Monday 30 July 2018

Monday Moanings - July 30, 2018


Yesterday, torrential rain and hail blasted through these parts in all of ninety minutes. This intrepid storm watcher was fascinated by it all. As the winds were coming from the north to northwest, I closed up those windows then continued my watch. I alternated between tracking the storm on weather radar and watching it all coming down outside my windows. I was in my element. Then the wind shifted. In seconds, rain obliterated the screens on the open south windows of the sunroom. The wood floor I worked so hard on to reclaim and polish was getting wet. I rushed in to get those darn windows closed.




My right foot shot out from under me like a watermelon seed and down I went.

 The #1 thing that scares me, a gal of vintage years, is falling and breaking something, especially a hip. So there I lay on the wet floor, at first unable to move and feeling only panic beginning to wick up my body. I've really done it this time, I thought. What an idiot!

A few minutes later as the pain and shock subsided, as the very concerned dog licking my face became annoying, the panic and self-recriminations eased.




I was able to get up off the floor without assistance - so clearly my hips were working. My left knee, which had been tucked up behind me, seemed to get the worst of it so I iced it and rested for the rest of the day and evening. This morning the knee is working fine. It's bruised but otherwise moving as it ought. But my right shoulder is not happy. It's muscle type pain so I'll just have to grin and bear it. Oh and maybe rest it a bit too.

This truly is a Monday MOANING!  

There will be no gym today. No lawnmowing. No garden work. No housework!

On second thought maybe this is not so bad? The sun is shining and my gladiolus blooms are rejoicing in the sunshine.


Be careful out there, folks. Watch out for wet floors.




©2018 April Hoeller

Thursday 26 July 2018

Thursday, or Thereabouts - July 26, 2018






Hot, Hot, Hot!
So hot that the tar bubbles up between the stones on the road;
round, shiny, black blobs of goo.


I can smell that flip-flop sticking ooze.
     An acrid gasoline smell assaults my nostrils
     and I run away...
...way back in time to childhood summers.





In the heat of July, I envied my pals who spent the summer at cottages by shining lakes in Muskoka or Haliburton. It seemed to me that all the cool kids had places up north, on a lake with tall trees and big rocks, with boats and fishing and all day swimming, and all just two hours away from home. There were enchanting tales, some of them much taller than others I'm sure, of fishing derbies, water skiing, boat races, swimming competitions and campfires that lasted long into the night.


BUT then came August and our annual trip to the beach. Talk about a long commute! This one involved taxis and planes and a foreign country! My mother's family had a cottage on Long Island, New York. Perhaps you've heard of  "The Hampton's" - well not there, but rather a more modest community on the southernmost tip, just east of Manhattan, called Breezy Point. Sadly the Point is now famous for the great fire spawned by Hurricane Sandy in October 2012, which turned to ashes every cottage in the old original Breezy Point, including the cottage of my childhood. But memories are forever and there are photos too!

1970

It was always an adventure every year to make the trek to 147 Oceanside. We always dressed up in our fancy duds (dresses, white gloves, and hats!) because in those days air travel was fancy stuff. From Toronto, we flew TCA (Trans Canada Airlines, later Air Canada) to New York's Idlewild (later JFK) airport on a Vickers Viscount or Vanguard prop job, a flight that took about ninety minutes.

Mom 1963

The cottage was far from grand but I didn't mind. At Breezy we had the Atlantic Ocean, with waves great for body surfing contests. Getting clobbered by a big one was as thrilling as it was humbling. We had the best beach in the world - white sand that stretched for miles.

Mom & Dad, 1957

Me 1961

Me 1970

On a hot day, the walk from the end of the boardwalk to the firm sand near the water's edge was ... well hot, sole burning hot. And it's not easy to walk quickly on shifting sand carrying all the beach gear - big umbrella, chairs, tarp, food basket (containing pop tins wrapped in tin foil, sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper and all full of sand anyway), and towels. Sometimes a hike all the way to the jetty was on the menu.

Mom and I, 1958

Mom and I, 1970

Mom, my older sister & I at the jetty, 1956

My younger sister and I at the jetty, 1970

We had lifeguards on the beach, tall bronzed men in bright red swim trunks who sat atop blue lifeguard stands, or sometimes underneath them in the shade, whistle at the ready.

My older sister and I, 1961

We had parties - fancy hat, and card parties at Christ Community Church (Auntie Lilian always won 'The  Basket of Cheer', the one full of booze), fashion jewelry parties and clothing sales (Aunt Lilian hosted and gave the profits to charity). There were friends and neighbours who were always thrilled to welcome the 'Canadian Invasion' each August. One was president of a large bakery in Brooklyn that catered to the Jewish market. When he came to visit he always brought a huge paper sack, almost as tall as eight-year-old me, filled with bread (pumpernickel and light rye), rolls and chocolate donuts. He was the biggest man I'd ever seen - quite tall but also quite wide - and his shoes were the biggest shoes I'd ever seen - must have been six inches wide and fifteen long. As big as he and they were, his heart was bigger. He spoke slowly, thoughtfully and everybody listened.



We had doctors that made their rounds on motor scooters and delivery boys that rode bikes, front baskets loaded with bottles from the liquor store and prescriptions from the drug store. We had cops who drove around in jeeps equipped with big tires to get through the sand.

1961




AND, we had a volunteer fire department (Point Breeze Volunteer Fire Department), with trucks with names like 'Big Jack' and 'Sand Flea'. When the big air raid type siren went off summoning fire and/or ambulance crews, it also summoned at least half the beach residents including us.


Late one night a fire started in the hardware store off of Market Street, opposite the drug store and we all trooped out to have a look. Dad carried a big red flashlight. He managed to make himself look so official that the fire crew from Brooklyn (they had to cross the Marine Parkway Bridge to get to Breezy) asked Dad,  "Is it all right if we set up over here?" Dad mumbled something and waved his red flashlight around a bit before discreetly disappearing into the crowd.




We had ferries that we could ride from Rockaway Point to Breezy for free, or take to Sheepshead Bay to check out the catch from the fishing fleet.

1958

1967

1967

From there, a subway took us into Manhattan - the United Nations, Times Square, Battery Park, the Staten Island Ferry, and the Statue of Liberty all there to behold. We had fireworks -  actually Coney Island had the fireworks, but we could see them from the bayside.

My older sister on the Staten Island Ferry, 1958

We had the best pizza ever at a real soda fountain store that was just beside the Trunz grocery store. We had Ebinger's crumb cake! The competition for the crumbs is the stuff of family legend.

My version of THE crumb cake

Mom bought real butter and the steak, chicken, and fish (mackerel and flounder fresh from the Sheepshead Bay fleet) all tasted better. We had the best food ever at Breezy Point, or so it seemed.

Maybe it was the sand, maybe it was the salt air,
probably it was the love.



©2018 April Hoeller

Monday 23 July 2018

Monday Moanings - July 23, 2018


And, I'm back!

After three weeks touring Iceland, Norway and the UK, my love and I have returned home. The luggage has been unpacked and stowed away, the laundry is done, and 5K+ camera images have been uploaded to the server ready for editing. I have learned that re-entry to my ordinary world and life is a thing best done gently. So, though the plane landed me back home six days ago, I have taken my time to return to regularly scheduled programming.

Reykjavik Iceland - Solfar (Sun Voyager)

It was an amazing adventure, but over the last few days, a sense of despair has been growing. Tourism is ruining too many places. It is indeed a fine and wonderful thing that so many can travel so far, so fast. But the impact of this on too many of the beautiful places on this earth is humongous. What may be an economic boost for a community can quickly morph into an infrastructure nightmare. It's worrisome to me that my penchant for travel might contribute to the ruin of the very sites I desire to experience.

Take Geiranger Fjord for instance.


The village has a population of 250, but between May and September 800,000 to 1 million tourists arrive, most by cruise ship. Narrow roads clogged with tour buses, dock area a mass of humanity all jostling for souvenirs and in line to use the toilets.

One of my biggest thrills of the trip was kayaking in Geiranger Fjord. I loved every minute of it then, but now some of that joy has been diminished.


I suppose the good news is that the Norwegian government is taking steps to preserve this UNESCO site and other fjords. Cruise ship restrictions are coming. That will improve the health of the fjord itself, but will it stop the masses of people?


Westminster Abbey in London served up my greatest disappointment.


I carry a memory of its majesty and profound peace from a visit twenty-two years ago. But last Monday afternoon, I was confronted by a mob scene. Had I not purchased tickets beforehand, we'd have been in line in the blazing sun for close to two hours. Once inside, (no photos allowed!), the only option was to move along with the crowd. Gone was any sense of sacred space, any room for awe, its heartbeat drowned out by the noise of too many people. I'm glad that twenty-two years ago, my daughter and I took the time to do brass rubbings in the Abbey.

This was taken in the cloisters, away from the crowds.

I'm not going to stop traveling, but I now think that I will be far more careful in my planning, mindful of the impact of my presence in faraway places. I am but a sojourner in this world. And it is still a privilege to see what I can, when I can, as long as I can.

Molde, Norway




©2018 April Hoeller