What's special in a pandemic?

As many who regularly read my posts already know, I have been filling in for my former colleagues at Barrie North CI when needed during this 2020-21 school year, first in person, and about a month ago, a day in front of the screen as virtual supply. With the province closing the school's doors in April, forcing Ontario's students to spend 4-5 hours a day in front of their computer screens, the struggle for many families has become Mr Ford's 800 lb gorilla as a massive disruption of normalcy has significantly increased a wide variety of stresses. "Joe Public", in general, is not as aware that there are a small number of students whose school transports have never stopped running ... the province's Special Education students. 

When I retired back in January of 2020, I fully anticipated being beckoned off my rocker to assist my former colleagues in a supply role, and TBH, I welcomed the opportunity to maintain relationships with students and staff alike that were fostered during my short time spent at BNC. Let's set the record straight ... I LOVE being retired, but this pandemic has poignantly revealed how much of a social animal I am, an "itch" that is soothed by a supply day here or there. When Ontario's schools were shuttered, I erroneously assumed that the calls to assist would cease. After all, if teachers were educating the masses from their own home offices, they wouldn't need any old fart like me to fill in for them would they? While the calls are not coming regularly, they are coming none the less, with the most recent one being in a Life Skills class, and I was promptly reminded just how profound the effects of this pandemic are on our most vulnerable students. 

If your experience with students in our province's Special Education classrooms is limited to what you see on news reports or documentaries, you're in a for a bit of a shock with the following words. You first need to understand that students who have been diagnosed with learning issues fall into 4 system-generated categories right now:
1) Students with learning disabilities, developmental delays, self-care obstacles and behaviour abnormalities with a documented history of violence are segregated into self-contained classrooms called ASD (or Autism Spectrum Disorder) classes. I spent a year co-leading the charge in an ASD classroom, leading to the firm belief that all teacher training should include experiences like it. These students are legally entitled to education until they are 21 years old and don't earn a Secondary School Certificate.
2) Students with the same level of impairment without a documented history of violence are segregated into self-contained classrooms called Life Skills, and are generally considered to have just as many learning issues as ASD class students, but are less of a danger to staff and peers. This doesn't mean they don't lash out when upset, they just don't have a documented history of said violence. There are often two variations of these classes in many of Ontario's system, separated along the lines of deportment and self-control. These students are also entitled to education until 21 and no certificate.
3) Students with significant learning impairment but more or less self sufficient are in segregated classrooms called Learning Centers, often for a half day then integrated in appropriate mainstream options where available. These students might be recognizable as having some developmental delays with the end goal being a Learning Certificate, or a reduced credit load for their career. They typically remain in school for 5 years but are legally entitled to stay until 21.
4) Students with Learning Disabilities that require Special Education resources to be successful, but are a part of the regular stream of students, have the ability to earn a full OSSD or a Certificate, a decision that the family makes in cooperation with their Special Education Resource Teacher or SERT. You wouldn't know these students are any different from others unless you were privy to their OSR or Ontario Student Record. 

Armed with this knowledge, I hope that you can better appreciate how school life in this pandemic is difficult, to say the least, when dealing with category 1 or 2 classrooms because they are still going to school each day, requiring teachers and Educational Assistants decked out in full PPE to be ready and willing. These students don't handle change well, largely due to their particular afflictions, leading to increased anxieties that generate heightened emotion-charged outbursts resulting from confusion surrounding the disruption. Compound this with the heightened anxiety of the staff who can't avoid close contact situations, and you have a proverbial powder-keg with a smoking fuse. Try putting yourself into the shoes of a child with special needs ... everyone is wearing masks making them look very different; sometimes the staff have to wear PPE that looks pretty strange; everyone has to stay as far apart as possible; students with sensory issues have to wear masks all day that make them very uncomfortable. The list is very, very long. When the students are able to hold themselves together emotionally, the classroom functions close to "normal" with reinforcement of previous learning occurring with regularity, but if even one of the students experiences difficulties, it more often than not leads to the others being put off, creating an environment that is on edge and not conducive to learning. The classroom I assisted in recently had one of those days, and the edge was palpable all day long.

The whole idea of the moniker Life Skills is exactly what you'd suspect. The goal is to teach and reinforce skills required for a life of dignity, happiness and satisfaction. No one expects these kids to be able to live independent lives of self-sufficiency, but that doesn't mean that they can't learn to help themselves with basic hygiene, simple cooking, and even maintenance level cleaning. Depending on the severity of their afflictions, basic budgeting is possible, but supervision will always be present. The issue for the school system is that learning of skills like these is a slow process that requires a great deal of patience and persistence on the part of the education workers, and if the conditions of the day aren't in line with the needed learning conditions, the process is extended exponentially. That very phenomenon is the bane of Life Skills workers right now since the conditions created by this pandemic significantly disrupt the normalcy, impairing the learning through persistent behavioural outburst borne out of the palpable anxiety of constantly changing parameters. This creates intense confusion in the students, leading to emotional outbursts that can often result in harm to their caregivers, the educational workers. While subbing that day, I became aware of two regular staff being off indefinitely with injuries sustained while on the job, a fact that left tugged at the strings of my heart. 

Things are not "normal" in education these days, and it may take more than a simple return to face to face instruction to repair the damages created by this pandemic. What I am astutely aware of though, is that my fellow education workers are, as always, ready and willing to take on the challenge with compassion, caring, commitment and character, but are often left out of the discussions surrounding essential workers, despite willingly putting themselves at risk both in normal times and this pandemic.

I urge you all to join me in celebrating their incredible sense of selflessness.

Kijiji Kraziness!

In light of our impending move, and with a desire to declutter, I decided that I really didn't need to own two carbon fibre frame bicycles, and since my new Dark Matter is the cat's meow, that meant that it was time to sell ... or try to ... my Ridley Damocles road bike. I reasoned that since we're still in a pandemic and so many people have taken up cycling as a new activity, that it wouldn't be difficult to find someone that would be willing to trade some hard earned dollars for a great bike. 

What an adventure it turned out to be!

First Phase: The prep work
I surmised that selling my dear old companion would require finding the right person. Road biking is not everyone's cup of tea, with so many liking the flexibility to take on local gravel and hard packed trails that are not road bike friendly, but I figured that I would give it a shot. I had used her for spinning in the basement/garage during the winter so a thorough cleaning was in order, and she definitely showed her age with a few clear coat chips and a little surface rust on the callipers and derailleur. I decided that since my Dark Matter was so radically different, I could also throw in a few extras to "sweeten the deal" since I wouldn't need them anyway. In the end, all was accomplished, photos were taken, and I posted it on my FB page, FB Marketplace, and Kijiji. Silly me, I figured if I included a comprehensive data list, good photos and a decent asking price, that people would understand what they were inquiring about. 

Ahhhhh Steve, you're a silly boy.

Second Phase: The sell
Mere minutes after "going live", I had people inquiring and offering a wide variety of amounts, most of which were significant low-balls even when the ad warned people that I would not entertain them. Despite the first line of the ad being the requested price, more than a few of the inquiries wanted to know what the price was. Call me naive, but I actually thought people would read first. A few of the messaging folk were somewhat serious, and the day was spent managing conversations on my phone. I wanted to be fair to everyone inquiring, so I took steps to make sure that all serious askers knew where they were in the queue, and that I would keep them up to speed on the progress. Some dropped out right away, some decided to wait and see, some started on the attack ... they were quickly deleted, BTW.

By the end of the day, there was one very interested potential buyer, but the glitch was that he was in Mississauga and was obviously looking for me to meet him somewhere along the 400 to reduce to distance. After some texting negotiations, he agreed to give me some gas money as incentive, so we arranged to meet in a carpool lot more or less halfway. The negotiations had finally settled on what I thought was a fair deal and I was very hopeful that this was a fete accompli. The messages he sent were full of short forms, so I had formed an opinion that this was likely a younger person, but he definitely knew a lot about bicycles. When we finally met face to face, he was a little older than I thought, but he immediately set to the task of thoroughly inspecting the bike. After a bunch of Hmmm's and Huuuuh's, he sheepishly informed me that he was going to "take a pass" because he thought the bike would be newer. The second line of the ad listed the make, model and year, so I'm not at all sure why he didn't catch that, but who was I to argue. His expectant look told me that although we had agreed on a fair price, this was a bit of a play at enticing some wiggle room, but I had already arrived at my bottom level so we agreed to bury the deal. He was very apologetic about making me "jump through hoops" but he felt he had to walk away.

Third Phase: The re-sell
Once we arrived home, I contacted the others that had indicated they would like to wait. I also updated the ad so that potential new inquiries might be possible. Before long, the familiar Old Spice whistle signalled the arrival of a new text message inquiring about the availability, and the haggling began again. I got the sense that this person was interested but also reasonable. After a flurry of messages, agreeing on a price, and arranging to meet to potentially complete the deal, it was revealed that this potential buyer was in Oakville! I explained the previous day's adventures, using it to demonstrate my nervousness about travelling down the highway, and to my surprise, the response was an offer of a non-refundable deposit as a sign of good faith and to help cover the gas cost. It was significantly more than the previous day's offer so that was appreciated and acceptable!

Geographically, the halfway point would be in the Orangeville area, so a location was agreed upon and a late afternoon time was set. Unfortunately for Joyce and I, it meant that we wouldn't get up to anything fun because we would need to leave Barrie mid afternoon, what with the drive being about an hour for us. We were barely out of town when the text came in asking if we could bump it back 30 minutes, bringing with it an uneasy sense of Deja Vu. I really wanted to sell the Ridley so we agreed and figured we could grab something from Tim Horton's to pass some time. Foreshadowing a potential glitch, the drive there was way too smooth, arriving in significantly less time than planned, so we resigned ourselves to a healthy wait and began to enjoy our Ice Cap. Our serenity was disturbed by a phone call from the buyer explaining that he was caught behind an accident and would be delayed, prompting exasperation and frustration from the both of us, but the difference now was that we could hear the sincerity in his voice for the trouble he was causing. He offered to pay additional monies toward gas if we would drive further south in an effort to reduce the time, a request that we carefully considered, debated, and then agreed to since it was a situation beyond his control. 

In the end, we eventually met face to face, albeit 90 minutes later than originally agreed, and he turned out to be a very nice young man who wished to purchase the Ridley for his father who had only recently begun his own BikeLife journey. I was pleasantly surprised when, after a through inspection of the bike, he offered an additional sum to the deposit he already e-transfered, handing me a wad of cash with a sheepish grin.

The dirty deal was complete and my Ridley had found a new home!

The Good Samaritan

According to Google, "the term "Good Samaritan" comes from the parable of the Good Samaritan related in the Book of Luke in the New Testament of the Bible. The parable tells of a Samaritan (a resident of Samaria) who stopped to help a man who had been injured and robbed, while others passed him by." While my wife and I consciously chosen to live a life guided by religious teachings, I wouldn't go so far to say that we're living a religious life, but a truth is a truth, regardless of which tome you choose to read or follow. A truly humane life means being ready to the service of others.

Joyce and I recently filled a weekend to the brim with this principle.

Day ONE was a trip to beautiful Angus to help our daughter Maddi and her fiancee Chris with a backyard project. They bought a place there a few years ago, and part of the package was an old school aluminum garden shed that had been erected in questionable fashion. Chris harboured an urge to replace it with a more usable version but felt strongly that a pad of patio stones atop limestone screening was a better longterm choice than the present wood and earth effort. Enter the in-laws (at least, soon to be in-laws), joining Chris' parents Tony and Cheryl. The 800 lb gorilla was that the pandemic was putting the proverbial monkey wrench in the gears because the most reasonable price for said newer shed proved to be a Herculean task with shutdown-lockdown conditions. It became apparent that we would have to keep the old shed in usable fashion until the newer shed became available for purchase. There was a collective shaking of heads, to say the least.

Not to be intimidated, we forged ahead with shifting the old shed out of the way, removing the wooden flooring, digging out the remnants of a rabbit warren in the earth below, then filling in the newly dug hole with limestone screening. Much maths and consternation was applied as survey stakes, boundary string and levelling tools were employed to prepare the area for the new patio stones ... if we had them! Poor Chris had spent more time than he should have to ordering, arranging and confirming the delivery of the bin for the earth, the limestone, and the patio stones, but the stones proved to be an issue since they wanted a share of their first born to deliver. When he travelled to the local hardware store with his father's pickup and trailer, waited in line, and presented his phone with the email confirmation of the order, he was informed that they did not have the stones in stock. Incredulous, and informing them of his extreme displeasure, he spent another 30 minutes securing a business that had actual physical patio stones in stock, but he had to drive to Barrie to get them. We all felt terrible for the undue stress that was sitting perched on his shoulders. 

While all of this was happening, the rest of us forged ahead with the surface preparation, and I was pretty darn impressed with what a group of fogeys in their late 50's could accomplish. When the stones finally were finally laid, the screening arranged around the edges and the clean up completed, it looked like a slightly raised dance floor befitting an old fashioned Hoedown. Moving the old aluminum shed back into place was a relatively easy task, involving a 90 degree turn since the kids wished the entrance to be coming from a different direction. Of course, I couldn't resist commenting that we just expended a lot of energy and cost to turn the shed 90 degrees ... a sheepish giggle and grin followed.

Day TWO was a continuance of a previous weekend, helping my brother prepare his house for testing the volcanic Real Estate market in our area. He lives out in Springwater, meaning that the zaniness is not on the scale that within the Barrie limits sees, but his Realtor still felt that it was a hot market. The work amounted to a lot of sprucing up, painting, rearranging, cleaning, and decluttering. While not even close to the physical demands of slugging patio stones around, it was still a day of stooping, scrubbing, sponging and painting. It felt really good to see the changes slowly materializing, brightening up the visage, and my brother was being realistic in his outlook, remarking that if the sale process doesn't proceed the way he hopes, he'd be more than happy to live in a new-look surrounding.

I've got my fingers crossed for he and my sister-in-law.

Day THREE was a favour for a teaching colleague from my days at Central and North, having known each other for over 20 years, and spending time with our kids growing up together. My colleague is just a shade behind me in the journey through education, is planning on retiring in the next little while, and had just purchased a condo on the waterfront. The previously arranged assistance fell through and the call was made to me inquiring if I could lend a hand ... of Course, says I! How hard can it be, I thought.

I met my colleague at the loading door to the new building, and when the back door was opened ... well, let's just say the a future in PRO-Tetris is a definite maybe! The cabin of the small cube van was filled bottom to ceiling with nary a space left unfilled. We set about the task and it quickly became apparent that the mandatory use of the loading bay and it's 90 degree turn into the hallway that led to the elevators was going to present a problem. Not to be bested, a decision was quickly made, using the adage "It's better to ask forgiveness than permission!" as it's foundation. I'm glad to report that the move was a resounding success, everything eventually found a place in the new digs, and we were well under the 4 hour limit on having the elevator on service. We celebrated with a lovely Starbucks, a treat from the other helper on the day.

Joyce and I have discussed our own impending move, and we've decided that we're far too old to be asking our equally aged friends to help when we can easily afford to pay for some professional help. A call went out to Central alum Johnny "Rockstar" Rockbrune and we have our date booked for later in June.

When you step out of your pandemic-infused comfort, mask in place, and lend some time and energy to those in need, you come away feeling pretty daggummit good about your self. 

And I rewarded myself with a sun-drenched, beautiful ride in Oro Medonte. 

BONUS!

Bobby Gale remembered

I've reached an age where I occasionally lose people I appreciate to a wide array of maladies. I've written before about the all too lengthy list of former Central and North colleagues who passed over far too young, or about close friends, ex-team mates, and even relatives who left holes in my soul with their passing. All of these losses have changed me, of that there's no doubt, but a recent pang of sadness caused a stirring of memories that were previously buried under a plethora of dusty old recollections and has spurred me to write this post. 

My retired Central friend Bruce Rumble uncovers all sorts of really interesting articles covering a wide variety of facts, but a recent email from him revealed that an infamous Barrie icon had left behind a mixed bag of emotions and memories for anyone who has spent a significant amount of time in Barrie, especially downtown, at Queen's Park, community centres or the YMCA. Robert "Bobby" Gale passed suddenly at 69, on April 30th.

Bobby Gale ... the name prompts a host of memory fragments to come flooding forward in my neurons, causing a swell of laughter, curiousity and sadness. 

I first met Bobby way back in the late 70's when I was hired by the Barrie Raceway as a security guard. My father was friends with Earl Rowe Jr, and at the time, he was involved with running the horse races at former site beside the 400 and the Barrie Curling Club off Essa Road. I started in the parking lot crew, but for whatever reason, was soon transferred to paddock security, and it was here that my path crossed Bobby's. What struck me right away was his larger than life personality, quick with a smile, twinkles in his eyes, huge laugh, and I was immediately drawn in to Gale vortex. Here I was, still wet behind the ears, and this older guy seemed completely jazzed to have me as a friend. We talked about a million different things as we manned the entrance to the paddocks from the grandstand, and Bobby always tried to pass on the life-lessons he had to share.

Later, after moving on from high school, Bobby and I crossed paths again when I was home from Queen's in the summer and playing for the Barrie Rugby club. Bobby was NOT a rugby player, displaying little or no understanding of the game, but he could run forever and was tough as nails, never shying away from any donnybrook that erupted amidst the game. Let me just say this ... he could handle himself in a dust up! It was during these interactions that I found out about his "other" side from some of the others as they regaled tales of Bobby's escapades in the Barrie nightlife. Granted that tales shared verbally by young, testosterone charged males have a tendency toward hyperbolic proportions, the stories shared were in stark contradiction to the man that had befriended me scant years ago. Even given the admonishment, there was enough truth to make me wonder about the dichotomy that must have victimized Bobby's soul.

I don't recall crossing paths again for quite some time, but the clearest memory surrounded a chance encounter at Queen's Park tennis courts during a time I had brought a HPE class up from Central. I can vividly recall the brilliant sunshine, warm temperatures, and springtime smells of freshly mowed grass ... I'm not sure why, but those memories are strong. I always counselled the kids to use 4 courts and leave one for any community members who might be interested. On this particular morning, no one else was there when the class began, so we used all five courts. When Bobby arrived, his huge personality drew my attention because he was having a loud conversation with a few kids. Any fears I had about confrontation quickly faded as I realized the exchange wasn't negative, just really loud, and approaching the group, I found Bobby had the lads in fits of giggles, his eyes sparkling brightly. I didn't realize it was him at first, so I instructed the kids to open up the court for the "gentleman" prompting Bobby to turn, recognize me, and quip that he was no gentleman, but he'd love to share a game with these 'fine fellows". He immediately extended a hand as a greeting, and loudly informed the entire tennis courts that how glad he was to see me. He always called me Stephen. I'm not sure why, but it was never Steve. Those boys that did end up playing some tennis with him shared a wonderful period, and had a million questions on the way back to Central at the end of class about who Bobby was and how I knew him.

Over the years I taught at Central, Bobby and I crossed paths a number of times, sometimes at Queen's Park, but also occasionally at East Bayfield Community Centre when I was refereeing basketball or supporting Maddi as a member of the Barrie Trojans. He never failed to acknowledge me with a vigorous handshake, a magnificent smile, those twinkling eyes and a loud "Well, hello Stephen!" It was always warm, genuine and positive, although others would often comment to me about their own not-so-positive interactions with him as they tried to enjoy the facilities and he loudly informed them of some sort of issue they created for him. Despite these stories, I get the feeling that Bobby lived at the poles of emotion, mostly beaming, happy and upbeat, but quick to temper when there were bumps in the road. It was these later years that I discovered his talent as an artist, something that struck me as yet another wrinkle in the conundrum of his life. 

The last time I encountered Bobby was a year or so ago, just before the pandemic started, and I was in my final semester of teaching at Barrie North. I was downtown for a social gathering of some sort, and I ran into him on Dunlop Street. Our familiar routine followed ... "Well, hello Stephen!" .... but when the conversation revealed that I was soon to retire, he gushed about how Barrie would never be the same, and how sad he felt for all of the kids who would not get the chance to become my friend. That was the nature of our relationship, Bobby and me, always upbeat, positive, and loud, him lathering on the compliments. Unfortunately, this encounter left me with an uneasy feeling, as I recognized that the twinkle was quite as bright as it used to be. I wasn't sure, but it seemed that time was not being kind to Bobby, and he was looking really aged.

God will most certainly bless you Bobby. Yours was a life lived well and to the best of your ability. The loss of your massive personality will leave a hole in the Barrie community, that's for sure. 

RIP

Education Appreciation Week 2021

This past week was Teacher Appreciation Week, but I'd like to propose a title change to Education Workers Appreciation Week because I can tell you unequivocally that the incredible things happening to make your child's learning complete involves more than just teachers. Like so many other times in our present society, we are reminded to show empathy, appreciation, gratitude and respect to someone based on what they do for the collective betterment. The issue I'd like to trumpet here comes from an admittedly biased view, but I'd like to see our society progress to where we show our appreciation THROUGHOUT the year for all of those incredible people who go above and beyond to improve our lives, education workers, not withstanding.

I'm going to stand on my education soapbox right now ... prepare thyself for a rant!

Education is a calling, full stop. 

I'll readily admit that there's a small percentage of those in education whose primary reason for the choice is not the betterment of the next generation, but that percentage is a lot smaller than education bashers would like you to believe. I was immersed in the miracle making for over 30 years, worked in 4 different schools, interacted with 100's of education workers, and fostered the curiousity of 1000's of young minds, so I feel very qualified to offer the opinion that the overwhelming majority are in it for the kids. Just like any profession you would choose to shine a bright light on, there are Superstars, All Stars, sort of Stars, and emerging Stars, but that all adds up to a significant number of people who believe passionately that the progress, development, and improvement of each generation is paramount to the health of society, and they are there to ensure it happens. 

For those who hold religion in high regard, the Lord makes all of us different.
For those that are less so, the genetic process ensures a wonderful variation.

We all naturally possess a host of subtle variable combinations of strengths and weaknesses, and even a focused effort to eradicate our areas of need will only go so far. That translates into each and every education worker bringing a smorgasbord of benefits to the fight to "stamp out the seeds of ignorance." That's what makes the education system so awesome! There's something for everyone! More importantly, there's a SOMEONE for everyone! The conundrum of education, IMHO, continues to be that learning is an individual thing requiring a wide assortment of "trail guides" whose job is to provide guidance and wisdom in the hopes of facilitating said learning. As much as I hate to admit it, no one can learn for another. Being an educator is more guide+cheerleader+counsellor in support of the quest of a young mind as it seeks to understand, to investigate, to assimilate and to master a wide variety of skills and competencies. Should that mind be closed to the aforementioned quest, it falls on the educator to do all possible to convince that mind otherwise. 

Educators have to be willing accept the role of cheerleader, figurative pom-poms included, to open a crack in the self-protective armour that so many young minds arrive in our learning spaces with, to begin the germination of a relationship designed solely to increase the likelihood that learning will be embraced. That requires a special person, and not all are cut out for it, which is why I will hold the opinion that it is a calling. I'm not in a Fan Club of one in that mindset, I can guarantee you of that, and you don't have to believe me. 

Here's a TED Talk about educators. It's a little long but TOTALLY worth the investment.

As Ranger Nick points out, there are educators in all of our lives who CARE ... 
C ... celebrate mistakes
A ... appreciate differences
R ... relay feedback
E ... evaluate themselves

I would challenge you to open your heart, put yourself out there just a little bit more, and show some appreciation to the education workers that are and have been in your life with simple messages of support throughout the year, acknowledging the positive things that he/she has gifted you through your interaction. I guarantee it will make a difference to them, but what you may find out, is it will make a difference to you.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll be the tipping point for a great educator's choice to either stay in the profession despite the incredible stresses amidst both a Covid-19 and teacher bashing pandemic, or for a great educator's decision to accept the call to action ... to join the cause in helping shape the next generation.

I'm going public ... I will make the effort to send messages of support to my friends and acquaintances still toiling in the trenches. Lord knows they need some LUV'in!

Sweet Lou!

Words have great power! Now and again, while surfing the "interwebs" (as my daughter Maddi calls it), I stumble across some profound words that were either written by someone then posted, or posted by someone others pay attention to, espousing some point made by someone else. Either way, the words strike me in a personal way on a visceral level, and I find myself quietly contemplating their effect on me. When those times occur, I either copy/save the image or copy/paste the words into a note saved on my laptop so I can access their wisdom when moved to do so. This habit has served me well for a long time.

Being a long-time Notre Dame Football fan, I was scrolling through the news clips and stories for the newsworthy happenings in South Bend, and I came across a meme that was attributed to ND's former coach Lou Holtz. The words are most assuredly not Lou's, but that fact that he is quoted with them carries weight, especially in the collective psyches of the ND fan base that spreads far and wide. The words immediately struck a chord with my soul, and I recognized in them a truth I had felt strongly about for many years. In fact, they embodied a personal mantra that has served me well through the peaks and valleys of life as I navigated adolescence, adulthood, parenthood and marriage. I have used the meme as the desktop of my laptop for many years. 

"Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you respond to it."

In a nutshell, my amazement for these profound words leads me to surmise that the anxiety that plagues so many as they navigate their own journey through life can be attributed largely to a sense of frustration with things that have happened that prompted a negative reaction, BUT are happenstance beyond the realm of control. When a person allows themselves to experience negative emotions like fear, anger, worry or loathing in response to things they have no power of influence over, the problem increases in intensity like the Hydra made famous in the labours of Heracles (or Hercules, if you prefer) where cutting off one head creates three more. I have tried my best to face events that don't jive with the way I would like with a critical evaluation as to whether or not I had the opportunity to (a) not have it happen, (b) fix it now that it did happen, or (c) is it something worthy of regret? If the answers are a definite NO, then figuratively beating myself up over the event(s) serves literally no sane purpose. 

I guess it boils down to your base attitude ... is the proverbial glass half full or half empty? 

As a case in point, I was on a ride recently that I had planned for 75-80 km, using the Oro-Medonte Rail Trail in the OUT portion of the route. Once I got in the neighbourhood of Coldwater, I left the trail and turned in the direction that my trusty sense of direction felt was the heading back home. As I battled a bone-chilling and steady headwind, the seeds of doubt germinated that I was not heading where I intended, so I whipped out my iPhone, fired up Google Maps, and let technology lend a helping hand. Following the verbal prompts, the route seemed to be taking an unreasonable length of time to reveal familiar territory, and I finally convinced myself that a double-check was due. That investigation showed that I had mistakenly asked Google for assistance as if I was driving so it/he/she was taking me on the best route for that request, definitely not the best path when riding a bicycle. I had erroneously added 15-20 km to the route, and the sage advice of Coach Holtz echoed throughout my brain, leaving me with the simple decision of how I would respond to the mistake. I couldn't undo it, I really couldn't fix it, and regretting it would frankly ruin an enjoyable Saturday ride, so I shrugged it off as a learning opportunity and made my way home. Of course, the extra km's meant the travel time would be significantly lengthened so a quick text to Joyce was in order, lest she fret over why I was gone so long.

Further to the point, one of my pet peeves is the figurative car lot that forms almost everyday in front of our house, thanks to the apparent need of those on our street to own more cars than fit comfortably in their driveways. Listen, I get they have a right to take advantage of the city's By-Laws, but it makes it tricky to get in and out of our own driveway with multiple vehicles on both sides of the street. A couple  a weeks ago, it was particularly crowed and with a scowl plus muttered curse, I began my attempt to back the Tacoma in like normal. The going was slow as I carefully ... or so I thought ... navigated the labyrinth, but the telltale sound of metal scraping metal prompted a hasty foot to the brake. You've likely already guessed that my front bumper had rubbed against the side panel of my neighbour's hatchback. SHAZBAT! Correcting my mistake and completing the job with no other mishaps, I immediately informed my neighbour of my idiocy, all the while trouncing myself internally for not paying better attention. Kudos to my neighbour for taking the news in stride, obviously disappointed, but not in the least confrontational. We agreed that an estimate for damages would get done and I would willingly pay for the work. Ol' Lou's words crept into my thoughts again ... I couldn't undo it ... I could most definitely fix it ... I would not let regret ruin the rest of what was a gorgeous day. It will most assuredly be an expensive lesson, but the glass-half-full view is that the scenario will not happen again since I will double check all 4 corners of the truck on all future adventures in car lot land.

During the process of writing this post, it dawned on me that I had a very short list of situations at the ready to prove the point, conjuring a wide smile on my face. My ever vigilant wife looked at me with a curiousity befitting a playful puppy, and upon learning the source of my grin, quickly agreed that life was indeed pretty grand these days, with relatively little stress and woe darkening our skies. 

Or, was it our attitude had morphed into something that allowed for shedding the self-imposed pressure of dealing with day to day life?

Regardless of the reason ... although this guy suspects that it's likely a combo rather than one end of the spectrum or that ... we find ourselves gosh darned happy these days, content in our present situation, filled with hopeful eagerness at what the road ahead holds ... AND we keep Lou's advice close to our hearts!

#lifeisgood

Hooray, Hooray!

When the clock ticked over to announce the beginning of another May 1st, a quiet but enthusiastic cheer resonated inside the members of my family and close friends. My dear, departed father greeted this moment on the calendar each year with a rousing, "Hooray! Hooray! It's the first of May ... outdoor screwing starts today!" While he is oft remembered for many things, this single burst of exhilaration brings wide grins to our faces, not for the MESSAGE ... for the MESSENGER! I am quite sure that at some point in history, likely in more moderate latitudes, the first of May was annually a few degrees warmer, fanning the flames of l'amour with a stiffer breeze, but following this proclamation in Canada can lead to some frostbitten cheeks!

On the 2021 version, I awoke like normal, beating the sun in the process, made my morning cuppa, and fired up Facebook prompted by the Pavlovian red dot perched atop the icon on my iPhone home page. The top notification was my youngest brother's updated status signalling the remembrance of "Doc's" yearly tradition, already greeted by close friend's comments, stirring a warming in my soul that was definitely not due to the mug in my hand. While my father's memory is rarely absent from my day's thoughts, on this particular day it is strongly poignant, causing a silent personal prayer to waft heavenward in hopes that his essence can detect the love and gratitude that fills my soul.

May first is not just a celebration of our most biological and emotional need.

Here in North America, Canada (and the USA) celebrates Labor Day on the first Monday of September, but in many countries around the world, the first of May is observed as Workers' Day or International Workers' Day, commemorating the historic struggles and gains made by workers and the labour movement. According to Wikipedia, the day was chosen in 1889 by the Socialists and Communists of the Second International to commemorate the Anarchist Haymarket affair in Chicago, site of a bombing during a labour demonstration on May 4th, 1886. International Workers' Day is often called "May Day", but it is an entirely different celebration from the traditional May Day, an ancient festival of spring that stems back to the Roman festival of Floralia (named for the Roman goddess of the flowers) which led to the current traditional spring holiday in many European cultures that features dances, singing, and cake as a part of the festivities.

In a related celebration, the Romans also observed the Maiouma (or Maiuma), a festival held every three years during the month of May as a nocturnal dramatic festival known as Orgies, or the Mysteries of Dionysus and Aphrodite. You may recall from your history studies that these two Gods were the impetus of much imbibing and fornicating. Learning this choice morsel of information leads me to believe that my dear father's annual declaration is seeded in the long standing practice of honouring Dionysus and Aphrodite, and one should never actively seek to mock the Gods, hence the practice of amorous activities in the great outdoors.

Not to be outdone by the Romans, Catholics around the world would shudder when confronted with the knowledge that these pagan celebrations resulted in their church's May devotions to the Blessed Virgin Mary that were coupled with two feast days in honour of St Joesph the worker, a carpenter my trade and Jesus' surrogate father. Ultimately, this date was chosen in 1955 by Pope Pius XII as a counterpoint to the communist International Workers Day celebrations on May Day, leading to the commemoration of May first in calendars around the globe. 

Be that as it may ... no word pun intended ... the annual pledge to get outdoors for entertainment will be forever observed in my family as a tip o' the hat to the patriarch's positive influence on our collective mindsets. Perhaps it was those dreamy longings that created other May 1st observances like National Loyalty Day, National Mother Goose Day, National Chocolate Parfait Day, and even School Principals' Day. 

Whatever you decide to celebrate, get outside into nature, bask in the day's sunshine, and enjoy the company of your loved ones.