Dad, these days

   Spent a big part of the late morning and early afternoon with my dear old Dad today. The two of us get together every Monday to play some golf in the summer and pool in the winter. The weather being as nice as it has been has enabled us to play this late into November.

Dad and I on my wedding day

   My dad's name is Ken and he has Alzheimer's, in its early stages. He was diagnosed about 2 and a half years ago and the disease seems to be progressing pretty slowly. As a matter of fact if you were to meet him casually you might not even suspect anything was the matter. Once, however, you find yourself dealing with the finer details of his life you quickly begin to understand what he (and we) are up against.
   His memory is the pits. Unless you ask him about anything that happened before the nineties. Within this time frame he is impeccable with his recall. One of the bonuses of having Dad living here in London is that I've had the opportunity to sit with him many times and hear his stories from the "good old days".
   I found these stories fascinating the first time I heard them. Subsequently, I have found them fascinating the many times I have heard them since! The stories never vary; the sixth version is generally word-for-word the same as the original. Not only are they interesting, when strung together they almost seem exciting, like scenes from a movie.
   My dad grew up in the thirties and forties in western Canada. He was born in Calgary, Alberta and he and his family vacationed on the west coast in Gibson's, B.C. Because of this, he has stories from the prairies and stories from the mountains and ocean. I am a westerner myself and because of this my dad's stories resonate.

Bryant, my son, Dad, me and my other son, Ben

   One of his stories is about the death of his older brother Ron, when they were both children. Ron died of polio and, because of this, the whole family was quarantined to their farm which, at the time, was 10 miles outside of Calgary. Groceries and provisions needed to be dropped off at the end of their laneway so that one of the family members could venture out and pick them up. They lived on one of the main trails into Calgary and dad tells me stories about how the native peoples would pass by their farm on the way to the Calgary Stampede and would walk down their laneway to try and sell them blankets and trinkets. They were unable to read the quarantine signs and my dad and his family had to go to great lengths to try and keep them away! 
   This is just one of the stories he has told me about his early days and there are many more just as interesting (I should really sit down with him sometime and do some transcribing...).
   What he can't do, however, is tell me an interesting story about last week.

My cousin Carol, me, Dad and my other cousin Stephanie

   Because of this, I find myself doing much back-tracking and double-checking as to what's going on in his life. Pretty constantly he tells me about an appointment he had for this or that but then can't remember what it was about. Or, if he can remember what it was about he may not be able to remember what the result of it was. So I do have to double-check. Lately, as much as possible I've tried to attend appointments with him. This, in itself, sets up a scenario whereby I know something about him and he can't for the life of him figure out how I know all this stuff. Yep, I feel pretty magical sometimes.

Me, my Aunt Leslie, and Dad

   Not only medical appointments are up for scrutiny. More and more I find myself having to pay attention to my dad's financial affairs. Now, my dad has always been the financial guy. His work history is in the banking/insurance field and he is a whiz with numbers (he adds up a golf score much more quickly than I do!) What I've discovered lately, though, is that he's starting to lose awareness of the state of his finances and I've had to step in and provide some direction.

My brother Bob and I

   What all of this means is that I've found myself walking that fine line between wanting my dad to be able to hang on to every vestige of independence he can and needing, at the same time, to ensure that his needs are met.
   Not long after the Alzheimer's diagnosis, dad entered into the support system set up here in London to assist people and their families deal with this disease. One part of this involves going about every nine months to the Aging Brain Clinic at Parkwoood Hospital in London. He sees Dr. Wells, she does some testing and, generally, asks him (and, lately, me) how he's doing. He tests very well, so much so that if you went only by the test results, you might assume he didn't even have Alzheimer's. As much as these test results are encouraging, when you see him functioning in daily life it is not hard to fault the diagnosis.

Back in the "olden" days at Gibson's, B.C. Starting at the left is Aunt Girlie, my Uncle Keith, Aunt Leslie, Uncle John. my mum, and my dad. Seated are my Gran and Grandad. On my Granny's lap is an unidentified cousin of mine. My Dad remembers these days well, and with great fondness, as do we all.

My wife, Doralyn (who's very special to me), Dad and the aforesaid me

   One of the other supports that has been lined up for Dad is the McCormick Home and its Alzheimers Outreach Services. The AOS runs a day program which Dad attends on Thursdays. He seems to really enjoy having added this to weekly routine, as one of his most constant complaints is having nothing to do (apart from the wonderful Mondays he spends with his son!). What has arisen out of this, though, is that the odd communication from the program goes to me and I then run it past Dad. He has a difficult time understanding why they don't just talk to him, instead. It's their policy, of course, to deal with the family members for important issues rather than trust suspect memories. Explaining this to Dad, as you can imagine, is somewhat uncomfortable for both of us. As little shreds of his independence are torn free in this manner the end result is that he seems to be fading away. And I don't like this.

Mum and Dad--not sure if I was even a twinkle at this point...

   It's hard to say what the near (or far) future holds for Dad. He seems content to continue living in his apartment and seems to function pretty well there. I'm fortunate insofar as I get to see him every week and can make some estimation as to how he's doing.
   I admit that I am a little fearful. There are not a lot of really happy Alzheimer's stories out there. On top of everything else, I can feel myself slipping a little and sometimes when watching Dad I wonder if there is mirroring going on.

Standing (L-R) are my Uncle Keith, Aunt Leslie, Uncle John, cuz Cynthia, and Dad. Seated (L-R) are Keith's wife Barb and Jean, my step-mum

My brother Bob Glover, me and my Dad

   Tomorrow (by now I have been working on this blog entry for several days) Jayne, my sister, and her husband, Mike, will be visiting on their way home from Florida. This is good, I've been trying to scrounge pictures of Dad and the important people in his life off my computer for the last couple of days and this will give me the opportunity to snap a few more pics to include here. It is also good just from the standpoint that Dad enjoys seeing family and, as the group of us seem to be scattered all over the country, it's always nice when we do get together. 

Dad, sister Jayne and her hubby Mike

   So life goes on, I guess, and my Dad still spends much time planning around how he's going to buy a boat, how he's going to get a girlfriend and how he's going to start hitting 280 yard drives. I try not to discourage any of this talk too much (I, as well, have dreams that aren't very realistic and don't we all?). We do, though, spend a little time talking about how he's going to remember where he parked the boat...
        

Women

   I like women. It's almost, like, if I'd lived a former life it might of been as a woman. If I have to hang around with a bunch of people I'd really rather hang around with women. Nothing wrong, though, with occasional groups of guys, especially if you're watching sports (or playing them, for that matter) but if there's a mixed social gathering I tend to gravitate to the women.
   Yes, I know, you're wondering if I'm latently gay. Could be, but I don't think so, because, as I said, I like women!

Diana Rigg-The Avengers

   One of my skills is finding something beautiful about a woman that otherwise may have gone unnoticed. This happened all the time in high school, I'd see a girl who maybe wasn't the blonde cheerleader type and I could always find something attractive about her to focus on. Occasionally, as time went on, other guys might eventually begin to notice some of the same things. At the time, though, it often seemed like I was noticing different women than the guys I was hanging out with.

Elizabeth Montgomery-Bewitched

   Of course, as a high school kid, this did me absolutely no good. I was no more able to approach girls than I was to engage in rope-climbing in the gym. Two totally foreign concepts! I could see other guys performing both, flawlessly, and was in awe. The geeks and I hung out, for sure.
   Oddly enough, in public school, I remember being quite adroit with the ladies. The group of us flirted endlessly, held hands, kissed, and switched allegiances constantly. High school, for whatever reason, ended all of this and there occurred, in Grade Nine, the death of a ladies' man (to borrow from Leonard Cohen).

Stephanie Powers-Girl from U.N.C.L.E.

   Several years passed before I caught my stride a little. I had always been pretty obtuse around women and generally never picked up on any subtle clues that they might actually have been interested in me. As an adult, quite often I would go back and re-live some of those bygone interactions and realize that, indeed, I had been an idiot for not picking up on some of that stuff!
   I've been interspersing some of the above with pictures of several of the women I found most attractive in my adolescent days. This, obviously, was before the internet wherein images of beautiful women are daily at your fingertips. In the olden days, TV was about the only way you were going to find wonderful women actually moving and speaking on screen. And that was generally once a week, so you had to pay attention to the TV guide and make your weekly claim to the boob tube!
   Those were heady times for a young boy in the midst of his own hormonal explosion and I was quite totally in love (lust) with all the pictured women and many more--Jane Fonda, Mary Tyler Moore, Anne Francis, Inger Stevens, Barbara Eden, etc.
   There have been several generations of beautiful women in the intervening years and differing definitions about what constitutes beauty. I am one of the believers of the axiom that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder". This is true of both art and women. My career choice has had me working with a multitude of attractive women over the years and quite often the level of their beauty is intrinsically tied in to the type of women they are. I have watched some of the most beautiful of them walk up to me with almost no effect whatsoever. On the other hand, I can spend time with a woman who may have some stereotypical "flaw" and yet feel a slightly surging pulse rate when they are around.

   So, as I said, I like women. I have not always treated them well, for a variety of reasons in a variety of situations. There are times when I've wanted to go back and fix things, maybe do them differently--all the way from high school to my fifties. I have also seen the way other men treat women and find this deplorable. There have been subtle things--men moving their wives or girlfriends hundreds or thousands of miles away from their loved ones. Men berating their wives in front of company. And less subtle things. I remember being in a hockey dressing room once with a woman who'd been abused by her husband. Her husband was in the arena somewhere but she was the one who had the kids and she was desperately trying not to be the last person left in the dressing room. You could visibly see the panic in her as the other parents started to filter out. Finally, there was just her and her kids and me and mine. The fear she had of being alone in this room with her abusive husband in the vicinity was almost palpable and I told her I would be happy to wait until she was ready to go. The relief on her face was undeniable, and she thanked me profusely. This was as close as I've come to this kind of situation but I understand they exist everywhere and, as a man, it disheartens and sickens me. And will probably be a whole other blog someday...

Lori, my ex-wife, with my sons, Bryant on the left, Ben on the right

   I have been blessed, in many ways, in my relationships with women. I have had the good fortune to have been married to the two most wonderful women I know. There came a point in my life when I had to decide to be with one over the other and, in the process of doing this, caused much pain to many people. I strongly suspect that one of these days I will write about that experience here, if there comes a day when I can finally wrench it out of me. One of the most wonderful things about the both of them is the mothers they are and the fierce, protective love they have for their kids. How lucky those boys are!
   And, as I mentioned, how lucky I've been!

Keenan, Callum, my wife Doralyn and Quinlan

   Women will never be understood, at least not by men. The minefield that is women has been fodder for conjecture, bemusement, anger, confusion and stand-up routines for generations. I tiptoe through it with amazement most of the time. I is a minefield I have misstepped in many times and pieces of me have then been found, scattered all about. Whether I've learned by any of my mistakes is up for conjecture but I do try not to make the same one twice. I guess the trick is to have at least one saving grace. And maybe one more up your sleeve...
   I say this all in praise of women, would that the world was ruled by them. It is hard to picture women constantly sending their children off to fight. It is not hard to see them as the providers we all need them to be. So appreciate them. Guard them. And, while you're at it, just love them!

The only thing better than me liking women is women liking women!

  
  
  

  
  
  

Writer's Block

    Right at the moment, I am having a bit of a case of "writer's block". My principal problem is that I can't think of anything in particular to be writing about. I'm pretty sure that, given a topic, sitting down and whipping something off would be fairly easy. So what I have decided to do is write about "writer's block", in the hopes that something will come to me in the meantime and that, in the meantime, I'll at least be writing!
   As you may have noticed, I blog fairly infrequently. Most of you are my friends so why harass you all with constant blogging!! Apart from that, I usually feel as though I have very little of importance to be imparting to a particular audience on a daily basis, hence the infrequency. Hell, usually I can't even come up with a Facebook status!
   Back almost a year ago when I started all this, it felt as though there were several pressing issues on my mind that I'd been pondering for a long time that really needed expounding on. So I did that. And it's done. And there's nothing else.
   I went through something similar way back when I began writing poetry. At the time, there just seemed so much to be writing about and that's what I did--wrote and wrote and wrote. Much of it was consequential stuff, some of it got published. But I was writing about everything and found, after awhile, that not everything needed to be written about. So I stopped. And this was probably one of the worst decisions of my life.
   I think.
   One thing precipitating that cessation was that I became interested in music, that is making it, and found that suddenly my creative juices had been re-directed. When once there had been a time when I might have wandered off somewhere to write a poem I was now heading down to the "dungeon", my former basement, to create music. I had taught myself how to play a keyboard and ended up purchasing a digital keyboard with which I was able to play many different instruments and then layer them over each other. Often this music reverberated throughout the house and my ex referred to it as my "Phantom" phase.
   So that is how I dealt with that particular writer's block. This one, I'm still working on!
   I have a friend who blogs daily. She is an extremely good and perceptive writer whose blogs I greatly look forward to reading. The fact that she is able to come up with something on a daily basis boggles my mind. I am not sure if she's due to peter out some day soon so time will tell but, right at the moment, I'm quite jealous. If there's one thing I do know, though, it's that writer's block will, at one time or another, affect every writer.
   *there was a typo in that last sentence--when I originally wrote the word "time", I accidentally substituted the letter "o" for the letter "i"--thus making the word "tome"--how Freudian is that*

   So I've had some fun writing about not writing. I'm sure that at some point soon something really worth writing about will pop up and off I will go. I have only been averaging about 1 blog a month since I've started and hope to greatly increase the frequency of this in the future.
   Oh yeah, and I'm gonna write a novel.....
  

  
  

My Yearly Physical

    I had my yearly physical yesterday. I arrived at my doctor's office unusually early only to find out she and the office staff were off on what I presumed was their lunch break (as it was lunch time!) So I had about ten minutes to kill and this gave me ten more minutes to deal with the usual trepidation I have around yearly physicals.
   Now, the only real reason I have for any amount of anxiety over physicals revolves around the old prostate (I suspect several things revolve around my prostate--my anxiety is only one of them...) and my doctor's wish to thoroughly examine it. On a yearly basis he simply refuses to acknowledge my own belief that my prostate's just fine (thank you) and insists on investigating it.
   Okay, I'm pretty sure he could just take a damn x-ray or ultrasound--seems routine procedure for investigating internal organs these days but NO--he actually wants to feel it! Because of this crazy desire of his, my doctor and my ass have been dating for several years now, ever since my mid-forties or so. Their relationship has lasted longer than many marriages, even given the fact that there's a bit of a menage a trois going on--my doctor, my ass and me. The relationship did start off on a bit of a tense note; my ass and I have been together, well, forever and introducing someone else into the mix was tricky, to say the least. But, between the three of us (and some calming words mixed with a dollop of lube) there arrived that point in a relationship where a nice little comfort level had been attained. 

   What added to the trepidation on this visit, however, was the fact that it was not my regular doctor who was going to be administering the physical! My regular doctor is a man, and I've been seeing him for about 25 years now. Quite recently, though, he has had his daughter assisting with his practice. When I called to set up this appointment I was told that I could get in much sooner if I was willing to have his daughter see me. Now, his daughter I assume is probably 25 or so. She, however, looks like she might be 15. My instinct cried out to go for the later appointment but I have dealt with this young lady before and found her to be quite knowledgeable and pretty up-to-date on the latest in the medical world. There was also this feeling that one of these days she was likely going to be my regular family doctor and so why not just jump in now?!

   With this, though, came the realisation that she would also be jumping in and beginning her own likely long-term relationship with my prostate. I have never (in at least a fully conscious state!) been examined by a female medical staff down there. Anywhere down there. From the belly up and the thigh down all sorts of women have had a go at me but that broad expanse in between has been virtually sacrosanct. This, however, was about to change.
   And it was going to change even more than I had imagined!
   After I'd been sitting in the waiting room for about five minutes reading children's books (the adult's books were across the room and if I was in good enough shape to stand and walk then I didn't really need to be seeing a doctor, did I? and, anyway, I was hoping to learn something...) a young lady appeared, with a file, and called my name. She introduced herself and said she was interning with my family doctor. What she wanted to do, prior to my exam, was sit down and ask me some questions. I have been in many similar situations where an intern trying to get his or her feet wet would sit down with a patient and do some interviewing before the REAL doctor got there. I assumed this was what was happening in this case, as well.
   Wrong.
   After going through her questions and asking me what my present concerns were, she asked me to partially disrobe and get up on the exam table.
   At this point, I started to get a little concerned--if I had to be examined by a lady doctor I wanted it to be the lady doctor I was already afraid of! 

   So I did as I was asked, and waited. She returned shortly and, sure enough, began to do my physical. She seemed somewhat tentative and nervous and appeared to want me covered up even more than I wanted me covered up. The basics of the exam went just fine, everything checked out quite okay. The last part of the exam, however, involved her introducing herself to my prostate. The last thing I remember seeing before turning myself toward the wall was a glob of lubricating fluid about the size of a cow patty. Generally when you are meeting someone for the first time, you offer your hand. This is how she proceeded with my prostate. The initial meeting over and done with, it then felt as though she had decided that, as long as she was in there anyway, she might just as well introduce herself to every other organ or anatomical structure within reach up to and including my lower esophagus!
   Finally, this part of the exam was over. Regaining eye contact after something like that was something that appeared I'd had more practice with than her. At long last, though, I was back to fully dressed and we could both just sit there and talk, as if nothing untoward had recently transpired between the two of us. My recent bloodwork had all been normal (I suspect, for a man my age) and we talked briefly about any nagging little concerns I might have had about this and that. Toward the end of it all (pun?) she handed me the envelope containing the fecal occult blood testing paraphernalia. This is what you use when....oh, what the hell, you don't wanna know. I told her I would be happy to add it to the pile of unused test kits I'd accumulated over the years for which I did receive some gentle admonishment on her part. She did ask me, a little bit too eagerly, if I'd ever been "scoped" up in those parts. I replied in the negative. She seemed almost ready to book me a scope appointment but then, I'm sure, remembered that it wouldn't be her doing it, so why bother...?
  
  

Installation/Fabrication--Visiting the Tinkls

   Back in the summer we had the opportunity to visit the converted schoolhouse of Viktor and Judith Tinkl, local artists who'd offered up their home as part of the Uxbridge Studio Tour, 2011 version. The studio tour involves artists opening up their homes and places of work to the general public, free of charge. We had the time to visit three or four places and saw many wonderful works of art on a bright and beautiful day.

Judith and Viktor

   What made the day unforgettable for us, though, was the visit to the Tinkl property.
   None of us were prepared for the mind-altering (almost) experience we had there. The Tinkls live on a plot of land just off a country road set in amidst the rolling hills surrounding Uxbridge. Their property is very well treed and from the road you only get tantalizing glimpses of their world. Once you set actual foot on their land, however, you find yourself face-to-face with Viktor Tinkl's whimsical, almost-maniacal and constantly startling vision.

   Viktor Tinkl has fashioned a world out of concrete, a world that is larger than life and inhabited by forms, shapes and creatures straight out of his feverish imagination. They are everywhere and at every turn. They tower above you and are almost underfoot. They poke out from bushes, peek around corners and march in formation. They are skeletal and phallic. They are child-like. They are devilish. It seems as though every nook and cranny of Viktor and Judith's property offers up new discoveries to ponder.

   Viktor started populating his home with his concrete installations back in the sixties and has been at it ever since. As with many artists, it has obviously been a labour of love. Visiting there is a jaw-dropping experience and somewhat difficult to describe. One is soon reminded of a Tim Burton animated movie, many of the figures are stick-like and bone-thin, some are grotesque and still somehow humourous and sympathetic. In amongst the tons of concrete are woven bits of everyday, discarded life. Nothing goes to waste on the Tinkl property, no bit of garbage, no beer cap, lightbulb, coffee cup, Lego figure, playing card, wine bottle, tin can, piece of glass, or chunk of wood is unused. Many of his contraptions move and are interactive. And have no purpose other than to tease and delight!

The concrete installation dedicated to Greg Curnoe (on the bike) and one of Viktor's friends

   At one point of the tour, I had the chance to talk to Viktor. We did a little small talk and he asked me where we were from. When I told him we were from London his reply was, "Oh, that would be Greg Curnoe country!" Curnoe was a very well-known London artist who was tragically killed in a cycling accident back in 1992. Viktor and Greg were contemporaries at the time in the art world and knew each other well. At this point, Viktor turned and pointed to one of his installations which was towering above us. It depicted a man riding the handlebars of a bike being driven by another man who was playing a fiddle. Viktor said he'd created this piece to commemorate both Curnoe and another personal friend of his who had been very musically inclined and who had also passed away. Kind of a relevant and touching moment for someone from London!

   One of the more striking installations we came across was a platoon of "soldiers" marching double-file through the tall grass. There was a militaristic starkness to it that was mesmerizing. I made a mental note that I really needed to return in the winter sometime, to see these soldiers marching through the snow.

"Tangled Web"

"Cockroach and Scorpion"

   Viktor's wife, Judith, is a wonderfully talented artist as well. Her work permeates the Tinkl's indoor studio with fabric designs and amazing quilts. There is an astounding array of textures, colours, and inter-woven "found" objects-buttons and beads and the like. You quickly realise that what you're looking at is not likely going to end up on a bed somewhere, this is art that needs to be prominently displayed, in a place of honour. Judith began her artistic career drawing and painting. When asked why she chose to work almost exclusively with fabric and textiles, her reply was, "I didn't choose them, they chose me!" As with the surrounding land, every turned corner (and they seem to be endless!) of the studio building presents the visitor with new things to marvel at. And as mentioned before, nothing gets thrown out--beer caps, used Timmies cups, spent caulking cartridges--whatever might have been used making the art finds its way back into the art!

Caulking Plane

   It was very hard to visit the Tinkls and not be somehow inspired by all that you saw there. When I talked with Viktor he said that a common thread that came up with visitors is that many of them wanted to return there in order to "help". I myself understood where this might come from, I also had a desire to be a part of the magic. He told me that what he says to offers of assistance is that people are more than welcome to come and "dig holes"! He said, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye, that this response generally dulls visitors' enthusiasm. For my part, I might have been happy digging holes!

30 Years of Alice and Me

   I recently celebrated my 30th anniversary of being employed by the Alice Saddy Association. I have paused to reflect many times as this anniversary approached in an attempt to put into perspective its significance.

The house on Wolfe Street, where it all began...

   Thirty years does seem like a long time, I suppose. Like most such stretches, though, it has passed by quickly. And though it seems like a significantly long time to be employed anywhere I must note that there are a couple of people who have been there longer and a whole host of people following closely in my footsteps. So I guess it must be a pretty good place to work if people are happy to be there that long!
    For those of you who aren't aware, the Alice Saddy Association is an agency that provides support to adults with developmental challenges. We have been doing this since 1973 and started as a very small agency. We were still quite small when I started there in 1981, we had a large old house on Wolfe Street in which up to eight people lived at a time and possibly another ten to fifteen people living in individual apartments out in the community. In the intervening years we have grown tremendously and now support 150 people. The staff group has grown from about 8 to 120.

...and a couple of places....

   What all this growth has meant to me is that I've met and worked with many, many amazing people over the years and found myself doing an incomprehensibly wide range of tasks and activities. Sometimes I've needed to be reminded of things I've been involved with; every once in awhile one of the other tenured staff will dredge up a memory and this will then spark a train of thought that leads us to all sorts of places we'd nearly forgotten about. If you do this enough times you end up being astounded at some of the things that have transpired over the years!
   The following is a partial list of some of the places and things I've been to and done with Alice over the years, as they randomly pop up in my head----planned a funeral, accompanied someone to court, rescued a person from an old cluttered house, wiped a butt (many of them!), moved someone (many times!), ducked or dodged a variety of "weapons", celebrated birthdays, worked in a bakery, changed a dressing, killed a bed bug, wrote a eulogy, went to a meeting (way too many of them!), felt for a dying man's pulse, made breakfast, cuddled on a couch, spied on the neighbours, cried, used a walkie-talkie, drove a van full of people, started a BBQ, cleared a path, picked out furniture, held a hand, stopped at a Tim's (many, many times!), drove to Timmins, Woodstock, Goderich, (you name it), picked out a coffin, flirted, swallowed some pride, ran a meeting, got out of a meeting, mopped up sewage, shingled a roof, landscaped, made a speech, coloured a picture, shaved off my beard, fell in love.

...where it still continues!

   And, believe me, that was only a partial list..... 
   Through the years, though, it has not only been the things I've seen and done but the people I've come to know along the way. And it has been a very diverse group of people. Because of this diversity, my own life has been enriched in small increments. As other people's stories unfold it is impossible to not apply what you have learned to your own life, whether it is something going on in the life of a person you support or something one of your fellow staff members is dealing with. Part of your job is to assist people as they move through the various stages of their lives and, after awhile, you find yourself going through the some of the same stages in your life. And because you have already helped someone deal with whatever the change has been, it is now easier to deal with yourself.
   Back to diversity. The people I've come to know through Alice have represented pretty well every walk of life, socio-economic group, ethnicity, sexual orientation, psycho-social characteristic and age group. Yes, I do enjoy big words! What this means is that I've seen it all, pretty well. And, now that I've said that, sure as shooting something will come up tomorrow I've never run into before and my life will simply continue to be enriched in this way!
   Some of the people who have helped with this enrichment are no longer with us. Several of those have been staff I worked along side of, others have been people who my goal was to support in their daily lives. Some left us suddenly and some left us time to prepare, in whatever way we thought we could, for a time when our paths would no longer cross. In all cases I am so thankful for having known them and they must know that they are remembered fondly. 
   Reflecting on my thirty-year career, I find myself with very few regrets and few things I might have changed. There have been moments of self-discovery. In subtle ways you are sometimes given much power over people and there is a huge onus on us all to wield this power responsibly. Have I done this well at every opportunity? Possibly not. But if I haven't I do think that when I went back and reviewed what went on I was able to see how I'd subtly misused my authority or power or whatever you would like to name it and then figured out what I needed to do to avoid that in the future.
   Regrets, as I mentioned, I have few of. One does come to mind, though. There was a time quite awhile ago when hiring new people was one of my responsibilties. I hired someone once and, to this day, I have deeply regretted doing so, and have often wished I could run into this person just one more time and tell them just exactly how I feel about them. My desire to do this is also something I regret....
   So all of this reflecting has me wondering just what lies ahead. I am not that far away from retirement age and before you know it I will need to make some plans around this. Life without Alice? A little hard to imagine, for sure! I still work full-time and for pretty well all those years I had a shift or two at the old building on Wolfe Street. These have now ended (never say "never") and it does feel strange to pass by that building and have very little reason to enter the place where it all started for me. I can only imagine that retirement will be a gradual sort of thing and that hopefully I will still be involved, if not by actually working then simply by spending time with people.
   The other day I had lunch with one of the staff I've known the longest. She herself is not far off the 30 year mark. I met her when she was a "kid",  a brand-new student from Fanshawe College. We ended up talking about the days when we all were younger and a touch more vital and how, in the intervening years, a new generation has emerged. We spent a little time trying to see ourselves in them but it was difficult, as I suppose it is for any generation looking at the young coming up from behind. What I do know is that among all these young people there are those who have the energy, drive and commitment that will help ensure that, as Alice carries on and continues to grow and change, the lives of the people we support will be in good hands. Which is to say, their hands, not our's!