family week: concluding remarks

A working holiday
While I was away at my French class last Tuesday, James and Dad cooked up a project involving patio blocks and crushed rock. The end result appears below.

It was great, because I'd secretly feared that my Dad, who likes to keep busy, would be tired of relaxing after three days. I think the patio project proved the perfect antidote to any potential ennui he might have otherwise experienced. While James and Dad ran back and forth to Home Depot for supplies and constructed their masterpiece, Mom baked potatoes and pulled dinner together, and Perry cat-sat, making sure eight little paws were not where they should not be, i.e., trampled in the increased traffic. The edges of our BBQ pad are still gravel, and Dad had an idea of how we could finish it off, but I think maybe we'll leave it so that we have a way to entice him back next spring.

Return to Diefenbunker
The following day, Wednesday, James returned to work. I took my family to Diefenbunker. James didn't mind missing out, since he & I had previously toured the Diefenbunker with Shirley & Dave back in February. I don't think I'll ever tire of going on the tour. There are many different tour guides, and although there may be a standard tour script with which they train, it's similar to theatre in that the performance depends on the rapport between the actors (in this case, the tour guides) and the audience: you'll never get the same tour twice.

One thing became clear to us almost immediately: it's not advisable to take a restless child on a tour of a bunker. One couple brought their daughter, perhaps 4 years old; at one point she lay on the floor and kicked up her booted feet in a tantrum. Fortunately for us, the guides decided the size of our group was unwieldy, so they split us into two, and we made a beeline for the child-free group.

I really don't dislike children: I just dislike children who misbehave! and maybe more so parents who don't have the foggiest that a bunker's significance will be lost on a young child, a young child who would rather be doing something than listening to someone for 1-2 hours. They would have been better off visiting the family-friendly Canada Science and Technology Museum, which houses exhibits that kids can touch and explore.

Billings Estate
On Friday we visited the Billings Estate Museum. It wasn't quite what I had expected; nevertheless, I'd recommend it to those who are interested in historical settlement and genuine artifacts. I guess I'd expected a house with fully furnished rooms, along the lines of the buildings one can see at Lower Fort Garry. Instead, it had four rooms on the main floor, one for each generations of the Billings family who had lived there, with some key pieces of furniture from each of those four eras. The second floor is reserved for displaying special collections on a rotating basis. All the items on display were owned by the Billingses--they're not just replicas--and apparently there is a lot more stuff in storage off-site.

I found most fascinating information about Braddish and Lamira's two daughters, Sabra and Sarah "Sally," who chose to remain single. (The City of Ottawa highlights short biographies here.) On the wall in the second room are Sabra's copies of sermons by Henry Ward Beecher (brother to Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom's Cabin).

Someday I'd like to return to enjoy high tea on the lawn: it sounds elegant and so decadently Victorian.

Indiana Jones and the Tour of the Projection Room
Thanks to our good friend Dave, we not only got to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull on the big screen the night after it opened, but we also received a special tour of the Cineplex Odeon Barrhaven's projection room. It was extremely cool, but nothing at all like what I'd imagined.

I always thought the guys running the show were working out of small rooms, one guy to a room, one room to a theatre ("pay no attention to that man behind the curtain"). I imagined that the films would be running reel-to-reel on the type of upright projectors they used to use in the MPR (Multi-Purpose Room) back in my Rosenort Elementary and Junior High days. No so.

There were two guys on duty that night for all seven screens, both named Shane by some strange law of coincidence. Dave and the two Shanes demonstrated the technicalities of running projectors: they made it all look so easy (it still sounded complicated to me), even as they informed us of some of the many things that could go wrong.

Indiana Jones itself was enjoyable. Regarding the franchise, I've watched Raiders of the Lost Ark a few times (the first time was after a Christmas banquet in high school), and I'm sure I've seen the Temple of Doom, although I can't recall any details, but I've never seen the third installment with Sean Connery. Realizing that it's the end of an era in some ways, I'm feeling as though I should revisit the earlier action flicks for nostalgia's sake. There are some days when I find it hard to believe that over 20 years have passed since the late '80s. Yikes! (Even further yikes: it seems the shorter, wider jackets with the one-large-button closure of the late '80s have made a resurgence at Sears.)

A few scenes in IJ4 contained some groaner cliches (e.g., "You brought a knife to a gun fight"), and the premise surrounding the crystal skull was a little bit too akin to Alias's Rambaldi gimmick, both of which left me impatient. (I like science fiction, but in its place.) Still, Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, and the rest of the cast looked like they'd had fun with it.

In related news, IMDB reports that Ford stays young running after girlfriend Calista Flockhart's seven-year-old son, Liam. That's not all we have to thank Flockhart for, apparently: IMDB also reports that Ford purchased waterfront property on Bowen Island at her request. Which leaves me wondering if Siobhan is testing out her new camera on some famous neighbors.

As you can understand, this past week has seemed uneventful in comparison to the previous one. Thanks again for the visit, family, and mayhaps we'll see each other later this summer. If not, we'll always have long distance calling plans to tide us over.

a short cat tale

Here's a YouTube video called "Psycho Kitty: Qu'est-ce que c'est?!!" It's the only thing I know that will stop Darth short in his tracks (except James's "Quit it!") when he's in a howling frame of mind and padding on the patio doors with his little paws because I won't let him outside, on account of the workers are finishing off the last of our neighbors' fences. Thank goodness! Today I heard them begin at 7:15 am. I was able to roll over and half-sleep-in, but I was still conscious of the noise.

family week cont'd

And now for the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey would say. On Victoria Day, our accommodating chauffeur, James, took this family to the Hershey's Chocolate Factory in Smiths Falls.

Its Web site assures interested parties that the Chocolate Shoppe will remain open through 2007 and 2008. That's because operations are heading south--to Mexico. The news of the plant's impending closure hit hard, and no wonder: the factory has employed a substantial percentage of the Smiths Falls population. Smiths Falls is approximately a 45-minute drive from where we live, and a choice destination for many Ottawans with house guests. (House guests, like lawn mower, is another one of those terms that, in my opinion, really should be a compound word. Cdn Oxford purports that it's two. Gage doesn't even acknowledge the concept. I guess I could just commence writing them as compounds and see if it takes off. Want to join me? Strength in numbers and all that.)

When I telephoned the number on the Web site late last year, I was told that three of the Smiths Falls lines were still in production. I've heard there used to be eleven at this particular plant. Maybe it's because we toured on the weekend when the only employees on duty are staffing the Shoppe, but I wonder if even three lines are open now. Through the large windows of the second-floor observation deck, we saw only one vat of churning chocolate, and all too many signs of equipment being dismantled and packed for shipping. The displays on either sides of the four hallways contain fun facts and interesting artifacts, but none of us lingered too long because of the chocolate waiting for us at the end of the trail.

It's not that Hershey's chocolate is the best chocolate ever. I mean, it's all right as chocolate goes; I'm just saying, it's not Swiss or German chocolate, it's not on par with the smoothness of Godiva. Still, that did not stop us from buying $50 worth of goods. (You do not want to know how much of that we've already eaten.) And it certainly wouldn't stop me from returning with or without houseguests in tow.

on the fence

"Tomorrow" should have been yesterday, but it turned into today because studying French took priority over blogging. And let me tell you, it was not easy to concentrate on the work before me yesterday. I went back to sleep after James left for work, but was rudely awakened around 7:30am by jackhammers.

Some of our backyard neighboring households have hired a company to erect a fence. Generally, one has to wait a year after one moves into a new home before installing a fence, just in case anyone has to come in re: water, hydro, or gas lines; I think it's a by-law. A couple of the crew members were "effing" what should have been ineffable. (One of these days I'll get around to posting my promo on pomo from the postmodernism conference I attended a few weekends ago, and then my choice of words will make more sense; unless you've already read Hutcheon, Kroetsch, Davey, Cooley, et. al, or French philosophers, in which case it probably always already will have made sense).

In fact, I suspect those same two laborers were part of the group waiting with me at Fallowfield Station on Tuesday, when I overheard them discussing how much they f****** disliked digging f****** post holes all day. By the way, I once knew a temporary employee who incorporated the f*** word at least once into every sentence. She also told me she'd lied through her teeth about knowing how to use a dictaphone in a job interview. I met up with her again 10 years later and she'd obtained a computer programming degree: no more f****** dictaphones for her. The point of this reminiscence is...you decide. I've lost interest and I want to get to the chocolate post.

family week, day 2

Lilacs on the Hill

The second day of my family's visit we set off for Parliament Hill and the ByWard Market. After saying hello to the puddies at the Cat Sanctuary (hard to catch more than a glimpse, really, because of all the visitors), walking around the back of the Library, and taking a few photos, we hit up Hard Rock Café for lunch (thanks, Dad!). Perry claims they served the best macaroni & cheese ever, second only to Chef Boyardee's.

Ma famille démontre le derrière et l'avant

Later that afternoon, James the bargain hunter bagged a BBQ so that we could have farmer sausage for supper. I have a confession to make: I took a break from vegetarian idealism last week. I mean, what else could I do? Mom and Dad went to all that trouble to bring frozen farmer sausage in their carry-on, because no stores here carry it. They also brought a slab of squeaky cheese, which was nearly confiscated by airport security. Guess a two-pound block of fresh New Bothwell wrapped up in kraft paper bears a vague resemblance to illegal substances. Fortunately, the supervisor on duty was well-acquainted with trans-provincial migration of cheese. Nobody summoned the big cheese, nobody had to cut the cheese, nobody was cheesed off. End of cheesy story.

Teaser: tomorrow's post will involve chocolate.

happier times - family week, day 1

Lest you think it's nothing but sorrow around here, let me share a few photos from last week.

Mom & Dad and Perry flew out for a visit. The Saturday they arrived, we lunched at Mr. Sub (thanks, Perry!) and then dashed over to Dow's Lake to take in the blooms at the annual Tulip Festival, which ran from May 2-19 this year. The weather here in the valley is notoriously unpredictable, but we squeezed in a circuit around a few main beds in Commissioners Park before the rain set in.

© James Chychota, 2008

More pictures to follow soon.

further reflections on mortality

I heard just yesterday that Brad Hughes, son of Chickie, and brother to Andrea and Pastor Mark, had recently lost his battle with cancer. I performed a Google search earlier today and found Morley Walker's obituary here, and one at the Free Press's Passages site here.

I also received the news that Brenda Kroeker, the 43-year-old daughter of Pete and Minola Kroeker of Steinbach, and sister to Gailene, who is my age, had passed away a few days ago. (Minola and my mom are first cousins.) Brenda had never enjoyed perfect health, and doctors never could pinpoint why. Her funeral was to take place at 2pm Manitoba time as well.

I believe that the sacrificial death and resurrection of Jesus means that those who believe that he was who he said he was and live their lives according to his example will find themselves in his presence after they die. Even so, it seems to me that joy is an emotion that must percolate. It's hard to see the bigger picture when sorrow permeates one's corner of the canvas.

I wonder, too, if perhaps we treat death more dramatically in first world societies than we would in societies less developed, in which death is more commonplace. It occurs to me that we tend to think of death as "unnatural": so much of our efforts go into staving off aging, for example.

Anyway, my thoughts are with the Hughes family, the Kroeker family, and also still with Uncle Ben & family.

Aunt Elvira

My Aunt Elvira passed away Thursday, May 15th, after a battle with cancer that lasted about two years. She would have turned 56 next month. Her obituary appeared in the Winnipeg Free Press.

For most of my life I've lived near my extended family members: I can't imagine what it would be like not to know my uncles, aunts, cousins, and cousins' children by name. My earliest memories of Aunt Elvira, for instance, concern her engagement to Uncle Ben, my dad's brother. First, I vaguely recall donning a pint-sized nurse's uniform (Aunt Elvira was an R.N.) for her bridal shower at Irwin & Marilyn's. Second, Uncle Ben and Aunt Elvira asked my cousin Peggy and me to be candlelighters at their wedding. We were five and four, respectively, and the number of buttons on the bodices of our fancy dresses matched our ages. (They were long gowns made out of a gauzy material in a blue and purple floral print, I think.) Rehearsal night went off without a hitch: each of us proudly carried a long taper all the way down the aisle and deposited it in a candle holder at the front. Too bad the florist went a little over the top bedecking the candles for the actual wedding day. You see, with all the flowers, ribbons, and floral tape, the candles no longer fit smoothly into the holders; without an usher's propitious intervention, we might have unwittingly burned down the church. I don't recall Aunt Elvira's reaction at the time, but I suspect, given her easygoing manner, she was quick to see the humor in the situation.

There seemed to be no project so big, no challenge so great, that Aunt Elvira could not summon up her ambition to tackle it. She was persistent, persuasive, and positive. She taught a Sunday School class of irrepressible (and hormonal) teenage girls, served as president of the Ladies' Fellowship, organized Christmas pageants, hosted parties (whether for baptisms, bridal showers, or graduations), and designed backyard landscapes with equal aplomb. I'll never forget the conspiratorial wink and the slightly drawn-out signal phrase "We-ell, you kno-ow..." with which she would launch into an amusing anecdote. She had a knack for making people feel special when she spoke to them.

We'll certainly miss Aunt Elvira at our Dueck family gatherings. I'm praying that the Great Comforter will comfort and strengthen her grieving family as nobody else can.

a dentist, a lawyer, and two 7-year-olds

...walk into a bar. Not really, but it was worth a try.

Friday morning I had a dentist appointment. As I reclined in the chair with rolls of cotton, dental instruments, and a suction tube in my mouth, I came to the realization that in addition to having excellent fine motor movements, dentists really need to have the gift of gab as well--a proclivity for storytelling. In that respect, it certainly helps if they have children that do or say remarkable things. For instance, my dentist's seven-year-old son recently reported that a friend at school had asked him, "What does your dad do?"

Dentist: What did you tell him?
Dentist's son: I told him you're a dentist.
Dentist: What does your friend's dad do?
Dentist's son: He's a liar.
Dentist: He's a liar?!

After some follow-up questioning, the dentist-father discerned that his son's friend's dad is actually a lawyer.

Nothing more right now because I'm exhausted. Two days of attending a conference, and one more to go. Who knew sitting on one's duff for hours on end could be so draining?

stuff & nonsense

I'm not working and probably won't be all summer, and therefore should have all the time in the world. So where does it go?! Actually, I know where some of it goes. Routine stuff like grocery shopping, making & eating meals, laundry, cleaning, attending conferences, lunches with friends (this has only happened once so far, but I'm remaining optimistic), applying for first a provincial (not township) birth certificate and then a passport, mollycoddling two catkins, taking the vehicle in for repairs & retrieving it, reviewing, visiting the dentist, flossing (it's a new thing as a corollary from the previous item), and French class twice a week (6 hrs of class, not including homework - the homework I should be doing right now). Oh, and bussing, of course. It's not a typo. Not busking (although if I get desperate enough for a little extra cash...hmm, it's a remote possibility), but taking the bus.

There are actually many stories just waiting to happen on public transit, you know. For instance, OC Transpo buses sport signs at the front, just behind the drivers' seats, which read, "Assault against transit employees in any form will not be tolerated. Offenders will be prosecuted." I can't recall now if there are commas offsetting "in any form" within the sentence, but whether there are or are not, those of you who worship at the altar of grammar should get a chuckle out of the above. I mean, did it used to be acceptable to attack employees if they weren't in form? Methinks somebody messed up a modifier.

Speaking of dangling modifiers, I found another today--and this from a conference Web site:

Like the city, the wilderness and the small town, suburban space is a product of our society and culture, inevitably changing what space means in relation to assumptions about national identity. Frequently characterized as ambiguous and amorphous, my paper will argue that the suburb as it is represented in a variety of post-war Canadian texts works well as a spatial metaphor...

So kind of the presenter to warn attendees in advance that her paper is "ambiguous and amorphous." These two examples fill me with glee primarily because dangling modifiers are the scourge of my own life. (If you find one in this post, feel free to point it out, but please have the courtesy not to gloat.)

So back to the stories on the bus. I'm contemplating whether or not to phone up OC Transpo and ask for an interview with a bus driver. I'd like to do a little research on how to drive a bus. I don't want to drive one myself, but I want to know if anyone's ever tried to take off with one at any of the stations while the drivers take bio breaks or whatever it is they do when they're not sitting in the driver's seat. Back in the winter, there was one day I took the #171 and the driver was wearing not the standard uniform jacket, but what appeared to be a red flannel shirt. I had visions of this being just some guy off the street--disillusioned with his own job as, say, a grad student working as a marker/grader for a business communications course, tired of correcting those first-year ingrates, the MBAs of the future, who write about an individual's gentile manor when they mean gentle manner, who write about receiving massages rather than messages, who write sweat when they mean sweet, who write about toxic sins in place of toxins--who up and decided a blue-collar position might suit him better. That would have explained why we got stuck twice on the street. Well, that and the fact that it was the umpteenth time it snowed, and the plows hadn't yet been by. Both times, though, the driver freed the red and white behemoth with a bit of gentle (or maybe it was really gentile?) coaxing.

Then there are all those "I'm on the bus, like, where are you?" cellphoners. My personal take is that with YouTube and such technologies being so pervasive, these people are desirous of their 15 seconds of fame (I think it's down from minutes to seconds now); after all, they are practically inviting others to exploit their supposedly private phone conversations. They would probably be delighted if they were presented with a transcript, such as the following, which I fondly entitle "Mother-Daughter Tease":

What happened at school today?...What did she do then?...Did you explain...Well, look, we'll talk about it when I get home...No, I'm on the bus...I'll be home soon...So you start your homework, and do that for an hour, no, half an hour, then pick out what you want for supper...We'll talk about it when I'm home...OK, so do your homework for half an hour, then take a break and pull out what you want for supper, and by then I should be home...

That's a reasonable facsimile of a conversation I overheard a couple of months ago. The stories, I tell you, the stories.

Finally, there's the advertising. All sorts of possibilities there. Here's an ad that has been gracing the ceilings for far too long, in my opinion. Gives a new meaning to the expression "driving me bananas." (Some of you will never look at a "giraffe banana" in the same way ever again.)


On that sordid note, it's time to take this "too, too sullied/solid flesh" off "to sleep, perchance to dream," for I must rise early tomorrow to tackle that homework.