ANNUAL FOOLISHNESS 2011 (with a bit of 2010)

Dad and Ron at the reconstruction site of
the Bluenose - the Nova Scotia icon

Our first Christmas card arrived 2 weeks ago, inspiring panic; the first snowfall brought calm . I felt that cozy slowing-down feeling and stayed in my fleecy robe most of the day. That must be one of the great joys of retirement. We had barely dried out from the violent rain storm on Remembrance Day - the only rotten day for weeks. Dad was chosen to lay the federal government’s wreath in the absence of politicos. He is one of the few WW2 veterans still able to make his way to the Cenotaph, although he was taken in a van this year, and escaped the rain after he had done his duty. Ron and I went to the Legion on foot , arrived drenched and eagerly warmed up with hot rum. Dad turned 90 on July 27. We didn’t have the energy or space to do a proper party for him but gathered a few kinfolk for night of oysters and lobsters in Halifax. We drag him with us to an assortment of events and visitations, which I suspect he would not choose of his own volition, but he seems to take it all in good spirits, hardly even says "no" to an invite, and everywhere we take him he is popular. He gets up early every morning and does his exercises.

THE MOVE

Amanda Tickle relaxing at
the Hotel Port aux Basques

When last I did not write Annual Foolishness, we were about to embark upon the journey to our new home in Dartmouth - a plan drafted in folly, and executed in chaos. We were to take the ferry in mid-December, with the three easy cats, leave them at Dad’s house and go back for the house closing and the movers on December 22, retrieve the two difficult cats – the ones who require daily pilling - and be back in Dartmouth for Christmas Eve. The winds came. The ferry stayed. We spent two nights with the cats at the Hotel Port aux Basques. The delays endured; I took a taxi back up to the Codroy Valley to catch the bus which would not venture through the legendary "Wreck House" pass. Ron stayed in the motel with the three cats and a bottle of whiskey. He said, "It is better to be stuck in a motel room for four nights with three cats and a bottle of whiskey than with no cats." The cats made themselves at home, but finally Ron gave up and came home, not wanting to venture onto the ferry with the cats to wait for heaven knows how long to depart, and then not be able to get back to Newfoundland for the movers. We were homeless in Corner Brook on December 23 with five cats. It could have been worse. Our friend, Aileen, gave the cats shelter in her art studio, while we stayed in her house. We finally left on Boxing Day, and arrived on December 27. This is more amusing in hindsight. If you have never given a long-haired cat with broken tail a bath in a hotel bathtub after he has pooped in his cage, you can skip that adventure.

We spent the next week sorting and preparing for the arrival of Walter and Jack of Expert Rubbish Removal before the moving van came from Newfoundland. They were wonderful. They love their work. They cheer you on to get rid of stuff and tell you what can be recycled and what can’t, and do the sorting. They found enough rose fertilizer to make a fair-sized Bombe Artisinale (the lovely French euphemism for IED) They love the look of relief people display as the flotsam and jetsam go away. They are my HEROES.

Even now we are retrieving things from the storage locker. Stuff, we know, is the curse of our age. Changing technology seems to account for volumes. We have dispensed with most of our 20th century audiovisual gadgets and have moved, kicking and screaming – well some of us – into the world of widescreen TV, and digital downloading. Dad’s old TV died two weeks before we moved out of the house for renovations; the washer followed suit three days later. After having spent last year converting audiocassettes of stories and storytelling to digital, I am now learning to do the same thing with VHS tapes. None of this is making me a better person. Homer managed very well without an MP3 player. We sent thousands of slides to Scancafé, a great service I found on the internet, and were able to reduce our household avoirdupois significantly. We bought e-readers after Christmas in an effort to stop the inflow of books - a little. It is a different from reading a book, but I find it easier to read in bed. I celebrated its arrival by embarking on an orgy of classics: Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Ivanhoe, Treasure Island and Moby Dick, wonderful books which I had somehow avoided for 64 years. The Origin of the Species is more readable than I thought it would be, and I am farther into The Decline and fall of the Roman Empire that I've ever been before. It seems somehow relevant now.

THE RENOVATION

The most self-absorbing activity I can think of, short of opiate addiction and childbirth, neither of which I have experienced personally, is major renovation. I suspect there is little in the world that is more tiresome than to listen to people talk about their renovations. Can I be brief? Can anyone? Ours went as smoothly as such things can, but we were immersed in it from early June until a few weeks ago. Our contractors were gentleman and scholars, and delightful to have around. When I get up in the morning now, I miss them. Still, we are animals, and our fight or flight mechanism goes into action when someone takes a sledgehammer to our chimney. Stress happens.

We three, plus my cousin Jane, relocated short term to a rented town house in Bedford (15 kms from our house) for 2 months. We had to hide the 5 cats, at short notice, whenever the landlord wanted to show the place to potential tenants. I drove them around Bedford in the car several times. Cats do not like sightseeing; they responded with various alimentary malfunctions - timing them to coincide with my milkshakes at the Chicken Burger - a local diner straight from the 50's. Finally, we placed them in expensive captivity at the boarding kennel to reduce our stress - and maybe theirs. This certainly did not create any equity in our house, but then we’re not planning to flip it soon. We joined the rush-hour traffic on the Bedford Highway to come to the house every day for our sourcing orders. Yup! That’s what they call it. When you shop for widgets and whatnots for a construction project, it is called "sourcing". We became intimate with the horrible Dartmouth Crossing box stores and Burnside Industrial Park. As the summer wore on, we discovered we were suffering from "decision fatigue". It reached its pinnacle the day Ron called my cell and said, "The tile guy wants to know what color grout we want on the kitchen floor?" "What color grout?!!" I didn’t think grout came in more than a two colors, but, my friends, grout comes in 100 colors including bright yellow and red. What kind of the world do we live in, where some people must choose from amongst 100 colors of tile grout, and other people do not even have a floor? We received great wisdom from a young cousin, who described such dilemmas as "first world problems." We instantly dubbed all problems relating to "decision fatigue" as "first world problems". Sure keeps everything in perspective. Remember this when next you face the shampoo aisle at the drugstore.

We have, more or less, built a new house inside Dad’s 30-year old, well-insulated, solid, but tired, moldy, not up-to-code, and smaller house. I also wanted to try to make it a more cheerful house, for it has seen its share of sorrow. I recently talked to a relative who had undergone renovations for a similar reason, but, sadly his wife did not live to enjoy them. Our goal was to create a livable, small space for three seniors. We wanted it to be dry, safe, easy to clean, aesthetic, and in a neighbourhood we already liked very much. We tried, where possible, to obtain things made locally, easier said than done. The vanity we ordered from a local bath shop purported to be US manufactured, but its countertop and sink actually came separately from China - four months after we ordered it. Dad was a good sport about having us rip his house apart, but teased us endlessly about having to brush his teeth in the kitchen sink for several months. We learned, but hope we never have to apply this lesson again. Get it built locally. For six-months, we were a two-person economy stimulus package. The next change in our lives, if not to the next world, will be to the old folks home. But enough about renovations; I'll make an effort to have some photos online before the new year. We have a guest room. Please visit.

RANTING

The cosmos seems to be more discommoded by natural and/or man-made disasters each year. Our friend, Reiko, who survived the bombing of Hiroshima saw the disaster unfolding in Japan with a horror that I am sure none of us can understand fully. The people who applauded the Arab Spring were not quite so willing to applaud the North American Autumn. When I heard people disparaging the occupiers as "these people", I was so disheartened. The condescension, disrespect and dishonesty displayed by the Halifax Mayor and council in evicting the occupiers in the rain on Remembrance Day was embarrassing. His Honour ran squeaking away to hide behind the "by-law" argument. By-laws, as we know, are ignored regularly when the powerful are concerned. We are breaking a by-law as I write, but I’m not going to tell you what it is, in case I might be evicted. I find myself asking, "What would Jesus, Gandhi, Buddha, Solomon and Tommy Douglas have done with Occupy? Something far more interesting, I think. Were there by-laws in the temple, when Jesus chucked out the money-changers? While we’re in the middle of something, it’s difficult to see where it going. Egypt looks to be going where I thought it might, but I'm no Cassandra. Check back next year. I know this much: there is rot in our land, and building more prisons, buying jets and building warships ain’t going to fix it. My schadenfreude moment this year was watching Rupert Murdoch on the hot seat. Of course, he will get away with it. Those weren’t by-laws his gang was breaking, either. Brag: my first letter to the Halifax Chronicle Herald editor on the subject of the new crime legislation was published. There is a 200 word limit and they don’t publish everything they receive. Intense and painful editing was required. In Corner Brook, I wrote 800 word rants and all were published, along with all the letters of all the other crazy people. Enough ranting for now. Let's not even talk about the American primary races. There isn't a chapter in The Decline and Fall ... that doesn't bring them to mind.

LIFE AND STUFF

We spent the spring of 2010 occupied with Ron’s radiation in St. John’s. He was there for two months and stayed with friends, Bruce and Jo, and Bernie, to whom we are most grateful. One of the greatest disadvantages of living in Western Newfoundland was its distance from major medical facilities – and endodontists. I managed to combine a root canal with Ron’s treatment to get more bang for the travel buck. Aside from the discomfort of his treatments, he made the most of his time in St. John’s, joining the Museum, dancing two or three times a week, spending good times with many friends and sampling the good restaurants St. John’s has to offer. We took most of the summer off in spite of the pending move, and visited Bonavista and Trinity before traveling St. John’s to the annual storytelling conference. We enjoyed all the festivals and music going on in Western Newfoundland.

TRAVELS


Intimidated by a Musk Ox Chop in Yellowknife

We went back for to Newfoundland for two visits after we moved to Dartmouth: The March Hare Poetry Weekend and Trails Tales and Tunes Festival in May.We took Dad with us to Brockville for our niece’s wedding in July, spending two nights in Riviere Du Loup en route, and a good time was had by all. They arranged for Ron’s middle brother David to fly from Calgary with one of his caregivers, and he seemed to enjoy participating in the festivities. Alas, we could not hang around very long, nor visit friends in Ottawa because we had to get back to the renovations; nor did we take our annual trip to Calgary. I made a quick trip to Yellowknife in May for my storytelling conference, which was most interesting. Usually Ron likes to come to these but, with the renovations, the timing was just not right. We spent a weekend in Lunenburg with Dad while waiting for the varnish on the new floor to dry but other than that, our travels have been quite limited.

SETTLING IN

We have settled into downtown Dartmouth happily and feel quite at home. It has the feeling of a smaller Nova Scotia town with nice old neighborhoods, a funky main street complete with pawnshops, psychics, one good Café, consignment stores and panhandlers. The library and the Dartmouth Farmers Market are right at the ferry dock. It is a charming 10 minute ride on the passenger ferry to downtown Halifax - and beats trying to park there. There is a massive up-market condo development going in on our waterfront, which may change the character and traffic.

The cats have adapted to Eliott Street well, although Otis and Sam have sullied our name by mooching Whiskas from our neighbour, until she complained they were making a dent in her budget. Apparently they preferred Whiskas to the expensive vet stuff we were trying to feed them. We told her to stop feeding them and broke down and bought Whiskas ourselves. Our dear 13-year old Tanuis is fading away with kidney failure, and we don't expect him to last through the year. He once resembled a giant, glossy eggplant and now he does not. We are sad.

The Thistle Dancers on a blazing
August day in Bedford

I joined the Dartmouth Choral Society immediately upon arrival. It is good for body and soul to be singing on a regular basis in a large group. We are enjoying the Metropolitan Opera live broadcasts at the Dartmouth Crossing cinema. Ron's Scottish dance activity seems to be expanding to fill all vacuums. He is dancing regularly two nights a week, and sometimes goes to special classes on other days. He is in a performing group called the Thistle Dancers. He was welcomed with open arms because 1) he is a man and 2) he has the outfit. If he lacks anything in elegance, he more than makes up for with enthusiasm. The group seems to have several performances a month, the most recent at the Halifax Citadel for the Victoria Christmas Fair. I, alas, have abandoned any attempt to dance. It is discouraging to watch other people dance, when you can't, and there are still too many books to be read, so I would rather sit in my new LaZy Boy with one.
I found a wonderful physiotherapist who introduced me to CFQ Xi Gong which I am now practicing daily and I'm feeling better and planning to learn more.  Ron is glad to have a kitchen again with a wonderful gas stove that cooks bread evenly. I haven't burnt a single cookie, and we are beginning to think of have people over for meals.


A lovely audience at the
Maritime Museum in February

I've participated in activities with the Storytellers Circle of Halifax, including their monthly open mic nights at Just Us Café. We told stories at the Maritime Museum during the winter games, and each year there is a Ghostly Gala, at Cole Harbour Heritage Farm for Halloween. On Labour day weekend I went to a fine workshop in Pugwash, NS with American Storyteller, Jay O'Callahan. I had an exciting year working, from various makeshift offices, on the Storytellers of Canada website. Our server got hacked twice resulting in our transferring to another server at the same time 'twas decided to change the URL address. 'Twas hellish. My own website has suffered the fate of the shoes of the cobbler's children - thus this new form of delivery for Annual Foolishness.

We are still working on re-establishing contact with friends and family in Nova Scotia. It's only in the last month or so that our lives are beginning to calm down a bit after these rather frantic two years. So please do feel not insulted if you haven't heard from us yet. We are still emerging in this new life after three decades in Newfoundland.

I hope our greetings for a Happy New Year and a relaxing holiday season will fly just as easily from this side of The Gulf as they did from the other. A special Greeting to the friends we have left behind on that Very Special Island where we spent three wonderful decades. You are always in our hearts.