Family Stories Month - Service

I was raised to understand “there but for the Grace of God, go I” And I have witnessed the truth in that more times than I care to count. Life can literally change in the blink of an eye. We are all one race – the human race – and we need to be our brother’s keeper to the best of our ability.   

My mum was very spiritual. She lived her Christian beliefs quietly and without need for accolades or fanfare. She never preached and often gave devout evangelicals a run for their money when they started spouting off. My dad was raised in a church going family. His mother was a Sunday School teacher. We went to church when I was younger. However, my dad had zero tolerance for people who are deeply religious but not terribly Christian and so he quickly decided that church was not or him. 

I attended a number of churches in my youth. Baptist, Anglican, Catholic, Presbyterian, Lutheran and even the Synagogue. For me, it’s not so much about organized religious groups, although I do appreciate that they provide a deep sense of community. For me, it is about serving others when we are called to do so or supporting others when life is proving difficult for them to navigate. Fortunately, my career allowed me to do just that in many different ways. 

A friend and I were fortunate enough to experience a brief mission in Jamaica. I attended twice, she attended several times. We were with a medical mission team and worked as support to the medical staff. We had the joy of being stationed at a hospital in Montego Bay and spent time with new mothers as well as on the pediatric ward. We went with the traveling teams out to the clinics in the outlying villages in the hills. And we loved it. It was an incredibly humbling experience. But the opportunity to chat with and support the locals was unrivalled. 

Once I became a mother, I knew that I wanted my children to also have the mission experience. And so we did. Twice we went on a family mission in the hills of southeastern Kentucky and provided VBS for the local kids.

My kids attended church and I taught Sunday School, but to me, the best way to help teach them compassion and the importance of service was by immersing them in the real world. At home, after our missions, we started volunteering at a local clothing room. My son actually won an award sponsored by the newspaper for his hours of volunteering at such a young age. My daughter also volunteered at the clothing room then moved on to volunteer at a teen parenting program. 

The kids were able to understand on a real-life basis that everyone is the same, it is merely our circumstances that are different, and life is so tenuous that any one of us could end up in similar circumstances so it was important to treat those who were struggling with the same dignity that we would want to receive. I am so incredibly blessed that both kids turned out to be caring, compassionate and helpful human beings who are also strong advocates for those less fortunate than them. 

Family Stories Month - Pets

 

One of the joys in our family comes from our pets. Pets have always had a special place in our family – both immediate and extended. When I was young, we had a black lab. My dad named him. McTavish McGregor McDonald. Dad made the wire rope that he attached to our clothesline for Tavish to have free reign in our yard without intruding into the neighbours’ yards. Fences weren’t really a thing back then. One morning, we discovered that Tavish had chewed his way through the drywall in the basement. He was relegated to our really large laundry/utility room but decided he should investigate the rec room. He got himself stuck in the duct work. He and dad were never really friends after that.

When I went away to college in PEI, I bought a dog. Regal. Named after the Buick car that was popular at the time. I used to take her to the ocean to run her. She had a great big personality. Many small dogs do.

Then when I moved to my own place back near my family home, I bought Libra. She was amazing. We also bought a cat, Chisa. The two were best friends. My mum and dad watched Libra when I worked shifts. She was almost as much their dog as she was mine.

I had little Benji when I first moved to Brantford. Another spitfire. He had the best howl and frequently let his opinion be known.

 

My husband was a cat person. One afternoon, my son, then three, was getting his bike out of the shed and saw what he thought was a baby racoon. He called for his dad. The baby animal was actually a kitten. She and her four brothers were born at the side of our shed. Mama had made a nest in a bucket that had been turned sideways for storage. We never did find any trace of Mama cat so figure she must have been victim to cars. We took the five kittens in and fed them through eyedroppers. 

We ended up keeping three of them. The two boys were really bonded. 

Sadly, we lost the biggest when he was 10. I missed him. He not only thought his brother was an extension of him, but he also thought that I was his Mama cat. Probably because he knew I fed him. 

We lost Spice girl when she was 16. She went down hill quickly. And then we had to send Baby over the rainbow bridge when he was 18. He was a needy old man by then but full of personality. We had our two golden retrievers and he quickly realized that they weren’t going anywhere any time soon, so decided to join them. I often said that he saw himself as a miniature Golden. Although he tended to get into far more antics than they did. It has been two years since he left us and I still miss him. He was cuddly, pliable, and took no nonsense from the dogs. He, too, had a personality that was bigger than him.

 

Digging in the trash can

Our two beautiful Golden Girls are such a joy to us.

Branch Manager and Assistant Branch Manager

Although they are creeping up in age, they still run and swim like young dogs. It is so much fun to see how much joy they get out of life and that brings us joy.

Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories -Tree Troubles

We love a real tree. In our life before kids (hard as that is to remember), we had an open house every year just before Christmas and part of the tradition for at least 8 years was for the tree to fall over near the end of the open house (most people took that as their signal to leave whether they had been ready to leave 5 minutes earlier or not). The only year that the falling tree wasn’t the highlight of the open house was the year our advent wreath caught fire!

When Heather was born, we dragged her along in her sleigh. We did the same with Christopher for his first Christmas. Then, in 2001, we had an extension built onto the house. We decided that rather than risk 5 gallons of water all over the new carpet when the tree went for a toss, we would invest in an artificial tree. So for seven years, we built our tree. Doug took no chances and tied the tree up anyway. Not such a bad idea once we added cats into our household. Two years ago, we decided to once again venture out and get a real tree. Christopher had missed out on that part of our annual Christmas preparations. So off we went.

It was an all day event. We finally had the tree up and ready to decorate about 3:00. We left the kids to it. It looked terrific. A few burned out lights, but otherwise a great tree. After supper, Doug was commenting on how great the tree was. I said "yes, but it seems to be at a 45 degree tilt" The kids overheard and started fussing about getting it fixed. I told them dad would get to it in a minute, "after all it is not about to fall down in the next five minutes, I promise you" No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I heard Doug yell, "it's over..........get towels........" Seems that our luck with real trees is back (and yes, it was tied up.......took the nails right out of the wall when it went for a toss). We did manage to break a record though. Shortest time ever before the tree tipped. Usually it lasted a week.

Last year, we managed to cut down a tree that had two trunks! (What the heck?)

While we didn’t have the falling over problem, we were hit with a different plague. It dried out and every day, more and more needles would rain onto the floor. By Christmas morning, we were down to a few barren twigs…….making it the shortest time our tree has been up past the opening of the presents. About an hour to be exact!

Wonder what memories (or near nightmares) this year’s tree will hold!?!

Merry Christmas!