Neil Thomasson

2012-01-18T20:51:00.000-08:00

It's not very often that I share or copy other people's work on my blog. I've never posted anything that is not fully and completely Canadian either. But this year we will all be celebrating a few very important events in the history of this beautiful and under stated land called Canada. And we have our roots. This posting was shared with me by my Mum. I love the images. They are historic, imposing and a significant realization of what we are all capable of. How many things do we build now, hoping and believing that they will stand beyond the next generation? Be they structures, ideologies or symbols of our longings for the preservation of our cultures, some things, some ideas, and some dreams do last.

Pictures of the Tower Bridge during construction found dumped in a skipThis is one of the London 's most beloved landmarks as you've never seen her before.
Stripped down to her underwear, the never before seen pictures of the Tower Bridge -- one of the world's most recognisable structures -- have been unveiled after the stash of hundred-year-old prints were found in a skip.
Coinciding with the 125th anniversary of the bridge's foundation, the 50 sepia photos reveal in incredible detail the ingenuity behind one of the British capital's most popular tourist destinations, which was the first bridge of its kind in the world.

Never seen before:

Development:   Photographs show the progress in the construction process, from basic structures to something easily recognisable as the Tower Bridge as we know it today

Unique: Many of the 50 sepia prints are in good condition, despite dating back to 1892.   Several are even dated, making it possible to trace the progress in construction

Although many of the century-old pictures are in a state of disrepair, around 20 are in good condition.   Many of the 12 by 10 snaps are dated and clearly show how the bridge was put together over a space of eight years.   Memorable scenes include turn-of-the-century laborers taking orders from a site foreman in a bowler hat and a shot of the bridge's original steam-powered engine room, which could open the bridge in less than a minute.   In one poignant picture flags decorate the body of the bridge and a hand-written pencil note reads:   ‘Note, flags denote Mr Hunter's wedding day’.   It wasn't until earlier this month, when the owner of the photos mentioned them to his neighbor, City of Westminster tour guide Peter Berthoud that the significance of the find fully emerged.   Mr Berthoud, an expert in the history of London who gives guided tours around famous landmarks including the Tower Bridge , said that he was gobsmacked by the haul.

Stripped down: The photographs show how the bridge was put together over eight years, revealing why it was nicknamed at the time the ' Wonder Bridge '

Landmark: The Tower Bridge remains one of the British capital's most iconic structures and a tourist attraction today, 125 years after building started

Sepia to silver screen: The incomplete Tower Bridge features in the 2009 film Sherlock Holmes, where Holmes battles with his adversary Lord Henry Blackwood

Contrary to popular misconception, the images reveal the bridge is a sturdy steel frame beneath the instantly recognisable stone cladding.   Mr Berthoud said: "When my neighbor gave me a disk with the images on I just couldn't believe it.   I spent hours going through my books to see if these pictures were already around but I couldn't see them anywhere -- they are unique.   Quite simply London 's Tower Bridge is the world's most iconic bridge and it's the only bridge over the Thames which has never needed to be replaced at some point.

Discovery: Peter Berthoud was gobsmacked when his neighbour showed him the haul of photos.   He spent hours going through books to find something similar, only to discover they are unique

Transformation: The bridge took eight years to build and at the time was a landmark feat of engineering, combining elements of a suspension and high level bridge and a bascule

It combines elements of a suspension bridge, a high level bridge and a bascule which allows it to open for ships to pass.   Nothing had ever been made like it before and nothing since.   People are always surprised when I tell them that the Tower Bridge is a steel bridge, as the stone cladding is so recognisable".

The 59 year-old, who wishes to remain anonymous, said that after the occupants of the Westminster office building moved out, the album and a number of documents were thrown into a skip outside. He said: "I took the ledgers to the Tower Bridge Museum because I thought they might have some historical value.

Remarkable find:   The prints reveal in incredible detail the ingenuity behind one of the British capital's most popular tourist attractions and how it was put together

A view of the bridge: The sturdy steel frame of the Tower Bridge can be seen, before it was covered with its distinctive stone-cladding on the orders of architect John Wolfe-Barry

They included records of the materials and used in the bridge's construction and what they cost.   I told the man at the museum that I had also found some photos but he told me they already had plenty of those.   I didn't know what to do with them so I wrapped them in some brown paper and put them in a bag under the bed".The pictures of London 's Tower Bridge were found in a skip and then wrapped up in brown paper and put in a carrier bag under a bed.

According to the tour guide, the bridge's original architect, Horace Jones, wanted to clad the bridge in brick but following his death he was succeeded as architect by John Wolfe-Barry, who decreed the bridge should be clad in stone.
Mr Berthoud said: "My favorite pictures are of the simple, humble guys building the bridge, unaware that what they are making will be so historic.   People are used to seeing images of the Empire State Building being built but this is part of British history being created 50 years earlier".

Christmas 2011

2011-12-24T19:54:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2011

Red, blue and green, slush sleet and rain,

I’ll take the snow and white, I don’t want the rain.

Presents and gifts, fruit cake in vain,

Christmas is fun, yet winter’s a pain.

What’s it about, what’s it all for?

We buy SO many gifts, we always want more.

It rains or it snows, it’s dark or it shines,

The poor go without, the rich ones still dine.

Poverty goes on, buying is fine,

Giving is best, but I want what’s mine.

TV and radio ads all around,

Don’t know what we want, don’t care what we’ve found,

I’m tired of the season, I’m fed up with gifts,

Don’t care about presents or even if that sweater fits!

‘Cause the reason for the season, the theme of the time,

Is not about stuff, not about what is mine.

It’s all about a manger, three wise men and shepherds,

Gold, frankincense, mir, not you or I, not him or her.

About alms and charity, peace and yes love,

A baby’s birth, of war to cease

A reason to carry on,

Without enemies, without foes, only PEACE.

There’s Claus, Rudolph, Frosty and Charlie Brown,

Scrooge and Cratchet and King Wensles I’ve found,

All of these folks, their faces all around,

Have a message of love and their givings abound.

For a long time ago, in a land far away,

In a stable was born the light and the way.

‘Cause the reason for the season, the theme of the time,

It’s not about stuff, not about what is mine.

A promise of peace, a promise of love,

Of harmony, joy and beauty from above

PRE-Occupied

2011-12-19T09:13:00.000-08:00

This time of year should be about “doing” and “giving,” not “consuming” and “whining.”

Now that the Occupy Toronto crowd has returned to their airy lofts, artist’s apartments, mothers’ basements or subsidized housing units, I hope they’ve found something else productive and worthwhile to occupy their time with.

Seems to me that there are many people with much free time on their hands in this land of ours. It begs me to ask this question; What do protesters do with all this time when they aren’t protesting, marching, thumping their drums, and chests in some cases, disrupting peoples’ lives and wasting the true average person’s tax dollars? Don’t get me wrong, many of their concerns are similar to mine. But their method of voicing these concerns seem to be self-deprecating, and almost insulting to those that are really suffering. Actions speak louder than words, and after all was said and done, there was a lot more said than done!

A lot more can be done. Many causes can be advocated for and progress made towards a betterment of society. But banging drums doesn’t do it.

Two causes seen to be promoted at the Occupy Toronto rally are causes of great importance to me. Causes I believe we can all appreciate given the social climate we find ourselves in. Causes we can all lend our support to and actually make a difference.

Poverty is ongoing and has been with us indefinitely. It’s a symptom of a society that is permeated by greed, uncontrolled consumerism and selfishness. Poverty is not endemic to the Third World, inner cities or Native reserves.

Small steps can be taken by all of us. All it takes to make a small difference is being aware. Aware of our surroundings, aware of the people we see daily that struggle to make ends meet. And also an awareness of our own spending habits. How can we be critical of others, whether they be government or big corporations, yet we ourselves are spending beyond our means or buying items that support the greed we mock and protest against?

Make a real difference! Instead of pounding a drum, sort tinned goods at the local food-bank. Serve at a soup kitchen. Instead of raising a placard or your voice, raise someone’s self-esteem, visit a senior, listen to their stories. Or drive a disabled person to an appointment.

The widespread abuse and ultimate destruction of sensitive environments is nothing new. Instances of this and a belief that these trends must be stopped have been documented for thousands of years. The Romans, the Chinese, even the Syrians were known to divert rivers, completely deforest mountainsides and drain vast areas of swamp.

Simple acts of responsible resource use by all of us will make a far bigger statement and have a far more reaching affect than staging a protest. Environmental responsibility is about doing, not saying. Plant a tree, pick up a piece of trash, take a walk instead of a drive.

So now that the protesters have gone home, where can we find them? Are they volunteering at the local food-bank, picking up trash at a nearby park? Or are they at the malls buying a smart phones, flat screen TV’s and video games? I have my suspicions.

Poisoning the Well

2011-08-14T10:42:00.000-07:00

Poisoning The Well

Finally, a week’s worth of news not overshadowed by the need to select a Republican candidate for the upcoming US elections, nor the outrageous lip-service being paid to us by politicians claiming to be saving us from an economic crisis that my personal spending habits have created! This week I was able to view, with both disbelief and revulsion, the events in London and the Horn of Africa. Believe it or not, there’s a link.

In the early 80’s I attended a day-long seminar at the Scarborough U of T campus. The topic of concern was environmental disease. Environmental diseases are an interesting phenomena; illnesses caused by the quality of the environment we live in. Quite often they can reach epidemic proportion, sometimes devastating entire communities, towns and cities, and even whole societies. These illnesses and the resulting devastation sometimes led to scientific and medical breakthroughs but more often than not a shift in societal priorities.

Historic accounts of environmental diseases include the Bubonic and Pneumonic Plagues that ravaged Europe throughout the Dark Ages, Middle Ages and the onset of the Industrial Revolution. More recently, an outbreak of Cholera during the mid nineteenth century in the US led to the first recording and tracking of a disease. Eventually the reporting of Cholera in the US gave way to the creations of such reputable groups as the World Health Organization (WHO) and the Center for Disease Control (CDC).

Earlier this month the latest Cholera outbreak was reported. Among the refugees traveling from famine ravaged Sudan to Kenya, Cholera has claimed well over two-hundred lives. Although this is but a small number comparative to those affected by the famine, and sentenced to death by starvation, it is still an outbreak of an environmental disease. A disease created or perpetuated by the environment lived in, or traveled through in this case, and indicative of its quality, its poor quality.

Getting back to the that U of T seminar. The disease being studied was not Cholera, it wasn’t either of the great plagues that ravaged Europe long ago. Its aim was the study of water borne parasites. During the 80’s, and I’m quite sure little has changed in thirty years, one in four people on the planet suffered from parasites; in other words twenty-five percent of the world’s population had worms. Our study concentrated on west Africa, where that percentage was considerably higher. This high incidence was created by a contaminated water supply. Not caused by a chemical spill or industrial accident. This was simply poor waste disposal, inappropriate sewage control. In other words, defecating upstream of ones’ water supply.

At that time a great amount of resources, financial, research hours and technology, was pouring into solving this problem. Education programs were created, teaching the local populations how to properly dispose of their waste. NGO’s were funding filtration systems. Church groups were financing the drilling of better wells. Unfortunately Geo-political happenings in the early to mid 80’s overshadowed the importance of the measures taken. The public lost interest in such causes, transferring their care, and therefore their donated dollars to more fashionable concerns. This of course was then reflected in the monies allocated by western governments.

Environmental disease took a backseat to more fashionable issues. Tackling environmental disease had fallen from favor. There were more pressing concerns, at least for those that decided what was stylish and what would gather a greater audience share.

By ignoring the affects of environmental diseases, and their causes, we have seen other tragedies in the past few decades. E. Coli is an environmental disease which has affected many communities in the western world. Most recently an outbreak in Europe involving tainted vegetables. Closer to home, and perhaps even more telling, the Walkerton tragedy and the evacuation of the Kashachewan First Nations Reserve.

Environmental diseases point to a problem: abuse of the environment. The environment then tries to warn us of our abuses of it, or tries to rid itself of what is causing the problem; Us. When are we going to learn that peeing upstream of our water supply is not a good idea?

Nature has a way of defending itself, of correcting out of control abuse. Wildlife populations run in cycles; lemmings cast themselves off cliffs, snowshoe hares are thinned by lynx predation. Lightning creates forest fires which cause re-growth of unproductive stretches of woodland. And disease and starvation reduce a population that demands more on the environment than nature can feasibly sustain.

When man dumps sewage and other wastes into the environment with complete disregard for nature, man pays the price and suffers the consequences. Nature tries to eliminate the cause and return a balance to the environment. When man pees upstream of his water supply the entire village gets sick. If that village continues with this irresponsible waste management program the village is destroyed.

It doesn’t stop at waste management: But it does begin with personal responsibility.

When are we going to realize that speeding on a residential street could cause harm and injury to those we love? And how long will it take before people understand that talking on a cell phone while driving puts your passengers at risk?

Will we ever come to understand that littering in our neighborhood parks and street sides not only shows a disrespect for our personal surroundings but also a disregard for the environment that nurtures us?

The disenfranchised are not furthering their cause by steeling flat-screen TV’s.

Burning our neighbors’ homes down, trashing the local convenience store and beating on those around us with similar concerns, or living under alike circumstances, is simply poisoning the well we all must drink from.

2011-07-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

My Dilemma

Those of you that follow my ramblings on the blogosphere or Facebook are well aware of my employment status; that of course being unemployed. Being unemployed affords me time for many things. Once my job searching is done for the day, resumes sent out, follow up emails written, read and more sent, there’s time to fill. Not as much as one would think. Finding a job can be a full time job!

Most countries in the western world have measures in place for those like me that are unemployed. The social security net; pensions for those unable to work, insurance for those unable to find work. I though have managed to find a hole in that net and fall through it! And for being honest, forthcoming about my actions, for playing by the rules and not flaunting them.

For those who have yet to cash in on their insurance policy, mandated and enforced by the powers that be, that is Employment Insurance, I’ll attempt to outline some of the rules.

First, to qualify, one must have lost one’s job through no fault of one’s own. I was “terminated without cause.”

Second, there is a waiting period; two weeks. That waiting period comes after the time it takes one’s severance pay to dwindle. Two weeks of limbo, two weeks of no income or immediate means of personal support. Two weeks where one must live even more frugally than one already is, or rely on the hospitality and kindheartedness of friends and family. The best wishes of others and their good intentions don’t pay the bills, but they are appreciated!

Third, and occurring every two weeks, there is a report to fill out. Numerous questions to be answered, mostly mundane; have you moved? Have you received any income? Were you capable and willing to work within the preceding time-period? But here’s the one that got me; Did you leave the country?

Well, I left the country. I flew from Toronto to Augusta, Georgia, and not to play golf! From there I was driven to Edgefield South Carolina; for a day-long series of job interviews.

I left Canada just prior to noon on Tuesday and was back on home turf by one o’clock in the wee hours of Thursday morning. Out of the country for less than forty hours, at least ten of those spent at the office of a prospective employer. This time out of Canada I reported on my next electronic filing for my Employment Insurance claim. That filing occurred on the Saturday, two days upon my return.

Answering “yes” to the question “Have you been outside Canada during the period of this filing” allows you to go no further with the electronic report and prompts you to call the offices of Employment Insurance Canada. That call lasted about forty-five minutes, most of which was spent on hold, waiting for a representative to take my call “in a timely manner.”

After explaining my reasons for leaving Canada, and providing a phone number of a person in the HR department where the interview took place, I was told my claim would come under further scrutiny and payment of my benefits would be suspended until it could be proven my reason for traveling was legitimate and I was not contravening the Employment Insurance Act, and might still qualify to collect said benefits! It could take up to three weeks.

This week I received a letter dated June 12th, one week and a day after the above phone call was made. “We are working on your claim. A decision will be made soon.” Of course this letter took two and a half weeks to arrive, thanks of course to work stoppages instigated by Canada Post employees and its respective union. My bank account shows no automated deposits, so obviously they are still working on my claim! That’s four weeks, unless you do not count the week and a day it took to type, date and mail the letter so kindly informing me that “A decision will be made soon”!

As mentioned previously, I’m in a fortunate situation. My housing, transportation and general living expenses are not reliant upon these insured benefits. For this I am very thankful! But there must be many others who, finding themselves without work, depending on their Employment Insurance benefits, and having paid the premiums all their working lives, are denied these benefits. Just for seeking employment, a condition demanded by the Employment Insurance Act, by attending interviews outside Canada. By denying them these benefits, how many find themselves in a position of true financial hardship? Is it not contradictory to demand one seeks employment yet cease payments if attending interviews outside Canada? Even when the job would be within Canada?

Were I to have traveled for vacation, I would expect benefits to be withheld for that time-period. But withheld for complying with and being honest concerning one’s obligations seems ridiculous and counterproductive.

A Sporting Choice

2011-03-22T13:53:00.000-07:00

A Sporting Choice

A few days ago I posted a link on my Facebook page to an article in the National Post. The federal government had decided against funding a hockey arena in Quebec. I am in full agreement with this decision. My biased comment concerning this posting stated that there are only three sports worth government funding. These three sports are worth funding because only these three and the research which happens because of them, benefits society as a whole. I then asked my Facebook friends if they could name them. Of course most guesses or suggestions were tongue-in-cheek; dwarf tossing, ferret legging, and of all things, curling. Curling! What does curling-funded research lead to? Better brooms?

All kidding aside, here are my three choices for the only sports and the public funding of, that lead to bettering our society: Hunting, fishing and motor sports.

Now before I cause an uproar and you all write to me in disagreement, I'll outline a few reasons in support of my choices.

First motor sport, a sport I have little interest in although many of my friends and family do.

But motor sports, whether GP, NASCAR, F1 or off-road rallying, lead to important research contributing to better passenger vehicles. More fuel efficient engines. Development of stronger and more durable construction materials. But most importantly, safety features in most modern passenger cars have been greatly improved through research and development due to the sport of racing.

Now I’m not recommending the government fund Grand Prix or Formula 1, in-fact, by bailing out the motor industry over recent years, our tax dollars have already contributed too much to the motor industry. But for the sake of safety, the protection of the environment through better emission standards, and lowering of fuel consumption, all of society reaps the benefits.

Hunting and fishing though, are two sports that the government should not only fund, but encourage the public’s participation in.

Now before anyone tries to argue that hunting and fishing are not sports, let’s define the word “sport.”

Noun - An active diversion requiring physical exertion and competition.

Both activities are most certainly physically exerting. And both can be very competitive. But one of the beauties of hunting and fishing is that neither need be competitive and can be enjoyed even more when the competition is eliminated, or better yet, against one’s self.

So why should the government fund hunting and fishing with our tax dollars? Even those who neither fish nor hunt benefit in profound ways through the research and accomplishments of the fishing and hunting communities.

No other group can claim to have increased awareness, or safeguarded the natural resources of our lands, protected more areas of environmental significance from adverse development and ensured that our watersheds and vast tracts of forest and prairie remain natural, pristine and functioning as nature intended. Wildlife, migratory and not, thrive in these areas. The flora that carpets the forest floor or crowd the wetlands, clean and purify the air we breath and the water we drink; essentials to life.

Groups dedicated to the promotion and participation in hunting and fishing are at the forefront in the fight against invasive species. The sea lamprey, round goby and zebra muscle; kudzu, dog-strangling vine and giant hogweed, to name but a few. Hunting and fishing clubs are educating the public about these creatures and plants, and about the damage they cause. These groups are at the front-line, on the ground and water so to speak, actually making an effort to eradicate their presence.

Our right to access Crown Land has always been an issue throughout Canada. Mining, lumber and petroleum companies have sought to have these rights limited and in some areas eliminated. Hunting and fishing groups, from local clubs to national organizations, tackle manufacturers and retailers, private lodges and camps, have worked hard and spent millions to ensure we will always have access to these lands and the waters that flow through them. This ensures that even those that don’t hunt or fish will be able to enjoy our great outdoors. Whether you canoe, hike, bird-watch or even collect rocks and minerals, groups dedicated to the preservation of our hunting and fishing traditions ensure your access to areas you also can enjoy.

Unfortunately our tax dollars can only go so far. There is of course a limit to how much funding the government can and chooses to supply. And of course, we as individuals might not have the finances of our own to support the many endeavors and groups acting to protect these resources. But there are other ways that we can contribute to these important causes.

Many groups and organizations are always looking for new members and volunteers. A membership will cost you a few dollars each year but probably a monthly magazine and discounts at a number participating retailers will be included in the fee. This easily makes up for the yearly dues.

Smaller, locally dedicated groups are even more in need of our attention. These groups are always looking for volunteers. Anyone with a want to become involved with the community, meet new friends and contribute to a conservation effort will be welcome! Even skills far removed from the outdoors are needed; every community rooted group needs a book keeper and a minutes taker.

But if you’re more a hands-on type there are many things to do. Stream reclamation, tree planting, even garbage pick-up to name a few. All activities are an important part in the fight to better our natural environment and promote the sports of hunting and fishing.

If I’ve managed to peek anyone’s interest, and you’re itching to get involved, or simply want more info, here are a few groups I believe are making great contributions to the sporting traditions of hunting and fishing. Better yet, these groups bring environmental awareness to the forefront. And some, through social outreach, make life better for the less fortunate in society.

Ducks Unlimited Canada has been helping to preserve wetlands since 1938. Since then they have helped to preserve 12.5 million acres of wetlands. Robert Bateman is a long time supporter of DU. Quite often you will see his prints up for auction in your local grocery store. If a limited audition print is out of your price range, they have many other products for sale which raise funds for their cause. At the moment I’m wearing a pair of their socks!

Worldwide DU has over 700,000 members so not very grass-roots, but worth a look at if you’re not familiar with them.

The National Wild Turkey Federation (NWTF) is a wonderful organization that contributes greatly to the enhancement of our woodlands. Especially those areas bordering our important farmlands. Their efforts have educated both the public and farm owners to the benefits of the preservation of standing hardwoods.

The wild turkey was virtually extinct in Ontario until twenty-five years ago. They now number well over a hundred-thousand. Not since the dawn of logging in the province have turkey numbers been so high.

The NWTF also contributes to the community through their outreach programs. Each year thousands of farm raised turkeys are bought and donated to the less fortunate. Through the efforts of the NWTF special dates and locations for disabled hunters have also been established.

Their dedication to the sport of turkey hunting not only helps their quarry and the folks that pursue them, but also the communities their members live in.

Trout Unlimited Canada (TUC) is another grass roots group that is dedicated to the betterment of our environment. Founded in 1972, out of a growing response to the challenges that were threatening our freshwater and cold-water fisheries at the time, TUC has since dedicated itself to educating the public about these threats. Their main interest lies in hands-on work to preserve of our watersheds and the species that depend on them. These small areas are an indication of the health of our entire environment. In a sense, our streams and rivers are the cannery in the coal mine, an indicator of the environmental health of our entire planet.

TUC is dedicated to the health of the watersheds that run through our cities, our farmlands and the forests that border the neighbourhoods we live in. Places we walk through, take our children, run our dogs and find peace. The preservation of these places and the importance they play in life should be of a concern to all of us, not only those that fish and hunt them.

If you live in Ontario, and decide to join and support only one group, my recommendation is the Ontario Federation of Anglers and Hunters (OFAH). Since 1928 the OFAH has been an advocate for natural resources and the rights and privileges of Ontario’s residents to hunt and fish. The OFAH is the leader in outdoor education programs, natural resource awareness and species reintroduction.

The wild turkey is only one success story that the OFAH can take responsibility for. This coming September marks the first open season for elk in Ontario. Before logging, rapid settlement and land being converted to crop and livestock production in the mid 1800’s, elk were common in southern and central Ontario. By 1900 only a few small herds existed in the Kenora area. Through significant financial and volunteer contributions by the OFAH, the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR) has successfully created a self sustaining elk herd in and around the Bancroft-North Hastings area.

The OFAH is also a leader in the promotion of outdoor pursuits. For sixteen years now, the Ontario Family Fishing Weekend encourages families from all walks of life to get out and enjoy a recreational sport that promotes a healthy lifestyle and encourages inter generation participation. And for fifteen years the Women’s Outdoor Weekend has given women the chance to meet other women with similar interests, sharing knowledge and experiences, dispelling the image that hunting and fishing is a man’s world.

Hunting and fishing are important recreational sports, their impact upon our society is far reaching. Financial support by all levels of government is imperative. Hunting and fishing are traditional activities that reflect the Canadian character. Unfortunately the funding that is coming is inadequate. Right now support by individuals and private groups are the most realistic force behind increased hunting and fishing possibilities and the benefits they create for Canadian society as a whole.

2011-03-19T17:43:00.000-07:00

RES-DOGS

We've now been back from Sandy Lake for just over a month. Aimee and I have commented to each other since, that the four months we spent there seemed an eternity, and for all the wrong reasons. The Sandy Lake part of our adventure had been less adventurous and more tedious. Navigation had been of personalities not back roads. In fact, we travelled less than two or three kilometers from our home while being there. Each new place we visit, each community we spend time in, have been and will be places of learning, or in the least, experience.

In Sandy Lake though, few lessons were learned, mostly it was harsh realities realized.

Learning of those harsh realities seemed to have become the purpose for our visit there. But towhat purpose?

Let's visit one of those harsh realities. Sometimes prejudicial biases are based in truth. Sometimes the truth is worse than the prejudice. And sometimes that actual truth is even ignored by those that preach those prejudices.

Many people in communities in the remote north hold very differing ethical attitudes to those of us from the densely populated areas of this country. It is one of those differing attitudes that has led us to what we believe has been our purpose being there.

Aimee's job actually forced her to confront these realities in a way I did not have to. But the reality that gave us our purpose is a reality that permeates both our lives. On December the ninth Aimee worked later than I. When she arrived home that evening she did not arrive empty handed. Aimee came home with a dog. Had Aimee not come home with that little dog, that little dog would now be dead.

In most communities in the far north there are too many dogs. Most breed uncontrolled, increasing the population. Some residents fly new ones up there only to be set free to run wild when the novelty stales. So some of them starve to death. Some freeze to death. Some get eaten by the wolves, or by the other dogs they run wild with. And when those harsh realities of that unforgiving landscape fail to control the canine population the locals start shooting them.

In some northern communities there is a bounty on dogs. There is no licencing though. No leash laws. There isn't even much of a move to neuter or spay the existing population. There is simply a complete disrespect and ill regard for dogs.

We named the little dog "Alfie". She came into our home emaciated and stinking of garbage, inside and out. She was timid, frost-bitten and starved. She ate nonstop for three days. And the most amazing thing was that Lyndy seemed to understand her plight as much as we did. She let Alfie eat her food, drink her water and sleep beside us in our bed as she does. Lyndy and Alfie have become the best of friends.

Alfie also became best friends with "White Dog". The only thing we miss from Sandy Lake is"White Dog". Living beneath our house, finding a small source of heat from the warmed pipes there, "White Dog" was one of the other stray dogs on the reserve. We started feeding her after finding she chose to stay within our compound. It was difficult for me to walk in the bush, whether with Lyndy or on my own, without the company of "White Dog". She would even follow us

onto the lake for an afternoon of ice fishing.

Leaving Sandy Lake was not difficult. Leaving "White Dog" was. But we had saved one little dog from a miserable life with an inevitable, and quite possibly brutal end to it.

Lyndy is a traveller just as Aimee and I are. From the day we got her she came with us everywhere. By the time we had reached Sandy Lake, Lyndy had traveled with us over many miles. She's been in cars, over frozen lakes in snow machines, thousands of miles by rail and on several planes. But Alfie had barely travelled a mile from where Aimee had snatched her up, from behind the store, to our house.

All four of us flew out of Sandy Lake the evening of Valentine's Day. We arrived in Thunder Bay five hours and three planes later. And that night Alfie not only flew in a plane, but walked on pavement, on carpet and climbed stairs for the first time!

Alfie now lives in Whitby, with Lyndy, and Aimee and I of course. Also Lucy the Shih-poo. And cats! She still doesn't understand cats! Do you play with them? Do you chase them? You can't simply leave them alone. And if you chase them and catch them, what do you do? Georgie, the brown tabby says if you catch a cat, you scratch its tummy. Alfie and Lyndy don't agree.

With almost a half-acre of fenced yard, uncountable squirrels, and gardens to dig in, Alfie has a great life now. Unfortunately most reservation dogs don't. Life for a dog on a remote First Nations reserve in northern Canada is inhumane and cheep for most, precarious at best, and quite often short-lived.

Dogs on Native reserves are frequently disposed of in the most heinous of ways. Even when a bounty is not in effect. Throughout the north, thousands of husky-crosses, amongst other breeds, are slaughtered yearly. Some are strays, some even discarded family pets. But all are "Res Dogs". If you ever find the time or resources to help one of these beautiful creatures do so. Not all need to exist like "White Dog", some can live like Alfie.

Back In The GTA

2011-02-28T10:22:00.000-08:00

Here we are, back in the GTA. The story of our travels will soon follow.

It's funny how re-adjusting to an old environment can be more stressful than adjusting to a new one. Creating new habits seems easier than picking up ones left behind, and settling into a past life more difficult than embarking on a new one.

For instance: When I returned from the UK I found it peculiar driving on the right-hand side of the road. Even after a couple of weeks in the Bahamas, returning to Canada and the right side of the road can seem alien.

Or the noise! Waking to the sound of traffic, horns, sirens, the 401 in the distance. Maybe the silence and peace of the north was simply a welcomed relief from city noises, but returning to it seemed a bombardment of the senses.

And the amount of people! In an hour I've walked past more people, seen more faces, heard more voices than I would have in an entire month!

So, if it seems I've not contacted some of you, or sent a personal message your way, don't take offence, you are not alone! This return south has been a bit overwhelming and it will take a short time getting used to. But a short time it will be!

I have been busy though: newspapers to read, Tim Horton's to visit and the novelty of high-speed Internet. Not to mention the LCBO! Oh, there's also that silly thing about finding a job!

The return of high-speed Internet has allowed me to download more images to my Flickr! page. And the time allowed by being between jobs has given me the opportunity to cruise through old files and edit long forgotten images. In doing so I came across a shot taken a couple of years ago in the Bahamas. And the little critter needs to be ID'd. It's not the greatest shot but it certainly depicts the subject and all its features in an unmistakable manner. If there are any arachnid enthusiasts out there that can help me, it would be appreciated! Have a look and fire me off a comment with your suggestions to its name. Some good web pages anyone might send me to would also help. I've already tried a number of possibilities but no luck.

There's also that other little thing I've been working on and any assistance would be more than welcome. Employment... OK, I've updated my resume and I'd love to forward it to any interested employers out there. But first of all I've decided to limit my search to prospective employers that meet certain criteria;

1. Vehicle provided

2. Can take my dogs to work

3. Expense account for use at the LCBO

4. Enough vacation time for deer season, turkey season, bear season

5. Opening days and adjacent weekends off for trout, bass, grouse and waterfowl seasons

Any ideas, send me your comments. All will be considered and none scoffed at (publicly).

Now back to my busy schedule. Should check the fishing gear, off to Lake Scugog later in the week for some hard-water fishing.

From Beaches to Backwoods, From Crete to Cree

2010-12-10T07:21:00.000-08:00

From Beaches to Backwoods, From Crete to Cree

This last year has been interesting to say the least! Thousands of miles by air and rail, countless airports and a few places we'd choose never to over-night in again. Sub-tropic to sub-polar environments, walking in ruins of ancient civilizations to residing in ruined societies.

First hand we've seen the social progressions of man but also the degradation of a culture once proud of its roots. We've watched the same moon rise over prosperity and joy, but only months later to set upon a bleak and inhospitable forest of self decay. And the people we've met, those that will share all of the little they have, those that have much but are willing to share so little. Openness, care and respect. Disdain, apathy and arrogance.

Freedom 45

In January, only a few days after my 45th birthday I was packaged-out at work. The thirteen years of service amounted to enough to pay the bills for a while and dental coverage for a few months. It was a shock, a bit of a blow, but it was also a chance to try a few different things. Aimee was let go exactly a month later. But the Saturday before that, we found Lyndy, the best Valentine's ever!

As neither of us had really taken any time for ourselves in many years we both decided that we would enjoy this new found freedom, see a few things, maybe go a few places. We would not take jobs unless they offered a chance to explore, the world and ourselves. So we started exploring, and that lead to adventure!

We fished, we visited with friends. We cooked, ate and drank. And we laughed.

Early on we spent a week of our time at our friends’ Jeff and Lisa’s. We swam in their pool and lazed in their sauna as the snow fell and the freezing rain coated the outside world. Each night we dined and drank wine. Then, take-outs with Pam and Eric, returnees from the Southwest, were a weekly occurrence, whether from Johnny’s or Tim Horton’s.

Ice fishing wasn't a simple day outing. We slept on the ice. We fished through the night, watching the stars and the dark water. The silence only broken by the booms of cracking ice.

A day or two at the cottage would inevitably turn to a week.

We bird watched, we people watched. We watched the lake.

We collected stones. Shiny round ones that looked like beads. Faceted ones, beautiful ones. Any stone that caught our eye. Stones of every colour you can imagine. And I skipped a lot of stones.

Training a new dog, throwing stones and doing crosswords doesn’t really make for full-time employment. And none of these activities would pay the bills. So in March we attended a job fair in downtown Toronto. This lead to attending a seminar a month later. The North West Company seemed to be what we were looking for. Enough money to pay the bills, experiencing different cultures and the chance to see parts of the world otherwise out of reach. So on the first Tuesday of August we left for northern Ontario. But before going north, we went east.

Our Travels

On a Saturday morning in February we met two friends for coffee, it was in-fact the same day we picked up Lyndy. Faye and Spiro were to be married on the 25th of July. They had asked that I take their wedding photos. Over the next few months emails were exchanged and a number of conversations were held over the phone, but the next time we met face to face with them was in late July on the island of Crete.

Traditional Greek music and dancing, food and drink. The ceremony was beautiful, couldn't understand a word, but beautiful. And we were pleased beyond doubt with the photos we took!

Photos at the chapel, the receptions, after the ceremony and a gathering the night before. But the shots in the back alleys and later on the beach thrilled us all.

Our personal time was exciting and relaxing; swimming at the beach, walking the ancient town;

sampling the hospitality, the culture, architecture and of course the food.

Leaving was bittersweet. Leaving a place filled with history and myth, a foreign yet welcoming culture. Leaving warm sun and warmer beaches, fantastic scenery; a blend of an ancient people's impact on the land and the rough landscape still enduring.

But we were returning to see our families. Returning to our little dog. Returning to embark on our adventure north.

So on August 3rd we boarded a Via train north. With Lyndy safely secured in her crate aboard the baggage car, we settled into our berth. As we left the station we made our way to the observation car to be served Champagne and nibblies. The meals and service over the next day were superb. A train traveling north through the dark green forests of Ontario, commencing in the busiest hub in the country, seemed the ideal setting for the adventure we were embarking upon!

Twenty-two hours later we arrived in Nakina. We settled into our new apartment with the possessions we took with us on the train; clothing, photos, the kitchen gadgets we couldn’t live without, some affects that make a house a home. And of course, fishing gear! Our best friend Dave would travel north to see us the following week. He had kindly offered to take with him some other much needed goods. Specifically Aimee’s beads and my guns.

Nakina

Now let me tell you a bit about Nakina. It’s a town of about three-hundred and fifty people. A few years ago its population was over seven-hundred. When the lumber mill shut down the town went south. For half the population it literally went south! It has a Post Office, an LCBO and a bank that’s open two days a week. It also has an airport which caters mainly to the First Nations reserves in the area and those investing in the hopeful prosperity of the Ring of Fire project. Those of you that know of Nakina probably do through outdoor publications and TV shows; Because Nakina has the best moose hunting and walleye fishing available in Ontario, maybe all of Canada.

There are no traffic lights in Nakina, only four-way stops. There are no sidewalks, no crosswalks. Rarely will you see someone speed. Everyone stops at the stop signs, well almost everyone, but that’s a story for another day... But Nakina is the friendliest town in all Ontario! Everyone waves to each other; friend or stranger. Within a few days we were invited to dinner. Within a week customers and neighbours alike knew our names. Within a couple of weeks we had been invited blueberry picking and speckled trout fishing. To quote Daryl Cronzy, “It’s Paradise!” If Aimee and I were ever to buy a place in Ontario, it will be in Nakina.

Further Afield

Our traveling though has not stopped. We even traveled while living in Nakina. On September the 23rd I flew from Nakina to Thunder Bay. Took a flight from there to Montreal, staying overnight. The following day I flew to Waskaganish on the Quebec side of James Bay.

Waskaganish is the Cree name for the community originally called Fort Rupert. In 1668 The Hudson Bay Company established its first outpost at the mouth of the Rupert River. The Northern

store there sits on the same parcel of land. So for a week I worked at the oldest retail establishment in the New World. Unfortunately that meant Aimee and I would not be able to spend her birthday together. I was scheduled to fly out the day after her birthday. We were to meet that evening in Thunder Bay and spend the night there.

I arrived at the Waskaganish airport just after two. At about the same time, Aimee started the 400km drive to Thunder Bay. My 3:45 flight was delayed by half an hour. The transfer in Val-d’Or was further delayed. By the time I had reached Montreal I had missed my connection to Toronto and subsequently the connecting flight to Thunder Bay.

Needless to say, Aimee spent the night alone in the Thunder Bay hotel room. I slept in the lounge at YYZ.

Over the next week we received more news of our further travels. A week in Kashechewan, together this time, and then a transfer to Sandy Lake.

The trip to Kashechewan was in some sense a blessing. It allowed us to travel on the train to Toronto to visit with family before flying to the Ontario side of James Bay. We had Thanksgiving dinner on the train; again excellent food and wonderful service. My Mum and Dad met us at Union station. We had coffee with them, a great morning. They later dropped us off at Aimee’s house in Whitby. We had a super time with friends and family, and the next morning flew north.

Kashechewan is almost a polar opposite to Nakina and in so many ways. And although the same culture as Waskaganish, and only just across the bay, so very different from there too. We were there a week. Five days too long. Travel home couldn’t come soon enough.

The trip out of Kashechewan was as interesting as the rest. From Kashechewan to Fort Albany. The shortest commercial flight in the world; the landing gear goes up and stays there for less time than it’s down. From there to Moosanee, and from there a connecting flight from Timmins to Toronto. Tom and Sharon picked us up at the airport, we were very grateful. Another day with family then back on the train.

Four days after our return to Nakina we left there again. But this time for good. We packed, said our goodbyes and were flying once more. From Nakina to Fort Hope, then a connection in Thunder Bay. From there to Sioux Lookout. The connection from there to Sandy Lake was delayed due to weather. After finding a dog-friendly hotel we spent the night.

The flight the next morning was another mini adventure. Lyndy was stuck in the baggage compartment for almost an hour before take-off. And the flight was another thing. Just enough visibility to fly. But as we rose above the clouds it was spectacular, as bright as one could imagine!

Descending through the clouds was like passing through nothing. But what we saw and experienced as we left them now seems a foreboding omen. What struck me first was brown and grey. The grey of the landscape overshadowed the green. The brown water of the vast lake blotched out the blue of the smaller surrounding lakes. Sandy Lake is aptly named. The lake truly is sandy! The water is the colour of bad chocolate milk! And the landing! We were all over the ice coated gravel runway. And as we exited the plane the cold hit us!

Getting out of the airport was worse than going through customs. Everything was searched. And what they queried was just mind boggling. Our guns were fine, but the collection of goat cheese and olives certainly seemed to raise some eyebrows. But they never found the bottle of bourbon! Looking back it’s almost too bad though, might have got us that BCR to get us out of here!

Life on the Reserve

Sandy Lake is a whole other world! Depressed, repressed and miserable, everything about it. I’ll not go into it. Those that would like to hear more should contact us and ask. But be prepared for some horror, some sadness and some maddening stories. It’s not a pleasant place!

We have our little house though. It’s affectionately been labeled the “Doll House”. A small two-bedroom; smaller in-fact than the apartment in Nakina. The view is pleasant; trees sloping down to the lake. It’s bright when the sun shines. We’ve hung photos, and personal items are throughout, making it seem like our own. But for how long, who knows?

I walk Lyndy a few times a day. On-leash all of the time though; for her it’s not really safe. We’ve blazed a trail through the woods to the west of the “compound”. Beautiful path, and now especially with the spruce and fir trees laden with snow.

This time of year, the days are short and the nights are long. The sun rises around eight and sets by four. But our workdays are long. Out at seven-thirty in the morning, not home until eight or nine in the evening; sometimes later.

We’re hoping to do some ice-fishing soon. Once the Christmas selling season is over there just might be some time to relax. But for now, our days off are spent regrouping and recovering our physical and emotional strength.

Lessons Learned

We asked for an adventure, and that’s what we got! So far, this year has been a great learning

experience for us. We have been taught much, as much about the world around us as we have of ourselves. We’ve seen how other people live and react to those around them. We’ve rediscovered how well we’ve been blessed; with reliable friends, good family and able bodies and minds!

2010-09-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

A Return to the Conundrum...

Those of you who are in contact with me by gmail or Facebook, or have been viewing my Flickr postings will know that I am now living in northern Ontario, in a small community called Nakina. It certainly has been an eye opener, a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively. It has also had a substantial impact upon my quest to define the Canadian character; and my desire for our community as a culture to better our lives, our surroundings and the hope we should be creating for future generations.

Last August I entitled a posting:

So many people, so little purpose!

...Oh, but that is God's conundrum!

I’d like to revisit this idea. I would like to reset the parameters of this project and maybe raise the odds a little.

I opened my posting with the following sentence:

What sense is there to our lives if we lack purpose? If we lack purpose, we live either foolishly or without consideration.

Although I implied that there are many people, there are far fewer where I am now, but there still seems to be too little purpose. Too few in our communities seem to have a commitment to bettering their environment or even their immediate surroundings. To do this, only small steps need be taken and little effort. But the hardest part may be a change in attitudes and priorities.

Here’s a short statement written by Lord Conrad Black in his August 28th posting:

What is needed is a reorientation of America away from consumerist hedonism and back to a sensible balance between production, consumption, discretionary spending, saving and investment;

At first I thought that maybe we as Canadians should substitute Canada for America. Then I thought, why not strip it right back to the basics? I thought, not America or Canada, but FAMILIES, or households. If families, or households, were to curb their hedonist consumerism, consume and produce responsibly, and be discrete in their spending and savings habits, wouldn’t our communities and families become more balanced, become happier and more fulfilling places to live in?

In every thing that we do there should be some purpose. All our actions truly do create reaction. So if our actions have a negative impact on another maybe we should reconsider our actions?

What we do in consideration for those around us might be as little in thought as picking up a piece of garbage, a kind act or encouraging word. Or it might be standing up for a mistreated individual. Giving of our time to make life easier or happier for another. But any of these things gives our lives purpose and meaning. It makes us responsible individuals, responsible to our families, our communities and ultimately ourselves.

The conundrum should not be God’s, but our own.

2010-02-27T14:18:00.000-08:00

Sunglasses

I have three pairs of sunglasses. They’re sort of like pocket knives and flashlights: you can never have too many. My last pair, and best pair to date, were free, compliments of a binocular distributor. But the other two were bought and paid for at one of my favorite sporting goods stores. A place where I have spent far too much time and money over the years (at least according to my last wife).

These first and second pairs are your typical gold wire framed amber glassed shooting type specs. They’re functional and practical protective eye wear, exactly the same as each other. They are by no means as “stylish” as the “free” pair. Because of this I at one time had refrained from wearing them: at least in the presence of my last wife.

So, why two pairs exactly alike? Well, it just so happens that the first pair went missing. I remember reaching for them on the drive home from the cottage one October a few years ago. They weren’t in their appropriate pocket, or any other for that matter. So, on a bright and crisp February morning the need arose to replace them. The need also arose to visit the previously mentioned sporting goods store. Maybe more an urge than a need.

Now this store is not a local establishment that one can simply drop into while grocery shopping. Weekly visits on one’s way home from work are also out of the question. But that’s OK because as a destination shopper I’ll go out of my way to browse its displays and fawn over the neat little trinkets that would be much better off housed in my tackle box/boat/hunting cabin.

Similar to most anglers and hunters I can be rather conservative in my actions, methods and deeds: some might call it miserly, both my first wife and second would agree with them on this. But if I can take care of two or three things at once, and be as little out of pocket as possible, then success is apparent. On this particular bright and crisp February morning I was given such an opportunity. My favorite destination shopping stop was only one or two minutes out of the way from my intended destination. My intended destination being a tiny, privately run summer camp. At that camp resided a long forgotten fiberglass canoe, much in need of a new home and paddler.

Not unlike the third pair of sunglasses, this is one of the best types of canoes. A free canoe. So, as you can imagine, this bright, crisp February morning was going to be quite the success! An outdoors-man's perfect day of destination shopping. A pair of sunglasses to replace those lost the weekend we closed the cottage and a free canoe to boot!

I bought my new pair of sunglasses. After of course checking the inventory levels and critiquing the store’s latest innovative equipment. I then continued upon my journey. By the end of the day I had a newly acquired canoe for the price of gas there and back, and a new pair of functional and practical sunglasses. Combine the two and you have the joy of paddling with no strain on the optic nerve.

Two months later my first pair of sunglasses were returned to me. David, angler and hunting partner through thick and thin passed them to me over a table of beer and wings. He’d found them the week before during the yearly ritual of opening the cottage. A ritual I was unable to attend that year.

The most arduous task in such a ritual is of course turning on the water. And it’s far more arduous for Dave than for me. Dave’s got sixty pounds on me and stands a few inches shorter. The crawl space beneath the cottage is dark, tight and all things scary. As I was unable to attend that spring, Dave did the tunnel rat task of cleaning out the pit and closing the valves.

Each year I promised myself “I’m not going in”. That past autumn gave me greater reason to never do it again. I’d crawled the eight feet that seems more like twenty-five to where the valve is. As I reached into the pit my hand passed through something I had not expected to be there. In my panic to finish the task at hand, convincing my gag-reflex it was working overtime, my thrashing about (don’t ask me how I thrashed in such a confined space) caused my sunglasses to work themselves from their appropriate pocket and find themselves in the possession of one very large, very dead, very decomposed raccoon!

Dave had very little trouble with the raccoon. It had been rendered mere bones by spring, and he knew it was there: at least that’s what I told myself. Well, Dave found my sunglasses right there in the pit. He removed them, as well as the remains of one long dead raccoon. I got my glasses back, the raccoon got disposed of.

The pit is now more accessible. It is no longer such a tight squeeze, and opening the valve in the autumn isn’t the perilous adventure it used to be. And I don’t think it is nearly as attractive to those creatures seeking out a place to expire!

I’ll no doubt purchase more sunglasses in the future, along with the odd flashlight; I my just need to light my way through other tight spots. But I don’t think I’ll be lending my sunglasses to any other forest creatures, especially raccoons, after all, they are supposed to be nocturnal!

2010-02-27T13:37:00.000-08:00

The Playground

The second week of January brought me to the end of a 22-year career. I’ve now embarked on a new adventure with many different opportunities ahead of me. Before settling into a new career I’ve decided to take a few months to explore and maybe even indulge myself a little. One thing is a new dog. It’s been almost two years since Duffy died and this temporary time of unemployment has given me the opportunity to train a new dog. Her name’s Lyndy, a perfect little Brittany.

We have a bit of a routine happening. Up early and around the block. Breakfast, a few TV shows and the newspaper. Then it’s the leash-free zone at the bottom of the street; right on the lake. As you can imagine, it’s a very popular spot. As far as the dog world goes it’s quite cosmopolitan, diverse. For those of you unfamiliar with the dog world it’s like visiting the playground with a bunch of preschool kids in a multicultural, multiracial community.

On yesterday’s visit our little Brittany took up with a little Cocker Spaniel. A lot of chasing, bouncing off each other and back to the chase. They were then joined by a Husky. First it chased the little Cocker Spaniel, biting as it caught the smaller dog which then emitted a high pitched yelp. The Husky then proceeded to chase Lyndy. When catching her, she also emitted a high pitched yelp, obviously in pain. When I confronted the owner of the Husky I was met with a bit of an obtuse attitude. His dog had not hurt mine or the previous dog, it was simply playing, being a dog. I replied to him that if his dog continued to play in such a manner and hurt another dog that his dog would get hurt. Maybe not the most responsible reaction, but never the less, someone in the park needed to tell him that.

Years ago, as a parent, I witnessed such behavior on many occasions in the playground. Many years ago, as a child, I also witnessed this type of behavior, sometimes being the one getting hurt.

On a June morning in 2000 the lead news story in the GTA was that of a murder-suicide. It was both shocking and depressing. What was most depressing about the story though was that in reality it was not that shocking at all.

On the morning of June 20th, 2000, Ralph Hadley dragged his estranged wife from her home. She was naked and clutching their infant son. Neighbors managed to secure the child before Ralph, wielding a pistol, dragged her back into the house. Moments later there were two shots fired. Ralph had murdered Gillian and then turned the gun on himself.

A number of great tragedies occurred that morning: two people lost their lives and a small child lost his parents. But maybe the greatest tragedy of all was that Ralph’s actions might never have come to be had more attention been paid to his behavior on the playground.

I met Ralph when we were both ten years old. My first recollection of him was tearing around the monkey bars. He was fast and not afraid of much, not much except the bigger kids. That was the summer after grade four. Later we were in grade five together. We talked with each other and we played on occasion as school boys do. He was always friendly to me and polite, and on one occasion I recall that he introduced his dad to mine at a Boy Scouts’ father-son banquette.

But Ralph Hadley had a very short and very bad temper. Ralph Hadley picked on the little kids too. Ralph was a bully.

Teachers, students and parents alike were all well aware of Ralph’s behavior and mean streak, his short fuse. The little kids were especially aware that if things didn’t go Ralph’s way someone might get hurt.

Was Ralph’s behavior ever addressed? Probably. Was Ralph ever reprimanded for his bullying? I know he was, I witnessed it. But Ralph continued his bullying throughout junior school. The root to Ralph’s bullying though was never addressed, and the bullying was never addressed seriously. Had it been Ralph would never have shot Gillian in the head.

Sometimes when one parent brings to the attention of another their child’s aberrant behavior, well, sometimes that parent should listen. The sooner the child’s behavior is addressed, corrected and maybe even the cause treated, the sooner that child will become socially accepted by its peers and eventually grow up to be a contributing and responsible member of society.

When I heard the news that fateful June morning I was shocked at the violence but not necessarily the actual event. Deep in my mind Ralph was fully capable of the act and in some way it was predictable.

We as a society failed Ralph as a child. Had he been properly reprimanded for his behavior, had that behavior been fully addressed and the cause for it sought out, these tragedies might very well have been avoided.

Pay attention to your children’s actions, to the unsocial behaviors they will sometimes display. Quite often their peers will correct them in the way they react with each other. Sometimes though we as parents need to uncover the reasons our kids act in a certain way.

Sometimes dogs aren’t just being dogs, and sometimes boys are not just being boys.

2009-12-24T15:52:00.000-08:00

Ode to Christmas on a Boat

‘Twas two days from X-mas, the 23^rd of December

Forecast a green Yuletide, first I could remember

The ice it had melted, the snow it was gone

The grass it was green, under the sun as it shone

Then all of a sudden, from out of the south

The wind it starts blowin’, and rockin’ me ‘bout

The boat she's a-bangin’ up against the dock

The geese they were a-honkin’, not quite ready to flock

The ducks were a-quackin’, the crows all a-caw

The birds all a-movin’ off the pier’s all I saw

Then off in the distance, high over the spit

Was this sleigh I see flying, was I having a fit

No it’s true what I saw, I tell you no lie

Through the smoke of my barbee, eight, not nine reindeer did fly

They circled around, high above the boats

And landed on the water, the sled was on floats

The deer they were splashing, all flailing around

To the boat ramp they swam, and found solid ground

The fat dude at the helm was soaked to the skin

The white fur of his coat, all matted and grim

He stumbled from his sleigh, tripped off the port float

And removed his sodden dripping, red great fur coat

Into the back of the sled the coat he did heave

It was empty of course, this not being Christmas Eve

T’wards my dock he does walk, at an awkward lopy pace

Until he’s right there, right there in my face

He looks me in the eye, then spits on the ground

Says, “You’ve been a bad boy, Word’s getting’ around!”

Well what can I say? Do I have a defense?

This here’s the Big Guy, lying to him just don’t make much sense!

So I shrug my shoulders, I stare at my boot

And plead for forgiveness instead of some loot

“Well I’ll ponder it” he says, “I can’t promise a lot

“What I need right now’s my pipe and a shot”

So I take him below, and pour him a drink

He crashes down on my bunk; I and I start to think

Why’s he here? What’s he doin’? What’s the story? What’s the scoop?

Is he lost? Is he travelling? The question’s just moot

I stare at his face and he stares at mine

After we finish the cognac we break open the wine

We toss back some red, get carrots for the deer

Crack open the white, then start on the beer

I light my pipe and then he lights his

The cabin fills with smoke, my mind’s just a fizz

The he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a pouch

Flicks silvery dust in my eyes, my mind it screams “OUCH”

All of a sudden I’m sober, vision clear, mind unscathed

Brain full of wonder, Oh what a rage!

For the first time he smiles, can’t help but smile back

His eyes still piercing, stare sharp as a tack

“So you think you’re worth forgiving?” He asks with a jeer

“You think I should forget about you dining on deer?

“That was venison I smelt as I flew over your pier!”

Well what could I say? What could I do?

It tasted so good, did HE want some too?

But I held my peace, I bridled my tongue

I begged for forgiveness and pleaded long

“Well” he said, “I’ll overlook it this time”

“But watch where you’re shooting, don’t get out of line

“And two days from now, when you’re snug in your berth

“The loot that I leave you will reflect what you’re worth”

And with that he left, walked back to his team

Pulled on his coat as I stared all a-dream

He took to the sky, yelled “Tally-ho”

And as he vanished from my view, it started to snow.

Neil Thomasson

2009-10-23T14:25:00.000-07:00

The Orphanage

I can’t imagine the fear a child must feel when he or she no longer has a parent they can rely on or have faith in. Many children throughout this world are in this position. Some babies are born only to be orphaned: some lose their parents to war, natural disaster, disease, and even ethnic cleansing.

But what might seem an even greater tragedy are those children that are emotionally orphaned. Boys and girls living with parents that are emotionally, physically or sexually abusive. The parent is there, but instead of providing a nurturing, healthy and productive environment to grow up in, the child lives with fear, led to believe that they are at fault.

Unfortunately there are children living like this in our own communities. Living in our neighborhoods, not some third-world country half a planet away. They might even be living next door.

We are fortunate in Canada to be blessed with many resources to ease the difficulties in our lives. One is the Kids Help Phone. http://www.kidshelpphone.ca/ Kids Help Phone offers abused children and teens a phone number they can call or an email address they can write to where they can ask questions and receive answers to the most serious of their concerns. A good friend and neighbor of mine dedicates much of her time to helping this resource procure the money (and awareness) required to offer this service.

Charmaine Loverin, survivor of child sex abuse uses her art as a vehicle to drive awareness to organizations that are making a profound change to protect our children. Three out of five children sexually abused are abused by someone they trust. She wants our children to truly distinguish what trust looks like and this campaign is a way of showing how Kids Help is making a difference for our kids who are leaning more towards speaking through the Internet. Kids Help Phone is all about helping kids in more ways than one.

I Have Something to Say

PR Release, October 2009

If you would like to support Charmaine’s cause (or simply offer her encouragement) you can contact her on Facebook: She’ll be in my friends list. Or simply go the her website, http://www.charmaineloverin.ca/

October is Childhood Abuse Prevention Month. Let’s all do something, no matter how big or small, to make life for the children in our communities healthier, rewarding and productive. But most of all, safe for them in their homes. What you do is up to you.

2009-10-12T19:39:00.000-07:00

How Much Time Do You Have?

Let’s not fool ourselves. We really don’t have less time today than we did years ago. Sure, it seems like we have more to do, we seem to have more pressing responsibilities. But really, we don’t have less time. We simply have different priorities. And maybe different wants. But our needs haven’t really changed. And we still do have the same amount of time.

We just want to do more.

But what do we want to do more of?

I know some people that are doing more. What they’re doing though is helping their less fortunate friends, neighbors and fellow citizens; citizens of this country and of the planet.

A few of my friends have made the choice to use their time, and not just their spare time, to help make the world better for those that are disadvantaged.

I’d like all my followers to check out a blog with images contributed by a client of mine. Actually, I’d rather call her a friend. Her name’s Catherine, she’s a talented photographer and a wonderful personality. Since late last month she’s been in Africa documenting the work of a group of teenage girls from the Toronto area as they try to help a group of their peers in east Africa.

Here’s the link: girlimpact.org

After you read of the volunteer work Catherine’s involved with, check out her personal blog: www.documentographer.com/blog . I check it quite frequently. And her images are beautiful.

2009-09-13T16:25:00.000-07:00

Preserving the Past

I’ve been driving now for 27 years. Yesterday though was the first time I’ve ever run out of gas! Now there was that time in the UK when I realised I wasn’t going to make it as far as the gas station (petrol in the UK of course) but my aunt drove me and a jerry can to the station and back.

Today found me accelerating up a hill and as I changed to third the hesitation was unmistakably brought on by a lack of fuel. Sure enough, a hundred meters or so later the bike was going nowhere. The fuel switch indicated I had already depleted the reserve tank. There was nothing to do but pull to the side.

Half an hour later my brother had arrived with a litre or two and I was off again but this time headed straight to the local Shell station.

Later that evening at a family bar b’que that quick cell phone call to Matthew got us all talking about just how far our ability to communicate one with another has come over the years. Less than 45 years ago some of us didn’t even have a phone. Twenty years ago we were still using a party line at Dave’s cottage. Now I don’t even have a land line; I use a cell phone for everything.

So what did we do in the past? It would have been a long walk to get gas, or at least half an hour to a pay-phone, maybe longer. Would I have been better prepared? Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten myself into the situation at all. Or maybe many years ago I’d have considered the time to walk for gas not as inconvenient as I would now?

Let’s face it, we manage our time, and expect more from it now than we ever did! We used our time for different chores. Twenty years ago, forty years ago and especially one-hundred years ago our time was used to do things that modern conveniences no longer require of us. But now we have less time!

Last week I noticed that jars of jam bought at the grocery store have expiry dates on them! They’re preserves! The reason they have expiry dates is because they’re not made with enough sugar! The manufacturers use thickening agents instead of time and sugar to make them set. Then of course some artificial form of preservative; not sugar a natural preservative.

So, what does this have to do with phones and me running out of gas? Throughout the many years you and I have been on this planet there have been many advances to our quality of life. The ones I’m thinking about right now are mostly conveniences. Some of those conveniences are great, cell phones for instance. Look at the time my cell phone saved me yesterday! But some aren’t so great; fruit preserves with expiry dates!

Why don’t we take some of the time saved due to our new conveniences and use it to do some things like we did in the past?

A dozen mason jars will run you between seven-fifty and ten bucks at Canadian Tire. Three dollars will get you a kilo of sugar and your local fruit/veg stand will supply you with enough locally grown fruit to fill those jars for less than five. A packet of gelling agent like Certo will cost you another three dollars, and if you’re patient you can eliminate this item. Four hours and twenty dollars later and you’ve got yourself twelve jars of no “best before” dated, homemade jam. Get organized with five other friends, arrange a swap date and you’ve got twelve jars of six assorted varieties of homemade preserves. Take a trip to the grocery store and those twelve jars of jellies and jams will cost you more than forty dollars!

This week I’m going to preserve an act of the past by preserving the fruits of the present. The use of my cell phone saved me two to three hours at least this Saturday. I’ll use that time later one evening to preserve for my future. I’m looking for five others that would like to join my endeavor and later this month swap preserves.

Who’s up for some preservation?

2009-08-29T17:33:00.000-07:00

There’s no such thing as a free lunch...

It’s hard to go anywhere in the downtown core of Toronto and not be confronted with those that beg. Most ask for change, few are aggressive, But few receive a positive reaction from the public. A lot of us believe that these people are panhandling, lazy, and not wanting to work individuals. And the begging has spread. Living in the beach I see them daily. Sitting on the pavement, begging pennies.

Few of these folks receive more than the quickening of the pace away from them or an “I don’t have any change”. But many of these folks are truly deserving of our change. Or if not our change, maybe a cheap meal. And at least a kind word.

My local grocer has a deli section that sells prepared meals. The packaged ones you grab on the way home late from the office. A chicken leg with rice and some green beans: or mashed potatoes and a pork chop. Later in the evening these hot meals are half-price: guess they’re going to be thrown out anyway. So I’ll grab one with my daily shopping. Then I’ll give it to the panhandler at the corner.

Some of us have been led to believe that beggars are asking for change to buy drugs and alcohol. I’m sure many are. But the majority truly need your loose change to buy a meal. So why not buy them a meal? Or give them an apple from your bag of groceries?

So what do I mean by there being no such thing as a free lunch? Well there are free lunches, aren’t there? A company rep or an important client will quite often buy you lunch. Or your boss buys you lunch. When your boss buys you lunch don’t for one moment think it’s free. You earned that lunch. You also earned the lunch that sales rep bought you. You just didn’t pay for it out of hand.

You went to work one morning with five bucks in your pocket. Your boss bought you lunch. You’re going home that evening with five bucks more in your pocket than expected. So why not use that five-dollar bill to buy the homeless person you see every day on that busy yet lonely street corner?

Believe me, that’s not a free lunch to that person either. That person begging change on the pavement has paid for that meal with their self esteem, their pride and the scorn of most that pass him by.

Lessons Learned...

2009-08-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

Lessons learned... or not

Garbage pick up has resumed in this city of ours. Most have had 3 pick-ups. We in the Beach have had two pic ups of garbage and one of recycled materials. Tomorrow we have another pick up of recyclables. We were all inconvenienced by this work stoppage. It made some think quite extensively about the way this city is managed. It made a lot of us question the amount of waste we create. But some have decided that the city, and its residents need to stop creating physical and fiscal waste.

On almost every street corner of this city resides a gaggle of newspaper boxes. Some of them demand coins to open and remove the contents. Others though are open to all and their contents are free to all.

But are they really free?

These free daily periodicals may be free to those that read them, but they’re not free to those that don’t read them. The residents of this city pay for the clean up and disposal of them. Most free newspapers end up littering the streets of our city. They wind up on TTC property, in parks and on park benches, in the gutters and vacant spaces, especially throughout the fringes of the downtown core.

Ironically, most of these publications would want you to believe they promote public awareness and claim the higher ground when environmental issues become the flavor of the day. In fact, the publication most likely to be found littering our streets has just published a cover article entitled “The 100 Mile Myth”. How can a publication promote an ethical environmentally responsible way of life, yet create a publication that encourages litter and wastefulness in the way it delivers its message?

The city would do well to ban free periodic publications. It should at least ban the distribution of unsolicited publications. Ban boxes on street corners that don’t require payment to open. If a publication is free, it should only be available at the publisher’s office or delivered to the reader’s home and only if requested.

Free publications, including mass mailings of junk mail cost us all in disposal fees. We as tax payers pay for the clean up, pick up and disposal of all discarded printed products. No matter if they’re delivered to us free, deposited in newspaper boxes at no charge or simply left at street corners.

Free printed matter, whether advertisement or editorial isn’t free. We all pay for it. If it wasn’t printed no one would have to pay for it. The city should not allow it to be printed in the first place!

2009-08-19T21:14:00.001-07:00

I’ve become soft in my old age. I’m really not that old, but I’m older than I was a number of years ago. What do I mean about becoming soft? Well it’s the whole “what you eat is what you are” thing.

Happy city... Happy food

I’ve started buying eggs that are free range. Costs me an extra buck fifty or so. I’ve also started buying pork from the market. What it comes down to is I’ve started buying happy food. If the critter I’m eating was happy throughout its life, it’s gotta be better for me and better for the whole grand scheme of things. Happy food equals happier consumers!

I still hunt, and I still fish. But if I shoot something in the bush, or reel something in on the lake, I know it lead a productive and natural life. A happy life!

If everyone in the city were to buy a dozen free range eggs each month instead of factory eggs, we would be promoting happy chickens and happy food!

I’d much rather eat fried eggs from birds that scratched and picked from the dirt than from some factory floor, in a one foot by one foot square cage.

Let’s eat happy food, and be happier!

2009-08-17T20:39:00.000-07:00

If you do not have property in Toronto but wish to grow vegetables or flowers you can apply for an allotment. In my neighborhood there is one at the foot of Leslie St. But there is a long waiting list. If you would like to acquire a small lot to grow your own veggies you need to call the city on February the first. Right away: when you get out of bed: before you put the coffee on! It’s like signing you’re kids up for swimming classes. Thing is though, there are more pools than allotments. And there are less allotment properties than applicants!

Why don’t we have more allotment properties in our city?

There are acres of vacant unused land throughout the city. What would it take to create public allotment gardens, available to the residents of Toronto for a nominal fee from the hundreds of open, public, city owned green spaces that literally litter our city?

The city of Toronto spends hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to cut grass, prune trees and shrubs, plant annuals and maintain the perennials they plant yearly.

Why not turn a portion of the vast acreage of city, that is unused land, over to the public? They can cultivate it themselves, produce their own veggies and flowers. Self-sufficiencies become tax savings and environmental victories!

I’d like to see the city to go green. I’d LOVE to see the city encourage its citizens to go green, AND become more self-sufficient!

Let’s give those who want to grow green a place to do it! We need more allotments and better access!

2009-08-09T20:37:00.000-07:00

Let’s get our city to a higher level of quality living.

If where you live has a back yard, front yard, or terrace, put up a bird house. Or maybe a bat house. Great either way for keeping the bugs down and getting the kids (and us older, don’t want to grow up ones) interested in so much stuff!

First of all there’s the interest in the environment. Then there’s the whole idea of putting hammer to nail and creating something useful. Useful for the little creatures around us.

A bird house, a bat house; less bugs and a great family project!

Send me pictures.

2009-08-09T17:38:00.000-07:00

So many people, so little purpose!

...Oh, but that is God's conundrum!

What sense is there to our lives if we lack purpose? If we lack purpose, we live either foolishly or without consideration.

This past Friday afternoon afforded me the best view one can possibly have of my city. (For those of you living afar, I’m referring to Toronto. It’s only my city because that’s where I live and work. On many days I find myself wishing it weren’t my city.) Why was this the best view? Well, at three miles out, on a beam reach doing six and a half knots, Toronto is at it’s best! You can’t hear it, you can’t smell it!

I have my problems with Toronto. I’m sure many people do. I’m sure most people have problems with the areas they live in, be it urban, rural or isolated. Having problems or concerns is one thing, but not doing anything about it is something completely different!

If we honestly care about the environment which we live in, or our interaction with those around us, and think there’s any purpose to our lives, then maybe we should all come up with some constructive ideas to make life better for ourselves and others in our community. It really shouldn’t take much.

I have a challenge to all.

Over the next two weeks I’m going to illustrate ten ideas that I believe will help make this city of ours, or any community for that matter, a better place to live in. Some of my ideas are easily implemented with a simple change in one’s daily routine, others will need the actions of city council. But, all will be within the realms of possibility. No magic, no science fiction!

So, what’s the challenge? Follow through with the implementation of at least half the ideas I publish, or come up with, and fulfill five out of ten of your own ideas. I’ve not completed my list yet, I’ve five or six ideas so far. I’ll post one tonight, later.

Let’s make our world better to live in. For ourselves and those around us. Let’s live with purpose!

2009-07-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

I have an older client by the name of Paul. He has a wonderful story to tell. I need to share it and I hope that he doesn’t mind.

Paul has an absolute positive outlook on life. He is retired from a rewarding career and now travels each year to Europe to photograph trains, waterfalls and interesting architecture. During the warmer months he tries to spend as many days as he can on the Toronto Islands. This summer of course has been so rudely interrupted by the strike. Paul, just like so many other fixed income individuals and families has been adversely affected by this selfish act. Normally, a few times a week Paul would take the Yonge Street subway line to the Island ferry and then spend the day on Centre Island and Ward’s Island.

Paul’s journey started before most of us were born. In 1938, at the age of thirteen, Paul and his older sister moved to England. His father foolishly believed the wave sweeping over Germany and eastern Europe would subside and Paul’s family would soon be reunited. Paul never saw or heard from his mom and dad again.

A year and a few months later the UK Declared war on Germany. Paul and the other teenage boys in his foster home awaited daily for death notices from their homeland. Many arrived, but Paul never received one. His mom and dad simply vanished, never to be seen again. But Paul strived on.

Paul was later to become a British Subject. He has since considered himself to be English and not German. And as a young man he converted to Christianity. Since then an active member in his church.

But Paul never forgot his roots. And he never missed a chance to help and support someone who had suffered the same losses he had. He met others who had been fortunate enough to escape the Nazis and Stalin but had lost family. And those that needed strength he encouraged.

Unfortunately Paul’s sister was never able to overcome the trauma that engulfed her life when her parents became victims of Europe’s anti-Semitism. Later in life she was admitted to psychiatric hospitals because of this trauma. She was never able to overcome the pain inflicted upon her be the devastation in eastern Europe.

Paul has overcome though. He still lives with the memory of his family destroyed by the Nazis. His mom and dad never heard from after 1938 and his sister who died still traumatized by that loss. Yet he is positive.

In my conversation with him last week he told me that we can all get on with our lives no matter what happens. All we need is faith and a positive attitude.

2009-07-19T17:58:00.000-07:00

Waste, garbage, refuse...

Toronto is in the midst of a civic workers’ strike. We won’t discus here who are to blame or where responsibility for this work stoppage lie, but many people do seem to be suffering. I’m not, I’m simply inconvenienced. But I’ve also learnt a few things from it.

There hasn’t been garbage pick-up in over four weeks. That’s what has caused my inconvenience. We’re double bagging, we’re storing our recycle goods and I’m trying to compost more. And it’s made me think. It’s made me look at my lifestyle and come to some uncomfortable realizations.

We have become a wasteful, over-consuming, uncomfortably high densely populated society.

We take no responsibility for the waste we create, for our over-indulgences or our excessive consumerism. What if there never was, ever again a garbage pick up in this city? What would we do with the excess of packaging we accumulate? The food we cook and do not eat? Or for that matter, the food we allow to partially rot in our fridges before tossing away?

Three generations ago we would never have even considered these questions. We would have simply disposed of our own refuse, garbage and waste. But where and how? In the street, the local park or ice rink? NO, on our own property: our back yards, our gardens; where we grew our vegetables and raised our livestock.

We no longer grow or raise our own food. But as consumers we create a greater amount of waste. And we don’t take responsibility for it. And now we are complaining that those we employ to, have neglected their responsibility. A job we, as tax payers, employ them to do; pay them.

As I have before, and will again, let’s separate the politics from this situation. Let’s not lay blame but look at ourselves. There is garbage to dispose of. And as individuals we should be capable of disposing of our own waste.

We should waste less; purchase only that which we are able to consume, and be capable of disposing of all our over indulgences.

Waste not, want not.

Lament For Confederation

2009-07-12T19:33:00.000-07:00

I made a promise to myself and the sensitive in my community that I would do my best to be as apolitical as I could be when posting my blogs. I'm opinionated, I'm dogmatic and some might say a slight bit arrogant. But this posting is not about me. I've been asked to post a link to the Chief's soliloquy "Lament for Confederation". Instead of a link, here it is, word for word. Read it, savour the words, and take a part of it with you wherever you travel in Canada, and anywhere indigenous people strive to preserve their culture.

Lament for Confederation

How long have I known you, Oh Canada? A hundred years? Yes, a hundred years. And many, many seelanum more. And today, when you celebrate your hundred years, Oh Canada, I am sad for all the Indian people throughout the land.

For I have known you when your forests were mine; when they gave me my meat and my clothing. I have known you in your streams and rivers where your fish flashed and danced in the sun, where the waters said 'come, come and eat of my abundance.' I have known you in the freedom of the winds. And my spirit, like the winds, once roamed your good lands.

But in the long hundred years since the white man came, I have seen my freedom disappear like the salmon going mysteriously out to sea. The white man's strange customs, which I could not understand, pressed down upon me until I could no longer breathe.

When I fought to protect my land and my home, I was called a savage. When I neither understood nor welcomed his way of life, I was called lazy. When I tried to rule my people, I was stripped of my authority.

My nation was ignored in your history textbooks - they were little more important in the history of Canada than the buffalo that ranged the plains. I was ridiculed in your plays and motion pictures, and when I drank your fire-water, I got drunk - very, very drunk. And I forgot.

Oh Canada, how can I celebrate with you this Centenary, this hundred years? Shall I thank you for the reserves that are left to me of my beautiful forests? For the canned fish of my rivers? For the loss of my pride and authority, even among my own people? For the lack of my will to fight back? No! I must forget what's past and gone.

Oh God in heaven! Give me back the courage of the olden chiefs. Let me wrestle with my surroundings. Let me again, as in the days of old, dominate my environment. Let me humbly accept this new culture and through it rise up and go on.

Oh God! Like the thunderbird of old I shall rise again out of the sea; I shall grab the instruments of the white man's success-his education, his skills- and with these new tools I shall build my race into the proudest segment of your society.

Before I follow the great chiefs who have gone before us, Oh Canada, I shall see these things come to pass. I shall see our young braves and our chiefs sitting in the houses of law and government, ruling and being ruled by the knowledge and freedoms of our great land.

So shall we shatter the barriers of our isolation. So shall the next hundred years be the greatest in the proud history of our tribes and nations.

Chief Dan George, July 1st, 1967.

2009-07-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

During the middle of the nineteenth century, the art and science of photography took a hold on the world. It is impossible to live a day now and not somehow be affected by a photographic image. Photography allows us to capture a moment-in-time, create an image and show it to the world. What would we do without it? Or better yet, what did we do without it?

Once upon a time man used oils, pigments, charcoals; he reproduce the visions he had of the world. He reproduced peoples’ faces: scenes of combat, scenes of beauty: landscapes and cityscapes: urban and rural.

With the advent of photography, the reproduction of life as we saw it became obsolete: at least to the painter. Because of this the age of Impressionism happened.

The age of Impressionism gave us Monet and Renoir. We were shown the talent of Alfred Sisley and Mary Cassatt. There are the beautiful scenes of harvest by Pissarro and the harbor scenes by Morisot.

But what of the greatest Impressionist of all time? A Canadian. Tom Thomson.

Tom was born August the fifth 1877, and he died in his fortieth year of unknown causes.

But he died doing what he loved and in the land he chose to recreate for the world to see: on canvas and in oil.

On that day he set forth in his canoe with his paints and fishing gear. His body wasn’t discovered for many days later. But the treasures he left Canadians are there for all to discover.

Each time that I wander into the bush, whether with my camera, fishing rod or rifle, I’m looking for that same scene that Tom Thomson saw when he gave us Jack Pines.

Tom Thomson recorded for us a Canada that all Canadians should have a great appreciation for. He gave us the Birches, Jack Pine and the Pool. Tom saw Canada as we all should. As beauty, serenity and as proof that God exists. Because Canada does.

2009-07-04T17:41:00.000-07:00

How many Canadians can boast of an Oscar and Golden Globe nomination, a Golden Laurel Award, a National Society of Film Critics Award and a New York Film Critics Circle Award? All in the same year and all for portraying the same historical figure on film. And at the wise age of 72!

He was born Tes-Wah-No, and as a young boy was known as Dan Slaholt. Upon entering boarding school he took his father’s first name as his last, because speaking his tribal tongue was forbidden as were native Canadian names. After leaving school he worked as a longshoreman, a logger and a construction worker. His first acting role was not until he was in his mid sixties. But his most important job, and the name we all know him by came about in 1951.

In 1951 Tes-Wah-No became Chief Dan George. By the mid sixties he was a household name in North America. And in 1967 he gave the speech that would bring him to the fore front of the native rights movement.

The speech was entitled Lament For Confederation. He delivered it before 35,000 people on July first, Canada Day, 1967: Canada’s 100th anniversary. He delivered this speech in the hopes it would boost the self-esteem of his fellow natives, showing and imploring them that anyone could succeed as he had, anyone from a disadvantaged background: anyone, even if their government had suppressed them and denied them their true identity.

All true Canadians, new and old, should read Chief Dan George’s soliloquy Lament for Confederation. There’s a lesson in it for all of us. Chief Dan George would be happy to know his words had not fallen on deaf ears and were being heard 42 years later.

Hail to and respect the Chief.

2009-07-02T20:39:00.000-07:00

I love boats. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re called “shes”. There have been a few in my life, and I’m sure there will be a few more. I’ve had long term relationships with some, adored a few from afar, other relationships have been fleeting, no pun intended. And of course others I’ve loved unconditionally. The first boat I fell for was the “Persephone”.

Nick Adonidas was the Persephone’s captain. Nick and his partner Jesse Jim plied the waters of British Columbia in search of loose lumber. Nick was an upstanding member of the community. He helped the widowed and orphaned. He was best friends with members of the First Nations community and the local RCMP officers. Nick was an immigrant, a new Canadian who embraced Canada, his community and the culture he had adopted, the community which had adopted him.

Nick Adonidas was a fictitious character. But, he was played by a man that was just as large and gregarious as Nick himself.

Bruno Gerussi was born of Greek immigrants in May of 1928. Between 1972 and 1991 Bruno portrayed Nick Adonidas. He could have moved south as many have and worked for greater amounts of money playing character and bit parts in Hollywood. But instead he opted for the captain of the Persephone. And later the host of Celebrity Cooks.

Bruno Gerussi, a first generation Canadian, portrayed a new Canadian who was proud to be Canadian. He befriended First Nations Canadians, new Canadians and those who’s lineage goes back generations.

We all need to do a bit of beach combing. Some of us need to pick up a few new items washed up upon the shore. And some of us need to collect some items from the past. Items that give us a closer link to our community. And it doesn’t matter if we’re new to that community or have been in it for generations.

2009-07-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

In Hastings England, on the grounds of the William Parker School, formerly the Hastings Grammar School, grows a Canadian Red Maple. A number of blocks from the school is plaque of commemoration. Four miles to the east, at the Hastings Park ranger station, there is another commemorative plaque. And back in town, at the Hastings Museum and Art Gallery there is a life size replica of a log cabin which once sat at a lake side in the Canadian wilderness.

The plaque commemorates Archibald Belaney. Otherwise known as Grey Owl.

Here’s a man that has greater recognition from, and status in, the country he left and denied any physical link to. Archibald became Grey Owl. A man with a history as Canadian as one could ever imagine. But there is more dedication to his existence by the community that he left and denied any common history with.

Grey Owl is the grandfather of the conservation/environmental movement in Canada: maybe the world. And if it weren’t for Grey Owl the beaver would not be one of our national symbols. If it weren’t for Grey Owl the beaver just might be extinct! Has anyone looked at a nickel lately?

Every Canadian should know who Jellyroll and Rawhide were. If they don’t they need to find out.

Every Canadian needs to understand what it means to uproot one’s self from a culture and become part of another. Then become Canadian. And then to contribute to that culture.

Archibald became Canadian. We all need to become Grey Owl.

2009-06-30T20:15:00.001-07:00

When I was seven I was hospitalized for a ruptured appendicitis. Not a fun few weeks: but that’s a story for another time. Before I was hospitalized my mum was reading a book to me at bedtime each night. A chapter a night. No chapter the night of surgery.

That book became very important to me. It became the first real novel I read on my own. My mum read a chapter or two during visiting hours. That was not enough. She left it with me and I finished it.

The book was “Owls In The Family”. The author, Farley Mowat. I went on to read many more of his novels.

They were stories that concerned Canadians. Young and old. They were growing up in urban communities, they were lost in the far north or they were fighting in the trenches of Europe. They owned dogs, or lived with dogs. They built boats and sailed them. They traveled to this great land and they traveled away from it. These characters loved Canada. These characters were Canada.

Farley Mowat is overlooked. His example of Canadian culture is ignored. But Farley Mowat is a true Canadian. His books should be compulsory reading for all Canadian students. Every new Canadian should be expected to have an understanding of Farley Mowat’s Canada.

Farley Mowat’s Canada is my Canada.

Canada Day

2009-06-28T12:08:00.001-07:00

Canada enters its 143rd year this coming Wednesday. I’ve been here for 44 of them. That’s almost a third of Canada’s existence as a free independent state. A lot has changed in those 44 years! But you can’t change history! And you can’t change the characters that built that history. Unfortunately though, you can ignore them. And in Canada, I think we have.

Over the last few years we’ve watched as main stream media has told us who have been the most influential and important Canadians, which Canadians are a representation of that ever elusive true Canadian character. Watch this spot over the next week as I write about Canadians I believe to be the most important and representative of true Canadian character and culture.

Many will disagree with my choices but I hope it will encourage them and others to examine what the country means to them. And what really is the character of Canada.

2009-06-27T19:29:00.000-07:00

Iran is on the verge of revolution, North Korea is threatening to launch a warhead, and Toronto has no garbage pick-up... Who died? Oh, Farrah did, that was sad... Who was that other one?

I must admit I was upset that Farrah's death was overshadowed as it was.