SKÅL
It was winter grey in Chateauguay, - a morning actually.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011.
I cleared my schedule, sending e-mails to those who were expecting to meet with me to go over their investment policy statements or have me collect their RRSP cheques for investment.
Fortunately when one invokes the excuse of a funeral, there is very little anyone can say, except perhaps, "Sorry for your loss."
This day was special. It was the day of Mr. Per Gurholt's memorial. The next day would be his funeral per-se. (1923-2011)
His name- Per Ivar Gurholt. I recall the way he used to
say it to me with such underlying enthusiasm and vim, especially the 'Ivar', I-VAR, sounding a little more like I-vour, but not quite.
His accent was a wonderful thing. My mother in law is Danish and she has an accent of sorts, but the Norwegians have something really distinctive, that loop-de-loop up and down song to the the cadence; that 'hoo de soh de so? questioning sound- just wonderful.
It's not like I knew him that well or anything. He was my neighbor from around the corner living over near the Bobbitt's (remember Judy?), just off Tulip on des Margeurite in the Terrace. But my time in this area coincided somewhat with his. He was a founding member of the Terrace Recreation Association (The Terrace Pool) composed of some 200 families in it's 'hey day' back in the early sixties.
Many years years later, after I moved back to Chateauguay from 'the city' with Jane and my new daughter Rosemary, the Association's leadership of the time, Dan Cooney, Danny Roy and Peter McHardy pursuaded me and Dave Mclean to take over from them to run the pool.
Elections were held and in we went. Peter Wares even managed to get in with us. It was nothing at all like you would imagine - you know, campaigning and pursuading people to let us run or anything. Nope.
What shocked me was that in a big annual general meeting you would think there might be others who would vie for the position of President and Vice President of such an association. At least that was what I had thought. But no! There was no one- many people showed up to meet, but wanted nothing to do with taking responsibility for the goings-on and running of this organization. It was almost like a simple rubber stamping. It turned out that the previous administration had been fearful that they might be stuck with the job for another summer.
But that is another story.
My point is, Mr. Gurholt along with Mr. Bobbitt over that summer became like surrogate fathers to me, coaxing me along to recognize the things that were truly important about running a 200 family organization into something that would create wonderful memories for members while ensuring safety and securitiy and hopefully enough money to cover the cost. On that point alone, I was suprised to discover that many people erroneously thought that a non-profit company is not supposed to make a profit. They had never heard of such a thing as 'retained earnings'. Ah well! Again - another story.
Ann-Christine had called me on Monday, " Les you knew my father when you worked with him on the Terrace Pool right?"
"Yes - that is true, however not closely as he was retired and basically gave me some much needed advice."
" But you knew him to some degree and if you have any stories of him and how you perceived him as a 'man' outside the realm of our family, it would provide another perspective to add to our occasion."
"You mean you would like me to get up and give a little talk on how I remembered your father?"
"Yes," she said, "Randi Lisbeth has organised this time at the memorial where she will be leading off telling his story from his birth in Trondhjem Norway in 1923, came to Canada and she'll tell some of our family story as it relates to 'Papa' and if she will invite various people to stand and say a few things."
"OK, I definitely have a few stories".
So that day had arrived. I had not yet figured out what I was going to say, but that preperation would not take long.
In the back of my mind I could not help thinking that if there is one thing he and his wife really succeeded at, was the creation of some very attractive flaxen haired young women.
It was 8:50a.m.
I picked up my pen and began thinking of what I would say. But as always happens when sitting down to focus, the little distractions begin. Maybe I should make the coffee first, perhaps I should make a call to the Peak back-office, maybe I should call Charile Ghorayeb and see if he wants to play some tennis next week. I rolled my office chair away from the notes over to my computer at my L shaped desk and got onto my e-mail...always a great time-waster.
"Perhaps I'll check out what's new on FB." I thought.
Then the thought of Rick Rankin emerged- "Ah! Right a good friend of Ann Christine! I'll send an e-mail and tell him what I'm up today. Who knows?"
Within 4 minutes, the phone rang. It was him. He was coming down from Ottawa. Nice to have these professions where we can be limited bosses of our own time. He is a Lawyer and from time to time is able to close his office and get out for a spell.
Three hours later he arrived bringing the sun and a beautiful blue sky with him. We went off to the Funeral Home down beside H.S.Billings near the old Arena. That afternoon and evening was an eye opener for me. I was expecting the usual maudlin type of dirge where everyone becomes firklempt, choked up and teary eyed. Not here!
This became a celebration, a recalling of past happy days. The focus was not on endings of times, but rather on the savoring of rich moments of life. Before the stories though many neighbors and friends had shown up to pay their respects- Richard Beauchamp, Bob Oliver, Judy Makhauser, Cheryl Maude, Louise Lacey, Eric Hyland, Janet Zimmerman and many neighbors old and young. From Toronto Lorraine D'Aguilar and Saskia Hart. There was even Robert Hallam who used to be a teacher at HSB. It was a veritable reunion of sorts centered around this family.
The family and some of us took a break for dinner over at Capiche's - the beautiful restaurant owned by Charlie Ghorayeb. He, his lovely wife Celine and son Michael (in the kitchen) hosted a delicious dinner for the family.
Returning afterwards, the 'Memorial' continued, the stories were incredible, revelations of a family culture rich in Nordic Norwegian tradition; pictures on the viewing board showing Movie Star Liv Ullman shaking hands with her first cousin Per-Ivar Gurholt, with Ann-Christine proudly looking on, in another as Per the ski jumper flying high up through the air, ski tips pointed skyward towards his forehead, body rigid in it's rocket-like trajectory high up over a valley before coming to perfect landing, then in another, a distinguished man receiving the King Olaf medal for promoting the culture of Norway in Canada. In all the pictures, this man is celebrated for his contribution, the giving of his 'life time' and positive spirit not just in everyday life but volunteering in so many areas.
Randi-Lisbeth, backed by mother Gorgette Wouters Gurholt, sisters and brother Ann Christine, Hans-Eric and Ingrid Ellen, invoked the tradition of standing tall and telling the family story in pride, remembering magic moments and some less so, of their father, pre-deceased by their younger brother John Frederick. This 'telling' involved welcomed interjections at certain moments by neighbors, friends and family in the audience, laced with the occasional singing of a song of Norway by the girls. I had my opportunity to contribute my memory of 'the man', the neighborhood legend, followed by Sheldon O'Connor telling of his 'son-in-law' experience marrying into the family through his wife Ingrid Ellen.
This truly was a celebration. I learned something here. I learned how I would like it to be for my parents when it is their turn, rather than something terrible and mournful to something natural and to be honored with grace, courage and acceptance.
We who graduated Billings back in the seventies are right in the 'sandwich generation' between our children and our longer living parents and our turn is coming.
This experience of passing gave me a new vision of 'this time of life' and death, a passing on of tradition; the final act as the recognition and acceptance of one's family traditions and rituals whether of Norway or anywhere else.
A person's passing, in this case not an end, but rather, a continuance of family strengths and the acceptance of certain family weaknesses to be worked on and the commitment to go on and live our lives with the lessons learned and re-learned from our memories of those who gave us life and came before.
The family did him proud this day. As a neighbor to Per Ivar Gurholt, acquaintance of the family-perhaps (and I hope) even friend, I realized how the sisters and brothers Gurholt came to acquire such dynamism.
Skoal!
