It reminds me of the Scott Douglas play “Strange Angels”. Kar-ul, the angel, has just smacked Joe in the head–his method of delivering his message to Joe.

“What does it mean?” Joe asks Kar-ul.

“I think it means you’re going to die!” responds Kar-ul.

And Joe responds, “I know I’m going to die. We’re all going to die sometime.”

“You don’t live like you are going to die!” replies Kar-ul.

I’m thinking Joy and I are like Joe; we just never seem ready. Sigh.

We talked about this some after I shared my thought with her and the truth is that we really are ready for whatever comes our way. We are  just reluctant to take the first step into a new adventure much preferring the comfort of the spaces and places we know well. Especially home. We really do like being home with all of our comforts–friends, family, routines. It is the interruptions to our routines that we are never prepared for.

Regardless, we have made the leap again; car to Thunder Bay, visit with Karen, overnight with friends Pat and Jim and skip hop to Abbotsford via Westjet.

One of the things that I have been dreading is the persistent and seemingly constant winter rains of the lower mainland of BC. I find it cold! Bone chilling cold. Sit in a tub of hot water to warm up cold.

Standing on Richard's front steps watching the light on the Golden Ears.

To my surprise and delight our first day dawned bright and sunny, cool but sunny. And we watched the sunlight dance on the top of the Golden Ears.

GB

Last spring (2009) I made the discovery that my cell phone was text message capable. That is it had the feature for sending and receiving text messages turned on. The truth is I had no idea that I was the proud owner of such services mostly, I suppose, because I don’t text. As it happened, I was standing in a long line-up in a department store waiting to cash out when my phone rang. Dutifully I opened the phone, brought it to my ear and said hello. There was no answer. I pocketed the phone and continued my wait in line. But the phone was insistent. It rang again! This time I happened to look at the tiny screen as I brought the phone to my ear and it read, “Papa r u coming 2 lunch“. To which I responded out loud, “No!” and hung up the phone. I had no idea how to respond other than saying “No!” out loud. I turned the phone off and put it back into my pocket.

You can only imagine the trouncing I took from my then 12-year-old granddaughter for not answering her message. She was less than impressed when I told her that I did answer her message by saying, “No!” She then proceeded to give me lessons in texting. I watched and listened intently and the very next day went to TbayTel and asked them to disconnect the text feature on the phone. They said they had done so and I left happily knowing that I would never again have to deal with another text message.

The reality is I really don’t want to talk to people on a phone all that much and especially by typing cryptic messages on an undersized keyboard. It all seems pretty inefficient and impersonal to me. I was a happy man.

Fast forward to October. Same year. I’m sitting in sanctuary chatting (face to face, live, warm body type chat) with family. My son was over and we were catching up on his most recent adventures when my cell phone rang. That was unusual in itself because I didn’t often have it turned on. But I digress. The cell phone rang. I opened it up, put it to my ear and said hello. There was no response so I glanced at the screen to see if a number showed that I might recognize. Nope! There was a … you guessed it! … a text message. It read, “…Larry get over here. Melissa is on top of James and I am getting peed off… lol“.

OK. I am certain you will understand my perplexity because 1. I am not Larry; 2. I don’t know Melissa or James; 3. I don’t care what Melissa is on top of, and; MY PHONE DOESN’T SEND OR RECEIVE TEXT MESSAGES! Sorry! I didn’t mean to shout! My son waded into the moment saying that he would respond and did so telling the sender that the message arrived at my phone in error…there was no Larry at this number and signed it, “George”.

I put the phone away and within seconds it rang again displaying the text message, “Who the f@%k  (they wrote the real word) is George?” And again my son texted, “The owner of this phone.” and again I hung up the phone and put it in my pocket.

But the phone was insistent. This time the message read, “Don’t you want to know who this is“. I thought “No.” and put the phone away. It rang again. “Aren’t you curious” I thought “No” and put the phone away. It rang again. “I’m legal” the message read. OK! OK! Too much information. I turned the phone off and determined next business day to call TbayTel and have this feature deactivated once again.

Heh! Heh! You thought the story was over! I called TbayTel and got a very pleasant young sounding male voice on the phone. I explained that I had earlier requested the texting feature be deactivated on my phone and apparently it had not been done. Could he please check and see if that was the case. “Yes” he replied. “You have texting on your phone and it is active.”

“Would you turn that feature off, please.” To which he responded, “But its free and it is part of your package.”

“Yes,” says I. “But I don’t want it.”

“Why?” he queried.

Surely you see where this is heading, don’t you? “Because I don’t text”, I said.

“Why?” he asked again.

“BECAUSE IT IS MY PHONE AND I DON’T WANT TO SEND OR RECEIVE TEXT MESSAGES!” my exasperation breaking through. (Sorry, I know I am shouting again.)

“OK”, he replied. “Its done. Have a great day.”

Now I can’t help but wonder about the conversation that went on in his office after we disconnected. Probably something like this:

Customer Service Employee: (to his colleagues) Hey you guys will never believe the call I just had…some old guy who wanted me to disconnect his texting service…”

The last month of my relationship with my cell phone was blissfully quiet. No texts. No phone calls. Hmmmm? I wonder if it was turned on?                     –GRB

Our first two visits–one in november and another in January–three and two years ago respectively left me longing to return to Ontario; the need was for the winter sun that is usually in abundance in January and February at home. Those first two visits aided in the formulation of my opinion about “lotus land”.

The November trip was wet and foggy most of the time. I recall disappointment at not being able to see the mountains. There was one day in the fourteen we were there that the rain stopped and the Golden Ears in all their majesty shone forth. All-be-it viewed through the sieve of buildings, overhead wires and the general clutter of humanity. It was cold. It was to the core damp and cold and I found it difficult to warm up even while sitting in front of the radiator and asking my son to turn up the heat.

The following year saw much of the same. Great adventures with family but the weather left me disappointed. Eight days of sunshine out of 21 and temperatures hovering around the freezing point. It snowed the night we landed in Abbotsford. Another disappointment to be sure–mostly based on preconceived expectations.

This year’s holiday was, to my surprise, an improvement over the previous two visits. It didn’t rain nearly so much. At least part of the mountains were visible most days and the temperatures were on average about 8 C. It made for comfortable walking and actually made me want to be outside most days. And it goes without saying that time with family was wonderful. Especially after a two-year absence.

No, the difficulty I came away with this year was the Olympics. The cost of hosting the Olympic Games appears to me to beyond excessive. I was staggered by the announcement that $900 million was being spent on security alone. That was reported on the same day as the Vancouver Sun reported many lower mainland school boards were having difficulty funding their school systems. The decision was to lay off teachers and increase class size.  A no-fly zone was in effect that encompassed much of the lower mainland. Air security was such that flying schools chose to shut down rather than take the chance of students accidentally entering the no-fly space. It will be interesting to see if any of them have had to go out of business as a result. There were parking restrictions that affected retail outlets thus reducing the number of people who had access. Instructions to employers within security zones were to create flex hours for employees or allow work from home. The homeless were considered an eyesore; there were excessive cost overruns in the construction process. Don’t get me started on the gouging for tickets and rooms and food and … And the list goes on… All in the name of sports.

So I wonder what ever happened to sport for the sake of sport? To game? When did we get to the point that all of this needed to be so big. After all we are talking about sports–games–play. I am dumbfounded that we equate our excitement for sport with patriotism. That one truly baffles me. Does the fact that I don’t support the olympics or that I cheered for all the competitors when they did something spectacular make me less patriotic than my friends who are really into the Olympic thing? The events that I watched were great and I rejoice in the skill and dedication of the players. But they are games. People playing games.

In my opinion the time for the olympics is past. Our tax dollars would best be spent on other things. Like a $58 billion deficit that our government has gotten us into.                                  GRB

The truth is that the forest industry has been under seige for some time now and we have been slow to recognize the signs. As with most industry today the world price of a product aids in the determination of life expectancy; in this case the price offered per ton/tonne of pulp has gone down; the price of gas and diesel to deliver raw materials has gone up; the distance from the harvest has become greater; past practice of not replenishing the natural resource–replanting regularly, deliberately; all culminate in the closure of many mills in Canada and more specifically here in north western Ontario.

I find myself looking at the displaced workers from our mill. Many are people I taught in either elementary school or secondary school at some point in their lives. Memories of conversations with some of them frequently pop into my head as I observe the changes in the rhythms of the community and its inhabitants. “Hey, Sir!” said one of them in a Gr. 12 Law class 25 years ago. “I’m going to graduate at the end of this semester; go to work in the Mill and buy a new TransAm!” And he did; he did; he did. I know because the following year that same student brought his new TransAm to the school to show me. So much for attempting to convince them to stay in school and get their Gr. 13 and go on to College of University. And I thought then, “How do I argue against this?” If only I knew then what I am seeing now!

That student was one of many whose attitude was that the “Company” would always be there; the money is great–I will always have enough; I don’t need more education, my life is set.

For the past year, many of those who saw the mill as a way of life; as a way through life, are finding that they cannot get jobs elsewhere because they have insufficient education to fill the expectations of current employers. Those same people are struggling to go back to school to get high school equivalency or to get sufficiently upgraded so that they can go on to higher education in order to be retrained. All are struggling to do this now on Employment Insurance along with paying the mortgage, put food on the table, heat the house for a six or seven month winter, and on and on… The Insurance should run out shortly.

It says something to me about the need for all of us to become life-long learners. Deliberately! Take a course of some kind every year of your life. Become used to the skill of learning. Make learning a habit! Wake up each day determined to learn one thing new today that will help one grow in one’s life. Plan for the future…for the unexpected. Know that nothing in our lives is carved in stone.                      –GRB

First the lead in…

I regularly (when I don’t forget my appointments or have them preempted by travel) visit my Massage Therapist. This is a regular part of my wellness routine. It is further enhanced by the fact that my Therapist is also my daughter-in-law.

Not only are her massages beneficial to my sense of well-being but it is also a time when she and I have a chance to talk about the things that are important to us; family, mutual friends, our community and life in general.

During my most recent visit to her clinic, She shared with me the title of a book she had just read and without giving away too much information sufficiently piqued my interest that I asked to borrow the story. Yesterday, she dropped the book and a flower off to “Sanctuary” and I sat down in the late afternoon to begin my read.

The book “have a little faith: a true story” by Mitch Albom ISBN:978-0-7868-6872-8 is more of an eight-year journal that started with Mitch Albom, a journalist, being asked by the Rabbi, from his youth neighbourhood, to “…write his [the Rabbi's] eulogy.” The author agrees on the condition that he gets to know his teacher better. What started as a two or three-week project lasted eight years and turned into a precious friendship and ultimately the eulogy.

In getting to know his Rabbi, the author questions his own existence and beliefs. In doing so, he champions a Christian Mission in Detroit led by Pastor Henry Covington and learns some valuable lessons about himself, his beliefs and about judging others.

Each reader will take from the stories those gems that are pertinent. While many features of the story reinforced my faith beliefs one quote stands out as significant: ”Did you ever hear a sermon that felt as if it were being screamed into you ear alone? When that happens, it usually has more to do with you than the preacher.”

Last night at the Ash Wednesday service, David’s message fit this quote. Part of my lenten journey is to discern what it is that God is calling me to do now.  GB

This winter has dragged on long enough. Joy and I drove to Nipigon this past week and noted on the way that there is still ice clinging to the rock faces and on the south side of the highway snow can still be seen in some of the sheltered nooks and  under tree overhangs. Water runoff from spring thaw has not been nearly so spectacual this year because the melt has been slow and gradual.

I suppose that is a good thing in some ways. It means that much of the normal runoff may have been absorbed by the soil. That should bode well for the fire season by delaying the dry spell some. Heavens, the dry spell may never come this year if the temperatures don’t soon get at least back to normal.

Sigh!             GRB

The pot was readied, and as I was about to pour the first cup of Kick Ass java for the day, I was distracted by a scraping sound. I opened the back door, stuck my head around the door frame to see Doctor Sarah and her two sons busily scraping the previous night’s snow from my stairs and walkway. I hollered a greeting and a thank you. Doctor Sarah’s response was to pick up a bag hanging on the front door knob and she handed it to me saying, “I was at home making bread and thinking about all that you and Joy do  in our community. I just wanted to say thanks.” I peeked into the bag to find a still warm loaf of fresh bread made by the hands of one of our community’s physicians. A house call in deed!

I was reminded of this story today when meeting a friend who works in the gift shop at the local hospital. She shared with me the following story.

“This morning, the dogs began barking near the front door.” said Becky. “I looked out the window and all I could see was a van in the driveway that I didn’t recognize. I settled the dogs and went out the back door to find Doctor Sarah coming up the walk with a basket of flowers.”

Sarah passed the flowers to me saying she had seen me helping at the concert last night; that she sees me wherever people need help. She just wanted to say thank you. What a wonderful house call.”

In among the occasional rant about elections, I continue to work with Joy (there is that pun again) on the house. When the weather is good we work outside. We have done considerable inside work this past September. The decision was made to renew–to refresh the appearance of the back bedroom. That is what we call the spare bedroom in our home. Sometimes it is referred to as Cloudia’s room or Ken’s room. They are the two people who most often occupy the space. And Cloud’s toys are the main feature of the space.

Changing the decor was spurred on by the loaning out of the double bed that has occupied the room for many years. Joy had a vision that included changing the paint, cleaning the carpet, painting the ceiling and the trim. (As an aside, I learned that one should always paint the ceiling first, then the walls and the trim.) Her picture of the space inclucded replacing the double bed with a trundle bed. And that proved to be the big challenge for the month and took three trips to Sault Ste. Marie to bring it to completion.

Trundle bed closed

Trundle beds do not seem to be a common item in Canada. That is perhaps a bit harsh. Suffice to say that trundle beds are not common in Northwestern Ontario. We went to most of the furniture stores in Sault Ste. Marie only to find that many had heard of them but few or none on display. We wanted a trundle that when pulled out from under a single bed would rise up to the same height as the single. Magic! A surprise double bed! NOT! Mostly what we heard from suppliers is, “We have to order one in and we don’t know if the two mattresses line up at the same height to make a double bed.”

People in Upper Michigan must think about spare rooms in the same manner as we. A trip across the

Trundle extended

border into the States solved the dilemma. We found a wonderful furniture store named Shunk’s that not only had a variety  of trundle beds on display but provided exemplary service without any pressure or sales pitch. They demonstrated all of the options and then left us alone to make a decision. We did! We bought! They delivered across the border to Sault Ste. Marie, ON, met us at the border crossing to clear customs and had we been home, would have set the bed up for us.

The room is now finished. All that remains is to let Cloudia and Ken know that their room is once again ready for occupancy. With any luck that will mean a sleep over with our granddaughter soon and a visit from our friend Ken in the forseeable future.  Life is good. On to the next…        GRB