Scum, skim, and fuzz

If you boiled your marmalade mix in sugar today for the requisite 45 minutes, you created scum on the surface margins of your product. Some call it fuzz and others froth. If you want your marmalade to be pristine without little gobs of scum you will skim your scum from the margins of the pot before pouring in the jars. For that I use a flat edged spoon. The scum or froth or fuzz is good to eat. I saved my scum in a little bowl for immediate eating. My mother always allowed us boys to eat all the scum from her preserves on bread and butter. It may be that the particular amongst us would turn up their nose at scum. They might say that it was infradig to eat scum. I am sure however that the same person probably relishes the froth on their cappuccino and the other epicurean concoctions available in the 5 dollar cardboard cupfuls! I skimmed my scum today and have tried it on 2 slices of whole wheat toast. My marmalade is sealing and snapping as I write. Why we have ever allowed these pejorative terms to describe a delicious side, end product of the jam business that has all the attributes of goodness without the prettiness of the retail product I do not know. Beauty trumps flavor in the real world! Enjoy your cappuccino fuzz. Skim the fuzz off with your spoon before drinking or you'll have fuzzy lips and a white mustache!

Exposure and anonymity

At a certain stage of life there is less and less time available" to have a kick at the cat". If you have something to do, you had better do it while you still have a guarantee of your faculties, or at least, as you believe they are still present! If you have something to say, or if you believe you have something to say, the internet affords a medium that allows anonymity. There is a certain freedom in this as you can dip your toe in the water and test the temperature without jumping into the lake and finding it's too frosty to swim. If you are a cowardly lion or a tin man or a scarecrow you will have to find an expert behind a screen who will give you a green light to publish! If you come with a proposed book that is not a book but a compilation of anecdote,history , reverence, irreverence,garden variety humor and recycled wisdom you may know that most will say there is no coherence to this material! Incoherence is representative of the human condition. If you believe you are coherent it is proof positive that you are not. We really never have a theme if we are truly a holistic human being.If you write of your realities or your fantasies you are still writing your autobiography. All writing is revelatory! To put a name to your exposition is fraught with the danger of "going to jump in the lake". Fear of exposure is only present with the first time you take your clothes off and go naked. After that it becomes easier as you realize there is less to lose that you thought. Years ago when my brother Ken got married, I hosted a stag at our home with his friends. My brother was a school teacher and I did not know his friends. The stag turned out to be sagging quite badly by mid-party and was very boring. I needed an idea! My son Robert who was 13 was at the stag and we had a large swimming pool off our living room. I took a chance,discarded fear, and announced we would have a water ball game and pick up teams. Thereupon in the living room I took off all my clothes in front of these strangers to jump in the pool. To my relief so did my 13 year old and my brother and then everyone did the same. The party no longer sagged. We had a hell of a good time. I took a gamble. The outcome could have been dreadful! I now shudder to think of it. If my life is sagging, I want to take a chance!

Orange Marmalade

It's mid-January on Lotus Island and I hustled to the supermarket to get the first of the Seville oranges that have just arrived. They are not a hot ticket item anymore so they often languish in the bin at the store and dry out. We hardy few who look forward to our bitter marmalade preservation every year mark the calendar at this new beginning. The Seville oranges here come from boulevard trees in Mesa Arizona, I am given to understand. Mary, Queen of Scots would have had her oranges shipped from Spain. My patient years ago, who was a distant Chivers relative gave me the three day recipe which I have faithfully followed. Since some of the people I care for do not care for marmalade with large peel pieces, I have dispensed with tradition and use the cuisinart to chop the peel more finely. One does what one has to. My oranges today are clean and plump. Sevilles are amongst the more ugly of the orange varieties so don't be dissuaded by their lack of beauty! Don't take offence at the bitterness of the fruit. Ugly and bitter will transform into sublime in the hands of the lover. Gentle patience is all that is necessary! Here is the recipe. I make a double batch.

Day 1, 8 large Seville oranges, 2 lemons. Halve these and remove the fruit. Leave the pith on the skin. Place the fruit in a muslin bag. Chop up the orange and lemon peel with the pith. Place all the material in a large container. Make sure your muslin bag doesn't leak or you'll have seeds in your marmalade. Add ten cups of water and soak everything overnight.

Day 2, Boil contents for 45 minutes. Let cool and rest for balance of the day.

Day 3, Take out the muslin bag and squeeze well. Add 1 and 1 quarter cups of sugar to each cup of your product. Boil for 45 minutes from the time of rapid boiling. Simmer longer if the marmalade does not jell well when dripping off the spoon. Fill jars
and seal when hot, in jars oven heated at 275 degrees.

The quality of the jelling in my opinion comes from the thickness of the pith. The marmalade darkens over the year but quality remains. No pectin needed: no citrate compounds: no treacle! Bon appetite!

Canoe River BC

In November 1950 a troop train transporting Canadian Army troops for embarkation to Korea was in a collision with a passenger Continental eastbound. 21 people died in that collision, mostly troops of No.1 Royal Canadian Horse Artillery from Shilo, Manitoba and four railway employees. The collision occurred at Canoe River BC in the Rocky Mountains. The army and railway eventually charged a 22 year old telegrapher with manslaughter on the alleged basis of failure to transmit accurate orders. I remember the crisis in our family at that time because my dad had copied orders on that same troop train earlier the day before and it was not clear at that time where the fault lay! Remember at that time orders were telegraph orders. They were transmitted to the engineer on a paper slip attached to a hoop from the station as the train passed through, slowing down at the yellow light which indicated new orders, for which meet, and which siding to take. There was always the potential for disaster! The dispatcher in Winnipeg phoned my dad and said to seal his copy of the order for safe keeping. He was subject to immediate assessment by the railway inspectors. To the relief of all of us my dad's orders were alright! This tragedy was subject to a trial in BC and John G Diefenbaker assumed the defense of Jack Atherton, the young telegrapher,gratis, at the request of Mr.Diefenbaker's dying wife. Mr. Diefenbaker paid 1500 dollars in order to become a member of the BC bar for this occasion, and went through the bar examination where it was said the only question asked was to define a tort. John Diefenbaker succeeded in defense of the client whom he portrayed as a scapegoat for the prosecution. The death of so many was an incredible tragedy but he succeeded in laying the fault on the systems rather than the employee! In our family, at that time and after he became Prime Minister, no one could be considered greater than the man who served the sort of persons like us, the ordinary Canadians. When Mr. Diefenbaker died the people in our towns along the main line lined up for hours to salute the passenger funeral train as it passed by. The common touch is what distinguished him, and the things we valued!

Unnatural Act

I was removing, with difficulty, a string of outside Christmas lights from the quince tree! Some of the smaller branches were traumatized as the electrical wires clung to them and the freezing cold had rendered the branches rather brittle. As I was working away on the stepladder a small voice said, "You've made me look like a tart!" Then the voice said, "you've spent a long time yapping about Mother Nature, and how organic you are, and you even quoted a poem about me, and now you have made me into a freak!" I must say I was taken aback by this assertion as I hadn't meant any disrespect! I didn't think it was unseemly to string lights on living bones but now I realize it is an unnatural act and has nothing to do with Christmas either! "I guess you are right that I am a hypocrite", I said," but it was out of ignorance rather than intent." "No way", she said ,"You have made such heavy weather of your connection to the vegetable world and apparently worshipped the dialogue between us. It gives us the suspicion now, that you are a person who talks a good game but really has little real understanding or respectfulness of living bones. Rather than your feeble attempt to illuminate me, try to illuminate yourself!" Well, you can readily see that I felt pretty crushed, particularly since she has provided faithfully every year, beautiful quince for jellies and preserves, a home for the Western Flycatchers every year that grace our home, and she never develops powdery mildew. She is sweet! They have obviously discussed the matter in the orchard and I am properly reprimanded. I have assured her that I will not repeat any unnatural acts in the future and will scale down my rhetoric, beating my breast about how connected I am, when they really know better!

The Extra Spoon

We had the usual collection of matching everyday tableware, spoons, knives, and forks, in our family when the children were growing up in Lotus City. In addition, there was a spoon that was not of quite the same configuration as the other teaspoons. It was less oblong and a little more square! It lived in the same tray with the regular teaspoons. Trivial as it may seem, this extra spoon became 'a cause celebre' in our family that generated at times, heated discussions with respect to ownership. The children vied to do the table setting to acquire the experience of possession, albeit transient, of the extra spoon. That gave some accrued benefit to us but at the cost of further debate. It's hard to know where it all started, but clearly once one person wanted it, it became a source of minor veneration. Rational folks, even in the pediatric age group may have recognized the matter as one without merit. Not so our offspring. Matters of the heart and issues of entitlement can raise the stakes! Reason goes out the window. We want something that others do not, or can not have, even though we lust after the acceptance of the group. Something that sets us apart, but not too much! 30 or so years later, and living on Lotus Island I have discovered for some time that we have a different newer extra spoon in a different set of matched tableware. It is not exactly like the extra spoon of yesteryear but it is clearly an outlier. It is of no interest to my grandchildren , nor was it a few years back when they were younger. It has no intrinsic value! It is only of value as most material things are, if someone else wants it too. It sits in the tray with the other teaspoons and I occasionally speak to it, to remind it how indifferent we all are to it. Not, "Deja vu all over again!"

Prairie Grain Elevator

My first summer job when I was 15 was cleaning out the grain dust in the bottom of the bins in the Pool elevator for Bill McClughan , the operator! We lived in the railway station across the tracks from the Pool elevator which also had an attached annex. My brother Ken used to sit in the railway office and shoot rats around the annex through the open window with his 22 when our dad wasn't around. One day he aimed too low and the bullet hit the track and ricocheted through another window. That ended his rat hunting career! My job was to shovel out the grain dust , rat droppings and general debris, in the bottom of the bins, to get ready for the fall storage season. The prairie elevators are now an iconic reminder of a special past and a way of life when industrial farming was nonexistent. The elevators announced each town in large letters to the passers through, a statement of importance to us. The elevator had a grated weigh scale where the grain truck was weighed full and then empty. Grain was dumped through the grate and samples taken by the elevator operator for grading during the dumping stream, Then the grain was carried by the elevating buckets to the top of one of the 16, 80 foot high bins and poured into them. During the fall and winter when the grain was loaded into box cars the loading was not from the bottom. As a consequence the detritus, rat droppings, chaff and dust settled to the bottom of each bin over the winter and spring to about three to four feet high as I remember. It was a dusty job cleaning the bins out, getting them clean for the fall harvest. The dust and detritus got in your clothes and hair and nostrils. I was happy with my first paying job but I understand why Bill McClughan didn't want to do it. I was strong and never got sick. We didn't have running water so it was hard to keep clean every day since our water had to be hauled from the town pump and heated on the stove top. My bath water in the galvanized tub looked like porridge at the end of each bath. I have a slightly altered view of the romantic nature of the iconic prairie elevator.

Birdbrain

This supposedly disparaging comment toward the forgetful or the thoughtless requires some reexamination! For the past two months the robins on our plot in Lotus Island were notable for their complete absence. They were abundant during the early fall. Nothing had changed that would have occasioned their departure. The worms and bugs remained in plentiful numbers. One thing however is noted and that is the holly berries were not quite ripe during that period. The robins of course are omnivorous. They don't exist on protein alone. They must have, if not an internal clock, an internal calendar, or alternatively a readily available Dayrunner. They are no" birdbrains" ! They may even follow a Sonoma diet plan for all I know. At any rate, they appeared in spades about 4 days ago. They started in the orchard by turning up the leaves in the windrows that I haven't been able to drag to the compost yet. Tossing their heads as they threw leaves helter skelter, seeking the cringing bug or worm. Once I saw them I knew what they were really after. The appetizer may have been bugs and worms, but the entree was my holly berries. The assault on the holly tree usually starts about the 5th of December and despite it being a loaded 50 foot tree they clean it up in 4 to 5 days! This year the tree was a bit late in ripening like everything else! How they knew? That kind of timing doesn't suggest a birdbrain is forgetful or thoughtless. They may not be able to spell well, but they are not stupid. Neither am I because I cut all the holly we needed three days ago, preempting their action. They can go to it all they want now! The only drawback to this feeding frenzy is the distributed seedings I have to weed next year from the droppings. Nevertheless, La Chaim!

The Motley Crew

As I march through the commercial nursery greenhouses from time to time I feel a touch of envy over the pristine, row on row of abundantly flowering or verdant house plants for sale. They smack of the beauty of the young but are often bought, treasured, and turfed when they are no longer so beautiful. If you see perennials as furnishing, to stage your house for beauty, you will see no sense in any alternative use for them. However if you anthropomorphize your house plants, you will, as we have over many years, create a Confederation of a Motley Crew. The pianist has said, from time to time, we should get rid of some of these plants since they are too big, some are ugly and they are taking over the house and greenhouse. I don't disagree with her observations about ugly and large but have so far avoided some of her suggestions with regard to action. A good marriage seeks compromise. I do have a bottom line, and have euthanized and buried the worst to the compost. Such an act is love in action and they will rise again. The survivors are old friends. They can be primped up to be at least acceptable, but it does become more and more of a struggle. They provide memories of the olden days when they were young and beautiful. I am not a callow person. I am not "Sans Loy". They can rely on us to give geriatric care, to water regularly, to avoid rich food, to amputate at times to stave off death. We are more a happy home for the elderly rather than a hospice and we share their joy. The Cymbidium in the photo we have had for years. Some years it blooms, some years it doesn't! I have two others that have not favored us this year. I accept that. They have a mind of their own. I can always wait 'til Mother Nature chooses to reward us with her "presents"!

My Pro Career

In 1953 I was recruited to go to Wynyard, Saskatchewan as a baseball pitcher for their ball team! Since it was my summer job I needed the money for school in the fall. The team had the desire for a winning team, but they had neither the money, nor a pitcher! A philanthropic business man in Wynyard, who owned a service station, came to their rescue and paid me 250 dollars a month to pump gas and be a go-fer in his business so that I could be at the behest of the ball team. 250 dollars was too generous for the job I did for the business owner, Mindy Halldorson, but it was expeditious to his town's ball team. I,of course, was flattered that they wanted me. My pro career, since I was the only pitcher, included providing this service 3 days a week at local sports days around the area, and usually,since we often won,generally pitched three short games a day. My job on the field was also to carry the equipment, bags and bats, to our next venue since I was the only "paid " player.The team felt that was a reasonable request since I was only 19 and I couldn't go with them to the beer parlor in between games. A real source of discontent for me. Predictably, half way through the season, pitching without respite, and having no brains to pace myself, I developed a severe rotator cuff tendinitis in my pitching arm! It was so bad I had trouble lifting the bag of jelly doughnuts I brought to the garage mechanics for coffee break twice a day, when I was working the go-fer shift! The black day came when the ball team manager took me aside and told me the team was not making enough money to pay me anything further. I of course, couldn't pitch for them because of my arm, but never thought to question why I was fired, since Mindy Halldorson was paying for me, not the ball team. I was of no further use. Used up! I did see the local doctor but he was a quack and gave me some talcum powder to rub on my shoulder! My pro career ended and I went back to the track at the CNR for the remainder of the summer! Oh, brief fling of greatness dashed!

Utterances

When my dad retired from the railway in Lotus City,and he could no longer garden; but before he was anchored to the apartment by an oxygen hose,he did volunteer driving for the housebound! He was getting on a bit however, and found driving in the city a bit tense. He would drive elderly or disabled people to the doctor or dentist, or for treatment to the hospitals. Wait for them and drive them back. He had not much else to do so he was content to wait for them. My dad was not a reader but he enjoyed engaging others in the waiting room in conversation since he was never shy! He was given to frequent expostulations in his conversation generally. These were never scatological nor sacramentally incorrect but were provided with some passion nevertheless. His routine passionate epithet, prefacing remarks, was "By Dad!". Certainly beyond criticism! One day in my office I was visited by an elderly woman with a hip problem. At the end of our consultation she volunteered that she knew my dad and that he was often her volunteer driver. She said, "He's quite a character!" I agreed. Then she observed that when he drove her to an appointment he was frustrated with other drivers passing him and and bumper hugging. She said he would mutter, or sometimes yell, "You jackass" ,during the trip. I said, "I know that. He drives so slowly that people pass him abruptly and he is nervous. It's his word! We know it well." "Well ", she said, "I like your dad a lot but one day I was very late leaving the apartment and he was waiting for me a long time. I just knew when I got to his car he was going to call me a jackass." "He would never do that!" I said. "You're right",She said, "He just smiled and said he hoped I was feeling well." I can see my dad now in my mind's eye, trying to remain useful,tense with driving, but enjoying the company of fellow strangers, staving off the eventual time of relative immobility,fighting the feeling!

The Pansy

The pansy, or for that matter the shrinking violet; what misnomers! They are tough little plants! The pansies are anything but pansies and the violets may be modest in size but they are mighty! We had minus 6 centigrade here on Lotus Island last week. The foundation box chrysanthemums turned black but the pansies didn't turn a hair. How could anyone have taken these plants as a metaphor for timidity? The pansy was always the favorite flower of the pianist. As a little girl she saw the flower as a face! I can see that. Anthropomorphizing again! Particularly for me as well, the yellow and brown petal arrangement are about as close to a little face as any flower I can think of. They not only are tough, but they are not in your face. Never mistake modesty for weakness! I am long enough in the tooth to know that with some other plants, what you see is not always what you get! On the island, the pansy winters over beautifully, waiting for that first soft warm breath in February to flourish, when under planted in the foundation boxes with the emerging daffodils. The reflected heat from the house allows them to spring forward. Being greeted by these harbingers of spring, as we leave the house, puts the spring in your step as well as in your heart.

Powerless in Paradise

The first major storm of November, with wet, heavy, sticking snow and high winds has culled the weak, the rotten and the leaning trees, mostly Alder and Maple, since,at the edge of the forest, they overhang the power lines. Peripheral trees, ditch side trees, they crush the power lines with the awesome might of Mother Nature, having it on as the Grim Reaper to the old and feeble,( trees not me!). We were 41 hours on Lotus Island without power, landline ,face book, or all the other accoutrements we have come to take for granted. Mother Nature is going to do this a further three or four times this winter but the first big one is the major cull, much like the flu' season, and then the diminishing returns will follow. It has to be. Global pruning! Wolf pack at the edge of the herd! Our anxiety primarily extended to the two freezers in which we parked our frozen, value added fruit creations, and the frozen dinners created by the pianist as our lifeline. Valued as per summer work effort, not monetary! Our product survived the 41 hours since we scrupulously avoided peeking! But boy, the house, was it cold and dark inside and out! Black November, source of SAD for many! Cause of Snow Birding for others! At 76 years, rapid dark adaption with the older eye and heat transfer from core to periphery is not what it used to be! We had lots of wood however, rock salt, and both the fireplace and the Vermont Casting were going full blast! As long as you rotated your backside and front side it was bearable, but reading by candlelight is tough, by flashlight, hard on the arm. We don't have miner's lamps. That's another purchase. Hibernating under two duvets and a blanket, nostril to toes, was the real ticket! What was good about all this however, was the incredible silence and the sense of power in self sufficiency that one gets from knowing that we are all in the same boat, and 'making do', and unlike our forebears, it would all end. Also, I'm ashamed to admit, the vicarious pleasure obtained by knowing that your children were worried about you! Still ducking the widow makers in Paradise! Still salting the slippery slopes!

Husband

Husband is also an archaic noun meaning a soft cushion with arms that enfolds or supports the occupant. I hope it is not misnamed, given the decades of change! Too traditional? Too uxorious? The pianist has a yellow corduroy bed cushion with back and arms that you can sit and lean onto and read in bed to your heart's content without sliding down. It's a good husband, though one of the arms has a tear in it and the padding shows. An old husband! Needs repairs! I have yet to eponymously designate the pianist's husband as Jim, but it does seem appropriate! We seem to anthropomophize many of our inanimate objects anyway! Why not her cushion? It may be a bit worn but its been around a long time and it is comfortable. And what's more, it never talks back to anyone. Actually I like the husband too! "To husband" is a verb from yesteryear meaning 'to care for'. Both the cushion and the elderly eclectic gentleman have that role, the verb and the noun! We both provide a certain comfort and possibly induce sleep more readily than the past! I am not sure which of us husbands is going to succumb to Father Time first. We both need some patching around the edges. We are both amply appreciated for our contributions. Long life and service to us both!

Mold

Mold season is here on Lotus Island. Mold always seems to get a bad rap, but 'tain't necessarily so! It's also the season for spiders and mold's fungal cousin once removed, the mushroom. Both also subject to bad raps. The only reason fungi grow on anything is because they can. Fix the substrate, fix the fungi ! In the meantime beware of badmouthing the molds. If it weren't for Penicillium notatum we wouldn't have developed the range of subsequent generations of antibiotics, and many more World War two survivors would have succumbed to overwhelming infections without the first generation antibiotic . We wouldn't have Stilton cheese to go with our Port! We wouldn't have Truffles to lighten our wallets. The Chrysanthemum in the photo is on the way out with mold. The grey mold may not be beautiful but it is doing its job of assisting in biodegradation. That is where it's at with Mother Nature! Certainly mold does not have the beauty of the fungal mushrooms my Face Book friends are posting, but lets have some ugly plant pictures too! There is room in the world for everything, including UBS plants! (Ugly But Satisfactory)! If the mold on your tea rose, or your wall, or your basement or uncovered tomato plants is a problem,it's not a problem, you're the problem by providing a substrate they will thrive on. If the mold you love thrives on what you provide for it, you will also thrive. It's a curious paradox that the Genus that can kill you, can also cure you. The Genus that can tear you down, can also build you up. Here's to the spiders and all the fungi!

Rubber Ice

The first year I was away from home in the 50's two little boys in our hamlet went through the ice on a pond next to the railroad station. One died. My brother Ken, there at the time, raced to the station and called my dad who ran out with a rake and walked into the icy pond and remained for many minutes, to try to probe and find the body in time. He never succeeded. In a small town like ours there were no ambulance persons, or rescue, or police. People did what they could. It was a tragedy! The pond was covered by rubber ice at the time of the drowning. Children, despite warnings, are impatient to play pond hockey. In many small towns, pond hockey is a necessity, not a choice! Rubber ice announces it's presence when you step on it. It groans and moans and squeaks! It also undulates as it speaks to you. Being impatient and failing to heed the warning sounds were drummed into us over and over again but the tendency for the adventuresome is to "try it out". It's a bit like life in general isn't it? There are always those who think they may get away with skating on thin ice and there are those who always wear both a belt and suspenders so they will never get caught with their pants down. Standing on rubber ice is fatal. At the first sound, getting down on your knees or better still on your belly will distribute the weight over a much larger ice area and save your life. People rescuing can put a plank or a ladder out to you to rescue you! There always has to be the first person singular to "try it out". It's inevitable and necessary when it's thoughtful! Let's just say, no matter what, plan B should have both belt and suspenders! When trapped on rubber ice, never jump, kneel, crawl and slither! Provide tough love for your kids!

Home grown vegetables.

Home growing vegetables is usually a bust, I am sad to say! The cost-benefit ratio is,in the hands of the home gardener, a disaster. I like to say," I spend 10 dollars to grow a dollars worth of vegetables!" I am aware that this point of view will spur fury amongst the committed and I will be accused of egregious incompetence by the seed catalogue producers, presently mailing their colored pictures, and their devotees, but I have to come clean. I have tried my best every year, mostly for forty years. I have read, studied and inwardly digested the books of the great vegetable gardeners and tried their techniques. Arthur Willis, Bill Vander Zalm, W. G. Smith, Dr. D.G Hessayon, Jill Severn, Bernard Moore, and Marjorie Hunt. I have subscribed to Rodale's publication, Organic Gardening and the Ortho publications. All to no avail! I have grown everything from salsify to stevia, from peas to potatoes. The occasional success is not worth the effort for me. There is a solution to get the great taste of the home grown organic vegetables that will cost less in the end. My farmer daughter has organically farmed vegetables for 20 years. It is hard work. She is exceptionally knowledgeable and full time plus. She can make a living but it's a tenuous thing. She does it because she loves it and sees safe food production as an essential in a world that is spinning out of control! Lotus Island has a salubrious climate that allows both winter and summer vegetable growing but it is also kind to many of the pests. Carrot fly, leaf miner, cabbage butterfly, cut worm, a myriad of fungi,rabbits,slugs sow bugs and earwigs.Waterlogging, tomato blight, unexpected frost, and a sorry lot of other enemies combat you. If you love it anyway, then bring your Remay, your fibrecloth, your little collars for the cole crops, and your lumber for the raised beds. Bring your compost, and your slug bait, and Rotenone. Not me! I'm sticking to Rhubarb and Globe Artichokes in the vegetable crowd and growing ornamentals. We'll buy our vegetables from the organic marketers. It's easier on the budget and you won't need Hope Springs Eternal.

Father of the bride

When my daughter was married in the mid 80's I gave a toast at the reception. The reception was in our home at Lotus City and the house was "chockablock" with family of the bride and groom, and many friends! It was a joyous occasion! I had not prepared a toast since it was only at the last moment I was informed to do so! I quickly searched my memory and came up with the idea to describe the day he asked for her hand. Our house was shaped like a tomahawk and a series of bedrooms down a long hall, the handle of the tomahawk. They were visiting from Olympic City at the time he asked to marry her. I described the scene to the assembly as follows." My present son-in-law came up to me out of the blue some time ago, and said, ' I'd like to speak to you about something.' It didn't take much intuition to know what was coming! ' Sure,' I said. I looked up the long hallway as we talking and could see my daughter peeking out of a bedroom door and then pulling back quickly when spied. It was a telling, classical, scene. He said, ' I would like to get your permission to marry your daughter.' I was actually, at the time, surprised to be asked! I said, ' Do you love her?' 'O yes,' he said,' I really love her, she is such a happy joyful person to be with.' He spoke with such vehemence! I paused, to fully take in this response. I then said to him, ' We would be glad for you and her!' " That was the gist of the matter. So far so good. Then, I added a tail to the tale. I told the reception guests my thought, during the pause after his confession of love. I said, "I thought at the time, holy shit, he really does love her! " My friend Janet said, later in the reception, "Do you know you said shit ?" I didn't know. My Toronto sister-in -law, standing with us, said, "Of course he said shit!" She understood. It can be a word of passion, in a moment of glory.

Credibility

When I was newly arrived in Lotus City to practice, one of the first cases I treated was an operator of a front end loader working on an industrial site. The bucket of his machine contacted high tension Hydro wires. An electrical charge ran from the bucket to both his hands which were on the levers, and through his body, and out the left foot which was on the pedal. An attending Plastic surgeon looked after the severe electrical burns of the hands and I dealt with the left leg burns. The operator went on over time to develop quite severe cicatrix of both hands and gangrene of the lower leg requiring a below knee amputation. Several years later I went to court as a witness in this case. Who was liable and how much was the main issue, and the defendants were the employer, the then WCB and the Hydro! The judge was a senior man of long experience in personal injury cases and a reputation for well-honed asperity! As I was new to Lotus City, I had never appeared before him. As I was asked to describe the appearance of the leg by the lawyer, the plaintiff's council rose and told the judge that "we" had a series of pictures of the hands and leg. I did not know this, since the Plastic surgeon had been taking photographs regularly for his own medical portfolio and they did not appear on the hospital chart! I must have appeared evasive or confounded by this information because the judge gave me a withering glare! I could see a cartoonist's balloon over his head, thinking "This greenhorn Orthopedic surgeon has taken pictures home to somehow cover his ass because of fear of criticism!" The judge however, really said imperiously, " What! Orthopedic surgeons never take pictures!" He glared again! THe plaintiff lawyer said, "Oh no my lord, the Plastic surgeon took the pictures." "That's alright then, " said the judge, "Plastic surgeons always take pictures." He smiled at me. Exonerated! Credible after all! He was right: we never take pictures!

A Little Helper

When my son was six years old we received a letter from the Sunday School discharging him from the Little Helpers group at the church. The ignominy of the event didn't seem to faze him, but for the pianist and me it was disturbing! I cannot recall exactly what he had done or not done, but it had to do with the Lenten Box. The Little Helpers were engaged in collecting for the African poor. At least as I remember the box, a triangular cardboard tent, purple, with an African on the side, had a coin slot for the Little Helpers donations. He may have lost his box, spent the money, or we may have failed to maintain his attendance, or encourage a good attitude toward his charity. What ever the cause, the failure was ours, the dismay was ours, but the price paid was his. Being fired from Little Helpers is an enormous blot on your copy book. Whether this interface with the Anglican church in Winnipeg was a signal event in his spiritual journey I do not know. It is certain that an earlier experience in the Anglican Cathedral church in Plymouth was also a watershed moment when he was four years of age. He admired greatly, the garb of the Dean, a very fine fellow, of whom he remarked, "When I grow up, I want to be dressed up like God" . We never know the inklings that proceed to one's chosen priestly vocation! Up from the mustard seed!