Happy anniversary to Each New Day

I missed the first anniversary of Each New Day. My first post here was called Welcome to my day and it was published on September 8, 2015. I don't even have to say, "Wow, time flies!" because everyone knows that already.

In that first post, I explained briefly why I was starting this project.

One day back in the spring, I noticed that I was spending a lot of time taking part in discussions on Facebook. I was commenting here and there, leaving behind observations, some of which were researched, others that were well-thought-out and carefully written.

A few days later, I wanted to take another look at some of the things I'd written and I had no idea where to go to find them, so random was my commenting history. I was suddenly struck by how easily misplaced some of our thoughts are when they're part of just one of thousands of discussions by millions of people on Facebook.

That’s when I decided to start this space so that when I have something I think is worth saying, I’ll say it here and then I’ll always know where to find it!

I still leave comments on Facebook because I like to have conversations with friends but I'm more likely to avoid getting into discussions on serious issues with people I don't know very well. I do feel better about that.

The second reason I started this space was for self-improvement:

The other reason I’ve started Each New Day is that I plan to write here often (I almost said “every day” but that puts a lot of pressure on me) so it’s a way for me to practice self-discipline. I preach self-discipline a lot so it’s good for me to practice what I preach.

This is a good time to start a new project. The second most popular day in the calendar year for fresh starts is the day after Labour Day.

I've done quite well. I haven't written every day but I've come pretty close. I've written quite a lot more than every second day, for example.

I'm a night owl and I often write here late at night. I usually know what I'm going to write about and I sometimes start it earlier in the day but writing late at night has become a habit.

I do notice that my subject matter and style have changed over the year. When I started, I was often content with two or three paragraphs about something I had done or cooked or seen during the day. As time went on though, I feel I reverted to my days as a columnist. My pieces became longer and were often — not always but often — more serious and issue-oriented.

I also went back to memoir-style posts, stories of my childhood and youth which — is this surprising or not? — always attract the greatest number of readers.

The most-read post in the past year is one I wrote on June 8 and shared again a few days ago. It's called A secret lake — and a walk in the woods. It created a lot of Facebook conversation when it was first published and it continues to attract readers.

A runner-up is A little addition to our family — and how it happened, the story of how we adopted William when he was two days old.

William has been working and attending Community College since he graduated from high school but this month, he headed off to university where he's studying political science — an appropriate choice.

We're very proud of William for knowing when the time was right for him.

You readers also liked the story about things lost in the fire at the old house in Black River, Leaving our lives behind while the chaos continues; the recent story, A sweet romance in the summer of '61; and especially, the love story in three parts called Love is the sweetest thing. . ..

I confess, I'm never sure which pieces are going to strike some kind of popularity chord. I think that's a good thing because although I'm always happy to have lots of readers, I don't want to become ratings-driven. I might stop being honest and start doing research into key-words and algorithms. I'll just stick with the old-fashioned rule, "Write what you know" — and I hope you'll stick with me as we enter Year Two of Each New Day.

Thanks so much for being here.

A delicate blend of an ending and a beginning

Cape Breton is as beautiful as ever. The drive up Route 4 from the Causeway along the beautiful Bras d'Or Lake to Sydney is still one of the champions in the Nova Scotia scenery department.

Just a few weeks ago, I shared the story of William being born in Cape Breton and how we met him there and brought him to Halifax when he was not yet two days old. This week, he returned to Cape Breton as he and his girlfriend, Keisha, begin university life at CBU. We all drove up to celebrate new beginnings and we're all looking forward to the unfolding of this new chapter.

(They're wearing their new residence — Harriss Hall — t-shirts.)

They have both been working during the time between high school and the present and William's also been taking courses at Nova Scotia Community College (NSCC). He often groaned about those courses so you can imagine that he — and we — were gratified to find that the credits he gained at NSCC will migrate with him to CBU. It's a nice little head-start that he wasn't expecting.

Harriss is the newest of the residences at CBU. William and Keisha have nice rooms separated by a small foyer and they share a bathroom — nicer than using the communal bathrooms and showers. They have a cafeteria with excellent food — open all day — just an elevator ride away.

My friends wonder if I'm sad at the change in our lives. "Sad" is not the right word. It's an adjustment for our family — one that most families go through — and it feels natural. It prompts me to look back to when I left home and how differently I and my mother probably felt about it. I felt a little apprehensive about my future but mainly, I felt free as a bird and excited about my new status as an independent person. I would like to think that she saw it as an opportunity to expand her own life and interests — and maybe she did. She was busy and enjoyed her work — she was a teacher — and she was active in her church and her community.

It's probably a good sign if both parent and child accept this separation as a natural step in their ongoing relationship. It's a delicate blend of an ending and a beginning, a blurred line that results in a mix of emotions, all of them an ordinary and accepted part of life.

We're grateful for the experience.

A sculpture garden with both bronze and wood

A few days ago, one of my Facebook friends posted a photo she had taken at the University of Arkansas which she was touring with her college-bound son. The photo was a sculpture made of wood, twisted into cone shapes with doors and windows, about 12 feet high. I recognized these sculptures although I had never seen them before.

In the summer of 2013, our family was in Springfield, Massachusetts, one of the stops on a meandering road trip. Our prime reason for being there was the Basketball Hall of Fame, our second Hall of Fame in as many days. Yes, we had come from Cooperstown, NY, where we enjoyed a visit to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Both were fun in different ways. The Basketball Hall was much more interactive and William got to work off some energy there and have lots of pictures taken.

William keeping the great rivals Michael Jordan and Larry Bird separated.

When we left the Hall of Fame, we were walking on a quiet street in Springfield when Dan led us into a pretty park/courtyard. We discovered we were in the company of some old friends. We were in the Dr. Seuss National Memorial Garden at the Springfield Museums. Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel) was born in Springfield.

Sculptor Lark Grey Dimond-Cates, who is also Geisel's step-daughter, created the endearing bronze sculptures of Dr. Seuss and his most beloved characters for the Springfield Library & Museums Association, located in the heart of this city which is on the Connecticut River in Western Massachusetts.

Here's Dr. Seuss with The Cat in the Hat and other characters in the background and below.

"You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch."

As we stopped to look at The Lorax and to read the inspiring inscription that accompanies him, we got our first good look at the large sculpture made of twisted wood that was behind him.

When we did our research on the sculptor, we found he was Patrick Dougherty and that he's made these wood sculptures all over the world. I can't begin to describe them all so please go have a look at them. They're really interesting!

This is the one at the University of Arkansas – this photo is from the website:

I'm glad to have a chance to look back at another of our enjoyable trips but I also appreciate how it came about. I liked that Kyran Pittman – from Newfoundland but now from Arkansas – posted a photo with some sculptures that I, here in Nova Scotia, recognized because I'd seen his work in Springfield, MA.

There's an interconnectedness – a small-world-ness – that I find very enjoyable.

Tell me a story. . .

When we lived in Ottawa, I took William — then a toddler — to the theatre to see Robert Munsch. The theatre was full of parents and kids, kids ranging from babes-in-arms to 12-year-olds. It was mostly pandemonium with a high-decibel count but it was great fun. My own toddler contributed his share — and more — to the racket and my only regret about the afternoon is that he was too young to remember it.

He loved Robert Munsch though and Robert was very adept at getting the attention of his audience and we all enjoyed the participatory elements.

William's favourite Munsch story was Mortimer. . .

. . .as so often with Munsch, a subversive story in which the kid outwits the grown-ups and kids, of course, find this most satisfying. At the concert, Robert asked all of us in the audeience to sing "Clang clang rattle-bing-bang" in the tune we used at home. We all sang as loud as we could — kids too — and of course, everyone's tune was different and it couldn't have been funnier.

Clang clang rattle-bing-bang

Gonna make my noise all day!

I enjoyed seeing what Robert said about Mortimer:

Once I was telling stories at a school in Toronto. It was not a fun school. The principal ran around looking very mean; the teachers ran around looking very mean; and the kids ran around looking very unhappy. I don’t think anybody got along very well in that school. At the end of the day I told stories to all of the kids and when I was done the principal got up and started yelling at the kids, telling them how they were going to be quiet and go back to their rooms and not cause any trouble. When he was done talking all the kids were silent for a second and then they all started to sing, “Clang, clang, rattle-bing bang.” Well the principal was really freaked out. I decided it was time to go.

Robert asked the audience to sing together again, this time, the mother's song from Love You Forever.

I’ll love you forever,

I’ll like you for always,

as long as I’m living

my baby you’ll be.

Once again, everyone sang with a different tune but the atmosphere was much different. Many of us acknowledged that we simply couldn't read Love You Forever without dissolving into tears before we finished the book. The kids weren't impressed and didn't understand but maybe they will someday.

Living in Ottawa, we had access to TVO and it was there we became acquainted with another fellow who became a favourite: Fireman Sam. Sam seemed to be — and was — a very simple and innocent guy. The stories were straightforward and suited a small person and who wouldn't enjoy becoming familiar with a village called Pontypandy?

At that time, Fireman Sam books were not available in Canada and we had to order them from the UK. We still get an occasional email letting us know when a new title comes out. That makes us all feel a little sentimental.

In Halifax, we lived on a busy downtown street where traffic passed our front windows day and night. One of our favourite books from that time was Night Cars.

It is late at night in the city. From his father's shoulder, a sleepless baby watches the snow drift down from the sky onto the busy street below. What are all those noises? What are all those lights? His tired but patient father explains everything, from the bustle of taxis swishing through the slush to the grinding and slamming of the early-morning garbage trucks.

The book had a very moody quality and was lovely to read. It was written by Teddy Jam, the pen name of author Matt Cohen.

And there were Goodnight Moon and The Velveteen Rabbit and Katy and the Big Snow and any number of books about trucks, diggers, bulldozers and all manner of heavy equipment. Not to mention sports, fairy tales, fables, legends and the classics.

Nothing though took over every room in the house like the little blue engine called Thomas.

We first saw him on TVO as well. His ascent had begun but at that time, he was still a fairly unknown little engine. The first books we got were still the small oblong hard-cover books by The Rev. Wilbert Awdry and many of the engines had not yet made an appearance.

Thomas did get very big indeed but at our house, after the books, the trains and the tracks were all that were needed.

(We had lots more tracks than are shown in this Internet picture.)

Every day when William came home from school, a new configuration of tracks would begin to take shape. The tracks ran under the chairs and around the legs of the coffee table. They often straddled two rooms and we all learned how to get around the house without disrupting the goings-on on the Island of Sodor. In short, Thomas, Percy, Edward, Gordon, Henry, James, Emily, Rosie and Sir Topham Hatt all became valued members of the family and they all had their place.

Most of the childhood books have been given away to other children or sold at book sales for good causes. Not the Thomas books though. William decided at a certain point that he would keep them and they would accompany him on his life's journey, wherever that may take him. The books are carefully packed into a box with the trains and tracks, a few videotapes and maybe a CD, and the beautiful Thomas the Tank Engine bedspread that he slept under for much of his little boyhood.

On our recent trip to England, we were passing through the village of Stroud in Gloucester on one of our day trips with The English Bus. As we passed a row of modest houses, our guide pointed out one of the houses and said, "That's where The Rev. Wilbert Awdry lived. Some of you may have heard of him."

Oh yes. If only he knew.

Still won't stay in his seat

I published this photo on Facebook yesterday.

My caption was: This guy – Will O'Connor – known as William to his mother (me) will be 21 tomorrow, November 29. This was taken in the Morada Motel in Chatham, NB, when William and I were on our way to the wedding of my beloved niece and nephew, Lisa Marie Knowles and Mike Knowles.

When William was about this age, I wrote an article about him and, among other things, I said, "From the beginning, William was – and remains – a good sleeper, a good eater, a little fellow who seems to enjoy life." That why I love this picture. It expresses his love of life so openly.

He was an exuberant child. If I had a nickel – as they say – for every time a teacher called me from the school to tell me William had been sent to the office, I'd be rich. His crime was always the same: he was rough-housing. He and Sebastian were wrestling. He body-checked Rhett in the hall on the way to the gym. The teachers always made a point of acknowledging that William was not mean or malicious – he was high-spirited.

But rules were rules and the rule that seemed to be at the top of the rule-book was the no-touching rule. William broke that rule on a regular basis.

I confess, there came a day when I got tired of the phone calls though. I respect teachers beyond most other professional people and you couldn't pay me enough to do their job. But the day the teacher called and said, "William won't stay in his seat!" was the day I answered back. In retrospect, I'm sure she was having a bad day and had just had it up to here but at the time, I guess I'd had it too.

"What do you want me to do, Madame?" I asked. "Do you want me to come down there and tell William to stay in his seat?" I think she quite quickly realized that it must have sounded a little silly to me because she quickly answered, "No, but I thought you should know." I thanked her for that and then, because I felt bad for her, I said, "You know what? You can tell William that if he doesn't stay in his seat, I'm coming down there. I think that will help." I don't know if she did.

When he was in grade three or four – can't remember which – he had a little assignment which was to write 10 facts about his mother. He was in French Immersion so his facts were all in French.

He started with the obvious: he said I was a good cook and, quite endearingly, he said I took good care of him. He said I was a writer and editor. At about number four, he wrote, "Elle est une communiste." I swear, to this day, I wonder what the teacher must have thought when she read that. I didn't see it until the end of term so I think I saw her several times between when he wrote it and when I saw it. It was never an issue, as far as I know.

I'm not sure where that came from although it might have been that I defended Castro's Cuba against so much of the American propaganda that even school-kids seemed to hear. I didn't always insert myself into kids' conversations but if I heard something that I thought deserved discussion and another point of view, there I was.

William still takes a huge interest in politics, in how the world works and in all current events. He keeps a closer eye on much of it than I do and he loves to talk about issues, from local to international, from US presidential candidates to Putin and Turkey. He enjoys hearing a historical perspective and making connections. Dan has worked in politics most of his adult life and William loves hearing what happens on the inside of politics. He and Dan actively worked together on two recent election campaigns.

He also loves to talk about sports – basketball mostly – and music and movies and other aspects of pop culture. He has kept Dan and me interested in things that we might have missed.

He moves constantly while he's talking – walking up and down the room, sitting then standing, walking in another direction. It clearly helps with his thinking and I listen to him happily and I never phone anybody to say, "William won't stay in his seat."

Over the years, William has willingly gone with Dan and me to the theatre, to Symphony concerts, to movies that he probably wouldn't choose on his own. He always appreciates them and is always glad he went. One day, not too long ago, I told him I had got him a ticket for some show or other. I said, "I think you'll enjoy it." He said, "I enjoy pretty much everything, Mama."

It's not a bad way to go through life.