December 17, 2016
Dear Kith and Kin
In a year that seemed to move us light years beyond anything that could be deemed mere
Foolishness, how can one begin to ruminate on 2016? We watched the collective angst of
everyone, over almost everything, as an assortment of rogues whipped up their lesser angels.
My high school journalism teacher, Mr. Brockmann, at Pearl River High School taught us to
recognize such roguery. When I forget, I visit http://literarydevices.net/fallacy for a
refresher. How the world needs more Mr. Brockmanns. Collective angst and mass hysteria
are nothing new under the sun, but never have we lived in a time when every whisper,
suggestion, innuendo, rumour, insult, snigger and outright lie can be transmitted instantly
and exponentially into a massive rude vortex. Deafening! 25% of Americans eligible to vote
heeded lesser angels, ignored fallacies, and let loose we-know-not-what upon the world. I
minds the favourite saying of another college prof: “man is a speck of reason floating on a
sea of emotion.” Indeed. We all have lesser angels, heaven knows. It’s work to recognize and
tame them, but, no matter our creed, that is the work we should be about all the time, if
anything resembling peace and justice is possible. We do continue to hope ... don’t we? I
fear Dark Times ahead. I am grateful I have no descendants - but friends and relations do.
So, I continue to write ankle-biting letters-to-the-editor and elected representatives, sign on-
line petitions, be a nuisance to FaceBook friends, boycott Nestle and fight for the bees.
A moment of lighter hysteria this year came from the satirical site http://babylonbee.com
HEAVEN—In a stunning leak Monday, sources in heaven claimed to have
“reliable information” that the triumphant return of Jesus Christ will occur
during the deciding Game 7 of the World Series between the Cleveland
Indians and the Chicago Cubs ...
When the 9th inning starts, look for a circle of clouds to gather over Lake
Erie, and get ready for some fireworks,” he added.
And a circle of clouds really did gather to make that season clincher one
of the best in years.
In the smaller world that is Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, we, like many of our generation, were
focussed on my father’s rapid descent into the deeper reaches of Alzheimers, starting with a
silent nighttime “wander” in bare feet and pajamas on a very cold night in March. This took
us all by surprise, including cousin Tony staying with us while recovering from a near-fatal
strangulated hernia and awful surgeries. Our ad hoc nursing home was visited daily by the
VON (Victorian order of Nurses.) We have been managing reasonably well since we moved
here - now almost 6 years ago, and good years, too. We celebrated Dad’s 95th birthday in
July - just after he broke a bone in his hand. If you wish to partake in the goofy tale of his
birthday cake, you can find it on my infrequent blog: http://selimatheshredder.blogspot.ca
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November 11, 2016Camp Hill Veterans’ Hospital Garden
(July archive). Things accelerated rapidly. Then came pneumonia in October just as I was to
fly to the St. John’s Storytelling Festival which certainly introduced “chaos”. Before his
pneumonia, we had planned Dad would go to Camp Hill Veterans’ Hospital for respite care
after my knee surgery. The surgery was cancelled whilst I waited on gurney in johnny shirt
heading for the OR (no beds!) and rescheduled Dec 19. Dad’s rapid decline, and the surgery
delay, brought on a serious reality check. He is living at Camp Hill permanently now. We are
more fortunate than most. Dad is a WW2 veteran, eligible for both respite care and now his
move to the Veterans’ Hospital, which is as good as it can get for anyone at this stage, and
reasonable in cost. I fear our next generation of veterans will not be so lucky. The staff at
Camp Hill are wonderful. Dealing with Veterans Affairs bureaucracy was “interesting” at
times - but nothing like Revenue Canada - which has finally refunded money they owed me
after two years of something resembling persecution. I wasn’t hiding income in foreign tax
shelters, honest. I had to send my charitable receipts 3 times before they ended up on the
right desk! I bet I donated more than Donald.
Dad is quite confused, talks each day about moving
back with us - or moving to Camp Hill - and is
constantly befuddled by his TV - as am I. Don’t let
me get started on my cable company rant. Dad
never ceases to smile and is pleasant to everyone
around. He is popular with the staff and enjoys
visitors even if he doesn’t know who they are, but
Alzheimers is a grief that keeps on giving. One of the
blessings of the surgery cancellation, was getting to
spend Nov 11th with him at the Veteran’s Hospital.
Apparently such cancellations are not rare. I’m not
about to complain about being bumped for
emergencies - I was once one myself - but I am sure
it very hard on doctors who have booked their
valuable time for surgery but have no beds for their
patients to recover. We’re due to try it again tomorrow on Dec 19. By the time you read this,
I may well be on the mend. Ron has two new teeth and more to come in 2017. Another
benefit was all the lovely Christmas concerts I got to, including being able to stand up and
narrate “Brother Heinrich’s Christmas” at our own Dartmouth Choral Society concert on
Dec 10. I had envisioned reading it in a wheelchair, and not being able to sing because of
missed rehearsals. There is a “field recording” at: http://www.elinorbenjamin.ca/AF/
In spite of all, we managed to have a “Real Vacation” in late May and early June. Dad went to
Camp Hill for 3 weeks “respite care”. We haven’t taken a “Real Vacation” in a long time,
although we have had a few decadent extended week-ends going to the Metropolitan Opera,
and feasting with friends over the past few years, including 2016, and plan to go again this
April. We have seats at the centre of the balcony (eek!) for the Live in HD Broadcast of
Eugene Onegin on April 22, 2017. Most of our travels have “reasons” - conferences, family,
gigs, etc. But, when my high school friend Tamsen told us she and her husband had
purchased “10 days for 10 people in a farmhouse in Burgundy” in a fund-raising auction, it
seemed that “no reason” was the best reason of all. Furthermore it promised no wi-fi, and
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Our “farm house” - nicely modernized with alovely view and good kitchen
Époisses de Bourgogne -smelly, runny and, possiblythe most decadent cheese I
have ever eaten
Our house stocked with the fine products of Burgundy
Escargot de BourgogneAuthentique
bad cell reception. Now that’s a “Real Vacation.” We
discovered we could get there without going through
Heathrow or Charles DeGaulle (, by flying in the
morning to St. John’s (where we could spend the day
and evening with friends) and overnight to Dublin,
where we had the chance to spend some time with
Micael Ross, my host from storytelling trip to Ireland
in 2005, and out the next day to Lyons, which is a
civilized airport. Mercifully, no flight exceeded 4
hours. A rotating air traffic controllers’ strike in
France threatened plans. We were developing Plan B
based on all the busses at Dublin airport with
delicious looking destinations, all within a day’s
journey there and back, but were reprieved at the 11th
hour and carried on.
We rented a car and had a mostly relaxed drive north
into Burgundy where the first village we came to was
Mercurey. I was so excited to be in a real Burgundy
village, we had to stop and buy wine immediately. We
found the house in Cussy-en-Morvan - a hamlet of a few
houses in the middle of the Parc Naturel Régional du
Morvan, a protected area of woodlands, lakes and
traditional farmland located in the Department of Saône-
et-Loire about halfway between the Saône and the Loire.
The nearest place with a bakery and store was Anost - a
15 minute drive. Blessed are the croissant-seekers, for
good coffee will await them on their return. The weather
was mostly cold and damp, but the house had a wood stove and was cozy
to come back to in the evening, especially when stocked as above.
We did not eat this local escargot in our yard,
although a few of his cousins fell to our forks later
in the journey.
This is not a well-known area of France, but most
worthy, uphill from the famous wineries along the
Saône River in a beautifully maintained, hilly
forest. Douglas Firs are selected individually and
harvested when mature. No clear-cutting here! It
was great fun driving on the twisty little roads with
their roundabouts jammed into tiny cars and arguing with the very British
GPS voice. I’d go back in a minute.
Ron did a lot of research for our excursions. We began to realize there was a theme to the
area - resistance. A trip to the Oppidum of Bibracte near Autun was stunning. This was the
hillfort where Vercingetorix rallied the Gallic tribes to rebel against Julius Caesar in 52 BC.
It is on top of beautiful Mont Beuvray. Caesar wrote his victor’s version of the Gallic wars
while staying there, then relocated to the city known today as Autun. Excavations began only
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Ron loves this picturehe took at the top of
Mont Beuvray with thesun out so I had to
include it.
The view of the Abbey atbreakfast on the Greuze Terrace
in the late 19th century, but the museum, the archeological sites and
interpretation activities are stupendous. We scratched the surface. It
is well worth going out of your way. If you can’t go, check out Wiki. It
was the only time we saw the sun.
Another memorable day was at the Museum of the Resistance in Saint
Brisson. Heavily wooded, and sparsely populated, the Morvan Forest
was home to the 'maquis', the underground movement that fought
until the Nazis conquered all France. “Decimation,” a word often used
incorrectly, is too gentle a word for what happened here during the
War. And the final word of resistance came from Madame who served
us Coq au Vin in Anost, complaining all the while about the Muslims
taking over France, ‘though we saw nary a head scarf during our
whole stay in Burgundy. Plus ça change ...
Of course, there was eating and drinking, including lunch at the establishment of the famous
Bernard Loiseau who committed suicide in 2003 when newspapers reported his restaurant
was to lose its 3rd Michelin star. Later when Tam and Miguel and Sally headed to Paris, Ron
and I drove south to Tournus for 2 nights en route to Lyons airport. Ron’s research revealed
Tournus had more Michelin-listed restaurants per capita than
any place else in France. We drove through the peaceful village
of Taizé, home to an ecumenical monastic order, founded in
1940 by Brother Roger Schütz, curiously viewed as idolatrous by
some Christian zealots, thence to Cluny, and the ruins of the
Benedictine Cluny Abbey, destroyed during the French
Revolution, and sold off for building stone. Tournus on the
Saône River is a gem. The Romanesque Abbey of St. Philibert,
also Benedictine, fared a little better in the Revolution being
deconsecrated and dedicated to the "Constitutional Cult." So
many cults. So much zeal. It is a serene building to visit and just
“be” in. We stayed in a charming hotel named after a local 18th
century artist, Jean-Baptiste Greuze. It had a computerized
shower, with a manual, that I failed to understand. Nevertheless
I got clean, and we had a sybaritic meal that evening in a
restaurant of the same name. We could have eaten 10 meals at
Boston Pizza for the same price, but there would be no glory to
remember in our pending dotage. Space runneth out. I must
mention flying to Ottawa to participate in Jennifer and Jan’s
“Celebration of the Wonder Tale” at Taylor Lake where a dozen of us took turns telling half
hour fairy tales, with loons calling at appropriate moments, then dine al fresco pot luck, by
the Lake with the best company and cheer one could ever want. My long-contemplated one
woman show “Cousin Silas and the Moose Woman” about my Baptist missionary cousin,
Silas Rand, has “launched” and run 4 times. I hope a further life for it when I am mobile
again. The St. John’s Storytelling Festival was a tonic. Bless the lovely doctor who said they
would keep Dad in the hospital until I got back. In the meantime, there is gratitude to be
expressed everyday at the wonderfulness of friends and relations, and care-givers. 2016 has
taken too many away, and 2017 will take more. Every day we give thanks for having lived
this long and having so many good memories. I wish you Peace and Hope and Healing for us
and the Planet.
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