Toronto has snow

Call out the army. Oh, yeah, they're in Afghanastan.

But we did get some snow today. That makes the 4th Storm of the Century in the past 3 years. Might get a bit worse over the next few days, but ...

Welcome to Canada.

The picture is out the kitchen window into the cedar tree with the Xmas lights. At night.

Still snowing, but the beauty of the cedar is about at the peak.

Bring boots for the Toronto visit.

Of harps and vibes

So, the vibraphone belonged to Peter Appleyard. Pretty cool!

The harp is beautiful, but also a mechanical marvel. There are 9 pedals at the bottom arranged to be accessable by the harpist - pointing sorta towards the seated player, at the end opposite the main column. Clear?

The main column looks as though it is massive to support the pull of all those stretched strings.

Wrong again. It is hollow to allow all the little steel rods connected to the pedals (remember them from the previous paragraph?) to pull on little discs in the overhead piece, where all the little tuning knobs are. This is how sharps and flats are made. Each rod must be attached to a set of strings - such as all the A's. A harp has no black keys, only white keys.

There, you have enough information to work it all out for yourself.

The only remaining piece is to put in a couple of pictures. Actually, the same picture with different sizing. With any luck, you should, Dear Reader, be able to get all the detail you desire.

Penny's concert - Yule 2008

The York Region School Board Staff Singers had their 2008 Christmas concert at the church in Arora over a week ago. I have been a tad remiss in getting these few shots up here - together with some drivel.
The choir had some help this year from a harpist, a guitarist and a precussionist who played a marimba and a vibraphone (both forms of xylophone).

The harp was truly beautiful. Sanya Eng, the harpist, explained the instrument (seen here).

If anyone has any tips on controlling where the text and pictures land, please feel free to send me a note, comment ...

I am having a wonderful time getting this all layed out the way I think it should be. Hit "Publish Post" and look at something completely different.

Do I have to learn HTML or some other archaic language? End of rant.

Rob MacDonald, guitarist, incidentally from Nova Scotia, is tuning up here. He was very good, a wonder to watch and lovely to listen to. He's played with lots of people (classical). Must look up his CDs.

I don't have a decent picture of the marimba and player, but I got to talk with him a bit. His vibraphone is a classic, made by a firm in Chicago in the 30's or so, and it belonged to a really famous jazz vibe Canadian guy whose name I cannot recall at the moment. He is married to the harpist. You should see them wrestle with their stuff!

The choir and the musicians sounded great. Some years the "special guests" (sounds like someone who arrived on the short bus) over-power the choir, but the amalgam worked well this year.

And they sounded pretty good on their own.

But there was a slight problem: Paul Nicholson, the choir director, forgot or misplaced his music. This caused some confusion from time to time. "What song is HE doing?"

'Twas a fine concert. Dana and Hannah were there and we all had fun. And goodies after.

And so, to all a good night.

Tree decorating @ Dana & Jason's

'Tis the time for this annual event. Lots of noise and silliness.
The tree looked really good very quickly.










There was a great piano recital by Jack and Hannah. Penny made a programme so we could follow along with what was being played. Henry and I curled up in a chair and I read the program. Henry sang along with the piano playing. I don't have any pictures of all that. It was an excellent concert, well played by both the bigger kids.

Dana served a whole mess of goodies.

Then the silly pictures started.

Then we played "Rock Band" on the Wii. Jason says they need Rock Band II.

I make a pretty poor drummer, but I could learn to bowl. But Penny won't let me get a Wii. Probably a good call.






Henry took a picture of me using Dana's camera.

And Hannah tried to get the chocolate off her fingers.

Saturday morning - Henry

So we now have Henry playing hockey. He is part of the Tim Horton's Timbits league, playing every Saturday with a practice on Sunday. Henry's group of teams are all aged 4 to 6.

Hardly any of the kids can actually see over the boards (when they are sitting on the bench. By the way, they are not all boys. Henry's team has a girl playing on it.

Henry is as big as most of the kids, even those a couple of years older.

The kids all swarm after the puck, but some can skate and turn better than others. So, any given rush down the ice may have players from either (or both) teams still going the wrong way.

The teams change every 3 minutes - even if there is a break-away on the go. And there are lots of goals. Henry's team won 11 - 3 (I think).

The action around the goal is often thrilling and frustrating at the same time. Everything depends on whether the kids can stay on their feet, whether the puck came to the right side (most cannot use their backhand), whether the puck hit the stick.

Did I mention the standing up part? Henry is #10. He skates well and will get lots better. You can see next year in the tank-like motion of this year.





At the end of the game, everyone lines up and shakes hands (actually, swats gloves) and says "Good game" and stuff like that. Then off to the locker room and snacks. The Zamboni comes out and wets the ice (no shaving, these guys do not tear up the surface - yet), and the next mob moves onto the field of play.

Jason was at the rink when I arrived, along with brother John and, of course, Jack with the missing front tooth. We all had a great time. I think Jack was showing off his hockey card - the one with Jack and his stats on it.

Thanksgiving in Nova Scotia - part 2

Maybe everyone already knows this: click on a picture to see a larger version, use the "Back" button to return to the blog.

This is all about Sunday; our trip to Kentville to see the Pumpkin People (see part 1), then to the Canning Look-off - site of many a family picnic, and on to the hiking trail out Cape Split - 8 km each way across the ridge of a point into the Bay of Fundy. When walking, you don't really understand where you are. This picture (from the web) gives the overview.



So, to the Canning Look-off. This is looking across the valley at Wolfville and Andrew & Ali's backyard. This is the reverse shot of the picture in part 1.



Also from the Look-off, facing a bit more north into the Minas Basin toward Windsor. There is a bit of rocky island off the point.



And here it is. I really like the new lens.

Then to the hiking trail. The day was beautiful, as good as you can get. The trail is easy in spots, but also goes over rocks and tree roots in other places.

Toward the end of the trail, Penny seems to be hanging onto a tree. There is a good reason.

Andrew is only a few feet away. The dropp-off is quite spectacular.

This is the same spot from the other side. Actually taken as we started back, but it helps show the shear drops.

My view from across one of the chasms. The end of Cape Split is weathered and worn into cliffs on all sides.

Like this. There are few trees at the very end because the wind is pretty much constant. All the trees and shrubs are low and scrub-like. And the view is gorgeous. New Brunswick around Hopewell Cape is on the horizon.

Resting, stretching and munching to get ready for the return walk.

And this is the very end bit.

So, mylegs and ankles ached for days, but well worth the mild price. A lovely day.

Thanksgiving in Nova Scotia, part 1

Over the Thanksgiving weekend, we went to Wolfville to visit Andrew & Ali in their new community and abode. We left Toronto Friday night for Halifax while my luggage took a short vacation in Thunder Bay. Luggage re-joined the tour Saturday night.

This is the view from A & A's new backyard in Wolfville.

Buster seems to like the new home.

Saturday morning we went to Dartmounth to visit an old pal of Leonard Picard and drop a picture of the Magnificent. Then into the Mic Mac Mall for jeans, underwear, socks. Lunch with Linda & Rick Creese. Old Home Week, followed by a drive to Wolfville.

We walked around Acadia U with A & A in the beautiful Fall afternoon. A real treat. Saw the new house, Buster, and Andrew showed us where he works.

Nice dinner in a fine pub (where Mastercard decided my card must have been stolen or something). All in all, a grand day.

These are some of the Kentville Pumpkin People, a local attraction. We saw them all over town on Sunday as we headed to Blomidon and Cape Split. That's in Part 2.

Memories of Poppa

Leonard Picard remembered

We have just returned from Montreal where we attended a rememberance service for Penny's father. The following was written and read by Andrew. It is somewhat long for this venue, but something we want to share.
_________________________________________________

I’m Andrew, Leonard’s grandson. To me, he was always known as “Papa,” and I feel lucky to’ve grown up with such a strong and unique example of what it can mean — if one is lucky — to be an old man. His sense of humour, generosity, goodwill, and determination have been beacons to me of a life properly lived, over the years. And if I haven’t inherited these traits through the blood, so to speak, I hope that I will continue to remember Papa’s example the rest of my life. Because I’d like to become the rare kind of old man who is fun and excited by new possibilities, patient and kind — not from a sense of duty or manners, but from a genuine caring about everyone around me, spreading joy wherever I go.

It’s strange at these types of events how we gather to assert what someone was — what his life meant — and to listen to the assertions of others, each trying to sum up the person as best she can. And the person we are all reducing to a few paragraphs, a few well-chosen anecdotes, is not here to defend himself from such half-truths.

But really, when our loved one is no longer with us to continue adding himself to the stories and ideas that comprise him, it makes sense that we should come together and tell each other our own memories and assessments, however subjective and anecdotal, because the more of them we can share, the more our dear friend remains alive and influential on the world.

My own half-true story of Papa is at least somewhat complex, in that it contains many seeming contradictions or paradoxes: first, he was a strong, brave, and stubborn military man, but he was also a warm, gentle, and genuine family man who loved nothing more than to indulge the whims of anyone he could make a little happier by doing so.

This is not such an unusual paradox in men, especially those of a certain age, but I find that there is a stereotypical “manly” way, where one’s strength is worn on the outside while a gentleness lies within which those closer to us are allowed to see, and which hopefully guides our behaviour implicitly. And in Papa these two sides were reversed: he was, as those of us who were close to him know, an incredibly strong and principled man; and yet his demeanour was always of utter gentleness and compassion.

Such a reversal of strength and compassion is generally considered a more feminine attribute, and maybe it was because Papa lived most of his life in the company of three women that he ended up that way. His love of bird-watching, for instance, might not strike some as a particularly manly passion. But I like to think of him as an extremely early example of an extremely rare and important species: the military feminist. So often, feminism has meant women acting more like men. But traditional male behaviour has already had plenty of impact on the world — both good and bad. I think more men need to start acting a little more like women, if we’re to properly balance things out, and Papa showed me how this can be accomplished with no loss to dignity or even true masculinity.

The second paradox or dichotomy that my grandfather embodied is related to the first — he was both a welcomer of new ideas and a keeper of the old ways. He had an open, active mind that was constantly looking for new stimulation and he was ready to listen to opinions on any subject. And this lasted right to the end of his life. So many times when I was studying philosophy at McGill, I’d visit Papa and Mamie, my late grandmother, for dinner and he would excitedly ask me some difficult question about the latest in Chomskian semantics, or else want to discuss some current popular science show about string theory he’d seen on PBS the night before. I would try to remember whatever I knew or believed I knew about the subject, and he would listen to me hold forth, completely delighted, interrupting only to ask a question when he wasn’t sure what I meant, or to interject the occasional “Fascinating!”

But he also held firmly to the old values worth keeping, like loyalty, dignity, and a strong sense of history. He would jump on any opportunity to attend a formal ceremony, and loved making speeches (a trait which I have not inherited). His main disappointment, when he learned that he would not live much longer, was that he might not attend the Leacock Luncheon at McGill in October. Being old-fashioned and proper were points of pride, and I believe even a certain amount of amusement, for Papa. He thrilled at using outdated exclamations such as “pshaw” (with a silent ‘p’), and invariably asked me, when I would visit, if I would like a nice, cold “Lervenbrau”.

I mentioned before that Papa was an avid birdwatcher, and I believe this is an important fact to keep in mind when thinking about these apparent contradictions. If you’ve ever watched birds yourself for any length of time, you’ve probably noticed that they are fairly contradictory creatures themselves. They too, for example, love both the old and the new, routine and freedom, flying great distances to find food or nest materials, or sometimes it seems just to enjoy the breeze or the view, yet always returning dutifully to the nest, like a naval officer coming home to his family between deployments.

Some people are fond of birds because they like to imagine what it’s like to have the freedom of flight. They wish they could take off whenever they like, and view the world from above without a care. But I think Papa liked birds because he could identify with them — he’d made it to their level, and saw in them the kind of freedom he had found for himself, and believed was worth cherishing. Like a bird, Papa could usually be found whistling or humming, apparently carefree. And this would probably be the soundtrack to some little chore he’d be taking care of, like helping Mamie with the dishes or sorting his personal correspondence into piles, presumably for no other reason than that he enjoyed it.

He was, in short, a man who knew how to enjoy himself. Now, that’s a phrase that’s said of some men, and it usually means they have huge appetites and probably drink a lot and make lewd remarks to women and are generally loud and unpleasant. But in Papa’s case it’s more about life’s little chores that have to get done, but don’t have to be a bother. He built a nest for himself and his family, but that didn’t stop him from spontaneously soaring above all our heads, in a light-hearted, inspiring, and completely unshowy way, merely by enjoying whatever he was doing at the time.

Birds are symbols of freedom, and we don’t generally associate freedom with a meticulous attention to the small details of life’s daily responsibilities. But that is, in fact, where real, lasting freedom lies, and that’s one of the main lessons I’d like to take from Papa’s life. I would go so far as to say that it is not their flight that expresses birds’ true freedom, but their song. They rarely sing and fly simultaneously, instead producing music when they’re building a nest, or looking on the ground for food, or just hopping from one branch to another, trying to find exactly the right spot. They’re contemplative creatures, and one has to be contemplative oneself to sit still long enough to enjoy their beauty.

Of course, Papa was no monastic saint, silently watching the world in a state of utter peace and non-judgment, nor did he use the minutiae of daily life as an escape from the modern world. He cared very deeply about the state of current affairs, and loved to discuss the issues of the day. And his feathers could easily be ruffled by a perceived wrong turn in those affairs, especially if it was beyond his control. He loved Montreal, for instance, as much as anyone has ever loved his home, and yet the politics of Quebec were constantly making him crazy. I confess that I would sometimes even seek out pieces of outrageous news just to witness his trademark expression of disbelief — a dropped jaw and knit brow, followed immediately by a “Surely not, Andrew! ”

But then — again like a bird — he could just as immediately flap his wings with a chuckle and shake off the perceived wrong in order to get on with other, more pressing concerns, such as a story about his school days, or a tin of cashews that needed opening. The larger problem would not be forgotten forever, just not dwelled upon once its emotional impact had been expressed.
These are the things I loved about Papa, the traits I aspire to emulate. They seem worthy to me of emulation because from what I could see they brought him, as if through no effort of the will, a genuine and infectious happiness. They also brought him the love of everyone he met, but this is not a practical aspiration. It is not a desire to be loved that makes creatures like birds universally lovable — unlike dogs, say, or even certain ingratiating cats I’ve met. They are lovable because they are naturally generous with their gifts and they inspire us with their effortless grace and beauty. Papa was the same. Just watching him enjoy himself brought joy to me and everyone around him. I hope we can all continue to feel and pass on that joy whenever we remember him.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte Mary

Happy first birthday to Charlotte.


Several of these pictures were taken by Hannah, having lots of fun with Grampa's point-and-shoot.

Grampa was having fun with the "new" D70s from Dana.





Charlotte had a really good time (except for the part when she thought Eri had abandoned her).












And then there was the head massage. Some of the smiles from that were priceless. Ecstasy.




Hannah took the picture of Flying Bennet, I got Headstand Bennet. Ben gave us a good gymnastics show on the couch / trampoline.





Did anyone mention that Jack lost his first tooth?

And Henry played with the jack hammer.


Everyone had a really great time.

Many thanks to Eri & Mike and all the gang.