The Dust Bowl Trip

Dressed in short pants, a dress shirt and a cap, a little boy climbed into his father's shiny new 1936 Chrysler along with his mother and his grandmother.  Born and raised in Toronto, he was excited about leaving the metropolis and heading out west to visit his relatives.  It would be interesting to sit in a car that was actually moving, rather than pretending to move, like when he "drove" the old Model T that sat abandoned on his uncle's farm in Kirkton each summer.  The heat had peaked that summer in North America and Canada was no exception.  Meteorologists were announcing record temperatures everywhere.  The trip through Ontario seemed uneventful, but that would not last long.

The maroon-coloured Chrysler crossed the American border at Port Huron and stopped in Grand Rapids where the little boy got out, stretched his legs, and said hello to his American cousins for the first time.  After a pleasant stay, he and his family headed to the ferry to cross Lake Michigan.  A worker took the boy's father's keys to the Chrysler and headed up the ferry ramp to park it.  To the little boy's horror, the worker failed to manoeuvre the sleek automobile around a post below deck and smashed the bumper.  Forced to postpone their trip while they waited for the car to be repaired, the family was stuck in Grand Rapids. 

Within a week, with the Chrysler as good as new, the little boy watched his father guide the family automobile back on to the highway.  The family crossed the Canadian border a second time and then headed due west.  Once they reached the Prairies, the little boy could not believe the heat.  Water was hard to come by so his mother tried to get him to eat oranges but he hated oranges.  Finally, she convinced her son to drink some skim milk instead. 

Progress was slow:  the vehicle only went 40 miles per hour at top speed.  There were nothing but plains as far as the eye could see.  Furthermore, every so many miles, the father had to pull over at a garage and have the car serviced:  hundreds of grasshoppers from the fields kept getting trapped in the automobile's radiator and had to be removed.  The little boy's mother, city-bred and not used to roughing it, was growing quite upset by the plagues of locusts.  His grandmother, however, remained calm and unfazed, having grown up on a farm herself.  The grasshoppers were so powerful that they stopped not only cars, but also trains when they covered the railroad tracks.  And worst of all, they ate the farmers' crops.  At one point, the lad noticed a strong stench which grew stronger the further they progressed.  Sure enough, after about 25 miles, the Tufts' reached a small lake that had dried up and the dead fish were rotting in its bottom.  The little boy from Toronto thought that they would never make it to their destination. 

Their dust-covered automobile was like the little engine that could as it headed into the foothills of Alberta.  Finally, they reached their relatives' house, their journey complete.  Handshakes were exchanged and introductions were made.  Then the father carried the trunk and the little boy lugged his suitcase through the dirt to the front door.  Relieved to be out from under the relentless summer sun, the families prayed and shared a meal together.  For the three-year-old boy, it was a trip he would not soon forget.

(Dedicated to my Dad, Norman Ross Tufts.)



Photo courtesy www.treehugger.com

Ponte Vecchio

     Last summer, the kids and I put together a puzzle of the Ponte Vecchio ("Old Bridge"). It is one of the oldest stone bridges in Europe, spanning the River Arno in Florence, Italy and is the only bridge to be spared by the Nazis during their retreat of August 4, 1944.  The Nazis destroyed every other bridge in the city, but left the Ponte Vecchio intact after a direct order from Hitler, possibly because of its history.  Instead, the Nazis destroyed the buildings on either end of the bridge to prevent access to it.

     The first records of the bridge date back to 998, but within 100 years of its construction, it was destroyed when the River Arno flooded.  It was rebuilt and served as a home for several shops housing fishmongers, butchers and vegetable sellers.  So much trade was done on the bridge that people believe that the word "bankrupt" originated here.  Each merchant did his business on a "banco"; if he ran out of money, his "banco" was "rotto" meaning his bench was broken.  "Bancorotto" means broken bank and without a bank, the merchant could no longer do business, hence the term "bankrupt". 

     When Ferdinand 1 de Medici, an Italian duke, used to pass over the Ponte Vecchio in the 1500's, he did not like the smell and so he ordered that the fishmongers, butchers and vegetable sellers be replaced with goldsmiths and silversmiths. 

     In 1966, the Ponte Vecchio was assaulted by yet another flood on the River Arno during which many shops were destroyed but the bridge itself survived.  The shops were rebuilt and the bridge remains a centrepiece of Florence today.



Photo courtesy http://enwikipedia.org

Follow Your Dream

   
     Walt Disney was fired by a newspaper editor for lack of ideas.  Forty-five years after his death, he is still a household name.  Thomas Edison's teachers told him he was too dumb to learn anything.  Now he is credited for dozens of inventions, including the lightbulb.  An MGM testing director declared that Fred Astaire:  "Can't act.  Slightly bald.  Can dance a little."  Now he can be found in several movies.  Albert Einstein did not speak until he was four years old and did not read until the age of seven.  Later he coined the scientific "theory of relativity". 

     Canadian artist Ken Danby attended Ontario College of Art with my Uncle Greg. Some of his teachers said he would never make anything of himself; he even quit college early.  By the 1980's, however, he was a famous photorealist and owned a studio, selling his paintings all over the world ("Lacing the Skate"; "Leather Hat"). My uncle wished he had taken his sketches out of the garbage can when he had the chance. 
    
     Like Danby, Disney, Edison, Astaire and Einstein, Monty Roberts also had a dream.  He was the son of an itinerant horse trainer, and had moved around for much of his childhood.  His schooling was frequently interrupted and his marks suffered as a result.  In high school, one of his teachers assigned the class the task of writing an essay about their future.  Monty set to work composing a seven-page paper explaining how he would have a horse ranch complete with a diagram.  The 200 acre ranch would have stables and a track among other things.  He would also have a 4000 square foot dream home on the property. 

     After pouring his heart and soul into the exercice Monty was astounded to receive an F on his essay with a note saying "See me after class".  The teacher then explained that he thought his student's dream was far too unrealistic given that he was from a poor family with few if any resources.  He offered to re-mark the paper if Monty submitted a new one with a different plan.  After thinking about his teacher's offer for a week, Monty's reply was:  "You can keep the F and I'll keep my dream". 

     Then the adult-Monty turned to the group assembled and said "I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch.  I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace."  He added that a couple of years ago he had invited his former teacher to the ranch with 30 kids as his guests.  The teacher said to Monty that he used to be a "dream stealer" and that he had stolen many kids' dreams.  However, he was glad that Marty had the gumption to not give up on his dream. 

     Without dreamers we would have no Disney World, no inventions, no movies, no paintings.  Don't listen to the dream stealers.  It's never too late to follow your dream.  What are you waiting for?

(Excerpts taken from Chicken Soup for the Soul's "Consider This" & "Follow Your Dream")



Ken Danby's painting "Lacing Up" courtesy www.lillithgallery.com

Ken Danby's painting "Leather Hat" courtesy www.lillithgallery.com

  

Rear Window

A house-bound man named L. B. Jeffries, played by Jimmy Stewart, sits in his apartment and watches his neighbours out his rear window as the mercury in the thermometer threatens to hit 100 Fahrenheit:  a couple sleeps on a balcony on a mattress; a young ballet dancer performs her routine; a composer writes a new tune on his grand piano; an old spinster is annoyed by the noise; and a middle aged salesman fights night and day with his beautiful young wife; an opera singer practises her scales; and newlyweds arrive home from their honeymoon.  All the while a little dog scurries through the gardens of the courtyard down below.  Between the apartment buildings, one sees through to the street where kids play hopscotch on the sidewalk. 

In the meantime, Mr. Jeffries (Jeff) sits in his apartment waiting for his broken leg to heal.  A motherly nurse named Stella comes each day to care for him, giving him sponge baths, massages, checking his temperature.  Jeff asks Stella for advice about his girlfriend, Lisa, played by Grace Kelly, whom he says is in love with him but he remains uncommitted.  She has two words of advice for him:  “Marry her.”  At this point, director Alfred Hitchcock makes his cameo appearance, this time winding the mantle clock of the piano player. 

The heat wave is broken by a heavy rain storm during which Jeff hears a scream ring out and his reporter mind goes into overdrive.  Then more strange occurrences happen.  The shades are drawn in the apartment as the mysterious salesman makes several trips in and out with his suitcase.  With binoculars in hand, Jeff watches the salesman from his window; his wife is nowhere to be seen.  All the while you hear the children playing on the street below.

Jeff gets his reporter friend involved after he sees the suspicious salesman have a large trunk carted away.  He also gets help from his girlfriend Lisa who identifies the salesman as Lars Thorwald.  In the meantime, the little dog starts digging in the salesman’s garden.  The reporter does a background check and finds out that Mrs. Thorwald is supposedly visiting her mother.

Even so, the incriminating evidence against the salesman adds up, especially when he rifles through his wife’s purse.  The reporter returns and declares Mr. Thorwald innocent, but Jeff still maintains his guilt. A scream interrupts a party going on at the composer’s apartment:  everyone comes to their window to see what’s happened.  The little dog is dead in the garden, strangled. 

Jeff gets brave and sends a note with Lisa to the salesman asking:  “Lars Thorwald:  What have you done with her?”  Then he gets really brave and phones him asking if he got his note.   Lisa and Stella try digging up the garden where the little dog had dug looking for evidence, but to no avail.  Lisa risks searching Lars’ apartment, and finds his wife’s wedding ring, but he catches her in the act. 

Mr. Thorwald phones Jeff who spills the beans by mistake, thinking someone else is on the line.  Then there is a long silence followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs; the door slowly creaks open; Jeff is sitting in the shadows in his wheelchair.  Thorwald asks:  “What do you want from me?”  Wheelchair-bound Jeff blinds Thorwald with the giant flashbulbs from his camera.  The police arrive in the nick of time to save Jeff from the salesman’s evil grasp, but not before he falls from his balcony.

The final scene shows the thermometer has dropped to a comfortable 70 Fahrenheit.  The balcony couple has a new dog; the ballet dancer has a new boyfriend, a soldier; the newlywed husband quits his job; Jeff has not one but two broken legs; and Lisa is reading Bazaar magazine.  Hitchcock works his magic once again.    

Photo courtesy http://i2.listal.com

   

The British Home Children

     Today, 4 million Canadians are descendants of British Home Children who immigrated to Canada between 1869 and 1939, mainly from England’s large cities.  Brantford MP Phil McColeman, whose uncle was a home child, had a bill passed in Parliament declaring 2010 “The Year of the British Home Child”.  

     My great-grandma, Daisy Blay, was also a home child.  Raised in London, England, her mother sold their furniture to pay the rent; her father died of liver cancer; and her baby sister of rickets.  Eight-year-old Daisy was abandoned by her mother at the Barnardo Home in 1903. 

     The London of Daisy’s great-grandparents had quadrupled in size from 1821 to 1900.  Late 19^th Century residents were entertained by Jumbo the Elephant and terrorized by Jack the Ripper.  While the world’s largest city had wealthy areas, the slums prevailed, portrayed in Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.  The Industrial Revolution brought thousands of rural residents to the city; but low wages and limited jobs left 30% in poverty.

     Victorian living conditions were appalling:   lack of clean water led to infrequent bathing; charwomen dumped slop pails into the streets; smokestacks pumped fumes into the air; and tainted drinking water caused cholera outbreaks, killing thousands.  Many adults preferred drinking beer, rather than the foul liquid from the River Thames, using it not just as a beverage but as a panacea.

     Evangelical Dr. Thomas Barnardo treated cholera victims at a London hospital in 1866, 65 % of whom hailed from the East End slums.  Preaching from a chair, Dr. Barnardo pleaded with East Enders to surrender their life to Christ.  Finding “street arabs” on every corner, he opened Stepney House to shelter these waifs, two-thirds of whom still had one surviving parent.  More Homes opened and their occupants were called “Home Children”.

     With Stepney House full, Dr. Barnardo sent some wards to Canada.  Adventures abounded on these trans-Atlantic passages.  The Scotian, crossing two days before the Titanic, dodged icebergs complete with polar bears.  The Sicilian dodged U-boats on a 1915 crossing.  Ships carried up to 400 children and four parties sailed each year.  Dr. Barnardo believed Canada offered the home children fresh air, a strong work ethic and good Christian values.

     In 1903, Canada’s population was 5.3 million, only slightly more than London’s.  The urban Britons experienced culture shock as they moved onto Canadian farms.  Daisy’s home-child brother William was whipped if he didn’t milk the cows quickly enough, running away more than once.  Many Barnardo children fled, often being found miles away, starving or even frozen to death.  The average home child moved four times, often due to abuse, but sometimes due to a sponsor no longer needing them.  Sometimes even peers showed disrespect:  “Don’t play with her.  She’s just a home child.”  Not all home children were mistreated, however; occasionally, they were unofficially adopted by their sponsor.

     Adult home children qualified to withdraw their wages earned (boys at 18, girls at 21), if the money wasn’t already used to bring a parent or sibling to Canada.  Eleven thousand Barnardo boys served in World War I, including William.   Barnardo girls took jobs as telephone operators, teachers and nurses.  Despite a sad childhood, Daisy married and raised four healthy children, forging a strong Canadian identity as so many of the “little immigrants” did.

Photo courtesy http://web.ncf.ca

The Magic of a Father and a Daughter

I see the magic of a father and a daughter
As they build sandcastles on the beach.
I watch the pair as they lounge by the blue water.
Knowing fatherhood is something that you cannot teach.

As they build sandcastles on the beach,
He sculpts the sand with a big strong hand.
Knowing fatherhood is something that you cannot teach;
Next to him, she looks so little as she pours the sand.

He sculpts the sand with a big strong hand.
No words are needed as they work sided by side.
Next to him, she looks so little as she pours the sand.
Father and daughter share a bond that they cannot hide.

No words are needed as they work sided by side.
Clad in an orange bikini, she builds the castle tall.
Father and daughter share a bond that they cannot hide.
As the waves encroach, he builds a giant wall.

Clad in an orange bikini, she builds the castle tall.
I watch the pair as they lounge by the blue water.
As the waves encroach, he builds a gaint wall.
I see the magic of a father and a daughter.



Linda Jonasson
July 16, 2006.


Photo courtesy http://download.agefotostock.com

Thomas' Comic Strips

I am the only one of my siblings that cannot draw.  My students laugh when I draw stick figures on the blackboard.  And yet my son Thomas is very artistic.  He must have gotten his talent from his birthparents, both of whom are very artistic.  About a year and a half ago I borrowed a book from the library titled "Create Your Own Comic Strips from Start to Finish" by Art Roche.  Once Thomas read it, he was hooked.  He started drawing comics left and right under the heading LOLZ (Laugh Out Loud's)  He even featured me in one comic he wrote for Mother's Day.  Rob made the mistake of complaining about the muffins I baked.  Thomas response was:  "Oh no you didn't!"  Rob was spared within an inch of his life and thought twice about complaining about my baking the next time. 

The other day, Thomas borrowed the Art Roche book again from the library.  This time he wrote a comic called "Halloweiner" featuring his friend Riley as a hunchback and an unhappy weiner that is covered in mustard but its luck turns when it meets up with the ketchup bottle.  What do you expect from someone who douses everything in ketchup? 

Thomas has drawn a total of 15 comics.  It's nice to see that he using his God-given talent to create.  It's also nice to see that he's using his sense of humour.  He certainly makes his sister Jacqueline laugh so I'm sure he'll make his readers laugh, too.  Thomas is blessed to have such a creative mind.  Maybe one day we'll be reading LOLZ next to Garfield. 



Comic strip courtesy LOLZ Comix, copyright 2011.