I have posted blogs about restaurants, fast food in Food Courts and the like. However, I have not written about coffee shops in particular which have become my favorite place to head to when I get the mid-afternoon "munchies". Here in Toronto and - I believe - in most if not all North American cities - are coffee shops catering to the need for a beverage and a quick snack and in Toronto there are chains of coffee shops. The most commonly encountered are Tim Horton's.
In the 1940s and '50s Tim Horton was a star player with the Toronto Maple Leafs ice hockey team and - when he retired from playing hockey - he opened a Tim Horton's Coffee and Doughnut Shop. It was so successful that he opened others here in Toronto and elsewhere in Ontario. Now the franchise can be found in every Canadian province and in many of the US border states.
A few years ago more than one person thought up the idea of driving across Canada stopping for refreshment only at a Tim Horton's and that became the idea for TV advertisements sponsored by the chain.
The complex in which I am living faces onto Bay Street. About 2/3 of a block north of here is a large Tim Horton's and - three blocks south - can be found another (albeit smaller) franchise. Both are open 24 hours a day and are almost always busy.
What do I order when I visit? A coffee and a doughnut and - sometimes - either a sandwich or a bagel with cream cheese filling. I take these items to a table from where I will have a view of most of the eatery and people watch.
A few days ago a good sized group of Oriental girls came in, were lucky to find a fairly large table which was not occupied, gathered there and - as more and more friends arrived - began moving empty chairs to the chosen table. There are no items on the menu that can be classified as 'Oriental food' so they each ordered what many of the rest of us were consuming, sat and began chattering with each other - as all young people can chatter - while consuming their chosen items.
Occasionally I will get the 'late night munchies' and walk up there for a snack and - even at that late hour - I am not alone. What do I order? Usually either the plain bagel with cream cheese or the 'turkey/bacon/club' sandwich, a medium coffee and a 'chocolate dipped' donut. Up until a year or so ago egg salad sandwiches were also on the menu but they - along with chicken salad - were dropped. I suspect that it was due to more danger from food poisoning from those ingredients than from the usual fare like turkey/bacon/club, grilled cheese and the like.
The Tim Horton outlet down the street is very near the Provincial Government offices so the lineups at the serving counters during the lunch hour are daunting.
The chain with a similar name are the 'Timothy's World Coffees' shops. They are franchised and the owners of one franchise are friends of mine so I walk over to there on many an afternoon. Along with a wide range of different types of coffee, there is tea, cakes, cookies, squares and - yes - even sandwiches to order (I like the egg salad and the feta cheese ones).
While at Tim Horton's the other customers usually are strangers to me while - at Timothy's World Coffees - often I know other patrons so visit while enjoying the coffee and whatever munchies I have chosen for that day. Of late fresh made soups have been added to the menu at Timothy's and I love two of them - Cream of Potato soup with bacon bits and Split Pea soup with ham.
Yes - those coffee outings are rather hard on a tight budget but the upside is that I am not becoming a hermit but am socializing with others.
Thursday, 6 February 2014
Friday, 10 January 2014
What's In A Name?
Always I have been fascinated by names of people and their ethnic backgrounds, Living in Canada one is surrounded by people who are - practically - from everywhere. My ancestors - and the ancestors of most of my friends - are Caucasian. However - I am happy to say - there are more and more friends and acquaintances from every background imaginable.
My first name is Ernest which was the name of my maternal grandfather while my middle name - Charles - was the given name of my paternal grandfather. Alda's first name - Laura - is the same as her maternal great grandmother while her middle name (Alda) is that of her paternal grandmother. Always she has been known as Alda and - as that name is unusual - she has met very few women who have the same name.
The third of we siblings is Babs. Her given names are Gladys Jean - the first name is the same as our mother's and - like Mom - she was born during the Christmas season. I have no idea what induced Dad to name her 'Jean' as well as there are/were no other 'Jeans' in our family.
The fourth to come along was our late brother Daniel George who was named after Dad (Daniel) and after Dad's half-brother (George). Always Dad was known as 'Dan' while our kid brother was 'Danny' which enabled us to be clear as to whom we were speaking to and/or about.
Our family name has always intrigued me - what is/was the derivation?
During my teen years I took piano lessons from a Miss Lacasse who - as far as we could tell - was not a close relative to our branch of the family. However, she had conducted some research and told me that three brothers had immigrated to Canada from France during the early days of settlement. Two of the brothers died while the third one sired a family. All of us in Canada with the 'Lacasse' (or de la Casse) surname are descendants from that one man.
Who he was and where he lived (Quebec or New Brunswick?) are unknown.
The family which Alda married into is sur-named Poirier. As the French word for 'pear' (the fruit) is 'poire' I assumed that the name referred to the fruit. After moving to Toronto I met a man whose surname was also 'Poirier'. He had undertaken some research and discovered the answer.
Many many centuries ago a young man had traveled from Great Britain to Normandy where he met and fell in love with a young woman whose father owned land upon which was an orchard including some pear trees. In those days a young man with no dowry would not be allowed to marry into a family who had 'landed' status. The owner of the orchard liked the young man so he thought up a way for him to be an eligible suitor for the daughter - he ceded to him a part of the orchard which contained some of the pear trees. Thus the name 'Poirier'!
I have no idea as to whether this explanation is valid or not but it is certainly romantic!
Neither I - nor my late brother - have direct descendants while both of my sisters do. One of them has a daughter - Teri - who married Paul Denis and gave birth to Nicholas and then Leah and it is the last name to which I wish to refer.
My maternal grandmother's mother was Jewish and - I believe - one of her names was Leah. One member of the family - who belongs to one of the Christian sects - did object to the Jewishness of the name but was overruled. Leah is mentioned in the Old Testament and it is a beautiful story so - as far as most of us are concerned - and as this grandniece is beautiful too - we are proud of her and firmly believe that she was well-named.
My first name is Ernest which was the name of my maternal grandfather while my middle name - Charles - was the given name of my paternal grandfather. Alda's first name - Laura - is the same as her maternal great grandmother while her middle name (Alda) is that of her paternal grandmother. Always she has been known as Alda and - as that name is unusual - she has met very few women who have the same name.
The third of we siblings is Babs. Her given names are Gladys Jean - the first name is the same as our mother's and - like Mom - she was born during the Christmas season. I have no idea what induced Dad to name her 'Jean' as well as there are/were no other 'Jeans' in our family.
The fourth to come along was our late brother Daniel George who was named after Dad (Daniel) and after Dad's half-brother (George). Always Dad was known as 'Dan' while our kid brother was 'Danny' which enabled us to be clear as to whom we were speaking to and/or about.
Our family name has always intrigued me - what is/was the derivation?
During my teen years I took piano lessons from a Miss Lacasse who - as far as we could tell - was not a close relative to our branch of the family. However, she had conducted some research and told me that three brothers had immigrated to Canada from France during the early days of settlement. Two of the brothers died while the third one sired a family. All of us in Canada with the 'Lacasse' (or de la Casse) surname are descendants from that one man.
Who he was and where he lived (Quebec or New Brunswick?) are unknown.
The family which Alda married into is sur-named Poirier. As the French word for 'pear' (the fruit) is 'poire' I assumed that the name referred to the fruit. After moving to Toronto I met a man whose surname was also 'Poirier'. He had undertaken some research and discovered the answer.
Many many centuries ago a young man had traveled from Great Britain to Normandy where he met and fell in love with a young woman whose father owned land upon which was an orchard including some pear trees. In those days a young man with no dowry would not be allowed to marry into a family who had 'landed' status. The owner of the orchard liked the young man so he thought up a way for him to be an eligible suitor for the daughter - he ceded to him a part of the orchard which contained some of the pear trees. Thus the name 'Poirier'!
I have no idea as to whether this explanation is valid or not but it is certainly romantic!
Neither I - nor my late brother - have direct descendants while both of my sisters do. One of them has a daughter - Teri - who married Paul Denis and gave birth to Nicholas and then Leah and it is the last name to which I wish to refer.
My maternal grandmother's mother was Jewish and - I believe - one of her names was Leah. One member of the family - who belongs to one of the Christian sects - did object to the Jewishness of the name but was overruled. Leah is mentioned in the Old Testament and it is a beautiful story so - as far as most of us are concerned - and as this grandniece is beautiful too - we are proud of her and firmly believe that she was well-named.
Monday, 23 December 2013
Christmas Preparations
My thought patterns have been encountering 'dry periods' of late and I have been at a loss as to what to write about. Sometimes while I have been walking - or riding on the transit - I have had ideas but have not written them down. Later I have wondered what they were but could not remember.
As I was walking home this afternoon I encountered a man and his young daughter walking towards me - they were carrying parcels which caused me to remember an early 'preparation' for Christmas while I was still a child. If you have read my 'Neighbors' blogs you may recall my mention of the elderly couple - the Barletts - whom we lived next door to for a year or so. A week or so before Christmas they were making a trip into Vancouver and they invited Mom, Alda and I to come along.
Mr Bartlett drove an older car from the 1920s or early '30s - one that needed to be cranked for the motor to come alive - and that was what we rode in all the way into the city and back.
At that time (in Vancouver) there were three department stores to be found in the downtown area. At the corner of West Georgia and Granville Streets was the Hudson Bay Company outlet. About six or eight blocks north and east was the David Spencer Department Store - later to be purchased by the Timothy Eaton chain - on Hastings Street West. Another six or so blocks east of Spencer's was the Woodward Department Store and we visited Santa Claus in each of those stores. Huh? How did Santa get from one store to the next before we did? I don't remember seeing a sleigh traveling through the air overhead!
Each store had a special item to grab the attention of the younger shoppers and the one which I remember the best was the 'Fish Pond' at David Spencer's. We were each given a pole with a hook on the end and the 'hook' was magnetized so that any of the metal items on the bottom of the pool could be 'caught'. All these years later I cannot remember what I 'won' - but both Alda and I won something!
Yesterday - as I observed preparations being carried out by others - I was put in mind of Christmas preparations at home too and remembered how Alda and I became involved.
For the celebrations in our early years I do not remember any involvement on my part - not until we had moved to Dawes Hill. One Saturday afternoon in December 1943, Dad took Alda and I out shopping. We walked down to Maillardville and went to "Joe's Handy Store" which was like a '5 and Dime'. Once in the store Dad stood still in one spot while Alda and I browsed past the displays of goods in each of the aisles - but not in the company of each other.
Counting Dad and Mom, our maternal grandparents and each other, we had $2.00 each with which to purchase the five gifts. I remember my difficulty with Alda being nearby - how was I going to be able to buy a gift for her with her close by and - maybe - watching my every move? I do not remember clearly what I bought for her but I believe that it was a box of cloth handkerchiefs. I cannot remember at all what she bought for me!
Back home we went with Dad to where there were a number of young evergreen trees growing beside the fence and on the Crandell property. One was chosen, chopped down - and carried home. We were still too young to do any of the decorating so that was left to Dad.
This is the tree in Alda's home in 100 Mile House, B.C. for Christmas 2005 - it is very similar to the one we had each Christmas while we were growing up. The woman in the photo is Alda's youngest - Karen.
In the meantime, Mom was baking. She made a couple of 'Christmas cakes' - how I love fruit cake! - and some cookies. Going by what we ate in later years, I would say that the two prime cookie recipes were shortbread and overnight cookies (so named as the dough was fashioned into loaves, covered by a damp tea towel, and left in a 'marinade' until the next day when Mom sliced these loaves putting each slice on a cookie sheet and baking them in the oven).
As well as the cookie mixtures there were two large bowls filled to near the top with various dried fruit, flour and other ingredients. The contents of one of the bowls became Christmas cake and the other became Christmas pudding. When Dad was growing up in Ottawa that part of the family had a 'Christmas Pudding Eating Contest' and - by over gorging on the pudding - he became ill so Mom never made a 'plum pudding' but a 'carrot pudding' instead which was served with a vanilla sauce. I loved it!
After being baked Mom would make an icing to cover some of the cakes. This icing was hard, tasted like almonds, and was white with the trimmings in green and red.
The Christmas turkey was stuffed with a dressing of Mom's own recipe and, as soon as she was up on Christmas morning she put 'the bird' into the oven so it would be ready for the dinner which was always in mid-afternoon and it was very rare indeed if the only people at the dinner table were solely members of our immediate family.
As soon as we kids were up we would 'have the tree' after which would come a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. As well as our maternal grandparents - who were usually with us (or we at their home) - there would be others at dinner time.
Lacasse Family Christmas Dinner (ca 1958/59)
As we grew up gradually the Christmas tradition morphed somewhat and the gifts which we exchanged became more sophisticated. That tradition continued until Dad died and Mom moved into a senior's complex. When Alda married Leo we would try to spend Christmas with them and our nieces and nephews. However, the menu for Christmas dinner remained the same as it did in Babs and Hubert's home.
For these past few years I have enjoyed two Christmas dinners. The first is in the Social Hall at church - a potluck but with the usual turkey and vegetables - and the second at the condominium of a friend. This friend is of British descent and the dinner is always very English. What do I contribute to these dinners?
For the potluck at church I always bring the 'nibbles' which we enjoyed at home - cut celery with 'cheese whiz' in the contour of the stem, olives and pickles.
For my friend's dinner I usually bring a box of chocolates. This year something special will be added - my favorite coffee shop now sells Belgian truffles and I will be taking a box of them with me!!
As I was walking home this afternoon I encountered a man and his young daughter walking towards me - they were carrying parcels which caused me to remember an early 'preparation' for Christmas while I was still a child. If you have read my 'Neighbors' blogs you may recall my mention of the elderly couple - the Barletts - whom we lived next door to for a year or so. A week or so before Christmas they were making a trip into Vancouver and they invited Mom, Alda and I to come along.
Mr Bartlett drove an older car from the 1920s or early '30s - one that needed to be cranked for the motor to come alive - and that was what we rode in all the way into the city and back.
At that time (in Vancouver) there were three department stores to be found in the downtown area. At the corner of West Georgia and Granville Streets was the Hudson Bay Company outlet. About six or eight blocks north and east was the David Spencer Department Store - later to be purchased by the Timothy Eaton chain - on Hastings Street West. Another six or so blocks east of Spencer's was the Woodward Department Store and we visited Santa Claus in each of those stores. Huh? How did Santa get from one store to the next before we did? I don't remember seeing a sleigh traveling through the air overhead!
Each store had a special item to grab the attention of the younger shoppers and the one which I remember the best was the 'Fish Pond' at David Spencer's. We were each given a pole with a hook on the end and the 'hook' was magnetized so that any of the metal items on the bottom of the pool could be 'caught'. All these years later I cannot remember what I 'won' - but both Alda and I won something!
Yesterday - as I observed preparations being carried out by others - I was put in mind of Christmas preparations at home too and remembered how Alda and I became involved.
For the celebrations in our early years I do not remember any involvement on my part - not until we had moved to Dawes Hill. One Saturday afternoon in December 1943, Dad took Alda and I out shopping. We walked down to Maillardville and went to "Joe's Handy Store" which was like a '5 and Dime'. Once in the store Dad stood still in one spot while Alda and I browsed past the displays of goods in each of the aisles - but not in the company of each other.
Counting Dad and Mom, our maternal grandparents and each other, we had $2.00 each with which to purchase the five gifts. I remember my difficulty with Alda being nearby - how was I going to be able to buy a gift for her with her close by and - maybe - watching my every move? I do not remember clearly what I bought for her but I believe that it was a box of cloth handkerchiefs. I cannot remember at all what she bought for me!
Back home we went with Dad to where there were a number of young evergreen trees growing beside the fence and on the Crandell property. One was chosen, chopped down - and carried home. We were still too young to do any of the decorating so that was left to Dad.
This is the tree in Alda's home in 100 Mile House, B.C. for Christmas 2005 - it is very similar to the one we had each Christmas while we were growing up. The woman in the photo is Alda's youngest - Karen.
In the meantime, Mom was baking. She made a couple of 'Christmas cakes' - how I love fruit cake! - and some cookies. Going by what we ate in later years, I would say that the two prime cookie recipes were shortbread and overnight cookies (so named as the dough was fashioned into loaves, covered by a damp tea towel, and left in a 'marinade' until the next day when Mom sliced these loaves putting each slice on a cookie sheet and baking them in the oven).
As well as the cookie mixtures there were two large bowls filled to near the top with various dried fruit, flour and other ingredients. The contents of one of the bowls became Christmas cake and the other became Christmas pudding. When Dad was growing up in Ottawa that part of the family had a 'Christmas Pudding Eating Contest' and - by over gorging on the pudding - he became ill so Mom never made a 'plum pudding' but a 'carrot pudding' instead which was served with a vanilla sauce. I loved it!
After being baked Mom would make an icing to cover some of the cakes. This icing was hard, tasted like almonds, and was white with the trimmings in green and red.
The Christmas turkey was stuffed with a dressing of Mom's own recipe and, as soon as she was up on Christmas morning she put 'the bird' into the oven so it would be ready for the dinner which was always in mid-afternoon and it was very rare indeed if the only people at the dinner table were solely members of our immediate family.
As soon as we kids were up we would 'have the tree' after which would come a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. As well as our maternal grandparents - who were usually with us (or we at their home) - there would be others at dinner time.
Lacasse Family Christmas Dinner (ca 1958/59)
As we grew up gradually the Christmas tradition morphed somewhat and the gifts which we exchanged became more sophisticated. That tradition continued until Dad died and Mom moved into a senior's complex. When Alda married Leo we would try to spend Christmas with them and our nieces and nephews. However, the menu for Christmas dinner remained the same as it did in Babs and Hubert's home.
For these past few years I have enjoyed two Christmas dinners. The first is in the Social Hall at church - a potluck but with the usual turkey and vegetables - and the second at the condominium of a friend. This friend is of British descent and the dinner is always very English. What do I contribute to these dinners?
For the potluck at church I always bring the 'nibbles' which we enjoyed at home - cut celery with 'cheese whiz' in the contour of the stem, olives and pickles.
For my friend's dinner I usually bring a box of chocolates. This year something special will be added - my favorite coffee shop now sells Belgian truffles and I will be taking a box of them with me!!
Thursday, 28 November 2013
Canvassing
Canada is a democracy and - as a member of the British Commonwealth of Nations - follows the British system of governance with one exception. As we do not have an official aristocracy, we do not have a House of Lords - however, we do have a Senate which is supposed to be the Chamber of Second Thought. While we elect our Members of Parliament - as well as the members of our Provincial Legislatures - we have no say so in the selection of Members of the Senate. That privilege is left to the Prime Minister's Office but scandals involving some of the most recently appointed Senators quite possibly could cause that to be changed.
A term as a Member of Parliament is usually for four or five years when the current Prime Minister will call for the House to be dissolved and for we - the public - to go about the business of electing a new Parliament. Occasionally members will resign - or die - and bi-elections will be held to replace them. As the sitting Member of Parliament for Toronto Center resigned his seat due to health problems we - along with three other areas - voted in bi-elections on this past Monday, November 25th. As I am a member of one of the main 'parties', I was invited to be a part of the election campaign.
In August I attended a nomination meeting on a Sunday afternoon and voted for whom I wished to represent me in the election. The person nominated was not the one for whom I voted but I was happy with the nomination and agreed to a request that I join her campaign team. While I am not comfortable with telephoning strangers - nor knocking on doors - I am comfortable with leafleting on behalf of the candidate. This is how I spent most days over a period of about three weeks. As Toronto Center has numerous apartment and condominium buildings within the boundaries of the 'Riding' I volunteered to visit many of them with bundles of leaflets extolling the virtues of the Party and - especially - of the candidate.
The building management at each apartment and condominium expected to be visited and so were cooperative. Actually, it is written in the Canada Elections Act that nominees and their 'agents' be allowed access to all electors.
I used the term 'Riding' so - for those of you who do not reside in the British Commonwealth of Nations - I will define the word. It is a holdover from the earlier days of elections to the House of Commons in Great Britain and refers to how far a person could ride on horseback within one day. Although we no longer use horseback riding as the chief means of covering distances, that term remains with us.
I am now a Senior Citizen so the weight of bundles of cardboard announcements was quite onerous. By using a backpack to travel from the Campaign Office to the selected delivery site I was able to manage - but the weight was still quite heavy. Two fellows who worked in the Campaign Office chose where I was to go with the load and gave me a transit pass to use so I wouldn't have to take money out of my own pocket in order to complete my task.
I have a system that I use in buildings. As I am expected to go to the door of every unit, I take the elevator to the top floor and then walk down from floor to floor via the fire escape stairway - that is a heck of a lot easier than having to walk up from floor to floor!
Usually I saw nobody during my visits but I did have some amusing (and at least one disturbing) encounters. I will write about the pleasant ones first.
In one of the condominium buildings I encountered three dogs. The first one was a Standard Poodle. As I love dogs I have learned how to approach animals (who do not know me) safely - I hold out my hand towards the animal and let it approach me. The poodle - who recognized me as a 'friend' - licked my hand and then I patted his head. There was one aspect of that dog which I found unusual. I am used to encountering poodles which are jet black or chocolate brown in color. That one, though, was white with large black spots much like a dalmatian. While a dalmatian has short hair this poodle's fur was fairly long and coarse. Of course he wagged his tail!
The second dog was a jet black 'Scottie' who - like the poodle - was friendly and gave my extended hand a good licking before going off with its master for a stroll outside.
The third dog was a grey whippet. It also licked my hand. I did meet a few people while walking the corridors of that building but I do not remember them as well as I remember the dogs!
There was one woman whom I did encounter who was difficult. The building was enormous (possibly it had been a warehouse) and had about 24 units per floor. Some of the entryways were in cul-de-sacs as was this particular one. A well dressed younger woman approached as I was leaving leaflets on the doors. I noticed her and so I asked if the door that I was approaching was to her unit? She nodded so I asked if she wished me to leave a leaflet? She said, "No!" quite emphatically so I walked on.
Later I saw a security guard in the lobby as I was about to leave. He told me that a resident (a younger woman) had approached him demanding that I be ejected from the building. In response to this the guard told her to read the Canada Elections Act and - particularly - the section about the freedom of access for the agents of the candidates!
I was inside a number of buildings and that was the only negative encounter that I had.
My final assignment was to leaflet town houses in a fairly new residential area called Scadding Court. I found that neighborhood to be quite pleasant and I did meet a few of the residents. One was a Scottish gentleman who was quite friendly. First off he challenged me about my age claiming that he was the older of the two of us. I told him how old I am and he looked at me in astonishment - he is seven years my junior! He had worked in the shipyards in Glasgow, Scotland and - according to him - had helped to build a few of the famous ocean liners.
It was cold outside and the weather threatened but - all-in-all - it was a pleasant afternoon in Scadding Court.
I have been the Deputy Returning Officer at a few polls within this building so I was asked by Elections Canada to repeat. This Monday past was a long day but a satisfactory one. The candidate whom I was backing did not win the 'seat' but the day was successful. Did we balance right off? No - so we were asked to bring the box to the Returning Office where an official found our error and blanced the tally for us.
I finally got to bed after 1:00AM and slept until 11:00 AM on Tuesday morning. Do I mean that Toby allowed me to sleep in? Yes - he did but did insist once that I go to the kitchen and top up his food bowl before going to take my morning shower!
Monday, 7 October 2013
A Cat, A Dog and a Streetcar - a Surreal Experience
According to the calendar of the Roman Catholic Church, the Feast Day dedicated to St Francis of Assisi is October 4. In this year of 2013, that date fell on this past Friday. The church that I attend is not one that follows the Roman Catholic calendar - however, we do honor the pets which have entered our lives so a weekend day and time is set aside for the blessing and that day was yesterday, October 6.
Toby, my kitten, is now approximately sixteen months old, weighs at least twenty pounds and is quite rambunctious so I worried about how I would get him to the church for the blessing. Upon the advice of a friend, I moved the cat carrier to the middle of the floor, left the door open and put his 'treats' inside it so he would have to enter in order to retrieve them. That worked well and there was no fuss when the time arrived. I expected some loud protests from him but he accepted me closing him into the carrier as the time came for us to leave for the church.
I caught the city bus at the stop outside and rode in it down to College Street in order to transfer to a streetcar. That vehicle was nearly empty so I sat in the front seat. A woman was sitting in the next seat and I could tell that she was lame. Obviously she was curious about what I had in the carrier so I turned it to face her and we began chatting.
The next stop along the route is at Yonge Street and the connection with the subway. More people boarded there and the operator carried on across Yonge and onto Carlton Street which heads southeast for a few hundred feet and then makes a sweeping curve to become a truly east - west route. At the end of the curve there was a car in the middle lane while the driver tried to parallel park. I am assuming that the operator of our vehicle thought that he had room in which to safely pass. Not so - there was a crunching and screeching sound and then the crashing as the side mirror on the automobile fell to the pavement. Our driver stopped the streetcar and we passengers began to leave. In the meantime the lady who was sitting behind me lost it and began blubbering hysterically. I - and the streetcar driver - tried to soothe her but she was too traumatized.
The time I had left for me to get Toby to the church for the service was diminishing so I hopped off and walked back to Yonge Street and the subway station. In those situations I tend not to think logically and - therefore - I did not think through the options. Instead of taking the subway south for one station to Dundas and transfering to the Dundas streetcar, I opted to go two stations north to Bloor and then east on that subway line to Broadview and transfer to either of the two streetcar routes that go south and passed Simpson Avenue. This wrong thinking caused Toby and I to be fifteen minutes late and the service was already underway.
I had thought through how I expected Toby to react to the church environment but I was completely wrong. Instead of him reacting to an alien situation he relaxed upon the pew and seemed to doze off. I was asked to introduce him to the 200 or so congregants (not counting the four-legged ones) which I did and then settled back and into the service.
When I walked down the aisle to where there was a vacant pew I had walked past other people and their pets. Shortly after I had settled into the pew a golden retriever appeared from behind me and he put his snout on my lap. As far as I know I had never encountered him before nor even noticed him in the aisle so I suspect that he picked up upon our - Toby and my - upset. Neither the dog nor Toby seemed to notice each other so no hissing nor snarling occurred. The dog remained beside me in that position until it was time for Toby and I to go forward for the blessing and the photographs. I have no idea where the retriever went to as I did not see him again.
Toby as he looked last January (seven months old).
After the service we returned home and without any other upsets. A number of photographs were taken and - when they do arrive - I will post some of them here.
Yes - the entire afternoon was a very surreal experience - but a blessed one!
Toby, my kitten, is now approximately sixteen months old, weighs at least twenty pounds and is quite rambunctious so I worried about how I would get him to the church for the blessing. Upon the advice of a friend, I moved the cat carrier to the middle of the floor, left the door open and put his 'treats' inside it so he would have to enter in order to retrieve them. That worked well and there was no fuss when the time arrived. I expected some loud protests from him but he accepted me closing him into the carrier as the time came for us to leave for the church.
I caught the city bus at the stop outside and rode in it down to College Street in order to transfer to a streetcar. That vehicle was nearly empty so I sat in the front seat. A woman was sitting in the next seat and I could tell that she was lame. Obviously she was curious about what I had in the carrier so I turned it to face her and we began chatting.
The next stop along the route is at Yonge Street and the connection with the subway. More people boarded there and the operator carried on across Yonge and onto Carlton Street which heads southeast for a few hundred feet and then makes a sweeping curve to become a truly east - west route. At the end of the curve there was a car in the middle lane while the driver tried to parallel park. I am assuming that the operator of our vehicle thought that he had room in which to safely pass. Not so - there was a crunching and screeching sound and then the crashing as the side mirror on the automobile fell to the pavement. Our driver stopped the streetcar and we passengers began to leave. In the meantime the lady who was sitting behind me lost it and began blubbering hysterically. I - and the streetcar driver - tried to soothe her but she was too traumatized.
The time I had left for me to get Toby to the church for the service was diminishing so I hopped off and walked back to Yonge Street and the subway station. In those situations I tend not to think logically and - therefore - I did not think through the options. Instead of taking the subway south for one station to Dundas and transfering to the Dundas streetcar, I opted to go two stations north to Bloor and then east on that subway line to Broadview and transfer to either of the two streetcar routes that go south and passed Simpson Avenue. This wrong thinking caused Toby and I to be fifteen minutes late and the service was already underway.
I had thought through how I expected Toby to react to the church environment but I was completely wrong. Instead of him reacting to an alien situation he relaxed upon the pew and seemed to doze off. I was asked to introduce him to the 200 or so congregants (not counting the four-legged ones) which I did and then settled back and into the service.
When I walked down the aisle to where there was a vacant pew I had walked past other people and their pets. Shortly after I had settled into the pew a golden retriever appeared from behind me and he put his snout on my lap. As far as I know I had never encountered him before nor even noticed him in the aisle so I suspect that he picked up upon our - Toby and my - upset. Neither the dog nor Toby seemed to notice each other so no hissing nor snarling occurred. The dog remained beside me in that position until it was time for Toby and I to go forward for the blessing and the photographs. I have no idea where the retriever went to as I did not see him again.
After the service we returned home and without any other upsets. A number of photographs were taken and - when they do arrive - I will post some of them here.
Yes - the entire afternoon was a very surreal experience - but a blessed one!
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
Bad Habits - Smoking
I imagine that most of us have one or more bad habits. While there is something about the habit that is rewarding - and which either delays or prevents us from correcting it - it is still a bad habit. One of my bad habits was smoking and that habit remained with me for 38 years.
As I entered my teen years I was struggling with who I was. Because of the illness I suffered while still a baby my true identity was very confusing. Where we lived was a 'blue collar' neighbourhood where most of the men worked in the nearby lumber mills and practically all of them smoked. My Dad smoked cigarettes and my maternal granddad a pipe. To me - trying to overcome the trauma of stays in hospitals and striving to be the 'Young Man' that I thought that Dad wanted me to be - what was 'masculine' was not clear. For three years we lived on the brow of Dawes Hill but, when that rental deal became untenable, we moved to another neighbourhood. While we were still within walking distance of the former, our new 'hood was quite different. Up on the Hill there lived many boys who were around my age but - down beside the highway - there were a number of girls and very few boys.
One spring a crisis arose in the public school system and we students were put on a 'swing shift' which meant that I was home in the afternoons but there were no other boys in my age grouping nearby. Above the house was the forested ridge and - along it - ravines where creeks tumbled down the slope. When I had no chores to attend to, I spent every afternoon up in those woods.
Mom and Dad accepted a distant relative through marriage as a boarder and he worked at Capilano Timber as Dad did. This was Hubert Brown Gibson who eventually became one of my brothers-in-law. Hubert smoked so I would steal cigarettes (or rolling tobacco and paper) from him. I took these items with me up into the woods and 'learned' to smoke.
By this time Alda was dating 'Happy' Crandell of the family where we had purchased our milk while we still lived up on the Hill. Happy was a rebellious sort of kid and - while younger than I - he was already smoking. One Sunday afternoon he had been down at the house visiting Alda and - when he left to walk home - I tagged along. Once out of sight of the house he took out his package of cigarettes and lit one. I steeled myself and nervously asked if I could have one as well? He was surprised but quickly got over his shock and gave me one.
We rode on the same bus to school each morning. Before arriving at the high school the bus always stopped at a nearby elementary where some of the older high school kids got off in order to walk the last few blocks. As I alighted there with my buddy there was a yell from some of the other boys on the bus, "Hey!!! Ernie is smoking!" (They all knew that Happy did so they put two and two together).
It was not long after that that Mom found something in one of the pockets of my pants which clued her in so she told Dad. He confronted me about what had been found and expressed disappointment that I had not come right out and asked that I be allowed to smoke. I guess that some kids would be bold enough to do that - but not me!
At the same time Alda and I would catch the country bus into New Westminster on Saturday morning in order to attend our music lessons. I don't remember if it was on the following Saturday or not but the bus was full except for the rear seat. I walked back there and found $.75 in change lying on the seat. There was enough change there to cover the cost of a package of cigarettes so I went to the newsstand in the tram/bus depot and bought a packet.
Back home again Dad was working under the house digging out what was supposed to be the basement. I went down there and offered Dad a cigarette from my package feeling that I was - at last - one step closer to being an adult.
I smoked fairly steadily from there until the autumn of 1989. A health issue was being broached already but it was still years away before it became a universally accepted principle. All the offices in which I worked - including church offices - had ashtrays on the desks and I imagine that the air often was blue from the smoke!
As an active churchman - and especially from those who held more fundamentalist beliefs - I did receive 'digs' about my habit.
In 1989 I moved to Toronto where I found employment in the office of Stamm Economic Research. The Office Manager was Judy Stamm - the wife of the principal - and she was allergic to tobacco smoke so no smoking was allowed in the office. At that time I walked to and from work each day - about 3/4 of a mile each way - and smoked as I trudged along. I began noticing that I was wheezing and coughing a lot. It was time for me to quit - but how would that be accomplished?
On one Saturday morning I walked down to my favorite coffee shop at the corner of Church and Wellesley. Out front was a young man who was handing out brochures and I took one.
The brochures were for the services of a company called 'Smokenders' which would be holding a clinic in a room at one of the downtown hotels. I signed up and payed $365.00 for the six week course. That was a lot of money! Therefore - and at that price - the program had better work!
At each session we were told to register the brand of cigarettes which we were smoking, look at the small print on the end of the packet and note the tar content (a percentage figure). When we needed another packet of cigarettes we were to purchase a packet with no more than half the tar content than what we had been smoking. This went on for six weeks and I began to think that I was drawing on air and that I would never succeed.
When 'quitting day' arrived - would I be able to stay off of nicotine?
That was 24 years ago and I have not smoked since!
Ric loves cigars and I thought that I would join him in that indulgence but he flatly forbade me from doing so. Cigarette smokers inhale while - for the most part - cigar smokers do not. Ric is worried that - as it was my habit to inhale - I would fall right back into that habit and become addicted again.
I am happily giving that advice the benefit of a doubt!
As I entered my teen years I was struggling with who I was. Because of the illness I suffered while still a baby my true identity was very confusing. Where we lived was a 'blue collar' neighbourhood where most of the men worked in the nearby lumber mills and practically all of them smoked. My Dad smoked cigarettes and my maternal granddad a pipe. To me - trying to overcome the trauma of stays in hospitals and striving to be the 'Young Man' that I thought that Dad wanted me to be - what was 'masculine' was not clear. For three years we lived on the brow of Dawes Hill but, when that rental deal became untenable, we moved to another neighbourhood. While we were still within walking distance of the former, our new 'hood was quite different. Up on the Hill there lived many boys who were around my age but - down beside the highway - there were a number of girls and very few boys.
One spring a crisis arose in the public school system and we students were put on a 'swing shift' which meant that I was home in the afternoons but there were no other boys in my age grouping nearby. Above the house was the forested ridge and - along it - ravines where creeks tumbled down the slope. When I had no chores to attend to, I spent every afternoon up in those woods.
Mom and Dad accepted a distant relative through marriage as a boarder and he worked at Capilano Timber as Dad did. This was Hubert Brown Gibson who eventually became one of my brothers-in-law. Hubert smoked so I would steal cigarettes (or rolling tobacco and paper) from him. I took these items with me up into the woods and 'learned' to smoke.
By this time Alda was dating 'Happy' Crandell of the family where we had purchased our milk while we still lived up on the Hill. Happy was a rebellious sort of kid and - while younger than I - he was already smoking. One Sunday afternoon he had been down at the house visiting Alda and - when he left to walk home - I tagged along. Once out of sight of the house he took out his package of cigarettes and lit one. I steeled myself and nervously asked if I could have one as well? He was surprised but quickly got over his shock and gave me one.
We rode on the same bus to school each morning. Before arriving at the high school the bus always stopped at a nearby elementary where some of the older high school kids got off in order to walk the last few blocks. As I alighted there with my buddy there was a yell from some of the other boys on the bus, "Hey!!! Ernie is smoking!" (They all knew that Happy did so they put two and two together).
It was not long after that that Mom found something in one of the pockets of my pants which clued her in so she told Dad. He confronted me about what had been found and expressed disappointment that I had not come right out and asked that I be allowed to smoke. I guess that some kids would be bold enough to do that - but not me!
At the same time Alda and I would catch the country bus into New Westminster on Saturday morning in order to attend our music lessons. I don't remember if it was on the following Saturday or not but the bus was full except for the rear seat. I walked back there and found $.75 in change lying on the seat. There was enough change there to cover the cost of a package of cigarettes so I went to the newsstand in the tram/bus depot and bought a packet.
Back home again Dad was working under the house digging out what was supposed to be the basement. I went down there and offered Dad a cigarette from my package feeling that I was - at last - one step closer to being an adult.
I smoked fairly steadily from there until the autumn of 1989. A health issue was being broached already but it was still years away before it became a universally accepted principle. All the offices in which I worked - including church offices - had ashtrays on the desks and I imagine that the air often was blue from the smoke!
As an active churchman - and especially from those who held more fundamentalist beliefs - I did receive 'digs' about my habit.
In 1989 I moved to Toronto where I found employment in the office of Stamm Economic Research. The Office Manager was Judy Stamm - the wife of the principal - and she was allergic to tobacco smoke so no smoking was allowed in the office. At that time I walked to and from work each day - about 3/4 of a mile each way - and smoked as I trudged along. I began noticing that I was wheezing and coughing a lot. It was time for me to quit - but how would that be accomplished?
On one Saturday morning I walked down to my favorite coffee shop at the corner of Church and Wellesley. Out front was a young man who was handing out brochures and I took one.
The brochures were for the services of a company called 'Smokenders' which would be holding a clinic in a room at one of the downtown hotels. I signed up and payed $365.00 for the six week course. That was a lot of money! Therefore - and at that price - the program had better work!
At each session we were told to register the brand of cigarettes which we were smoking, look at the small print on the end of the packet and note the tar content (a percentage figure). When we needed another packet of cigarettes we were to purchase a packet with no more than half the tar content than what we had been smoking. This went on for six weeks and I began to think that I was drawing on air and that I would never succeed.
When 'quitting day' arrived - would I be able to stay off of nicotine?
That was 24 years ago and I have not smoked since!
Ric loves cigars and I thought that I would join him in that indulgence but he flatly forbade me from doing so. Cigarette smokers inhale while - for the most part - cigar smokers do not. Ric is worried that - as it was my habit to inhale - I would fall right back into that habit and become addicted again.
I am happily giving that advice the benefit of a doubt!
Saturday, 14 September 2013
Hot Springs
When I was about 5 years old neighbors took our family with them on a drive east to Harrison Hot Springs. That location is about the last community situated on the north side of the lower Fraser Valley.
The hotel is in the left foreground and the building was erected over the springs. Whereas the majority of the 'Railway Hotels' are castle-like structures, this one looks like an apartment building.
Again - and with many thanks to Michael in Vancouver - here is a photo of the public beach at Harrison Lake. If my memory is correct, the hot springs are to the left of this photo.
I have been to Harrison Hot Springs half a dozen times with the last visit being with Linda Humchitt and her daughter. I met Linda during the summer that I worked at the Namu Salmon Cannery in 1968. She is a First Nation person of the Bella Bella people who visited with Mom on a Sunday for lunch after which we went for a drive to Harrison.
I remember being in the hot springs pool during the first visit as a child and again when I was with Linda and her daughter.
Three photos of Harrison Lake and its glorious setting in the Coast Mountains.
What are 'Hot Springs'? Mostly they are found near volcanic mountain ranges and are 'escape valves' for the steam and hot water created by the volcanic activity beneath the surface. In the hotel at Harrison there is an enclosed pool into which the hot water is pumped ('hot' is somewhat misleading - the water is warm and has a sulphuric smell but it is not really hot - however, bathers are cautioned not to remain in the pool for too long). On the way to the hotel entry there is a pipe beside the paved walkway where water falls into a pool. One can feel the water - quite warm, and - using a cup placed nearby - sip some of the water to taste it. No - it is not the cold and crystal clear water that one finds in the usual springs.
In the days when the great transcontinental railways were constructed resorts found along the route were developed. Harrison is one of them.
Michael W. of Vancouver visited Harrison and managed to shoot this incredible photo of an osprey (also known as a 'fish hawk') flying away with a live salmon. The Pacific salmon swim up the rivers and streams in spawning season to lay eggs in the stream in which they were hatched four years before. That accomplished the salmon will then die.
My second visit to a hot springs was over Hallowe'en weekend in 1970. The Men's Fellowship of the United Church of Canada hosted a gathering at the Banff Springs Hotel in Banff, Alberta and we theologs were invited to come along.
The conference was over three or four days and one aspect of it has remained in my memory.
This was during the Vietnam War and many young American men (who did not wish to be conscripted to fight in a conflict far from home and in the jungles of southeast Asia) fled to Canada - often with family consent. People from the United Church of Canada were in the forefront of those welcoming the 'draft dodgers' and a couple of these young men had been invited to the conference.
The idea of war and guns has always been anathema for me so I - and most of my younger compatriots - gave our sympathy and support to these young men. Not so some of the delegates from the more conservative Prairie Provinces - many of whom were veterans of World War II - so the debate did become heated.
On the Saturday evening a pool party was organized. The pool was one where the water was from the underground hot springs and what an experience to be cavorting in that warm water in the outdoor pool while snow flakes from an early October snow storm were falling!
In the mid 1980s much of my ministery was to the men and women who were stricken by the virus which led to HIV/AIDS. Some of those people I knew already while others were complete strangers. One of the members of the congregation which I served notified me of a young man in St Paul's Hospital who was ill and, as he was from out of town, he would appreciate a visit from me.
He was a man in his 30s or early 40s and lived in an A-frame cabin outside of the small interior town of Kaslo. I visited with him fairly frequently over a few weeks and then he was discharged. My roommate, Cam, and I were scheduled to attend the Western Canadian District Conference of the Metropolitan Community Churches in Winnipeg, Manitoba. We decided to drive there and via southeastern B.C. The route would bring us close to Kaslo so I planned that we stop there. A few miles southeast of there is Slocan Lake along the shore of which are a few hot springs. One of them is named Ainsworth and our new friend led us there not once but twice!
This was neat as - unlike at Harrison and Banff - the springs were largely undeveloped. There was an admission fee and a place to change into bathing suits before stepping into the pool and then walking to the actual spring. This was in a grotto in the mountain and that was quite a spooky experience!
The tunnel was not straight but a crooked horseshoe to where it exited into a second pool. Because of the crookedness of the route it meant that part of the walk in the warm water was in complete darkness. Because it was such an unusual experience we went back on the following day for another visit.
My three visits to hot spring spas!
I have been to Harrison Hot Springs half a dozen times with the last visit being with Linda Humchitt and her daughter. I met Linda during the summer that I worked at the Namu Salmon Cannery in 1968. She is a First Nation person of the Bella Bella people who visited with Mom on a Sunday for lunch after which we went for a drive to Harrison.
I remember being in the hot springs pool during the first visit as a child and again when I was with Linda and her daughter.
What are 'Hot Springs'? Mostly they are found near volcanic mountain ranges and are 'escape valves' for the steam and hot water created by the volcanic activity beneath the surface. In the hotel at Harrison there is an enclosed pool into which the hot water is pumped ('hot' is somewhat misleading - the water is warm and has a sulphuric smell but it is not really hot - however, bathers are cautioned not to remain in the pool for too long). On the way to the hotel entry there is a pipe beside the paved walkway where water falls into a pool. One can feel the water - quite warm, and - using a cup placed nearby - sip some of the water to taste it. No - it is not the cold and crystal clear water that one finds in the usual springs.
In the days when the great transcontinental railways were constructed resorts found along the route were developed. Harrison is one of them.
My second visit to a hot springs was over Hallowe'en weekend in 1970. The Men's Fellowship of the United Church of Canada hosted a gathering at the Banff Springs Hotel in Banff, Alberta and we theologs were invited to come along.
The conference was over three or four days and one aspect of it has remained in my memory.
This was during the Vietnam War and many young American men (who did not wish to be conscripted to fight in a conflict far from home and in the jungles of southeast Asia) fled to Canada - often with family consent. People from the United Church of Canada were in the forefront of those welcoming the 'draft dodgers' and a couple of these young men had been invited to the conference.
The idea of war and guns has always been anathema for me so I - and most of my younger compatriots - gave our sympathy and support to these young men. Not so some of the delegates from the more conservative Prairie Provinces - many of whom were veterans of World War II - so the debate did become heated.
On the Saturday evening a pool party was organized. The pool was one where the water was from the underground hot springs and what an experience to be cavorting in that warm water in the outdoor pool while snow flakes from an early October snow storm were falling!
In the mid 1980s much of my ministery was to the men and women who were stricken by the virus which led to HIV/AIDS. Some of those people I knew already while others were complete strangers. One of the members of the congregation which I served notified me of a young man in St Paul's Hospital who was ill and, as he was from out of town, he would appreciate a visit from me.
He was a man in his 30s or early 40s and lived in an A-frame cabin outside of the small interior town of Kaslo. I visited with him fairly frequently over a few weeks and then he was discharged. My roommate, Cam, and I were scheduled to attend the Western Canadian District Conference of the Metropolitan Community Churches in Winnipeg, Manitoba. We decided to drive there and via southeastern B.C. The route would bring us close to Kaslo so I planned that we stop there. A few miles southeast of there is Slocan Lake along the shore of which are a few hot springs. One of them is named Ainsworth and our new friend led us there not once but twice!
This was neat as - unlike at Harrison and Banff - the springs were largely undeveloped. There was an admission fee and a place to change into bathing suits before stepping into the pool and then walking to the actual spring. This was in a grotto in the mountain and that was quite a spooky experience!
The tunnel was not straight but a crooked horseshoe to where it exited into a second pool. Because of the crookedness of the route it meant that part of the walk in the warm water was in complete darkness. Because it was such an unusual experience we went back on the following day for another visit.
My three visits to hot spring spas!
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