EAT WITH LOVE AND AVOID INDIGESTION

I hadn't paid a visit to my alter ego, Old Humphrey, in quite some time.  Oddly enough, it was a bout of indigestion the other day that prompted me to seek him out.


"Hey Humph", I shouted, nudging my old friend out of a deep slumber.  "I've got this indigestion and nothing seems to be helping to relieve it.  Not even the old reliable baking soda remedy you gave me a while back.  Must have been something I ate, but I don't know...Any suggestions?"


"Ah huh!" came the old timer's reply.  "You've obviously forgotten what I once told you  -- look less to the food you eat, and more to the temper and frame of mind in which you eat it." 


"Well, you may be right as usual," I allowed.  "Was in a bit of a hurry when I tied on the feed bag at supper time.  Had a lot of things to do outside before dark and my wife was agitating about a couple of inside chores that I'd been neglecting as well...It all got me kind of stressed."


As Humphrey shifted his weight and leaned forward on his front porch swing, I knew there would be more sage advice forthcoming and I was not to be denied.  "So long as you are in a hurry, pressured, or in a bad mood, you may dine in vain on the finest roast of beef, the thighs of woodcocks and the breasts of partridges.  Nothing will suit your indigestion; the tender will become tough and the light will lie heavy on your stomach.  Understand what I'm saying?"


I understood and waited for the best yet to come.


"Let love, joy, peace and goodness abound in your heart as you are eating and take my word for it young fella, you will ere long be able to eat toasted cheese and barm dumplings with impunity."


"Thanks for that, Humphrey.  I was with you right up to the toasted cheese and barm dumplings.  Do you have a recipe for that too?" I added.

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

As it turns out, I think I will be passing on Humphrey's toasted cheese and barm dumplings suggestion.  I have a feeling that this traditional British culinary delight would not agree with me no matter how relaxed and loving I might be.

Toasted cheese (one of Queen Victoria's favourites, incidentally) generally consists of grated cheese mixed with beer or ale and served on toast that has been buttered on both sides.

Barm is the foam, or scum, formed on the top of liquor (i.e. fermented alcoholic beverages such as beer or wine, or feedstock for hard liquor or industrial ethanol distillation) when fermenting. It was used to leaven bread, or set up fermentation in a new batch of liquor. Barm, as a leaven, has also been made from ground millet combined with must out of wine-tubs and is sometimes used in English baking, i.e. Humphrey's dumplings.

I'll simply take my old friend's word for it.

OVER OR UNDER, LYLE WON IT FOR THE JAYS

Rosanne:  Was it Lyle Underbay who hit the game-winning home run for the Blue Jays yesterday?

Me:  No honey.  It was Lyle Overbay!

HAPPINESS IS A NEW BED

We bought Lucy a new bed a couple of days ago and she leaves it only to eat and to do her business outside.  It's nice when people (and animals) are happy with things that you buy them.

Thought for the day:  Satisfaction is found in other people's happiness.

Daily Kindness.net

Daily Kindness.net
JUST SOMETHING WORTH TAKING A LITTLE TIME TO READ.

They say to live every day like it was your last, to which I say boloney!  Live every day like it was your first...It takes the pressure off!

DRESDEN BLACKS DESERVE AN APOLOGY, HERE IS MINE FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH

"As for me, I don't go places I'm not wanted," Ruth Lambkin, high school student, 1954.

"You cannot force a man to love another but they can learn to love one another," Dresden activist Hugh Burnett, 1954.

"This is a confusing time of conflicting emotions...Only the Christian way will lead to peace in our own hearts and in our nation," Ken Wright in a Letter to the Editor, Chatham News, 1947.

I have been at this writing business now for more than 50 years and I have arrived at a place where I think I understand my readers pretty well.  When it comes to history-related topics I have found that people tend to develop their own interpretations.  It is much the same with religion where personal views are generally based on a degree of comfort.


Current beliefs, social trends and racial background cannot help but play an influential role in how we perceive a past event or period in history.  The passage of time does soften the harsh reality of the past in many cases.  Then too, human nature often dictates that we suppress, or turn a blind eye to certain historical facts that tend to complicate or compromise our beliefs and remembrances.


It is interesting to note that there are a number of different traditional views of history, i.e the cyclical or fatalist view, the providential view, the spiritual or progressive view, the philosophical view, the cultural view and the materialistic view.  There is also the disinterested view, which is unfortunate and more common than we may like to acknowledge.


Last week I uncovered an old National Film Board of Canada film produced in 1954 seeking answers to a long-standing colour-bar racial discrimination issue in my hometown of Dresden.  The 30-minute production graphically illustrated the prevailing concerns and attitudes of the period, some of which were quite disturbing by today's societal standards.  I asked readers of my web sites if they thought an apology from the municipal council of Chatham-Kent, in lieu of a town council today, was due our Black black friends and neighbours of that period.  To date I have had only one response on the subject and that was from a former newspaper editor-publisher who had a distinguished lifelong career behind a news desk in Dresden.  I know others have views, but are reluctant to go on record.


It goes without saying that the racial discrimination issue was and is a sensitive subject in the Southwestern Ontario town of approximately 2,700.  A generation has passed, as has the colour-bar issue (thanks to legislation and litigation of the 1950s).  Life has carried on, a little more freely and humanely for some; others never fully understanding what all the fuss was about in the first place.  The matter is, as they say, history.


My worry is that a serious racial wrong has never been properly and publicly acknowledged and that Black people of that troubled period deserve an official apology for the rights that were denied them and members of their families, many of whom have long sense passed away.  To me it is a classic case of man's ignorant inhumanity to man.  I do not condemn nor condone the eight or nine Dresden business owners who denied service to Black people; they were otherwise good citizens who simply held fast to what they believed were "rights" of their own, as prejudicial as they may have been.


What I advocate now to all Dresdenites is to take a moment to put themselves in the shoes of their Black neighbours and to ask how they would react under similar circumstances if roles were reversed and what it would mean to them and the memory of late loved ones, if their community collectively said "we are sorry!" There is no better way to understand than to assume the yoke of another.

An apology which is sincere and real will always make things better, heal wounds and resentment, and strengthen and lengthen relationships.  I have felt "sorry" for first-hand deep hurt and embarrassment ever since my friend was refused a butterscotch milkshake in a Dresden restaurant one hot summer evening 56 years ago and I've never known how to relay those feelings.


To my friend now, and all others whose rights were similarly denied and thusly relegated to second-class citizen status because of the colour of their skin, I for one sincerely apologize.

How about the rest of Dresden?

Better late than never!?

PRAISE THE LORD AND PASS THE PERROGIES

Rosanne and I have been good to ourselves the past couple of days, maybe too good.


After six months of fairly strict dieting and weight loss we felt it was time to treat ourselves just a bit.  They say to do that once in a while you know.

We started out by celebrating our wedding anniversary Wednesday evening with a beautiful meal at one of our favorite restaurants followed by nice lunches at several of our old haunts on Thursday and Friday.  Rosanne gave in to the urge to have an apple cinnamon donut with her coffee at Tim Hortons today and, not wanting her to eat alone, I had a ginger-molasses cookie. Then this evening, what the heck, I picked up some amazing chicken and fish schnitzel, poroggies, fried cabbage and butter rolls from a new European takeout buffet that we had been wanting to try.


As we were cleaning up the dishes a few hours ago I suggested, "tomorrow (Sunday) we'll have to get back on our diets", to which Rosanne quickly chimed in: "No, Monday will be okay!"


I think we might have a problem.

VINTAGE FILM SOUGHT ANSWERS TO RACIAL DISCRIMINATION IN TOWN OF DRESDEN

It was quite by accident that I stumbled across a 56-year-old piece of film the other day.  It gave me a new perspective on a period in the history of my former   hometown to which I was privy but far too young to fully comprehend.


The film, "Dresden Story", was a historic and widely distributed production by the National Film Board of Canada that in 1954 sampled the attitudes toward racial discrimination against black people and brought the Kent County community kicking and screaming into the national spotlight.


By means of very brief background, if you were black and living in Dresden, or just visiting at the time, you could not obtain service at many of the downtown business locations.  This in a country that had abolished slavery decades before the American Civil War and that saw itself as a proud and welcoming destination for thousands of slaves who had escaped bondage through the Underground Railroad in the 1850s.


While many Canadians turned a blind eye to racial discrimination, often denying its existence, it was unquestionably present in the small town of Dresden that today still has a population under 2,800.  "The Dresden Story" began in the nineteenth century when the town lay at the end of the "underground railroad" for fugitive slaves and a substantial number eventually settled in the area.  Josiah Henson, upon whose life Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom’s Cabin was based, of course, is buried nearby.  

By the end of World War II blacks constituted close to 20 per cent of the approximately 1,700 inhabitants, but several restaurants, barber shops and pool halls habitually denied service to them (sustained perhaps by the traditional British freedoms of association and commerce, which were interpreted to mean that a proprietor had the right to decide who to serve and who to hire).  Blacks were able to attend only one place of worship in town, the Queen Street Baptist Church.  Very quietly and deliberately, the town had become one of the most racially segregated communities in Canada.


One of the Dresden area blacks to champion civil rights in the town was Hugh Burnett, a World War II army veteran who owned his own carpentry business. In 1943 he sent a complaint to the federal Minister of Justice about racial discrimination in one Dresden restaurant in particular. He was informed that the government could do nothing. Then, about 1948, he launched a lawsuit against the prominent restaurant owner, although he did not proceed with it, probably because in the wake of the pre-war Supreme Court decision of Christie v. York the law provided little leverage.


At about this time, Burnett joined with a number of other Dresden-area blacks to form an organization called the National Unity Association (NUA).  Just prior to the municipal election of 1948 a delegation from the NUA asked Dresden’s town council that a non-discrimination policy be a condition of local business licensing. Although a number of Ontario municipalities had already passed anti-discrimination bylaws, in Dresden the proposal moved forward with what has been described as glacial slowness.


The white segment of the town's population, for the most part, chose to ignore the issue -- the majority going so far as to deny that it existed at all.  The sentiment:  "We have nothing against coloured people...They just have to know their place," was frequently repeated.  There was also a commonly-held belief that the flames of the discrimination movement were being fanned by "trouble-making outsiders -- the Jewish community and Communists."  The prevailing consensus was that drawing attention to the matter did more harm than good.  Stories in Toronto newspapers, the Windsor Star and Macleans Magazine were vigorously protested.


So it was that the appearance of a National Film Board crew in town in 1954 was generally frowned on.  In spite of local resistance and difficulty in rounding up opinions of local citizens, commentator Gordon Burwash was finally able to organize two discussion panels for the regular CBC show "On The Spot"and some interesting and telling opposite viewpoints resulted in the above 30-minute film production.  In the end, the rights and wrongs of the issue were left to the viewer to decide.


In viewing the film many times over in the past couple of days and with the benefit of hindsight and maturity, I experienced mixed emotions.  I was nostalgically drawn back in time by views of Dresden's downtown area, the high school that I attended and familiar faces of town folk, many of whom have long since died. 


Not too surprisingly, the two panels disagreed on the origin of racial discrimination in the town.  The black panel was consistent in the belief that it had been going on for more than 100 years while the white panel felt that it was something that had come to light only in recent times.


I was impressed with the calm, rational demeanor of the black panel members in explaining their side of the issue.  The common thread running through their comments was opposition to colour-bar practices and simply the fact that they wanted to be treated as equals in the community in which they lived, as was their legislated right.


Mr Burnett, a member of the black panel, conceded that "you can't make a law to make one man love another, but they can certainly learn to love one another."  It was generally agreed that education would be the key to overcoming any racial ignorance.


The white panel, consisting of a Baptist minister, several businessmen, a school principal, a newspaper editor and one of my next door neighbours, struggled to articulate the root-cause of discrimination in the community and appeared to be carefully guarded in their comments.  The school principal who taught me in Grade 8 and for whom I had great respect, disappointingly alluded only to outside interests aimed at causing trouble in the community but when asked by the panel moderator if he had definitive knowledge of outside involvement responded: "No, I haven't."

 My neighbour suggested that one of the concerns in the town was that of inter-marriage, prompting the minister to say that his church was not against mixed-race marriage but that generally he would counsel against it.  "In the end, it is up to a couple to make their own choice," he added. 


One of the business representatives, a barber, said he felt that he had been placed in a bind because if he allowed coloured people into his shop he would lose his white customers.  When pressed to be more specific on the actual number of customers who had verbally threatened to withdraw their patronage, he was only able to offer:  "...A substantial number," later adding that many were "fine Christians".

There seemed to be unanimity amongst the six white panel members that no one could be forced to do something (i.e. the business owners refusing service) that is against their personal beliefs, "rightly or wrongly" as my soft-spoken neighbour put it.


Interestingly business executive Horace Cluderay, in a closing comment to the expressionless and sober white panel, presented long-ignored food for thought:  "The only solution, as I see it, is to sit the sides down in fellowship and brotherhood to discuss matters in a reasonable way as Christians..."


The film was produced in the very early stages of television news commentary, but it was well done and balanced considering the resistance to it in Dresden at the time.  It is a genuine piece of history that accurately reflects the attitudes and opinions that prevailed as late as the mid 1950s in an otherwise quiet, benevolent Christian community.  The film is worth viewing now in the light of passage of time and conditions as they exist in society today.


In the end, it took hard-fought litigation to ensure that discrimination in Dresden would come to an end.  I am not aware of the sides ever sitting down to work out their differences and misconceptions.  Blatant discrimination was suppressed and racial equality just seemed to evolve with the passage of time.  Several plaques have only recently been erected in town to recognize the fight for equality and in particular the role played by the activist Hugh Burnett.

It should be noted that Burnett, falsely accused of  Communistic leanings, was finally forced to leave town in the wake of a business boycott and threats to his life and that of his family.  He is said to have died a broken man.


At the risk of awakening old injustices, but in a spirit of true conciliation and healing, it is still not too late for the Chatham-Kent municipal council of the day to issue an official apology to the surviving members of the black community for the racial discrimination suffered by them and members of their families. It would be the right(s) thing to do!  I would be interested to hear from other Dresden natives on this suggestion.

*As noted on my Facebook page:
   We may not have been directly implicated in many of the social ills of the past and present, but by the nature of association we should accept the responsibilty of lending ourselves to the ultimate healing process for the benefit of all mankind.

MY SINGING COUSIN JACK R. SHARPE

I have been preparing a number of special "artist's recognition" tributes for the Dresden Virtual History Group.  The most recent is a flashback on one of my cousins, Jack Sharpe who was a gifted singer back in the 1940s and '50s.  Regretfully his voice was never recorded that I know of, but take my word for it -- today he would be a recording artist or Broadway star.  To learn more, click http://jackrsharpe.blogspot.com.

GARDENING A WRIGHT/PERRY TRADITION

I thought that I would have some fun with these photos of my Grandfather Nelson Perry (top) in our garden in Dresden in the late summer of 1944 and me in my Southampton garden today (September 9/10).  Obviously I tried to duplicate the 1944 photo as much as possible.  Grandpa Nelson and I were partners in a virtual market garden in the 1940s (my Dad Ken also helped out).  We grew literally everything but our main vegetable items were potatoes and corn which I sold door-to-door in Dresden and did pretty well at it too.  I have also posted the photo of my gardener grandfather on my Dresden: Father and Son Turn Back the Clock web site, complete with the names of people I sold to -- Lots of fun and good memories, to be sure!

ABOUT ACTING ON LIFETIME DREAMS

In taking a trip around the horn a time or two, most of us have managed to gain some perspective on life and have learned to focus on what is really most important.  Many of us too, have thought about past choices and how things may or may not have happened differently.

Not that we necessarily second-guess ourselves but in reflective moments, of which I have many, we tend to think "if I only had it to do all over again"... 

I hear frequently from a chap by the name of John Reese who claims to have made a million dollars in Internet marketing.  Generally, I take what John says under advisement, but the other day he came up with an interesting philosophical concept.

"I've come to realize that life really is shorthand and it's passing by in the blink of an eye," he states.  He went on to explain that recently he has been engaged in a mental exercise that he highly recommends for everyone. "Whatever you are doing today, or with your days right now, imagine eventually being 10 years into the future. And imagine being able to get into a Time Machine and visit TODAY (10 years earlier). Would you want to be doing now whatever you were doing then? Or would you wish you had spent those days doing something else?" he asks.

It took me a minute, but I was finally able to wrap my mind around what John was suggesting and quite simply it was that it is never too late to tackle something that you have always wanted to do.  Mind you, I have always wanted to own a motorcycle but I am sure it would not be a wise move now at my age.  Some things are just not practical or in our best interests, given the fact that we are not as young as we used to be.

I see merit, however, in taking on a long-suppressed challenge if it is a reasonable one and that you can get started with it in some small way that can be accommodated in your life at present time.  Fulfilling a lifetime dream or ambition can be a gratifying experience.

You know what?  I might still get that motorcycle -- providing I win a lottery.  Now there's a lifetime dream for you! 

LAST LONG WEEKEND OF SUMMER A DUD

Dramatic changes in weather conditions around the Great Lakes this past weekend saw temperatures drop drastically and winds reach gale-force proportions along with heavy rains.  My poor miracle Sunflower that had survived so many storms and setbacks this summer was beaten to the ground once again.  In the photo below roller waves splash into the rocks along the Lake Huron shoreline at Southampton.  Sadly for cottagers and tourists the long Labour Day weekend has not been conducive to sunbathing, swimming or fishing.  No doubt a lot of "good books" were read, however.

BLOGS DON'T HAVE TO BE GOOD TO BE ENGAGING, JUST TRUE; ASK LORIANNE

In my last post I wrote about "being one's own best friend" and a motivation to be personally "good enough".  It was a worthy and noble bit of prose that, in retrospect, reveals itself to me as none other than an awkward and strangely-worded attempt to justify my bloggings.


As with so many things in life, after writing and publishing most of my Wrights Lane items, I am left wondering if my effort was good enough to be of interest.  In exposing vulnerabilities and innermost thoughts and experiences, will I be taken seriously?  Will my message have any impact?  I struggle with the possibility that I fall short not only in my writing, but in other aspects of life as well, so by nature I am a second-guesser and wonderer. 


Are my expectations unrealistic or do I lack a degree of self-esteem?  Am I too hard on myself?...Perhaps a resounding "yes" to all of the above would be quite in order.


You can imagine, then, the significance of the following words from fellow blogster Lorianne DiSabato from her "Hoarded Ordinaries" web site:


"...Part of the allure of blogging, of course, is that it is a democratic genre.  You don’t have to be good in order to do it. Blog-reading is addictive because like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get. There’s a random delight in hearing an average writer suddenly soar or a wondrous poet lament over a bout with writer’s block. We read (and write) blogs not because our writing is great everyday: we read (and write) blogs because everyday it’s great to be writing.  Both writing and photography are ultimately human acts, expressions of our human need to notice and be noticed. A blog doesn’t have to be good to be engaging; it simply has to be true."


What impresses me most about Lorianne's reassuring blog statement are the words "average" and "true" because my literary work is most assuredly average and I always place  emphasis on truth and engagement.


It takes one "hoarder" of ordinary thoughts and skills to appreciate another and to be reminded
that at least it is "great to be writing every day" and to share what is on our mind from a creative perspective.


Don't get me wrong though, I still strive to be "good enough" at what I do and to be my own best friend for the reasons stated in the post that follows -- and to satisfy a personal internal need to notice and to be noticed.

We bloggers are strange people.  Some of us more so than others!  We require allowances.

DON'T BE YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY, BE YOUR OWN BEST FRIEND

I find myself frequently saying rather off-handidly about someone, "Oh, they are their own worst enemy."  I have even thought the same about myself a time or two. 

For some reason, the realization just hit me that in reality we can be our own worst enemies or we can be our own best friends.  In the degree that we become friends to the highest and best within us, we become best friends to those around us; and in the degree that we become enemies to the same highest and best within us, we literally become enemies to all.  We're really not talking rocket science here, are we?

In the sense that we open ourselves to the higher powers available to all of us and let them manifest through us, we serve as transmitters of inspiration for others.  In this way we all have the potential to be redeemers -- and best friends. 

As one who has matured in the craft of writing, I subscribe to the precept:  "Look into thine own heart and write.  Be true.  Be fearless.  Be loyal to the promptings of your own soul."   For the most part I have become my own amanuensis, writing my own self into my work.  I can put no more into my humble literary efforts than what I myself am.

Having made the forgoing declaration, I pray that what I am is good enough at times to reach hearts, to stimulate, to enrich, to bring a little joy to the lives of others.  I can do that only if I am my own best friend.

Please accept the friendship that is within me as it continues to emanate from Wrights Lane (subsequently Facebook) and onto your monitor screen.  May there be an ultimate mutual manifestation for those with whom we share.

A VISITOR WHO COMMANDED RESPECT

I've had a lot of wild life visit my back yard in Southampton, but never a Snapping Turtle.  This young lady was just passing through from her home in Fairy Lake which is just below my property.  I tried to feed her some cherry tomatoes from my garden but she was not the least bit interested.  She had other things on her mind, like maybe trying to find a good spot to lay her eggs.

"HEY!  OUTTA MY WAY BUSTER..."

Question:  How much room do you give a Snapping Turtle?  Answer:  "As much as it wants! -- especially if it is an unexpected intruder in your back yard.   

"THAT'S ME GONE...I CAN TAKE A HINT"

"...Besides, I'm heading for that cucumber patch over there.  Oh, right, turtles don't like cucumbers, but what the heck; I might find something else interesting."

"I'M CAMERA-SHY, DON'T YOU KNOW" 

"...Well, okay, go ahead and snap one.  I'm not going to hold this pose much longer.  Cheese!"

MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN...WHAT ELSE IS NEW IN THIS WORLD OF OURS?

We are such smug human beings when it comes to humane pretenses yet we live in a world rife with man's inhumanity to man.  Sadly, inhumanity is very much alive in the Global Village -- always has been and unfortunately always will be as one generation passes to the next.


Interestingly, the phrase "man's inhumanity to man" is first documented in a poem written by Robert Burns in 1784. According to some sources it is possible that Burns reworded a similar quote from Samuel von Pufendorf who in 1673 wrote, "More inhumanity has been done by man himself than any other of nature's causes."


Last month we listened and read with horror the reports coming out of a hearing into the abuse suffered by First Nations children in residential schools operated by numerous church organizations in Canada.  Just yesterday Allan Thompson wrote a piece in the Toronto Star about his father who was among tens of thousands of children from Britain who were unceremoniously shipped to Canada a century ago through a barbaric child labour scheme.  My late wife's grandmother was in fact one of the "Home Children" included in the dreadful and poorly supervised migration movement at the beginning of the last century.

Today, too, we continue to live with the stigma of racial discrimination of all kinds.  Terrorism 
rears its ugly head all over the world and is a constant threat even in this peace-loving land of ours.


Almost daily we hear about hostage-taking incidents where individuals are held captive, brainwashed and tortured over a long period of time.  The motivation very often is dominance or vengeance-based, sexual, or simply the work of a deranged mind.


It is not a stretch to suggest that over the centuries, nothing has caused more pain and suffering for mankind than man himself. Through war, hate crimes, and random acts of violence, the fear of the different and unknown has presented itself in human nature. The novel Night, the movie Schindler’s List and the article A Tortured Legacy are all examples of this. Through the suffering of the Jews at the hands of the Germans, there is no clearer example of man’s inhumanity to man. The holocaust was far more than a tragedy; it is something you simply cannot describe with words. The sheer evil and hate that took place in the 1940’s really exemplifies what man can be like when he’s at his weakest and lowest point of existence. Through the merciless slaughtering and torturing of the Jewish people, the Germans showed to the whole world what it’s like to be inhuman; to be animalistic.


Wars in particular expose man's ultimate inhumanity to man. Wars are an innate but absolute part of human nature. Often fought by religious factions, wars reflect man's basest instincts, untamed by rationality.


We frequently hear the question asked:  "Why does God allow these things to happen?"  Well, I've got news!  God may have created humanity, but He did not create inhumanity any more than He can control it.  Generally speaking, inhumanity is a condition of a misguided human heart that more often than not, beats within an otherwise well-intended but ignorant body.  We pay lip service to a humane society yet we stoop to being blindly inhumane when it suits certain perceived needs.


Man's inhumanity to man is the price we all pay for being short-sighted and agenda-driven by nature.  And we continually have to make apologies while going back to clean up the mess that has been left behind.  Makes you think, does it not?

We share the shame!

GOD IS IN HEAVEN, SYLVIA IS GLAD TO HEAR FROM ME -- WE LIVE HAPPILY EVERAFTER

I don't know if anyone is interested or even cares, but since I made an issue of it in my last post (see item below), I cannot contain it any longer...Sylvia is alive and well living in Norman, Oklahoma.

I had a premonition.  I just felt the story was not over and, sure enough at 5:56 this afternoon (Thursday) a heart-stopping Facebook message read:  "It was good to hear from you Dick.  Can you tell me how I can get a copy of your book?  --Sylvia." 

I literally had to pinch myself to see if I was really dreaming.  "Rosanne, you have to see this," I announced to my very supportive spouse who had encouraged me to bring closure to my story about a young lady 54 years ago who was not easy to kiss and not easy to forget.

I am unaware of the whys and wherefores of Sylvia's sudden disappearance from our original Classmates profile contact site this past weekend, and how she relocated me through Facebook some four days later, but all is well that ends well.  On a newly-created Facebook site of her own, Sylvia displayed two photos of her wonderful family (her husband, two handsome sons and no doubt four attractive grandchildren, beaming faces all).  I am so happy for her -- and me too!

The final chapter to my story just wrote itself.  It ends as it should -- happily.  I don't have to fictionalize it.  It is what it is.  Glorious closure after more than 50 years of wondering and, yes, a degree of fantasizing too.  I honestly feel that God has blessed me and I am extremely thankful.

Of course, I plan to send Sylvia a copy of my book and in return I hope she provides me with a little more information about her life as it unfolded.  Everything from this point on will be a bonus, however.

So for now Sylvia, Rosanne and I wish you and yours continued good health and happiness.  Thank you for touching my heart one final time!

Signed, the kid from Canada

 

I NEVER FORGOT BUT MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE

Not everyone appreciates a good story as much as I do...Well, certain stories, anyway...But I'm going to tell (or finish telling) this one because it does not have a conventional ending.  Nosiree, no Hollywood ending with this one, and I am left digging deep for a rational message -- if in fact there is one.

Two years ago on this site I published a story "Easy To Kiss, Easy To Forget".  In fact I also included it in my recent book, Wrights Lane...Come On In.  For those newcomers to Wrights Lane and others who may have missed the original post, I run it again (below) in order to set the stage for a rather surprise recent development.  Regardless, it would be best to give the following insertion a quick read before continuing.


Click here:  *"Easy to kiss, easy to forget: "...courtesy of a first Love's mom? A lot of what I write is for the benefit of my grandchildren, four being teenagers. Of course, as unbeli..."

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

SPECIAL NOTE FROM DICK:  I will not go into detail at this point, but I am compelled to make several corrections in the "Easy to Kiss, Easy to Forget" story that you just read.  For the record:  1)  Sylvia was in fact 17-years-of-age at the time; 2) she played the glockenspiel in the high school band, not clarinet and 3) we met at the Cocoa Methodist Church (not Presbyterian) where her mother was choir director.
When I first wrote this story I intended it to be the opening chapter of a book that I had in mind at the time.  My thought was to follow a young couple through life and to have them find each other again many years later through a computer web site designed to locate old friends and school chums.

The book never materialized and I eventually decided not to waste the text that had been stored in several computer files over the years.  I also never completely gave up the idea of someday writing at least a final chapter for the story in a follow up publication.

Well, believe it or not, two years ago I joined the "Classmates" Internet site and have had fun since connecting with people who attended Lambton Kent District High School in Dresden in the 1950s.  Just recently I have extended my search to include other people that I knew in the 50s and 60s, one of which was  my "Easy to kiss, easy to forget" girl Sylvia.

Much to my surprise Sylvia popped up on my monitor screen, sans photograph but displaying a hyphenated married name and still living in Florida.  She was listed as having attended high school in Cocoa, Fla. between 1952 and '56.  A perfect match...It had to be her!

"Should I send her a message?" I debated with myself.  After several days of weighing the pros and cons, I threw caution to the wind and dashed off what I felt was a compelling "for old times sake" note to the bulletin board on her Classmates page.

Second-guessing my wisdom, I nervously checked several times a day for a reply.  Almost two weeks later Sylvia registered a visit to my Classmates page, but with no comment.  I waited again for several days before sending her another note thanking her for visiting and apologizing if I had initially appeared presumptuous or intrusive.

This past Sunday I was surprised to find that a guest book visit had been removed from my Classmates site, a most unusual occurrence.  Sylvia's name had mysteriously disappeared from the list virtually over night.  The notation "Sorry!  This profile no longer exists." greeted me when I subsequently called up her site which had been wiped clean except for my now rather pathetic notes, strangely enough. 

The message was loud and clear.  This particular Sylvia was neither impressed nor interested in hearing from this particular ill-advised sentimentalist.  Maybe she thought I was a stalker, as someone has suggested, I don't know.  Nevertheless,  not quite the happy, warm and fuzzy ending to the story that I had nurtured for so long.

Kind of a letdown, right!  Sometimes life is like that.

I'll never know for sure, but if this was the Sylvia that I knew and loved all those years ago, she may be wishing now that we did kiss that night after the Valentine's prom.  That way, by her mother's rationale, it would have been easy for me to forget about her...Maybe, but not likely.  I'm just not that kind of guy.

"EARLY DETECTION" IS THE KEY TO SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT OF CANCER

I heard from a friend yesterday explaining for the first time that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  It was the kind of announcement that we all hear far too often and each time the shock is every bit as intense and devastating as before.

My friend had recently undergone mammogram testing and a biopsy for the "small cancer" in her left breast which will be removed via a lumpology and testing of the lymph nodes to be sure the cancer has not spread.  She will also have a series of five-a-week radiation treatments for a period of four to six weeks.

Always a positive, cheery person, she considered it "good news" that her "bad news" test this past June was a follow up to an all clear mammogram she had in June 2009.  "I am so grateful that I returned again in a year," she added.  Her message was loud and clear:  "Get your mammograms done ladies!"  This insatiable disease can rear its ugly head at any time -- a year can make a big difference.    

Coincidentally, on Thursday I had coffee with another friend (and husband) who had a similar diagnosis and treatment three years ago.  She is now fine and enjoying life as much, maybe even more, than before.  "The key was that my cancer was detected in the early stages," she explains now.  "Oh sure, it is always in the back of your mind and maybe that is a good thing as a reminder that we should never take our health for granted."

Cancer today can be just a blip on the radar screen of life providing it is detected early enough.  My two friends are here to tell all of us that the treatment that is necessary is only a small setback as a trade-off for a long-term, happy gain.  Believe me, I am one who has lived on both sides of that scenario.

A HEADING? WHAT WAS I WRITING ABOUT?

Both Rosanne and I have handicap parking stickers for our car and truck.  If a couple of designated handicap spots are available in a parking lot, I will generally take one; otherwise I will park in the nearest regular opening and limp my way into the store or mall, leaving the one available handicap slot for someone who needs it more than me.  It's a little different for Rosanne as she needs to get as close as we can get to an entrance if she wants to go in.

This afternoon we pulled into our local Foodland parking lot and I noticed that an elderly couple had parked in our usual handicap location.  I parked a couple of cars away from them.  They were still struggling to get out of their car when I walked over to them. 

Being the joker than I am and with a straight face, I said:  "Why are you folks parking in this spot -- you're not handicapped!  The frail gentleman, looking up from his walker and taken a bit by surprise, was quick to recover with an equally straight face:  "Well we are, mentally."  The three of us broke into simultaneous laughter.  "Welcome to the club," I responded as I moved ahead to hold open the front door of the store for the slow-moving couple.

As I later recalled the light-hearted exchange for Rosanne, I began to think about the elderly man's "mentally handicapped" statement and how close to the truth it may soon be for me.  In recent months I have been bothered by some serious short-term memory lapses -- not the misplacing car keys or forgetting people's names sort of thing, but more persistent and annoying "blank outs" as I call them and inability to retain information and thoughts, literally from one minute to the next.

I try to retain a sense of humour about my increasing forgetfulness, but there are times when I worry about what might be in store for me not too far down the road.  There is a degree of frustration that spills over into my association with people, particularly Rosanne who has not quite come to grips with my problem.  I find myself lacking tolerance and easily angered, often leading me to regret certain knee-jerk actions that I have taken.

I am not sure if my writing has been adversely affected, but that is one of my worst fears.  The last thing I would want to do is to embarrass myself, but I honestly feel that I need this type of release for the passion of creative self-expression that exists within me.  Through writing I am able to make connections that would not be possible in a physical sense and that is what motivates me.  That's what keeps me going when perhaps I should pack it all in.

I have crammed a lot into the last four or five years of my life -- renovated two houses, served as a lay minister for a two-year period, walked away from a wheelchair after major foot and ankle surgery, gained some new friends and lost some old ones, written three books (two of which have been published), initiated this web site and a dozen others encompassing more than 300 individual posts, took a course in puppeteering, completed a number of oil and watercolour paintings, helped Rosanne pull through a major health crisis, tilted at a few windmills, the list goes on -- all things that I wanted to do, or felt compelled to do, before I finally give up the ghost.

Through Wrights Lane and other writings my life is pretty much an open book, although a few of the best stories will remain untold.  I have praised, encouraged, confessed, apologized, bared my soul and took risks at my own expense, leaving little else to be done by means of cleaning my life's slate.

I am now resigned to being the rope in a tug-of-war.  It remains to be seen which of my handicaps wins out in the end -- physical or mental.  It could very well be a tie.  Heaven help me!

All I can do is stand my ground for as long as I can -- and continue having a little fun while I'm doing it.

Tug away, you bastards!

LET'S ALL DO THE THINGS WE LOVE!

I was corresponding with a friend last night on the subject of pursuing things that are personally important to us or are deepest in our heart.  Then something that I read reminded me that it's not an accident you love the things you love. It is not altogether profound to suggest also that it is not an accident that you care about the things you care about.

Neither is it an accident when you find yourself miserable or unhappy. This is the sign or signal that you are off the path of your passion(s) and a serious soul-search is no doubt in your best interest.

Why is it so often difficult for us to realize that when we follow the loves in our life we have all the joy, all the success and all the wishes that are deepest in our heart?

Do not hesitate to follow your passion, dear friend.  It will do your heart good!

Others may not always approve or understand, but why should we care...We're too busy fulfilling the desire within us and others are not necessarily expected to feel what we feel...Too bad for them!

REMEMBER WHEN WHITE SPORT COATS AND PINK CADILLACS WERE ALL THE RAGE?

*http://oldfortyfives.com/takemebacktothefifties.htm

Photo:  A 1958 Cadillac Seville, pink of course.  I could never make the raise of one of those beauties, but I did have a white sports coat.  My first car was a 1949 Plymouth Coupe, then a '52 Monarch with "overdrive" before stepping up to a '56 Olds 88 formerly owned by Dresden druggist Don Dusten.

I post this special *link to the above video site as a gift to all my "old" friends and relatives with  fond memories of the 1950s.  It really was a wonderful era in which to grow up.  You younger Cats can just watch, listen...and eat your hearts out!

Special thanks to one of those "old" friends (she's going to kill me) from Dresden who sent me the link knowing that I would enjoy it.  Betcha can't watch it only once?

MAY CLINT BROWN FINALLY REST IN PEACE

Back in April I posted a story about the discovery of a skeleton in an old cistern on a property in rural Dresden.  Late Friday, area police confirmed the identity of the body as that of Clinton John Brown, a World War Two veteran who had mysteriously gone missing in 1975.  The announcement came as a relief to members of Brown's family and area residents who had speculated for 35 years on the disappearance of the 61-year-old bachelor.


The above video is of the official announcement by a Chatham-Kent Police spokesman.

Clint was a quiet, unassuming individual who had survived an 18-month stint in a prisoner of war concentration camp in Italy and wanted nothing more than to come back to Dresden and live the life that he and his comrades had fought and sacrificed for.  He lived in a trailer not far from the property where his body was finally and unexpectedly discovered.

Regardless of circumstances, the bottom of a well is no place for a body to spend eternity.  May Clint finally rest, deservedly, in peace.  You are saluted soldier!  Stand easy! 

DOC RUTTLE'S DAUGHTER SAYS THANK YOU AND GIVES ME A NEW LEASE ON LIFE

It never fails, just when I begin feeling that I am missing the mark with my blog sites and that no one really cares about my nostalgic ramblings in particular, out of the blue I hear from someone who makes it all worthwhile.  Such is the case with an email that I received earlier today from Andrea (Ruttle) McElhone of Montreal.  I'll let Andrea take it from here.


"Hi Dick.  This thank-you is LONG overdue.  Ever since I received the Tribute to Doc Ruttle via Paul Weese, I have wanted to express my appreciation but didn't look to see the obvious reference to your email address.  I hope this reaches you and that you are still writing about Dresden on your blog.


"It was wonderful to retrieve the article through this medium.  I get to read it whenever I choose and I have been able to share it with a few friends who never met my Dad.  Living in Montreal since 1974, my life has been wonderful yet disconnected from Dresden.  If a friend is curious about my parents, I can say "I'll send you a snapshot of my Dad, my Mother and my home town."  The fact that a portion was written in Dad's words is especially revealing.  My children also appreciate having this in print.


"I have lots of memories of your parents as well.  I remember your Dad as a kind and friendly man and I have more memories of your Mom by way of her friendship with mine.  I also remember dropping in to the drug store (Carr's and McTavish) with my friends most days after school and your Mother would join  us in some form of kidding around.


"My current connection to Dresden is by way of Bob and Paul Weese and Carol Holmes Park.


"I understand that you are very busy in retirement and generally enjoying life.  Your blog sites seem to be a natural evolution of your journalistic skills.  The rest of us have benefited.  I know that my sister Carol also was very happy to receive this Tribute.


"Thanks again for reminding us of our Dad's qualities and values.  All the best!"


-- Andrea Ruttle McElhone. 

NOTE FROM DICK:  Andrea is the "baby" sister of my old friend Jim Ruttle.  I actually remember when she was born.  Growing up in Dresden, I may have said no more than a half-dozen words to her in a 10-11-year period.  Now, through my web sites and the memories we share, we come together as mature adults (one more mature than the other, I fear) and that's what makes all of this so gratifying.  The little girl I never spoke to is now my friend with something in common.  I feel very close to her even though we may never physically cross paths again.

Life does have its wonderful twists and surprises.  Thank you for this one Andrea!

*To view the original "Tribute to Doc Ruttle" feature site, click http://atributetodocruttle.blogspot.com

A Broken Dream, A Father, and Hope.

A Broken Dream, A Father, and Hope.

*click on heading(s)

I feel strongly moved to share this video with followers of Wrights Lane because of the power of its message and the emotion it raises within me.  I know the clip will speak for itself as it speaks to you.  I take my leave  at this time feeling very inadequate and humble.  God bless!

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE IN AN EMPTY BOX

From my Daily Kindness friends: A story worth repeating.

The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his three-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.


Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.”

He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found the box was empty.

He yelled at her, “Don’t you know that when you give someone a present, there’s supposed to be something inside it?”

The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, “Oh, Daddy, it is not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you, Daddy.”

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

It is told that the man kept that gold box by his bed for years and whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as humans have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, friends, family or God.

There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

I DO BELONG SOMEWHERE...THE HOME I'M IN!

I was thinking this morning about my unusual fixation on my old hometown, Dresden, when the words of the song "Love The One You're With" curiously popped into my head.


Regular readers of Wrights Lane are most familiar with what has been described by some as an obsession...I even wrote a book about it, for Heaven's sake.  In all honesty, I myself have often questioned the extent and healthiness of my nostalgic exuberance for the little town  nestled on both banks of the Sydenham River in agriculture-oriented Kent County.


All along I have refuted the expression "you can never go back", insisting that indeed you can go back to the home of your childhood.  In retrospect, and by degrees, I have now amended my contention by adding the words "...but you will not belong."


In my lifetime I have lived in eight different towns or cities and in all cases I have left a little of myself behind...That's just the way I am...But something has been missing every time I go back to pay a visit.  Scenery changes, people change, someone else is living in my old house and I am left with an empty ache in the pit of my stomach.  As hard as I try to ignore the feeling, I am always none other than someone from another era -- an intruder on familiar soil, to put it bluntly.  Those places are no longer my home and never will be again, unless I physically move back and even then things will have changed and very little would be as it was before.  Come to think about it, I likewise, would no longer be the person that I was -- physically different, emotionally different, much older and with interests that are different.

At one point there were 14 members of my family (Wrights, Perrys, Sharpes, Johnstons) all living within a stone's throw of my home on Sydenham Street in Dresden...I'm the only one still living.

Don't get me wrong, there are a handful of people who remember me and fewer still who have remained dear friends at a distance over the years, and I cling to that.  After a half century, however, we have only one thing in common and that is the roots we share and the memories of days gone by. 


So, yes, you can go back but you won't belong and that's an acknowledgement that leaves me feeling rather sad.  But, you know what?  I do belong somewhere.  My home is at 62 Grey Street North in Southampton.  My wife and dog live there too.  There is no other place I would rather be.


Stephen Stills said it best when he wrote the lyrics *"Love The One You're With".  Only I have changed the words as I repeatedly sing them in my mind while putting the finishing touches to this post:  "Love the home you're in, don't be angry, don't be sad, and don't sit cryin' over good times you've had...Love the home you're in!"

A bit of closure here?  I think so.

* The song"Love The One You're With" was first made popular by the singing group Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

AWE, IT'S THE SIMPLE LIFE FOR SOME OF US, BUT THANK GOD NOT ALL OF US

We are hearing a lot these days about people opting out of demanding careers and  meat-grinder existences in the corporate world.  Variety stores in the country, lakeside marinas, bed and breakfast businesses, antique shops, gentleman farming, real estate, taxi cab driving, landscaping, golf club and tennis racquet restoration, church ministry, writing a book (to name but a few) are some of the popular occupational retreats of choice.


While circumstances were somewhat different, I too for that matter, left the security of a regular pay cheque at one time in favour of the ill-advised challenge of entrepreneurship and working on my own.  It's all about escaping stress, being the master of one's own destiny and finding a comfortable niche doing something you truly enjoy as you wind down to eventual retirement.


The lure of "a more simple life" in a rural setting, cottage country or a small community, can be extremely appealing to someone approaching burnout from life in a competitive and exhaustive business environment.  I can't help but wonder, however, what kind of world would result if every stressed or disgruntled manager or rank-and-file worker decided to join the exodus to more simple, easy lifestyles doing work that brings total personal satisfaction and joy.


God bless those who are able to make successful transitions in their life, but my hat is off to those who keep their noses to the grindstone and stay the course in demanding yet essential jobs in health care and social services, manufacturing, retail, public service, business and corporate management 
and politics, all helping to keep the wheels of trade, commerce and government grinding and lending balance to the world.

Think of how strange it would be if we all worked in stress-free jobs that we thoroughly enjoyed.  Who would do the real work?
  

WORDS AND THOUGHTS SHAPE OUR LIFE

I talk to myself a lot...This web site is no exception, but maybe that in itself is a negative thought which is the subject of this post.

For years I have been saying to anyone willing to listen (my late mother for one and more recently, my wife Rosanne):  "For heaven sake, don't dwell on negative things.  Don't worry so much.  Stop repeating how badly you feel...You are only making matters worse for yourself."  Beneath my breath, I frequently add: "...you are starting to annoy me and put me in a negative frame of mind like yours".

Most people do not really pay attention to what they say when they are just making passing comments or off-the-cuff remarks.  But they can have a significant impact on life.  These are usually simple responses to what often seem like routine questions, such as "how are you" or "how are things going?" or "how's life treating you today?"... "how's work going?"

We get asked these questions everyday, and over time we form some routine responses.  In many cases automatic replies will have no impact on how our lives are shaped but, conversely, those remarks or other voluntary comments that seem to be made in passing or in jest, can have a significant impact on how one's life turns out.

If you're one who complains a lot, you're likely to get more of what you complain about.  On the other hand, look for solutions and more often than not you will find them.  Focus on the problem and you'll get more of the same, right?  It has always been pretty simple to me that bad thoughts attract more bad thoughts and good thoughts lend themselves to a positive mindset, but in spite of that conviction I have found even myself falling into the trap of negativity in moments of weakness or forgetfulness.

But how do you go from complaining or focusing on problems to attracting what you want and improving or changing your life so that you overcome your ills or achieve desired goals?  Karim Hajee, author and creator of the popular "Creating Power" self-help program, recently reinforced for me the fact that the answer to that question is actually easier than you think if you understand that your words actually shape your life.

Not every word we speak will manifest, but what we say repeatedly, is what we begin to believe and that takes hold in our subconscious mind and manifests.  So we have to give ourselves a shake from time to time with the reminder that we simply cannot afford to harbour negative thoughts because one always leads to another -- and another, and another.

Now, if you really want to be happy in life, overcome problems, and be fulfilled as an individual, do as Karim suggests and focus on what it is that you really want and become a vibrating magnet to that end.  What we are talking about here is The Law of Attraction which is undisputed.

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We pretty much attract both the good and bad in our lives.  I don't know about you, but in the time that I have left I'm concentrating on the good...And watching what I say, even if it is to myself. 

TOMATO PICKING WILL BE A TALL ORDER

I will need a stepladder to pick tomatoes this year if my plants get any taller.  Never before in the history of my vegetable gardening have tomato plants of any variety grown this big ... Maybe it was the sheep manure -- no bull!