I have utterly enjoyed the correspondences shared while finding a home for the 1937 Roslyn Elementary grade six class!  To bring my readers up to speed, I’ve corresponded with friends and family members of Bruce Chisholm, Donald Grahame, David Casgrain, Bill Nicholson, John Bishop, Edward Walls and Robert Cockfield.  Ultimately, the photograph was sent to Mr. John (Jack) Walls who seems to be one of the only living gentlemen from the photograph.  He is third from the right in the middle row.  I’d like to send my gratitude to Valerie who made this connection for me…and for Francie who has more connections with me than even I can believe and to Jack.

Thanks to Cynthia’s information, the photograph will be donated to the Westmount Historical Association for safe keeping and for all to enjoy.  This has been a lovely experience.

Roslyn Gang Photo

I packed the photograph up, after framing it. Included, were the stories and provenance associated with the number of contacts that were made.  I then sent it off to Jack.

Kath's Canon Carli's Classroom Grade Three Frank's 061

I am now celebrating a new friendship with Francie, Jack’s daughter, who is making certain that this piece of history is no longer shuffled about and lost in a second hand store, but finds its way to Westmount Historical Association.  Thank you, Valerie.

Francie and Jack Wall

Old Negatives

A month ago I dropped off some old negatives to London Drugs for processing and to digitize what may be some pretty special images of Mom and Dad and their early years.  They were stuck in a pile between the pages of a photo album that I happened to be sorting at the time.  Today, I received a phone call to stop by and pick them up. I wasn’t disappointed in the number of surprises in the stack and as a result,  I’m going to enjoy creating a special Christmas gift for Dad, my sister and my brothers.  I think this is why the Lisecki black and whites struck me as amazing last night.

P1130253 P1130255 P1130256 P1130266 P1130267Days become busy and often we want to deal with the ‘stacks’ in our lives, but we don’t.  The fact that I have dealt with this stack causes me great joy.  The last image, while indistinct, is a remnant of my father’s time serving the RCAF at the Arctic Circle.  Photographs like this one, while unclear, captured a moment in time.  Here, you feel the cold and the isolation.  This is not a nameless figure; this is my father.

Lisecki and Remnants of a Past

Darcy Lisecki and I shared a short conversation while I pulled out my paints last evening.  He passed these two photographs over to me and likely saw my eyes light up.  He had found them tossed…garbage.  We shared a few words about that and then he gave them to me.  I’m pretty grateful.  These will be added to my treasures of a past conversation, mostly between Gordon and Eddie.

P1130257 P1130258Sunday, August 24, 1938

(Gordan’s photo, not mine)

Taken up the infant Elbow R. into Rockies from a car (Eddie’s) at nightfall. Very typical.  But here the ‘ranger road’ ie. really only for use of fire wardens in land rovers, got so rough we wondered if we’d even get back.P1130259 P1130263Eddie wading thro Bragg Creek nr. where we picknicked. (taken by Gordon)

When I asked him when he first began to make art, Darcy told me that he sold his first piece of art to his Grade four teacher.  It was a drawing of a chair in perspective.

This got me thinking about a recent project…


It Was a Lifetime of Waiting

The story
began in the middle.
In other words, the middle
was its beginning.
And there you were waiting for me
in the rain, a soldier.

You leaned against a grey wall
, red carnations resting in your
arms, like a garland. To say th
at I felt love would perhaps be
sentimental, so I didn’t say, “I
love you”. I had to think about
my words even with them sticking in my head.

I said, instead, “I often thought of you.”

You were a magnet.
I was pulled toward you
where tears and
raindrops mingled, warm
on a summer’s day.
Up on a hill,
looking down on our meeting,
St. Mary’s, in her beauty.

That moment was pinnacle.
It was a prayer.
I will not forget the taste of
salt water on my lips.