REMEMBRANCE; A RANT AND SOME RECOLLECTIONS



 

This is a significant time of year. We gather our harvest from the fields and we give thanks for our abundant, bountiful crop. We celebrate this harvest in our places of worship, to a higher source; for me that is our Lord God and the harvests are gifts from God. I respect that for you it may be something that differs with my input here. This has to, and must be, respected too. 

And now it is time to recognise Armistice Day, or Remembrance Day; an occasion on 11th November that crosses all cultural and religious boundaries entirely. It is, in and of itself, an act of respect and solemn reflection that is focused on all those who have ‘served’ and, in particular, those that paid the ‘ultimate sacrifice’ with their life; and again, to me, life is God’s most precious of all gifts.

Before I go any further I need to rant. Yesterday, Saturday 8th November, a bus drove by. It was advertising it’s number; it was the number 14 bus. It also advertised it destination; it was Sherwood Village. But then it also advertised the following message ~ ~ ~

‘Merry Christmas’.

Merry Christmas? It is 8th November and my local bus company is advertising yuletide messages! This does not seem right to me. Also, on the same day, the neighbouring town of London, Ontario had their annual Santa Claus Parade. Also not quite right to me. Why are we teaching our children to focus on Christmas and Santa and presents, etc. when all of the poppies have not yet been sold? Can we not, as a society, wait until we have acknowledged the men and women who have served their countries by stopping, in a moment of silence, to remember those that have fallen whilst carrying out their duties? They fought and died so that we that are left can enjoy freedom and all the privileges that freedom brings. For the love of God we must stop the incessant greed that has filtered into our societal way of thinking and put things back in to perspective. Christmas is a great celebration, but it can wait until after Remembrance. Rant over; on with my blog…

I served; twelve years with the Royal Air Force, or RAF as we call it (pronounced ‘raff’). I served without realising at the time, what an honour and a privilege it was. My service saw some testing times of their own. But they were never traumatic times; here’s a few that I remember as I write.

In the 1970s there was the firefighters’ strike in England. I wonder how many folks, reading this blog from England, can recall the military stepping in to cover for the striking firefighters. And if so; would they remember the ‘Green Goddess’? This was an affectionate term for the Bedford RLHZ Self Propelled Pump fire-engine that served in the British Armed Forces. In England we called them fire engines, not fire trucks.  

Also in the 1970s we had the IRA bombings in London, which made travelling a dodgy task for all servicemen and women in England. A lot of the bombings focused on the London transportation infrastructure. We were a prime target for the IRA; cautious times indeed.

There were more troubled times in the late 1970s when I was posted to RAF Brüggen in, what was, West Germany. You would have thought that during those Cold War times, when based in Europe, that the threat would be coming from the ‘east’ but it wasn’t. It was coming from right there in West Germany; they were called the ‘Baader-Meinhof Group’ and they were a West German militant group with severe leanings towards the far-left. Ironically, as time went on, they became known as the Red Army Faction; yup, when abbreviated they were known as the RAF; but they weren’t the good guys. Fortunately, they were dissolved in the late 1990s.

I also found myself at RAF Gibraltar during the Falklands conflict. ‘Gib’ was a major staging post during that war. I had been there in 1977, on a detachment with my RAF base, but it was nowhere near as busy then as it was in 1982 during the Falklands war. I was only there for a few days in 1982; not on active service, but to see my sweetheart of that day. She had been sent out to ‘Gib’ at short notice and we didn’t know when she would be back. The place was a hive of activity with troops being shipped, round the clock, further south to the war itself.

So at this time of year, after we have celebrated the harvest gathering, and the kids are done with their ‘trick-or-treating’, my attention always turns to the act of remembrance. I refuse, adamantly, to even contemplate Christmas until after Remembrance Day. 

During my twelve year service career with the RAF, I expended enormous amounts of energy in the ongoing pursuit of military parade avoidance. I would do everything in my power to ensure that I would not get selected for any form of military parades. Ironically, my son is now serving in the Royal Canadian Air Force, or RCAF and Martin actually enjoys participating in military parades and derives great joy from doing so. He makes me proud. I, however, didn’t see the light until after I had left the RAF and, with my lovely bride, Jane, moved to a new life in Canada. It was only after I had stopped serving my country that I realised what an honour it had been to serve my country; and I have since not forgotten that. I have attended every possible Remembrance parade at the war memorial for the town I am in on every 11th November since 1988; the year I left the RAF and we moved to Canada. 

When my three children were younger, I always made sure that they grew up understanding the importance of this day in the year. I recall Remembrance Day 2000 with great affection; it was a Saturday. Martin had just turned 11, my girls, Zoe and Alex, were only 6 and 5 respectively. I took all three of my young children to the parade. Because this was the first Remembrance of the New Millennium, making it a significant event, the 26th Lieutenant Governor of Ontario chose a small town in Ontario in which to observe this Remembrance Day. And so it was that Sarnia was privileged to have the Honourable Hilary M. Weston CM, OOnt in attendance for this millennial event. She happened to notice, after the formal proceedings had come to an end, that there was a young(ish) man in attendance with his three children; that was me. The Lieutenant Governor took the time to walk over to us, shake hands with me and my three children, and thanked us for coming out to observe such an important event on that sunny, but crisply chilly morning. After a brief conversation she left us to talk with others; a moment in time that I’ll always remember. 

Although I served, it is clearly evident that I never suffered. At times, though, I have found myself wondering, for those that did suffer, what it must have been like. Out there on the battlefield; whether that field is the seas or the skies or the fields themselves. Every soldier of every nation was a child of someone. As Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, of the Canadian Army Medical Corp, says so eloquently in his poem from the Great War, Flanders Fields - - - 

    We are the dead: Short days ago,

    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved: and now we lie

    In Flanders fields!

“Loved and were loved” are such powerful words. Everyone in all of those fields of conflict came in to this world by way of ‘love and peace’. And how tragically brutal their exit may have been. So yes, at times, I wonder what it must have been like. What I am certain of is that it is beyond my comprehension. It is my hope that every fallen soldier of every nation, whilst lying wounded with mayhem and violence all around, was able to feel that ‘love and peace’ once more before darkness and silence enveloped their very senses.

It is for that reason that I show up for the Remembrance Parade Service on 11th November every year; to honour their lives with solemn remembrance.

And Remembrance Day should always be remembered.

THURSDAY; TIME TO WRITE!

28 Aug 2014 ~ THURSDAY; TIME TO WRITE!

 

The urge to write hasn’t left but the time to write has not been with me.  Today, for a short time at least, I have both; so let’s get cracking!

I quit smoking about 6½ weeks ago.  Am I pleased?  You betcha!  I’m not fooling myself, though; there’s a long way to go before I escape the deep, dark forest of nicotine addiction.  I await, with earnest, the day when I do leave those darkened woods of tobacco usage and run, free and clear, through the fields of fresh air.  As for Earnest; well, if he wants to stay in the woods, he can.  So far I have gained 17 lbs.  SEVENTEEN POUNDS!  I have got so big, that when I wake up in the morning, and put my arm across my belly, it feels like I am sleeping with another person of significant cellulite magnitude; but it’s all mine!  I shall stick with the plan, though, and not allow my ego to get in the way.  At 56, it is hard to look like I did when I was 26, but I am hoping, that by quitting smoking, I shall at least start to feel like I was 26 once again; to be frank, I’ll take 36, or even 46.  Focus, Paul; focus.  And as for Frank; he can join Earnest in the woods...

Phew; that`s enough for my first blog of 2014.  More to follow because I will find the time.

30 December 2013 ~ HAPPY NEW YEAR; REMEMBERING MUM AND DAD

30 December 2013 ~ HAPPY NEW YEAR; REMEMBERING MUM AND DAD

 

 

Once again the incredibility of the internet has surpassed itself tonight; for me, at least.  Whilst casually dithering in my garage and listening to CBC radio (Canada’s version of the BBC) I realised that I was listening to a show about Paul Simon and his album ‘Graceland’.  As one does (on more occasions than willing to admit), the mind leap-frogs from one thought to another thought... and so one.  The short story; I ended up here after a little bit of clicking of the proverbial mouse.  Which, in turn, inspired me to write. 

It is 1978.  My parents have returned from Nigeria and I am home on leave.  My dad was working on a contract in Nigeria and he loved it. This was very clear; I mean he really loved it!  For a man that played his cards very close to his chest, the unbridled joy that could be literally heard from the gleam in his eyes, when regaling me of his time in Nigeria, was more than self-evident.  He would play his album, Ipi Tombi, constantly.  I never got out there, but my sister, Joyce, did.  I was serving in the Royal Air Force in, what was, West Germany, at the time.  As mentioned in my very first blog (Tuesday, 8 May 2012 ~ ABBREVIATE OR AMPLIFY?) about my mum’s passing, I brought home her life; her photographs and her music.  That music, of course, was also my dad’s music.  One of those albums was Ipi Tombi; a 1974 musical by South African writer Bertha Egnos Godfrey, and her daughter, Gail Lakier, telling the story of a young black man leaving both his village and his young wife to go and work in the mines of Johannesburg.  The album originated from a marvellous musical show.  The show was originally called The Warrior, and I think it may have been a variety of South(?) African indigenous musical styles, but I’m no expert.  The link I have inserted above is the musical track called The Warrior.  I cannot speak of the lyrics with any professionalism; but I can speak of the music and how, at just 20 years old, I could understand how my father was moved by its rhythm.  It was the reason that I bought Graceland, by Paul Simon, in the 1980’s.

Perhaps it is because of the time of year; New Year’s Eve beckons, and who doesn’t dwell in some sort of reflection at such a time?  I know I do, and I do often; not just because of New Year.  So here I am, suddenly caught in a moment of emotional nostalgia.  It is joyous and painful at the same time.  Because getting older means that the ‘elders’ are diminishing and people of my generation have to fill their ‘shoes’, as will those behind us in years to come.  

My parents have long since left us.  So here is my message to anyone that’s still reading; listen to this musical track that I have linked to this blog.  You may not enjoy it but I hope it prompts you to take stock of who’s around you; whether that be an annoying parent or relative or neighbour.  Remember that the young man in this song is leaving his ‘home’.  Take one more look at someone; only this time, take a photograph.  Make sure to develop that photograph in your mind and also in your heart; if you’re really lucky it may become a video.

There are many people I miss that are no longer with us.  But I have to tell you that on this night, on this 364^th day of 2013, I would love to be sitting next to my dad whilst listening to Ipi Tombi’s The Warrior at maximum volume and wait for my mum to come in to the room and tell us to “turn that bloody noise down”.

Happy New Year!  Take your photograph(s)… and turn up the volume.

 

 

 

 

COLLEGE, LIFE; SHOW UP AND CARE

 

 

I have just completed my first week as a college instructor.  I am teaching there on a short contract in the aviation maintenance programme.  As you may already know, teaching/training is not new to me; I have been training professional aircraft maintenance engineers (AME’s) for over twelve years.  I have trained them all over Canada, in the United States, Mexico, Ecuador and, as recently as this July, Kazakhstan.  There have been challenges with respect to language; especially in Kazakhstan.  This, currently, is a whole new challenge; students that have not long graduated high school.

What is most interesting for me about this new challenge is the knowledge level.  I have been training professional AMEs who already possess a significant foundation of aviation maintenance knowledge and experience.  However now I am training a class that doesn’t fully understand the basics of aviation; port and starboard, fwd and aft, axis of aircraft, how to cut and file sheet metal with ‘self-aplomb’ and so forth.  This is not a bad reflection on them; this is the reality of where they currently are.  They are just embarking on their career in aviation maintenance and have much to learn.  And it is here is that I face my biggest challenge; the delivery of information that is new to a student body that does not have a foundation of knowledge on which to build from; I am helping them in the building of that foundation.  For years I have trained on the premise of knowledge and experience and now, for the first time, it is simply not there.  I, as their instructor, have much to learn; a new way to deliver the information, a new way to communicate with a younger class demographic.

The fascinating fundamental fact of life is this; there are those that care and there are those that don’t.  It is clear to me, at this early stage, that some of the students sincerely wish to make a career in aviation and are paying their way through a college education in order to attain this; they care.  However there are also a small minority of students that, perhaps, have parents that are paying for their college education because they want their offspring to have a college diploma; and it is here I see a great divide.  For some, the price of entry is great.  For others it is not.  For those that are paying their way I can see a great commitment, but some appear to be here just for the ride, and this is completely new to me.

All of the training I have delivered for over a decade has been to professional AMEs that want to be in the classroom and want to learn about a new aircraft and its systems.  They want to know because they need the qualification on their AME Licence so that they can sign a release to return the aircraft, safely, back in to service after maintenance; a great responsibility that must never be taken lightly.  It is imperative to them that they know, understand and graduate a particular aircraft ‘Type’ course.  They care.

So now, for the first time, I am actually training a few that do not buy-in to that philosophy.  They sometimes don’t show up, or they leave early without letting me know; when the break is over and it is time to start up again, they are simply not there! 

You have to show up!  It doesn’t matter what it’s for; you have to show up.  Showing up is half the battle and it is the first half.  You cannot achieve the second half before the first half.  Show up.  Show up for work, school, your kid’s dance recital or sports tournament, perhaps that sermon on Sunday.  Show up for that job interview.  Show up for that study group, that debate.  Show up to cast your vote.  Show up for the day.  You can’t spend the day and not show up; how will you get anything accomplished?

It is important that I do not take this personally.  As a professional it is incumbent on me to show up every day and deliver the knowledge.  It is imperative that I show up as if everyone wishes to buy-in to that all-important philosophy that aviation maintenance is a profession that requires a strong level of caring about their craft; to produce work that exemplifies and compliments the history of aviation.  Yes, I do care; and I care immensely.

Caring; some will, some won’t.  I will not stop caring.  And I will show up.

 

 

 

JOURNEY INTO KAZAKHSTAN; SHYMKENT

 15 of the 20 students that presented me with gifts 

It is a beautiful early Sunday morning.  I am enjoying a coffee on my back yard patio as the sun makes its appearance over the horizon.  I can hear our local cardinal chirping away in a tree; such a lovely sound.  A skein of Canada Geese have flown over in their usual ‘V’ formation whilst calling out words of encouragement to the leader.  And me?  I have just returned home from my latest assignment and I am starting to reacquaint myself with the location of the light switches.  My lovely bride, Jane, is still sleeping and so is my 18 year old daughter, Alex.  My 24 year old son, Martin, is at his Royal Canadian Air Force base out in British Columbia and my 19 year old daughter, Zoe, is in Montreal with some of her friends enjoying a music festival this weekend.  All feels right with the world this morning.

A little bit of information on the place where I spent a total of 28 days; founded in the 12^th century, Shymkent was built as a ‘caravanserai’ to protect the Silk Road town of Sayram, 10 km to the east.  What is a caravanserai?  And what is the Silk Road?  A caravanserai is a place where travellers could rest after their long day’s journey.  The Silk Road is a historical network of inter-linking trade routes across the Afro-Eurasian land-mass that used to connect east, south, and western Asia with the Mediterranean and European parts of the world, and also parts of north and east Africa.  It includes routes that take you through Syria, Turkey, Iran, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan and China.  A city in the Kazakh Desert, Shymkent grew as a market centre for trade between Turkic nomads and the settled ‘Sogdians’ (an ancient civilization of Iranian people).  The place is steeped in history, and it was destroyed many times; including by Genghis Khan from neighbouring Mongolia.  Kazakhstan is a bigger country than I envisioned it to be; in fact it is so large that the distance from one end to the other is about the same as from London, England to Istanbul, Turkey and it is, literally, the crossroads of Europe and Asia.

What of my ‘Journey in to Kazakhstan’?  Well, I left my home in Ontario, Canada for Shymkent, on Thursday 4 July 2013; I arrived the evening of Saturday 6 July and I was bloody knackered!  I was taken to the wrong hotel by the taxi driver whilst his car stereo blasted out some kind of foreign music much louder than was necessary.  The ‘hotel’ was, quite frankly, an awful dwelling.  I am not a snob by any means, but this was not a good place to be and I didn’t feel safe.  So my first impression of Kazakhstan was not too good.  Thankfully this error was corrected in short order and I was only in the building for about an hour.  Unpacking for my month-long stay was not an option for me.  I should say, though, that the staff were great at the correct hotel, the Canvas Hotel, which became my home for all of July.   A lot of them spoke some English and they all were friendly, courteous and articulate.

As for me; I am used to being away for a couple of weeks at a time in my line of work.  It just seemed to be longer than the four-plus weeks on this particular assignment; perhaps it was just the distance and the travel time.  When you add in to the equation the language barrier, the culture gap, the intense heat and lack of rain, the most anarchic drivers on the roads I have ever encountered, the smog, the car horns that never seem to stop as well as the noxious and smoke-laden exhaust fumes that take your breath away, the dangerously uneven and unkempt sidewalks, the deep roadside gutters that could break a leg in the blink of an eye and the near-misses we had with cows wandering on the road.  What an experience!  I had a bit of a tough time adapting to this new culture and way of life initially.  In all of my travels I have never felt so much like a ‘fish-out-of-water’ as I did when I arrived in Kazakhstan. 

Shymkent was almost like being in a time-warp of sorts; the fashion appeared similar to that of the 1980s.  Regarding communication; internet cafes are everywhere and they always seem to be busy.  The majority of the mobile phones that I saw were just that; mobile phones as opposed to smart phones.  Most of the vehicles, including a bus or a large truck (called a lorry back in England) are also dated in their design.  For a country that reclaimed its independence from the USSR back in 1991, and is moving forward with its modernistic progress, everything appeared to be somewhat ‘out-of-date’.  I am sure that in another ten years Kazakhstan will have changed dramatically from what it is today.  Kazakhstan’s economy is quite strong in comparison to many of its surrounding neighbours, and is making head-way in developing commercial and trade relations with ‘western’ countries.  You could almost classify Kazakhstan as ‘an advanced developing nation’ with great potential in its future; but currently is still very much a ‘work in progress’.

A number of the students asked me if I would return to Kazakhstan to conduct future training.  My answer was yes.  I now have a better understanding of the distance travelled, the 10-hour time change and the effect they both have on the body.  Initially, during my first 2 weeks, I was going non-stop; my thoughts were such that I ruled out ever returning to Kazakhstan.  However if I were to go back I would, at the very least, know what I was going in to and therefore the ‘shock factor’ has now been eliminated.

I was training for over 3 ½ weeks; 6 days a week with Sunday off.  Whilst acquainting myself with the material content, I noticed opportunities to enhance the product for future courses.  But as with anything new, there will always be improvements and adjustments along the way.  With a large class of 20 students, I found it hard to engage them all in English whilst teaching.  I didn’t feel as if everybody understood me; however I applaud their due diligence and willingness to learn.  I was pleased to see that everyone passed all three of their exams.  One student did fail an exam, but comfortably passed the re-write.  There is no way I could learn all this technical ‘stuff’ in a language I don’t fully understand, yet they did.  But I’ve got to tell you; oh, how I wished I could have engaged them more than I was able to.  It is that engagement that I, as an instructor, thrive on. 

At the end of the classroom theory element, the students presented me with gifts of appreciation for my hard work; it was nice to be acknowledged for my efforts and it was a lovely surprise!  I was presented with an authentic traditional Kazakh male ‘shapan’ (robe) with matching ‘kalpak’ (hat) and a traditional Kazakh horse-whip that is used when playing a fierce game called Buzkashi; it is a game on horseback that is similar to polo but instead of a ball they use the carcass of a headless goat – I’m not kidding!  Also, they bought me a small replica of the traditional Kazakh musical string instrument called a ‘dombra’.  I was truly touched by their generosity and appreciation.

A couple of the students took me for a tour of their home town after we had finished training one night.  These two gentlemen showed me some of the better things that Shymkent has to offer.  They are very proud of the progress that their country has made since 1991, which was the fall of the Soviet communist rule.  And it was with great pride that they took me to Independence Park; this park was built in 1993 to celebrate this historic moment in their nation’s history.  In fact, this city has over twenty parks; some of them are quite magnificent.  I was amazed to see so many people out at such a late hour of the night at Independence Park.  It was well after midnight, but the parks were all lit up and families with small children were out and about doing regular family activities.  The guys told me that in the summer months, because of the heat of the day, families sleep during that time and come out at night.  This would also explain all of the busy bazaars and markets that I saw that night.  They also took me for a drink of kvass, which is a very popular beverage; it is a fermented drink made from black or regular rye bread and it tasted quite sweet but palatable, even for my fussy tastes.  Although Shymkent is not a tourist location, it became apparent on that night, that there was more to this city than I had been exposed to thus far; I enjoyed my late night sightseeing tour and I enjoyed the company of my two hosts, Danijar and Saken.  It is a shame my first impressions were based on the worst things that this city had to offer.

On my return home to Canada I was able to go for a walk-about in Almaty because I had a 17-hour layover.  The city is situated in the foothills of the Zailisky Alatau Mountains and the view is as beautiful as that of the Rockies when viewed from places like Vancouver or Burnaby, British Columbia.  The old hotel that I stayed in for my Almaty layover was a Soviet designed building that was quite old.  It had the classic big grey-stone appearance of the old Soviet authoritarian machine from a bygone era.  Cozy, it was not; neither was it quiet.  I was able to stop the in-window air conditioner from making so much noise by removing a few ‘parts’ from it (purely temporarily) and replaced the noisy beggars before I checked out.  I didn’t care for the colour of the water that came out of the taps in the bathroom either.  What was nice, though, was that my hotel was situated close to Panfilov Park.  In the park is Zenkov Cathedral, a 19th-century Russian Orthodox cathedral and it is the second tallest wooden building in the world; it was painted in bright colours, which made it look rather odd in comparison to its surroundings.  What did surprise me was how close this part of Kazakhstan is to the China and Mongolia border; I was a lot further east than I realised.

I regret that this was not one of the more iconic memories of world travel in the court-of-self-opinion; but that first hotel in Shymkent didn’t help the cause either.  The whole experience got off to a bad start and it never really recovered from it.

As I look back, in retrospect, I was very limited in what I could do with my down-time because of the language barrier; I neither read nor speak Russian or Kazakh and so I was rendered helpless because both of these languages have an alphabet that I could not decipher.  I felt like I was living in a world of pseudo-dyslexia. 

To sum it all up; I am too ‘Westernised’ as an individual.  To put it bluntly; I am spoilt rotten in my current lifestyle.  Although Kazakhstan’s economy is strong, a lot of what I saw there I found to be wanting based on the living standards that I have become used to.  This country is worlds apart from what my family and I live in.  This was definitely an eye-opening life experience.

Having been there and seen it for myself, having endured the intense heat and bright sun, having only been away a mere 28 days, I have come to  deeply appreciate the sacrifice paid by our serving men and women in the armed forces; particularly in places like Afghanistan and Iraq.  They don’t get to come home after 28 days; they don’t get to stay in a decent hotel with its amenities.  They do get to put in longer days than I had to and they do get to constantly have to be on their guard as they watch their backs and the backs of their brothers-and-sisters-in-arms; and they don’t offer up the constant ‘belly-aching’ that I have produced in my daily Facebook posts and also, in part, in this blog.  I have ‘roughed it’ myself on many occasions whilst serving twelve years in the Royal Air Force.  Of course, I was much younger then; but I never had to endure the intense heat of the desert whilst carrying around a full-pack and a rifle with the constant awareness that something could go terribly wrong at any given moment.  My honest, sincere and heart-felt respect goes out to each and every one of these brave men and women; come home safe.

 

 

16 June 2013 ~ FATHER’S DAY; PHASE 1, PHASE 2, PHASE 3, PHASE 4

16 June 2013 ~ FATHER’S DAY; PHASE 1, PHASE 2, PHASE 3, PHASE 4

Dad & Me - Christmas 1993

 

 

I was born in Liverpool, England, at a very early age; about twelve months before my first birthday, as I recall.  This was the beginning of Phase 1 of my Father’s Day experiences; me, as a son, celebrating my own father.  I was blessed with many, many years of this; but still there weren’t enough of them.  I adored my dad; however we were never really close.  It wasn’t that we didn’t get along with each other.  My dad simply had his world and I was not as much a part of it as I would have liked.  Again, please don’t get me wrong here, I wasn’t ignored or abused; where I grew up it was just that way.  All the same, I enjoyed celebrating Father’s Day Phase 1, with my dad.

Phase 2 was way too short.  Cruelly short.  When my son started his Phase 1, I moved on to my Phase 2; now I was celebrating my dad’s Father’s Day whilst enjoying my son celebrating my Father’s Day.  Good times.  Phase 2 started on 28 October 1989 when my first child, Martin, was born and ended on 1 February 1994; not even five years.  Phase 2 ended when my dad passed away.  I was on an overnight flight back to England from Canada when he died.  I didn’t make it back in time.  My dad had moved on to Phase 4 before I got a chance to say goodbye.

My Phase 3 started as soon as Phase 2 ended.  Now I can only enjoy Father’s Day through my own three children’s celebration; and they are all adults in their own right now.

So once a year you get a celebratory day's chance to say “I love you, dad”.  But remember which phase you are in because, before you know it, one phase will end.  And when Phase 2 ends it is the most saddest ending of all for a man, or a woman for that matter.  I can only speak for a man because it is a pre-requisite (biologically speaking) for being a dad.  I am sure it is the same for the ladies and Mother’s Day.  But I am a man and this is my blog, so it is all about the Father for this writer, on this day of days.

So what is Phase 4 you may ask?  Those who know me, or who have read any of my writings, know that I am a man of faith.  Phase 4 is celebrated every day with our Father.  You know the one; our Father, who art in heaven.  And with Him are many, many fathers who I hope are still receiving messages and thoughts from the Phase 3 guys; the message is, of course, “I love you dad”.

To all of you fathers out there; Happy Father’s Day!



1 Jun 2013 ~ TIME; AND TIME AGAIN

1 Jun 2013 ~ TIME; AND TIME AGAIN



Alex Freeman ~ Class of 2013

- St. Clair High - 

 

It has been a nice break; not writing a blog for the month of May.  Now that I have finished my commitment to write two blogs a month for a whole year, I am in a position to write when I feel the need.  And I do feel the need often!  However the luxury of time is not always on my side due to work commitments.  So it was, indeed, a nice break for me to not be committed to writing two blogs a month during May.  But here we are on the first day of June and I can wait no longer!

I think I am quite good with my time management, but not as good as I could be.  I’ve read books about it, I’ve been to seminars about it, yet still it seems to elude me; this time management thing.  My weakness on this score can be defined in one simple word; balance.  I still can’t seem to get the balance right.  I seem to be ‘all-in’ on one particular ‘thing’ and other ‘things’ have to wait to get my attention.  Why is that?

Today my focus is on my youngest daughter, Alex.  Today is her prom.  Big day!  As I type, Alex and her mom (my lovely bride, Jane) are at the hairdressers.  Later it will be time for her big sister, Zoe, to do her make-up and then it will be time to dress in full regalia for the photo-shoot in the back garden.  After that, there will be the customary ‘pre-prom-party’, then more photos with the graduation class ‘under the bridge’ where the beautiful blue waters of Lake Huron make their way down the St. Clair River towards Lake Ontario.  Then the ‘real’ party begins; Ally will be making her way on to the ‘party bus’ and us old farts make our way back home.  The graduates will ‘cruise and booze’ on the party bus before heading to St. Clair High School for their actual prom dance.  After that it is more partying at the ‘post-prom-party’ until dawn.  Such is the life of youth!

I do feel old; running out of time.  I still have so many things I want to accomplish.  It is definitely time for me to focus on the balance thing.

This month of June is going to be a busy time.  Jane’s mum, Brenda, will be flying in from England.  Our son Martin will be flying in from British Columbia; I haven’t seen him in almost a year.  Jane’s Aunt Sue plus Aunt Pat and Uncle Roger will be visiting with us from the United States; a veritable house full, which means that good times await!  My sister’s daughter, Britni, is getting married to a fine young man, Jason and I am the MC for their wedding reception – that could be interesting!  The very next day I celebrate my 55^th birthday. 

Once June closes out and everyone goes back home to their normal lives in early July, I will also be hopping on a plane again.  This time I have a long journey ahead of me; Kazakhstan.  I shall be spending three weeks in Shymkent training on the CRJ 200 regional jet for Scat Airlines.  This will be another cultural experience that I can add to my life resume.  It will also be a good time to see my old friend, Vlad, from Moscow again.  We met last year in Düsseldorf and the two of us have developed a good friendship and business relationship over the last twelve months.

I have no choice but to balance my time management in June.  Perhaps it will be a good lesson for me to learn.  Much work and preparation to do for Kazakhstan.  Other clients’ projects to be taken care of.  Golf to be played with Martin.  Time to be spent with all the family as we gather for the first time in a year.  Summer chores; oh yes, there are loads of them.  You should see Jane’s list – well, actually it is my list now.

The most important thing, through all of the events for June, will be to remind myself of that old and wise saying; “wherever you are – be there”.  Enjoy that precious moment that you’re in and do not concern yourself with the other ‘things’ until it is time to focus on them.  Plan well and keep your eye on the ball called ‘balance’.

As I sit here with my morning coffee out on the deck in the back yard, I am reminded of what time it is right now; it is time to go back inside because it is starting to rain!  Fingers crossed for Ally; I hope that her special Prom Day doesn’t get her too wet; and that a good time is had by all.  The time has come for Alex to start the building up of experiences for her own life resume.

So that’s it; my first blog after a bit of a break.  Today it is all about Alex and her prom and about being in the moment and enjoying every last drop of it – always; time and time again.

Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory ~ Dr. Seuss

 Brief You Tube Video of Alex Click Here