BREAD OF LIFE FOR THOSE WHO HUNGER

U. S. Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker, World War One flying ace.

I periodically review some of my father's literary work.  He was not highly educated from an academic standpoint but I never cease to be amazed by the breadth of his knowledge and the depth of his faith.  He did not have the luxury of a typewriter in those days, of course, and every word was written by hand with pen and ink while sitting at a family heirloom secretary in the living room of our home in Dresden.

A. Kenneth Wright

I was especially taken the other day by one of his columns published exactly 63 years ago by the Chatham Daily News.  In this particular "Voice of the People" piece entitled "Bread of Life" he referred to the biblical account of children of Israel and a gathering of thousands being fed from five loaves of bread and two small fishes and thusly emphasized  how God looks after His people.

What impressed me most was that he incorporated a Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker story to illustrate his point.  Here's how he related it.

"Many will recall the experience of American flier ace Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker and his associates who crash landed from their assault plane in the mid-Pacific, October, 1941.  All they were able to salvage from the wreckage was two life rafts.

"After days afloat in the ocean with no food or water, they became desperate.  They decided to try prayer and it was then that a sea gull landed on Capt. Rickenbacker's shoulder.  The bird was caught and cleaned.  The crew ate the gull and used the intestines for bait to catch fish which they also ate.  Then rain began to fall and they were able to collect the fresh water in receptacles and rags.

"In time Rickenbacker and his crew were rescued and to a man they gave full credit to God for answering their desperate prayers while hopelessly afloat in the Pacific.

"To have that sense of spiritual well-being that all mankind hungers and thirsts for, one must embrace Christianity in a serious, personal way.  Food for the body to sustain life does not suffice.  To satiate the instinctive human longing for spiritual well-being, one must turn to Jesus who proclaimed to the children of Israel and the gathering crowd: 'I am the bread of life.'

"It is of vital importance how we as a people, conduct ourselves and how we as a nation carefully choose our course to insure that we are on God's side.  No one needs to tell Canadians what is right and what is wrong.  We go into the year 1949 well read and with our eyes wide open.  It is up to us to decide if we are for or against the word of God and the teaching of Jesus Christ."

Two years later Ken Wright, who often signed off on his newspaper submissions with the pen name "Columnite", passed away at 52 years of age.  I was only 14 at the time.  He left me a legacy -- "From each and all we glean much that helps a little as we go about our daily duties."  I often wonder how seriously the writings of father and son have been taken over the years.  Somehow it doesn't really matter.

Heredity can be a mysterious thing, but we take it along with us on whatever path we choose in the journey of life.  The pride and faith of parent and offspring is mutual in the partaking of the bread of life -- and the written word.

RISE AND FALL OF LORD'S DAY LEGISLATION

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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


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


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

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


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

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

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

LET NEGATIVITY GO, SEEK POSITIVE DIRECTION

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

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

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

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

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

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

I LIKE POPE'S "SLOW DOWN" MESSAGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOR INSPIRATION...!

Will return when I catch some

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a little something special...

THANKS MICHAEL!

ME AND MY SHADOW(S)

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

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

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

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

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

SUBSTANTIATING A NEED TO EAT SOMETHING

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

Me:  "Would you settle for some sustenance?"

Rosanne:  "Okay...!"

RACIAL DISCRIMINATION: NOVA SCOTIA APOLOGIZES 64 YEARS AFTER THE FACT

Still not too late for my hometown


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SHINING NEW LIGHT ON IMPERFECTIONS

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

Hi Richard:


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


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

Arielle and Brian, the faces
of Wabi Sabi Love

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


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


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


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


-- Arielle

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

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

HAVE HEART: THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW

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

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

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

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

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

WAR SHIP BEACHED IN SOUTHAMPTON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hunter as it was uncovered by archaeologists.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it's still not too late!

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

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

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

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

AND YOU WONDER WHY MY HAIR IS GRAY?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FROM OUR HOME TO YOURS...

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


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

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

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

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

John the Plumber and daughter Rosanne

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

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

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

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

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

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

A THOUGHT FOR A SUNDAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS

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

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

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

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

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

FORGOTTEN STORY TOO LITTLE REMEMBERED

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

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

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


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


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


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


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

Question

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

Lessons

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

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

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

PRINCIPAL RESPONDS TO WRIGHTS LANE STORY

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

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

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

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

HOPE FOR THE FUTURE COMES ACROSS THE LAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TIS THE "WAITING" SEASON OF ADVENT

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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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

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

OVERHEARD IN PASSING...

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

BE LEARY OF EXPECTATIONS AND ASSUMPTIONS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRUE FAITH COMES ONLY FROM THE HEART

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


Explain yourself Jonathan.  How can this be true?

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

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

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

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

FLIP A COIN: REALITY OF EMOTIONAL EXTREMES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TIME OFF FOR ROSANNE MAY "`RENDER"

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

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

(Latest in a continuing series of Rosanneisms.)

OVERHEARD IN PASSING...

Two men meeting on a street corner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like most bullies, I had no idea...

A BLOCK THAT IS THE CURSE OF ALL WRITERS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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