otherwise grow into ourselves.

Having said that, I had a number of experiences where the dominant person in the relationship was either her or me. And in neither situation did I find comfort or balance.

As a youth, I experienced jealousy as I would either be worrying that my new possession, my girlfriend might be seeing someone else or she would be worrying about me. OK- it was mostly the former. Ah! The 16-18 year old male -what a stage! We're talking about security; security in who we were as people and the attempt at finding comfort in our own skins- as we tried on different personas.

Of course it was 'the time' of our true education. Incomplete in our 'selves', we had to experience life and smack our heads against it, perhaps, in order to truly find who we were and more to the point who we were not.

We gained experiential wisdom. We found out through the consequences of our actions, things we would not ever wish to experience again. Of course this took place not only in high school but beyond into college or work years or for some -early marraiges of discontent - like playing dress-up, only to fine they were stuck and wasting life. A true education makes us ready to recognise that possible direction for our 'being' to flow through life. Bowever a true education just never ends does it?

So when I say Jane had (and still has) balance, I guess she completes the leverage of the see-saw for me in that she somehow provides security and I know I do not have to worry the she is going to try to be the power in the relationship, just as she knows I am not going to be the power, since 'power' misses the point. It's more about giving ourselves to each other and our family to create a 'good' life.

I knew the momet I saw her that she was the 'one' - but that's another story...quite a romantic one at that.

So there is much to me that is not in this blog and problably never will be, since the focus is indeed upon the past, highschool times, things I see today that might connect to people who knew of our Chateauguay High/HS Billings experience and things people bring to my attention about that time or people we knew and where they might be at today.

Today I was actually going to descibe the first time I stayed over at Jimmy Williams house, the difference of our two family cultures, our days hitch-hiking down to Beauharnois in the depths of winter to spend time with Layla and Linda...but Jane has just called down to me to come up for breakfast. Ah well maybe next time.

Enjoy the day all!

I'll get back later to edit this entry, after I have finished studying for my next Securities exam (Stocks, bonds, options etc..).

High School Romance

Do you remember the magic from back then?

It's recess.

Everyone is zomming here and running there.

Chatter of who said what to whom, which teacher is a bitch for making someone spit her gum out.

Then you see a special someone in the hall and for a split second- eyes catch,
-a glance?

Time suspends.
There's the delicate trace
of moisture
upon the lip.
The gaze, still held -
in passing
just a beat
too long
the heart ,
skips,
catch breath and let out a low whispered
"Whoa..."
or is it a moan?
"Oh no! Did anyone hear that?"

And before each looks away,
just a split second before
as her hair
flows in swirl,
"Ahhh!" it is there !
a shy hint
of a smile,
a sly glint
- in the eye
a tear?
The spell
is cast
...forever.

Does a moment
-fade in time?
Even if you
never had the chance...
the dance..

No,
No.
It
grows
...stronger.
And some
times
an unguarded
moment
in the life
you wonder...
and your
heart
- it skips
once again...
alas.

LM Nov.17.2009 and still counting...

Charlie Ghorayeb

Good man, restauranteur extraordinaire, smart, funny, can take much ribbing in the face of public risk.

It takes courage to put one's self out there and Charlie does it. I don't think many people understand what it is to 'risk' failure in the eyes of the 'ever-judgemental' public. He's an entrepreneur with a smile. Yes- I'm sure he's kept his stubborness too. But that's what success is made of - being stubborn enough to hold on to a dream and walk with precision towards a vision. Yet it takes a strategic awareness to know when to call it a day on certain projects.

Dan Zimmerman and Charlie. It's good to have friends!




Charlie has not changed - from entry many years ago into Mr.Mahabir's MSD class when I first encountered him, to the trip to Oromucto to the company he's grown along with current shareholders to fashioning the best restaurant our rigion has seen in years -to a very strong and good family with reason to be proud. (Oh- yes, he's had a haircut since 1970).

Charlie does us all proud- one of the best assets of HSB and Chateauguay.

See Charlie's restaurant 'Capiche', below

...better yet come and try the food and wine!

What a lovely way to spend an afternoon or an evening.

'Falco Columbarius' (part of the Hawk and Falcon family)
a.k.a.
a Merlin
eats lunch (another bird) on Isle St.Bernard

What's New?

Well, Charlie Ghorayeb has (once again) tossed his hat in the ring for the spot of Mayor of Chateauguay, although I have not seen who his team of aldermen will yet be. (2:15 PM)

(9:25 PM)Ah! I've been informed that Charlie has no team! He's running as an independant! So if he wins as Mayor any combination of competing aldermen could win in their ridings but would have to work with Charlie rather than their designated leader they are currently supporting. Hmmmm.

Meanwhile, Charlie's competition -The Michel Enault Team, has already been knocking on doors up and down my street- completely organized and talking tough on issues while gathering material for changes and budget constraints. Do you remember Roger Doyle -who would get teased mercilessly for looking so 'straight-laced' in the winds the Acqarian storm? Well his younger brother, Barry Doyle is making quite an impression on the neighborhood as possible alderman and part of this Enault team.
----------------
Restaurant
If you ever visit and want a great place to eat, drive a little further south to the community of Mercier on the main drag of St. Jean Baptiste just after Chateauguay,- left hand side, until you come to Charlie Ghorayeb's restaurant "Capiche". He has managed to create a high style cuisine, delightful ambiance, top quality service level and superb wine list, that can only be matched in romantic "Old Montreal a.k.a. Le Vieux Port". This is quite a feat to pull off from out our way.

--------------

H.S. Billings
Under the banner of 'What's Old is New Again', -uniforms are back in!

I guess there is a time and place for everything.

I know -strange to hear that from me, one of the participants in the Sit -Ins back in 69-70 along with Roddy McManus and the rest of the school... to rid Chateauguay High- HS Billings of rules on dress code and hair length restrictions. In those times 'conformity at the cost of creative originality' and 'freedom from conformist repression' were the popular causes. Unfortunately in this day and age that sense of purpose seems to have faded into mediocrity and lack of direction necessitating apparently, the guise or semblance of 'new found' cohesion...just as long as the school administration can now begin to focus on student learning, rather than the distraction of 'uniform enforcement'. Appearances are one thing, now Seize The Day---

So the girls with their uniform skirts hiked up to 'mini' and the boys in their charcoal gray pants and black sweaters over polo shirts can be seen at lunch time strolling along with hair set 'Emo' just so- 'over eyes'. Looks almost like 1968!

At least our uniform colours 'back-in-the-day' were blue and gold. Today black and white is the vogue of discipline. I guess the idea is to try to look 'no-nonsense' like a private school. But I am told that these days the age 14 is the new 18...

Something fandamental needs to be done with the system itself where the problems fester. Teachers have a tough time.

If there were some way to create a system of education that could actually take small groups or just the individual and infuse with guidance, inspiration and motivation to learn, that would be great. But this only can occur with kids who are made 'ready' from home, like seeds that have been brought ot the point of sprouting. Many kids are just not 'ready' or if they are, the hormone pool of humanity they are thrown into in grade 7 causes such great distraction, that the learning process is side tracked until they are just plain fed-up with High School andfinally grasp that they must move on. Of course there are some who are wired to achieve and quickly grab the levers of the system. Be nice to teacher and teacher is noice to you. Do the homework and passing is easy....this will all be over soon.

In many homes, parents are out working -by necessity- while the kids are on their own -much like it was in our time, except that instead of TV, the focus is the 'Net'or 'Texting' or the cornucopia of of games and distraction. If everyone could afford private school that would be great, but even there, problems which eminate from home base and the streets can occasionally be evident through the cracks.

The Provincial Government in it's 'top-down' edicts to implement 'reform' attempting to improve a situation, have inadvertantly done more damage to the core by removing certain controls and measures. It seems the harder our systems 'try', the further away from the ideal they become.

But then before we know it, kids grow up, move away, get jobs or even better -create businesses and ultimately for the most part, integrate into that amorphous "system" almost despite inherent social bias and disfunction.

They manage- like little magnets, to keep some good elements picked up along the way from their better teachers who have done what they could with what materials they've got- and yes- from some committed and caring parents parents. And let us give credit where credit is due- to the children themselves who come pre-packaged with their own inner compasses, personalities and wiring.
-------------------
Week-end Rituals

I just returned from doing some grocery shopping over at the IGA on D'Anjou and Maple. These weekly outings can be rather interesting. Today I met up with Mr. Mahabir. His hair has a silver sheen to complement his smile. Now there was a teacher who embodied wisdom ...and still does.

In the next Isle as I sought out the unbleached flour, I happened upon Joanne (Green) Simpkin. She is still in great shape, very friendly (despite my student non-sense when I was 16) and so too is her husband (Howard) who I almost met up with as he went about his business over near the cookies. Joanne says they have been spending the last number of winters in Florida- Snowbirds!
---------------------------------
Esoteric Saturday

The Dalai Lama

Yesterday Jane and I attended the gathering at the Bell Centre (replacing the Montreal Forum) where the Dalai Lama spoke. He espoused non-violence and compassion. Yet he emphasized that compassion does not mean bowing your head and taking beating. It means seeing your enemy as a person and respecting that person, treating them as you would yourself. His religion he say is simple - it is the practice of Kindness.

This is something akin to all religions. And as in all religions, easy to practice when in the mood but rather difficult when one is not.
------------------------------------------
Tennis Anyone?
As usual, Bob Houston and I were out at the Carlyle Tennis courts in the Heights early Thursday morning. The temperature was 5 above. We're going to have to find an in-door court soon.
He was telling me all about the show last week with Van the Man, Van Morrisson. Sounds like one of his best yet.

Five or six rows back from the stage, Bob met up with Karen and Tom Capelli and their wonderful son Aiden. This young man has smarts, courage and if I recall corectly -an uncanny knack for clever understatement and repartee. Gee, the apple does not fall far...
Some might remember Karen under her maiden name - Karen Degan.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So as we enter another chilly Autumn season back home (Quebec) and wherever you may be right now, on the planet, in or out of hospital, in your life out in BC, Alberta, Ontario, New York, Connecticut, California, Texas or even off the Florida coast..wherever you hang your hat, let me wish you well -and know that you are not forgotten (even you Darrel) by many of us who are still...
...here.

Rodney McNight
Class of '72

One of my favorite people I like to remember from highschool.

Some of us were mean to this young man either to his face or behind his back- and he took it - when he should have given us what we all deserved.

But he was so kind instead.

These days when I contemplate Bhuddism, the Dali Lama and the ideas, courage and action required to actually grow in life, I think back to people in highschool who embodied kind heartedness like this man.

..we were kids and many of us still are.

I'm certain the memory of High School is not warm and fuzzy for everyone.

Before Pierre Lacroix died the month or so before the reunion of May 2007, he wrote to me and brought this point solidly home. Rick Rankin will remember that week. I was really bowled over. I actually thought Pierre was being a little heavy handed, but I had no idea the pain he was enduring at the time. I only found out later he knew he was soon to pass on.

Things become very clear in that light. One gets to the point quickly and dispenses with those lacking in at least an element of depth or resonance with what is important in this gift we call life.

I remember bringing Pierre's comments to my wife - I was feeling a little sorry for myself, given that someone was actually raining on my parade. And Jane responded in her usual well thought out counter-point,"Well you can't expect everyone to feel the way you do."

Then she told me about how she had called a girlfriend of hers from John Rennie High (where they had gone to school) asking if she would like to go to their reunion. " I think I'd prefer to stay home and stick HOT needles in my eye." was the response, ever so calmly.

It is good to remember there were many kind hearted souls in High School who were bull dozed aside by the cliques, who were not stars, not clever tounged little devils. They just had to be who they were and try to get by and beyond that phase as soon as possible. Back then it seemed minutes would pass like hours as we watched that clock ...get to the end of a day.

Not so any more I'm afraid.

From One of our Readers

Robert Leonard - Class of 69 if I recall correctly

(... who else do we recall from that year?> Shannon McManus, Dale Kiperchuck, Andrew Mutch, Debbie Mizener, Valerie Mumford, Anne Wells, Shirley Ascroft, Carren & Carrol King, Muncey Oliver, Wayne Skelhorne, Ferenc Somogyi, Klaus Tiefenbrunner, (the late Heather Bedard?), the late (and great) Eddie Quinn, Bob Marsh, the late Blake Jennings, Susan Hague, the late Russel McKoy, and there was Kendra Redden, Ray Mcleod, Shirley Bulmer, Bev Jones, Carla Klop, Paul Enros, (Edson Phipps -the great and wonderful), Norman Leroux, Dave Noel, Larry Busch, Peter MacHardy, the inimitable Scott Pashley, Janet Boudreau, Sue McInnis, Ted Kirschberger, Florence Lanigan, Judy Lawless, Brent Timms, Amelia Agnew and Mitch Morrison, Barbra Allen, Michael Pierce, Lousie Ranger, Randy Phillips, Debbie Leedham and of course Medelaine Stevens, Don Walker, Gail Brophy, Don Tatry, Hal Thwaites,Phil Seary, Cornelia Wesslow and Anja Mechielsen...just to name a few...I used to look up to and/or observe from afar, many of these people. I was just a twerp from grade 8 or 9 while they were all graduating! Some seemed like movie stars and greatest athletes, some seemed like personalities unto themselves, some seemed lost others found. And they all seemd so grown up already!)

Say's Robert...

I just want to thank you for bringing back those memories of days gone by.

And it is true - that when we get old all we have are the memories.

So thanks again.

Robert Leonard
5:46 AM

You are most welcome Robert.

Your comment was a response more or less to the entry on home territory, swimming pools, Seigniory Park, the Canoe Club, and I guess to our old memories of home and growing up in Chateauguay and through the "Chateauguay High/HSB" experience etc.

Aging is one of those strange things in life isn't it?

We become -perhaps a little smarter, due to the bruises of experience. Then we leave our past behind with some of the people we loved and will always love.

Down the road, we have all this wisdom to dispense to our children, who cannot seem to "hear" and in the end, must experience for themselves their own mistakes and glories.

When our memories play themselves back in our dreams or fantasies, there just seems to have been so much adventure, fun and excitement in making the mistakes - in class, in the hallway, on the playing field, on the ice, at the dam, at the dance, the basketball court, the Canoe Club, "his appartment", the tennis club, at the Beach, the Alamo, the Railway bridge, the Pines, the Curb, behind the Church, in her house when her parents were out, while she was babysitting, in the basement, the Freeman, the Raja Mood, escaping out the basement window as her parents came in the front door - all this and more, before the serious consequences of life set in.

I guess some of the mistakes I truly regret are those "actions not put into motion" which in retrospect I could have or should have. But then -we were kids...and those kids still live inside us don't they? - no matter how far away we go.

On the otherhand there are those mistakes I'm sure we all regret which turned out to be the "wrong roads taken" or the hurtful things said in spite, even when our conscience whispered clearly to our hearts "don't do this!"

There are those things we can never "un-do". But maybe we can be forgiven? We'll never know unless we have the itch and the courage to find out -consequences bedamned. As long as he or she is still alive, the possibility does exist. It is only too late, if one waits too long. And then we become haunted by regret.

But then, yes... we still have all the memories...
Be well.
Les

From Tom Lauder on the Passing of Gerd Weigel

I lost a friend today.

It is with great sadness that I tell you that Gerd Weigel lost his battle with cancer today.

Gerd was one of the good guys.

I hadn’t talked to him in a while; sent him the regular email jokes every now and then, and the too infrequent phone calls, but he was still my friend. And a very good one.

I’ve known Gerd since we were 6 years old.

He was someone I always looked up to and I thought that he was the smartest person in the world when I was growing up. If you wanted to know how or why something worked, you would ask Gerd and he’d tell you.

And he wasn’t showing off, he just knew and thought nothing of it. No conceit, no ego, just happy to answer your question and pass on the knowledge.

I give him credit for influencing me and making me want to know the answers to questions that people had. I wanted to be like Gerd. That is how he influenced me and probably why I am the way I am today.

I've cried a couple of times since hearing the news, but on Wednesday, I'll be making my way to Montreal to celebrate his life and remember all the good times we had growing up together, and I'll be laughing and smiling and so will Gerd.

I'll miss you, my friend.

Tommy Lauder

Just For Laughs Rue St.Denis dream sequence.
(check out the video clips below)

Just For Laughs

-Rue St.Denis 'dream 'jest fest' -seulment comme ca a Montreal.

University

OK, so half the summer is gone.

My daughter has finsihed with University, graduated and has a damned fine job already lined up. Great! I am proud of her.

My son is in year two of University.

Why am I starting out with this topic?

Well, Jane has a friend over for dinner tonight and we've been talking about her daughter's book list in first year University, Liberal Arts program and I am thinking back to my Under-Graduate program at McGill some 30 years ago.

In Highschool I was not oriented to Math or French.
Too bad. Those are really the things I use the most today. Thankfully years later, I went back and paid a highschool math teacher to take me back through the Algebra curriculum I missed.

In CEGEP (Prov Que) I was in Social Sciences /Political Science and Psychology as my base of study with the sincere intent of entering into Law School in University after completing what was called the "undergraduate program" (Bacelor Arts.... Bachelor Science. etc)

The reason for the entry is just to tell a story that might help some of your children who are entering such a program. (If this does not pertain to you, skip it. Conversely, if you are simply keeping tabs on me and my past, read on, this might be of interest or might send you off to sleep.)

I remember my first day of the '101 Polie Scie class'. - That is, "Political Science".
Professors Sam Noumoff, Charles Taylor and Hal Sarf were at the front telling us the magic and wonders of the course to come this year (1975). I was intrigued ...in that I actually made it in and that I was in something as sophisticated sounding as 'Political Science'. Sounds important to a high school grad doesn't it? The girls in the class were hot too. (No I had not as yet changed. I was always on the look out. Once I met my wife a few years later I could allow myself to focus on living rather than always being on the ready.)

(Google- Charles Taylor- very interesting.)

In that year I learned many things, the first of which was that 'reading' was my prime tool and ally. If you had not read Aristotle, Plato, Bacon, Hume, Hegel, Rousseau, Schopenhauer, Nitsche, Swift, Johnson and various others, then there was lots of catching up to do....but I only just got here! Agh! You mean there's homework?!

So fortunately in year two of CEGEP at Dawson, I had learned how to apply 'discipline' to my schedule. Every hour of every day of my 7 day week had a function.

I scheduled my sleep for rebooting and rejuvenating, eating, to recharging batteries/ energy, 'a little time-off' to partying and what was left, the most part of my time, I divided between each of my subjects for pre lecture reading, then re-study and "typing" of papers (with copy tissues between).

Thank goodness I had taken typing in highschool. I had listened to Scott Johnson who said I had better get this talent down pat. My mom also was a great help on this. She is and was a great typist. Know this- scribbling is not writing.. typing is writing and even more important, going back and editing is 'writing'.

After a year and some into the undergrad program my G.P.A. (grade point average) was a dismal 2.8%. The people at the top of the class were at 4.

What was it that they had that Idid not have?

For one thing, I should have somehow made it my business to follow certain rules.

Rule 1
If the class size is larger than 20 people, locate and get to know as soon as possible, the TA. The TA is "teaching assistant".

Rule 2
If you are taking a class like 'English Literature' or 'Philosphy' as an "elective" and not part of your core of concentration simply becuase it sounds like you'll be able to breeze through...think again!

Rule 3
Take a course on writing a term paper or writing as a craft.

Now if we examine Rule 2 just for an example:
I took English Lit figuring it would be something similar to what I took in HS Billings Highschool, where this lovely young teacher sat on her desk in a mini skirt and silk stockings chatting about someone called Arsitophanes and some birds. Did I mention her protrusions and tight sweater?

Anyway, in McGill, I entered an English Lit class of about 50-60 kids and a lecturer.
He talked of Falkner. This is Southern USA Lit. It was good!-Hey I mean, I saw the movie 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. I figured I got it! So I read the Falkner books - 'As I lay Dying' etc. Great stuff! Wow! I figured this was going to be a real breeze!

So the lecturer was blabbing away at the front and I'm thinking "..yah da yah da yah.right right". And he stops, looks up and suddenly asks us..., "Are there any questions?"...

I'm thinking -"No, this is all quite straight forward, I mean, the old lady is lying down and dying, for heaven's sake! What kind of questions would I have? Cancer? What?"

All of a sudden, all hands on all sides shoot up! What the hell!
I've entered the land of waving hands, MEEEEE! OOOH Pick MEEE!

"Sir -would the archtypal myth of the 'old lady' be akin to the metaphorical demise of the Old South?" asked the gorgeous number with the black glasses, sleek blond hair and shapely legs.

"What the hell language is this?
I mean, I don't blame the professor when he asked her to repeat the question. I didn't understand the langauage, but I suspect he just wanted to see her breathe some more as she spoke. Marilyn Munroe with brains!

My point to you, is this, --English Lit has a lexicon (language) all of it's very own from James Joyce through to Falkner. Every word you read is code for something/someone else. A color refers to something in someone elses book and/or the BIBLE. Allegory, metaphore and similes! If you do not know the language and if you have not done the background reading and study -(and there's lot's of it) do not go there.

On the other hand, if you have the time, go ahead. It's actually wonderful...but only if you can take your time, make some friends who can guide you to the realm of Archetypes and established Myths. It's kind of like Stats but with dream and story woven in.

Then there is rule 1.
For a whole year and a half I struggled with Polie Scie. I scored far higher in Pshycology in CEGEP and then I dropped that in University to take the Polie Scie. (Why? I think that to my infantile 19 year old mind, the 'Political Science' tag sounded most impressive. The truth is that if you are doing well in Music Class (getting great marks), you have a good shot at Law School. Just do the L-SATs first with a team of buddies. The Team of buddies is really helpful.

At the end of year one in Political Science, I was struggling. My TA, Greg Claeys came to me and said, "You look like you're having a hard time. I have read your writing. You are doing the reading, but your are not picking up on what it is you need to grasp."

"I need help." I said sheepishly.

"What you need is a set of conceptual handlebars to hold on to as you ride through the obstacle course, and I will give them to you now - a gift, just two words - 'empirical' and 'normative'.

I don't know what he expected. Did he think I would put my finger to my strawhead and say"Eurika?". I stood with a blank stare and nooded. "HMMM".

"You don't 'get it', right?" He asked.

"Uh - No."


So, he explained ..."There are those who put forward ideas based upon actuality or 'what is'- "empirical', versus those who base their ideas on what "could be if"...if humans were nicer or whatever... 'normative'.

So if you can write your papers on each philosopher, from now on identifying which form is being used, you will "get it" and understand what kind of change upon the world the author is proposing.

WOW! I GOT IT!
This was the tool I needed to pass and excel.

Now in Philosophy proper, OH-OH-
I chose this as an elective thinking it would be easy as long as I wrote long papers. This is where Rule 3 applies.

Isubmitted a piece that I thought was quite clever from my then 'High School/CEGEP 19 year old point of view'.

I got it back soon after. 'DRIVEL!" was scrawled in red at the bottom. Cut it all and just get to the point! Provide support to your premise!

It was this instruction, that taught me my greatest of educational lessons.

I had never taken a writing course in High school or CEGEP. I should have.

Writing courses teach you to state in each paragragh a point supporting your "thesis", then how to back-up to that point and finally, conclude with a statement that reinforces the logic overall. Simple right? Yes -if you had taken the writing course.

There is just no "finessing" your way through university.

You pay the big fees (cheap in Canada), put in the long hours, minimize the partying, talk to teachers and TAs after class where need be, without wasting their time and create allies with smarter students than you.

Usually- if you fail in University, there is only one person to blame.
It is not 'the system', it is not racisim. It is not an 'A for a lay'.
There can be the odd class where you disagree with a professor at your own risk. But they 'all' can't be wrong.

If you listen and make absolutely certain that you understand what is being asked and then organize your time and do it, you will be just fine.

Finally, having a group of friends and supporters around from your classes, to help you as you help them, is a good bet.

So- final rule! You must work on that team of friends from the 'get-go'.

University is no place to be in a vacuum or be too proud to ask for help. There is always the Guidance office too.

(Oh- yes I graduated with my B.A. but I chose not to go into Law. Who knows, I could go back. It is never too late.)

Fred Left us this week. Well Fred - Your last years in the end were not the easiest for you to bear. And you never really complained. You stayed in touch with Jimmy Williams and with me collaberated sometimes on some writing projects.

Despite the distance from us you were a dear and wonderful friend.

In Highschool and afterwards be it in your music, humour, thought provoking articles on CBC, jamming (Season of the Witch at the Carnival by the arena or out at Bill Howes in Gaspe) simply 'hanging out', -your soul shone.

Fred Sailor you were one of the most philisophically cool people I had ever met.
I know a bit of you will always be with us. You gifted us with your presence.
Fly on Godfrey.
We'll miss you.
Les

Black and White and shades of gray.
Barry Jones, Steve Poirier, Scott Johnson.

(I'm afraid I cannot remember the name of the person sitting beside Scott Johnson.)

This is extracted from a class picture from grade 8 if I am not mistaken.

Photography is fascinating. It captures a moment and beyond that, it chrystalizes certain character traits and moods.

What makes a place a home territory?
Perhaps it's a time and not the place in and of itself?

I remember first moving to Chateauguay in 1963 in wicked mid February.

My parents purchased a model home next to and slightly to the side of Seigneury Park Country Club. The roads were full of pot holes then and the the trees were many. It was a very new development with some very new home models -more vertical in orientation rather than the spread of a New England or Ocean side bungalo. They were novel for Chateauguay.

After a number of years, this area became home to me and the centre of my being with many friends and acquaintences. The neighborhood community was focussed upon the pool and club house both in winter and summer.

I found that the rest of Chateauguay with it's separate neighborhoods - Colonia, Terrace, Parkview, The Heights, West End. Chateauguay North , The Basin all had similar cohesion and I believe it was due to the community activities surrounding water, pools, canoes, and rinks. But in each area I entered, I felt like a stranger. These places were not home to me and not until very much later in high school did I feel that greater Chateauguay was part of my being. This was of course, due to the fact that I was becoming more aware of other neighborhoods outside our collective environment - Ville de Lery, Woodlands, Maple Grove, Beauharnois to the west and Kahnawake to the North East.

Once again, as I ventured forth and met new friends in their domains I felt as a stranger in strange lands, pushing the limits of my awareness yet at the same time causing me to take posession in a sense, of Chateauguay as a whole with it's differing neighborhood parts.

By discovering outsiders and new places, Chateuaguy as a whole was becoming smaller to me and far more comfortable as names such as Houston, Hillock, Moody, Cushing from WestEnd or D'Aguilar, Mitchell and McGurk over by des Marguerites past the Centre or, Doumaraesque, Martin, Duchene, Holt, Kaye, Birch, Packer, Leroux, Robichaude, Starkey in Colonia, Ranger, Bushe, Deliva, Daze, Garnier, Craig, Ross, Crawford, Sailor, in Parkview, Perry, Fletcher, Farmer, Bissonette, Rennie, Hewitt, Poirier, Toth, Jones, McManus, and Gulkin in Seigneury Park, Finnerty, Wilding, Larsen and Birch in Northern Circle and Oliver, Boshart, Hart, Gilmore, Butt, Artagnon, Behrens, Mountain, Stuart, Rankin, Riley and Reid in the Heights and many others gave shape and texture if not a wonderful character to the Chateauguay we called home.

Today I was cycling around the bike paths of Chateauguay with Jane pointing out things which mark my memory.

I pointed out what used to be the pool at Seigniroy Park now buried beneath a Hyundai dealership. We passed through Colonia on Craik street where there was eveidence of a pool where the ball park still stands.

We returned to the Terrace, passing by the two new houses which sit atop what used to be the baby pool their respective back yards with fresh green sods covering the memories of the shallow end and deep end of our old community Terrace pool.

We stopped our bikes and remembered how Dave Maclean, myself along with Danny Cooney, Peter MacHardy, Peter Roy and many others from the neighborhood (Bobbit, Gurholt, Meaney) year after year ran that community pool with it's outdoor activities- swim lessons, racing team, camp nights, movie nights and dances.

"God we were lucky." Jane said . "Our kids were lucky. Nowadays there are pools in many back yards. And people have their own private domains just outside the back door."

This, while not bad, is not quite as good as what the children once had.

There is something to be said for heat build-up, the walk or ride over to the local pool, nearing it, the screams of excited children, whistles of the life guards, the sound system with the latest songs, 'eau de pool water' blended with fragrance of ice cream, popsicles, hot dogs and suntan lotion. You just never knew who would turn up at the pool.

And there was something else too- something significant. Older people would talk to younger ones. We were all together and exposed to varied social, cultural elements; English, French, men women, boys, girls, small, big, shaply or not, white, black, rich and poor - we were all together at our community watering hole, which helped to develop our outer natures as community beings.

But nothing could beat just lying on the hot concrete as the sun baked the water off one's browning limbs as we talked with our summer friends. It made going home in the evening all the better after a bar-b-q at the pool.

It just seems that Chateauguay and all developments with community pools were enriched - the whole being far greater than the parts. There was a belonging where now there is fragmentation.

I do not know if the Canoe Club still exists or not. I often hear stories of the times the people of 'the heights' had over there. I never really knew about this place until later. Most unfortunate. But I did belong to the Carlyle Tennis Club. Herbie Hart taught me how to serve!

There was a magic in the summer for many of us, perhaps the magic of a time. But I'm afraid that -that time -has gone.

Ah -but we can remember!

Jacob Sings "Over Malta"

This clip is taken at the "Grannies For Africa" Beaver Lake Picnic

Jan McConnell, Dr.Klaus Mindi, Dr.Nina Mindi, Linda, Hazel Finlay appear as Jacob sings one of his originals. He did a set of 10 songs ranging from covers to his own works.

Grannies from Canada along with the Stephen Lewis Foundation send supplies and support to the Grannies in Africa who have become the parents to Grandchildren. The Parents of the children have been massacred by AIDS. A whole strata of their society has simply vanished and continues to vaporize. While the cure exists to a great extent and the preventive knowledge is there, cultural, economic, commercial, physical and political realities subvert the timing of solution.

Life is short

and fragile.

Take care of the gift -the spark inside you

and those sparks inside the ones

who care for you.

As the trajectory

of the firefly etched upon the dark

or shooting star upon the night

the way is lit but not long

to our sight.

Take no one you love

for granted -

treasure, share and respect each moment of their being.

Avoid those things that would cause you

to lose your way.

LM

Happy Birthday Barry Jones
(Nice to See all the Jones clan and some friends Sharon, Greg and Tom.)

We now have kittens!

Do You Know the Inner You?
(I ask myself...)

So, how can one change the world if you have no controls on the world within?

If the outer YOU is nothing more than a 'persona', connected to the outer world through behavioral responses we like to call 'personality', then who or what is inside, driving this outer presentation shell?

Have you taken the quiet time to get to know that inner self?

Or is that "inner being" doing things in a reactive pre-programmed way? You know, -go to work, make money, pay the mortgage, buy food, meet Mr. or Mrs. Right, have children (fulfilling the prime objective), then get fancy by becoming competitive to see how much better than others one can be at growing our own little ball of dung and perhaps doing some traveling?

That stuff is there by default, part of the prime objective.

I suspect there is something more once we get to know the inner essence that drives the vehicle of our body.

Since the "thinking I " is the inner being, and not simply the ego sensor that perceives the world, the key would be to develop methods of being in control of this "I "; to minimize the reactive and accentuate the proactive. Say like knowing through our collected information that smoking is not good for the body.

Pro Active is actually being at the inner center of self and making positive healthy decisions that lead to positive healthy action. It is taking control of self.

Pro-active is overcoming the 'temptation' to have another chocolate chip cookie when no one is looking, or understanding that by smoking, one is simply a part of the cash flow equation for a cigarette company while slowly killing oneself.

Pro-active is deciding to get in shape and then taking the right actions.

Pro-active is taking one's life in hand and doing the best that one can do with it.

Pro-active is refusing to give in to the temptation that delusion offers -saying one is too old to lose excess weight, or "this is the way I am so if you don't like it bug off".

Pro-active is turning off the TV and writing the book, screen play, calling your relative who you know would love to hear from you, doing some simple stretching, or walking or training to run a marathon.

Pro-active is consciously acknowledging you have a habit of eating chips, drinking beer and then making the decision to stop.

The big problem is, that if we cannot take control of ourselves and save our own inner and outer world, how can we ever hope to change the the earth? The scientists and activated individuals cannot do it by themselves. We cannot just let others do it. We are all part of the greater whole.

What do we want to teach our children?
- That we inevitably are going to kill ourselves and our planet so get used to it?
Or is there something else we can do?
I suspect it begins with acheiveing the little things within the self.

Can you quit smoking? Can you exercise?
Can you control the temptation to say something bitchy or to laugh at someone else?
Can you stop the small habits that lead to big problems later?

I suspect that by setting these kinds of goals from the simple to the more demanding, we learn the power of "NO" with temptation and earn the discipline to take control of ourselves. I am inspired to run by the lesson my fifty-two year old sister Gaye has shown - running the Boston Marathon -twice! Up until a few years ago she never ran at all.



These are some of the things that I hope are being taught in school these days... understanding who and what the inner being is and the relationship that exists between it and the planet.

Center Circle

Have you ever taken a quiet moment to ask yourself Who you are?

Think about it for a moment.

Our outside persona is made up of a transport system, equipped with tools that enable us to travel and gather data about our world. We 'do' all kinds of things and collect experience like ants collecting prize bits of leaves or chunks of cookie droppings.

The data is transmitted bio-electronically through to our central processing units (brain) for decision making.

Our primary 'goal-setting default or bias' is biologically 'set' towards continuing the species and surviving individually. Emphasis on "individually".

Our 'ambulatory' or walking transport systems have a fuel entry point and a spent fuel refuse ejection system.

We are gifted with arms and hands to manipulate the world around us and our meagre creations and re-creations. Our eyes and noses further refine the vision, quantifying and qualifying our findings, the most notable saved for adulation, discussion and academic digestion.

But all this describes the outer shell of our 'being'.

So who are we?

We are individually oriented so that as we attain our inevitable passing from this sphere, those left behind can continue on without too much bother.

We are therefore 'self centric' and endeavor to be self sufficient within the systems we have created for ourselves on this planet. Again, the outside 'shell'.

Who am i?
If my body (and it's internal parts that support the ambulatory vehicle) make up the outer side of a circle, the inner me would be the inside of the circle.

So the 'i' or inner voice within the circle would be the center transmitting desire and direction to the outer me via synaptic pathways . But 'who', is that 'i' or inner voice?

Where does it live?
In the brain? The heart? The chakras? The solar plexus?

That 'consciousness' carried about within the bony container, the 'i' or 'me' cannot be seen.

It,-- that invisible center of the inner circle, is evident, only so long as the outer shell is 'alive'.

So, that consciousness at the center within, drives the outer vehicle- with the intent of getting from here to there through space to achieve self oriented goals of survival and continuation as a point of necessity.

Is that inner 'me'-- my personality? Soul? Spirit? or just arbitrary electrical impulses?

Once I stop 'doing', cease activity, calming the outer and inner motion, who am I?
Yes- the outer shell is still recognized by others by it's given name, social status and difference to others. But what of the inner core?

Have you ever tried to - stop all doing- even for 30 seconds?

Try it! Stop all movement, seeing/looking, talking, thinking, planning next steps -all activity... except for breathing.

Now shine the flashlight of your mind on where the identity of 'you' is .

Where are "you"? - locate it .

Stop the needs voices " What shall I make for dinner, I wonder if he/ she still loves me, What should I get at IGA...stop shhhh! (Make the thoughts stop just for a few seconds. )

Where is the 'i'? Where does it go when your body sleeps?
The outer identity vehicle is in bed...but where is the 'i'?
Perhaps the question might better be...'What' is 'i'.

I 'think' I know you. You 'think' you know me.
How presumptuous of us all! I am still trying to understand who or what I am and where my 'attitude' originates. Why do I knee jerk 'react' to some things while with others I am able to calmly 'respond' with applied inner discipline?

Such clever beings are we, gifted with the ability to 'discern' that which is agreeable and that which is not...gifted with the ability to choose what action we will apply in this life and those actions we will not.

What is the purpose of 'i'...
another question...
How will WE save our world?

Once Upon a Trek To Lery

Dial a Picture? and other reflections...











Transcendent Lines of Ascension.











Don't try to find a corner in this building.

Good Neighbors in Our Home Town















Mrs. Gurholt and Mr.Gurholt




Mrs. Bobbitt

Roddy and Jim Cuddy (Blue Rodeo) ...don't they need someone new on Keyboards?

Roddy McManus giving George the pleasure of his company.
Well done Roddy!
Les

All That Glitters is Not...

What is it about the past that has us so fascinated?

On Facebook we are fascinated and amused, for a short while at least- especially with the pictures. This place allows one to be a social voyeur, peering at pictures of those we knew or sometimes thought we might have considered 'getting to know' - but way back then.

Reality hits home and quickly. Those people are just not adding up to how we see them in our memory mind's eye. They have become older, mundane and far less fascinating. In short, (I) we have become, dare I say it, -'normal' in our middle to upper middle age. Many of us are down right boring compared to the Shakespearian Midsummer night's Dream- like hyper sexual selves we flaunted from the Age of Aquarius. (Steve Poirier is now saying -"Speak for yourself".) But those inner fantasy projections were worn by youthful beings striving and rebelling to emerge from a chrysalis childhood to a new world of awareness yet having to wear school uniform and keep hair short.

So therein lies the rub! The real nostalgia is about who we once were and not who we are now. It is perhaps about who we wanted to be and how we wanted to be seen.

I guess this is why a reunion is most effective perhaps every ten years or so and not every two or three. At age 16, fundamental change occurs every two weeks or so while at age 45 and onward change is somewhat less sought after. (I am a rock, I am an island -and an island never cries.)

The memories are golden or horrific depending upon the reality that we sprang from. And there is no going back. That is the value of memory. (All That Rises Must Converge.)

Greeting/'poking' people with ditty Facebook comments replaces taking a walk in the Chateauguay Shopping Centre ('mall' nowadays) or strolling down the hall back in Billings-mode, familiar faces passing by. But if they were never really your friends or even acquaintances, you're not about to invite them home right? One can nod and just keep on going. Actually not so with Facebook, depending on how you set it up, your family life and pictures and real friends are now open to others to gawk (or steal pictures without asking) whether you like it or not.

Hmmmm time to adjust my FB settings.

To remember in a moment of nostalgia is one thing. To meet up with those who never really had anything in common(in cyberspace), is something else indeed. ('Un Nouveau Monde', mais faux!) It distracts from the activities in life that we really value - that is, if one has a life with valued activities.

But then my real friends communicate by phone or direct e-mail or yes!- even hand written mail which still contains it's archaic charm.

A Whispered Dream

Sometimes
I close my eyes
and I'm back there.

The night closes in
and the magic plays
and I'm back there.

Sunshine On Your Love
Born to Run, Thunder road,
And I'm back there.

I'm on the bus
I'm in the pines or behind the trains
And I'm back there.

I smell your hair,
the autumn to winter air
And I'm back there.

The waxed floors in the halls
The lockers, the dance, the high gym walls.
And I'm back there.

The twinkle smile in your eyes-
the moment frozen and with you, gone.
And I'm back there.

L.McConnell
March 4 2009 link to 1969-70-71 & 72

Crock Pot Tru-isms

There are truisms that I bump into from time to time, like, turn on a light before entering a room.

Tru-isms: Something basic we learn by experience even though others may have told us already when we weren't listening.

I am going through a phase lately, which Jane is thoroughly enjoying, the discovery of the forgiving art of the slow cooker. I know. You're thinking , " it's about time."

If you're male and reading this, you probably discovered Crock Pot Cooking years ago. "As easy as BBQ-ing," you might say.

I wish I discovered the process 31 years ago when living in my lonely city apartment while studying at McGill!

Imagine buying the cheapest cut of tough meat, tossing it into a pot with chopped onions, carrots, potato, celery, a little salt, pepper, garlic or even a dried soup mix and some water, leaving it to cook 8 hours while out and doing your thing. Simple. Now imagine returning home. It smells like mother has sneaked in to cook Sunday meal, old home comfort style.

Anyway, I'm new at this game trying out different recipes.

During my CEGEP days, I was very fortunate to have a Jewish girlfriend and discover her mother's cooking. In my family, Pot Roast was the big deal while hers was Brisket.

If you don't know what a Brisket is, it's the same cut as smoked meat. You like smoked meat? A nicely done 'Brisket' is 'to die' for. Oh gosh- I can feel my 'goi-ish' side falling and the Jew in me emerging. You didn't know that I am part Jewish did you? Surprise! It was a surprise to me too. But that's another story.

Oh yes,- the Crock Pot and 'truisms'.

I ended up marrying one of the finest Shiksas (Non Jewish Girls) I ever met. As a result, it has been some time since my last brisket meal...not including smoked meat sandwiches which don't count.

Since I now know that I am G-d's gift to the kitchen - after all, I created my very first crock pot Stew only last week, I figured I would graduate to something more adventurous.

Yesterday, recipe in hand I made my way out to the supermarket, negotiating between wheeled wire baskets, meandering men eying younger women and wives deciding upon five or ten grain breads. Yes, I strode with purpose through IGA, empowered by my new found sense of culinary prowess, bent on my quest for the perfect Brisket.

You can imagine my distress when the butcher said, "Sorry, we don't sell those cuts of meat here."

"Aha... discrimination!" I thought. But no. Only small butcher shops supply these cuts.

The gentleman with the hair-net gave me directions to where I might find such an establishment. I bet I could get a Brisket faster at the Atwater market or on 'the Main' near Moishe's at Warshaw's if still open,-but never mind, next week for that.

I made my way up the street and around the corner once again imbued with confidence, to present myself to a more powerful wizard of the macabre arts of meat cutting .

"Brisket?" he looked back at me wide eyed. Clearly I had upset some arcane protocol.

"You mean 'fresh' Brisket?" His brow furrowed.

"Yes." I said sincerely holding up my little recipe as one might hold forth a crucifix to the heathen.

"Not 'marinated' or 'smoked'?" He looked hopeful for a moment.

"Oh, uh, no. Fresh please." I crumpled my holy relic and shoved it into the depths of the of my pocket.

"If you order it I'll receive it next day."

I looked down, scratched my head in wonderment as this man waited for my answer.

I recalled this exact feeling, when attempting a move in a game of chess against one who had the good sense to know how to play in the first place.

As I searched for a handy chess board to overturn, I caught sight of a small tag. It was under the glass counter, positioned below a beautiful hunk of meat which had been all tied up so it couldn't run away.
On the tag written in some ancient perhaps Aramaic script was "POT ROAST". I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland.

Remembering having spied a Pot Roast right next to that of my Brisket in the recipe listing at home, I pointed. "Give me that!"

"Ah. The Pot Roast!" exclaimed the butcher now within his realm of cultural expertise, " The perfect meat for the slow cooker. You cannot go wrong with that." He smiled. I had clearly made his day.

A lady to my left seemed to turn away from me, her shoulders making small movements inside her fur coat as if trying desperately to squeeze in a sneeze or some other passing tremor.

I, new proud owner of a five pound bouncing 'Roast Beast' returned home, tucked it snugly into the refrigerator with all the other ingredients, resolved to prep later in the evening.

Jane and I proceeded out to my parent's for a birthday celebration. Later we arrived back exhausted, not in any mood to face off with an onion or meat. "I'll do the prep for the slow cooker in the morning".

The problem when learning something new, without having taken lessons or spending time doing proper research, is the process of finding out later through 'Eureka!' moments, that certain emerging patterns do make sense despite what we may think.

If you were to glance at various Crock Pot cook books, you would notice a pattern. They always say to prepare the night before and only next morning throw everything in the pot. Easy. They do not say in big bold letters why you should not do everything at once.

Morning arrived. I entered the Kitchen re-energized, the rack of dishes dry, a small amount of dirty dishes on the counter awaiting the next wash session. I pulled out the celery, carrots, onions, potatoes.

Chop chop chop. Easy.

Next, I pulled out the clunker eight pound iron frying pan, turned it on high and added the oil, to 'brown the meat'.

I located the recipe for Pot Roast and put aside the one for Brisket. Every thing was ready.

I put the Crock Pot on the counter and took the meat out of the fridge shifting it onto the sizzling pan with a spatula and fork.

"OOOPs."

Quickly opening the window, then running to open the front door, I let the smoke escape. Everything was soon under control, fork and wooden spatula in hand, having turned the heat down, the 'browning' of the pot roast on-going.

"Alright! What a pro!" I congratulated myself.

OK, next..uh - oh yeah- follow the steps in the recipe.

'..put the roast into the pot.' -check.
'..put chopped vegetables in the pot.' -che.... what the hell?
There was no room for the chopped veggies!

I grabbed the spatula and fork, stabbing the carcus, I pried it from the the pot, flinging it onto the cutting board while gaining elbow room on the counter by employing an elegant 'foot-ball straight-arm' gesture, sweeping the dirty dishes with minimal application of force to the wall .
"Jane would be getting up soon." I thought.

"Eureka!" It was one of those revelations. A five pound pot roast is just 'not' the same shape as a five pound Brisket. Therefore, as per the Brisket recipe it cannot be 'folded' into the pot let alone allow room for 3 cups of water and veggies. "

So lessons for the day, as I take refuge in my office downstairs safely behind my computer, are...

1) KISS rules to apply, (Keep It Simple Stupid!)
2) Don't mix metaphors or recipes.
3) Make sure your kitchen area is clean and ready for you. No lagging dishes!
4) Envision and think through the process a few times before doing!
5) Keep preparation 'grunt work' to the night before. This keeps the 'day after' stage, nice and easy.
6) Look at the size of the pot and compare to the size of the roast before all else.
7) Run the process by Jane first.

I suspect, I would have been much better off, if back in high-school, I had opted for Miss. Green's Home Ec. class, rather than the Agriculture class with H.Gordon Green. But in his class we heard stories of bulls testicles 'this big', being hung above the barn door and he would casually refer to dangling parts on cows while hinting at the female anatomy of our species, all without sounding salacious.

But what of the Crock-Pot and the Pot Roast?
Oh that. Well It's upstairs bubbling away.
One of the hints the cook book says- Do not to lift the lid to smell the progress.
I don't know...maybe just a little...

Dream Scape

During Cegep years 1973/74, I took a course on writing.

The teacher, David Gray, told us that it is best to write from experience.

Since our life experience was limited he said, "Keep a little notebook beside your bed. Upon awakening, quickly jot down, in point form, elements from your dreams. Later, time permitting, read the notes and most of it will come back to you. Then write about your dream. You may even find the seeds of good stories there. After all you really do experience the dream fabric."

The interesting thing about dream catching, as far as it relates to this blog, is that there are many of you who make occasional appearances in my dreams.

Richard Rankin's 'invisible elephant' notwithstanding, I think I might include a few of these in the blog. (For Richard's 'Invisible Elephant' go further back to the spring or summer in this blog.)

If you have some of your own you would like to tell me about, please feel free. I will not write about them in the blog unless you give me permission to do so.

Remember the song "Good Night Irene" (...I'll see you in my dreams...) or even Roy Orbisson's, Dream (In dream I walk with you, In dream I talk with you.)

I wonder if our dream life becomes a more significant part of our existence as we age, or as we lose our family, or why some people show up in my dreams and not others.

While Freud's theories on dream tend to be discounted, Carl Jung's theory, says that all facets of a dream are aspects of the dreamer. Yet the lingering questions might be- why a specific place or person? Ah! Now that would be telling.
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Welcome to my world.
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So, in last night's dreamscape ...

I am on St.Francis Street cradling a baby in my arms as I walk towards the highway -St. Jean Babtiste. The baby must be a newborn infant as it is very light to hold and is completely covered in a blanket. It does not cry or make any movement.

Seigniory Park Country Club is on my left.

I enter the front parking lot. People are streaming out from the gate.

Walking towards me, is a 17 year old Linda Baron.

The realization that this is a dream, emerges, since I knew Linda at an even older age when we were in Cegep. But then, perhaps she has a daughter? I then remember that Seigniory Park has been plowed under for many years, so this cannot be taking place in the conscious world.

I continue to walk inward against the flow of exiting people .

Linda walks right up to me. "Linda, - wow! How are you?"
"I'm sorry" she says, "That is not my name."

She begins to change.

"Oh, sorry." I walk on.

Passing by on my right and further over in the crowd, I see Hubert Jenosh.
I have not seen him since grade 8 or 9.

There are too many people between us for me to try to go over and I don't want to accidently crunch the baby in my arms by negotiating my way through the crowd. He does not see me.

I continue on.
End.
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Perhaps next time I'll tell the one about what I found in the massive crater on Craik Street over near where the Colonia Pool used to be.
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By the way all - Happy New Year.