angelabryce

[angelabryce]

May 11, 2023. The Bruce Trail reunion hike.

On a beautiful morning five of us gathered to revisit the Trail, reminisce and enjoy a day together again.

Mary Donnelly, Diana Barkly, Karen Weston, Karin Thomas and myself, Angela Boyd.

Starting at the charmingly named crossroads of Finnerty Sideroad and Innis Lake Road in the Albian Hills, we moved north along a minimalist road for about a kilometer and into the lush green spring woodland. Karin found trout lily, red and white trilliums, and she named a slew of probable emerging flowers. We have to take her word for it. A little stream crossing here--we all got soakers--a modest hill there, a cheerful group of five retired gentlemen fellow hikers and the freshness of the woods. It was lovely.

About four kilometers in all. That would have been a scant half day”s worth in our former outings. We finished six years ago. This time we were out for socializing and enjoying the moment.

Which also included a visit to a country restaurant. The Black Birch is a down home restaurant up a long country road with absolutely no pretensions except in the culinary field. The meal was beyond all expectations. A generouls delicate and light fish and chips served on a local pottery platter, meaty and moist pork hocks with crisp vegetables and a big hunk of country bread for the table. Gourmet can live in the country.

Speaking of pottery, we stopped by the local potter and found a quaint shop with lovely pottery run by people who obviously live for art. Not fancy but lovely.

We missed Marilyn on this hike very much. She was on all the previous ones. But we will do this again when she can come too. 

[angelabryce]

the hike turned 2 today!

[angelabryce]

June 11, 12, 13, 2014

The Hikers: Marilyn, Angela, Karen, Karin

June 11, Start 0 km to 7.5 km(ed 27) map 29

June 12, Start 8.2 km to 18.9 km

June 13 Start 18.9 to 25.6 km

Distance hiked 24.9 km

Progress on the Trail 27.7 km

Next hike: August 25 (single day hike)

Future hikes: September...

[angelabryce]

June 11, 12, 13, 2014

The Hikers: Marilyn, Angela, Karen, Karin

June 11, Start 0 km to 7.5 km(ed 27) map 29

June 12, Start 8.2 km to 18.9 km

June 13 Start 18.9 to 25.6 km

Distance hiked 24.9 km

Progress on the Trail 27.7 km

Next hike: August 25 (single day hike)

Future hikes: September...

[angelabryce]

June 11, 12, 13, 2014

The Hikers: Marilyn, Angela, Karen, Karin

June 11, Start 0 km to 7.5 km(ed 27) map 29

June 12, Start 8.2 km to 18.9 km

June 13 Start 18.9 to 25.6 km

Distance hiked 24.9 km

Progress on the Trail 27.7 km

Next hike: August 25 (single day hike)

Future hikes: September...

[angelabryce]

June 11, 12, 13, 2014

The Hikers: Marilyn, Angela, Karen, Karin

June 11, Start 0 km to 7.5 km(ed 27) map 29

June 12, Start 8.2 km to 18.9 km

June 13 Start 18.9 to 25.6 km

Distance hiked 24.9 km

Progress on the Trail 27.7 km

Next hike: August 25 (single day hike)

Future hikes: September...

[angelabryce]

The artist

He stood tall and confident before the crowd of bored  travellers waiting at Gate F23. The room was washed with grey light pouring in from vast windows looking out on the concrete tarmac and assorted airport service vehicles.

Coveralls, not airport standard uniform, a neat grey ponytail and his equipment--push cart, pail of water and two large swipers, one for each hand, and some rags. He was ready.

Theatrical in his work, he strode to the first pane and let out his magic. Two-handed swooping arabesques with his blades, first with soap then water, he was a ballet driven window washer--all grace in his hand and arm motion. The swirl, the parallel pattern, the contrary motion. The travellers turned, caught up in the unexpected entertainment. “Yes, I’m the best and fastest in the world,” he said and it was only half in jest. “I trained two of my brothers, they both work here. The only brothers in the airport window cleaning business.”

“You’re the best,” came from the energized passengers. “Yes I am,” he said.

And, work done, he responded to applause with a slight self mocking bow.

  As I watched him I thought of others who do menial work but with such pride and creativity that they become an inspiration and a rebuke to those of us who do “better” jobs with dull spirits: the dancing crossing guard, the champion grocery bag packer, the much loved school custodian.

[angelabryce]

Jan 25/13

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[angelabryce]

Strange universe

Help, I seem to have fallen into a strange universe. Short people with few skills and many demands are in charge. And tall old people like me mostly run around at their bid and call.These short people are very cute, very fresh and very confident. They know to say, “I want chocolate milk” or “ Give me more cheese” or “ No bed now”. When they do ordinary things, like sit on a chair, the old people become excited and say “good job buddy” or “well done sweetheart”. Little people often spill milk, break dishes or track mud into the house. They are unfazed by any amount of mess. In fact they seem to thrive on it and the old people clean it up without complaint. At school their teachers have a special kind of old people magic. The short people willingly sit quietly, work in workbooks and sing songs together. At times they still wiggle, cry and shout, but not much. By Christmas the magic has worked on almost all of them. They are more like short old people until they spurt out of the classroom. When a Thanksgiving concert is held, old people come in droves to see the magic. The old people are excited and happy to see anything the little ones do. Anything at all gets a “Good job” or a “Well done”. The short ones wear pretty dresses and smart shirts and look very pleased that everyone is smiling at them. When the school day is over there are many activities for short people. The old people drive them around and wait for them while they jump up and down in a ballet dress or wander around a soccer field. “Good job and Good for you and way to go”. A lot of that. Even if the old people would rather take a nap or go to a movie, they hustle the short ones around with no complaint. Sometimes the old people go to classes to learn more about how to do their job. How to make sure the short ones have self esteem and demand to know ‘why?’ about everything. The classes are effective. The old people are very very happy to run around after the short people. But they also are very tired and go to bed early. Not many ever see a movie, unless it is a Disney. I think they fall to sleep with a smile on their faces knowing that one day the short people will be old and tall and then it will be their turn.

[angelabryce]

Feeling like specks in the wide open spaces.

[angelabryce]

End of the holiday

They’re gone. They’ve left. No longer here. Not even a smidge. Well almost not. There is still an overlooked soother, still a pink face wipe and--what’s that odour? Ooops, diaper laden garbage to take out. But the squeals of laughter, the sound of tussling, the giggling, the arguments--“That’s mine, Peter!’ “Stop kicking me Rachael!” “Halloo--oo” from baby Allan--are hanging in the air. Are waiting for me like ghosts in every room. How sweet to read a book uninterrupted, to find the scissors, to rest an aching knee. How sweetly sad, because they’re gone and taking with them the fresh, uncomplicated joy they brought to every corner of the house. They’re gone.

[angelabryce]

There is such satisfaction in watching Jane Austen spin her tales. Of holding my breath as she winds a sentences through a maze of meaning until, just at the end, she lays it to rest gracefully and you realize what complexity she has delivered and with what panache.

[angelabryce]

Clara Hughes

I got to be an Olympic athlete the other night at Roy Thomson Hall. The funny, forthright, unpretentious Clara Hughes took me there. She did all the work; I coasted in beside her as she relived her surprising and uplifting life story.

She brought me beside her on her Olympic speed skating runs, arm swooping rhythmically, leaning into the turns, agonizing over race strategy, confronting her nemesis the German champion, grinning at her own foibles. I empathized with her stuggle with deep depression, her disastrous Olympic games in Turin, the teenage years of drug use and semi delinquency. So exciting to be with her in the stadium as she carried the Canadian flag into the Vancouver Olympics, worrying about flag carrying protocol. And feeling with her the sorrow of losing a teammate cyclist to a fatal accident and rededicating her strength and will to carrying on in her honour. In that hour I lived every moment of her remarkable life seeing only this tall, gesturing, lanky redhead with the mobile expressive face and wide smile in front of me. I respect her inspirational message--"I did it, you can too."-- but her magic was just being totally herself.

[angelabryce]

Leslie Shimotakahara's book launch

There was no obvious reason to think that Leslie Shimotakahara was anything but the poised, elegant and innately refined young woman presenting her first publication to the friends and family who flocked to the book launch. It was a cool February evening at the Japan Foundation in the old Colonnade Building on Bloor Street. Her mother, an old friend, greeted me warmly at the door and introduced her daughter.

Leslie smiled, chatted and slipped away to smile again and make introductions. She dipped and slid through the crowd of mostly second generation Japanese Canadians. She is so slight that she looked like a cursive exclamation mark from the side and her black crepe dress drifted softly on her form. 

But there was something unsettling about the veiled amusement and intensity behind the dark eyes. Too clever to be obvious, too well bred to put a word amiss, still a sly smile escaped amid the pleasantries and she appeared to miss nothing.

I hope my intuition is correct. I want her to be acerbic and witty, to be as wickedly clever and intelligent as she is gracefully self-possessed. I left with her book, a memoir, in hand, hoping to find a jolt beneath the pleasantness.

[angelabryce]

This just in

I found out today that Florence Nightingale was brilliant at statistical graphics. Specifically she designed what is called the polar area graph which she used to show that  far more fatalities in the Crimean War were caused by lack of sanitation than warfare--on one page, in colour. She did it so she could persuade the British government in 1856 that changes needed to be made. A profound revolution in public nursing and health policies resulted. 

She'd been doodling with statistics all her life. As a nine-year old she charted the produce from her garden--the pages in her notebooks still exist. And I thought she was a nurse.

Then I read a letter written in 1865 by Jourdan Anderson, an emancipated slave responding to his former owner's request to return from Ohio to work for him again now the war was over. A masterpiece of outrage and fury couched in formal pseudo-respectful language, he skewers his master's arrogant and clueless invitation.

"We have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future." That's $11,680 for 26 years of Jourdan's labour and 20 years for his wife Mandy, plus interest.  "You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood." And "Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly."

And one last thing, "Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me."

Jourdan Anderson dictated this letter because he couldn't read or write. Brilliant.

You may have guessed that I have discovered  Brainpicker on Twitter. It's addictive, candy for the curious and an effective aide to procrastination. I love it.

[angelabryce]

Parents Inc.

Parents worry about kids. That's their job. But in Silicon Valley California, there are 200 schools that give a data driven report to parents on what to worry about and how much. Project Cornerstone is a non-profit organization that works with some communities and schools with programs to encourage "thriving" behaviours in children and youth, then measures their success in "assets" achieved.

Kids with 31 to 40 assets are optimal and those with under ten are vulnerable. There are external assets like positive family communication, parent involvement in schooling, positive peer influence and time at home with family. And internal assets like honesty, responsibility, self-esteem and bonding to adults at school.

At a recent PTA meeting in Los Altos, a dozen parents gathered to talk about new lunch tables, the recent walkathon and hear a report on their students from Project Cornerstone.

The Project's glossy brochures, data analysis sheets, coloured pie charts and tables were chewed over under the direction of a cheerful lady. "Seventy-eight of our students said they were motivated to achieve but only 54 percent said they were engaged in their learning. We need to work on that gap." "Only 32 percent say they have enough time with their family. But 73 percent say they regularly read for pleasure." And on and on for 40 assets.

In a process not explained, the responses of children to a survey are turned into percentages of assests achieved. And good news! In this school, almost 50 percent have 21 to 30 assets, the acceptable range, and a third are in the optimal range. Thriving indeed.

As a parent you might feel comforted to think there's a good chance that your child is in the adequate or optimal section of the pie chart asset display. Or you might discover  in the list of 40 assets things you never thought to worry about--perhaps Bonding to School or Resistance Skills.

You might wonder that the intangible attributes of personality, culture, emotion and environment can be so neatly quantified into a package of numbers. (Numbers can be so reassuring or so scary.) Or even question that a school delivered survey--prior parent permission obtained--was inquiring about personal family matters.

And why does a discussion about children feel so much like the annual report of a corporation? Internal assets? External assets? Developmental Asset Profiles?

Meanwhile, you will probably still lie awake at night and hope your child can deal with a bully (Interpersonal Competence) or whether he is trying hard enough in school (Achievement Motivation).

[angelabryce]

A moment in time

It's seven a.m. and I hear my daughter down the hall singing the good morning song I once sang to wake up our children for school. I'm not so much a guest in her home as a shadow revisiting the life I once led, feeling the fatigue, the unrecognized joy, the moments only really cherished once gone. It's a privilege to be here, but when it's time to go home, I will be ready.