Sugarloaf Pond In November

Georges and I spent another wonderful weekend with friends in the Townships. 
Couldn't have asked for better weather in November.

I hope you enjoy these photos.

November road

Reflected late fall colours

"November comes 
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows."

Walking the dogs

Ruby foraging in forest

"With night coming early, 
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate."

"The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring."

-  Elizabeth Coatsworth

"A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. 

The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air."

-   Eric Sloane

Mirror pond

Don't Forget to Remember

Sacrificing two minutes of our time is the least we can do in remembrance of so many that have sacrificed so much.

Dad, Alex Meunier on upper left ,1939

(The following is a repost from November, 2010)

The fact that Remembrance Day isn't  recognized as a statutory day of observance in Ontario, Manitoba and Québec is outrageous. 

If we can take a day off to celebrate Queen Victoria with a 2-4; we can certainly take a day off to remember and observe the sacrifice of generations of Canadians who paid dearly for the country we have today.
How we feel about the politics and ideologies that precipitated these global conflicts is irrelevant.  

Whether we are peace-niks or raving warmongers, Remembrance Day is about saluting our veterans not the wars they fought in.

My Grandfather and Father served in both WWI and WW2 respectively.  They rarely spoke of their experiences.  If I did hear of anything of what happened overseas, it was from a family friend and usually after a few beers ( and by few, I mean cases).  There was only one time that I asked my father the proverbial: “What did you do in the war, Dad?”

The reply was quick and short: " I drove a motorcycle through the fucking mud in Sicily.

He was a bike courier in Italy with the 8th Canadian Hussars (Princess Louise's) and served in France and Holland as well.  

November the 11th was a big deal growing up. During the late fifties and middle sixties in Moncton, we all took 11/11/11 very seriously. My parent's social life revolved around the local Legion.  In school, we prepared for the day in class by making poppy cut-outs and drawing white crosses with the words "Lest We Forget" on faux parchment paper.  We stood in class and recited "In Flanders Field" then kept a two minute silence which was effectively policed by Nuns with rulers. 

In Flanders Fields 

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) 

Canadian Army 

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

Later, as I entered the Beatles generation, the whole sixties anti-war movement was in full form. We were anti-war, anti-authority, anti-establishment. We perversely viewed veterans as the honour guard for the military machine. What we didn't see was that the universal soldier was as much victim as victor. Ironic then, that at the dawn of the enlightened age of Aquarius, life was so black and white; so good guys and bad guys. 

World War I was supposed to be the war to end all wars. Greed and revenge ensured that wasn't to happen. After a brief time-out for a global depression, the world blew up again.

The world will likely not change. As long as men are greedy for power and money, we will have the abomination of war. The world even more dangerous now. There are no rules of engagement, only rules of terror.

But the human spirit is resilient.

My Father and I were never close. I wasn't the tool carryin', car fixin' kind of son he could relate to.  Nevertheless, with age, I have come to appreciate how difficult it must have been to have served six years of his young life in a land so far away; so strange and so dangerous. 

I wonder what future my Dad must have imagined as he boarded that train in 1939 or how it might have been if he hadn't.

How will you remember?

Want to see my vacation photos?

Enjoying the first of many poutine rapées.

Sometimes it's nice to hang up the keyboard and hang out with people in the real world.


We did just that this summer and not to bore you with vacation photos - well, ok, I will. It's a short compilation and takes just a few minutes.

I wrote about this trip on my post on NewRayCom so won't go on about it here.

Seeing my family after so long and visiting the countryside that was my playground left a indelible impression on me.

I can’t wait to go back.


(Oh, and Georges liked it too!).

Thank You Arthur Laurents

I'm sad at the news of the death of Arthur Laurents. I understand that while he wasn't universally loved as a person; he was respected by everyone that could hum a Broadway tune.


In the fifties, with West Side Story and Gypsy, Arthur Laurents made theatrical history. Later he became famous for his lacerating tongue. At 91, both he and it made a comeback.


Arthur Laurents was famous for saying what was on his mind and doing what he thought was best. These traits made his work courageous and his personal life prickly.


Arthur Laurents met Tom Hatcher in LA in 1954. They moved to NYC, beginning an openly romantic relationship during a time when the practice was far from common, or safe.

Mr. Laurents, whose partner of 52 years,Tom Hatcher passed away in 2006, had this to say about their relationship:

"I had the most marvellous life that anybody could have with another person - that I’m proud of. That’s an achievement - ‘cause most people quit on each other, and we never did. "

In a New York Times Magazine article, Tom Hatcher was described as  part enforcer, part enabler, and part keeper of Arthur's flame and of the grudges. Hatcher made Laurent's writing life possible.


Arthur Laurents, the director, playwright and screenwriter who wrote such enduring stage musicals as "West Side Story" and "Gypsy," as well as the movie classics "Rope" and "The Way We Were," died Thursday. He was 93.


This is one of my favourite sequences from the movie version of "Gypsy".

But I Don't Want to be the Black Swan!

This post is inspired by the film, The Black Swan. I loved the movie; even with it's Red Shoes melodrama and totally over the top direction.  I was moved by Nina's hunger for fame and cried when her obsession for perfection destroyed her.  She won the role of Odette, the beautiful white swan of Swan Lake, but was destroyed when the evilness of the Black Swan, Odile possessed her.
Like many, I was very eager to fit in as a teen; especially that period of moving from elementary school to junior high.
I was the kid that other kid's moms loved; always eager to help with the dishes, polite and amusing. Yeah, you guessed it.

And if being gay wasn't enough, I was English in a Acadian Canadian household, my mother (Protestant) wasn't married to my father and we lived in a part of town that "nice" people warned their kids to stay away from.

Unlike my friends in the "Bowery" (as my dad liked to call our street), I took the other tack and choose to live a life as a saint.  This engendered some martyrdom at the hands of one bully in particular, but I was sure that if I stoically suffered through it, that I would sit at the right hand of God and close to Father Kelly.

Now, being the best little boy may have worked in pre-puberty, but once hormones kicked in and  my friends started swapping spit with girls instead of swapping comics with me, I realized I had to pull a "Sandy" and shake things up a bit.

 
So I starting sneaking smokes. But because of an unfortunate incident when Tommy and I, in a rush to get rid of the evidence, smoked a whole pack of Export A's behind the church, I couldn't look at another cigarette for at least -  a year.

I tried swearing; no more grammatically correct  sentences with polite "thank you's"  and "you're welcome's".  This, of course didn't apply to my friend's parents. How hard could it be?  Swearing was the lingua franca of home.

The result was humiliating.  My girl friends (platonic), would just giggle. It wasn't working. Seems I was just too good to be bad.

I was to play out the rest of my life as Sal Mineo to James Dean, as Jimmy Olsen to Clark Kent (okay, maybe not the best example).

Even today, I hesitate to let it all out – to let my evil queen reign supreme.  Yes, I may lose my temper on occasion and may not always at my best, but in public, or on a public platform such as a blog; I tend to be "safe for general consumption".

This is not a way to gain a following or to be noticed.

You have to be controversial. You have to have some edge – be a bad ass.
However, I find that there are many very nice people who are huge stars in the blogosphere. Even Perez Hilton has become well, nice. 

Do I have to pull a Sandy again to get noticed?  Is this grade nine all over again?

No, I'll just be me. But if someone thinks they can come by and slap me around, well, this martyr can now kick some butt!