May it be so ...

Annual foolishness 2014 Whew! I finally mailed the quilt square I embroider upon and contribute everyyear to the quilt we raffle to raise money for Storytellers of Canada’s recordingproject. For the story of my inspiration for quilt - a quote from a 14th centuryEnglish mystic named Julian of Norwich and this year’s Annual Foolishness

Greeting header - see details on my other slender blog http://elinorbenjamin.blogspot.ca/ You can see stories of previous quilts on

our website http://www.storytellers-conteurs.ca/index-storysave.html. With God’s help and a toothpick - as my AuntRuth used to say - I will soon be free of my marathon stint as webmaster of this organization. This escape has beenslower than the lava flow from Kilauea. Our Dartmouth Choral Society (DCS) concert was a great success yesterdayafternoon. Now, at last, I can think about getting Annual Foolishness up and running and get some Christmas cards outinto the world before Groundhog Day.

I’m still waiting for that Wordsworthian moment of tranquillity in which to reflect upon the emotions of 2014, but it’s notgoing to happen. That, dear kith and kin, is why I write prose instead of poetry. Be grateful - very grateful! I used to writebad poetry in my youth. Ron just arrived home with the first box of clementines this season. Each of us remembers thecitrus of childhood. In my case, the exotic tangerines came shipped from my grandfather’s orchard in Florida to frigidnorthern New Brunswick in a wicker hamper. Greater suspense proceeded the basket of grapefruit, fancy oranges,

tangerines and the even more exotic kumquat, than the safe arrival of Santa, who was comfortable with northern climes.Would the fruit arrive without having been frozen en route? Not always. I once got in a fight with a boy in grade 5 - asmart-aleck from Montréal whose mother had a mink coat - who tried to tell me that kumquats were a kind of nut. I knewmy citrus, even though I ‘minds’ that it was a rare thing in ‘them days’. In Ron’s youth, mandarins from China arrived onthe West Coast and thence to Calgary. I suppose if mandarins came from China, tangerines must originally have comefrom Tangiers. Wouldn’t you think clementines should have come fromClemencey. Perhaps you wouldn’t. This box says

Maroc and we enjoy them anyway. We seldom see mandarins around here - unless you count that crowd in Ottawa :-(

What has happened to the globe since last I wrote? So much grief in the world! It seems impossible it can be containedon one small planet. I must constantly remind myself that we Christian types were quite adept at beheading people forsuch offenses as reading the Bible in English, and not so very long ago either, when you consider how long we’ve been onthe planet. Terror is a pretty standard old tool. Occasionally, there is an item of a brighter note such as The European

Space Agency’s landing a robot on a comet - the equivalent of landing a mosquito on a speeding bullet, as I heard onecommentator observe - an astonishing feat, even though the robot is now in shadow and has lost its power. I’m not surehow much humanity benefits from sort of thing, but you can never can tell.

Our Dear Leader is basking in the glory of having one of the Franklin Expedition ships discovered on his watch. Muchmoney was poured into this project to ensure it would happen on his watch, perhaps the money “saved” by slashing andburning many other projects of less mythic potential, like the CBC, services to our new war veterans, or research on how

to avoid the more extreme effects of global warming. They openly admitted they were doing it to assert Arcticsovereignty. I suspect that it is more about “seeking gold and glory” than sharing our wonderment with Stan Rogers at“hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea.” It is a great icon in Canadian mythology. By coincidence, a day later weaccompanied Dad to a rather odd presentation ceremony hosted by Veterans’ Affairs, where we met the personable, andnewly appointed Rear Admiral John Newton, just home from the Franklin discovery; we enjoyed hearing his first handaccount. His enthusiasm was infectious. Media representation was curiously thin. We were not alone in wondering when

this event might surface as a photo-op to offset public outcry at our government’s appalling treatment of our current andfuture veterans. Ron even heard a cynical grumble from one of the elderly vets he encountered in the loo. I confess, I atethe sumptuous hors d'oeuvre with some degree of guilt, and enjoyed the lovely woodwind quintet, too.

Canada has added a few members to the club of celebrities falling from grace, which, of course, offers a great distractionfrom Canada’s larger failings on the world stage but does bring serious social issues up for dissection again . It is hard to

remain un-distracted amid all the noise. I continue to send grumpy letters to editors, and government ministers and thePM and post links of outrages to Facebook, and am turning into a fine old termigant. People prefer my cat photopostings, and who could blame them?

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With Dad, the personable Pete Luckett, who hasdone a great deal for local agriculture and tourism,

and Aunt Doris

Gathering of kith and kin at the Shore Club for Dad’s 93th birthday

Homo Maritimus in natural habitat - Lobster Supper at New

Glascow, PEI - with a 4 pounder to share

We haven’t strayed far this year. We don’t like leaving Dad on his own, but

there is lots to do right here in Nova Scotia and we did enjoy some company -especially stragglers from my storytelling conference. When Dad was visitingmy brother in New Brunswick, we had a mini-vacation visiting Annapolis Valleywineries and stayed in a beautifully situated B & B near Cape Split at Blomidon.Lunch on the terrace of Luckett’s vineyard in Gaspereau, overlooking the WorldHeritage approved view of the bay of Fundy on a beautiful sunny day in August

is about as good as it gets anywhere. We took Dad and my Aunt Doris for lunchin September but it was a little chillier then. They provide blankets. Petegreeted us in person at the door. He started his career as a vegetable barrowman, then charming presence at the Saint John, NB market, then as a TVpersonality, and entrepreneur of an upscale grocery in Bedford with branchesin Halifax and Wolfville, which enabled his to launch his own vineyard. Annapolis Valley white wines are getting better every year, but more expensive

than their foreign competitors. We buy them anyway. There is a very excitingproducer located at Benjamin Bridge, site of an ancestral saw milling operation.We have nothing to do with the vineyard, alas. They are producing somespectacular sparkling wines in the traditional style, but we can’t afford the mostspectacular. The lesser ones are still very good.

I got back to Corner Brook for the March Hare, always a time of happyreunions, and took a short trip to New York for a workshop with my storytellingmentor, Laura Simms, which included a “field trip” to the weekly storytellingsession at the Hans Christian Andersen statue in Central Park, quick visits with my two high school friends in Westchesterand New Jersey and a wonderful lunch with a bedsitter flatmate from my days in London (Eeek! 1976?) and his lovelywife, whom I had never met. They live in Nyack, very close to Pearl River, where I went to High School. I also went to

Ottawa for a week-end to hear the Ottawa Storytellers present their day-long epic telling of The Iliad, and visit morefriends. All of this was stupendous.

Ron’s only venture out of the Maritimes, alas, was to fly toCalgary for the funeral of Ron Stevens, a dear Calgary friendsince elementary school. That was a shock for everyone. He

was able to stay another day and spend it with Ron’s wife,Phyllis, whom he has known since university days. Ourfamily has lost a major elder - Dad’s cousin Allen, who wasliving in Florida. He was the family historian, and publishedhis results in a little book which we have all cherished foryears. This leaves Dad as the last of 10 Benjamin cousinsstill alive, which has to be a little strange. We celebrated his

93rd birthday in July with a lobster supper at the Shore Clubin Hubbard’s. As a result of the memorial service for Allenwe had the opportunity to become better acquainted with anumber ofrelatives andfinally got to see

the old family burial plot in Brookfield. I hope I can find it again. If you arereading this on my blog, you can go back to August and read the tribute Idelivered at Allen’s memorial service.

My annual storytelling conference was in nearby Prince Edward Island, andtook Dad with us there, and spend a few days afterwards eating and visiting

friends and relations, and partaking of an old Richards family tradition – thelobster supper in New Glasgow, where Ron’s mother was born. It is truly thebest we’ve had anywhere. At the conference, I took advantage of my littlespot on the programme to tell Pete Seeger’s version of Dick Whittington and

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Canta Mara and Elmer Iseler Singers with honoured audience member,

Scott Jones, the young choir director from Nova Scotia who was so badly injured in a hateattack, and who has become such a inspiration with his “Don’t be Afraid” campaign.

I’m in middle row, 2nd from left behind piano. Lydia Adams is in front with Scott.

Ready for the Jane Austen

Presentation at Government House

his Cat; it is a kinder and gentler version, less the legend of entrepreneurship it was meant to herald. It seemed like the

right thing to do. Pete Seeger wasone of my heros - a life to be celebrated, remembered and emulated. Too bad theefforts to get him a Nobel Peace Prize did not succeed. One thrill this year was organizing a successful concert forStorytellers Laura Simms at the St. Mary’s Art Gallery which took place in the midst of Dartmouth Artist, Rose Adams’,retrospective Bird, Bones and Brains, an inspiration for an exciting evening of storytelling with a good crowd. Our friendMichael Parker is part of a group called Musikon, and they organize several concerts of contemporary Canadian music atthe Gallery, which is where I got the idea. Their latest concert was spectacular.

Another highlight was singing with Canta Mara, aonce-a-year choir organized by the Nova ScotiaChoral Federation to participate in a workshopand “Big Sing” with a guest choir. This year it wasthe Elmer Iseler Singers. You get the music inadvance, practice on your own, and show up for a

day-long rehearsal 9:00 am - 9:00 pm with theChoir’s director Lydia Adams and AssistantDirector Mitchell Cady,“ ready to make music.” Then you sing with them in a concert the nextday. Ron had a mathematician friend, sadly gone,who was a fine jazz pianist, who stated that one

of his life’s ambitions was to be good enough to“play with the black guys”. It’s one of our usefullittle catch phrases that crops up on variousoccasions in our lives when the subject ofvirtuosity comes up. After the concert Ron said:“You were singing with the black guys.” Actually,

all I did was payfor the workshop - a bargain - spend a week closeted with the music and YouTube, andget myself to the rehearsal, but I did feel ready to make music with a wonderful group ofpeople - a lyrical experience.

Ron’s had several lyrical moments this year, too. His group, the Thistle Dancers performed

a nearly error-free version of a difficult dance, The Saltire Cross, at St. Matthews ChurchSummer Noon Concert Series, I shot the video and they were the first group to post it onYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVLsUYNxpZg&feature=youtu.beHe also performed at Government House where: Their Honours were pleased to welcomethe Jane Austen Society of North America (NS) and the Playford Dancers for a fascinatingpresentation on the enduring fascination of Jane Austen and her world. https://www.flickr.com/photos/lieutenantgovernor/13630775253/in/photostream/

He’s had positive feedback from a real Scottish Dance Expert on his skills at “briefing”dances.

We are kept quite busy attending musical events, and enjoy, especially, Dr. Walter Kemp’sopera lectures at the library the week before the Metropolitan Opera’s live in HD broadcasts on Saturdays. We now taketurns presenting the condensed version of his talks at the Cineplex before the broadcast. My inability to curb my

enthusiasm, has, alas, resulted in my having my arm twisted to join the Opera Nova Board, as membership secretary. Ron,bless him, says he will help with this task. It if it were not for the year of work with the lovely, competent and viciousAinslee C, my physiotherapist, I do not think my arm would have been nearly so flexible. We have accomplished much inthawing a long-time frozen shoulder. I swore that when I escaped from being the webmaster for Storytellers of Canada Iwould cease and desist all arts organizating except for our storytellers of Halifax group, for which I prepare posters, and afew other odd things and will eventually create a small website.

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My First Selfie -

My first Selfie: Channelling the statues of

Constantine’s body parts in the CapitolineMuseum, and expressing my opinion on themicrobe that invaded my arm after carpal tunnelsurgery in May. Actually - not quite the first.Years ago I took a picture of my toes in theRoman Bath at Bath with a film camera. A what?

Constantine employs a different one of the 250known Italian hand gestures. The Turkish marblein our bathroom is as close as I could get it get tothe original setting. Speaking of body parts, I am now on “The List” for a knee replacement, asare half the people I know. Could be an up to two years wait, but I’m not exactly thatenthusiastic to engage in more surgery. I still have to get the other carpal tunnel done.

The silver lining of illness is the permission to be absolutely slothful. I went on a Josephine Tey binge while recoveringfrom the infection. Having the complete works on my Kindle was a “deal” and didn’t require two hands to hold. I read myfavourite, Daughter of Time, once every few years, and as for the others I have the kind of memory that neverremembers who dunnit, which means I can re-read my favourites over and over again and still enjoy them. This enforced“rest” period, also brought on a indulgent week of Netflix binge-ing - including the entire House of Cards series. I shouldhave been watching and reading more upbeat and edifying material, no? It makes you wonder if there are any honest

people anywhere in positions of power. I tried reading a bestseller, a Joy Fielding novel, and made myself finish it eventhough it was boring. One of the non-boring books I read was Raj Patel’s The Value of Nothing. He tells why a McDonald’shamburger really costs us all $250 - if you add the taxpayer subsidies to agribusiness, food stamps and social assistancethat enable corporations to get away with paying such appallingly low wages. There were some things that Adam Smithdidn't even think about - who could have predicted the rise of the amoral multi-national corporation beholden to no one.I read him while in the hospital 10 years ago with the Real Infection. Quite a charming writing style, too, and not too large

a tome for holding in a weakened state. He ideas have been corrupted, just like every other past prophet. JosephBoyden’s The Orenda, a novel based on re-creating the first contact between Jesuits and Hurons in a new light, was highon my list this year - a most worthy addition to Canadian canon. My cousin Chris Benjamin has just published IndianSchool Road on the shameful history of the residential school in Shubenacadie, Nova Scotia, another sad chapter in thelong history of imperialism and cultural destruction. To maintain the grimness, I turned to The Rape of Europa by LynnNicholas. I haven’t seen The Monuments Men, which was based on the events, but I cannot imagine it could reproduced

in the time of a film. Oh my dears, imperialism, cultural destruction, and looting art are nothing new under the sun -obelisks, Elgin Marbles, Roman horses nicked from Constantinople, etc, etc - but the scale was unimaginably Byzantine.

Our household is diminished. Who would believe that, in one year, we would be down to one cat. The two elders, Claraand Sam, “dwindled,” as our friend Lorraine puts it, after having lived respectably long lives for their species, but bouncylittle Amanda, acquired a mysterious infection at age 12, suddenly, in the spring, and we lost her just before Clara. Wethink Otis, the survivor, may still be in shock, or a state of gratitude. Unfortunately we can’t tell which. The week before

Thanksgiving 1) we took Sam to the vet, and he did not return home; 2) I went away with my friend, Kira, to thewonderful Singing Storytellers Symposium in Cape Breton, and did not come home for a week; 3) Ron took Dad to thehospital after a dizzy spell and fall, the day after I left, and left him there overnight for observation - he was rescued by acaring postman who brought him home and came by later to follow up. Who will do things like that in the new Canada,the one that Dear Leader promised we “won’t recognize?”; and 4) Ron and Dad drove to Cape Breton to fetch me, andstayed overnight for Thanksgiving dinner with Ron’s relatives. All of these departures in one week left Otis an altered

beast. We are not quite ready to commit our hearts – and money - to acquiring and vetting a new feline, but are going totake in a winter boarder for a few months while his owners go south after Christmas - a cuddly, long-haired black fellowof 17 named Denver. He has been over one afternoon for a play date, and no blood was shed, and he is here for a sleep-over as I write, and it is going well. We are, all three of us “dwindling,” but are generally in good spirits and grateful forthe good life we live in our cozy little house in Dartmouth. Our community contains fair measures of the evils of the world- and the good, too. For now, we stave off despair over necessary losses with the things that keep us all afloat - family,

friends, good company and the arts. We wish that - All will be well - with you this Season and in the coming year.

Elinor & Ron & Bob & Otis

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