Shaking the branches of the family tree

I spend a lot of time among the various branches of the family tree. It is an endlessly fascinating way to learn about people and to place them in history in a way that makes events and people come alive.  

I was settled on the couch with my laptop preparing to hunt through a newly found source of newspapers, for obituaries and random facts. Lynn was sitting close by reading his book. In recent days I had found out the temperature in Montreal on the 22nd Aug. 1865 as reported by an optometrist as well as what ships were in the harbour and what they carried;

The front page of the Sherbrook Daily Record for 1st Jun. 1961 reported that a federal census was being taken so expect someone at your door;

in 1935 there were interesting remedies offered for a variety aches and pains common to man;

and that in 1955 you could buy a pie for $.49 at A & P.

So many interesting things as times and styles and ideas changed, but also strikingly similar in the kinds of issues being addressed.

(La Presse 29 Nov 1927)

So I was at this moment scrolling through a 1963 edition of the Sherbrooke Daily Record for a particular obituary. Obituaries are different from death notices. They can give dates of birth and marriage, names of all family members including parents, and then tell a whole life story of work and interests and where a family might have come from. They make a name and facts into a person. 

(Mom's landlord from the big house at the corner of King and London)

At the top of the page was a photo of a group of men who were the newly appointed executive of the bowling league. I scanned through the names, just in case, and it said that the league had eight teams for duck pin. So I asked Lynn, 'Do you know what 'duck pin' is?' He said, 'Yes! I never found it played in Ontario, but it is when small pins are set up, and a smaller bowling ball used.'

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duckpin_bowling#/media/File:20190107_Bowling_balls_andpins.png)

He said, 'I used to be a pin boy'. My eyebrows raised; a new story. 'When I was about 13 there was a bowling alley in the basement of this big house on Montreal Street and William, I think. Opposite where Grace Chapel is. Bowling wasn't mechanized, so the pins had to be reset by hand. Had to be quick!  I was in a duck pin league with Uncle Maurice (Maurice Cutler, Aunt Ruby's husband) and others from the Sherbrooke Hospital when I worked there.' Then we wondered how it was that there was a bowling alley in that building, because it was a residential area. So we Google 'walked' that area of the street to pin point the building.

(Grace Chapel, formerly the Masonic Temple of the Victoria Lodge, where Mom attended church)

(307 Montreal where Aunt Mildred lived, with the Chapel on the right)

(This section of the 1963 Voters List shows Aunt Mildred, Mrs Osborne Young, at 307. There were cousins at 266 and 268. It also shows some of the local employers; Allatt's Bakery, American Biltrite, Paton's, CNR and the Army.)

(the building in question, in an isosceles triangle to the other two)

We confirmed that the side street was William, then we read the sign 'Ecole Plein Soleil' and Google that in order to come up with the street number. The Ecole is now open and the website offered a history of the building so we learned that the building was originally the YWCA, so it suddenly made sense that there could be a bowling alley in the basement. 

This reminded me that Mom and Aunt Ruby used to stay at the YWCA and I thought that it was a large white building on the corner of Dufferin and Montreal. Lynn said that he was sure that it was on Moore St. So I checked into that and found that Walnut Place, later known as the Howard Residence was where they stayed, but the activities, like dances with the soldiers, took place on Montreal Street. 

(5 Moore St. in 1941, 165 rue Moore now)

I read to Lynn the history of the building, how it was built as the residence of William White, then became the residence of a Mr. Howard; the same Howard, Charles Benjamin, that later was Mayor of Sherbrooke and a Senator and later lived here.

(Domaine Howard, Sherbrooke)

This sparked another remembrance for Lynn. He and his twin brother Lloyd had lived with their grandparents for their first years as their parents were away working in Montreal. When they went to live full-time with their parents for the first time, they moved into an apartment on Montreal Street. He remembers that the kitchen was red and white and had a restaurant style booth, which must have had a deep impact on him because he still hankers for one. He thought the street number was 394, so we Googled it to be sure. 

He said that they lived on the third floor and the lady who owned the house was a Mrs. Walters. He said that Senator Howard was a 'gentleman caller' of this lady. When I looked up Senator Howard I found that , Simone Lemieux, widow of Dr. Albert Walters, became the third Mrs. Howard in 1959. (Astonishing that Lynn remembers these details, and so interesting to verify them.)

(https://www.patrimoine-culturel.gouv.qc.ca/rpcq/detail.do?methode=consulter&id=26927&type=pge)

The third floor aerie of 394 Montreal allowed a view to the yard of the Winter Street Jail where the last local hanging was of Albert St Pierre in 1932, for the crime of murder.

Lynn then recalled that he took cigarettes to his father, who was currently residing at this address, when he was around 14. He had to enter the building by that green door. The Winter Prison is over 150 years old and the oldest stone building in Sherbrooke. It is no longer used but its stay of execution is still uncertain because although it  has some historic significance it is would be expensive to even restore it to be safely used as a museum. Lynn finds it of interest that his father stayed in cells once occupied by the Megantic Outlaw, Donald Morrison. Another notorious visitor to these illustrious premises was Harry Kendall Thaw, wealthy socialite, who was accused of the murder of Stanford White, architect, in New York City in 1906 at Madison Square Gardens. Harry escaped an asylum and fled to Canada, where he was recaptured in st Hermengilde just across the border, and sent to the Winter Street facility to await extradition.

(from the front page of the Sherbrooke Daily Record 6th May 1932)

(Harry K Thaw was BIG news for quite a time and even had Louis St Laurent on his extensive legal team. He was treated more as a celebrity than a criminal.)

Today's search was for an obituary, instead what I discovered was more of my husband's personal history and more about the town where he grew up. 

 

View from the window...on the importance of being 3

 As I look out the window this morning it is snowing quietly, big fat flakes falling softly onto the deep blanket of snow which has changed the contours of the yard. There are snowbanks the size of which are now unusual in our winter experience here. It is so beautiful. Mesmerizing, calming; not isolating, but insulating.

You would never guess that this is yet another day, in a long series of strange and unforeseen days, that now stretch into yet another year of the same. A year  when a new vocabulary evolved; where 'bubble' is not followed by 'bath' and 'orange' and 'grey', at least in Ontario, are colours of a new significance.

Emotional balance is a daily struggle. Some days it feels like a tightrope, where you are just a breath away from a plummet. Some days it's more like you are driving along a road minding your own business, when you are clipped by a semi and end up grill down in the ditch.  Or there are those days when it is more like a teeter-totter ride, when your mood just won't level out at all. 

Our little corner of the world went from grey to orange last week which meant that a few more doors are open again. For me, it meant the gift of a little visit with my grandson who is three.

It is over thirty years since our sons were three, and time does soften the trauma of 'terrible twos' who do not suddenly turn into compliant threes. Being a grandma is such a completely different experience, and it occurred to me that there was much to be learned from three year olds.

The joy that I felt when I saw him was mirrored in his face; so precious. I expressed my love on my face, which he saw and reciprocated; such a simple, yet profound thing. It reminded me that something as simple as a genuine smile can be a gift of acknowledgement; 'I see you, and you are important'. Often that small moment of human exchange can make a significant in the the trajectory of someone's day and is so easy to give.

We spent some time getting reacquainted. He needs the reassurance that Grandma is the same and he still has a place in Grandma's house. I watch him and marvel (read 'mourn') at how he has grown since I saw him last. Today he approaches things by identifying shapes; triangle, circle, rectangle; fascinating. Then he goes to where the toys are at Grandma's house. I realize that this is will be a life-long habit. Maybe it is because the present is in the process of change, and the future might be a place we don't recognize, so we revisit the past; shared stories and experiences, beloved places that might be different but are recognizable. These reassure us of our place in the present, and as the past is set, it is comforting. 

We don our winter garb, all the pieces that triple the size of the wearer and make little people look like they have no bending parts. He is beyond excited to going for a walk. I put on his mittens endless times before I remember that boys and mittens are fundamentally incompatible, and this is for him just the funniest game. We meander around the block because three years don't walk as we know it. This is because every thing is fascinating and needs to be discovered;  snowflakes on your eyelashes, patterns on the road and on the tree bark, footprints in the snow. I watch him and hope that he never loses this wonder. I think about how important it is to walk slowly and notice all the small things. I hope that he will take every opportunity to learn and experience and that an awe of nature will help keep his life in balance.

Eating is still very much a tactile activity at three. Each shape and texture is explored. Crunchy things make satisfying noises. Apples are smiles. He is hungry so it is a quiet affair and he is engrossed. I watch and hope that he will always have enough to eat and always appreciate it. I hope that as he grows he will become aware that others go hungry and that this awareness will help to shape the man he becomes.

Grandma gets out a box of crayons and some paper. It becomes apparent that  the box is much more fascinating, and how the crayons fit in, and slide out of said box, needs much repetition to discover fully. And there is a thing made of triangles to hold the crayons. Amazing. Apparently today Grandma is to be the scribe and John the director, so he tells me what he would like drawn and what colour to use. He watches so intently and seriously. And then he goes back to the box. As I watch he I hope that he never loses this curiosity about how things work. I hope that should he not be artistic he will appreciate the artistry of others.

Then we snuggle and have 'cell phone time'. For my generation new technology is intimidating and needs to be approached cautiously. This three year old is bold, intrepid, unafraid. He wants our picture taken, then he wants to review the gallery of pictures and videos. The little fingers swipe at the speed of light to find his favorites; he has his and I have mine and we watch them all. I hold him close and watch him giggle at himself. I hope that these little moments of happy memory embed themselves deeply in him. I hope that he will always feel secure in himself and who he is.

At last Daddy said 'it's time to go'. That small beloved face fell, then burrowed itself in my shoulder. I hugged him so tightly. This was not an act of defiance, but a moment of seeking reassurance. An 'I am sad' moment, and who better to share that with than the person who feels the same way. A hug, a whisper of love, a reassurance that his feeling is shared and understood. then we do what we have to so that comings and goings are understood as part of life and not to be feared. So very important, not just now, in this time, but always.

I hope that I can carry with me some of the best things about being three. I hope that John will carry with him the certainty that Grandma will always, always love him.

 

View from the window...upside down

It is snowing in the realm today. In this part of the world there is a skepticism about the weatherperson's ability to accurately predict the weather, so when it actually happens as foretold there is a certain amount of surprise. We awoke to a winter wonderland with flakes still falling gently and the wind had produced deep sculptured banks and valleys. 

Quite lovely to look at from the window but it required a bit more effort to shovel a path and find the cars. Our street, being a side one, will probably be plowed around midnight tonight effectively sealing each homeowner in their driveway; a not altogether pleasant start to tomorrow morning should one have to leave said driveway to go to work.

Our street abuts a busier street which is also a bus route, meaning that it was plowed early this morning to prepare for the day. It also means that with the amount of snow that actually fell, (still surprised) there is a sizeable berm at the entrance to our street, making for an exciting time accessing the rest of the known world. Aaah, winter.  

The birds are busy in the yard so the storm must be waning. The wind swept a bare spot on the ground in front of the window so sunflower seeds have already been tossed out. The squirrels are beginning to appear having stayed longer this morning in their tree hole havens or leafy dreys in the treetops. (That is 'drey' as in squirrel nest, as opposed to 'dray' as in cart, or the horse who pulls said cart, or Dre, as in Dr.)

The juncos are here in a group, picking up seeds and then retreating to the safety of the tree or denser shrubbery. The chickadees zoom in for one seed then sit on a branch where they hold the seed with their toes and peck at it until they puncture the shell. There are several here today which means they are dining out because other options are less available at the moment. During breeding season seeds like this would make up a small part of their diet, their preference being bugs and spiders. In the winter the balance shifts as bugs are hiding, and spiders sleeping in nooks and crannies that are presently, like today, snow-covered. I am hoping that they notice the 'vacancy' sign on the little birdhouse and someone will move in before long.

Interestingly the Red-breasted nuthatches that have been around all winter, seem to have noticed the wee house. I read that their preference is to nest in cavities which they excavate themselves, a practice which I thought only applied to woodpeckers, and most often in an aspen tree because the bark is softer. They apply resin from a conifer tree to the entrance of the cavity as well as inside, and sometimes use a piece of bark to do this which is pretty remarkable. This may be some kind of security measure, which is pretty ingenious.

They seem to be most interested in the shelled peanuts at the feeders but will take sunflower seeds also. In the summer, like the chickadees, they will feed primarily on a variety of bugs, which they will also feed their young. They generally travel on a tree in a downward spiral which seems to be characteristic of nuthatches. Even at the feeder they feed upside down. This does not seem like it would aid digestion but there must be some reason for it that is particular to them.

We have been fortunate to see nuthatches this winter, and it is largely due to our big spruce tree. The larger White breasted nuthatch prefers deciduous trees; the smaller nuthatches, the conifers. I am hoping that even if these feisty little birds leave us to find an aspen tree closer to the river to nest in, that they will return if we keep the feeders full.

(White-breasted nuthatch)

(A Red-breasted nuthatch that visited in the summer of 2016)

Glimpse of red and blue

A presence on the spruce bough

Welcome in my heart

 

View from the window...life inside a snow globe

 It has been snowing all day but it is deceptive because there is no accumulation on the tree branches. Every so often the wind will pick up and sweep snow from the roof and swirl it in front of the window so you feel like you are in a snowglobe looking out. Lovely really, but I don't have to be out in it so that alters my perspective to a positive one.

It makes me think about how other things accumulate in life and how hard is is to keep a balance. We accumulate so many things; tangible, like savings or possessions, if we are fortunate and prudent; intangible like memories and experiences. 

And how sometimes life just accumulates; how in a day's worth of phone calls, one can turn things upside down, because it brings news of illness in someone you care about.

Or one unexpected bill can effect the food budget for a month.

How one more day of gloomy cold weather can make aches and pains seem too much to bear.

Or just one more any thing can tip us from coping to overwhelmed, and upset our emotional and physical balance.  

And sometimes too, our emotional balance is just more precarious than others.

I came to a measure of self-awareness later in life. When I was growing up the idea of self-care was equated with selfishness, so, others came first; you did, you gave, you came last. I found that this lead to burnout, anger and ofttimes putting those who should come first, last. 

So I stopped (eventually). This is akin to heresy in my world, but I found that I needed rest and I thrived better in quiet  so a less busy calendar was necessary.

I learned how to say no (eventually). You can't do everything, and be everything, and the striving is profoundly draining.

 I learned (the hard way) that I needed to pay closer attention to my body telling me when something needs to be changed in my life.

When I was growing up, you did not talk about your problems as it displayed either a lack of faith, or a lack of manners. There are lots of platitudes that pertain to this; 'a burden shared is a burden halved' or 'two heads are better than one'. Often there is a modicum of truth to them. I learned that sometimes just admitting a worry or concern to someone is enough the ease its hold on me.

I also learned (eventually) to just let things go for a time. Stuff doesn't go away but you sometimes need a break from them, even if just for a little while. My first choice is always to go for a walk. Some thing that is a diversion can give you a few minutes respite from your thoughts or emotions and maybe change their trajectory.

I learned (eventually) that you need to be kind to yourself, to give yourself a break. We are so bombarded with images and ideas of what a 'successful' person looks like, has and can do. This is fraudulent and dangerous. I can only look like me, I may not be able to do or be everything I might wish. This does not mean that we can't learn, change, aspire and dream. But I have to accept who I am and aspire and dream within the framework of my own unique capabilities.

So, when things accumulate and you feel you are losing your balance..

it's okay to change your boundaries

it's okay to share your worry

it's important to treat your pain and rest

you can give yourself permission to take a break

and most importantly, be kind ..especially to yourself.

I should probably have written this conjugating the verb learn...I am learning,  (still), I will learn, (hopefully, eventually) , I have learned, (some things, and mostly by doing it wrong).