When "We" Were Very Young

 I wish I could remember more, but I can't. I blame it on trauma of varying degrees rather than my young age. At the time, I was nine years old. This becomes more relevant as the story goes on.

A couple of months into my fifth grade year, our teacher Mrs. Garrison disappeared.  Suddenly, she just wasn't there any longer. A few students were recruited and given the task of clearing out and boxing up her plants, books, and personal paraphernalia. We were told, she was very ill and wouldn't be returning that year. She didn't.

She died.  

Most of us were a bit young to comprehend the situation and the concept of death. Some of us were apprehensive and of course, as young children usually are, we were quite self absorbed. Who would be educating us now?

Out of nowhere, or somewhere, arrived an elegantly dressed man with an accent which I identified immediately. After all, my parents and many of their friends had the same speech patterns. Mr. Boehlke was our new teacher for the remainder of the year. Although I felt some kinship with him, he seemed disinterested when I announced that I too was born in Deutschland, and could point out where on a map if he wanted to see. 

He didn't.

My 5th grade class

When it came time for open house and for parents to meet the replacement, things went a bit differently. Mom and dad quickly discovered that Mr. Boehlke taught Saturday morning German school to second generation immigrants as well as some high school students who needed extra help with a credit. For whatever reason, my parents decided that it would be a good idea for me to join his Saturday class.

I suppose I was excited at first thinking I would somehow be more special by participating in another of Mr. Boehlke's classes. It all unraveled fairly quickly.

On the initial Saturday, dad took me to a school some distance away from our flat in the city. I was then to take a streetcar home with whatever change my parents had allotted me. As I walked into the classroom, I panicked. Everyone there was tall and old, teenager old. I was intimidated and wanted to go home. 

I survived class, by attempting to lay low in the back of the room. That was easy. I was young and short. I understood very little of the "high German", and soon came to realize I really didn't want to be there. 

Athletics was an important part of this curriculum and after what seemed like an endless two hour language class, we were expected to participate in an hour of gymnastics. Husband and wife, former German olympians would teach us we were told. This did little to assuage this 9 year old's terror at seeing equipment which was much taller than most adults. 

The final challenge was to get myself back home. I was somewhere west of where we lived and it was a simple streetcar ride to the Honest Ed's landmark where I needed to exit the vehicle, or so I thought. After sitting in the streetcar for what seemed like an inordinate length of time, I realized something was wrong. Nothing looked familiar. Dad had said, and I remembered his words exactly, "Get on the streetcar. Get off at Honest Ed's. Walk home."

I suppose nobody told me where to get on the streetcar and how to go in the correct direction. Either that, or I didn't listen. I remember being calm and yet terrified. I had no extra cash, I was alone in the city, in unfamiliar territory. Fortunately, I had grabbed a transfer as I entered the vehicle. It was offered to me and it was free. I left, crossed the street, got on another car, and relieved that the driver accepted the transfer, went in the opposite direction. As I passed the school where I had originated, things began to look familiar...relief. 

Someone recently asked on facebook, "What's something scary you did as a kid that isn't done nowadays." My answer? Riding the TTC all over the city.  I used to take transit everywhere, to Maple Leaf Gardens for events, to the CBC on Jarvis St. to meet dad at work, and more. 

Having done those things as a youngster, and having survived, taught me a few things. I believe I became more independent, I learned to adapt to change, and I became a pretty good problem solver. 

Despite cell phones and all manner of technology nowadays, who would feel safe letting a nine year old venture out in a city of millions? It's sad really. It was an education in and of itself...an important part of growing up most children are not, could not, and should not be afforded any longer. 

The world is a scary place. Or, perhaps it was a scary place back then as well, and because there was no high speed communication, internet, or instantaneous t.v. news reporting, we just didn't know any better.

 

Oreos - A Covid Cookie Confession

Who knew that I'd ever write a blog about Oreos? Yes, the cookies.

Google tells me Oreos have been around since March 6, 1912.  I haven't been around quite that long, but I do remember them as a kid. In fact, I feel the need to finally confess that as a child, I may have single handedly contributed to the rodent population of Little Italy in Toronto. Let me explain.

My parents and I lived in a second story flat on Clinton Street when I was about seven or eight years old. By flat, I mean a small bedroom for three, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom shared with two other families. Wow!

We were not very well off  since my parents had just moved to the city from a gold mining town wayyyy north of Superior. At first, they  took whatever jobs they could get. This improved somewhat when mom got a position at the Imperial Bank of Canada, and dad began as an audio technician at CBC.

From time to time they would purchase cookies...not really essential since mom often made magnificent European tortes. Cookies were somewhat different though. Mom only made the special varieties of German ones, pfeffernuss, almond crescents, linzer, and oblaten, at Christmas, hence the purchases.

I remember on one occasion we had a package of Oreos. I'm not sure why.  Perhaps they were on sale at Mr. Morris' Grocery store on the corner. There was nothing appealing looking about them. After all, they weren't Peak Freans shortbread, chocolate chip, or graham wafers (the other occasional purchases).  In fact, Oreos had a disgusting dark brown exterior, slightly bitter, that stuck tellingly between your teeth. The only redeeming feature was the lining...white "stuff" of some creamy consistency, probably pure sugar.

One day, when I was home alone after school, I searched for a snack. There wasn't much around except canned goods, the blender my parents had purchased to make skim milk from powder, and a packet of Oreos. After considering the depth of trouble I'd be in, I went for it, grabbed a handful and tried to eat one. My contorted mouth after tasting the cookie helped me decide on a new plan. I had to think fast. Where would I hide the evidence? I headed for the kitchen window which faced the back yard, opened it somewhat, and began an epic activity which has haunted me for some sixty years.

As I pulled apart each cookie, I savoured the edible sandwiched centres, lick by lick, considered the outer wafers, then tossed them from the second story, watching them spiral to the ground below.

Surprisingly, nothing ever became of my misdeed...not from my parents, and not from our landlords. Either the cookie shells disappeared by means of wildlife, or  they were so well disguised in the dirt that they became compost. To me they had certainly tasted like something akin to soil.

Why did I think to write this now? Well, I haven't checked Snopes, to see whether this is a real thing or not. I have decided that I don't want to know. Someone posted it on Facebook  thus bringing back memories of the great cookie caper.

Weather Aftermath Monday

I have deliberately refrained from commenting on Mayor Rob Ford of Toronto. The police, the media, comedians, and others have done enough to make him world news. Besides, there's nothing I can add and I've been busy doing other things. Last night and today, I heard Mayor Ford speak at a news conference about the conditions in the city. I must say, I was impressed. He was articulate and organized. He was well dressed, composed and controlled. He spoke clearly and diverted questions about hydro, transit and the like to the appropriate knowledgeable people when necessary.

My friends and family have had lengthy power outages. This weather has been severe enough that some have had to leave their homes to stay warm. Others, with fireplaces are braving the cold. It certainly makes me rethink my complaints about our brief monthly power disruptions and our three hour outage on Saturday night. It's miminal in comparison to what many have endured.  My son sent me photos of massive trees on roads in Toronto. In Cobourg, we have icy, sparkling, trees lining the streets. On t.v. they have been showing limbs cracking and falling onto cars and houses in the city. We've had ice encased cars and doors. It's all relative.

The temperature is not rising anytime soon. Not much has changed. Hopefully, the people who are currently forced from their homes will be back in time for Christmas. That's my wish. Here are more photos. I actually ventured past the front door today, not far past, but past.

Run Fauja, Run

I enjoyed the movie "Forrest Gump", although I never did quite understand why he did all the running. "I just felt like running", he responded when asked. He ran for three years. One day, he stopped. By then, his hair and beard had grown down to his chest.

Running is solitary. Even when it takes place in a large group, it's an individual activity. For some, this sport seems to be very liberating. For others, covering a prescribed distance in a certain amount of time is considered a major personal achievement. Then there are those who simply enjoy the "runner's high" attained from the rush of endorphins in the body.

There was a brief time when I considered running in a marathon...not a full one, a partial one. It seemed like a worthy goal, something else to add to the list of things I'd done in my lifetime. For a variety of reasons, I lost interest, although I did manage a 5k run. It was just five kilometers, but nonetheless an accomplishment. I was 60 years old at the time and it was January...brrr. It satisfied me. I was done.

                                         

 I know there are professionals who run in every marathon possible. Some participate in quarter and half marathons for added training or competitive opportunities, although to many, those races are more like a fun run or a walk in the park. How frustrating it must be for the newer competitors who are huffing and puffing to complete a run, as experienced racers zoom past, pushing baby strollers as an added challenge. On the other hand, perhaps it provides them with inspiration...a goal to aspire toward. 

                         

According to Wikipedia, there are over 500 marathons that take place in the world each year. The official marathon distance is just over 26 miles or 42 kilometers. Runners travel from far away places to participate in the more prestigious and challenging of these events. The most well recognized North American marathons take place in Boston, New York and Chicago. In fact, shortly after crossing the finish line of the most recent Chicago marathon, one of the runners started having contractions. She gave birth a short time later. Amazing!

                                                                                                         

  

Not to be outdone by this very newsworthy event in Chicago, Toronto's recent Waterfront Marathon captured media as well as Guiness Record Book attention. This past weekend, over 20 thousand people from many parts of the world took part in the Toronto marathon. There were olympians and world record holders. There were ordinary citizens, young and old. Among them, was another bearded runner, Fauja Singh. What made him unique was the fact that he was 100 years old, the oldest person ever to complete a marathon run. It is said that he began training and running marathons when he was 80. For some, it's clearly never too late. He completed the Waterfront Marathon in just over 8 hours. Dare I say that there are many half his age who couldn't even stay awake that long?


Appropriately, his participant number was 100.



So this blog is dedicated to Fauja, an inspiration. May he keep on running well into his next century.

***Thanks to R. Piat for the photo of Mr. Singh

Obsessed with Jon and Stalking Donny

"Stalking" by definition means pursuing, following or tracking persistently. "Obsessing" on the other hand is defined as thinking about persistently. The word "persistent" seems to be the common thread. I've been told that I'm both obsessed and a stalker. I'm not so sure. If occasionally seeking out a person or two that one admires and whose talents one enjoys is interpreted as "obsessing" or "stalking" I guess it's true. I like to think of it more as seizing an opportunity. I have been fortunate enough to seize a few.

My "victims" as it were are none other than Jon Bon Jovi and Donny Osmond. They don't have that much in common except that they are both talented musicians, fine specimens of the male species and as far as I can see, nice people who have done good works with their fame and wealth.

Jon Bon Jovi in Toronto, August 2010



Toronto too...woohoo! Great seats eh?

 I didn't always know who Jon Bon Jovi was. In fact, I probably paid no attention or didn't care. He had been one of the long haired, creepy people of rock when I was younger. Who knew he'd age so nicely?

I really first noticed him on a 2002 t.v. show which I viewed from time to time, "Ally McBeal". I wondered how I had missed admiring such an obvious talent. I remember that when he sat strumming his guitar and singing, I was hooked...a new fan! I sought out info on Jon and his group and over the next eight years, watched every t.v. special and Oprah episode which featured the group. I was impressed with the housing he provided after the flooding in New Orleans. Who wouldn't want to live on Jon Bon Jovi Blvd.? How rare is it too for a rocker to have been married to the same person for 18 years? His songs have inspirational lyrics and my cell ringtone...well, for several reasons is set to "Livin' On A Prayer". I've seen him live on three occasions and although he will be back on tour in February, I will not be attending this show. Two concerts in one year would be too much for even this diehard fan.  Perhaps I'm not all that obsessed after all.

While tracking Donny, Jon was a bonus find
 at Mme Tussaud's Wax Museum in Vegas.

My history with Donny Osmond is a little longer. When I was about 11 years old, we had our first real t.v. Dad built it using whatever tubes, transistors, solder and other items he owned or found in the trash where he once worked. He also created a case, out of plywood stained brown with dark trim. It was massive...a full 17" screen and had the most clear black and white picture! We were so lucky. The family would gather to watch whatever were the essential entertainment shows of the time...Ed Sullivan, Country Hoedown, Andy Williams and the like. This is where I first saw a cute little Donny Osmond as part of the Osmond Brothers, a kid, a little kid. I paid no attention.

Donny signing autographs in Toronto

 As an adult, I saw the show "Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". Donny, as Joseph was quite a fetching sight. He too had aged well. I discovered that the performances needed school choirs and immediately began my search for singers. I assembled a choir which included my own two talented children. We auditioned, made it to the finals but sadly were not selected as one of the four schools to participate in the production. A consolation prize of free tickets for family and friends were welcomed as once again I got to see and hear Donny. Since he was now living locally, what else could I do but show up when Donny made a public appearance at a local department store? I dragged a friend. We lined up. I saw Donny. She began to call me a stalker.

Joseph's Coat



It's me...with him...way back when !



Vegas 2010

It is nearing the anniversary of one of my last opportunities. So eager was I to see the Donny and Marie show, that I dragged yet another friend to Vegas in February 2010. We were sitting in excellent seats, so close to the stage that we could clearly see the droplets of perspiration on Donny's forehead. What an amazing show. As he wandered down and shook hands along the VIP ramp, an area which seated people who purchased more costly tickets, I leapt up from my chair, waved frantically, clammered over a fairly large set of female twins and seized the opportunity. It was an impulse. I reached for his hand. He grabbed mine and shook it. His hand was clammy and sweaty. Yes, I washed my hands after. My friend hid under her chair and pretended she didn't know me.

Donny has generated millions for charitable organizations particularly those involving children. On his 53rd birthday, he and Marie performed to sold out audiences in a Broadway Christmas event. I wasn't there. Perhaps I'm not a stalker after all. 



I'll Really Miss Him

He was a man of extraordinary intelligence, ability, strength and determination. He lived a worthwhile and honourable life. He was kind and he was generous. His sense of humour was wry. He had a quiet nature. When he spoke, people listened. He accomplished much, saw much and appreciated much. He loved his family and his God.

My dad died today.

As with all people living in Germany in the 30's, childhood brought some difficult conditions. He was forced to give up his dream of teaching when he was a young adult. His residential school was turned into a barracks...WWII had begun. Students were immediately put out of the building and those fortunate enough to have names near the beginning of the alphabet received what coats there were to withstand their trek home in the harsh weather. He was out of luck.

He apprenticed at a radio shop in his hometown of Weinheim where he learned his trade. His official title was "radio technologist". These abilities coupled with his willingness to take risks would eventually elevate him into positions of respect in many companies where he would be sought after for his skills.

At the young age of 20, he said a temporary goodbye to his home, his young wife and child, his family. He went west...all the way across the ocean and across the great country of Canada where he knew nothing of the culture or language. He was sent to B.C. and became a lumberjack all the while carrying with him his dream of working in the technological field. Having ventured a bit too far west courtesy of Immigration Canada, he worked his way back to Ontario. Friends set him up in a mining town...McKenzie Island.

After 6 months, his wife and small child joined him. Besides working in a gold mine, he became the guitarist for the community's Saturday night dance band and repaired radios for the islanders. His workshop was a small shed beside the lake...Red Lake. During these years, he made friends. Some friendships lasted throughout his lifetime. Life was better, language skills were improving, but the intense and stressful working conditions, frequent accidents in the mine and desire to pursue his career caused him to pack up and move his family south.

He arrived in Toronto where his skills helped him gain an entry level position at the Canadian Broadcasting Corp. He worked, educated himself further and developed vast knowledge of the technical aspect of the television industry. He eventually moved his family to a new subdivision called Bay Ridges. It was during this time, that he became one of the founding members of Peace Lutheran Church. He also became a respected employee who often travelled for work. After many years, further opportunities presented themselves. He worked for a time at TVO and evenually became engineering manager at Sony Canada. This resulted in numerous trips to Japan. He continued to travel, work and teach training courses at various institutions including Ryerson. He was a member of church council and managed the church finances for many years.

He enjoyed his hobbies proudly displaying his train collections and his model railroad set. Home was full of music, electronics, books, Scientific American magazines and star charts next to his telescope. There was always plenty of good food and drink and lots of visiting friends. He saw much of the world. He loved the beauty of nature and camping gave him great joy. He admired people who could speak with anyone on any subject and yet, he himself was one of those people.

My dad died today...and he was smiling.

My Bucket List

The other day, I looked up the Queen Elizabeth's very rigorous itinerary. It was then that I decided to go and see her when she's in Toronto next week. No real reason to do so except that I can. After all she's 84. I have not made the effort during any of her previous 22 visits to Canada. Life got in the way. Now, there aren't likely to be that many more opportunities. My husband (the American), refrained from making an anti monarchist statement, but asked whether this was on my bucket list. "Hmmm", I said. "No, but I could add it."

This got me thinking about "Bucket Lists". What is the appropriate protocol for creating this? Are you allowed to keep adding things to your bucket list? What if you run out of stuff, have done it all and aren't dead? Is that a problem? So here is the beginning of my list. It is by no means complete and not in order of preference. Some items are fun, some a little more serious.

I haven't included on my list such activities as rock climbing, ocean kayaking, hot air ballooning, white water rafting, helicopter flight, roller blading/ ice skating on a ship, scuba diving, sharpshooting, archery, driving on the Mosport race track, raising poultry or picking dew worms. I've done that. It also doesn't contain bungee jumping or eating maggots. I won't do that.

Here's what I have so far, in no particular order.

Write my own eulogy (I want it to be good)
Walk around wearing a boa (over my clothes) but not in Oshawa because it's normal there
Go out with a man who is wearing a tuxedo (hmmm....any offers?)
Line up and get one of the free Honest Ed holiday turkey giveaways (too late boohoo)
Go from Florida to the Bahamas in a hovercraft
Go look at the Queen or go see Queen (whichever opportunity arises)
See the Mona Lisa (the one in the Louvre, not my friend Mona Lisa in Courtice) and go to other assorted European galleries   (been to Paris and saw the Louvre...just as good)
See something Gaudi
Go to the Quebec Winter Carnival and see Bonhomme
Go to the Rose Bowl Parade or get someone to give me a bowl of roses during a parade
Take a river cruise (preferrably on one that's not overflowing or dried up)
Write something that gets published (blogs and church newsletters don't count)  A year and a half of newspaper columns did it.
Ride on the Trans Siberian Railway
Walk on every street in Cobourg ( I'm getting there)
See the final episode of "As The World Turns" (this may come sooner than anticipated...see previous blog)
See a live World Series game (preferrably with Blue Jays in it)
See at least 5 things on the list of "World's Largest" (I think I've seen the world's largest goose so far if it's in Wawa)
Organize a photo album for each of my kids (so they remember the great things I did for them)
Paint some pictures (I've done walls, now on to smaller things)
Take a university course
Learn cake decorating (I have a burning desire to find out what fondant is)
Be a mystery shopper
Take a flower arranging course
See my kids successful, married etc. (perhaps I should settle for finished school and employed)
Go to the WLU 50th alumni reunion in 2020
Attend the hot air balloon festival in New Mexico
Go to the Kentucky Derby, wear a hat and drink a mint julep
Enter a contest - writing or photo/Win a contest (lotteries count)
Go to "The Gun Store" in Las Vegas and fire an unusual weapon
Live in a houseboat
Go to misc. festivals -Toronto film, authors
Attend a Canadian (or other) figure skating competition
Ride a segway
Go see a groundhog on Feb. 2....Wiarton or Pux..er...you know
See some live local and non local t.v. shows - Battle of the Blades, Cityline too late for Oprah but maybe Letterman or Ellen
Visit these places: Galapagos, Dubai, Antarctica (not on foot, maybe a cruise), NZ/Australia, Africa (pyramids and wildlife), Mediterranean, Newfoundland (Fogo, Twillingate, Moreton's Harbour) done, summer 2015 , Quebec Winter Carnival (J'aime Bonhomme), Iceland, South Seas, Thailand, Japan.

I believe that the point of a bucket list is to write down your intentions in order to organize ideas, plan and visualize what you are going to do. It may be similar to the "mental rehearsal" done by athletes, the agendas kept by students, business people and others, and the "to do" lists of many homemakers. The act of creating this, helps to clarify desires in one's mind. On the other hand, it might only be a list of dreams. I think I might have enough dreams on my very substantial list to keep me busy for a few years. I am excited to whittle away at it. I certainly hope to get through a lot of items before I take "the great dirt nap" but just in case, perhaps I'd better get started on the first component of the list in the not too distant future.

Flushed With Excitement

When did using a public restroom get so complicated? Once upon a time, there were toilets with handles that flushed. There were sinks with knobs that turned and there were a couple choices to dry your hands...a push button hand dryer and cloth or paper towels. Pull and voila, the next one popped out. These weren't always perfect, but they usually worked.

I'm not certain when I first noticed a change. It was probably one day when I attempted to flush a public toilet and couldn't find a handle or knob, but instead discovered a glowing red electric eye, peering at my backside from the shiny chrome. Flattered and yet slightly annoyed that aforementioned back side was apparently not large enough to activate the electric eye, I searched tirelessly until I finally located a tiny button which did the job. Following this, I went to wash my hands in the same facility, only to discover that there were no sink knobs. I waved my fingers frantically around the basin area imagining some elf like creature that would turn the water on as soon as giant hands came into view. Unsuccessful, I peered under the faucet as if the singular act of staring would cause it to release the clear liquid staple of all life. No luck. I observed enviously as one after, women simply placed their hands under the tap and out poured the water. Finally, one person announced that she didn't think that mine was working. Phew, absolved, I moved over to one of the previously used sinks and scrubbed off the germs. When I went to dry my hands, I realized I should have paid closer attention. Again, I waved my digits around what appeared to be an electric eye on a paper towel holder. I tried to turn the knob at the side. I pushed the lever at the bottom. In frustration, I pried open the lid and pulled a fragment of paper towel out of the top.

A short time later, I discovered another new fangled gadget at a road side rest stop in Ohio. It was an all inclusive hand soaper, washer and dryer. All you needed to do was put your hands in and short of rubbing them for you, the machine did the rest. Hands in, soap squirts, function delay while you scrub, rinse water, dry. Clearly, this was the way of the future...or was it? I noted that two of the three cavernous sinks had "out of order" signs posted on them.

My most recent surprise came when I was at the train station. The delapidated bathroom had normal facilities and sinks. The hand dryer however was reminiscent of a muff that ladies wore to keep hands warm back in the 1800's. I stared at it. I tried it. How many potential options could there be? Since there were no buttons, hands had to go in the top or hands into the sides. Although I don't remember the secret now anymore, I did figure it out. Once I did, I was blown half way to the CN tower by the force and noise of this new type dryer.

At a minimal cost to taxpayers of $400,000 Toronto now has a pay toilet. While downtown, individuals are able to locate this one seater facility, and enjoy its comforts for an entire 20 minutes. The price? A bargain at 25 cents. Not only that, it cleans itself! According to my calculations, it should make a profit in about 600 years. I wonder how many shocked foreign tourists there will be, since by all accounts, the door flies open after a designated amount of time. There is a countdown and there are warnings....all in English.

My all time personal favourite new age lavatory can be found in a certain Canadian travel clothing store. It is computer controlled and state of the art. Without elaborating too much, it has heated seats and a complex system with temperature controlled water and wash/dry/cleaning capabilities (and I'm not talking about washing your hands here). Although I have not had the nerve as yet to try all the functions for fear that given my history, something will go terribly amiss, I just might go for it one of these days. Now that's toilet technology to which I can relate.