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The Girl

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Last year – in mid-June – I posted a couple of items regarding the appalling discoveries of unmarked graves at a number of the former Residential Schools across Canada. The first of those pieces was an acknowledgement of the terrible discovery at Kamloops. The second was a heartfelt and affecting piece written by The Girl, who has good reason to be extremely well informed on such matters and concerning which she elaborated therein.

A month subsequent to those postings I made further reference in these pages to an overnight visit that we paid to Kamloops, though I did not, for a variety of reasons, elaborate at the time on the purpose of the trip. Since then The Girl has been spending a good deal of her time furthering existing connections with her First Nation, as well as making new ones. Just a few weeks ago we spent a weekend in Vancouver (the which will feature in my next post) so that she could be present at a conference also attended by a number of her cousins. This process is difficult but, I believe, also rewarding for her and and is something that she has wanted to do for a while.

I asked her – naturally – about how she felt regarding the events of this last week at the Vatican, during which the Pope issued an historic first apology for the part that elements of the Catholic Church played in the abuses that took place at the Residential Schools. She told me that it is a start – but that there is much more to be done.

Let us fervently hope for further necessary progress in short order.

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It is The Girl’s birthday! Yaaaaay! Happy birthday to The Girl…

It is always nice when such celebration days fall upon a weekend – ‘cos then one can really relax and go to town (or indeed stay home should one prefer!).

We have already indulged in a certain amount of (non-alcoholic) celebration and this afternoon will find us visiting a nearby spa – followed mayhap by a celebratory repast…

…and it is not actually raining or blowing half a gale at the moment!

Life can still be good…

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Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“…is a joy forever”.

John Keats

Should you choose to search this journal (though goodness knows why you would so do) for the word ‘Omega’, you would find two entries.

The first such dates back to my very early postings in March 2012. I had just acquired my first serious camera and was experimenting with its capabilities. I took macro photos of two treasured possessions – my much loved 1976 Fender Precision bass and my even more loved 1966 Omega Seamaster.

This latter was a wedding gift from The Girl and – as is her way with such things – she had invested a great deal of time and effort in locating the perfect watch for me.

Respect!

The second reference was in a post that I wrote in May 2015 – a matter of months before I retired and we finally shipped everything to Canada. The subject of this post concerned a then recent and by no means inexpensive sojourn that the Seamaster had spent with an ex-employee of Omega (and lecturer in horology to boot!) being serviced, pampered and generally fixed up – the which had become necessary subsequent to a decline in its previous reliable time-keeping.

Now – I don’t know if the Seamaster (somewhat ironically) disliked the travel involved in relocating half a world away, but it was an annoyingly short interval after this major overhaul that it started stopping (if you see what I mean) at apparently random intervals. It would perform well for a while and then just grind to a halt for no reason. A watch that behaves that way is worse than useless so I put the Omega back in its box and switched to the trusty Oris that I had purchased way back in the 80s.

And that is where things have remained ever since. If we had still been in the UK I would no doubt have gone back to see the expensive dude to ask him – “WTF?”… but that was clearly no longer an option. I thought about getting the watch looked at here, but embarrassment at the amount I had already laid out gave me pause…

…until now!

In yet another unexpected boon arising from lack of COVID travel I decided that now was a good a time as any to set things straight and the Omega duly enjoyed a brief hiatus at Francis Jewellers in Victoria. These chaps specialise in classic watches and run their own workshop – thus giving the appearance of knowing what they are about.

And now – as you can see – the Seamaster is back and looking beautiful. Let’s hope that it is now also running properly.

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Those of you who know me well know how I can stand up for other people – wade in and have my voice heard.  Less so when it is very personal or if it is about me.  Although never said to me explicitly, I always sensed that I should stay quiet, hide, just in case.  In case what?  I didn’t know.  Being raised by a residential school survivor and a parent who spent time in a French Catholic orphanage I think it was bred in the bone.  Stay quiet – don’t cause anyone in ‘authority’ to pay attention to you because that never turns out well.  I am grateful I grew up loved and wanted and cared for and I love and admire my grandparents and parents and relations for who they are, all that they did and accomplished.   We are a family of survivors.

But when we are reminded, again, of the genocide of the first people and the children found buried at the same residential school where my grandmother and two aunties were forced to go, it is not a time to be quiet or hide.

Canada does not want to pay compensation to the remaining residential school survivors of St. Anne’s.

This school had the electric chair that they used to punish children and also to study the effects of electricity on the human body.

The information in the Canada Food Guide was informed by scientific studies on children in residential schools.  That is how we learned the minimum requirements of what a person needs to eat without dying or succumbing to disease.  It is not a surprise that my grandmother did not talk much about life at the residential school, but she did talk about always being hungry.  Always, always hungry.  Imagine in a land of plenty growing up starving, surrounded by people who treat you as if you are less than human.

There can be no question that children in residential schools were abused in so many ways.  They did not get to live with the people who loved them, who wanted them, and they watched their friends die and they were forced to dig their graves.

For all of these reasons, if you are moved to, I invite you to write an email or a letter to the Prime Minister of Canada (who, along with his cabinet, abstained from voting in a motion put forth by the NDP that Canada drop it’s ‘belligerent and litigious approach to justice) – that you don’t approve of these actions, that indigenous people are people.  That Canada drops all lawsuits against indigenous peoples.  That the millions of dollars spent fighting in courts be used to provide all reservations with clean water.  Stop arresting those who are protecting unceded territory, pay compensation to St Anne’s survivors.  It won’t undo past actions, but it is a meaningful act of reconciliation.  Every letter makes a difference.

This is not meant to make anyone feel badly – too many people do not know about this, or the extent of the horror.  We cannot change the past but if we do not face this, together, we, all of us, cannot heal.

All my relations

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No words

I try – for the most part – to keep the posts to this gazette relatively light-hearted, the which – for the most part – reflects the blessed lives that The Girl and I lead out here in Beautiful British Columbia. Regular readers will know that this praxis occasionally falls by the wayside should there be happenings out in the wider world on which I just feel the absolute need to comment.

It is our great good fortune that only very rarely are there circumstances in which the dark clouds gather nearer to home and that some grim situation intrudes upon our privileged existence.

This, sadly, is one such…

The Girl has been greatly affected in this last period by the news from our very doorstep of the terrible discovery of the unmarked graves of 215 children at the former Kamloops Residential School here in BC. This news has been published around that world and you may have already read something of it wherever you are. The Girl was… is… understandably deeply upset by the news and moved to put something into words.

With your indulgence I will upload her reflections in my next post:

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“Feminism isn’t about making women strong. Women are already strong. It’s about changing the way the world perceives that strength.”

G.D. Anderson

March the 8th is International Women’s Day!

The Kickass Canada Girl – though certainly by far the ‘kickass-iest’ that I have met – is certainly not the only lady to whom the epithet might be applied (with appropriate permission of course). As an irreflective member of another gender I would just like to say a heartfelt “Thank you” to The Girl and to all other women who by their indefatigable efforts help to make the world a better place.

I hope that you have a good and productive day.

March 8, 2021 | No comments

“Dying is not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be over…Death is not anything…death is not…It’s the absence of presence, nothing more…the endless time of never coming back…a gap you can’t see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound…”

Tom Stoppard – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

You would think that – given the unprecedented times in which we live – intimations of our mortality would be constantly lurking on the periphery of our minds… or at the very least intruding upon us – un-looked for – in quieter moments when the hubbub of the world dies away.

If it does not do so – and the behavior that we see on the news-reels suggests that it may indeed not – then that is probably because there is something in our makeup that makes us determinedly believe that – “it ain’t gonna happen to us“!

That may well be an essential mechanism for our very sanity…

There are – however – times when these things sneak up on us and give us a nasty fright.

The Girl was obliged to visit the Victoria General Hospital the other day for what is blandly labelled (so as not to frighten the horses!) – a ‘procedure’. This procedure was of the sort to which us chaps need never give a second thought, but that ladies of a certain age sometimes do. It was to be carried out in Surgical Daycare and was billed as a quick in-and-out – nothing to worry about…

…except that it was to be done under a general anesthetic…

…except that – because of COVID-19 restrictions – all I could do was to drop the Girl off at the front door and then pick her up there again later – once they had called me to let me know that she was ready to go.

The procedure was scheduled for 2:45pm and she had to be there two hours ahead of time. The procedure itself would be pretty quick but, of course, recovering from the anesthetic can take a wee while. We estimated that she could be ready any time from 4-ish to about 7-ish…

All I could do was to go home and wait.

The gentle reader will be well ahead of the curve by this point…

Yes – I did fine up until about 6:00pm, but I have to admit that as the clock ticked forward past 6:30pm – with no word at all from the Victoria General – a part of my normally satisfyingly logical mind started to run through the various alternative scenarios. However much one tells oneself that all is as it should be and that delays and diversions are to be expected with this sort of… er – operation – it became increasingly difficult not to start imagining the worst…

…and I have to tell you – that was not a pleasant experience.

All is good! Surgical Daycare called me at about 6:45pm. The Girl is fine and raring to go (within the usual bounds of taking things easy for a bit) and all gloomy thoughts have been banished once more to the outer darkness.

Strange thing – the mind…

 

 

 

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The fourth quarter of the year starts as it always does – with the Kickass Canada Girl’s birthday. There have been times in the past when the celebrations have been really quite elaborate, involving a trip to some splendid resort or reservations at a fancy eatery (or on occasion – both!). We have many happy memories of these celebratory excursions; those to Bath and the Algarve perhaps standing out in particular.

There are other times – however – when something simple at home is the order of the day. In such pandemic-ridden times as these this latter was clearly called for. The Girl seems to have had a good time nonetheless, having seen loved ones and dear friends and having at least been wined and dined on my special homemade pizza accompanied by a rather stonking Chateauneuf du Pape.

Happy birthday to The Girl!

October also means that the first month of teaching is done. We have scampered through the opening laps – acclimatising ourselves to the pace – and we are now digging in for the long haul through to Christmas. There will doubtless be a point – as the climax of the race approaches – at which there will come a moment of truth, when we must needs push through the barrier, discover our true character and determine who the winners and runners up will be.

I think I have pushed that metaphor about as far as I reasonably can…

The nights are – naturally – drawing in (boo!) and the only remotely good thing about that is that, by the time that we are aware of it, we are more than halfway towards the shortest day. Now I know that the winter proper (as Canadians would have it) doesn’t kick in until January and February but – frankly – that is a problem for another time.

I can’t let this moment in time pass without making further reference to Bath Rugby.

Oh dear, oh dear!

Today saw the final round of matches in the Premiership, the which would determine the final four who would progress to the playoffs. Bath needed only to beat the grim Saracens to get through. Naturally, having led for much of the game they contrived to give up several scores as full-time approached – the fixture ending in a draw! This would have been enough to put Bath out, were it not for the fact that one of the other key fixtures – the Sale/Worcester clash – was postponed after Sale suffered sixteen positive COVID-19 tests! That match has been put back until Wednesday, but if further tests are also positive may not take place at all – which would mean that Bath sneak through to the finals instead.

So – three days (perhaps) on tenterhooks and then a hardly satisfactory outcome – whichever way it goes…

Oh dear!…

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Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“Are you aluminiuming them my man?” “No, I’m copper-bottoming ’em Mum.”

Tongue-twister

Well – I promised you another anniversary – and here it is…

As of last Friday The Girl and I have been married for ten years – a decade which has passed in a flash… or mayhap in a haze of happy hours and preposterously pleasant pursuits. In common with others who would normally have been celebrating significant anniversaries in this most unprecedented of years we have been unable to do that which would normally come naturally – the throwing a party (or at the very least a full-scale barbie!).

So – I hear you mutter through clenched teeth – just how did you celebrate then?

Easy… we went out – just the two of us – to indulge in a splendid dinner at The Deep Cove Chalet. They may not have been able to accommodate the Ginger Prince earlier in the year but they had no trouble fitting us in for our special occasion on their lovely waterfront garden terrace.

Now, neither of us have previously visited The Chalet – which is no surprise in my case given my status as a BC ‘noob’ but is more so in the case of The Girl, who has intimate knowledge of most of the eateries of Greater Victoria. I think it is safe to say, however, that this will not be our last visit.

The Deep Cove Chalet – in its gorgeous position overlooking Deep Cove at the northern end of the Saanich Inlet – dates back to 1913 but has been owned by Pierre Koffel since 1972. It is a classic French restaurant of the sort that would come as no surprise in northern Europe, but the which is considerably harder to find in the non-French speaking parts of Canada. They do what they do well and with panache. The service was attentive and well-judged and they clearly have a good understanding of special occasions and of how to enhance them.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAs to the feast itself – we shared Atlantic scallops followed by a fabulous steak tartare, before each having our own helpings of a wonderful saddle of venison. This excellent repast was washed down (though that is hardly the appropriate term – let’s say ‘perfectly complemented’ instead) by an excellent red Burgundy from Morey-Sainte Denis.

As it happened I had popped over to The Chalet a couple of days previous to our booking, to check the availability of wines on their extensive list and to arrange for our chosen one to be treated with respect and opened appropriately ahead of our arrival. On asking Pierre for his recommendation I was invited to go down to the wine cellar to have a look for myself. Once down in that chamber of delights Pierre disappeared, with a wry – “If you have not come out in an hour we will send someone to look for you“.

I think that it must be clear that we were impressed all round and really most grateful for the excellent hospitality.

 

Copper-Bottoming? Well – the tenth anniversary is traditionally ‘aluminium’ (not aluminum!) and I’m sure that you know the tongue-twister…

Well – you do now!

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“They say it’s your birthday
We’re going to have a good time
I’m glad it’s your birthday
Happy birthday to you”

‘Birthday’ – Lennon/McCartney

I guess that – if they say it’s your birthday – they probably know what they are talking about.

So I guess it must be so!

Who am I kidding? Of course it is…

A very, very happy birthday to the Kickass Canada Girl.

Have a wonderful day!

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