Thank you, Maureen, for lunch. Sharing time with dear friends is such a gift. You have a pretty spectacular view from your balcony and I love how you were able to bring so much of your gardens to your new residence with you! Thank you for lunch and conversation. A real blessing!
Elements of a cozy home…things that grow.
Good friends…dear friends.
Dad…
Hwy. 62
This is the drive on the northern Superior that I love the very most and brings up the most memories. I recommend it for every one who wants to discover some of the ‘possibilities’ that Canada holds. It was a brilliant blue day and a perfect one for enjoying the views.
At some point, in the middle of nowhere, one of the less-concerning warning lights came up on my dash as related to my key battery…this on a long weekend when absolutely nothing was going to be open and where for miles on end, I would be in secluded and wild country. As a result (not, at this point, thinking about my option of the manual key stuck in the fob and hoping that the battery had no connection to the ignition at all…my Dodge manual was zero help in any of this), I didn’t stop at Rainbow Falls or Rossport…two of my favourite places, but I said, “To hell with it” and hung out at Neys after paying my entrance and Old Woman Bay.
Magic…this stretch of road is simply magic! Drive it! The image below is posted from Google Maps… Keep in mind that because there was not a single accommodation available in Sault Ste. Marie, I forged onward just past Elliott Lake and ended my day at Iron Bridge, a heavenly spot for sure!
After picking up our continental breakfast…a banana…a boiled egg…a muffin and a travel mug full of coffee, Max and I were on our way. I decided not to stop at the Terry Fox memorial this time (it was going to be a long day for driving), as has always been my tradition, but I found myself crying when I arrived at the marker on the highway that pointed out the spot where Terry’s run actually came to a halt. Very powerful to think about that and so I drove for a while, just thinking about people in my life who have suffered cancer…are presently suffering cancer…and who have both lost and fought courageously, their battles with cancer. Prayers were made.
This is the type of morning it was, looking out onto Lake Superior.
Speaking with bikers in Marathon on a former drive, I was told that this day’s bike ride was a more physical ride than going through the Rockies…lots of up and down and certainly the most amazing views, although I didn’t stop at a number of these scenic stops this time. I like this blog post published by a motorcycle group.
I pulled in at Schreiber to see if there was a garage open for someone to check out the Journey, but it turns out that Terrace Bay was hosting a huge DragFest competition this long weekend and there was nothing but a pump available in town. On I moved to Terrace Bay where the local mechanic was shifting around, getting things ready to go to the DragFest site. What a lovely guy! Chat with him sometime at Wayne’s Esso! He gave me some time and some confidence that the warning light that was coming up was benign, not related to anything else and that I was safe to go.
This was a relief and so Max and I, on holiday Sunday, got out and wandered for a bit at Neys Provincial Park. When my son was just a wee boy, I took him on a hike to a spot where I wanted to paint at Prisoner’s Cove. While I painted a little board, he played around in the brush, on the rock, in the old wrecked boats and in the shallow pools of water. Right in front of me, however, he dropped into Superior, holding onto a solid branch as he went. The panel and palette got tossed to the side and I dragged him up out of the cold water. We immediately headed back to the camp site. Lake Superior is cold!! I have saved the small panel painted at this location.
On the beaches of pink sand, one can regularly see the trains journeying the edges of the steep banks to the west…the Barclay Islands in plain view on clear days, out on the water. This was a favourite location for Canada’s Group of Seven painters to work…in fact, this entire region of Algoma provided subjects for many landscape paintings, both well known and lesser known. It was a great stop.
Memories of the kids spending hours building driftwood huts and designs on this beach, come to the surface. Happy memories of painting and exploring!
Good passing lanes through this highway, huge granite walls in earthy reds jutting up hundreds of feet as the driver crests each large hill to have a wall of blue water and sky open up to them. A beautiful drive.
Another place I always stop on this route is Old Woman’s Bay…while Max and I have never seen this well populated, the heat had brought out a slew of swimmers, much to Max’s dismay. He didn’t get to play stick in the water and wow, was it ever obvious that he remembered! On leash, I let him, at the very least, get into the water enough to enjoy a big cool down and to drag some sand into the car.
I was a bit worried upon my arrival in Sault Ste. Marie that I didn’t have the energy to keep on to Sudbury, but after a search and many attempts to find a spot to sleep for the night, we had no choice but to try to make it another three hours on the road. I cranked up the tunes and headed out onto the highway. The land had flattened out now, contoured with rolling hills and treed areas. I was happy to see a juvenile heron standing, alert, in a well-lit ditch and this made me feel as though everything was going to turn out and I cranked up the tunes. Neil Young, Tracey Chapman, the Stones…I was pumped.
A short distance beyond the Elliott Lake turn off, I saw a few billboards that advertised lodging in smaller towns on the way to Sudbury. Some miles on and I saw the Red Top from the highway. The car ahead of me pulled in, and I followed, not far behind. When I stepped into the registration office, the gentleman who spoke to me was also taking food out to customers in the restaurant adjoining. OH! The food looked so good. When I asked about lodging for the night, he told me that he was down to his last two rooms and neither of them had television. I explained that I was hungry and tired and I certainly didn’t need a television! He gave me paper work and off he went to the diners. A woman was busy slicing through a thick, beautifully frosted home made cake.
I looked at the art on the walls in the greeting area…looked carefully…really couldn’t believe it, but thought I was looking at six original pieces by Norval Morriseau. When the gentleman returned to the counter I asked him if those were originals and he smiled, saying that he was a collector. I was aghast.
He asked if I wanted dinner as the dining room was closed, but he could prepare me a meal for take out. The room was 60.00, so I believed it would be a great evening for stuffed pork chop, potato pancakes, hot pickles and veg. The tray was prepared with cloth napkin, real silverware and the works. Once, I returned to the lovely room, I got Max out for a real run in their huge yard and then picked up my meal. The wine was poured and the celebration began!
I thanked God for the Red Top and highly recommend it to anyone who has driven from 7 in the morning until 8…such a comfort.
The next day…home…so excited and so happy!
I’m sorting things out, in order to spend time with my father in the east. The Christmas cards for 2015 are in the mail. Doctors appointments, Max’s grooming, the vehicle checks and household chores are now being tackled. The past week has meant a lot of beautiful indoor time with booming thunder storms every afternoon. I feel like I’m on a retreat because the house is so quiet…just Max and me. I can eat popcorn whenever I want. In the evening, a glass of red wine. Last night, I baked salmon in parchment paper…fresh lemon squeezed over the beautiful pink meat. Every ritual seems lovely and intentional.
For the most part, it’s been productive and satisfying.
I’ve decided that my pond study will wrap up the morning of Mom’s birthday, July 27. I’ve walked the circumference of the pond at Frank’s Flats every day since October 13,2015 with the intention of taking a single Instagram photograph of a single location, a bush that grows at the pond’s edge. I have seen it through the seasons and watched how light changes everything. I’ve developed rituals around these observations, recording, writing captions, creating mental sketches and noting the changes in the animals and vegetation as time passes. I’ve much reference material now and in the autumn, I want to create a response to all of it. I’ve had some faithful followers as, for most of the experiment up until July, I’ve documented on social media (Facebook) as well.
Yesterday, at the pond, I observed the only two Ruddy duck babes, alongside Mom. The teen-aged Coots and Grebes are now taking diving lessons and doing so very successfully. Mr. and Mrs. everything are swimming further and further from their youngsters, although the teens still cry out helplessly and give chase, not wanting to be separated from, at the very least, their source of food. With the horrendous amount of rain recently, I fear that the Ruddy ducks’ nests have been drowned…the two babies that I observed, came to be only days before the first thunderstorms hit, so I’m guessing all of the other mothers were sitting at that time. I’ll see.
I think that flying lessons are beginning…I notice that the adult Coots, while remaining on the water, are flapping hard and traveling on the surface.
While I stopped putting out seed at my feeders (as a way of settling down the vole and mouse populations), I got emotional when I realized that Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, in the vent across from my kitchen window, were trying one more time to nest. The children are crying ravenously with each entrance to the vent from Mr. or Mrs. I just need to see this family have a successful season, after two former attempts.
The crows are big raiders in this neighbourhood these days, as those adults also struggle to feed their demanding young.
As I reflect upon the last while, I continue to feel gratitude…especially for the lessons of nature and of solitude. I like slowing things down. I’ve been particularly inspired by a poem by Al Purdy, titled Detail and so I will post it here, along side a few photographs that I snapped yesterday. In 1981, when doctoral work was typed on typewriters…Elizabeth Jane Douglas wrote a thesis titled the Mechanics of Being Alive: Major Themes in Poetry and Prose of Al Purdy. This absolutely impacts my past year’s ‘work’ and ‘reflection’.
all winter long
… the apples clung
in spite of hurricane winds
sometimes with caps of snow
little golden bells
· · ·
For some reason I must remember
and think of the leafless tree
and its fermented fruit
one week late in January
when the wind blew down the sun
and earth shook like a cold room
no one could live in
with zero weather
soundless golden bells
alone in the storm
I’ve wanted to take my daughter and son-in-law up to the Cirque for a few years and it finally happened. I also wanted to be with my hiking friend, Cathy, who has such a natural and beautiful connection with the mountains. And gratefully, friend, Michael, could also join us. So, we took our pot luck and headed up Longview direction. A bit of a late start, we got on the trail just after the first explosion of hail in the parking lot.
The hike held some really fantastic moments. I was in bliss at the beautiful showing of wild flowers. Everything seemed more lush because of the moisture. Forget-me-nots blooming, electric blue, next to yellow flowers, made me think of Mom. Pink paintbrush, wild asters, Queen Anne lace…what a show!
The smell of the air…glorious!
The company…the people I was with…fun and patient and willing.
Views…heavenly.
Weather…dramatic…frightening at times, but contributed to a different experience of these towering mountains! Thunder booms in a bowl of tall mountains are just somehow, different!
Apart from two Instagram shots, I didn’t archive any of this, but will post the collected photos here.
To begin…images from my first hike up Ptarmigan in 2010.
Yesterday’s Archives, beginning with our drive to Longview. Canola field…candy purchase at the corner gas station in Black Diamond…the chat that goes on between friends, heading for the mountains. Michael Collett…the artist snapping the shot.
Also, Michael’s photograph…an opening view from the trees…stops and starts of rain by this point.
My two little Instagram shots…Cathy ahead of me on the shale traverse.
The meadow…rich green always awes me.
Cathy’s phone…she captures…or attempts to capture the flowers in the meadows. We both agreed we have never seen them like this. Spectacle!
As per usual, I am the least attractive woman at the trail! Yesterday, wearing a Pitch-In bag. lol
This photograph speaks for itself. We’re in mountain bliss at this point.
My friend…
But, what of the others? Here are Doug’s photos…Michael seems to not be represented well in this set of photographs. He is an intense explorer…likely observing light and colour!
I love the artistry in Doug’s photos…the image below, I guess, shows scale. lol Erin and Michael coming down from a wee jaunt they did on a higher trail.
This one shows the glory of it all.
Proud of my son-in-law, Douglas…a great way to celebrate Canada Day weekend!
Awe! There’s Mike!
We made it to the parking lot…a tad wet, but very satisfied!
And then…the tailgate party.
And the drive home…no less magical! We stopped at that canola field. The drama of the evening’s sky evolved as we headed toward the city. This is Michael’s photograph.
I’m a single woman in the world. If I think too much about it, I can get sad about that…the fact that I don’t have a life partner, helping me reach the things high in my cupboards or rubbing my back when I get the pukes. Truth is, I realize how grateful I am for my children, my son-in-law, his family, my family near and far and my dear friends who are always there with their thoughts, ideas, tremendous support. I don’t know what I’d be without them! Thank you.
I’m getting ready to return to Belleville and as I do, I am not only thrilled about seeing my father and spending ‘real’ time with him again, but I look forward to visiting Belleville. Belleville has ended up being a remarkable place, offering experiences that I would not enjoy in any other place across Canada. I like the arts community. I am in love with the history and the architecture. I’ve yet to find any places with live music. That’s a goal this year. I’ve made friends in Belleville…not many my age…but people who are rich with stories of love and loss and youthful remembering.
Cool Breeze on a Very Humid Evening!
Writers come out of Belleville or nearby…for example, on the edge of Roblin Lake.
Dad and I attended an event at Al Purdy’s A Frame last visit…I will return for a visit to the museum and the A Frame again this summer, that’s for sure.
I will return to Susanna Moodie’s home and look for the same warmth and mystery that I remember experiencing at my last visit. I will visit the memorial to her life that has been erected, in part, because of my explorations and non-relenting communications with the city. Most currently published, is a graphic novel Susanna Moodie: Roughing It in the Bush by Carol Shields and Patrick Crowe, illustrated by Selena Goulding.
My mother will not be there. But roses will be blooming or will have bloomed in Belleville.
I will share Power and Politics with my Dad and we will sip red wine that has been ‘cooking’ at Dave’s.
I am looking forward to getting out on the high way. I’ll be listening to myself.
I guess I’ve published a few posts, now, about Mark Vazquez-Mackay.
and
and
Gee, I must be a fan! And…I am!
Last Friday night, Mark exhibited his travel sketches at the Rumble House. I hope that my Calgary readers took the opportunity to enjoy this show and the narratives and the hospitality. It was a wonderful thing! While I won’t write a lot here, I will post my documentation of the exhibit.
The next three photographs are posted, with permission by the photographer, Rich Theroux, on the trade that I will show up for figure drawing on Thursday night. :0)
Call it ‘by any other name’, but I have to say that the time spent with my niece, Mandy, was pure heaven. Up until recently, this is all I ever really knew of my girl…here, in the arms of my younger brother. A sweet little red head…quiet…introspective…artistic…vulnerable.
As she grew, she sent her Gramma and Grampa a drawing that Grampa still has hanging in his hallway. Mom and Dad were/are so proud of her.
I received a special card in the mail, an image that I framed and have displayed in my sanctuary…another treasure. I noticed at that time that my niece was becoming a little artist.
In 2008, on my daughter’s wedding day, along with the rest of the family, Mandy left her words on my studio wall. It was such a blessing to be together on that day. I will never forget it.
“Life is special, and yours will always be unique, as will everyone’s. Don’t waste a moment of it, but always take a second within those times to step back and absorb what is happening. Reflect on it, turn it into something you’ll remember always and will still be just as alive when you think of it. – Mandi”
And then…a collision with her energy and our own time shared recently at my place! What a gift!
We shared special talks and shared peaceful silence…we were creative together…purchased B.C. fruit together…shared meals and wandered the city together. I will always appreciate that this time was for us alone. I’m so very happy for that. I drove Mandy to the airport and then cried, (as I always do when I drop special people to the airport), driving south on the Deerfoot. When I arrived home, I found Mandy’s words…pages of them…stacked on my red table, along with a parting gift. This little penguin purchased at the Market Collective, will remain an object of affection for always. Thank you, Mandy, for taking a break to come and be with your Auntie. I can hardly wait until my niece, Eliane, does the very same thing. And, mayhaps, when her hectic life slows down, I might even have a couple of weeks to go exploring with and get to know my niece, Ainslie in this same way. Love you, my precious girls! Love you, Mandy.
Bruce demonstrated how to do an image transfer some months back and my cousin, Margy, has been using these techniques successfully out in the studio for several of her amazing collage pieces. Last night, I really wanted to deal with the Trans Canada Highway in some subtle way. Since coming home from Ontario, I’ve been thinking about the extent of the highway that has become so familiar to me. An asphalt thread, it is all that separates me from these important family members. I decided, before even driving to the Gorilla House, to adhere my mirrored image of the map onto my board…that, along with the colour test sheet that popped out at the beginning of my print job.
One of the concepts of the night was Cruelty and Beauty. I was thinking about the painful experience of separation and the cruel reality of physical distance (This might be an emotional distance in the case of not being able to reach into the heart of someone you love. It might be the seeming impossibility of attaining a career goal.) ; on the flip side, the awesome experience of knowing love for those who are not physically present…how beautiful is that love…how powerful.
Ravens are dealt with in art works right across Canada. They are icons of a changing culture across regions. I was introduced to Prince Edward Island artist, Karen Gallant, on my ancestral search in North Rustico two summers ago. The raven appears both as a central subject and as a supporting detail in much of her work.
Artist: Karen Gallant Prince Edward Island
Amy Switzer, North Bay, Ontario artist, exhibits with my grade nine art teacher, David Carlin and masterfully creates mixed media sculpture, often with the raven and other birds as her subjects.
Amy Switzer: Untitled (Standing Bird 3), 2008, ceramic, steel and graphite, 14 x 6 x 18 inches
And while I am whizzing across Canada, it’s imperative that I represent an image from the west coast, known for the historical reference of the raven used in First Nations masks, totems and art for generations.
Traditional and so absolutely beautiful…
“An elegant hand-carved and painted bass wood West Coast Native Canadian “raven rattle” by Gerry Dudoward, a Native Canadian artist known for his West-Coast style carvings. The body, painted in greed, red, white, and black, is carved in the shape of a wingless raven, with West Coast geometric motifs painted along the body, with a small carved man sitting backwards on the raven’s back.
1.6″ x 1.4″ — 4 x 3.5 cm” SIC
Raven Rattle by GERRY DUDOWARD
Emily Carr’s observations of the lush coast and her observation of totems had a profound impact on the conversation about Canadian art and Appropriation. “Canadian Expressionist Painter, 1871-1945 Canadian painter and writer. She studied art from 1891 to 1894 at the California School of Design in San Francisco. She lived in England from 1899 to 1904, studying at the Westminster School of Art in 1899, and settled in Vancouver on her return. Her stay in Paris in 1910-11, during which she had a painting shown at the Salon d’Automne in 1911, proved far more influential on her art, familiarizing her with Impressionism, with Post-Impressionism and with Fauvism.”
Big Raven 1931 Oil on canvas 87.3×114.4cm Vancouver Art Gallery
Emily Carr
Here, W. Allan Hancock’s wildlife paintings represent the contemporary approach to ooooober realism.
Ravens of Klemtu by W. Allan Hancock
This is my own two-hour painting resulting from last nights Art Battle. I am grateful to Emily, Grace and Alex for purchasing the piece at auction and to all my friends for their warm welcome home.
Emily, Alex and Grace
I taught these two explorers when they were in junior high and they looked something like this.
I followed their journeys through high school art to some degree and knew that they had stayed connected to visual arts although they were busy with so much more, such well-rounded ladies, full of good humour…that they continue to be fun to be around. They worked double-hard, pretty much triple-hard, this past year, saving for their trip of a lifetime…five to six months all over the United Kingdom and Europe. It’s been fun watching them blog and post photos of the wonders they are experiencing on their Tumblr account, Reverse Pioneering.
Here we are before they left…so full of planning and excitement. We snacked and chatted the evening away and then they were gone…landing first in London.
Today, I received a postcard from the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. I wanted them to see Guernica by Pablo Picasso and THEY DID! I dream to stand before this image and believe it to be as powerful as described. In my own high school experience, while competing in an expository format, I delivered a memorized speech throughout Montana in national competition. I feel like this is one iconic image and I cherish the fact that they put this in the mail for me! Safe travels, ladies!
It was three years ago, in summer, that I stopped to chat with Imogene as she tended her most remarkable garden. As luck would have it, I walked/walk Max regularly at the off leash park across from her home and so, with my love of gardens, I watched the progress of her amazing blooms throughout the summer and into autumn. I became curious about many of her plants and so this one day, with a brilliant blue sky above us, I pulled my van over and got out to chat.
It was with a generous spirit that she welcomed my questions about perennials and nurturing gardens and she extended her good will to a wander into her back yard gardens and a most amazing and deepening conversation. In my mind, she was brilliant…a truly remarkable, smart and witty woman. Our chat in the back yard garden inspired me and I wondered, “How is this even possible that life should be this magical, one moment to the next?”
And then I met Norman. What a blessing! And I hope that my readers will take the time to read the publisher’s remarks and his biography here.
I write about Norman and Imogene because just two days ago, I had my annual summer chat with Imogene. I stopped, as is usual, to remark on the state of her gardens. I will respect her privacy and will hold myself back from publishing a photograph here, but suffice it to say that there are NO gardens in Calgary like Imogene’s and NO grass like Norman’s.
At our meeting, we had the most precious fifteen minute conversation that I have shared with someone in a very long time. We spoke of flowers and Spain…health and sons…and then she spoke of her love for Norman. I get chills as I type the words, ‘love for Norman’ because I remember the look in her eyes as she spoke to me. Her thoughts are invaluable and are only paraphrased here. ‘Live for the present moment. It is what we have. Forgive. Do what is healthy. Work hard, but also let go of those things that are unnecessary. Pay someone else to mow your yard if you are tired OR do it another day. (this, it seemed as she spoke, is a metaphor for all of our busy-ness). Love passionately. Grow flowers.’ I always feel to be a better person when I leave my garden-conversations with Imogene. I will ask her one day if I can take her picture. I can not possibly capture her face with words…she is beautiful because she lives beautifully. Her last words to me two days ago were that she would write about our meeting in her night-time journaling…and so today, I am doing the same.
Trafford Publishing says about Norman,
“Norman Henry Kendrick was born in the village of Southwick, now part of the city of Sunderland in the county of Durham, in the North-East of England.
His father, a Liverpudlian of Scottish blood, was a petty officer, gunnery, in the Royal Navy from the age of 15 and saw action in the North Atlantic and with the Russian and Malta convoys.
His mother was a busy housewife, with three sons and an absent husband. She came from a long line of respected clairvoyants and was active in the spiritualist church.
His grandfather, on his mother’s side, became a coal-miner, from necessity, at the tender age of nine and, with determination and tenacity, became very well self-educated, sharing his knowledge with his grand-children.
Norman grew up, during World War II, to the sound of riveter’s hammers and the flash of welding arcs from the numerous, war-driven shipyards of the river Wear, with the resulting intense, industrial pollution and smog.
In the background was the constant, throbbing hum from the busy Wearmouth Colliery as it fueled the war industry. At night, he was kept awake by the menacing drone of hundreds of Nazi bombers, flying overhead to terrible destinations. On their return, dropping their remaining bombs on the town.
Yet, less than a mile away, the lush, green countryside began, reaching north across Durham, Northumberland and the wide-open spaces of Scotland. Excellent cycling country.
He became an apprentice, studied at night-school three nights a week, studied music, pianoforte, on the other nights and at weekends, walked and cycled to keep fit and eventually worked as a Marine Engineer, both on land and sea, then as a teacher. This wasn’t exceptional as most of his friends were working, and playing, just as hard, meeting the challenge of the post-war world.
He will always love the area where he was born: Hadrian’s Wall, the wind-swept, heather-covered moors of the Brontes, Wordsworth’s Lake District, Burns country – just over the border, the Viking-haunted coast-line, the ruined abbeys, the castles, the towering cathedrals with their beautiful, choral music and especially the warm, friendly people of the North of England.
Norman, his wife, Imogene – a State Registered Nurse caring for the severely injured coal miners and shipyard workers in the Monkwearmouth Orthopaedic and Accident Hospital – who shares his love of music, literature, drama and travel, and their three sons and grand-daughter, now live in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, close to the beautiful Rocky Mountains, where they have lived, and worked, since 1969.”
When I gaze upon my flowers, I sometimes think of Imogene and Norman.
I am very sad that just today, I learned that both Gene and Norman have passed…they lived such a rich and beautiful life and while I was just a dog-walking, passer-by, they both generously included me in their lives with stories and flowers. May they be blessed in the everlasting, always.
Kendrick, Imogene “Gene”
October 24, 1938 – September 23, 2016
Gene Kendrick passed away on Friday, September 23, 2016 at the age of 77 years. Gene was born at home on October 24,1938 in the northeast of England in the town of Sunderland. She was the eldest of four childrenGene attended Chester Road School in Sunderland and was trained as a nurse at the Orthopaedic and Accident Hospital. She worked at the Royal Bolton hospital in England for several years. Gene met Norman Kendrick at aged seventeen and the two were married on April 3, 1961. They immigrated to Canada in 1969 and settled in Lake Bonavista in Calgary, AB. Gene worked at the Rockyview Hospital for several years before moving into different jobs including the oil industry. Her best job was to raise her three sons. Her favorite activities included ballroom dancing, gardening, cooking, books, walking, fine needlework, and listening to Norman play music and read poetry.
Kendrick, Norman Henry
August 26, 1934 – November 9, 2016
Norman Kendrick passed away on Wednesday, November 9, 2016 at the age of 82. He will be missed by his three sons John, Andrew, and Stephen; grandchildren Ashley and Johannes; as well as extended family and friends. He was predeceased by his beloved wife Gene. As per Norman’s request, an informal gathering will be held to celebrate his life.
Norman grew up in Sunderland, England which is where he met Gene. He preserved in times of great hardship and trained as a mechanical engineer. He worked in shipbuilding and spent time at sea, traveling the world from the coast of Africa to India and through the Suez Canal. He went on to train as a teacher and taught engineering for several years in England, before moving with his young family to Canada. He taught physics for a number of years before he retired, freeing his time to travel.
Norman and Gene spent many winters in Spain, Portugal and Italy where they would dance the night away. Norman was an avid history buff and enthralled himself in the history of these areas. Together, they loved to meet people and truly get to know them. Norman was a talented pianist and a great intellect. Norman also loved poetry and published a book “Poems of Innocence”. Here is one of his poems:
Lots To Do.
If I were God, I wouldn’t hang around here!
Not while there are supernovae to watch,
And galaxies colliding.
I would leave everything on automatic,
With life genetically programmed
To repeat itself, ad interim.
With a few, built-in limiting devices,
Such as the atmosphere, an erratic food supply, sex,
Power-hunger, the speed of light, natural calamities,
Death, religion, greed, disease – to name a few –
And some chance, genetic surprises!
And I would go off…
And have fun!