WRIGHTS LANE ... come on in!

RISE AND FALL OF LORD'S DAY LEGISLATION

2012-01-28T17:17:00.000-05:00

As an illustration of the Victorian Sunday, consider the following illustration, "Toronto: Sunday preaching in the park," published in 1879. "Canadian Illustrated News, Vol. 19, No. 21, Page 329. Reproduced from Library and Archives Canada's website Images in the News: Canadian Illustrated News."

In feeding a very curious nature, I spent considerable time this week looking into the history of municipal elections in Ontario. (I know, I should get a life.) Quite by accident I stumbled across the following notation from City of Toronto archives.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"City parks had to be closed on Sundays until August 1938, when they were opened providing that competitive games were forbidden (except, for some reason, tennis) and "no apparatus shall be used," which meant that swing sets and other playground equipment were chained and locked. Movie theatres were allowed to open on Sundays as of May 23, 1961. Beverage rooms were allowed to open on Sundays starting in 1962."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That note would seem extreme to any young person reading it today, but for those who grew up in the period, it was definitely a fact of life. I was immediately taken back to a time in my youth (1930s and '40s) when, in my family, The Lord's Day was strictly observed. I well remember my mother relaxing rules of the Sabbath to allow me to play baseball on Sundays and how half guilty I felt in doing so. If we happened to lose a game on Sunday, which was rarely the case, I accepted it as God's way of levelling punishment on me because I was the pitcher in the game.

To this day, I try to avoid doing work of any kind on Sunday and admit to a degree of annoyance when I hear the rattle of neighbours' lawn mowers or the sounds of hammers and saws coming across back yard fences. I still feel somewhat uncomfortable shopping on Sundays. In many ways, I am very much a product of my upbringing, I guess.

When Canada was acquired by Great Britain in 1763, English laws prohibiting work and entertainment on Sunday came into effect in the new colony. In 1845 the province of Canada passed its own law forbidding anyone in Upper Canada "to do or exercise any worldly labour, business or work of one's ordinary calling", except for certain works of necessity or charity. At Confederation, when the British North American Act created our two-tier legislative constitution (federal and provincial), Sunday closing laws came (or seemed to come) under provincial jurisdiction.

A quiet Sunday was the social custom in Protestant Canada (Roman Catholics were mellower about it). If water had to be drawn or potatoes peeled for Sunday dinner, many made sure to do it on Saturday evening. Laundry was not hung out to dry on Sundays. "Even the irreligious usually went to church on Sunday; the religious went more than once" (Grant, The Church in the Canadian Era, p. 10), and "a great many Canadians spent the rest of the sabbath reading religious books or periodicals."

In 1903, in hearing an appeal of a decision about the Sunday operations of the Hamilton Street Railway, the Privy Council in England struck down all Canadian provincial Sunday closing laws, on the grounds that these constituted criminal legislation, which by the BNA belonged exclusively to the federal government. In response, a campaign, joined not only by Protestant churches but also by Roman Catholic hierarchy and the labour movement, was organized to persuade the federal government to enact Lord's Day legislation. It was considered a huge victory against powerful commercial interests when the federal Lord's Day Act was passed in 1906. It prohibited sport, entertainment, and almost all commerce on Sundays, although it permitted provincial governments to make exceptions.

Sentiment began turning against Lord's Day legislation in the 1960s. In that decade Parliament passed amendments to the Lord's Day Act to permit cultural and recreational activities, agricultural and trade shows, scientific exhibitions, and horse racing. In 1985 the Supreme Court of Canada voided the Lord's Day Act as an infringement of the freedom of religion section of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms of 1982. The following year, however, it upheld the provincial Retail Business Hours Act of the Province of Ontario on the grounds that this had a purely secular intention. However, in 1992 the Ontario government repealed the section of this act dealing with Sundays, and most other provinces have also done the same with similar laws.

Our Sunday-go-to-meetin' forefathers must be turning over in their graves.

LET NEGATIVITY GO, SEEK POSITIVE DIRECTION

2012-01-26T14:59:00.000-05:00

I have been experiencing a lot of negativity lately. I think we all go through periods like that. You know -- distrust, disappointment, misunderstanding, misconception, disagreement, irritation, frustration, inadequacy, disenchantment, helplessness, aloneness. It is a long list but it can be any one of the forgoing, or in any combination thereof.

Rosanne's comment the other day (reported two posts ago) to the effect that she was "tired of being a good person" and was going to become "a rotten person like everyone else", has been a factor for me in a rationalization of all of this.

Strangely, interaction with other people (or lack of same) is more often than not at the root of much of the negativity we experience. I think that it is fair to say that we (and others), are not always as kind as we/they should be. Even those with open minds and generous hearts can sometimes act selfishly and thoughtlessly or put up barriers that prevent deserved mutual progress. Things and people are not always as we would have them be, like little pieces fitting conveniently into the jigsaw puzzle of our lives.

When there is negativity in our world, it is imperative that we understand that it is not the end of the world as we perceive it. Neither should we assume that we must have done something wrong to provoke it, nor should we blame someone else for how they have acted toward us in a given situation.

Sometimes we take things too seriously and it serves as a road block in moving forward in a positive way. But look for positive direction we must. It may not be exactly where we expect to find it but it most certainly exists, somewhere out there.

Periods of negativity should not be interpreted as signs of permanent disadvantage. When we literally dispense with them, let them go, everything seems so much brighter and lighter.

I LIKE POPE'S "SLOW DOWN" MESSAGE

2012-01-25T11:35:00.000-05:00

I was particularly interested in an Associated Press story this morning out of Vatican City, indicating that Pope Benedict XVI is asking everyone to quiet down, even going so far sometimes as to tune out social media chatter.

In his annual communications message released Tuesday, Benedict extolled the sounds of silence. He said a little bit of quiet makes people better listeners and better communicators by giving them time to think about what they are hearing and saying. In a world inundated by tweets and 24-hour news coverage, that precious time to reflect gives words greater value, he added.

"Joy, anxiety and suffering can all be communicated in silence; indeed, it provides them with a particularly powerful mode of expression," he explained in a written message.

The Pope has in recent years used his annual communications message to comment on social media. He urged priests to blog and Catholics who spread the faith on Facebook and other social networks, to be respectful of others.

This year, he turned his attention to the need to occasionally tune out information overload from social media to allow time for greater reflection. He called for striking a balance between silence, words, images and sounds.

The 84-year-old Benedict is obviously in tune with the times and sensitive to the downside of addictive electronic communications. This is one Protestant who will be following his advice. I plan to slow down considerably and will definitely extend my previously-announced inspiration-fishing expedition. This may come as a relief to certain Facebook and virtual history friends.

2012-01-24T20:55:00.002-05:00

Rosanne, sobbing uncontrollably over a situation where her faith in humanity was sadly tarnished: "I'm tired of being a good person. I trust people and try to live by the rules, and what does it get me...Nothing! It's just not fair! From now on, I'm going to be a rotten person like everyone else."

I had to agree, there was a degree of truth in what she was saying. Things are not always as they seem when initially presented to us. We are often the victims of perception.

I pray that "the good" in Rosanne eventually prevails. There are not enough good people in this world today!

2012-01-22T19:28:00.000-05:00

FOR INSPIRATION...!

Will return when I catch some

WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME ALONG THE WAY?: A GOOD QUESTION FOR WHICH I HAD NO ANSWER

2012-01-19T13:24:00.001-05:00

Shakespeare wrote both comedies and tragedies. There were funny moments even in his saddest stories and vice versa. But, then, the best humour is black humour. If we can laugh about what makes us cry, we are half way to healing even the harshest reality.

Have you ever had someone ask you a pointed question for which you did not have a reasoned answer? Well, it happened to me last night.

We were watching American Idol on TV and I commented on one father who had displayed enthusiastic support and confidence in his contestant son, a very talented singer. I happened to remark that my father had that kind of faith in me too before he passed away when I was only 14 years of age. "No one ever believed that much in me I again," I half lamented.

"You had so much potential, Dick. With your abilities, you should have been a millionaire," responded a very biased Rosanne who then added: "Where did it all go wrong?"

Her out-of-the-blue, frank but honest comment resonated in my mind. I was stunned into silence. Try as I may, I could not come up with a rational answer. Some 12 hours later, I still do not have an answer. Wish I did!

I'm not sure if I want to laugh or cry over the irony.

Just a little something special...

2012-01-18T16:18:00.001-05:00

THANKS MICHAEL!

ME AND MY SHADOW(S)

2012-01-18T13:29:00.000-05:00

Something that I read this morning got me thinking about "being followed". Some of the things that follow us in life are ultimately avoidable while others -- well, they just keep following us where ever we go.

For instance, I have a four-legged 15-pound "follower" at my heels at all times. No matter where I go, my miniature rat terrier Lucy is right there behind me. Many times I do not realize that she is there until I stop quickly for some reason, or take an unexpected step backwards. I really do not know what I have done to deserve such a faithful pursuer but it is a special, almost indescribable and unconditional gift in life that only a dog lover can appreciate.

A fact of life, however, that is common to all of us is the shadow that is our constant companion. We can make our shadow vanish by immersing ourselves in total light or total darkness. We all have an option to make our lives so gloomy that all shadows merge into one great shadow. But that is hardly a solution, nor advisable. Neither is it wise to position ourselves where light can reach our lives from one direction only...That will cast even stronger shadows!

I often think that we should be a little more conscious of the kind of shadow that we are casting. I doesn't help that we often dwell too much on dark or dismal aspects of life at the expense of all that is bright and positive.

Walk on the bright side my friends. Let your shadow be the best possible reflection of yourself.

SUBSTANTIATING A NEED TO EAT SOMETHING

2012-01-16T13:52:00.000-05:00

Rosanne (with pangs of hunger etched on her face): "Please Dick, I need some substanense!"

Me: "Would you settle for some sustenance?"

Rosanne: "Okay...!"

RACIAL DISCRIMINATION: NOVA SCOTIA APOLOGIZES 64 YEARS AFTER THE FACT

2012-01-12T02:33:00.000-05:00

Still not too late for my hometown

History is filled with tales of injustice. It is only on rare occasions -with the clarity of hindsight and benefit of careful thought and measured reason - that a society comes together to undo the wrongs of the past.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixty-four years after the fact, Viola Desmond was last year offered an apology by the government of Nova Scotia for racial discrimination she was subjected to by the province's justice system. The report of the belated apology was forwarded to me last week by a Facebook friend who no doubt anticipated my interest.

By means of background, this is Viola's story.

On November 8, 1946, she was driving through New Glasgow, N.S. when her car broke down. While repairs were being made Viola decided to catch a movie at a nearby theatre. She bought her ticket and went to sit in the ground level of the theatre, unaware of a policy allowing African-Canadians to sit only in the balcony. She was told to move and refused as there was no notice of the segregation policy posted in the theatre.

The theatre manager called a policeman and together they physically carried the woman from the theatre, injuring her leg and hip in the process. She was taken to the local jail and held overnight. The next day she was brought before a court and charged with tax evasion, of all things.

The "crime" she committed was sitting in the main section of the theatre while paying for a balcony ticket which was cheaper. The retail tax was calculated based on the ticket price so the authorities decided she owed one cent in tax for the pricier entrance fee. She was found guilty, fined $20.00 and forced to pay the theatre's six dollars in legal fees. Viola paid the fine but challenged the decision in the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia.

She had not been told her rights when arrested, nor informed that she could hire a lawyer or question witnesses during her trial. Despite these and other errors of law, the Supreme Court upheld the conviction. The publicity surrounding the case and pressure subsequently applied by the fledgling Nova Scotia Association for the Advancement of Coloured People and others, led to the province repealing its segregation laws, but not until 1954.

In delivering the province's apology, Premier Darrell Dexter called Ms. Desmond a visionary, pioneer and Canadian hero. "On behalf of the Nova Scotia government, I sincerely apologize to Viola Desmond's family and to all African-Nova Scotians for the racial discrimination she was subjected to in November 1946..." he added. She was also given a royal pardon.

However, all this was too late for the victim. Not long after the incident she closed her Halifax beauty parlour and moved to New York where she died in 1965 at the age of 50.

Upon reading this sad story, I was immediately reminded of my attempt to generate interest in an apology for African-Canadians who suffered well- documented discrimination in my hometown of Dresden during the first half of the last century. Reaction to my suggestion in the form of several Letters to the Editor published in the Chatham Daily News was minimal and mixed. Generally, I think, I was considered an excrement disturber who had his nerve in opening old wounds needlessly. There was an overriding consensus that, if racial discrimination existed all those years ago, it was no longer an issue in the community today.

My contention was that each generation should assume at least partial responsibility for the mistakes of the former and that apology can go a long way toward healing festering ills and deep resentments. My remarks were directed in particular, to the current regional council of Chatham-Kent which encompasses Dresden. I still think that I was right in what I attempted to do.

It has been pointed out that one quite striking feature of the politics of the last half-century has been the escalation of demands for redress, issued by groups who see themselves as the victims of historic acts of injustice. Present-day governments and their citizens are being asked to bear responsibility for the actions and policies of earlier generations, and to take a variety of steps to correct the harm and injustice that they perpetrated. Not all such demands have been successful, but many have been, and the costs incurred have in some cases been considerable. The claims in question have been very diverse, both in terms of who is making them and in terms of the acts singled out as standing in need of redress.

So let's return to the question whether the idea of inheriting responsibilities makes sense at all. Why do we find ourselves pulled in opposite directions on this question, sometimes wanting to affirm and at other times to deny that we can be held responsible for what our ancestors did? We can understand this, I believe, in terms of a conflict between liberal and communitarian intuitions.

On the liberal side, we are drawn to the idea that we are only implicated in responsibility when as agents we have made some causal contribution to the outcome for which we are being held liable, and behind that stands the idea that we want to be in control of what happens to us: if we are held responsible for what other people, past or present, have done, then in one important respect we lose control of our lives.

On the communitarian side, we find ourselves identifying with other people or other groups of people, and feeling vicarious pride or shame in what they do. With pride and shame comes responsibility.. Alasdair MacIntyre has expressed this well:

"…we all approach our own circumstances as bearers of a particular social identity. I am someone’s son or daughter, someone else’s cousin or uncle; I am a citizen of this or that city, a member of this or that guild or profession; I belong to this clan, that tribe, this nation. Hence what is good for me has to be the good for one who inhabits these roles. As such, I inherit from the past of my family, my city, my tribe, my nation, a variety of debts, inheritances, rightful expectations and obligations."

In other words, the communitarian intuition that supports the idea of inherited responsibility runs straight up against the liberal intuition that we can and should choose the relationships from which responsibilities spring, and this intuition is as firmly embedded as the other.

To justify taking responsibility for the past, we need to do more than simply point out that de facto people do often feel pride and shame in what their ancestors have done, and are sometimes willing to bear the resulting ramifications. We need to find arguments that will support the communitarian intuition, or at least its consequences, to the detriment of the liberal one.

In Dresden's case, I am not so naive as to expect to influence the thinking of those who are too young to remember racial discrimination in their midst. I had hoped, however, that those in my age bracket who witnessed racial injustices first-hand in the 1930s and '40s, talked about it over the supper table, and felt the helplessness of adolescence in doing anything about it, would now act on hindsight and find it in their hearts to join hands with others of like mind and say to their friends of colour: "I am so sorry for what you and your family had to go through in our time. On behalf of our generation, and generations past, I apologize."

Unlike the Province of Nova Scotia apologizing for one ugly act of racial discrimination and segregation 64 years ago, we are talking about blanket discrimination for hundreds of blacks in the Town of Dresden for more than a century. I rest my case.

SHINING NEW LIGHT ON IMPERFECTIONS

2012-01-06T04:05:00.000-05:00

I received an interesting and revealing note from Wabi Sabi Love advocate Arielle Ford. I have written before about Arielle and the ancient Japanese art form that honors all things old, worn and imperfect. Here's some of what she had to say.

Hi Richard:

After Brian and I got married I discovered that "manifesting a soul mate" was the easy part. The hard part was just beginning.

I was totally clueless about creating a great relationship. After 44 years of being single, I was used to having my own way (all of the time) and since I managed to skip over having a starter marriage, I had zero experience in "partnership".

Arielle and Brian, the faces
of Wabi Sabi Love

One day I found myself being particularly pushy. I witnessed myself pointing my right index finger in Brian's face (left hand on left hip) ragging him out about something...and I was shocked! OMG, what was I doing?

I quickly apologized and then in a flash of insight said to him: "The next time I get like this, and unfortunately there will be a next time, you have my permission to ask me 'when did Sheila enter the room'?" (Sheila is my brilliant, amazing and sometimes overbearing Mom.)

Brian instantly got it and said to me: "And the next time I am getting too patronizing, you can call me Wayne (his much loved Dad)." This was the beginning of our dedication to practicing Wabi Sabi Love in our relationship -- a way to offset problems and to allow in more love. It's like finding beauty and perfection in the imperfections of life. For instance, if you had a large vase with a big crack down the middle of it, a Japanese art museum would put it on a pedestal and shine a spotlight on the crack...

To more love and light in your relationship(s).

-- Arielle

The point of Arielle's message is well taken: We would all benefit from seeing not only our partners but other situations in life as well, in a whole new light that enables us to appreciate, even celebrate, imperfections. Patronization has never been conducive to passion, harmony nor love.

I'm sure that I will be hearing more from Arielle on the subject of the Wabi Sabi Love that has changed her life -- and that of Brian.

HAVE HEART: THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW

2012-01-05T12:16:00.002-05:00

Here it is the 5th of January and already New Years Day 2012 is but a memory relegated to the past, if not totally forgotten -- if you are a soul like me. Maybe it's a symptom of old age like when you've seen several dozen of them, you've seen them all.

The year 2011 was not necessarily a good one for me but, as with all others, it was like an old friend and I was sorry to see it go. I tend to be comfortable with the status quo and that could be a bad thing every much as it is good.

Five days ago we stood on one side of the calendar and stepped bravely into a brand New Year. As the fireworks flew, the champagne corks popped (hot chocolate in my house) and the band struck up Auld Lang Syne, we all inwardly muttered to ourselves words to the effect of, "That was then, this is now."

And you know what? Realistically, that has always been true. Once a year at least, we more or less find ourselves in a position where we can hope for the best. If we carry current life's problems into the next 12 months, we know from experience that eventually they will slip into the mist of history and that we have potential for change and improvement, if only we apply ourselves.

If there is merit in resolve, then by all means act upon it. But do me a favor, dear hearts, stay the course. Stay the course!

WAR SHIP BEACHED IN SOUTHAMPTON

2012-01-02T19:22:00.000-05:00

The War of 1812 was fought between the United States and Great Britain from June 1812 to the spring of 1814. The main land fighting occurred along the Canadian Great Lakes border with a number of the more notable naval battles taking place on Lake Erie. From our Canadian history studies at school, we remember the names Sir Isaac Brock, Laura Secord, Charles de Salaberry and the great Shawnie Indian Chief Techumseh who was killed fighting for the British in the Battle of the Thames.

On January 1st, the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812 began officially but, at the Bruce County Museum & Cultural Centre, work for a well-planned celebration of the historical period has been underway for some time. Here's part of an amazing and exciting story, particularly for those of us living on the shores of Lake Huron in Southampton.

The H.M.S. General Hunter by artist Peter Rindlisbacher

The General Hunter, a former British war ship from the War of 1812, was discovered by accident some 10 years ago on Southampton's beach and was subsequently painstakingly excavated by some of the best archaeologists in the world who all volunteered for the project.

"It was one of the biggest finds on the Great Lakes," said marine archaeologist and project coordinator Ken Cassavoy. The ship, which was excavated revealing a wealth of artifacts from three military entities - American, British and a Newfoundland regiment, was also re-buried twice in order to preserve her and, today, she lies once again beneath the sand. The Hunter was captured in the famous Battle of Lake Erie by the American Admiral, Oliver Hazard Perry.

A replica however, is about to be built by a group of talented local enthusiasts in the Bruce County Museum, complete with one of the masts and three of the 10 cannon found in the beach excavation.

The mammoth 32 1/2 ft. mast weighing 1000 lbs (pictured to the left) was recently raised in the museum by a corps of volunteers from the Marine Heritage Society and the Propeller Club, under the the direction of Mike Sterling who used the principles of Archimedes, the ancient Greek mathematician, physicist, engineer, astronomer and inventor of mechanical devices such as the block and tackle that was used to lift the mast into place.

Beginning in the new year, construction on the deck of the General Hunter replica will begin with every detail meticulously worked out by ship recording and sailing expert Stan McLellan.

"This is a massive undertaking," says Cassavoy, "but we are very fortunate to have living in this area some of the greatest minds when it comes to detail, historical fact, and the ability to bring it all together to make it happen. There are going to be celebrations all along both sides of the Great Lakes in 2012. It's going to be exciting and, especially, here in Southampton with our direct tie to the War of 1812."

Mike Sterling, project co-ordinator Ken
Cassavoy and Stan McLellan discuss the
precise details of erecting the ship's mast.

The ship was discovered in April, 2001 when low lake water levels and a spring ice scour uncovered about a dozen of the ship’s frame tips, pushing up through the sand of the beach.

After a series of archaeological excavations of the wreck and years of historical research the find was identified as the British naval brig General Hunter. It was built in 1806, and served as a Provincial Marine transport ship on the Upper Lakes. During the War of 1812 it took part in a number of successful actions as part of the British Navy squadron based at Amherstburg (Fort Malden), Ontario. The General Hunter was ultimately captured by the Americans in the famous “Battle of Lake Erie” in 1813. Following the war, in 1815, with its name shortened to Hunter, the ship was sold to a private buyer in the United States. It was later purchased by the U.S. Army as a transport vessel and made several voyages during the spring and summer of 1816 carrying U.S. army material and men to various Upper Lakes ports.

According to a letter written by U.S. Army General Alexander Macomb to the U.S. Secretary of War, a major Lake Huron storm pushed the Hunter ashore and wrecked it on a remote Canadian beach on August 19, 1816. Details in the letter and an attached legal declaration by the crew, found in the U.S. Archives in Washington, clearly identified the wreck location as that of the present-day Southampton beach. All eight crew members and the two young passengers survived, managing to crawl down the broken mainmast and on to the beach as the ship was battered by wind and waves. The crew rowed and sailed the small ship’s boat down the lake to Detroit, arriving a week after the ship was wrecked on the beach.

The Hunter as it was uncovered by archaeologists.

The General Hunter lay buried under the beach sand for nearly two centuries before its timbers were discovered pushing up through the sand. The ship was fully excavated and all artifacts were removed. Some of those artifacts, including a unique swivel cannon found on the wreck, can be seen in an exhibit at the Museum & Cultural Centre in Southampton. The rest of the artifacts are undergoing conservation treatment at the Canadian Conservation Institute in Ottawa. In some cases it will take several years to complete conservation but all artifacts ultimately will become part of the shipwreck exhibit at the museum.

In the spring of 2006 a dramatically altered beach profile and the continuing low lake levels, once again exposed a large number of ship timbers and put them at risk of serious damage. The temporary breakwater was installed immediately and tons of sand was put in place, to keep this important shipwreck and the historic work barge that is buried beside it ,safe from the ravages of Lake Huron wind and waves.

A major study in 2005 set out a plan for next possible steps in the Shipwreck Project. Consideration of this plan began in early 2007. Those interested can see the plan “Southampton Beach Shipwreck Project: Recovery, Conservation and Display Preliminary Study,” at the Bruce County Libraries in Southampton and Port Elgin or at the Bruce County Museum & Cultural Centre in Southampton. All the details of the shipwreck discovery, excavation and identification are also available at the same locations.

I find all of this extremely fascinating and will definitely photograph the replica ship for Wrights Lane when the museum project is completed later this year.

2011-12-29T19:06:00.001-05:00

Saturday, December 31, 2011: The Saturday Star this morning carried a front page headline: "My father taught us that it's never too late to change for the better." I could not help but think that the coincidental statement by a woman reflecting on the life of her late father, would have been a fitting lead for this untitled post on the subject of resolutions written by me several days ago.

Maybe it's still not too late!

One of the strangest things about the holiday season, is the way that it mixes the old with the new. First we have the traditional celebration full of ritual, habit, convention and faith. Then we get the great New Year celebration which is supposed to be followed by revelations and resolutions.

Ideally, from the start of January, everything must be new and different. It is no wonder that we have difficultly with some of it. Where do we start? How do we start?

On the 30th of December we are now peeping nervously over the wall that divides us from our future. We know what changes we would like to see but if you are like me there is always a question. Can this be possible? Is it realistic to think about change at this late stage of life?

The answer, of course, is that anything is possible at any time. It is never too late to entertain change and to make a firm resolve. The secret is to want something bad enough that you keep your resolutions for as long as necessary. Be strong and patient, my friends!

AND YOU WONDER WHY MY HAIR IS GRAY?

2011-12-24T15:27:00.000-05:00

It was 2:30 p.m. when I heard Rosanne dialing the telephone.

"Hello, Merry Christmas," she said pleasantly. "Can you tell me what time you close today?" After a pause of several seconds she said "thank you" and hung up the phone.

"Who was that you were talking to?" I asked.

"Walmart," she replied. "They're closing at 6 o'clock."

"That's good information, but what does it have to do with you? You have no reason to be doing any more shopping, particularly at this late date," I simply could not help adding.

"Oh, I know," she said. "But, now I don't have to worry about it!"

All I could say, under my breath, was "Why me Lord?"

2011-12-23T11:01:00.000-05:00

When people say that Christmas is about helping the poor, the underprivileged, the lonely and the forgotten, they are absolutely correct. This does not include, however, stressing over buying expensive presents for family and friends and eating far too much of everything in sight.

Just think about it...You can spend as much as you like on presents, yet it will only make you poorer. You can eat (and drink) as much as you like, yet it will only make you fatter. But no matter how many times you go out of your way to show kindness, sensitivity and love, you can only grow more fulfilled.

Be as wonderfully "fulfilled" as you know how to be this Christmas. It'll be like a gift that you give to yourself as well as to others.

FROM OUR HOME TO YOURS...

2011-12-22T10:59:00.002-05:00

...May the joy of Christmas fill your heart and home with happiness

ABOUT THE ARTIST: Thomas Kincade is one of the world's most collected living artists, a painter-communicator whose tranquil light-infused paintings bring hope and joy to millions each year. Each of his paintings is a quiet messenger affirming the basic values of family, health, faith in God, and the luminous beauty of nature.

WHEN IS "FLOUR" NOT A "FLOWER"?...WHEN IT'S AN ITEM ON A GROCERY SHOPPING LIST

2011-12-20T12:34:00.000-05:00

When you stop to think about it, English is one of the more difficult languages to learn. There are so many nuances.

Rosanne loves to tell a story about her Ukrainian-born step father who immigrated to Canada in 1950. John was a trained cook and all-round handyman who spent several years in a German concentration camp during World War II and looked to Canada as an opportunity to start a new life. After meeting and marrying Rosanne's divorced mother in Toronto, John found employment as a plumber's assistant.

John the Plumber and daughter Rosanne

He saw merit in studying for his Canadian plumbing papers and eventually going into business for himself, but there was one problem -- mastering the English language. A mere teenager, Rosanne became John's English tutor, sitting with him for hours reading instructional materials, explaining the meaning of technical words and correcting his spelling on written assignments as he made his way through the plumbing course of study. Eventually, John overcame the language barrier sufficiently enough to earn his plumbing licence and he once told me that he gave a lot of the credit to Rosanne. "With my limited English, I would never have passed the tests without her help. I always said that she knew enough to become a plumber herself," he added.

As Rosanne recounts her story, one day her mother sent John out with a grocery shopping list which included "Five Roses Flour". John, a do-or-die, not-to-reason-why sort of guy, burst into the kitchen an hour later with a wide grin on his face and carrying several bags of groceries and, you guessed it -- five beautiful red roses which he gently placed on the counter.

Trying her best to suppress laughter, Rosanne's mother Micki lovingly gave her dutiful husband a big hug before tactfully explaining the difference between "Red Roses Flour" and the "red rose flower". After all, it was an innocent and understandable mistake, albeit very comical to everyone but John at the time.

With another lesson in English learned the hard way, John rather sheepishly returned to the grocery store for the much-needed bag of Five Roses Flour. The five beautiful red roses were prominently displayed in a vase on the kitchen table with a note reading "thank you John".

In time "John the Plumber", as he became known to countless households throughout Etobicoke and Toronto West over the years, learned to appreciate the humor of it all. He passed away in 2003.

He did pretty well for himself in this country...He'd be the first to tell you that. In his words: "Thanks God!"

A THOUGHT FOR A SUNDAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS

2011-12-18T11:19:00.000-05:00

Are you fighting a battle? Are you taking a stand? Are you proving a point? Or are you simply getting too tired, very tired.

It may be the Christmas/New Years season, but it is very easy to find ourselves in a state of turmoil. With everything that we have on our plates, there is a tendency to feel like we are caught in a drama that we can't control. It is bigger than us yet somehow we have to play our part as best we can regardless of what it takes out of us.

That may be how we feel, but is it true? Must we really worry so much, try so hard and dedicate so much energy?

We answer those very personal questions only through an honest to goodness soul-searching. Despite fears and concerns, however, life does have potential to get a lot lighter. This special time of year has rewards and blessings for those who participate in the spirit of the celebration.

Consider too, that in the end we will all have an eternity to rest. Much better that we give freely of ourselves, while we can.

FORGOTTEN STORY TOO LITTLE REMEMBERED

2011-12-17T12:12:00.001-05:00

The reason for the season...
One day about 2,000 years ago an angel named Gabriel appeared to a young Jewish woman named Mary. Gabriel told Mary she would have a son, Jesus, who would be the Son of God! Mary was confused and worried about this sudden news, but she had faith in God and said, "I am the Lord's servant; let it be as you say."

Mary and her husband-to-be, Joseph, lived in a town called Nazareth. But they had to travel to the city of Bethlehem to register for a census ordered by the Roman emperor, Caesar Augustus. Both Nazareth and Bethlehem are in the country now called Israel. It is about 65 miles (105 km) from Nazareth to Bethlehem, and the trip probably took them several days.

When Joseph and Mary got to Bethlehem, there was no place for them to stay because the inn was already full. They ended up spending the night in a stable, a place where animals were kept. There was probably fresh hay on the floor that they used for beds.

That night, Jesus was born. There was no crib, so they laid baby Jesus in a manger, a feeding trough for animals. The manger probably had fresh hay in it and made a nice soft bed for the baby.

Meanwhile, some shepherds were in the fields near Bethlehem, keeping watch over their flocks of sheep when an angel appeared to them and gave them the good news that a Savior, the Messiah, had been born. The angel told the shepherds they could find Jesus lying in a manger. Suddenly a whole group of angels appeared saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!"

The shepherds hurried into Bethlehem and found Jesus in the manger, just as the angel had told them. After they had seen Jesus, they spread the news, and everyone who heard was in awe.

We all know the The Christmas Story but like all stories, the details have a way of fading and losing significance. Stories as vital as this one, however, warrant revisiting more than just once a year-- lest we forget and lose perspective.

Question

Was Jesus born on Christmas day? We celebrate Jesus' birth on Christmas, but no one really knows what day Jesus was born, or even exactly what year. In 336 A.D., the Western Church, based in Rome, chose December 25 to celebrate as Christmas, meaning "Christ's Mass." The Eastern Church chose January 6. The day was named Epiphany, meaning "appearance." Eventually the period from December 25 to January 6 became known as the Twelve Days of Christmas.

Lessons

1) The stories of Jesus' birth link to both the past and the future. The circumstances of Jesus' birth show He fulfilled the Old Testament prophecies of a Messiah, i.e. He was born in Bethlehem and He was called out of Egypt.

2) Jesus was born in a stable - the most humble of circumstances. Similarly, Jesus showed us how God's favor rests with the poor and downtrodden. Gentile* wise men also came to worship Jesus along with the shepherds. Later, the Gentiles* would make up most of the Christian world. King Herod's attempt to kill this "newborn king" and savior, foreshadows His crucifixion about 33 years later...and that is another story about how Jesus died for the sins of the world.
(*) In New Testament times anyone who was not a Jew was considered a Greek, a Barbarian or a Gentile.

Through Jesus, all things can be forgiven. "Just ask and ye shall receive." That is THE message, if you want to accept it!

PRINCIPAL RESPONDS TO WRIGHTS LANE STORY

2011-12-15T13:58:00.000-05:00

I was extremely appreciative of a telephone message this morning from Dan Russell, principal of G. C. Huston Public School in Southampton.

On Wednesday, I informed the school's secretary about my post on Wrights Lane (see "Hope for the Future Comes Across the Lake", below) and subsequently published by the Saugeen Times the same day. Mr. Russell said that he wanted to thank me for article(s) and to explain that the morning announcements at G. C. Huston are the responsibility of a group of students working under the banner "Hawks Radio".

He said that he met this morning with members of the Hawks Radio Club and read my story to them. "I wanted them to know that they are not only having an impact on children at the school, but even our neighbors are aware of the good things that they are doing and the kind of messages that they are communicating to our whole school community," he added.

It's a small thing really, but I am pleased to know that I was part of a lesson in communications. It all begins with communications, doesn't it! We need more of it in our lives.

HOPE FOR THE FUTURE COMES ACROSS THE LAKE

2011-12-13T09:35:00.000-05:00

The world is going to hell in a handbasket, you say?

It is so easy for we seniors to be skeptical in this day and age. It seems to go with the over-70 territory. Every now and then, however, I have little nudges that draw me out of my advanced cynicism with resultant emotions of hope and faith in the current and future generations.

It has become a regular morning ritual with me, when I am up in time, to listen to the 9:00 a.m. opening exercises at the G. C. Huston Public School, which is directly across Fairy Lake from my home in Southampton. The school's public address system comes loud and clear across the lake and generally coincides with letting Lucy out the back door for her first you-know-what of the day.

I always find the five minutes that I share across the water with the students and teachers, uplifting and not beyond transporting me back in time some 65 years. I never cease to be impressed with the quality of the opening exercises -- the appropriately-taped music (Christmas carols at present time) which precedes the announcements, the singing of O' Canada (generally by a musically-gifted student, or group of students) and a theme for the day.

The school's theme for this month is "generosity" and giving freely of one's time and resources. This morning, for instance, a student spoke about the role of the local food bank and the need for donations in the form of non-perishable items such as canned goods, cereal and macaroni. From where I stand on my back porch, pretty commendable.

What schools like G. C. Huston in Southampton are doing on a daily basis is not only teaching the ABC's but subtly molding the character and sensitivity of our next generation. So, don't be so quick with that handbasket my senior friends, we're going to be in good hands -- a certain public address system gives every indication of that.

The playground at the back of G. C. Huston Public School, as seen from my back yard.

TIS THE "WAITING" SEASON OF ADVENT

2011-12-11T12:24:00.001-05:00

"The vision will be fulfilled in its own time. If it seems slow in coming, wait for it, for it will surely come."
I dare say that the current Season of Advent goes unobserved by the majority in today's society, yet it is as significant and as old as the Christmas day that we celebrate on the 25th of December.

The general topic of Advent in our churches today is the coming of Jesus, both in the manger in Bethlehem and in the clouds of glory. Roughly speaking, the Western Church celebrating Advent, consists of Protestants, Catholics and Anglicans.

Advent candles symbolize the light of God coming into the world through the birth of Jesus. The candles are lit in churches every Sunday during the Advent period so that the last week before Christmas all four candles are lit. The remaining central candle, representing Christ, is then lit on Christmas day.

Advent originated as a period during which Christian converts prepared themselves for baptism through instruction, prayer, fasting and, much like Lent. The length of Advent varied from three days to six weeks, or approximately the 40 days that Jesus Christ spent in the wilderness preparing for His ministry.

In the west during the Middle Ages, Advent became a time to prepare for the Second Coming, because in those days many people were convinced that all signs pointed to the imminent return of Christ. In time, Advent spread throughout the western world and became fixed at its present length. Over the last 50 years, Advent has come to anticipate the Nativity as well. For many people today however, especially those in the commercial world, Advent is simply a ramp-up to Christmas.

I think is is fair to say that almost everyone in our society experiences the weeks leading up to Christmas as a time of waiting. Waiting for a parking space. Waiting for a bargain. Waiting for a visiting relative. Waiting for a treasured Christmas greeting. Waiting for a quiet evening. Waiting for the holidays. Waiting for social gatherings. It is little wonder that waiting for the birth of Jesus has lost its impact. It has been lost in the hustle and bustle of the shuffle. After the turkey has been cleared away and gifts exchanged on Christmas day, most experience a letdown feeling like "after all that preparation and it is over in a flash!"

A minister shares a recent experience when she gathered with the young folk of her congregation for the children's time a the front of the church. She asked the intent little ones: "Who here likes to wait?" One innovative and confident young fellow put up his hand, and, when acknowledged, replied: "I like to wait when I am facing something I don't like."

How profound. Out of the mouths of youngsters often come the most insightful truths we will ever learn.

If you are not eager to experience the "waiting season' of Advent, maybe there is something in your life that you simply do not want to face. Is it the end of a school semester and the uncertainty about what comes next? Is it the struggles around health, or the interminable wait for results from recent medical tests? Do you fear a performance evaluation at work, or a retirement that looms on the horizon? Do you fear getting a job at all? Do you fear the future with a partner who has been abusive and mean, or the future of your child who seems too timid and shy to make it in the world?

Often, how we act in the face of our fears determines how we can cope with the challenges of life. It is no wonder that the angel's message whispered in Mary's ear was a simple one: "Don't be afraid." Even our joys are made more real when we know what it is like to face and conquer adversity without fear and loathing.

Advent, the waiting and hoping time leading up to Christmas, is a time when various stories of the birth of Jesus get retold and relived. Jesus' birth was hardly an easy one. The experience of the main characters within that story, whichever biblical verses are deemed closest to the reality of the times, understandably was filled with anxiety and fear. Through it all, however, Mary, Joseph, Jesus, and the other main characters managed to find their way through it. They often waited -- waited for a clear message that would remove their doubts and fears.

As a culture, we seek instant answers. We might be better off waiting every now and then: looking for new insights, prepared to listen to wise counsel from mentors and elders, eager to accept the fact that there may be, indeed, a new and better way to proceed.

Can we wait for those peace-filled, quiet moments where truth will be revealed, and a still, small voice will speak to us in profound ways? If we can, then we have figured out at least part of the message of Advent. At the very least, the journey to Christmas should be more hopeful and less stressful when we can find moments for renewal and rest within this time of year.

OVERHEARD IN PASSING...

2011-12-10T18:46:00.001-05:00

A group of seniors discussing ailments over their morning coffee:
"My arms have gotten so weak I can hardly lift this cup of coffee," said one.
"Yes, I know," said another. "My cataracts are so bad; I can't even see my coffee."
"I couldn't even mark an "X" at election time, my hands are so crippled," volunteered a third.
"What? Speak up! What? I can't hear you!" interjected a man cupping his ear with one hand.
"I can't turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck," said a fourth, to which several nodded weakly in agreement.
"My blood pressure pills make me so dizzy!" exclaimed another.
"I forget where I am, and where I'm going," said another.
"I guess that's the price we pay for getting old," winced an old man as he slowly shook his head.
The others again nodded in agreement.
"Well, count your blessings," added a woman cheerfully - - "thank God we can all still drive a car."

BE LEARY OF EXPECTATIONS AND ASSUMPTIONS

2011-12-09T12:16:00.001-05:00

I heard an interesting comment the other day to the effect
that you can't live your life on the expectations of others.
That had a certain resonance for me.

From the moment we are born, we are shaped by the expectations of others. It is a fact of life that our parents, bless their hearts, are the first to want nothing but the very best for us and it manifests in the form of expectations. This is only natural, but again, expectations are expectations and as such not always in keeping with our true interests and abilities, who and what we really are as an individual about to find a comfortable fit in the world.

The expectations, or assumptions, of others can weigh a young person down and sit like a backpack, heavy on their shoulders -- sometimes invisible to them.

As we progress in life, expectations of others threaten to influence us even more -- other family members, our teachers, our friends and last but not least, our sweethearts. Unfortunately, in cases similar to mine, we spend a large portion of our time half apologizing for the direction our lives have taken. Those ideas about us are not ours, but we tend to hold on to them as though they are.

To young people today, I say "be conscious of what others ask of you, but follow your instincts (your heart) and your dreams." Others' lack of approval can condition passion and impede ultimate accomplishment.

We must understand too, that those who celebrate only fractions of us do not really have our best interests at heart. Those who ask us to take on their needs are not our allies and in meeting their demands and repressing our own, we are misplacing our own values.

With life and human nature structured the way they are, we are bound to make mistakes and to have disappointments along the way. The key is the ability to rationalize and to learn from experiences and to minimize regrets.

In the end, we are alone to answer to and for ourselves. Leave no dream unfulfilled, face challenges head on, give freely when you see a need and never give up on yourself. When all is said and done, take pride in having done it in the way that was best for you.

TRUE FAITH COMES ONLY FROM THE HEART

2011-12-08T16:04:00.001-05:00

Jonathan Cainer reminded me yesterday of a quote attributed to the great poet Kahil Gibran: "Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking."

Explain yourself Jonathan. How can this be true?

"Our minds can take us anywhere, can't they? Our thoughts can invent and imagine any situation. They can even lead us into a convincing deep experience. The fact is though, that Gibran is right -- thoughts cannot conjure true faith that only ever comes from the heart. And the heart can only ever be heard when the head is silent."

Good old Jonathan was absolutely correct in his explanation. We can learn a lot by listening to our hearts.

It works for me. I have detoured a lot of trouble in my life by listening to the vital organ that beats within my chest.

Maybe it's been a while, but listen to yours today!

FLIP A COIN: REALITY OF EMOTIONAL EXTREMES

2011-12-07T12:22:00.001-05:00

There's a familiar refrain from George and Ira Gershwin's Porgy and Bess, "Summertime and the livin' is easy". Leave it to someone, however, to ask if the living is really that much harder in the middle of the winter. Personally, I do think that summertime living is a lot easier, because I am not all that fond of winter and all that the season entails, but I do understand the question.

What are these great seasonal extremes if not opposite sides of the same coin? Much like joy and depression being more closely linked than many people think. Success and failure have a similarly symbiotic relationship.

When you are down, the only place you can go is up. And when you are up...Well, let's worry about that when you are up.

I don't know about you, but I am subject to short periods of sadness and melancholy always followed by a burst of happiness and optimism. I do not know how to attribute either one of those feelings that come over me. Maybe it is just the way that I am wired, but I have come to accept sad times with the rationalization that "this too shall pass". Looking at it from a positive standpoint, sadness has often resulted in some of my most serious and creative moments.

Health specialists often refer to these opposite sides of the emotional spectrum as a mood disorder, but I think that it amounts to a matter of degree and how we learn to control or balance all of our emotions. The reality of either a heads or a tails coming up when we flip the coin of life, has to be realized, accepted and dealt with from a rational perspective.

We should grasp the fact that sadness has the unexplained potential to make us very happy. Strange, isn't it? But we would do well to always remember that.

Without fail, winter turns into summer when the livin' is a lot easier.

YOU'VE GOT TO HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR WHEN YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT WIFEY IS SAYING

2011-12-05T20:56:00.001-05:00

First, Rosanne is not going to do anything for the unforeseen future, now she's going on a speaking strike.

"O come on Dick, don't you know what I'm saying to you?" she commented out of frustration during a husband and wife discourse last night.

"Not half the time," was my brutally honest replay.

"That does it," she shot back at me. "I'm not speaking to you anymore!"

"That'll be the day," I said with tongue in cheek as I hurried into the kitchen to turn down the heat under a boiling pot of perogies. "Promises, promises!"

Silence! End of conversation -- for the time being at least.

TIME OFF FOR ROSANNE MAY "`RENDER"

2011-12-05T13:39:00.001-05:00

Rosanne this morning after an hour's wait in hospital for a blood test:

"That's it! I'm not going to do anything else for the rest of the day. In fact the rest of the week is going to be my day off. It may even render(?) into the rest of the month."

(Latest in a continuing series of Rosanneisms.)

OVERHEARD IN PASSING...

2011-12-04T14:09:00.001-05:00

Two men meeting on a street corner.

Man #1: How're you doing? Say, do you hear that voice in the wilderness?

Man #2: What voice is that? All I hear are cars passing by and Christmas carols playing in all of the stores that I've been in today.

Man #1: The voice I'm talking about is coming from the prophet in the Bible and it calls on us to start preparing for the ultimate.

Man #2: Oh, I see! But how can we prepare for anything that serious this time of year when we are so busy getting ready for Christmas?

Man #1: The prophet is not telling us to frantically go shopping, wrap presents, bake cookies and Christmas cake or attend parties. He is calling us to peace; the peace that faith can bring to our hearts, to our lives and to our world.

Man #2: Well, that kind of peace is a good thing, but how do we come by it?

Man #1: When you get home, sit down quietly. Stay there in stillness and silence for a few moments and give the spirit of God and His peace a chance to enter in. The message will come to you, loud and clear.

Man #2: I hear you, friend! Have a good one!

I'VE HAD FIRST-HAND EXPERIENCE WITH BULLYING AND ITS INSENSITIVE UGLY SISTER -- TEASING

2011-12-02T13:32:00.001-05:00

The subject of "bullying" is currently a very hot news item. As if this unthinking act of adolescent meanness is something new. Bullying is an age-old act of insecurity compounded by the need to impose power over others who are not in a position to defend themselves, and unfortunately it does not necessarily end with childhood.

I was particularly interested in a story by Catherine Porter in this morning's Toronto Star. It was a revealing piece about how Catherine, as a grade-schooler, was taunted and made to feel ugly and unwanted by a group of her peers, one of which apologized to her after a chance meeting 30 years later.

School bullying was once considered a character-building rite of passage for children, but now it is seen for what it is -- a form of victimization and abuse. The results of bullying can be devastating, frequently leaving lasting psychological scars, even resulting in recent cases of "bullycides" (suicide).

Back in the day, I experienced bullying of the worst kind -- physical abuse by a group of "toughs" in my hometown. These guys were two or three years older than me and a couple of grades ahead in school. I really do not know why I was singled out, but they just seemed to get a kick out of intimidating me and seeing me quake and cower in their presence. I do not recall words ever being spoken, just blows to my torso, torn clothing, and me running from their gauntlet. For several years, between Grades 3 and 6, I had eyes on the back of my head while walking home from school and sought cover whenever I saw them approaching. I became quite adept at finding hiding places on the spur of the moment.

The great bullying equalizer came with a spurt of growth and some self-defense training by my father. After a few incidents of responding in kind, the bullies suddenly lost interest in me. Life took on new perspective...I was free! No more fear as I walked home from school. I survived the rite-of-passage, 1940s style.

If they were still alive today (they are not), I doubt that those bullies would remember giving Dick Wright a hard time all those years ago. In fact they probably would not remember me at all. But believe me, they left a lasting impression on me and it was not necessarily a positive one.

I have often wondered too, if I myself may have been guilty of a type of bullying. Oddly enough, I tease people that I like but through one incident about 60 years ago, I learned to curb the impulse because it is not always appreciated. Most people have been teased about something -- wearing glasses, or the style of their clothing, but in all honesty I think that is is a form of bullying too, albeit more subtle. I have come to understand that, like bullying, teasing can undermine a young person's self-confidence and cause feelings of sadness or embarrassment.

There was a point in high school where I fear that I allowed myself to be carried away with the impulse to tease. I teased one classmate in particular, often without knowing it. I just thought it was funny and that he knew that I did not mean anything bad by it because, as I say, I really liked him and felt sorry that he was being raised by a single mother of limited resources during a difficult time in our history. I don't recall him having many close friends and I was under the mistaken impression that he appreciated my paying attention to him, as ignorantly mean-spirited as it may have been.

My last memory of (we'll call him) Donald, was struggling to control him in a shop class after I had "poked fun" at him for some unknown reason. He just snapped and lunged at me, wielding a drafting compass in one hand. Being considerably bigger, I was able to fend off his attack by wrapping my arms around him as he kicked and flayed his arms wildly. I released him at one point and he came back at me again, even more frenzied. It took a good five minutes in a bear hug for Donald to cool down sufficiently for me to finally let go of him.

I remember the encounter like it was yesterday, and still feel badly that I had incensed Donald to such a degree. After reflecting on the incident for a few days, I did not have an opportunity to apologize for my insensitive teasing and the hurt that it had obviously caused him. In several weeks the school term of 1954-55 was over and we went our separate ways in life.

In a perfect world, I would hope that Donald forgot all about that shop class incident soon after it happened, but reality suggests to me that he did not. He no doubt thinks unkindly of me for my incessant teasing and that is a shame because as I said before, I always liked him. That's why I naively teased him.

I pray that by some strange quirk of fate, Donald will ultimately be able to read this post and accept my apology. I'm sure he will know who the real Donald was and is. I hope he has had a good life!

Like most bullies, I had no idea...

A BLOCK THAT IS THE CURSE OF ALL WRITERS

2011-11-30T22:33:00.001-05:00

Writers march to the beat of a different drummer. They think with their fingers on a keyboard. They are driven by ideas and a compulsion to express themselves by means of the written word. When inspired, they shut themselves off from the world around them -- sounds, food, mother nature, people and the clock. No writer ever left a subject half finished or partially developed. Thoughts are too fleeting and too precious to waste or to put on hold while dealing with other matters.

As long as human scribes have conjured up ideas and committed them to the written page, they have struggled against the inevitability of periods of writer's block, however. The condition can be trivial, temporary or something that plagues a writer for a long period of time. Regardless of how it manifests itself, the infliction is never welcome and can be quite personally devastating.

Writer's block is similar to a water well running dry. The mind is exhausted of ideas and any attempt to push through the dry spell generally falls short and results in further frustration for the writer. It can be the external manifestation of issues you harbor internally and feelings, anxieties or vague notions that are best explored sooner than later. The only remedy generally, is to take a break. Get away from it all. Do something different. Catch up on chores that have been neglected. Give the mind a rest, putting it in neutral if possible.

I have had any number of periods in my life where writer's instinct has completely abandoned me -- no ideas, no inspiration, no inclination to even sit down at a typewriter or keyboard. Some of my worst episodes of writer's block came during the six years that I was required to produce daily newspaper editorials. Pressure to create timely, provocative prose on a regular daily basis has been the undoing of many editorialists and I still do not think that small town newspaper management fully understands that fact.

In the almost four years that I have been publishing online, I have had bouts of writer's block, but I am now in the enviable position of not having to write if I am not moved to do so. That feels kind of good too. After a few days, I can come back and resume my musing self until circumstance again dictate otherwise.

I never really plan to write on a particular subject or sit down with the prevailing thought that I must write something. More often than not, ideas just come to me out of the blue or are prompted by something that has transpired in my day. I may also be inspired by any number of emotions and I cannot rest until I allow those thoughts and feelings to flow forth. I derive great gratification from telling a story by writing about it. For me, embellishment comes naturally; as it does for most writers. It is an instrument of the craft.

I am writing about writer's block at this time, not necessarily because I am desperate for a subject, but because I have been thinking about writing in general for the past couple of days -- where I have come from and where I should be going in the future. Maybe I am trying to justify in my own mind the reasons why I continue to be motivated to write. Why do I feel a need to toss written puff balls into the air when there is a very real possibility of them floating off into space and never landing?

Bottom line? There is simply something about writing that fulfills creatures like me. We know that we are not going to hit the ball out of the park every time we come up to bat. But we stay in there, swinging.

I guess it all boils down to the reality that old writers never die, they just eventually succumb to a case of terminal writer's block. If I get my wish, when I am called up yonder I'll be sitting in the chair that I currently occupy in front of a trusty, well-used computer.

Hopefully I get to complete my last story though. It would kill me not to finish it!

TODAY'S CONVERSATION: SORT OF...

2011-11-30T08:40:00.001-05:00

THIS MORNING, 8:30

So this fellow says to me: "Hey man, how about this weather? Ain't it pretty?"

I says to him: "You know what you can do with your 'pretty' -- man. It ain't pretty when you got to shovel it -- man!"

TOUCH MY DOG, TOUCH ME!

2011-11-29T09:02:00.001-05:00

Something has come between Rosanne and I. It is our little doggy Lucy.

Contrary to the advice of so-called animal experts, Lucy allows us to sleep in bed with her. It's that kind of arrangement.

It is amazing how a little 15-pound bundle of joy can become the focus of your life. We love her and she gives every indication that the feeling is mutual. We are a unit in every aspect of the word.

This morning I found myself stroking her (Lucy's) head as we were waking up. Rosanne was still asleep.

Suddenly, Rosanne's body gave a slight jerk. "What! Were you touching me?" she asked.

"No, I was touching Lucy though," I replied.

"Oh," came her sleepy response. "I thought this was a package deal! zzzzzzzzzz"

ON A DAY WHEN CONVERSATION WAS LIMITED

2011-11-27T19:27:00.001-05:00

I didn't talk to anyone today apart from Rosanne when she wasn't sleeping and Lucy, when she wasn't sleeping. No one talked much to me either, when I wasn't sleeping. It was just that kind of a dark, dreary, damp, late November Sunday in our neck of the woods -- perhaps yours too.

Come to think of it, I did speak to someone else -- a rather diminutive pharmacist at our local Rexall Drug Store where I went to pick up a prescription for Rosanne. She was a pleasant enough Filipino young lady, but not overly conversational.

This is all by way of an excuse for why I do not have a "Today's Conversation" to relate.

I do not think that there is anything wrong with a quiet, lazy, sleepy day now and then. Bodies and minds need a break to slow down and, yes, even to heal. When you stop to think about it, we really do work ourselves pretty hard without even realizing it. We are under the mistaken assumption that we are machine-like, requiring little or no maintenance.

Perhaps this all gives credence to why God himself rested on the Seventh Day and blessed and sanctified it. It is kind of too bad in a way, that we wait for this type of unfavorable weather to force our times of rest, as though we need an excuse.

Anyway, tomorrow's another day. Maybe I'll be more conversational then...If not, I'll just continue to rest. I seem to require more of it these days!

TAKE EXPECTATIONS OF OTHERS WITH GRAIN OF SALT

2011-11-26T23:27:00.001-05:00

I heard an interesting comment the other day to the effect that you can't live your life on the expectations of others. That had a certain resonance for me.

From the moment we are born, we are shaped by the expectations of others. It is a fact of life that our parents, bless their hearts, are the first to want nothing but the very best for us and it manifests in the form of expectations. This is only natural, but again, expectations are expectations and as such not always in keeping with our true interests and abilities, who and what we really are as an individual about to find a comfortable fit in the world.

The expectations, or assumptions, of others can weigh a young person down and sit like a backpack, heavy on their shoulders -- sometimes invisible to them.

As we progress in life, expectations of others threaten to influence us even more -- other family members, our teachers, our friends and last but not least, our sweethearts. Unfortunately, in cases similar to mine, we spend a large portion of our time half apologizing for the direction our lives have taken. Those ideas about us are not ours, but we tend to hold on to them as though they are.

To young people today, I say "be conscious of what others ask of you, but follow your instincts (your heart) and your dreams." Others' lack of approval can condition passion and impede ultimate accomplishment.

We must understand too, that those who celebrate only fractions of us do not really have our best interests at heart. Those who ask us to take on their needs are not our allies and in meeting their demands and repressing our own, we are misplacing our own values.

In the end, we are alone to answer to and for ourselves. Be proud of having done it your way!

Reinforcement through the horoscope

2011-11-26T11:17:00.001-05:00

My conversation with "an old friend" (yesterday's post, below) was, of course, a figment of my imagination, exercising creative writer's licence as a means of conveying a message -- the need for compassion and kindness in our lives.

I do not place stock in horoscopes, but for sheer entertainment value I do include one in particular with my regular morning reading over coffee. In view of yesterday's "conversation" and other things running through my mind lately, I was especially amused by the timeliness of this morning's horoscope reading for me.

"...rise above it with a smile. Be nice to whoever is being nice to you. Be nicer still to anyone who is not being so nice to you. Be kind but not a pushover, a victim or a martyr. Give yourself permission to be happy. All else you need, you have..."

First my old friend, and now the horoscope. It doesn't take much for me to enjoy coincidence.

TODAY'S CONVERSATION...

2011-11-25T12:10:00.001-05:00

I have a very special old friend who I do not talk to as often as I should. This morning, I called on him for a few minutes.

"Sorry," I said, "I've really been busy, but I think about you a lot. You've always been like a father to me"

Old friend: "That's okay, son. You know where to find me when you feel like having a chat."

Me: "Yes, I know, and I've always appreciated that fact. But please forgive me just the same. You have given me so much over the years and I never seem to be able to thank you adequately enough."

Old friend: "You know what? I haven't done any more for you than I would have for anyone else. But, if you want to repay me in some way, you can be a little more sensitive to the needs of others. Show compassion and forgive those who may have harmed you in one way or another. I've always had a fondness for those who radiate mercy and love in their lives."

Me: "Well, rest assured, I will take that reminder to heart...I promise. Everything that I do from here on in, I will do in your name."

Old friend: "Good deal, then! Bless you for that...And next time, don't take so long to check in with me. I'm not going anywhere, you know that."

Me: "Amen to that!"

*NOTE: I've known my old friend all my life. My parents originally introduced me to Him. I sometimes refer to Him as "God". He has a down-to-earth son by the name of "Jesus". Perhaps you know Him too.

TODAY'S CONVERSATION....

2011-11-23T23:03:00.001-05:00

What follows is not the result of a conversation. It is, however, the result of appreciating the words of Rev. Keith Reynolds, a periodic contributor to The Saugeen Times. I have had differences of opinion and philosophy with this young minister of the Word and Sacrament, but on this occasion I felt that his comments were worthy of Wrights Lane inclusion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I believe in kindness,” June Callwood said in her last interview before she died. This woman often referred to as “Canada’s conscience” gave a great deal in her lifetime. Kindness was the benchmark for her. It summoned her and summed up how she oriented herself toward others.

The late June Callwood:
Canadian author, social
justice activist. A moral
universe founded on small
acts of kindness, inspired
her.

"In this age of Internet news, e-mail, texting, Facebook, Twitter, blogs and other forms of instant communication, kindness can get lost in cyberspace. The typed word can be detached, distant and disembodied from an encounter with another person. We can write something, and write someone off at the same time, even whole groups of people. It’s just an article, only a tweet or simply an e-mail, we might say. That is true. And yet the impact of what we communicate has a potentially larger audience than ever before. Words matter.

"June Callwood was someone who had her fair share of criticism and confrontation come her way. She was also someone who did not back away from an opportunity to stand her ground. Beneath it all, and through it all, she believed in kindness.

"What we believe matters. What we do not believe matters too. The growing challenge in a time which can polarize us is to allow kindness to be our compass and guide. I am reading Mary Jo Leddy’s new book called, The Other Face of God. She has spent the last 20 years living with a number of people in a place called Romero House. She lives in a house in the west end of Toronto with people who come to Canada as refugees. Mary Jo writes beautifully about the names and faces of people who began as strangers and then summoned her to a new way of seeing and living in the world. The subtitle to her book is 'when the stranger calls us home.'

"These people were not just refugees from Somalia, Eritrea, Sri Lanka, Colombia, Guatemala and elsewhere. They have a name, a history, a story and a face. It is difficult to stereotype when you listen to the complex story of someone’s life.

"Mary Jo Leddy and June Callwood were friends. It doesn’t surprise me. Kindness toward others and a summons from someone who is different from us, both offer a hopeful ground to stand on. The ground may be rocky and uneven at times. But take a look around at the landscape of your area – what makes it beautiful is that it doesn’t all look the same."

TODAY'S CONVERSATION...

2011-11-23T12:05:00.001-05:00

I talked to a chap yesterday who has been out of work for more than a year due to a back injury. He has recovered sufficiently to go back to work, but heavy lifting is now out of the question and he is looking to business management as a possible new career direction.

"I took a 12-month re-training course and hope that will eventually leads to something," he explained. "Things are pretty slow right now and I'm working on a plan that may, or may not, bring results."

"What do you mean by 'may or may not'?" I asked.

"Well, it's a bit risky," he answered. Without knowing the details of his plan and the risk involved, I suggested that he had nothing to lose in going ahead with his ideas. Give it a good effort!

"You're absolutely right. I've come this far and I owe it to myself and my family to give it a try, I guess," he added.

We ended our conversation with my wishing him good luck, but I should have given him a little more encouragement by way of reminding him that effort is never wasted, Even if his plan does not work out, he will come away with the satisfaction of knowing that he is capable of trying. Often the result we think we desire is not quite the one that we truly need. He may have to go back to the plan drawing board another time or two before a good job fit comes along for him...He just has to keep on trying.

Hopefully, I won't have to tell him that next time I see him.

TODAY'S CONVERSATION (continued)

2011-11-22T12:25:00.001-05:00

I was talking to a neighbor about the difficulty of maintaining diets and all the advice we are exposed to in the media (television, newspapers, magazines). "Moderation is a much easier thing to preach than to practice," she allowed and I wholeheartedly agreed.

In retrospect, isn't it true however that moderation is the quality that we all should aspire to if we are to avoid making mistakes in life? Think of how well-advised we would have been in the past if only we had settled for a little less.

TODAY'S CONVERSATION...

2011-11-21T18:11:00.001-05:00

As a matter of routine, I do not always have the necessary time, energy or inspiration to write (in my mind) entertaining, thought-provoking items for this site. I think, however, that I am capable of committing to a fairly regular and new "Today's Conversation" lead into Wrights Lane. I'll give it a try for a while.

I talk to strangers in strange places and I converse with some pretty interesting people on a variety of subjects. Sometimes people are controversial, sometimes they are profound, other times they espouse personal convictions or pass on tidbits of wisdom; and best of all, a sense of humor that can make your day. I always appreciate conversations that leave me thinking for a while. Certainly, if any readers want to share "conversations" that they have had, by all means pass them on to me for posting in this new slot.

Today's introductory "conversation" is not earth-shattering by any means, but it left me replaying it in my mind for some time after -- and with an inclination to read between the lines. My mind tends to work that way.

I was exiting the local Foodland store this evening when I noticed a man, perhaps in his early 50s, reading a text message in the illumination of his car's headlights. As he closed his phone, I asked: "A message from home adding to your shopping list?"

"No!" he exclaimed with a satisfied smile on his face. "As a matter of fact, it was a message from the Philippines thanking me for a gift I had sent."

"When you stop to think about it, it really is a small world today, especially when it comes to communications," I offered.

"You are exactly right," he replied. "It is great! I could go on and on about that, but I won't."

As I loaded groceries into the back seat of my car, I thought: "I'll bet he could!" Something just seemed to tell me...

REFLECTIONS: ANOTHER "DOOR" TO THE PAST

2011-11-19T13:15:00.000-05:00

MY FAMILY HOME in Dresden from a water colour painting collection. Note the two front door entrances. Also one of the original front door keys, inserted.

I have been looking at some old photos of homes built in the 18th and 19th centuries. Many of them bear remarkable similarity to the Dresden, ON home that I grew up in (built by my grandfather Wesley Wright in 1879).

The homes had one particular, striking thing in common -- two front entrances. I have always wondered about the practicality of dual entrances, but given the formality and conditions of the era, it does make some sense.

The one front door, usually slightly recessed, opened into the "keeping room", where the family kept house. The area usually contained a large fireplace or wood-burning stove for cooking, a pantry, and of course table and chairs for regular family meals and relaxing. At the turn of the century, fire-burning fixtures were slowly replaced by gas-burning stoves in pantry areas that were expanded into full-fledged kitchens, completed by the advent of electrical refrigerators to replace the former ice boxes.

Family members and close friends were generally the only ones to use the keeping entrance. The other front door would lead into the living room or front parlor, which were generally used for special occasions. Our formal front entrance in Dresden opened into a small vestibule which led to a second floor stairway and the front parlor. Special guests and strangers just naturally gravitated to this door.

It was not uncommon too in those days that deceased family members would lay at rest in front parlors for visitors to pay their respects before removal for the actual funeral service itself and interment. The formal front entrance allowed for easy casket negotiation and placement with minimal disturbance for the family. In my case, two sets of grandparents and my father lay at rest in what we called our "front room". I always had an uncomfortable feeling about that and one of the reasons that I eventually sold the home -- too many memories, adolescent impressions, and ghosts from the past.

There was normally a wall between the two front doors which could, if necessary, be converted into two separate family living quarters. In our case, after my father passed away, the formal front door conveniently served as a natural private entrance for second-floor apartment renters.

It is interesting to note, too, that some churches of the era also had two front entrances, one for men and the other for women. It may just be my imagination, but it seems to me that a lot of the older Presbyterian churches were built that way (i.e. churches that I have belonged to in St. Thomas, Simcoe, Prince Albert (Sask.), Brampton and Southampton). Men and women even sat on opposite sides of the sanctuary in earlier days. Schools were also built with separate front entrances, one for boys and one for girls. In the old Dresden Continuation School that I attended, separate entrances and playgrounds for grade school kids were at the back of the building. The one front main entrance was for high school students with the other for the exclusive use of teachers.

At one time. even hotels and so-called beverage rooms had separate entrances and accommodations for male and female patrons, but I am straying a bit off topic.

During and following the Great Depression, the location of our home on Sydenham Street seemed to attract the attention of transients (tamps, hobos, beggars) of the day. I remember in particular, one handout solicitation at our "keeping" door. It just happened to be at supper time on a hot summer evening and my mother, who always prepared more than enough food for one sitting, invited the bedraggled stranger to have a seat on our front porch. Within a few minutes she returned with a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, carrots and gravy with a slice of apple pie on the side and a glass of lemon aid with which to wash it all down.

In no time at all, our unexpected visitor was knocking on the door with the empty plates and utensils in hand. "Thank you very much Misses," he said. "That was as good as if I'd had a full course meal!"

From that time on, I never finished one of my mother's meals without repeating the hobo's left handed compliment.

Awe me -- the past...the thing of which memories are made.

STAY MARRIED, SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT

2011-11-18T11:28:00.001-05:00

I actually learned something yesterday in the 50 minutes that I spent in a car dealership waiting to have winter snow tires installed on my new Hyundai. Hidden away on an inside page of a women's magazine (in lieu of Playboy or Esquire) that I happened to pick up, was a story suggesting that if today's society truly cares about preserving the environment, it should wholeheartedly embrace conservative social values.

Thanks for conserving,
you married guys!

What really grabbed my attention was the fact that stable and traditional marriages can, and do, go along way toward conserving this threatened environment of ours.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 96.6 million Americans over age 18 are unmarried and 31.7 million Americans (27% of the all households) live alone. Canadian statistics are no doubt similar. This trend towards North Americans living alone or out of wedlock is rapidly accelerating — and it is destroying the environment.
A stable married couple lives in a single home, has only one set of utilities, illuminates the home with a single lighting system, and economizes on overhead in many other ways. Adults who live alone or in unstable relationships dramatically increase the need for dwelling space, electrical power, heating and cooling systems, streets and city maintenance systems, and also cars on those city streets.
Moreover, in traditional marriages which reach a level of economic affluence, it is more likely that at some stage only one member of the family needs to work, reducing traffic congestion and a myriad of environmental problems of a large and commuting metropolitan population. If Americans and Canadians married and stayed married, the impact on all those problems would dramatically diminish, the article suggested.

By the same logic then, society would do well to embrace gay marriage-- due to this new-found potential for vast environmental benefits. There you go, guys and gals of same-sex preference. More ammo for you! Together we conserve, divided we, well...continue to sleep in the same bed any way.

Let conscience be the guide for all of us!

ROSANNE, THE "FASHIONISTA", STRIKES AGAIN

2011-11-17T11:50:00.001-05:00

We were laying in bed the other morning, groggily discussing what we were going to have for breakfast.

"O no," I interjected. "We are out of cream!"

"Isn't that wonderful," Rosanne responded sarcastically. "I'm a fashionista (?) and I absolutely have to have cream in my coffee."

"Fashionista? What do you mean? I hastened to ask.

"I have no idea," came the reply.

Chalk up another Rosanneism!

WHAT THE SAM HILL? HE'S PECK'S BAD BOY AND HE HAS MORE NERVE THAN A CANAL HORSE, BEFORE LONG HE WILL GO TO THE DOGS

2011-11-15T23:52:00.001-05:00

What is the significance of this photo? Just read on and you'll see!
I often think that I would be unable to express myself, were it not for expressions. Unfortunately, however, when I work expressions into conversations today, young people in particular look at me as if I was from outer space.

Many of the expressions I use come from a Perry side of my family that never heard an expression it did not like. I am privy to the origination of many of the expressions that come from within the family circle, others are pretty much self-explanatory, but still others have remained a mystery to me over the years, i.e.:

What the Sam Hill?
More nerve than a canal horse.
It's the wreck of the Hesperus.
By the skin of my teeth.
Dead as a door nail.
Peck's bad boy.
Going to the dogs.
Scarce as hens' teeth.
...to list but a few.

A little research recently cleared up some of the mystery for me and it turned out to be a rather interesting and surprising exercise.

"He's Peck's bad boy!" always means that some poor young fellow behaves poorly, or frequently gets into trouble. But where does that expression come from?

My Grandmother Perry's maiden name was "Peck" and I always thought that "bad boy" was possibly a reference to one of her male relatives. Come to find out, "Peck's Bad Boy" was the fictional star of newspaper stories and books created by George W. Peck in the late 1800s. (Peck wrote the stories, hence the naughty character became known as Peck's Bad Boy.) In the stories, Hennery (or Henry) Peck was a mischievous lad who loved to play sneaky pranks on others, especially his father, for the sheer pleasure of creating mayhem. The stories were a huge hit in their era, and the name Peck's Bad Boy became a popular term for any incorrigible rule-breaker. George Peck collected his stories into several books, most notably Peck's Bad Boy and His Pa (1883). Peck's Bad Boy was played by George M. Cohan in an 1891 stage adaptation of the stories. He was played in a 1921 silent film by Jackie Coogan (who the same year co-starred with Charlie Chaplin in The Kid and later was Uncle Fester on the TV sitcom The Addams Family) and in a 1934 'talkie' by a later child star, Jackie Cooper.

The expressions "Sam Hill " or "What the Sam Hill?" was born in the early 19th Century at a time when it was considered vulgar and improper to use profanity in civilized conversation. This included the word "hell".

One theory is that the expression was the result of altering the word "hell", using "hill" instead. Use of the name "Sam" is believed to have been derived from Samuel, the devil in Von Weber's opera Der Frieshuatz, first performed in New York in 1825. Putting those two words together, listeners were able to realize that the speaker was referring to hell.

There is another twist to this expression that has possibility. Col. Sam Hill was a real life character who ran for political office in New England many times in the 1800s, but never succeeded. The term "run like Sam Hill" came from this. It was synonymous to "hell", as in "Give 'em Sam Hill!" = "Give 'em hell!"

"Nerve of a canal horse": I've heard of quarter horses, race horses, farm horses, light horses, paint horses, gaited horses, draft horses and standard bred horses but what is a "canal horse"? Well, the noble horse, as so often seen throughout history, was an integral part and a key player in the inland canal system built to criss-cross England in 1760 and lasting well into the 1960s. Horses would be harnessed up to long "narrowboats" and barges (see photo above) to transport tonnes of coal, steel and cloth along the canals and rivers, often working up to 16 hours a day. Many of the pathways that the horses followed were dangerously close to the water's edge. Donkeys and mules had difficulty and often balked on the narrow paths, but horses dutifully and steadily plodded their way along, hence "the nerve of a canal horse".

"The skin of my teeth": I can't count the number of times that I have used this one, never realizing it had its roots in the Hebrew language, first appearing in the Geneva Bible (1560). In Job 19:20 it reads: "My bone cleaveth to my skin and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth." This was a change from an earlier translation by Miles Coverdale (1535) reading: "My bone hangeth to my skin, and the flesh is away, only there is left me the skin about my teeth."

Obviously we have no skin on our teeth, but Job is actually referring to his gums, the "skin" around his teeth. That expression has evolved in meaning and has come to mean narrowly escaping a situation by the thinnest margin. What can be thinner than the non-existent "skin of our teeth"?

"Dead as a door nail", meaning devoid of life, has it roots in literature and is one of the oldest of the expressions. The earliest recorded use of the phrase was a 1350 reference in print: "For but ich haue bote mi bale I am ded as a dorenail." William Shakespeare also used the expression in his King Henry VI, written in 1592.

"Wreck of the Hesperus" is a prototypical, pure 19th century poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow where a sailor takes his little daughter out for a boat ride and they wind up in a hurricane. The poem was not by any means Longfellow's best work and is mostly forgotten now, but lives on as a widely used phrase representing a disastrous wreckage i.e. "I feel like the wreck of the Hesperus!" or "That looks like the wreck of the Hesperus!"

"Going to the dogs" is a class oriented expression meaning someone who is down on their luck or hopelessly slipping from social graces, i.e. "He is going to the dogs!" The phrase is also often used to describe deterioration. For example: "I used to enjoy shopping in that store, but now it is "going to the dogs". The literal meaning is of giving food that was not fit for human consumption to dogs. In the 18th and 19th century England, as now, horse meat fell into the unacceptable category and it was the old and worn out horses that were most likely to be sent "to the dogs".

"Scarce as hens' teeth": Did you ever see a hen with teeth? No explanation necessary, but I throw this one in with the others because it always tickles my imagination.

A LAMENT FOR WOOD-BURNING COOK STOVES

2011-11-14T17:45:00.001-05:00

In a recent Wrights Lane post I talked about the old ceiling and floor grates that used to allow heat to circulate from one level of a home to another. Then in a virtual history group exchange this weekend, I talked about an old stove pipe damper factory that I used to visit as a young lad in my home town.

This all got me thinking fondly about the cast iron wood burning cooking stoves of yesteryear. Only a handful of my readers will have had experience with wood stoves and I thought that I would pass on some personal reminiscences of a period that now has a certain romance about it.

When I was born in the 1930s, old iron cook stoves were still providing heat, hot water and cooked meals in many homes. As a matter of fact, when I was first married in 1960, my wife's grand parents in Durham Bridge, New Brunswick, were still using a wood-burning cook stove.

Take a long look at the cook stove in the above photo as an example. It could generate enough heat to blast you out of the house. There were holes in the ceiling, covered with grating, for the warm air to rise to the bedrooms above. Getting up on a cold morning, you stood over the grating while you dressed, or ran downstairs with your clothes to dress by the cook stove.

It was a chore to keep the stove burning, and usually the fire was not allowed to die out, even at night the hot coals were banked so that they would last until morning. Chopping firewood and kindling was a daily chore. It was a balancing act to light the fire and then to keep it going -- kindling and then wood chunks, while getting just enough air through to get the flames to spread, not so much that it blew out the fire.

Stove pipe damper similar to those
manufactured in my hometown.

Some of us will also remember the blessings of the old cook stove. If we were lucky, there was a damper on the stovepipe to regulate the flow of air. By regulating the flow of air and the amount of fuel, a person could regulate the temperature of the ovens. Different places on the stove’s surface were different temperatures too, so water or coffee could be kept always hot but not boiling on the back of the stove. The cook moved pots and pans around on the cook stove top to cook at different temperatures.

The lid lifter was inserted into the slot of the various lids on the cook stove top. With the lifter, a person could lift a lid to add wood or blow on the fire, or good old gram or auntie may choose to remove a lid to put a pot over the hold directly above the flames to get it extra hot. From my own experience, pancakes and popcorn tasted better cooked on a wood stove then they ever have since. Same thing with good old bacon and eggs. Even bread was toasted perfectly on the oven. Let's not forget those mouth-watering home made pies made from apples, cherries and mulberies picked an hour earlier from trees in the back yard.

And when your feet were wet and you were damp and cold, what comfort it was to sit before the open oven, with your feet on the door to warm up! Ah, the good old days...gone but not completely forgotten.

JULY 11, 1939: HISTORIC NIGHT A SPECTACULAR METEORITE DROPPED ON A DRESDEN AREA FARM

2011-11-12T01:22:00.001-05:00

My hometown of Dresden is noted for more than just Uncle Tom's Cabin, championship baseball and hockey teams, its popular raceway and casino -- and pretty girls. It is the site of a spectacular meteorite drop some 72 years ago. This will not come as news to most of my older Dresden readers, but it will be news for many other followers of Wrights Lane.

Information for this post comes from various news sources, including an article written by Howard Plotkin in The Journal of Astronomical Society of Canada. Plotkin is a University of Western Ontario Professor of Philosophy with more than a passing interest in meteorites. He was the organizer of an exhaustive search in 2002 and 2003 which, after so many years, successfully rounded up previously unknown fragments of the Dresden "fire ball". Here is the amazing story:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luke Smith (right) and farmer friend Marshall McFadden admire the Dresden meteorite resting between then on a porch step. Later that day, Smith persuaded the original finder, Dan Salomon, to sell him the space rock for a paltry $4.00.

A spectacular fireball roared across the sky in southwestern Ontario as dusk fell on the night of July 11, 1939 and was seen by thousands of persons there and in Michigan, Ohio, Wisconsin, and even as far away as Pennsylvania. The fireball underwent three explosions, and ended up dropping a 40-kg (88.25 lbs.) meteorite in the sugar-beet field of Dan Solomon, about 10 km southwest of Dresden, as well as several small fragments in nearby fields.

The meteorite, known officially as the Dresden (ON) Meteorite was high in nickel and iron content with many other properties and classified as H6 Chondite. It remains the second largest individual meteorite to ever fall in Ontario and the fourth largest from all of Canada. Through an interesting route, it ended up at the University of Western Ontario (UWO) and was put on display in the Biology and Geology Building.

The first recovered fragment of the Dresden meteorite was a small piece reported to weigh about 1 lb (454 g) dug out of the ground by Bruce Cumming on his sugar-beet farm, about two km south of Solomon’s farm. Cumming reported (Chatham Daily News, July 12, 1939) that he and his family were attracted outdoors when the entire countryside was lit up by the glare of the falling meteor. He reported hearing a roar "like thunder" when it seemed to pass directly overhead, then "a strange noise like the staccato firing of a machine gun, or the sputtering of an airplane engine," and then a "dull thud", as the meteorite hit the ground about 100 metres from his house.

This fragment of the Dresden
meteorite was found in a Grand
Bend flea market in 1993.

The family quickly formed a search party, and headed out in the direction the noise seemed to have come from. Their dog Shep accompanied them and led them directly to the spot where the meteorite had landed and buried itself to the level of the dirt and mashed one or two small sugar beets to a pulp.

The main mass of the meteorite landed in Solomon’s field, only 200 metres from where his wife Hazel was standing with their children. Her description of the event clearly reveals how terrifying it was for her: "My little girl, two years old, saw it first, coming out of the northern sky. I was weeding in my garden at the time. When I first looked up it was about the size of a baseball. It kept getting bigger and bigger until it was about the size of a bushel basket. I started to run toward the field at the back of the house. I was too scared to know what I was doing. When it got directly over me it stopped and made a noise just like a big rotten egg being broken -- a sort of hollow plop. The thing shot off toward the west. Just at the same instant or maybe a second afterward, I heard a terrible noise in the field right ahead of me. It sounded like a big airplane tearing along the field. That scared me worse than ever and I turned and ran back toward the house. My four children were with me. My husband returned from Dresden a few minutes later, but I wouldn’t let him go to the field until the following morning."

Dan Solomon up to his chest
in the meteorite hole.

On the morning of July 12, Dan Solomon set to work to retrieve the main mass of the meteorite. He found that it had made a hole 30 cm by 45 cm. Dirt was piled up all around the hole and chunks of earth were thrown 13 metres away. He enlarged the hole and began digging. At about two metres, the top of the meteorite became visible. His children looked on with fascination, as did a crowd of interested neighbours, including Charles "Chuck" Ross, then a young editor of the Dresden News, who had raced to the scene. Ross helped Solomon hook a chain around the meteorite, and with neighbours’ help they were able to extricate it from its hole.

Later that day, Henry Lozon reported he had recovered a fragment weighing about 5 lbs (2270 g) 80 metres from his house, and it was rumoured that two other nearby neighbours, A.V. Scott and George Highgate, had also dug up fragments of the meteorite on their farms. According to a report in the Globe and Mail ( July 13, 1939), they "were awaiting offers" for their specimens.

Solomon didn’t have long to wait for an offer for his 88.25-lb (40.07-kg) meteorite. Luke Smith, a former Chatham dentist turned oil and gas prospector, and his friend Marshall McFadden, saw the meteorite as it was being cleaned and

quickly paid Solomon a visit. Smith decided (Toronto Daily Star, July 13, 1939) he wanted to purchase the meteorite: "I thought an oil man should not miss a chance to get that close to heaven. Besides, it’s a nice relic." According to one story, he was told that someone had already offered Solomon $3.00 for the "souvenir", so he raised the ante to $4.00.

Beth Ross, sister of Dresden
newspaper editor Charles Ross,
in the process of cleaning the
Solomon farm meteorite.

Solomon’s son Wilfred later said that Smith and McFadden pestered his dad incessantly to sell the meteorite. Solomon, by all accounts a very gentle, soft-spoken man, gave in to this pressure, and agreed to sell it to Smith for $4.00. But within a very short time, Solomon began to realize how terrible a deal he had made. A desperate plea to retrieve the prized specimen from Smith was to no avail, however.

Many in the area at the time protested that Smith had taken unfair advantage of Soloman, but he held fast claiming that a deal is a deal and "the law of supply and demand held good, even for meteorites." He subsequently refused a number of offers to purchase (including universities in the U.S. and the Smithsonian Institution) in the $200.00 range, holding out for his price of $800.00 to $1,000.00.

Newspaper accounts about the meteorite appeared daily. So did hordes of motorists, some from as far away as Ohio, who lined the concession road in front of Solomon’s farm for days on end, eager to see the meteorite. Although they were disappointed to find out that it was no longer there, many helped themselves to small chips of the meteorite that had splattered off when it plowed into the ground, or had been rubbed off it by the chain used in its excavation. Wilfred Solomon remembers selling small chips to passing motorists for a few pennies each. Many of the tourists were from the U.S., prompting one newspaper (London Free Press, July 22, 1939) to wryly note: "...American tourists have gone home with a large number of fragments from the recent spectacular meteor. This addition to Canada's tourist income will never be known, probably."

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On the lighter side: Dresden Virtual History Group contributor Frank Vink, recalls with humour that his father, whom he expected watched too many Flash Gordon movies, was sure that the meteorite was an invading "rocket from China". His grandmother even got her rosary out, convinced that it was "the end".

"A piece (of the meteorite) landed in the field of a neighbor on the Prince Albert Side Road in the 13th Concession of Chatham Township. When the neighbor retrieved the remnant, he put it into his flower garden," Frank adds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In early October, it was announced in the London Free Press, (Oct. 7, 1939) that the meteorite had "been purchased outright and now is in the possession of the University of Western Ontario." Although the price was not given, the newspaper article read: "The purchase of the famous fireball was made possible through the kind offices of the directors of the London Life Insurance Company."

Through the efforts of Don Spanner, the London Life Archivist, UWO author Howard Plotkin found out that its Board of Directors contributed $700.00 to the university to buy the meteorite from Smith. London Life's gift was motivated in large part by E.E. Reid, Managing Director, who was also a member of the University’s Board of Governors. Reid stipulated he wanted the meteorite displayed in the new observatory soon to be erected on the campus, a gift from the estate of actor Hume Cronyn. In 1970 the meteorite was moved from the Observatory (a plaster cast of it remained there), and placed in a glass showcase outside the office of the Department of Geology.

It was not until some 60 years later that members of the late Dan Solomon's family were honored by the University of Western Ontario for their father's historic discovery and the innocent, ill-advised deal that saw him give away the Dresden meteorite to the shrewd opportunist, Luke Smith. (See photo)

Two sons and a daughter of the late Dan Solomon attended a tribute evening for their father, hosted by the University of Western Ontario. A fragment of the meteorite that landed on the Solomon farm in 1939 was presented to the family along with a plaque commemorating the occasion.

Small town Ontario remembers...

2011-11-11T22:50:00.001-05:00

Color Party leads the way to the Cenotaph in Southampton. Remembrance day, 2011.

2011-11-11T15:40:00.001-05:00

The best quote that I've heard in a long time:

"People always say 'Motivation is great but it doesn't last.' I just tell them, bathing does not last either, that is why I recommend it daily." -- Zig Ziglar

WHEN IS IT A MISTAKE TO POINT OUT A MISTAKE?

2011-11-10T19:24:00.001-05:00

Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new. (Albert Einstein)

I am a left-handed dyslexic. Can it get any worse than that?

Answer: Yes it can, especially when you live in a world that aspires to, and expects, perfection -- in others.

Souls like me have to be philosophical about the mistakes we make. I have a perhaps unusual view of perfection. I strive for it, but never quite attain it. I accept the fact that I am prone to making mistakes and leave myself wide open to that potential every time I sit down to write something, which is numerous times in a day, or tackle any kind of job that requires manual dexterity.

If I was afraid of making a mistake, I doubt if I would ever undertake anything in life. It does not take much for me to have pride in both authorship and workmanship. The fact that I have totally applied myself to a task, doing my level best, overrides any warts or wrinkles that may ultimately surface in my work.

I have no trouble living with imperfection, in fact to me it is a fact of life. Little flaws do not trouble me as long as they are easily overlooked or patched up and do no harm in the overall scheme of things. It is not the same with some people who can pick out a flaw a mile away and have no qualms about drawing it to your attention.

It often comes back to bite me you-know-where, but I am inclined to overlook the mistakes of others because I know how easy it is to slip up or to make an unconscious error. It has to be a major faux pas, generally one that is personally disadvantageous, for me to react unfavorably. If I am privy to a mistake that is a harmless one that does not necessarily alter the course of my world, I will let it pass.

While I do not go around looking for the mistakes of others, I also do not issue open invitations for others to point out errors that I may have made. I am of a rather sensitive nature and easily embarrassed and frustrated when errors are brought to my attention and I always appreciate a kind, constructive, cushioning approach when someone does deem it necessary to correct me. To have mistakes pointed out just for the sake of pointing them out, is an affront that more often than not is simply annoying. I am sure that most people look at it that way.

Why then, are there those who feel compelled to point out the mistakes of others? I am of the opinion that there are a number of reasons:

They may think that they are being helpful, interesting or impressive by pointing out some one's mistake. They're not considering that the correction may not be welcomed nor appropriate at that time.
They may have a mentality where it just feels 'wrong' to let a mistake slide. They may feel they just have to say something, and get a sense that they're restoring balance to the universe by sharing the Truth with others.
Some people may get a little ego boost from being knowledgeable, knowing more than someone else, and getting to show it.
Some people may correct others out of a sense of intellectual competitiveness. By pointing out some one's mistake they feel 'one up' over them.

It is interesting to note that the Muslim religion places emphasis on the issues and considerations to be made before and when dealing with and correcting the mistakes of others, i.e.: "When correcting the mistakes of others, it is essential that one's intentions be to earn the pleasure of Allah, not to demonstrate superiority or to vent one's anger or to impress others."

There is a message there for all of us.

A TRIBUTE TO CHURCH LADIES PAST AND PRESENT

2011-11-09T00:28:00.000-05:00

I have received a special request to re-produce one of my earliest posts on Wrights Lane. "The Church Ladies" was/is one of my favorite subjects, but unfortunately Google inadvertently wiped it out of my archives along with 33 other posts, about three years ago. I wanted to use "The Church Ladies" item in my book Wrights Lane...Come On In and ended up having to rewrite the story from memory. Here is the re-worked version, with the addition of a few photographs from the 1950-70 period that will suitably compliment the story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mother Grace, seated, with IODE friends (from the left) Betty Spearman, Dorothy Rigsby and Isabele Wismer at an IODE meeting in London. Circa 1970s.

I have fond memories of my early exposure to the wonderful work of "women of the church". Regardless of denomination, the faithfulness and commitment of women's organizations have, without question, been the life blood of all communities and their churches across our nation.

At a very early age, I came to realize what women of the church really stood for, be they auxiliaries, societies, ladies aid or missionary groups. The Imperial Order Daughters of the Empire (IODE) was an all-inclusive group in my hometown of Dresden, bringing together women from all churches, and continues as well to have a special place in my heart to this day.

In the early 1940s, I remember very clearly being relegated to my upstairs bedroom on evenings when my mother hosted church group meetings and gatherings of the IODE. I would curl up on the floor with my ear cupped to the metal grate that allowed warm air from downstairs to circulate to the unheated upper floor level. I would listen to what was transpiring in the parlour and living room below -- the prayers, God Save the Queen, hymns, committee reports, updates on care packages and those coarse woolen khaki socks and mitts so lovingly knit by the ladies for the troops ("our boys") overseas in World War Two. Of course, there would always be at least one fund-raising program on the agenda to help bolster organization and church coffers.

I was able to put a face to every voice that came up through that dusty grate and I was fascinated by what was being said and who was saying it: Several school teachers, the banker's wife, a nurse, my Aunt Hattie, several of my best friends' mothers, a druggist's wife, a farm lady who delivered eggs to us every Thursday, a choir leader with her unmistakable laugh, a minister's wife with her quiet voice of reason, occasionally my mother -- the collective face and voice of mission and outreach in churches and communities small and large, around the globe.

Looking back now, maybe I was hard-pressed for entertainment. Maybe I was just curious -- maybe a combination of the two. Remember that there were no televisions, i-pads, computers or cell phones in kids' bedrooms in those day. Certainly, it was a different era and I am glad that I was brought up in it. At that impressionable age I came to understand how the efforts of a small group of women in small-town Southwestern Ontario, could have such a far-reaching impact.

With the impression of the grate well embedded in my cheek, I would generally drift off to sleep just as tea cups began to tinkle amidst the soft din of female conversation at the conclusion of the business portion of the meetings. All was right with my world. I could depend that there would be leftover peanut butter cookies and at least one date square put aside for me next day, several of the ladies would always see to it. I was warm and secure. God was in Heaven and "The Church Lades" had everything under control.

Fond memories all, and an appreciation for the work that church women and organizations like the IODE have continued over the decades with much dedication and little fanfare. I dare say that there are no inquisitive little boys eavesdropping on meetings these days, but it goes without saying that God has an ear to His Heavenly "grate" and He blesses all church women for what He is hearing.

IODE members always had a special birthday gift for seniors in Dresden area nursing homes. Accompanying my mother for this presentation was IODE member Doris Dusten (right).

LET'S BE COGNIZANT OF TRUE FRIENDSHIP

2011-11-07T15:16:00.000-05:00

In an age where liberties are taken with almost everything, I resist the misguided impulse to apologize for being a literalist in interpretation and use of the word "friend".

Someone once said: "Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity." The world is full of people who claim to know other people, to in fact be their friend, yet it is debatable how much they really know one another. It is my opinion that we have cheapened the true meaning of friendship by applying it so easily and loosely, regardless of motivation.

I am thinking, in particular, about the popular social networks of today where a good majority of people requesting "friendship" are doing so primarily to build massive lists of "friends" for the purpose of subtly marketing something (special interests, products, services).

Of course, ego and the satisfaction in building up long lists of so-called friends (or followers), enters into the equation too; but that's a totally different story.

Personally, I have confined my small list of friends on Facebook to those I truly know and care about. Most have joined me on Facebook because the feeling is mutual. We share a commonality of interest that I truly respect.

Be honest now -- how often do we misuse or misapply the word "friend"? We call remote acquaintances friends (even those we have never met, in some cases) and it is only when we understand that they care very little for us, that we begin to wonder whether we have given them the title too freely. Who is kidding who, you might ask? Is there a difference between a "good friend" and someone simply labelled a "friend"?

Who is really looking out for your best interests in life? Who is sticking with you through thick and thin? Who will be there for you in times of need? That is the person you should feel proud to call your "friend" in every sense of the word. That person more often than not would be your life's companion, to my way of thinking.

Opportunity finds its way into everything in life but it is misleading when it takes the misinterpreted form of "friendship". Facebook, especially, has to come up with a more apt catch-all term for network connections.

MY DAD KEN "CLIPPED" DETROIT GANGSTERS IN THE 1920s AND WAS WELL PAID FOR IT TOO

2011-11-06T01:24:00.001-04:00

The Detroit River, representing the border between Ontario and the United States, has always been one of the busiest waterways in the world, with freighters bringing iron ore from Michigan's Upper Peninsula to the bustling automobile factories of the Motor City. Timber barges from northern Michigan and Wisconsin pass through the narrow waterway which separates Windsor and Detroit, Michigan en route to Lake Erie and the East Coast and hordes of recreational boaters and weekend fishermen use the river for their pleasure. In the winter, traffic on the narrow flow (less than a mile across in some places) comes to a halt as the river freezes over.

During Prohibition, rum runners and bootleggers used the frozen river as an easy way to get booze from Canada into the United States. From Detroit, liquor went to Chicago (where Al Capone sold it under his "Log Cabin" label), St. Louis, and points west. It was a well-known fact that if you were bringing a load of hooch across the Detroit River that you had better show up armed to the teeth. There was no denying that in the 1920s, Detroit belonged to the Purple Gang, a group of killers and thugs as vicious and bloodthirsty as any racketeer in New York or Chicago.

The "Purples" ran the rackets in Detroit for much of the 1920s and early 30s until the Syndicate boys from back east moved in and wrested control from a gang that had seen its numbers decimated by infighting and prosecution. Detroit may not have been New York, but make no mistake: the Purple Gang was tough. They were strong enough to tell Capone to keep his mitts off eastern Michigan and managed to hold on to control of most of the state when Scarface was at his peak. Capone coveted Detroit, with its huge number of hardworking, hard-drinking laborers, but wisely decided it was better to buy booze from the Purple Gang than to fight them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's no story like an old story, but what good are stories of any kind if they are not shared. I honestly think that there is only one thing better than an old story and that's two old stories.

Here are a couple of favorite oldies that involve my father Ken in the swinging and notoriously raucous era of the 1920s.

On completing his apprenticeship in barbering in the early '20s, Ken packed his bags and left his widowed mother and the quiet, close-knit community of Dresden in favor of the bright lights of Detroit, where he had secured a job as one of four barbers at the newly-built Detroiter Hotel. It would be the beginning of a whole new world for the laid-back, God-fearing, young writer of poetry who had hardly ever been beyond the limits of rural Kent County in all his 23 years.

The Detroiter Hotel was renamed The La Salle shortly after four murders in 1930.

The first couple of months at the Detroiter were relatively uneventful for the young Dresden barber and he quickly became comfortable in his new big city surroundings. He was taken aback, however, when he began to notice that many of his new customers were wearing shoulder pistol harnesses under their suit coats. No one had told him that the infamous Purple Gang had adopted the Detroiter as their headquarters shortly after its opening in 1926.

Ken did not have to be told what was good for him...The message was loud and clear: Just cut hair and turn a deaf ear to anything that was said. This was one venue where barbers were not the customary conversationalists. Beyond pleasantries of the day, no questions were ever asked of customers.

The good news in all of this for Ken was that Purple Gang members were very good tippers, often handing over a five-spot for a two-bit haircut and shave. Before long gang members were waiting for his chair to be empty not only because they liked the way he cut hair but they also knew he was not a "talker" outside of the hotel. His tips were more than enough to cover living expenses and he was able to bank all of his regular pay cheque each week.

One of Ken's new acquaintances and first customer at the hotel was a chap by the name of Jerry Buckley who was an enormously popular Detroit radio show host considered to be a champion of the common man, and he often crusaded on air against organized crime. Jerry had his studio on the mezzanine of the Detroiter. On July 23, 1930, he was gunned down in the lobby of the hotel. The murder came on the same day that voters opted to recall Mayor Charles Bowles on the grounds that he had done so little in fighting organized crime. Buckley was a vocal critic of Bowles on the air.

The bullets flew shortly after Buckley had finished a broadcast. He walked down the stairs from the mezzanine and was reading a newspaper in a lobby chair when three men entered the hotel. One stood by the door; the other two walked over to Buckley. Witnesses at the time said Buckley seemed to rise in recognition when the two men unloaded 12 shots. Only one bullet missed.

Many thought the killing was the work of none other than the Purple Gang upset by his radio attacks calling for a crackdown on mobsters. Other theories said the killing was politically motivated or the result of his rumored shady dealings in the Detroit underworld. It has since become accepted that Buckley had links to mob bosses and was killed because he was planning on going to the police. About 150,000 people attended his funeral. His murder was never solved, and the hotel carried the stigma of being a violent and shady place overrun by gangsters.

Buckley was not the only person to meet a gruesome end at the hotel around that time. A cigarette girl and manicurist either jumped or was thrown from the roof of the Detoiter, and only one week before Buckley was killed, two drug peddlers were gunned down out front.

My dad always contended that the cigarette girl, who worked beside him as a part-time manicurist, was a little too friendly with her clientele and knew too much for her own good. There was no question in his mind that she had been encouraged off the hotel's roof.

The gun smoke had barely cleared at the corner of Woodward Avenue and Adelaide Street when he very wisely gave up his lucrative barbering chair at the Detroiter, soon to be renamed the La Salle Hotel. He had a job waiting for him at Hudson's departmental store where a certain young lady, also from Dresden, worked in the women's hosiery department. He didn't make as much money barbering at Hudson's, but life was a lot less stressful and considerably more pleasant.

Ken had pretty good dukes too

As a young lad growing up, Ken was interested in the art of self defense, particularly boxing and jujitsu. He sent away for as much information on martial arts as he could get his hands on and trained on his own. He formed a small group of equally interested friends in Dresden at one time and eventually trained several boxing prospects in later years, including his son.

His time in Detroit in the 1920s and '30s coincided with a boxing surge in the Motor City. Jack Dempsey was heavyweight champion in those days and Joe Louis was an up-and-comer. Ken frequented the Kronk gym in Detroit to watch boxers in training and to workout on the speed and heavy bags when there was an opening. At five-foot-ten and 165 pounds soaking wet, he had no intentions of ever stepping into the ring competitively. He had exceptionally long, strong arms for his size though and often performed fetes of strength for admiring customers in the barbershop at The Detroiter. He often attended Friday night prize fights at the new Olympia, later to be known as Detroit's "Old Red Barn", the home of the city's fabled National Hockey League team, the Red Wings.


Ken, ready to step into the ring	?

As a preliminary exhibition feature to the Friday night fights, handlers of a rotund heavyweight known only as "The Killer" would offer anyone from the audience $20.00 if they could last two five-minute rounds with the human beast. The Killer was reportedly undefeated in his ring career and was prowling the canvas and intimidating onlookers one particular night because there were no takers brave enough to face him for the required two rounds.

Three friends who had accompanied my dad to the Olympia that evening, began to chant "over here, over here" while pushing their unwilling Canadian buddy to ringside. Finally relenting to the insistence of his friends, Ken parted the ropes and climbed into the ring.

Ring assistants pushed a pair of well-padded boxing gloves on to Ken's outstretched hands and laughingly wished the totally unprepared wisp of a challenger good luck.

Before he knew it, there he was in the centre of the ring staring into the eyes of an expressionless "Killer" chafing at the bit to have his way with another hapless, living-dangerously victim. Dressed only in his street clothes and with no protection whatsoever, Ken answered the bell by warding off several wild hay maker punches thrown by the Killer. He tried to counter with a few lunging right jabs of his own, but his smooth Oxford clad feet slipped hopelessly on the ring's slick canvas surface. Two minutes into the round, it was obvious to Ken that if he was to survive the first five minutes, he would have to fall into a defensive mode. He bobbed, weaved, danced and frequently slipped his way through the next three minutes, much to the frustration of the Killer who could not connect with his elusive target.

Round One ended with the crowd wildly cheering the slight-of-build challenger who was surprisingly unscathed and still standing after five minutes. Before he returned to his corner, Ken surprised everyone by making his way directly to the opposite side of the ring where he methodically and intentionally stepped into a resin box that was intended for The Killer's use only.

"Hey, what do you think you are doing?" screamed Killer's handlers. But it was too late, Ken's mission was successful. He had picked up enough resin on the soles of his Oxfords to give him more secure footing on the canvas.

The bell sounded for the second round and the two pugilists -- one hulking and towering and the other smaller and crouched tentatively -- met at centre ring. The overly confident Killer's guard was carelessly and momentarily down and Ken, with his feet now planted firmly on the canvas thanks to the resin, lashed out with a stinging left to the nose of his opponent followed by a crushing right to the jaw.

The Killer dropped to one knee, blood spurting profusely from a nose that was flattened all over his face. A few seconds later and it was game over. A ringside doctor was unable to stop the bleeding and the round was called off. Ken's friends stormed the ring, elevating him to their shoulders as the crowd applauded in approval.

When the excitement of the upset finally subsided, Ken was informed that he would not be awarded the promised $20.00 prize because of the medical expense that would be incurred by The Killer in having his nose put back in place. The Killer's handlers eventually had a change of heart and handed over a $20 bill only after seducing my dad and his friends into promising that they would never again show up at the Olympia with thoughts of taking on The Killer.

Later that evening when Ken showed up on the doorstep of his soon-to-be in-laws' house, he received the tongue lashing of his life for being so foolish and putting himself at risk. The bouquet of flowers and box of Saunder's chocolates that he brought along with him did not have the intended impact. Unimpressed, my mother always had a way of delivering a verbal knockout punch of her own.

I think she would have given The Killer a run for his money too.

THE JOBS I'VE HAD, AMONG MANY OTHER THINGS THAT MY BLOGGER PROFILE DOES NOT SHOW

2011-11-02T00:42:00.000-04:00

Unlike the past, where I get ideas for Wrights Lane while mowing the lawn, a mixed-bag of thoughts crossed my mind this morning as I was raking up a yard ankle-deep in leaves. The month of October is the only time during the year that I question my fondness of trees. With every passing fall that fondness wanes just a little more.

A regular daily fortification of glucosamine and ibuprofen was not sufficient to ease the pain and agony associated with each armful of leaves that I tossed into my truck a few hours ago. Over and over again, I wondered if I would be up to this annual fall task again next year. I thought, probably not; but stubbornness enabled me to see this particular job through to an uncomfortable and dubious end.

It had taken me the equivalent of four days to complete the chore this year, compared to the less than four hours that it had taken me in the past. "Why am I wearing out so fast?" I had to ask myself. After a lifetime of high energy multi-tasking, I had to concede: "I am now an old man." Like it or not, this is my destiny.

My mind lapsed into flashback mode, like a reel of film rolling back the years and pausing momentarily and frequently on the almost countless number of things that I have done in my life -- jobs, activities, special interests -- and what it took on occasion to simultaneously juggle three and four of these involvements. One job never seemed good enough for me. I always had to have "other irons in the fire", as I explained it. The endurance that was required amazes even me, especially now when any form of mental or physical stamina has gone bye-bye. I honestly do not know where I got the wherewithal to take on so much. I have never talked publicly about this over-riding compulsion for change and my need to continually try new, sometimes unorthodox things.

I really do not know if it was an unexplained need to experience as much as possible in one lifetime or an undiagnosed bi-polar disorder the caused me to jump from one challenge to another, but I began questioning very early in the game what it was that really made me tick. About 55 years ago I announced to my mother that I thought I should consult a psychiatrist and her spontaneous response was: "Oh sure, and the first thing that he will say is what a terrible mother you have had. He'll want to talk about your childhood and it will all end up being my fault...You had a happy, loving childhood, in case you forgot. So don't even go there."

"Okay, Grace. Thanks for reminding me!" I responded with customary tongue-in-cheek discretion.

I actually saw a psychiatrist in Toronto a year or two later and after the first appointment he sent me a letter explaining that he was retiring from his practise and would be unable to see me again. In that one and only appointment we talked about my childhood, but I never breathed a word of it to my overly reactionary mother. And I never again mustered up the courage to sit on another psychiatrist's couch.

But, back to that aforementioned flashback while raking up leaves this morning. Here is a retrospective list of jobs that my mind's film rolled out for me.

My first after-school job in a men's clothing store, at 14 years of age..
A short-lived stint in professional baseball in the U.S.A.
My first full-time job with Jack Fraser Stores in St. Thomas, Chatham and Toronto.
Completed two-year business management course by correspondence.
Initiated a part-time janitorial business in St. Thomas.
Cub reporter, sports editor and managing editor for four Canadian daily newspapers (St. Thomas, Simcoe, Prince Albert and Brampton) over a 20-year period.
Set up of a second part-time janitorial business exclusively for a board of education headquarters.
Accepted part-time free-lance writing assignments from several business publications.
Took a year-long hiatus from newspapering to sell office furniture and equipment in the London area.
Worked evenings and weekends at a major department store in London,
Officiated in baseball and hockey for token reimbursement.
Was paid secretary-statistician for the Niagara District Senior Hockey League.
Joined Insurance Bureau of Canada as media relations manager, then public affairs director.
Bought into a Kid's Toys distributorship in the Toronto area, operating out of my home in spare time.
Worked evenings and weekends as a security officer in the Toronto area.
Obtained another part-time distributorship selling Herbalife health food products.
Joined the Ontario Trucking Association as director of public relations and human resources.
Affiliated with a new Toronto area security company as a night shift supervisor, in addition to my full-time job with O.T.A.
Became a free-lance public relations consultant, producing a syndicated monthly industrial newsletter.
Managed a team of young people selling subscriptions to the Toronto Star.
Joined several friends in a public relations agency catering to the junior mining industry in Canada.
Worked in landscaping after premature semi-retirement due to the need to free up time and to be closer to home during late wife's struggle with cancer.
At the same time, became a part-time car jockey for Avis Rent-A-Car at Pearson International Airport.
Sold cemetery plots part-time, close to home in Brampton.
Associated with the owner of Kipling Medical Laboratories in Toronto, first in charge of property security and finally as warehouse and delivery manager.
Continued to take on free-lance writing assignments for several journals in the United States.
Joined Naylor Publishing as a telemarketer, probably the most ill-advised undertaking of my life.
Became a sub-contractor for Consumers Gas, reading meters in Mississauga, Oakville, Burlington and Brampton area. Also assigned to an on-going "gas leak" survey in the Region of Peel.
Suited up as Santa Claus at a major shopping centre, also appeared at numerous company Christmas functions as a Santa for-hire.
After the passing of wife Anne, eventually went to work with Brampton Chrysler as used car lot maintenance manager with responsibility for special customer transportation needs.
Served as a lay preacher (Presbyterian Church) for a two-year period in the two-point charge of Port Elgin-Burgoyne.
Most recently set up an ill-fated on-line marketing company, before deciding that I had been drained of what little entrepreneurial blood was left flowing through my veins.

All of that on top of belonging to a number of service clubs and business associations, organizing and coaching minor baseball and hockey in three communities, serving as president of a figure skating club and several minor baseball associations for both boys and girls; managing a Junior "C" hockey team in Simcoe and Junior and Intermediate baseball teams in St. Thomas, singing with the Gilbert and Sullivan Society in Toronto as well as a number of choirs and barbershop groups, attending university night classes as a mature student, obtaining accreditation (APR) from the Canadian Public Relations Society, belonging to a little theatre company, being a Big Brothers and Boy Scouts leader, taking on motivational speaking engagements, serving as a Sunday School teacher and church elder, sitting on numerous municipal boards and organizations, being the founding president of the Community Crime Prevention Network (Canada), founding president and organizer of a neighbor outreach program for seven churches in Brampton and writing three books, just to mention a few of the involvements over the years that instantly come to mind.

The jury is still out on how good a husband and father I was during the lion's share of those years, but it is not for me to speculate. I can honestly say, however, that I tried my best under some difficult, pre-occupied and self-inflicted circumstances to be a responsible and sensitive family provider.

Truthfully, I cannot say if it was worth spreading myself so thin and burning the candle at both ends for so much of my life. It all seems like the blurred obsession of another life, over which I had no control. What was I trying to prove, you ask? Dunno! Two things I do know, however, 1) I lost a lot of sleep over the years and 2) paid the government a lot in the form of income taxes; and, oh yes, a third thing -- I have nothing personally to show for any of this. Would I do anything differently, if I had it to do all over again? Let me count the ways! But that's life. Live and learn. We do what we think is right at the time. I just took on more than the healthy and normal average of things that one feels compelled to do in a life time.

After almost completing this post, I have also become aware of a fourth conclusion...I am feeling worn out in these twilight days because, quite frankly, I have worn myself out. Plain and simple. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It just never occurred to me until now.

Knowing me as I do, I'll no doubt keep on plugging as best I can, for as long as I can. Hell, I'll probably even tackle those damned leaves again next fall, and like it even less.

My mother would be very relieved to know too that she was in no way to be blamed for what transpired in my life. I have no one to "blame" but myself. In many ways, I guess you could say that I am a self-made man -- for better or worse.

I would still be interested in seeing a psychiatrist though, if for no other reasons than finally finding out what makes me tick. Only trouble is, there is a good chance he wouldn't believe me.

THE PERILS OF OPENING A NEW TOOTH BRUSH

2011-10-29T23:30:00.003-04:00

Rosanne stuggling unsuccessfully to take a new tooth brush out of its packaging:

"Why do they make these things so difficult to open? What are seniors supposed to do if they don't have a husband, or anything?

Famous Failures Movie

2011-10-28T13:41:00.000-04:00

Sometimes in life when you think about what you should be accomplishing and what you could have achieved, it can really fill you with a sense of pain and shame. We all come up against obstacles to achieving our goals...but when you hear success stories of people who overcame numerous setbacks before finally achieving success and fame, it somehow gives us hope about ourselves. There is something gratifying in hearing about, and sharing, the success of others.

A few posts ago I talked about Arielle Ford, a woman I had come to admire. This link will introduce to readers of Wrights Lane a wonderfully inspiring video program Arielle has just launched and hopes to share with as many people as possible. It doesn't cost a cent. To view just click your cursor on the title "Famous Failures Movie", above.

GOD VERSUS US, WHO IS ABANDONING WHO?

2011-10-27T02:18:00.001-04:00

In the almost four years that I have been publishing stories and musings on Wrights Lane, I have intentionally avoided imposing my religious beliefs, as limited as they may be, on readers. I have preferred, instead, to pass along ecumenical food for thought from time to time that I trust might be of relative interest. I hope that the following will be accepted in that light.

I began to take more than a passing interest in the late Charles Templeton (1915-2001) about 40 years ago and that interest peaked in 1977 when I received an advanced review copy of "Act of God", published by McClelland and Stewart Limited of Toronto, when I was managing editor of the Brampton Daily Times. At the time, Jack McClelland predicted a bestseller and suggested that my advanced copy would eventually have value as a collectors' item. To this day, the novel "Act of God" by Charles Templeton remains one of the most interesting and imaginative books that I have ever read. I'm taking Jack at his word and giving the review edition special care.

For me personally, Templeton was likewise, the most interesting Canadian cartoonist, evangelist, agnostic, politician, newspaper editor, inventor, broadcaster and author (no kidding) in my experience -- and definitely the most complicated and contradictory. Truly gifted in everything he turned his mind to, Templeton was a well-known evangelical church leader who turned his back on God while still in the ministry. He became an agnostic who took opportunity to publicly attack Christianity through his many connections in the press and broadcast industries.

Sadly, he had just finished writing his last book entitled "Farewell to God" when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. In "Farewell to God", he made the claim: "I oppose the Christian Church because, for all the good it sometimes does, it presumes to speak in the name of God and to propound and advocate beliefs that are outdated, demonstrably untrue, and often, in their manifestations. deleterious to individuals and to society."

Soon after release of the controversial book, old friend Billy Graham, aware of his illness, called Templeton in an attempt to persuade him to re-read the New Testament Gospel before he could no longer seriously consider his eternal destiny. Templeton, of course, refused, saying he had been there and done that.

This all begs the question in my mind: As Templeton abandoned God publicly and privately, did God abandon him?

Unless I am wrong, I do not know that God holds a hammer over any one's head. If you insist on turning your back on Christian roots and beliefs, He will most certainly let you go and leave you to yourself to sink or swim in life. As Anne Graham Lotz suggests, "the most frightening form of judgment is not necessarily fire falling from heaven or the earth opening up to swallow you, but God removing himself from your life."

One of the most solemn thoughts about our current condition in North America is the seemingly unsolvable problems of race, immorality, drugs, and our insistence on separation of church and state to the extreme. Are these social issues, combined with increasing environmental problems, a direct result of a concerted effort to remove the name of God from our public life? Is God giving us the freedom to destroy ourselves?

When we ignore God in our private lives, does He likewise ignore us?

I'm just saying...

2011-10-26T01:17:00.001-04:00

May every soul that touches mine,
Be it the slightest contact,
Get therefore some good:
Some little grace; one kindly thought;
One aspiration yet unfelt;
One bit of courage
For the darkening sky;
One gleam of faith
To brave the thickening ills of life;
One glimpse of brighter skies
Beyond the gathering mists
To make this life worthwhile...

...I am not perfect dear friend,
Forgive me if I have failed!

GOOD OLD HARVEY HELPED EASE THE PAIN OF A VERY COSTLY MISTAKE BY ME THE NOVICE

2011-10-23T19:56:00.000-04:00

I think often about people who left a favorablle impression on me as a young lad struggling to make his way in the world. I have written about two or three of them in past Wrights Lane posts. Their kindness and caring has served me well and will never be forgotten. I honor their memory.

For some unknown reason this morning I woke up thinking about a gentleman by the name of Harvey Galloway from my days in the mens' clothing business in the late 1950s. It is easy to remember the cigar-smoking Harvey who was rather gruff on the outside, but a pussy cat on the inside. He was a natty dresser and a haberdasher of the old school. He had a knack of beating all of us to 90 per cent of the customers coming through the front door, which accounted for the fact that he would collect commission cheques most months and why the rest of us rarely did.

It took a while, but Harvey and I developed a genuine liking for each other. He the 70-year-old mentor and me the 20-year-old novice just starting to get his feet wet in the business. We had some pretty amazing chats, the like of which you would have with a father or favorite uncle. Harvey and his dear wife never did have children and I think that in some small way I filled a void.

Three of us, Harvey, me and Danny Clibborn, worked regularly on the floor of the Jack Fraser Store in St. Thomas. Harvey was responsible for the clothing department (suits, sports jackets and overcoats), Danny the work goods section (jeans, overalls, work shirts) and boys wear, while I was in charge of furnishings (dress, shirts, sports shirts, ties, socks, underwear, windbreaker jackets, hats and caps). We were permitted to sell in all sections of the store, providing the person in charge of the particular department was otherwise occupied.

I took special training in the art of tailoring and was awarded second call in the "clothing" department which is where I found myself one day serving a very short, portly customer who was interested in a made-to-measure suit. Having selected a cloth sample to his liking, I proceeded to take very careful measurements of his 40-inch chest, 42-inch waist and very short 26-inch leg inseam. Special care was given his choice of styles for both the coat (wing lapel, two-button doubled breasted) and trousers (no pleats, set side pockets, no cuffs). The gentleman explained that he generally wore out pants quicker than jackets and that he would like to order two extra pairs of matching trousers to go with his suit.

After the gentleman and his wife left the store, I diligently doubled-checked his made-to-measure order form and duly sent it off to Shiffer-Hillman Tailors in Toronto.

The suit arrived in the customary three weeks time and my customer anxiously came in to try it on. On exiting the fitting room I was momentarily elated to hear him say that "everything fits just fine -- but I have a problem with the pockets on the pants". My heart sank to my shoes as a "full top" pocket was revealed and not the "set side" pocket style that I thought I had ticked off on the order form.

But, sure enough, there it was in black and white on the order form...I had checked off the wrong box.

Set side pocket

Full slant pocket

Traditionally, the front pocket opening on a pair of dress trousers is a straight up-and-down slit, usually with no or very minimal hemming. This is to reduce its visual impact, hiding the fact that there is a pocket there at all as much as possible. Slanted pockets, particularly with a distinctive hem, are more casual but still appropriate on most trouser *(see accompanying illustrations). You will almost never see the scooped style of jeans pockets on dress pants, outside of the occasional pair of corduroys or similar dress-casual wear.

Understandably disappointed, the customer said he did not think that he could adjust to the full top pocket, and I had to agree. Because it was my inadvertent error, I offered to order three more sets of trousers with the correct pocket style and the gentleman agreed. I then had the unsavory task of explaining to store manager Gordon Fox what had transpired.

Gordon approved the second order but said that I would have to pay for it out of my own pocket. A $60.00 charge (more than one week's wages) was subsequently added to my staff account and the odd-sized trousers were placed in stock in the hope of selling them to another over-sized midget, if there ever was another. I suppose I could have kept the trousers myself and worn them in place of peddal-pusher shorts in the summer but I was only a 34-inch waist back then, so that was out of the question.

Shortly after the pocket debacle, I was called in to head office in Toronto for another 20-month training period. After that I worked in the Chatham branch store for the better part of a year before being transferred back to St. Thomas again, almost three years later.

One of the first things I did when arriving back in the St. Thomas store was to rather reluctantly check the pants rack to see if those jinxed three pairs of trousers were still there after all that time, and sure enough they were with the same $29.95 price tags intact. A costly and ugly reminder of a stupid mistake that I never made again.

Some time later, on a busy Saturday in the store, I overheard Harvey talking to a familiar figure partially hidden behind a coat rack. It was my old suit customer of three years prior and Harvey was explaining that the man's rejected trousers were still in stock and that he didn't think that it was fair that I had to pay for the replacement order. "They will fit you perfectly and if nothing else they will make good work trousers for you," Harvey convincingly suggested. "Tell you what, I think that we would gladly take $30.00 for all three pairs and we'll be doing everybody a favor." The man said that he had no idea that I would be required to pay for the mistake and readily agreed to the "buy of the century" giving me a sheepish smile and a knowing thumbs up from across the store. I'll guarantee that's one suit where his coat did not outlast the trousers (all six pairs).

I noticed that Harvey did not ring in the sale and we both went about serving other customers. At closing time a few hours later that evening, Harvey pushed three $10.00 bills into my shirt pocket. "Here, this belongs to you young fella. I always felt bad that you had to pay. It was not right. Hope this makes up for some of it." I thanked my old friend profusely. I couldn't say much because of a lump in my throat.

After the passing of his wife, Harvey retired but continued to work part-time in the store a few hours a week and spent the last year of his life in a St. Thomas nursing home. The last time were were together, I was several years removed from the clothing business and he was a guest in my home where my late wife Anne treated him (us) to his favorite roast beef dinner and lemon meringue pie.

It's been a long time, but in reflective moods I still miss old Harvey who went out of his way to ease the discomfort of a costly mistake by a "young fella" who never forgot his kindness.

I still get a lump in my throat too.

DEAL WITH THE TRUTH, DON'T POSTPONE IT

2011-10-22T11:04:00.000-04:00

Sometimes we feel we simply cannot bear to know the truth about a certain situation in our life. We fear a matter so much, we ultimately decide that the best way to protect ourselves from it, is to ignore it. If we keep acting as if everything is fine, the hope is that perhaps somehow, magically, the issue will work itself out satisfactorily.

If we are lucky, we may never get to the moment where we have to confront an uncomfortable reality, right?. There is just one problem with such an attitude, however. It forces us to go blindly through life and leaves us vulnerable. So bravely take the bull by the horns, my friends. Tackle the issue head on -- the sooner the better. You need fear nothing, save fear itself, and even that will vanish once you take charge of the truth.

How well I know this to be true!

I HAD "THE SECRET" AND DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT

2011-10-21T02:55:00.000-04:00

This from the library of my father Kenneth Wright, 1899-1952: "In Tune With The Infinite" was written by Ralph Waldo Trine and published in 1897. It is interesting to see in this publication, remarkable similarities to the much-hyped, multi-million dollar program The Secret which was introduced more than 100 years later. The Secret is a best-selling 2006 self-help book written by Rhonda Byrne, based on the earlier film of the same name and released in DVD format. I paid quite a bit of money for the DVD several years ago, little knowing at the time that I had "The Secret" for free in the form of a dust-covered, musty old 222-page book that was within an arm's reach in my study.

"Secret" be damned, there is nothing new under the sun! See what you think from this Preface by Trine, written in typical 1800s style, as just a sample of his thesis. Wonder where Byrne got her inspiration?

Ralph Waldo Trine (1866-1958) was a philosopher, mystic, teacher and author of many books, and was one of the early mentors of the New Thought Movement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There is a golden thread that runs through every religion in the world. There is a golden thread that runs through the lives and the teachings of all the prophets, seers, sages, and saviors in the world's history, through the lives of all men and women of truly great and lasting power. All that they have ever done or attained to has been done in full accordance with law. What one has done, all may do.

"This same golden thread must enter into the lives of all who today, in this busy work-a-day world of ours, would exchange impotence for power, weakness and suffering for abounding health and strength, pain and unrest for perfect peace, poverty of whatever nature for fullness and plenty.

"Each is building his own world. We both build from within and we *attract from without. Thought is the force with which we build, for thoughts are forces. Like builds like and like attracts like. In the degree that thought is spiritualized does it become more subtle and powerful in its workings. The spiritualizing is in accordance with law and is within the power of all.

"Everything is first worked out in the unseen before it is manifested in the seen, in the ideal before it is realized in the real, in the spiritual before it shows forth in the material. The realm of the seen is the realm of effect. The nature of effect is always determined and conditioned by the nature of its cause.

"To point out the great facts in connection with, and the great laws underlying the workings of the interior, spiritual thought forces, to point them out so simply and so clearly that even a child can understand, is the author's aim. To point them out so simply and so clearly that all can grasp them, that all can take them and infuse them into every-day life, so as to mould it in all its details in accordance with what they would have it, is his purpose. That life can be thus moulded by them is not a matter of mere speculation or theory with him, but a matter of positive knowledge.

"There is a Divine sequence running throughout the universe. Within and above and below the human will incessantly works the Divine will. To come into harmony with it and thereby with all the higher laws and forces, to come then into league and to work in conjunction with them, in order that they can work in league and in conjunction with us, is to come into the chain of this wonderful sequence. This is the secret of all success. This is to come into possession of unknown riches, into the realization of undreamed-of powers."

(*The Law of Attraction, as highly touted in The Secret.)

Truth be known, I was far more impressed with Trine's In Tune With the Infinite than I was with Byrne's extensively marketed and highly commercial The Secret. I may quote Trine more extensively in future posts, but I leave you with this:

"Within each one lies the cause of whatever comes to him. Each has it in his own hands to determine what comes. Everything in the visible, material world has its origin in the unseen, the spiritual, the thought world. This is the world of cause, the former is the world of effect. The nature of the effect is always in accordance with the nature of cause. What one lives in his invisible thought world, he is continually actualizing in his visible, material world. If he would have any conditions different in the latter he must make necessary changes in the former..."

LET'S NOT LET THE WORLD COLLAPSE AROUND US WITHOUT A UNIFIED STAND FOR CHANGE

2011-10-19T04:26:00.002-04:00

As I approach my 500th post on Wrights Lane, I have to admit to a degree of reservation. For several days I have been weighing the pros and cons of this one in particular, with increasingly heavy emotion. I do not know where I am going to start nor how I am going to end, and that is not good for someone sitting down to commit words to text.

Realistically, God willing, my life span has another 10-12 years left in it and I feel rather limited in what I can accomplish in that period. In spite of honorable intentions, I question any meaningful impact that I have had on the world, so why should any of that all of a sudden change in the days ahead? I feel somewhat helpless and personally incapable in a world that is on the verge of collapsing around us. I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not alone in what I am feeling. That is why I am tackling this post in the hope that if I am ever to be taken seriously, if my writing ever stands for anything, may this be the time.

I need not elaborate on the immanent collapse of our economy, taking with it governments and countries. There is the very real threat of a new world order taking over our lives. We find ourselves in the position of scrambling for ways to patch damage done to our environment, in many cases too little too late. We look to governments with poor track records, vying for public favor, yet incapable of providing adequate solutions.

In fact, what we need in our world is not more government, but more freedom. If we had freedom, integrity and personal responsibility, we would not be facing the global collapse that has already begun. But alas, the human race is an infant species and it must learn some lessons the hard way, it seems.

The problems are complex beyond our understanding, and it is not only unlikely that there is a single solution but there may be no solutions at all -- if by “solution” we mean a way to continue human existence on the planet at its current level. We need experiments on every front that will help us imagine new ways of being, and sufficient will to carry out the tasks.

We humans have been given a privileged place in a world that is beautiful beyond description, and we are destroying it and destroying each other. Many of us cope with that by building temporary psychological damns and dikes to hold back our concern. But the emotion comes so powerfully from so many different directions that life feels like a process of constantly patching and moving and rebuilding those damns and dikes. Some of this is intensely personal. The only way to cope effectively is to use some of the energy we have left in collective efforts to try to build something positive.

There is a lot of individual variation in the human species, which means there will be lots of different reactions as the reality of our predicament sets in. I worry that in a society like North America, where so many have lived for so long with abundance and a sense of entitlement, people will not be able to face up to the dramatic changes that are inevitable. That could lead people to accept greater levels of hierarchy and authority if political leaders promise to protect that affluence. In that case, people’s inability to deal with the emotions that arise out of awareness of collapse could usher in an era of even more unjust distribution of wealth and resources in an even more violent world.

The only way to combat that is to talk openly about what we see coming and work to create conditions that allow us to rely on the best of our nature, not the worst. The eternal life that we are now living will be well lived if we take good care of each little period of time as it presents itself day after day. If we fail in doing this, we fail in everything.

I honestly feel that we need to be more aware of the need for righteousness in our world today. When we fully realize this truth we see that it makes but little difference what particular form of religion one holds to, but it does make a tremendous difference how true we are to vital principals. In the degree that we love self less and love truth more, in the degree that we care less about converting people to our particular way of thinking, all the more will we care to aid them in coming into full realization of truth through channels best adapted to them.

A mass, unified unfolding of souls and disregard for differences is our best chance of fortifying against the threat of collapse in our world today. We need to put form aside, tear down the fences and reel in prejudices that keep us from coming into the realization of universal truth. Time and attention must be given to bringing people into a knowledge of their true selves and an understanding of relations with others and of oneness with the Infinite.

No form of government, no corporation, no special interest group, no one world leader, will ever solve all the problems facing us today. But right thinking people, speaking out and acting in concert, can be a powerful force in bringing about change that is so desperately needed.

Yes, we have our work cut out for us all right. A lot of soul-searching is required and many changes must be made. Sacrifice of certain expectations is inevitable. We are all in this together regardless of race, religion, politics or sexual persuasion. Each one of us has a role to play in our destiny and it is up to us individually to reach out and grasp it before it is too late.

So there you have it. A start and an ending...And in between idealistic words that some of us may be more capable of accepting and acting on than others. If nothing else, I hope that at least I've got you thinking. Everything begins with a thought, right!?

United, we stand! Divided, we fall...And the world collapses along with us, sorry to say! I can't put it any other way.

LEGEND: GOD THE "BAKER" OF MAN

2011-10-16T11:34:00.000-04:00

I have been reading a book, Thunder Out Of China, which was included in my father's rather extensive library. Published in 1946, authors Theodore White and Annalee Jacoby provided an eye-opening account of how China became a communist state.

In a well-researched chapter, "Campaign in the South Seas", White and Jacoby describe how the white man's arrogant military trampled roughshod over the dignity and culture of the dark-skinned peoples of Asia. Stories in history tell us of how the Orient was looted of its wealth and how faith was thrust down the gullet of the heathen at the point of a bayonet. For hundreds of years the bitterness and resentment in Asia had been gradually accumulating against the system and pressure was reaching the volcanic stage. A not-too subtle movement to humiliate the white man within sight of his slaves, gained momentum with the hope of driving him out of Asia,

An interesting ancient Filipinos legend about how God made the world's first man, was of particular interest to me and just one of many revelations awaiting me in Thunder Out Of China. As this particular legend has it, God fashioned a man tenderly until every detail was perfect and then put the image into an oven to bake. He opened the oven too late, however, and the man was burned black. This was, after all, the first man God had ever created. Breathing life into the figure, He determined to try again. God put the same material into the second man, shaped with the same care as before, and waited eagerly; but He grew impatient with waiting and opened the oven too soon revealing a man that was undone, a sickly and pasty white.

God was not satisfied with his second attempt and reproached Himself for another mistake. So He made a third man, this time waiting patiently for just the right amount of time before removing the figure from the oven. The third man was baked neither too much or too little. He was a smooth golden brown colour, and God was satisfied.

This story could well have been of Malay, Burmese or Indonesian origin. It could be told of China or Japan. It could be the story of any brown or yellow-skinned people who had been made defensively aware of their colour by the coming of the white man. The consciousness of colour that had been imposed by whites with stress on their superiority and dominance of the pale, and on the humble subjection of the dark, was the strongest weapon in Japan's arsenal in a tempestuous assault on the empires of the South Seas in the winter and spring of 1942, subsequent to entering the war against the British and Americans.

Indeed, an aspect of history that is interesting to contemplate.

Kind of explains too, why so many of us are half baked.

THE MANY USES OF THE WORD "FOOL"

2011-10-14T00:36:00.000-04:00

I don't know what there is about the classic works of William Shakespeare that makes you remember parts of certain scenes almost verbatim. Some of us work Shakespeare expressions into our conversations, even to this day. One of my favorites from the Merchant of Venus is: "Still more fool I shall appear, by the time I linger here..."

Truth be known, I think about that expression more often than I verbalize it. "Still more fool..." comes to mind frequently when I am writing something and wondering how my words will be perceived by the reader..."Am I expressing myself effectively?" "Am I taking too long to establish my point?" "Is my thesis off base and ill-conceived?" In short, "Will I make myself appear foolish by continuing with this subject?"

Some quotes from Shakespeare also leave me wondering about myself. A good example is: "A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool." Makes you think, doesn't it?

The word "fool" haunted me the other day and prompted me to think about how many expressions or old sayings there were in the English language that included the pejorative term. Just off the top of my head I came up with a list of 20 expressions, some quotations, that we commonly work into our everyday conversations and I am sure that I only scratched the surface. Consider these:

A fool and his money are soon parted.
   It takes a fool to argue.
A fool's errand.
   Fool's paradise.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
   Nobody's fool.
Don't suffer fools gladly.
   There's no fool like an old fool.
Don't act the fool.
   Could have fooled me.
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
   You can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you
   cannot fool all of the people all the time. --Abraham Lincoln
Fools look to tomorrow, wise men use tonight.
   Stop fooling around.
Once a fool always a fool.
   I'm a fool to care.
The tongue of the wise uses knowledge, but the mouth of fools pours out foolishess.

If fool-related expressions were not enough, I also found 34 words that incorporated the word "fool" as either a noun, a verb or an adjective. I don't think that there is any other word that is that versitile. Here are a few uses of the word, some more common today than others: befool, befooled, befooling, befools, fooled, fooleries, foolery, foolfish, foolfishes, foolhardier, foolhardiest, foolhardily, foolhardiness, foolhardinesses, foolhardy, fooling, foolish, foolisher, foolishest, foolishly, foolishness, foolishnesses, foolproof, fools, foolscap, foolscaps, outfool, outfooled, outfooling, outfools, tomfool, tomfooleries, tomfoolery, tomfools.

Well, that's it. I've fooled around with this subject long enough! See if you can add to the lists.

O, incidentally, I only quoted half of the Shakespeare expression "Still more fool I shall appear, by the time I linger here..." The other half is: "...With one fools' head I came to woo, but I go away with two!"

LOSERS IN POLITICS AND LIFE HAVE MY SYMPATHY

2011-10-13T00:03:00.001-04:00

After writing this post last night I was especially taken with my Your Stars horoscope in the newspaper this morning, Thursday, Oct. 13. "Whatever you do, someone will criticize you for it. Or, at the very least, they will question you about it. If you are feeling sensitive and defensive, you may interpret their doubt as disapproval. Then you may waste much precious time and energy, either worring unduly or preparing an unnecessarily strong defence. What's really important today, is that you give your own intuition the trust that it deserves. Your judgment is sound. Your insight is astute. Believe in yourself..."

Hmmmm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I received a rather negative, anonymous response to my post on the defeat of Huron-Bruce Liberal candidate Carol Mitchell in last week's provincial election. (See comment below, inappropriately attached to my offbeat "Thanks"giving sentiment.)

I have seen many elections come and go in my 74 years, a number of which I covered as a journalist. I have not been beyond contributing to some election campaigns in my capacity as a publicist. The elation of victory and the agony of defeat are never more prevalent than in campaign headquarters as emotions ebb and flow with each incoming pole result. I am aware also, of how well (debatable) compensated politicians are and of the perceived perks of public office, but that was not the point in my piece on Carol Mitchell, and all other losers in elections past and present.

None of us, politicians included, anticipate losing. Even though there is the realistic possibility of losing, we naturally undertake challenges in life with the expectation of emerging victorious. Otherwise, why bother? We celebrate victory and we mourn a loss of any kind, again that is only natural. The sting of defeat is measured by the degree in which we have applied ourselves to a task or cause. As with any walk of life, the harder we try the harder it is to fall. In spite of skin that is thick out of necessity, politicians are capable of bleeding and are deserving of a little compassion when the life that they have known comes to a screeching halt at the polls. No amount of transitional compensation ever completely makes up for the price that is paid emotionally, hense my comment: "You couldn't pay me enough..." That point alone should not be too difficult to appreciate.

I was merely writing from a human standpoint about the disappointment and anguish that comes with losing. Carol Mitchell's upset last week simply gave me a peg on which to hang a long-held belief, albeit spontaneously expressed. There is a lot of insensitivity and callousness in politics and I felt that I wanted to present a sensitive perspective on losing that is often overlooked in media reports and conversations in the coffee shop. As I have written on many occasions, that is the nice thing about publishing your own web site -- you can freely express what is on your mind and in your heart and you can go on and on about it to your heart's content.

As a commentator of everyday life, I put myself in other peoples' shoes and give the benefit of doubt whenever possible. I just happen to have a soft spot for losers. I kind of know how it feels.

I write, for the most part, with gut-felt emotion and from experience. If I feel something strong enough, I commit it to this site with as much emphasis as I am capable. That's my style and that's what Wrights Lane is all about -- like it or not.

And my name is always attached to any comments I make in this and all other forums.

Perhaps some would say that I have "gone on" long enough!?

2011-10-10T19:09:00.000-04:00

THANKS!

...I'm talkin' to You GOD!

POLITICS: IT IS POSSIBLE TO WIN BY LOSING

2011-10-08T15:54:00.003-04:00

I have always been of the opinion that politics, more often than not, is a thankless, nasty business. Politicians are constantly open to criticism, not only from opposition party members but from their own constituents as well. They are damned if they do and damned if they don't. They can never do enough to meet the demanding expectations of a growing number of interest groups seeking funding from the seemingly bottomless public purse.

This was never more evident to me than this past Thursday evening in my riding of Huron Bruce.

The mood grew sombre as supporters and volunteers watched the voting numbers begin to trickle in at what was to have been MPP Carol Mitchell's election night celebration party in Clinton. Mitchell, who has been in politics for 18 years, eight in provincial legislature, was defeated in a true upset by a fresh-faced Progressive Conservative candidate Lisa Thompson.

IN HAPPIER TIMES

MPP for Huron Bruce as well as serving as Minister of Agriculture and Rural Affairs in the McGuinty government, Mitchell travelled extensively throughout her riding as MPP and throughout the province as a Cabinet Minister. I never met the woman and I did not vote for her this time around, but from my vantage point she was a diligent and conscientious representative of the people. As both an MPP and cabinet minister she would have sacrificed much of her personal life in carrying out a very demanding mandate. There had to be a toll on her in terms of stress and strain. With her disappointing fate sealed Thursday night, a pale and grim-faced Mitchell gave a brief statement to the media in her campaign office and then with a dismissive good riddance sweep of the hand, asked them to leave before she spoke with her supporters and volunteers, many of whom were visibly shaken by the upset.

I cannot begin to imagine how devastating it must be to have tangible evidence that there are at least ten thousand people out there in your constituency who do not like what you stand for. Think of the damage that would do to one's confidence, pride and sense of self-worth. Dreams and aspirations dashed in an election that drew less than 50 percent of eligible voters.

Mitchell was definitely the victim of the "we need a change" movement which seemed to prevail in Huron Bruce. The public can be very fickle in that way. She also ran afoul of a doctors lobby that was not satisfied with conditions in the emergency department at the hospital in Southampton, despite a $1 million infusion by the Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care to help keep the ED functioning. It did not help, too, that in her capacity as agriculture minister she choose to reinforce a commitment to the farm community by attending the International Plowing Match in Prescott instead of an all-candidates meeting in Saugeen Shores where the doctors were lined up to bombard her with questions.

She did not realize it on Thursday night, but once the hurt and disappointment wears off, she will no doubt be a lot better off out of politics where she can start living her life for herself for the first time in eight years. No demands. No expectations. No more potential for criticism from a public that does not understand, or care, that she did her best under difficult circumstances to be all things to all people.

I hope that there are sufficient supporters close to Carol Mitchell who will support and console her over the course of her difficult and painful transition to private life. She will need that.

Ego aside, you could not pay me enough to expose myself to the life of a politician today. My hat is off to those who do.

Good luck to Lisa Thompson! She'll need it

WE ALL HAVE STRENGTH WE NEVER KNEW

2011-10-07T13:57:00.000-04:00

I've said it many times before and I'll say it again: We all have strength that we did not know existed deep within us. Without even knowing it, we find ourselves adapting to unexpected and unfortunate situations that life throws in our path. We forget that we have this facility until circumstances put us under pressure.

Just when we are starting to think that we have no answers, we suddenly find ourselves taking in stride, and dealing with, seemingly impossible problems and challenges. This hidden ability is really a blessing in disguise and should give us all reason for hope.

Little did I realize when I was in my 20's that I would encounter career setbacks, financial hardship, health issues, death of loved ones and be cast in a situation where I was required to become a primary caregiver for a critically ill spouse. At 20-years-of-age, I would have said "no way that I could ever handle situations like that." But I did, to the point that I now consider myself a seasoned veteran, still dealing with the unexpected in life armed with that strength that I never knew I had.

I think that most of us do our best in our advanced years, intuitively adapting in our own way to unpleasant life issues and unexpected circumstances with a certain resolve: We may be getting older, but in spite of aches and pains, we are growing stronger in many respects -- and getting better.

When I wear out, I will be worn out! I never thought of it that way, but in the end it will feel kind of good knowing that I had the God-given strength to make it that far.

TO SHOP OR NOT TO SHOP, THAT'S THE QUESTION

2011-10-06T02:53:00.002-04:00

According to Susan Boon, Ph.D., a social psychologist at the University of Calgary, the secret to matrimonial harmony lies in coming to terms with differences rather than trying to solve the unsolvable. The solution, it would seem, is to embrace the tastes, opinions, preferences, and unique viewpoints that make each of us individuals, rather than trying to eliminate them.

The ancient Japanese art of Wabi Sabi that I am currently studying is all about giving the benefit of the doubt and becoming involved in your partner's special interests. Sharing your partner’s passion isn’t always easy, however, especially if you have an innate aversion to it.

A Wabi Sabi heart is generous in the interpretation of events and with its time and investment in making the relationship number one, despite opposing viewpoints. Shopping is a great example of how couples who have a lot in common can still become diametrically opposed. This is definitely an area that presents a very real challenge for me personally.

Did you know that it has now been scientifically proven that men and women have radically different approaches to shopping? While women tend to troll the malls for deals and delight, men often apply a more linear methodology to purchases...Go get it. Get in and get out. According to research conducted by the University of Michigan School of Public Health, the reason lies in our evolutionary psychology, i.e. men hunt; women gather.

Thousands of years ago women had to develop a keen sense of discernment to differentiate the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones. At the same time, men planned their attack first in an effort to conserve energy, then grabbed their prey with practiced dexterity. These opposing strategies sustain the human race, but when it comes to consumer activity today, men and women often get entangled in a cross-fire of their own making. I get absolutely worn out waiting for Rosanne to make a selection for something as simple as a greeting card. Heaven help me when it comes to larger purchases -- things like clothing, shoes, jewellery and cosmetics. I shutter to even think about it. Like foraging the forest floor for nutrients, shopping is both a social and sensual experience for her, I am convinced.

"A shared mission to search out the perfect little black dress can be a totally fulfilling night out with a favorite girlfriend," says Arielle Ford in her book Wabi Sabi Love. "Women enjoy roaming around until something catches their eye, whether they are searching for clothes, shoes, purses, or accessories (especially if they are at bargain prices)."

"One of the reasons women adore shopping is because it fully engages all of our senses. Running your hand across the fabrics from silk and satin to linen and leathers, observing the colors and patterns and styles of the latest fashions, smelling the newest fragrances and feeling fine leather shoes on your feet are delightful experiences most men never care about," she adds.

Okay Arielle, I'll buy all of that, but it is expecting a little too much for me to tag along behind my wife while she engages her senses in a shopping mall. As for me I'll patiently wait for her while engaging senses of my own in a hardware store -- or maybe hunting for the nearest pub.

CALL ME (US) OLD FASHIONED

2011-10-04T12:52:00.000-04:00

I believe in promoting Canadian music talent whenever possible but when a young group produces a song with meaningful lyrics that we can all relate to, it is more than deserving of special mention. There is a song included in a recently released CD by the award-winning Canadian trio High Valley that more than fits into this category.

"Call Me Old Fashioned" is a song written by Jerry Salley and David Turnbull and sung by Canadian brothers Brad, Bryan and Curtis Rampel. Here are the lyrics that have grabbed my attention. (I couldn't have said it any better, or sung it any better for that matter.)

I believe in making my money the hard way - so I work for it
And every job I do I do with pride
I believe in keeping a promise that I make - you've got my word on it
When I shake your hand and look you in the eye
I believe in my country and putting your hand over your heart
And taking off your hat when that anthem starts

Call me old fashioned
Call me out of touch for having faith in the way it was
When mom and pop was the place we shopped & a check was good for cashing
Call me out of style that's who I am when a neighbor's down I reach out my hand
I just can't turn my head and walk right past 'em
(And open up a ladies door without her asking)
Call me old fashioned

I believe a man should have to ask permission - for a woman's hand
Before he gets down on one knee
I believe in passing down traditions - every chance you can
So children learn what family means
And sitting round the supper table every night at six o'clock
Talking 'bout your day with the TV off

Call me old fashioned,
Call me out of touch for having faith in the way it was
When a golden band on someone's hand meant love was everlasting
Call me out of style, that's who I am, I believe kids need a mom and a dad
(And) They're worth working out any problems that you're having
Call me old fashioned

Call me out of style - that's who I am - I still say "yes sir and thank you ma'am"
And wish kids still prayed in school before their classes
Sometimes I shake my head and ask myself what happened?
Call me old fashioned.

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High Valley introduced "Call Me Old Fashioned" during a concert at the Hamilton Place Studio Theatre in March of this year. To listen to a tape of that performance click

http://youtu.be/Jrp9C4SzV3k

The quality of this tape is not the greatest, but you'll get a feeling for the song and the group. The CD is much better.

TO BEND OR NOT TO BEND, THAT'S THE QUESTION

2011-10-03T00:30:00.000-04:00

Nothing is ever achieved by a stubborn standoff of wills.

In every relationship, friendship, agreement or involvement, there has to be some given and take. Sometimes, it is necessary and appropriate for one person to bend just a little further than the other, at least for a while, in order to bring about a degree of resolve.

The questions the bender has to ask are: "How much do I want to maintain the relationship or connection?" and "How far should I bend?" Bending is an act of conciliation and not always a sign of weakness.

Taking things too far, however, can be at the expense of principles. There is a fine line between bending and standing ground. Either way we must live with the consequences of our action. Life always goes on, regardless!

NOW THAT'S A LOT OF SQUASH

2011-10-02T14:37:00.000-04:00

A record-setting pumpkin did not materialize at the 25th annual Pumpkinfest in Port Elgin on Saturday but a mammoth world record squash did. Shown here weighing in at a remarkable 1,486.6 lbs. to set the new world mark, is the fruit of a summer's nurturing for Joel Jarvis of St. Thomas, ON. In the photo below hundreds of spectators and growers filled the stands to view the weighing-in of entries from all over Ontario. The winning pumpkin this year came from Quebec and tipped the scales at only(?) a little more 1,600 lbs. The two-day festival was blessed with perfect fall weather and expected to attract well over 35,000 visitors.

ROSE COLORED GLASSES HELP RELATIONSHIPS

2011-09-28T15:52:00.000-04:00

Several posts ago I talked about an interesting woman by the name of Arielle Ford who had just published a book about Wabi Sabi Love. I have not had an opportunity to fully immerse myself in this unique study of an ancient Japanese art form, but Arielle sent me an interesting report today that I think is worth passing on to the readers of Wrights Lane because it addresses a theory about male/female relationships that I totally believe in.

Research by Sandra Murray, a psychologist at the University of Buffalo, reveals that putting on “rose colored glasses” and idealizing our partner in life actually leads to more happiness and satisfaction in the relationship.
In fact, the happiest couples focus on what’s right and not on what’s wrong. This is also known as the Pygmalion effect, the phenomenon in which the greater the expectation placed upon people, the better they perform. It’s a form of self-fulfilling prophecy.

Many years ago a study was done in schools where three teachers were told specific information about their students.

The first teacher was told her students had all tested with a high level IQ. The second teacher was told her students were all very average. The third teacher was told her students had learning disabilities and had below average IQ’s.

At the end of the school year the teacher who was told her students had “high level IQ’s” discovered that they all tested exceptionally well. And, conversely the teacher who held little hope for her students discovered her kids tested badly. The teacher with the “average” students also discovered they performed as expected.

As mature adults, we get to choose our thoughts and beliefs so why not intentionally intend and expect the best out of ourselves, and our partners? Why not wear “rose-colored glasses?” Rosanne and I both keep a pair and a spare on hand at all times.

(One disclaimer here, this is not an invitation to go into denial or accept bad behavior or harmful situations. In the event you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you are well advised to seek professional counsel immediately.)

2011-09-27T10:43:00.000-04:00

After putting a "30" to the First Nations treaty belt story below, I could not help but think about the earlier mistreatment of not only our native Indians in Canada but African-Americans, Japanese, Chinese and other foreign immigrant pioneers as well. It was a sobering thought that reminded me of how far we have come in Canada in the past 100 years -- and how far we have yet to go.

The "man's inhumanity to man" that Robert Burns wrote about several hundred years ago, continues to be a cloud hanging over us, tempering the national pride of some who would have it otherwise...But not enough to sufficiantly right the wrongs of the past and present in this fair land of ours.

THE STORY OF FIRST NATIONS TREATY BELTS

2011-09-27T00:00:00.000-04:00

Aboriginals had treaties with each other long before European fur traders or settlers arrived in what is now called Canada. Aboriginal nations would use oral treaties to settle land disputes and end other conflicts, including war. Trade and marriage arrangements were commonly made between tribes as well. When the Europeans arrived, they brought with them their own methods, especially the written treaty. Particularly after the conquest, when the British gradually began to establish a strong hold on the continent, Aboriginals were not always happy with the outcomes of these written treaties - for governments of the time sometimes did not include oral promises made to the Aboriginals in the written treaty. This forms the basis of many land claims today, as Aboriginal leaders demand to be given what they were promised.

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Living in Southampton, we are often exposed to bits and pieces of Canadian history that have been conveniently glossed over and are completely new to us. Sadly, the average Canadian has a very narrow understanding of "treaties" and the long historical and cultural significance between the British and First Nations peoples.

The Saugeen Ojibway Nation, a literal stone's throw north of us on Lake Huron, hosted a special Wampum Belt Assembly this past weekend for the purpose of presenting "Treaty Belts" to Saugeen. I thought that readers of Wrights Lane might appreciate learning, as I did, about the significance of these colourful belts that are truly a work of art.

The four belts that were presented consisted of the Covenant Treaty Belt, the Anishnaabe Friendship Belt, the Peace Belt and the 'Dish with One Spoon' Inter-treaty Harvesting Agreement Belt, each with historical cultural meaning.

Alan Corbiere explains history of "The Treaty Belt".
--Saugeen Times Photo

Alan Corbiere, head of the Ojibway Cultural Foundation at West Bay or M'chigeeng on Manitoulin Island, is known for his writings on the importance of language and, through his traditional storytelling, has been educating both aboriginal and non-native peoples about the culture and history of the First Nations. "The treaties were agreements," he says. "They were not surrenders but were an alliance agreement between equals."

He went on to explain that the Royal Proclamation said, " .... the Indian Tribes of North America shall be recognized as Nations who have citizens who shall be unmolested in their own lands and all dealings will be nation to nation, government to government and their lands shall not be tempered with or treated lightly."

"There is nothing more important to know about First Nations than the belts ... they say who we are and that we were part of the founding of this country and they endorse our rights for the future and that our children and grandchildren have the same rights as everyone else."

Randall Kahgee, chief of the Saugeen First Nations #29 Reserve, added that the treaties involved more than just transfer of lands. "They are entrenched in the Canadian Constitution and are living, breathing documents that must be respected. The fact that the treaties protect relationships to the land and waters, language and culture, is an understanding that is not told. It is a constant struggle to remind the Crown what our treaties are all about."

The belts will now be on display at Saugeen First Nation and the history will continue to be told through them.

By means of further explanation, most of the settled lands of Canada, in Ontario, Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta, were transferred from First Nations to the Crown (the Government) through treaties. Today both sides agree that the so-called Indian Treaties are agreements between the Crown (the Government) and First Nations, in which the First Nations exchanged some of their interests in specific areas of their ancestral lands in return for various kinds of payments and promises from Crown officials. However, each side has a different interpretation of what was intended by the agreements.

The Canadians (British) and the First Nations were at the same meetings, listened to the same speeches (translated) and signed the same pieces of paper. Yet they had (and still have) two totally different concepts of what the treaties were about, and what each side was promising. The differences in understanding are rooted in two totally different world views, and two totally different concepts of land ownership, and two colliding purposes.

The concept of private ownership of land by an individual, who could build a fence and keep others out forever, was totally foreign to First Nations people.

First Nations had an oral tradition. They passed down important information by the spoken word during important ceremonies and at celebrations. What was said was what was important to them, not what was written on paper. Though they did not have a written tradition, in the European sense, they recorded important events by sewing beaded wampum belts. Wampum belts signifying treaties became sacred objects that were brought out at certain times. Elders would then recite the terms and
understandings of the agreement commemorated by that ceremonial wampum belt.

Granted, we are not walking encyclopedias. It is virtually impossible to be familiar with, and to have a full appreciation of, all cultures of the world. That is a discipline unto itself. But it is nice to get to know our next-door First Nation neighbours just a little better. After all, they were here first. Maybe we can even learn something from them!

WE'VE GOT A LOVELY BUNCH OF PUMPKINS...

2011-09-26T00:02:00.001-04:00

It seems that many regions of pumpkin growing are experiencing shortages this fall. In the Northeastern United States and parts of Southwestern Ontario, hundreds of pumpkin patches were destroyed by hurricane Irene. Wholesale prices have doubled in some areas as farmers nurse their surviving pumpkin plants toward a late harvest. Some farmers are trying to buy pumpkins from other regions to cover orders. In southwestern Ontario, pumpkin farmers had to postpone planting this spring due to heavy rains. South of the border, the wholesale price for a bin of 32 to 45 pumpkins ranged from $150 to $200 US double the normal price. In large urban centres, pumpkins could sell for up to $15 at supermarkets. In Bruce County, however, there does not appear to be a shortage. Hi-Berry Farms, located on Hwy. 21 between Port Elgin and Southampton, has more than an ample supply again this year which augers well for the 25th annual Pumpkinfest celebration this coming weekend. --Saugeen Times Photo

2011-09-24T13:51:00.000-04:00

A short two-minute "movie" that I invite all Wrights Lane viewers to watch. As I stated on my Facebook page "It all begins with you and I." Click

flickspire - Change the World Movie

Source: http://www.flickspire.com/m/dailyenergize/changetheworld

TAKE IT FROM A SLOW LEARNER YOUNG PEOPLE, EDUCATION IS YOUR BEST CHANCE AT SUCCESS

2011-09-23T23:59:00.000-04:00

I write on the subject of education from time to time, primarily because I wasted much of mine in my formative years. I was not a good student. I was a day dreamer who had only one thing on his mind -- sports. I was bored and unstimulated most of the time. I was uncomfortable with, and feared, tests and examinations. At best, I was a slow learner. I frustrated teachers who felt that I did not apply myself in main subject areas as much as I did in special interests such as English composition, art, health and phys ed.

Quite honestly, my school years were not all that happy because I failed a lot. I felt inadequate in all aspects of my life with several exceptions -- baseball, Boy Scouts and army cadets. To this day I am convinced that kids like me fall through the cracks of the educational system because not enough attention is paid to individual student aptitude. The subject of guidance, virtually non-existent in my time, still seems to be given a short shift.

I had to leave high school to have my much coveted fling at professional baseball and to experience the real world for a while in order to learn the value of education. I was smart enough to know that if I was ever going to get anywhere in the business world, I had to prepare for it academically. My first step was to take a two-year business management course by correspondence, then later as a mature student I took political science and Canadian history courses at the university level, three evenings a week while holding down a full-time job and raising a family. Trust me, that is a route that I would not recommend to anyone.

Studying and absorbing text that was in front of me presented a problem. When there is the pressure of having to remember facts and figures in order to "make a grade", my mind still shuts down. My memory retention is far better, however, when relying on powers of observation and listening in an everyday, relaxed setting. I get far better results too when learning by rote (doing a thing repeatedly until I conquer it).

It took almost half of my life to realize that my greatest asset is an ability to write. It satisfies my need to create, relate and communicate. It brings me satisfaction. It is, in a way, life fulfilling. I just regret that it took so long for me to understand the secrets of self-expression through the written word -- inspiration, confidence, courage, motivation.

My advice to young people today is: Don't be afraid to talk to your teachers (I know this is easier said than done); let them know when you do not understand, or you need an explanation about something. Understand that, in the overall scheme of things, your time at school will be an all-too-brief period at the beginning of your life -- make the best of it, participate in extra-curricular activities and have fun. What you experience and learn in school will carry you through the rest of your life. And it most certainly will help in making a living for you and your family.

The forgoing has been a rather long and roundabout way of setting the stage for the reproduction of an address given by my old Lambton Kent District High School principal, Edward H. Logan, at the conclusion of the 1949-50 school term. Mr. Logan's 60-year-old words remain applicable today and it is like he was actually talking to me, a student about to enter Grade 9, only I did not recognize it at the time. Typically at that stage, my mind would have been a thousand miles away. If he were alive today and reading this, he would shake his head in amazement while exclaiming: "Dick Wright, of all people. Thank goodness something finally sank in!"

Over to you Mr. Logan. Sorry for being a disappointment. I should have listened better and I should have talked to you more! I should have talked to teachers Frank Brown, Bill Bryant and Margaret Tamblyn too, but I was just a kid. I didn't think anyone would listen, even if I could put into words what I wanted to say. I didn't turn out too bad after all though. If only you could hear now what I want to say -- 60 years too late! RIP

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edward H. Logan, B. Com., Principal: A message to his students, 1949-50

During your years at school many of you do not realize just what the school is trying to accomplish in the way of education. To you, education consists of learning material out of books and writing examinations, and you fail to grasp the true purpose behind what oftentimes seems to be meaningless tasks.

Edward H. Logan

Education has been defined as the ability to do what you should do when you should do it whether you want to or not. Your years at school should give you the ability to analyze and to think for yourselves and should show you the necessity for discipline and co-operation. In so far as you have learned these lessons, your education has been successful and the school has achieved its main purpose.

Education should enable you to do three things (a) to earn a living, (b) to life a life, and (c) to mould a world.

To earn a living is, of course, the main objective of each and every one of us. At the present time if one is to compete successfully in industry or the professions, an education is essential. Education in itself, however, is no guarantee of success, but it will increase the opportunities for success provided it is coupled with hard work and a definite goal.

Education, however, should mean more than merely earning a living. In the last few years, the tendency has been to place emphasis on this side of education and to try to evaluate education in terms of dollars and cents. The more intangible aspects of education have been shoved to the background and this is an unfortunate trend -- one which is based on false notions. Education cannot be regarded merely as a commodity to be bought and sold. Mere financial success is not the chief aim in life nor does it necessarily bring happiness. Education should mean much more than this. To be completely successful, education should enrich the personality and develop interests which will lead to a broader, fuller and happier life.

It has been often and truly said that you pupils of today are the citizens of tomorrow. Before long, you will be leaving our school to go out in the world. Here you will be called upon to play your part in the affairs of your community and of your country. The world at present is in a state of upheaval and change, and you as its future citizens will be called upon to influence and mould its destiny. To do this successfully, a broad and sympathetic understanding of the problems to be faced is essential. This can come only from education in its broadest sense.

During and since the war (WW2), we have heard a great deal about the four freedoms -- Freedom from Want, Freedom from Fear, Freedom of Religion and Freedom of Speech. These are the foundations upon which are based our form of government and our way of life. There is however, a fifth freedom more fundamental than any of the others and this is the Freedom of Ignorance.

The ignorant man is the easiest prey to want and fear. Freedom of religion means little to him, and a free press means nothing, for even if technically he can read, he cannot understand what he reads. He is a danger to himself, to you, this country and to the world. To overcome this danger and guard against the threat of ignorance, it is essential that the best in education be available to all and that you, the pupils, should take advantage of the educational opportunities provided for your benefit.

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As with all my other posts on Wrights Lane, if you feel that any young person can benefit from reading this, please pass it along.

WALKING AWAY FROM CAREER MAY HAVE MERIT

2011-09-22T00:58:00.000-04:00

I listened in today on an interview with Arielle Ford, a brilliant young woman for whom I have developed great admiration.

Arielle Ford

Arielle has spent the past 25 years living and promoting consciousness through all forms of media. She is the author of the international bestseller, THE SOULMATE SECRET: Manifest The Love of Your Life With The Law of Attraction. Her radio show, Big Love with Arielle Ford, is heard on Contact Talk Radio where she shares the secrets to finding and keeping love and making life a spiritual adventure. She lives in La Jolla, California with her husband Brian Hilliard, and their feline friends.

Through today's interview I learned for the first time that Arielle's career has paralleled mine in that we have both walked away from careers -- Arielle once, me three times. I could have saved myself a lot of anxiety, however, with the benefit of her experience and wisdom away back then.

At the top of her career in 2004 as perhaps the leading book publicist and agent in North America, she fell victim of depression and began to hate the work she was doing. "Authors are very difficult people to work with," she explained. "They are extremely demanding and have unrealistic expectations of what a publicist can do for them. They all want to get on the Oprah Wimpfrey Show and the odds of that happening are very slim. Most are not ready for that kind of exposure, even if there was a chance to get them on the show. The time that I was putting into my work, and the demands that were placed on me, eventually led me to leave the business before I really got sick."

As it was, Arielle spent many months in recovery. "Some days I could not even get out of bed, but one thing I had going for me was a wonderful support system, including my husband and several people who coached me in the areas of finances and moving ahead into a new career."

"The support system is crucial and you have to have faith that there is something better out there for you," she added. "You also have to understand that we complete phases of our life and that there is nothing wrong with ending one phase and moving on to another."
.

Opportunities for Arielle to become involved in several not-for-pay projects eventually presented themselves and she eagerly jumped at the challenges. One opportunity led to her becoming a partner/stakeholder and she was on her way to a remarkable comeback in a new career that she thoroughly enjoyed and was exceptionally good at. The rest is history.

.

In walking away from my three careers, first the men's clothing business then newspaper and finally public relations, I paid a price mentally and emotionally. I did it all on my own. I had too much pride to ask for help and that was a mistake. Things worked out for me in spite of myself, but I always felt that there was something wrong with me in leaving perfectly good carriers just because I was unhappy with what I was doing and paying a price for the impact that it was having on me.

Maybe some of us go through more phases than others in a search for fulfillment. I don't know. As Arielle pointed out, I did not understand that we all go through phases that we complete and that it is in our best interests to move on to something else -- a new phase. Life is too short to allow your job to make you sick.

I'm so relieved to know now that there was nothing wrong in my changing careers and that I am not alone in experiencing more than one phase in life. God help me, I'm still going through phases long after my change of life. Who knows, there might still be something better out there for me.

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I have just ordered Arielle Ford's latest book. It’s called "Wabi Sabi Love" and it is based on an ancient Japanese art form that finds beauty and perfection in imperfection. It is especially written for husband and wives and may give me a new perspective with which I can expand on my "True Love" post of last week.

JACK FAIRS: A SEVENTY-YEAR-OLD KID FINALLY GETS TO MEET A BOYHOOD SPORTS HERO

2011-09-19T11:53:00.000-04:00

It's not often that a 70-year-old guy gets to shake the hand of a boyhood sports hero.

Jack Fairs (right) and me.

I had never met Jack Fairs and I never got to see him play baseball in his glory days. I just read about him in the London Free Press -- a catcher with the London Majors, Canadian and World Baseball Congress Champions in 1948. His name was always prominent in the sports pages, first as a member of the John Metras-coached University of Western Ontario Mustangs football team, then a battery mate in baseball for the legendary future major leaguer Sal Maglie and Senior Intercounty Baseball League standout pitcher Tommy White. I religiously followed Jack and the perennial Intercounty champion Majors through the pages of the Free Press up to his retirement as an active player following the baseball
season of 1953.

As fortune would have it, I would eventually get to play with Jack's old teammate Tommy White and another member of that famed London Majors team of 1948, Russ Evon. I also played with and against Roy McKay who just happened to be the bat boy for those same Majors of '48. They all spoke highly of Jack as a player and person, elevating him even further in my estimation.

Jack in his baseball days.

Rejecting numerous offers to play professional baseball, Jack chose to pursue his interest in physical education. After earning his Honors Chemistry degree from Western in 1946, he attended Columbia University for Physical Education in 1947. A few short months later, he was back at Western where he began his teaching and coaching career. He was associated with Western for over half a century as a teacher, mentor, researcher and coach. He is well known and respected for his extensive contributions in physical education and coaching, particularly in the sport of squash. He retired in 1988 but still continued to coach squash at his alma mater where he was professor emeritus of kinesiology.

Commitment to coaching has been a hallmark of his distinguished career. Incredible as it may seem today, he played and coached five sports during his lifetime: football, basketball, baseball, tennis and squash; producing UWO national champions in tennis, football and squash. Over the years, he has been the recipient of countless awards and citations, far too many to mention.

You can imagine, then, my utter joy in standing next to the now *90-year-old (or close to it) Jack on a warm sunny day this past June on the lush infield grass at historic Labatt Park in London as we joined a group of London Sports Oldtimers Association honorees. With the strong arm that had thrown so many baseballs, footballs and basketballs placed firmly on my shoulder (see above photo) we posed for photographs. I was immediately taken with the aura of a very special man who has accomplished so much in his lifetime. A class act in every aspect.

You would never guess that Jack is about 10 years shy of the century mark. He appears to be more like a fit 65 or 70. "You look like you could still put on a uniform and play," I told him. "No, don't kid yourself. I've had some health setback and I'm subject to dizzy spells, so I have to be careful," he explained. Extremely personable and as sharp as a tack, he expressed interest in my background and at one point strung off a list of names from the past that he thought I might know (and I did) including Red Brewer and Gerald Cook, a couple of old baseball players from my hometown of Dresden. When we parted, Jack was suggesting a round of golf later that week with a member of the oldtimers committee. Dizzy spells be damned!

After reading and hearing about Jack Fairs all those years ago and admiring from afar what he stood for, I finally got to meet him -- and he was bigger than life. The oldtimers plaque I received that day was, in a way, secondary.

Making the outstanding occasion even more significant was the presence of Norm Aldridge, a long-time trainer and coach for London senior baseball teams, including the 1948 World Congress champion Majors. As best as I can determine Jack, Norm and Gil Robertson (another catcher) are the sole survivors of that great historic team.

I don't think they make them like that anymore.

* One report lists Jack as being born in Toronto in 1920 while other reports list him as being either 88 or 90 years of age and born in Tillsonburg. Give or take a year or two, he remains a pretty remarkable guy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"One of my great joys in coaching
is seeing Western players develop their
abilities to pursue their vocational goals.
"My job as a coach is not only to
assist athletes optimize their potential on
the field of play, but to help them develop
in the broadest possible manner."

--Comment by Jack Fairs in reflecting on his more than 50 years of involvement with the athletic program at the University of Western Ontario, London.

Jack addressed the University of Western Ontario
Convocation, June 17, 2005

THE DELUSION OF WORRY

2011-09-18T12:38:00.000-04:00

The world is full of worriers. We all secretly worry from time to time, right?

I often quote astrologer Jonathan Cainer because he includes philosophical nuggets with his daily "Your Stars" forecasts. His take on worrying caught my attention this morning: "What do they (people who worry) all have in common? A strange delusion!" My thinking exactly!

While I admit to periods of worry, I am the first to acknowledge that worrying never ever solved anything. Generally, worrying just drags you down and makes matters worse. Worriers tend to believe, against all evidence to the contrary, that they are in a minority. They think everyone else is feeling just fine and enjoying life and that they are the only ones feeling edgy and apprehensive about a particular situation.

It is best sometimes to ask yourself: "What am I worrying about at this particular moment?" And "how worried should I really be?" Chances are the answers to those two questions will underline the futility of what you have been worrying about. So, relax already! No more needless negativity!

If you have an overly active mind, try focusing on the many things that you do not have to worry about and thank your lucky stars.

The very fact that you have been worried means that you needn't worry at all!

FRANKLY SPEAKING ABOUT TRUE LOVE

2011-09-15T16:16:00.000-04:00

"Love is a many splendored thing
It's the April rose that only grows in the early spring
Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living
The golden crown that makes a man a king."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A very good acquaintance has challenged me to write about "love". Not adolescent puppy love. Not exploratory love. Not the kind of love associated with the pre-marital sex accepted as the norm in this day and age. Not horomal-driven sex/love, but the kind of love that exists between two mature and selfless husband and wife soul mates -- the kind of love ideally suited to bring children into this world. The kind of love that sets an example.

It is my fervent wish that at least a handful of young people will take the time to read and to absorb what follows in this post. It comes from someone who has had experience in this area -- twice!

Emotional feelings arise from
the heart. Love is an affair of
the heart.

In all honesty. I think that most of us have never been formally educated in the fundamental area of love in our development as human beings. Chances are, we did not grow up with parents who were relationship experts either, and we certainly did not study the meaning of true love and how to find it in our high school curricula. For most of us, arriving at true love has been an adventure in trial and error and learning through good times as well as bad -- the emotional highs and lows of early life. I truly feel, however, that we are wired for the (*)Agape type of love which is the ultimate in idealistic relationships. It is just that when entering adulthood today young people with surging hormones do not understand the requirements of true love, any more than they know how or where to find it.

Unfortunately, the tendency is to release our youth into the world and hope (and pray) that intuition and dare I say, luck, will eventually work in their favour. To those of my generation, I say: Don't complain about how much things have changed today because we live in a society that we ourselves have created through among other things, permissiveness and oversight. Our culture is giving young people the impression that sex and love are one in the same and that is soooooo wrong, both morally and psychologically.

In accepting my friend's challenge, I expressed reservations about my ability to do justice to this subject in mere words when true love can only expressed through "actions of the heart".  Love is best seen as devotion and action, not an emotion. Love is not exclusively based on how we feel. Certainly our emotions are involved, but they cannot be our only criteria for love. True devotion will always lead to action stimulated by what is felt within the heart.

Forget the too-little-too-late outlook. We have to somehow find a way to impress upon young people today the qualities to be found in a truly loving relationship. In so doing we can do them a great favour by saving them from much heart ache and grief down the road. For instance, they should grow up knowing that:  Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

Did it not just occur to you that what I stated in the forgoing paragraph was a condensed modern version of a very meaningful biblical reference? 1 Corinthians 13:4-8  describes the characteristics of true love in the best way possible.  Too often, when dating, the tendency is to look at physical appearance and popularity without first getting to know the person with an eye to the potential of a life-long relationship based on the qualities described in those four brief bible verses.  Regardless of religious persuasion, or lack of same, there is no better blueprint for loving, harmonious, fulfilling, male-female relationships.

In light of the Corinthians quotation, it is easy to see that premarital sex is not patient, it is not kind, it does not protect; it is merely a self-seeking quick fix with ramifications that can be devastating to both parties. Because premarital sex is not love, it only leads to pain and disappointment for those who are seeking that love. When two people are married, they become one flesh. Sex is a consummation of that union. It is a gift for choosing well and making a commitment to a life partner who is the "right fit" for you.

It is a well-kept secret, but scientists tell us that the body releases a hormone during the sex act that bonds a couple together emotionally. For a male the effects last for 48 hours, but for a female the effects are extended over a 14-day period. That explains why, after engaging in sex with someone who is not an ideal fit, couples go through agonizing and frequently damaging break ups in the short term as well as in more prolonged affairs.

True love is never to be taken for granted. It is not to be played with as one would a toy. When we become adults we put aside childish things. There is another message here too, especially for boys/young men...When a girl gives herself to you, it is generally because she has special feelings for you. Do not take advantage of that without seriously considering that you are "messing" with her life and that she is someone's daughter, sister and (if not you) someone's future wife. Respect what she is. Be one of the good guys who understands that all good things come to he who waits.

True love is a blessing. You can see it in your partner's eyes and you can feel it in your heart. It gives you chills. It is unconditional and uncompromising. It forgives and forgets. It bonds as one. It is something you can't wait to come home to. It outlasts hormones. It comes in the form of perpetually spontaneous hugs and acts of affection for no particular reason. It goes to the grave with you...It is for ever!

Cling to the one you love my friends and never let them go. In the heart and soul of a very special and signiicant other, you have everything you ever needed.

Indeed, true love is a many splendored thing!

(*) Agape: Love, but in the holy, rather than erotic sense.