A Tough celebration

Benjamin Franklin famously wrote in 1789, "In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes." Joyce and I have reached that point in life where we completely understand what Ben meant. 

Taxes are a regular topic of discussion around our dinner table thanks to our present state of things, but death visited our Circle recently when one of my family's oldest friends passed over the rainbow bridge after encountering some health complications. The funeral service was this past weekend, and despite the sadness of passing, the stories of a life well lived brought smiles and a chuckles, the remembrance of a stellar woman / sibling / spouse / mom / Nana / G-Nana was wholly celebrated by family and friends. 

Elizabeth Ann (Maroney) Tough passed away on February 26th, 2025, having seen and accomplished a great number of things in her almost 85 years. Although the exact circumstances have become dusty and occluded over the more than 5 decades, I first met BA when my mom and dad bought a semidetached little slice of heaven on Gaylong Court in Toronto, right across the street from Jim and Betty Ann Tough and their 2 children Karen and Michael. For over 50 years, our 2 families have laughed, cried, danced, swam, BBQ'd, hugged, and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company, the highlight being an annual gathering almost exclusively held on the August Civic Holiday weekend. We were "cut from different cloth" as far as personalities go, but that didn't serve as divisive, rather we embraced the variety like a hearty bowl of vegetable soup ... we were warmed from the inside out. 

As Old Man Time marches on, our 2 families have progressed much the same as many, aging gracefully (or not) as Gen 1 greyed, Gen 2 adulted begetting grandkids, Gen 3 also adulted begetting great grandkids, the ebb and flow of this Life throwing challenges that we shared as we conquered. The sadness of loss aside, our cadre has passed on our love's light from generation to generation to generation, the importance of maintaining contact carefully planed and nurtured to ensure the sense of belonging to something bigger continued by receiving regular infusions. The umbrella of caring even extended outwards to include Betty Ann's younger brother Gary as his presence became a welcomed familiarity.

Throughout those years, our group met the challenges of Life head on, each member becoming enveloped in a shroud of selflessness, caring, and connection as we grew to understand how each of us had our strengths, quirks, likes, and dislikes that became almost as familiar as the face we saw every morning in the mirror. 

We've lost a few members along the way.

One of the reasons our clan became so close occurred early on when the Tough's eldest child Karen was tragically killed when navigating a pedestrian crosswalk not far from their home. The grief of burying a child was both devastating and gilding as my parents consoled BA and Jim over their family's tragedy. The time the grieving required brought about opportunity for the kids involved to build relationships of their own, and with Mike and I being of similar age, we joined the other children on our little court in discovering all that the neighbourhood held. As the saying goes, "when one door closes, another opens", bringing with it the light of healing when BA and Jim refocused their "cup runneth over" love by adopted a wee one they named Jennifer, a cherubic little bundle of happiness that was quickly embraced by all in our clan.

Many years later, Death visited us again when my father succumbed to cancer, the tables being turned as the Toughs rallied around my family, helping us navigate our profound sense of loss. By this time, our numbers had swollen, bringing opportunity for the younger to understand the Circle of Life and all that this sense of loss included in its offer. During my family's grieving, the Toughs reminded us of the plethora of happy memories, their light casting away the shadows of our sadness, our tears lovingly wiped away with the laughter of familiarity.

Many who might read this will also be astutely aware of my brother Dave's death nearly 2 years ago now. I've written about that already so you all know how that impacted our class, and we're still reeling over that one, but the Tough clan rallied around us again, selflessly showing their support in our time of need.

Betty Ann's passing was inevitable, just as Ben Franklin proclaimed, and we hugged our way through her absence with beautifully penned reminders from her brother Gary, and her children Jennifer and Michael, each a splendid expose of all that BA shared with the world during her years. The sense of absence I felt was impactful in that I felt like I had lost a quasi-parent, BA's presence having become a part of my life's foundation after so many years. My heart goes out to all who gathered in their effort to find some comfort for the emptiness, and especially to the Tough family who have had to live up to their namesake in the past couple of weeks.

RIP Betty Ann

Enjoy your teary reunion with Karen.

Give my dad Terry a hug from all of us.

Tell my brother Dave that we still talk about his absence.

Pondering

One of the fringe benefits of retirement is the ability to have greater control over how the minutes of your day are spent, whom they are spent with, and the potential future impact of choosing that path. While I dearly loved teaching, and by extension coaching, I have found the last five years of retirement immensely satisfying and fulfilling as I imbued myself in things that uplift my soul, leaving me with a profound sense of accomplishment. It is both the identification of those feelings, and the accompanying evaluation at the close of each experience that has lead to the following thought-provoking questions.

The purpose of this piece is not to wag a finger, to compare, or to preach.

If you find yourself with some minutes unoccupied by the repercussions of what you have chosen to fill those minutes with, please give both the questions and my rebuttals a quick read with the understanding that I lay zero claims of correctness, enlightenment, or transformation, but rather, present them as a gift or a launchpad, to start your personal reflections surrounding each. 

If today were the last day of your life, would you want to do what you are about to do today?

Wow! Nothing like starting with a 'heavy' one, eh? 

For me, with hindsight being 20/20, did I choose wisely when it came time to put all of my eggs in the same basket? That is to say, did I choose the correct path, now that it all said and done, and I have learned a plethora of valuable lessons along that journey? 

I will unequivocally state that teaching (and coaching) is, and always will be, what stokes the flames of my soul's passion, and any day spent in that endeavour permits me a complete sense of accomplishment that warms me to my toes. I cannot even dream of a day where teaching, in all its forms, isn't included in my choice for any day's minutes.

Are you holding onto something that you need to let go of?
Look, I'm no different than so many. I occasionally look back on the memories of my life using the lens of 'coulda' or 'shoulda', playing the compare game with those that matter in my life, and that very act reveals negativity I've shouldered for far too long. Their very presence has impacted my decisions of the here and now by instilling hesitation or anxiety of the what could have been. However, considering these negatives are very few in number, in opposition I hold a great many more decisions and accomplishments that bolster extreme pride in my breast. 

I'll come clean right here and now that one of my regrets surrounds the extent of my focus during my university football career because, being brutally honest, I know that I "left something on the table" that may (or, may not) have made that fractional difference in how some of the challenges I faced eventually played out. While I have come to terms with that regret ... it was over 40 years ago ... the sting of letting myself down, and by extension my team mates, still maintains an edge, and is something that still lingers.

Another regret surrounds my own perceived evaluation of being a Dad. More times than I am comfortable with, I chose my passions for ensuring my players/students were gifted lessons whose foundations were my personal experience to overshadow the lessons that should have been gifted to my own children. While I did attempt to dampen the regret by investing time with them in their sporting choices, I know deep down that I certainly could have done more by prioritizing more effectively. I am still working my way through this one, but when I see them both flourishing in their "adultness", I feel the sting a little less. 

As the saying goes, "That's water under the bridge", and it's time to let them both go.

If we learn from our mistakes then why we are afraid to make mistakes?
This is a BIG one! 

As human beings, we crave inclusion and approval, with the fear of rejection a powerful motivator in Life's significant challenges, instilling a sense of dread directly related to putting our very best out there, lest it be deemed not sufficient. As a life long educator, I am acutely aware that mistakes are a part of the human condition, the consequences of not measuring up to the fruit of the Tree of Life, lessons scaffolded on previous learning to become more than we presently are ... but that doesn't make them any less intimidating.

Look, Giannis Antetokounmpo, NBA All Star and former MVP, put it perfectly when queried about feelings of failure for not winning the championship. “Every year you work, you work towards something, towards a goal, right? Which is to get a promotion, be able to take care of your family, to be able to provide the house for them or take care of your parents. You work towards a goal. It’s not a failure; it’s steps to success. There's always steps to it ... Michael Jordan played 15 years, won six championships; the other nine years was a failure? That's what you're telling me? There's no failure in sports. You know, there's good days, bad days. Some days you are able to be successful, some days you're not. Some days it’s your turn, some days it’s not your turn. And that's what sports is about. You don't always win; some other team’s gonna win. And this year, somebody else is gonna win. Simple as that." 

Mistakes are a natural consequence of trying to accomplish something, and if we fail, it should be seen as a lesson used to manifest personal growth. It's NOT something we should fear. As Confucius stated, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step", and if our fear prevents simply striding out, how can we move forward with our life?

In the haste of our daily lives, what are we not seeing?
Oh, if I only knew now what I didn't know back then! 

A popular sentiment these days is to be 'present', to allow ourselves to gain a broader perspective of the HERE, the NOW, lest it be clouded by the past or future. When I look back on my choices, I am given pause when reflecting on my singular focus, missing some of the incredible things happening in my periphery, things that given their due focus might have made a significant difference for those that I hold dear. (See above)

The stark truth is that I don't multi-task very well at all, and when I try, I often come up quite short. I keep trying to improve, but I'm still quite a piece down the pathway from competency, and I must remind myself to be more aware of the "bigger" picture, significantly reducing anxiety while increasing both creativity and productivity. Actively embracing mindfulness and gratitude will stave off the temptation to overthinking a situation, begetting a clearer understanding of the emotions in the happening.

Life is too short to tolerate (fill in the blank)?

At the risk of insulting readers by being crass, Life is too short to tolerate BULLSHIT!

In my vocabulary, that term encompasses a wide array of subjects and thoughts, but at its heart, I mean that I find people with a lack of character, morals, and decency intolerable to interact with. I'm a guy who takes pride in his integrity, my word being my bond, and as such I look to align myself with those of similar stock. I will not suffer those that act in ways that reveal an astute lack of character through actions or words, finding the negativity generated insurmountable to tolerate. 

Case in point, without becoming too political or controversial, the fear mongering, gas lighting, and intimidation of the past 8 weeks since inauguration on January 20th that have filled the news waves thanks to the ever shifting, flip-flopping half truths that have escaped the mind of the US President that, at least for me, cements his place as the poster child for the term. Back on home soil, the recent re-election of Premiere Ford and impending possibilities of PC leader Poilievre have my Bullshit meter clicking louder than a geiger counter at Chernobyl. I'm not claiming to have any sort of crystal ball, but as they say, "actions speak louder than words", and through my personal lens, I see only BS.

Deep sigh with heavy remorse.

A quick Internet search will reveal dozens of questions of this sort. 

Perhaps a sequel post to continue the discussion will arrive in your inbox some time in the future.

As always, thanks for reading.

Shock and awe!

Hey there folks.

I really feel I have to get something off my chest. I'm hesitant in the understanding that the following will cause some blowback, but I feel the compulsion to offer comment on the events that transpired at the White House recently.

February 28th, 2025, will be forever remembered as the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's back", but sadly, it was the decent, common-sense American who's back was broken. The disturbing display of tyrannical, venomous ill-will hurled by the White House in the direction of Ukraine's President Zelenskyy, and broadcast to the world, was a glaring display of undiplomatic, narcissistic, myopic close-mindedness that was, I would guess, an American embarrassment of epic proportions. Put aside the 'Elephant in the Room' that these discussions should have taken place behind closed doors instead of some ridiculous reality television broadcast, the sheer lack of decency and diplomacy was a Tsunami of insults, laying bare to the world that America had better brace itself as the foundations of its house begins to crumble. 

Listen, I have my own opinions about the quality of person that Trump, and by extension Vance, has repeatedly proven to be, but to attack the elected leader of a country in the throws of a vicious unjustified 3-year long full blown war while demanding a Thank You for support given, then berating him with intimidation attempts, "You have no cards in this", is a childlike tantrum to appear powerful and in charge. It was both incredulous and befuddling.

The repercussions of this travesty will be like a festering wound, propagating slowly beneath the surface before erupting in pustules of shock, despair, and angered rebuttal that will send shockwaves around the globe as nations turn their back on all relations with the USA, a direct result of the disintegrating levels of trust required to foster and support diplomatic relationships.

Disagree all you wish, but these events are akin to blaming Jews for angering Hitler's Nazis into a series of horrific decisions. An over exaggeration, yes, but to attack the victim for resisting an invasion with comments like, "You're gambling with WWIII", is paramount to blaming a rape victim for wearing a dress. 

The bewilderment of the world that the past 40 days prompted has been an unexpected eruption of toddler-like temper tantrums leaving no doubt that the America we all have come to recognize over the past few decades will most assuredly be unrecognizable for the foreseeable future.

A sadly significant percentage of the 'adults' of today are certainly leaving a mess for today's youngsters to deal with in the future. Although the old adage, "This too shall pass" holds true, the damage will be done.

Sad times, folks.
These are desperately sad times.

Band of brothers

Scotty B, Scotty S, + OD

If you've read my musings in the past, you might be aware that I'm pretty gosh darned proud of my years attending Queen's University and representing the Gaels as a member of the Men's Football team from fall of '82 to the fall of '86. In other posts like CLICK and CLICK and CLICK, I talked about my experiences, some of the guys that I shared them with, and the impact that they had on my life. As with any group of similarly aged guys, our hearts have been broken due to tragedies of one form or another, so when the group puts out the call to re-unite, I make every concerted effort to get to wherever it will happen. 

This post is a gratitude letter to those guys, and the photos are from our latest 'breaking of bread' in honour of the holiday season for 2024.

The photo above is (L to R) Scotty Bissessar, Scott Stirling, and Ross O'Doherty. I included it at the top of the post because not only are they 3 mighty fine looking old farts, but it captures the celebratory mood of the day succinctly and completely. Ross (on the right) has become our sherpa, our fearless leader, our Julie the cruise director, the irresistible force that sounds the call to arms for another reunion of our brothers.
Plus, he makes (nudge, nudge Heather) the tastiest Christmas shortbreads this side of Toronto!

For a little background, the football program at Queen's is one of the more successful, storied, tradition-rich of it's kind, and our shared years there did nothing to tarnish that image. We enjoyed more than our fair share of success, but the single greatest unifying factor was a Cinderella run at the Vanier Cup in 1983 where our big yellow hearts (inside joke) fell just seconds short of besting the brawn of the Dinos from Calgary. Despite the sting of falling just shy of that lofty goal, our Vanier experience forged chains of steel that linked our souls for all time. I'm sure the photo to the right has your brow furled ... Thanks to a gaff in translating my 20 year old self's penmanship, I was introduced at the Vanier to the CBC viewership as Stew. Way too funny!

As one of us harkened, we are indeed a 'Band of Brothers'.

Andy, Scotty B, and yours truly

Like any varsity program, those that toiled shoulder to shoulder in the trenches span a swath of years, and as such, we are a group of late 50's to mid 60's distinguished gentlemen who have reached one of Life's great milestones as we transition from working years to retirement. Such a metamorphosis lends a perspective rich in fellowship, connection, and camaraderie. A toast is raised to they that have gone before us, their smiles and gibes sorely missed, and we slip quickly back into the 20-something mindset of our yesteryear to reminisce of the shenanigans, the highlights, and the heartbreaks. There is much laughter, the occasional misty eye, the smiles of connection, and long tight embraces as we wish nothing but the best for our brothers and their families. 

Pete, Ian, and Pete's son

While it is true that we do not spend as many moments together as we would all desire, it is also very true that we shun the sting of absence by quickly embracing the kinship worthy of our Gaelic heritage, sharing both drink and news of our loved ones. It was remarked that day that ours is a connection stronger than the heartiest forged metal thanks to the circumstances surrounding our unanticipated rise to the tip of the football pile, and that was evident once again as those that could attend, did, without hesitation, ignoring the distance.

Connie, Tom, and Rick

I would like my brothers to know how much their continuing friendship means to me, then and now, an influence of epic repercussions, and that I appreciate the role they have played in my becoming the person I am. The lessons we learned cooperatively those many years ago have helped immeasurably as I navigated the peaks and valleys of the life I've lived, and I have dutifully endeavoured to pass their teachings on to those youngsters I coached, that they would share in the glory of connection.

To my brothers ...
I am forever grateful.
I am truly humbled by your continuing friendship.
I sincerely wish you all health, prosperity, and peace this holiday season and the coming year.

That's a great question!

Like the movie, "I'm baaaaack!" I have allowed my schedule to be incredibly busy these past couple of months, so writing to a back seat, as it were. I figured it was time to tickle the keys again.

One of the dichotomous notions involved with advancing along Life's path are the polar opposites of "I'm not that old!" and "I'm so old!" as a reaction to situations that arise through the sharing of common experiences or opinions. Along that vein, nostalgia dictates that we look longingly backwards at the things that struck a chord at formative periods of our life, and as such, questions arise from time to time that conjure up some memories of yesteryear because they made us ponder or contemplate.

While I'm proud of my cognitive powers, I didn't come up with all of the questions below on my own, and since making a note of them quite a while ago, I can no longer recall where I copied most from, so I'll come clean that I did, in fact, plagiarize some. I give full credit to the original author. If I'm honest, however, I did come up with some of these on my own, but who knows if it was creation or recall. If great minds think alike, so be it!

Enjoy the thinking that some may conjure!
My true goal is to make the corners of your mouth turn up, even if it's only a brief passing.

Who let the Dogs Out? And why'd they do it?

Where, exactly, is the beef?

What is involved with getting to Sesame Street?

Why doesn't Dora just use Google Maps?

Why are eggs packaged in a flimsy paper carton, yet batteries in impenetrable plastic?

Why can't women put on mascara with their mouth closed?

Why is "abbreviation" such a long word?

Why is lemon juice is made with artificial flavour, yet dish-washing liquid with real lemons?

Why do we park in a driveway, yet drive on a parkway?

Why do they use sterilized needles for lethal injections?

Why do you "put your two cents in", but are offered only a "penny for your thoughts"?

Why do "The Alphabet Song" and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" have the same melody?

Why did you just try to sing those two previous songs?

What, specifically, is Victoria's secret?

Why hasn't anyone come out with a line of mouse-flavoured cat food yet?
Why is the word "queue" simply the letter Q followed by four silent letters?
Why aren't eyebrows considered facial hair when they're obviously on your face?
Why is good health highly encouraged when it's really just a slower rate of dying?
Why are we urged to "be a leader and not a follower," yet expected to follow that advice?
Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the bottle?
Why do feet stink and noses run?
Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard?
What colour does a Smurf turn if choking?
What hair colour do they record on bald people’s driver’s licenses?
Who tests and confirms whether dog food is ever improved?
Why can something be described as new and improved at the same time?

Why is it called rush hour when it is actually the slowest time of the day?

Why is a boxing ring square?

Why do we wait until night to "call it a day"?

When you try to fail and succeed, which have you done?

Why did Cinderella’s shoe fall off if it fit her perfectly?

Which orange came first, the fruit or the colour?

Why do we keep our garments in a suitcase and our suits in a garment bag?

Why is patience such a virtue if the early bird has the advantage?

What handcuffs do you use on a one-armed man?

When you have fun wasting time, are you still wasting it?

Why do the sayings “slim chance” and “fat chance” have the same meaning?

I'm sure there are actually answers to some of these questions, but I don't have them. 

I hope that some of them at least made you smile!

It's just plain broken!

As many of you already aware, my next younger brother Dave lost his life at the ungodly age of 56 in a motorcycle accident when a driver coming the opposite way decided to turn left right in front of him on Wed Aug 2nd, 2023. Fast forward to this past week, and the driver's case was finally put in front of the legal system, a full 14 months later, and only due to the fact that the guilty plea was submitted.

The driver was an 60 something year old lady, and although there has been much speculation on the minds of many close to our family as to why she made the decision, there equally as many anguished periods of bewildered contemplation in trying to understand why the gears of the legal system were grinding at such a frustratingly slow pace. Information surrounding the accident was kept close to the chests of the authorities for a painfully long stretch, and our family struggled with the snippets that did find their way to us, often prompting anguish and heartache.

At the beginning of October (I have forgotten the actual date), the Crown met with those in the family that could attend to discuss the ramifications surrounding a handful of delays and decisions that were having a profoundly disturbing effect on the proceedings. Despite the delay, my family was relieved to meet with the potential of learning information that came directly "from the horse's mouth", as it were ... or at least we thought.

The delay in legal action, it was explained, was due to the backlog of cases, and to the rights that the accused had to 'appropriate' representation, specifically her ESL needs requiring a translator. These two issues were creating a potentially horrific cascade of dominos that might allow her to walk away without meaningful repercussion. I am sure that anyone reading this can empathize with the emotional roller coaster we had just been loaded into. As it turned out, for the case to proceed to a legitimate trial, all of her rights had to met to make the mark in the court calendar, and (drumroll) if the case couldn't be scheduled within 18 months, the pending charges would be dropped.

Wait ... WHAT?

The only saving grace (odd term in this case) was if she were to plead guilty to a lesser charge, making an illegal left turn, a plea that would remove my brother's death from the case entirely, she would still face some form of punishment, even if it was simply a fine. Any sane individual in our family's situation would find that unpalatable and insulting, but there it was, staring us dead in the face, it's balled fist ready to strike. With the Crown and the attending officer choosing their words very carefully, they responded to the angered outcries of consternation coming from our side of the table, as it became obvious that Dave's demise was about to slip through the cracks in the legal system like so much melting ice.

All of this came to a head when our family was invited (another odd choice of word) to Zoom the court proceedings surrounding her plea. Imagine if you can, being the mother of a child who was robbed of a full life and the person responsible be allowed to pay a fine in traffic court, but that's what my mother had to deal with, and the flames of her pain were 'fanned' by the defence attorney's attempts to paint his client as the victim. Since our family was muted and unable to interact, there were questions that arose that begged to have answers, so following the conclusion of the trial, my mother reached out to the system for answers, but the responses only served to exacerbate the confusion.

The defence stated that my brother was going 77 kph just prior to the collision, but anyone who knew Dave in any way, shape, or form would know that he was a very conscientious and defensive cyclist.

The response received indicated that tire marks indicated a speed of 40 kph at the time of impact, while the accident recreation report cited it was likely that Dave was accelerating towards a speed of 77 kph. There was dash-cam footage of the collision showing the car cutting off Dave, leaving him little or no time to react, so does it even matter how fast he was going? The fact that the defence was allowed to insinuate that Dave was at fault in some manner was treacherous and deceitful.

The defence also stated that the accused required a full year to pay the $1000 maximum fine for her discretion, due to the fact that she existed on a monthly income of $800 per month.

Who can possibly live in the city of Barrie on $800 per month? It's obvious that she has either (a) hidden streams of income, or (b) someone assisting her. 

What remains is an unpalatable gross negligence that the Canadian legal system equates my brother's life to $1000.00, and the pain, anguish, suffering, and financial implications of his family's life without him in it the carnage of what we Canadians are forced to accept in today's world. Compounding all of the decrepit details was the revelation that she would no longer be allowed to drive ... unless it was an emergency. 

Seriously? Who gets to define what amounts to an emergency? Her? Her family?

Our legal system is just plain broken folks, FULL STOP!

I love you Dave, always have, always will.

God rest your soul as you family struggles with how Canada has decided what your life was worth. Our clan will continue to support Dave's immediate family as they deal with the continuing injustice that has befallen them.

No ordinary guy!

When you decide that you have found THE ONE, and you both agree to make it official, you have to accept their family dynamics into your life ... NOT that I am complaining. Actually, if I'm honest, far from it, but we all have our curiosities, stories, and skeletons, so when you get the opportunity to learn a wee bit more about that "adopted" group, it's usually an eyebrow raising affair.

My bestie has an Uncle Dick ... or I guess it's appropriate to say she had, since he passed recently ... the older brother of my MIL Pearl. Although I was able to spend some quality hours with Uncle Dick over the past few years, I didn't really know his story very well. I learned a lot of new information when we gathered at his home following a beautifully loving farewell service.

His birth names were James Samuel. At that gathering following his service his curious nickname was discussed at length and was punctuated by a lot of head scratching and shoulder shrugging since no one could offer information about where the moniker came from, other than the fact that he had been addressed that way for decades. Joyce has always known her uncle as Dick, but the gathering of life-long friends at his service would reveal that he was known as Jim or Jimmy as well.

How confusing is that?

Now Dick is a name that you don't hear much anymore, aside from the obvious snickers it generates from today's young'uns, and it seems to have fallen out of favour. I've know a few Dicks over my years (the NAME not the quality), but all of them were originally labelled Richard, and for a variety of reasons, were "shortened" to Dick. If you wish a more all-encompassing explanation, CLICK HERE, but suffice it to say that once the 1970's hit, and with it an expanded sexual liberty, the oft used nickname for the male appendage became wide spread, prompting the name to fall out of the top 1000 baby names quickly. 

Getting back to Joyce's uncle.

Almost as a polar opposite of the insinuated meaning for male parts, Uncle Dick was a genuinely astonishing human being who was quick with a smile, full of one liners, generous to a fault, and definitely "old school" ... but he was born in 1925 so no one could blame him! One of the polarizing personalities throughout his years in his adopted home town of Georgetown, Dick was an iconic symbol of what it was to be a good person, establishing life long friendships in his neighbourhood, on the golf course, and at the coffee shops in town. Above all else, Dick was the consummate family man, insisting that all family gatherings take place in his home, spreading his love equally as he revelled in his grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Where did this gem of a human learn to be so awesome?

Born in 1925 into the abject poverty of Upper Gagetown in rural New Brunswick, he quickly learned that there was a popular way to live life, and then there was the Painter way ... actually, the Paynter way ... but that's another story for another time. The family suffered the untimely passing of their father in 1933, what history buffs will recognize was during The Great Depression, with Dick a wee lad of 8 years (grade 3) at the time, the family decision was that he would forgo the remainder of his school experience to help the family's need. He found work thanks to his older brother Charlie in a logging camp, chopping wood for the cook to run the stove, true 'blue collar' employment that would be a continuing theme throughout his working life. As it would turn out, trees would become a central component of his earning years, investing 30 years at the paper mill in Georgetown after moving to Ontario with his beloved Ruth.

In a rather cute story, Dick met his soul mate Ruth thanks to his job building roads in rural NB. He was recommended a rooming house run by Ruth's mother, and since her daughter would need a ride back into town every now and again, the rather smitten Dick was more than happy to oblige her needs. After a few shared journeys, the rest is history, as the saying goes.

Shouldering more than their fair share of hardships, the family would lose 2nd born son John Paynter in WWI, drawing the remaining siblings together with even tighter bonds, John's military pension helped make ends meet during some really tough times. Life in Upper Gagetown during this point in history meant no running water, no indoor plumbing, and even no floors in portions of the home. 

Fast forward a gaggle of years, Dick and his older brother Charlie relocated to Georgetown, and in a stroke of financial genius, purchased a large triple lot in the city's northeast end. They severed the lot into 3, sold the one, the proceeds helping build two identical homes side by each in 1955. Living beside your brother means that your two families become intertwined, the kids viewing their cousins more like siblings. Add to this that my in-laws, Pearl and Jim, lived in the same city not far away, and the recipe for a tight family becoming even tighter was a certainty. Unfortunately, Charlie and his wife Helen would predecease Dick, as would his beloved Ruth, but everyone's favourite uncle would remain a stalwart force in the neighbourhood for 49 years until being 98 years young eventually forced the family hand, his health deterioration causing a fall that forced a hospital stay and Covid infection that proved to be too much for his system to handle.

James Samuel Paynter mercifully passed in his 99th year.

Joyce and I offer our most sincere, heartfelt condolences to Joyce's Mom Pearl for the loss of her bestest buddy Dick, her cousin Kevin and the rest of the Georgetown Paynter clan, and Joyce's many relatives who made the trip from near and far to celebrate a life well lived.

He was CERTAINLY no ordinary guy!