Tag Archives: History

by

#TwoMinutes of silence at 11 AM, where ever you are

Lest We ForgetWhere will you be at 11 AM this morning, November 11? I will be in front of the television watching the national Remembrance Day ceremony from Ottawa. Because it is Sunday, I’ll be able to readily observe that two minutes of silence that our fallen earned through extraordinary personal sacrifice.

Marking that moment has become difficult in recent years. November 11th is no longer a public holiday, so when it falls on a week day I have not always been able to observe the occasion. Unless of course my employer established the tradition of two minutes of silence that at least one had.

Some would say that World War I has long passed and should be long forgotten. It wasn’t the war that ended all war. November 11th may have begun as an observation of the end of the First World War, but it has become a symbol of sacrifice for all who died fighting for something greater than themselves.

Regardless of  your political point  of view about war, the courage of those who fought and died must be  honoured. The courage of those who fought and lived should be honored. Even those who are in service today, on peacekeeping missions or in combat.

Where will you be at 11 AM? Wherever it is, let it be in silence.

by

Life with a Nonagenarian

The Nonagenarian at Rest

The Nonagenarian at rest on a deck in Muskoka

I have given thought to changing the name of my blog, because, although I am still passionate about the polar regions, travel and theatre, taking care of my nonagenarian curtails my personal activities. A statement of fact, not a whine, I stress. I haven’t made the change, because inevitably, my life will return to what it once was. That will be a sad day indeed.

Today reminded me of that inevitability. Once a month a friend comes to visit. That is a big event in a nonagenarian’s life. Most of her friends are no longer with us, and of the ones that are, today’s friend, unlike the others, lives nearby. I do whatever I can to facilitate social opportunities with her peers. Sometimes one just has to talk to someone who gets it. I certainly don’t.

The day began with the last minute scurry to ensure everything is in place for the luncheon my Nonagenarian was hosting. I chivvied her to get dressed earlier than normal in her daily routine. About an hour before the guest arrived and a few minutes before my departure, (I always leave them to chat in private), she toddled into the kitchen attired for a tea party . “What is all this in aid of” was her question. The coming visit had slipped her mind completely, although 30 minutes before she could have told me what was for lunch and who was coming.

That slip of short term memory has been increasing. More and more, I have to remind her of something we talked about only a few minutes before. She remembers her childhood and the trauma of WWII vividly, but that she was having company for lunch today, that was a blank. She is aware of her befuddlement. She is afraid of it, and embarrassed by it, and I am guilty of exacerbating her anxiety.

I hate that I am as much a part of the problem as I am a solution to the problem. I do not want to be THAT person, oblivious and short-tempered. Just as she doesn’t want to be THAT person – befuddled and confused.

Well-meaning folk suggest that it is time for her to enter a home. Her doctor thinks she is better off with me than the alternative, despite my short-comings. I believe she is too. The day I surrender her to the care of others will be a black day indeed. Don’t get me wrong, I know that in the future a home may be the best way to care for her. I expect there will come a time that my siblings and I will agree she needs more than I can give her. May that day be far off.

by

Lesson Taught; Lesson Learned

Yesterday I wrote about the challenges of caring for the elderly. Today I can write, with relief, about a small battle won.

The octogenarian kept saying, “But I drink everyday.” So I filled up a liter measuring cup and showed her exactly what the doctor had prescribed as her daily liquid intake. She was horrified. “I never drink that much. I never did.” I can attest to the truth of that!

So I pulled out the hearing and eyesight examples, both of which have deteriorated as she has aged. The same thing is happening with regards to hydration. Your body needs it now more than it ever did. Got a grumpy hmph, so I could tell I was winning the battle. I went in for the close. “The doctor wants you to drink 4 cups a day. I will settle for 2.” I knew I could make up the rest with juice and soups.

So she drank a little more than 8 0z. at one sitting. 25% of the daily intake down the hatch. She no longer stumbles. There is a sparkle back in her eyes. She isn’t confused. Grumpy, but not confused. Oh my, what a difference a glass of water makes.

I began this about an hour ago, then the buzzer rang and I had to stop to pull the laundry out of the machines. I encountered someone who just learned his wife has stage 4 cancer. That caused my attitude to reboot and put the past week in perspective. There but for fortune go we.

by

The Second Elizabethan Age

When HM the Queen ascended to the throne 60 years ago this week, a second Elizabethan age began. My parents also lived during the reigns of 2 Georges, and the never crowned Edward. My grandparents could add Victoria and another Edward to the list of monarchs whose reigns defined their lives. Yet I have known only one, Elizabeth II.

Religious foment, great works of theatre and poetry, plus grand discoveries were the hallmarks of  the first Elizabeth’s reign. The same may be said of the second. They were both young when they ascended the throne, relying on elderly statesmen to guide them in the early years. Both gained confidence, becoming independent thinkers. Neither were flawless. Both were human.

Queen of United Kingdom (as well as Canada, Au...

Image via Wikipedia

The first Elizabeth denied herself family and a lifelong companion, the politically expedient choice. The second Elizabeth became a wife, mother and now great-grandmother. Both choices led to scandal and public embarrassment. Yet the Elizabeths stayed the course, putting duty before all.

This post is not a political argument. A case can be made for and against monarchy in the 21st century. This post is an acknowledgement of the consistency, tenacity and dedication that the Elizabeth of my era has shown for 60 years.

We forget that the anniversary of ascendance is also an anniversary of a death. Her father George VI died 60 years ago this week. This day must, for our Elizabeth, be bittersweet. Much like her life, I assume.

by

100 Years Ago: Extreme Disappointment

Scott memorial window, Binton, panel 4 (detail...

Image via Wikipedia

Robert Falcon Scott and four companions reached the South Pole 100 years ago today. The goal of that British expedition team was to be the first in history to reach the bottom of the world. They failed by five weeks.

The team rested. Scott wrote of his disappointment in his journal. Then they began what became a death march. A month later the team was one man down. Two months later all lives were lost.

The five died for the glory of King, Country and Science…and in the manner of Greek Tragedy – for personal loyalty. Not quite a band of brothers – Scott was a stickler when it came to rank and class – they shared a common purpose.

Scott became a national hero, lionized in press and film. His companions became mythic heroes, whose names were conjured when examples of selflessness were required during dark and difficult times.

In a twist that has fascinated me for a lifetime, the man who became the first to reach the South Pole, became a footnote in British history books, overshadowed by Scott in the English-speaking world.

Captain Scott’s accrued accomplishments should outweigh his one, dramatic, tragic and complete failure. They should, but that has never been the case. His expeditions to the south polar region contributed greatly to science, art and photography. Let’s spend the next 100 years celebrating that, not his deadly hubris.