Wrath Against the Math

Math always came naturally to my son.  I remember about a year and a half ago he asked my daughter to solve a complicated math equation that he rapidly rhymed off:  “What’s 4 + 6 – 5 + 9 – 7 + 8 – 3 + 10 – 2 + 12 – 1?”  My response to my son was:  “You don’t even know the answer to that question.  How do you expect your little sister to know?”  Yet, he insisted that he did know the answer.  So I suggested that he give his sister another question and this time I would pay close attention so that I could compute the answer in my head.  He rhymed off some random numbers and he gave me his answer; sure enough, it was the same answer I arrived at – barely.   My son’s mind worked so fast that I could just keep up and yet he was only 10 ½ years old at the time. 

Now it is his sister’s turn to learn arithmetic.  I have been working with her at home on learning basic addition and subtraction facts.  Her brother offered to drill her today and I thought it would be a nice break for me so I agreed.  They retreated into my son’s room and things went smoothly at first.  However, within a few minutes, I heard my daughter’s voice rising.  After all, she didn’t want to spend her summer doing homework!  The battle ensued inside the bedroom, although my son was managing to keep it together despite my daughter’s resistance.  The door opened and out came my daughter; my son followed and said that she only completed 50 out of 70 cards.  I said:  “We don’t go to the water park until you finish all of the cards.”  My little girl sprouted crocodile tears but reluctantly retreated back into the bedroom.  Finally, the battle was over.  Out came my children:  “How did she do?” I asked my son, knowing full well what had happened in there.  His response?  “Well, her math has improved, but her attitude hasn’t!” 



Cartoon courtesy http://www.cartoonstock.com/

Double Fisting Bologna

"Go! Go! Go!" cried the toddler as she double fisted bologna at the Germania Club in Hamilton.  My niece Cassandra, my sister's second-born, used to run to keep up with her sister, Amanda.  She was the fearless one, the risk taker of the family.  As she grew, she used to come to my house for sleepovers with her sister.  I remember Cassandra telling us a joke she made up at 7 years old:  "What do you call a girl standing on a cat?  --  A statue."  We have a photo of her sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of the Bell Homestead on the banks of the Grand River where we took her one summer.  I also recall her reasoning when Rob and I adopted our infant son and had to wait 3 weeks during which his birthparents could have changed their minds:  "Why don't Aunty Linda and Uncle Rob just take him to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Grand Bend (and hide out) until the 3 weeks are over?"  She desperately wanted a new cousin.  I also remember Cassandra getting her first pair of glasses at about 12 and my Mom calling her "Marion the Librarian"; I think they were more for fashion than for her eyes.  I enjoyed sitting in an old Anglican Church in downtown Hamilton and listening to Cassandra's beautiful voice during her years in the Hamilton Children's Choir.   She also took up sewing, inspired largely by her Nona, an immigrant from Italy during the 1950's.  During high school, Cassandra got involved with theatre.  She also went on a couple of mission trips, one to Eastern Europe and one to the U.S., with her church.  She graduated from high school with high marks, earning many awards.  This summer she is working as a seamstress at the Huron Country Playhouse in Grand Bend, the very place her mother worked as an usher back in the 1970's.  In the Fall, Cassandra heads to London's Fanshawe College to put her skills to good use in the fashion arts program.  The 2-year-old toddler who double-fisted bologna is now a 20-year-old woman.  Happy Birthday, Cassandra!

The Great Stink

In the year 1858, Londoners could be seen crossing the River Thames with handerkerchiefs over their noses.  The House of Commons staff had to soak their curtains in lime so as to not smell the stench coming in the windows.  And London's cemeteries were bulging at the seams with sometimes as many as 14 graves, one upon another, their occupants having succumbed to a dreaded disease called cholera.  This was the year of The Great Stink.  London, the world's largest city, had many congested areas where clean drinking water was at a premium.  Human waste was dumped into the River Thames at an alarming rate, especially with the invention of flush toilets.  The industrialized city also had hundreds of factories dumping toxic waste into the river.  Londoners took note that people who drank the water were falling ill and dying at a rapid rate, with major cholera outbreaks in 1831 and 1854.  As a short term solution, many residents started drinking beer or even gin to avoid getting sick.  Apparently, even children were given beer.  However, this practice gave birth to many alcoholics.  It wasn't until 1858 and the Great Stink, where many Londoners considered abandoning the city, that city planners finally got serious about the problem.  The solution came with Joseph Bazalgette's sewer system in the 1860s.  After the installation of the sewers, the River Thames lost its foul smell and its waters became palatable once again.  Only one other cholera outbreak occurred, in 1866, and its origins were traced to the River Lea, a tributary of the Thames. 



Cartoon courtesy http://rpmedia.ask.com/

Sunset over the Ice

The older I get, the more I realize how small the world really is.  I realize how we are all interconnected and that what happens on one side of the world can affect the other side of the world.  For instance, many people have heard of the volcano Krakatoa that exploded in August of 1883 on the Asian continent.  But how many  have heard of a painting called "Sunset over the Ice on Chaumont Bay, Lake Ontario" painted by Frederic Church in North America in December of 1883? 

Believe it or not, the volcano and the painting are directly related.  Krakatoa's explosion had many after effects including four tsunamis that killed 30,000 people and submerged hundreds of towns in sea water.  The dust that Krakatoa pumped into the air found its way across the ocean to North America where it hovered for months, affecting weather patterns everywhere.  In fact, Simon Winchester writes in his book Krakatoa that on one occasion the fire department of one town in New York state saw an orange ball across the Hudson river, jumped into their fire trucks and headed across the bridge, only to find out that it wasn't a fire they saw, but a sunset.  It was this type of sunset that Frederic Church painted on a beautiful evening over Lake Ontario. 

Here is the poem that I wrote inspired by Krakatoa's eruption and Church's famous painting.

SUNSET OVER THE ICE

It’s called “Sunset over the Ice”,

Painted by Frederic Church one day.

Its beauty came with a high price

As twilight came to Chaumont Bay.

Monkeys ran amok in the heat.

An elephant ransacked a room.

A crocodile took to the streets.

All followed by a giant boom.

Echoes reached Rodriguez Island.

Sonic waves rippled France’s sea.

Skulls washed up in Zanzibar’s sand

One day in 1883.

What caused the sunset’s afterglow?

Krakatoa’s dust made it so.



Frederic Church's "Sunset over the Ice on Chaumont Bay, Lake Ontario" courtesy http://lh5.ggpht.com/

On Call for God

Today I picked up the newspaper on my front porch called "The Brant Connection".  Normally it goes straight from the porch into my blue box, but not today.  I recognized the woman on the front page:  she was holding a book titled On Call for God.  That's it!  Before I even opened the newspaper to read the article, I realized that I met the woman in the photograph last summer at the Brantford Writing Workshop held in the Laurier Brantford building beside the public library.  Mirella van der Zyl, a local woman, had written a series of stories about her life as a chaplain.  Unassuming, she was not the first person I had in mind to publish a book.  However, the story that she read about a Christian harbouring a Jew during World War II was captivating. 

I clipped out the article and posted it on my fridge as a reminder that stories do get published.  Mirella is an example of a writer who, despite the naysayers, persevered to see her book in print.  One minute she was taking a course with me in downtown Brantford on how to get published and the next minute she was talking to a reporter from the Brantford Expositor about the finished product.  Before you know it, she will go into the local bookstore and see her story on the shelf; or do a search of authors on the public library website and find her name; or visit a local radio station to promote her book.  Mirella can officially say that she is a published author now, regardless of whether she has one book or one hundred books in print.  She can hold the book in her hands and see her name on the cover. 

Furthermore, it is reassuring to know that, even in the 21st century, people still want to read about God.  I was reminded yesterday that the number one bestseller of all time is still the Bible.  While the topic may not be politically correct, it is real and every reader can relate to it.  While dinosaurs and vampires are passe, God is timeless. 

I will save this newspaper clipping to remind me that Mirella's dream came true.  Maybe mine will, too.  Congratulations, Mirella!


Cartoon courtesy http://fr.toonpool.com/

My New Nephew

Wrapped in a blue blanket with a white tuque on his perfectly shaped head, my nephew looks like a glow worm laying in the glass bassinette.  His lips are full, his nose is wide, his eyes are shut and  his ears are red.  His head is covered with light brown hair, but it is light at the edges; his eyebrows are so fair I can barely see them.  Every so often he makes a noise that only a newborn could make:  a sigh, a coo or a gurgle.  His face is the vision of peace as he sleeps.  When he wakes up, he reluctantly opens his eyelids, as if to say that he isn't yet ready for the outside world.  He drinks a few drops from his bottle, gives an inaudible burp and goes right back to sleep. 

All of a sudden the silence is broken by a toddler's voice calling "Mommy".  As Mommy slips into the washroom, she recognizes her son's voice.  A toddler enters the room with two balloons in his hand.  "Where's Mommy?" he asks.  Mommy reappears and hugs her older son.  She points out her new infant in the bassinette.  "You're a big brother now."  He puts a finger to his lips and whispers "Shhh", looking proud as a peacock.  His mother  lifts up the baby as his older brother leans up to give him a hug and a gentle peck on the cheek.  The nurse arrives with a sandwich for Mom and a bottle for baby.   Big brother asks if he can feed the baby and he proceeds to put the bottle nipple into his brother's mouth.  After no more than a minute, he declares that he is finished and returns to playing with his balloons. 

At one point he crawls under the chair and becomes silent.  A strange smell fills the air and we think it is the newborn passing gas.  However, it is his older brother filling his pants.  His aunt attempts to change him as he hops on the couch, so excited that he can't sit still.  Finally he's clean and it's time to say goodbye.  The toddler kisses Mommy and his baby brother.  He toddles down the hall, his balloon swaying to and fro, accidentally knocking a few passersby who greet him with a smile. 

Welcome to the world, nephew!



Photo courtesy http://www.istockphoto.com/

Willing to Pay the Price

A Vietnamese immigrant slept on a sack of sawdust for three years on the floor of an American bakery.  The story goes that Le Van Vu was born and raised in North Vietnam where his family had become quite wealthy, owning about one-third of the real estate there.  Sadly, his father was murdered and he and his mother moved to South Vietnam where Le went to school to become a lawyer.  With the American presence expanding during the war, Le built up a successful construction business.  Returning to the North on a trip, he was captured and jailed by the North Vietnamese for three years.  Le managed to escape by killing five guards and returned to the South.  The Southern Vietnamese, thinking he was a plant, put him in prison.  Later he was freed and started a fishing business, becoming the largest canner in South Vietnam.  When the Americans started pulling out of Vietnam, Le decided to go with them and exchanged all of his riches for safe passage to the Phillipines.  Once again, he started over by developping the fishing industry there.  Le's ultimate dream, though, was to immigrate to the United States, and he used his savings to purchase two boat tickets.  On board a ship heading to the new land, Le became distraught, realizing that yet again he would have to start his life over.  He was about to jump overboard when his wife talked him out of it, asking what would happen to her and pointing out that they could overcome any obstacle together.  Le agreed and put aside any thoughts of ending his life.  Arriving in America,the Vietnamese couple settled in Houston, Texas where they had relatives to help look after them.  Le's cousin offered them jobs in his bakery which they accepted.  However, they did not rent an apartment or a house for they had other plans.  Le's cousin promised to sell them the bakery once they came up with a $30,000 down payment.  Knowing that he would never be able to come up with such a hefty sum if he paid rent, Le and his wife slept on sawdust sacks in the back of the bakery for two years until they came up with the required sum.  Le's cousin then lent them $90,000 to cover the remaining cost of the business.  Rather than buying a home, they chose to spend another year on the bakery floor until they could pay off the loan.  Finally, after three years of bathing in the public bathroom sink and of sleeping on the floor, Le and his wife owned the bakery free and clear and were able to get their first apartment.  Although wealthy, the Van Vu's continue to live beneath their means, to use cash rather than credit and to save.  Today, Le is a multi-millionaire.

John McCormack

*Taken from Chicken Soup for the Soul (Jack Canfield & Mark Victor Hansen)



Photo courtesy http://www.royalbaybakery.com/