A Shadow Known
I'm sitting on the stone benches between McClennen and Redpath Libraries at McGill, scribbling notes.
I glance up.
Coming from the Leacock Building is a familiar figure. Not the same but familiar. He is walking between two buddies, intent, as if a decision must be made. To be or not to be.
I recognise him now. He has lost much of his body weight, resembling more his brother Barry, lanky and tall; now older with two day growth on his face.
"He was always the darker of the two" I think to myself coversationally.
He passes by.
I stand and peer at his back.
I say out loud, " I remeber you."
There is a pause in his movement.
" I do know who you are."
He stops at this.
"I remember the pool."
He turns now and looks at me, unsure I am talking to him.
Perhaps I don't look the same. Surely I have grown so much older. After all I was only fourteen back then.
" You remember too, the days in the sun, and how you cut dolphin-like, in and out of the crystal flicker of the afternoon water, the momentum beats of your flutter kick, propelling you up and out ward, your browned bicepts slicing back down to complete a cycle of the butterfly."
He steps toward me now, unsure but with a look of wonder.
"Just fantastic you were to behold, muscles ripped in sunscreened definition, beads of water falling away as you gripped the diving board rail in prepartion. So golden in your moment of Speedo splendered contour."
He moved closer to me but now eyes closing, feeling the vision.
" Your mom and dad watched with pride, in their whites, over by Claire and Ken P. Your sister Sandra standing with her friends all watched you. Even your brother Barry had to pay attention. You were the epicentre of a summer life moment.
He held his hand to his brow. He was there living it now.
I walked to him, put my arm over his boney shoulder like a long lost pal.
" I know you recall the days horsing around with Chuck B., both of you chasing Linda P., the variety show nights - Hello Mudda, Hello Fawda, her I am in Camp Ranata, and the movies across the pool."
We walked and I spun the story of his memory through the eyes of little boy watching his bad-boy-devil- may-care hero from afar.
"And here you are- alive! You fooled them all! And they all said you died. But you are very much alive- in me you always will be.
The whole time he had not said a thing, but just held on to himself,
straining to ...
remember.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 07, 2010
It was still dark.
Instinctively, I tried to swim back through the void, back to the world I had just been pulled from by my clock radio into this realm of darkness before the dawn.
There was a little groan at the foot of my bed. Elfin, one of the cats warned me in her own way not to disturb. I wondered for a bit if it was Saturday. No such luck. Ah yes - I recalled through the fog, the reason for waking so early- get to the city by 7:30 a.m.
How bloody uncivilized.
Proceeding from shower, shave and dressing, padding my way down the hall past empty bedrooms which used to house our children, loafers suspended by two fingers, ninja business dude still struggled to wake up, yet endeavouring to allow Jane and cats to continue sleeping.
Glancing at the mirror in the hall, everything seemed to be in order, hair in place -neither too long n'or too short, a dash of gray on the sides now, brown corduroy jacket reminiscent of grade seven, but on the man in the mirror, somewhat academic, not quite the financial advisor, but what the hell- I was off to a 'roadshow' not to see a client.
Today was to be TD Bank's turn at Place du Commerce in Old Montreal.
At least there were no patches on my elbows as some of my professors of thirty-five years ago- McGill U.
It seemed back then, irrespitive of the wear and tear of a given jacket, one had to have the required look offered up by patches on the elbows, somehow offsetting the mustaches, sideburns, long V Motown collars, wide leather belt and buckle with the 'just so'
worn-in desert boots emerging from stove-pipe Levi jeans. Ah- but that was then and this is now.
A 'roadshow'-. The word has always brought to mind a carney act; the snake-oil salesman mounts the steps, at the back of his wagon, extolling the vibrant virtue of a bottles blue glass elixir, held up delicately between digits, capturing the gleam of the sun, one dash melted shoe polish, to generous measure of spit and vinager, said to be sourced from a lost tomb beyond the veil of Isis, that of Queen Nephretiti herself.
But in today's financial industry, the 'road-show' is where manufacturer/suppliers of financial products from ETFs, Mutual Funds, Flow Through Shares, IPOs, and Insurance products gather advisors, planners, brokers -otherwise known as 'retailers' in one place, with the lure of a free breakfast or lunch offering their latest take on the markets while hinting at new and improved products in hopes that we will serve them up to our individual end user clients...people like you.
I let myself out into the cool November darkness, slipped into the welcoming embrace of heated leather seats. Do I listen to radio news and road conditions, or blast myself into consiousness via 'Brown Sugar' on the CD, or simply cruise along and try not to compete with the idiots vying for sumpemacy of the road? What shall it be? Accept the challenge of the 4 cylendar twits and zoom another twenty feet in traffic on the hybrid V6 magic carpet. Why spend more money on gas?
"Pace yourself, " I say out loud. "Don't even turn on the phone.- Cool. Let the fools go. You don't have to prove anything."
Ok. There's the underground parking . Pay the $15 and find a spot, ticket left on the dash. Leave the coat in the car, up the escalator to register, receive my plactic name tag and today's agenda. Ah! A deserted table. (I am a rock, I am an Island sing Simon & Garfunkle in my stereophonic mind...and an island never crys...good song) Sit -coffee -eggs- no bacon thanks, I'm off the meat and hopefully off the Lipitor.
And it begins - blah blah blah, the economy this, the market that, the fund managers -who I agree have done a damn fine job this past year, more coffee, good we're almost done, time to go...
Oh oh..someone approaching in peripheral range on my right, lift my head, adjust my glasses, it's ..WHOA!
"Don't she look good man!" exclaims my pre-ten o'clock investment adled mind.
Well, I had to wake up sometime.
Quick! Who is that- you know her.. my memory zaps back - way back.. to 'The Pit' just behind the family compounds near the lake at Ville de Lery. A thin attractive girl and her handsome sister watching me teach YMCA skiing as they rest elbows on their own ski poles.
"Well good morning Les - forgotten me already?"
Ah! Gail Goodfellow.
Look at her -little girl grown up, neat, trim form and quite professional - grown ever so effortlessly Fifth Form and charm into a natural grace and light. That smile, the eyes. Her mom and dad would have been so proud.
What a way to start the day.
This is one of the benefits of having stayed in Montreal.
One is always bumping into one's mirage montage past.
Instinctively, I tried to swim back through the void, back to the world I had just been pulled from by my clock radio into this realm of darkness before the dawn.
There was a little groan at the foot of my bed. Elfin, one of the cats warned me in her own way not to disturb. I wondered for a bit if it was Saturday. No such luck. Ah yes - I recalled through the fog, the reason for waking so early- get to the city by 7:30 a.m.
How bloody uncivilized.
Proceeding from shower, shave and dressing, padding my way down the hall past empty bedrooms which used to house our children, loafers suspended by two fingers, ninja business dude still struggled to wake up, yet endeavouring to allow Jane and cats to continue sleeping.
Glancing at the mirror in the hall, everything seemed to be in order, hair in place -neither too long n'or too short, a dash of gray on the sides now, brown corduroy jacket reminiscent of grade seven, but on the man in the mirror, somewhat academic, not quite the financial advisor, but what the hell- I was off to a 'roadshow' not to see a client.
Today was to be TD Bank's turn at Place du Commerce in Old Montreal.
At least there were no patches on my elbows as some of my professors of thirty-five years ago- McGill U.
It seemed back then, irrespitive of the wear and tear of a given jacket, one had to have the required look offered up by patches on the elbows, somehow offsetting the mustaches, sideburns, long V Motown collars, wide leather belt and buckle with the 'just so'
worn-in desert boots emerging from stove-pipe Levi jeans. Ah- but that was then and this is now.
A 'roadshow'-. The word has always brought to mind a carney act; the snake-oil salesman mounts the steps, at the back of his wagon, extolling the vibrant virtue of a bottles blue glass elixir, held up delicately between digits, capturing the gleam of the sun, one dash melted shoe polish, to generous measure of spit and vinager, said to be sourced from a lost tomb beyond the veil of Isis, that of Queen Nephretiti herself.
But in today's financial industry, the 'road-show' is where manufacturer/suppliers of financial products from ETFs, Mutual Funds, Flow Through Shares, IPOs, and Insurance products gather advisors, planners, brokers -otherwise known as 'retailers' in one place, with the lure of a free breakfast or lunch offering their latest take on the markets while hinting at new and improved products in hopes that we will serve them up to our individual end user clients...people like you.
I let myself out into the cool November darkness, slipped into the welcoming embrace of heated leather seats. Do I listen to radio news and road conditions, or blast myself into consiousness via 'Brown Sugar' on the CD, or simply cruise along and try not to compete with the idiots vying for sumpemacy of the road? What shall it be? Accept the challenge of the 4 cylendar twits and zoom another twenty feet in traffic on the hybrid V6 magic carpet. Why spend more money on gas?
"Pace yourself, " I say out loud. "Don't even turn on the phone.- Cool. Let the fools go. You don't have to prove anything."
Ok. There's the underground parking . Pay the $15 and find a spot, ticket left on the dash. Leave the coat in the car, up the escalator to register, receive my plactic name tag and today's agenda. Ah! A deserted table. (I am a rock, I am an Island sing Simon & Garfunkle in my stereophonic mind...and an island never crys...good song) Sit -coffee -eggs- no bacon thanks, I'm off the meat and hopefully off the Lipitor.
And it begins - blah blah blah, the economy this, the market that, the fund managers -who I agree have done a damn fine job this past year, more coffee, good we're almost done, time to go...
Oh oh..someone approaching in peripheral range on my right, lift my head, adjust my glasses, it's ..WHOA!
"Don't she look good man!" exclaims my pre-ten o'clock investment adled mind.
Well, I had to wake up sometime.
Quick! Who is that- you know her.. my memory zaps back - way back.. to 'The Pit' just behind the family compounds near the lake at Ville de Lery. A thin attractive girl and her handsome sister watching me teach YMCA skiing as they rest elbows on their own ski poles.
"Well good morning Les - forgotten me already?"
Ah! Gail Goodfellow.
Look at her -little girl grown up, neat, trim form and quite professional - grown ever so effortlessly Fifth Form and charm into a natural grace and light. That smile, the eyes. Her mom and dad would have been so proud.
What a way to start the day.
This is one of the benefits of having stayed in Montreal.
One is always bumping into one's mirage montage past.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Summer at Thirteen
When I was 13, summer was crazy. I would wake up, wash, brush my teeth, get my white shorts and t-shirt on, slip downstairs for my white tennis shoes, grab a banana and head out. Dad would have already been up and gone to work at CN.
I would get on my bike and go - two or three miles off to the Heights from Seigniory Park to take my tennis lessons. Herbie Hart and Blair Watson were the teachers. Man, were they sleek in their style and grace.
I would compete with Tommy Gilbert. We were fairly even , but I knew inside he had more control, discipline and was somehow more able to hide his frustration and anger at his own mistakes. Tennis seems for the most part to be about one's own mistakes, similar to golf. While you play and compete against someone else, the real opponant is yourself.
I was older than Tommy by a couple of years; infact probably just a little shy of his sister's age. She played organ and piano at our church. She was pretty hot back then with her nubile presence, strawberry blond hair and that smile which curled just in time to highlight the twinkle in her eye. Their parents were pretty cool too. They played in the Sunshine Singers or somesuch band with Mrs. Kemp.
Two days a week I would spend late afternoons at Mrs. Kemp's house in the Terrace learning guitar..."3/4 beat, Down In The Valley , ...the vally so low, hang your head over, hear the wind blow.." C- G7- C-G7-C..." She was a lovely lady and wore her soul on her sleeve as many did in that church, Mr.Longley and others. Church...hmmm...never seemed much to do with transcendance. Ah well the music was nice.
Do you remember Gordie Kemp? That was her son. She had some daughters too (Karen & Brenda?). My sister Gaye hung out with one of them. Poor Mrs. Kemp. She died a year or so later.
That summer people from our highschool also died at the dam.
Death.
Life can be one long death or you go suddenly. People and things change.
But summer for a thirteen year old boy back then was crazy.
I discovered a girl who loved to laugh at 'the club', (The Seigniory Park Country Club) - where after tennis every day, I would consign myself to the sun, sparkling water and diving boards. We'd watch the antics of the older teenagers, Blake and Barry Jennings, Linda Perry, Anne Farmer, Sandie Mustill, Heather Bedard or the life guards. Leslie and Lynne Butler were always interesting to behold. But everyone had to watch out for the frolics of Chuck Baronovski. One just never knew what he was up to until it was too late, but impishly funny.
Of course there'd be can-opener competitions off the high board by the likes of Norman Larue, his brother Michel, Barry Kaye, Dave Poirier, Robin Hewitt and others, many of whom chose early morning race team training with Cameron Grout rather than doing the tennis thing. Ah yes- afternoons of Red, Green or striped Speedos and tans. To see Blake Jennings doing the butterfly pulsating through the lengths of the olympic pool was a treat. 'Like Young' TV show on Saturday was broadcast live over the TV back then. Jimmy Tapp of TV 12 could be found with his wife tending their child in the baby pool. The club was just where it was all happening that summer - Heather Bedard and David Cooney doing the shimmie! Wow! Things were just becoming HIP! The Haunted even played live 1-2-5, Jurgen Peters and gang.
I think my mind in the mornings at tennis was beginning to wander prematurely into afternoon delight...watching all those tanned bikini bodies striding by. No wonder Tommy had more discipline. His mind was on the game. I think my mind was drifting into another game. I would be humming a song called the 'Sugar Shack', thinking about how this girl minus her sister might like to join me in my tree house down Maple, in the Heights, in the field beside the Sumacs which divided the old farmer's field from the cemetary. She had such an infectious laugh which brimmed into a giggle, just fulll of character and life. I think she owns a fishing boat now. Out Rupert way? I wonder if she still has that giggle? Love is more attraction at 13. Love is more being captured by another's light. She had light. Such is memory.
Summer was crazy when I was 13.
When I was 13, summer was crazy. I would wake up, wash, brush my teeth, get my white shorts and t-shirt on, slip downstairs for my white tennis shoes, grab a banana and head out. Dad would have already been up and gone to work at CN.
I would get on my bike and go - two or three miles off to the Heights from Seigniory Park to take my tennis lessons. Herbie Hart and Blair Watson were the teachers. Man, were they sleek in their style and grace.
I would compete with Tommy Gilbert. We were fairly even , but I knew inside he had more control, discipline and was somehow more able to hide his frustration and anger at his own mistakes. Tennis seems for the most part to be about one's own mistakes, similar to golf. While you play and compete against someone else, the real opponant is yourself.
I was older than Tommy by a couple of years; infact probably just a little shy of his sister's age. She played organ and piano at our church. She was pretty hot back then with her nubile presence, strawberry blond hair and that smile which curled just in time to highlight the twinkle in her eye. Their parents were pretty cool too. They played in the Sunshine Singers or somesuch band with Mrs. Kemp.
Two days a week I would spend late afternoons at Mrs. Kemp's house in the Terrace learning guitar..."3/4 beat, Down In The Valley , ...the vally so low, hang your head over, hear the wind blow.." C- G7- C-G7-C..." She was a lovely lady and wore her soul on her sleeve as many did in that church, Mr.Longley and others. Church...hmmm...never seemed much to do with transcendance. Ah well the music was nice.
Do you remember Gordie Kemp? That was her son. She had some daughters too (Karen & Brenda?). My sister Gaye hung out with one of them. Poor Mrs. Kemp. She died a year or so later.
That summer people from our highschool also died at the dam.
Death.
Life can be one long death or you go suddenly. People and things change.
But summer for a thirteen year old boy back then was crazy.
I discovered a girl who loved to laugh at 'the club', (The Seigniory Park Country Club) - where after tennis every day, I would consign myself to the sun, sparkling water and diving boards. We'd watch the antics of the older teenagers, Blake and Barry Jennings, Linda Perry, Anne Farmer, Sandie Mustill, Heather Bedard or the life guards. Leslie and Lynne Butler were always interesting to behold. But everyone had to watch out for the frolics of Chuck Baronovski. One just never knew what he was up to until it was too late, but impishly funny.
Of course there'd be can-opener competitions off the high board by the likes of Norman Larue, his brother Michel, Barry Kaye, Dave Poirier, Robin Hewitt and others, many of whom chose early morning race team training with Cameron Grout rather than doing the tennis thing. Ah yes- afternoons of Red, Green or striped Speedos and tans. To see Blake Jennings doing the butterfly pulsating through the lengths of the olympic pool was a treat. 'Like Young' TV show on Saturday was broadcast live over the TV back then. Jimmy Tapp of TV 12 could be found with his wife tending their child in the baby pool. The club was just where it was all happening that summer - Heather Bedard and David Cooney doing the shimmie! Wow! Things were just becoming HIP! The Haunted even played live 1-2-5, Jurgen Peters and gang.
I think my mind in the mornings at tennis was beginning to wander prematurely into afternoon delight...watching all those tanned bikini bodies striding by. No wonder Tommy had more discipline. His mind was on the game. I think my mind was drifting into another game. I would be humming a song called the 'Sugar Shack', thinking about how this girl minus her sister might like to join me in my tree house down Maple, in the Heights, in the field beside the Sumacs which divided the old farmer's field from the cemetary. She had such an infectious laugh which brimmed into a giggle, just fulll of character and life. I think she owns a fishing boat now. Out Rupert way? I wonder if she still has that giggle? Love is more attraction at 13. Love is more being captured by another's light. She had light. Such is memory.
Summer was crazy when I was 13.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Tout Va Bien
The night is lit by a phospherescent moon.
The ashphalt presses, imprinting my thin soled moccasins, soft and pliable worn treadless, perfect for tracking in the mid places between wood and field where the animals hold court. I hunt secret moments there, perfecting the slowest of silent motion.
This evening we make our way down Ashmore, still, after some 25 years, always towards the river at the end of the street. I think ever since Prince Rupert by the Skeena, I've been hooked on life by the water. Or, perhaps it's just been that way since Sea Scouts at St.Andrews in the Heights?
It's August and the levels are down. The warm stink of algae, exposed rock bed and dead sunfish waft along Rue de Salabery past the football field at St.Francis. But it's not bad, no it's even charming. Well, perhaps not so much charm, but dependable, as an old welcoming blanket of familiarity.
In the faster parts where the Heron stands guard studying runes delicately etched in ancient polished stone beneath the surface, seeking signs, omens, of that which has passed before and will never pass again, the flow of things known and unknown trickle and whisper, the secret just on the tip of the tongue. Still, so very still, he stands, calm, listening, -hearing the river's mantram, at one with the flow where his eternal present melts a visible future into eternal escaping distant past, memory- an illusion to allow some peace before certain end.
The song by Beau Domage plays in my mind - 'Harmonie Du Soir A Chateauguay', Les pieds pendants au bout du quai,...La riviere joue l'harmonica, Les mouches a feu font des folies...', what a lovely tune, the soul of Chateauguay.
If you ever have a chance to come back to Quebec, Montreal, to really explore, not as a tourist, but as a cultural voyeur, go to Rue St.Denis and sit in a cafe, not in front, but find one with an interior court yard and yearn to recall the words left behind in faded books, the code that opens the door to that other solitude within our cultural looking glass. You might hear strains of 'Ginette' -the song of a young quiet man whose soul is opended to the maigic of the night by a dancer "...avec tes seins pis tes souliers a talons hauts...".
Ah! Surely I will die an old man in this Province, smiling as the sun tries in vain to kiss the moon.
The night is lit by a phospherescent moon.
The ashphalt presses, imprinting my thin soled moccasins, soft and pliable worn treadless, perfect for tracking in the mid places between wood and field where the animals hold court. I hunt secret moments there, perfecting the slowest of silent motion.
This evening we make our way down Ashmore, still, after some 25 years, always towards the river at the end of the street. I think ever since Prince Rupert by the Skeena, I've been hooked on life by the water. Or, perhaps it's just been that way since Sea Scouts at St.Andrews in the Heights?
It's August and the levels are down. The warm stink of algae, exposed rock bed and dead sunfish waft along Rue de Salabery past the football field at St.Francis. But it's not bad, no it's even charming. Well, perhaps not so much charm, but dependable, as an old welcoming blanket of familiarity.
In the faster parts where the Heron stands guard studying runes delicately etched in ancient polished stone beneath the surface, seeking signs, omens, of that which has passed before and will never pass again, the flow of things known and unknown trickle and whisper, the secret just on the tip of the tongue. Still, so very still, he stands, calm, listening, -hearing the river's mantram, at one with the flow where his eternal present melts a visible future into eternal escaping distant past, memory- an illusion to allow some peace before certain end.
The song by Beau Domage plays in my mind - 'Harmonie Du Soir A Chateauguay', Les pieds pendants au bout du quai,...La riviere joue l'harmonica, Les mouches a feu font des folies...', what a lovely tune, the soul of Chateauguay.
If you ever have a chance to come back to Quebec, Montreal, to really explore, not as a tourist, but as a cultural voyeur, go to Rue St.Denis and sit in a cafe, not in front, but find one with an interior court yard and yearn to recall the words left behind in faded books, the code that opens the door to that other solitude within our cultural looking glass. You might hear strains of 'Ginette' -the song of a young quiet man whose soul is opended to the maigic of the night by a dancer "...avec tes seins pis tes souliers a talons hauts...".
Ah! Surely I will die an old man in this Province, smiling as the sun tries in vain to kiss the moon.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Musing on Influences
I am not rich, but I do have the ability to use my time as I see fit, so I guess you can say I have independance. But then if a client calls, I do have to be on top of the portfolio strategy...and I am.
So right now I write on the blog from the back yard in the Gazebo enjoying the heat wave while I wait for Jimmy to arrive.
Do you remeber Jimmy Williams from HSB?
J & Mary
(Left)
J & Robin Moody (Right)
Tuesday July 6, 2010 (41 degrees in the shade).
Jimmy and his girlfriend came in today from California.
From there it was on to see Jimmy's cousin Butch (his name nowadays is Spencer). He owns a Harley chopper manufacturing plant and has had some of his products sold to the likes of Prince Rainier and Steve Tylor.
One of the Chopper frames at Spencer's (Butch) shop.
Monday July 5. 2010
Well it must be about 37 degrees out today.
I have taken to doing my work at home lately since the summer has begun and fortunately I have a heat-pump. Nice and cool inside, especially in the basement where I have an office.
Fifteen years ago I left the downtown 'corporate executive' world after some 18 years, to become an independant financial advisor, spending (or should I say 'investing') another six years with a big name brand to find out how to run an independant Investment business compliant with the government and all the regulations to protect clients from fraud. Then I spent another 9 years on my own perfecting systems and reducing costs while increasing yields for investors.
The plan was to find an activity where I could put my training and experience to use, still make money, but on my own terms; where whether retired or not, I could still enjoy being functional, plus a financial benefit to others and educating those who need it, in the world of Investment- where words like 'risk', 'loss', or 'gain' don't necesaarily mean what we think, but actually have a range of opportunity values if one is able to see and use them.
I am not rich, but I do have the ability to use my time as I see fit, so I guess you can say I have independance. But then if a client calls, I do have to be on top of the portfolio strategy...and I am.
So right now I write on the blog from the back yard in the Gazebo enjoying the heat wave while I wait for Jimmy to arrive.
Do you remeber Jimmy Williams from HSB?
Talk about independant. He was independant with a capital I and a ton of gusto back in grade nine. If I recall correctly, he was thrown out of school (for attitude towards authority) and then quickly taken back in becuase he was great on the high bars and the team needed him for the competition.
These days my old buddy is a Colour Analyst in motion pictures, working for a private production facility across from Disney Studios in Burbank and Hollywood.
Jimmy is still a Peter Pan, doing things more or less in his own time, yet knowing where his limits are now that he is past the age of 50. He knows what he's good at, which is quite a lot -gymnastics, music, cinema colour technology, gym equipment specialist (working with well known US DVD Exercise Gurus) and traveller.
J & Mary
(Left)
J & Robin Moody (Right)
It was because of Jimmy to some extent, (if I connect the dots) that I have ended up in the world of investment today. You see, back in grade ten Jimmy and Steven Vella had summer jobs at the Montreal Stock Exchange. - (Do you remeber Steven Vella? God, I have not seen him since 1971.) Anyway, they had jobs at the Montreal Stock Exchange. The job was great - page boys on 'the floor'. They got me in.
We had to be at work in the changing room by 9:30a.m., then out on the floor in our uniforms, positionned on 'the line' by 9:58 a.m. before the trading bell went off starting the day's trades. Of course that was well before the TSX took over. Now the Bourse de Montreal is only controlling the options market in Canada.
In the "Options" market, the words most people call 'loss and gain' are looked upon as wonderful opportunites for those who can handle 'puts and calls'. ( Sorry -don't want to bore you, but you might want to read about that world a bit ... who knows you could make some money, or then again lose some too.) (Old acquaintence Mark from HSB who worked at RIM at least knows the value of one kind of option.)
We'd get an hour for lunch and then be finished our day by 4:00pm when the floor closed. One of us would be called upon to take the ticker results over to the Montreal Gazette for publication in the next morning paper.
What a world that was! The action was incredible, but then sometimes it could become listless with inactivty, no one buying or selling. For us page boys, that was when we had to watch out as the floor traders would start pulling pranks on us. "Hey Boy! the Gundy trader would call, "Come here and take this order. Buy me 100 shares of WBC from the trader across the floor at Ames." Then I'd run over to the Ames trader all out of breath, "Sir - I have an order to buy 100 WBC" I'd squeak. "WBC? WBC? What the hell is WBC?" loud enough for all to hear on the quiet floor. So off I'd run back to Gundy. "Uh, Sir, uh ...what is WBC"?
Now all eyes were on me, there was no activity, too calm, the girls on the data input islands at mid floor were in blush tones knowing what was coming. "What's this? Shouted the Gundy trader. You want to know what WBC is? I nodded waiting for my doom. "Wireless Bird Cages you idiot! -boom and pandemonium, wripped tickets flew as if the bull had stepped out of the bear pen. Laughter all round. " You wanna buy some? How 'bout some UGR - Under Grund Rail while your at it? HAAAA HAAA! Ah yes initiation to The Floor. We all went through it.
Tuesday July 6, 2010 (41 degrees in the shade).
Jimmy and his girlfriend came in today from California.
My place first, then off to see his life long family friend Robin Moody, then on to Lunch at Capiche (owned by Charlie Ghorayeb -best restaurant in our sector of Quebec outside of Old Montreal bar none - great wines, good prices and fantastic foods.)
From there it was on to see Jimmy's cousin Butch (his name nowadays is Spencer). He owns a Harley chopper manufacturing plant and has had some of his products sold to the likes of Prince Rainier and Steve Tylor.
So let's see 3 video clips below (make sure you click on the "full screen feature on the right hand side of the clip box before clicking viewing arrow.)
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Things That Don't Work and Things That Do on a Sunday
or...Consumer Corner
I was in the Cdn Tire Store a few months back, browsing around and I came upon the floor cleaning and mop section.
So what -right?
Well, we happen to have a number of cats in the house and it's my job to take care of their 'toilet area'.
I keep their litter boxes in one corner of the unfinished side of our basement where all the utilitarian stuff happens - laundry, storage, christmas lights, golf bags and sports equipment.
Now I'm really quite pleased with that area. It's my domain you see. Cat Litter boxes! OOOOH Les McConnell has come far in life right? I know, but if you're going to have pets, you have to take care of them .
I have laid down a half inch thick industrial rubber inter-linking pad section, covering about twenty square feet. On top of that I put sections of the old newsprint and lay it down.
Well the problem with some cats, is that, as they grow older they become either lazy or sloppy or develop some kind of Alsheimer's and while they 'aim to please, they do not always aim carefully'. And thus one has to take precautions.
Once the newsprint absorbant function has been duly fufilled, I daintily maneuvre the soggy sagger into an old 'Staples' bag (Bureau En Gros in Quebec) and toss it into the trash outside. And since the industrial rubber mat (from Cosco) is out for airing, it's time to get out the mop and Mr. Clean.
First, I take my Bissel Magic Vac (purchased in a driveway sale I think) and suck up the stray little clay imbued pieces of cat litter. Why 'clay imbued'? Well this is that kind of litter that 'clumps' when touched by moisture. Wow! What an innovation! Do I love my clay imbued kitty Litter...especially the 15 liter box of "Compliments' from IGA at $7.00.
So I run the hand held Magic-Vac-on-a-pole over the big rubber square and zap! Into the cup the stray pieces go...all without the need of a broom and dust pan. I can just empty the stuff from the collection cup back into the Kitty Litter box for continued use.
So I was in the Canadian Tire in the mop section checking out the traditional string sloppers, and the more innovative squeeze sponge mops and -hey! What is that! Something new! A red Vileda ultra mop that uses absorbant cloth and has a system in the bucket to enable you to fold the mop sections allegedly without getting your hands wet while inserting it into a fixed squeezer in the bucket.
Sounded like a good idea and I just had to try one, being the innovative consumer that I am.
And guess what... I got my hands wet, and not only that, when I went to wring it out, I had to wrestle the wet plastic holder with my fingers to unsnap it from mopping position to inverted wringing position.
Then when I tried to insert the wet sopping material in the wringer, the cloth slipped off the holder and plops onto the floor! Splat! The cats looked on in amusement and wonder.
I think they were wondering when they could go again, since the box area was now off limits to felines. So my first thought naturally was, "I am doing something wrong".
Ah! The internet! I went on-line and checked out their demonstrations. Well those things are really not complete. No matter what I did, the darn thing just would not conform to the ideal demonstration.
So it was back to the 'tried and true' sponge mop and squeezer. I have a feeling this new mop was geared for people like me. They know I'm not going to bring it back, and know I'll toss it in disgust.
But hey! I do have something that works really well and is great if you have cats. It's called a Litter Locker. Fantastic!
Normally, every day when removing the clumps of residual cat stuff out of the litter box with the special shovel, I put it into a biodegradable bag (from Dollar Store), head upstairs, grab my coat and walk outside and to the trash can. Well with this little Kitty Locker parked next the cat boxes, you can drop the stuff in there and leave it until full...and guess what? NO Stink!
I love it. I just have to dispose of the internal stuffed bag once a week -and I have three indoor cats!
Alright. I think the rubber pad should be dry by now. It's time to allow my Financial Post and Montreal Gazette to transacend their lofty existence and assume the absorbant pose. Namaste.
or...Consumer Corner
I was in the Cdn Tire Store a few months back, browsing around and I came upon the floor cleaning and mop section.
So what -right?
Well, we happen to have a number of cats in the house and it's my job to take care of their 'toilet area'.
I keep their litter boxes in one corner of the unfinished side of our basement where all the utilitarian stuff happens - laundry, storage, christmas lights, golf bags and sports equipment.
Now I'm really quite pleased with that area. It's my domain you see. Cat Litter boxes! OOOOH Les McConnell has come far in life right? I know, but if you're going to have pets, you have to take care of them .
I have laid down a half inch thick industrial rubber inter-linking pad section, covering about twenty square feet. On top of that I put sections of the old newsprint and lay it down.
Well the problem with some cats, is that, as they grow older they become either lazy or sloppy or develop some kind of Alsheimer's and while they 'aim to please, they do not always aim carefully'. And thus one has to take precautions.
Once the newsprint absorbant function has been duly fufilled, I daintily maneuvre the soggy sagger into an old 'Staples' bag (Bureau En Gros in Quebec) and toss it into the trash outside. And since the industrial rubber mat (from Cosco) is out for airing, it's time to get out the mop and Mr. Clean.
First, I take my Bissel Magic Vac (purchased in a driveway sale I think) and suck up the stray little clay imbued pieces of cat litter. Why 'clay imbued'? Well this is that kind of litter that 'clumps' when touched by moisture. Wow! What an innovation! Do I love my clay imbued kitty Litter...especially the 15 liter box of "Compliments' from IGA at $7.00.
So I run the hand held Magic-Vac-on-a-pole over the big rubber square and zap! Into the cup the stray pieces go...all without the need of a broom and dust pan. I can just empty the stuff from the collection cup back into the Kitty Litter box for continued use.
So I was in the Canadian Tire in the mop section checking out the traditional string sloppers, and the more innovative squeeze sponge mops and -hey! What is that! Something new! A red Vileda ultra mop that uses absorbant cloth and has a system in the bucket to enable you to fold the mop sections allegedly without getting your hands wet while inserting it into a fixed squeezer in the bucket.
Sounded like a good idea and I just had to try one, being the innovative consumer that I am.
And guess what... I got my hands wet, and not only that, when I went to wring it out, I had to wrestle the wet plastic holder with my fingers to unsnap it from mopping position to inverted wringing position.
Then when I tried to insert the wet sopping material in the wringer, the cloth slipped off the holder and plops onto the floor! Splat! The cats looked on in amusement and wonder.
I think they were wondering when they could go again, since the box area was now off limits to felines. So my first thought naturally was, "I am doing something wrong".
Ah! The internet! I went on-line and checked out their demonstrations. Well those things are really not complete. No matter what I did, the darn thing just would not conform to the ideal demonstration.
So it was back to the 'tried and true' sponge mop and squeezer. I have a feeling this new mop was geared for people like me. They know I'm not going to bring it back, and know I'll toss it in disgust.
But hey! I do have something that works really well and is great if you have cats. It's called a Litter Locker. Fantastic!
Normally, every day when removing the clumps of residual cat stuff out of the litter box with the special shovel, I put it into a biodegradable bag (from Dollar Store), head upstairs, grab my coat and walk outside and to the trash can. Well with this little Kitty Locker parked next the cat boxes, you can drop the stuff in there and leave it until full...and guess what? NO Stink!
I love it. I just have to dispose of the internal stuffed bag once a week -and I have three indoor cats!
Alright. I think the rubber pad should be dry by now. It's time to allow my Financial Post and Montreal Gazette to transacend their lofty existence and assume the absorbant pose. Namaste.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Fifties Party on the on a Saturday Night in Chateauguay.
Brandon Campbell, Orin Loft, their uncle Les McConnell and their Grandfather "grandmac".
If you think the eyes and smile are familiar , you would be right- if you knew Dianne Ranger back at HSB (68-72), this is her daughter. My lucky nephew Brandon has a fine girl friend.
Brandon Campbell, Orin Loft, their uncle Les McConnell and their Grandfather "grandmac".
If you think the eyes and smile are familiar , you would be right- if you knew Dianne Ranger back at HSB (68-72), this is her daughter. My lucky nephew Brandon has a fine girl friend.
Then I came across a face I thought I knew- but then I realized it could not be... then she told me who her mom was - Carol Broomer. This is her lovely daughter Chelsea Rand -hamming it up with an old- timer .. her mom is up at Fiddler Lake right now at the HSB 2nd Girls Weekend Out. (Like my pennie loafers?) I certainly don't fit my size 28 jeans anymore... oh well size 32 will have to do. Ain't she sweet? Just like her mom, she has the smile, the eyes and the heart.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Beat of Her Own Drum
I was creating a modest space on my FB page to highlight entrepreneurs so that perhaps students and teachers from HSB might be exposed to stories of those who have gone on to the future world of 'becoming'.
I thought, " Wouldn't it be great if we also used FB to actually highlight what some have become. Students might get the idea that the traditional ideas of Doctor and Lawyer, for a career are not the only thing; that there are other avenues not only to achieve success but better yet independance!
I thought that success is about "spending" - literally spending your life time doing what it is that fufills you, moment by moment -and of course if it pays too - then great!
I thought of Charlie, Norman Perry, Mark Stafford, Dr. Ralf, Bob Houston with his Dr.Gum and A.D. Display, John Saunders, Colleen Hillock and her 'addiction practice' and Lynda Young Chapleau who saw a niche and established a wonderful business; simple model that works and provides an income stream.
All of these people I will highlight here and in FB. But there is someone very special who has been brought to my attention.
I thank Kathie Parsons Harnest for giving me the name of Ruth Douglas. It was only after seeing Ruth's grade 10 picture that I recognized her.
.jpg)
Ruth was one grade ahead of me at HSB.
I was creating a modest space on my FB page to highlight entrepreneurs so that perhaps students and teachers from HSB might be exposed to stories of those who have gone on to the future world of 'becoming'.
I thought, " Wouldn't it be great if we also used FB to actually highlight what some have become. Students might get the idea that the traditional ideas of Doctor and Lawyer, for a career are not the only thing; that there are other avenues not only to achieve success but better yet independance!
I thought that success is about "spending" - literally spending your life time doing what it is that fufills you, moment by moment -and of course if it pays too - then great!
I thought of Charlie, Norman Perry, Mark Stafford, Dr. Ralf, Bob Houston with his Dr.Gum and A.D. Display, John Saunders, Colleen Hillock and her 'addiction practice' and Lynda Young Chapleau who saw a niche and established a wonderful business; simple model that works and provides an income stream.
All of these people I will highlight here and in FB. But there is someone very special who has been brought to my attention.
I thank Kathie Parsons Harnest for giving me the name of Ruth Douglas. It was only after seeing Ruth's grade 10 picture that I recognized her.
Ruth was one grade ahead of me at HSB.
Ruth has succeeded in grabbing hold of a real business opportunity, by taking the media operator known as "News Canada" off the hands of Venture Capitalists using a management/employee 'buy-out'. Her previous experience with Quebec Or paid off.
As the new President, Ruth went to the various Banks, attained financing and made the parent company an offer they couldn't refuse.
Ruth and her team were ready to spend the time, blood, sweat and tears to kick start this opportunity recognizing media buget cuts were in the air. Having to cut staff, the media outlets still need 'story content' all while governments, institutions, and comercial enterprises need to get their message to target audiences.
An opportunity! Ruth took it; guts in action - she did it!
From $7 hundred thousand in revenues, the team harnessed action and momentum, driving revenues to $7 million. Now that's business!
Their firm has risen from 84th on Canada'a major entrepreneuial listing to number 34. WOW! Has she ever got ...'what it takes'!
Ruth's daughter works in the business when not playing Hockey in the Women's Canadian Hockey League ( I should introduce her to Cathy Gulkin speaking of women's hockey) and her son has his eye on entering the tool and die manufactiring sector- nothing like a challenge...he should learn Madarin while he's at it.
On the side, Ruth supports ceaseless efforts of her older sister (Chateauguay High Grad from 1967) Lois (Douglas) Shaw who for 30 years has been investing her life in Kenya, working with women, enabling them to get ahead against all odds in Nairobi slums, where AIDs has decimated much of the youth leaving people our age as grandparents to look after infants. Lois and her husband teach post graduate studies encouraging students to go back to their communities to make a difference.
Ruth has become the nucleus of a Canadian Women sponsored support group who help with her sister's efforts and with orphanages in Nairobi.
There is much more detail I should and will write about this project.
The point of this writing today is to highlight Ruth and what she has accoplished as a model to others; a woman who has achieved much and is continuing to do more.
There is no such thing as "trying" -only 'doing'.
Ruth continues on, to the beat of her own drum.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Brian McInnis
Favoured with good looks and intelligence,
an appreciation for showing the transparency
of that which is false in our political system,
Suffered Fools with a side order of wit, -if at all,
Used the camera eye to focus,
Loved his friends,
...Ah Brian....
So sad to see you go old friend-
Words seem unworthy containers of our feelings for you...
Now things said and unsaid come into focus...
Always one step ahead of us...
You leave us all here to ponder.
As said by many others..
You will be missed.
Brian has left the building Folks.
Favoured with good looks and intelligence,
an appreciation for showing the transparency
of that which is false in our political system,
Suffered Fools with a side order of wit, -if at all,
Used the camera eye to focus,
Loved his friends,
...Ah Brian....
So sad to see you go old friend-
Words seem unworthy containers of our feelings for you...
Now things said and unsaid come into focus...
Always one step ahead of us...
You leave us all here to ponder.
As said by many others..
You will be missed.
Brian has left the building Folks.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Hola Buenos Dias Mis Amigos - Mi Acapulco-Mi Mexico!
How some of the locals fish just before dinner.
What they don't keep, the Pelicans swoop down to snatch before the sardines even hit the water.
The Infinity Pool
Kind hosts Dan and Barabra (Tranpf)Zimmerman, with guests Jane (Ashley)and Les McConnell, Debbie (Hopkins) Crawford and her husband, Gord.
How some of the locals fish just before dinner.
What they don't keep, the Pelicans swoop down to snatch before the sardines even hit the water.
The Infinity Pool
32 degrees in the shade with a cool Pacif breeze and a Marguerita on the side - hey!- that's a drink.
My spot on the beach out in Dan and Barb's back yard just beyond the Infinity Pool. ...where I ..."worked hard at doin'nothin all day".. - well some writing perhaps in between body surfing and boogie boarding the big waves with Bob Houston, Dan and Gino -if they were not out playing golf.
And Bob & Gaby Houston just lived around the corner!
Kind hosts Dan and Barabra (Tranpf)Zimmerman, with guests Jane (Ashley)and Les McConnell, Debbie (Hopkins) Crawford and her husband, Gord.
...Who ever thought Debbie would get her black belt? There was also something about 'punch buggies'?...ow!
Life in Acapulco certainly has it's moments and magic.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Marian Peacock
If I was asked what I like about having stayed in the old home town, one of my responses would have to be - local weekend shopping. This activity takes on an edge of discovery -the possibility of bumping into someone from Highschool days.
In the baking section of IGA, seeking the right brand of sugar for weekend cooking, I happened to look up to see Marian Peacock. There she was -picture perfect, as if right out of the year book!
Marian is a single mom these days with a son in highschool.
After chatting a bit, I realized once again that we have all come so far in life, not just in age or material well being, but in actual 'becoming'.
We were such kids back then. While 'the kid', is still perhaps just beneath the skin, that persona is not who we are now. Yet when we come into contact with those from the past, we tend to see through the lense of our high school being. Once we have a chance to refocus, we can then rectify the past characature memory with this person standing in front of us.
I had known Marian in the past, not well, but to say hello in passing. She had always been friendly, not 'stand-offish', with her smile, always at the ready.
On this day, I did not want to stop listening, her words and ideas -soft, intelligent and to the point; topics bordering on the philisophic and even theological, while centering on processes of education and their effect on our local youth these days.
We discussed violence in hockey, the focus of religion as it pertains to 'exposure' to youth in schools- a true dialogue; an exchange of ideas, in short, a conversation which transcended the norm.
Sure, we reminisced a little about 'the old days', referenced such names as Robin Hewitt and Dave Poirier when she linked my name to a growing-up location in Chateauguay. We dropped names of people we see these days from the past as well.
We touched on how we have even gone back to the past to re-explore certain glanced over facets and subjects from High School, such as Algebra as an example of one; - not that we spend our time doing equations, but that perhaps these topics were and are for some, wasted early on while later, we have become 'ready' for these interests.
While this blog entry does not delve into personal elements of Marian Peacock, it does give you an impression . I don't think she would really want me to discuss her recent past surgery upon her brain stem, except perhaps to tell you that she has been very lucky and is still fully functionning and with us for quite some time to come, is still working flights (a hostess with Air Canada if I am not mistaken), remains in Chateauguay and is just as lovely as ever.
I remarked on this encounter to my wife Jane when I got back home.
"Oh yes" she said, "I met her years ago when our son was in pre-school. Marian would come to the school looking in on her brother's little girl. She was always an angelic-like presence."
Some things just don't change.
If I was asked what I like about having stayed in the old home town, one of my responses would have to be - local weekend shopping. This activity takes on an edge of discovery -the possibility of bumping into someone from Highschool days.
In the baking section of IGA, seeking the right brand of sugar for weekend cooking, I happened to look up to see Marian Peacock. There she was -picture perfect, as if right out of the year book!
Marian is a single mom these days with a son in highschool.
After chatting a bit, I realized once again that we have all come so far in life, not just in age or material well being, but in actual 'becoming'.
We were such kids back then. While 'the kid', is still perhaps just beneath the skin, that persona is not who we are now. Yet when we come into contact with those from the past, we tend to see through the lense of our high school being. Once we have a chance to refocus, we can then rectify the past characature memory with this person standing in front of us.
I had known Marian in the past, not well, but to say hello in passing. She had always been friendly, not 'stand-offish', with her smile, always at the ready.
On this day, I did not want to stop listening, her words and ideas -soft, intelligent and to the point; topics bordering on the philisophic and even theological, while centering on processes of education and their effect on our local youth these days.
We discussed violence in hockey, the focus of religion as it pertains to 'exposure' to youth in schools- a true dialogue; an exchange of ideas, in short, a conversation which transcended the norm.
Sure, we reminisced a little about 'the old days', referenced such names as Robin Hewitt and Dave Poirier when she linked my name to a growing-up location in Chateauguay. We dropped names of people we see these days from the past as well.
We touched on how we have even gone back to the past to re-explore certain glanced over facets and subjects from High School, such as Algebra as an example of one; - not that we spend our time doing equations, but that perhaps these topics were and are for some, wasted early on while later, we have become 'ready' for these interests.
While this blog entry does not delve into personal elements of Marian Peacock, it does give you an impression . I don't think she would really want me to discuss her recent past surgery upon her brain stem, except perhaps to tell you that she has been very lucky and is still fully functionning and with us for quite some time to come, is still working flights (a hostess with Air Canada if I am not mistaken), remains in Chateauguay and is just as lovely as ever.
I remarked on this encounter to my wife Jane when I got back home.
"Oh yes" she said, "I met her years ago when our son was in pre-school. Marian would come to the school looking in on her brother's little girl. She was always an angelic-like presence."
Some things just don't change.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
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.
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).
Sunday, December 06, 2009
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.
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!
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!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
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..).
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..).
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
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...
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...
Friday, October 30, 2009
Charlie Ghorayeb
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.
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.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Sunday, October 04, 2009
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)