Leo O'Neil's Barber Shop in Arthur
There were three barber shops in Arthur when I was growing up.
They were all equally adept at the old 'short-back-and-sides' haircut that was the fashion in Arthur at the time. Dad, my brothers and I patronized each shop, going from one to the other, but when I became a teenager I gravitated toward Leo O'Neil's shop.
I am not sure why I settled on Leo's but looking back it was probably because his shop had more character. The other two were neat, clean, well lit and business-like.
Leo's place was different.
On entering the shop, one noticed that the front window was full of pots of huge rubber plants as well as of some kind of ivy that grew and grew. Leo carefully trained the ivy shoots up the wall, over a mirror, around pictures, and on around the room. It was hard to believe that water and nourishment could flow all the way from the pots in the window to the ends of the vines.
Leo and his large old-fashioned barber's chair were on the left, with a sink and counter against the wall and a large mirror above.
On the back wall of the shop were shelves with cubby holes that in the old days held the shaving cups used by each of the customers. By my time, few people got shaves and the cups were full of pencils, pens, screws, nails and bits of hardware.
On the right of the store was a round coal stove, a Quebec Heater, with an upper and lower door, the upper one for putting in the coal and the lower one for taking out the ashes.
Behind the stove and against the wall were old mismatched dining room chairs on which old-timers sat---retired farmers---who got out of the house each day to meet and sort out the weather, the state of the crops, the success of the local hockey team and occasionally local scandals and accidents.
Some of the men would be chewing tobacco and when the time came to spit, they would come around to the front of the stove, open the top door and expectorate. The hiss was something to hear.
As I say, Leo's place had character.
Leo was, I guess, in his early 60s and he could remember back to the turn of the century. I liked to get him talking about the old days.
Here is one of his stories.
He said that in 1900 Arthur, which was well shy of a thousand inhabitants, had three distilleries and five breweries.
When he was a lad, his father would send him to one of the breweries for a honey pail of beer.
I should explain that in those pre-plastic days, containers were scarce and relatively expensive, so people re-used them whenever they could.
Honey pails---five or ten pound size---with a wire handle were much prized, (They are much prized still, but now in antique shops, where they sell for up to a hundred dollars or sometimes more depending on the condition.)
Once when he came back with the pail of beer, his dad became angry because the pail was only three-quarters full. It wasn't Leo's fault, the brewery person had filled the top quarter with foam, which had disappeared by the time Leo got home.
The next time, Leo's dad put his finger in some butter and ran his finger around the inside top rim of the pail.
As soon as the foam touched the butter, it collapsed and the brewery was forced to give Leo a full pail of beer to take home to his dad.
Leo chuckled when he told that story.
ooo
During the winter of 1946-47, Arthur was cut off from the outside world for over a week because of a series of fierce snow storms. There were no snow blowers at that time and there was simply no room for the normal snow plows to push the snow. The roads that linked Arthur to the rest of the province were blocked.
Finally, a couple of horse drawn sleighs loaded with emergency supplies managed to get through by travelling over fields.
What emergency supplies did they bring in to the cut-off and suffering residents of Arthur?
Flour for the bakeries, so they could bake bread.
And beer for the hotels!
ooo
Talking of beer reminds me of my own days brewing beer. I started while we were living in England in the early 1960s and my early efforts (and failures) will be the subject of another posting.
When we returned to Canada in 1966, I discovered that to brew beer legally in Ontario I had to have a license. I prepared the required forms listing all the equipment I would be using and was told that I could start brewing but only in the location in which I was living at the time. I had to post the license in the room where I was going to brew---the basement of our house.
I would brew the beer in new, large white plastic garbage containers and then age it in 5 gallon glass carboys. After the beer had aged, I would siphon it using a rubber tube (listed in my license) into beer bottles.
When our two boys were about 6 and 4, they liked to watch the siphoning process. I think they were fascinated by the flow of beer up the tube and then down into the bottles. And they enjoyed watching as I pinched the tube to stop the flow as one bottle was filled and then transferred the tube to another bottle, all without stopping the siphoning process.
They badgered me to give them a chance to suck on the siphon tube. Assuming the statute of limitations has expired on endangerment of young lives, it is OK to admit that I agreed to let them have a try. I explained that you had to give one really big pull on the tube and then quickly insert the tube in a beer bottle.
Again and again I warned them that if they got a mouthful they had to spit it out immediately.
They proved to be very good students, and as far as I can recall they never got a mouthful.(Pat seems to recall that they did---we'll have to ask them to settle the issue.)
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See you next Sunday for Posting #58 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
POSTING #56
International Affairs Conference at West Point, 1959
President Obama's visit to West Point last fall to deliver a speech on Afghanistan reminded me of a conference I attended there in 1959.
Queen's had been invited to send two representatives to a conference on international relations to be held at West Point in March, 1959. The Politics Department selected me and the History Department chose, Dave Sinclair, a friend of mine.
We travelled by train to New York, then to West Point and stayed at the Hotel Thayer, on the campus of the military academy.
I have four major memories of that trip.
First, much of the conference took place deep underground. We were told that the Academy, faced with the need for increased classrooms and offices, had decided to preserve its low skyline. Instead of building multi-story towers they had decided to go down.
I think they had at least ten floors underground with corridors, offices, and classrooms. It was odd to get in an elevator, press a floor number and then feel the car going down.
(I was going to check on Google for more information on the exact number of underground floors but decided that, given the current international environment, that it might not be wise to be seen to be asking questions about structures at West Point.)
Although the nominal reason for going into the ground was concern for the skyline, I wonder whether there was another reason. In the 1950s, the US and Canadian governments were encouraging people to build fall out shelters in their basements or backyards because of the danger of a nuclear attack from the Soviet Union.
ooo
The second memory is of how disciplined and hardworking the West Point students were. We were told that they had a test every week in every course they were taking. If they failed a single test, they could be asked to leave.
It was hard for my friend and me to get our heads around such a regime. We would routinely let one or two courses slide while we completed an essay or got involved in extra-curricular activities, and then do 'all-nighters' to catch up on the ignored courses before the exams.
ooo
The third memory was of a speech given by a senior official from the US State Department. It was a wonderfully comprehensive and clear exposition of the situation in the Middle East. He described the different parties, factions, cliques, tribes and families and their shifting alliances. I had spent 6 weeks the previous summer at the Institute of World Affairs Foreign Student Seminar at Twin Lakes, Connecticut and thought I had a pretty good understanding of Middle Eastern politics but he made everything a great deal clearer.
After going through this description of the situation in the Middle East he concluded by telling us the advice the State Department routinely gave to Ambassadors leaving for the region:
"Stay in with the ins,
Stay in with the outs,
And don't stand between a dog and a lamp post."
Good advice, for many situations in life!
ooo
The final memory is of a speech by an academic and sometime government official.
He started off by saying that it was easy to be terrified by the challenges facing the world in 1959. The Soviets had the hydrogen bomb and had intercontinental ballistic missiles pointed at North America. The Soviet Union was also winning the international space race, having launched the first satellite, Sputnik, in 1957. The Communists had taken over China in 1949 and were consolidating their position. Fidel Castro had overthrown the government of Cuba in January 1959. The US marines had had to intervene in Lebanon in 1958. And on and on.
The speaker then said that it was necessary to keep an historical perspective.
He then took us back in time, century by century.
In 1859, John Brown and a group of 21 abolitionists had attacked Fort Sumter, making the Civil War all but inevitable.
In 1759, Britain and France were engaged in war in North America.
In 1659, Britain was engaged in a fierce civil war.
Back and back he went to the birth of Christ, listing the wars, plagues, fires and other disasters people had to face.
His message was that every age has its problems.
A simple message but one worth remembering, perhaps, as we cope with two wars, a severe recession, global warming, HiNi and on and on.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #57 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
President Obama's visit to West Point last fall to deliver a speech on Afghanistan reminded me of a conference I attended there in 1959.
Queen's had been invited to send two representatives to a conference on international relations to be held at West Point in March, 1959. The Politics Department selected me and the History Department chose, Dave Sinclair, a friend of mine.
We travelled by train to New York, then to West Point and stayed at the Hotel Thayer, on the campus of the military academy.
I have four major memories of that trip.
First, much of the conference took place deep underground. We were told that the Academy, faced with the need for increased classrooms and offices, had decided to preserve its low skyline. Instead of building multi-story towers they had decided to go down.
I think they had at least ten floors underground with corridors, offices, and classrooms. It was odd to get in an elevator, press a floor number and then feel the car going down.
(I was going to check on Google for more information on the exact number of underground floors but decided that, given the current international environment, that it might not be wise to be seen to be asking questions about structures at West Point.)
Although the nominal reason for going into the ground was concern for the skyline, I wonder whether there was another reason. In the 1950s, the US and Canadian governments were encouraging people to build fall out shelters in their basements or backyards because of the danger of a nuclear attack from the Soviet Union.
ooo
The second memory is of how disciplined and hardworking the West Point students were. We were told that they had a test every week in every course they were taking. If they failed a single test, they could be asked to leave.
It was hard for my friend and me to get our heads around such a regime. We would routinely let one or two courses slide while we completed an essay or got involved in extra-curricular activities, and then do 'all-nighters' to catch up on the ignored courses before the exams.
ooo
The third memory was of a speech given by a senior official from the US State Department. It was a wonderfully comprehensive and clear exposition of the situation in the Middle East. He described the different parties, factions, cliques, tribes and families and their shifting alliances. I had spent 6 weeks the previous summer at the Institute of World Affairs Foreign Student Seminar at Twin Lakes, Connecticut and thought I had a pretty good understanding of Middle Eastern politics but he made everything a great deal clearer.
After going through this description of the situation in the Middle East he concluded by telling us the advice the State Department routinely gave to Ambassadors leaving for the region:
"Stay in with the ins,
Stay in with the outs,
And don't stand between a dog and a lamp post."
Good advice, for many situations in life!
ooo
The final memory is of a speech by an academic and sometime government official.
He started off by saying that it was easy to be terrified by the challenges facing the world in 1959. The Soviets had the hydrogen bomb and had intercontinental ballistic missiles pointed at North America. The Soviet Union was also winning the international space race, having launched the first satellite, Sputnik, in 1957. The Communists had taken over China in 1949 and were consolidating their position. Fidel Castro had overthrown the government of Cuba in January 1959. The US marines had had to intervene in Lebanon in 1958. And on and on.
The speaker then said that it was necessary to keep an historical perspective.
He then took us back in time, century by century.
In 1859, John Brown and a group of 21 abolitionists had attacked Fort Sumter, making the Civil War all but inevitable.
In 1759, Britain and France were engaged in war in North America.
In 1659, Britain was engaged in a fierce civil war.
Back and back he went to the birth of Christ, listing the wars, plagues, fires and other disasters people had to face.
His message was that every age has its problems.
A simple message but one worth remembering, perhaps, as we cope with two wars, a severe recession, global warming, HiNi and on and on.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #57 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
POSTING #55
Stories from Ottawa's Suburbs
The first house we bought (in 1967) was in the east end of Ottawa in a new development, surrounded by hills, fields and bush. Until the spaces got covered with houses and streets it was a fine place to raise children. They were able to roam over a huge area---they were 'free-range' kids.
We lived there for a decade. The suburbs are sometimes depicted as dull places with people from the same backgrounds, values and economic class. That isn't how I remember that area.
There were some fascinating people.
One was a scientist who loved to tinker with anything electrical or electronic. He had bought a new car and I wandered over when I saw him working under the hood.
"What are you doing?", I asked.
It turned out he was doing two things. First, he was disconnecting all the emission control items on the car. According to research he had done, they reduced the power of the car as well as its fuel efficiency, while the impact on the environment was marginal.
Second, he was rewiring the ignition so that the car would not start unless the cigarette lighter was in place.
He could leave the keys in the car's ignition and carry the cigarette lighter in his pocket.
No one could 'hot wire' his new car.
I guess it worked, no one ever stole his car.
ooo
There was another neighbour who believed that the oil companies were behind the instructions that one should change the oil regularly. According to him the oil companies just wanted to sell more engine oil.
He never changed his oil. When the oil level got down he would add a quart.
He was also convinced that regular servicing of the car was unnecessary. He took the car into the garage whenever something went wrong.
I, on the other hand, followed all the instructions about oil changes and regular servicing and I'm really not sure that our cars lasted any longer or better than his.
ooo
A friend bought a house in the early 1960s in another suburb of Ottawa, in the south. In 1963 a newly elected Member of Parliament from Quebec moved into the neighbourhood. His English was poor but he was outgoing and soon most of the neighbours had met him. In the evenings he liked to play catch with his two young children, a game that was soon joined by other kids from the neighbourhood.
My friend was part of an informal car pool and someone suggested that they invite the newcomer, whom they had seen waiting at a bus stop, to join them.
He was a congenial member of the car pool, telling them stories in his mangled English about his experiences in the House of Commons. He once thanked them for helping him practice his English.
The car pool worked for several years and then the MP told the others that he wouldn't be riding with them anymore.
"The boss", he said, "wants me to have a car."
That was Jean Chretien's way of telling them that Prime Minister Trudeau had appointed him to the cabinet.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #56 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
The first house we bought (in 1967) was in the east end of Ottawa in a new development, surrounded by hills, fields and bush. Until the spaces got covered with houses and streets it was a fine place to raise children. They were able to roam over a huge area---they were 'free-range' kids.
We lived there for a decade. The suburbs are sometimes depicted as dull places with people from the same backgrounds, values and economic class. That isn't how I remember that area.
There were some fascinating people.
One was a scientist who loved to tinker with anything electrical or electronic. He had bought a new car and I wandered over when I saw him working under the hood.
"What are you doing?", I asked.
It turned out he was doing two things. First, he was disconnecting all the emission control items on the car. According to research he had done, they reduced the power of the car as well as its fuel efficiency, while the impact on the environment was marginal.
Second, he was rewiring the ignition so that the car would not start unless the cigarette lighter was in place.
He could leave the keys in the car's ignition and carry the cigarette lighter in his pocket.
No one could 'hot wire' his new car.
I guess it worked, no one ever stole his car.
ooo
There was another neighbour who believed that the oil companies were behind the instructions that one should change the oil regularly. According to him the oil companies just wanted to sell more engine oil.
He never changed his oil. When the oil level got down he would add a quart.
He was also convinced that regular servicing of the car was unnecessary. He took the car into the garage whenever something went wrong.
I, on the other hand, followed all the instructions about oil changes and regular servicing and I'm really not sure that our cars lasted any longer or better than his.
ooo
A friend bought a house in the early 1960s in another suburb of Ottawa, in the south. In 1963 a newly elected Member of Parliament from Quebec moved into the neighbourhood. His English was poor but he was outgoing and soon most of the neighbours had met him. In the evenings he liked to play catch with his two young children, a game that was soon joined by other kids from the neighbourhood.
My friend was part of an informal car pool and someone suggested that they invite the newcomer, whom they had seen waiting at a bus stop, to join them.
He was a congenial member of the car pool, telling them stories in his mangled English about his experiences in the House of Commons. He once thanked them for helping him practice his English.
The car pool worked for several years and then the MP told the others that he wouldn't be riding with them anymore.
"The boss", he said, "wants me to have a car."
That was Jean Chretien's way of telling them that Prime Minister Trudeau had appointed him to the cabinet.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #56 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
POSTING #54
A Crotchety Repairer of Small Appliances
My old computer died and the new one's operating system, Vista (don't get me started!), refuses to recognize my somewhat elderly but otherwise perfectly functional scanner and printer. The computer shop says I have no choice but to buy a new printer and scanner. I have bought a new printer but am still dragging my feet on the scanner.
All of this reminded me of the owner of a store in Ottawa who repaired small kitchen appliances. He was in his late 50's, tall and erect with close-cropped grey hair, and half glasses. He always wore a neat shirt and tie.
And he was French, from France, with the attitude that one associates with Parisian waiters, the attitude that says that: the customer is not only always wrong, but dumb to boot.
But the thing was that he did excellent work, was fast and had a mania about keeping appliances working.
And he didn't charge the earth.
On one occasion, I took in a coffee grinder that had stopped grinding. I told the owner that it wasn't working, that the gears or grindstones or whatever ground the coffee weren't working.
He adjusted his head so he could see me over his half glasses and said, "May I infer from the fact that you don't know whether this machine has gears or grindstones that you haven't taken it apart to clean it?"
Ouch!!
He took the grinder from me as though I had no business owning such a fine machine.
The machine was repaired in a day, at a very modest cost, and worked like new.
On another occasion I took in the plastic container from a food processor. The base of the container had a crack and, assuming that the plastic could not be repaired, I asked him if he stocked a replacement part.
He studied the break for a few moments and then straightened up.
"I do have a replacement but the company is charging a ridiculous amount for something that is just plastic. They want $75.
"You look like a civil servant", he added, "You must have a paper clip in your pocket."
Puzzled, I looked in my suit coat pockets, and, what-do-you-know, found two paper clips.
"This one will do", he said, taking the smaller of the two.
He plugged in a small electric soldering iron and while it was heating he straightened out the paper clip and then with some pliers bent it into a neat, tight oval.
He pressed the two broken edges of the food processor container together, placed the paper clip oval on top of the break and then pressed the soldering iron onto the clip.
The clip melted into the plastic, welding the two parts together.
He let the plastic cool and then handed the container back to me, "There, it is better than new".
I asked how much I owed him.
"Oh, give me two dollars."
The repaired container lasted for years, until we decided that we needed a more powerful food processor.
On yet another occasion, he informed me that the appliance could not be repaired for a week.
Take it or leave it.
I guess he felt he had been a bit abrupt.
He added that he was going to Philadelphia to see an exhibition of Paul Cézanne's paintings.
I had taken an art history course at Queen's from Andre Bieler an artist/professor who loved Cézanne, a love that he communicated to his students.
I told the store owner that I admired how Cézanne used colour to represent the different planes of roof tops in Provence.
He looked at me, not with respect---he was French from France after all---but with a new interest. He explained that he was from Provence and that the paintings meant a great deal to him.
We had a pleasant chat about Cézanne,
It would be nice to say that our relationship changed after that shared Cézanne moment, but it wouldn't be true.
He remained as superior and acerbic as ever.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #55 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
My old computer died and the new one's operating system, Vista (don't get me started!), refuses to recognize my somewhat elderly but otherwise perfectly functional scanner and printer. The computer shop says I have no choice but to buy a new printer and scanner. I have bought a new printer but am still dragging my feet on the scanner.
All of this reminded me of the owner of a store in Ottawa who repaired small kitchen appliances. He was in his late 50's, tall and erect with close-cropped grey hair, and half glasses. He always wore a neat shirt and tie.
And he was French, from France, with the attitude that one associates with Parisian waiters, the attitude that says that: the customer is not only always wrong, but dumb to boot.
But the thing was that he did excellent work, was fast and had a mania about keeping appliances working.
And he didn't charge the earth.
On one occasion, I took in a coffee grinder that had stopped grinding. I told the owner that it wasn't working, that the gears or grindstones or whatever ground the coffee weren't working.
He adjusted his head so he could see me over his half glasses and said, "May I infer from the fact that you don't know whether this machine has gears or grindstones that you haven't taken it apart to clean it?"
Ouch!!
He took the grinder from me as though I had no business owning such a fine machine.
The machine was repaired in a day, at a very modest cost, and worked like new.
On another occasion I took in the plastic container from a food processor. The base of the container had a crack and, assuming that the plastic could not be repaired, I asked him if he stocked a replacement part.
He studied the break for a few moments and then straightened up.
"I do have a replacement but the company is charging a ridiculous amount for something that is just plastic. They want $75.
"You look like a civil servant", he added, "You must have a paper clip in your pocket."
Puzzled, I looked in my suit coat pockets, and, what-do-you-know, found two paper clips.
"This one will do", he said, taking the smaller of the two.
He plugged in a small electric soldering iron and while it was heating he straightened out the paper clip and then with some pliers bent it into a neat, tight oval.
He pressed the two broken edges of the food processor container together, placed the paper clip oval on top of the break and then pressed the soldering iron onto the clip.
The clip melted into the plastic, welding the two parts together.
He let the plastic cool and then handed the container back to me, "There, it is better than new".
I asked how much I owed him.
"Oh, give me two dollars."
The repaired container lasted for years, until we decided that we needed a more powerful food processor.
On yet another occasion, he informed me that the appliance could not be repaired for a week.
Take it or leave it.
I guess he felt he had been a bit abrupt.
He added that he was going to Philadelphia to see an exhibition of Paul Cézanne's paintings.
I had taken an art history course at Queen's from Andre Bieler an artist/professor who loved Cézanne, a love that he communicated to his students.
I told the store owner that I admired how Cézanne used colour to represent the different planes of roof tops in Provence.
He looked at me, not with respect---he was French from France after all---but with a new interest. He explained that he was from Provence and that the paintings meant a great deal to him.
We had a pleasant chat about Cézanne,
It would be nice to say that our relationship changed after that shared Cézanne moment, but it wouldn't be true.
He remained as superior and acerbic as ever.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #55 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
POSTING #53
Some Korean Stories: Korean Cuisine, Grieving, Serenity in Seoul
Korean Cuisine
In 2000, I studied the Korean Employment Service on a contract with the World Bank. I went alone for two weeks in January, toured offices, talked to officials and then came home and prepared my report.
A few months later, Pat accompanied me as I went back to Korea to present my findings, conclusions and recommendations to a conference in Seoul.
My main guide during the first visit was a young computer systems fellow who had done graduate work in the US.
He was developing systems for the Korean Employment Service and understood its intricacies extremely well.
Unlike most Koreans, he was heavy-set, even plump, with a good sense of humour.
We got along well.
He said he had been told to take me anywhere I wanted to go, but to make sure that I had a good chance to sample Korean food, to take me to a variety of local restaurants.
We sampled all kinds of the tasty, nutritious and heart-healthy dishes---served almost always with Kimchi, a Korean side dish that is a cousin of sauerkraut. Various vegetables are fermented in crocks, formerly by being buried in the ground and today by being stored in special refrigerators. Click here for an article on Kimchi.
On the final day of my visit, the guide asked, rather hesitantly, if he could request a favour.
Sure, I said, wondering whether he wanted information on immigrating to Canada---a fairly common question during consulting assignments.
"Today, do you think we could have lunch at Burger King?"
I guess I looked at him with surprise, "Do you like Burger King?"
"You don't think I got this fat,", he replied, patting his substantial tummy, "by eating Korean food?"
We both had burgers, fries and thick, rich chocolate shakes.
Except, he had two burgers.
Grieving
On my second visit to Korea, a different Employment Service Official was designated to 'look after' Pat and me.
The thin, serious-looking fellow in his 30s with a PhD in Labour Market Economics from an American university took us on tours of Seoul.
Pleasant conversations with him became more serious, as chats do when one finds an empathetic person.
At one point he told us that he was having trouble getting over the death from cancer of his younger brother with whom he had been very close. He said that his parents had gone back to childhood religions to try to find solace---his mother had been raised as a Buddhist while his father had been raised as a Catholic. He said he thought that the religions might be helping his mother and father to cope with the death.
He had not embraced either religion when he was growing up but after trying unsuccessfully to cope on his own with the death of his brother he had decided to try Buddhism. When that didn't seem to help, he had turned to Catholicism.
He had now abandoned Catholicism and was once again trying to deal with the death on his own.
He said that he had been hoping for 'a big bang' (his term) from one of the religions, some powerful revelation that would have given him comfort.
Now, he felt, he would have to find his own way to cope with the loss of his brother.
But it wasn't easy.
Serenity in Seoul
After dinner one evening at our hotel, the Intercontinental Hotel in downtown Seoul, Pat and I decided to go for a stroll.
The streets were crowded with cars and the air was full of the blaring of horns and the squealing of tires.
We saw a Buddhist temple set on a small hill in the midst of a large, park-like space. We walked onto the grounds and both noticed that the sounds of the city seemed to diminish, almost miraculously.
As we wandered on we enjoyed the sight of the ornate temple decorated with chains of colourful paper lanterns.
By this time, there was no sound at all from the city, just the gentle sound of wind chimes hanging from the corners of the temple.
It wasn't a 'big bang'---not even a 'small bang' I suppose---but it was a few minutes of peace and serenity in the midst of a noisy city, minutes that we will never forget.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
See you next Sunday for Posting #54 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
Korean Cuisine
In 2000, I studied the Korean Employment Service on a contract with the World Bank. I went alone for two weeks in January, toured offices, talked to officials and then came home and prepared my report.
A few months later, Pat accompanied me as I went back to Korea to present my findings, conclusions and recommendations to a conference in Seoul.
My main guide during the first visit was a young computer systems fellow who had done graduate work in the US.
He was developing systems for the Korean Employment Service and understood its intricacies extremely well.
Unlike most Koreans, he was heavy-set, even plump, with a good sense of humour.
We got along well.
He said he had been told to take me anywhere I wanted to go, but to make sure that I had a good chance to sample Korean food, to take me to a variety of local restaurants.
We sampled all kinds of the tasty, nutritious and heart-healthy dishes---served almost always with Kimchi, a Korean side dish that is a cousin of sauerkraut. Various vegetables are fermented in crocks, formerly by being buried in the ground and today by being stored in special refrigerators. Click here for an article on Kimchi.
On the final day of my visit, the guide asked, rather hesitantly, if he could request a favour.
Sure, I said, wondering whether he wanted information on immigrating to Canada---a fairly common question during consulting assignments.
"Today, do you think we could have lunch at Burger King?"
I guess I looked at him with surprise, "Do you like Burger King?"
"You don't think I got this fat,", he replied, patting his substantial tummy, "by eating Korean food?"
We both had burgers, fries and thick, rich chocolate shakes.
Except, he had two burgers.
Grieving
On my second visit to Korea, a different Employment Service Official was designated to 'look after' Pat and me.
The thin, serious-looking fellow in his 30s with a PhD in Labour Market Economics from an American university took us on tours of Seoul.
Pleasant conversations with him became more serious, as chats do when one finds an empathetic person.
At one point he told us that he was having trouble getting over the death from cancer of his younger brother with whom he had been very close. He said that his parents had gone back to childhood religions to try to find solace---his mother had been raised as a Buddhist while his father had been raised as a Catholic. He said he thought that the religions might be helping his mother and father to cope with the death.
He had not embraced either religion when he was growing up but after trying unsuccessfully to cope on his own with the death of his brother he had decided to try Buddhism. When that didn't seem to help, he had turned to Catholicism.
He had now abandoned Catholicism and was once again trying to deal with the death on his own.
He said that he had been hoping for 'a big bang' (his term) from one of the religions, some powerful revelation that would have given him comfort.
Now, he felt, he would have to find his own way to cope with the loss of his brother.
But it wasn't easy.
Serenity in Seoul
After dinner one evening at our hotel, the Intercontinental Hotel in downtown Seoul, Pat and I decided to go for a stroll.
The streets were crowded with cars and the air was full of the blaring of horns and the squealing of tires.
We saw a Buddhist temple set on a small hill in the midst of a large, park-like space. We walked onto the grounds and both noticed that the sounds of the city seemed to diminish, almost miraculously.
As we wandered on we enjoyed the sight of the ornate temple decorated with chains of colourful paper lanterns.
By this time, there was no sound at all from the city, just the gentle sound of wind chimes hanging from the corners of the temple.
It wasn't a 'big bang'---not even a 'small bang' I suppose---but it was a few minutes of peace and serenity in the midst of a noisy city, minutes that we will never forget.
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See you next Sunday for Posting #54 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.
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