Randomness

   I've been avoiding this for over a week now.
   As I've mentioned before, my posts in "Neanderings" arise mostly whenever a train of thought envelopes me with its persistence on an ongoing basis. Some of these trains of thought are more persistent than others and that's when you end up with me here, fumbling away with words and their meaning. I guess today is one of those days.
   A little over a week ago, a driver lost control of her vehicle outside the entrance of a Costco here in London. Somehow or other, the vehicle managed to find its way through the barriers guarding the entrance of Costco and then plowed into a pregnant mother and her two children.
   The woman's six-year-old daughter, after being held on life support long enough to donate organs, died. The woman, who was eight months pregnant, underwent an emergency C-section in an attempt to save both her and her unborn baby's life. Sadly, the newborn infant also passed away a few days after the accident. The mother and her other daughter are recovering. After some internal debate, I have decided not to post the girl's name or picture. Frankly, I become extremely sad looking at her pictures and I'm sure they would have the same effect on a reader. Instead, look at any other young child you know and you will see the same qualities.

   I would be hard-pressed to describe any other single incident in the city's history which has involved more of an outpouring of grief involving one of its own than this one.
   The young girl has been described as an "angel". Shown a picture of her in life and I am sure you would agree. In a few short days, the people of London donated $30,000, towards her funeral expenses. Costco is matching, dollar for dollar, any contributions made at their stores, up to $50,000. Thousands attended a candlelight vigil. Much sorrow (and a little anger) has been expressed all over social media and in print.
   I think one of the things which struck us the most was the random nature of this horrific event.
   When you hop into a car and drive away there is this implicit danger. When you are playing sports there is a real possibility that you may get hurt. Swimming in a rough lake, walking deep into the forest. There are a whole host of things we do and activities we engage in which carry along with them at least some small portion of acknowledged risk.
   Standing inside a Costco, on the other side of barriers which are there for the express purpose of protecting you and the building should not be one of those "acknowledged risk" situations.
   Instead, it seemed almost as if there was malignant purpose behind this event, that somehow a vehicle was guided through those barriers (otherwise, how could it have happened) and directed straight at this young family. This didn't seem like the accidental type of occurrence we all assume the risk of as we go about our daily lives.
   It was, of course, random.
   Rather than an orchestrated event, it was simply the intersection of a whole series of seemingly unrelated actions, thoughts, and circumstances, all of which had to happen before this tragedy could occur. If any one of a million small things had possibly been different leading up to these deaths, then they might not have happened at all.

   The randomness of this is what contributes to the sorrow and anger. We're all pissed off because there is no rhyme or reason to any of it and without rhyme or reason contributing to how we lead our lives, what's there to do?
   If you really stop to think about it (but don't, because if you do, you will be frozen) there are an almost infinitesimal number of things which need to either happen or not happen simply for us to survive. As one small example, think of the thousands of cars we pass going the other way on a daily basis. Our lives and/or well-being depend totally on that other driver's health, state of mind and the condition of his car. Any of those things could be in a state of disrepair which might cause his car to swerve into yours. And yet we pass these cars constantly, with no thought towards the random possibilities they all present.
   I have an aunt who was doing nothing more than walking along a sidewalk when a driver who was pulling out of a parking lot hit and killed her. His defence was that the sun was in his eyes. Hard to know whether this was true or not but, at the same time, if my aunt had been a few steps faster or a few steps slower or if perhaps the sun had been at a different point in the sky then this tragedy would have been averted. Such small, almost mathematical things, having such an impact on us.
   The grief here in London is palpable but at the same time there are people dying horrifically all over the world. Planes and rockets are falling out of the sky and we are presented with images of other dead children from around the world, any of whom would be as angelic as the ones we just lost. I am sure their deaths seem as infuriatingly random as these ones closer to home.
   As much, though, as we rail at the seeming senselessness of this young girl's death, there is something else to consider. As I mentioned at the beginning, she was able to give the gift of her organs. This one act would have saved the lives of several others. To the loved ones of anyone who was saved when this six-year-old passed, how exquisitely (and yet somehow excruciatingly) random was this gift? 
   

Merry-Go-Round

   It was the summer of '72 and I was nineteen. In an effort to procure enough money for my first year at Western University, I had landed a pretty well quintessential summer job. I spent that summer running the merry-go-round at Springbank Park!
   The year before, in the fall, I had been riding my bike past the amusement area in Springbank and discovered that a couple of my friends from Oakridge Secondary had jobs there. I was in the market for a few extra bucks and, at the time, they were in the market for someone to push their little ice cream truck around. Given that I needed the money and that I already knew some of the guys there, it seemed like a good match.

The merry-go-round in question...

   In those days, there was a thriving amusement area down by the river adjacent to Storybook Gardens. There were a couple of "riverboats" which went up and down the Thames River, there were canoes and paddleboats, and there was, of course, the merry-go-round. The area always seemed jam-packed, particularly on sunny, summer weekends.
   The fall of '71, though, had me simply pushing around the ice cream truck. The ice cream consisted of foil-wrapped ice cream bars and little else, so nothing fancy. I'd pick up the cart at one of the concession booths, push it down to the amusement area, sell ice cream, push it back to the concession stand at the end of the day and tally up the money. At various times throughout my shift, someone might bring me more ice cream.
   It was while I was doing the ice cream truck job that I had my first run-in with the boss, Ron.
   Ron was the guy who owned and ran the whole amusement area and the concession stands, both in the park and in Storybook Gardens. At some point during the day, he would show up, see how things were going and then leave again. This, generally, was fine with us.
   Ron is a little difficult to describe.
   Part of my difficulty in describing him is because, whenever possible, I prefer to say positive things about people. It could be that I just never got to know the man well enough but, this many years later, no positive words come.
   Ron was a bit of a bully. At least, that's the way he came across to me.
   My first run-in came when I was working the ice cream truck. He had dropped off two or three boxes of different flavoured ice cream bars and I set about putting them into the truck. I was attempting to take the individual flavours and stack them together so that if a customer asked for a particular flavour I could instantly reach down and procure it for them.
   Well, Ron didn't like the way I was doing that, was afraid the ice cream might melt, went up one side of me and down the other and took all the ice cream and just dumped everything into the truck, leaving me to sort through the jumbled pile, looking for the flavour my customers were requesting. That, and the fact that he did that in front of a bunch of customers and then just walked away, left kind of a bitter taste in my mouth to this day.
  

Where I wanted to be working....

Yet, in spite of this introduction to Ron, I showed up again the following spring, looking for employment.
   My dream there would have been to work on the paddleboats. There was kind of this sense of camaraderie down there, as there were always a couple of guys working together. Unfortunately, the position which needed filling at the time was on the merry-go-round. Not my first choice, but a job was a job!
   My introduction to the merry-go-round was in the summer of '72. I worked the whole day, from opening to close, about 12 hours. My first shift there involved rolling up the covers which hung down overnight, around the outside of the merry-go-round. Until I got the hang of this, I thought my wrists would fall off! The next big trick was learning how to hop onto the merry-go-round when it was at full speed. The first time doing this, I got my leg in front of one of the metal posts which supported the top of the merry-go-round. This almost took my leg off and I very quickly learned that you hopped on just after the post went by!
   I quickly got into the regular routine, though, and the job wasn't too bad. You kind of had to enjoy going around and around and around and you kind of had to enjoy listening to the same 8-track over and over and over. I didn't always enjoy this.
   It wasn't too long after I started working the merry-go-round that I had my second nasty encounter with Ron.
   One of the riders had gotten a small glob of grease on her clothes and Ron went up one side of me and down the other again for not checking all of the overhead bearings. Apparently I was supposed to have been climbing up there and not only greasing them but also keeping an eye out for excess grease. And I would have been happy to do this if anybody had told me anything about it! 
   Ron had a right-hand man named Waddy (not sure what his real name was) but he was the fix-it guy and he took great pains to not only show me the greasing routine that day but also to build up what was left of my almost non-existent self-esteem. Right after Ron walked away, Waddy almost literally took me under his wing and I clearly remember him saying, "Mother always said there'd be days like this. She just never said when." After that, I always loved it whenever Waddy showed up.

The merry-go-round, as it appears today.

   For the most part, working the merry-go-round was not a bad summer job. The weekends were tremendously busy back in those days but things levelled off a fair bit during the week. We were all young and knew each other pretty well so this was conducive to having a good time. Sometimes the comments travelling back and forth between the docks and the merry-go-round area were pretty ribald (for lack of a more accurate term) as long as there weren't too many customers around within hearing range. Occasionally, hand signals did the trick.
   Some of my favourite times were at night, right around closing time. As it darkened, the lights of the merry-go-round took over and it looked like a wholly different entity, much the same as a house with Christmas lights. I remember getting ready to shut it down the odd time and a parent with a kid would come straggling along and, at that point, I would simply let them ride for free. This just seemed to add to the magic.
   The summer of '72 was a long one. We all worked twelve hour days, six days a week, for not a lot of money. I did, however, earn enough money for my first and last (but that's another story) year at Western.
   A postscript, about my boss, Ron. As I mentioned before, Ron was not my favourite person and I always carried a bit of a sense of loathing about him, long after I ever was an employee of his. Many (probably about thirty-five) years after my summer stint working for him, I found myself in the emergency department of a local hospital. I had taken both my parents there because my stepmom was quite ill. As I was standing at the triage window, explaining her plight, suddenly Ron appeared at my side. It was a double window and he was there attempting to get some pain relief for his wife, who had been struggling with cancer.
   This was a much older and much more tired and distressed version of Ron than I remembered. My experience with him had only been brief all those many years ago but I couldn't help but think that maybe karma, if there was such a thing, was at work here. Could it be that all the negativity he put into his dealings with people had come back to haunt him? That was the first thought which ran through my head. The fact of the matter was that I had changed, as well, and I no longer viewed him in the same way as I had way back then. Now it was possible to regard him as much more of an everyman, someone who was likely sharing many of the same trials and tribulations of life we all do. He wouldn't have remembered me so I didn't bother to re-introduce myself to him as we stood there beside each other. We went our separate ways and, as we did, I realized that my feelings for this man had clearly softened and I kind of wished him well, in my head.
   A second postscript, this one about my wife, Doralyn.
   Doralyn grew up on a street literally a stone's throw away from Springbank Park, where I had worked that summer. During that summer, she would have been four and a half years old and told me that her mum used to take her to the park and have her ride the merry-go-round all the time. And I would have been the one who took her ticket and maybe even the one who helped her up on the horse. Once again, was karma maybe at work?
  

A Funny Little Convergence

   The past week and a half has been a little strange--just odd little things happening at strange times.
   I turned sixty just recently and those milestone birthdays tend to make you think back on things in your life just a touch. My boss of over thirty-one years just announced recently that he was retiring. I am in no position to retire myself but his announcement, as you might imagine, has led me to look back at my working life as well. Listening to him talk about his retirement plans has also made me just a little wistful as to what my plans for the future might be.
   Then, as I'm standing in a Tim Horton's with one of the people I support this past week, the lady ahead of me recognizes my voice, turns around and it is Irene, one of the Alice Saddy staff who worked there back when I first started. I hadn't run into her in probably eight or nine years. She, as well, is just in the middle of preparing for retirement and was amazed that I still worked at Alice. We chatted briefly and then went our separate ways. This, of course, gives me pause for even more reflection on my life.

"The Beatles Are Back" into my little convergence...

   The day after that, I get the chance opportunity to attend a performance at Budweiser Gardens with Doralyn. For the past few years, she and a friend have been purchasing a subscription to "Broadway in London", a series of musical performances put on at the Gardens. That particular night, Doralyn's friend was unable to attend and I became the fortunate recipient of her ticket. The performance we saw was by a group called "Rain",  a Beatles tribute band. I was happy enough to go but was somewhat prepared for this show to possibly be mildly lame--honestly, how do you do justice to the Beatles? Well, I was blown away. They looked like the Beatles (from a distance) and, more importantly, they sounded like the Beatles. Part of the multi-media presentation involved film clips from the early years of rock 'n' roll, leading up to the arrival of the Beatles. Beyond that, there were also film clips from Beatles T.V. and concert appearances. Some of what I saw was stuff I'd seen the first time around, particularly the T.V. footage. I was wowed, even more so than concerts generally make me.
   It struck me as I sat there in Budweiser Gardens, that this, then, was yet another convergence of my past with my present.

12 hours a day, six days a week...

   Earlier on this week, a picture of the merry-go-round at Springbank Park showed up on Facebook. It was a picture taken many years ago when the merry-go-round was in its original location, near the river bank. I spent the summer of '72 running that merry-go-round and its sudden appearance on Facebook struck me as yet another criss-crossing of time and memory. Doralyn was five years old that summer and tells me that she used to ride the merry-go-round all the time, if you want to count that as a convergence.
   Now that I think of it, the week before last, I was with another person I support at the Bay in White Oaks Mall and we were buying something in the menswear department. We were served by a gentleman named Ken, at least that's what his name tag said. Ken doesn't know it, but he and I go back about 40 years. Back in '70 or '71 my sort-of girlfriend at the time called me up, terribly excited. She'd just been to the Simpsons store downtown and had seen a salesclerk who looked just like Art Garfunkel, of Simon and Garfunkel fame. At the time, she and I were huge fans of Simon and Garfunkel and she just had to take me downtown to show him to me. We made it downtown and had to lurk around the menswear department until this guy made an appearance (I think I pretended I was shopping for something) and when he finally showed up I had to admit that he did look quite a bit like Art Garfunkel. Well, that was Ken and Ken still works in the men's department, more than forty years later and, in fact, served us two weeks ago! I guess that counts as a bit of a convergence, although, frankly, I wasn't even thinking about that chance meeting when I sat down to write this blog post and I suppose the fact that Ken was my Dad's name and Ken is the name of my aforementioned boss who's retiring seems almost irrelevant.
   I suppose all of the above could simply be coincidental. I can't help but think, though, of all those old stories about ancient prophecies which predicted that, on a certain convergence of events, monumental things would happen in the universe.
   I'm not sure if I'm prepared for monumental things to happen in my life and I don't know if any of these intersecting occurrences are the slightest bit significant. I suspect they are all merely incidental chance.
  Unless, of course, they mean that soon someone will arrive in the world who is all-knowing and powerful and who can use their abilities to steer us all toward world peace. And that his name will be Ken...? Who knows?

Oxford Street

   It seems as though I have been driving down Oxford Street my whole life. I got my driver's licence round about '71 and my Oxford Street history commenced then. Prior to '71, we grocery shopped at the Loblaws(?) at the Oakridge Plaza at Hyde Park and Oxford. I remember this mainly because I'd moved here from Vancouver in '64 and never in my life had I experienced humidity like they have here in London. The Loblaws store was also the first place I'd ever experienced air conditioning and it was such a wonderful place to be! We also made occasional forays along Oxford to get to the Twilite Drive-In at Highway 22 and Hyde Park.
   At this point I should probably mention that, at the time, I was living and growing up in Oakridge Acres. I attended Hutton Road Public School, corner of Hutton Road (now Wonderland) and Oxford and then Oakridge Secondary, on Oxford near Hyde Park.
   So it seems as though my early life was intrinsically tied to Oxford, and the closely surrounding area. In the sixties, there was a very rural feel to the whole area. Hutton Road School actually bordered a farm and I can remember one day when a bunch of us gathered by the school fence so we could watch a calf being born. Doesn't get too much more rural than that!
   Progress, however, well... progressed. Farms were torn down for firehalls and housing, malls were built, and highrises went up. All the people living in, working at or shopping in these places travelled along Oxford to get there and I soon joined them!
   Shortly after getting my licence, I occasionally was allowed to drive our second car to and from high school. I'd pick up my friend Bob from around the corner and off we would go. At the time, we had some kind of car that used what my Dad referred to as "vacuum wipers". Don't know if this was the actual term for them and for sure don't understand the technology behind them but the end result was that when you sped up, the wipers slowed down!
   Because of this, I distinctly remember one very rainy morning when Bob and I were attempting to negotiate the hill on Oxford just east of the high school. It was a downpour and we found we more or less had to gun it to get up the hill. Well, the more we gunned it the slower the wipers got! As a matter of fact, before we reached the apex of the hill they stopped! Much nervous laughter between two neophyte high school drivers ensued (along with some cussing...). To this very day, I find myself remembering this just about every single time I drive up that same hill.
   Eventually, as progress progressed, Oxford (in the Oakridge area anyway) turned from one lane to two, speeds increased, etc. and it became much more of a thoroughfare. My old public school was sold and eventually demolished, its bricks became a tiny little strip mall and its playground became a Gulf station. All, of course, at the corner of Oxford and Wonderland. And I, of course, ended up working at the Gulf station, watching Oxford pass me by every day.
   My first apartment was kitty-corner to that wonderful air-conditioned Loblaws and I took the bus down Oxford to get to the gas station(I washed cars there). This led to other stuff, different jobs, strange romances, a wonderful woman, wonderful kids, a home in a totally different part of the city, another wonderful woman and more wonderful kids and now I travel down Oxford street every day of my life.
   Pretty well every day of my life for almost 20 years now. And along the way there are familiar faces. I only know bits and pieces about most of them and about some of them I know almost nothing. If you travel Oxford Street at all on any kind of regular basis you may(almost assuredly) have passed by them. You may even have noticed them.
   There is a woman. She lives in a building reserved mainly for people with psychiatric issues. I noticed her the first time about almost ten years ago. She smokes and is nervous. Her hair used to be straight and jet black. It is almost white now.
   There is a man, standing by the side of the street, watching the traffic. His mouth moves, his hands wave and he plays with things. He's had cancer but you wouldn't know it. He'll talk yo you. Unless he knows you.
   She has a walker and crosses the street slowly. If the sidewalk is impassable, she will walk down the roadway and there will be almost no room for cars to pass safely.
   He propels his wheelchair with his feet, not his hands. He's looking to remove any little bit of garbage he can find, mostly because he has to. One hand is almost useless and he'd like a doctor to cut it off but the doctor won't.
   There is a man on an island. I understand(co-incidentally)that his name is Brian. He drags one foot behind him and he carries a sign. He limps badly, unless he is in a Tim's, in which case, he's fine.
   A man on a bike, everywhere, aluminum cans and glass bottles in his bike carrier.

   I don't talk to most of these people, as I don't know them. I almost feel like I could though, there is that growing familiarity. Maybe even a wave would do, a honk on the phone.
   My car gives me a level of anonymity as I travel up and down Oxford Street, otherwise I wonder if some of these same people might notice me.  And, as much as we are all a constant with each other, Oxford Street itself changes slowly but relentlessly. I am blessed in that I am able to see this happen as it happens and not return, after perhaps having been gone for years, and not really know where I was anymore!
   We all have routes we travel every day. Mine is Oxford Street and these were some of the people who frequent it. I'm glad for their presence, too, it is a long stretch of road, from one end of the city to the other, and a familiar face enlivens it. Perhaps, one of these days, I should get out of my car...


* if you can guess the significance of the colour scheme I used in this blog, please comment*

P.S. Also, hope you enjoyed the 3D effect...
  
  
  

  

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!