Jim's Blog - Musings of a spa guy

Where do spa people go to relax?

2012-02-07T15:21:00.000-08:00

People visiting Ste. Anne's will often ask me, so what do you guys do when you need to relax? While I love to travel, I tend to want to travel as an extension of my job; I want to be the tour guide, with an entourage, showing people the wonderful places that I have been lucky enough to experience. But at the end of the day, I'm not sure that really allows anyone, least of all me, to really relax. So for the next two weeks, I am trying to practice what I preach at Ste. Anne's - allow myself the freedom to do nothing. It takes me a few days to let go, (i.e., here I am logged into blogger to update my oft neglected blog), but after a few long walks on the beach and a massage with Bridget, my body will start to switch into low gear. The edge comes off and I become human again, or at least that's the plan. Having friends and family around always helps as well. So, this is day three of the program. We are on a little island in the Bahamas called Harbour Island, staying at Seadream House - a miracle in itself - lost to fire in 2009, but lovingly built back up better than ever by owners Bill and Julie Corcoran. Harbour Island is tiny - only about 3 miles long and about a mile wide, but it overflows with wonderful people who welcome visitors with open arms. There is always fresh seafood at the dock, lots of sun and surf, and absolutely nothing to do. Cell phone service is so expensive it is prohibitive, so other than the odd wi-fi zone that allows you to plug in, most of the time you are free of the need to be on the phone or send endless text messages. This is my prescription for stress relief. I'll let you know how it works next time I post.

Serendipity

2012-01-17T07:24:00.000-08:00

Call it what you like; a sign, fate, a master plan, Divine intervention or coincidence. There are those persistently optimistic folks who love to say "everything happens for a reason" - I'm not sure I whole heartedly buy into that concept, but when it happens, it always sends a little shiver down my spine. I guess it feeds the ego and makes the universe a little less lonely when you get the feeling that someone has taken the time to create a plan for you and actually checks in once in a while to make sure the plan is on plan.

I am a big fan of Matt Damon's work and one of his recent movies explored this whole concept in a pretty creative and entertaining way. If you haven't seen it, check out "The Adjustment Bureau", and I think you'll get what I mean much better than I am able to express here in black and white.

So what has this all got to do with cookies? I received an email on Sunday night from a guest (Eden) who had stayed at the spa over the weekend. Due to a number of minor but unfortunate circumstances, her stay with us fell short of her expectations. As I normally do, I picked up the phone and called her. We had a nice chat, and I invited her and her friend back to "re-do" their stay, without the shortcomings. She said she would think about it and get back to me. Fair enough.

The next morning, I re-read her email, and noticed a link to a blog, on the bottom of the page. I clicked through to her blog, and I started to read. Like me, Eden blogs not about her business so much, but about her life. Before long, I realized why she so desperately needed a visit to Ste. Anne's, and why she felt so let down when things didn't work out the way she had hoped.

I then followed a link to Eden's business web site. Eden is a cookie monster! Now here is the spine tingling part. As it turns out, my Chef Christopher, and my "trusted right hand" (Tina, my assistant who would normally have received and responded to Eden's email), are at this very moment, in California taking a course on baking all as part of their planning and preparation for the opening of our Ste. Anne's gluten free bake shop.

So, the timing for our introduction to Eden and her very successful bake shop seems pretty bang on, almost Divine. A sample pack of cookies are on their way to me from New Moon Kitchen. I only hope that in time, I will be able to provide Eden and her friend with the much needed TLC that they came to Ste. Anne's in search of.

Quite a week on the farm

2011-12-30T15:32:00.001-08:00

A close approximation of my encounter with One.

This story really started this past summer. We had corralled 12 black Angus steers into a round pen from which we planned to direct them through a chute where we would apply some de-wormer onto their backs. Kerry (our horse loving reluctant cow hand) had mentioned that she had had a few close encounters with one particular steer she had nicknamed "One-Horn" (on account of a short stub of a horn protruding from the left hand side of his head). For this particular exercise we had recruited 3 or 4 fearless men, all of whom regarded "One" as a challenge. Well, I guess One decided that he was going to accept and trump our challenge. First he charged the fence, breaking out of the pen. Then he charged one of the handlers, jumping over a feed trough at him. Finally, as his ultimate act of defiance, he charged me and lifted me by my butt up over the fence.

Fast forward to this past week when One was scheduled to start a 90 day program of "finishing", a nice farm term for "fattening". Once again, One established his domination by breaking out of his stall by head butting a newly built gate. Then, he jumped clear over the gate, breaking it off of it's hinges. We humans put our heads together and decided that maybe One should skip the finishing program and go directly to the butcher before anyone got hurt.

In the middle of this drama, our eldest horse Chance stopped eating and declined rapidly over 2 or 3 days to the point where the vet advised that the most humane thing would be to put him down, using a technique similar to that used by Dr. Conrad Murray in the case of the King of Pop. While its always sad to see a horse die, its even worse to watch it suffer. Chance was a real gentleman who had a good long life and enjoyed lots of affection over his long life. He was buried on the farm while One looked on.

Clare, a seasoned local farmer transports our steers to our local butcher. He arrived on Wednesday morning ready to load One onto a livestock trailer. Well, One had another idea. He tested all the fences and gates. He went around and around staring each of us down, and then, without warning, he put his head down and charged me head on. My life really didn't pass before me, there wasn't time, but I did think I was in serious trouble. One knocked me to the ground and one hoof came down on my big toe, while another came down on my head. All I could think of was Sidney Crosby and his concussion. I managed to get up and get out of harms way before One came around to finish me off. Suffice it to say that One is now safely contained in one pound brown paper packages of hamburger and I am not feeling any remorse for his demise, but I think I am starting to remember why I don't care for farming so much.

On the equine side of the operation, a Spa guest dropped off a beautiful mare named Roxy who will be joining our small heard of gentle giants. Roxy is a great jumper and Karey is hoping to show her next summer. Drop by the barn for a visit. I will keep you posted.

Help!

2011-12-19T20:19:00.000-08:00

UPDATE - Problem solved. Thank you to everyone who posted a review; much appreciated :-) If you are reading this blog because you are a fan of Ste. Anne's Spa, I could really use your help. Over the past month or so, we have been targeted by some malicious reviews on Google Places. While I have written responses to each of them, the best response would be to replace these reviews with some positive ones. It will take some effort on your part as Google requires you to create an account, but I'm afraid that without a concerted response to these attacks, our reputation will suffer. To post a review, search on Ste. Anne's Spa and then click on the links to post a review. Thanks for considering my request. Jim Corcoran.

Good health is to be cherished

2011-11-30T09:21:00.000-08:00

Despite taking Multi-vitamins and Cold FX religiously every day for the past five years, and getting my flu shot every year, last month I came down with one of the most miserable colds I've had in a long time. It started with a little tickle in my throat, which quickly moved into my chest, producing globs of yellow phlegm big enough to choke a horse. I called my family doc and he prescribed an antibiotic, which I took as instructed. I did start to feel better, but the cough never left and this past weekend the tickle in my throat returned. Thinking I would turn to more "spa" based therapies this time around, I booked myself in for a manual lymphatic drainage treatment, which will usually end an oncoming cold dead in it's tracks. This was the same day that I started my preparation for my "I'm 50, let the fun begin" colonoscopy purge. Well these two things do not go well together. I went from feeling OK, with a little tickle in my throat to feeling like I'd been run over by a truck multiple times. I suspect some people avoid colon cancer screening because of the somewhat invasive procedure, but let me tell you - that part is nothing compared to the preparation - 2 days of cleaning out the colon, liquids only. At least for the invasive part you're sedated and pretty much out of it. Well, today is the morning after, and while I'm starting to feel somewhat human again, I couldn't help but think that my little 3 day ordeal with a blip in my normally healthy life is nothing compared to the battles that many people struggle through for years. Take care of your health.

2011-11-17T07:34:00.001-08:00

Kissy, Kissy - Make love, not war.

For some strange reason recently, a great deal of my brain's CPU time has been spent thinking about the foolishness of war. I think it started slipping into this train of thought around Remembrance Day when CBC radio aired a program debating the merit's of November 11th as a day of national reflection. I don't think I actually caught the program, but I did listen to several callers who had left messages on both sides of the argument. Of course there are those who believe that Remembrance Day is all about the sacrifice made by the young men and women who give their lives for their country. But then there are those who think that this day of reflection can actually be interpreted as war mongering - aggrandizing and encouraging combat as the best way to assert good over evil. While I don't really want to wander into that debate, I can declare that it seems to me that we humans were either given or evolved to a condition whereby we had one attribute that truly set us apart from all other living beings - the gift of communication. And so it seems strange to me, that while we can separate ourselves from all the other species by exclusively claiming "civilized" or "sentient" as characteristics that set us apart, we have failed to use this one truly distinguishing characteristic to avoid violence and destruction on a massive scale as a means to settle our differences, whether it be a fight over resources, or a lack of understanding or tolerance for diversity. What a shame. By the way Vatican, can you explain why you need to sue Benetton?

2011-11-08T07:23:00.000-08:00

Waiting for their 15 minutes of fame

This past Saturday, I had the day to myself and wasn't really sure how I was going to use it. As fate would have it, a friend passed me on the highway and asked me what I was doing. She was on her way to the Royal Winter Agricultural Fair in Toronto and that was all I needed to help me decide to meet her there. I think I may have been to the Royal years and years ago as a child when my dad owned some Charolais cattle and we were showing. More recently, an equestrian enthused guest invited David and I to join her at one of the equestrian events, which was quite entertaining. But this year, I wondered into the cow and horse barns in behind the main exhibit halls where you get to see all of the country folks working with their animals in preparation for the competitions. I ran into a few people from my neck of the woods, and had a good look around. It's quite comical to see these rough and tumble farm guys fluffing and blow drying their cow's tails in preparation for the judging. All in all it was an enjoyable day in the city immersed in the country.

Pumpkinfest

2011-10-23T10:53:00.000-07:00

It seems like a long time since I've been able to post a new blog entry. It isn't that I haven't tried, but I've finally come to the realization that there are some things you can't do from a tablet, and one of them seems to be uploading pictures to blogger. So I have a lot to report on, but for today, I'm only going to talk about the Keene New Hampshire 21st annual Pumpkinfest. My sister Anne and her husband Paul have a couple of vacation homes that they offer for rent in New Hampshire lake country. Unfortunately for us, it works out to an 8 hour drive, so this is only our second visit here. This weekend our visit coincided with the Pumpkinfest. People come from far and wide brandishing a bizarre collection of carved pumpkins. The picture above represents about 1/10th of the total pumpkins on display. As dusk approaches, people start to light candles in the pumpkins making for a wonderful display for the thousands of visitors to this beautiful part of New England. What struck me was how much human creativity and productivity just comes together with relatively little fuss to create something wonderfully pleasing.. What if this same amount of human creativity and productivity could be focused on a greater goal - like ending poverty or disease? Instead, many world leaders seem to prefer to direct human creativity and productivity on domination and destruction. What a shame.

What happens when we don't get our way?

2011-08-21T10:40:00.000-07:00

I've just finished writing a "Management Response" to a review on Trip Advisor. Recently I discovered that I have a few followers on Trip Advisor who get a kick out of my "Management Responses". Apparently some of my responses have a touch of sarcastic wit woven into my tactful attempts to set the record straight, or in some cases apologize for our shortcomings. Interesting. Trip Advisor, and other sites like it, are yet more proof of the power of social media, usually for the good, and occasionally for more nefarious purposes. This past couple of weeks, aside from the turmoil on world markets, the media has been obsessing over the use of social media to organize mass protests, and the outrage over BART's decision to block cell phone signals in anticipation of a possible organized protest. I wonder what they would have said about revolutions that are as old a civilization itself responsible for overthrowing unpopular governments and other oppressors in the past? Would Maria Antoinette have acted differently if she had Twitter and Facebook to worry about?

The incredible talent of Billy Elliot

2011-08-01T12:33:00.000-07:00

It was a strange irony. As we left the Canon Theatre yesterday afternoon, the last person I expected to see was the lead, the star, Ty Forhan, out amongst the crowd exiting onto the street. But there he was embracing a woman who I assumed was his mother after having just given an absolutely incredible performance as Billy Elliot.

The irony was that although he was smiling from ear to ear, his eyes were red and he was in tears, while my own eyes had just dried up after off and on crying throughout this intensely moving 3 hour performance. Any more than I could tell you why Ty was in tears, I would be hard pressed to tell you what had me crying.

Was it the struggle of the coal miners, the struggle of Billy, the love between father and son and mother and son, the acceptance of the gruff coal mining community of Billy and his passion for the dance, or just wave after wave of complex emotions brought on by this group of very talented people? I don't know.

I do know that this little 12 year old boy was working harder than I see many adults work. And with such energy and talent. It really was overwhelming. I guess I wasn't expecting much - I loved the movie, and I wasn't sure how the stage production could be any better, but it was in so many ways. If you haven't been to see it, try to fit it in before it leaves Toronto - you won't regret it.

When the student is ready the teacher will appear

2011-07-19T05:12:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, a dear friend returned a handful of DVDs that I had loaned her. She also gave me a copy of a movie that she thought I should watch "The Shift - by Dr. Wayne Dwyer". For weeks this DVD sat on my coffee table collecting dust and scratches, until one night it found it's way into the player.

Now, this caused me to once again reflect on my more youthful days, when another work of Dr. Dwyer's, the book "Your Erroneous Zones" helped me get through the emotional minefield of my adolescence. In 'The Shift, the owner of the resort where Dwyer's movie is set muddles around in the background dressed like a caretaker, offering advice and commentary to anyone who happens upon him.

So the stage is set for an early morning this past weekend when I stopped by the pool at Ste. Anne's to set up some new umbrellas to replace the ones that had been mangled by a recent storm. As I drove up to the pool, I was surprised to see that a guest had already staked out her territory with a couple of lounge chairs, a couple of towels and a magazine.

As I entered the pool, this guest got up and left, leaving behind her magazine and her towels. I went about my task of installing the new umbrellas, passing by the two lounges chairs that had been separated from the others, each time thinking to myself; "is she coming back?, should I rearrange the chairs?". Ultimately, my need to create an orderly world overcame my live and let live instinct and I reordered the chairs, picked up the towels, and placed the magazine in a place where I thought the guest would find it, should she return. In the meantime, David stopped by to check my work, and without me knowing, he moved the magazine into the bathroom, along with all the other magazines.

Shortly thereafter, the guest returned to the pool area. I picked up body language that said "why did you move my lounge chairs?", and then she approached me and said "Where is my magazine?". I smugly replied, "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if you were coming back, it's just over here". I lead her to where I had left it - it was gone. She quickly said, "don't worry, it's just a magazine", but again, her body language was saying something different. I asked her to give me a second while I called David, I found the magazine all the while thinking "I've ruined her day". She went about her business, re-establishing her lounge chairs and towels and started to read a book.

I thought to myself "stress makes people so . . ., but then that's why they come to Ste. Anne's". After a few minutes of listening to the voices in my head, I approached the guest and introduced myself. Her name was Sonia, and it turned out we had corresponded by email about her upcoming book launch. She told me that she had seen me rearranging her things from her room, and at first wanted to run down to the pool to stop me, but then reached into the lessons of her book (Unsinkable), to let it go.

Meanwhile, I made my best attempt to explain the thought process I had gone through in deciding to move her chairs and put away her towels and her magazines, and she made her best effort of telling me it wasn't a big deal. We ended up having a nice chat - her about her previous life of dealing with the public in her former life in fitness centres, and me telling her about my current life of dealing with the public at a wellness spa, (mostly now dressed as a caretaker working in the background and in the shadows of so many very talented healers, gardeners, cleaners, fixers, chefs and servers).

Aside from giving me a lead on a good book, Sonia also left me with the title for this blog "when the student is ready, the teacher will appear". I guess if I could figure out who is the student and who is the teacher I might actually start to learn something.

Contrasts

2011-07-05T07:20:00.000-07:00

For many years now, I have spent the weekend adjacent to Canada Day joined by a small but loyal group of friends and fellow Ste. Anne's Spa employees setting up a tent at the arena park in downtown Grafton for the sole purpose of handing out about 1,000 hot dogs to fellow Graftonites as a way of giving back to the community where we are so fortunate to go to work every day.

We usually have our tent up by 11:00, and as volunteers start to arrive, we get to work setting up barbecues, tables with condiments, bunning stations, and troughs full of ice and pop. There is always a bit of a lull before the parade starts when we cook off a few dogs, and sample them, trying to make sure we have our little assembly line all set to go. As the parade of marching bands, tractors, fire trucks, horse drawn carriages, and church floats winds it's way into the arena parking lot the tension in the tent mounts as we brace ourselves for the inundation of happy, hungry revellers swells around the tent.

Two hours later we look up from the grill, wipe our collective brows and take a swig of something cold as we exchange guesses as to how many hot dogs we served. The frenzy is over and the clean up begins. Every year, this parade co-incides with the PRIDE parade in Toronto, sparing us the temptation of having to choose one over the other.

This year, however, due to some kind of alignment of the stars, the two parades were on different weekends, and a great friend of mine was in Toronto with a room perched right over Yonge Street offering a bird's eye view of all the festivities. After the parade was finished, we took to the streets. In my mind, I thought I would run into people who I hadn't seen for 10 years or so, and I thought there would be lots of happy reunions.

As it turned out, there was such a crush of people, you could barely move, only able to shuffle forward as the momentum of the crowd squeezed you forward at a snail's pace. Once we freed ourselves from the crowd we decided it was time to go back to Grafton, a town with a population less than the people squeezed between Wellesley and Maitland Streets on that hot summer day in Toronto.

For a fun activity, see if you can figure out which of the pictures above were from the Grafton celebration, and which are from PRIDE 2011 in Toronto. (Hint: take a really close look at the fire truck - otherwise, this one might fool you).

Farming or Facebook

2011-06-25T10:03:00.000-07:00

I don't exactly know what it was that started me on the whole Facebook habit. I think I had a profile for quite a while, but I wasn't active. For whatever reason, I suddenly decided that it was time to start sharing more of my activities, my thoughts, my photos and my observations with a broader group of "friends". But last week, after having a heated verbal exchange with a friend, I found myself "unfriended", not just by the person who I had the heated verbal exchange with, but her teenage daughter as well. My feelings were hurt. I was surprised at how this app, living on my smartphone, was affecting me. I was letting this binary string of zeroes and ones hurt me, and yet I chose to carry it in my pocket, check on it several times a day, often first thing in the morning. After coming to the realization that I was choosing to let something that only existed in the Ethernet hurt me, I deactivated my account. I'm done with Facebook. But, if I have a change of heart, I just have to log back into my account, and all will be forgiven, and we'll pick up where we left off. Right. I'd rather be farming. I can check on my live animals several times a day and as long as I keep feeding them and grooming them, they won't unfriend me. I can freely chat (or not) with like minded rural-agri types and get my fill of updates and small talk. I can reveal what I want to reveal (or not) and I can exercise my body (or not). So, if you are used to finding me on Facebook, you might just find me down on the farm chewing on a piece of grass trying to make friends with the newest member of the herd (that's brand new Lady Bird Birdie", shown above in her contemplative state, and below, tasting mom's milk for the first time).

Too busy to blog

2011-05-31T05:36:00.000-07:00

Sophie and her new son Bentley

The last time I sat down to write here, I was still numb from the stunning blue tide that had swept the country, but that seems so long ago now. So much has happened since then, but in this hectic world it seems easier just to type out a few lines on Facebook. Maybe blogging is already becoming a passing fancy, a luxury that life doesn't afford us any more in this ever evolving world of social cyber tech. But today, with looming threats of 32°, I've escaped to my little piece of heaven, my never quite finished "shack" for a cup of tea, some CBC radio and a soothing view of the rolling green fields before I start my day. So, what's new, you ask? We opened The Dorset Manor on Friday the 13th of May. Formerly known as The Hillcrest, which Ste. Anne's last operated from 2000 - 2004, this magnificent Port Hope mansion will give us a place to send spa addicts looking for something a little quieter, but also a great place for executive retreats and exclusive use events like Liz's 'girl's weekend'. With just 9 guest rooms and 6 spa rooms and 20 seats in the dining room. It really is a lovely property, but she requires constant attention, and tends to be accident prone. Lots of stories! David has been over there most days, which gives me great peace of mind. Then on May 25th Sophie had a baby, her second. He's quite adorable and a real character. This past weekend, Marijo ran her 1st 1/2 marathon in Ottawa, with a great time of 2:16 as mom, Dave, Bryan, Mike, Reem and I cheered her on. This is my third trip to the capital this year, I like it more each time I go there; a city that has really come into it's own. I took Massie to the vet yesterday, he has been off and on lame on his hind feet for several months now. After much hypothesizing on possible causes it was decided to leave him over night for an x-ray. I teared up a bit as he obediently hobbled into a kennel, and turned to give me his most adoring look, I really hope he can be helped without too much suffering. Well there's much more I could go on about, but I should get to work, and I suspect I've lost all but my most loyal followers by this time.

Farewell Osama

2011-05-02T05:12:00.000-07:00

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I turned on the TV and tuned to CNN. A tape of President Obama was being re-aired as he announced that Navy Seals had killed Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan. Not quite ten years ago, I remember sitting in front of the TV as the horror of September 11th played out. I remember thinking that this could be the end of the world as we know it. On Saturday night, I laughed out loud as President Obama and later Seth Myers humiliated Donald Trump for his decision to use the birther movement as a platform for his bid for the presidency and as a thin cloak for his angst over the fact that a black man is living in the white house. You know Donald, I think we have the right man in charge.

Girls do it up right

2011-03-20T09:20:00.000-07:00

As one of seven children of Nan Corcoran, I have many blessings to be thankful for. Aside from being raised by a wonderful, loving and selfless mother, I have also basked in the love and support of four sisters, all of whom reflect my mother's many attributes. This past weekend, three of my sisters took my mother away for a celebration of her 83rd birthday. The above video is a short sample of the great time that they had together. Happy birthday mom; I love you with all my heart.

Lady Gaga, Gordon Pinsent, Greg Keelor, and Dogtooth

2011-03-07T06:17:00.000-08:00

Gordon Pinsent, Greg Keelor at the Venue

This past Saturday night, when Gordon Pinsent said, "This is the first time I've been to Peterborough (long pause for applause) since 1959, and it really hasn't changed that much", I'm not sure the crowd at the Venue knew exactly what he meant, but when Greg Keelor said "I hope our music isn't interrupting the conversations in the balcony, (long pause for applause and reflection), and I can hear every fucking word", I'm pretty sure everyone knew exactly what he was getting at. As much as I agreed with Keelor's angst with the some impolite members of the audience, my issue with a night out in Peterborough had more to do with the weather. It seems almost inevitable that a winter night out in this rural Ontario city will end with some kind of weather event making the short drive home to Grafton into a bit of a challenge. Pinsent and Keelor teamed up with Travis Good of The Sadies to put some of Pinsent's poems to music, and I, being a big Blue Rodeo fan, agreed with friends that it might make for an interesting night out, and it did. This is my second attempt to take in a Blue Rodeo experience via half of the band; the first was a Jim Cuddy show in Cobourg in a similar kind of venue about 2 years ago. Both experiences, while interesting in themselves, paled in comparison to my memories of the band playing at The Horseshoe Tavern many, years ago while I bumped up against Tom Cruise, another big fan, dancing next to me, all in a bit of a drunken haze. Back to 2011. Just two nights earlier, I was the designated driver for 3 other friends who accompanied David to take in his birthday present; Lady Gaga at the A.C.C. for her presentation of "The Monster Ball", (which apparently means, "I reserve the right to keep you waiting for an hour and a half before I come on stage"), but which ultimately turned out to be a memorable event for those in attendance, none-the-less. I instead opted for a walk up Yonge St. to the Carleton Cinema where I watched Dogtooth, the only film starting at 9:45, and a film not likely to come to Peterborough, or rural Ontario for that matter, any time soon. Well, all I can say is that Yonge Street sure has changed, especially at Dundas Square. Who says that being a spa guy doesn't mean you can still be a culture sponge?

2011-02-28T10:54:00.000-08:00

Winter scene at Wicklow Beach

JFK once said; "All of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea -- whether it is to sail or to watch it -- we are going back from whence we came." Although I am a huge fan of his, I'm not sure I fully agree with his conclusion as to why we are drawn to the sea. Yes, I am drawn to large bodies of water, but I don't really differentiate between salt water and fresh water, and ultimately, while I get the whole evolution concept, I just don't think humans evolved from a fish. When I want to clear my mind, or just take in some really fresh air, I will often make the short drive down to the shore of Lake Ontario. Directly south of here in Grafton the beach is predominately stone covered, although further west in Cobourg and Port Hope, or to the east in Brighton or Prince Edward County one can find some of the finest sandy beaches in Ontario. Either way, the lake shore is soothing, even on stormy days when the waves are crashing against the shore, whether the water is fully fluid or full of ice chunks. My mom loves to walk her dog down on the beach while she searches endlessly for bits of sea glass and interesting shells. The fact is, since the invention of the automobile, we humans have been devolving as we find it much easier to jump in a vehicle to do just about anything. I drove David up to Peterborough this weekend to run in a 1/2 marathon, and easily managed to talk myself out of joining the 5K run, or even jumping in the pool for a swim. I did fit in a walk up and down George Street with Massie by my side, but really, without become an obsessed marathoner, there really isn't any good reason why I couldn't walk at least 5K every day just in the course of my regular routine. Please, someone, besides my doctor and my conscience, give me a reason to be fit.

Growing up in the country

2011-02-22T08:32:00.000-08:00

From age 4 - 18, I grew up in rural Ontario, north west of Toronto. I have fond memories of Dell Casely and Bob Purvis at Card Lumber, Bud Maw at Maw's Grain Elevator, our next door neighbours, Eva and Len Patterson, the Vermeers, the Keoughs, the Bensons, postmaster and mistress and general store keepers Dan and Jan Hennessy, the Miller sisters, and many more people who made growing up such an adventure. As a teenager, I hung out for a while with Kelly Maw and Kevin McCallum. We developed a habit of dropping in on friends and neighbours, unannounced, just to visit and chew the fat. One of our neighbours and the local doctor, lived at home with his parents. Peter dropped in on us quite regularly, but his parents weren't so keen to have us drop in on them - something about being British and proper. When we settled in Grafton back in 1981 we really didn't know anyone, but quickly found that dropping in on neighbours was just as acceptable in these parts, however, it did take some time and effort to sort out who our friends would be. This past weekend, I dropped in on a local family, only to be offered lunch, and then invited to help with the construction of a backyard igloo. I was a little sceptical at first - I had trouble trusting the notion that this domed dwelling could be built without some kind of a form, or at least a secret formula passed down through the generations. After about 6 or 7 rows of blocks, there was a slight cave in, but after some fine tuning and refinement of our technique, it wasn't long before the final block was being place to make the roof. What fun!

Jack Yellowlees

2011-02-15T19:29:00.000-08:00

Today I lost a dear friend. Around noon, when I received the news of Jack Yellowlee's passing, (something that I knew was inevitable once I heard that his doctor's had given up on treating what turned out to be a very aggressive lymphoma), I immediately teared up as I realized that I would never again receive his encouraging phone calls, benefit from his sage advice, bask in his belly laugh or his unwavering, unconditional and non-judgemental support. But as the day progressed and the bright blue sky embraced a sun shining ever so brightly, and later, as the moon followed suit, circled by a great white ring, I knew that Jack was home and that the heavens were in a state of ecstasy as they claimed this great man for themselves. I may have lost my earthly friend, but now I have a new guardian angel. As one my dad's best friends and business associates, Jack was one of a handful of IBM executives who were always in our lives growing up. So about 15 years ago, when my father thought it was time to create some distance between himself as a business coach to his entrepreneurial sons, and later as he moved his life to Ireland, he left us with a great gift. He asked Jack to chair an Advisory Committee to advise my brother John and me on our business dealings. Jack would make the trip to Grafton for our quarterly Advisory Committee meetings in his sensible Volvo station wagon. He ran the meetings, with a casual elegance asking a myriad of questions, and offering his advice and encouragement. He was always so genuinely inquisitive. I suppose my father knew that Jack would fill a void for us that he realized he could never fill, only because he was our father. What surprised me though was how easily I would come to love Jack and his wife Helene as gentle, gracious friends. I can't say I've ever felt inspired to quote Ronald Reagan before, but today his words from January 28th, 1986 are stuck in my mind as my friend Jack has 'slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God'. Godspeed Jack.

The icy grip of winter

2011-02-01T06:46:00.000-08:00

Icicles hanging from my roof

For as long as I can remember, I have a habit that awakens around mid January or early February where I find myself spontaneously surfing last minute travel deal and airline websites to plan an escape from the dead of winter, thinking that if I break it up with a week or 10 days of sunshine, spring will come around a little sooner. This urge has been especially strong over the past couple of weeks as snow storm after snow storm and deeper and deeper plunges of the thermostat start to rattle my bones. But this year I am trying to fight it, perhaps to prove something to myself, that I can not only withstand a full winter, but that I can embrace it. After all, if you dress for it, winter really isn't that bad, I keep telling myself, and there are many things to enjoy about winter - a cup of hot chocolate by a crackling fire is really fully appreciated at this time of year. Then there are winter activities, like skiing, snowmobiling and skating that wouldn't have the same appeal in August. So, cheer me on and join me in celebrating part of what makes us Canadian, snow, slush, ice, winter drivers and a good old winter storm warning!

What is it with horses?

2011-01-25T10:52:00.000-08:00

Trudy Ferguson captures the Wild Mustangs at Ste. Anne's Spa

I recently observed a woman in the paddock occupied by "the wild mustangs", a small group of horses rescued by a foundation that I was made aware of a few years ago by Albert Botha as part of his effort to improve the outcome for these animals. She was armed with a camera, and spent hours patiently trying to capture the magnificence of these beasts on film. She came over and introduced herself to me, and asked for permission to continue shooting, to which I agreed. Trudy Ferguson had discovered these horses during a visit to the spa, and as a part time student at SPAO in Ottawa wanted to take photos for her final masters class. A few days later, she friended me on Facebook, and sent me a link to some of her photographs. I have given most of my daily equine chores over to one of the guys who works on our property management team at the spa, so I don't have as much contact with my horses as I used to. I miss it, but not in this cold weather. Today I wandered into their paddock to make sure their water wasn't frozen, and the youngest, Sarah (Sophie's filly) quickly wandered over for a visit. She sniffed my coat and nuzzled my chin. Before long, big Franklin, the main man amongst the ladies, sauntered over and paid his respects. Little Romeo - more a pony than a horse also came by to say hello, more curious than anything. Sophie, Noche, and Jasmin just kept eating - glancing up to let me know that they saw me, but that their hay was more interesting. Each horse has a distinct personality, and they quickly get to know their handlers. We humans have had a long association with horses, and it really isn't too hard to figure out why. A couple of weeks ago CBC radio hosted a discussion on the merits of eating horse meat - Canada's 3rd largest export of meat products. Needless to say, both sides were passionate about their arguments. For my part, I think I will stick to cows. They also have their own personalities, and can be quite friendly with their handlers, but I just don't trust them, so I choose to eat them.

Looking back - the first 30 years

2011-01-20T11:48:00.000-08:00

It was on a cold winter day early in 1981 that my father, mother and I first met Harold Winters, the caretaker of what was known locally as the "Grafton Castle". At the time, I was living with my parents in a renovated farm house in Nashville, Ontario. My parents had spotted a real estate ad that piqued their interest. The place was all boarded up - there was no heat, and no furniture. Harold took us through room by room with a flashlight. The building was not in good shape. Large chunks of plaster were hanging from the ceiling. Water running through the roof had lifted the veneer on what was once intricate pine panelling. The floors were painted yellow and blue, the walls were faded. And yet, we were all intrigued. Perhaps by the thoughts of lives that had been lived here, by the incredible sweeping views toward the expanse of Lake Ontario, or by the magnificence of the stone walls, the walled courtyard and the turrets. After all, who wouldn't want to live in a castle, even if it wasn't just a little run down? After some back and forth with the lawyers for the Blaffer family, a deal was struck, and we took possession the 1st of June. I moved in right away with my high school friend, John Wood and we started work on cleaning years of algae from the walls of the massive swimming pool, thinking that in the days ahead we would need a place to retreat to from hard, hot days of dirt and dust. For 2 years, I did my best to lead a group of skilled tradesmen in the renovation. In 1986, Tom Hanks starred in the movie "Money Pit" - I went to see it and found that it was like watching a home movie, not only because I had a bit of a resemblance to him at the time, but also because of the similarity between his story and ours. My father was working at IBM in Don Mills, and eventually he and my mom moved in as well. We were all living in camp-like conditions, mattresses on the floors, bats flying in and out of the attic at night, no heat, and construction everywhere. Before too long my brother John and his wife Nancy moved to Grafton as well, along with Ed Christensen, (our farm hand), his family and a couple of hundred Charolais cows. Everybody pitched in, and it wasn't long before this vacant building started to feel like a home. Those of us who were young men and women at the time all thought that once this place was finished it was going to make a great party house. Well, my dad had a different idea. I remember sitting around the kitchen table one night when he threw out the idea of starting a bed and breakfast. I'm sure the cost of the renovation, (which ultimately exceeded the original purchase price of the property) was starting to tax him. He surmised that with a little elbow grease and some luck we might some day be able to generate revenues of $100,000 a year with a bed and breakfast business. We all thought he was crazy, and besides, how could we have a party house if it was full of couple looking for a quiet, romantic escape to a quaint bed and breakfast? Well, I guess he wasn't crazy after all. In 2010 we exceeded our previous highest revenue record, we maintained over 150 fulltime jobs with a payroll in excess of $5 million, and thanks to the people occupying those jobs, we have a strong reputation for an unpretentious approach to rest and relaxation. Many things have changed over the years of course. The bed and breakfast morphed into a country inn. We doubled our square footage with a series of extensive building projects, and we introduced the incredible power of healing through human touch with the introduction of spa treatments. I guess the only thing that hasn't changed is that our bankers still think (after 30 years) that this "spa thing" is a short lived trend, prone to economic downturn, and that we fit their traditional "seasonal Canadian hospitality model" to a tee, despite years of consistent growth and 90+ year round occupancy rates. God forbid that a made in Canada success story in an "emerging" industry (spas have been around as an extension of the health care system in Asia and Europe for centuries, but never mind that) might ever be considered anything other than a flash in the pan. Oh well, apparently Canadian banks have saved us all from financial ruin thanks to their conservative approach (not to mention their substantial profits); I suppose I should be greatful.

Meeting a click through in the flesh

2011-01-14T07:02:00.000-08:00

On Wednesdays David goes running with his marathon buddies, Rick and Ryan. But before he goes running, he lines up a few tasks for me, just to make sure I keep busy until he is done running. So this past Wednesday, I was assigned to drop off a couple of spa guests at the Cobourg VIA Rail station so they could catch a 6:44 train. Years ago, when we first introduced the "Stress Express", train station runs were one of my regular jobs. Back then I didn't have a car of my own, so I usually borrowed my sister Anne's Volvo, and for a brief period of time I recall having to use a Yugo - a very utilitarian vehicle that was available to me for some reason at the time. One of my first big investments was the purchase of a second hand Fleetwood Cadillac for $5,000, exclusively for the early, popular trips between the station and the "Grafton Castle". That was a great car - I loved looking out over the expansive hood - it was like driving a jumbo jet. As the spa grew, the "limo runs", as they became known, became a full time job for a variety of characters over the years, and we purchased bigger and grander automobiles to suit the task. But sadly for me, I lost this opportunity to meet excited guests full of anticipation as they were arriving, or chat with them about their spa visit on their return trip. So when I get called back into active duty to do a limo run, I get quite excited. About a week ago in fact, I was so excited and talking up such a storm with my passengers, that I lost track of my speed, and was pulled over by the O.P.P. for speeding through downtown Grafton. Luckily, one of my passengers spoke up and produced a ticket for a pending train departure, which convinced the constable to let me off with a scolding. On this most recent limo run, I asked the departing guests if they would mind if we made the trip in a Jeep that I had borrowed from a friend for the night as opposed to the limo, because of the snowy roads, and if they would mind sharing the back seat with Massie, my canine companion. They were up for the adventure, and very easy going. The fifteen minutes we spent together was far too short, they were a charming couple, and they loved their stay in the Games Room. And they told me that they had booked their stay as a direct result of a Facebook Ad that my brilliant Wanda (Director of Sales and Marketing, and turning 40 today), had placed just prior to Christmas. Each day of our first campaign, Wanda and I had followed with excited amazement, the growing number of impressions and click throughs to our site from the Facebook ad. And now, fate has given me the pleasure of meeting my first new found customers as a result of our cyber-experiment. I felt like a proud parent - the seeds planted into cyberspace had first produced a torrent of interest, resulting in new visitors to our web site, (lovingly referred to as click throughs),and now a face to face meeting with living sentient human beings, new fans of Ste. Anne's Spa. Amazing!

New Beginnings, gifts of many kinds

2011-01-03T06:55:00.000-08:00

The living room at Seadream House, Harbour Island

Jim, John & Anna at John's Junction

They say, God works in mysterious ways. Just over a year ago we received a call to let us know that my brother Bill's dream home on Harbour Island had burned to the ground. A Korean-Canadian couple who had opened up a Japanese restaurant in Cobourg sold it when Anna was faced with a life threatening illness. In their time of need, both of these families looked to Ste. Anne's for a hand up as they worked out a plan to rebuild their lives. Ste. Anne is the grandmother of Jesus, and has been credited with thousands of miracles, many of which invoke the acts of a typical loving grandparent. Yesterday Bill called me to say that after a year of rebuilding out of the heartbreak of the fire, Seadream House was ready to receive guests again - he sent me pictures and the results of his work, and the work of his wife and fellow Bahamians is absolutely breathtaking. And last night David, Nan and I enjoyed a wonderful, healthy meal at John and Anna's new restaurant "John's Junction". Anna is fully recovered. They also say, God sends crosses to those he loves.

Another Christmas at the castle

2010-12-27T07:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I caught part of a CBC radio presentation adaptation of "The Christmas Carol". As much as Ebenezer Scrooge is depicted as a despicable character, I couldn't help but think that any business owner at this time of year must feel a little tainted by the broad brush that Dickens uses to make his many points in this story. Up until 6 of 7 years ago, Ste. Anne's Spa was open 365 days a year, including Christmas day. While we were never sold out, there was a certain kind of person who found respite at this time of year in our unique approach to hospitality and the staff absolutely resented having to work on this statutory holiday more than any other. When I made the decision to close on Christmas Eve and reopen on Boxing Day, allowing our staff to spend this time with their families it certainly was a popular decision, but even more popular was my decision to invite my family to spend these 2 nights at the spa. You see, back in the early eighties, Ste. Anne's was our home for several years and many good memories of family get togethers were rooted in this place. The first year we had pretty close to full attendance. A picture was taken at some point and I think we were all a little overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of humanity that had grown out of the union of just two people - I think there were over thirty of us. This year, a few couldn't make it for various reasons, but it was still a pretty good turn out with 28 bodies ranging in age from 18 months or so to the matriarch at 82. We all worked side by side to get meals together, to clean up, and to reminisce about years gone by. Despite all it's complications, family (for the most part) is a wonderful thing and I feel lucky to be part of such a great one, even if I can be a little Ebenezerish at times.

Life is an incredible gift

2010-12-13T13:16:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, we were hit with a combination of rain and snow on Sunday morning, just in time for staff and guests arrival at the spa. David and I were on our way to the 9:00 mass at St. Michael's in Cobourg when we came across a number of cars, stuck in various positions on Academy Hill Rd. Right at the very top of the hill a small Mercedes with two "spa gals" was pulled off to the side of the road, just a few feet from the top. We pulled off to the side of the road just as Rick (a massage therapist at the spa) zipped up the hill and around the corner. We all jumped out of our respective vehicles and offered the ladies a push. You could see just a hint of hesitation in her eyes as she decided whether she should trust these strange looking country bumpkins, (and what to be made of the Latino way out here in the boondocks?). She quickly sized us up and decided that having us push her up the hill was a reasonably low risk engagement. As we all gave it our best heave-ho, Rick politely suggested to the driver that she put her cell phone down and straighten out her wheels. He asked a second time, to which he received the response "I'm not stupid, you know", even though the wheels were still practically perpendicular to the road, and she was in the ditch without snow tires. Once we got the message across that the wheels needed to be straightened she quickly made the last few feet of the hill. And off she went. I ignored the little voice in my head that was growing frustrated with her "city" attitude", as I knew that she was minutes away from being destressed through our program of forced relaxation and renewal. But the little voice really wanted me to cause a scene, make a point, and leave the scene in a huff, but instead, I exercised self contol for a change, and I'm glad that I did. Didn't someone once say, "Don't sweat the small things?"

Now, here is a story of sweating the big things. My sister Marijo asked David and I to go skiing with her and her new boyfriend two years ago, just after Christmas. Both of them wanted to be in love with each other so much, and yet they both had some pretty big walls up as a result of previous relationships. When we arrived at the ski chalet, Bryan had prepared a wonderful meal for us. Later that night we skied in freezing rain and we had a wonderful 24 hours together. Gradually, over the next few years we got to know Bryan a little better in the context of his relationship with my sister.

The video above speaks to how some people deal with even the worst imaginable circumstances. When I watched it, I teared up and decided that I needed to share it with others. If you would like to find out more about Bryan and his miraculous journey, you can write to him through my sister Marijo at marijo.corcoran@steannes.com

Wasted days and wasted nights

2010-11-30T06:42:00.000-08:00

A bunch of dames, hanging around with nothing to do . . .

Mr. Molar, where are you?

A couple of months ago a filling in one of my molars was pulled out by a piece of toffee. I called my dentist (who I absolutely love), and made an appointment to have it fixed, a request that was quickly and efficiently accommodated. However, upon inspection of the tooth, said dentist (a self-confessed perfectionist - not a bad quality to have in a dentist) advised that I needed a crown - estimated cost $1,100. I begrudgingly agreed to this recommendation, despite the fact that I wasn't experiencing any discomfort, (now that the filling had been replaced), and I thought she had a better view of things than I did. My first appointment involved lots of grinding to reduce my tooth to a post suitable for mounting a crown, and then a mold was taken to be sent away to the crown maker. I was then fitted with a temporary crown, glued in place with temporary cement, and advised to avoid toffee until the permanent crown was in place, scheduled for yesterday. I was advised that this next appointment would be relatively simple - remove the temporary crown, and replace it with the permanent crown, this time with permanent cement. Knowing this, I made an eye appointment on the same day, in the same building, thinking I would kill 2 birds with one trip, so to speak. At 9:00 I jumped onto the 401 to make the drive into Toronto. At 9:30 the eye doctor calls me to say that his office is flooded, and therefore my appointment is cancelled. By 10:30 I'm in the dentist's chair being told that instead of using permanent cement she is going to use temporary cement just in case I need a root canal in a few months - arghhh - I hate root canals! Then out comes the needle, the drill, the new crown and an assortment of other tools. "I've done a million crowns, and wouldn't you know it, yours doesn't sit right - we're going to have to take another casting", says the dentist. Oh well, better luck next time. With my face half frozen so that even if I was happy about this turn of events, all I could do was scowl, I jump back into city traffic to pick up a piece of recycled retail furniture at a warehouse in the west end of the city, where I met the "dames" pictured above, along with a collection of floor to ceiling used retail equipment,

Part of a former wife of Henry the VIIIth, perhaps?

many of them looking eerily lifelike and somewhat forlorn in their frozen state of naked boredom. Somehow there had been a breakdown in communication between our people and their people and the particular piece we had come in search of was lost amongst the mayhem of unemployed retail fixtures. So back onto the 401 four hours later with the same temporary crown, no eye exam and no new (used) retail furniture!

Nothing runs like a Deere, really!

2010-11-20T15:55:00.000-08:00

Yes, that is a building being pulled and pushed up a hill by two John Deere tractors. On it's way to become a shelter for the wild mustangs living at the spa, this horse run-in was built in Mennonite country and arrived on Friday for placement in the mustang paddock. This movement was actually pretty easy, as opposed to the previous lift, where one of these 10 ft. wide buildings was manoeuvred between 2 fences about 12 ft. apart. The boys did a great job, and the horses were happier. Just another day on the farm. On Thursday, I called the township and applied for a burn permit, as we had quite a collection of scrap wood and brush to get rid of. Fire Chief Dave told me it was a perfect day for a burn, as there was barely a breeze, and we'd had rain for the previous two days. As it turned out, the fire burned quite vigorously, and at one point I had to calm it down with some water. I enjoyed it, but not so much that I'll be taking up arson as a hobby.

Finally, out of the barn

2010-11-16T04:55:00.000-08:00

When I was a child, we lived on a farm in, of all places, Nashville, Ontario, and no I'm not a country singer. We had goats and chickens and cows and horses. There was Stag, and there was Red. Red was a wild kind of horse - I think she had some kind of racing history at Woodbine Race Track - I'm not sure. My dad had a theory that farming built character in kids, and I suppose in hindsight, I have to agree with him. One of my father's particularly cruel character building exercises was placing us on Red's back for a ride. Red didn't like kids on her back, and it wasn't long before we were summarily discharged onto the ground. I seem to remember falling through a hole in the barn floor - (I think it was meant for dropping hay from the hayloft into the cow pens), and landing on Red's back - a short, violent ride ensued. Fast forward to adulthood, and for some reason, I had a fear of horses. A local riding stable offered lessons so I decided to wander in and see what it was all about. A very pleasant young lady greeted me and before I knew it, she had me dealing with my fear of horses by spending time grooming them, and eventually learning how to tack up a horse and ride. For months, maybe even years, I would go to the stable and spend an hour with Heather and a horse, most notably one named Knight riding around and around the ring learning new terms like trot, post, and canter. My instructor was also a great listener, so much of the time was spent talking about other life issues. All in all it was a very therapeutic experience. However, part of what I had hoped to achieve out of my investment in equestrian instruction was the confidence or at least the skill to take the horse out of the barn and safely ride up over the hills and off into the sunset. We often talked about a "hack", but never quite got around to it. I took a bit of a hiatus in my lessons when my instructor fell in love with one of her students, got married and had a child, and the stable was sold. A few years later, another stable opened up even closer to home, and a new team of equestrian enthusiasts came into our lives. Back I went to the barn, refreshing my rusty skills only to ride around and around in circles again. And then last week, out of the blue, my instructor sent me a text asking me if I felt like going for a hack on Friday morning. I had some other things planned, but I thought this might be my big chance to get out of the barn. I sent a few more test messages to other equestrian interested lads and we all gathered at our barns with Karey (our friend and instructor), where I've now assembled a motley group of horses, most of whom haven't been ridden for quite some time - so I wasn't sure just how things would turn out. Ryan saddled up Chance, a 23 year old gelding, Dave rode Noche, Jake was on Franklin, Karey took my crazy horse Sophie, and I rode an unnamed, but very gentle gelded horse who might just as well have been called Perfect. Amazingly, we had a great ride down through the old deer runways, up over the hills taking in the stunning views on this unusually warm November day. Aside from a few Sophie episodes, everyone was well behaved and the humans and the horses seemed to really enjoy themselves.

You'll never guess who I ran into in Huntsville!

2010-11-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

OK, I haven't actually run into him, but his picture is everywhere, and there's no doubt in my mind that this is his kind of place. I'm in Muskoka at Deerhurst Resort for a meeting of Ontario's Finest Inns and the Ontario Tourism Summit. This past summer, P.M. Harper and 19 of his best friends also chose this place to meet and discuss pressing world issues - all part of a multi-million dollar extravaganza still being talked about in the media. I guess for my part, I find it hard to understand why we chose to showcase this particular place to the world. I love Muskoka, but the mega resort that Deerhurst has become is such a contradiction to everything that the natural beauty of northern Ontario, and much of rural Ontario stands for. Don't get me wrong, this is a well run resort, the food has been good, the rooms are spacious and clean, the meeting facilities very functional, it just doesn't represent the best of Canada for me. Obviously it works - its quite obvious that a tremendous financial investment has been made here - something I haven't been able to achieve at my little property, I just think that for the amount of money spent, and for the amount of coverage that this event received, we could have done better. But then, I'm not in charge of Canada, so I guess I'll just have to suck it up!

A couple of days of growth . . .

2010-11-03T09:40:00.000-07:00

If the human body can do this to the face after a couple of days, imagine the results of years of cancerous cells growing in the prostrate, the lungs, breasts, etc. I am challenging other spa-hipster men to join the Movember campaign to help raise money for cancer research. I'll post the final product at the end of the month, and would love to see others join in.

Acting, what a job

2010-11-02T10:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I fully understand what makes a man want to dress up as a women, in fact, sometimes I'm not sure what makes a woman want to dress up as a women. But I suppose the old adage, "if you've got it, flaunt it" may apply. Last Wednesday, I was taken to the theatre to see Priscilla, Queen of The Desert, an incredibly funny and at times moving musical about 3 drag queens and their trip across the Australian outback. I had actually seen the movie of the same title many years ago, so I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. However, nothing could have prepared me for the laughs, and the range of other emotions that I would experience during this show. I guess being transgendered means, among other things, that you wake up every day feeling like you don't quite belong in your own body. It's hard enough feeling that you don't belong in a place that you can get up and leave from, but I can't imagine how it must feel to be born a man and want to be a woman. This production takes this topic and has some fun with it, while at the same time subtly underscoring the cruelty of society when it mocks or rejects a fellow human being (created in the image of God) for something that is totally beyond their control, or simply being different. The play is only playing in Toronto until January 2nd, but if you can't manage to see it, be sure to rent the movie.

Picking up where I left off

2010-10-26T07:57:00.000-07:00

It looks so cozy, a warm earth-bound bed with my name on it. Oh, but wait a second, that's not me, I can tell by the dates, and by the name of my grave-mate Anna Irene. This past weekend David, Nan and I made the 2 1/2 hour trek along the 401 and QEW, to a land of peaches, grapes, and cheesy amusements to watch David and several hundred other crazy marathon runners cross the finish line in the annual Niagara Falls International Marathon.

I have fond, but failing memories of many childhood trips to Niagara Falls, where my father was born, to visit my paternal grandmother and a myriad of curiously interesting relatives. Often on the way home we would stop at one of the fruit stands to pick up a basket of juicy peaches. My sweet grandma was the second wife of my namesake, James Paul Corcoran (the 1st, I suppose), who had three or four children from a previous marriage. Grandpa died the year before I was born, (I arrived too late for my namesake to revel in this tribute to him, the first of many disappointments that I would be Irishly punished for by my dear dad) but from the snippets of history that I have been able to extract from my father and his kin, James was a feisty fella, often in trouble with the law, (he once told a police officer to shit in his hat), a bootlegger and hotelier by trade, a pistol wielding, typically tough, Irishman with a grumpy, discipline based approach to business, parenting and marriage. All this to say that his remains are presumably marked by the substantial chunk of granite shown above. In an interesting twist of fate, I was born on the same date, (32 years later mind you, that James married Anna Irene). Back to the present day: Dave, Nan, Rusty and I stayed at the Marriott, with a room almost overlooking the falls, but close enough to allow Nan and I to make the short pilgrimage to the Casino for some voluntary taxation. Unfortunately, Nan left her wallet in the car, so I had to gamble solo, which turned out to be a net loss for the casino! Getting Rusty in and out of the hotel un-detected was quite an ordeal, but you kind of had to be there to see the humour in it. I must say that while the falls themselves haven't changed much over the years, and really are incredible in their sheer magnificence and power, the area around the falls is much improved with the new hotels and the area now known as Fallsview.

On Sunday mom and I took in mass at St. Pat's R.C. church downtown, where grandma used to take us as young children. When I first walked in, nothing felt familiar, but after an hour or so, memories started to creep out of the recesses of my mind; I think grandma sat on the left hand side of the aisle, and I'm pretty sure the church has been updated in the past 25 years. Other than that, a few streets looked familiar, and I think we found grandma's last apartment on Simcoe St., along with a playground where she used to drop my sister Anne and I off while she ran her errands. I'd love to go back with my mom and dad, a camera and some notepaper to preserve a little more history before time steals it away. Getting back to the cemetery for a second; I had a bit of a revelation while searching for the graves of my grandparents; our bodies are like cars - they function a lot better when they are maintained and when they have a good driver, but when the car ultimately breaks down and the driver moves on, both are still real, just separate. David's body proved once again that training pays off - congratulations on your second successful marathon, and on your ongoing recovery from your skiing accident. But remember, ski season is just around the corner!

Kelly's Big Day

2010-10-17T14:58:00.000-07:00

I often blog about the many great benefits that I enjoy as a spa owner and entrepreneur. I hope my faithful readers don't tire of my self congratulatory smug tone on this subject, but I really feel blessed in so many ways. So much so, that I also think that if there is a next life, what could my creator have in store for me to provide a contrast to so many good things? Best not dwell on that. Yesterday, a young lady who I have known for the better part of 15 years had the main street of Cobourg all a-buzz as she officially opened her new business venture - Lia's Boutique - a store primarily targeted to women looking for smart accessories. The Town Crier, The Mayor, The MP, and the Chairman of the DBIA, along with a handful of friends, family and well wishers were in attendance as the ribbon was cut and the politicians took advantage of the moment to blather on about how great an environment they had created in Cobourg for small business. When I first walked into Kelly's store a few weeks ago to help with some of the final touches on the electrical side of things, I was really quite impressed with how she had pulled things together. Kelly has worked at Ste. Anne's in many capacities, most recently in retail sales, but also in the spa as an esthetician, and in the dining room. She is a bright girl and she deserves to do well. I hope that the experience that she gained at the spa will provide her with the tenacity that any new business owner needs to beat the odds and to succeed. Her three beautiful children were also in attendance, Madison, Sam, and Zoey. Kelly named the store after her younger sister's baby daughter to avoid causing any fights between her children. Clearly Kelly has a good understanding of politics! Good luck in your new business venture Kelly!

Turkey time

2010-10-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

While Thanksgiving is supposed to be all about family, this year it seems as though most of my family is elsewhere, so tonight we'll be having a small Sunday night dinner, at which the main attraction will be a medium size turkey from Walmart which I will be heading home to put in the oven just as soon as I finish this posting. I don't think I've ever cooked a full size turkey before, so I will probably do a quick search on the Internet to see what I need to do to achieve the perfect balance between too moist and too dry. Wish me luck. I suppose the consumption of a big dumb bird is an appropriate conclusion to this week just passed, as there were a few moments where I felt like a bit of a turkey myself. In an effort to get some out of the office exercise, I loaded up little John Deere with a chain saw and made my way into one of the pastures to clean up some standing dead wood that was making it difficult to herd cattle (see last week's entry). In the course of my manly woodsman adventure I managed to get the chain saw stuck in several large logs, I hit myself in the tooth with a hammer, I ran out of fuel, broke a sheer pin in the wood chipper, and made the chain come off of the bar. Oh well, at least there were no flesh wounds (yet). In the middle of the week we had our annual septic system inspection, only to find out that the person who we thought was cleaning the filters thought that we were doing it, which resulted in a small spill beside one of the tanks. We knew this because the ground was mushy, and the grass was growing extremely well. Looking at this from a farming perspective, and being a guy who is constantly being accused of smelling like either cow or horse poo, I'm not sure what the big deal is about a little human effluent leaking into a vacant field, but the ever vigilant forces charged with protecting the environment see it a little differently. We ended up hauling 7 loads of very rich topsoil to a landfill site at a cost (remember, we are depositing dirt in a landfill) that would shock just about anybody. I only hope that there is some light at the end of this rather dark tunnel. Finally, I spent 3 hours trying to corral 1 more cow into a pen using all forms of humane coercion, and intimidation available to me, stepping in fresh poop several times in the process. No animals or humans were harmed in the making of this blog. Have a happy Thanksgiving!

Look out Jim, 1 Cow Out

2010-10-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

I was born in Toronto, on a lovely treed street in Moore Park called Inglewood Drive. From age 4 to 18, I grew up on a farm in Nashville, Ontario. Our postal code was L0J 1C0, which I remembered with the words Look Out Jim 1 Cow Out. Moving to Nashville was my father's idea. I don't remember being consulted, but then doubt that I was consulted on too many things back then. Looking back, I can honestly say that growing up on a farm had some real benefits. However, I can't really imagine how my life would have turned out if I had grown up in the city. For most of the time while we lived in Nashville we had animals on our farm. We started off with Black Angus beef cattle, which were later replaced with the Charolais breed. At one time we actually raised a calf in our basement. I think it's mom died giving birth and we brought it into the basement to keep it warm and so that we could feed it. Well before we realized it this calf had grown into a cow. It was embarrassing when we would have dinner guests, only to have to explain the mooing, not to mention the smells wafting from the basement. Although our basement dweller became quite domesticated, getting him up the basement stairs proved to be quite a challenge. Ultimately, he ended up in the freezer and then on the dining room table. We also had chickens, goats, dogs, cats, Guinea pigs, gerbils, fish and rabbits. I tended to prefer the smaller animals to the cows. Cows seemed to be a lot of unpaid work, and they were unbelievably stupid and not very cooperative. They also created tons of manure, which we (7 farm labourers, otherwise known as kids) moved out by hand and pitch fork as part of our "farm chores". Other choirs included fencing, (not with swords), de-horning, castrating haying, and feeding. All good character building I'm sure. Fast forward to 2010 and Jim the spa guy has 22 cows being fattened up for use at the spa - all Black Angus. This weekend I thought I could single handedly move these 22 cows from one pasture to another across a paved road by tempting them with a couple of buckets of grain on the back of my truck. This worked reasonably well until the steers discovered the juicy tall grass on either side of the road, and of course a straggler messed up the whole plan by refusing to leave the original pasture and playing catch me if you can. Fortunately for me, my brother John, his wife Nancy and daughter Jenna showed up just in the nick of time to help corral my furry friends in the right direction, and the day was saved, except for the one loner who separated from the herd. He'll come around; he'll miss his cow friends and his grain, they always do.

Out of the ashes

2010-09-26T10:13:00.001-07:00

Just about a year ago, I heard the news. My oldest brother Bill, and his wife Julie had woken up to the news that their island dream home, Seadream House on Harbour Island had burned down. Fortunately, the house wasn't occupied at the time and no lives were lost, but still, losing something that you have put so much love into must be heartrendingly painful, especially in the violent destructive force of a fire. Over my lifetime, my relationship with my eldest brother has had highs and lows, as I'm sure is the case in the relationships between most siblings. Some of those highs had been when Bill and I shared time together at his island paradise with other family and friends. While arson is suspected, I doubt Bill and Julie will ever know just what happened to turn their hopes and dreams into ashes and rubble. None-the-less, once they recovered from the initial shock of it all, and dealt with the inevitable insurance red tape, they picked themselves up and they decided to rebuild. Building a house on a small Caribbean Island can be challenging even under the best of circumstances, and this project has been no exception. I recently had a look through some of the photos that Bill has been posting on Seadream's Facebook page, and I'm truly amazed at what he and Julie, with the help of the Harbour Island building trades, have been able to accomplish. When they aren't using Seadream House it is available for rent, and many families have adopted it as their bit of island paradise. I wish them well with their reconstruction and rebuilding and look forward to the next chapter in the life of Seadream House reborn. Congratulations on your courage and determination.

New Faces at the Spa

2010-09-21T09:04:00.000-07:00

Mother and Child

White Angel

Big Franklin

One of the great pleasures I have in my job is the opportunity to surprise people with unexpected and wondrous things. Usually, that comes in the form of a great massage, or a decedent dessert, or a comfy bed, but occasionally I get to wander outside the box. Pictured above are three recent additions. On the top left is a bigger than life size angel that I found down in "The County", Prince Edward County. I had passed her by on several occasions - one of my favorite pastimes is to take a drive down into the county, not necessarily with any particular destination in mind, and see where I end up. Last time I did this, I found 3 outstanding cheese factories and a couple of good wineries that I hadn't been to before. In any case, this angel seemed to call out to me, so with much grunting and lifting, I loaded her into the back of my truck and brought her home. She spent most of the summer in the barn, but a couple of weeks ago, Jake, Debbie and Darlene found a spot for her looking out over the property towards the east in anticipation of things to come. She is made of cast iron and weighs about 900 lbs. To her right is a wooden statue that I found in Oberamergau. Both of these statues have very kind facial features, but the mother and child are especially fine and detailed. I also had the pleasure of meeting her maker - Josef - a very proud, yet humble German chap. She is at the barn waiting for a protective coat of varnish before she goes to her place in a new grotto that Deb and Darlene have created in the cedar hedge by the pool. Finally there is Franklin - a big, friendly gelding who I walked along the road from a neighbours house this past weekend. Franklin has a bad leg, so he can't be ridden for long periods of time, but he loves to be groomed and he is good company for my feisty mares. Not a bad gig, I suppose!

The Passion Play

2010-09-14T07:32:00.000-07:00

The highlight of this trip to Germany was attending the Passion Play. I have waited for a full week to see if my feelings about this experience would change, but alas, they have not. I may have set my expectations too high, in that I was hoping that this would be a life changing, faith deepening experience. As beautiful a place as Oberamergau is, and as incredible a story The Passion Play recounts, in the 5 hours of theatre that we endured, I simply wasn't moved. Oberamergau itself, like many organized religions, has become a very commercialized place. I suppose if I counted on an event that only happened every 10 years as my primary attraction, I might be tempted to do the same. But the play; I found it difficult to relate to any of the main "good guys". Jesus seemed to be screeching at everybody, Mary Magdalene was not convincing, even Mary wasn't quite right. I suppose the German language isn't the easiest language to sound passionate in, Alles klingt so hart, wie eine Reihe von Befehlen. Maybe I've been watching too many WWII movies, or perhaps Colonel Klink is forever etched in the recesses of my mind, I just can't make a German Jesus work for me. Perhaps the irony of the whole Christ story is that, like the play, the bad guys, especially Pilate, really did steal the show. My search continues.

Oberamergau

2010-09-07T02:52:00.000-07:00


Our Hotel

After some last minute shopping in Munich, we took a taxi to the train station where we caught a train to Marnau, and on to Oberamergau, the site of the Passion Play. This quaint little town set in the Alps has been putting on this play every 10 years since 1633, to give thanks for prayers answered. Of course the scenery is breathtaking and anticipation of the play is building. This morning after breakfast I purchased a wooden statue that I intend to place in a new grotto that Debbie and Darlene have created back at Ste. Anne's. I was fortunate enough to meet the carver, a very proud, nice, and very talented German man. Afterwards we took a short hike to see a statue of the crucifixtion that was given to the town by King Ludwig II in appreciation of their work on the Passion. Regardless of one's religious beliefs, the story of a man giving up his life for the sake of others is compelling one - hard not to be moved by such an act of selflessness. The play starts this afternoon at 2:30 and ends at 10:30 with a 2 hour break for supper. More on this later.

King Ludwig II's Gift

Beer, church and a bike tour

2010-09-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

Marraige, dancing, jousting - the story of the Munich Glockenspiel

The altar at Alter Peter, Munich

Lucky for us, we met a very nice priest who stongly suggested that we attend the 10:45 Sunday mass at St. Peter's R.C. church. During our first day in Munich, we had visited several other churches, but this wasn't one of them. To be completely honest, I really hadn't thought of Germany as a Catholic destination, but then again, as one of our tour guides reminded us, the current Pope was a former Bishop of Munich, and even today he is apparently a regular consumer of German beer, so there you go. Before going to church though, we thought we had better rack up some fresh sins, for absolution, so we went out to a very German beer hall and had a very German meal of schnitxel, sausage, and of course, beer. Munich is a very lively city until about 10:00, when everyone just seems to quietly disappear. Not surprising, I suppose, since most everyone seems to be drinking beer all day long. However, the streets feel very safe and everything is quiet compared to most major cities that I've been too. The 10:45 mass did not disappoint. It was like stepping back in time, with beautiful organ music, an all male choir, latin, incense and the priest with his back to the congregation for most of the time. So often now, churches have become like museums full of tourists trapsing through taking pictures of all the artwork and the architecture. Sitting through a traditional high mass like this brings life into these buildings - even if one doesn't understand a word. Something like watching a theatrical performance. After mass we watched the Glockenspiel clock bring in the noon hour; not too exciting but a memorable event, none-the-less. From there we joined Mike's Bike Tour of Munich, a four hour tour of many of the significant sites of the city. I would describe myself as a somewhat lazy tourist. When travelling, I often end up without much planning or research somewhere wonderful with very little understanding or expectation in terms of what makes it so wonderful. For me, TripAdvisor has been a life saver, not only in finding great hotels to stay at, but also in terms of recommending attractions. Mike's Bike Tours is rated as one of the top ten attractions in Munich, and so it should be. Mike actually introduces himself, and our guide (James from down under) was superb. Using bicycles rather than buses or feet made it an environmentally positive experience, and we weren't dead tired at the end of the day, infact somewhat invigorated. The tour ended up in a beer garden where we joined hundreds of other Sunday tourists drinking beer and sampling some pretty decent German cuisine, once again.

Machen Sie sich bereit Deutschland, wir kommen!

2010-09-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

Marienplatz, Munich at 3 p.m., bells tolling

We left London this morning on a Lufthansa flight bound for Munich. I love using London as a jumping off point for the rest of Europe. It feels as though you are taking an ever so gradual trip from your comfort zone into places that take you away, culturally, historically, emotionally, and wonderfully - a little like Alice in Wonderland - Jim & friends in Bavaria! Even boarding the A320 aircraft - clean, well organized, friendly and meticulous service with English and German being used interchangebly feels new and exciting. After landing, we collected our bags from a carousel that had a sign telling you when your bags were expected - and they were right on time. No line ups here - very effecient. As we made our way toward the ground transporatation options we spotted a ticket machine for the subway. As we were studying it, a young man approached us, with a t-shirt on indicating that he worked for "Bahn" offering us assistance. No sales pitch, no trickery or scam, just assistance - what a concept. He directed us to the appropriate line to get us to the centre of town, where a short taxi ride brought us to our hotel. Once we were checked in, we took a stroll through some churches, ourdoor markets, shops, restaurants and plenty of beer drinking tents. Lovely.

On the road again

2010-09-03T16:12:00.000-07:00

Heathrow Airport is famous for long line ups

About a year ago a friend told me about how the town of Oberammergau puts on "The Passion |Play" every ten years as payback to Big "G" for being spared some of His wrath during the Plague that swept the town back in 1633. I thought this was as good a reason as any to visit Germany, a country I'd only ever passed through on previous European junkets, so I said, "sign me up". I had originally booked 2 weeks, with a the better part of the first week intended for exploring Munich, but a few issues that had to be handled at work forced me to shorten the trip to 10 days, and travel via London rather than directly to Munich. I actually prefer flying through London on Air Canada's day flight, as it seems to be much easier for me to make the adjustment to European time. Flying overnight and I just don't agree - it usually takes me about a week just to recover from a night of trying and failing to sleep sitting up, leaning over and any number of yoga moves designed to stretch my six feet into a space designed for a mini-me. We just arrived at our hotel, after spending an hour in line, like a bunch of cattle, for a 1 minute stamp in our passport taking the "Hotel Hoppa" (the Brits have such a knack for naming things) bus to our in transit hotel. It kind of irritates me that we are members of the Commonwealth, the Queen is our head of state, and yet Canadians entering the U.K. receive absolutely no preferential treatment. Their flag is on our passport for Pete's sake! Border control has always seemed like such a waste of money to me even at the best of times, but having to spend an hour in a line up to get your passport stamped between friendly countries really defies logic. However, I can't see this changing in my lifetime. Unfortunately opting for the convenience of an airport hotel as opposed to heading into the city centre really limits your choice of restaurants, so we ended up crossing the street to McDonald's, which was closed except for drive through. We walked through, and then had to convince the cashier to serve us, as she claimed she could lose her job for doing so. Tomorrow we catch a flight to Munich - should have more exciting news to report from there.

Where did the summer go?

2010-08-31T06:35:00.000-07:00

Tuesday August 31st, the week before labour day, back to school, hockey practice, closing the pool, fall colours, yikes - where did the time go? It seemed like just yesterday that the last bits of dirty snow were melting and bits of green were starting to shoot up in the ditches between the dead brown stalks. This past weekend, as I wandered through Walmart trying to find a canoe paddle to stir the mud baths, I cringed as racks and racks of Halloween masks seemed to follow my aimless aisle search through empty eye sockets. Of course most of the summer seasonal items have already been stored away to make room for the fall and winter items - snow shovels should be just around the corner. The creator of time, just like the creator of everything, was such a genius. Time seems to creep along at just a steady enough pace to make you aware of the movement, like a sheer drapery in a light breeze, and yet not so fast that you worry about it or give it a second though. And then, all of a sudden, something - a look in the mirror, or at the calendar makes you aware of just how much time has gone by while you were busy doing something, but not really sure what. My maternal grandfather spent his final years at Central Park Lodge in Toronto. In those days, he didn't walk, he shuffled. As I held an elevator for him as he shuffled along the corridor I was aware that a somewhat surly looking female resident was patiently waiting for her ride down. I turned to her and apologized for the wait, to which she replied, "don't worry, time is all I have left".

The mystery of plant life

2010-08-23T05:07:00.000-07:00

Berry delicious

When I was growing up in Nashville (Ontario), we had a neighbour named Mr. Mulder, long before the X-Files TV series made Fox Mulder a household name. Mr. Mulder lived by himself in a humble kind of a home, I think he may have had a barn or two, and he had the most incredible raspberry patch. On warm summer days you could find him in a straw hat picking his berries, always willing to share a few with the local kids. Mr. Mulder's berry's were so juicy, so sweet and succulent, and Mr. Mulder was just a nice man. Perhaps it was this subconscious memory that caused me to load up my cart with berry bushes this spring while wandering through the local Canadian Tire. I used a tractor roto-tiller to turn over the soil in last year's failed vegetable garden and spent a day digging in my bushes, along with a peach tree, a couple of cherry trees and some strawberry plants, all the while thinking that this garden will be easy to maintain. When the weeds come, I'll just run the push roto-tiller through the rows and before I know it I'll be picking fruit for the table. I applied some fertilizer and forgot about my garden until about 2 weeks ago. Well, apparently the weeds like fertilizer too. There were plants in there with 1 inch stalks - dense, ugly weeds. What to do? I mentioned to Debbie and Darlene, my gardening experts, that I thought a bush wacker might be the solution. True to character, these 2 good Samaritans snuck into my back yard one afternoon and pulled all the weeds. I was overwhelmed. And lo and behold, in behind all those now relocated weeds were bunches of juicy, so sweet and succulent raspberries ripe for the picking. I've since put down some weed barrier and mulch in hopes that I can control things a little better, but without Debbie and Darlene, I'd be in quite a pickle!

Guilt, a gift from our parents

2010-08-16T06:35:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia defines guilt as "a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person realizes or believes—accurately or not—that he or she has violated a moral standard, and bears significant responsibility for that violation. It is closely related to the concept of remorse." This begs the question - where do we get our moral standards from. Presumably, Robin Hood was not raised with a moral standard endorsing the concept of robbing from the rich to give to the poor, any more than Stephen Harper was, but I think its safe to say that this moral standard has evolved over time. Moral standards that are passed on from one generation to the next through parenting often don't stand the test of time. Where one generation may firmly believe that computers are a tool of the devil and should be restricted to tools of commerce, another generation may feel differently. My father used to tell us that he would kill us if he ever caught us drinking or doing drugs. As a teenager, I remember thinking that killing someone had to be worse than drinking or doing drugs. What amuses me are people who develop a guilty conscience related to one set of circumstances in their moral code, and go through great mental anguish while being completely oblivious to the hurt they are causing by their actions towards others. I'm not saying that parenting is easy, but when you see the innocent, trusting face of a small child and see how vulnerable their minds are to the imprint of their influencers, you can't help but hope and pray that some thought will be given to the conscience that they are given.

Trip of a lifetime

2010-08-08T13:02:00.000-07:00

One of the many friendly faces of Peru

Technically, today is my first official day of rest spent in the office after returning from a two week tour of Peru, the highlight of which was a four day hike on the Inca Trail culminating with a visit to Machu Picchu. In an effort to keep the weight of my backpack to a minimum, I used a small camera for the hike, which I somehow misplaced on the last day of our trip. Fortunately, two of our fellow hikers kept a blog, and they provided me with a blow by blow account of the main part of our trip, which I hope they won't mind me sharing with you. However, even words and pictures cannot fully capture the intensity of this experience. I travelled with a group of 16 people, ranging in age from 4 to 50 something, and every member of the group had their own set of contributions and challenges. All this to say that while this trip took me out of my travel comfort zone, it was a trip of a lifetime that I would absolutely recommend and do again.

Jane Blaffer Owen - a spirit that will linger

2010-06-27T20:24:00.000-07:00

Jane Blaffer Owen passed away at the age of 95 two weeks ago, on June 21st, 2010 in Houston, Texas. Jane's parents owned Ste. Anne's from 1939 to 1981, when they sold it to my family. As one of the surviving Blaffer children, Jane was the main contact for her parent's estate for the purposes of this transaction. I have fond memories of when we lived at Ste. Anne's - known amongst the locals as "The Grafton Castle", hearing stories about the Blaffer family and their annual summer pilgrimage to Canada for their summer vacation, stories that made them seem like an urban legend in my youthful eyes. Years later I came back to work for my brother Jim who was in the process of transforming Ste. Anne's from a family bed and breakfast into a country inn and spa. One of my first projects was to help with the co-ordination of a book called The History of Ste. Anne's. In doing the research for the book, the writer we had hired contacted Mrs. Owen to delve into the details surrounding the Blaffer family and their time in Grafton. Jane was kind enough to send us a number of photos of her wedding day at Ste. Anne's back in the 1940's. I too was married at Ste. Anne's, and instantly felt a connection to Jane. I sent her back some photos of my own wedding, not expecting that this "legend" would have the time of day for me. But she did.
We began corresponding regularly. This contact led to many visits for myself and my family over the years to New Harmony, Indiana, Jane's home away from home. Her legend status was quickly replaced with a warm respect and love for this woman who silently did so much to enhance all that she touched. She welcomed us with open arms each time we visited her. Jane had a quiet drive and love for life that was absolutely contagious. My children have fond memories of driving on the back of her golf cart, late at night, down the middle of the road. She was fun to be with, she possessed a keen sense of humour and she was an incredibly astute business woman.
I feel so blessed to have known Jane and to have been touched by her. She never judged me, never made me feel 'less than' or silly, she just accepted me - silently. I like to think that Jane's vision and spirit are at the heart of Ste. Anne's on some kind supernatural level. She was a woman of faith, community, healing and giving - with no pretension, qualities that have become the basic foundations on which Ste. Anne's Spa has been built. Heaven will be a better place now that Jane is there. Adieu my friend!
posted by Marijo Corcoran

Five Pairs of Shoes and a Bag of Bananas

2010-06-06T11:21:00.000-07:00

My dad is almost 84 years old and bent from degenerative disc disease in his back, the legacy of years working as a bricklayer. He suffers from renal failure and must undergo dialysis three times a week in order to continue living. Added to that, the patches of skin cancer on his head and back and his prostrate cancer, I’m sometimes amazed that he is still with us.

My dad is a quiet, introspective man, which is where I get those qualities from. He is also an extremely stubborn man, a trait I hope I have not inherited.

My dad immigrated to Canada in the early 50’s in search of a better life for his small family. Sometimes, out of the blue, he will regale us with stories of the war and of his life.

Before my parents married, dad worked in France in a steel foundry for almost two years. The work was hard but the pay was very good and so dad stayed. Dad tells the story of how, up until that point, he had only ever owned one pair of shoes. The shoes had been bought new but were too tight on his feet from the very beginning. After the soles wore out, he had them resoled, a process that made them even tighter. He wondered whether shoes were just supposed to be this uncomfortable. After all, these were the only pair of shoes he had ever owned. So when he was in France, and earning more money than he had ever seen before, he decided to buy some new shoes. Maybe, he thought, one could actually have shoes that didn’t hurt your feet. So he bought some shoes and they felt divine, so he kept buying, until he had bought five pairs of shoes. Each pair was a different style and colour.

In Italy, there were many fruits that he had seen in store windows but could not afford to buy. In France dad ate his first banana and by all accounts was quite impressed with the taste. After he broke his wrist on the job, he decided to spend some of his disability time back home. He took the train back to Italy to visit his family and of course his fiancée. He must have looked like quite the sight at the train station with his five pairs of shoes and a large bag of bananas. Dad would bring my mother gifts of chocolate and fragrant French soap. She claims to still have a bar of the soap, some 60 years later.

I treasure these stories that dad tells us because they are part of our legacy, to be passed on to newer generations. Some stories, like the ones of the shoes and the bananas, are funny. Others of the war and the resistance movement are frightening and heart breaking.

Dad still loves bananas, but unfortunately now that he can afford as many as he likes, he’s not allowed to eat them because of their high potassium content. In case you were wondering, he still has more shoes that the rest of us and they fit just fine.

Happy Father’s Day Papa

My Aunt Dorothy

2010-06-06T11:16:00.000-07:00

My Aunt Akiko Dorothy Nakamachi passed away a few weeks ago. She wasn’t really my aunt, but 40 years ago my best friend Koji generously shared his aunt with me.

Over the years I grew to love and admire this woman. She was intelligent, witty and in the words of my younger brother, “really cool”. Paolo considered her cool because as a single woman she had travelled all over the world, twice going to Africa. That alone made her cool in Paolo’s eyes.

Aunt Dorothy’s life was one worthy of an epic novel. Born and raised in Vancouver, she fought Japanese racism to graduate as a registered nurse from St. Paul’s Hospital, after the Bishop interceded to get her admitted. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbour, she was interned in the B.C. interior at Greenwood internment camp, where she was the only nurse treating over 4,000 Japanese detainees. Many of the detainees had contracted T.B. and eventually so did Aunt Dorothy. She was transferred to a hospital and had a lung removed.

After the war the Japanese were not allowed to return to B.C. so she moved to Toronto. She entered the University of Toronto, where she earned an additional nursing degree and then worked as a Public Health nurse until her retirement.

Years later when the conservative government formally apologized to the Japanese who were interned, each of them was awarded $21,000 as a redress settlement. My Aunt Dorothy took that money and promptly bought herself a full length mink coat and hat.

Aunt Dorothy never married but I learned that she remained ever the romantic. I discovered that she and I shared a love for Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre and Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It gave me joy to be able to gift her with BBC videos of both, which I know she treasured.

In her last year she sent me a gift via Koji. It was a lovely damascene brooch she bought on one of her many trips to Japan. The brooch, made of iron or steel with interlacings of silver and gold, depicts a pagoda and the ever present Mount Fuji. I wore it over my heart at her funeral.

Since her passing, Koji has been going through Aunt Dorothy’s things and distributing them to family members. He gave me 16 English bone china tea cups and saucers that speak to me of my Aunt Dorothy’s grace and elegance, and of course of her love of tea. He also asked if I would like a statue of the Virgin Mary that St Paul’s hospital gave her at her graduation in 1940. I told him I would be honoured to receive it and to find a suitable place for it in my home office.

My Aunt Dorothy passed away in her sleep, just short of her 92nd birthday. I hope when I grow up that I’ll be just like her; intelligent, witty, strong, romantic and of course “really cool”.

Branko's 50th Birthday Bash

2010-05-16T11:05:00.000-07:00

Diane called me up one day and wanted me to arrange a overnight 50th Birthday celebration for her and Branko. She decided that it was time to bring Branko to the world of spa!!! Boy did Branko have a great time. He is no longer a spa virgin. Happy 50th Branko!!!!
Branko enjoying the cold plunge pool.

Branko and Diane enjoying the view at the Spa.

Relaxation anyone?

2010-05-09T11:41:00.000-07:00

Another blogger writes . . .

Do we ever get too old to need our mothers?

2010-04-27T06:38:00.000-07:00

I was doubled over the toilet recently being sick for the third time in twenty minutes, when I realized something … I wanted my mother. It wasn’t like I’d never been sick before, but something felt just a little scary this time. So what if I was 54 years old, does the statute of limitations run out on being mothered?

My parents live with me, which makes it easier for me to take care of them as they have multiple health issues. Over time, it seems, I have become the parent in this relationship. I take them to medical appointments, I control medication, and I worry about changes in their condition.

But now it was about me. As I recovered from my third visit to the toilet bowl, I grabbed my trusty Blackberry and dialled the home line downstairs. My mother picked up the phone and I suddenly started to cry and blurted out “I’m being sick, come upstairs please”. I didn’t even hear her hang up the phone and she was upstairs beside me. She got a cold wet facecloth and pressed it against my fevered forehead and immediately took charge. She asked pointed questions trying to determine the onset of my illness and possible cause.

Over the next two hours I made multiple trips to the toilet bowl and by the end I was as weak as a kitten and could hardly make it back to my bed. As I lay spent and sore, she tried to entice me with Ginger Ale and Camomile tea, having success with neither. I tried to sleep but was unable to. She lay down next to me on my bed and began regaling me with an account of the baseball game she had been watching when I phoned her. As she spoke, I remembered back to November 2002 when I had surgery and she helped me get in the shower one day. When I thanked her for being there to help, she prophetically said “Maybe someday I will be sick and you will have to take care of me”. Less than two months later she was diagnosed with cancer. Our roles reversed that day and I cared for her through radiation, chemotherapy, surgery and a blood clot. My once invincible mother had become mortal.

Seven years later, she still has more energy than anyone else in our family. Despite ongoing medical issues with an ulcer that simply will not heal there is no stopping her. In her spare time she knits and crochets beautiful baby items which she sells to raise money for the Canadian Cancer Society and come June 11 she will be the centre of our Relay team when we participate in our sixth Relay for Life.

I’m a grown woman, financially independent, mature, confident, but when I’m doubled over a toilet bowl being sick, I am still my mother’s little girl and I’m not afraid to need her touch.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

Boots at the door

2010-04-23T09:41:00.000-07:00

There are many things that have been said over the years about "family", some positive, some not so. In my experience, the one thing that can be said is that "family" is a multi-faceted organization with weird and wonderful nuances that add colour and complexity to our lives as human beings. I have 2 brothers, and 4 sisters - I'm somewhere in the middle. Recently, the first born, my brother Bill, has been working with me to help us with the evolution of an equine assisted "wellness" program as an extension to the human based "wellness" programs we offer at Ste. Anne's. Bill has travelled and lived all over the world, but his most recent roots have been put down in Los Angeles. Prior to working with me, Bill had a successful career making movies, so Los Angeles was probably the right place to be. When Hollywood started to experience the meltdown that has undermined the very foundation of the U.S. economy, Bill started to look for other options to continue his personal growth and support his family. For the past couple of weeks, Bill's wife Julie, and his children, Cole and Lauren (my youngest nieces and nephews), joined him here in Canada. Because Bill and his family have lived abroad for the most part, I haven't had as much of an opportunity to get to know them. This recent visit allowed us to start to build the foundation of a relationship. Each day Cole and Lauren would help Bill with the horses and the cows (mostly an excuse to check up on the kittens) and experience "life on the farm". For my part, I got to "hang" with Bill, Cole and Lauren most nights over dinner - we had a camp fire one night, and a visit to my "shack" another. I know it was hard for Bill when his family returned to L.A., but I hope that not too much time will pass before they can be together again. Seeing boots at the door, even when they have a little crust of mud or horse poop on them is strangely comforting.

2010-04-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

Thank you Ste. Annes's for the most wonderful experience of my life. From the moment I arrived until the moment I left I was treated with the highest of respect and luxury. I felt complete serenity and relaxation and was made to feel like the most important person in the world.The entire staff is to be commended for their obvious enjoyment of working there as well as their pleasure in pleasing every patron, at all times. I will be back and I will be recommending to everyone to visit your establishment.thanks again.

Kathy and Lauri

A Helping Hand

2010-04-13T09:41:00.000-07:00

There once was a young girl who worked in the packing department of a paper mill in Thorold, Ontario.

She was just out of high school and lucky to have such a job. The year was 1936.

The stacks of paper would come off of the line and she would wrap them up for shipping. Everything was quota based and if her team (they all worked in pairs) didn't meet theirs, they were both out of a job. But she didn't have to worry, she and her partner were the fastest and most efficient team on the floor; young and full of energy.

One half of the team next to her on the line was an older woman; not as fast with a lot less energy, eyes failing. She had worked hard on her feet at that old mill for many a year. Her name was Mary Jordan.

One morning, an announcement came down that cutbacks were imminent. Those teams that were the slowest would be the first to go. The young girl looked at Mary and realized that she was certain to lose her job. So, she marched into the forman's office and strongly "requested" that she be reassigned to work with Mary. The forman looked at her as if she were mad but after a bit of badgering, he relented.

When Mary heard of this, she went to the young girl and broke down, sobbing and crying with relief. She thanked her over and over for her act of kindness and for saving her job as she knew what would have come otherwise. So away they went, a new team, one of them flying fast and high, and the other trudging behind. What a pair they made!

That young woman was my mother. She is now 90 years old and would still do anything to help anyone. You should see her wrap Christmas presants....WOW....still fast!

Is there a Mary Jordan in your life who could use your help?

You'll find one.

Hug me like you mean it ...

2010-04-12T09:57:00.000-07:00

I always wanted to meet Dr Leo Buscaglia but he died before I could. It wasn’t just his extraordinary lectures that I wanted to experience firsthand; I wanted to line up after the lecture with thousands of others to experience a Buscaglia hug. He was a master and an advocate of the hug. He had this to say about hugging:

“Nine times out of ten, when you extend your arms to someone, they will step in, because basically they need precisely what you need.”

I don’t know if it grew out of his doctorial studies or the fact that he was Italian but he surely elevated the hug to an art form.

I love being hugged. Not the air hugs from those who lean in to hug you without actually touching you. No, I’m talking about the hugs that leave you breathless and just a little bit sore. Those are the hugs that cry out “Hey I want you to know that I’m here”. My nieces and nephew hug that way. Their hugs are exuberant and uninhibited and usually accompanied by a kiss and an “I love you Zia Nadia”. My gay friends hug that way. Their hugs say “Thank you for your acceptance and your love”. My relatives in Italy hug that way. Their hugs say “Why do have to live so far away… Oh my God you look just like your aunt Flora… why didn’t you phone, I would have made gnocchi… I didn’t think I’d live to see you come back and visit again”. There are Italian co-workers at the office that will stop me in the hall to give a hug when they haven’t seen me in a few months. Italians certainly don’t have the market on hugging. I recently discovered in our Costa Rican Service Centre that Costa Ricans will hug anybody and everybody. I felt right at home there.

The hugs give me comfort, they sustain me and they feel so good. Hugs don’t cost a cent and they are healing. Dr Harold Voth, psychiatrist has said: “Hugging can lift depression – enabling the body’s immune system to become tuned up. Hugging breathes fresh life into a tired body and makes you feel younger and more vibrant.”

HOW TO HUG

Hugging may sound like the simplest thing on earth, but it will help to keep a few things in mind. Non-hugs are no good. In his book Caring, Feeling, Touching, Dr Sidney Simon describes five non-hugs:

I. The A-frame hug, in which nothing but the huggers' heads touch.

2. The half-hug, where the huggers' upper bodies touch—while the other half twists away.

3. The chest-to-chest burp, in which the huggers pat each other on the back, defusing the physical contact by treating each other like infants being burped.

4. The wallet-rub, in which two people stand side-by-side and touch hips.

5. The jock-twirl, in which the hugger, who is stronger or bigger, lifts the other person off the ground and twirls him.

The real thing, the full body hug, touches all the bases. Dr Simon describes it like this: "The two people coming together take time to really look at each other. There is no evasion or ignoring that they are about to hug... You try as hard as you can to personalize and customize each hug you give... With a full body hug there is a sense of complete giving and fearless communication, one uncomplicated by words.”

So if you should meet me some day and open your arms, know that I will step right in for a hug. Dr Buscaglia and Dr Simon would approve.

A new beginning

2010-04-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

Today is the beginning of a new Ste. Anne's Spa blog. I will be looking for contributors who want to trade stories and insire the exploration of the healing power of human touch. Send me an email if you would like to contribute. Have a happy Easter Weekend!

Pie Sunday, er, ah, I mean Palm Sunday

2010-03-29T06:21:00.000-07:00

Palm Sunday - most notable for the excruciatingly long Gospel - "The Passion", when good Catholics shift from one leg to the other perhaps thankful that at least they're not kneeling for this part of the mass. It also happens to be the day in our parish that the members of the Catholic Women's League raise money by selling pies to the faithful, many of whom are happy to see the end of the sacrifices made during Lent. All of this against the backdrop of the commemoration of the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ on a cross more than 2,000 years ago. Meanwhile, back in the present moment, the same battered Roman Catholic church is once again scrambling to respond to the allegations of more sexual abuse, but the real issue for most of the public seems to be the never ending apparent attempts by the hierarchy to brush it all under the proverbial carpet, and to continue to act as though they operate under a different set of laws, standards or expectations then the rest of us. Oh dear. So, for the Catholic Church, I suppose the question remains, can you have your pie and eat it too?

A spring renovation project

2010-03-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

The first time it happened, last Friday I think, I thought it was just a fluke. But when she returned again today, I'm thinking this might be the beginning of a long term relationship. I looked up from my computer screen to see a robin looking in at me, or so I assumed - she may just as well have been looking at her own reflection in the glass. I'm hoping that she will see the remains of a long since abandoned nest in the gnarly old tree that gives me shade in the summer as a perfect place to start a family and that she won't find my presence too much of a deterrent. I guess only time will tell. This being the second day of spring, there are of course other signs that winter is making a hasty retreat. The fields are too muddy for me to easily drive up to my shack, so I'm having to find another route to get up there, or get some more aggressive tires. As far as progress on my shack is concerned, I'm pretty well finished with the inside "decor", (tongue and groove pine boards) other than any semblance of trim, or a finished floor, and am now looking to put some kind of finish on the outside walls - I'm thinking board and batten. It's been a great place to escape to and try developing some of my rusty handyman skills. Today I felt I'd pretty much recovered from the 5K run I did a few months ago, so I started back into my workout routine. I'm still toying with the idea of training for the 1/2K marathon in Ottawa, but can't quite get past the whole pain and suffering thing - I'll have to work on that. The horses are nibbling at the little shoots of green grass that are starting to poke themselves out of the grayish brown stubble, and according to Bill, their winter coats are really starting to fall out. I'm hoping to be able to spend some more time with them in the weeks ahead. As much as spring can be a bit muddy, it really is a wonderful time of the year as life regenerates itself. I hope to get out and enjoy it, and hope you'll do the same.

Another mother is busy on St. Patty's Day

2010-03-18T07:48:00.000-07:00

A while back I blogged about a friend who had just moved his mother into a nursing home and soon found that he was missing her. My solution to his loneliness was to offer him some company in the form of a little dog. I've never been sure as to whether it was coincidence or the result of my blogging that inspired someone else to drop a box off at his back door with a black cat and 3 kittens. In any case, given that he had his hands full with his new dog, my friend offered the homeless cats to me. They were lovely cats - well groomed, well mannered and very affectionate, so it wasn't difficult to find homes for the 3 kittens, but I decided to keep the mother on at the barn as company for the horses and cows, and in hopes that she might keep the mouse population under control. Kitty, or Blackie, as she came to be known, turned out to be a great fit for the job. She quickly took charge of things and became a popular part of the farm scene. Of course it wasn't long before she was entertaining the odd tom cat and before we knew it she was pregnant again. Yesterday she disappeared and stopped visiting her food, so I suspected that the time had come to bring her new litter into her world. Kitty had made a little nest in the attic of the horse barn where she gave birth to 4 beautiful kittens - Blackie1, Blackie2, Greyie1, and Greyie2. I hope you enjoy her first home video as much as I did; check it out on YouTube!

Nan turns 82 on St. Patrick's Day

2010-03-15T08:56:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it's the luck of the Irish that has given us Nan Corcoran as part of our lives for the past 82 years. Please take a minute to express your sentiments by posting a comment to Nan.

Race day in Peterborough

2010-03-02T08:37:00.000-08:00

Since I started working out on a regular basis, I've drawn attention to myself from a few surprising sources. Marathon man Ryan, who I blogged about a while back as providing the inspiration for several reformed couch potatoes, sees me as a bit of a project, offering encouragement and occasional derision (if I miss a day). David, who aspires to be an expert in almost any field, is quick to provide me with pointers on how I can be a better athlete. So, a month or so when Kelly asked me if I wanted to join her in the 5K run in Peterborough, I took her request in stride (no pun intended), mulled it over in my mind, and replied "sure, what the heck", even though I really don't like running. Kelly then checked back with me a couple of weeks ago to see if I was still willing to do the run, and again, I agreed. Fast forward to Saturday night when I receive a text message from Kelly posing the question for the 3rd time. I hesitated in responding for a few minutes, and got another message saying "I guess that means no". Something told me that Kelly was getting cold feet, so I decided to play along. I sent a non-committal text message back saying that I thought there might have been a little more preparation, to which she replied "Oh come on". I went to bed without replying, but mentally, barring any huge obstacles like a blizzard, I was going to run, and I was going to call Kelly's bluff; after all, how hard could it be to run 5K? Sunday morning I sent Kelly a text telling her that I was going to mass at 9, and that if she would pick up the run kits I would meet her in Peterborough. No reply. I went to mass, and headed up to Peterborough. As I approached the "Y", I sent Kelly another text asking her where she wanted to meet me. Kelly, being a text junkie couldn't resist my messages and wrote back that she had assumed I wasn't going to run and because of that, she had decided not to run. My trap had been set, and she jumped into it - now for the guilt trip! (A lifetime of being raised a Catholic had prepared me for this moment). I sent a text to Kelly, using her own words to taunt her "Oh come on, don't be a flake". A minute or two passed, and back came the message, "are you there now?" I had her! Kelly jumped in her car, I picked up another race kit, and 45 minutes later we were at the start gate warming up for what was sure to be an easy run. Boy was I wrong. The first kilometer wasn't too bad (I had David Bowie in my ears cheering me with "Young Americans", but by the end of the song, and the first kilometer marker I was in pain. My lungs and my legs were screaming. I pressed play again as 7 year old children started to pass me. How embarrassing! I did make it to the finish line in just under 30 minutes. I took 2 short walk breaks and took full advantage of the water and Gatorade stands along the way but I was amazed at how difficult this little run was and have a great deal more respect for those who went on to do the 1/2 marathon on that beautiful sunny day in Peterborough. The next challenge is in May in Ottawa where a group of people are talking about doing the full marathon, and I actually said, in the heat of the endorphin induced euphoria suggested that I might take on the 1/2. Stay tuned!

A horse named George you say?

2010-02-19T12:25:00.000-08:00

(reposted from a previous post) 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.

Happy Birthday Dave!

2010-02-16T11:52:00.000-08:00

40 years ago, on February 17th, 1970 - David Navia was born in PuertoViejo Ecuador. Four years later he moved to Canada. On February 17th, 2010 David celebrates his 40th birthday. David is much loved by many people. Please join me in wishing David a Happy Birthday by writing your comments and best wishes to David, and spread the word to others whose lives have been made brighter by the laughter and love that David has brought into our world. All the best my friend!

On a beautiful sunny day, even a big pile of horse poo holds promise

2010-02-07T12:30:00.000-08:00

While the thermometer dipped to some pretty cool temperatures this weekend, the bright sunshine seemed to bring out lots of friendly smiles as the ever so delicate scent of spring started to play on the minds of many. Saturday morning was so brisk that the pipes in the barn were frozen, and I initially thought I'd leave the horses in the barn, but soon realized that they were well equipped and much better off to enjoy the warm sunshine, so out they went. For my part, I cleaned their stalls, topped up their water and measured out their daily ration of grain. As I do my barn choirs I can't help but hearken back to the time, a few years ago, when a couple were referred to me in need of a hand up. They had 15 horses, mostly Arabians, and through some set of circumstances that I never fully grasped, had lost their farm. As a result, they were looking for lodging for themselves and their 15 equine friends. I met the couple - they seemed nice enough and in fact I thought I might be able to find a place for their skills at the spa. We worked out a deal that I think helped them get back on their feet, but ultimately wasn't meant to be a long term association. They moved on "to greener pastures", less one mare who stayed with me as part of our deal. The reason I'm telling this story is that I used to visit them at the barn where they were always working hard at the barn chores, feeding, grooming and mucking stalls. I remember thinking that their skills could be put to better use than this, as surely the job of picking up horse poo was something that anyone could do. It seems somewhat ironic then that years later, I'm the one meticulously picking the poo out of the wood shavings, as I ponder how the relationship between man and horse has evolved to this. Did you know that the average horse leaves behind about 35 pounds of poo each and every day? For more horse facts, click here. Not to worry - all this will make good compost for the garden in a couple of years. For my part, I spend much more time doing chores than I spend riding. Maybe when the snow and ice is gone and I'm brave enough to venture back into the saddle of one of these magnificent beasts they will remember how well I served them before they decide to send me flying off their back.

Hockey the way it should be

2010-02-01T06:49:00.000-08:00

Over the years I've spent a fair bit of time in various arenas watching hockey, sometimes friends, sometimes kids of friends, and the odd NHL game. I enjoy it. The air is cold and fresh and there's an energy in the air. Sadly, I've never been on the ice playing. I'm sure Freud and I could come up with a litany of reasons as to why things turned out this way, but at this point that would probably be a moot exercise. This Sunday I took a drive up to Peterborough where a friend's son was playing in a tournament on the lift locks. It was pretty neat. I can see what all the hype is about taking the game back outside. The parents were still mouthing off to the refs, and the little tykes were playing their hearts out - perhaps some hoping that if they played hard enough and if they yelled hard enough someday they would find themselves at the Air Canada Centre in the big leagues.

How quickly things can change (part 2)

2010-01-25T10:42:00.000-08:00

Why is it that I want to start off so many of my posts with "When I was younger"? I suppose it's because I'm at a point in life where more time is behind me than ahead of me, which begs the question - who's bright idea was it to start keeping track of time? It seems we now have far too many devices reminding us of the sometimes slow, but more often than not the rapid slipping away of time. There's the simple clock, then there's the stop watch, the GPS counts down to a destination, and the treadmill counts down the time to the end of a work out. I imagine some cave man way back when came up with the concept, I'm not really sure. All of these thoughts were running through my mind last night as I made my home from a truncated ski trip in Vermont. After some initial hesitation and upon resolving some "leaving work for 3 days in a row guilt issues", we left for Stowe Mountain Lodge mid-day on Saturday, about a 6 hour drive. Sunday morning we were up bright and early and ready to ski on what looked like an absolutely perfect day. As the gondola took us closer to the top of our first run, I sensed that Dave was getting a little tense from the height and from the comments being made by the other occupants of the gondola. The first picture is of Dave in the Gondola with the mountain in the background. When we got to the top the views were spectacular, and the conditions were perfect. I guess I didn't pick up on it, but I guess Dave was a little nervous about the trip down, a feeling I remember from younger days (about 25 years ago) when I first tackled Mansfield mountain with a group of co-workers from ComputerLand. Dave started off snowplowing, which was smart, which seemed like a good way to ease into the slope. As his confidence increased, his speed picked up, and quick as a flash he rolled and tumbled somewhat unceremoniously into a jumble of skis and poles. I really didn't think it was a bad fall, and encouraged him to get up, but it quickly became apparent that he had injured himself. After getting him out of harm's way, I made my way to the ski patrol to get him brought down the last 100 feet or so for an evaluation. After a preliminary check up, the EMT suggested that we go to a little urgent care clinic where A very nice D.O. took some x-rays and encouraged us to head towards a hospital with a staff orthopedic surgeon. Dave was feeling pretty good, so we drove to Kingston General Hospital where a crack team of very friendly and capable nurses, doctors and students quickly assessed his injury and recommended surgery. It was like we were on the set of General Hospital. It turns out Dave had an injury that is fairly common to skiers, and as it strangely enough, Tiger Woods, as well. So, later this week, David will be going under the knife to have a piece of bone screwed in place, putting his plans to run a half marathon in February on ice. The mountain was doused in the same rain storm that flooded parts of Ontario today, so perhaps this ski trip was never meant to be.

How quickly things can change

2010-01-18T06:14:00.000-08:00

A week ago tomorrow the sun came up on Haiti as expected. People went about their business as they would on any other day in a Caribbean nation, albeit a nation plagued with more than their share of political strife and poverty. And then, without warning, deep beneath the earth, the Caribbean Plate shifted like a bear twitching in his sleep. In Canada, news of the quake started to appear on the evening news, but it wasn't until Wednesday morning that the total destructive force of this event started to sink in for the rest of the world. But for Haitians, the impact on their lives was immediate. Many were killed instantly, many others were trapped and/or injured, and most were bed-less, home-less, food-less, water-less and hope-less. Back home in Grafton, a fan gave out on the furnace that provides heat to the building where we house our reservations, marketing, human resource and finance departments. The temperature plumetted to a bone chilling 16 degrees. Oh horror of horrors! Some people were so shocked by this dramatic event that they were barely able to work. Emergency calls were placed to get electric heaters strategically placed, but this only made matters worse as the increased demand caused a circuit breaker to trip, plunging one printer into darkness! More screams and cries for help. I lit a fire in a fireplace that hasn't been used since this office was used as a residence, only to be subjected to complaints about the burning smell coming from the fireplace. GIVE ME A BREAK! As each day of the Haitian crisis goes on, I can't help but reflect on how blessed, and yet utterly spoiled and self absorbed western society has become. As we go on with our lives wringing our hands over the crisis in Haiti or the war in Afganistan, or the famine in Africa people just like us have no bed to sleep in, no clean drinking water, no idea where their next meal will come from, no lights to turn on at night, nothing simply because of where they were born. According to a Haitian relief organization recently featured by Ste. Anne's (The Starthrower Foundation), 12% of the world's population use 86% of the world's resources. Even the record setting financial aid that is being promised to Haiti works out to less than a toony per North American. Surely, in this age of wealth and technology if we all put our heads together, we could find a way to fix the world, regardless of the challenges thrown at us from time to time by "mother" nature. To give, click here.

Back on the farm

2010-01-11T08:50:00.000-08:00

I was raised on a beef farm, where I acquired a taste for red meat, and a disdain for farm chores, But strangely, while I still love to eat beef, I have developed an interest in farming. Last night, I had a real craving for a steak. Luckily for me, I own a spa and my chef, although he is a vegetarian, humours me, (and the vast majority of our mostly carnivorous guests), by always offering a nice cut of meat on our dinner menu. However, I felt like I needed a night out, so three of us bundled up and headed to a newish restaurant in Port Hope known as the Black Bean. A couple of years ago, I lamented on this very blog that eating out in the Cobourg/Port Hope/Grafton area wasn't full of great choices. Well, all that has changed with The Black Bean, Zest, The Northside, two Thai restaurants, a Chinese-Japanese joint, and a handful of other great eateries. At the Black Bean, I opted for beef carpaccio to start, and the rack of lamb as my main., both of which were delectable. Luckily the two others joining me had steak, one of whom shared a bite with me, while the other let me finish his frites. If you're right up to date with your reading of the musings of this spa guy, you'll know that I bought the Grand Champion Steer at the Roseneath Fair this past fall, and put him on the menu at Ste. Anne's. I sampled a piece of tenderloin from "the Champ", and it too was delectable. All of this part of a plan to bring locally grown, well aged meat to our guests. All too often, when we shop the meat aisle at the local super market, or bite into a piece of meat, we are oblivious as to how that piece of meat came to be. So, back on the farm at 9:00 this morning we had our local vet down to the barn for a "farm call". I wanted a professional to have a look at our small fledgling herd of beef 10 cattle so that we could make sure we were doing all the right things to produce a superior product. I was absolutely blown away as to how quickly this vet took hold of the principles behind our beef program, and at the quality of advice he was able to give us with a view to making sure the meat that ends up on the plates of our guests will be flavourful, tender, good for the end user, and delectable. We spent the better part of two hours learning about tips for handling livestock, living conditions of the cattle, the kind of and frequency of feed and water, the butchering and aging process and the best breeding practices. It left me energized and enthused about the potential for a Ste. Anne's brand of local, naturally raised beef.

2009 To-do list

2010-01-03T09:59:00.000-08:00

I have piles of paper on my desk, in my desk, to be filed, to be read, to be shredded, magazines to be read and to be opened. I just can't seem to bring myself around to finding the time to go through it all. I've hired various part time assistants to help me, but invariably they find other more pressing things to do, and even when they get around to trying to organize my piles of files, it just results in more piles and the prospect of sitting down with them to go through it all. Then there is the electronic stuff; the mountains of emails, word files, excel files, folders upon folders, and pictures (so many pictures) all kept because I might need to reference them some day. And then there are the duplicates! Today, as I tried to make some room on my desk for a writing pad, I came across my 2009 "to-do list". I took a few minutes to go over it, and was pleased that more than half the items on this particular list could be checked off. However, this was just one of many lists I made in 2009, and not one of these lists really captured the essence of what I really should aspire to accomplish in a year, each was more a glimpse of the tasks that were on my mind on the day the list was compiled. When one thinks of how precious life is, and what great things can be accomplished if we set our minds to it, the piles of files become quite insignificant. One thing I do do is that if you don't get to something, over time it probably wasn't that important to begin with. None-the-less, I was pleased that I had accomplished some of the tasks that I had on that particular list. At this time of year, we tend to want to make changes, to start fresh, sometimes awakening to the reality of how quickly time goes by and how much time we waste doing quite meaningless things. Over the weekend, it was next to impossible to get a time slot on one of the cardio conditioning machines at the spa, as eager exercisers were busy implementing their new year's resolutions. I expect the machines to be free again early next week. Happy New Year!

Boxing Day (week) Blues (or why I quit politics)

2009-12-30T06:34:00.000-08:00

You may not know this about me, but years ago I was an elected official. When I was a student in high school, I ran for, and was elected to the York Region Board of Education. I served for two and a half terms, and then decided to leave and become a contributing member of society. Now, as an employer in Ontario, I'm finding that it is becoming increasingly more difficult not to take on the unpopular characteristics of "scrooge". Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to celebrations, family get-togethers, motherhood, apple pie and happiness. My beef has to do with superfluous statutory holidays like Boxing Day. What exactly is it that we are celebrating on Boxing Day?(Boxing Day was traditionally a day on which the servants had a day off from their duties. Because of this the gentry would eat cold cuts and have a buffet-style feast prepared by the servants in advance. In modern times many families will still follow this tradition by eating a family-style buffet lunch, with cold cuts rather than a fully-cooked meal. It is a time for family, parlour games and sports in the UK). In modern times, Boxing Day is a day when Christmas weary folks join mobs of fellow bargain hunters in search of the deal of the century at their favourite retail store. The fact that employers who open on Boxing Day are forced to pay employees double time and a half because it's a "statutory holiday", the cost of which ultimately has to be passed on to those same poor bargain hunters just seems kind of silly to me. In my case, each statutory holiday costs me about $12,000 in additional wages, and now, thanks to Dalton McTaxme, there are nine of them in the have not province of Ontario, the most recent being that great mid February holiday - Family Day. But, just when I thought Dalt was running out of ways to punish the tourism sector, he's come up with the Harmonized Sales Tax. For my business, this will mean a new and extra 8% tax on all spa treatments, along with a new and extra 3% tax on meals and accommodation. I estimate that just the credit card fees on these new taxes will cost us (and ultimately our customers), about $15,000 a year, not to mention the additional $400,000 it will generate in tax revenue. Maybe there should be a statutory holiday to celebrate this Dalton inspired tax grab/winfall?

Things to do in the winter

2009-12-24T16:48:00.000-08:00

As I pulled my cart into the shortest lane at Walmart I looked up at the clock. It was a few minutes to 2:00, which meant that I had finished my Christmas shopping well before previous years, where I have found myself pawing through the dregs close to closing time at the local Shopper's Drug Mart on Christmas Eve. Making my way to the check-out, pushing my cart as aggressively as possible without being rude, the Christmas shopping syndrome started to set into the muscles between my shoulder blades. It was time to go. Once in line, I focused my attention on the customers ahead of me who seemed to take an inordinate amount of time getting their money out or their PIN numbers entered. I could feel my stress levels starting to rise, asking myself how much time these simple steps could possibly take. When my turn finally came, the cashier looked at me and said "You just want to get out of here, don't you", very intuitive of her to offer this greeting as opposed to the company standard "Did you find everything you were looking for today?" Truth be told, Walmart was a last resort in my search for one particular gift that I was unable to find anywhere else. I did most of my shopping at the downtown stores in Cobourg, where I found some great gifts, free gift wrapping and no line-ups. I'm writing this blog from a family Christmas party in North Toronto that was supposed to have started an hour ago, but as of this moment most of the guests haven't arrived. Patience, I tell myself, is a virtue I need to work on. Last weekend I met up with another spa owner/friend to do one of the tougher parts of our jobs, a competitive analysis at Hotel Sacacomie in Quebec - located about 1 1/2 hours outside of Montreal in an absolutely stunning setting. We went to check out their newly opened Nordic Spa - fabulous, but as yet pretty much undiscovered. Apparently the construction budget for this geo-thermal facility was $3.4 million, but it ended up costing $6.8. I wonder what the bank thought about that? We spent a couple of hours in and out of the hot tubs, sauna, steam room and ice cold water fall and were completely invigorated. Take some time and check this place out. I've just had my first empanada, food, oh glorious food to calm the nerves and bring out the Christmas spirit. Blessings to you, your family and friends in this festive season.

Inspiration comes in many sizes

2009-12-09T07:32:00.000-08:00

Nine years ago, a young man named Ryan applied for a job as a massage therapist at Ste. Anne's. He was a quirky fellow, not shy, and very sure to tell you what he thought of you. At first, I thought he was going to be a rabble rouser, but instead, he rose to become our clear, level headed and honest communicator from amongst the spa staff. From day one, Ryan gave an incredible massage, especially if you like it deep. He didn't hold anything back, I suspect that characteristic runs through the core of his existence. Ryan married, and went on to have a couple of beautiful children, and has one more on the way. He was the first man I knew to take advantage of the option for paternal leave - he's a great dad. Ryan also loves to eat. I would often see him in the staff room unpacking a Fred Flintstone size lunch that looked as though it could feed an entire table, let alone one person. Then one day, I saw Ryan all decked out in Lycra Spandex running the Haldimand Hills. I quickly looked to see if he was being followed by an ambulance, because he really looked like he was working every muscle in his body to the max, including his heart, but no emergency vehicles were in sight. This morning, as I trudged through the snow drifts for my 7th day of exercise on the elliptical trainer, I noticed a car pulling out of my driveway. It struck me as a little odd that a car would be pulling out of my driveway in this weather, and at this time of day. Could this be a stalker? No such luck. As I found out when I got to the spa for my workout, it was Ryan, who had arranged to meet David for a morning run. Unfortunately, David slept through the call, but true to form, Ryan went to the spa to run by himself instead. Ryan inspired David and Rick, and John, and Rhonda, and Jenn, and no doubt countless others to become marathon runners. Several of Ryan's protege ran their first full marathon this past fall in Toronto. Quite an achievement! When I mounted my elliptical trainer, Ryan was already well into his workout on the treadmill beside me, running at breakneck speed. He initially dropped 30 pounds as a result of running, (from 250 lbs.), and there is now no need of emergency medical on standby when this guy is training. My hat goes off to Ryan, a great therapist, a great employee, a great husband and dad, and now a great athlete. Thanks for the inspiration Mr. Mom. And by the way - next time you're at the spa - book a massage with Ryan. You won't regret it.

First snow day for the equine kids

2009-12-01T07:08:00.000-08:00

For 3 years running, my family doctor has told me that my colesteral readings and my blood pressure indicate that I have a 10% chance of having some kind of cardiovascular event in the next ten years. Of course, this probability can be reduced by medication (complete with side effects), or I could start exercising. I guess you could say that I've been warned, and I'm not really interested in the side effects or the cardiovascular event, so I dragged my sorry ass out of bed this morning and spent a half hour on the elliptical trainer - something I pledged I would start doing every weekday morning for the rest of my life. We'll see how long that lasts. When I left the house at 6:45, I was pleasantly surprised to see a thin skim of white powder everywhere, and of course thought that I could probably workout behind a snow shovel, but quickly realized that I need a routine that I can count on regardless of the weather. Speaking of routine, I then went down to our newly restored stables and put my big horsey kids out in their snow covered pasture. Horses love routine. My Spirited Anglo-Arab Sophie and her more even tempered friend Noche have seen snow before, and took it all in stride, but Sarah and her new pal Titan, both born in June of this year, had their first experience today, but neither seemed phased by it. Sarah did curl up her lip a bit as if she could better understand this stuff if she could smell it, but quickly turned her attention to finding food. I've discovered that owning and boarding a few horses (or any pets for that matter) involves positive routine, dependence, a little bit of exercise and lots of potential for enjoyment.

Worries

2009-11-16T06:47:00.000-08:00

The pastel above, by artist Paul Murray, hangs over the front desk at Ste. Anne's. I purchased a copy at an art exhibit many years ago at the Buckhorn Fine Art Festival. Most of the art on display was of wildlife and outdoor scenes, so this particular piece really stood out for me. Aunt Emily's eyes say so much. I placed it at the front desk because it serves as a reminder of our patron Ste. Anne - the grandmother of Jesus. I was lucky enough to know both of my grandmothers, Nano (maternal) and Grandma (paternal). They were as different as night and day, but they both shared one quality that seems to be genetically hardwired into grandmothers; unconditional love for their children and grandchildren. They showed their love in different ways, just as they lived their lives. Grandma lived in Niagara Falls in a modest apartment, while Nano was a little more up market in her accommodation, with a farm near Oakville, and a condo in Rosedale. I love them both, think of them often and miss them. Another grandmother friend of mine sent me an email recently. Her son has been diagnosed with a terrible disease that will probably subject him to an early and difficult departure from this life. This has been a source of great pain for my friend. She would do anything to take her son's place or to improve her son's prognosis, but at this point, all she can do is hope and pray. Like so many, my friend and her son suffer in solitude - they don't want others to know about their struggle. Like you, I have other friends who are suffering as a result of as yet incurable disease, many of whom suffer alone for fear of what others might say or think. I've often wondered what would happen if we spent as much on medical research as we spend on the military. Which is a greater enemy, a cruel disease or a despot dictator? My grandmother friend's request was a simple one - go to this website, and sign a charter in support of stem cell research.

For the Fallen

2009-11-11T05:36:00.000-08:00

On this day last year, I was upbraided by a guest who was appalled that Ste. Anne's didn't acknowledge Remembrance Day in any significant way. My initial response was to be defensive, after all, I had attended the ceremony at the cenotaph in Grafton, I had worn red every Friday, I purchased my poppy and I felt that the way in which a person acknowledges the sacrifices of our war heroes was a personal choice. Looking back, I know that I can never even begin to comprehend the range of emotions felt not only by those who have served our country, but also by their loved ones who have been left behind to proudly mourn their loss and celebrate their achievement. There are so many cliches that I could use; "war is a terrible thing", "never again", but all I know for sure is that I hope I never have to know the fear, the pain, the grief, the loss, or the pride of fighting for my country. All I can do - all the vast majority of us who benefit from the sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform can do is to pause and give thanks. Today, Robert, a principled young man who works here at the spa and has become fast friends with many staff and guests, was up at the crack of dawn, on his knees pinning hundreds of poppies in the courtyard at the spa in memory of his father, who fought in the war. Thank you Robert for helping us find a dignified way to acknowledge this special day. I suppose I still feel that the acknowledgement of this special day should be a personal choice, but a subtle little nudge to those who haven't been privileged to experience true loss and sacrifice for the greater good is perhaps the least we can do.

Are you God's gift to the world?

2009-10-26T04:55:00.000-07:00

I am an amateur photographer, in fact, for the most part, I'm an amateur everything. I'm one of those people who tends to take an interest in things, but rarely to develop an interest to it's full potential. Fortunately, I am blessed to have people around me who are much more thorough in their pursuits. One of those people is Katriona, a member of our Ste. Anne's marketing team. Among other things, "Kat" is a "brilliant" photographer. For several years, I have tried to capture the sun in some of her most beautiful moments, as experienced here in the Northumberland Hills. My photographs never quite capture the magnificence of these events. My body clock is still set to 6 hours ahead, so I've witnessed some incredible sun risings these past few days, and today, with the flick of a few dials, Kat helped me capture (one of) God's gifts to the world.

Leaving the Rock (Thank God!)

2009-10-23T05:34:00.000-07:00

When most Canadians think of a place called "The Rock", we tend to think of Newfoundland. For 10 million Britons, (who for some reason unknown to me, travel there annually) "The Rock" refers to Gibraltar, a little piece of land at the southern tip of Spain that they hang onto as a "British protectorate". A friend of mine has a friend who has been posted there for the past little while, so I thought it would be a good jumping off point for a foray into southwestern Spain. As it turned out, I was wrong. Getting to Spain through Gibraltar was a big mistake - next time I will fly directly to Madrid or Barcelona, or even to Lisbon if I want to "do Spain". Aside from the inflated cost of visiting any part of the United Kingdom, the last leg of our journey home left me bewildered as to how so many things could go wrong on one day. Now here I am tending to place the blame on the Brits, but I suppose one could just as easily find fault with the Arabs who flew planes into the World Trade Centre for making air travel for those of us who don't like our planes to crash into buildings such a hassle, or the Spanish GibAir agents who manned the gate at the Gibraltar airport for so badly bungling everything, but really, there is enough blame to go around for the whole human race for letting a lack of trust and insatiable greed make what should be pleasurable and relaxing (travel) into the complete pain that it has become. Here's what happened. We were booked on an EasyJet flight from Gibraltar to Gatwick, scheduled to leave at 11:40. Like good travellers, we arrived at the airport 2 hours prior to departure. Not a soul in sight. The GibAir/Easyjet agents finally arrived around 10:00 and started checking us in. Once we got through security, we sat in the boarding lounge for 2 hours, where the odd announcement was made about waiting for more coaches to arrive. We just assumed these were the coaches that would take us from the terminal to the airplane, as it was pouring rain and gusting outside. What we were never told, was that these were coaches to take us on a 2 hour bus ride to Malaga airport because our plane wasn't able to land due to bad weather. The pilot who eventually flew us home was the first to fill us in on anything. He said that Gibraltar airport is an old military airport with outdated equipment, a short runway, and a big rock making landing difficult when there is wind cand rain in the mix. So off we went, like lambs to the slaughter to reclaim our bags so they could be loaded onto the coaches. Then we got on the coaches, while the bus drivers and the gate agents chatted amongst themselves. When they were finally ready to leave, they made a 2 minute trip to the Gibraltar/Spain border, where we had to get off the bus, claim our bags, drag them across the border, through Spanish customs and security, and then load them and ourselves back on the bus. Off we went to Malaga. As much as this is a lovely drive along the coast, our bus was so loaded with people, and pulling a trailer full of luggage no less, that we didn't ever break the speed limit of 100 k/h as we slowly chugged our way along. When we finally arrived at the airport in Malaga, we were offloaded - again, no explanation, no assistance, we just followed the rest of the sheep into the airport, where we joined a line of at least 200 people being served by 2 Easyjet agents. It took us an hour to get checked in again, and then off we went to the gate, where there was yet another long line to get onto the plane, as the gate wasn't yet opened. We finally were boarded and the cabin crew and Captain began a series of apologies and explanations, but by this time we had been waiting to leave for 8 hours. Someone at Easyjet decided to offer complimentary bar service, but because no one usually buys their crap, they ran out of food long before everyone was served. Arriving at Gatwick, we were put into a holding pattern, and then when we landed put onto another bus, into the terminal where we lined up one more time to get through British customs and immigration. From there we took a taxi to the Hotel I thought I had booked, an airport Marriott, paid 90GPB (equivalent to 180CND), only to find out that we were at the wrong Marriott - apparently there are 3 at Heathrow. Off we went, only to join the end of another line up to check in. I am so looking forward to getting home. Canada may have Stephen Harper to contend with, but like Dorothy, I'm going to be clicking my heals, closing my eyes as I say "There's no place like home".

If only I had the courage to try

2009-10-17T10:10:00.000-07:00

A week ago now, we landed in London for a little R&R. Despite all the hassles and expense of travelling though London, I´ve become hooked on the daytime overseas flight. I can´t stand flying overnight and arriving like a zombie, usually taking two or three days to adjust to the time change. However, I think I´ve seen the sights of London enough now, and was happy to move on from there to Gibraltar - although not being enough a world traveller to know that I was landing into a British protectorate, we spent 2 more days enjoying the worst traits of Britain and Spain rolled into this tourist trap. Finally we were on the road to Tarifa, a beautiful oceanside town, once known for an unusually high rate of suicides, sometimes attributed to the never ending winds, which of course make it an ideal location for kite surfing (pictured above). This looks like an incredible amount of fun - a sport I´d love to try, but I just haven´t found the courage to give it a try. When I get home I´m absolutely going to start working out, really, I mean it, so I will have the confidence to try some of these things. The wind really did howl endlessly, but the sun was also non stop, and Tarifa is a charming place to spend a couple of nights. We were tempted to take the 35 minute ferry crossing to Tangiers, but in the end, decided that it might be just one big haggling market, a little too much for this trip. From there we travelled further into the Spanish countryside with a day trip to Arcos de la Frontera, and Ronda, two equally spectacular towns with stunning views and natural beauty. We then took a trip along the coast to Cadiz, but decided it was too much of a city for our taste, and instead made our way back to Conil, where we found a great little Apartmento Hotel for not very much money, close to walking, beaches lots of sun, sand and doing nothing. Aside from checking work emails once a day, I think we are starting to unwind, and getting lots of good ideas for importation back to Ste. Anne´s. The Spanish people are very nice, and the food is wonderful. The only depressing event has been a rather poor review posted on Ste. Anne´s by a recent guest on TripAdvisor. If you are a true fan, please take a minute and post something positive for me. After 20 years of investing love and sweat into a business, it really hurts when someone takes their best shot at ruining your reputation. Why don´t they just call me when they aren´t happy? Oh well.

The Roseneath Fair

2009-10-04T15:06:00.000-07:00

I was raised on a beef farm. Originally we had Black Angus cattle; later on we migrated to Charolais. At the time, I wasn't much for farming. It seemed as though we kids were raised for the exclusive purpose of providing free labour for this endevour, and more often than not chores seemed to interfere with play time, later with party time. In hindsight, many good life lessons were learned growing up on a farm. Strange then that I should find myself bidding at a steer auction this weekend at the Roseneath Fall Fair. Earlier in the year, I had been talked into buying 10 calves to raise here at the spa in response to the high prices we were paying for meat. Other than counting them every once in a while, my involvement has been pretty limited as they seem pretty content just to eat grass day in and day out. Our champion grass cutter at the spa, Evan, and his brother Colin invited me to attend in hopes that I would bid up the price on their prized steer, Urban Legend. Attending the livestock auction at the fair required a little more intimacy, than raising the 10 calves had to this point. I had to get into the ring, poke and prod the prospects; (some of whom wanted to sniff and lick my hands and shoes), and ask a few questions about how they would get from the ring onto the grill. Once the bidding started, my adrenaline kicked in, and before I knew it, I was proud owner of 2 hefty looking steers, one being the show champion! In a month or so, if all goes to plan, they'll show up on the menu at the spa. I know that's not a very nice thought, but our guests love their meat, nothing beats locally raised food, and I'm not about to become a vegetarian. For a brief moment, I considered taking my two new mooing friends back to the spa to pasture, but one of the real farmers talked me out of that option, as apparently they are at their prime for eating. We also checked out the sheep shearing, the vegetables, the pig races, the dog show, and the equestrian display. On our way out we ran into some friends enjoying a ride on the Roseneath Carousel. If you've never experienced a real country fair, you really should. Next weekend is the Norwood Fair - there's something there for everyone, and it's a great education for the kids. Check it out.

Use it, or lose it

2009-09-28T05:17:00.000-07:00

Living in Ontario, we are blessed with so many opportunities for recreation, entertainment, spiritual fulfillment, fine dining - you name it. Last week I drove to Stratford and thoroughly enjoyed "West Side Story". What energy and talent erupted on the stage in this incredible performance. And yet, Stratford has not had a great year - crowds have been down, once again, due to the "economy". I don't think I've been to Stratford since high school, when I believe we went to see Romeo and Juliet. Walking into the theatre brought on a strange and distant deja vu kind of feeling for me. Until I read my program, I didn't realize that West Side Story was an interpretation of Romeo and Juliet. Somehow, I had it mixed up in my mind with Midnight Cowboy - go figure! Over the past several months, as I've followed a small group of runners to various marathons from Picton, to Belleville, to Toronto, and Peterborough, I've also had an opportunity to witness incredible feats of athletic achievement, and to be in cities and towns bursting with pride at their growth and creativity. And yet, crowds are down, due to the "economy". In my travels, I've also visited several different churches, St. Michael's Cathedral in Toronto, St. Gregory the Great in Picton, St. Peter in Chains in Peterborough, St. Michael's the Archangel in Belleville, and again, crowds are down, but perhaps not as a result of the economy. After 2,000 years the Catholic Church risks losing it's relevance with followers, but who is to blame for that? It seems to me that we Ontarians have a tendency to become complacent, to take what we have for granted. If we want to continue to have great opportunities for recreation, entertainment, spiritual fulfillment, fine dining, and you name it, we have to speak up, vote with our feet, enthusiastically support, encourage and engage ourselves in these aspects of society that define us. Take your TV remote control and toss it. Get up off the couch and get involved - make a difference.

Walking home one night

2009-09-20T12:43:00.000-07:00

Most Fridays, I dress down a bit and try to get out of my office routine for the day. Not that I dress up the other days of the week; long gone are the days when I would pull a fresh white shirt out of the wrapper and choose one of a small selection of ties to match one of a small selection of suits, black shoes and knee socks. Thank God for that. I usually try to seek out some kind of physical activity to give my mind a bit of a break. Not that physical work doesn't require thought; I guess I'm in search of a change, a break in the routine so to speak. I also try to wear a red shirt as a reminder of and a tribute to the men and women who are serving our country in the war on terror, although I'm sure there is much more that I could be doing in that regard. As it turned out, this Friday there wasn't any specific physical chore calling out my name, so I opted to return a leased car (having reached the end of it's term) to the dealership . I didn't make any arrangements for a ride home, thinking I'd just wing it. The dealership was at the corner of Division and Elgin Streets in Cobourg. After dropping off the keys and waiting for the salesman to take a reading of the mileage, I started walking south on Division towards the lake. It was a beautiful day, sun shining, nice breeze, clear blue sky. I passed KFC (without going in), St. Michael's Church (also without stopping), thought about walking down to the waterfront, but instead made a left at Hwy. 2, or King St., as it is known in Cobourg. I popped into the Green Machine and withdrew enough cash to get me through the weekend, and to take a cab back home. I briefly contemplated the cab ride, the stale smell of cigarettes, the small talk and the cost. I kept walking. Before I hit the edge of town, I sent a text message to a friend hinting that I might need a ride. Subconsciously, I think that more than anything, I was testing the strength of the friendship. A new art gallery caught my eye, so I popped in, hoping that I wouldn't attract the attention of the volunteer attendant. Just as I thought I was in the clear to make a clean getaway, she asked me if I wouldn't mind signing the guest book. I complied, thinking that this would be quick and painless. Just then, my PDA vibrated. A response to my text test was pending. At that very moment, the attendant, who had circled around me politely appreciating the works of art, read my entry in the guest book and exclaimed "Are you the famous Jim Corcoran?" I could feel myself turning red, knowing that my escape plan had been foiled. I asked her what she meant by "famous", assuming she was referring to recent spate of articles in the local newspaper about my dispute with my fellow Catholics, but no, she was referring to my association with Ste. Anne's. As it turned out she had been a regular guest about 20 odd years ago, before I had taken over. In those days, there were a number of groups who would take over the whole place for a weekend of tennis, gastronomy, cocktails and boomerfun. My claim to fame with those people was that I spoiled all that by introducing the spa concept and hiring a chef. I've always sensed that those groups were not some of my biggest fans. In any case, we chatted each other up politely, and she commented on viewing the most beautiful baby in the world as having been one of her last memories of Ste. Anne's - I'm assuming she is referring to my niece Jenna, now in her final year at U of T. How time flies. I made my escape, and immediately checked my text messages. I got kind of a lukewarm response to my hint for a ride, to which I replied "Sounds like you're busy - the walk will do me good." Now I was committed. I stopped and bought a bottle of cold blue liquid and set off on my 15 km. journey. It was 3:30. Walking along Hwy 2 between Cobourg and Grafton isn't a walk I'd recommend. The shoulder of the road and the speeding cars are a little too close for comfort. I noticed a few people pass by who I knew, who didn't stop, and a couple of people who I didn't notice pass by, actually turned around and pulled over to ask me if I wanted a ride. One friend passed by and then called me on my cell to see if I wanted a ride, but I sensed he really wasn't going my way. I declined all the offers and pressed on. Walking just to get from point A to point B, with no purpose other than the simplest mode of transportation, affords one the opportunity to think things through. I made full use of this opportunity. Three hours later, as I entered the town of Grafton, I was dead tired. Everything was aching and the worst part of the walk loomed ahead of me in the form of a steep 4 km climb to the spa. I stopped and picked up a newspaper, I sat down on a short wall and was even more stiff when I got up. Too tired to care about the repercussions of defeat, I sent one more text message to my friend saying "Don't you know, no means yes?" Just as I sent it, another friend stopped by and offered me a ride up the hill. This time, I took it. Two days later, the pain and stiffness is gone but the memories and the lessons of my long walk almost home are still with me. Now I know that I can almost do it - and I'm sure that if I didn't take the ride, I would have made it.

Africa comes to Rice Lake

2009-09-14T13:46:00.000-07:00

This past week was a little stressful as one of the respondents to the HRC case decided to use his office and all of the Catholic Churches in the Peterborough diocese to establish his authority, and my guilt, and to spread his version of recent events that is substantially different than what I perceive the facts to be (sound familiar?). So, a trip around Northumberland County to visit some of the artists displaying their work in the annual Studio Tour was a welcome diversion. Our first stop was at a barn that has been beautifully restored and converted to a studio to view the works of Martha Robinson. Martha's family and my family have been friends since the beginning of time and we love her work. Many years ago my mom and sister gave me one of Martha's portraits of a sheep, which I treasure dearly. Some of Martha's work is currently on exhibition at Ste. Anne's. From there we made our way up Harwood Road to drop in on the studio of Graeme Coxon, another long time family friend. Graeme specializes in digital images of plants - absolutely stunning work. For the last stop on our tour, we made our way to the opening of ZimArt's 10th public exhibition, on until September 27th. We have been lucky enough to have some of ZimArt collection on display at Ste. Anne's over this past year, and two of the artists, Biggie Chikodzi and Singi Chiota where artists in residence in our walled courtyard just a couple of weeks ago. Art is such a wonderful gift. The prices attached to pieces of art can sometimes be hard to swallow, but really, when you experience a piece of art, it becomes a part of you, and when you own a piece of art, you take a piece of the artist with you. Well worth the price, if you ask me. If you can find the time over the next couple of weeks, take a drive up to the outdoor ZimArt Exhibit, and mark your calendar for next year's Northumberland Studio Tour.

Crossing the finish line

2009-08-30T13:37:00.000-07:00

I took this picture a few weeks ago while visiting Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal. Until today, it, along with a few other memories of that little holiday, were captives of a handy little digital camera (that will work under water), that I used my last few RBC points to acquire. Today, I used the same camera to capture a shot of a friend crossing the finish line in what was supposed to be a triathlon, but in fact ended up being a biathlon due to choppy conditions at the Cobourg beach. There are so many stories woven into this first paragraph, but I'm afraid that if I tried to tell them all, I would lose your attention. So, I will focus on the most important message. My friend, the runner, has been running with another friend. Both started running in an effort to improve their overall health, and to lose some weight. I've never been much of a runner, and as far as exercise is concerned, I always use the excuse that I'd like to work out with someone, rather than work out alone, so I don't work out. As a result, for the first time in my life, I tipped the scales at 190 lbs this morning. I have never weighed this much. I should probably weigh 175. Instead of having the swimmers build that I always wanted, I have the little ponch that I always dreaded having. I can find comfort in the fact that I'm in the majority though - I love to eat, I'm great at making excuses, and I'm always at the finish line cheering on the runners and taking their pictures, instead of being in the race. The picture above is a depiction of a guy who definitely got in the race, and crossed the finish line. In 33 short years He made such an impression on people that we're still talking about him 2,000 years later. At almost 51 years, I'm pretty sure that I've passed the half way point of my life. I know that I have been blessed with many gifts, but I feel as though I'm still waiting for the starters pistol. Years ago, one of my goals was to go to Europe. For years I fretted about the language, the cost, the flight, the different currencies, and for years I allowed this fretting to keep me from experiencing Europe. And then, one day I was on my way to meet some friends in Paris. When I later explained to someone how I overcame my fears, I remember saying "it was easy, it all started by picking up the phone". So much in life is like that, whether it's running in a marathon, or being a Messiah, it all starts by taking one step in the right direction. What will be your next step?

A week from hell in paradise

2009-08-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

Summer is always a busy time at Ste. Anne's, and this year has been no exception. With the reintroduction of our "Diva for a Day" $99 day spa, our guest visits are actually up significantly over last year - something I feel very proud of, given the doom and gloom we are subjected to on a daily basis regarding the economy. There is no doubt that consumers are very price sensitive these days, so offering the best value proposition is more important than ever. However, it just goes to show that even in tough economic times, people still crave relaxation through the gift of healing at the hands of their fellow beings. None-the-less, one of our commercial lenders has decided that they don't want to be in the "hospitality" business anymore, so they've given us the requisite notice to go out and find a new lender, a costly and frustrating exercise, meaning that I get to spend more time than I would like with lawyers and number crunchers - yahoo! Please say a prayer for me. The extreme heat and humidity has resulted in a few requests for more air conditioning, but for the most part, our guests have enjoyed and embraced the onset of summer (late as it is), and have used the pool to cool down. A couple of weeks ago, we were hit by a pretty violent thunderstorm - (before the one that caused so much devastation in the cities of Vaughan and Durham). We had at least 10 trees down, one of which landed right on top of the power lines, leaving us in the dark for most of the night. Once again, our great friends at OPG had us up and running before the sun came up - thanks guys! However, these huge downpours can sometimes have a negative impact on wells, so following the storm, we had to make sure all of our drinking water, and the water we use in our spa treatments was safe to drink. Ever since the tragic consequences of Walkerton, the Health Unit has been saddled with the responsibility for making sure that all businesses serving drinking water to the public are taking regular samples of their water and responding to any adverse results. These folks at the Health Unit seem to have a love affair with chlorine, but to be honest, I'm not sure I'd rather take on a little water borne bug than be subjected to a known carcinogen. To make matters worse, right in the middle of the last thunderstorm, one of wells either took a direct lightening hit, or some kind of electrical malfunction resulting in a dead short, knocking out the pump and cutting off our water supply. So once again, there we were in the dark, rain pouring down, pulling a 50 lb. pump and 100 feet of pipe filled with water up from the depths of our main supply well. Thanks to a great bit of teamwork everything was fixed up before guests started arriving for their spa treatments. Today the sun is shining brightly, smiles are all around, the water is sparkling and clean, and I'm alive. What more could I ask for?

Honestly, I'm not choking him!

2009-08-11T07:26:00.000-07:00

Last week, we were invited up to a friend's home/cottage up on Sturgeon Lake, near Fenelon Falls. As I child, I spent my summers playing on our family farm in Nashville, which, according to my dad, had everything and more than a trip to the cottage - a pond (as opposed to a lake), barns, a river, fields and forests. None-the-less, the 2 or 3 times that I was invited up to a "real cottage" in Muskoka or Haliburton holds special memories for me. Our 24 hours at "the Point", as the locals call it, was no exception. We took a walk around and oogled the other homes - some palatial, some quite modest, some occupied by famous lawyers, and a couple even haunted! We sat by the water and watched the waves, Massie even went in for a swim, We enjoyed a wonderful meal, lively conversation and lots of laughs crowded around a table flanked by new found friends. Liz, our hostess with the mostess could not have been more hospitable or accommodating. Her and her sisters are like a barrel of monkeys - just a hoot - and such great people. We were also introduced to a little Yorkie - his name escapes me now, but he was quite cute, and of course everybody fell in love with him. He was making the permanent move to "the Point", having left behind his new family back in "the shwa" (Oshawa). Before leaving we agreed that we would take 2 of his babies, one for mom, and one for another friend who recently lost his cat and moved his mom into a nursing home, so very much in need of some company. Mom loves her new chum, and Rusty loves mom. By the way, for those of you who know my mom, it seems as though she has pretty much recovered from whatever knocked her down a month or so ago. Her doctor thinks it was a virus, while the homeopath thinks it was a magnesium deficiency. Truth is we don't really know, but we're all happy to have her back to her old self again.

New York

2009-07-30T06:16:00.000-07:00

I don't often get a chance to get away in the summer, but I had a few free days, and I felt like a little break was in order, so I hopped on the 401 with a couple of friends and we set off for the "Big Apple". Although this drive can easily be made in a day, I prefer to break it in two so that it is a little more enjoyable. The first night was spent on the eastern edge of the Finger Lakes in a pretty little town called Skaneateles. My friend the GPS lady took us through some interesting parts of Syracuse to get there, but we got there, none-the-less. I had booked us in at the Mirbeau Spa - always try to incorporate a little competitive analysis into every trip, if possible. This is a lovely spa in a lovely town, well worth the drive. I would love to pick the whole place up and drop it into the middle of Ste. Anne's property - I just love the feel of it, very well thought out. Next morning, got a good start to our day and made time on secondary roads so that we had time to stop in Old Greenwich, Connecticut - a town I spent 2 of my teen years in during my dad's stint at IBM World Trade in White Plains, New York. My sweet sister Anne welcomed us into her home in Westport for two nights. Anne was instrumental in helping me get the spa started back in the early 90s. She is a collector of many things, and she has a wonderful sense of humour. She and her husband Paul have two cottages in New Hampshire that they now rent out to wayward travellers, so that has kept them very busy fixing them up and furnishing them in Anne's very warm and inviting fashion. Paul drives a truck that runs on used french fry grease, so he spends early mornings on the prowl for fuel. Gives new meaning to "chip wagon". Seems there is a whole cult movement towards this kind of thing. I think he was planning to attend an event called "Greasefest" - interesting. Next day we took the train into Manhattan - a very civilized way to get in and out of the city. It was raining, so we decided to spend the day in museums - the Cloisters, way up town, and The Frick, in mid-town. Both were incredibly beautiful and a wonderful way to spend a rainy day in the city. The next morning we set out for home, but again decided to break up the drive with a stop in a charming little town, Dorset Vermont. All of the homes on the main street where white clapboard and neat as a pin. We also took note of the United Church where a sign humbly proclaimed that "all welcome" since 1784; what a concept! Of all the meals we had while we were away, dinner at the Dorset Inn was the best by far (not counting meals by Anne, or course!). For the last leg of our journey we headed to Montreal, always a favorite of mine. As usual, the city was alive with joie de vivre, and a plethora of street festivals. To get home we took the 401 to the Thousand Island Parkway, stopped for a quick gab fest with my friend Jacques, the ever gracious innkeeper at Trintiy House Inn in Gananaque, through downtown Kingston, then along "prison row" - the Bath Road to the Glenora Ferry, into Picton, Bloomifield, Wellington, Brighton and Highway 2 to Grafton. We are truly blessed to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I left most of the navigating to my GPS friend, and I can honestly say her route through Ontario, New York, Connecticut, Vermont and Quebec was, for the most part a full of eye pleasing scenery. You really don't have to go far from home to relax and enjoy a little time away.

The History of Ste. Anne's Spa

2009-07-18T09:27:00.000-07:00

As told be Patricia Sullivan, 1991

"In the spring of 1858, Samuel Massey arranged two private mortgages totalling $1,000, and the construction of a stone house began on Lot 23, Concession 2. The home which Samuel and Mary named "Sunnyside" was built in the Georgian Style of balanced proportions. This style was so predominant in the province throughout the nineteenth century it became known as the Ontario House, also called the Loyalist Vernacular. However, the Massey house did adhere to one important principle of the Regency style then in vogue: the dramatic site for the house was well and carefully chosen. At the south edge of a plateau, it commanded a breathtaking view. The walls of the Massey house, 2 feet thick and made from locally quarried rose quartz and pink limestone support the roof, a technique usually attributed to Scottish stonemasons.The gabled roof provided more headroom on the upper floor than was allowed in the roof style of earlier houses. Chimneys, at either end, balanced the exterior, as did the placement of the double-hung windows. The original front doorway, located in the middle of the longer side, was surrounded by a square transom providing extra light for the main hallway. French doors, (which may originally have been tall windows) on either side of the front door continued the symmetrical appearance. The doors and windows were all fitted with shutters.

To be continued . . .

Recipe for chicken noodle soup

2009-07-10T14:04:00.000-07:00

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.

If I were in charge of the universe . .

2009-06-29T08:10:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-06-11T09:43:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

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 . . .

2009-05-31T09:12:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-25T07:13:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-05-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-10T12:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-04T15:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-29T14:46:00.000-07:00

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 .