Vacation (Part 3 of 5)

A couple of days ago I posted a description of our recent vacation. It was all true, but it left a few things out, namely all the embarrassing stuff.

Here's another report on what really happened:

THE GHOST IN THE CHATEAU LAURIER

The streets of Ottawa were slick with rain and there would be no dancing tonight. It was our first night in Ottawa and we had been delighted to discover that Sparks Street was hosting a 60-70's street dance with live bands just minutes from our hotel.

Sparks Street is one of Ottawa's most significant heritage streets and the first street in the country to be closed to traffic and turned into a pedestrian mall. It was founded in the early 1800's by Nicholas Sparks - one of the City Fathers of Ottawa - which at that time was called Bytown.

After Queen Victoria selected Ottawa to be the Capital of Canada, Sparks Street became the thriving commercial centre for the Ottawa valley. Located beside the Parliament Buildings, it is normally thronged with excited tourists from around the world.

Just to be sure the dance was canceled we had gone to Sparks Street anyway and had walked its length, ignoring the warm drizzle and splashing in the puddles, our laughter and lonely foot falls echoing against the buildings on the empty street.

Damp and disappointed we were on our way back to the Chateau Laurier where we were staying, when a tour guide approached to tell us her tour bus was just leaving and because of the rain they were offering a tour at half price.

With nothing better to do that evening, we hopped on board.

There were only ten people on the bus as it pulled out into traffic. The first building the guide pointed out was the Chateau Laurier.

"Opened in 1912, the Chateau Laurier is one the most haunted buildings in the City..."

Linda and I looked at each other.

"Prior to its opening, the General Manager of the hotel had scoured Europe for the finest furnishings to complete the hotel. His trip successful and the most magnificent accouterments Europe had to offer stored safely in her hold he was on his way back to Canada on board (pause for dramatic effect) the Titanic. All of the furnishings for the entire hotel, and the General Manager himself are now at the bottom of the Atlantic.

"But it's said his spirit so loved the new hotel, the crown jewel in the CP chain, he was so enthralled by its beauty, that he still haunts the fourth floor of the hotel, where his office was located."

We, of course were staying on the fourth floor of the hotel, where his office was located. But we smiled at each other acknowledging the silliness of the idea. They really expect tourists to be gullible. Linda and I, of course, didn't leave our brains on ice back home just because we were going on vacation.

We joked about the ghost as we got ready for bed that night but we both got to sleep without any trouble.

However.

I was awakened, in the pitch black of our heavily curtained room, by foot falls in the corridor at 4 o'clock in the morning. The corridor outside our room is deeply carpeted. Hundreds of people had streamed past our room without making a sound.The only noise we had heard from the hall were the loud voices of children as they passed our door.

But now I was hearing foot falls in the corridor. Distant but rapidly approaching our room.

Thud, thud. Thud, thud...

"What's that?" asked Linda.

"I have no idea."

Thud, thud...

"Go see what it is," she urged.

"I'm not going to see what it is," I replied, bravely.

Thud!

It reached our door.

And kept going down the hall.

"Go see, go see!" Linda urged.

So I got out of bed, unlatched the heavy door and peeked nervously out into the brightly lit hallway.

At the hotel employee receding away from me, dropping complimentary editions of the morning newspaper at every door.

STAY TURNED FOR MORE MISADVENTURES TOMORROW, THE WOMAN WHO ATE LINDA'S BREAKFAST

Vacation (Part 2 of 5)

Yesterday I posted a description of our recent vacation. It was all true, but it left a few things out, namely all the embarrassing stuff.

Here's what really happened:

TRAGIC SUICIDE IN A SMALL RESTUAURANT

To thank Alan and his wife Lynda for putting us up for a few days, I had invited them out to Cambellford's finest restaurant. They were eager to share and delighted to show off the finest their little town had to offer us big city folk.

A chef from Toronto had moved to Cambellford and had opened a highly respected restaurant in a Victorian home on the edge of town. A small and intimate place, it had only ten tables but everything was perfection, from the crisp table cloths to the tuxedoed maitre d'. All of the tables were filled with elegant people in hushed conversation, many of whom had traveled considerable distances for a unique culinary experience.

Alan, now retired, but a former Deputy Minister of the Environment for the Province of Saskatchewan, knowledgeably ordered a local red wine from a new winery that had just opened nearby, whose fare hadn't even made the wine list yet. The waiter was pleased and impressed with our table's insight and sophistication.

Unfortunately amid the perfection was one unwelcome guest.

No sooner had the wine been opened, the cork sniffed, a taste poured and savored, its legs admired and our glasses filled, than a deer fly began buzzing around Alan's head. He ignored it. So it transferred its attentions to Linda, who was not so sanguine, gave a little sophisticated shriek and tried swatting it away.

This attracted the maitre d's attention and he danced around our table flicking at it with a napkin.

Odd though the performance was it seemed to do the trick, the fly vanished.

I was complimenting Alan on the restaurant's novel entertainment when I discovered where the fly had gone. Depressed at being so unwanted, it had committed suicide in Alan's wine glass, where it floated in the deep red liquid, dead but with a contented smile on its little face.

In the midst of telling us an amusing story, Alan suddenly reached for his wine glass and raised it to his lips.

"Alan!" I shouted. The elegant restaurant went silent. Already the centre of attention due to the dance of the maitre d', other diners were coming to view us part of the evenings entertainment. What will they do next?

Alan looked at me, his glass poised inches from his mouth.

"I know where the fly went." I told him.

"Where's that?" asked Alan, touching the glass to his lips and tilting it back.

"In your wine glass."

Alan paused, lowered the glass, peered inside. The other diners leaned toward our table expectantly.

"Ah!" said Alan, appreciatively. "A fly with good taste."

STAY TUNED FOR TOMORROWS ADVENTURE, THE GHOST OF THE CHATEAU LAURIER.

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Photo: myself, Linda and Alan.

One Crazy Vacation (part 1 of 5)

It's six o'clock in the morning. Linda is still fast asleep, breathing gently beside me. It's warm in bed beneath mounds of blankets but cold in the house. Linda and I sleep better in a cool house so we turn the heat off at night and the temperature plunges to 60F by the morning through the winter months.

It makes getting out of bed an act of courage.

I lay there thinking of warmer days to come and my thoughts drift back to our vacation last summer when the days were warm and the grass was green and we drove through the countryside with the windows down. But most of all, I think of the ghost in the night.

But before I get to that, let me give you the overview:

We had spent a few wonderful days with Linda's cousin Alan in Cambellford, home of Brent Townsend, the man who designed the Canadian Two Dollar coin, the toonie. The town is so proud they have a giant toonie in the park. Alan also took us to the Lang Pioneer Village where I got some great shots of the flour mill recently restored by the Quaker Oats company.

Alan and Lynda live in a beautifully restored home containing Lynda's collection of dolls and Alan's collection of shaving paraphernalia. Cambellford is a popular stop over for million dollar yachts on their way through the Trent Canal system.

To thank them for putting up with us for a few days, Linda had painted a picture of Alan's boyhood home as it looked in the 1960s, with the car he learned to drive in the driveway. The painting now hangs in Alan's office.

Then we were on to the beautiful little town of Perth, where we enjoyed their festival and concert in the park.

After Perth we visited Merrickville, renowned for its arts and crafts. We had lunch at the Dickens Eatery where the menu is the center fold in copies of Dickens books they leave at the table for you to read. After Townsend made a few dollars designing the two dollar coin for the Canadian Mint, he immediately moved out of Cambellord to Merrickville, where he now has his studio.

In Ottawa we visited the Museum of Civilization, certainly one of the best museums I've ever visited. Its Great Hall is filled with twenty or so totem poles is overpowering. The roof of the museum is designed to look like an over turned canoe. When the Native Peoples wanted to symbolize that they came in peace, they would carry their canoes over their heads to show nothing was hidden in the canoe.

We stayed at the Chateau Laurier in Ottawa, next to the Parliament Buildings. On a tour of the gardens around Parliament Hill we found the old bell that once rang in the Peace Tower. The Houses of Parliament had burned to the ground in 1916 but in the midst of the flames the bell still rang as if it were just a normal day. Now blackened and partly melted, it rests in a place of honour above the Ottawa River.

The next day we visited the talk of Ottawa, the relatively new American Embassy which is designed to look like a nuclear submarine has restricted public access and is both bullet and bomb proof. It was built in 1999 and dedicated by then President Bill Clinton.

We Canadians are such dangerous people.

Immediately across the road from the American Embassy is the National Art Gallery which has an all glass exterior and is guarded by a giant statue of a spider, designed as a tribute to motherhood.

Linda was so touched.

But the devil, as they say, is in the details, not the overview. Or at least the ghost is. Tomorrow we'll get into the wild and unusual stuff that took place during such a seemingly innocent vacation.

Precious

"Linda, Linda!" the Jamacian Nurse called out to us from the nursing station as we passed. There was a strident tone to her voice we had come to know only too well.

We paused. This would not be good news.

We were at Extendicare for Linda's mother's 90th Birthday and had spend the past hour decorating the Events Room on the ground floor. We had just taken the elevator up to Morningside House where her mother lives to bring her down to the party.

Linda's mother has Level 6 dementia and requires constant nursing care. But even then, her behaviour can be so erratic we receive frequent calls for help.

Her mother is refusing to eat, can Linda come over to help? Her mother is fighting with the other ladies at her table, can Linda come over to help? Her mother is refusing her medication, can Linda come over to help? Her mother is refusing to wear her diaper and soiling all the chairs in the lounge, can Linda come over to help? Her mother has fallen again and is very upset, can Linda come over to help?

For those fortunate enough not to be familiar with Level 6 Dementia, patients--

"May occasionally forget the name of the spouse upon whom they are entirely dependent for survival. Will be largely unaware of all recent events and experiences in their lives. Retain some knowledge of their past lives but this is very sketchy. Generally unaware of their surroundings, the year, the seasons etc. May have difficulty counting from 10, both backward and sometimes, forward. Will require some assistance with activities of daily living. e.g., may become incontinent. Will require travel assistance but occasionally will display ability to travel to familiar locations. Diurnal rhythm frequently disturbed. Almost always recall their own name. Frequently continue to be able to distinguish familiar from unfamiliar persons in their environment. Personality and emotional changes occur. These are quite variable and include: (a) delusional behavior. e.g., patients may accuse their spouse of being an impostor. May talk to imaginary figures in the environment, or to their own reflection in the mirror (b) obsessive symptom e.g., person may continually repeat simple cleaning activities (c) anxiety symptom agitation and even previously nonexistent violent behavior may occur (d) cognitive ability i.e. loss of willpower because an individual cannot carry a thought long enough to determine a purposeful course of action."

So we were worried.

But the nurse had a smile on her face.

"Oh Linda, do I have a story to tell you." she nurse said. "Your mother was in a terrible way this morning. Worse than anything we've seen from her."

Linda held my hand.

"She was outraged because her PSW had thrown out some paper napkins she had placed on the seat of her walker. She had this great wad of napkins on the seat and the PSW was just tidying up. I could hear your mother screaming all the way from the Nursing Station.

"Nothing would quiet her until she got her napkins back. So there we were, her PSW and two nurses digging through the garbage trying to find this great wad of paper napkins for her.

The nurse started laughing at the memory. "Oh you should have been there. It was quite a sight, I can tell you."

"What was so important about these napkins," I asked.

"Ah, that is the question, isn't it. We all thought it was just her obsessive nature and were just humouring her to quiet her down. She was so agitated, you should have seen her.

"Well we finally found the napkins," the nurse started walking us down the hall. "Come, come see what we found hidden inside them. She had wrapped it up in all those napkins for safety, so it wouldn't fade or get damaged."

We followed her down to Linda'a mother's room where we found her sitting in her chair, a great wad of paper in her lap.

"Dear," said the nurse, "Can I just show your daughter what we found in there?"

"Of course," Linda's mother agreed.

And the nurse began unwrapping the object from the protection of the napkins.

Inside was her precious possession, kept so safely away from damage that it was almost thrown in the garbage.

The photo of her newest great granddaughter in her 8 year old great granddaughter Natasha's lap.

"Isn't it precious," Linda's mother said, in wonder.



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It was also my mother's 90th Birthday and we rushed from Linda's mom's intimate family event to my mothers larger celebration at the independent Senior's Residence where she lives, about 6 kilometers away. Distant family members and friends not seen in years had come out for the Party. We talked and laughed and took hundreds of pictures.

And came home exhausted. It's surprising how tiring partying with 90 year olds can be.

No Post Until Monday

With two 90th Birthday Parties to host for Linda's mother and my own this weekend, I won't have time to post here until Monday. The photo above is of both mothers on a joint 85th Birthday held in 2004.

Have a great weekend!

And if you're interested in ironical posts like this one (posting to announce you will not be posting), check out Bella's Blog where she has scoured blogspot to gather up all such posts, some of which are very creative. Some are just downright funny.

Celebrating Alexander (Part 2 of 2) Alexander's Tree

This is not a sad story but a joyous one. It is about the generosity of people. A generosity of such overwhelming proportion that it lifted up a family at a time of unimaginable grief. It's about community at its best.

You expect families and friends to come together for support at a time of loss. Perhaps especially when that loss involves a five month old baby, my grandson Alexander, suddenly dead due to a previously unsuspected heart condition. Exactly ten years ago today.

What you don't expect, or at least we didn't, is the generosity of acquaintances. You don't expect acquaintances to be so moved that they had to do something, even where there was nothing that could be done.

It takes time for acquaintances to even hear the news. Alexander's death, although a profound and horribly life changing event for all of us, was unimportant in the grand scheme of things and not the stuff of modern news coverage.

So people on the edge of our lives only learned the news by word of mouth days and even weeks after the funeral, long after the donations to the Trans Canada Trail, that Heather had requested in lieu of flowers, had been received and forwarded.

Most of these people didn't know Alexander. Some hadn't known he'd been born. But they all knew my daughter and had watched her grow from girl to adult. They were touched and wanted to do something, something tangible.

So we spoke to my daughter and she suggested they plant a tree in Alexander's name. So when people asked, that is what we told them. And when more people asked and when more people asked. And when our dentist asked, and our dry cleaner, and our neighbours, we asked them to plant a trees in his memory.

Trees were planted in Australia, in the United States, in Great Britain, in Sweden, in Israel and in many, many parts of Canada.

In May of 2000, the staff at Linda's school planted a sugar maple tree in their habitat garden at the front of the school. They also ordered a large granite rock and had the words, "Alexander's Tree" carved on it.

In the ten years since it was planted the tree has grown to over thirty feet in height, its broad branches reaching out and sheltering the large rock where tired children on warm summer days can sit. And giggle.

In talking with my daughter last year about how she survived such a devastating loss, she told me it was because everyone everywhere had done everything right. Even in her loss, she had never felt more supported.

Heather is now the mother of two more children, Natasha and Griffin. Her sister Kathy had the latest addition to our family in September.

We are blessed.

Celebrating Alexander (Part 1 of 2)

I will love you forever,

I will like you for always,

For as long as I'm living,

My son you will be.


I may not have the skill to write this without a preamble that outlines my intent. This is not a story about the death of my grandson, Alexander. I will write about him another time.

This is not a sad story but a joyous one. It is about the generosity of people. A generosity of such overwhelming proportion that it lifted up a family at a time of unimaginable grief. It's about community at its best.

The latest link in the Trans Canada Trail was opened last summer, connecting the community of Port Union with the West Hill Community where I live. It winds its way along the waterfront to Highland Creek and then climbs above the beach where I take Lindsay for her daily run.

The creation of a Trans Canada Trail was announced as part of Canada's 125th anniversary celebrations in 1992. At 18,078-kilometre (11,233 mi), it is expected to become the longest recreational trail in the world.

It has its counterparts in other greenway routes like the 12 EuroVelo routes and the USA's East Coast Greenway.

To date it has been funded largely by Canadian federal or provincial governments. However, there have also been corporate donors and individual donors.

Ten years ago tomorrow, a rare form of cardiomyopathy suddenly took the life of my 5 month old grandson Alexander. There had been no warning of any health concern. Heather awoke in the early morning to change his diaper only to find his breathing laboured. She called her husband who called 911 who instructed them in cardio pulmonary resuscitation.

Emergency Services were at their apartment within three minutes and Alexander was in the Emergency room of Guelph Memorial Hospital within ten minutes. But he could not be revived. An autopsy later revealed his heart had grown large instead of strong and nothing short of a heart transplant would ever have saved him.

The day he died was also my mother's 80th Birthday. The elaborate celebration had to be canceled. All the guests phoned with the terrible news.

Fortunately we will not be celebrating her 90th this year on the day of her birth, but on Sunday March 1st, a date with less competing emotion for us.

Alexander was born on his Paternal great-grandmother's birthday and died on his Maternal great-grandmother's. One of several oddities of his little life we sometimes ponder.

In their grief, at the loss of their only child, my daughter and her husband requested donations to the Trans Canada Trail in lieu of flowers. But the flowers came anyway, in overwhelming abundance, and so too did the donations which were sufficient to pay for 20 meters of trail.

Alexander's name is engraved on a donor's plaque at one of the Trail's Pavilions in the small town of Caledon, Ontario.

The connection with our grandson has made the Trail project very precious to us.

The Trail is still under construction and is now about 70% complete.

Linda and I attended the opening celebration last summer and have walked the new section of the trail many times since then. There were concerts all day, events for the kids, and a giant ferris wheel donated by our new Morningside Crossing shopping center, that gave a view of the bluffs all the way to downtown Toronto.

The death of a very young child touches people in profound ways. We were all unprepared for how profound the impact would be on people outside our immediate circle of family and friends.

What they did surprised and touched us deeply. But I'll talk about that tomorrow.



For more on the Trans Canada Trail, click HERE