Recipe for chicken noodle soup

I've just returned from a funeral. One of my brightest, youngest stars on the management team at the spa lost her mother after a long battle with cancer. The service was held at a small church in a rural community just north of Kingston. Due to a truck colliding with a hydro pole, there was no power in the church, or so we were told. In fact, the church was full of power - the power that emanates from the life force -the power of love and the power of faith. The power of song and prayer, the power of showing support for friends at a time of need. The lights may not have been on in this church, but someone certainly was home. Our Nat stood up and gave a powerful eulogy to her mom - I was so proud of her. A few years ago she would have been terrified to stand up and speak publicly, let alone as her mom's body lay resting a few feet away from her in an open casket. Nat talked about what a giving and loving person her mother was, and ultimately what a great mother and friend she had lost. And yet Nat was not tearful - she was happy that her mom was pain free and at peace, and she was following her mom's directive "Don't you dare cry for me. Smile and laugh, just like I have through-out my life." It occurred to me that a living being is made up of so many elements, flesh, organs, hair, and yet without the life force, it really is just an empty shell. Like chicken noodle soup, which is really just a pot filled with water, until you add the essential ingredients that make it into a healthy, soothing, nurturing meal. And yet when someone passes from life to death, none of those essential ingredients leave the planet, they just aren't working together anymore. Nat's mom will live on in the many people whose lives she has touched, and in Nat who has become a healthy, soothing and nurturing human being of whom her mother is well proud. Congratulations Tudy, and God speed.

Chicken soup just ain

If I were in charge of the universe . .

I was up at the spa when Gail, one of our housekeepers, breathlessly informed me of the news that Michael Jackson had passed away. I remember, or I think I remember hearing about JFK's untimely and shocking death - I was 5 at the time, and I definitely remember hearing about John Lennon's murder - it seems as though these events have been etched in my mind. Michael Jackson's death was somehow different. Perhaps because we have become so accustomed to the King of Pop's antics, the initial response was not one of shock or grief, but rather, a roll of the eyes, thinking, "here he goes again, another crazy stunt". Even today, after watching hours of tributes and news coverage, I'm still thinking that he is going to magically reappear, amidst all of the adulation, only to pull off the most spectacular hoax/comeback of all time. But alas, death is death, and except for the one big exception to this rule back in the days of JC, I highly doubt that even the King of Pop will be able to beat this rap. Michael Jackson lived a life, that despite his huge personal fortune, most people would have trouble living. Starting with a relentlessly demanding and abusive father, and ending with an equally demanding and abusive public. His music will live on - lord knows the past few days of tributes have brought back many great memories - and his life has already inspired the lives of many other musicians who will continue to entertain us, but he will be missed. Sometime on the weekend, while scanning the various cable music stations, I ended up watching "Ghosts". I don't remember ever seeing it before, and it seemed as though it was custom made by Michael as the last word on how he has been treated. It certainly leaves you with the realization that there can be no doubt that despite the best attempts of the media to make him out as some kind of freak, this was a very talented, hardworking man. So, if I were in charge of the universe, yes, I would give him MJ the chance to perform one last time at a venue of his choosing so that he could experience the outpouring of love that was so muted as a result of the claims that were made against him, and that he was acquitted for. But apparently, I'm not in charge of the universe.

It's a girl!

When it comes to procreation, I've had a somewhat abysmal track record. As a small child, I had rabbits. After giving birth to 12 babies, my doe decided that the ordeal was too much for her. She died. I nursed the little babies along as best I could and tried to be a mother to them by bringing them into my bed for a little nap. Unfortunately, I fell asleep and rolled over on the whole lot of them - they died. Many years later, I had my cat bred. I had trouble finding a suitable mate for her, so the cat breeder who sold her to me thought that her father might be able to do the job. I was a little concerned about the side effects of inbreeding, but my breeder assured me that this was more of an issue if my cat were to take up with her brother. My cat spent a rapturous weekend with her dad, and a few months later went into labour. The litter died during birth - their faces were too flat to make it out of the birth canal. I nearly lost the mother in the process, but after a large vet bill, she survived and has become a very loving and affectionate friend. So, it was with some hesitation that I decided to breed my mare Sophie (Arab/Anglo cross) to a beatiful black Friesian in hopes of producing a nice, long maned stud that I could ride. This morning, around 6:30, I received an email from the stable to let me know that Sophie had given birth to a healthy young filly overnight and that I should come and see her right away. I jumped out of bed, pulled on some jeans and headed off to the stable. Sarah Anne is pictured above. She's just like her mother, spirited personality, bay in colour, with a long neck and long legs. Thank you to stable hands/mid-wives Kareylee, Sandy, Lauren and Leia. She's beautiful.

On our way back from a home renovation celebration/backyard barbecue at Katriona and Sorab's place near Cobourg last night, around 10:15 under a full moon, we spotted a coyote slipping through the tall grass and under the fence into the paddock where the wild mustangs live. This morning, on our way to mass at about 8:30, in a light drizzle, we saw a doe cross the road in just about the same spot. We slowed down to avoid frightening her, as she stood for a few seconds to return our gaze, but then she jumped up over the cedar rail fence into the forest. I spent a bit of time searching the web and looking through my "Animals Divine Tarot Cards", and my "Druid Animal Oracle" to try to glean some understanding of what these sightings meant, but in this particular case I came to the conclusion that these close encounters with wild animals is only meant to remind me that we live in close proximity to a wide variety of species, some who are relatively discreet, while others seem to take some pleasure in sharing their presence with us. Our house is surrounded by a wide assortment of birds, who aside from the odd misplaced dropping, bring great pleasure to our days with their colourful displays of flight and their melodious songs, while our chipmunks seem to delight in their taunting, mischievous ways, both inside and outside our walls. My mother's cat, Snowball, will sit at the screen door for hours watching the birds and the chipmunks. I'm not sure if he sees them as potential playmates, or a delicious meal.

To pray, to wish, to do . . .

At some point in our history, the ideas espoused by Adolf Hitler must have seemed to make sense to some segment of the population. A man doesn't rise to control an entire continent from a position of power in a vacuum. This past week I watched two movies - first Valkyrie, and then The Reader. I knew what I was in for with Valkyrie as I had seen numerous trailers and ads, but The Reader was a complete unknown, (aside from it's recognition at the Academy Awards), and a pleasant surprise. I found both to be exceptionally good movies with a number of good, thought provoking messages. When we know something is wrong, how culpable are we if we do nothing to correct it? Is it enough to pray for a resolution, or to wish for a better outcome, or are we obliged to take action. I would argue that we all have the potential to curb evil, not only in our prayers and in our conversation, but in our actions. I'm not sure that it is enough for able bodied people to stand by while evil is being perpetrated, any more than following orders that go against your notion of what is right is a justifiable excuse for hurting others. Having said that, I believe that as a first step, we can pray, we can hope, we can encourage and we can think positive thoughts, but we mustn't be hesitant to take the next step when we are called to do so.

Blossoms, blossoms everywhere

While walking to the spa yesterday, I was overwhelmed by the beauty and scent of the display of lilac blossoms, so much so that I made recurring note in my PDA calendar to remind me of this annual event. I want to know when exactly when this peak of perfection is, so that I can anticipate it and look forward to it. Quite frankly, at this time of year, when we are surrounded by so many of the wonderful characteristics of spring, its hard to imagine ever needing a reminder, unless of course one harkens back to just a few weeks ago when we were surrounded by the grey, dull remains of winter. On the weekend a friend and I helped my mom plant seeds in her vegetable garden. No doubt the rabbits appreciatively watched us from their secret hiding spots, eagerly anticipating the green sprouts that will offer themselves up for munching before too long. Birds who have been busy renovating last year's nests are now hatching their young, leaving eggshells strewn about as they sing songs of celebration. And then there are the dandelions. Last week, bursting with colour, this week, nothing but a long string of a stem, supporting hundreds of ugly heads of seeds turning a perfectly trimmed lawn and turning it into an eyesore. Spring - is it an accident of evolution, or one of the perfect blessings of creation?

A horse named George, you say?

One of the lead stories on the CBC news last night tells the story of the RCMP presenting Queen Elizabeth with a horse, formerly named Terror, now named George, after the Queen's late father. He is a very handsome horse, and the Queen looks well pleased with the gift, although this article appears to have reignited the old monarchy argument, and it seems as though not all Canadians are pleased that we have a Queen, let alone that we are giving her horses. I for one like history and tradition and am all in favour of retaining some of the pomp and circumstance of days gone by. I've been to London many times, but only once did I catch a glimpse of the Queen, at which point I did feel a special "warm" connection to Britain and the old gal. I never tire of visiting her many homes and museums. Good for tourism, that's for sure, and as they say, it's not always what you know, it's who you know - and I'm glad that we are in the Commonwealth. Inspired by the Queen and the RCMP, my mother and I stopped by the humble barn where I board my horse, (Sophie) at Valleyview Stables, a stone's throw away from Ste. Anne's. Sophie is very pregnant, due to give birth towards the end of June. Despite her extra tonnage, Sophie seemed to be in uncharacteristically good humour - I even got the sense that she was happy to see me (for a change). We had a bit of a nuzzle or a snuggle and then she resumed her habit of stall pacing while chewing on bits of hay. Valleyview runs a first class operation, with a collection of very fine mares, stallions, geldings and 2 friendly cats. Horses are such beautiful animals - so strong and powerful, and yet there is often a sadness in their eyes. I have stopped riding for the time being; for one thing my allergies usually act up after about an hour in the barn, and Sophie, once broken, was not a good ride for me. I always felt she had plans to unceremoniously dump me into the dirt at the first opportunity. I'm hoping her offspring will be a little better natured and more to my liking, at which point I plan to take up riding again.

The slow ride home

I realize that I may sound boastful, but this is not my intention in saying that today, for Mother's Day, I granted 3 wishes for my Mother. The first wish was to accompany her to mass. My mother converted to Catholicism about 59 years ago when she married my father. Since then, she has been a devout Catholic and an avid church goer. As a mother of 7 children, she would line us all up on an old wooden bench in our Sunday best. She was always active in the church and by going with her to mass today, I honoured her faith in return for the gift of faith that she has passed on to me. The second wish was to take her out for breakfast. My mother and a couple of church friends look forward to our Sunday breakfast, usually at a local greasy spoon, as does my dog Massie who waits in the car eagerly anticipating a few table scraps. Today we were turned away from one of our favorite spots due to an over abundance of Mother's Day diners, but we ended up at another nice spot on the south shore of Rice Lake in Harwood, called Buck's. The third wish was to visit Father Hood's mother May at her new home; a nursing home in Cobourg, where she moved on Friday. Mother Hood is a wonderful graceful woman with a sharp mind and a quick wit. Before the group of 12 parishioners (see Jim's Blog, April 21, 2009 "Never Assume") focused their attacks on me, they accused Father Hood (among other things) of putting the parish at great risk by having his 92 year old mother live with him in the rectory. Hard to imagine. Mother Hood has settled into her new home with an positive outlook and an optimistic spirit. She is by far one of the liveliest ones in the place, and was so very appreciative of our visit. Twenty years ago, my dad's mom lived in this same nursing home from what I remember, she was well taken care of. I once went to visit my grandfather at a nursing home in Toronto. He was a little slow getting around, so I held the elevator door for him. I felt badly that I might be holding up some of the residents who shuffled into the car ahead of him, so I made some kind of an apology, to which one woman replied, "Don't worry, time is all that I have left". Growing old, especially in an institutional setting, must seem like the rough end of a long road. As a society, it seems to me we should be make a better effort to care for our loved ones in the twilight of their lives in the same way that they cared for us when we were helpless - in our homes, and in our arms. May God bless all the mothers in the world, for where would we be without them? Pictured above is a painting by artist Paul Murray entitled "Aunt Emily", a copy of which hangs over the front desk at Ste. Anne's Spa, meant as a gentle reminder that patience truly is a virtue. I love you mom.

The changing face of Canada

Yesterday, I was forced to choose between attending a first communion party in Grafton for the son of a friend, or the confirmation party in Toronto for the niece of a friend. (From now on, everyone referred to in my blog will be referred to as "a friend" to avoid the possibility that my new found group of 12 faithful followers from St. Michael's will be tempted to continue to use my blog to draw erroneous conclusions about the nature of my relationships. I hope this self censoring won't interfere with your enjoyment of this place in cyberspace). Back to the story. For a number of reasons, I ended up going to the confirmation party in Toronto. I was a little late leaving, so I ended up missing the actual church part, and headed directly to the reception, which was held at a small restaurant called the Sky Ranch, at Dufferin and Eglinton. The restaurant also specializes in Argentinian food. Across the street from the restaurant is a place specializing in falafals and another selling some kind of Filipino speciality. Driving from Yorkdale and the 401 to Dufferin and Eglinton, one drives past a number of other shops of varying origin. Same thing happens driving along Finch Avenue, College, or Bathurst, through Woodbridge, Maple, or Brampton. A world within a city, on our doorstep. Upon entering the Argentinian steak house, I immediately felt the energy of the South American people, the beat of the music, the smell of the food, the lively conversation all reminded me of trips I've taken to "Latin" countries over the years. These people have a love of life that enriches our sometimes reserved, and often quite boring "North American/European" tradition. As the night went on, I was reminded of a camping trip to Sable Beach that I was invited on a few years back by some of the same people hosting this party. As a boy, I was an avid cub scout/boy scout and venturer. I loved camping. However, my memories of camping didn't include the kind of all hours dance music and drinking that this Argentinian crowd subscribes to. As a white guy amongst mostly brown Latinos, I felt a little out of place, especially if I made any attempt to join in the dancing, the laughter or the drinking, as apparently I was born without rhythm, and dance to a completely different beat. I have learned to enjoy eating much more, and have broadened my range of food choices immensely, as is evidenced by my bulging waistline. At this particular gathering there was a mix of families from Ecuador, Argentina, Italy, Ireland, and other places, I'm sure. Toronto, and for that matter much of Canada, has become such a rich weave of multicultural tapestry, all living side by side in relatively perfect harmony. We are so fortunate. So if you haven't already, open your mind and wander into some of these "foreign" places. You will be rewarded with warm hearts and wonderful food. If your experience is anything like mine, your life will be enriched and enhanced.

Footprints in the sand

After much deliberation and soul searching, I decided to continue attending mass at St. Michael's in Cobourg, even though I feel that a serious injustice has been committed. By acceding to the demands of the group of 12 parishioners hellbent on dividing this parish and destroying Father Hood in the process their campaign of hatred has been emboldened. However, one has to move on, and so I shall. Walking back into the church this past Sunday, knowing that I may be sitting next to people who have been poisoned by the antics of the group of 12 parishioners was a little unnerving at first, but I can only imagine how it must feel for our pastor to have to celebrate mass under these conditions. I hope you will join me in praying for our church leaders to find the strength to face these kind of people and help them find Christ in their lives. On Friday night several friends came over for dinner, after which we watched the movie "Doubt"; a spectacular performance by Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman. If you haven't seen it yet, I strongly encourage you to. For me, one of the strongest messages in this movie comes when Father Flynn preaches a sermon about gossip. Father Flynn uses a parable to tell a story of a woman who seeks repentance for her sin of gossipping. The woman's confessor tells her to go home and find a feather pillow, take the pillow to the highest point in her village, and rip it open with a knife, letting the feathers be taken away by the wind, at which point she should come back to receive her penance. After dispatching the feathers in the wind, she returns to the confessional for instructions. She is told to go out and gather all of the feathers that she let loose. When she objects to this, claiming that it is an impossible task, her confessor replies; "And now you know what happens when you gossip". Brilliant and timely, I must say.

Never assume

Hello there. Are you friend or foe? Ever since I started writing this blog, many people have come up to me and told me how much they enjoy reading my blog; others have asked me how I find the time to keep writing. Each week I get an email from my site tracker giving me an indication as to how many people have visited my blog, and where they have come from. I have kept up my blog because of these things, always assuming that I was bringing joy into the lives of other people by sharing some of my honest musings about life, about faith, about family, friends and my vocation, Ste. Anne's Spa. I'm sure you can imagine how hurt I was to find out that members of my Catholic community in Cobourg had printed off pages from my blog, hi lighted certain sections, and sent them, along with a poorly written and grossly misinformed letter signed by a group of 12 so-called Christians as a part of their ongoing campaign to discredit my parish priest, and in the process besmirch my good name. As a result, my parish priest has been ordered by my Bishop to tell me that I am no longer welcome to serve on the altar at St. Micheal's, no longer welcome to respond to my calling to serve. Why, you may ask? Ask the Bishop.


I'm hoping and guessing that those same so-called Christians will be reading this blog entry, in the hopes of finding something more to gossip about and to spread hatred with. I invite those 12 so-called Christians to look in the mirror and ask themselves what they see. (If they use the one pictured above, it will suit their purpose, for no matter how hard or how long they look, it will not give them a true reflection of themselves, but will simply return a blank, empty void). Perhaps it will cause them to ask themselves what it is that inspires them to circulate petitions, spread rumours and innuendo about a man they barely know (Father Hood)? Could they possibly have another (possibly self serving motive)? Maybe they will ask themselves if their actions are truly inspired by the actions of the saints and Jesus Christ. For those many well intentioned readers who are not part of the group of 12 St. Michael's so-called Christians, join me in saying a prayer for these poor, misguided and self righteous people.

As I spent the past 24 hours stewing over this recent development, I couldn't help but draw a comparison to the "religious extremists" who, while hiding behind the the faith of good God fearing Muslims, used hatred, terror and intimidation to bring down the twin towers on September 11th. Sure, it seems like a stretch to compare a few petty gossiping and hate spreading Catholics from Cobourg with the terrorists of 9/11, but my point is this; if religious extremists are allowed to spread their hatred and intimidation of others unchecked, ultimately they will be emboldened by their success and inspired to commit more heinous crimes than petty gossip and character assassination.

Now that was a bit of a rant, but I haven't had a good rant for a while. Thank you for listening.

Happy Easter, Buona Pasqua, Felices Pascuas, Joyeuses Pâques

When I agreed to join the adult Acolytes at St. Michael's Church, (after a hiatus of about 34 years) I'm quite sure I had forgotten how many hours of standing, kneeling and praying I would be in for between the start of Lent and Easter Sunday. Mind you, the last time I served on the altar, I was a little more flexible, and my joints were a little more limber. None-the-less, I have no regrets. Being an active participant in my church during Lent and Holy Week has really helped to stregthen and renew my faith. Now I'm not, and I don't expect I ever will be what you would call a bible thumper. And despite all my years of being a Catholic, I still have my doubts about religion and about the faith that we ascribe to. But if I'm honest with myself, I also have doubts about many other things. Despite the "science" that proves so many things, I have very limited experience when it comes to experiencing these "proven truths" for myself. For example, we believe that the earth is round, but I don't know this from my own experience. I have taken the word of a handful of astronauts who have been to outer space. I have trusted the mathematicians who have "proven" this. But I have no personal experience to confirm this belief. I suppose I would have to fly a plane around the world to recant my doubt on this topic. So did a man named Jesus really come into this world through a virgin birth, perform miracles, die for our sins and rise from the dead? I believe he did, but I have no proof, only the written words of his followers. However, regardless of what I believe, the fact is that the lessons that were attributed to this man are as relevant today as they were the day he spoke them, for example "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another". Of all of the liturgies that I attended, the most moving was on Holy Thursday when the priest gets down on his knees and re-enacts the washing of His disciples feet. As I stood behind each of the men having their feet washed, I was overcome with the humility of this act. At one point I had to fight back tears. This ritual of the washing of the feet is a part of many of the treatments that are performed at Ste. Anne's. We incorporated this into our treatments after experiencing this many years ago in Thailand, a country that exudes humility, except it would appear, when it comes to it's method of changing governments. May the mystery of life and the wonder of creation inspire you and your family over this holiday weekend - Happy Easter.

A funny think happened to me on my way to the coffee aisle

Despite my lack of enthusiasm for getting caught up in the "current economic situation", I eventually gave in to all the pressure in the media and decided that I had to start worrying and take immediate and decisive steps to minimize my exposure to the global economic crisis. At first, I set my hopes for a bailout, either from the government, the bank or the lottery people. I rushed to the mailbox each day, I checked my voicemail every hour on the hour, but much to my surprise, and chagrin, I didn't receive a priority post envelope with instructions on how I should access my bailout, or a special delivery invitation to attend a news conference about how my bank would be making new forms of credit available to me, or lowering fees, nor did I get a voicemail asking me to contact the lottery office to make arrangements to pick up my massive winnings in front of a live press conference. Undeterred, I decided that I was fully capable of taking matters into my own hands. I implemented a new policy that required all of my department heads to submit purchase order requests to me for approval a week in advance. I also informed my accounting staff that from now on I would be signing all the cheques and reviewing all transactions. It took a little while, but one by one, each of my team members fell into line and gave me back the control that I had so proudly delegated to them over the past 19 years. Everyone that is, except my Chef. As it turned out, our food service supplier (a big multi-national company that has food service supply down to a fine, fine art) had pretty much taken over the ordering process, and they weren't too eager to give it up. As much as I like to be sold by a good salesperson, nothing gets my back up more than when my sales person cuts me right out of the buying process. To force myself into the process, I put a moratorium on ordering from our regular suppliers and invited my Chef to join me at the new Costco store, recently opened in Peterborough. I think my Chef thought I had finally gone crazy, and God knows I was driving him crazy with my new found interest in his purchasing habits. None-the-less, we shared a couple of hours of tense fun pushing big carts from the meat section to the produce section to the canned goods, and back again stopping at every sample table of course. We racked up quite a bill, but it was still significantly less than what we had been spending with our regular food service supplier. Now to be fair, part of the reason for the difference was because we forgot some things, because, as I said earlier, we weren't really in the habit of putting our orders together ourselves, and I didn't think our food service supplier would be too keen to join us on our shopping expedition at Costco. However, there definitely were savings, and I think there was an immediate impact on waste and over buying brought about by my direct involvement in the process. Now, one of the things we bought was coffee. I was a little worried about this purchase, because, although I'm not a big coffee drinker myself, my spa guests are very particular about their coffee. I expected that before long I'd be getting complaints about the cheap new Costco coffee we were serving. So you can imagine my surprise (and glee) when I received an email this morning from our dining room manager asking what we should be telling guests who were raving about our new coffee and asking where we were getting it from. Go figure! I'm still shopping at Costco once a week, and we have an ordering system in place for all departments. The jury is still out as to how much of an impact all of this senior management interference is having, but I have a good feeling about it. Our recession fighting plan is now well underway; it was a bit of a rough road getting there - and we still have a long ways to go. But gosh darn it, we're going to do our part to bring this economic beast to the ground by cutting back our spending, controlling our labour costs, and reducing our credit requirements, and doing our part to contribute to all the fear mongering going on in the media! (Yes, I am being sarcastic, thank you for noticing).

Another Ste. Anne's

A couple of weeks ago I decided to take a short road trip to join some friends for some spring skiing at Smuggler's Notch in Vermont. Every once in a while I love a good road trip, I don't mind driving and sometimes being alone at the wheel gives me a chance to think and reflect, although on this particular trip I found myself missing my canine friend Massie at times. I did enquire at the border, and apparently he is welcome to cross the border as long as he has his shots up to date and documentation readily available. I let my GPS do the navigating, and she took me along the 401 to Cornwall, where I crossed into Akwesasne territory. My first reaction to the conditions on the American side of the border, a collection of falling down houses and barns, closed down businesses and general signs of despair was that all the news I had been seeing about the state of the U.S. economy was evident in real time, was soon replaced with the realization that this was more a case of how the indigenous people of North America have been neglected much longer than this current economic cycle. Once I crossed the state line into Vermont, conditions were much better with very few "signs of the times." Another thing that caught my eye over the state line was a highway sign pointing to Ste. Anne's Shrine. I was on a bit of a tight timeline, so I decided to leave this diversion for my return trip. I got to Smugglers just in time for a warm Canadian welcome and a good home cooked meal. The next day we tackled the mountain - ski conditions were OK, but a little icy. Then the sky opened up with rain, and that introduced a whole new skiing experience. The weather cleared after lunch, enough that I decided to cut through a patch of brush to another hill, hitting a patch of mud on my way. Well, I found out that skis prefer snow to mud, so while my skis came to a dead stop in the mud, my body kept going and down I went. Other than a bruised ego and a sprained thumb, I was none the worse for wear. I made the mistake of checking in with work when we got back to the chalet, which resulted in me deciding to head back home the next day to tackle some pressing issues. On the way back I made 2 stops - one at the Ste. Anne's Shrine, and one at the Akwsasne casino. The shrine was pretty much closed for the season, but was still quite moving. Ste. Anne's statue has a great view over Lake Champlain, a crucifix and the stations of the cross on the lake shore. After a self guided tour and some prayerful meditation, I set out for my final stop where I donated my last American dollars to the casino.

Drink some green beer for Pat's sake!

My mother was born on St. Patrick's day, and my father currently resides on the Emerald Isle, so for most of my life, March 17th has been a festive day. I've been to St. Paddy's day parades in Toronto, New York and Dublin; and without a doubt, the very best place to be on this day is Dublin. All the pubs are full and everyone is in a good mood, which is not to say that everyone is drunk, but rather, people are kind, happy and hospitable. The parade itself is nothing short of spectacular, colorful float after fanciful float winds its way through the historic streets of this fine old town. On this particular St. Patrick's Day, my mother and father are taking a little break from the last gasp of winter with a visit to my nomadic brother John and his wife Nancy in Florida. I half thought I might make a short surprise visit to Florida myself (I love surprises), but then I thought it might be nice for John and Nancy to have mom and dad all to themselves this year. So find yourself a nice cozy pub with Guinness on tap ("smooth as a mother's milk", as my friend Tim Gilligan, proprietor of the Queen's Hotel in Colborne describes it), settle in with a few close friends and enjoy the day. You never know, you just might run into me there, in which case, I'll buy you a pint or two! Until then, "May the road rise up to meet you; may the wind always be at your back; may the sun shine warm upon your face; and rains fall soft upon your fields; And until we meet again; may God hold you in the palm of His hand." (an Irish Prayer, origin unknown).

Could that be spring I smell?

The past few days have been so hopeful. All the elements of spring passed through Ontario - warm, bright sunshine, rain, the time change, and of course, lots and lots of mud. This morning, as I tried to scratch enough ice off of my windshield so that I could find my way to work, I fought the urge to feel discouraged by the fresh coating of snow. Spring is such a hopeful time of the year. But alas, despite all my bragging about avoiding a winter cold due to my fervant belief in the preventative health benefits of Cold FX, today I am sniffling and sneezing my way through the same cold that everyone else around me has had for the past couple of weeks. But we know that all this will make way to more bright sunny days, bits of green pushing their way up through the soil, robins returning to pull fat worms out of the earth and spring will have sprung again. Now what else have I been up to? On Saturday night a friend and I went to visit Dan & Rebecca's newly opened day spa on Glen Miller Road, just north of Trenton. What an incredible job these two have done of transforming space. Even though I haven't had the gift of offspring, I couldn't help but cluck just a little like a proud mother hen when I saw what an inspired creation these two had spawned. If you're feeling weary, you definitely need to consider a trip to Lolly Lodge. Also spent an hour on Friday night(second in Lent) as the Crucifer in Father Hood's very meditative "Stations of the Cross" at St. Michael's Church in Cobourg. Around the 3rd station my hands started to ache a little, and my stomach started to grumble in anticipation of a post service meal. As Father Hood skillfully guided the congregation through the 14 stages of the Crucifixion, I couldn't help but draw a comparison between my hunger and my discomfort, and the incomprehensible sacrifice made by JC 2000 years ago. I am quite a wimp, no doubt about it.

Looking back in time

Many, many years ago, I learned to ski. I grew up on a farm in Nashville, Ontario and on our farm we had a big hill. My dad and his friend John Beevor got it in their heads that they would make our big hill into a big ski hill. They hired a local excavator to make the last part of the hill very steep, and using an old truck chassis, they put in home made rope tow. As kids we had lots of fun going down the hill, and grabbed hold of the rope tow to get back up to the top. On one occasion, my sister Anne got her scarf tangled around the rope and soon found herself hanging from high above the safety gate that was supposed to stop this home made contraption from courting disaster. Luckily for Anne the safety gate didn't perform it's intended function, the rope kept going, and she was pulled up to the top pulley (made out of an old tire rim), where her scarf was severed, and she fell to the ground, cheating death by a thread (no pun intended). More often than not, I believe we went down the hill on toboggans rather than skis, none-the-less, we had hours and hours of fun on that hill. Years later, I took up skiing with some high school friends at Blue Mountain. Back then there were just a couple of runs, a couple of lifts, and a dated old ski lodge. Once I got a taste for it, we went on to ski at Mt. Ste. Anne, and at Stow but eventually lost interest and sold my equipment. Fast forward 20 or so years, and my youngest sister Marijo and her friend Brian invited us to join them back at Blue Mountain for some skiing and to check out the newest trend in spa living at Le Scandinave. I was amazed at how quickly my skiing skills came back (how hard can it be - gravity does most of the work?). I was amazed at all the changes at Blue Mountain - now a world class recreational village, and with all the changes in boots and skis. We had a great time, and much to my surprise, I think I might pick up an old sport that was on hold for 20 years. The trip to Le Scandinave was interesting. Located a stone's throw away from the ski hills there is a collection of rustic building surrounding a series of outdoor soaking pools at temperatures ranging from 55 to 104 degrees (F). In the buildings were steam rooms, saunas and relaxariums. Guest could also book a massage, but that option was sold out on the day we were there. The aqua-hot/cold/rest treatment ($40/person) provided a great way to sooth burning shins after a day of outdoor adventure. Winter can be so much fun if you just embrace it.

Ste. Anne’s Spa - Economic Stimulus Plan

It seems the news these days is just full of doom and gloom about the economy. I can't help but wonder if some, if not all of this "hyper-gloom" is fuelled by the media's insatiable appetite for salacious news. Now, as billions of taxpayer dollars have evaporated in the U.S. as part of George W's bank bail outs, billions more dollars are being set aside to "stimulate" the economy. But wait a minute, all the talk of doom and gloom is having the opposite effect on the economy - it's causing people who have absolutely no reason for concern to hesitate, claw back and contribute to a shrinking of the economy. This is where the real danger lies. For a consumer/taxpayer, this can be a very stressful time. It used to be our job to stimulate the economy, and we were having fun doing it. Now we're being told that on the one hand we overextended ourselves by using too much credit, and on the other hand, we’re now not spending enough, so the politicians, who love spending more than anyone, are going to take over this task. Yikes!

My advice – ignore the government, ignore the media, and look out for number 1. Like they say on airplanes - make sure you have your oxygen mask on before you try to help others.

Here is my 4 point "Spa Economic Stimulus Plan"

1. Be charitable. I'll start. If someone you know has lost their job within the past 3 months as a direct result of the greed of the oil companies and the banks (both of whom caused this problem, always seem to be raising fees and prices and recording record profits, but never mind that), send me an email, and I will do my best to get them out to the Ste. Anne's Spa for the day, on me;

2. Keep spending. Even the worst pessimists are only able to imagine a 10% unemployment rate as a result of the current economic slowdown. That means that 90% of the population are still employed. Those of us who are employed must not sit and wait for the government to stimulate the economy – we can do a much better job if each one of us does our part. This is a great time to be buying things, lower prices, reward programs, low interest rates, you name it - shop, spend, save!

3. Be positive. Enough with doom and gloom already. Let’s stop supporting news organizations that feed on fear and negativity. Stop tuning in to all news networks that go out of their way to spread fear. Avoid engaging in conversations that accentuate the negative – accentuate the positive. We are part of the most fortunate generation in the history of mankind, living in the most blessed civilization on earth. We need to celebrate this every second of every hour of every day.

4. Pass it on. We need to get back to the business of being. Send a link to this blog to a friend. Do something to cheer someone up without them knowing who did it.

Who would have thunk it?

I wasn't there, so this story comes to you third hand, but as I know it, about 35 years or so ago a brave man named Remberto Navia took the incredibly courageous and loving decision to move his wife Gelma and their young family of 3 boys and 3 girls from Ecuador to what he hoped would be a better life in a land far, far away known to him as Canada. Remberto passed away three years ago, but his youngest boy has grown into a man named David. Had David stayed in Ecuador, it's hard to imagine what course his life would have taken, but I often wonder if he would have taken up snowmobiling, motorcycling, horseback riding, long distance running, hospitality and marketing. My family and I have had the pleasure of having David as a part of our lives for the past 17 years and have come to know him as a happy, caring, thoughtful, sensitive and giving man. This past week he moved into his office at the spa in his role as Director of Operations where he will return to a role he loves, and where he is loved by the thousands of spa divas who visit the Ste. Anne's every year looking forward to his warm embrace and his heartfelt greetings of "Hello Honey", "Hi Sweetheart", in hopes that they will hear his big laugh echoing through the halls. David turns 39 tomorrow. Happy Birthday my friend! (Pictured above, David on his trusty stead, Noche Luna, who has been his most recent partner in mastering English riding).