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IN THIS ISSUE

VOL. XVI, NO. 26

JUNE 26, 2010

IN THIS ISSUE

• Lyle Meers takes up his story of a river cruise
• Carol Dilworth describes her volunteer job
• Irene Harvalias writes about her favourite books
• Pat Moore recalls another disastrous flood in Winnipeg
• The editor muses on the passage of time
• Sites are suggested by Bruce Galway, Carol Hansen, and Pat Moore

Lyle Meers continues his account of their

EUROPEAN RIVER CRUISE

After breakfast on day three, Pat, Donna, and Paulette walked into the small centre of Xanten, but I chose to rest my leg. The weather was better, with patches of blue sky. When they returned for lunch, the women said that Xanten was a pretty town. In the afternoon we watched as the "Casanova" moved along the Rhine. We saw lots of boats which we later learned carried liquefied gas, and other river boats with gravel and other cargoes. Often these boats had a car stored on deck. We saw coal and plenty of industry along the shore. This was not an attractive part of the Rhine.

Day four was at Cologne. We ordered French toast for breakfast before the next excursion. The tour guide had a Robbie Coltrane shape and facial hair and he was good. He showed us the city hall, a subway excavation that had to be paused when Roman ruins were found, a Roman sewer, an excavation of the old Roman town, and the absolutely huge Cologne Cathedral. There were "living statues" outside. If you gave money, they changed posture and froze again. We had seen this in Quebec City, but some of the costumes here were unique: monk, Roman soldier, and the like. Back on board in the afternoon in hot sunshine (28 C.), we watched forests, expensive houses, trailer camping sites, interesting buildings, and one castle glide by. Pat and I enjoyed a good lamb dinner.

Koblenz, after apple pancakes, was the feature of day five. We walked to the "German Corner" (Deutsche Eck) where the Mosel meets the Rhine. Then we walked around a corner to the Basilika St. Kastor with its twin towers, and on toward town centre, where we found Florinsmarkt and Alte Burg. We walked a chunk of a pedestrian shopping street but shops did not open until 10:00 or 10:30. On our way back to the ship, Pat and I bought a bottle of local wine at a fruit and vegetable shop. After a good lunch, we went up to the sundeck and took pictures along the "Romantic Rhine" segment: lots of castles, interesting buildings, and rows and rows of grapes, sometimes in lines that slanted into each other from one lot to the next - visually attractive on the rather steep slopes. The area is well described by the term "romantic." Dinner was early so that people would have time to walk around Rudesheim.

The town was mostly pubs, wine bars, and eating places, and it was getting dark. We found one little tourist shop open and I bought a red and a white wine (all use the term "Qualitatswine" but the better ones say "mit Pradikat") for 6.95 and 8.95 Euros. To return to the ship we had to cross the railway line - was it ever busy!

Day six was to feature Aschaffenburg, but more noticeably the day started with a bang. Remember the Titanic? For variety´s sake, our ship hit one of the 57 locks in this section. A wine glass flew off the shelf and exploded into a thousand shiny, sharp shards. Pat and I got dressed though it was only 5:40 in the morning. However, the ship did not sink and we did not drown. On our way to breakfast, we asked to have the mess cleaned up. That took time so we read in the lounge. We learned that we had switched rivers and were now on the Main. It was a rough portage. Breakfast was full of stories and "Big Bang" theories. The movie associated was "Things That Go Bump in the Night." It was not the kind of bang that people wanted to start the day. We often shared table with Bill and Anne Hitchman, and Bill suggested that the crash must have been at Bamberg. Bill also said that he had seen the captain out checking for damage, and that he heard him chewing out someone. Later we saw crew scraping and painting.

We were not to reach Aschaffenburg until 1:00 p.m. Along the way we saw herons, big white swans, and Pat saw a pelican. No nudes, whereas we did see several of those yesterday - they competed with castles for attention. One passenger, Jack, had a very expensive camera and he was able to zoom in on people on shore as though he had powerful binoculars. Some more modest Germans turned their backs to us as the ship passed, so we saw several moons in the day. Along with nudes, this shoreline had lots of greenery and we spotted two cormorants.

Day seven and Wurzburg, after a breakfast of crepes. We walked some of breakfast off with a longer walk to our bus (the bus driver for the Elderhostel passengers came right in beside the ship, but our more timid driver parked several blocks away). When we arrived at the old town, the tour bus could not cross the bridge, so we walked to the "Residenz," a u-shaped "castle" composed of three big buildings that housed the ego of the Prince Bishop. Inside, bags and even umbrellas had to be put in lockers, and no photos were to be taken of the bland walls (telling us not to take pictures of the tapestries would have made sense). We went up wide stairs and the ultra-slender female guide told us that the fresco over the stairs was painted by Tepolo. We were equipped with little receiver sets with earplugs, and the guide talked into a tiny mike. It was very efficient. I enjoyed the guide´s views on art and architecture because we did see some unusual combinations of modern and traditional work.

Much of Wurzburg was bombed and then rebuilt after World War II. I found it difficult to be sympathetic because I was reading a novel set in England with German bombers blasting a civilian area, and because of the biases I developed due to my father´s days in the airforce during the war. Of course, nothing justifies revenge such as the Allies took in the bombing of Dresden, but war does create vicious extremes. Our guide, of course, felt that the bombing of smaller cities was mindless destruction. She was right, but how much of war is intelligent?

In a church we saw extremes of modern and traditional, side by side and in sharp contrast. Interestingly, the guide suggested that one enhanced the other. I´m accustomed to seeing the separation of old and new in other locations, but perhaps she was right. The combination did force me to do some thinking. In the church, one figure of Christ had his arms down, off the cross. This made me think of resurrection and forgiveness and not just of flawed humans and suffering. Maybe after such a terrible war, people need images that go beyond suffering.

I was upset with myself over this day. I know I qualified as a grumpy old man, and I felt that I must make a greater effort to be more positive. Some others thought that this was the best tour, yet some agreed with me that it was far from it. For seniors, some of whom have difficulty standing or walking for three-plus hours, pain may have encouraged negativity. I thought of tours in Italy, Spain, and York, and I know I enjoyed those more, but at that time I got around easily. Still, those tours showed places that seemed to have more personality.

To be continued.

Carol Dilworth sends her highly-anticipated story about

VOLUNTEERING

I have a volunteer job that I cannot talk about.

No, it´s not for the CCRA - you´re trying to guess, aren´t you?

For me, this particular volunteer experience is transformative. An introvert, I work a two- to four-hour shift - which is very physical and includes lots of interaction with customers (sorry, not Tim Hortons, although you´re getting warm) - and arrive home with more energy than I had when I left the house. My Great Dane loves the extra walks she´s getting, and my house is cleaner and neater than ever.

I cannot talk to anyone outside the working environment, and I cannot pass on information to other volunteers about what happened on my shift. The security guards and I chat, often to release tension.

Ready to concede defeat? I volunteer in a hospital Emergency Room waiting area, in the kiosk. We sell drinks and light snacks and are open from 7:00 a.m. until visiting hours end at 8:00 p.m. (the first volunteer arrives at 6:30 a.m. and the last one leaves at 8:30 p.m.), so we see a variety of staff and visitors from all areas of the hospital. The proceeds are donated to the hospital, for the purchase of items for patient care.

I am a CA who went back to school in my fifties to study the Old Testament, only because I knew I wanted to, without any further analysis or career plans. I was so interested in each course and where it led that I ended up completing a theology degree, graduating three years ago. I thought of continuing on to qualify for chaplaincy, specifically in a hospital, but I felt that my relatively charmed life was a deterrent. My parents lived into old age, I had not dealt with the death of a child or coped with a disease, and as my then-teenage nephew pointed out, "Aunt Carol, teenagers go to the hospital too."

I applied to volunteer at the hospital when friends spoke so highly of their volunteer experience there. On the application form, I indicated some of the twenty volunteer areas that I would like to work in and I arranged for two confidential references. I was surprised and flattered when I was assigned to Emergency. In retrospect it was a good placement, as I have tested as being calm in a crisis and bored when everything is going smoothly.

Just working in the kiosk? Sounds pretty low-pressure compared with working in the Emergency Room itself. That´s what I thought too. In fact, it may be the opposite. In my volunteer job, I have to watch without acting. I see families waiting and agonizing, staring vacantly at the television program or holding their heads. I have repeat customers, who look a little more worn out with each visit. It´s even more unsettling when these repeat customers disappear. I am only allowed to do the job description. I cannot offer these people any comfort and, later, I cannot ask what happened to them. Officially I am oblivious to anything but serving food and beverages, making sure that the stock is replenished, and counting and reporting the cash and sales at the end of my shift.

As I approach the hospital, I must stop recognizing people I know or have seen elsewhere. Unless people speak to me, I have to treat them as if they were invisible. It is up to those using the facilities to decide who will know that they are there. Even if I were a patient, the volunteer co-ordinator would not visit me because officially she does not know that I am in the hospital. Fair warning: do not be disappointed if people you expect to visit do not show up; maybe you didn´t give the required permission.

This has led to some interesting scenarios. I frequently recognize or know someone in Emergency, and there was someone I just couldn´t place. Finally I remembered that this person works for my general practitioner. So neither of us could recognize the other. We didn´t even smile at each other and, when we finally had to interact, you would have been convinced that we were complete strangers.

Fortunately, during the training session the volunteer co-ordinator mentioned that people will tell us their stories. Otherwise, I might have been quite uncomfortable listening to some of the customers. But some people, particularly those visiting or waiting for patients as opposed to the patients themselves, need to talk. Sometimes people in the Emergency Room waiting area speak to each other. Other times people are more comfortable talking to the volunteers, who listen without offering an opinion or a "You think that´s bad, listen to this..." reaction. And I am learning that it is not necessarily the life experience that is drawn upon in these situations. It is the ability to listen and to determine whether the other person needs agreement, calming, or just silence. And sometimes it is just a little silliness that relaxes a face.

I get far more out of this volunteer experience than I am able to contribute. Nevertheless, the hospital provides two volunteer recognition events per year. For the most recent dinner, one of the departments contributed extra money to upgrade the meal. Many of the staff tell us, in words and body language, that they are glad to see us. For me, the formal recognition is unnecessary. Another perk is that volunteers get a free coffee or cold drink for each shift they work. Tonight I work two shifts, and I will need the cold drinks. Handling hot coffee pots, paper cups, and cleaning cloths, and constantly washing my hands in hot water is very dehydrating.

Customers often leave tips, in a jar marked "volunteer program donations". We use the donations for our education. Our auxiliary belongs to the Organization of Hospital Auxiliaries of Ontario (we all wear their badge). There are semi-annual meetings within our area and a province-wide annual gathering, in Toronto. Our auxiliary often has the maximum fourteen-vote attendance, and the gratuities help cover the travel and registration costs. We also meet several times a year among ourselves, one of which is the annual general meeting where we elect our auxiliary board and consider new projects.

At two hundred volunteers, this hospital has more volunteers than beds. Approximately one-third of the volunteers are men, some are married couples. Many of the volunteers have worked there for over 25 years and their photos are in the hallway outside the volunteer office (a cubbyhole where we log in and out on a computer, pick up the schedules and newsletter, and sign up for seasonal fundraising projects such as book and poinsettia sales). The group is aging and needs to be supplemented with boomer retirees. At the other end of the spectrum, university students in the health sciences volunteer every fall and are assigned to patient-care areas. These students are trying to determine whether they are interested in going on to medical school. When their final examinations are over, the students return to their home cities and/or paid employment, and we miss them. New students have to be recruited the following year.

As medical care and funding change, the place of the volunteer will change. Because I am new to this, I do not know much of my auxiliary´s history. Many members feel that there were more volunteer opportunities in the past, but no-one dwells on this. We are all there to help in the moment, and for me the experience is deeply satisfying.

ED. NOTE: Carol´s clientele is very different from those of the canteen in George Derby Centre, where our customers are aged and ill veterans, visitors, and staff. The vets are mostly my contemporaries, and they are very frail and not nearly as active as they were when I started 22 years ago. I had hopes at one time that when the last of the veterans from the Korean war faded away, the need for such a facility would fade too, but with our involvement in Desert Storm and Afghanistan, that hope has gone.

Irene Harvalias is a woman after my own heart:

MY FAVOURITE BOOKS

When I was very young, my favourite time was going to bed and having my mother read to me. Two of the best books that brought floods of tears and threats from my mother that she would stop reading if I didn´t stop crying, were "Uncle Tom´s Cabin" and "Oliver Twist". "David Copperfield" was also a good one ... and then there was "Heidi", and "Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates", and the list goes on.

Then, when I started reading for myself, all I wanted for presents for Christmas and my birthday was books. I made lists of all the books I just HAD to have. I went through book after book by Jules Verne, and all the books by Penelope Delta (a Greek children´s author ... yes, all those books were read in Greek translations, as Greek was my first language), and Walter Scott, and Dickens ... and then there were all those wonderful Greek myths, and Aesop´s Fables....

When I first came to Canada I spoke no English and my biggest distress was that I had nothing to read! As soon as I picked up a few words (I was in grade nine at the time), I went to the library with my new-found best friend, Martha, and I picked out a book - "Heidi"! It was such a thrill to be reading again. I got the gist of the story in English because I´d already read it in Greek and knew what was happening. After that, there was no stopping me. I tried to find books I´d read in Greek so I could follow the story more easily, but by the end of the year, I could read almost anything, and I was happy once again!

My love of books has never diminished. Over the years I collected over 3,500 books which I carted from one home to another. Finally, when I decided to make the big move from Mayne Island, where I´d lived for almost 12 years, back to the mainland, I decided that since my space was going to be a lot more limited, I would have to reduce the book situation. I sold most of my precious old books, donated to the local little library whatever books they wanted from the leftovers, and then gave the rest of them to a friend who was having a garage sale for cancer research. I kept only a few books I just couldn´t live without. I cried with every book that went out my door, and I hate to say it, but even though I´m still an avid reader and frequent the library all the time, there are still times I just can´t resist buying a book.

I know a dog is man´s best friend, but books have been this woman´s best friends ever.

SOURCE ACKNOWLEDGED

Speaking of books, Carol Dilworth asks that the source of the list of South African writers and their books in last week´s issue be acknowledged. It was from the Guardian Book Podcast.

Pat Moore sends her memories of

THE 1951 WINNIPEG FLOOD

Reading Robert King´s story of the 1997 Winnipeg flood brought back many painful memories of the l951 flood.

At that time my family lived right along the Red River in the centre of Winnipeg as it wound its way through the city. It rained constantly that spring, and what tremendous suspense we experienced as we listened intently to the radio, waiting for every update. I cannot remember all the details as I was busy that spring getting organized to go to University in Toronto and wanted to move a few weeks before September in order to get used to living in Toronto.

The news kept getting worse and everyone started preparing for the flood. My fiance had returned to Winnipeg from Toronto as his family home a few miles away was also threatened. Since our home was situated right along the Red River, we were advised to pack and to be prepared to evacuate at a moment´s notice. It was a scary feeling! In the meantime, my fiance was assigned to the sandbag division in a desperate attempt to stop the flood as the waters continued to rise and to threaten more and more homes.

My mother turned our home into a huge neighbourhood "making- sandwiches-and-coffee" place for all the people working on the sandbags all day and all night - with the radio turned up with everyone listening to every word.

At one point, in the middle of the night, they announced that one of the dikes had broken and many men were swept away and a rescue effort was underway. We all held our breath and just kept on making hot coffee and sandwiches for the exhausted men. It was not until the next morning that my fiance phoned from the hospital to let me know he was okay and had been rescued, as he was one of the men swept away in the flood waters. Since we planned to get married the next year, we often thought it was so lucky he was saved and our wedding did not have to be postponed.

Many people had to be evacuated as the worst flood in memory hit Winnipeg, so my family decided to open up our summer home on Lake Winnipeg - about an hour´s drive from Winnipeg, dry and safe - and to take as many people as we could fit in.

My memory is a little vague after that as I can recall driving down to the lake with our cars packed to the roof with all the supplies, bedding, groceries, etc., that we thought we might need as we had no idea how long the evacuated people would be staying. I seem to remember most of those people arrived from Winnipeg by train. We tried to find enough room to fit everyone in; the cottage had five bedrooms, so I think the city must have supplied extra cots and bedding as there were people sleeping in the large garage, the extra carport, the guest house, and even the gazebo. Fortunately, the weather was almost perfect after the tremendous rain storms that had caused the flood, as I do not think it rained during the time before everyone could return to their flooded homes and do their best to get their lives and homes back to normal.

I must admit the next weeks were a bit of a blur as all I can recall is that we were busy every moment trying to fix meals for everyone and trying to keep their spirits up - and of course, listening to the radio for news. Thank goodness, that was before TV at the cottage so the people could not see pictures of their flooded homes. Somehow hearing about a flood never seems as bad until you see the pictures, or see the scene on TV.

While we were so busy at the cottage we did not worry too much about our own home as the house was built very high up on the bank of the Red River, overlooking the city. The house was fine but the terraced gardens down to the river and the three-car garage were ruined and mostly swept away by the water and the ice. Time and a lot of hard work soon repaired the gardens down to the river, and since my dad loved cars, he had another garage built - but this time even bigger.

After the 1951 flood, the City of Winnipeg built a huge flood guard around the city and it was not until the 1997 flood that Robert King wrote about in the Tale Spinner that they had another major flood.

From Toronto we moved to Sarnia, Ontario, and a few years later my family moved from Winnipeg to Sarnia as well to be near the grandchildren, so I have not been back to Winnipeg since. I have many wonderful memories of growing up there, and I hope they can come up with a permanent plan to protect the city in the future.

FROM THE EDITOR´S DESK

The first day of summer has come and gone, scarcely noticed. Six months of the year will have passed next week, and the common reaction to that is, "Can you believe that almost half this year is gone?" And the answer is, "No."

Here on the west coast we had the warmest January on record, and the celebrate the winter Olympics, we had daffodils in bloom, and they had to import snow to provide enough greasy skid stuff for the skiers and snow-boarders. That was our spring.

Since then we have sloshed through rain puddles, grumbled under heavy rains, shivered in our mandatory shorts dictated by the calendar, and smiled with pleasure at the rare days of sunshine.

This past week there has been some evidence that the sun is returning from its winter break as the temperatures ventured into the low 20s. Is it possible that the monsoon season is really past? Well, not exactly. The forecast from Environment Canada says that Sunday will be cloudy with 40 percent chance of showers, low 12, high 20; the highest temperature is forecast for Tuesday at 24C.

All this musing about the weather is a prelude to the disclosure that this is absolutely the latest date I can ever remember for exchanging my winter woollies for my summer flimsies. I have not done it yet, but I have at least washed the winter clothes preparatory to storing them for a few months in the steamer trunk I have had since before I was married in 1947. There is the fact that my old bones feel the cold much more than they did in freezing Quebec and Ontario and Alberta, but even that doesn´t account for the passing of half a year before I felt the necessity for some cooler clothes.

Maybe I´ll do it tomorrow.

RECOMMENDED SITES

Bruce Galway asks, "Did you know that otter pups have to be taught to swim and to feel as safe on land as in the water by their moms? Click to watch a Columbus Zoo video on this:

Carol Hansen sends suggests this site for exploring Anne Frank´s hiding place. It accurately recreates the scene. You can interactively move through the rooms, seeing them as they were at the time. Portions of the diary are narrated for each room. It brings the events to life in dramatic way.

Pat Moore sends the URL for a video of a rescued baby hummingbird being fed while held in the hand of its rescuer:

In this bracingly honest talk, international security strategist Thomas Barnett outlines a solution for the foundering U.S. military that is both sensible and breathtaking in its simplicity:

For some 360-degree photos of Vancouver and surrounding areas, click on