MY MOTHER NEVER DID END UP IN A POOR HOUSE, BUT I MIGHT (OR AN INSANE ASYLUM, WHICH EVER COMES FIRST)...I'M MY MOTHER'S SON YOU KNOW

The Wellington County Museum and Archives is a National Historic Site.  It is located in a building that stands as the oldest remaining 'House of  Industry" in Canada. It was built in 1877 as a "Poor House" or place of refuge for the poor, homeless, and destitute people in Wellington County. It operated as a Poor House and Industrial Farm until 1947 when it became a County Home for the Aged. It was later transformed into the Wellington County Museum and Archives. A new Archives wing opened in 2010.

Recent discussion within the Dresden Virtual History Group is centering around "poorhouses" as they existed in the l9th century.  I grew up hearing the expression "poor house" more often than I care to recount.  You know..."We're all going to end up in the poor house" or "It won't be long before I'm in the poor house."

That was my mother talking when my dad did not bring home enough money from his business at the end of the week or when she was hard-pressed to meet living expenses.  "You're driving me to the insane asylum" was another expression often directed at the three men in her life -- my dad, my grandfather and me; but that's another story.  We're talking here about poor houses, although there might well be some correlation.

Though more commonly associated with Victorian England and novels by Charles Dickens, such as Oliver Twist, the poor house was part of Canada's social fabric for more than 60 years and one of its earliest legislated responses to poverty. Poor houses have been forgotten but they are part of our local history. These "houses of industry and refuge," as they came to be known, were shelters of last resort for the destitute, homeless, "feeble-minded" and elderly. In exchange for their labour, they were provided with spartan accommodation, clothes and simple food, much of it grown themselves. At Christmas, there might be small gifts, perhaps a handkerchief, a pipe or an orange.

The poor house closest to my home in Dresden was located in Chatham and according to a virtual history group member there was another located in Strathroy (her great grandmother died there).  To the best of my knowledge both houses were demolished years ago.  One of the oldest surviving examples of a poor house in Canada is in Wellington County (see photo). The Fergus, ON. building, a national historic site, opened in 1877 at a time when "pauperism" was considered a moral failing that could be erased through order and hard work. I have visited the Fergus facility and it is truly one of the province's best kept secrets.

It was also something Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe had very much wanted to avoid when he arrived in Upper Canada in 1791.  In his native England, more than 100,000 people were swallowed up in work houses, funded by a "poor tax" on landowners and criticized for being costly and creating cycles of dependency.

"When he came over to take up his position here, he was absolutely convinced he wasn't going to allow anything like that to develop," David Wood, a professor emeritus of geography and urban studies at York University's Atkinson College, has commented.  Yet poverty was inescapable. Crops failed. People starved. On farms and in cities, as the province slowly started to become industrialized, many couldn't work because they were sick or injured or old.

The only option for indigent people in the province's earliest days was to seek shelter for a night or two at the local jail, said Wood in a newspaper interview a few years ago.  He has written on the legislative history of Ontario's poorhouse system and admissions in Wellington County. One newspaper account from the early 1870s tells of one elderly man who was living in a hollowed-out log on a farmer's field in a township outside Fergus, partly paralyzed and in danger of freezing to death. The council was debating what to do and the story was being repeated hundreds of times across the country.

Across Canada, elected officials were struggling with similar problems. Handouts of food or clothing known as "outdoor relief" became common and, in New Brunswick, one solution was to auction off care of the poor to the lowest bidder at "pauper auctions" that were compared to slavery in the American south.  In Ontario, the province passed the Houses of Refuge Act in 1890, which provided county governments with grants of up to $4,000 to purchase at least 45 acres of land and construct a suitable building. By 1903, new legislation required every county in Ontario to have a house of refuge.

Much like today, misfortune seemed to hit society's most vulnerable people the hardest – the unskilled, the elderly, the disabled and children. While Canadian society has evolved and a sophisticated social safety net has developed to ease the burdens of those who've fallen on hard times, attitudes toward poverty remain much the same today.

Just another not-so-happy peek at yesteryear. A time that we should not so readily forget as we enjoy the comfort and security of our lives today.

THE WOES OF WINTER -- AND TOWN SNOW PLOWS

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH THAT MESS?  This is what faced me at
noon on Saturday --  three-and-a-half feet of snow in my driveway.

DIG YOURSELF OUT YOU FOOL!  After almost an hour of  shoveling I 
finally penetrated the heavy  blockade but couldn't help leaving some 
snow in the street.

I know that I am no different than any one else when it comes to coping with mounds of snow piled in my driveway by municipal road clearing crews each winter. It is an unfortunate fact of life this time of year, but that does not make it any less of a nuisance that places inconvenience and physical strain on all of us.  Adding insult to injury for me this week was an announcement by Saugeen Shores Police Chief Dan Rivett to the effect that is was a breach of the Highway Traffic Act to deposit snow back onto the roadway, a crime that carried a $110 fine.  I just could not sit back and take it any more and vented my frustration in the following Letter to the Editor of the Saugeen Times.  I'm sure that readers will appreciate where I am coming from on this one.

Letter to the Editor, Saugeen Times

I may have been guilty of breaking a law under the Highway Traffic Act on Saturday, February 9, 2013.

I read with interest and a degree of chagrin the "Police Beat" column published in the Saugeen Times, February 7, 2013, and a notice "From the Desk of the Chief (Dan Rivett)" announcing to the tax-paying public the sin of "pushing snow onto the roadway." He added insult to injury for 90 per cent of the population of Saugeen Shores by pointing out the potential of a $110.00 fine. My immediate reaction was "I think I may be in trouble."

You see I am a 75-year-old senior citizen recovering from total hip replacement surgery. For three days late last week I was marooned in my home due to the heavy snow fall and the fact that town road and sidewalk plows had deposited a good three-and-a-half-feet of snow in the entrance to my driveway. Finally, on Saturday, February 9, with no snow fall overnight, I had no other option but to dig myself out -- we were running out of food and my disabled wife needed a drug prescription refilled. I started shoveling at 1:15 p.m. and by 2 o'clock I had made my way down to the entrance to the driveway -- that's where the real work began. I took a short break for a hot cup of soup and two Naproxens, then set out to try to make a dint in the waist-high pile of snow at the roadway. Exactly 50 minutes later, I made the breakthrough.

Just as I was finishing depositing the last shovel of snow in the by now six-foot mountain at the curb, an elderly woman happened by on foot. We chatted briefly. She told me that she and her 90-year-old husband had a similar problem at their home just around the corner. "He (her husband) is laid up today because he worked so hard for two days trying to clear the pile of snow at the foot our driveway. I tried to tell him to take it easy, but he insisted; now he's paying a price," she lamented. I fully sympathized.

I live on Grey Street North in Southampton where the sidewalk is separated from the street by a two-foot-wide boulevard which limits space to pile up snow cleared from the street entrances to our driveways. Try as I may, I could not help but spread some of the snow approximately three feet out onto the street where it came from originally...In fact we all do it, out of necessity. The accompanying two photos show exactly what I am talking about. The scene was repeated several hundred times in Southampton this weekend.

This is how the "placement of snow" act is printed in Town of Saugeen Shores "Winter Maintenance Procedures".

Placement of Snow on Municipal Right-of-Ways

"Residents of the Town of Saugeen Shores are reminded that, pursuant to Section 181 of the Highway Traffic Act:

No person shall deposit snow or ice on a roadway without permission in writing to do so from the Ministry or the Road Authority responsible for the maintenance of the road R.S.O. 1990, s 181. Deposition of these materials on the roadway interferes with property maintenance practices. Your attention to this Act is required to assist us with keeping the roads maintained in a safe and useable condition."

Since he has publicly made an issue of this matter, my question to Chief Rivett is this: How much snow "deposited" back on the street is too much and how far out on the street is too far? For most of us it is virtually impossible not to leave some snow on the roadway after clearing the entrances to our driveways. Surely his officers will show due discretion as they patrol town streets (?) after heavy snowfalls and make allowances for senior citizens in particular who do not set out to break the law...They just need to get out of their driveways by the most expeditious means possible and without getting stuck in the snow that the town has redirected onto their property. Sometimes it is not a fair world! Not even in Southampton the good.

Richard "Dick" Wright
Southampton

THE ZACK BREAULT STORY:

I publish the following story especially for the enjoyment of old baseball chums Bruce Huff, Bob Peters, Jarvis Cook and Floyd McKorkle (all regular readers of Wrights Lane) and my friend Larry Balkwell Sr. of Chatham whose son Larry Jr. will soon break into baseball's professional ranks. We can all relate, for different reasons. This excellent account was written by Bob Fai who is publicity director for the Vancouver Canadians Baseball Team.

By Bob Fai

(Scotiabank Field at Nat Bailey Stadium - Vancouver, B.C.) - We are in the business of selling dreams here at the ballpark, it's as simple as that.

We tell you of players like Rich Harden, Kurt Suzuki and Nick Swisher that have gone on to play under the bright lights of a Major League Baseball stadium. It is what we hope makes us a credible summertime destination for passionate fans of baseball here in Vancouver.

Sure we have hot dogs that are as long as your child's arm, we have a grounds crew that breaks out in dance on a nightly basis - but we also try and sell you on the 'future' as well - the future of our players who maybe, just maybe, will one day go on to become the stars that you'll find on TV playing for the Toronto Blue Jays.

Canadian's pitcher Zack Breault 
moments after winning the NWL
 Championship in Boise, ID. 

Some make it, while others more often than not - don't.

That's okay to admit because what we are actually selling isn't the assurance that you are watching future Major League Baseball players - but that you are watching players 'try' to become Major League Baseball stars.

That to me is what makes our players' journeys so wonderful each summer.

Let me tell you the story of a player who chose this week to stop his pursuit of wearing a Blue Jays jersey - or any Major League jersey for that matter.

I became friends with now 'former' Canadians pitcher Zack Breault in the summer of 2011 shortly after he was assigned to Vancouver to play for our hometown team.

Our brand seemed fitting as Zack was one of five Canadian-born players to make the roster two summers ago and was named Opening Day starter just hours before we began the pursuit of what would be the first of two straight Northwest League Championships.

At 6'4", I looked up to Zack in stature but as I got to know him, eventually, I looked up to him as a person as well.

You couldn't 'not' appreciate his demeanour.

His razor sharp sarcasm, his desire to win were all traits that I enjoyed being around much like his teammates.

It's not easy for every pitcher in the Minor Leagues to simply go out and win, but Breault would work through the highs and lows and always find a way to balance the cheques and balances of his statistics finishing his professional career at .500.

Four wins and four losses.

Sitting just behind me on our many bus rides together back in 2011, Zack and I would constantly go back and forth with me trying my best to pull off an impersonation of him while he could do nothing more than shake his head.

It might have bothered him, but you'd never know it - that was just Zack.

We would talk about baseball, life in Amherstburg, Ontario (his hometown) and his housing family here in Vancouver.

Shortly after announcing his retirement recently to a local newspaper back east, Zack went out of his way to thank Bill and Jana Maclagan as well as their children Konnerand Keegan.

"They were great people," said Breault to the Amherstburg River Times.

"They did everything in their power to make me feel as comfortable as possible. They were a pretty big part of my pro career."

A pretty classy move to thank those who waited up late and woke up early to ensure his progression on and off the diamond.

The Maclagan's have housed Canadians players for years now and Zack would likely rank right near the top of players whom they hold near and dear to their hearts.

This past summer, his second with the Canadians, Breault would find his way into Clayton McCullough's bullpen as the rotation from our Championship squad of 2011 looked completely different a year later.

Admittedly, it would take Zack a few outings before his game finally 'clicked' and at times you could see his frustration building.

A rough night in Everett back in late-July seemed to be the 'moment of truth' for Zack as his one inning of relief was anything but with the Aquasox torching him for a pair of runs, on a trio of hits en route to a Canadians loss, one that fell squarely on his shoulders.

Zack was as quiet as I had ever seen him after that outing as his 'slow burn' could be felt by everyone sitting near him on the bus. It would be a night where I chose wisely not to say a word.  We knew he needed the silence to figure things out - and he did.

That rough night in Everett would mark the last time any team in the Northwest League could manage a run off of his arm.

As he began to steer his season back onto the rails and toward overall success in August, I would watch him in the clubhouse, on the bus, at the field and around town - I think he knew even before we did that it was his time. He had reached as far into the professional game of baseball as his ability could take him.

I hope as you read this that you see there is absolutely no shame in this statement.

If anything, a sense of pride should be felt when you realize that even if your road doesn't end up in the Major Leagues, you have still gone further than 99% of those who dared to dream about a career in professional baseball.

Sometimes it's that peace and understanding that helps you do something you might not have done since you first signed a pro contract - breathe.

Once he exhaled, Zack was unbelievable down the stretch for Vancouver in 2012.

Not one run crossed home plate on his watch as his 14 1/3 innings of 'lights out' relief helped the Canadians chase down a playoff spot on the final day of the season.

If you can still remember, Vancouver needed every single one of those 46 wins in 2012 just to punch their ticket into the playoffs, and in reflection, it almost seems fitting that on a warm summer evening in Yakima, it would be Breault who would find the final victory of his career to help the C's clinch.

A week earlier, Breault was also at the center of another key moment in our season.

Those offensively-gifted Boise Hawks had been crushing LHP Kyle Anderson over his 1 2/3 innings of work here at Scotiabank Field as they put six runs up on the board in the top of the 2nd inning, forcing manager Clayton McCullough to summon Zack from the bullpen much earlier than expected to try and stop the bleeding.

Wouldn't you know it might have ended up being Breault's best outing as a professional.

Four and 1/3 innings of two-hit baseball holding the Hawks off the scoreboard until he turned the ball over to LHP Colton Turner who also slammed the door on the Hawks bats. This as the Canadians would somehow erase a six-run deficit to top Boise 7-6.

Had Vancouver not won that game, had Breault not come in and silenced the free swinging Boise bats, we would not be gearing up to slip on our second straight Northwest League Championship ring.

Simply put, Zack Breault can retire knowing that he finished his professional career as strong as anyone around him.  Even more beautiful, he leaves on his terms. No pink slip hanging in his locker. No injury that prevents him from taking to the field.

Zack simply gets to look his loved ones in the face and say 'I gave the best I had and this is as far as my abilities ended up taking me".

Every year we get to see upwards of 40 players try and reach for the stars.  Every year I find myself just as enamoured with those who choose to step aside from the game as I do those players who continue to push through.

I hope Zack will hold his head high, remembering the long bus rides full of laughter and learning, always looking at both of his Championship rings with the same pride that I look at mine - knowing that the only reason I have either of them - is because of players like Zack Breault.

Taking a leave of absence for a while folks.  Involved in a fairly intensive on-line lay ministry course...Talk to you when I have a free minute, or when I get back -- whichever comes first.

RETHINKING MY "SOCIAL" NETWORKING

I have always spoken what is on my mind. I appreciate others who do the same thing. Frankness and openness aids self-expression and when redirected, helps us know where others stand on issues. Admittedly, I have a "weird" (my wife's word) sense of humor too...Likewise, I appreciate and understand humor in others.

I have been involved in online communications now for more than 15 years. I have been dealing with the written word for almost 60 years -- a good half of that time in a public relations capacity. I think that social networking, in particular, has a lot of merit but, sadly, I have found that it feeds into human frailty and sensitivity like no other mode of present-day communication...You know, by all means "like" me and what I am posting (on-line, i.e. Facebook); but if you don't, "defriend me" (i.e. like it or lump it). Rational discussion often takes a back seat to argumentative reactions and the ultimate click of a computer key. Innuendo also runs rampant.

Quite honestly, more and more I find myself being annoyed by what I am seeing and reading on Facebook. Cutting, pasting and regurgitating the work of others under the guise of "sharing" is commonplace and spoils otherwise good intentions. It lacks something when we see several dozen other people sharing exactly the same post, which may or may not carry a virus. Originality is totally lacking. I do not live in a vacuum...There have been times when my more serious work has been viewed critically. On occasion, my comments have been misunderstood in some quarters and known to offend. That all goes with the territory for a veteran writer.

Humans experience an emotional response to a situation or comment first, making our primary feelings strong motivations of our behavior before we can think in rational terms. On-line/virtual interaction complicates how we interpret what we read and it is devoid of facial expressions, gestures and body language; it has no tone of voice to indicate emotion behind our words. How words are read and interpreted is up to the recipient and caution needs to be exercised here...We would do well to re-read words (several times if necessary), and think about them from the writer's perspective. We would also do well to consider the reader when crafting our words, think about how they may be received and if there is a better way to express ourselves.

On-line communications is a two-way street. We should navigate with care and sensitivity...Life is too short for spur-of-the-moment knee-jerk reactions. Trust me, no one wins an argument on Facebook.

Here's what another writer has to say on the subject: "Sex, relationships, personal causes, racism, religion, death, and politics are all serious topics, and they're all guaranteed one-way tickets to offending someone, and that's too bad. My advice to those who are busy drafting their angry responses while reading this is to chill. Take a second and ask yourself if perhaps you're being a little too sensitive, and therefore missing the point.

"Disagreeing with someone is par for the course in life. But telling another guy what he can and cannot say goes too far. If you disagree, wait for him to finish, consider what he has said and then react logically and sensibly to his ideas.

"Remember that not everything that is written or said is directed specifically at you; it's usually for the public at large or based on a specific principle. Everything happens within a context, even your reaction. It's the context that shapes the meaning of a statement. So consider, among other things, who the statement was directed at, what came before it and the writer or speaker's perspective.

"If all else fails, it sometimes pays to simply ignore the comment or provocative post. Life is too short to argue with everyone over every little thing. You've got better things to do... I hope. My advice is to try to let things slide. If they're really so bad, don't lend them credibility by talking further about them."

Thank you for that my friend. You know whereof you speak!!

Personally, for what little time I have left on this earth, I am going to be letting a lot of things slide. It is in my best interest. Maybe I should start by spending less time on Facebook and more time dealing with the things that really matter in my life.

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THE FIRST GIFT FROM SANTA THAT I REMEMBER

Just as a followup to my last post in which I talked about old things and how much I enjoy them, here's another from my cedar chest of memories.  I have a "small" reason to remember the first Christmas that was of any significance to me...It was the Christmas of 1940 and Santa Claus brought me a miniature toy piano (shown in the accompanying photo). I still have that little piano and it is, of course, now very much an antique -- a collector's item in some quarters. It is 9X7 inches, made of mahogany, has well-worn wooden keys and plays the notes C,D,E,F,G,A,B,C. The words "Philharmonic, Tuned International Pitch" are printed in gold lettering on the front.  Click on the video for a closer look.

A SENTIMENTALIST'S DILEMMA OF WHAT TO DO WITH A NEGLECTED ANTIQUE CHEST OF DRAWERS

Those who read my posts on this site know that I am a self-admitted oddball.  Among other things, I enjoy antiques.  Nothing strange in that if it were not for the fact that I grow attached to all old things, especially items of certain family significance.  They continue to talk to me of times past and of history that predates me.  They are like old friends and I cannot justify life without them.

Thirty or 40 years ago, I was relatively indifferent to family heirlooms that had come into my possession and I carelessly, or thoughtlessly,  let some of them slip away.  Like an oil painting by my grandmother Louise Wright, circa 1895.  I inadvertently put a chair leg through the canvas of my grandmother's sole venture into the world of art and as a result threw it in the trash.  Then there was the 100-year-old butter churn that I left out on a patio deck in winter and it eventually cracked and fell apart because of frost and a build up of ice that had accumulated in the bottom.  I also once gave away a priceless smoked glass fish ornament passed down from a great aunt, that I later discovered was worth a small fortune on the antique auction floor.  Pressure from a friend induced me to sell him an ice cream parlor table and two chairs from my Aunt Della Dunlop's bake shop store in Oil Springs (1920-1945).   I shouldn't dwell on such things, but I do.

Oct -13-1908 started engine

I eventually learned a very costly lesson the hard way. I matured over the years with a resultant deep appreciation for personal affects of my ancestors.

I have selectively given some pieces to my daughters and grandchildren but I could still literally furnish another house with antique furniture that I have stored in my garage -- tables, chairs, dressers, chiffoniers, love seats, cabinets.  For years I have been threatening to stage a garage sale that would be the granddaddy of them all, but I keep suppressing the notion.

I have a mid-Victorian period chest of drawers (circa 1850?) that has increasingly weighed heavily on me for more reasons than just one.  I braved the elements late last night (when I should have been in bed) to check on the solid walnut piece that was once used by my grandfather Wesley Wright, and subsequently my father Ken in respective bedrooms at our family homestead in Dresden, ON.  As I removed the blanket from the chest of drawers, I was shocked to see signs of deterioration from exposure to the extremes of  summer and winter temperatures over a 10-year period.  I hated myself for the neglect and vowed to take restorative measures before too much more time passes.  Surely I can squeeze it back into my house somewhere, somehow.

Ebby Wright, Dresden, Ont. 1909 Jan. 22

I carefully removed a couple of the drawers where I remembered my grandfather and a step-uncle had made notations in pencil.  There they were, as if written only yesterday:  "Oct.--13--1908 started engine" (a reference by my grandfather to an electric pump engine that he had installed in a rock water well at the back of our property); "Ebby Wright, Dresden, Ontario, 1909" (perhaps Ebby shared the chest of drawers with his dad at one point); "Oct. 25 1900 Ebler Albert Baxter" (I have no idea who Albert Baxter was, but I had to smile at the possibility that I inherited slight dyslexia from my grandfather.  Note: "Abler...", an obvious transposition of letters in attempting to write the name "Albert".  I frequently find myself doing that very same thing, in fact there might well be some letter transposition in this post.)

Oct. 25, 1909 (Abler) Albert Baxter 

One of the drawers has a strange form of hieroglyphics scratched into the side with possibly a nail.  Numbers and percent signs are slightly visible with something resembling the date 1888.

As I put the drawers back in place I remembered the time 12 years ago when, in a moment of weakness, I actually decided to get rid of the chest that had survived the previous 150-plus years.  After my move to the Saugeen Shores area, I found it necessary to put a number of items in a rental storage unit until I was able to get settled, including the chest-high piece of furniture that weighed at least 200 pounds and was taking up a lot of storage space.  With great difficulty, I was able to hoist it into a dumpster that I found on the premises and hastily took my leave, with empty trailer in tow.

Dove tail joints typical of Victorian
 era furniture made in Ontario.

The five-minute drive home was torturous.  I struggled with the wisdom of my spur-of-the-moment, impulsive decision.  Once in my driveway, I made a U-turn and headed back to the storage complex where I  promptly pulled the abandoned chest of drawers out of the dumpster, minus the back which had come loose with the rough treatment I had given it.  With a few nails and some lovingly-applied furniture polish, the chest of drawers once again gained a place of prominence in my new home.

A down-sizing move to Southampton a few years later once again necessitated my storing the chest of drawers in my garage "until I could find room for it in the house".  That was almost 10 years ago and I still have not found sufficient room.  But that's all going to change, trust me.  I simply cannot neglect that piece of me any longer...All I have to do is decide what I have to get rid of in order to make room for it in the house.

Therein lies another problem.  I'll let you know how I make out.  A garage sale this Spring is sounding better all the time...Or perhaps an addition to the house?

A MESSAGE OF HOPE AND HEALING FOR 2013

Caroline Flohr is the author of a recently-published  book, “Heaven’s Child,” www.heavenschild.com. It details her spiritual journey beginning with the sudden death of 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah. Flohr was forced to dig into the deeper meaning of existence and came away with profound edification and appreciation for the gifts left behind by those who leave us. Flohr lives with her husband and children on Bainbridge Island, a suburb of Seattle.  I gave some space to Caroline and her book several weeks ago but thought that this followup from her was timely and significant.

By Caroline Flohr

As a new year dawns, many of us still grieve losses experienced in 2012. For some, it’s very personal – the death of a parent, spouse or child. Others mourn the lives lost in one of the many tragedies we experienced together as a nation.

 

As a mother of a 16-year-old twin daughter killed in a car accident involving eight teenagers, I assure those of you who are still coming to terms with your loss and grief – it is possible to journey from the unimaginable to acceptance and a spiritual peace. I urge you to embrace the healing power of family and community, love and faith. You will be surprised at how it can transform you.

You can find renewal in this new year.

I have learned that death defines not the end, but a beginning. I have learned that, by weaving tragedy into the fabric of our lives, we can be stronger, spiritually richer and, yes, even happier for it.

Here are some of the milestones I experienced on my journey to inner peace:

• Deeper meaning: Through the death of someone so important, you will be changed. The question is how you will be changed. Will you grow, or become diminished? I grew with the realization that death – so often viewed as an end – is just the beginning of another phase of existence. One of my favorite quotes is from poet Rabindranath Tagore: Death is not extinguishing the light. It is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.

• Celebrate life: When the bereaved are able to look at the life of a person who has passed and see more beauty than pain, they should rejoice. The reality of a person’s absence will always have an element of sadness, but the joy of wonderful memories is even more powerful. When loved ones leave this Earth, graces are given to those relationships left behind. These are gifts. When we can acknowledge them, our lives can expand in the present.

• Ready for anything: Once you’ve experienced the worst and pulled through, you know you will be able to weather just about any adversity. Maya Angelou wrote, ‘“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.” Have faith in that inner strength we all harbor.

• Appreciate what you have: Life as we know it will come to an end. This includes everyone we know, love and care about; it’s a fact that we often forget, and it’s as startling to remember as it is true. Come good or bad, we do not know what the future will bring, which means we should take every opportunity to fully embrace the present, and our loved ones.

 

Thank you for that Caroline...Good luck with the book! 

STEP OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE ON THE ROAD TO SUCCESS AND ACHIEVEMENT

It is easy to get trapped doing the same thing every day, but trying something new is proven to boost happiness and confidence. There is no faster route to self-confidence than by stepping out of your comfort zone. “It sends a message of self-belief to your subconscious that you believe in yourself,” says life coach Domonique Bertolucci, author of The Happiness Code. “Your confidence levels will automatically rise.”

I have written on this subject frequently in the past and I touch on it again in this post because I know that there are at least a couple of  young people out there who can benefit at a crucial stage in their lives.  Stepping out of your comfort zone makes perfect sense, so why don’t we automatically do it? “Fear – we expect to stuff up and fail,” says psychologist and coach Dr Darryl Cross, another authority.

 

Follow these easy tips and you’ll learn to consistently keep out of your comfort zone as you progress though life.  I know from first-hand experience, because I have followed every one of them over the years as I overcame an inborn shyness and fear of failure.  Oh sure, I have had failures...There is no guarantee otherwise.  Things do not always work out as we would have liked, but we learn best from failure.  We improve as individuals every time we face a challenge head on.  

 

Plan ahead

Everyone has a different comfort zone, so you need to clarify what needs changing in your life. Know what the big picture looks like and make it enticing.  Whether you want to make a career move, drop a clothing size, save money or develop better relationships, you need to make a plan in order to get there. Make a list of 12 things you can do over the next 12 months that feel scary now, but that you know will give your confidence a big boost when you do them. As Bertolucci puts it in her new book: “If you aim to do one thing each month that scares you, at the end of the year your confidence levels will have soared.”

Act confident

Practice holding your head high and you’ll feel more positive. Imagine a time when you were feeling successful – now practice standing that way, sitting that way and moving that way. When you change your body to be confident, your body starts controlling your brain, rather than the brain controlling body.  Suddenly, stepping out of your comfort zone will not seem so hard.  The more you do it, the easier it gets.

Boost your body confidence 
 

Negative body talk can trap you in your comfort zone, so rather than putting yourself down, try repeating positive statements to change your head space. “Write a simple statement about how you would like your world to be,” Bertolucci says. “Make sure you write it in the present tense and repeat your affirmations three times over, three times a day and watch your self-belief grow.”

Don't give up
 

I repeat, accept the fact that you will make mistakes. “We learn more from our failures than our successes,” Dr Cross emphasizes. “But as you refine the technique and get it right you feel proud, which enhances self esteem.”

Shyness and lack of confidence can be successfully countered, trust me.  But it takes work, commitment and ultimate action.  You have to be motivated to take that first "uncomfortable" step into a place that you have never been before.  But that's life, isn't it?

We face something new and different every minute, every hour, every day.  That's what is so wonderful about life!  Embrace those new and different things with joy and excitement.  Do not become so comfortable within yourself that you shy away from the potentially great things that life has in store for you.

Comfort breeds complacency, laziness, stagnation.  Hermits are complacent, lazy and stagnant...In time they waste away -- all by themselves.  Don't become a hermit.  The world needs you!
                                          

HAPPY NEW YEAR Y'ALL, START IT WITH A LAUGH

I have been sitting at my computer for at least 30 minutes trying to think of something really profound, original and noble to say to my friends about the coming New Year, but sad to say adequate words escape me.  Maybe I'll try something a little different by letting some others express themselves,  albeit slightly off-the-wall for the most part -- funny with a grain of truth in some instances.
A New Year may be a significant event for many. But the absurdities of the celebration cannot escape a skeptic. What better way to start a New Year than with a hearty laugh?  Here is a collection of New Years quotes, some of which you too may want to share with friends.

Mark Twain
New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls and humbug resolutions.

Brooks Atkinson
Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past. Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go.

Bill Vaughan
Youth is when you're allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you're forced to.

P. J. O'Rourke
The proper behavior all through the holiday season is to be drunk. This drunkenness culminates on New Year's Eve, when you get so drunk you kiss the person you're married to.

Jay Leno
Now there are more overweight people in America than average-weight people. So overweight people are now average… which means, you have met your New Year's resolution.

James Agate
New Year's Resolution: To tolerate fools more gladly, provided this does not encourage them to take up more of my time.

Eric Zorn
Making resolutions is a cleansing ritual of self assessment and repentance that demands personal honesty and, ultimately, reinforces humility. Breaking them is part of the cycle.

Bill Vaughan
An optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.

Charles Lamb
New Year's Day is every man's birthday.

Oprah Winfrey
Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right.

Mark Twain
New Year's Day now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.

Judith Crist
Happiness is too many things these days for anyone to wish it on anyone lightly. So let's just wish each other a bile-less New Year and leave it at that.

Anonymous
Many people look forward to the New Year for a new start on old habits.

Joey Adams
May all your troubles last as long as your New Year's resolutions!

Anais Nin
I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.

Oscar Wilde
Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.

Robert Paul
I'm a little bit older, a little bit wiser, a little bit rounder, but still none the wiser.

Anonymous
A New Year's resolution is something that goes in one Year and out the other.

Leonard Bernstein
From New Year's on the outlook brightens; good humor lost in a mood of failure returns. I resolve to stop complaining.

G. K. Chesterton
The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective. Unless a man starts on the strange assumption that he has never existed before, it is quite certain that he will never exist afterwards. Unless a man be born again, he shall by no means enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Dick Wright
Oh no!  Here we go again my friends...Let's all resolve to turn 20"13" into our luckiest year ever.

THE CHRISTMAS THAT WAS OUR REALITY

The question had been hanging over us for weeks.  "Would my wife Rosanne be well enough to travel to daughter Cindy's home in Caledon East on Christmas day?

Finally at 10:45 a.m. on Monday (Dec. 24) it was mutually conceded that "no", we would be unable to make the two-hour drive on Tuesday.  Rosanne's delicate and weakened condition had not shown sufficient improvement, in fact if anything it had worsened.  It was a painful and inevitable concession for both of us.  Rosanne comes from a traditional Ukrainian background where Christmas was not only celebrated by her family on the 25th of December but on the 7th of January as well. Ever since we were married 10 years ago, her Christmases have been spent with my two daughters and their families.  This would be the first time in 50 years that I would not spend Christmas with my girls.



SORRY ABOUT THAT
KENNY AND DOLLY!

After breaking the news to Cindy in a hasty and difficult telephone call, I realized I had to get my butt in gear if we were to have anything resembling a Christmas dinner the next day. I had no choice but to join hundreds of other frenzied grocery shoppers scrambling to beat the early Dec. 24 closing deadline.  My priority purchase, of course, was a turkey but a frozen bird was out of the question at that late date.  The store had sold out of the already cooked and stuffed variety, so I opted for a fresh young turkey breast that would do Rosanne and I quite nicely.  Stove top turkey dinner dressing was the next item on my list and thankfully the store was still well stocked.  After a quick stop in the frozen foods section, I headed to bakery goods for some minced fruit tarts -- a poor substitute for my all-time favorite minced meat pie.  Since Rosanne does not like anything minced, I picked up a mini cherry pie for her.  Next was a visit to the meat department for a cottage roll of ham, an essential for Boxing Day dinner, along with leftover turkey.

I must have picked up a few other incidental items as well, because my bill came to $101.86.

Upon unpacking the groceries at home I realized that I had typically forgotten some items.  So back I went for poultry seasoning, a can of gravy (I always like to top up my turkey drippings with either canned gravy or cream of chicken soup) and some spaghetti for that evening's supper.  I made it just by the skin of my teeth (an old family expression) as the store was about to close.

The impulse was to sleep in a bit the next morning but after all, it was Christmas and I had a lot of things to do.  As I prepared Rosanne's toasted bagel and cheese, I had a strange craving for a bowl of porridge.  "Good idea for Christmas morning breakfast," I thought.  "We always have Quaker Oats on hand" -- wrong!  Well, we had a bag alright, but with no more than a table spoon of oats rattling around on the bottom.  Come to think of it, the last time I had oatmeal for breakfast was about a year ago.  Disappointed, I settled for my usual raisin bran muffin with coffee.

Still not over the oatmeal let-down, I had another craving, this time it was for my mother's tomato aspic, another Christmas dinner tradition in our family.  Again, "no problem", I thought confidently, remembering a packet of lemon jello mix I had purchased several months before (lemon jello and tomato juice are the two main ingredients in my favorite recipe).  As I was about to rip open the small jello box, the word "pudding" bounced out at me.  God help me, it was pudding mix that I was about to dump into the already steaming pot of tomato juice on the stove, not the required jello powder.

"Don't tell me that this is the way my day is headed!" I grumbled aloud.  I needed a break and thought that I would make another coffee and join Rosanne in the living room for a while.  While I was at it, I inserted a Dolly Parton/Kenny Rogers Christmas tape into our 1980s portable radio, just to add a little seasonal atmosphere to our morning.  The first song, believe it or not, was "I'll Be Home for Christmas".  Rosanne and I looked at each other, both thinking the obvious: "Oh ya, tell us about it!"  Rosanne asked me to turn off the tape several songs later.  It was obviously bothering her -- and keeping her from her customary extended morning nap.

"I think that I might die before the day is over," she said with a weak voice.  "I don't want to, but..."
"Is that right," I interjected off-handedly, thinking to myself  "Thanks for the warning Rosanne -- no pressure there!"

I made some broccoli soup for lunch and let Rosanne sleep (in between several telephone calls from family) for most of the afternoon.  Thankfully, preparation for our turkey dinner later that evening went relatively smoothly and it turned out extremely well too, if I do say so myself.  Rosanne has not been able to make it to the dinner table for the past few months and I served her on a TV table in the living room. I too, collapsed into an easy chair with my dinner on a TV tray and subsequently fell asleep between courses (I think we both did) and woke up about an hour and a half later, but never too late for dessert, even if it was 10 o'clock at night.

Rosanne had her cherry pie and I had my minced tart and a glass of egg nog while begrudgingly cleaning up the kitchen.  Somebody had to do it, right?

I started writing this post just before midnight and we went to bed around 2:15 a.m.  We fell asleep counting our blessings -- we made it through the day and we were both still alive.

First thing on my to-do-list for morning was to go out and buy a package of lemon jello mix, this time being very careful to read the labelling...I am determined to have my tomato aspic on Boxing Day.  Better a day late than never!

SOME THINK-ALIKE THOUGHTS ON KEEPING CHRIST IN THE CELEBRATION OF CHRISTMAS

As the days dwindle down to a precious few before December 25, the media gives constant updates on dollars spent on retail sales.  We are reminded that there are fewer days of shopping left and made to feel guilty if we do not shop 'til we drop.  At the same time we increasingly see and hear the salutations "Seasons Greetings" and "Happy Holidays."

The late Pat Salmon

For some reason, the past dozen years or so I have been holding on to a clipping of a newspaper column written by veteran journalist Pat Salmon.  I always enjoyed Pat's take on issues of the day and was particularly impressed by this one piece: "Please keep Christ in Christmas".  Pat's stand on this subject, in truth, was the best that I have ever seen.  We often chatted about things that he had written, particularly nostalgic, homespun pieces which were Pat's forte.  He was published in a number of weekly community newspapers, including the Brampton Guardian where I usually picked up on him.

Pat wrote that it seemed to him that the word "Christmas" had become synonymous with shopping and our most sacred Christian festival celebrating the birth of Jesus had been reduced to "Tis the season to be jolly."  "Too many of us think that Christmas Spirit is a product sold by the LCBO," he stated.

"In our rush to please everyone, we are losing our heritage," he contended.  "I know that Canada is not a 100 per cent Christian nation, but on other festive occasions like the Feast of Eid or Ramaddam or Channakuh or Roshashanna, no one tries to water down the tradition.  I am sure that no religion in the world objects to the simple message of Christmas -- 'Peace on Earth and Goodwill towards men.'

Pat made no secret that he doubted the Virgin Birth, but did believe a very special prophet was born in Bethlehem at that time and He had a special message for us all.  "That message has been confused by theologians over the ages," he said.  "The Golden Rule has been turned into 'he who has the gold makes the rules' and 'do unto others before they do it to you'."  He simply felt that cynicism should not stop decent people from being decent.  "The detraction from the message given so long ago points to a major malaise in our material national thinking."

We agreed that society was becoming molecular in as much as our current philosophy was one of listening to single purpose viewpoints.  Fashion a decade or so ago, as is the case even more so now, dictates that if one molecule in a mass objects to the behavior of any other molecule (or the mass itself), the the objecting molecule is right.  That means the mass as a whole is wrong.

I am especially offended, too, by the fringe few who take up causes simply because of some sick self-serving need to be heard. They delight in upsetting tradition and the beliefs of others.  In taking away, they contribute nothing in return.

This new law of behavior allows single purpose groups to prevail over established customs without regard for the good of the whole.  Kind of like the tail wagging the dog.  This establishes the dangerous tyranny of the minority and imprisons the thinking and voice of the majority.  How many cases of this happening today can you think of?

Our so-called leaders, in their haste to displease no one, end up pleasing only a few.  We have no leader with a genuine opinion; we only have elected mutes who are paranoid about having their say for fear of a tirade of objections from a vocal minority.  They exclusively spew scripted party lines.  Political oneupmanship is the dominate modus operandi.

For the majority of the country that was founded on Christian faith, we should be celebrating Christmas as the religious festival that it is and not the commercial binge that is taking over this most sacred time of year.  Pat Salmon truly had a single purpose cause and it was called "Canada".  He wrote always in favor of his adopted country.  He demonstrated his love and did not care who knew it.  He believed that developed potential in this country is enormous if only the current populace would view the mass and not the molecule.

I'll let the words of Pat close out this post:

"I wish all readers a very Merry Christmas with Tidings of comfort and joy. It seems we have turned our backs on the Queen...Please don't try to shut out God.  We aren't that strong!"

THE STORY, AS TOLD BY 'THE' INNKEEPER

Believe it or not, I have been asked to play the "Innkeeper" in a "Night Before Christmas" pageant performed during an upcoming Sunday morning church service.  My brief appearance in the pageant consists of only a half dozen lines (87 words), but I take my Thespian  role call seriously.  After all, I would not want to be out-performed by a cast of  angelic characters, some of whom will be 70 years my junior...Would I?

 

Out of interest and in the name of authenticity, I have been thinking that it would behoove me to research the role of an Innkeeper during the time of the birth of the biblical Jesus.  The Scriptures are silent about there even being an innkeeper, but we must assume that an inn would have someone in charge. The Bible is also silent about the character of this person but, again, we must make assumptions.

 

I am struck by the harsh reality that the coming King of Kings was turned away from the little town of Bethlehem's possibly only local lodging establishment. Certainly the unnamed innkeeper did not know that the as yet unborn Messiah had just shown up at his doorstep, but just what kind of person would turn away a pregnant woman who was well into labor? Sure, the inn was full of visiting guests, but was the Innkeeper so heartless? Was the guy really that cold hearted?  In the end, he did offer the desperate couple shelter in his stable, didn't he?

 

Here is how I think the Innkeeper would explain the unusual and historical circumstances he found himself in that most famous of all nights.

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

 

So you want to hear THE STORY.  You want to hear about the CHRIST CHILD.  Am I right?

Well, I am the one to tell it to you, for it was I, the Innkeeper of Bethlehem, who was there to witness it all.  And it was at my Inn that the Christ Child was born.

It was a cold and dark night.  My wife Ramada and I were going to bed.  She was mad at me again. The Ruler of Rome had declared a Census to be taken.  Therefore, everyone had to go to his home village to be counted and taxed, so Bethlehem was full of people!

It was a very happy time, and a very sad time. It was happy, because my inn was full. There was no more room at all. It was sad, because I had to turn away so many cash customers.

It was happy, because I was charging triple rates and putting up three families in each room besides. It was sad, because at the end, a great, wealthy man and his wife had come and offered me more money than I could refuse, so I rented them our bedroom. This is why my wife was mad at me, for we were sleeping in the kitchen that night.

It was late. We had cleaned ourselves and bedded down by the hearth with a little fire still going, since it was so cold. Our kitchen faces the courtyard, right across from the gate, so it is sort of in the open, and rather drafty. After we had gone to bed, we heard a knocking at our gate. I ignored it. I knew if we did not answer, they would go away. My wife, however, was most insistent that I get up and see who it was. But what was the point? I would just have to tell them to go away. We were full up, and there was no more room at our inn.

But she insisted, so I got up and ran across the courtyard barefoot, having misplaced my slippers. "What do you want, banging on my gate this time of night?" I yelled.  "Please!" came the answer. "We have gone everywhere looking for a room. My wife is expecting a child any minute and we need a place to stay!"

I could plainly see the young man and his wife in the night, for some bright star was overhead and it was as light as a full moon outside. She was sitting on their donkey, and she may have already been in labor. I thought of their relatives and somehow I knew not to ask.

What to do? What to do? They needed some privacy, at least. But first, they needed to be out of the cold night air. Certainly no place to have a child!  I found myself saying "I have a clean stable down below the hill behind the inn. You are welcome to use that."

Now, you will not tell on me, right? I did not take the young man's money. He tried to push it on me, but I refused. Besides, I had washed my hands for bed, and did not want to touch money. More than that, I did not wish to offend our God. I had no room for them in the inn, but at least I was not sending them out into the cold. How could I do otherwise? I just did not have anything else to offer them.

So they headed for the stable and I went back to bed.

I did not sleep long, however. Sometime in the early hours of that morning, a long time before sunrise, there was more pounding on my gate.  My wife again insisted that I get up and answer it. By the nature of the noise and pounding, I knew they would not go away, whoever they were.

Indignant, I did get up again, but this time I looked for my slippers first and I put on my heavy coat before going to the gate.  "What is it? Who are you banging on my gate this time of night!"

"Please. It is us. We are looking for your stable. Do you have one?"

Shepherds at my gate? Dirty shepherds! "Why are you not out on the hills with your sheep?" I asked them, indignantly.

"Angels sent us here," they replied.  "We were out on the hills, and suddenly we were surrounded by thousands of Angels. They were singing and rejoicing and it was they who told us to come here. We are looking for the Christ Child!"

I was beyond amazement at this. Taking a lantern from the wall, I went with them down the winding path to my stables. I had to see this thing for myself!

It was as the shepherds had said. There in the stable was the young man and woman that I had sent there. In the woman's arms was a newborn babe, wrapped in strips of cloth, as is our custom to do.

Not a word was spoken. None needed to be said. The shepherds took off their hats and knelt down in worship before the child. I did the same...Me!  The Innkeeper of Bethlehem. Never before had I seen such a sight as this, for the mother and child were beautiful and peaceful beyond description. It was as if God had come down into that humble place and we all were bowing before Him!

We did not stay long. After all, we were in the presence of Royalty and you don't linger there.

After the shepherds went back to their flocks, I went to my bed and tried to rouse my wife to tell her what I had seen, but she was in a deep sleep. You can know full well that early the next morning, even before sunrise, I was up and bringing the young couple some bread and cheese, along with what milk I could find.

I did not allow them to stay in that stable a minute longer than it took my wife and I the time to clean out our very own bedroom again. Our rich guest was unhappy to be put out at sunrise, but he gladly took back the cost of his room.

Then the little Lord Jesus, and his mother Mary, and her husband Joseph became our special guests at our Inn. The Inn of Bethlehem.

And you know, more than once I got to hold Him. The Christ Child! And I sat in wonder and awe that God should come among us as a tiny, helpless baby...

That's my story anyway, believe it or not.

WHO NEXT IS GOING TO WANT ME TO PUT ASIDE THE PRICE OF A CUP OF COFFEE EACH DAY?

I swear, the world is conspiring against me to give up drinking coffee.

For years doctors have cautioned me against drinking too much coffee.  I now have two cups a day -- one decaf with my breakfast and another around 4:30 in the afternoon when I pick up Rosanne's daily 12-grain bagel (she's addicted) from Tim Horton's.  I admit that late afternoon cup of java is a "fix" in my rather humdrum existence, but I enjoy it and look forward to it.  So does Rosanne.

A couple of years ago a local charity suggested that I put aside the equivalent of a cup of coffee every day ($1.25 at that time) for their annual fund-raising blitz...And I did.  My insurance company advocates the same thing -- putting aside the price of a cup of coffee daily to offset the cost of increased coverage and the associated premium hike...And I have.

A money management consultant recommended recently that I attempt to "save at least the cost of a cup of coffee every day" from my meagre fixed income...And I have tried.  Since Rosanne and I are a team and combine our incomes in order to provide for the necessities of life (mine an old age pension and her's a disability benefit)  I have tried very hard to put aside the cost of two Tim Horton's coffees each day.

Now my church is the latest to jump on the "save the price of a cup of coffee" bandwagon.  This past Sunday, at a congregational meeting following the worship service, a well-meaning but misled spokesperson promoted the supposedly brain-wave idea that we all could put aside $1.65 (inflation affects coffee shop prices too) "every time we have a coffee at Tim Horton's."  The thought being that if we all "bought" into the concept we could virtually wipe out the church's budgetary deficit inside of a year's time.   For me, that was the last straw.

Taking into consideration the local charity, my insurance company, the money management guru and now my church (which I already budget for each week), I am now looking at roughly $4,000.00 that I would be required to put aside each year from a fixed income that does not fully cover cost of living expenses each month as it is.

I have come to the conclusion that I can no longer afford to drink coffee, thanks to the commitments that I have been lured in to by special interest parties.  As a way out of this "put aside the cost of a cup of coffee each day" bind, and without a pang of guilt, I am going to give up my daily coffee and start drinking tea exclusively.  No one out there is suggesting that I "put aside the cost of a cup of tea each day".  Not yet anyway.

P.S:  I have yet to break this news to Rosanne...I can just hear her now: "If anybody puts aside anything now Mister, it will be for your funeral which may come faster than you think!"  Wish me luck!

IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO TURN BACK...

The attached link connects to a touching and phenomenal piece of work well worth listening to and watching. The wonderfully rich baritone voice of Andrea Bocelli and the choir alone, are worth the listen.  It is American in context but most assuredly applies to we Canadian neighbors north of the border too. The music is "The Lord's Prayer" with words being written as you watch. Then they tumble and start all over again, ending with ll Chronicles.  If you are not interested, then just hit the delete button... But you will be missing a unique opportunity to settle your heart and concentrate on the only One who can change our North American society today after He has heard our repentance and plea for mercy.  Please seriously consider the message. Our world as we know it rests in the balance. It is never too late. We are all in this life together. What applies to one applies to the other!

*TO VIEW VIDEO CLICK http://www.greatdanepro.com/Pray%20For%20America/index.htm

THREE WAYS FAITH CAN TRANSFORM TRAGEDY INTO ENLIGHTENMENT: A MOTHER'S STORY

Before the death of her 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah, Caroline Flohr says she was living under some major misapprehensions.  “Like so many, I believed that tragedies happened somewhere else, to other families, and were something we only read about,” she says.

On Aug. 23, 2004, it happened in her community – to her family. Sarah died in a car accident. It would take Caroline several years to come to some kind of peace.  “I believed that death came after a life had been fully lived, when one was long past childhood. I was wrong,” says Caroline who writes about her family’s spiritual journey in the memoir, “Heaven’s Child,” (www.heavenschild.com).

On the fifth anniversary of Sarah’s death, her friends and family agreed to gather enmass in order to set Caroline free. She would be released from her family’s pain and grief, powerful emotions that ensnared her spirit. The family accepted her loss in a celebratory ceremony at Sarah’s grave.  “I’ve allowed my heart to mend, to hold onto Sarah’s memory but not the pain of her loss,” she says, adding that she has become a more complete and spiritual person since the death of her daughter, and explains how her faith made that possible:

• “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” – Martin Luther King … What does a bereaved mother do with the rest of her teenage daughter’s life, which has moved on to the next stage? After a few weeks, Caroline cancelled Sarah’s cell phone, and the family slowly returned to a regular routine. Caroline lights a candle during dinner, with a picture of Sarah and her twin sister placed nearby. Though she can’t see Sarah, she feels her presence. It may be in the kindness of a stranger, the sudden appearance of something that was lost, the smell of a certain fragrance. Faith is believing in that which you can’t see – and not ignoring what you can feel.

• The present is a present: Within weeks of Sarah’s death, the family dog, Emmett, died. After so much loss, the family welcomed a yellow Labrador, which would be named Lady Brooke. While witnessing the joy the dog brought back to the household, it became abundantly clear that experiencing joy in life was a gift. Indeed, every moment given to us should be considered a gift, including the memories of loved ones no longer physically in our lives.

• Interweaving death with life: In the five years from Aug. 23, 2004 to Aug. 24, 2009, Caroline learned how to weave the reality of death into her daily life. Death is no longer one heavy fact that cuts through life but rather a part of life that makes joy sweeter and relationships richer. By interweaving death with life, we are always reminded of what is important.

NOTE:  Caroline Flohr was a busy wife and mother to five children when her 16-year-old twin daughter was tragically taken from her. She was forced to dig into the deeper meaning of existence and came away with profound edification. Flohr lives with her husband and children on Bainbridge Island, a suburb of Seattle. She will be a participating author at Seattle University’s Search For Meaning Conference in March 2013.

Thank you to a friend for bringing this story to my attention.

EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT "TINTYPES" BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK

AUNT FANNY, 1856-1938

I was very pleased to be able to scan successfully the above tintype portrait of my Aunt Fanny (Perry) Pike taken in 1874 when she was 18 years of age.  "Tintypes" have become precious collector's items and I learned the hard way not to attempt to clean them with anything...Not even a damp soft tissue.  Touching the tintype in any way (i.e. rubbing it) will destroy the image, as was the case with another prized tintype in my possession that I thought I would "clean up just a little".

I will now post "Aunt Fanny" on my Perry family web site and place the tintype in an envelope for safe keeping.  It is remarkable to me how it survived 138 years virtually unprotected, rattling around in a collection of family photographs.  I never met Aunt Fanny.  She died as a result of burns suffered in a Strathroy house fire in 1938 when I was just a baby, but I am the benefactor of a number of her personal belongings, including a family bible.

 

Tintype photography falls between the invention of the daguerreotype in 1833 and the introduction of rolled film in 1888.  In the mid-19th century, the tintype provided an inexpensive technology for the masses to capture their loved ones on film.  They were widely popular or a few decades, but remained in use right up to the 1950s.

 

A tintype -- also known as a ferrotype -- is an image produced on a thin metallic sheet that is not actually tin but coated iron. The name "tintype" may refer to the tin snips used to cut the sheets apart. Or the name may have generically referred to a cheap metal -- anything other than silver. A tintype is a form of ambrotype, which is an under-exposed negative that appears as a positive image when placed on top of a dark background. Tintypes were a major step forward from glass plate negatives, which were fragile and more time-consuming to produce.

Adolphe Alexandre Martin of France invented the tintype process in 1853. Tintypes were extremely popular among Civil War soldiers, who loved to have their pictures taken in uniform to send back home. Tintypes were also commonly used to photograph the dead, a practice that was popular throughout the 19th century. Itinerant photographers would make tintypes from their tents or horse-drawn wagons. Town photographers used them in their photo parlors.

To create a tintype, the photographer coated the metal plate in collodion or gelatin and other chemicals. He would allow the plate to dry until it just became tacky. Next he dipped the plate into silver nitrate. The photographer had to take the picture before the plate dried completely. It took about five seconds of exposure, so photographers often provided a headrest for portrait sittings to help the subject remain still. The tintype was then mounted and coated with varnish before being presented to the customer. The image on a tintype appears "backward" because it is a negative. Objects held in the right hand appear to be held in the left, as if looking into a mirror.

Tintypes were sturdier than ambrotypes, so they could be mailed or mounted in an album, yet they were thin enough to be cut into smaller shapes for brooches or lockets. Tintypes were also less expensive to produce than other technologies available at the time, making them more affordable for the working class. Before tintypes, only the wealthy were able to create images of their cherished friends and loved ones.

Read more: History of Tintype Portraits | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/about_5453637_history-tintype-portraits.html#ixzz2DA4bfdIM

Hey turkey, we cross here!

 

Saugeen Shores has to be the Wild Turkey capital of Canada.  The savvy birds can be seen just about everywhere this time of year, especially in farmers' fields.  Averaging in the 20 pounds range, the turkeys suddenly take cover during the open hunting season in April and May.  Mother Nature equips them well.  The pedestrian birds in the above photo follow the leader in crossing the road -- and they took their good time doing it.  Wild turkeys were pretty much wiped out in Ontario in the early 1900s through unregulated hunting and deforestation. In the mid-1980s, the province embarked on a restoration program with contributions of wild turkeys from the U.S. Approximately 4,400 wild turkeys were released at 275 sites across Ontario and the turkey population now has exceeded the numbers projected by the Ontario Wild Turkey Management Plan.  The province-wide population currently exceeds 100,000.

THE POINT I'M TRYING TO MAKE IS...

I was taken by a little item tucked away at the bottom of an inside page of a newspaper this morning.  It "talked" about the joy in doing something right.

True enough, when things fall naturally into place, we cannot help but smile.  The universe clearly loves us.  The cosmos is on our side.

But, wait a minute...What about the times when things do not seem to work out so well?  We figure we must be in receipt of punishment for some terrible choices we made at some point along the way.  Rarely, if ever, is it all quite so simple, however.

So we should not take it all too personally the next time we find ourselves entering a series of situations that bring a great sense of pleasure and satisfaction and leave us feeling as if we must be doing something right.

Right is right and wrong is wrong.  Never the twain shall meet.

I'm not sure what I just said.  Ever have days like that?  Hopefully you get my drift though.

I'll get back to you after I have had a chance to think about this a little more.