Monday 14 May 2012

Memoir Group Homework-Our First Television

Here is the second installment of Memoir Writers Homework,based on the memoir group that I used to attend while living in Toronto.This topic was one I contributed some time ago and the writers wrote on it at their May 7 meeting.I am trying to undertake at least some of their writing topics though I now live in Calgary and no longer meet with the group.So here is installment two,entitled "Our First Television".

To my way of thinking we must have gotten our first television sometime in 1964.It was sometime after we moved from Goose Bay to Moncton.That is to say,there was a period of time we lived in Moncton in which we had no television,so the year 1964 strikes me as about right.But it strikes me as being right for another reason as well.Some of the first images I can recall seeing were associated with the Civil Rights Movement in the American South.Today some of that footage troubles me deeply,but at the time it was just something that was happening and that we could watch.People being sprayed with water cannons,politicians proselytizing the virtues of segregation now and forever,policemen,who we were taught to respect using using words we were not permitted to use-"nigger!"I Didn't fully understand  the difference between the term "nigger"and "negro" at the time.I knew one word was forbidden and the other was alright,that they had similar though different meanings,but I didn't know for certain which word was witch.So our first television brought controversy to our household almost immediately

Television also brought fun,harmless entertainment.There was "The Beverly Hillbillies","Gilligans Island" and the "Flintstones",not to mention evening cartoons which always conflicted with supper time.And we used to love the show "Get Smart"that always aired on Friday night just before bed time.Of course now I understand the show,but at the time what I liked most about it was the show intro with the doors opening and closing in front of and behind Don Adams the shows star.I guess I was a bit young for the story line.

On Saturday evening we watched the "Don Messer Show"Everyone in Canada seems to have enjoyed this iconic show.Nearly everyone of my age says that their parents watched this country music show,and  nearly all of them  relate that it was a very good idea to be quiet and well behaved while this show was on.I can hardly think of anything on television either then or now that was more distinctly Canadian.

Our first television was a huge, very heavy box that could not be eaisly lifted or moved.Many people had Television antennas on their roof,but our television had rabbit ears which were adjusted to tune in reception.It didn't always work especially well.Neither did the vertical hold.Eventually the set had to be taken next door to Mr.Cormier,who worked at the railway shops,but who also repaired televisions in his basement.I tried to look through his basement window once,where he repaired the televisions but I didn't see our set.Just a room full of a bewildering array of glass tubes that I knew went inside televisions which caused them to work.Televisions of that day were crammed full of ghostly glowin tubes and it was nearly as interesting to peer into the back of them as it was to watch the front.Except,of course that it was very difficult to gain that vantage point because of the sets size and weight and the fact that it was always pressed hard up against the wall.


Saturday 12 May 2012

Mothers Day

First,just a note to readers.Since I no longer have access to the laptop I was using it is possible that blog entries may be appearing less frequently for a while.I apologize for this problem  and hope that it can be corrected in the near future.

Since tomorrow is Mothers Day ,I just thought I would take this blog entry to say a few words about my mother.It also fits with one of the ongoing themes of this blog,that being memoir.Consider it a tribute to my mother(Elva Mae Davis,1934-2006) as well as a bit of back story,in the sense of memoir.

My mother was born and raised in the back country of Western New Brunswick,not far from the border of Maine.Today its forgotten country with not nearly as many farms as there were years ago.But that is where my mother grew up,on the side of a hill that some people call a "mountain"The land is not especially good,with a lot of rocks and rather thin soil.There are ,and were a lot of trees about and it was mainly the trees that provided a livelihood in my mothers day.

Only shortly after my mothers birth,her and her family were burned out by a wildfire and had to start over again on very little.It's a fascinating story and maybe someday I'll write about it.When I'm convinced I have the facts straight enough in my mind.

But this was about my mother.Her life so far as I can tell must have been rather ordinary.She never really told me a lot about what it was like growing up,or perhaps I just don't remember a lot.My grandfather chopped trees and my grandmother ran the farm.I do recall that my mother told me that they would go to school by horse and sleigh in the winter.She once told me that her horse got stuck going to school.Usually there was a lot of snow in that part of the world in winter.She must have attended school in one of the nearby one room school houses,and she must have been reasonably clever,as she graduated from high school in 1950.Her diploma hung on her bedroom wall for as long as I can remember.

After school,my mother told me she went to work for the Royal Canadian Mounted  Police,as a secretary,in Truro,Nova Scotia.She told me that she could type 90 words per minute,and I don't doubt it,having seen her type.I'm not sure why she never went to university as she certainly had the mind for it.It was likely a matter of finance when she got out of school,and likely a matter of dedication to her family after I came along in 1961.Most of the time she worked,after we moved back to New Brunswick in the early 60's.For a short time she taught school in a tiny school house near where we lived.She told me that most of her students were from the Mormon family that lived on the farm next to us and that sometimes her kids would bring beer to school.I often wonder how she managed to teach at all.All I remember of that time is that she used to write out copies of exams at home using a fountain pen and carbon paper.

Later my mother worked at a bank just down the street from our house.A rather ordinary job that she held until after I moved out west.

On a cold winters night in 2006,my mother lost her life in a car accident just ten minutes from home.It was,in my mind a needless event.Needless in the sense of her not needing to be where she was when the accident occurred,but then,it's God that allows such things to be.Her and the driver of the car that hit her were both killed at the scene.

It was and still is hard sometimes because I never really got a chance to say good-bye.I'd talked to her a few days earlier and she said she was trying to figure out where I lived on her computer,and asked me how far it was from the Calgary airport.I never dreamed it would be the last time we spoke as she was still in good health.We exchanged some emails after that last phone call,and there were some emails on my computer from her a few days after the accident but I never could bring myself to open them.

In her final years my mother was a dedicated caregiver to both her husband of 46 years and to her grandchildren.That's what she was doing when she passed from this world.

I believe my mother is in Heaven.She believed in Church and God and family,though for the most part I really didn't understand the exact nature of her belief.I didn't share her denominational view after I came to belief in Christ.I often wondered what she saw in the church she attended.But she was good and kind,had a lot of wisdom about how to live well with others in this world,and believed that the world was a better place than what it really is.She never really went so far,in terms of distance from that small farm upbringing and tended to view the world in overly idealistic ways.Most people she believed were good,but our world was out running her ideals.Still,all her life she reflected a lot of Gods grace.She was Mother,Grandmother,wife and Matriarch.Gone,but not forgotten.

So tomorrow,be sure to spend quality time with your mother if you can.Because you never really know when you're saying good-bye.



Tuesday 8 May 2012

I try to keep a positive attitude about being back in Alberta.Sometimes thats easy because there really is a lot to be grateful for here.Other times it is amazingly difficult.Like last night for instance.It was a beautiful spring evening and I was walking to my Monday night jam session in the east village.As I neared my destination I was approached by two people on bicycles.Now I know the Alberta mindset:"I'm entitled-to make as much money as I can,to no government interference in my life and to whatever I can put over on my fellow citizens.In short to do as I please so long as I am sneaky enough or forceful enough to get away with it."So then,the fact that I was struck and injured by one of these spandex clad buffoons is likely my own fault.After all I only gave them two thirds of the sidewalk that they are"entitled"to use,even though the law regarding such use is phrased somewhat differently.I guess the expectation on their part was that I should step out into a busy street to allow them to pass.Silly me for thinking otherwise.But you see,I tend to view such enviromentalists as doing something responsible with their lives,like relieving downtown traffic congestion or not fouling our air with more exhaust fumes.On the other hand,maybe it's more about parking for free when everyone else pays.After all there are so many places one can chain up a bike at no cost at all.Like to mailboxes,fire hydrants,trees and even other peoples bicycles that are already using the designated bike posts.Or,maybe its really all about the fact that bicycles are not licensed or insured in this city,thus allowing this person to enjoy his entitlement to it's fullest degree.That is to say,without fear of accountability.And that state of affairs continues to exist despite at least one fatal hit and run collision between a cyclist and a pedestrian in the time I've lived in Calgary.So to this moron in tights I have this to say.By the rules of your own logic you are also "entitled"to ride your bike the wrong way down the Deerfoot Trail at rush hour.So I was thinking that you might like to do that sometime soon so as to come to a greater appreciation that every other citizen is also "entitled".As for me,I'll survive.I have a large bruise on my wrist,thumb and forearm where I caught this guys handlebars but no real damage done.And,oh did I mention,after his incident with me Mr.Responsible Cyclist speeds off past a construction flagman holding up a stop sign.It's not like he didn't see the sign.He was standing on his pedals and cranking as hard as he could.Now why do that if he's covered by "entitlement"At least it seems as though he really does understand the difference between right and wrong-and chooses to avoid the inconveniance that doing the right thing implies.So much for the forward thinking responsible enviromentalist.Aside from saving some burrowing owl,this guy obviously doesn't have much consideration for the rest of God's creatures,especially human ones.

Sunday 6 May 2012

It's a topic that keeps coming up in memoir writing group in different forms.but among a bunch of writers I guess thats to be expected.Why write.Why sit down at a computer and make blog entries?Especially on a day like today when I seem to lack much motivation.

I.'ve been writing in one way or another for the past twenty or so years. and the real reason is just simply to tell my own story,to take ownership of it so that it's not left to others to do.because,to me that is intolerable.over the years some people have directed criticism toward me,some of it more than fair and a good deal of it not.I don't presume to answer that criticism in any manner but to offer my own story in my own words.So my writing,all of it is my own definition of myself.Others may disagree with what I offer.In fact,at least one of my siblings activly disagrees with every word that comes out of my mouth.So be it.But if I leave a written record,it's there for all to see so that they might decide for themselves what I'm all about.I have to keep reminding myself that this is why it's important to keep writing.In truth my life doesn't seem all that interesting to me.But it may to someone elsei try to look at it as a decendant of mine might two or three hundred years from now.

My grandfather was an interesting man.In the 1920's he was a bootlegger in the Province of Nova Scotia.Thats how the story goes anyhow.It's said that when he was a young boy,before WWI he once blew up the schoolhouse with dynamite.My father used to tell that story every time we drove past that school.But no one seems to know why he would do such a thing.Doing such a thing may not have been as unusual as it seems to me today.Dynamite was not likely hard to come by as he lived in a mining town.Dynamite being available is a concept very foreign to my post 9/11 mind.Worthy of his story in and of itself.But my point was not to tell his story.You see,I don't know his story and that is the whole point.

Once when we were very young my grandfather had come to visit us in Moncton.One night at bedtime my sister and I asked him to read us a story.he declined and I wondered why.Later my mother explained that he could neither read nor write.And so we never had a record of a life that must have been so very interesting.We have other peoples stories,to be sure but I would love to have heard what he had to say about his time on earth,his thoughts,his history.He never left a record.And that was because he lacked the means.So far as I know others in my family never left a record either.Not because they couldn't,but they just were not writers or historians.It never occured to them they needed to leave a written record.

I'm not like that!I'm not going to be like that!I started writing a journal when I took upgrading classes before I could get into community college and it just kept right on going after the class ended .That journal has grown to several volumes of coil notebooks,each more or less beginning with  the same explanation as to why I'm doing all this hen scratching-my contribution to family history.these days some of that history is going into my blog.It's my first time actually typing this out rather than writing it all in longhand.I'm not sure how I feel about that.

But,if you are takeing the time to read this,you are likely to find my thoughts kind of scattered.I make no apology for that.You might get a story from my childhood,political op/ed,history,a discription of my days activities,philosophy,humour,a portraitof a homeless person I see on a trip downtown and many other things.I hope you will keep reading,because,you see I'm writing all this for a reason.Even if I'm not sure what that reason is.I only know that for one reason or another I was inspired to write it.And,for that reason,it is pure me,and in one way or another part of my story.

Wednesday 2 May 2012

Michael T Davis

Michael T Davis

memoir writer homework(Monday,April 30)-people I don't like.

These days I try hard to like everyone.Well,I guess thats really a lie,but I try to like as many people as I can,because it just takes too much energy to dislike people.When I was in grade school,it seemed that I disliked almost everyone around me at one time or another.some of them I hated constantly.Moncton,my hometown,seemed full of nasty,mean spirited people and I couldn't wait to leave.But in truth,by the end of high school,when I look back on it,nearly everyone was treating nearly everyone else with more civility.I think it was just a time for putting away childish things and I often wonder what it would have been like if I'd stayed.Could I have learned to like my hometown a little bit more?to a degree,thats a question that will likely haunt me forever.It took me a long time,and a lot of distance to learn to like people.Becoming a Christian helped a lot because it forced me to view my neighbours through the eyes of God,who says in his word that he loves them,and commands me to do likewise.And I truly do make the effort,though in truth,there are a lot of people out there who are very difficult to like.Lately I've come to know that there is a difference between a person,in terms of their identity,and the way that they choose to behave.Or,to put it another way,one might behave,or behave otherwise.So I try to deal with unlikeable persons in terms of behaviour.There are things which,quite frankly annoy me,even piss me off.There are some things that I will not tolerate on the grounds of belief or principle.And there are some things which are wrongminded or even evil and I must take a stand against them.But that is entirely different from disliking someone or some group of people,something which I really have no right to do.That is my perspective on disliking people right now,but it took my whole life to get here.So.to that guy who got offended by something I posted on Facebook,something that he viewed on a mutual friends page instead of mine,just before calling me an irrelevant,pathetic old man,you really are not that likeable,but I don't hate you.It's just your behaviour that I find repulsive.I could even like you if you disagreed with me like many reasonable people do.To a certain right wing politician who values ignorance,has never heard of Margaret Atwood,and cannot even properly pronounce the word "library",if you could master the art of educating yourself and losing weight only on the right side of your body so that you would naturally tip to the left,it would make my job of trying to like you so much easier.who knows,I might even like you enough to vote for you.

memoir writers homework

While in Toronto,I was a member of group of memoir writers that met on Mondays at The Lillian Smith Library.And an amazing group of writers it was.Though I no longer meet at their table,I still consider myself a member of this very inspiring community of writers.Each of us contributed topics for writing and each meeting we would draw those topics,written in small slips of paper, from a can,at random.Many of the topics contained ideas that would likely never have occured to me if left to my own devices.Yet,when I really think about it,and take the time to write about it,nearly every topic figured into my life in one way or another.As a result,I now have a vast amount of work product with which to start a memoir.I like to refer to each of these writing sessions as a "hunter/gatherer"activity,without which no writing could be undertaken.It is for this reason that I am going to entitle,hopefully at least on blog entry per week"memoir writers homework".These entries will be based upon on of the topics undertaken in the previous Mondays meeting.And yes,I promise to write for just ten minutes on each topic.More or less like I did when there in person.