YES VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS, AND INCIDENTALLY DO YOU KNOW THE REAL REASON FOR THE SEASON?

Nativity scene from my Christmas collection.

Virginia O'Hanlon

I'm giving in to an impulse to write about Christmas -- Santa Claus, the-kid-in-me and Jesus.  Kind of makes sense, doesn't it?  After all, that's what this time of year is all about.

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I love everything about the celebration of Christmas, especially the fellowship, the stories handed down from generations past and the wonderfully moving carols.  I look forward to the smells and tastes of the season too.  Who doesn't?

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It is traditional for me at this time of year to blow the dust off Clement C. Moore's A Visit from St. Nicholas (commonly known as 'Twas The Night Before Christmas) written in 1822.  I absorb each line of the poem with the enthusiasm and imagination of a child hearing the story for the first time.  Many common Christmas traditions that we encorporate into our current-day celebrations have been derived from the magic of the 'Twas the Night Before tale.

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When I was cast in the role of Santa Claus a lifetime ago, I memorized the name of all his reindeer and it came in handy on several ocasions when challenging young minds put me to the test.

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Equally fascinating to me is A Christmas Carol written by the famous Charles Dickens in 1843.  Who can forget Ebeneezer Scrooge's "Bah Humbug" and the meaningful closing line uttered by Tiny Tim: "God bless us, everyone!?"  Each year as I assemble my Heritage Village Collection (see Wrights Lane above) I re-live every scene created by Dickens in his masterpiece more than 150 years ago.

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Another must-visit literary gem for me is the now famous Yes Virginia... editorial published in the New York Sun newspaper in 1897.  The the editorial response to a letter written by eight-year-old Virginia O`Hanlon has become history`s most reprinted newspaper editorial.

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Young Virginia took great pains with her childish scrawl to write a brief letter to the popular newspaper, explaining that her friends had been telling her that there was no Santa.  Francis Pharcellus Church (photo, right), a prominent editor and Civil War correspondent, answered the little girl in an editorial, telling her that her friends were wrong.  "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exists, and you know that they abound and give your life its highest beauty and joy," Church wrote.  "No Santa!  Thank God he lives and lives forever!  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of children."

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It is interesting to note that Virginia O'Hanlon went on to graduate with a masters degree from Columbia University and in 1921 began a teaching career, later becoming a principal in the New York City school system and eventually retiring after 47 years as an educator.  Throughout her life she received a steady stream of mail about her Santa Claus letter, and to each reply she attached an attractive printed copy of the Church editorial.  Virginia O'Hanlon Douglas died at the age of 81 in 1971.

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I often wonder how Church, the son of a Baptist minister, would have responded if Virginia had asked "Why do we celebrate Christmas?"  Perhaps he would have written:

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"Christmas, Virginia, is a very significant celebration of joy.  It is not necessarily about fairy lights and Santa Claus, although this is part of the celebration.  It is also not about who can spend the most on gifts, or who gets what.  It is, however, about a very special birthday.

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"About three thousand years ago, God decided that he loved us so much that He wanted to be with us on earth, so He came to us through the person of a baby that was born in a town called Bethlehem.  That baby was named Jesus and in his short 33 years on earth he would significantly change the way people viewed life.  

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"Jesus Christ, as he was to become known, was God's wonderful gift to us.  Jesus' love for us was so great that He too wanted us to know that we can be forgiven for our sins and spend eternity with Him in Heaven.  In order to make that happen, He gave Himself to us on a cross.

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"So because He loved us so much, and because He gave his life for us, we owe it to Him to celebrate the day of His birth and that is what Christmas is all about.  Take away all the tinsel, the turkey and the presents.  Take way the tree, your parents' credit cards and the shopping malls, and what you have left is worth more than all of those combined...You have the real reason for the birthday celebration which cannot be changed or replaced by our many man made traditions.  We honour Jesus by being good, honest, kind and faithful in our own lives just like Him.

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"Now, Virginia, you know the real reason for us to celebrate every year on the 25th day of December."

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At least that is the way in which I hope Church would have responded, only better.  Regardless, I feel that Virginia died knowing that Jesus loved her, just as He does you and I.  We have a lot to celebrate again this year!

WHEN YOU CAN'T HAVE WHAT YOU WANT, YOU MIGHT JUST FIND WHAT YOU NEED!

This morning I heard from a friend who was deeply disappointed, even disillusioned, that something she really had her heart set on was not going to happen.  I think we've all found ourselves in that unfortunate position at different intervals in our life, but the good news is that we eventually rid ourselves of the blues over the matter by hopeful rationalizing "I guess it wasn't meant to happen" or "maybe I'll be better off in the long run."

I was reminded of the decades old universal truth expressed by The Rolling Stones in the refrain  "You can't always get what you want..."  There is more to this haunting song, but we'll get to that in a moment.

One of the dangers in the wanting something but not getting it issue is that the scenarios can range from trivial to life-changing, but they all have one thing in common -- the possibility that when you don't get what you want, you desire it even more than before.  There is also another consideration  and it is that psychologically, people do not like to be told they can't have or can't do something.  It's related to not wanting to be controlled by others, especially if the situation feels unfair or arbitrary.

To anyone facing the "wanting something but not getting it" problem, I would caution against the rebellious reaction of a teenager:  "Oh yeah?  Just try and stop me!"  Better that you just let the matter go and accept the message contained in the rest of the Rolling Stones song:

"You can't always get what you want...

But if you try sometimes

You just might find

You get what you need."

During this Christmas season and as we head into a new year, I pray dear friends that you all find what you "need."

HOW SMART IS OUR EDUCATION SYSTEM?

I have been reading in recent days about how our high schools are turning out students who are ill-prepared for many university programs.  It seems that not only do teens today have trouble with writing, but they are also lacking in numeracy skills (math).  Universities in Ontario are now scrambling to shore up skills of students who, without the advantage of Grade 13, bring less maturity and knowledge to the post-secondary table.

Far be it from someone like me to point a finger, but there is obviously a great leap in what is expected of high school graduates moving into the university system and it is not fair for those who have worked so hard to reach that point in their education.  I know for a fact that many first and second-year sudents are becoming so discouraged in attempting to bridge the gap that they simply chose to drop out -- and that's a crying shame.  They are not failing, they are being "failed".

Our politicians are paying lip service to a concentrated collaboration between colleges, universities and school boards, but that is exactly what is needed.  The curriculum, starting in elementary school, should be closely reviewed as well as all-important supports for teachers.

Personally, I have reservations too about the kind of history that is being taught in our schools today.  That point was driven home to me as recent as last week when I was doing some research on Ontario settlement in the 1800s.  At almost 72 years of age I was learning for the first time about the history of an area in which I was born and raised and I began to ask myself why I was not taught about this in school.

I'll be the first to admit that as a high school student I was bored out of my mind by history class and at least one teacher who had absolutely no enthusiasm for the subject.  When not half asleep or day-dreaming, I listened reluctantly to the uninspiring monotony of tales about "colony to nation" read to us directly from a text book.

Why did my generation, and subsequent generations, not hear about the trials of immigrant slaves from the United States settling in our very community; why did we not learn about what immigration has meant to our country (i.e. our forefathers); what about aboriginal peoples (first Canadians), the struggle of women to win equal rights, regional development, and what about the political, diplomatic and military history of post-Confederation Canada?

Educator and author Jack Granatstein hit the nail on the head the other day when he said that balance in the teaching of Canadian history "demands that differing interpretations be presented to students for them to argue about." That is how we learn and that is how we strive to uncover the truth.  History is indeed the story of our arguments, and the difficulty of discovering the truth about those arguments.  Students need to be encouraged, stimulated and involved by teachers who can bring history to life in the classroom.

"We study history to learn how our predecessors lived and erred and, if we can, to learn from their mistakes in the hope we will not repeat them," Granatstein added. 

The real mystery in all of this is why Canadian schools do not teach history this way.  Surely there is nothing to hide. Heaven forbid if political indoctrination has created an unbalance in our education system...That would be totally unCanadian, wouldn't it? 

AN AFTERTHOUGHT:

Good God almighty!  In talking about young people who cannot write, are weak in math and have an unbalanced appreciation of history, I've been talking about myself.  Canada does not need another generation of under-achievers like me.  We'd better smarten up!

Direction? What direction?...I'm back!

Sometimes you have to distance yourself

I could not stay away.  The "new direction" in which I was heading has led me back to Wrights Lane.

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Priorities aside, this is where I need to be when I am feeling an emotion or when I am moved to express myself in the one way that I know how.  As in a recurring dream, I have been lost and it is good to have found my way home again, where I belong.

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It is easy to become negatively overwhelmed by life experiences.  I have thrown in the towel numerous times before and walked away from the things that I know, but strangely there has always been an emptiness inside of me that keeps me coming back with the fervent hope that "those who seek shall find."

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We have to keep swimming when we are in turbulent waters, otherwise we will drown.  By being true to ourselves and giving in to our heart's true desires we are kept afloat.  We are our own best rescuers.

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Yes, it is true that it is easy to become overwhelmed by negativity; but it is just as easy to be overwhelmed by the peace and love of something greater than ourselves.  There is something to be said for retrospection.  We gain by learning from our experiences.  Hopefully at the end of each journey and at the beginning of every new one, we are better people.

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I've missed Wrights Lane and it will take a little time to get settled in to a routine that is comfortable for me at this juncture in my life.  But settle in, I will. 

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Meantime, as before, come back and visit when you have a minute.  I've missed you too!

Yours truly,
Dick

TIME TO PUT "30" TO WRIGHTS LANE

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10:26 P.M., WEDNESDAY, NOV. 11, 2009:  I have been struggling with the impulse to write this post for the past 48 hours.  I have had to decide if I was once again giving in to my activist-doer-innovator personality (start things, get them going and then walk away) or if it was truly in my best interests to say adieu to Wrights Lane.

I doubt if I have had an original thought in my life and why should things change now as I quote, with sincere feeling, the famous William Shakespeare line: "Parting is such sweet sorrow."  But believe me, it is.

My sidekick Lucy and I have just returned from an hour-long walk in the fresh Lake Huron autumn evening air.  My mind is now clear, although it is with mixed emotions that I will place a "30" at the end of this one last piece.

In the past 18 months I have contributed some 200 posts to Wrights Lane and created 15 companion sites.  In that time my profile alone has had more than 2,000 views (Google stopped counting officially in January at 1,300).  Feedback from viewers has been both  positive and inspirational, so much so that I was motivated to publish two books, Wrights Lane: Come On In and Dresden Life Remembered.  Little did I know when I launched this site with a feature on "Failure" in June of 2008, that such a humble undertaking would come this far and take on a very definite life of its own.

The nice thing about this experience is that, through Wrights Lane, I have been able to renew some old friendships and at the same time make some new ones...Something that would have never happened otherwise.  I will cherish that always.

Out of necessity, I have had to establish some priorities in my life and it is incumbent on me now to move on; to change direction to a certain degree. 

I did not want my dear followers to keep coming back to this site and wonder why I have not been posting.  Meantime Wrights Lane, its archives and associate sites will remain available for viewing.  I could not live with myself if, by one touch of a key, I sent all of this work to electronic never, never land.

I love you all...God bless! 

P.S.:  This does not mean that I have dropped off the face of the earth.  I would still love to hear from you.  You will no doubt hear from me from time to time. 

                                --30--

ROSANNE'S STILL AT IT

I was teasing Rosanne earlier today and giving her a hard time about something, one of my favorite (?) things to do.

She was in no mood to take any of my crap:  "Dick, will you cease to decist!" she shouted with eyes glaring.

I had to think about that one for a moment.

A WHOLE LOT OF RAKING GOING ON

This past weekend with its clear sunny skies and virtually no wind, was perfect for raking up fall leaves, in fact there was a constant lineup of cars, trucks and trailers waiting access to the Boy Scouts of Canada Compost Site in Southampton.  Even the rain today (Monday) did not deter some hearty souls from contributing to the rapidly growing mountain of leaves.

SLEEPING BEAUTY'S UNFINISHED DREAM

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I came home late this afternoon with a Tim Hortons coffee for Rosanne. Not too surprisingly, she was fast asleep in her recliner chair.
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"Rosanne...Rosanne," I said with no response.
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"Rosanne!...Rosanne, wake up!" I tried again. "I've got a coffee for you."
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Without lifting her head, and eyes still closed, she mumbled with a thick tongue: "Leave me alone just now. I want to finish this little bit of a dream I've got left...ZzzZZzzzz."
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Must have been a good one.

REST IN PEACE MY GOOD FRIEND

My friend Richard Latam of Aylmer passed away at the St. Thomas-Elgin General Hospital on Sunday, October 25, in his 71st year.  Deepest sympathy to Richard's wife Pat; daughters Cheryl, Laurie and Kelly; 10 special grandchldren and eight great-grandchildren.    

THOUGHTS BY "OLD HUMPHREY"

After I posted the previous Wrights Lane item the other day (What Have We Done To Ourselves?), in which I more or less lamented the decline of religion on the world stage, I was reminded of something written 167 years ago by none other than one of my literary role models, Old Humphrey.

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"Old Humphrey" was the non-de-plum of George Mogridge (1787-1854) of London, a prolific writer who was frequently published by the London Religious Tract Society in the 1800s.  I was introduced to the works of Old Humphrey through a book "Thoughts for the Thoughtful (1842)" which belonged to my grandmother Harriet Perry (Peck) when she was a teenager.  Old Humphrey had a colourful turn of phrase and would be considered a homespun religious writer in his day.  He wrote very much as people talked in those days and his style makes for wonderful study.  He specialized in short essays and never failed to effectively make his point, generally by relating a story within a story. 

The old Banner of Ulster cited Mogridge's "winning simplicity which characterised the subject(s) of his sketch(es); and the lessons taught are such as must command the attention and respect of every Christian mind and heart."

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I have referred to Humphrey's work before on this site, recently in an item about "finger-post" roadside signs and choosing the right direction in life and another post on the metaphorical use of  "whetstones" to sharpen relationships.  Oddly enough, many times when I re-read what I have written, I wonder if I am actually channeling him.

It would seem that Christian commitment, or lack of same, was an issue for Old Humphrey even in his day.  Here's what he wrote on the subject in "This World, Or The Next?"

"There are many people in the world who like religion, and who love religion; but then, much as they like and love it, they like and love the world a great deal more.  So long as we like and love religion less than the world, we cannot fully enjoy its comforts and consolations. 

"There are thousands who would be seekers after the happiness of heaven, if they could do so without foregoing the pleasures of earth.  This world first, and heaven after, would do very well; but, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God," is too hard a command for them.  For them! -- Ay! it is too hard for any of us, unless God's grace has made it easy.

"Now, how does this matter affect you and me?  Are we choosing our own plan, or God's plan?  Are we obeying our own will, or God's will?  Have we made up our minds, come what will, to run after pleasures of a world which passeth away?  Or are we resolved, at all hazards, to seek after the joys of a world that endureth for ever?"

WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO OURSELVES?

I should not do so much thinking and delving in to certain issues facing us in today's society.  More often than not, I end up perplexed because I am not capable of resolution. 

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My sleep last night was interrupted by two unsettling fact-of-life realities:  1) the advent of "artificial intelligence" and 2) the reality of a "post-Christian era".  In some strange way, the two may be related in that we are responsible for allowing them to happen.

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ISSUE #1:  When I fire up my computer each morning, I never cease to be amazed by how much "thinking" that little grey box of electronics is starting to do for me.  In fact, I rely on it at least a dozen times a day for information of all sorts.  Amazingly, this complicated algorithm apparently processes about three billion other Google searches daily, and all within split seconds.  "Data mining" as it is called, has crept up on users of computer search engines around the world and it is really quite mind-boggling.

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Equally astounding, the other day I read a report noting that computer speech recognition is approaching human capabilities, and that this capability seems to require 0.01 per cent of the volume of the brain -- the analogy suggesting that modern computer hardware programs are fast reaching a magnitude as powerful as the human brain.  Some researchers have even gone so far as to suggest that artificial intelligence may in fact eventually eliminate the human race, and humans would be powerless to stop them.  Far-fetched science fiction?  Maybe yes, maybe no.

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In reality, we humans are responsible for extending ourselves and creating a phenomenon that was predicted some 50 years ago by I.J. Good who wrote of an intelligence explosion.  Good suggested that if machines could even slightly surpass human intellect, they could improve their own design in ways unforeseen by their designer, and thus recursively augment themselves into far superior intelligences.  The prospect of that happening is now very much a possibility.  We have reached a point of no return.  How smart is that?

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ISSUE #2:  I have always held to the theory that we are called to be stewards of a good creation, not spoilers.  In so doing, we must distinguish between two rational methods of reasoning.  The one, science, follows the nature of things and proceeds by demonstration.  But when we turn to matters beyond the material realm, or implied by their existence, we have "probable reasoning" as described by Rev. Dr. Joseph McLelland, professor emeritus at McGill University.  In fact, the later encompasses the most important things -- our values, our emotional and our psychological life. 

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Modern society is sometimes called post-Christian because the Church has lost its place as arbiter of social norms and quasi-official  religion of the Western world.  Clearly, we now live in an increasingly pluralistic world, with values derived from science or economics.  Rather than simply lament the passing of the good ol' days, we must face the situation head-on and think through our faith in light of the new challenges.

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Here again we have contributed to the demise of our once cherished religion through arrogance, complacency and ignorance.  As before, I ask:  "How smart is that?"  Is reversal a possibility?

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I'm too dumb to know the answers to any of this.  I am smart enough, however, to fear the possibility that ultimately we will be responsible for our own undoing.  Maybe I should check to see if Google has some answers!

IT JUST "DAWNED" ON ME, I'M SPEAKING

Updated Saturday, October 24/09

The monthly meeting of the Dawn Township Historical Society on Wednesday evening, Oct. 21, at Rutherford, turned out to be another book signing opportunity for me.  Response to an open invitation to the general public from the Kent County/Dresden area was most gratifying and I was amazed at the number of old school classmates, family friends and acquaintances who turned up to hear me speak and to purchase copies of my books.  Society President Lillian Steele (above) shared a laugh with me during a break in the meeting. 

I was privileged to be asked to be the guest speaker at the monthly meeting of the Dawn Township Historical Society meeting Wednesday night (Oct. 21).  It was another "going home" of sorts for me. 

The society has been working for the past five years on a massive project that will trace the history of this small southwestern Ontario pioneer community in Lambton County.  A $25,000 grant from the Trillium Foundation has been a proverbial shot in the arm for a dedicated group of volunteers from the area.

The old township of Dawn was victim of municipal amalgamation several years ago and is now designated as Dawn-Euphemia Township, north of  Dresden and south of Petrolia.  The combined population of the township is only 2,190 and students from the area attend secondary school in either Dresden or Petrolia, both of which serve as local service centres for residents.

In addition to the former Dawn Township, Camden Gore, Dresden, Dawn Mills and Croton are being included in the history, due to be published soon.

The historical society meets in the Rutherford fire hall, just a stone's throw from the site of an old chicken barn on the farm of Pat Johnston where we used to play hockey and a "sand lot" across the road that was the scene of many baseball wars back in the good old days.  

The old familiar landmarks are gone now, but one thing remains the same -- the spirit of the people of Dawn. 

ABOUT OUR HOME ON TANNERY HILL

...and the Queen(ie) of Fairy Lake
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I walk only 100 yards from my home to pay daily visits to the Queen of Fairy Lake.

Her Royal Highness is a beautiful snow-white Mute Swan that I have named "Queenie" because she is so wonderfully majestic. Queenie cruises the waters of Fairy Lake like a schooner, leaving behind a perfect wake as she surveys her domain and tolerates a following of ducks that are always careful not to invade her immediate space. 

If Queenie is in a good mood she will glide over to our vantage point on the bank and give my dog Lucy a couple of playful, not-so-mute "honks" just to establish her supremacy over the water she plies.  Customarily, dogs are not swans' best friends. 

Fairy Lake is actually an oasis of quiet, natural beauty with a perimeter trail that for the most part is a well-kept secret, even locally.  It is difficult to believe that a little more than 100 years ago Queenie's domain was an industrial site where Isaac Bowman and Henry Zinkan built a tannery just above the northern bank of the lake.  The tannery grew to become Southampton's major employer, until fire completely destroyed it on July 31st., 1900, throwing 100 employees out of work.

Houses, including ours shown in the Wrights Lane masthead, were eventually built on the site which was appropriatley named Tannery Hill.  When I was digging out a couple of large tree stumps last year I uncovered several pieces of tanning bark and burnt leather strips from the old tanning factory.  Other remnants from the fire are on display in the Bruce County Museum and Culture Centre which is located on the opposite side of the lake.   A large iron wheel that had been part of the hulking machinery in the tanning factory was retrieved from the bottom of the lake in 1983 and stands as a monument at the foot of the hill just below our property.

This kind of history fascinates me no end.  Just about as much as a certain regal swan that makes Fairy Lake her home.
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Pieces of century-old burnt tanning bark and leather unearthed in backyard dig

Tannery machine wheel was retrieved from Fairy Lake 85 years after historic fire

Mirror-like reflection of fall sunset over Fairy Lake

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Nature trail circumvents Fairy Lake

Even Lucy likes exploring the Fairy Lake trail

I'M THANKFUL FOR MY "MUNCHKINS"

There's no better time than Thanksgiving Day for sharing some old black and white photos of my girls with readers of Wrights Lane.  They're kind of fun shots that bring a smile to your face, like this cute one "Huggin' Cousin" that shows my daughter Debbie putting the squeeze on her cousin Teri.  To see more, click http://dicksgirls.blogspot.com/

TAKE IT EASY WITH "ORANGE" JOSH!

We are seeing a lot of the colour orange these days, due primarily to the arrival of the fall season and the celebration of Thanksgiving.

While the colour orange has different symbolic meanings, individual reactions to it seem to vary widely.  The other day my 16-year-old grandson, Joshua, offered what I think is a relatively unique impression of  "orange".

Commenting on his Facebook site, Josh said that he had just recently become aware of the colour orange and to him it seemed to have "a sense of goodness about it."  For someone his age, Josh is a pretty deep thinker and not at all afraid to express his feelings  -- a refreshing trait, to this grandfather's way of thinking.

In a way, I think I know where Josh is coming from and I will never look at the colour orange in the same way again.  Generally though, orange has been looked on as a power colour and one of healing.  It is said to increase the craving for food and is primarily associated with vitality and endurance.

People who like orange are usually thoughtful and sincere, according to colour expert Emily Gems.  She also points our that wearing orange during times of stress, or shock, can help to balance emotions. 

But a word of caution for Josh in all of this:  Orange is also the colour associated with the Sacral Hara Chakra (sexuality and reproduction).  Don't get to like orange too much just yet, Bud!

When you're feeling kind of orange, temper the mood with some blue...It's a "cooling" colour! 

A FRIEND ENTERS HIS LAST DAYS...

...And all I can do is ask "why"?

Death itself does not bother me,

it's dying that has me perplexed

I have a friend Richard who is dying of cancer...It is safe to say that we all have had a friend at one time or another who was dying of cancer...Most of us have had loved ones who have died of cancer.  It is an insatiable disease that is no respecter of who we are or what we are.  It is a killer and there is no justice.
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I have known Richard for more than 40 years.  We were next door neighbours at one time.  We just seemed to click.  We would give each other the shirt off our back and on several occasions came darn close to doing just that.  Our wives were good friends too.  We were plain, ordinary, hard-working people who were comfortable in each other's company -- and we had fun for a lot of years.  We shared inner most insecurities, we shared dreams, we rationalized the reality of our lives.  We were known to both laugh and to cry together.
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Because of circumstances in our lives, and the distance between us, we kept in touch the past few years by telephone mostly.  The last time I talked to Richard was almost two months ago when he revealed to me in an emotional 45-minute conversation the sorry details of his cancer diagnosis.  He had lung cancer and he was not looking forward to the necessary treatment -- no one does.  He was worried that he would not be able to finish clearing a wood lot.  He always had several chores on the go at the same time -- and some of them he actually finished. 
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Most of our conversation that day was devoted to reminiscences about the time we ran out of gas five miles off the shores of Lake Erie while on a fishing excursion, and the time we were delivering an old car of mine to his father who wanted to use it as an ice fishing vehicle, and a motor mount broke, spewing oil all over the engine that I had spent two days cleaning (a helpful mechanic along the way got us back on the road).  The car, a 1963 Meteor, was an absolute mess by the time we got it to Richard's father in St. Williams and I offered to give it to him at no charge.  "Don't worry about it Dick.  To me it looks like a Cadillac," he enthused as he handed me five 20-dollar bills, the previously-arranged amount.
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Then there was the time Richard and I worked for three weeks refurbishing an old boat that was destined to break loose from a trailer hitch as we were hauling it to the lake for its first re-launching.  Our pride and joy ended up in the ditch, totally demolished.  Our wives called us the "bad luck Charlies".  All we could do was laugh.

Richard used to regale me with his baseball playing prowess.  One day I suggested we have a game of catch.  My first toss to him glanced off the webbing of his glove and hit him squarely in his eye.  With his eye rapidly swelling shut, I suggested we "have a beer".  He readily agreed, letting me know in no uncertain terms, however, that I should have warned him that I was throwing him "a curve". 
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One evening we were out on the town when Richard's wife Pat became ill.  When we got home that evening it was discovered that a very "oozy" Pat had lost her false teeth.  I went back at midnight with a flash light and retraced our  steps that evening and found her teeth in a snow bank at the side of the road.  Again, all we could do was laugh.
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Friends being friends!
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As we concluded our last conversation Richard was in hysterics, relaying to Pat everything that we were saying.  I'm so glad we had that light-hearted, reminiscent chat.  For at least 40 minutes I think that Richard forgot about what was ahead of him.
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I received a message from Richard's daughter this morning advising me that her dad had experienced difficulty breathing and had been admitted to hospital where they removed 2.5 litres of fluid from one of his lungs.  Tests also showed that his cancer had spread to his liver, bowels, pancreas and kidneys.  He had been placed in palliative care where they were keeping him as comfortable as possible.  It will only be a matter of days.
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In the time that he has left, what can I say or do for my friend?  I don't even know if I can get to the hospital before the inevitable happens.
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Sometimes instead of worrying about what to say or what to do for a dying friend, we simply should ask them what they want us to do.
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I think that Richard would tell me to go on living, to enjoy every day to the fullest, to not worry about him because he is going to be okay.  He's going to be free of the body that has failed him and he will be there for me when I need him on the other side.  After all, that's what friends are for.
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But, please God, why does Richard have to suffer so much as his earthly count-down begins a few months shy of his 72nd birthday?  Is this the price we all have to pay for the the reward that awaits us in Heaven?  Why, God, is this happening to my friend?...Why did it happen to my wife Anne?  Why will it happen to me, as I am sure it will?
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Why?..Why?...Why?...Sometimes there are no answers to questions like this.  But we keep on hoping that someday there will be answers to the mystery of the life we live here on earth and why we have to exit so tired, so sick and so medicated, yet mercifully relieved in the end to be leaving behind all that we had worked for and all that we knew and loved.
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God be with you my very good friend.  I have to trust that He knows what He is doing.  Perhaps you already know and you can explain it to me someday.
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Be seeing you Richard...We'll talk again.  No more curves.  I promise!

YOUTHFUL POETS AND ACCOUNTABILITY

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Listen up old Dresden school chums!
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Do the names Bob Peters, Betty Wilmott, Alan Pegg, Donna Latimer, Sandra Cobbum, Sheila Raymond, Anne Stevens, Tiny Santing, Martha Deacon, Jack Skinner and Larry Gray mean anything to you? 
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Well, for one thing, the above-mentioned were all budding poets some 55 years ago.  To the best of my knowledge their creative efforts were only ever published once and in my ongoing preoccupation with nostalgia I have stumbled on them.
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For the next couple of weeks, starting Sept. 25, I will bring back to life some surprising scholarly renderings that are sure to spark fond memories for certain readers of Wrights Lane.  It should be fun!  The devil is making me do it.

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WE ALL HAVE 24-7 ACCOUNTABILITY
On an unrelated subject of "self-fulfillment", an interesting question was posed recently.
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"If you were to be followed by a camera crew 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the next 100 days, how would you conduct yourself?"
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Human nature being what it is, three things would undoubtedly happen.
...1) You would START doing things you say you should.
...2) You would STOP doing things you know you shouldn't.
...3) You would MAKE performance gains and change your life.
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This would all become "reality" through a self-imposed discipline of accountability which forces us to understand all unfinished goals, projects and relationships, and that's a good thing.  Accountability facilitates good character, credibility and lends itself to accomplishment in our lives.
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But in all of this, we often fail to realize that we do have 24-7 surveillance and it is not in the form of a camera crew artificially making us perfect the way we live...It is in the form of our Heavenly Creator who has laid out for us the only perfect blueprint for living. 
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It is every bit as important to know WHO we are accountable to as it is to know WHAT we are accountable for.

Photographs and paintings speak to us.  There is a story behind every one of them.  A number of years ago I painted a picture of my two daughters, Debbie and Cindy, splashing along the Lake Erie shoreline.  The water colour painting (above) was created from a black and white photograph that I had taken when the girls were about three and six years of age.  The photograph and the painting never fail to stir up emotions within me.  Now I have a new photograph that adds to those emotions and prompts me to ask: "Where did the years go?"  The new photo (below) was taken by my son-in-law Joe Rocha who just happened to catch his wife Cindy (the chubby toddler to the right in my painting), hand-in-hand with daughter Madison, 4, as they tested the water at Niagara-on-the-Lake recently.  There is a remarkable similarity here that only a parent and a grand parent can fully appreciate.

NEW SITE HONOURS DR. JACK RUTTLE

I am privileged and honoured to introduce a new site, "A Tribute to Doc Ruttle", as part of my ever-growing Dresden: Father and Son Turn Back the Clock web site.  This new feature is highlighted by a letter written to the University of Western Ontario Alumni Gazette in 1978 by Dr. Jack Ruttle a short time before bravely succumbing to a long struggle with cancer.  The letter summarizes Dr. Ruttle's 44-year career and is warm and informative.  It paints a picture of the life of a small town doctor during the period 1930 to 1974.  Dr. Ruttle was the father of my good friend Jim Ruttle for whom I created the site.  To view this tribute click http://atributetodocruttle.blogspot.com/

THAT WAS YESTERDAY, THIS IS TODAY...

The more I indulge in nostalgia, the more I have evidence that to varying degrees we all yearn for a sense of belonging.  For many of us, that longing is fulfilled by exploring our past and the role that family members and others have played in it.
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I have also noticed that people reflect on experiences of the past in two ways -- with  fondness or cynicism. The one is a positive way to look at situations and people while the other is a negative way to remember them.

I actually know people who seem to enjoy dwelling on negativity of the past -- little remembrances that cast aspersions. While it is most certainly a personality thing, I have never understood the mindset.  This particular trait is no doubt the result of a self-indulgent need to suppress personal insecurities by placing oneself in a superior, looking-down-the-nose position, which quite frankly annoys me.

There is no denying that there is negativity in the past, just as there is in the present.  People have done, and still do, funny odd things.  People had different degrees of intelligence in the past, just as they do today.  But, God bless them, they do not deserve to be desecrated in flippant reflections of years gone by. However, 'nuff said on that unpleasant subject.  Glad it's off my chest.
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As we get older we learn to be less affected by negative memories in order to maintain our sense of well being and I think that is a good thing -- a form of mellowing, if you will.  Heaven help me in particular if there is a hint of dementia here, however...Those things only happen to other people.  Right?  
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I tend to adopt the "that was yesterday, this is today" philosophy for the most part.  I find it healthier to let go of, rationalizing if necessary, the negative memories and to nurture the happier complimentary ones.  Albert Einstein was perhaps of the same mind when he uttered his famous quote: "There are two ways to live:  You can live as if nothing is a miracle; (or) you can live as if everything is a miracle."
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For me, life is a miracle.  Past or present, everything is to be celebrated.

FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL

Granddaughter Madison, 4, (right) hugs her "bestest" friend on their first day of school last week.  God bless them, guide them and protect them.  Life will never be the same.  Virtual babies today, big girls tomorrow. The world is their oyster.  Photo by Mom

KATHERINE IS TO "BLAME" FOR ME

Countless stories and reminiscences were exchanged at my book signing in Dresden on Saturday.  One of the best was provided by Katherine (McKay) Concannon.
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Katherine prefaced her story by saying that she was "responsible for my being born."  When someone makes a pronouncement of that kind you tend to sit up and take notice.
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Katherine's mother and father and my parents were good friends.  As she tells it, the McKay's visited my folks' home one evening, bringing along their recently-born little bundle of joy.  "The Wrights did not have a baby at the time and my mother laid me on their bed to bring them luck....Almost nine months to the day, Dick was born," Katherine stated with an impish smile of accomplishment on her face.  
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I know the long-forgotten story to be true because I remember my mother mentioning it to me at one point.  My mom and dad were childless for about five years before the old lay the baby on the bed trick worked its magic.
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Thank you for the story Katherine -- and for the role you played in my being born.

WE'RE NOT OLDER, WE'RE BETTER!

Special thanks to Wanda Pellerin for providing these photos and for her assistance in organizing Saturday's book signing.

BOOK SIGNING TURNOUT WAS GRATIFYING

This is the morning after a very long and wonderfully fulfilling day before and I am still basking in the marvel of it all.

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My book signing in Dresden was a huge success --beyond my fondest expectations.  In total, I signed 77 books in about 90 minutes time and the amazing thing is that I did not suffer the writing cramps that I had expected.  I am left with mixed feelings of joy and humility that so many people from my era in Dresden showed up for the event, many coming early and staying on just to chat.  At the same time I am just a little sad that I was not able to spend more time with each one individually and to say the things that one always seems to think of after the fact.

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In all sincerity, I love you all.  I would never have been so bold, or moved, to say that 55-60 years ago.
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There are those who maintain that you can never go back, but when you can turn back the clock and experience the emotions of yesteryear with fondness and respect and from the perspective of maturity, it is truly something special to take with you always.

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Contributing to the significance of the occasion were the friends I had never  met before who simply had an interest in things nostalgic and were interested in reading about my  memories of the period when I grew up in their town.  Having my eldest daughter, her partner and two grand daughters there to share the day with me, was also significant.  Heck, even the local media showed up.

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How lucky can one guy get?

My family, Alyssa, Darrell, Becky and Debbie enjoyed meeting Dresden friends. 

YOU CAN TAKE THE BOY OUT OF THE TOWN

...but you can't take the town out of the boy!
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The following is a story I wish I had remembered to include in my book, Dresden Life Remembered.  I get annoyed at myself when these types of items surface after the fact, but such is life in the world of someone with a memory like mine.
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THE MARTIN BOYS, Terry, Gerald, Lynn, Dennis and Arthur, were frequent visitors to the home of their grandparents who lived across the street from the Wrights on Sydenham Street in Dresden.  I played with Terry, Gerald and Lynn whenever they visited (Dennis and Arthur were latecomers to the family).
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One summer I was invited to attend a "threshing bee" at the Martin farm near Turnerville, about eight miles from Dresden.  Life on the farm was totally new to me and I was at first like a fish out of water.  For instance, how was I to know that a strange looking length of barbed wire that I unsuccessfully tried to circumvent, was actually an electric fence surrounding the cattle yard.  And no one thought to warn me about the hazards of disturbuting a hornets nest.


In my first 10 minutes at the farm I was sitting in Mrs. (Grace) Martin's kitchen cum emergency ward.  "You're really learning about the farm the hard way, aren't you Dick?" she chuckled as she dabbed a mixture of "laundry bluing" on the multiple hornet sting welts on my chest and arms.  "You're mother is going to think that you've been through the Boer War," she added as she removed the cap from a bottle of iodine which was destined for the scratches on my legs from the barbed wire.  One thing about the jolt of electricity that I received when I gripped the wire, was that it temporarily made me forget about the hornet stings. 


With the bluing and iodine working their wonder, I was soon joining the others on wagons in the field and actually sitting on the threshing machine itself, directing the shoot that fed grain into the barn.  A big deal for "a kid from town".


The thing that impressed me most about that day was the fact that a group of farmers from the area congregated at the Martin farm at sunrise to help with the threshing operation.  I was equally amazed at the virtual feast prepared by Mrs. Martin and several neighbour ladies for the hungry workers at noon -- roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables, all served in large help-yourself bowls, and the biggest slices of pie that I had ever seen.


The Martins' father, Jack, was a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy with a ruddy complexion and perpetual smile.  He was right up there on the father meter with my dad, Ken.  Of Irish heritage, Jack was a true sportsman in every sense of the word.  He loved soccer and was a pretty fair hockey goalie in his day, which explains his sons' subsequent lifetime involvement in community sports.  Father and several sons, in fact, are included in the Dresden Sports Hall of Fame.  Grandchildren carry on the sports legacy.

Always at home on the ice, the Martins formed a hockey team which took part in a number of games for charity.  From the left, Terry, Lynn, Jack, Dennis, Gerry; goaltender Arthur is kneeling in front.
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Jack was also instrumental in starting up a baseball team in Turnerville that would eventually see all five of his sons in the lineup.  One summer Dresden Midgets made the jaunt to Turnerville to take on the local nine in an exhibition game.  In lieu of a warm body to do the umpiring, good old Jack took on that job too.  I was the pitcher for Dresden in that game and at one point had occasion to dispute one of Jack's calls at the plate.
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"Oh, come on Dickie!" Jack responded, looking me squarely in the eye.  Something in the tone of his voice, and the almost disappointed look on his face, made me feel bad for having questioned his arbitrative judgement.  He had that way about him.
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Just a few more memories that linger in the mind of a kid from town.
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Special appreciation to Lynn Martin for providing the photo of his family's hockey team and another wonderful picture of his mom and dad on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary some years ago.

NO LOVE LIKE ENDURING LOVE

Where would we be without love to balance the scales of life? Think about that for a moment. Quite frankly, we would all go to hell in a hand basket.
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When we ignore or are indifferent to the needs of others, for instance, our hearts grow cold over time. Stone cold hearts lead to war and crime --inhumanity toward man. Bitterness. Those of us who were Boy Scouts and Girl Guides well remember the Promise that we repeated so many times in our youth: "...do a good turn for someone everyday." Thought guru Zig Ziggler gives it his twist: "Do something everyday for someone else that they could not do for themselves."
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When we capitalize on the everyday opportunities to express love to each other we cultivate a love that will endure, a love that will stand the test of time. Love that is an emotion only will never stand that test of time, as evidence marital relationships that turn sour because the partners lose sight of the need to nurture each other over the long haul. (1 John 3:18)
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In our lives today the pressures we face can, in themselves, wear us down. It is easy to start strong in our relationships but it takes strength, resolve and effort to counter the tendency to simply give up.
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We all, every one of us, need love. We cannot survive without it. When we capitalize on the little everyday opportunities to demonstrate love to each other, we cultivate a love that will endure -- a love that will "stand the test of time." We are talking here about love that is tangible, love that can be seen and felt. Love transformed into action.
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Others count on us, just as we count on them. We receive love by giving it!
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Love discarded is a tragic waste. Love kept alive is a blessing.
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For some reason I felt the impulse to offer that reinforcement today.