RESILIENCE (Ability to Bounce Back)

A short story by Lynn Tormey

3rd place winner in the Tell Tale Tea Writing Competition 2020

Since retiring last year, every morning at six o’clock, I commit to writing. No matter what’s going on in my life … this is my time to write. But this morning, connecting with my inner muse is like trying to connect to cyberspace without Wi-Fi and receiving the same message over and over …. muse off-line please try again later.

Placing my fingers on the keyboard, head tilted back slightly, I force my brain to co-operate only to realize my thumbs are lightly, dancing back and forth on the space bar, my left knee bouncing up and down-a sign my nemesis a.k.a. writer’s block guards my muse, refusing to set her free.

“I won’t give up,” I say, determined to break through the block.

Closing my eyes, I push harder. Instantly I envision a mighty, fire breathing dragon standing guard over a castle where my muse, imprisoned by a jealous, evil witch (who wants to be the greatest writer in the kingdom) plans to destroy my helpless muse standing in the way.

Shaking the silly image from my mind, I squeeze my eyes tighter pushing against the invisible wall. But, alas not a single idea or word transmits down from my brain through my finger tips, onto the page.

Slowly, releasing a deep sigh of resignation, I open my eyes and look at the blinking cursor at the top of the page. It reminds me of an impatient actor, stamping her foot, demanding action. I can almost hear her voice, ‘Hello! I’m getting bored. H-e-l-l-o!’

“I’m trying,” I mutter under my breath, feeling the strong urge to throw my laptop out the window, cursor and all. Instantly I envision the little stick-thingy running across my lawn screaming, “Help me! She’s trying to kill me!”

Honestly, I chuckle, shaking my head. When Stephen King said ‘kill your darlings’ he didn’t mean cursors…or did he?

Still chuckling, I place my hands on my thighs, allowing my eyes to wander to the window. The heat of the morning sun, beating through the glass, reminds me it’s going to be hot and humid today. My thoughts tum to my garden. I worked so hard planting my favourite flowers over the May long weekend … I can’t let them die in the heat.

“Okay,” I decide, sliding my chair from my desk. I’ll just water my flowers. Then I’ll write.

Walking into the kitchen to the sliding glass doors, I tell myselfl should be fighting the block…I should persevere and win this battle. But the image of my poor, helpless flowers wilting and dying in the heat over-rides my commitment to write.

I can ‘I let my flowers die … that would be so wrong …. right?

“Right!” I affirm, sliding the screen door open.

Stepping out on to the back deck, my eyes widen in shock. There, overtaking my lawn, is an army of dandelions –like little, yellow aliens had suddenly landed overnight.

“Where the heck did you come from?” I ask squinting, placing my hands on my hips.

Oh Wait! I know! You’ve come from a distant planet ruled by the King of Dandelions, sent here with a plan, to take over all !he lawns on earth.

“Well not today,” I say, grinning triumphantly. “I will destroy you with my powers and my mighty weapon of annihilation.”

Chuckling I step across the lawn to my shed. As soon as I save my lawn and water my flowers…I’ll write.

Thirty minutes later the front and back lawns are green; the alien dandelions captured in the ‘bagger’ on the lawn mower.

“I’ve saved the world,” I whisper triumphantly, pushing the lawnmower back into the shed. As soon as I water the garden, I’ll write.

As I close the shed door, I hear my inner critic’s voice, ‘You’re procrastinating!’

“I am not!” I protest a little too loudly, looking around hoping no one can hear me. As soon as my garden is watered I’ll write!

Silently, I walk back to the house to get the hose. As I approach the deck, my mouth drops open.

“Holy crap!” I whisper, looking at the dust and dirt on my kitchen windows. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned them. Instantly, I think of my mom standing here, pointing at the windows, silently shaking her head in disgust.

Waves of guilt coursing through my veins, I decide, I better clean them just in case. Then I’ll write.

‘Procrastinating!’ the critic mocks.

Stop nagging. As soon as I water !he garden and clean the windows, I’ll write. Now leave me alone!

After watering the garden, I tum the hose on the grass. I’d never forgive myself if I neglect the lawn and it dies in the heat.

Procrastinating!’ says the nagging voice.

Ignoring the guilt-causing dork, I continue watering the lawn.

“I’m surprised you’re not inside writing,” Janet, my next-door neighbour, says walking up beside me. “Did you finish the story already?”

“Not yet,” I reply. “It’s supposed to be really hot today so just taking care of a few things before it gets too hot. I’ll spend the rest of the day writing.”

“Procrastinating, eh?” Janet says teasingly.

Not you too! If I hear that word one more time…

“No, I’m not,” I reply defensively. “I just can’t seem to find the words to get me started.”

“What’s your topic?”

“Resilience,” I reply. “I’m hoping, if I tackle a few things on my ‘to do’ list first, the words will flow again.”

“Good luck with that,” Janet says turning and walking away. “Oh, I almost forgot what I came over for,” she adds, looking back at me. “Kevin and I are having a few friends over tonight for a barbecue. Why don’t you join us?”

“Sure,” I reply. “Sounds like fun. What can I bring?”

“How about your amazing coleslaw?”

“No problem. As soon as I finish my story, I’ll get it ready and bring it with me.”

“See you about six then,” she says, walking away. “Get that story written, kiddo. Stop procrastinating.”

I’m not procrastinating, I pout feeling sorry for myself. I’m just wailing for inspiration then I’ll write!

Returning my attention to the lawn, the annoying voice says, ‘You’re waiting for inspiration … blah … blah … blah. That’s just an excuse to procrastinate.’

“I’m ignoring you,” I whisper, watching the water spray on the grass. I need to clean my windows then I’ll write. In the meantime, keep your opinions to yourself.

As I water the lawn, I begin humming my favourite song, blocking out any unwanted comments from the inner peanut gallery.

After almost thirty minutes, I turn off the water and, rolling up the hose, walk back to the house telling myself that as soon as I clean my windows … I’ll write.

‘Humph,’ the critic says flippantly. ‘But first you’ll have to do the laundry and wash the floors … procrastinating!’

Refusing to respond, I hang the hose on the hook and march into the kitchen to the cupboard; open the door, and take out the window cleaner and paper towels.

I’ll show you … you … you nagging voice in my head.

Sixteen minutes later, the kitchen windows and sliding glass doors gleam. I smile proudly. “Now I’ll write,” I say with a firm nod of my head.

Taking a bottle of water from the fridge, I return to my desk and sit down at my laptop. Nothing will stop me now. Writer’s block be damned.

As I force myself to concentrate, the only thing that pops into my mind is one word–Coleslaw.

“Not again!” I sigh, shaking my head, biting my bottom lip in frustration. I will write! I promise, fighting the urge to make the coleslaw; failing completely.

“That’s it!” I shout, pushing away from my desk. “I’ll make the dam coleslaw!”

After shredding cabbage, carrots and onions, l prepare the secret ingredients for the dressing.

Suddenly it hits me, like a jolt on my forehead from the invisible palm of my inner critic’s hand.

“I am procrastinating!”

‘Finally!’ the critic gloats. ‘Now, pull up those big girl panties. Fight that dragon and evil witch … set your inner muse free!”

“I will!” I exclaim, confidence flooding my body.

Placing the coleslaw in the fridge, I envision Scarlett O’Hara standing on a cliff, fist raised in the air, vowing she’ll never go hungry again.

“Holy crap!” I shout excitedly, ignoring the urge to wash up the few dishes I used making the coleslaw.

Rushing back to my computer thinking about Scarlett’s resilience and ability to bounce back from adversity, I’m ready and determined to fight procrastination, my true nemesis, and free my muse.

I begin to write.

At five o’clock my short story is complete.

‘There you go,’ the critic says, ‘By the way, remember those alien dandelions you destroyed?

Well that was your inner muse … she’s been creating all day; you just didn’t see it. But, look at you now … you resilient writer, you.’

“Yes,” I exclaim proudly, raising my fist in the air. “I AM!”

Amy Again

A short story by VICKI COTTER

First Place Winner in the Tell Tale Tea Writing Competition 2020.

When you are very young adults always ask, “What do you want to be?” I never said, “I want.” I always said, “I am Amy and I am a dancer.”

I can’t remember when as a child I didn’t dance. Mam put me in dance class to try and tire me out as I was never still. The teacher said, ” She is the most flexible student I’ve ever had.” At ten, I started attending ballet school in London and at thirteen danced Clara in the Nutcracker. I was well on my way to becoming a professional.

The war changed all that. At first the war didn’t affect me. Every day I attended dance classes, and some evenings danced in the ensemble. For a while I shared a flat with three other dancers. There were lots of parties, lunches and dinners and laughing with friends, and meeting wonderful people involved in ballet. Then the blitz started and everything changed. Night after night the sirens sounded and we ran to the tube station to spend the night. Then performances with the younger dancers were cancelled and I had to move back home with Mam and Da. The Christmas truce seemed almost more frightening because of the silence. Through it all, I tried to keep stretched and practiced as much as possible.

Mam started one of the first mobile canteens so I was recruited to help serve. I still stretched and did ballet classes when I could. Later, when permanent canteens were set up I worked there. British, Canadians, Dutch, French resistance fighters were all there. On my nights off I danced the jitterbug and drank smuggled alcohol. I was eighteen and thought myself very grown up. As the war progressed, everyone seemed to be rushing towards an uncertain future and wanting to experience all life had to offer. Many of my friends dated or even married servicemen, and I was no exception.

I met Ron in 1943 and fell madly in love with the tall, lanky, blonde, Canadian. I was fascinated by his stories about his beautiful home far away from what he called “old, stinking and crumbled London”. He was fascinated about my being a performer but admitted to never having seen a ballet. He was sure after the war I would get a good job dancing and thought maybe he would stay in London after the war.

We married and moved in with my parents when Ron wasn’t on the base. I had our first son, Andrew when Ron was fighting in Holland. I rejoined the ballet company after Andrew was born but when I became pregnant again, the company didn’t invite me back. My dance career was over. I got a job in the greengrocers to help with expenses. Ron refused to stay in London after the war, so plans were made for the boys and I to emigrate.

In May 1946 I boarded the Queen Mary with hundreds of other war brides, many with children. We landed in Halifax. Halifax docks seemed busy and exciting much like London and my thoughts were that Canada was a good place to be. We war brides boarded the train full of optimism for our new home.

We passed through Nova Scotia and New Brunswick at night and woke to Parisien sounding Montreal. I was sure then Canada was going to be almost like home.

How wrong I was. For hours and hours the train passed by heavily wooded hills and scrubby farmland. The train stopped at tiny villages that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. When the conductor came to tell me my stop was next my heart sank. My trunks were set on a small wooden platform lit by one weak light bulb. I cried as the train whistle moaned and the caboose disappeared around the next bend heading to Toronto.

Ron arrived in an old farm truck and drove us to a village about 5 miles away. He had rented a small house that had no running water or indoor plumbing and assured me that would be done as soon as he could afford a plumber. He did find an old friend who was a plumber and we soon had running water and a bathroom of sorts. Unfortunately he also reconnected with his old girlfriend and soon moved out leaving me with two babies and no job. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel like dancing.

Luckily for me, the plumber’s wife was also a war bride. She introduced me all around the village. Soon I was cleaning homes and barely making ends meet.

I was cleaning for the town doctor when he asked me if I could take his calls in his office and be a superintendant for the apartments he owned. My pay was living in one of the two bedroom apartments plus a salary to look after my boys.

After three years I divorced Ron and was prepared to bear the shame of being a divorced woman. However, by that time I knew almost everyone in the village and found people sympathetic and supportive. I missed London and dancing but was settling into my new life. I had wonderful friends and felt good about myself. I began to feel more at home.

One day my friend May saw my picture album and asked to look at it. When she saw my ballet portraits she was astounded. I had kept my dancing out of usual conversation as it was still painful to remember what might have been. Then May said something I had never considered. “Amy, would you be interested in teaching dancing to the kids? This village could use more activities for our young folks.”

Almost before I knew it, the dancing school was started. Doc said, “Clean out the storeroom. Surely it is big enough at least for a start.” My friends signed up their children for one dollar a lesson and gave me records to use and a promise to help sew costumes. I had seven students for ballet and five for tap dancing. With groceries now costing ten dollars a week, looking after my boys would be easier.

Being less worried about money revived a part of me I thought I had lost forever. I began to move again to music. Every tune presented possibilities and I felt I was not just a mother struggling to live, but a woman regaining her potential.

The dancers worked very hard and by March I knew we should do a recital. At first I thought just the parents would come but my friends insisted grandparents, friends and community members would love a show. With trepidation I rented the Town Hall for the last Friday and Saturday evenings in June. I placed an ad in the weekly paper and started to make posters. The newspaper printed up tickets and all the mothers took tickets to sell.

A week before the recital my friends placed a reminder notice in the weekly news and told me most of the tickets were sold. The Town Hall would be full, both nights.

Recital night arrived and the basement of the Town Hall was a hive of activity. Mothers organized costumes and powdered and rouged little faces while I made sure records and announcement cards were in order. I was too busy to be nervous until just before I was to give a welcoming speech.

I walked onstage and saw the audience. The audience was smiling and I felt overwhelmed with gratitude. These people were my friends and were supporting me and wishing me success. My nervous jitters disappeared. I said my welcome speech and my son displayed the poster for the first number.

Dance followed dance until all the dancers and myself took final bows after
the last piece. Then to my surprise, my friend May t came onstage and presented me with a dozen roses while the audience stood, applauded and asked for more.

That wonderful evening was seven years ago. So much has happened since then. I now rent a larger room in the Armories and teach two evenings a week. I have fifty-two students.

Two years ago I met Bram, a Dutch immigrant who was a ballroom dancer
before the war. My original students are now entering high school and together Bram and I teach them the waltz, foxtrot and even the jitterbug. They leach us the newest dances they see on American Bandstand. I have a feeling Bram and I will dance together for a long time.

I’m no longer an abandoned war bride struggling to support my family. I have good friends, a steady job in the doctor’s office and a respected and profitable dance studio. That was not my original idea of how my life would be, but it is my life now and I can say once again “I am Amy, and I am a dancer.”

The Living Classroom Student Experience at OSCC55+

As you enter the various OSCC55+ branches to take part in your classes or activities you may have seen various unfamiliar faces busily working in different areas. OSCC55+ is proud to provide mentorship and learning opportunities to many students from high schools, colleges and universities in many fields of study. 

Recently, the OSCC55+ Conant Branch and John St Adult Day Programs have developed a unique learning opportunity in partnership with the Durham College Personal Support Worker (PSW) program. During the course, many areas of PSW work are discussed, including Adult Day Programs. In the semester one Mental Health Challenges course the students are given an opportunity to take their classroom ―on the road‖ for a day and learn on site. Each student is assigned to attend an Adult Day Program (ADP) in the area for one day to put theory into practice. Students shadow staff for the day and have opportunities to participate in program delivery and observe staff providing care and how the seniors interact with each other. Students are encouraged to keep notes on the variety of situations they see and how staff work with clients with unique needs. 

Kimberlee Neault, Professor of the Durham College PSW program says, “I am thrilled to have the opportunity to collaborate with OSCC55+ Conant and John Street locations as part of the living classroom experience that we have developed here for our PSW students at Durham College. The ADP sites have been a positive and valuable experience for our students. This experience helps students put learned theory into application under the mentorship of the ADP staff.”

As well, students also feel this partner-ship has been beneficial. One previous student explains, “I found the ADP to be valuable while learning. As I was not aware the benefits of the community programs, I was fascinated how they involve visitors and promoted participation in activities. The ADP gave me a new perspective of how PSWs may care for others.”

At the end of the day, OSCC55+ staff meet with the students to give them an opportunity to debrief about the day, share what they learned and an opportunity to ask questions. Students then take all of the information that they’ve collected and write a reflection paper and evaluation on their experience. 

Jennifer McDonnell, Conant Branch Adult Day Program Supervisor says, “It’s a great opportunity for students to observe our programs for a short period of time and then go back to the classroom and be able to learn while relating to the type of clients they are learning about.”

Smoke Got in My Eyes

Guest Submitter: CLIVE LILWALL 

It was a Camel that started it all. My first cigarette, smoked when I was about 15, over 60 years ago. Thanks to peer pressure, I soon smoked regularly with friends. Wild Woodbines, mainly—a cheap but powerful cigarette, manufactured by W.D. and H.O. Wills of Bristol and London since 1888. Or Player’s Weights, or exotic brands, such as oval Egyptian Sobranie cigarettes. Nicotine, dopamine and endogenous opioids had me in their grip. 

My father protested, having just given up the habit. But many notable figures smoked. Remember Winston Churchill waving those ever-present cigars? He lived to be ninety years old. George Orwell was a smoker. Smoking was a minor thrill, and a way of making friends with other tobacco addicts. And smoking was encouraged by evil geniuses who promoted cigarettes on billboards and in newspapers. My favourite advertisement depicted a young man and a very attractive girl lighting up Player’s cigarettes in a beautiful wooded glen. 

I arrived in Canada from England in 1968, and continued to smoke. I shared a college office with a smoker. The office reeked of smoke, and the college corridor floors were pitted with cigarette burns. 

Decades passed, and the clouds gradually began to disperse. People still smoked, but began to realize how damaging their behaviour was. Kurt Vonnegut, the author of Slaughterhouse Five, smoked unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes, which he described as “a classy way to commit suicide.”

I tried unsuccessfully to give up the habit. And then I met my present wife, a non-smoker. I promised I would try to stop. I tried acupuncture. I tried willpower. I chewed nicotine gum. I read books on how to stop smoking. No success. 

Finally, I enrolled in a hypnosis session at the Oshawa Holiday Inn. About forty tobacco addicts lined up on the morning of July 4, 1987. My last cigarette was a Player’s Navy Cut. Or was it a Rothmans? We handed over our smoking materials before we entered the room, including lighters. The hypnotist put us in a trance and told us we were now non-smokers. We were no longer interested in smoking. We sat in that trance for about an hour, and then started our new life. 

It wasn’t as easy as the hypnotist had said it would be. But I really had smoked my last cigarette. I taped pictures of healthy and unhealthy lungs to my desk. I took deep breaths every time I felt the desire to smoke. I drank lots of water. I had finally stopped the deadly habit. 

Nowadays cigarettes are hidden behind boards in variety stores. Manufacturers are forced to sell their products in packages covered in gruesome photographs, with labels such as “This is what lung cancer looks like.” The packages warn us that ―Smoking Kills‖ and “Smoking Causes Blindness.”

Starting to smoke is one of the worst decisions anyone can make. But it’s all about doing something to make you feel good. That’s why people smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, and take drugs. For many, tobacco is addictive. It causes people to have an overwhelming desire to continue the habit, even though they know it’s harmful. But millions have given up forever. It’s probably just a very bad habit. Is it a disease? Nobody talks of the disease of nicotinism, like the disease of alcoholism. 

I’m lucky. Many people who smoke for thirty years suffer serious consequences—lung cancer, heart disease and even death. I didn’t. I managed to stop in time. 

I see few smokers nowadays. Some-times I look back and feel nostalgia for that carefree time when I lived for that spark of pleasure every hour or so. Mostly, though, I breathe a huge sigh of relief I survived the insanity. My father was right. He died of a heart attack at 64 after playing a game of tennis. But his advice on smoking was so right. 

Tut Tut Tut – Was There a Curse?

ZELDA ARMSTRONG 

Lots of mystery surrounds King Tut. Who were his parents? How did he die? Were the people who opened his tomb subjected to a curse? These and many other mysteries, myths and misconceptions were discussed in the new course on ancient Egypt which I attended this winter. Mark Trumpour, who presented this exotic information, has been fascinated since childhood by ancient Egypt. This fascination has led to travel to Egypt, and to involvement with the Royal Ontario Museum over many years. He has also published widely on his favourite topics. Mark is working with Queen’s University on a project to study and preserve three ancient Egyptian coffins. 

Instead of presenting a linear history of ancient Egypt, Mark chose to select specific topics centred on mysteries surrounding famous Egyptians and periods in the long span of Egyptian history. He was thus able to talk about the myths and misconceptions we all have about this amazing land. Was the Pharaoh Akhenaten really the first ruler to replace the worship of many gods with one almighty deity? Was Cleopatra murdered? Why are there ―air shafts‖ in the pyramids? Who was the ―screaming mummy’? Why were dung beetles symbols of rebirth? Who was the greatest pharaoh? Why do the biblical psalms have many parallels to Egyptian poems? Was Pharaoh Rameses 111 assassinated? Why was Egypt the only ancient civilization to have women rulers? 

Mark’s casual teaching manner, humour and interaction with his audience made his material come alive. The books and artifacts which he brought in supple-mented his stories and helped us visualize this fascinating history. The good news is that he is offering a different course, entitled Ancient Egyptian Religion, in the spring. Join us to be entertained and enlightened! 

Camera Club Activities

JIM GRIEVE 

The Camera Club has grown from 11 members when it was created in 2004 to 92 members today. The club meets on the first Tuesday of each month at John Street except July and August for a formal meeting, and the second Tuesday at the Conant Centre for an informal meeting.

The formal meetings involve many activities such as a presentation from a guest speaker on how to take or modify photos, reviews of photos that members took for a monthly GYCO (Get Your Camera Out) topic, and a Processing Challenge topic on how to adjust photos. They also review photos taken on monthly excursions to locations like the Haunting at Union Cemetery, and Prince Edward County, among others. 

The members are quite involved in providing their work back to the senior centre. They display members’ photos at all of the centres’ locations and change them 3 times per year. They present a Fall Presentation of photos on various topics yearly. They create greeting cards using their photos for sale at the John Street and Conant locations. Proceeds go to the centre. Individual members conduct travelogue based on presenta-tions on their vacations to various locations around the world. Photos are also given to the art classes for their members to copy to display their talents. 

Members also give their talents to the community as well. They have part-nered with the Robert McLaughlin Art Gallery for Then and Now Presentations based on photos of the Oshawa Creek, the Four Corners in Oshawa, Legislation, Education and Religion, and the Down-town Local Businesses. Members also have photo displays at the P.U.C., Lakeridge Hospital and Guy House at the lake. As well members also take portraits for seniors in the Day Programs and Community Living centre. 

Currently the Camera Club has been approached by Heritage Oshawa to promote their new slogan and provide photos of their memories of the past, along with photos of the same locations today. The results of this partnership may be available by the end of the year.

As one can see from the above, the Camera Club is very active. We welcome any OSCC55+ member with an interest in taking photos, regardless of their knowledge. You can use point and shoot as well as traditional cameras. Experienced members share their talents with those who have questions. 

If interested please come out and join us. 

Tai Chi At OSCC55+

MARJORIE SORRELL 

Tai Chi, the ancient art of motions to lubricate the mind and the body, has a strong following at the OSCC55+. The professional instructor on Mondays is Dr.T.K.Lai who teaches the two beginner level classes. After the traditional warm-up exercises, there was a review of the Simplified Yang 24 Tai Chi forms. Dr. Lai is assisted by regulars, Pam Edmonds and Larry Branigan. It was interesting to watch as each practitioner went through their quiet choreography in their own rhythm as though swimming in still waters. No auditory counts or music accompany this ritual. 

After observing all five classes, I see that Tai Chi offers an opportunity to escape to silence, to assemble the energy of one’s body, to call upon the utmost concentration of one’s intellect and to commune in peace-ful harmony. 

The Thursday second level class is led by dedicated volunteers, Larry Branigan and Pam Edmonds. They demonstrated clearly and precisely the last three move-ments which complete the Yang 24 set, until the class was ready to perform. All was then repeated until the left foot was closed, and the head was bowed. 

Wednesdays at the Conant Branch, Sandra Jin’s beginner and intermediate students fine tune the Yang 24 and perform exercises that bring together mind and body for better health. Thus, they also become acquainted with the Beijing Form of Tai Chi and with Qi Gong exercises. 

OSCC55+ is very fortunate to have Dr. Lai teach the only Tai Chi 32 Sword class available in the Durham area. Actual long straight swords are wielded with both or just one hand slowly utilizing set movements that would protect one’s self and/or provide an advantage to those preparing for battle. This enthusiastic group meets on Mondays at the Northview Branch after the beginner classes and benefits from the assistance of Hady Shu and Sandra Jin. 

While some people have experienced this martial art for years, new members who feel confident performing the basic Tai Chi Simplified Yang 24 would be welcomed. Each year more men have enrolled in each of these classes which will continue this term and resume in the Fall. 

Still Remembering When…

ZELDA ARMSTRONG 

Do you recall all the things which used to be delivered to the house when you were a child? Remember when the milk-man collected empty milk bottles in the early morning and replaced them with that day’s order? 

Coal for the furnace was delivered by a truck which backed up to a basement window and dumped the coal by a chute into the cellar. My mother cooked on a wood-burning stove which had a warming oven and a reservoir for heating water. 

The iceman came regularly to deliver huge blocks of ice for the icebox. In those days ice cream was a real treat. However, in order to have it for dessert, I had to run to the local store with a bowl into which the grocer would put a scoop of ice cream for each family member. Then I rushed home, where my mother wrapped the bowl in newspapers and pillows until we were ready for dessert. 

I remember the ration books which everyone had during and, for a time, after the war. Coupons were necessary to buy groceries and other necessities. One year my mother decided to send our ration of liquor to my grandfather who lived in Saskatchewan. I watched in fascination while she hollowed out a loaf of bread, placed the bottle into it, then wrapped it in multiple layers of strong paper for mailing. I never heard whether it arrived intact – or what my father thought of giving away his whisky! 

Margarine was invented just after the war. It came as an unappetizing bar of white guck accompanied by a small circle of orange dye. In order to make it at all edible you had to mush the dye into the margarine and continue to knead it with your hands until it started to resemble butter. It tasted awful, but was great fun to mix, something like silly putty. 

I remember as a child riding in the rumble seat of my brother-in-law’s car. Journeys were longer then, before the 401. A rumble seat was a fold-out seat outside the rear of the car. If not in use, it was shoved into its space and only pulled out when you had extra passen-gers. It was thrilling to ride in the open air, whizzing along with the wind in your hair and all the scary road noises giving you goose bumps. 

I’m amazed at the speed with which computers have taken over our lives. In the early seventies when my husband worked for IBM. I was teaching art, so he used to bring me boxes of computer punch-cards which would otherwise be thrown out. Each student in my art classes that year attached the folded cards to a big cardboard circle which we sprayed silver and decorated. That made quite a nice Christmas wreath. 

It’s hard to believe that in my lifetime we’ve moved from punch cards to scientists talking about quantum computers which will be able to compute thousands of times faster than the ones we use now. 

Life was slower when I was young and one’s expectations in terms of material goods were far less demanding, but it’s fun to look back. If you have some memories you’d like to share, please get in touch. We’d love to have you reminisce in the newsletter. 

Finding Ancestors

LOUISE WEIR 

For me it started with a family reunion I coordinated for my mom in 2000. With over 200 invited to attend, it created an interest in putting together family history in booklets that could be given out to the people who attended from all over Ontario. 

I was given a picture of my 2x great-grandfather William with his second wife and learned that I was a descendant from his first wife, Elizabeth. I started wondering what became of her as there was no information on her and she was not found in the area where William and his second wife lived and died. That itch to solve the mystery hounded me for twelve years and upon retirement I started looking for her in earnest. I found her in a lonely grave in a tiny little town that no longer exists – Vroomington, near Sunderland. 

That find opened the door to so much more information about an Irish line (Elizabeth’s parents) in my family that no one had known about. Apparently my great-grandfather had said he had Irish ancestors. He also thought a fire in the little church at Vroomington had destroyed all records. He was wrong about that, and also even about the year he was born! 

Since that time my investigations have led me to a famous pirate in my father’s line as well as a potential link to a president of the United States named Millard Fillmore. I’ve also found that I’m a descendent of United Empire Loyalists and my mother’s family helped to found Quebec. There’s even been talk of a ghost haunting a house where Elizabeth’s mother’s headstone was found in Bolsover! 

Genealogy may sound like a boring pastime to some, but I have found it quite fascinating, if at times also frustrating. I’m a person who likes to find answers, I try to solve mysteries in the books I read before I get to the end of the story, and have always had a keen interest in history. Needless to say, I’m hooked for life on this adventure! 

Check out the general interest programs at OSCC55+ for upcoming Genealogy classes and you may find that you get hooked too! 

Happy Feet – Happy Seniors!

CAROL WILSON 

I have observed that many OSCC55+ members smile a lot. I suspect that it could be because of the many and varied programmes, events, social opportunities and services that are available with membership. Recently, I happened to be in one of the branches on foot care day and noticed that all of the foot care clients were smiling broadly after having their regular treatment. I realized that, along with the many advantages of OSCC55+ member-ship, these particular people also enjoyed properly cared-for feet – another good reason to smile!

OSCC55+ has offered foot care services to its members for many years. In 2019, more than 5,200 treatments were administered. That’s over 10,000 feet! 

The clinics are held in OSCC55+ John St., Northview and Conant Branches and are so popular that they are regularly held every week in each of these branches. Services include a private foot assessment, toenail trimming and care for corns and calluses. These services are performed by Registered Nurses who are supported by a competent team of OSCC55+ volunteers. This team of dedicated volunteers co-ordinate appointments and ensure that every foot care clinic runs as smoothly as possible. 

Foot care is an important part of our overall health, especially as we age. Foot care clinics require an appoint-ment and a current OSCC55+ participation card. Check the OSCC55+ Activity Guide for more information or call ext. 2847 to make your appointment to join other happy seniors. 

And… keep smiling!