Rainy Day

It's raining. The title would tell you that. But, I mean it's raining. so I sit here and contemplate my navel and wonder what today will bring. I live each day with little in the way of a plan because that's the way I have always done it.

I've been contacted by classmates of my early days in high school. 2006 is the 50 year anniversary of the HS grad of the class that I started in 1992 at the "Little Sem" Or Minor Seminary if you prefer. It was a prep school for those who would later go on to the "Major Seminary" to study for the priesthood.

Because of this contact, I began trying to recall first of all the names and then events connected with the names of fifty years ago. Now in another venue I am trying to construct a memory book to send ahead and ask for others to fill in the blanks with their recollections of those early days. Perhaps if any of you who were in the classes at the minor sem in those days want to begin your own memory journal, we can compare notes and reminiscences when I get to Blfo in October.

Sorrow

Nothing hurts a parent as much as the sorrow of a child.
Each cry brings heart stopping anguish.

An urge to replace hurt with comfort and warmth
And put joy, happiness and love in its place

Creates the feeling of helplessness.

The loss of a friend is a sad occasion
the loss of a trusted collegue

In a field where trust is earned grudgingly
makes the loss more poignant


And deepens the sorrow.

I feel your pain.

Trying to remember

Back in the mid eighties when I was doing some commentaries for CBC radio in Sydney there was a debate going on about amalgamation of the various municipalities into one larger one (as has been done).

There were some people in the smaller municipalities that argued that amalgamtion would result in a loss of identity for the smaller places.

I opined in my commentary that people would always identify with the neighborhood where they were raised regardless of what name the municipality came to be called. I stated that I was born on 14th street on the west side of Buffalo in the state of new York in the coultry called the United States.

When I identified myself to others from the city I was from 14th street on the West side. When I left the city and went down state to school I was from Buffalo, When I joined the navy and went to Newport Rhode Island and later Virginia, I was from New York State, when I went overseas I was from the U.S. (and no I don't know your mother's third cousin who emigrated to Peoria). Throughout all this I still remember the front room of the house on 14th Street where the four older boys in the family bunked in two army surplus bunk beds (U.S.carved in the end, khaki colored functionally ugly).

Now when I meet people and they ask where I am from I always respond, "recently from Kingston PEI before that many places".

I have always believed that where you were from is unimpoprtant, it was where you are going that makes a difference. What you do for a living is essential for survival, what you do with your life is what gives meaning to that life. Now I try to find more things to do with my life that will give more meaning. I find however that when I impart the information that I am retired, I am greeted with this look which says - gee your lucky but your life is over. So I sit and remember and try to give meaning to the days gone by. Yet I know that by living each day as fully as I can I am adding new meaning to my life and the lives of those who touch me and whom I touch.

I have been very fortunate to find a companion whom I love deeply and with whom I can share these days of retirement. She challenges me on so many levels because she is intelligent, interesting, adventurous, kind, loving, and daring. Each day is now an adventure to be enjoyed. I have set new goals for myself and although no one but me knows these goals, they will when I reach them, If I reach them. And if not thenI will have enjoyed the trying.

So much for these non memories. Except to state that over the years I have lived (periods of 6 mo residence or more) in over twenty five different locations, 26 if you count my state room on board the ship). I remember each of them, why I moved there, how long I stayed, who or whom I stayed with and why I left. It is no wonder that short term memory is fallible, there's hardly enough room left for recent memories with all the past cluttering up the storage space. I need more gigabytes.