On a Dime a Pivot Po

On a Dime, a Pivot Point in Time

My life turned on a dime- as my very first bottle of beer was handed to me; a time before cans. There behind Massey Drive we stood gathered in communion under the crisp chill moon, surrounded by woods and landfill mounds covered in grass, rock and moss, the ideal spot to start out before a dance.

Steve, Robert, Andy -with his thick glasses and a cowlick over one eye, Freddie –in a proper sports jacket and tie. (He blamed his parents.) We all had hair over our callars like the Beatles, Dave Clark Five, Animals or Monkees - but Freddy had a Johnny Carson cut – ah, but he was OK.

Debbie with the blue eyes and infectious giggle was there – (she only lived up the street), Connie with the flashing eyes and button nose, and Ross – was too. Now there was a guy who could dance up a storm. There were very few of us males who could or would, while most other guys hung out along the wall- but I’m getting ahead of myself.

It was early November, dark and cold. Our smoke and breath hung on the dank chill with the field mist. A lot of good the cold beer was for me. As it was, I hated the stuff and could barely handle cigarettes – ah, but it was for good cause right? I took a mouthful trying to swallow, but my body wasn’t standing for it. I silently retched, turning off the path and into the thicket. I gratefully spat. Taking another swig I gargled while pouring half the bottle out. Sheepishly, I made my way back. “What a fraud!” I thought, boldly reaching out for another. Ah- grade eight. I guess I had finally made it.

Trying to think of something clever to say, I was saved by a new set of voices – more girls! I heard chatter and laughter. Debbie (Giggles) greeted them. Debbie, Donna, Bonnie and Linda. Wo! They all looked great! But, what were they doing here? Better yet? Had I died and gone to heaven? How did I end up in this lucky position? I wonder if they had even seen me with a beer? I had already ditched the second bottle. Would I have looked different or better in their eyes or just stupid?

The gang began to make it's way over towards Maplewood Church. Thank god – I could warm up a bit. My feet felt like cold tinned fish and I was trying to control the chatter of my teeth. Oh great! What a ‘man’! (I could just hear my mother's parting words as I left the house earlier - "Wear a tuque, it's cold out!" It was still in my jacket pocket. But -hey! I was cool. Right.

It was fascinating to watch the maneuvering as we sauntered up Mcleod. It was musical chairs, but with people, as we vied to link up with a partner. Of course we might have simply been walking up the hill, but not in my teenaged mind. Wouldn’t it be cool to spend the dance evening with-who? I had not raelly thought that far.

Debbie (Giggles) was my buddy, but I think she may have wanted to be more than that. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew she was my pal and that was how I liked it.

Debbie and Donna were on either side of me. How could they? I mean this was me! Could they not see? I was nobody. Surely they would be more interested in older guys. Boy! Were they ever nice to talk to me –they were so relaxed, as if they had known me forever! And Debbie- God- she was the spitting image of Haley Mills! I fought internally over every word I issued, fearing that one of my feet would slip solidly in my mouth.

I mean- I could try, but it was hopeless. Everyone would be after her. I had never in my wildest dreams thought that she would ever talk to me! Did I really existed to these people! Wow! That in itself had made the night. This gave me a new sense of confidence. I could feel it. And then there was Bonnie, Donna’s sister. Were they fraternal (but not identical) twins or something? Both so beautiful, each in their own way.

Just ahead were Freddie and Linda. He turned his head, looked at me and then at her and said something. She turned and looked at me too. The moonlight played in her smile, dimples, the laugh, the walk-prance. Bam -gorgeous!

I don’t know how I made my way up Mcleod.
I don’t remember what became of the others.
All I know is that I found myself in the Friday night Willibrord School dance with HER on my arm.

I do remember dancing in a circle and not being afraid.

My mom, my sisters and I used to dance in the kitchen when doing the dishes –and mom loved to dance. We would turn up the radio and let loose. I had ‘one-up’ on most guys my age (15-16) since they would not dance -at the dance.

But there was a new 'step' out now and people were no longer required to hold hands, twirl or swing. Thankfully mom had taught me one of those - (step to side, one back , one forward) – which enabled me to learn quite quickly some of the line dance steps that evening.

Tonight though was somehow was different to other dances. I could feel it. We had new people this year from other schools outside our district and then there were those whose parents had just moved to Chateauguay from the city recently. The mix was just not what I had expected.

Hopeton and Ross could Dance – especially Hopeton,-from the city – where they probably danced all the time, I figured.

I could see Hopeton looking at HER. Something tugged internally, something I only usually felt in Hockey –competition. I danced harder, reaching out using more of the jitter bug approach.

The music stopped half way through 'Green Tamborine', lights went off and bang! A live band erupted on stage. What the hell was it? How could we even dance to it? They were black and had exploding curly hair, played horns and would not stand still! The Beatles would surely never stand for this! I mean four guys were to be up there singing in harmony. (No?) My little world and culture suddenly got bigger.

What was this? What a beat! Brass and horns! We all stood, mesmerized. The shock of "new" was wearing off as we found ourselves 'alive' and not just entertained.

And then it happened. The singer looked over to the side wall, near the entrance – pointed to someone and motioned to come up on stage! Who was that? What the hell was he wearing?

It looked like orange curtains made into pants- but not straight legged or flair bottoms- no no, these where wide bottoms with sewn inserts on the sides while maintaining a skin tight rear end. He wore white shoes-and it wasn't summer and they were not sneakers. His hair was fluffed up rather than traditional tight curls. His matching orange shirt had a high collar. He later said, “I’m not black, I’m Moka brown!”

Could he MOVE! There he was, up on stage as if it was nothing- twirling and bobbing, knees likes pistons, right to the beat . He knew all the words to the song being sung.

“Bah bah bah bah bahhhh” the horns punched- “I feel good y’all… like I knew that I should y’all…, I feel riiiight…” and he sprang off the stage into the crowd and continued his Watusi like gyrations. One of the stage hands shone a spot light on him and a circle formed.

She was drawn magnetically forward with everyone, while I stayed my ground, like driftwood on the shore as the wave recedes back into the sea.

She joined the the magic circle- mostly girls, to check out the wonder kid.

I glanced over at Hopeton. He too, appraised the situation and had a curious look I had never seen before in class. And Ross, well, he had joined the circle too.

This guy was a indeed a wonder to behold. Jimmy.
My modest teenaged life’s direction, had just turned, once again, on a dime.

Have a good weekend people.

A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked,

"How heavy is this glass of water?"

Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.

The lecturer replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter.

It depends on how long you try to hold it.

If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem.

If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm.

If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance.

In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."

He continued, And that's the way it is with stress management.

If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won't be able to carry on. "

As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again.

When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden."

"So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow.
Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can."

So, my friend, why not take a while to just simply RELAX.

Put down anything that may be a burden to you right now.

Don't pick it up again until after you've rested a while.

Life is short. Enjoy it!

Here are some great ways of dealing with the burdens of life:

* Accept that some days you're the pigeon, and some days you're the statue.

* Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.

* Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.

* Drive carefully. It's not only cars that can be recalled by their maker.

* If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.

* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it

* It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.

* Never buy a car you can't push.

* Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you won't have a leg to stand on.

* Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.

* The second mouse gets the cheese.

* When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

* Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.

* You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.

* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.

* We could learn a lot from crayons...

Some are sharp, some are pretty and some are dull. Some have weird names, and all are different colors, but they all have to live in the same box.

*A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.

Have an awesome day and know that someone has thought about you today......I did.>

MR.MUSIC PLEASE...



Reunion Music:

Keep in mind that on the Saturday afternoon /night of our event in May 2007, we will be having a modest reception beginning at 5:00 PM and dinner for around 6:30/7:00 PM.

John Saunders and perhaps a second person to Host/MC the event.

We do not want music to drown conversation since the whole idea of Reunion is to see and communicate with as many of those we have not seen in 35 years. But we do want dancing, and music. So we will have an area nearby to escape to for chatting.

Now- at this juncture we have eliminated the Bonaventure Hotel due to cost and more to the point, they have eliminated us, since they had an offer from a convention for 150 rooms pre booked but it required the ball room we might have used.

Lynda Young Chapleau and I have been in discussions with various alternate locations and are now close to finalizing potentially with the Hilton Dorval where qulity is high and prices far more acceptable. The location is great since the Airport is a few blocks away, as well as the Rail and bus points. The parking is free if you are attending the event -unlike Bonaventure hwich was pretty steep per day.

Also, for those who wish to reserve a room there over night Friday, Saturday and or/Sunday, the price is $99 per night which will not be included in the cost of the Reunion ticket. So you are not required to stay over night at the hotel, but if you do wish to reserve and or do your budget calculations, you now have the cost.

We are still looking at other locations as alternatives, but this one looks like the best (so far) for our needs. The final decision will be announced in two weeks. Either way, the Hilton Dorval will hold a certain number of rooms just in case anyof you wish to think about it for the next few months.
I will report more as we continue on.

MUSIC:
Rod McManus, Mark Stafford and I met to discuss this entertainment.

We have a sketchy format now that involves a DJ to play music, but also we are looking at the possibility of having a place in the ball rooom where equipment such as drums, guitars, amps etc. will be set up, so that those who are inclined to jam, or wish to perform a song or two, may do so. DJ would play a while, then time spots open for our musical friends.

If you know, or remember any one of our old friends who used to "perform" in those years or has done so since then and might wish to do so at the Reunion, please encourage them to contact me. If you think they might wish to be involved in doing a "number" by themselves or with others on this magic night, I seriously doubt if they will have the opportuniy to play in front of all their old friends like this again.

Now your task is to send me a list of songs you think our DJ should have going -during dinner (subdued), during the reception before hand (less subdued?) and after dinner, music that captures the times of highschool.

Send your suggestions to Les McConnell at e-mail # mcconnell.leslie@videotron.ca.

Thank you.

Before HS Billings there was Chateauguay High...but before that...


This is a reversed image. So you are looking from up Macleod down towards Maple - before there was a "Maple" it seems. Thanks to Lynda Young Chapleau.

Looking Back, Looking Up and Looking Outward.

In the year 1967/68, I entered grade 7.

The class pictures presented here (some terribly over-exposed with darness) are but some, containing students we looked up to; the demi-gods roaming the halls on high, - (grade 10).

(Click on these for a closer look.At the time they seemed so grown up to my grade 7 mind -still do perhaps!)

This was a new world, a foreign culture of ever changing rules, new inner yearnings, desires, academic goals and plenty of distraction.

Chateauguay High took on a new name. Funny how that happens in life. I looked forward to Chateauguay High.
Who was Howard S. Billings anyway? (Ah ! Maybe next entry.)

We looked up to new and more grown up role models who projected conflicting yet magnetic unspoken codes. These were imbedded in their 'look' and demeanor of sophistication and experiential knowledge. And sometimes, revelation occured through the direct passing on of puzzling information! I recall Ingrid J------ explaining the strange and perplexing uses of some our body parts. This process was supposed to be fun? Another time on the school bus going home Gaham R----- explained in more detail what one could do on one's own if one was so inclined to such experimentation. Eurika!

The learning we were to take on transcended boundaries contained in bold type between two covers. The High School world had invisible class rooms that were outside and inside our walls of perception.

You were either 'in' or 'out', you either 'got it' or not.

Lessons were constantly learned -malicious lessons, angelic lessons, lessons of love, admiration, attraction, hatred, fierce competition, lessons of passion, lessons of authority and not simply that of teachers or administration. There was a very sly guerilla war going on at this level -inside and out, in school and at home. We were changelings, taking off the 'home' persona which we left by the door, to be picked up when we got home again, but the fit was never quite the same.

I suspect there are only a few 'old souls' contained in young bodies, on their reincarnated second go-round, who are truly ready to appreciate the activity of study, contemplation and the aquisition of knowledge at that age.

How many teachers were (or are) gifted with the ability to cut through the invisible masks we were trying on. Who had the talent to awaken neophytes to the higher calling?

How many teachers could set aside their own fragile home lives and personal inner angst to ignite the hunger for wisdom dormant within us? Some were capable indeed. Many were not. Many had to simply be content to don the role of referee. The punishment they would take from many of us- incredible! Many of our teachers grew old very quickly and they were not paid their due by a long shot. If our parents only knew...

And yet- here we are today. Wiser?

I should think so! The learning we did was primarily on the playing field of "social order" and "human dynamic" and secondarily in the arts of learning to learn.

The subtleties as well as the outright harshness of some of our experiences are still indelibly tatooed onto and within our collective psyche.

And yet through the kaleidescope of those five years -in and out of love and misery, detentions, soccor matches, hockey, football, basketball, fist fights, awakening sexuality, ski trips, substance experimentation -from the nectar of the gods to the wafting smoke of Alice's catepillar and beyond- here we are.

But understand this. We were not empty vessels waiting to be filled when we entered therein. We were already imbued with our characters, biases, cleverness and perhaps the lack thereof, in short, - we had an inherent nature of our own.

High School may have molded it to some degree, but only to the extent to where we were deemed by others, to be ready for a world that moved in it's own time and rhythm.

The question was, 'could we hit the pavement running' and discern the beat of that rhythm?
Are we even now able to descern the 'rhyme' or 'reason' of our external worlds coproate, political or social?

Some of us yes. Others no.
Some of us now set the beat while others do the dance.

So- What have we done with ourselves since then -in this, "The Real World"?
Have we changed since high school?

Have we gone over to the 'dark side' of all that we rebelled against?
Could it be that what we thought to be rebellion-was actually the process of "breaking on through to the other side" of our quite natural existence?

Speaking of which, it's time for all good boys and girls to go to sleep now.
Night Night sweet children.
And Peter Pan where ever you are...here I come! Look out Wendy!

While I was in grade 9, who were some of the people in grade 10?
Here are only a few.
Look closely. Some really good people.

High Scool Was Great! Especially Gr.9

Now, I know it wasn't great for everybody, but it was for me. Even the scary moments.

Grade nine is a stupid year for boys. I just don't know how girls could put up with us. Oh yeah- that's right! They are busy looking at all the guys in grade 10 and 11.

I remember being in Mrs. Thomas's English class and she had to go down to the office for something.

I didn't know that she had asked Mr.Dikaitis to keep an eye on her class through the door window while she was gone. - I mean, the least she could have done was given us a warning! Do you remember him? -the aspiring weight lifter with the glare of a bulldog set for battle?

I of course, a 5 ft. 4inch aspiring leprechuan saw right away that Donna Sloan had left her purse open on the wire basket beneath her desk.

"HMMM", thought I, "now here is a challenge! Just too quiet in here, must do something about this. I wonder what Donna has in her purse?" Not the brightest crayon in the box was I.

I discovered a wrapped little thing attached to a string and I began to twirl it about. I do not believe I understood the import of this little package - but hey! it had a string so ...

I felt myself lifted body and soul out of my seat, high up in the air and rushed out in the hall smashed up aginst the top of the lockers by the scruff of my neck, feet dangling .

I could no longer see into my class room, but I could see across the hall where Mr. Dikaitus had been teaching -math I think- and I could see Jimmy Williams in there looking up at me. I had never seen Jimmy with that kind of concern before... or was he trying to stifle a laugh?

I'm sure we all have stories. That is one of my least memorable for dignity and intelligence.

Of course there were all the "women" from that grade level. I think I fell in love every time I passed someone in the hall. Of course there were teachers too! Miss Westgate who become Mrs. Devos and then Mrs. Sally Clark.

When looking back to grade 9, I think there was only one guy who could really keep his composure, dignity and emit the light of "cool" from his eyes other than Bob Oliver (who was in grade 10). He had grace under fire, sense of humour and a smile that made everybody feel good. He was and (I hope) always will be, a delight to those he chooses to associate with - Mr.Hopeton D'Aguilar. His parents have solid reason to be proud.

Anon

Old memory,
Haunting dream.

Ever side glanced, in a crowd.
Was that her was that him?

Who would she be today?
Would stars align?

Hopes still shine
and leave old pain.

To meet,
but just once - again.

Alas.
t'is in vain?
Thus the condition-
Humane.

Yet despite such refrain
on last breath,
your smile
remain.

LM
Oct.2.2006

More Really Good People...Are the Luckiest People.

Familiar Faces?

Self Filling Cookie Jar Recipe

For those who need extra income (without having to get another job) to save for the reunion or any other goal, have a look at my free educational website.

I set the site up for my clients and their children to learn more about making money in the short term. It is also set up for family and friends to help them control the relationships they may have with their own financial advisors.

It is not a sales device for me. There is no cost and no expected obligation.
It is made up of ideas that may be of some help for some people and not all.

I have written one of the concepts many of my clients enjoy. I call it - the "Self Filling Cookie Jar Recipe".

See the site lmcconnell.multiply.com or don't. It's just a suggestion.

Budget Mind for our Reunion

We have been in communication for this event since April 2006.

In the blog as well as in broadcast via e-mail I have posted a "vision" that consists of a hotel with a "sit down dinner" plus entertainment. I have hinted at the possibility of even some of our High School Rockers doing something too.

Now let's get our wallet in sync with the vision if we have not already done so.

If you have someone you can stay with in Montreal or Chateauguay - great! You're going to save money.

If you, like many others have already been saving a little bit per month since May 2006 -Well Done!

Now, the costs are not all in yet so we do not know what the final cost and or discounts will talley. But let's not let that get in our way for saving the money we need for the event o.k.?

Usually on the Victoria Day weekend costs are higher at Hotels - check in Toronto or Vancouver the cost for that week end and you will see for a Downtown Hotel a cost per night at around $285 -$300 per night. So on the high end $300 x 2= $600.

If the cost to eat at a Hotel is $75 for a decent meal plus $25 for wine = $100.00

If the cost of entertainment were $25 a head - then add on another $25.00.

So just ball parking here, we have $600 + $100+ $25= $725

So, if you can save on the accomdation -great! Do it. You do not have to stay at the hotel.
Then your ball park estimate cost goes to $125.00 without hotel.

If you started saving (as I know a number of you have) - from May onward, then May to May is 13 months divided into $725 = $55 per month saved does it.

If you have alternate accomodations with friends and family -then $125 divided by 13 =$9.61 per month needed if you started saving in May 2006.

If you are only starting to think about saving now, I would say it is late in the day.
It is high time to save the $725 divided by 9 months= $80 per month if you like hotel rooms all in.

But if you have a friend or family to put you up, then $125 divided by 9 months =$13.00 a month for the next 9 months.

Now the figures above are just estimate high ball park figures and are nowhere near final with discounts. But please do not let that stop you from getting your budget together now.

As one person said in an e-mail today."I would hate to think that someone cannot make it because they can't afford it."

Well I would hate to think you cannot make it because you woke up one week before the event, looked at the bank book and thought "Geee, maybe I should have had a plan."

If you fail to plan, then plan to fail.
Be prepared and save more than you need to so you won't have a problem.

Survivors of a Dawson Moment











Sue Davis's daughter Jill



Jane and Les McConnell's son
Jacob








That Which Lingers

The nightmare
passed over
and
no one
has come through the dark
into the light
heart unscathed
by the shadow
cold steel
touch.


We who are
still here
wonder
why
another angel
had to fly
afar.

We all learn
one
at a time of
the fragile
fabric
- our woven
intricate existence,
sewn with the yarn
of
arbitrary nature.

Can we
go on
to find
comfort
in our invisible
community-
cradled in the memory touch
of valued old friends?
O my soul-
may we
all
be
well.

Les McConnell Sept 19 2006

"Come in" she said, "I'll Give ya shelter from the storm..."

Sue Davis on Dawson

Hi Les, I just read the blog for Wednesday. I'm so glad you found your son safe and sound. I too, have a kid at Dawson. My daughter Jill had left her morning class just 15 minutes before the gunman entered the building or she would definitely have been in that cafeteria. I got her cell phone call at about 1:30 to let me know she was at Marionopolis visiting friends. What a horrible, horrible thing to have to deal with as young teens. I don't know how I would have handled anything happening to her from this distance. I thank God that police were nearby and could contain things before any more were hurt or killed. Next week will be tough for these young kids. As I told my daughter, she will be a support to her friends and her community as they will be for her. Don't let terror win you over. Remember your mom's British tenacity. We're NOT afraid!! It's a comfort to her and I know she will need it. She is exhausted by the reports of all a kid her age shouldn't see or never know. She feels a certain guilt about not being there for her friends. She knew the young girl who died. The post traumatic stress will be huge. My love to the families coping with tragedy and grief. We are all with you Dawson!

Feel free to publish this too, Les.

Tell Jacob that we are thinking of him... Jill and me.

Times of Innocence



Thank you Kathie Harnest for the picture of a time of simpler moments.
When I have more time I will put the names below.
Meanwhile see if you all can spot Lynda Young, Kathie Parsons, Rod McManus, Richard Keeler, Elizabeth Dowler, Carl Noble, Dave McLean. Who else can you recognize?

The I Trajectory

What you chose to focus upon,
What you choose to remember,
How you choose to act:

These clothe who you are.
And these things
shall you radiate
from the centre of your sphere-

casting your effect,
to some degree,
upon all,
whose orbits
intersect.

LM Sept 14 2006

My Son at Dawson College


Normally Jacob would have stayed a few minutes to discuss things with his teacher, but today he had to hurry to meet his grilfriend one floor below.

The building has an atrium, all floors look out over a central internal court yard. Opening his locker he was startled to hear BANG -BANG- BANG continual firecracker sounds coming from above. He looked out into the court yard. Everyone was running, on the various floors and in the court below. Running could be heard above.

Word went around like a wildfire of a gunman.
About forty of the kids hid behind the lockers along with Jacob, as shots continued to be fired -BANG -BANG- BANG, from the floor above.
"Is he across the atrium aiming over here or upstairs?" Someone shouted.
Glass shattered and spayed nearby.

After about 45 minutes a policeman leading "point" in front of four others providing cover, herded the frightened students from this floor and out of the building.

The students could not help but notice a pool of blood at the entrance where the gunman had initially started the rampage as he penetrated further and further into the school, allegedly, calmly shooting as he went.

I was one mile down the street in the centre of the city at a business lunch with a client when my sister called my cell, tears in her voice, as she asked if Jacob was at Dawson today.

I left the lunch in shock and panic. I sped west along Rene Levesque to Fort Street but the police deviated traffic out to the high way away from the college.

I made my way back to Westmount from the West.

My cell phone was jammed much of the time as millions of people were trying to get in touch with their loved ones.

Having found a parking spot 4 blocks west of campus I began to run to find my boy.
The cell phone rang.
I briefly heard my boy's voice, but the signal jammed with overuse.
It wrang again.

"Dad I'm safe and out of the building."
"Jacob!" I shreiked, "Are you ok?"
"I am fine -safe, I'm coming home."

If you have family directly affected and need information, the family of the wounded young people who are at the hospital, may call the follwoing hot lines for information:
514-280-2880
514-280-2806

I hope you do not have to use these nunbers.
Les

Dreamscape Chateauguay Sept.10.2006

(L: Gail McAleese)

( R:Judy Vokey)

In Dawson College 1973 Richilieu Campus near Selby Campus, David Gray taught the gentle art of writing from “perceived” experience drawing upon the beat generation authors Jack Kerouack and Paul Bowles.

“The mind is a perception device and one should write from experience in order to get past the “blank page” syndrome.” He might say.

“Who is to say that what you dream has not been experienced?

You students who have recently left high school, have yet to swim out into the great stream of life. Few of you have yet to initiate life altering adventures to write from, so, as aspiring writers, you must begin with experiences you have had including those perceived in dream. Go ahead and create your ‘mirage –montage’.”

Today, I will toss in to the blog a dream journal entry.

For those of you who get bored easily with reading, go on back out to the golf course or back to the TV – or do the lawn or wash the car –whatever- it’s Sunday.

It’s o.k.

And to Tom Lauder who observes that this blog is ‘bizarre’. “Yes- I suppose it is, but so too, is life sometimes.”

Dreamscape – Chateauguay (REMEMBER –THIS IS DREAM ONLY!)

The sun shines. I plod my way up the street from the dam towards the O’Connor house, passing by St.Eugene on Salaberry, the river on one side, houses on the other.

It seems years since my last visit. Much has changed. Perhaps I’ll stop briefly to look upon the O’Connor’s residence, if just to rest for a moment and think back on past memories of some of the O’Connor’s social events.

This walk is dragging on. The house is nowhere to be seen. Instead there are farmers tilling the soil where the house, pool and Terry’s Gymnastic rings once stood. I look back towards St.Eugene – now transformed, a concrete throughway entrance going under Salaberry and the river itself, – a tunnel. A sign reads “This way to Lachine and Montreal”.

“Well it’s about time. I think we’ve all had enough of the damned bridge!”

But I still can’t seem to find my way back to the shopping centre. If St.Eugene is now a one way route, down through a tunnel, then that is not the way I need to be going; at least not yet.

Contemplating the farmers turning the soil, I hear voices coming from behind me. And there behind me, gesticulating and talking to another, is Judy Vokey! Wow! She looks great!

“Judy! –Hey! How are you?” I exclaim, “It only been 35 years!”

She stops and focuses for a moment.

“Les – Oh my god! Look at you! The hair is cut, jeans are gone, gray in the hair – but I still see you in there!”

I explain to her and her friend that I seem to have lost my way in all this change and ask for their help back to the shopping centre.

“Come with us,” she says, “Were parked in the lot just up the street and we’ll get you back to D’Anjou Blvd. We have to go back to the store now anyway.”

The store is located between IGA and Canadian Tire, just across from Jean Coutou at Maple street. I enter and they show me around all kinds of machinery and appliances.

A garden furniture display juts out of the wall above eye level across the store. What I thought was a mannequin – is now waving to me. I put my glasses on. There waving, smiling and looking directly at me is Gail McAleese – just as I remember her, trimmed bangs just above the eyes –still thin and lovely. I can feel tears begin to well up. I cannot stop them.

“How can this be?” I think to myself – elated yet profoundly saddened. Gail was killed in a car accident in Scotland not a year after her graduation in 1973. I cannot believe what I see, but I so do want to.

I turn to Judy.

“Judy, do me a favour and look over there to the wall display. Tell me what you see; my glasses are smudged.” – I lie blatantly. I don’t want her to think I’ve gone nuts.

I’ve accidentally interrupted her while she deals with a client, but she diplomatically ignores my faux-pas and looks up. (That’s Judy alright.)

“Oh yes,” she says, “The display - I told them to take it down. Kids always climb up and play on the darn thing. We’ll get in trouble with that one day. Hold on.” She seems to have noticed something else.

She strides over to the display.

“Young man,” she commands, “Come down from there this instant!”

What young man? I look back at the display. There a kid of nine or ten, short red hair fools around with a mannequin of a young lady in front of his friends down on the floor.

Gail is no longer there. I am saddened.

I remember days with her as a good friend. Gail and Debbie Vawer, sometimes Joanne Beda, hanging out front of the school. Sometimes Gail and I would go over to Beconsfield and see Susan, her lovely cousin. Gail put me up to running for school royalty one year – a good experience – Hopeton won out as he rightly deserved. And I had gained a true friend in Gail.

Before leaving the store, I approached Judy one last time.

“Judy, you’ve heard about the Reunion next year”. Will you be there?”

Her face always expressive – said, “For now, I don’t think so, but we’ll see.”

I could see in her eyes mixed feelings about attending such an event –things she would prefer to leave behind and yet people she would love to see –if not for one last time.

(End Dreamscape)

So, it was good to see my old friend even if in a dream, smiling and waving to me. I do miss Gail when I think upon her every now and again.

And Judy, – if you happen to read this ‘message in a bottle’, I do hope you are well and that you and others referred to herein, may see fit to attend the Reunion next May.

Greetings from LA


Brother and Sister

Hey Les

- just boiling here in L.A. all summer -- and it's still cooking. Thought I'd drop a couple more photos and some poems. My sister, Deb (Class of '74, married to Jack Beaulne , class of '72) was here visiting early July, so I've included a recent photo of myself with her. I've also included another two, one from the '70s in Africa , the other another time, another place. I sent a few poems, so I'll let you choose (if you so choose). Hope your summer was all that you hoped for. Take care.
All good things always,
Rick

Antithesis

Naiad emerges from river,

a gift of water in her wake;

wet clings to her bosom

while mayflies spirit the dawn,

their delicate transparent wings pursued

by two, perhaps three, long filaments

that shimmer morning.

From her lips, to sex the air with song,

a sweet purl flows and the forest listens,

I listen. Fluent in river talk, her rhetoric

as mellifluous as the waterfall she sings to.

Her presence is a lack of time,

never near,

never far. I hear

her cry for help and succumb, let her

mislead me through woods, past lakes

and fairy rings. I am obediently

lured by tears.

From my matrix of illusion

and forgetfulness, I tumble dream

shapes, trouble the truth

where I sleep with eyes open

in the house of Somnus, and the river

I hear is the gentle flow of Lethe nearby

where poppies bloom with other

drowsy herbs. Here, no cock crows

and twilight wraps all things in shadow—

river, me, a kiss from Naiad that almost

breaks into light.

Rick Kilpatrick

Life Graduation through Reunion











(A 'visitor' in my life, -Pat Decaen Then and Now -a great man!)


I find this process of Reunion "creation /coordination" to be really quite interesting.

At first I was somewhat concerned about the time it would take and the details I would have to involve myself in -a possible sticky goo of inconvenience. But as the process evolves in small steps, there is convergence, joy and acceptance of imperfection.

I stand in the centre of a circle, deploying actions, which once invoked, fly at their own speed with their own life, on their own accord, around me, building in their own momentum energy and resulting effects.

Some of these are as follows:

Word of Mouth :
I speak to people who once went to HS Billings, or parents that are still in Chateauguay, I tell them of the reunion, the websites and some of the people I have been in contact with. They then tell other people. A ripple effect is set in motion.

E-mail:
Of course I began months ago with the broadcast e-mail list and since then I have been corresponding more one on one with various people who then have begun corresponding with others. Also I have sent many messages to Classmates.com. Some people have actually begun looking at this site as a result and have started contacting their old friends. I get at least one request every two weeks or so from someone to pass their e-mail address on to an old acquaintence.

Web Log:
The log tends be a cohesive 'passive element' or ever changing 'store front window' where anyone can simply look in at pictures or select entries to read.

Yet inherent within the entries and pictures are activated seeds of recall, which evoke within the viewer/ readers' consciousness a "call to one's own past". So the log is more active than some might think. Once looking in or reading, do not be suprised to find yourself occasionally dreaming of the past or of individuals from the hallways of your years in school.

Telephone
As I work on the logistical elements -hotel and possible back-up, should this approach fall through, I discuss details with Richard Rankin (Ottawa) and sometimes John Saunders (NYC). These co-originators of the movement are in contact with others occasionally reconnecting and talking of the past and the future reunion.

On contact communications and new name generation, common intersecting points have arisen, points in Canada out West, Ann-Christin Gurholt (Calgary), Gervase Bush occasionally ( BC), Lynda Young-Chapleau ( Toronto).

Entertainment
This is the latest action element to be harnessed in the movement before final price adoption, - Roddy McManus (Montreal) and lately David Glass (Calgary) and Mark Stafford (Montreal)
have now been brought into the communication exercise.

In all of these spins of the wheel, a cause and effect 'whril' is moving and gaining force.
People are becoming aware, pulling out the year book, dreaming of the past and looking towards a future point...traction.

I understand that for some Internal dialogue is being experienced:
- What does he/she look like now?
- Will I go?
- Does she/he still like me?
- I'll have to lose some weight.
- What a pain - why can't they just leave the past where it belongs?
- I am no longer the same person since I've been sick.
- The medication I'm on will not allow me to lose weight so I don't want to be seen.
- I am curious. I'll just watch the evolution of the 'blog' but I won't go to the event -not in this condition.
-They can come and get me and pull me in- I'm too shy to just get involved on my own.
- I don't care what they look like or what I look like -it'll be good just to see the sprits of the playground, the glass hallway, the auditorium, the lockers, the dances, the football games, the hockey games, the jam sessions, the radio station.
-To see once again and perhaps for a last time those left from the yearbook staff, teachers, ex smokers from behind the church, the jokers, the intellectuals, the gossips, the cute girls, the hunks, those who deemed themselves less than good looking but were gifted with rich personalities -WOW!...maybe...
- Would I be missed if I did not go?
- I don't want to see him/her. He/she always thought they were so damned smart and they will just rub their success in my face -I'll just stay home thank you very much.
- No I always do 'such and such' on this one weekend of the year and I'm not going to give it up even this once.
- Am I really being a coward hiding behind expedience for not wanting to go?
- Tough !-I'll never see them again anyway. I can always say I was sick.
- It's too much bother, I don't want to see anyone anyway. I wouldn't enjoy it.
- I really haven't made out too well in life and I don't want to have to expose myself to other people's judgement. I'm going to stay home where I am safe and comfortable."..I am a rock and an Island never cries.."
-I can't wait to see everyone - how exciting! I'll take a drive around Chateauguay -maybe show my son or daughter the points and places of the old stories!

Yes, this has been a learning exercise. So many people have unique ways of perceiving what a Reunion will mean to themselves.

It will definitely be a test to one's sense of self for some.

But ultimately, I seek to reconnect with the "inner person" from back then -my own and others. You and I were children in highschool before taking on the more complicated role of who we are today.

Like rings of bark around the outer tree, year in and year out, we have become crustier and taken on more weight of the outer world, more insecurities. The challenge is to leave that personality crust and judgementalism and baggage at the door for a weekend. Go easy on yourself.

I know that the essential you - the kid- is still in there.

I know, we take ourselves a lot more seriously these days;
these days of having had kids, adopting kids, not being able to have kids, paying down mortgages, divorces re-marriages, running businesses, perhaps going bankrupt or worse, or working nine to five forever, perhaps attaining riches or perhaps loosing all, or gaining the real self in pride and 'coming out', experiencing the loss of parents, friends, children, limbs, hair or looks. Who knows? Maybe sought and attained Nirvanna? Or you've gained or lost lots of weight? It' ok. I will not judge. I have my own "stuff" to leave at the door. It'll be a relief just to get in and recognize other grown children and laugh at our imperfection, while closing another circle before it's "time to go".

In short, we have grown up. And in some cases our inner selves are fused with our occuapations, or short-comings or notions of what and who we should be, -having left the'kid' behind -jetisonned many years ago and not wanted back.

So I say to myself...
deep inside, there is the inner YOU, that came into existence with your body, that never changes - the one we all saw as children, the one that drives the outer shell, that has always remained separate from the 'fusion shell' of the ego and projected personality that you cling to. The one behind the puppet shell is the YOU we all want to see again. Leave your pride or insecurities of the shell, degrees, dollar signs and pompousness behind. Be free to be just 'you' if just for once and come on down! The worst judge is your insecure ego self. Leave her or him behind.
Conversely - if you really think your so hot and better than everyone else...leave that attitude behind. We want to see "you"- the kid -not your ego's polished sense of perfection.

Yes it has begun.
The whrilwind circle has picked up speed around me.

People have been coming to Chateauguay and visiting us. We go out to dinner or out back to my 'make-shift' Gazebo for tea/coffee/beer or wine. We play guitars and sing sometimes. We laugh. We remember.

One of my visitors has brought encouragement.
He is a MAN by the name of Pat Decaen. He once was on the High School football team. He was in drama. His 'before-self' and his 'now-self' look different but his smile and spirit are even greater. He has taught me a lesson in the nature of inner self assurance. I look forward to many more lessons that give me encouragement in accepting who I am now. I look forward to my graduation in life through REUNION.
L

Let's see - who have I been in touch with lately?

This weekend I spoke to Rae Johnston (Class of 75) who lives down in Florida,- sister of our old friend, the late Scott Johnston. He is warmly and well remembered by many.

Had breakfast with Bob Houston (Class of 70) yesterday.

Sharon Storer (Class 73) and Greg Shearer (Class 72) came by from Toronto for a visit on Friday and we went to Dinner over at the Blue Lotus on D'Anjou Blvd. If you get the chance, it is a (Bring Your Own Wine) Vietnamese Restaurant with some really good food.

I heard from Eilene Henneman ('71?) two weeks ago. And Catherine Wylie Laporte has been in touch also. Lynda Young had some great advice on shopping for a digital cameras. This week Pat DeCaen will be by for lunch. A few weeks back I bumped into Dave Poirier and his lovely wife over at Zellers.

Rod McManus ('71), Mark Stafford ('71)and I should be getting together to discuss the possibility of some unique entertainment for the reunion.

The summer is quickly coming to a close and my son is already back at Dawson College. My wife, who teaches English in a large Regional French High School was back this week. And things keep on moving ---closer to May 2007.

Has anyone seen Kevin Carlin lately? Has anyone seen Sonia Ball?

Sue Davis contribution

Hey bloggers and buddys!



What a treat to see the ole high school faces showing up here.

I find myself nodding my head in agreement with so many of the excerpts here: Lynda Young’s memories of Mrs. Strike, who started me journal-writing for many years.

I so agree with one entry here, that ‘community makes a high school’ and ours was a truly special place to me.

I’ve kept in touch with so many life-long buddies: Laura Wilkinson, Sonja Ball, Brian McInnis, Gary Jones, Carol Mates, Roger Sarrazin, Boyd Pellow, Roddy, Mitzi Dumaresque, Romi Royko, Linda Phillips, not to mention my new hubby/old flame, Graham Worth.

Can’t wait to join up with many more of you next year!

I wish I knew the date that this newspaper article was published. It was written by Peter Royle (a personal fave teacher of mine and others) of his life at the time in Malaysia. I’ve kept it in a scrapbook for many years. I thought it should have a home now on the Billings Alumnae site, where we can all enjoy it for years to come. Cheers, Peter, wherever you are!! (Sue Davis class of ’71)

Former Chateauguay School Teacher, Peter Royle, Writes Students and Friends

Dear Kids et Al,

I’ve just finished washing the dishes, and while I was doing so, I was thinking about how neat it would be to have somebody visit here so that I could show-off everything to them. You know: all the (as my Uncle Russel says) “commonry – garden stuff” – my little everything’s-within-arm’s-length kitchen, and some of the food I can cook now and my living-room with the fan on the ceiling like you always see in old Rudyard Kipling-type movies; and the things on my wall like the Chinese lion’s head (all red with white fluff, and pink and green and yellow and black, and snorts coming out of his nostrils on little springs) and an Indonesian Batik cloth and some Taiwan carved heads, and a Japanese silk-painting, and a little Chinese chime and a Chinese lantern and a Bajan cloth and a Bajan parang and a Kadazin hat and two Malay pictures made with padi-plants and a Canadian flag and little kerosene lanterns and two of Mr. Howes little paintings and a little stone Bhudda and a picture of Gary and Ronnie, and my guitar leaning against the fridge and gobs more!

I’d like to take somebody down to the beach, and take them to a great little kedai (sort of a restaurant, but in this one most people sit around and drink beer and pick their teeth and it’s a corner kedai so it has two sides open and one side faces a fish market and all the Bajan and Suluk fisherman come in in their little boats, filled with eels and coloured coral fish and cuttlefish and prawns and sometimes shark and God knows what else.

And they have dark, dark brown skin and eyes and white, white teeth and they laugh a lot and the kids come and stare at you with big round eyes and open mouths and they grin back shyly when you smile at them, and my God they’re brown!

And their hair is dark, dark almost – black – brown, tinged with red and setting sun catches the red colour in their hair and the sea goes all dark and the houses on stilts are black against the sky which is all burning up.

We’d go on a motorbike ride out of K.K. towards Penampang up and down the twisty road over the kills to all the Kadazan padi-fields that are brown now because it’s dry but they’re green later when the padi is growing in them.

We’d pass by some little Kadazan women working on the road, carrying gravel in little baskets, or shovelling rock around, or most likely they’d be cutting the grass by the roadside swinging a long sabit which is like a hockey stick except that the blade is iron instead of wood and it’s flat instead of sideways so that the grass is sythed off.

And they’re dressed from neck to ankle in a long black robe, and they wear a big, round hat, and have their faces and necks all covered with old coloured cloth and they wear gloves, all to keep the sun off their skin so it won’t turn brown.

And they stand there, twenty or thirty of them, swinging the sabits back and forth, swish, swish, swish, swish, all day long, but we look funny to them, too, bouncing along on the motorbike with our crash helmets and sunglasses and shirts and shorts and thongs, and they’re very shy, but one day when it was really hot and they were cutting the grass around my place, one came and asked for water for herself and all her friends and I wished that I could talk Kadazan and I was the one that felt out-of-place because I was the one who was different.

I suppose that this is all sort of confusing to you, amidst all the slush and cold wind and cars and T.V., and I wish that I could describe it better – the place, not just what we would see together.

It would really take a book to try to do that, and all I’m doing is writing down these things as they pop into my mind, and if I make this too long, either the SUN won’t have space to print it, or you won’t read it all!

If you want me to write any more, we could go skin-diving among the corals or we could go to Kota Belud where Tom Mc Kee’s cousin is teaching or we could go to a wedding (not mine – at least not yet!) or we could go on a ride on a neat train through the jungle, or we could climb Mt. Kinabalu or we could go shopping or we could talk to some of the kids I teach or hundreds of things.

To quote an expression popular at Gaya College right now – ‘Take it easy, mate!’ (pronounced with an Australian accent – ‘Tyke it easy, Might!’)

Your old teacher – friend, Peter Royle.

Where are they now?
Better yet WHO are they now?
Parents? Grandparents? Proud Single Parents? Surviving after kids people? Never had kids and travelled the world people?

Put comments in the comments entry box below and remember to enter the code letters in for word verification so it will be posted.

For all you new people, there are loads of pictures and entries below or select on the side bar by entry title.
Les

Every Now and Again

Every Now - and Again

I wonder what you’re doing
In this moment?

Can you pinch an inch?
Is your hair short or long?
Are your eyes still bright?
Are you sometimes awakened,
In the night?

Children?
Do they look like you?
Do they have your laugh?

I’d never care
If you were rich or not,
Thick or thin.

I’d never care
If you were wrinkled or grey,
All of this,
Matters not.

For I was there,
Saw that smile,
But for a fraction,
Magnetic charged,
In Science, Math and
At the parting
-Grad.

As this road
Takes me closer
To a looming
Once bright horizon,
I wonder
What you’re doing,
In this moment?

Some more top quality people from the past: Carol Mates, David Glass and Jens Harnest!

Just a little flash from the past...