tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67645011659607087512024-03-13T11:50:11.730-04:00Making Eye StatementsLarry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-73402022499666597512023-05-01T12:40:00.001-04:002023-05-01T12:40:59.864-04:00Jesus for the Embarrassed <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Jesus for the Embarrassed</span></b></p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">A Queer-Eyed Journey Into Christianity<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">By Larry Tayler<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, Picton, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Sunday, April 30, 2023<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Now I lay me down to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">I pray the Lord my soul to keep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">If I should die before I wake,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">I pray the Lord my soul to take.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">My Mother taught me that prayer when I was six years old. As she said, “You’re a big boy now, Larry, and about to start school, so you need to start talking to God every night before you go to sleep. And if you can’t think of anything better to say, you can use this prayer.” I didn’t understand everything she was saying, but I did know that it was important. She didn’t make a fuss about it, nor did she say that I had to be on my knees, or clasp my hands together, or anything like that. I would just be “talking to God,” which isn’t a bad definition of prayer. And as she spoke, I realized that the ‘Lord’ in this prayer was another word for God. Now, God I <i>had</i> heard about, because I attended Sunday School at the Wellington United Church, so I knew <i>all</i> about God. And I knew about Jesus and that He was somehow connected to God, and that Jesus was human, but not human, and that He had died, but hadn’t died, but I was fuzzy about the connection between God and Jesus. And I still am. My little six-year-old brain hadn’t heard of the Holy Ghost yet, so I wasn’t fussed about the Trinity. And I’d certainly heard our minister, the Reverend Mr. Poulter, talk about God and Jesus in his sermons upstairs in the real church after Sunday School down in the basement each week. I also knew what dying meant – after all, I grew up on a farm and I knew that the chicken clucking at my ankles when I helped my Grandmother Tayler feed our birds in the morning was the same chicken that we ate that night at dinner – my Grandmother’s axe was remarkably efficient. So, yes, I knew what death was. The word that did puzzle me in my Mother’s prayer was ‘soul’. I didn’t understand it then – and I don’t understand it now, seventy years later. And I certainly didn’t understand why I was asking this Lord guy to ‘take’ my soul if I died. That was just creepy. Of course, my Mother’s unstated assumption in her prayer lesson was that there <i>was</i> a God, a <i>male</i> God – out there, somewhere – who kept an eye on me and who cared about me. As my Mother said, “God loves you and knows your name, Larry.” And without warning my little universe suddenly got a lot bigger. It was as if I had graduated to a higher plane of existence <i>where important things were happening</i>. Out of the blue, I had a worldview, and I was transformed. Because that day, my Mother started me on a lifelong journey. She helped create a “God-shaped hole” in my life, to quote the 17<sup>th</sup> century French philosopher Blaise Pascal, although my Mother didn’t use those words. (And it turns out that Pascal likely didn’t use them either, but that’s another discussion.) Recently, I discovered the generous wisdom of theologian Mary Jo Meadow describing the same concept: “For as long as I can remember, God and I have not been able to leave each other alone.” <a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference">[1]</span></span></a> Which pretty much sums things up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">So…with all this rich family history and homegrown theology, why am I embarrassed to call myself a Christian? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Let me start with a disclaimer (which some of you have heard before) – I am not a theologian; at best I am a self-taught theological enthusiast. I make no claims that anything I say is original. The path I walk has been well trod by others who are wiser and more qualified than I am. What you <i>will</i> hear, however, is an honest effort to put into words my experiences as a Queer, engaged, frequently cranky Christian wanting to understand what I think I believe. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Now I’ve talked about being introduced to God, Jesus, and the Lord, but I’ve not mentioned my first active encounter with the Bible. As a kid, I’d certainly seen lots of Bibles – the Reverend Mr. Poulter read from a large black one at the Wellington United Church. And we had a big family Bible in our home – because, of course, every home had a big family Bible. That’s how the world worked, or at least my little corner of it. Our family Bible had the usual lists of marriages, births, and deaths, plus newspaper clippings about important family events, notably when Uncle Homer got shot down while flying a Spitfire over Germany and when Uncle Mel died while navigating a bomber off the African coast. Impressive stuff for a little kid. And I wish I still had that family Bible. But, alas, it was stolen…which is another story. The first time I remember opening our family Bible to actually <i>read</i> it was Christmas Eve, 1954, when I was eight. I wanted to read the Christmas story for myself. With a little help navigating the Bible from my Father, I sat next to our Christmas tree and read the Gospel of Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus. Now, I already <i>knew</i> the basic facts of the Christmas story – Mary riding a donkey, there being no room at the inn, Jesus being born in a humble manger, the arrival of adoring shepherds with their flocks, and so forth. So, I was more than a <i>little</i> dismayed that Matthew didn’t mention <i>any</i> of those things, prompting the realization that the Bible, unlike what I’d been taught, didn’t speak with one voice. To Matthew’s credit, however, he <i>did</i> include the guiding star, the wise ones (although not three of them and not kings), and their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. I figured that Matthew got at least <i>part</i> of the story right. I didn’t realize it, but reading Matthew that evening began what led to a daily engagement with the Bible, which continues to this day. In any case, after reading Matthew’s Christmas story, I rushed outside to see if I could locate Jesus’ star in the eastern sky – I knew that Bethlehem was east of our Wellington-area farm, possibly somewhere even <i>beyond</i> Picton. My Father, bless him, helped me locate a likely star candidate, and I was satisfied. I have to say that my motives for reading the Bible that evening were not entirely pure. I desperately wanted Santa to bring me a Lionel electric train and I figured that being all holy and pious on Christmas Eve would put me on Santa’s ‘Nice List’ and get me the Lionel train. And it worked! I got the train! Alas, it was stolen along with the family Bible. In retrospect, the best gift of that Christmas wasn’t the train – it was realizing that a) reading the Bible was a deeply absorbing experience for me – and it still is; and b) when it came to interpreting the Bible, I liked making up my own mind. And I still do. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Now throughout my life, at least so far, I’ve always maintained a connection to a faith community. I was born into the United Church of Canada, following strong family ties to Methodism. My Great Grandfather, the Reverend Dr. Melvin Tayler, had a long career as a Methodist minister, including a post-retirement year at Picton United Church in the 1920s after the incumbent minister ran off with the organist. And my Father seriously considered becoming a United Church minister until World War Two upended his plans. When I lived in Australia in the early 1970s, I attended the Uniting Church, created in much the same spirit as the United Church. When I returned to Canada, my dear friends Elizabeth and Rick Rolston introduced me to the richly diverse and welcoming world of the Religious Society of Friends, aka, the Quakers. I became a member in 1974 and have remained a Quaker ever since – almost fifty years. However, I’ve never let that membership keep me from exploring other faith traditions. For over two decades, I happily taught at an Anglican independent school in Toronto and found great nourishment in the thrice-weekly Anglican services that were part of the school’s life. At one of those services, I spoke to the school community about my views on Christianity, after which a dear Jewish colleague told me that I was the most Jewish-sounding Christian <i>she’d</i> ever met, thus kindling an interest in Judaism that led me to seriously consider converting, but I ultimately decided that Christianity was my calling. For a time, after my first husband died, I attended the Toronto Metropolitan Community Church, whose minister, the Reverend Dr. Brent Hawkes, was a valuable source of support for me. And certainly my experiences here in the Presbyterian world of St. Andrew’s have been most affirming. The opportunities to speak to this Circle of Friends that the Reverend Lynne offers me have inspired a wealth of spiritual growth. However, for the last several years, I have not been a poster child for <i>any</i> church, because I rarely attend <i>any</i> Sunday morning worship services, unless you count reading the Sunday <i>New York Times</i> as a form of worship.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">It is, however, my involvement with the Quakers that has provided me with the most consistent context for my evolving understanding of – and embarrassment by – Christianity. A wise Quaker friend once asked me how I could sustain my connection to Quakerism if I didn’t regularly attend Quaker meetings for worship. It’s a fair question. My glib answer is that there’s more than one way to be a Quaker. My long answer is…I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Back to my timeline...<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">The 1980s were years of growth and change. In 1980, I left teaching, vowing <i>never</i> to teach again. It turned out that my time away from the classroom lasted only a decade, but I didn’t know that at the time. I landed on my feet with a job working for the Ontario Arts Council in Eastern Ontario, operating from my home office here in Picton, just a block away from St. Andrew’s, and I also began exploring life as an openly gay man. At a 1983 Quaker Gathering in rural Pennsylvania, I met my late first husband, Spencer, a Quaker man from Toronto, and we fell in love. I got a job at the Canadian Opera Company so I could join him in Toronto. He was an active member of the Toronto Quaker meeting and was involved in lesbian and gay human rights issues in the city. These were the early days of AIDS, with the attendant paranoia and rampant discrimination against gay men. It was also the time of active campaigning to have sexual orientation added to the Ontario Human Rights Code. I joined Spencer in working on both these issues. We believed that by being an openly gay, highly visible couple, we were creating the kind of world we wanted to live in. The personal is, indeed, the political. Part of the work that Spencer and I did in the AIDS epidemic was to attend funerals of gay men whose families had abandoned them. At many of these funerals, Spencer and I and our friends were the only ‘family’ present. And at some of them, as I have said in this sacred space before, there were self-proclaimed Christian protestors yelling at people entering the funeral homes that “God hates fags!” and “AIDS is God’s wrath!” and – that old reliable – “The Bible says Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!” Not the sort of thing you ever unhear or forget. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">But those experiences led me to explore why so many people were using the Bible to promote hatred and intolerance. This, in turn, led me to John Shelby Spong. That name may be familiar to some of you. For many years, Spong was the Episcopal bishop of Newark, New Jersey. Sadly, he died in 2021. He became famous for writing books outlining his progressive, pro-gay Christian beliefs and criticizing churches that used the Bible to malign gay men, lesbians, and other Queer people. And I <i>inhaled</i> his books, most of which I bought at Toronto’s Glad Day Books, the famous Queer bookstore on Yonge Street, now on Church Street. It delights me that Glad Day Books is still in business and that it is the oldest Queer bookstore on the planet. The fact that Spong’s books sold briskly at Glad Day showed me that I was not the only Queer person trying to figure out why Christianity was on this nasty continuum with intolerance and hatred.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Fired up by Spong’s extraordinary books, I realized for the first time that I was ashamed of being a Christian and that Jesus did, in fact, embarrass me. And like pulling a thread from a tapestry, I began to recognize that homophobia wasn’t the only thing that embarrassed me about Christianity: the misogyny, the racism, the antisemitism, the intolerance, the authoritarianism, and the nastiness of some, certainly not all, Christian denominations were profoundly unsettling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">I experienced this homophobia directly during the campaign to include sexual orientation in the Ontario Human Rights Code, a campaign that was ultimately successful in 1986, but not without an enormous tsunami of hatred led by some Christian churches. The fact that these churches were actively fund-raising – and issuing tax receipts – to finance their hatred was unconscionable. And the added fact that my tax dollars were subsidizing my own oppression as a gay man was infuriating.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">Before I get to my reasons for Jesus embarrassment, I need to say that this list <i>alone</i> cannot sustain a living faith. Merely enumerating the things that I <i>don’t</i> like about Christianity is not enough. And bless my dear husband, Bill, for listening to me try to work through this. Although I believe that my analysis is a legitimate critique of Christianity, there is not enough love or grace informing it. It is filled with anger and my wanting to be right. As the late Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai once wrote, “From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow.”<a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference">[2]</span></span></a> My analysis also confuses the actions and beliefs of individual Christians with Christianity itself. As it turns out, I am not so much embarrassed <i>by</i> Jesus as I am embarrassed <i>for</i> Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">That being said, here are my six reasons for Jesus embarrassment:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">1.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">Let’s start off with our old friend, homophobia. I am embarrassed by Jesus when some Christians embrace homophobia as being Biblically ordained. The most virulent anti-gay views I have ever heard – and I’ve heard a lot of them, many hurled at me personally, and some accompanied by a punch in the stomach – have been screamed by those who say they are upholding the inerrant word of God. Hatred cloaked in pious, Biblical moralizing is not a pretty sight. And homophobia is dangerous. When a group of angry young men chased my late husband and me down Front Street in Belleville one night in the late 1980s, Spencer and I feared for our lives. One of those young men actually yelled, “Bible says death to fags!” So, yes, homophobia is dangerous. And if you think that homophobia is no longer a religious issue, I suggest that you think again. In February of this year, an angry group of parents disrupted a meeting of the York Catholic District School Board. They opposed the use of stickers meant to signal safety to LGBTQ students in York Catholic schools. The stickers, which were printed by the York Region unit of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers Association and placed in some classrooms by individual teachers, featured the words “SAFE SPACE” over the rainbow-hued Queer Progress flag. It’s an elegant and effective way of welcoming Queer students into the classroom. But some parents clearly didn’t see it that way. According to the CBC, one parent said,<a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference">[3]</span></span></a> “[The stickers] shouldn’t say ‘safe space.’ They should say ‘danger zone.’ Preaching confusion in the guise of inclusivity and acceptance is truly disgusting.” Another parent added, “Catholic schools should not allow transgender or LGBT students to attend. It is most certainly not appropriate to engage kids to be open to these ideologies. There are biblical reasons why homosexuality is considered a sin...regardless of what Pope Francis may think.” Then, there’s the “Anti-Homosexuality Law” recently passed by the Ugandan Parliament. Amongst other things, it makes identifying as LGBTQ a crime; enacts a life sentence for anyone engaging in same-sex acts; and imposes the death penalty for “aggravated homosexuality.” It even makes it illegal to <i>NOT</i> report “suspected cases” of same-sex acts. And who paid for and orchestrated the campaign that promoted this wretched law? A well-financed group of American fundamentalist Christians. And sadly, I add the Presbyterian Church of Australia to this homophobic Hall of Shame. In a recent submission to the Australian Law Reform Commission, the church requested the right to exclude Queer students from leadership roles in the more than twenty independent Presbyterian schools in Australia. The church stated that such students would “not be able to give appropriate Christian leadership in a Christian school which requires modelling Christian living.”<a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference">[4]</span></span></a> Back to the Bible, indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">2.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">I am embarrassed by Jesus because Christianity has a tragic legacy of white racism in its doctrines. Which means we’re talking about the Roman Catholic Church’s Doctrine of Discovery. Embedded in Papal bulls and decrees from the 1450s to the 1490s, the Doctrine of Discovery allowed European countries to conquer and seize the lands of non-Christians and to annex them to their imperial empires, all in the name of Christianity. It was also used by European powers to justify the seizure of Africans and Indigenous people for use as slaves on those stolen lands. The Doctrine of Discovery baked into Christianity a profound anti-Black/anti-Indigenous white racism that is still killing and maiming people. Every time an unrecorded grave on the grounds of one of Canada’s shameful residential schools is located, you can trace a direct line back to the Doctrine of Discovery. The intergenerational and genocidal trauma fuelled by the doctrine is a blight on the lives of Indigenous people and People of Colour everywhere. It was only one month ago, <i>more than five hundred years later</i>, that the Roman Catholic Church officially – sort of – repudiated the Doctrine of Discovery. Unfortunately, the Papal bulls and decrees that the doctrine was based upon have not been rescinded. The doctrine still lurks in the Indigenous policies of countries such as Canada, the United States, and Australia. The white racism that accompanied the doctrine remains pervasive. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">3.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">I am embarrassed by Jesus because Christianity also has a tragic legacy of antisemitism seared into its doctrines. Ever since the Roman authorities crucified Jesus, many Christians have blamed the Jews for His death. And let’s be clear what I mean by antisemitism. Unfortunately, that word has lost some of its edge over the decades. As Minneapolis Rabbi Joseph Edelheit says,<a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference">[5]</span></span></a> however, an antisemite is simply “a Jew hater.” Over the centuries, this anti-Jewish malignancy has been eagerly manipulated and abetted by churches, priests, ministers, and governments. Tragically, it also cascaded down to wider civic societies, and it remains stubbornly intractable to this day. Even the terms ‘Old Testament’ and ‘New Testament’ privilege Christianity over Judaism, and I try hard to avoid using them, preferring instead Jewish Bible and Christian Bible. After the Holocaust and the murder of six million Jews in World War Two, the Allied democracies joined Jews in declaring, “Never Again!” But every time there is yet another act of antisemitism, we have to say “Never Again!” all over again. It just never seems to end. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">4.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">I am embarrassed by Jesus when some Christians embrace misogyny as a pillar of their faith. The role of women has always been problematic in the Christian faith. Being rendered invisible in Biblical narratives; being barred from leadership in the church; being limited to childbearing and domesticity; being placed on pillars and then treated with condescension; being treated like chattel by husbands – the litany of misogyny goes on. The fact that some churches today <i>still</i> use the Bible to justify the prohibition of women becoming full leaders is both depressing and nauseating. The waste of human potential is staggering.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">5.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">I am embarrassed by Jesus when some Christians embrace Christianity as a source of political power and justify it as God’s plan. In the first two centuries after Jesus’ death – before Christianity emerged as a separate entity instead of a Jewish sect – the followers of Jesus expressed their faith in a wide variety of ways. There was little commonality in their observances and certainly no central authority. (A fascinating account of this period, <i>After Jesus/Before Christianity</i>, by Erin Vernacombe and others, is well worth your time.) However, all that changed in the year 380 of the Common Era when the Roman Emperor Theodosius I, following in the footsteps of the Emperor Constantine, proclaimed that the Roman Empire would thenceforth be officially Christian. Suddenly, the Jesus movement became an official state religion and therefore a political tool of empire. It had profound implications for the planet. Christianity became a religion of rules, male leaders, hierarchies, political power, and the silencing of dissent. Those who opposed the established Christian order were labelled as ‘heretics’ and were often executed. A disproportionate number of the heretics were women. The transition of Christianity from being a Jewish sect to being a politically powerful and eager part of the ruling hierarchies keeps resonating right down to the Christian nationalism in today’s world. And it’s not just an American phenomenon. There is nothing to support Canadian smugness on this one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">6.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">I am especially embarrassed by Jesus when some Christians embrace Christian universalism. These Christians believe that the only path to God, Heaven, and salvation is through Jesus. Non-Christians, in their view, must embrace Jesus to be saved. All other faiths must be experienced through the lens of Christianity, where salvation is exclusively available to Christians. For Christian universalists, the books of the Jewish Bible serve <i>only</i> as an antecedent to the Christian Bible. A Christian fundamentalist once told me that “Jews and Muslims are really Christians underneath it all – they just don’t realize it yet.” And this said with a buoyant smile. The appalling presumptuousness and condescension of that world view are repugnant to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">So – that’s my six-part indictment of Christianity. There’s a lot to be embarrassed about on that list.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">But – an essential but – it’s not enough to sustain me through the tough times. I know that my theme today is embarrassment about Jesus, but I can’t finish without also stating my <i>affirming</i> assumptions about Christianity. And these affirming assumptions are why I continue calling myself a Christian. Here they are, struggles in progress and inadequate attempts at giving words to Mystery: <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">1)<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">We are not alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">2)<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">We do not come from Nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">3)<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">We do not return to Nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">4)<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">Two thousand years ago, there was a Jewish working-class Palestinian named Yeshua – the One we call Jesus – who managed to fuse the <i>ferocity</i> of His passion for justice with the <i>immensity</i> of His humanity with the <i>infinity</i> of His Love. In so doing, He threatened the ruling élites of His day so compellingly that they killed Him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 115%; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">5)<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;">Under, around, through all these ideas is my last affirming assumption, one that brings us back to that little prayer my Mother taught me seventy years ago: that there <i>is</i> a generative, creative, loving spirit in the Universe that animates our being and accompanies us in our suffering. I am not alone in calling this generative spirit God. And this spirit of God dwells in <i>each</i> of us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;">For me, all other Christian <i>concepts</i> are human <i>constructs</i>, embodying the human <i>struggle</i> to make sense of things. This includes the Bible, possibly the most human books ever conceived. Beyond my imperfect words, I understand very little. The one certainty in my journey is that the journey <i>continues</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="line-height: 21.466665px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: STIX Two Text;">Thank you.</span><span style="font-family: times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><div><br clear="all" /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10pt;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Palatino;">In Val Webb’s book <i>Like Catching Water In A Net: Human Attempts To Describe The Divine</i>, page 226.</span><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div id="ftn2"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10pt;">[2]</span></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">“The Place Where We Are Right” by Yehuda Amichai in <i>Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems To Open Your World</i>, edited by Pádraig Ó Tuama, page 290.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div id="ftn3"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10pt;">[3]</span></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Palatino;">All parent quotes from </span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">CBC News online report by Tyler Cheese, March 5, 2023.</span><o:p></o:p></p></div><div id="ftn4"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10pt;">[4]</span></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">As quoted in <i>The Age</i> (Melbourne) online edition, April 14, 2023.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div id="ftn5"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://92AB1486-8AA7-4B79-9F27-58A047AA29FF#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 10pt;">[5]</span></span></span></span></a><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Rabbi Joseph Edelheit, <i>Homebrewed Christianity</i> podcast, March 31, 2023.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div></div>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-28631127826461657322022-07-20T17:35:00.002-04:002022-07-20T17:35:57.240-04:00The County Camino, July 20, 2022<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;">The County Camino</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">(aka The Prince Edward County Millennium Trail)</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I recently celebrated a significant personal milestone by completing the entire Prince Edward County Millennium Trail – by foot. Woohoo!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The 46-km trail runs along an abandoned railway line from Carrying Place in the northwest corner of Prince Edward County (just south of the Murray Canal) to the east end of Picton on Highway 49, plus the 2 km ‘spur’ that runs off the main trail into the west end of Picton. That’s a total of 48 km. I walked the trail in random sequence, preferring to hopscotch back and forth along the trail’s 23 ‘official’ sections. (Spoiler alert: there are actually 24 sections.) I started on October 11, 2021, and finished on July 8, 2022, having walked a total of 96 km – out and back for each section. And I recorded the entire walk with my trusty SONY cameras.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Check out the Millennium Trail’s websites here <a href="https://www.visitpec.ca/2019/05/29/the-millennium-trail-everything-you-need-to-know/">visitpec.ca</a> and here <a href="http://pectrails.ca/">pectrails.ca</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some History:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Millennium Trail’s abandoned railway line has its own story. It started in 1879 as the Prince Edward County Railway that ran from Trenton to the west end of Picton. That morphed into the Central Ontario Railway (COR) in 1882 with an extension of the line into northern Hastings County to service the rapidly expanding gold and ore mines. The COR merged with the Canadian Northern Railway in 1911, which in turn became part of the nationalized Canadian National Railways (CNR) in 1923. In 1955, a 5.6 km extension was built from the west end of Picton to the Bethlehem Steel ore docks on Picton Harbour to accommodate daily 35-car ore trains from the Marmoraton open-pit mine in Marmora. The mine closed in 1978. The CNR continued to serve Prince Edward County sporadically, including occasional trains to the Lake Ontario Cement plant next to the now-defunct ore docks. The entire CNR line from Trenton to Picton was closed in 1995 and the track was lifted in 1996. In 1997, the County of Prince Edward bought the abandoned line for use as a recreation trail. A very wise investment indeed!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, what’s this about “The County Camino”?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have long wanted to walk the Camino de Santiago – aka, The Way of Saint James – that runs from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, on the French side of the Pyrenees, for 780 km to the cathedral city of Santiago in northwestern Spain. The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Santiago contains a shrine honouring the apostle Saint James the Great. For centuries, pilgrims have walked the Camino de Santiago as an act of veneration and contemplation. It is the most popular of Europe’s many pilgrimage routes. Medieval pilgrims in Europe began walking these routes as a substitute for longer and more dangerous pilgrimages to Jerusalem. In the last thirty years, the Camino de Santiago has become popular with thousands of contemporary pilgrims who may not be Roman Catholic, but who are searching for renewal in their lives and answers to their profound questions. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have always found long walks to be a source of contemplation and clarity. As Saint Augustine is thought to have said c 400 CE, “Solvitur ambulando” – “It is solved by walking.” Ever since I accompanied my father on his daily walks on our farm when I was a child, I have been smitten by the power of walking to sooth and illuminate. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Little wonder, therefore, that I enjoy walking Prince Edward County’s Millennium Trail. What a gift to the community it is! In my mind, it is “The County Camino” – my very own pilgrim’s trail. How wonderful it would be if there were others who shared this re-imagining of our Millennium Trail. I’m also thinking about how to create a pocket-guide to the Millennium Trail for people to carry with them on walks. Please contact me if you would like to discuss these ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the meantime, some photographs:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Below are photographs from each of the Millennium Trail’s 23 sections, one photo per section. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed collecting them over the last ten months.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOuv3SnSNg-ER-cSH73mWUxrr_6vRaDiF9wX6_GkcouQktvyJv2vkV-epW6mqW5GtsyHfhs3zvRPbVitjKYxM729sDJ0F3XaXf_eWywn4IzICaQN6d1w8hDxCwUaFS611Mc4roL1ZJKQvD-RBFGqZA2W98wxLYy6QLj0kJ6b1KFJoFqr0LNNcPHehf/s1240/%231%200436%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%231%20Weathered%20Fence%2001JAN21%20Folder%2389%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOuv3SnSNg-ER-cSH73mWUxrr_6vRaDiF9wX6_GkcouQktvyJv2vkV-epW6mqW5GtsyHfhs3zvRPbVitjKYxM729sDJ0F3XaXf_eWywn4IzICaQN6d1w8hDxCwUaFS611Mc4roL1ZJKQvD-RBFGqZA2W98wxLYy6QLj0kJ6b1KFJoFqr0LNNcPHehf/w640-h640/%231%200436%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%231%20Weathered%20Fence%2001JAN21%20Folder%2389%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 1 – County Road 49 (near Parson Brewery) to Johnson Street (County Road 5, Picton)). Length: 2.4 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCO8AzLOqDBecJLzpOQqkxZs5wAshK-zvN76QfwJA_vk9NXG6-qh-I8AcG-grgyHU-zE3YeDpOdZit0j-Nvy7vkYD1ZFFJOa5aAEEaOGqYBoaEHqIDacVFWbG5mAWEfHWdh10MJ-EgC1x8FN4_-Ab-2IheYPhaTQe2B9P2yGRt6CztNherqdDekofI/s1240/%232%201040%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%202%2019OCT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCO8AzLOqDBecJLzpOQqkxZs5wAshK-zvN76QfwJA_vk9NXG6-qh-I8AcG-grgyHU-zE3YeDpOdZit0j-Nvy7vkYD1ZFFJOa5aAEEaOGqYBoaEHqIDacVFWbG5mAWEfHWdh10MJ-EgC1x8FN4_-Ab-2IheYPhaTQe2B9P2yGRt6CztNherqdDekofI/w640-h426/%232%201040%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%202%2019OCT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 2 – Johnson Street (County Road 5) to Talbot Street (County Road 4, Picton). Length: 1.3 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4alYcebylVwkvBpzMAsp1pVwup23ngBSPH49bujZYHwGe2b0MgWQ05ONH4SC4y-aUTcFyDtrGa2wh4DELDXhucQUWPAiCMBZ1EF-h_mOiP2zZeWhAfEfKuL_zvxoPS9KvBVsBnl8l3jCdsljQ-9JR5tgrr9alJqL1RwCXFvtXhAeVEz3aWlTj6HW/s1240/%233%204521%20Trees%20Section%203%20Mill%20Trail%20Folder%23103%2011JULY22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4alYcebylVwkvBpzMAsp1pVwup23ngBSPH49bujZYHwGe2b0MgWQ05ONH4SC4y-aUTcFyDtrGa2wh4DELDXhucQUWPAiCMBZ1EF-h_mOiP2zZeWhAfEfKuL_zvxoPS9KvBVsBnl8l3jCdsljQ-9JR5tgrr9alJqL1RwCXFvtXhAeVEz3aWlTj6HW/w640-h640/%233%204521%20Trees%20Section%203%20Mill%20Trail%20Folder%23103%2011JULY22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 3 – Talbot Street (County Road 4) to Loyalist Parkway (Highway 33, Picton). Length: 0.9 km<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2xaO0bBW-JOCvWuYO5yNe9V3LApfA5s58y8umYVffNulI-RH3VXuFKiC3G6kCX54CLl1qZeuL2ERiFzqZuwsDtjBTE4w-4otQNv1hmf9TkrwJAliKJ6TrK1is1ZF_4TU4e_IiX9RGlB0cTJ67aEZ0qnpDP2zBmeJOdJjuY4_djpmZSyrbwqsUGQm/s1240/%234%204550%20Hydro%20Line%20Edited%20Section%204%20Mill%20Trail%20Folder%23103%2011JULY22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2xaO0bBW-JOCvWuYO5yNe9V3LApfA5s58y8umYVffNulI-RH3VXuFKiC3G6kCX54CLl1qZeuL2ERiFzqZuwsDtjBTE4w-4otQNv1hmf9TkrwJAliKJ6TrK1is1ZF_4TU4e_IiX9RGlB0cTJ67aEZ0qnpDP2zBmeJOdJjuY4_djpmZSyrbwqsUGQm/w640-h426/%234%204550%20Hydro%20Line%20Edited%20Section%204%20Mill%20Trail%20Folder%23103%2011JULY22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 4 – Loyalist Parkway (Highway 33) to Sandy Hook Road (Picton). Length: 1.0 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDJcnmRV9IzW38SH_6Mw7GIWQja9XoOmObn_QLimEiN3KgubicMgT_FhcguDGIDW-y5N4FGWqWY7lB6tXr6nBh6NCAsZokj2JijLbu7e5t0RIf9OMxqi6ZR8lpTaIAww8E5NhCI0zK1ee6Bv_slUa0NeqAA-G15KVA1eqNWHUpJsg1zvA5_xazLVS/s1240/%235%201043%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%205%2022OCT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDJcnmRV9IzW38SH_6Mw7GIWQja9XoOmObn_QLimEiN3KgubicMgT_FhcguDGIDW-y5N4FGWqWY7lB6tXr6nBh6NCAsZokj2JijLbu7e5t0RIf9OMxqi6ZR8lpTaIAww8E5NhCI0zK1ee6Bv_slUa0NeqAA-G15KVA1eqNWHUpJsg1zvA5_xazLVS/w640-h426/%235%201043%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%205%2022OCT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 5 – Sandy Hook Road to Lake Street (Picton). (The ‘spur’ into Picton.) Length: 2.1 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5QyQzepHwgJq1_W7LtyGVoGDHE63wUEv-3iKNSqkYaFMm1_oNUiOpbEW2h9QTQ0ZsrG_nrecDTQukPhipXGnU0gm2jfFKiE-VVJcXvR-6fH4H6y2WnYPp6YKL6MpUiy9iBWBcXWMBHkERsItreQsy4NKnTU3v8zXZ2LjaSq41jeQ0Hyg-n80PBA1/s1240/%236%203338%20Millennium%20Trail%20Section%206%20Citcular%20Barbed%20Wire%20Folder%23102%206APRIL22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5QyQzepHwgJq1_W7LtyGVoGDHE63wUEv-3iKNSqkYaFMm1_oNUiOpbEW2h9QTQ0ZsrG_nrecDTQukPhipXGnU0gm2jfFKiE-VVJcXvR-6fH4H6y2WnYPp6YKL6MpUiy9iBWBcXWMBHkERsItreQsy4NKnTU3v8zXZ2LjaSq41jeQ0Hyg-n80PBA1/w640-h426/%236%203338%20Millennium%20Trail%20Section%206%20Citcular%20Barbed%20Wire%20Folder%23102%206APRIL22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 6 – Sandy Hook Road to County Road 32 (Bloomfield). Length: 2.9 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftcYRlYSlFP2tZpypVlK80KFSg2Qy3-0aTrdfyx5s76NEany0wt76MUPjTq2CZMmwB1mAiS2FPuZgOgVzjfjvd3_LlBsoNGxMn3tC_Ol6vaHDIIGFgM-PEGvtY8SQAo57Qwammfz0CbPmLymlu-zhxlyjuUVzQ6nZVzsw4KTEjI2KYmvTD5uAbQEX/s1240/%237%200734%20County%20Camino%20Section%207%20Van%20Groothest%20Farm%2028SEPT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1240" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftcYRlYSlFP2tZpypVlK80KFSg2Qy3-0aTrdfyx5s76NEany0wt76MUPjTq2CZMmwB1mAiS2FPuZgOgVzjfjvd3_LlBsoNGxMn3tC_Ol6vaHDIIGFgM-PEGvtY8SQAo57Qwammfz0CbPmLymlu-zhxlyjuUVzQ6nZVzsw4KTEjI2KYmvTD5uAbQEX/w640-h494/%237%200734%20County%20Camino%20Section%207%20Van%20Groothest%20Farm%2028SEPT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 7 – County Road 32 to Stanley Street (County Road 12, Bloomfield). Length: 1.4 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZejAbCpol96N4pRSixrmRvTREFOMv5U7DisNalGwtHMYCEDy8gCMcWcOqAG15laLGARZV8aBlO2-gsbCFlYBulsnxU0qgKW3ZnZPVgLKG5iTB6dwxIOM1NeLwABcBuE3S9TC3Va-XP0OKkn5mvpRWJqnFmHv240nP5Ve0rXYaBPK6iaBhs7RI2e2/s1240/%238%203341%20Millennium%20Trail%20Woman%20c%20Children%20Millennium%20Trail%20Section%208%20Bloomfield%20Folder%23102%206APRIL22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZejAbCpol96N4pRSixrmRvTREFOMv5U7DisNalGwtHMYCEDy8gCMcWcOqAG15laLGARZV8aBlO2-gsbCFlYBulsnxU0qgKW3ZnZPVgLKG5iTB6dwxIOM1NeLwABcBuE3S9TC3Va-XP0OKkn5mvpRWJqnFmHv240nP5Ve0rXYaBPK6iaBhs7RI2e2/w640-h640/%238%203341%20Millennium%20Trail%20Woman%20c%20Children%20Millennium%20Trail%20Section%208%20Bloomfield%20Folder%23102%206APRIL22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 8 – Stanley Street (County Road 12) to Wesley Acres Road (Bloomfield). Length: 1.5 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9BLbKdjOpTJuyXVoeX09XxrJefU7KO7QlOVZqPVobJx7tVR6zyy1poh9k3vQNlFX6VGvVkx6z5VuWVlIcvLGYj7ckuPNwT3bYPEfqDZpvLK6D0kDVPGg-f2wqVjS5C1CNfRv78Ysc-JkkIaxVzbKsOXrYdvSlQ8_cdMeL3uefIHDPgU4uUnJVL-qc/s1240/%239%200564%20County%20Camino%20Section%209%20Utility%20Pole%2024SEPT21%20Folder%2397%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9BLbKdjOpTJuyXVoeX09XxrJefU7KO7QlOVZqPVobJx7tVR6zyy1poh9k3vQNlFX6VGvVkx6z5VuWVlIcvLGYj7ckuPNwT3bYPEfqDZpvLK6D0kDVPGg-f2wqVjS5C1CNfRv78Ysc-JkkIaxVzbKsOXrYdvSlQ8_cdMeL3uefIHDPgU4uUnJVL-qc/w640-h426/%239%200564%20County%20Camino%20Section%209%20Utility%20Pole%2024SEPT21%20Folder%2397%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 9 – Wesley Acres Road to Loyalist Parkway (Highway 33, Bloomfield/Wellington). Length: 3.8 km </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">(I grew up where the trail crosses Highway 33.)</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEmEHKX7e5BwRCgeEd2yvC8LkCnibMesk-pNj0KUy7cAwFoYYqbtEaYl2J_YndPthyWXAruBYYOm7WdOSRt7N_OPcI0trNYHOB6KqkON9pExDbZG6P8tYKzI9ZxiMVpinBOaTy3Nf72z6-miJOfATpTaVL6q2txWZqVmTZXHGKhJiWnFPIoAw4jYi/s1240/%2310%201330%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2010%20Campbell%20Red%20Barn%2001NOV21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEmEHKX7e5BwRCgeEd2yvC8LkCnibMesk-pNj0KUy7cAwFoYYqbtEaYl2J_YndPthyWXAruBYYOm7WdOSRt7N_OPcI0trNYHOB6KqkON9pExDbZG6P8tYKzI9ZxiMVpinBOaTy3Nf72z6-miJOfATpTaVL6q2txWZqVmTZXHGKhJiWnFPIoAw4jYi/w640-h426/%2310%201330%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2010%20Campbell%20Red%20Barn%2001NOV21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 10 – Loyalist Parkway (Highway 33) to Conley Road (Wellington). Length: 2.6 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFUK7ix3pjPNgfHAj0ax1rqAjgRuYIHI0qHgW3GXYIyTbXQxo0pBcPrHxe0nbNBlM8DLPFZzmyaDvjC9s9zM0qvr6ZkoCwcI5RM646Cb-Gbw9A_aKJbDrQwin-QrCrZUrWV5XwEORdGCLpQenFbTMojSANkaD23-5UdotyIdc4grlG9bQ1d8a6QCI/s1240/%2311%203258%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2011%20Cronk%20Farm%20Hwy%2033%20Folder%20102%202APRIL22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFUK7ix3pjPNgfHAj0ax1rqAjgRuYIHI0qHgW3GXYIyTbXQxo0pBcPrHxe0nbNBlM8DLPFZzmyaDvjC9s9zM0qvr6ZkoCwcI5RM646Cb-Gbw9A_aKJbDrQwin-QrCrZUrWV5XwEORdGCLpQenFbTMojSANkaD23-5UdotyIdc4grlG9bQ1d8a6QCI/w640-h426/%2311%203258%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2011%20Cronk%20Farm%20Hwy%2033%20Folder%20102%202APRIL22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 11 – Conley Road to Belleville Street (County Road 2, Wellington). Length: 2.0 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh70BEtrx61XRV2WtCuUjjPKsLLlcNbAFMhHD7S7WmmcsNXi8ncXrQFXnt88ZWKppse97462Tjnns34dSwaW4Zs9IYFt_84NrjGHrzz2QS9IuR7Tbi0bQR55kIuWgGTyCOLAS2lGnETJtLu2GDWaBWUzH-t-Tjkd3LFYYtuIhtgQPmPRf_edvu6JQs/s1240/%2312%201973%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2012%20Wellington%20Bridge%20Folder%20100%2030DEC21%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh70BEtrx61XRV2WtCuUjjPKsLLlcNbAFMhHD7S7WmmcsNXi8ncXrQFXnt88ZWKppse97462Tjnns34dSwaW4Zs9IYFt_84NrjGHrzz2QS9IuR7Tbi0bQR55kIuWgGTyCOLAS2lGnETJtLu2GDWaBWUzH-t-Tjkd3LFYYtuIhtgQPmPRf_edvu6JQs/w640-h426/%2312%201973%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2012%20Wellington%20Bridge%20Folder%20100%2030DEC21%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 12 – Belleville Street (County Road 2) to Consecon Street (Wellington). Length: 2.4 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSVGPFGkoaU5VOu2bVw3EWP8A9byx6JmT_SbMlCgaYGrC0rY7SdrcEaedh92SA-cfWJ3w1jcuZZJkVSVArIwAXghrdMOEB4jJZgqcbGyGJJjOp-8xNbTjkbvquaSU0VphIGX-JKS80MMX2nLKy6na7rL2stdNRL2RrhjqhCvnUEF9SrqjKAWpFQR6/s1240/%2313%204437%20Mil%20Trail%20Sec%2013%20Folder%20103%208JULY22%20Fountain%20Wellington-by-the-Lake%20Golf%20Course%20Section%2013%20Mill%20Trail%20Folder%23103%207JULY22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSVGPFGkoaU5VOu2bVw3EWP8A9byx6JmT_SbMlCgaYGrC0rY7SdrcEaedh92SA-cfWJ3w1jcuZZJkVSVArIwAXghrdMOEB4jJZgqcbGyGJJjOp-8xNbTjkbvquaSU0VphIGX-JKS80MMX2nLKy6na7rL2stdNRL2RrhjqhCvnUEF9SrqjKAWpFQR6/w640-h426/%2313%204437%20Mil%20Trail%20Sec%2013%20Folder%20103%208JULY22%20Fountain%20Wellington-by-the-Lake%20Golf%20Course%20Section%2013%20Mill%20Trail%20Folder%23103%207JULY22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 13 – Consecon Street to Greer Road (Wellington). Length: 3.2 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1RPFtMmt3Poeap5J4YFGAe5dJN0Ci1lzg-gCx9OvRYSbIUVIuc1Z5BP2oF6YmoroF-8xS4zsbuNZ3kwGGZoibA3VHjfxP3xujFsMy7_chJ_hi554mBZSUdKeM0qRIwXPKeaBRS6Q5TVvIfTYn8IDq7pcWFYv8G-tfUeQXKf_JHUu2eTfyXSiAM00/s1240/%2314%203520%20Mil%20Trail%20Sec%2014%20near%20Danforth%20Rd%203%20Silos%20%20Folder%23102%2020APRIL22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1240" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1RPFtMmt3Poeap5J4YFGAe5dJN0Ci1lzg-gCx9OvRYSbIUVIuc1Z5BP2oF6YmoroF-8xS4zsbuNZ3kwGGZoibA3VHjfxP3xujFsMy7_chJ_hi554mBZSUdKeM0qRIwXPKeaBRS6Q5TVvIfTYn8IDq7pcWFYv8G-tfUeQXKf_JHUu2eTfyXSiAM00/w640-h396/%2314%203520%20Mil%20Trail%20Sec%2014%20near%20Danforth%20Rd%203%20Silos%20%20Folder%23102%2020APRIL22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 14 – Greer Road to Danforth Road (Hillier). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Length: 1.0 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUap6jZUwk9XLpPYvUNaeeRIVMFFzRibDxKDkQFEF92aIVblrHXXKCjtuSvJ2Q4i2RBJZeEVXPRh09GTY40InJBHqO9tpS_NY5138YjVPpHgRZKmelfnwb38_9VRxqe94ZASpLOYpVjM5tnl35zA9XNBgZt_cFblCkjjGpH15yaEk5_wDNL-NI16YZ/s1240/%2315%204290%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2015%20Folder%20%23103%2030JUNE22%20Circular%20Ripples%20in%20Hubbs%20Creek%20Water-SharpenAI-Focus%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUap6jZUwk9XLpPYvUNaeeRIVMFFzRibDxKDkQFEF92aIVblrHXXKCjtuSvJ2Q4i2RBJZeEVXPRh09GTY40InJBHqO9tpS_NY5138YjVPpHgRZKmelfnwb38_9VRxqe94ZASpLOYpVjM5tnl35zA9XNBgZt_cFblCkjjGpH15yaEk5_wDNL-NI16YZ/w640-h640/%2315%204290%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2015%20Folder%20%23103%2030JUNE22%20Circular%20Ripples%20in%20Hubbs%20Creek%20Water-SharpenAI-Focus%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 15 – Danforth Road to Benway Road (Hillier). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Length: 1.9 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZu0jGuPqW03dTVPZvs3MpfYaOa5fc2kGfeH5GedfGelTOv6ynB5V--e1G6vBXYGiF8j1Q-aBcn6h1kaH3NwoRAATPrV0eoVTJs65LBX1dS0WY51T9vXP_1ZiXV8EQvHCillAVj52Hd4dfg02IUho3zjBeKQgxOM1HY186-XEOCB7rGXJBLsTKN9zB/s1240/%2316%201253%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2016%20Bikers%2001NOV21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZu0jGuPqW03dTVPZvs3MpfYaOa5fc2kGfeH5GedfGelTOv6ynB5V--e1G6vBXYGiF8j1Q-aBcn6h1kaH3NwoRAATPrV0eoVTJs65LBX1dS0WY51T9vXP_1ZiXV8EQvHCillAVj52Hd4dfg02IUho3zjBeKQgxOM1HY186-XEOCB7rGXJBLsTKN9zB/w640-h640/%2316%201253%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2016%20Bikers%2001NOV21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 16 – Benway Road to Closson Road (Hillier). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Length: 1.0 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPhMV8CrATHoBoWyUambLhYwKVbx086wT-s95tzR3S46ghQiuxbWQVJwjY0dSV5WzpnLHE1Z3BMZC8PIRZpLiGw6rC-h0mdCQSkodH0xYoCrclrksWUOKZWlhuxazOvgbZTetL5IxnoejpB9ISzAwAo0lwYjQS3y0aFv02yVvUSxauH5vvgWoUn0f/s1240/%2317%200942%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2017%20Slab%20Creek%20Marsh%2012OCT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPhMV8CrATHoBoWyUambLhYwKVbx086wT-s95tzR3S46ghQiuxbWQVJwjY0dSV5WzpnLHE1Z3BMZC8PIRZpLiGw6rC-h0mdCQSkodH0xYoCrclrksWUOKZWlhuxazOvgbZTetL5IxnoejpB9ISzAwAo0lwYjQS3y0aFv02yVvUSxauH5vvgWoUn0f/w640-h426/%2317%200942%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2017%20Slab%20Creek%20Marsh%2012OCT21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 17 – Closson Road to Station Road (Hillier). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Length: 1.7 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSEzWuj3kpEseKnRjj-dxjrGJUibfA6DU-8bADFXLCI1Y7669jG58YEnnQRp99XbN3jBFPF-Ln7ApdM5wzqeozyUT63jJg3qN2jRT2Dle0YrBh6EUcxdqS6tOZ0k_Ir4aeVHXqPLntxWFbkGl2mTUgpthxf5kQoDMCDhI1huM9euNpc-xrXv8jU8S/s1240/%2318%201293%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2018%2001NOV21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSEzWuj3kpEseKnRjj-dxjrGJUibfA6DU-8bADFXLCI1Y7669jG58YEnnQRp99XbN3jBFPF-Ln7ApdM5wzqeozyUT63jJg3qN2jRT2Dle0YrBh6EUcxdqS6tOZ0k_Ir4aeVHXqPLntxWFbkGl2mTUgpthxf5kQoDMCDhI1huM9euNpc-xrXv8jU8S/w640-h426/%2318%201293%20Mill%20Trail%20Section%2018%2001NOV21%20Folder%2398%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 18 – Station Road to Palmer Burris Road (Hillier). Length: 2.3 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZaND5u4PD2RJG8aAZP3RHm9k10hdyJ2SdmAfjeqHLFpVEHigJUtTZO4fRAfGvfCLtwj-UqqWIBZ2jtqzfpApR49V9Qx5RXT8C46XmXPnDEUm0nbL3PQQMVhDFh2Suvla5LLwpCd5ciTtdBT5D65mBgSmSpspOW1widGQ8hTyKWuZ3_9o9xB6_OFZB/s1240/%2319%204244%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2019%20Folder%20%23103%2028JUNE22%20Solar%20Farm%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZaND5u4PD2RJG8aAZP3RHm9k10hdyJ2SdmAfjeqHLFpVEHigJUtTZO4fRAfGvfCLtwj-UqqWIBZ2jtqzfpApR49V9Qx5RXT8C46XmXPnDEUm0nbL3PQQMVhDFh2Suvla5LLwpCd5ciTtdBT5D65mBgSmSpspOW1widGQ8hTyKWuZ3_9o9xB6_OFZB/w640-h426/%2319%204244%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2019%20Folder%20%23103%2028JUNE22%20Solar%20Farm%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 19 – Palmer Burris Road to County Road 1 (Hillier). Length: 1.7 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3J68wOGZclUMwv4KcvmoabWaHQ6C44ypil241zrJu7W5NrQzDiHoFbviAbe6esnFLC0YAljgQEgHx8xnvSHPksFp3Uj674mYC0zNXXyBhImLbG4C2EEuDL-gI6WS9WnoANtSisnNYQ0DFJmH-GB4qU0tMrMz1_j1Yh-hRYKZ_JINS0G_2CReLiebd/s1240/%2320%204180%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2020%20Folder%20%23103%2028JUNE22%20Bull%20Rushes%20Lake%20Consecon%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3J68wOGZclUMwv4KcvmoabWaHQ6C44ypil241zrJu7W5NrQzDiHoFbviAbe6esnFLC0YAljgQEgHx8xnvSHPksFp3Uj674mYC0zNXXyBhImLbG4C2EEuDL-gI6WS9WnoANtSisnNYQ0DFJmH-GB4qU0tMrMz1_j1Yh-hRYKZ_JINS0G_2CReLiebd/w640-h640/%2320%204180%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2020%20Folder%20%23103%2028JUNE22%20Bull%20Rushes%20Lake%20Consecon%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 20 – County Road 1 to Lakeside Drive (Consecon). Length: 1.8 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Cl73SnvAFoTFyJsAhSdQxPW1q2ZGukXl0GWLJBMf9aSBIwPgdbGY51VNin2X0MFxa85Maq6IISZXm4QvRsOHQIMTupeXroA71IpxApjk9p0_9Gsr2MQyVxNkkU3fQ7oBlRoBvU6rhpcE9p4FAepE0ANTEYQflj2Yu7IaLoxkkiw3UpTL-q0XGp5r/s1240/%2321A%204101%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2021A%20Folder%20%23103%2027JUNE22%20Wild%20Flowers%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Cl73SnvAFoTFyJsAhSdQxPW1q2ZGukXl0GWLJBMf9aSBIwPgdbGY51VNin2X0MFxa85Maq6IISZXm4QvRsOHQIMTupeXroA71IpxApjk9p0_9Gsr2MQyVxNkkU3fQ7oBlRoBvU6rhpcE9p4FAepE0ANTEYQflj2Yu7IaLoxkkiw3UpTL-q0XGp5r/w640-h426/%2321A%204101%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2021A%20Folder%20%23103%2027JUNE22%20Wild%20Flowers%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 21A – Lakeside Drive to Loyalist Parkway (Highway 33, Consecon). Length: 2.1 km<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9e0jPJs06hIHkfe0r2k3kH1iH7htCmtZu4K-poacXMAlQL80TynDAkjDfIF1LHwG7A7a0vmGxsTTyJ1xgYWDnK6E-ZR60UBoapWP8G_ZHD-lA-IR6wGfx3yeP8eEUwN_wYce-xOkMqJ1uaquew1egGYEtE7BW7mmdxZrJAcjCleDRTJyGeGLT96g/s1240/%2321B%204022%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2021B%20Folder%20%23103%2027JUNE22%20Twisty%20Orange%20Pipe%20%231%20Wellers%20Bay%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9e0jPJs06hIHkfe0r2k3kH1iH7htCmtZu4K-poacXMAlQL80TynDAkjDfIF1LHwG7A7a0vmGxsTTyJ1xgYWDnK6E-ZR60UBoapWP8G_ZHD-lA-IR6wGfx3yeP8eEUwN_wYce-xOkMqJ1uaquew1egGYEtE7BW7mmdxZrJAcjCleDRTJyGeGLT96g/w640-h426/%2321B%204022%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2021B%20Folder%20%23103%2027JUNE22%20Twisty%20Orange%20Pipe%20%231%20Wellers%20Bay%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 21B – Loyalist Parkway (Highway 33) to Blakely Road (Consecon). Length: 2.0 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6nPpi2b2mLA1NMoDHrX1gM572-rcXWXtzprtlMjKA-bVLpr-iALVmpdppiI1FVcZnARVudDsmXWx0VEiAoWB3yWyIEbsC0391XwegYhiM3XwZuJUa7LrwMs_V5hJubl-F275W_SIC721y-ow6NqZAbDids9EeBYwAC8mP-v_5fqDLbTO9XK-xxrE/s1240/%2322%203971%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2022%20Wellers%20Bay%20Folder%20103%2023JUNE22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6nPpi2b2mLA1NMoDHrX1gM572-rcXWXtzprtlMjKA-bVLpr-iALVmpdppiI1FVcZnARVudDsmXWx0VEiAoWB3yWyIEbsC0391XwegYhiM3XwZuJUa7LrwMs_V5hJubl-F275W_SIC721y-ow6NqZAbDids9EeBYwAC8mP-v_5fqDLbTO9XK-xxrE/w640-h426/%2322%203971%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2022%20Wellers%20Bay%20Folder%20103%2023JUNE22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 22 – Blakely Road to Smokes Point Road (Gardenville). Length: 2.5 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Bl-JoMMcv1CsgJJ44CaGDraRTYi9jWx4geGz9vHBAZ0EeRG6weL1x1mGeIWI_HFUYfQL9o5QwPZTOxrDhfvjQHA0FBiHgf8MgN9bqcRXvWLU5HUoVJG5QbjHxR9F4mn6f0g6i4rYwuHp4YP7gQks_TmC8wjCoUproybnvwdHAPhe8EjJsh0ddVPy/s1240/%2323%203924%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2023%20House%20Boat%20Folder%20103%2020JUNE22%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Bl-JoMMcv1CsgJJ44CaGDraRTYi9jWx4geGz9vHBAZ0EeRG6weL1x1mGeIWI_HFUYfQL9o5QwPZTOxrDhfvjQHA0FBiHgf8MgN9bqcRXvWLU5HUoVJG5QbjHxR9F4mn6f0g6i4rYwuHp4YP7gQks_TmC8wjCoUproybnvwdHAPhe8EjJsh0ddVPy/w640-h426/%2323%203924%20Mill%20Trail%20Sec%2023%20House%20Boat%20Folder%20103%2020JUNE22%20copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Section 23 – Smokes Point Road to County Road 64/Fort Kente Road (Carrying Place). Length: 2.7 km</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-47929543482478919732022-05-17T12:31:00.001-04:002022-05-17T12:31:33.496-04:00Blog Post - 17 May 2022: The Orchid Boy of Sudbury<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Background: One of the many things I love about The County is the fine work done by the Prince Edward County Arts Council in promoting the arts in our community. One of its signature projects is the annual “Wind & Water Writing Contest”. This year’s theme is ‘Transformation’, and the judge is the acclaimed Canadian writer Kelly S. Thompson. Both Bill and I submitted non-fiction pieces to the contest. Bill’s piece, “The Part Where I Tell a Story That Used to be a Secret”, was selected for the long list of finalists. It is both hauntingly beautiful and deeply moving. The short list will be announced on May 19</span><sup style="font-family: Palatino;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">and the winner revealed on May 26</span><sup style="font-family: Palatino;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Palatino;">.</span><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">My piece, “The Orchid Boy of Sudbury”, is a memoir about Spencer, my late husband, and his spectacularly defiant late-1960s dance routine at a Sudbury High School talent show. It was an exorcism for all the homophobia and bullying Spencer had endured during his troubled years at Sudbury High. He took all his pain and suffering and transformed them into healing and triumph. I believe my version of the story honours his audacity and courage. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The memoir is 1600 words long and takes about 11 minutes to read. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Enjoy.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><i>The Orchid Boy of Sudbury – </i></b></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">A love letter for my late husband<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Conjure this: A packed Sudbury High School auditorium, late 1960s. Disco music pumps wildly though the loudspeakers. The music stops abruptly. A glittering young man wearing purple bell bottoms and a pink feather boa wafts his way on stage elegantly, turns to the audience, and bows deeply. He snaps his fingers. The throbbing music begins anew. In swift response, the glittering young man gyrates and twerks up an erotic, hyperactive three-minute cyclone. The audience watches in stunned silence. The music ends. The glittering young man once again faces the audience, bows deeply, and marches off stage in triumph. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or at least that’s how Spencer, my late husband, described his Sudbury dance debut to me in that same auditorium thirty years later on a hot summer afternoon. What you’re reading is my version of Spencer’s story, based on what he told me that afternoon. It is as faithful to the essential truths about Spencer, his high school experiences, and his disco dance debut as I can make it. Let’s call it the truth/<i>slant</i>, with a high-five to Emily Dickinson. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">My late husband was not just gay – he was flamboyantly, ‘obviously’ gay at a time when such things got him bullied and assaulted, especially in the hard-scrabble northern Ontario mining towns where he grew up. Physically, Spencer was 5’ 6” tall, slight, and attractive, with an ethereal, other-worldly air about him. He was also stereotypically effeminate. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Accompanying him in public meant getting used to hearing young men yell, “Hey! Faggot!” I fell hopelessly in love with him when we met at a 1983 Quaker Gathering. By that time, he was active in Toronto’s lesbian and gay community – and he was a force to reckon with. “<i>A force of nature</i>,” he liked saying. For him, being effeminate was not only how he navigated the world, it was also a political statement and a challenge to the heterosexual norms that closeted the lives of Queer people.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Spencer was born in Sudbury in 1950. He spent his early childhood there before his family moved to Elliot Lake, where his father worked in the mines. In the early 1960s, the family returned to Sudbury. The rugged northern beauty of Elliot Lake and Sudbury left an enduring mark on Spencer’s soul. For the rest of his life, he felt restored by returning to that landscape. We often travelled to the area during our 29 years together, the last time being in 2011, when he knew he was dying. Whether it was Sudbury or Elliot Lake, he insisted on re-visiting the houses he lived in, the schools he attended, the libraries that nourished him, and the forest haunts where he went to hide and renew. His childhood was a jumble of joy, sorrow, and dread. He had a mother and sister, whom he adored. He had a father, whom he feared. Elementary school was a blend of loving teachers, who nurtured his sensitive soul, and snickering peers, who mocked him. He spent his teens in Sudbury before escaping to Toronto in the early 1970s. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Spencer was a ravenous reader, a loyal friend, a fierce defender of the underdog, a talented writer, a gifted speaker, and an attentive listener. And he was brilliant – off the scale brilliant – and one of the most emotionally literate people I have ever met. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Moreover, he was an Orchid Boy, the somewhat joking/ somewhat not-joking moniker he gave himself. It grew out of his lifelong experience of being told that he was “just too sensitive.” That comment always hurt and always hit home. For him, being sensitive meant being self-protective, vigilant, and aware of threats. It was literally a survival skill. Sadly, he was accustomed to being laughed at by those who understood neither his complexities nor his gifts.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Beyond all that – and maybe because of all that – Spencer was also just plain <i>fabulous</i>. His shirt collection alone was the envy of countless gay men. He could go into a menswear store and, within minutes, locate the chicest clothes, uncover the buried bargains, and spot the cute clerks. It was awesome to witness, and I got to do it on many occasions, in many cities, on four continents.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">And he loved Motown Music. Oh my god, did he love Motown Music. Diana Ross and the Supremes! The Temptations! Martha and the Vandellas! The Four Tops! The Marvelettes! He had all the Motown records, knew all the lyrics, and could do all the dance moves. Not only did he love the music, he also related to the underdog status that Motown artists had to deal with. In the lives of these artists – fraught with disadvantage, condescension, and appropriation from main stream white culture – Spencer gleaned hope, courage, and self-determination. In them he glimpsed a template for fierce resilience and powerful resistance. A template that nurtured him and lent him nobility. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">He enjoyed nothing more than spending hours with his beloved sister listening to Motown music and trying to stump each other with Motown trivia questions. Happy times for both of them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Which brings us, peculiarly, back to Sudbury High School. Which was not about happy times for him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">High school in the 1960s was a special kind of Hell for Queer people. In ways that only marginalized people can fully grasp, the daily, unending torrent of abuse, bullying, and shaming at Sudbury High School wore down Spencer’s soul. And this abuse didn’t only come from peers. Shockingly, it sometimes came from teachers too. Abuse from teachers fell into two corrosive categories: the first was failing to step in and defend Spencer when he was being openly bullied in the school corridors; and the second was actively participating in the homophobia themselves by sneeringly calling him a <i>faggot</i> – to his face. Nice. No wonder he struggled at school and vowed to cut loose as soon as humanly possible. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not everything at Sudbury High was negative. There were islands of kindness and care. A special English teacher who encouraged his writing. A few friends – mostly girls – who helped protect him. An understanding math teacher who cut him slack when he couldn’t face attending school in person. But mostly, his time at Sudbury High School was bleak and soul destroying. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Except for that late-1960s school talent show...<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">As Spencer related the story to me, there was an annual student talent show at Sudbury High School. It was a highlight of the school year and always sold out. In Spencer’s last year at the school, he decided to enter the show and make a defiant, in-your-face exit statement to SHS – a modern-day exorcism. In his words, “I just wanted to shout, <i>FUCK YOU, SUDBURY HIGH!</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Spencer hinted there was subterfuge involved in the audition process. He didn’t tell me the details, but he knew that if he auditioned the act he had planned, he would never have made the cut. In any case, he was able to secure a place in the show.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">For him, preparing for this exit performance was a healing process. He took all the elements of his persona that had made him the object of derision at the school – his effeminate demeanour, his swish hand gestures, his flamboyant clothing, his love of dance – and turned them into a spectacular routine.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">First, he chose the music. Motown – of course! He ran through the options and chose Diana Ross’ “Stop In The Name Of Love!” It was his favourite song, and he had already done countless solo dance routines to the music in his basement. There was more to his choice than that, however. He wanted to have Diana Ross and the Supremes – and all the other Motown greats – on stage with him during his performance. He wanted to draw on their love, courage, and glittering fabulousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Next came hours of secret rehearsals to get the moves just right and perfectly timed with the music. Swishing and sashaying! Pelvic twisting and booty shaking! Sensuous moves with a feather boa!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"> And lots and lots and lots of attitude.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then came the clothing and accessories. And, let’s be frank – Spencer <i>did</i> love to accessorize. After hours of fretting and fussing, his ‘ensem’ was prime-time ready: Purple velvet bell bottoms. Pink feather boa. Glossy patent-leather platform shoes. Gucci gold sunglasses. Paisley shirt with billowing sleeves. Leather vest – with tassels. Wide brim leather hat – with tassels. No doubt about it: it was a fabulously flaming jubilation!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">And then – finally – the big night arrived. Spencer was nervous, to be sure, but he was also aware that this <b><i>WAS</i></b> his moment to shine. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">And shine he did! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">He tells me that his performance was extraordinary – a true launch into the next phase of life. The fact that the performance was greeted with absolute silence mattered not a whit. He finished his routine, took a deep, elegant bow, and left the stage triumphantly, with his head high and his soul intact.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">And he never looked back. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Until...about thirty years later on that hot summer afternoon when Spencer led me into the hushed silence of the Sudbury High School auditorium. He wanted to revisit the exact location that he had left the pain of high school behind. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">What an honour it was to have shared that moment with him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Stop in the name of love/before you break my heart.” Too late, dear Spencer, too late. By the time you died in 2012, you had already broken my heart. Many times over. Ten years later, I hope you have found the inner peace that so often eluded you while you were alive. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-46215396897812940712022-03-09T12:44:00.004-05:002022-03-09T12:48:30.338-05:00"Our Servant Job" - Blog Post March 9, 2022<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Our Servant Job</span></i></b></p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">A Presentation by Larry Tayler<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Picton, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">In Person: Sunday, 6 March 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Via Zoom: 13 March 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">“Consider our servant Job: Thoughts on Suffering, Grieving, and Healing.” Now there’s a catchy little title! It might intrigue some people, while prompting others to seek the nearest exit. And, lest you think that “Consider <i>our</i> servant Job” is a quotation from the Old Testament’s <i>Book of Job</i>, in fact I’m quoting the Koran’s version of <i>Job</i>, Surah 38, verse 41. The Old Testament version, in Chapter 1, verse 8, of <i>The Book of Job</i> refers to “<i>my</i> servant Job,” not <i>our</i> servant Job. There’s your Bible fact of the day!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">This morning, I’m talking about Job and the things I’ve been learning <i>about</i> him and <i>from</i> him lately, in the hope that you’ll find some helpful ideas along the way. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Let me start with a disclaimer. As I have said before in this sacred place, I am not a theologian. The dear poet Wendell Berry writes in his 2013 collection of poems,<i>This Day</i>, “If I’m a theologian, I am one to the extent I have learned to duck when the small, haughty doctrines fly overhead, dropping their loads of whitewash at random on the faces of those who look toward Heaven.” (VII, page 321) I’m not sure I’d put it quite that way, but you get my drift. What I can say, however, is that I am an engaged and daily reader of the Bible. Also, I can’t direct you to specific verses in the Bible to <b><i>prove</i></b> what I’m about to say. The views you hear expressed today have not been stress-tested by any mosque, synagogue, church, or council of elders. Let me also tell you what won’t be in my presentation. There will be no discussion of the nature of evil or sinfulness, nor will there be anything about the roots of suffering in misogyny, racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, xenophobia. or any of the other spiritual malignancies of our time. Finally, I will not be considering the role of Jesus in any of the above. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">So, let’s start off with a true story – about Margaret. Except her real name is not Margaret. Although she died in 1997, I still respect her privacy when I tell this story. The rest of it is true.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">I became friends with Margaret at the Toronto Quaker meeting, where we were both members. She was a passionate peace activist who believed in the transformative power of witnessing. She willingly put herself in harm’s way to accompany people who were protesting violence and injustice, especially in Central America. She was a courageous, humble beacon of hope. In the mid-1990s, she was diagnosed with cancer. And, as sometimes happens in Quaker circles, she asked to have a Committee of Care established to support her. And she asked me to serve on that committee. For two years, Margaret’s Committee of Care met regularly, usually in her home. Most of the time, we simply listened and took our direction from her. As her cancer progressed – such an odd phrase for such a devastating process – the committee became more hands-on and actively involved. One of our most important roles was to become gate-keepers to regulate the flow of well-wishers and friends who wanted to spend time with her. We especially tried to filter out those who wanted to bring miracle cures or suggest trips to dodgy foreign clinics. We were mostly successful. But one of her well-intentioned friends breached our protective moat and provided me with a life lesson that still resonates. Margaret‘s friend asked her, “What did you do to bring this cancer into your life?” The question devastated Margaret, who had already begun despairing about what was happening in her body. To suggest that Margaret had somehow brought the disease on herself was one of the most brutally insensitive assaults I have ever witnessed. I had not realized before just how many people believe that we bring disease on ourselves and that our suffering is, in effect, a punishment for our misbehaviour. (I’m steering away from that problematic word ‘sin’ here.) Margaret’s Committee of Care, along with her enormously supportive family, helped her through this crisis. But the wound was deep. She never really did ‘get over it’ – another incredibly odd phrase – but she eventually managed to see beyond the hurt and fully embrace the love that surrounded her. On the day she died, Margaret wrote this: “The things we learn from cancer are related to all life experiences. They are not sent to teach us something. It’s up to us what we learn from them.” “It’s up to us what we learn from them.” Those are profound words, and I hope you will find them echoed and reinforced by my thoughts about Job this morning. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">And just one more thing about Margaret: my experience of accompanying her on her final journey helped prepare me for accompanying Spencer, my first husband, on his final journey fourteen years later. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">So, with all that in my heart, let’s take a look at <i>The Book of Job</i>, starting with <i>Job 101</i>. And I’ll begin by saying that the cliché about someone having “the patience of Job” is totally misplaced. Mr. Job is possibly the least patient person in the entire Bible!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">The Book of Job</span></i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> appears in the Tanakh, i.e., the Hebrew Bible, also known as the Old Testament by many Christians. By Biblical standards, it is a short book, only 42 chapters long. My morning practice of reading one chapter of the Bible per day gets me through <i>The Book of Job</i> in six weeks. No one knows who the author was. Given the different literary styles in the book, there may well have been more than one author. Its original language was Aramaic. Bible scholars estimate that it was written between the seventh and fourth centuries, BCE (Before Common Era), thus making it about 2400 to 2700 years old. The story seems to be set in what we would now call the Arabian Peninsula. The book’s introductory notes in my New Revised Standard version the Bible say, “<i>The Book of Job</i> does not explain the mystery of suffering or ‘justify the ways of God’ with human beings, but it does probe the depths of faith in the midst of suffering.” Well, that’s a miracle of understatement. I have been intrigued and repelled by <i>The Book of Job</i> for almost sixty years. It simultaneously appeals to my appreciation of logical structure and elegant flow of ideas, while also horrifying me with the apparent bet that God and Satan make about how far Job can be pushed before he renounces his faith. Because, at least on the surface, that’s what is going on here: a high-stakes debate between God and Satan about the nature of faith. Now, this Satan isn’t the Devil or Lucifer of the New Testament who is the personification of all that’s evil, complete with red cape, horns, and pitch fork. Instead, Satan at this earlier stage of Biblical writing is more of a challenger or an accuser – which is the literal Hebrew translation of the word. Satan gets to ask God hard questions in the heavenly court. Both God and Satan agree that Job is blameless and upright. He is wealthy, generous, kind, and observant of all the religious traditions. He is also faithful. As I quoted in my introduction, in Chapter 1, verse 8, God says to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man who fears God and turns away from evil.” Satan responds with the most provocative and profound question in the Bible: “Does Job fear God for nothing?” Think about that question for a second. “Does Job fear God for nothing?”, i.e., Do human beings fear or serve God because of blessings they receive from God? Satan says that if you take away Job’s health, wealth, and loved ones, Job will disavow his faith. “...[S]tretch out your hand now, and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face,” according to Chapter 1, verse 11. In other words, of course Job is faithful while everything is going well for him, but as soon as he starts suffering, he will lose his faith in God very quickly. After this Satanic challenge, God says, “Very well, all that [Job] has is in your power.” (1:12) In effect, God says, ‘All right, Satan. You’re on. Let’s see if you’re correct. Job, his family, and all he owns are now in your power. Make his life miserable, just don’t kill him. Let’s see what happens.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">And so the game is on. Soon Job loses everything, starting with his possessions: his oxen, his donkeys, his sheep, his camels, and his servants. Then, devastatingly, come the deaths of his three daughters and seven sons – all at the same time. Finally, “Satan...inflicted loathsome sores on Job from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. Job took a potsherd with which to scrape himself, and sat among the ashes.” (2: 7 & 8) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Job does not understand why he is suffering. Did he not follow all the rules? Was he not a faithful servant? Was he not a good man? Job, of course, was used to getting his own way. A pretty entitled kind of guy is our Mr. Job. As a result, he wants answers. He wants them now. <i>And he wants those answers directly from God.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">God <i>does</i> appear, but before he does so, Job is visited by four of his friends – Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, and Elihu – who, while expressing sympathy for Job’s suffering, also ask him what he had done to deserve it. (Remember the story of Margaret?) Job says he did <i>nothing</i> to deserve it. But the friends keep saying, well, you must have done something bad because God does not punish the innocent. As Eliphaz says in Chapter 4, “...those who plow iniquity and sow trouble reap the same. By the breath of God they perish, and by the blast of his anger they are consumed.” (4:8-9) And then Job’s friends smugly rattle on for another 354 verses in a similar vein. To his credit, Job keeps insisting that he has done nothing wrong and demands to hear from God directly. As Job says in Chapter 6, “Teach me, and I will be silent; make me understand how I have gone wrong.” (6:24) Again in Chapter 13, “...I would speak to the Almighty, and I desire to argue my case with God...I will defend my ways to {God’s] face. That will be my salvation.” (13:3; 15-16) And then in exasperation in Chapter 16, he calls out to his friends, “Have windy words no limit?...[W]hat provokes you that you keep on talking?” (16:3) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Finally, in Chapter 38, four chapters before the end of the book, God appears – “out of the whirlwind” – and says, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?...Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?...Have the gates of death been revealed to you...? Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth? Declare, if you know all this.” (38: 2-4; 17-18) The theologians John H. Walton and Tremper Longman III observe in their book <i>How To Read Job</i> that their preferred understanding of God’s response is, “I am God, who is supremely wise and powerful, so I want you to trust me even when you don’t understand.” (page 20) The other version is, of course, “I am God, and you are not. So just shut up.” However you understand God’s response, for the next 129 verses God goes up one side of Job and down the other. “Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place, so that it might take hold of the skirts of the earth, and the wicked be shaken out of it?” (38:12-13) “Surely you know, for you were born then, and the number of your days is great!” (38:21) “Is it by your wisdom that the hawk soars, and spreads its wings toward the south?” (39:26) “Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?” (40:2)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">And what is Job’s reply to God when God has finished? Chapter 40, Verse 4: “I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth.” And then in Chapter 42, verses 3 and 6: “I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know...but now my eye sees you; therefore I...repent in dust and ashes.” (42:3-6) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Job then goes silent. We hear no more from him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">We do, however, hear from God one more time when he torches Job’s so-called friends: “My wrath is kindled against you...for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.” (42:7) He tells the friends to seek Job’s forgiveness by making burnt offerings to him, which they do. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">In the last chapter of the book, Job’s fortunes are restored, including three more daughters and seven more sons. As if that makes up for the ten children who had died earlier. Finally, in the last verse of the book, Job dies, “old and full of days.” (42:17) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">In the entire book, never once does Job disavow his faith in God. And never once does God actually answer Job’s questions.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Which makes <i>The Book of Job</i> frustrating, illusive, confusing...and profound. In other words, it’s a supremely human book. And for centuries, it has challenged Jews and Christians to consider God’s role in our lives, the nature of suffering, and our understanding of faith. It evokes <i>very</i> tough questions. Why <i>do</i> we suffer if we are faithful? Is suffering a punishment from God for sin? Why <i>do</i> the innocent suffer? Why do the guilty sometimes appear <i>not</i> to suffer? If God is love, how can God allow suffering? If God can’t protect us from suffering, how can we believe in God at all? Do we, in fact, fear God for nothing?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Now, I’ve phrased these questions in a very conventional manner, reflecting both traditional understandings of God in the creation of the world and our efforts to fathom the workings of God in our daily lives. In researching this presentation, I’ve read perhaps too many books about Old Testament theology. For such a short text, <i>The Book of Job</i> sure has inspired great oceans of commentary, much of it arid, predictable, and longwinded. Alas, not all theologians are skilled writers. Some could stand a good dose of Alice Munro’s editing skills to shorten and sharpen their work. And some, in my estimation, even lack compassion for Job. For instance, John H. Walton and Tremper Longman III, the authors of <i>How To Read J</i>ob that I referenced earlier, grumble away on page 57, “The book of Job, despite its title, is not about Job...he represents yet one more wrong way to respond to suffering.” <i>Really?</i> “[O]ne more wrong way to respond to suffering”? Talk about being removed from the real world of human anguish. But their book <i>did</i> help me to start moving away from their conventional understandings of Job. I began to realize that I had been missing the point of <i>The Book of Job</i> for almost six decades. I now believe that all the pyrotechnics of God’s fearsome words from the whirlwind and all the blinkered and achingly self-serving words of his friends are smoke and mirrors, taking our attention away from what is <i>really</i> going on here: This is <i>Job’s</i>journey – his painful, heart-wrenching, clumsy, and profoundly human journey towards healing. Job’s friends and God play only supporting roles. This is, after all, <i>The Book of Job</i> and not – excuse the seeming blasphemy – <i>The Book of God</i>. The theological complexities of God and Satan’s bizarre test of faith still leave me baffled and bewildered. I can, however, relate to the totally human journey of Job. And, most significantly, to begin seeing Job’s journey as a profoundly healing one.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">To understand how I got to this new understanding of <i>The Book of Job</i>, I want to talk about two fabulous American women, the therapist Dr. Pauline Boss and the late journalist Joan Didion. Boss for her therapeutic model of working through grief and Didion for her Job-like journey of living through grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Let’s start with Pauline Boss. Dr. Boss is a pioneering behavioural therapist and theorist. Many of you may be familiar with her work. In the 1970s, she coined the term ‘ambiguous loss’ to help her understand and treat people dealing with grief, loss, and trauma. Her best known books are <i>Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief</i> in 1999, and <i>Loss, Trauma, and Resilience</i> in 2006. Her latest book, which was just published in January, is <i>The Myth of Closure: Ambiguous Loss in a Time of Pandemic and Change</i>, written in the aftermath of both her husband’s death in 2020 and the ongoing COVID pandemic. She is Professor Emeritus at the University of Minnesota. No slouch is 87-year-old Pauline Boss. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Allow me one quibble: I wish Dr. Boss had not entitled her new book <i>The <b>Myth</b> of Closure</i>. For me, myths are powerful stories that help us understand the grand dynamics of our world. They are not factually true, but they do reveal great truths about us. Alas, in the last twenty years, the word myth has taken on the negative connotation of lie or falsehood, which is the way Dr. Boss uses the word in the title of her book. For me, this represents the debasement of a powerful word and a compelling concept. If only Dr. Boss had asked for my opinion!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">But back to “ambiguous loss”: the term covers a wide range of paradoxes and ambiguities in our lives. It deals with the tough questions we ask ourselves, especially when we experience a major loss. The kind of questions that – no matter how eloquently or emphatically we ask them – elicit ambiguous answers at best or no answers at all. And as Dr. Boss said in a 2016 <i>On Being</i> interview with Krista Tippett, “We’re not comfortable with unanswered questions.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">As for examples of tough questions, here are a few: What did I do to deserve this? What more could I have done to prevent this? How am I ever going to carry on? Why is it taking me so long to get over this? Why do I just feel like crying all of the time? How can I ever be happy again? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">In her therapeutic model, Boss honours and venerates such tough questions, but she offers no quick solutions. Because there are none. It’s an approach that doesn’t sit comfortably in a world that is fixated on instant resolutions, precise flow-charts, and <i>moving on</i>. What Boss <i>does</i> do is to help us understand what’s happening and to accept the ambiguities and paradoxes we are experiencing. She also helps us recognize that everyone has different journeys and timelines when dealing with grief and suffering. Grief, after all, is a circular journey, not a linear one, and it can’t be flowcharted or pre-planned. Because dealing with grief is what’s happening here. Job, all of us here, everyone – we are all dealing with grief at a deep, visceral level, especially in the last two years. Remember that Job loses all ten of his children on one day! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Dr. Boss also helps us do something beyond understanding our grieving process – she helps us to disconnect from the self-blame and the self-doubt that so often – and so debilitatingly – accompany our grief and our suffering. In helping grieving people accept that their grief will not be easily resolved, she is helping them to tolerate the ambiguity and paradoxes of their journeys. They are moving beyond the desire for closure, which comes from both internal conditioning and external societal pressure. There is no quick closure for the big ticket losses in our lives. In embracing this courageous and open-ended grief process, we are developing resilience and flexibility. As Dr. Boss says in <i>The Myth of Closure</i>, “Resilient people can adapt.” (page 42).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">And I am arguing that this is exactly the process upon which Job is embarking by the end of his story. At the beginning of his story, he is filled with rage. He wants answers about why he is suffering so much. He thinks that by arguing his case directly with God, he – Job – will be able to understand and ‘find closure’. When he finally gets what he thinks he wants, he finds that God’s answers are as elusive as the wind. They offer no solace whatsoever, nor does God intend them to. God responds powerfully and passionately, but instead of answering Job’s questions, God puts Job’s suffering into the wider context of all the suffering that surrounds our species and our planet. God makes it clear that it is not up to God to heal us – that’s <i>OUR</i> work as individual human beings. God does not abandon us or leave us alone. But God <i>does</i> expect substantial sweat equity from us. Which is why, in my revised understanding of <i>The Book of Job</i>, that Job goes silent after God speaks. Job realizes where he fits in the grand, infinite scheme of things. He is not the only one who is suffering and grieving on this planet, even though that realization doesn’t reduce his suffering one iota. So Job goes silent. He goes inward. He must start his healing journey from within. And that healing journey is what Job can offer as a gift to God and humanity as a path through grief. Job anticipates the inspired work of Pauline Boss 2700 years later by accepting and integrating the ambiguity and paradoxes of the grieving process into his life. Will he ever have those first ten children back in his life? Only in his soul. Will he ever have closure? No, but he will begin healing. Will he ever resume his life? Yes, he will.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">So, let’s talk about dear Joan Didion before I conclude. Sadly, she died just before Christmas. As with the work of Pauline Boss, I am sure many of you are familiar with Joan Didion’s writing. Best known for her novels, essays, and journalism, she – along with her husband, the writer and screenwriter John Gregory Dunne – were the darlings of both Hollywood and New York City. They appeared to be the perfect bi-coastal power couple. Until – and, of course, there’s always an ‘until’ – John Gregory Dunne died suddenly in their Upper East Side Manhattan apartment as they sat down for dinner on December 30, 2003. At the time, they were consumed with the serious illness of their daughter, who was near death in a nearby hospital. Joan Didion’s life was blown into utter chaos as she desperately dealt with both crises simultaneously. The next year was a prolonged nightmare. She obsessed endlessly about the minute details surrounding her husband’s death, her daughter’s near-fatal illness, and how she had managed them. What could she have done to prevent them? Where had she failed? What mistakes had she made? What signs had she missed? What was it she wasn’t understanding? To help her fathom her profound grief and confusion, she wrote <i>The Year of Magical Thinking</i>, which was published in 2005. It is a raw, elegant, and agonizing description of pain and suffering. I was privileged to see the stage adaptation of the book, starring Vanessa Redgrave, in London in 2008. Even though I had already read the book, the play still had the emotional impact of a jackhammer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Here are some quotations from Didion’s book that will give you a sense of her writing:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">• “I see [my reactions]...as the equivalent of a cry of helpless rage, another way of saying <i>How could this have happened when everything was normal</i>.” (page 68)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">• “Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.” (page 27)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">• “The craziness is receding but no clarity is taking its place. I look for resolution and find none.” (page 225)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">• “...I was born fearful...[S]ome events in life would remain beyond my ability to control or manage them. Some events would just happen...<i>You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends</i>.” (page 98)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">By the end of the book – at the end of her year of magical thinking – she has reached a point of clarity and what feels like the beginning of healing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">• “I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive in order to keep them with us. I also know that if we are to live there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go, keep them dead. Let them become the photograph on the table...You [have] to go with the change.” (pages 225-227)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">That passage just wipes me right out. I cannot read it without crying.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Let’s briefly look at the similarities and differences between Job and Joan Didion before I draw to a close today. I think there are four illuminating similarities:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">1) Both Job and Joan Didion are decidedly entitled human beings. They are accustomed to enormous privilege and to getting their own ways.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">2) When something doesn’t go according to plan in their lives, they both have endless questions – plus an expectation that they will get clear answers and get them quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">3) They are both suffering enormously. Their wealth and their privilege do not insulate them from their pain.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">4) And finally, they both reach a point where they do, in fact, resume their lives. In doing so, they had begun the untidy process of healing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">There are, however, two significant differences between them: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">1) Job directs all of his questions at God. Initially, Joan Didion directs her questions at medical staff. Then, more significantly, she starts directing those questions at herself. God appears to play no acknowledged role in her process. It’s never, “Why, God, why?”. It’s always, “Why, Joan, why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">2) There are gendered differences between them about assigning blame and responsibility. Throughout most of <i>The Book of Job</i>, Job externalizes the cause of his grief. <i>Why are you making me suffer, God?</i> On the other hand, Joan Didion internalizes the cause of her grief. <i>What could I have done to prevent this? </i>In my thirty-six years of teaching, I saw this pernicious pattern frequently: girls tended to internalize their failures and externalize their accomplishments. More simply put, girls blamed themselves for their failures and credited others with their successes. Boys tended to do the opposite: externalize their failures and internalize their accomplishments. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">As I said when looking at the similarities between them, however, they both did start the untidy process of healing. The fact that they did so after having followed distinct and gendered journeys does not diminish the power of their healing in any way.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">So, let’s bring this presentation to an end. We have travelled with three remarkable human beings this morning: Job, Pauline Boss, and Joan Didion. Not too shabby a collection of dinner guests. All three teach us about the nature of grief and suffering. And all three model profound, yet diverse healing journeys. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">In the 1980s, at the height of the AIDS pandemic, I volunteered with an organization called the AIDS Mastery Workshops in Toronto. These workshops provided intense, emotionally charged three-day retreats for people who had been diagnosed with AIDS or who were HIV positive, plus their significant others and caregivers. These were the days before effective treatments, when an AIDS diagnosis often meant a lingering death, social ostracism, and appalling discrimination. The workshops focused on helping change internal attitudes towards AIDS and HIV. They helped those attending to actively <i>live</i> with AIDS. My small role was sometimes to be the workshop nurse. I co-ordinated the complex medication regimes so that the participants didn’t have to worry about the timing of their next pill. I perfected the art of appearing at precisely the right moment with precisely the right medication. Most of the people who took those workshops are now dead. I know that, because I attended many of their funerals. Those lovely, lovely people taught me enormously valuable lessons about living one’s life to the fullest with dignity and with purpose. They weren’t in those workshops to get cured. They were in them to heal. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">I offer them and Job and Pauline Boss and Joan Didion to you as exemplars for living with grief and healing with grace.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Contact Information:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Larry Tayler<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">42 Curtis Street<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Picton ON K0K 2T0<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;">Email: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"><a href="mailto:larrytayler@gmail.com"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Palatino;">larrytayler@gmail.com</span></a></span><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> (Please note the spelling of Tayler.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 24.533334732055664px;"> </span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-42590674599524189282022-02-11T17:27:00.000-05:002022-02-11T17:27:55.276-05:00City People: The Joys & Ambiguities of Urban Photography<p style="text-align: center;"> <b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 18pt;">February 2022 Blog</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Urban photography is my favourite form of photography. As I’ve often said, photographic heaven for me is the corner of Yonge and Dundas Streets in downtown Toronto, one of the busiest, most diverse, and most vibrant intersections in Canada. I can spend hours there with my camera and easily record hundreds of photos in a session. Which is what I’ve been doing for seven years now (alas, less frequently in the last two years). <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">During that time, I have never, I repeat NEVER, been challenged or growled at by anyone. Sometimes, I may get a scowl or a raised eyebrow, but nothing beyond that. Mostly, I am completely ignored. After all, what threat can this elderly photographer pose to the public good? I suppose I could get sanctimonious about being marginalized and stereotyped, but I don’t. Being rendered invisible is a gift for urban photographers. Invisibility lets me get away with so much, and not just in my photography. One of the joys of retirement has been realizing just how much mischief I can get away with. (Shhh! Don’t tell anyone. Keep it a secret just between us.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And because I am invisible, I can record the most remarkable faces without self-conscious posing. And if someone does look directly at me at the instant I release the shutter, I am often rewarded with an image that is especially nuanced and engaging. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mind you, when I photograph in an urban location, I do keep my urban smarts on high alert. Living in Toronto for thirty years equipped me with a full set of urban survival skills. Also, I am not reckless about my photography. Early on, I learned the value of lowering my camera right after recording a photo, while simultaneously turning away. I avoid eye contact with my subjects. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also avoid photographing the vulnerable and those who are clearly struggling. And I never single out a child for photography, beautiful though the photograph might have been. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don’t talk to the people I photograph; I don’t ask their permission; and I don’t have them sign a waiver. They are as anonymous to me as I am to them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">The title of this blog post refers to both the joys and ambiguities of urban photography. The joys for me are self-evident – I am blessed with portraits of hundreds of beautiful, fabulous human beings. When I look at these faces afterwards on my computer monitor, I am often moved to tears. Such gifts they are in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I know that there are also ambiguities. I am an uninvited guest in the lives of these people. Here I am, inserting myself and my camera into their personal space without their consent. Not all photographers agree with my approach. Canadian law, however, is on my side: as long as I am on public property, I am allowed to photograph what I wish. If it’s a privately owned location where the public is welcomed (a shopping centre, for instance), I can also photograph what I wish unless there are signs (or security guards) telling me not to. (The situation in Québec is more restrictive, where people in public have the right to the privacy of their own image.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I acknowledge that there is a range of informed opinion about photographing people in public without their consent. Whenever I am doing such photography, I am prepared to respond to those who might object to my photographing them by a) engaging in a respectful conversation; and b) offering to delete the photos in question. And I always carry a supply of my business cards to hand out as needed. So far, I have handed out very few.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">At the moment, I am assembling a collection of urban portraits from the last seven years. I hope to arrange a future exhibit of the best photos under the title of “City People”. No details, dates, format, or venue are in place. At this point, I just like playing with the idea!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy this selection of twenty-five urban photographs that follows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some things to bear in mind:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">• All the photos were recorded in Toronto, a city I adore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">• I love every one of the photos and thank the subjects for the joy they bring into my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">• I do not know any of these people.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">• If any of them see their photo online and wish to have it deleted, I will do so immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Until next month’s blog post, I wish you good health and happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA1uCwhtyoFiWo5_Pb8KUPLbGqVsSlzPxeWcU2pa9SkY8MSaeEAR5dHgagU_z2LwGS_TyLcWCSg3WsMIMGKD4ZCeNAIEg9uTArNKTTeYzhQ6C3D1yeD0r57fxcdjCIqwv-p9mWUumIxQrJR_RSaHfaJi4WKxWWor8OQnSBOONwUdsNbu5EO-rwayO5=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="1240" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiA1uCwhtyoFiWo5_Pb8KUPLbGqVsSlzPxeWcU2pa9SkY8MSaeEAR5dHgagU_z2LwGS_TyLcWCSg3WsMIMGKD4ZCeNAIEg9uTArNKTTeYzhQ6C3D1yeD0r57fxcdjCIqwv-p9mWUumIxQrJR_RSaHfaJi4WKxWWor8OQnSBOONwUdsNbu5EO-rwayO5=w640-h634" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-68482538301048124162022-01-19T15:24:00.002-05:002022-01-19T15:24:46.003-05:00January 2022 - Celebrating the Joys of the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney<p> <span style="font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Celebrating the Joys of the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ah, January...that month of the year when I whine about the utter relentlessness of winter. I’m pretty much a ‘glass half-full’ kind of guy, so I can usually talk myself out of a funk. And whining certainly helps. After all, I’ve been doing this winter survival thing for 75 years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Which is why I find that extravagant displays of colour are so restorative and joyful at this time of year. The old Eaton’s stores – remember them? – knew that what Canadians desperately craved in the winter was a reassurance that there really was life beyond snow shovelling and slush. Their annual “Uncrate The Sun!” sales events were inspired. To walk into the flagship Eaton’s store on Queen Street in Toronto and see all the colourful decorations and sun-themed displays was absolutely restorative, especially when I was wearing sloshing galoshes, a heavy Hudson’s Bay parka, a hair-flattening ugly toque, and bulky gloves. Blessedly, Bill’s wondrous quilts have the same vibrant healing qualities for me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Amongst my other winter coping strategies are grandchildren’s smiles. And Basset Hound cuddles. And model train magazines. And photography. And writing. And reading. And walking. And having a host of delicious projects to work on. And, of course, living with Bill. My list is impressive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, for three years – in 2017, 2018, and 2019 – my favourite coping strategy was planning our wintertime escapes to Australia. For those three glorious years, we left winter behind and let Air Canada gently deposit us in Australia’s glorious warmth and hospitality. Alas, we’ve not been able to do it in 2020, 2021, or 2022. But what I have been able to do is to look over the thousands of photographs I made on our trips. One of my favourite places to photograph was the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney in the heart of that breathtaking city. I have curated a selection of twelve photographs in the hope that you will find them as healing and joyful as I do. Enjoy uncrating the sun!</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHTY50HcEDkcCFQFdvd1shD0ypo68BNYZ_vls_pi2alro1ueKcxs-5bd2Jrt8wNLLTa1NgxRtNNLFPyevRTL8hRkG_z7x8lFYz8IMxd1qMGLFp-kDJ8aNN9T6vMoObq016QfRyP8Gp7jOkVQMG09zeumA5K5l_WWaYoDEV0PNjp9tnXYXJbMkF7clw=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHTY50HcEDkcCFQFdvd1shD0ypo68BNYZ_vls_pi2alro1ueKcxs-5bd2Jrt8wNLLTa1NgxRtNNLFPyevRTL8hRkG_z7x8lFYz8IMxd1qMGLFp-kDJ8aNN9T6vMoObq016QfRyP8Gp7jOkVQMG09zeumA5K5l_WWaYoDEV0PNjp9tnXYXJbMkF7clw=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-27586008919473963262021-12-18T16:33:00.002-05:002021-12-18T16:33:54.636-05:00December, 2021 Blog Entry - Gratitude for the Prince Edward County Photography Club<p> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">As I put 2021 into perspective, I am left with conflicting emotions.</span><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">This year has been filled with miracles, starting with Bill’s liver transplant in July and his marvellous recovery. Making Bill’s transplant possible was the remarkable generosity of his daughter, Kate, who was his liver donor. Her recovery has been equally marvellous. <sub><o:p></o:p></sub></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">At the same time, this year has seen grief and loss. Too many relatives and friends have died, with little public way to mourn them. Our Tayler family picnic next August will be missing four dear souls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And while I am immensely grateful for my three COVID vaccine doses – not to mention Bill’s three – I know that the distribution of the vaccines around the planet has been tragically flawed and inequitable. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">During the pandemic, as one sage observed, we have not <i>all</i> been in the same boat. We have all been in the same <i>storm</i>, but we have been in wildly different boats.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is no way to square these contradictions. At the end of the day, I muddle through the best I can.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">An important part of muddling through for me has been the daily invocation of gratitude – profound, humbling gratitude – for both the ordinary and the extraordinary blessings in my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">One of those blessings is the Prince Edward County Photography Club. The club membership comprises a wide range of talented people, each possessing a love of photography. Although we have not met in person for almost two years, the Club has continued to offer monthly theme challenges and activities to keep our cameras clicking and our minds engaged. The monthly cycle of projects and deadlines has been most helpful in keeping me organized and focused on the world beyond my navel. Instead of stagnating during the pandemic, my photography skills have sharpened. My gratitude for the club and its activities runs deep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">With that in mind, I want to dedicate this month’s blog entry to the Prince Edward County Photography Club. I’ve posted twelve photos below – one per month – that I have submitted in response to club themes and activities. I hope you enjoy looking at them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Until next month, have a gracious solstice, a merry Christmas, a happy holiday, and a healthy new year. And stay safe.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUumFD7NRgfR-YnmYlwa8mcIEjEbakaUaJhw97b01W4peVsUx2NNRunLpPIoqsCQhqArmaYFFQ3JfNHPXB_VXelE0Bqb7lYPXwcg8Y7kqqu_uy_-seL2ue_tuBq2BlRsD8wd8mvtp9pIFMLi2GgfNEUVtrMC6DmVUkfIYPLkDqoxj_Bg8zFXqEAN9n=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUumFD7NRgfR-YnmYlwa8mcIEjEbakaUaJhw97b01W4peVsUx2NNRunLpPIoqsCQhqArmaYFFQ3JfNHPXB_VXelE0Bqb7lYPXwcg8Y7kqqu_uy_-seL2ue_tuBq2BlRsD8wd8mvtp9pIFMLi2GgfNEUVtrMC6DmVUkfIYPLkDqoxj_Bg8zFXqEAN9n=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">January Theme: Black & White Photography</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">VIA Station, Belleville</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Check a variation of this image </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">in the November photo below.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmXrW7ZQtZparf2ZNR-re-kWqyEOB3pajqVJtF8L0rXoxn12GNnj-v6YhrciI63MJiY5jSC4yjtFYLfIE7NaEJHgEvTNQR5wADfdLQc7hvq1HNcxZyCRyqXbNiqmV3-e4eLouJVBcqJRZYa2wfXUH0cOeE65Lxu7YVwvCZ8lHt0-owgs3I-A2Jd-Ps=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="1240" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmXrW7ZQtZparf2ZNR-re-kWqyEOB3pajqVJtF8L0rXoxn12GNnj-v6YhrciI63MJiY5jSC4yjtFYLfIE7NaEJHgEvTNQR5wADfdLQc7hvq1HNcxZyCRyqXbNiqmV3-e4eLouJVBcqJRZYa2wfXUH0cOeE65Lxu7YVwvCZ8lHt0-owgs3I-A2Jd-Ps=w640-h404" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">February Theme: Shades of White</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">County Traders, Bloomfield</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAvcrqnUmb0iKUsjVg3L6McjHm2lYfwjBOF0qitHLkfKjKNZ6diFCFv2KGjyd7RyfGkt39Lo_dn95e2ZU9AchM5qIbVBErWalS0TmmWDjcbvuaLNA9lAUQJqZtfRa5w1Ojbb00MSf9cEo664xhDfk5tzSVboE8yqX1EYtfklvEpWERcjJju-y-oo2-=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAvcrqnUmb0iKUsjVg3L6McjHm2lYfwjBOF0qitHLkfKjKNZ6diFCFv2KGjyd7RyfGkt39Lo_dn95e2ZU9AchM5qIbVBErWalS0TmmWDjcbvuaLNA9lAUQJqZtfRa5w1Ojbb00MSf9cEo664xhDfk5tzSVboE8yqX1EYtfklvEpWERcjJju-y-oo2-=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">March Theme: Colourful Abstractions</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Variations on the Underside of the Grand Staircase </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">of the Sydney Opera House</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9ni6QWVfz5wBGHzmNZZa0fFeKziGqDfqphN-HAVOK1zHOtg_4FMlRlwXVixEOimgZvS7vOAVeazNCOhDodpB2wI-fhUYlP1QpjK8BJ9Bb3x6J97d3KirAOEnFkdGQ2QJRlBM4WQ0I8XQRGzjZoNb4Dg78o8GVJ7ztYZa5B4CdBWsoY03K71URkUzo=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9ni6QWVfz5wBGHzmNZZa0fFeKziGqDfqphN-HAVOK1zHOtg_4FMlRlwXVixEOimgZvS7vOAVeazNCOhDodpB2wI-fhUYlP1QpjK8BJ9Bb3x6J97d3KirAOEnFkdGQ2QJRlBM4WQ0I8XQRGzjZoNb4Dg78o8GVJ7ztYZa5B4CdBWsoY03K71URkUzo=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">April Field Trip: H. R. Frank Conservation </span></span><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Area, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">north of Belleville </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">New growth in the wetlands</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs2840pw70SLbVg3Ofr7Zh8eOUhoAoxo7BytScgmYMMqZzb6Kaw1SYFzNz8au23H2hdnrDDfMps7sbZYFn4xEl541QMe3i5MyH0ImZM0xtQcW8e1CY-m9qqYT6r92bOOcRtDvXMYQ2dNNBGA20CGMfSDJEY3yGKIv9JW1gqWBgYQojKnPyWlfYLzlf=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="1240" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs2840pw70SLbVg3Ofr7Zh8eOUhoAoxo7BytScgmYMMqZzb6Kaw1SYFzNz8au23H2hdnrDDfMps7sbZYFn4xEl541QMe3i5MyH0ImZM0xtQcW8e1CY-m9qqYT6r92bOOcRtDvXMYQ2dNNBGA20CGMfSDJEY3yGKIv9JW1gqWBgYQojKnPyWlfYLzlf=w640-h414" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">May Field Trip: Sheffield Conservation Area,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">north of Napanee</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Purple Cadillac in a nearby field</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQLYJrVojVN_SIUXMOBwXR6zFx7YtKPptUKo2LqqzpE6fhpHjppBrHLKIWVr9fqElB23tMKnXq23Ghz_SWTIPeJBR0nfvKyy2YHqQ35tejdIKBxrcH3kiAKZDiQHUXm0QOcUxqJHtb6g-yfBFR73qhDxAVu85WnDNv2KwkA0mUwkN7NRdGRwf-pK16=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQLYJrVojVN_SIUXMOBwXR6zFx7YtKPptUKo2LqqzpE6fhpHjppBrHLKIWVr9fqElB23tMKnXq23Ghz_SWTIPeJBR0nfvKyy2YHqQ35tejdIKBxrcH3kiAKZDiQHUXm0QOcUxqJHtb6g-yfBFR73qhDxAVu85WnDNv2KwkA0mUwkN7NRdGRwf-pK16=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">June Theme: Macro Magic</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Detail of a Mark Armstrong glass pear, Wellington</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgn0bgtSq9c-kObPPC5rpWSw_731u7S6TNQxyqsw0_6WeIHAUF_ibFc_QZLkgx7h_IGH7cNZPabxZmbDiCG_W7EDRAHTcgL0HPfTSkEtlfrpzkzGhnW6IwyN-tv_G7r3TDmyTkduPECA0W671_PhQE_iwOcuSII0Q6Sc22WDi80WCxqfI0xXqYNN_e=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="1240" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgn0bgtSq9c-kObPPC5rpWSw_731u7S6TNQxyqsw0_6WeIHAUF_ibFc_QZLkgx7h_IGH7cNZPabxZmbDiCG_W7EDRAHTcgL0HPfTSkEtlfrpzkzGhnW6IwyN-tv_G7r3TDmyTkduPECA0W671_PhQE_iwOcuSII0Q6Sc22WDi80WCxqfI0xXqYNN_e=w640-h512" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">July Theme: Taking Flight</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gulls at Point Peter</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmcPYvYAKTA6QRimxKiB9XMLRyZ7GcfT9yp8ClpS-EcPiJ7CL5wZRkLDJLbxUILPNEP6jYRFFF79v8Nq2BVqGeeAmOU5X-eN93iGzozAW0_PA5uqo1bPCGM3Mw85r_TJ2cc8YBJ41jnFtDM7XfnGMbVdK9cBtNQNCsjT5Z7Y7yYuHF0nCQjEZGWS8S=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="1240" height="612" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmcPYvYAKTA6QRimxKiB9XMLRyZ7GcfT9yp8ClpS-EcPiJ7CL5wZRkLDJLbxUILPNEP6jYRFFF79v8Nq2BVqGeeAmOU5X-eN93iGzozAW0_PA5uqo1bPCGM3Mw85r_TJ2cc8YBJ41jnFtDM7XfnGMbVdK9cBtNQNCsjT5Z7Y7yYuHF0nCQjEZGWS8S=w640-h612" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">August Theme: Lazy, Hazy Days of Summer</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Yorkville Rock, Toronto</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjOO4a1RDh2e2mZHFnPjH3xyamPqkH-AgBdIsevJQ0TSCMl8ijrvws8hnh3BkV9577kfa91f3QN9G_Y1-7I0tWP9SXGyXf2Kq3x7oz8sAE33_vWO-kKPjpstQg9l-g8jicf63chqn_Ut3gJE8oa5XoYRmPMAU-wDsgkiy1YJn3LcQE5PC2o3Fb6roR=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjOO4a1RDh2e2mZHFnPjH3xyamPqkH-AgBdIsevJQ0TSCMl8ijrvws8hnh3BkV9577kfa91f3QN9G_Y1-7I0tWP9SXGyXf2Kq3x7oz8sAE33_vWO-kKPjpstQg9l-g8jicf63chqn_Ut3gJE8oa5XoYRmPMAU-wDsgkiy1YJn3LcQE5PC2o3Fb6roR=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">September Theme: Geometrically Speaking</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Outdoor Bar, Tucker's Corners, near Belleville</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIn74vA2MH4p5X8NqwR-Ym2s1O9OppHPcCfkavQi5KrKVW5JpG3Er60t5KrBimiCV4doS1YQsFgt2nnC6u1YKDiaAzsx98YZ9kopAaKZ8g3chjKCgLOxX7quXZKS4GEL8-O-HBWHxNtiyKUlsm8iGMtPT8k7JXJUSLRwT0qjsiwy3OwWn2rx0R2m5y=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIn74vA2MH4p5X8NqwR-Ym2s1O9OppHPcCfkavQi5KrKVW5JpG3Er60t5KrBimiCV4doS1YQsFgt2nnC6u1YKDiaAzsx98YZ9kopAaKZ8g3chjKCgLOxX7quXZKS4GEL8-O-HBWHxNtiyKUlsm8iGMtPT8k7JXJUSLRwT0qjsiwy3OwWn2rx0R2m5y=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">October Theme: Autumn Glory</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">View from Prince Edward County's Millennium Trail,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Between Wellington and Bloomfield</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9gtU208luNz825IA4QblkH470tM9wbu15j6-hoOYXfAxm8co8GVU9Vzd8jlI3ZPRSyCirKeZAXCQcjhxu0gPJmzn8mVd2kH5MzZWR9N7RN1CYjv52SBVazRwL0f54T36MNFTBsnbLmRT66cVANxATZ1xxBymOYxdV57858ZiFoQptGObQWQAg2fMK=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9gtU208luNz825IA4QblkH470tM9wbu15j6-hoOYXfAxm8co8GVU9Vzd8jlI3ZPRSyCirKeZAXCQcjhxu0gPJmzn8mVd2kH5MzZWR9N7RN1CYjv52SBVazRwL0f54T36MNFTBsnbLmRT66cVANxATZ1xxBymOYxdV57858ZiFoQptGObQWQAg2fMK=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">November Theme: Studio Magic</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Using Photoshop, I </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">transformed the January photo by adding to the background "Conquering Doubt", a painting by Callen Schaub (Art Gallery of Ontario)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhe9WToAIjcQ4M7VCTazNYlzdW-JEP0IgKQWchCBkZO3oRLBViSJJacfWAryARFSibCB8MXf9BjkwZBoNaJjmGAcVCuj7E_kqSBlLjtvDYPob2ggguneaBWL3yxQhXBvUAVTy-0mYAeuEKPLMfxuopTt6SkyH_28KJSMPqEPVwsEF7HFoDMVeyN0sk4=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhe9WToAIjcQ4M7VCTazNYlzdW-JEP0IgKQWchCBkZO3oRLBViSJJacfWAryARFSibCB8MXf9BjkwZBoNaJjmGAcVCuj7E_kqSBlLjtvDYPob2ggguneaBWL3yxQhXBvUAVTy-0mYAeuEKPLMfxuopTt6SkyH_28KJSMPqEPVwsEF7HFoDMVeyN0sk4=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">December Theme: Anything Goes!</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">I combined a 2019 Iowa Monarch Butterfly photo with a 2019 photo of runners exercising in Hyde Park, Sydney, Australia.</span></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-78860836559393314832021-11-15T17:40:00.000-05:002021-11-15T17:40:58.371-05:00Lest I Forget...<p> <span style="font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Lest I Forget...</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5C99NT5q-knu9uX5fr8d86-DWJcwTyAoBSfrrqpdKZJ4zIFMyBRlRu-cFKd3Is1YQZyu2Z9y_eaKQh_P8K6GLsQ-11FwIRWYmYL6bTTKmCVV1jQ-zFnVZfQ7kiuzPvD4-al9aB8coG7DBy56HwzD7AiQRWYIsWAKCQ-GcYrXajaNlpQF-YaSas1DL=s1158" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="1158" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5C99NT5q-knu9uX5fr8d86-DWJcwTyAoBSfrrqpdKZJ4zIFMyBRlRu-cFKd3Is1YQZyu2Z9y_eaKQh_P8K6GLsQ-11FwIRWYmYL6bTTKmCVV1jQ-zFnVZfQ7kiuzPvD4-al9aB8coG7DBy56HwzD7AiQRWYIsWAKCQ-GcYrXajaNlpQF-YaSas1DL=w640-h450" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;">One of the things I’ve noticed about getting older is that I think about the past a lot more than I used to. It’s not a nostalgic wish to return to the past or to relive it, but an active engagement with my own past. For instance, the recent death of the Tayler family matriarch, my 101-year-old Aunt Jeanne, has led to hours of poring over family photos. In particular, the discovery of a 1955 aerial view of my family’s Wellington-area farm (where I lived as a child) has opened the floodgate of memories. I plan to feature these photos in a future blog post. I’m not sure how I became official ‘keeper of the family photos’, but every family needs one.</span></div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For this blog post, however, I’m focusing on Remembrance Day and my annual rite of observance. When I was a child, attending Remembrance Day services was in my family DNA. As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog post, military service was a tradition in my family, especially on my father’s side. November 11<sup>th</sup> was always observed with dignity and solemnity. As a Cub Scout and later a Boy Scout, I attended the Remembrance Day services at the Wellington War Memorial in uniform – and was proud of it. By osmosis, I came to appreciate my family’s involvement in both World Wars. In World War One, my Grandfather Tayler served in the Forestry Battalion of the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment in northern France. In World War Two, my Uncle Mel died off the coast of Sierra Leone in a bomber crash; my father served in the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment, performing duties with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) in Québec because a back injury prevented him from shipping overseas; my Aunt Jeanne served in the Women’s Division of the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF); and Uncle Homer, my mother’s brother, was a Spitfire pilot with the Royal Air Force (RAF) in England.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So each year on November 11<sup>th</sup>, the family ghosts beckon me to bundle up, no matter how miserable the weather, and get myself to the closest cenotaph to pay my respects. It’s an annual rite of gratitude. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It is not, however, an automatic or unthinking response. I have little time for the ‘My country, right or wrong’ crowd or for those who glorify war in the name of macho camaraderie. Such mindless bravado nauseates me. What I do respect, however, is the willingness of ordinary people to put their lives at risk in the service of their country. It infuriates me when military leaders use these people to bolster their own egos and careers. And it especially infuriates me when governments don’t actively support members of the armed services when they return home. Their physical and psychological suffering can be immense. They deserve better than a token pat on the back once a year. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So, when I attend a Remembrance Day service, I’m not there to glorify war or indulge in jingoism. I’m there to say ‘thank you’ to the people who stepped forward when needed, especially the precious members of my own family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The photos:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I made the two photos above on November 11 this year at the Picton Remembrance Day service. The first features the carved name of my Uncle, Melvin Tayler, on the commemorative altar at the Picton Cenotaph. The red maple leaf is a photo I made while walking home from the service. The photos below come from a moving visit that Bill and I made to the Australian War Memorial in Canberra on March 25, 2019.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thank you for reading this post.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Until next month, stay safe.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigvR_WnFb3BzW3tw5fL3aQiH4ee-DrycUp2a4hkMlPloWB4utZymlBGxf8_dROMKKjyc9NPC0ihtvyZ0J8mRW9WH0g7MFWiS21P3-Lz6bQZxnbf0WOWnPOMcPCWSesKt0u0JLKthBs99tQQLZblvgJ2abF0BqJ4TTz3qSYNzaz2G6GfJk0XXWLw9gd=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigvR_WnFb3BzW3tw5fL3aQiH4ee-DrycUp2a4hkMlPloWB4utZymlBGxf8_dROMKKjyc9NPC0ihtvyZ0J8mRW9WH0g7MFWiS21P3-Lz6bQZxnbf0WOWnPOMcPCWSesKt0u0JLKthBs99tQQLZblvgJ2abF0BqJ4TTz3qSYNzaz2G6GfJk0XXWLw9gd=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRcSL3xAzNwAqGztMiVwdh-VbvK21NFxih9WQe_QTnWVKz1LOWbsWnelMi7U9JU-KkNj_fNLaqrkwL4FhRlE40-C1vW53ZPNaZaCtvHg7lAJVLria6b_wBsrzdGZW7C66riVKAJHLjM1GcbfZa2EjTsQ1birA_1dnZi162KTkia98Jrlgy9Yqrk10F=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRcSL3xAzNwAqGztMiVwdh-VbvK21NFxih9WQe_QTnWVKz1LOWbsWnelMi7U9JU-KkNj_fNLaqrkwL4FhRlE40-C1vW53ZPNaZaCtvHg7lAJVLria6b_wBsrzdGZW7C66riVKAJHLjM1GcbfZa2EjTsQ1birA_1dnZi162KTkia98Jrlgy9Yqrk10F=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEit7eFO_-zrY6r4viaEIDtLrjV5x5V5ctY0UBmCbLOVTWC8MXqmy1UwfJCKoF-HUEMu5Z_YWXWOK-OMq0RbRs7gf-Bvlfj7xzZBkEBm2Izsteiquxy_T2a2s4IQ9OHvf9JR9GzEJhbGq0qjMNzEQ-NyGvPc4VimrcxBS8SWxPhDkXsALv--0ZpZa6vp=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEit7eFO_-zrY6r4viaEIDtLrjV5x5V5ctY0UBmCbLOVTWC8MXqmy1UwfJCKoF-HUEMu5Z_YWXWOK-OMq0RbRs7gf-Bvlfj7xzZBkEBm2Izsteiquxy_T2a2s4IQ9OHvf9JR9GzEJhbGq0qjMNzEQ-NyGvPc4VimrcxBS8SWxPhDkXsALv--0ZpZa6vp=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Eternal Flame, Australian War Memorial, Canberra</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvZOVFmzvX4KjljdK17hqzGH1EZ6-oD5g2Ih-7bJrf8MVKdBCmivT8_aa8OsNFz-qoYEvwlek7gHir_HVt8aFetKy9s9-l47J0Yvj6qMbrr_lRM_sP2KREiTc3yFhJVUua9zqLQzU4byw2gbUQeBK64dEF2olqLzmiKy3z-a_P3vosrIeCEYBf4ORH=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1240" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvZOVFmzvX4KjljdK17hqzGH1EZ6-oD5g2Ih-7bJrf8MVKdBCmivT8_aa8OsNFz-qoYEvwlek7gHir_HVt8aFetKy9s9-l47J0Yvj6qMbrr_lRM_sP2KREiTc3yFhJVUua9zqLQzU4byw2gbUQeBK64dEF2olqLzmiKy3z-a_P3vosrIeCEYBf4ORH=w640-h412" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Indigenous soldier, Private Alfred Coombs (centre), 60th Australian Battalion, training with his mates in England, 1916.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: x-large;">Unknown Photographer</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfoFocwGjr0wmfZOMCFTtpBMPgps4vlJfv48KcWdIfYgqOGBszax3RvewqM_uM3W0XnAaI2bIbyGBzdv_JEYxr-JP36NLngeRW5VqoaKHSIb--CK0C8Sk-8uAc7D_K0CJdA7VD8jJFSksht0iRROIBOg6JGChFF5v0zwczNeSRdcsZ6H00ERIUYnKi=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfoFocwGjr0wmfZOMCFTtpBMPgps4vlJfv48KcWdIfYgqOGBszax3RvewqM_uM3W0XnAaI2bIbyGBzdv_JEYxr-JP36NLngeRW5VqoaKHSIb--CK0C8Sk-8uAc7D_K0CJdA7VD8jJFSksht0iRROIBOg6JGChFF5v0zwczNeSRdcsZ6H00ERIUYnKi=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Myra Harvey (centre) and other family members, Hyde Park, Sydney, await arrival of returning troops, 1919.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Unknown Photographer.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8Pp-PcthL3_dLC8GpDOcpdofZ7BOso1kZn7dOzXG5uIP5j5hbJRtrKndGxCdVajmZ1jntqHMbxuMrdK53iP15kqjeqO-fPI2FCfFLK4Tz7-PhPuEgbu5RvkDyvf_PMAdvJ7JEhqHshs0aDs-vVqwvos17lUEIKPhRk-KBzOcqzEQM5FJj8edwHk07=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8Pp-PcthL3_dLC8GpDOcpdofZ7BOso1kZn7dOzXG5uIP5j5hbJRtrKndGxCdVajmZ1jntqHMbxuMrdK53iP15kqjeqO-fPI2FCfFLK4Tz7-PhPuEgbu5RvkDyvf_PMAdvJ7JEhqHshs0aDs-vVqwvos17lUEIKPhRk-KBzOcqzEQM5FJj8edwHk07=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Driver Charles Eldridge (front, in shirt) with other recently released Australian Prisoners of War outside Singapore's infamous Changi Gaol, 1945.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Unknown Photographer.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0NYy9TDXOLDJ3s8X9zSEtJy5kZjWADqUnlGvBE_OFfcJCNCTNLLp0L6PKcWY0hfUkiqF6W1wJb4_GH32XazkE8aVFC0EPETQnAOqHyMV-5c6wHbtU2B9Z8Ja9azWTR4HGryZYsTOraLJ8l3peZGtxqmBDE8z8ogTJZA-67NbWndiwzpxmqCJQJ4YA=s1240" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0NYy9TDXOLDJ3s8X9zSEtJy5kZjWADqUnlGvBE_OFfcJCNCTNLLp0L6PKcWY0hfUkiqF6W1wJb4_GH32XazkE8aVFC0EPETQnAOqHyMV-5c6wHbtU2B9Z8Ja9azWTR4HGryZYsTOraLJ8l3peZGtxqmBDE8z8ogTJZA-67NbWndiwzpxmqCJQJ4YA=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Melvin Tayler's name is among the armed service members from Wellington who died in World War Two. It appears on the commemorative altar in front of the Picton Cenotaph. Uncle Mel was a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot, serving with the Royal Air Force 95 Squadron. He died when the bomber he was navigating crashed into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Freetown, Sierra Leone, on November 28, 1942. His gravestone is in the Commonwealth War Cemetery in Freetown. </span></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-68139887914719994242021-10-13T13:59:00.001-04:002021-10-13T18:09:51.205-04:00A Tribute to Jeanne Hamel<p><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jeanne Hamel</span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">June 17, 1920 – September 27, 2021<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">We shake with joy, we shake with grief.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What a time they have, these two<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Housed as they are in the same body.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">From “We Shake With Joy”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">by Mary Oliver, from <u>Evidence</u> (1990)</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My blog post this month is focused on Jeanne Hamel – my fabulous Aunt Jeanne – who died peacefully late last month in Scarborough at the age of 101.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Imagine that – 101 years old and living a vibrant, engaged life right up to the end. In an August phone call with me, she had gleefully described her strategy for not getting any more speeding tickets on Toronto’s busy Highway 404. (“I stick to the centre lane because it’s harder to nab me there!”)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Although this blog post is primarily about Aunt Jeanne, it is also about me. From my earliest memories, Aunt Jeanne has been a radiant part of my life. After my parents died in the late 1990s, she took over as my mother figure. I am feeling her death as keenly as I did their deaths.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Aunt Jeanne, aka Rachel Jeanne Hamel, was the youngest child of Norah and Garnet Tayler. She was born in 1920 on the Tayler family farm – now owned by the Sztuke family and called Mink Island Farm – on the shores of West Lake in Prince Edward County near Wellington. (See the gallery of Mink Island Farm photos at the end.) Aunt Jeanne’s older brother, Melvin, was born in 1913. He died in 1942 when the bomber he was navigating crashed into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Freetown, Sierra Leone. Her middle sibling, Douglas (my father), was born in 1916 and died in 1997.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">From Aunt Jeanne’s recollections, she led a happy rural childhood, actively engaged with the farm’s chicken hatchery, garden, and field crops. The entire family was involved in the life of the Wellington Methodist Church (later Wellington United Church after church union in 1925). The family farm included most of the island – Mink Island – across the lake from the farm, so she had many adventures rowing and swimming to the island, as well as camping there. Her brothers teased her mercilessly (her word) – and “I loved <i>almost</i> every minute of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For her entire life, she had a sharp, inquisitive mind. After completing high school, she attended the Macdonald Institute in Guelph, graduating with a diploma in home economics at the beginning of World War Two. (The Macdonald Institute became part of the newly formed University of Guelph in 1964.) Following the family tradition of military service, she joined the Women’s Division of the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) and became part of a precision marching squad that toured Canada to raise money for War Bonds. It was when she was stationed at RCAF Base Mountain View (in Prince Edward County) that she met her future husband, Will Hamel. They married after the war and lived in Wellington, not far from the family farm. They had one child, my delightful cousin Norah, and moved to Scarborough in 1961. Aunt Jeanne became actively involved in Knob Hill United Church, where she met Ruth Ledsham, the woman who became her dearest friend for sixty years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was with Ruth that Aunt Jeanne drove across Canada several times to explore the natural beauty and wilderness of our country, especially after Uncle Will’s death in 1997. Together, they walked long sections of the Trans-Canada Trail. They even spent a week in England, after Aunt Jeanne – an inveterate free contest enthusiast – had won a week’s vacation in London. Sadly, Ruth died recently, a month before Aunt Jeanne’s death. They remained travelling companions to the end...and beyond.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Aunt Jeanne was always a ‘doer’ – she just jumped into her community and got involved. She ran Cub Scout packs, taught swimming and skating, volunteered with Community Living in Scarborough, and generally made herself useful. (“Because <i>that’s</i> what you do!”) When she and Uncle Will bought a condo near the Scarborough Bluffs in the mid-1970s, she joined West Hill United Church, where she remained a much-beloved member until her death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">One of the great gifts that West Hill United Church gave her was an avid and informed interest in Progressive Christianity. Under the inspired leadership of West Hill’s dynamic minister, Gretta Vosper, Aunt Jeanne and the entire congregation embarked on a far-reaching (and, for some, controversial) re-evaluation of what it meant to be Christian and what it meant to be church. It was in this process that Aunt Jeanne became a devotee of the American Episcopal theologian John Shelby Spong. I recall many satisfying and challenging discussions with Aunt Jeanne about Spong’s books, his critique of Christian orthodoxies, and his honouring of lesbian, gay, and queer people. She derived impish delight in upsetting traditional Christian complacency, taking to heart the advice of the early 20<sup>th</sup> century American journalist Finley Peter Dunne “to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">She developed a strong conviction that you could not be both Christian and complacent at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><u><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Aunt Jeanne was one of the first people in my family to whom I came out in 1983. Her unconditional love and encouragement – way, way beyond mere acceptance – were important in my early days as an openly gay man. As in so many other things, she gave me strength and courage. When my first husband, Spencer, was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease in 2011, she gave me a safe space for bashing through my grief, anger, and tears. When Spencer decided to have an assisted death in Switzerland in 2012, she was fully supportive. And when I met my future second husband, Bill, in 2013, Aunt Jeanne was once again enormously supportive. I’ll never forget what she said to me after she met Bill for the first time: “You’ve been through enough, Larry. HE’S the one! Grab him!” And I did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A singularly important part of my relationship with Aunt Jeanne was our Sunday morning telephone calls. And it was all because of my dad. After I moved to Toronto in 1984, I began phoning dad in Picton on Sunday mornings just to check in and to stay connected. For the next thirteen years, until he died in 1997, the tradition of talking with dad on Sunday mornings took root in my life. Soon after he died, Aunt Jeanne drew me aside one day and said, “Look, you’re going to miss talking with your dad on Sunday mornings. Why don’t you start calling me instead?” And thus began a tradition that lasted 24 years. Wherever I was in the world on a Sunday morning, I would phone Aunt Jeanne, at precisely 8:05 am Toronto time, and we would talk for at least an hour, often longer. By my estimate, we talked for about 1300 hours in total – yet we never seemed to run out of things to say. She took particular delight when I phoned her from the cabin that Bill and I rented in Tasmania’s Huon Valley – where it was almost midnight – and I would set up the phone so she could hear the soft nighttime chorus of the Tasmanian bush. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My logical mind knew that these Sunday morning calls with Aunt Jeanne couldn’t go on forever. After all, when you’re 101 years old, at some point time catches up with you. But her death took my breath away and leaves an Aunt-Jeanne-sized hole in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">How I miss those Sunday morning calls. And how I miss Aunt Jeanne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thank you for reading this tribute to Aunt Jeanne. I hope you enjoy the photos of the former Tayler family farm. I recorded most of them on July 29, 2019, while happily wandering the farm with my camera. The exceptions are the last two photos, which I made on September 19, 2020, on the occasion of the memorial celebration for the life of Peter Sztuke at Mink Island Farm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will finish up this post the same way I began – with a quotation from the poet Mary Oliver.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">...I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">which is what I have been doing all day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tell me, what else should I have done?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tell me, what is it you plan to do<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">with your one wild and precious life?</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">From “The Summer Day”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">by Mary Oliver, from <i><u>House of Light</u></i> (1990)</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz8n4Vb4JyKtNaATZEzqteMdl-PRd4wgDGj5r4VrQQnAD3qoFcfGmx8-DjULsMg4pf2XI4FVekuiEvK09eICXC2PbA-Hz88p3nR4QRcPb-d-caIeSWx9JzIOn4FUcL7I41tCewOFz0kFYSLIWESKnc995JuA36NPgj8_MFWgMjGroOaMAhKs15uG06=s1240" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="1240" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQ8Tth0N3R0ydRfOe-RZtvJIclMWzcrgL-GpH8eMEXwKADIaUOzSrxC1SDNi_Z3wJv-nrqENbvonOQk_WlcrSaiUfbPfxEgzh6LDg7eSAMiB9L5aVolTN50o9jeeNLtHH0_bUDnZeNwOpSnJbaGqC3WPYqlWJsgyQQbTYYeG_IjMwraCAc04haKvJk=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><br />Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-62716249898438414382021-09-21T12:30:00.007-04:002021-09-21T12:31:57.653-04:00Navigating Ambiguity<p> <i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">“We live the given life, and not the planned.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">- Wendell Berry<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">This Day/Collected & New Sabbath Poems</span></i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">(Counterpoint Press, 2013, Page 150, “III/Ye must be born again.”)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Dear Readers,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">It has been almost a year since I stopped posting weekly updates to this blog. Last September, my husband, Bill, and I had just moved back to Prince Edward County and, while I was exhilarated about being back home in The County, my energy for writing blog posts had dried up. I had been posting regularly since 2016 and had simply run out of ideas. Instead of being a delight, the blog had become a drain. So – I decided to take a few weeks off, which morphed into a few months, which morphed into a year. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">And such a year it has been.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">First, there was the COVID rollercoaster that we’ve all experienced. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Then Bill had significant health challenges. It started with the removal of his gall bladder on Christmas Eve in Belleville and galloped along with a diagnosis of liver cancer in January. The culmination was a miraculous liver transplant in Toronto at the end of July. (With eternally grateful thanks to Kate, Bill’s daughter, for donating part of her liver to save his life.) Both of them are making excellent progress and are healing beautifully. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Finally, in late August I celebrated my 75<sup>th</sup> birthday. Woohoo! I’m now three-quarters of a century old! (My dear 101-year-old Aunt Jeanne put this milestone into perspective by saying that I still had a long way to go...) To celebrate my birthday, I treated myself to a new SONY a7III camera. My previous camera, with many thousands of photos under its shutter, was simply wearing out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">So now, a year later, I’ve decided to start posting to my blog again. Instead of weekly posts, however, I’m planning to post monthly. I want to keep the experience fresh and creative and not post merely for the sake of posting.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">The current plan (subject to the usual caveats, asterisks, and advice from Doctor Tam) is to feature one of my photos per post and reflect on its circumstances and impact. At the end of each post, I’ll include a gallery of my recent photos.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 18pt;">Navigating Ambiguity<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-py3DxjTeu_k/YUoC9JABu9I/AAAAAAAAGls/rjTO1j9iIQgmfVPrMm34o9XCAYCym2a4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0090%2BCovered%2BFigure%2BOld%2BCity%2BHall%2BCue%2BIt%2BUp%2BFolder%252397%2B02SEPT21.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-py3DxjTeu_k/YUoC9JABu9I/AAAAAAAAGls/rjTO1j9iIQgmfVPrMm34o9XCAYCym2a4ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/0090%2BCovered%2BFigure%2BOld%2BCity%2BHall%2BCue%2BIt%2BUp%2BFolder%252397%2B02SEPT21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">This month’s photo is entitled “Covert Hands”. Using my new camera, I recorded it near Old City Hall on Bay Street in Toronto on Thursday, September 2, 2021. Bill and I were walking down Bay Street towards Union Station to catch a VIA train home after Bill’s early morning appointment at the Toronto General Hospital Transplant Unit. As soon as I saw this park bench scene, I knew I had to photograph it. I made six photos, getting closer with each photo. In the first five photos, this person’s hands were not visible. Only as I clicked the shutter for the last one did the hands suddenly appear. A second later, they just as quickly disappeared. Bill and I then continued walking down Bay Street – I never did see the person’s face. The whole episode took maybe fifteen seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">I love the photo...and I have no idea about what is happening. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Which brings me to navigating ambiguity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">I have often said that some of my favourite photographs are ambiguous and have no clear storyline. You can project onto them an infinity of scenarios, all of them simultaneously valid and wildly inaccurate. There are no privileged interpretations – just a glorious multitude of possibilities. The very nature of ambiguity is that you don’t know for sure about something – all you have is your intuition, aka, your gut instincts.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">I struggle with ambiguity, despite my appreciation of it in photographs. Where ambiguity gnaws away at me is when I worry about my health or the health of my loved ones. Or about grandchildren. Or about finances. Or about the planet. Or about my carefully conceived plans that suddenly go sideways. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">From my privileged position as a well-resourced white man, these anxieties pale when compared to the harsh realities faced by many on our planet. But they <i>are</i> my anxieties, and to me they <i>are</i> real, and they <i>do</i> keep me up at night. And what is most worrisome is that they can be neither resolved quickly nor easily. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">When my worrying mind threatens to overwhelm me, I have to gently but firmly nudge it back to the present, count my blessings, vow never to become complacent about my life, and then – forgive the cliché – simply get on with things. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">As the gifted American poet Wendell Berry says, “We live the given life, not the planned.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">When I look at this photo, I see ambiguity: joyfullness and challenge; blessings and burdens; security and flux. Just like life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">To be continued.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Thank you for reading this post. I hope you find it engaging and that you enjoy the photos that follow. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Until next time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">LT</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 36px;">Photo Gallery<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wtvHaVzrCCA/YUoDIGN07oI/AAAAAAAAGlw/g9dtYhwmAiMKJdUJYJBQt7P63-JQZ-IzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0072%2BRed%2BDress%2BTO%2BCity%2BHall%2BCue%2BIt%2BUp%2BFolder%252397%2B01SEPT21.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wtvHaVzrCCA/YUoDIGN07oI/AAAAAAAAGlw/g9dtYhwmAiMKJdUJYJBQt7P63-JQZ-IzQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/0072%2BRed%2BDress%2BTO%2BCity%2BHall%2BCue%2BIt%2BUp%2BFolder%252397%2B01SEPT21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In front of Toronto City Hall,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">1 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x3g1pp8pxXc/YUoDhidpoWI/AAAAAAAAGl4/m6e7JGyNA-sxHJon2cwLbVzwwG983nB7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0109%2BHouse%2BAt%2BNight%2BCurtis%2BSt%2BCue%2BIT%2BUp%2BFolder%252397%2B02SEPT21%2BEdited.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="976" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x3g1pp8pxXc/YUoDhidpoWI/AAAAAAAAGl4/m6e7JGyNA-sxHJon2cwLbVzwwG983nB7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w504-h640/0109%2BHouse%2BAt%2BNight%2BCurtis%2BSt%2BCue%2BIT%2BUp%2BFolder%252397%2B02SEPT21%2BEdited.jpg" width="504" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">House on Curtis Street, Picton</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">2 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eh5d0AnWHCo/YUoDxxesLII/AAAAAAAAGmA/ykAjCq7SjVotK1TFqvA0nqHxnXP-2YQ6QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0118%2BDog%2Bw%2BVisor%2B-%2BWellington%2BMkt%2BCueUp%2B04SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eh5d0AnWHCo/YUoDxxesLII/AAAAAAAAGmA/ykAjCq7SjVotK1TFqvA0nqHxnXP-2YQ6QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/0118%2BDog%2Bw%2BVisor%2B-%2BWellington%2BMkt%2BCueUp%2B04SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wellington Market</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">4 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-smp3mxAurjU/YUoD-jdFn3I/AAAAAAAAGmE/UtBillyhC6EWnt_rLvyAlUefkw4efmsvgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0136%2BMonarch%252BEchinacea%2BConnon%2BNurseries%2BCueUp%2B04SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="1240" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-smp3mxAurjU/YUoD-jdFn3I/AAAAAAAAGmE/UtBillyhC6EWnt_rLvyAlUefkw4efmsvgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h512/0136%2BMonarch%252BEchinacea%2BConnon%2BNurseries%2BCueUp%2B04SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Connon's Nursery, Bayside</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">4 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XqO39Zr-sIM/YUoESDE2-ZI/AAAAAAAAGmQ/3PcUjDbicRIu9-Gw-97fUmD_de2utJW9gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0169%2BThankful%2526Blessed%2BConnon%2BNurseries%2BCueItUp%2B04SEPT21%2BFolder%252397%2BEdited.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XqO39Zr-sIM/YUoESDE2-ZI/AAAAAAAAGmQ/3PcUjDbicRIu9-Gw-97fUmD_de2utJW9gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/0169%2BThankful%2526Blessed%2BConnon%2BNurseries%2BCueItUp%2B04SEPT21%2BFolder%252397%2BEdited.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Connon's </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">Nursery, Bayside</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">4 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5mLe-F4EctE/YUoEhpLVBzI/AAAAAAAAGmY/HJNBbgXVLd0S9R7w9TZSK7B5qCJQXWoRQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0209%2BFrog%2BLong%2BPt%2BCueItUp%2B06SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5mLe-F4EctE/YUoEhpLVBzI/AAAAAAAAGmY/HJNBbgXVLd0S9R7w9TZSK7B5qCJQXWoRQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/0209%2BFrog%2BLong%2BPt%2BCueItUp%2B06SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Long Point/Prince Edward Point Bird Observatory</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">6 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rvTMUHT0dC4/YUoE-tOkDqI/AAAAAAAAGmg/3unzx1raG-0HXSDtn9Ma5Byd7mY8A50SACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0220%2BTree%2BTrunks%2BLong%2BPt%2BCueItUp%2B06SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rvTMUHT0dC4/YUoE-tOkDqI/AAAAAAAAGmg/3unzx1raG-0HXSDtn9Ma5Byd7mY8A50SACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/0220%2BTree%2BTrunks%2BLong%2BPt%2BCueItUp%2B06SEPT21%2BFolder%252397.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Long Point/Prince Edward Point Bird Observatory,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">6 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q6ZrLQCji_I/YUoFaskJ7bI/AAAAAAAAGmo/mu7rX47wNMs2lDp4kuCYLgHph_-gCLaqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/0227%2BReplacement%2BKubota%2B%25232%2BBuchanan%2BAve%2BCueItUp%2B07SEPT21%2BFolder%252397%2B.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q6ZrLQCji_I/YUoFaskJ7bI/AAAAAAAAGmo/mu7rX47wNMs2lDp4kuCYLgHph_-gCLaqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/0227%2BReplacement%2BKubota%2B%25232%2BBuchanan%2BAve%2BCueItUp%2B07SEPT21%2BFolder%252397%2B.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Buchanan Avenue, Picton</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">7September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yBRYXIR5st8/YUoFuvzjZcI/AAAAAAAAGmw/igh_a7rWBHUWkYGuKg57Ly92uCrSf5L4QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/0259%2BOtis%2BTwig%2Bdouble%2Bimage%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yBRYXIR5st8/YUoFuvzjZcI/AAAAAAAAGmw/igh_a7rWBHUWkYGuKg57Ly92uCrSf5L4QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/0259%2BOtis%2BTwig%2Bdouble%2Bimage%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Twig (4 cm) brought into our home by Otis, our long-haired miniature Dachshund, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">9 September 2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Photoshopped!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">Picton, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 14pt;">LarryTayler.com</span></p></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 18pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 36px;"><br /></span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-29549068856737319602021-02-01T12:46:00.002-05:002021-02-01T12:55:16.442-05:00Sacred Pauses & Healing Ritual<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face="Gill Sans MT, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">On Sunday, January 31, 2021, I gave the following presentation (via Zoom) to the members of St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church in Picton, Ontario. It was a privilege and an honour to once again share my thoughts with the good people of St. Andrew's. I thank the Reverend Lynne Donovan for her friendship and support.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face="Gill Sans MT, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face="Gill Sans MT, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;"><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">Sacred Pauses & Healing Ritual</span></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">A Pre-Lenten Reflection by Larry Tayler<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">Picton, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">31 January 2021<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">Reading Time: 30 minutes (approximately)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Lilacs In September<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by Katha Pollitt<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Shocked to the root<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">like the lilac bush<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">in the vacant lot<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by the hurricane – <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">whose black branch split<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by wind or rain<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">has broken out<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">unseasonably<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">into these scant ash-<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">colored blossoms<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">lifted high<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">as if to say<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">to passersby,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What will unleash<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">itself in you<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">when your storm comes?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let me repeat that last line:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What will unleash<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">itself in you<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">when your storm comes?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We’re about to start Lent, that forty-day period when Christians traditionally prepare themselves for Easter. It is an opportunity to ponder the central paradox of Christianity: that from the shock and despair following the death of Jesus on Good Friday comes hope and renewal at His resurrection three days later. It embraces both our experience of mortality and our hopes for eternity. It is a time to mourn loss and embrace rebirth, to wait and hope, to relinquish and receive, but mostly to pause. Sacred pausing. And it is a time to pray and perform ritual. Healing ritual. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Thus the title of this presentation, <i>Sacred Pauses & Healing Ritual</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">During the last year, we have been living through very strange times indeed. The COVID pandemic has disrupted the very fibre of our lives. In fact, I considered calling this presentation, <i>Lent in the Time of COVID & COVID in the Time of Lent</i>. It has been a time of profound dislocation and isolation. We have all hit the pause button on our lives, our assumptions, and our expectations. And, we have also been handed a <i>gift</i> – the opportunity to consider that, while the suspension of norms we once took for granted can be painful, it is also an opening for renewal and transformation. Consider for a moment how the pandemic, with all its sufferings and challenges, has stimulated the global scientific community to co-operate in extraordinary ways to speed the creation of vaccinations that are countering the virus. This co-operative legacy promises to serve humanity abundantly in the decades ahead. In other words, from the depths of the pandemic has risen hope for the future. A paradox not unlike the paradox of Christianity itself. In the pauses – the sacred pauses – of this past year, we have not only experienced grievous wounds, we have also rethought how we live our lives. And in doing that, we have all improvised our own healing rituals to cope and create.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And thus back to the title, <i>Sacred Pauses and Healing Ritual</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I use poetry to help me understand the world, especially when I’m confused, which is often these days, so let me reread the poem that I began with, Katha Pollitt’s <i>Lilacs in September</i>. Pollitt is an American poet and essayist. I met this poem in the pages of Emily Urquhart’s recent book <i>The Age of Creativity: Art, Memory, My Father, and Me</i>, a tribute to her father, the Canadian artist Tony Urquhart. As I reread it, I hope you will detect the rhythms and themes that I am exploring today.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Lilacs In September<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by Katha Pollitt<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Shocked to the root<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">like the lilac bush<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">in the vacant lot<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by the hurricane – <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">whose black branch split<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by wind or rain<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">has broken out<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">unseasonably<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">into these scant ash-<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">colored blossoms<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">lifted high<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">as if to say<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">to passersby,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What will unleash<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">itself in you<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">when your storm comes?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What will unleash itself in you when your storm comes?” What a deliciously provocative question! It does not ask <i>if</i> there will be a storm; it simply states that there <i>will</i> be one. Furthermore, it will not be just any storm – it will be <i>your</i> storm, a unique storm, tailored to <i>your</i> unique circumstances, vulnerabilities, and fears. And the poem does not ask <i>if</i> your individual storm will unleash anything inside you; once again, it simply states that something <i>will</i> be unleashed. And there is no adjective describing this <i>something</i> that will be unleashed in you – it could run the emotional gamut from anguished to zealous.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So, please join me in exploring these Lenten, pandemic times by focusing on sacred pauses and healing ritual. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let’s start with <i>Sacred Pauses</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The concept of pausing is an important feature of many faith traditions. As the Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön says, “When we pause, [we] allow a gap and breathe deeply. We can experience instant refreshment. Suddenly, we slow down, look out, and there’s the world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I first became aware of <i>sacred</i> pauses from the Melbourne lawyer and human rights advocate, Nyadol Nyuon, who was interviewed in September, 2020, by Meredith Lake on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation program <i>Soul Search</i>. Ms. Nyuon, whose family arrived in Australia as refugees in 2005 after having fled civil war in Sudan, spoke to Dr. Lake about what it was like to go from being a much-sought-after international speaker and consultant to being locked down in Melbourne with her family at the beginning of the pandemic. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Here’s what Ms. Nyuon wrote about that experience in a subsequent <i>Guardian</i> essay:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What I want to salvage from the wreck left by this pandemic is a fresh point of view and a new way of life. I am borrowing the idea that this...is a ‘sacred pause’. I do not want to return to the rush of my life as it was before the plague. [This] is an opportunity to rebuild a life...to re-examine our lives while the noise of the world has turned down. Perhaps now we can hear whatever it is that our inner voice has been struggling to tell us as it tried to compete with the buzz of a busy life in a busy world...We can now weigh up what truly belongs and what can be left in the life before the plague.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The concept of sacred pauses has a long history, both as a spiritual practice and a secular tool, for re-evaluating and re-assessing the direction of our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Observant Muslims, for example, have <i>five</i> sacred pauses every day to pray and stay connected with God – dawn; midday; afternoon; sunset; and nighttime. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The late Benedictine nun Sister Macrina Wiederkehr wrote in her 2008 book, <i>Seven Sacred Pauses/Living Mindfully Through the Hours of the Day</i>, that by consciously pausing <i>seven</i>times each day to examine what we are doing – and asking ourselves how what we are doing is contributing to our well being – we would be raising our self-awareness, while also caring for the wider community. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Sister Macrina’s seven sacred daily pauses are:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• Dawn – The Awakening Hour<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• Mid-Morning – The Blessing Hour<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• Noon – The Hour of Illumination<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• Mid-Afternoon – The Wisdom Hour<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• Evening – The Twilight Hour<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• Bedtime – The Great Silence<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">• After Midnight – The Night Watch<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The psychologist Tara Brach wrote in a December, 2014, <i>Psychology Today</i> article entitled <i>The Sacred Pause</i> that when we consciously place such pauses in our days, we are taking the first step towards what she calls, “Radical Acceptance” – acceptance of both ourselves and our circumstances. When we resume our activities, we do so with increased self-awareness <i>and</i> ability to make choices.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Here’s Dr. Brach’s description of that process:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“...Often the moment when we most need to pause is exactly when it feels most intolerable to do so. Pausing in a fit of anger, or when overwhelmed by sorrow or filled with desire, may be the last thing we want to do. Pausing can feel like falling helplessly through space – we have no idea what will happen...Through the sacred art of pausing, we develop the capacity to stop hiding, to stop running away from our experience. We begin to trust in our natural intelligence, in our naturally wise heart, in our capacity to [be] open to whatever arises.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let me repeat that paragraph, because it touches on many powerful themes:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“...Often the moment when we most need to pause is exactly when it feels most intolerable to do so. Pausing in a fit of anger, or when overwhelmed by sorrow or filled with desire, may be the last thing we want to do. Pausing can feel like falling helplessly through space – we have no idea what will happen...Through the sacred art of pausing, we develop the capacity to stop hiding, to stop running away from our experience. We begin to trust in our natural intelligence, in our naturally wise heart, in our capacity to [be] open to whatever arises.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Interestingly, most of the sources I consulted about sacred pauses don’t define their understanding of the word ‘sacred’. For the purposes of this presentation, here’s my working definition of sacred:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Sacred is the quality that transforms our lived experience into a wider awareness, an awareness that we are all connected with each other and to higher power – what I choose to call God. It is that transcendent quality that transports us beyond ourselves to a more welcoming and expansive consciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let me repeat that. Sacred is the quality that transforms our lived experience into a wider awareness, an awareness that we are all connected with each other and to higher power – what I choose to call God. It is that transcendent quality that transports us beyond ourselves to a more welcoming and expansive consciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It is not a huge leap to extend this concept of sacred pauses beyond daily observations to include all-embracing re-assessments of our lives, our relationships, and our broader world. Which means that such pauses are ideally suited for times when the scope of our lives has been narrowed. In other words, times such as now, when the Lenten season and the COVID season coincide. Some might say collide. And some might even say collude.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">One of the most intriguing characteristics of sacred pauses is that they frequently have rituals attached to them, either external rituals created by faith communities, or micro-scaled internal rituals that we create for ourselves. In this next section, I want to explore not only ritual, specifically healing ritual, but also the connection between ritual and sacred pauses. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let me start with an anecdote. Bill, my quilt-making husband, and I have been married for seven years. Before we met eight years ago, both of us had lost beloved husbands to devastating illness. As Bill so eloquently phrased it when we started exploring a relationship, “There will always be four of us in the room.” So, there is a strong spiritual element in our relationship, which for me is one of its great strengths. That spiritual element often manifests itself during dinner. We rarely eat breakfast or lunch together, but having a shared meal at the end of the day has become a tradition. For me, it is both a sacred pause and a healing ritual. We typically eat around 7:30 and it’s usually at least an hour before we finish – the meal and the conversation. At the end of September last year, shortly after we had moved back to Prince Edward County, we had a particularly thought-provoking discussion. It got started when I talked about how I had adapted my morning habits to life in our new home – waking up, feeding the animals, cleaning the litter box, emptying the dishwasher, reading some poetry, and so forth. After breakfast, I brew a <i>really</i> strong double dose of espresso and read <i>The Globe & Mail</i>. That’s what many mornings look like for me. Bill was of the opinion – and I hope I’m not putting words into his mouth – that maybe these morning habits had become a tad – um – inflexible. And I understand how my behaviour can be interpreted that way. From my side of the table, however, these behaviours aren’t so much inflexible habits as they are comfortable rhythms. They help me get my day started. They give me a framework. I’ve always been an anticipator and a planner – ‘future focused’, as a teaching colleague once gently observed. These morning routines release my mind to think and wander and explore while I’m doing other things. And despite looking fixed and unchanging, they do, in fact, morph and adapt. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">As this conversation with Bill about habit and routine continued, it took a remarkable turn: I realized that if I saw these habits and routines as ritual, I was also reframing them as sacred. Not a bad dinner conversation to have with your husband!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">By reframing our lives and actions as sacred, we honour the divine spark within ourselves and within others. Thus, the journey from habit, to routine, to ritual puts us on a divine path – a healing path – and puts us in divine company – healing company. Thus, healing ritual. The kind of rituals that get me through the rough spots, the times when I don’t know what to do. My rituals help me put one foot in front of the other. They help give me a short-term sense of direction and purpose that allows my mind to quietly work in the background resetting the larger compass of my life. They connect me to an immediate, practical reality that does not disappear simply because I’m troubled. There’s something about having Edna, our sixty-pound Basset Hound, nuzzle my eye socket first thing in the morning because she needs to pee that transcends all other considerations. Edna brings an exquisite sense of ‘<i>NOW!</i>’ to my life. She is a powerful reminder that the world beyond my own life calls on me to get out of bed and do the things I need to do in the service of my loved ones and my community. I’ll cycle back to the larger dilemmas that are troubling me later after my subconscious has had a chance to work on them. Meanwhile, I’ve got a Basset Hound to walk!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So, yes, walking Edna is a healing ritual. Emptying the dishwasher is a healing ritual. Cleaning the kitty litter box is a healing ritual. These actions put me in touch with a reality beyond myself. They <i>heal</i> me while simultaneously giving my soul the breathing space it needs to ponder the larger issues of life. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Joseph Campbell, the wonderfully wise philosopher and mythologist, said it much more elegantly:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“A ritual is the enactment of a myth. By participating in the ritual, you are participating in the myth. And since myth is a projection of the depth wisdom of the psyche, by participating in a ritual...you are being... reminded of the wisdom of your own life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What a brilliant definition of healing ritual – “being reminded of the wisdom of your own life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Which brings me to one very specific healing ritual I want to commend to you. It is a healing ritual that embodies sacred pause. It embraces both Lenten tradition and COVID experience. It allows us to grieve what we have lost and reclaim hope for the future. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The healing ritual I commend to you is the sabbatical. The word has its origins in the Hebrew word <i>shabb</i></span><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">āth</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">, meaning ‘rest’. </span><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Bible is very clear about telling us to come to a halt regularly and to rest. Exodus, Chapter 34, verse 21: “Six days thou shalt work, but on the seventh day, you shall rest.” The Bible takes this day of rest very seriously indeed. Exodus, Chapter 31, verse 15 states sternly, “Whoever does any work on the Sabbath day shall be put to death.” Think about that the next time you do laundry or mow the lawn on a Sunday!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Bible commands us to call a halt, regularly and completely. The season of Lent is a perfect time for us to do that – and so is the season of COVID. Both seasons provide us with the opportunity to reflect on what is happening in our lives: to acknowledge and tend our wounds; to recognize and celebrate our accomplishments; to accept and work through our shortcomings; to treasure and share our joys; and to make loving, conscious assessments about where our lives are and to make equally loving, conscious choices about where to go next.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So – I am commending to you this challenge: that you reframe your experience of COVID and of Lent as a personal sabbatical – a sacred pause and a healing ritual.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let me finish by reading <i>The Facts of Life, </i>a poem by the Irish poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama. It is rich in the themes of both sacred pause and healing ritual. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Facts of Life<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">by Pádraig Ó Tuama<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you were born<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and you will die.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will sometimes love enough<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and sometimes not.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will lie<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">if only to yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will get tired.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will learn most from the situations<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">you did not choose.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That there will be some things that move you<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">more than you can say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will live<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">that you must be loved.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">your attention.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">of two people who once were strangers<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and may well still be.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That life isn’t fair.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That life is sometimes good<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and sometimes better than good.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That life is real<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and if you can survive it, well,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">survive it well<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">with love<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and art<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and meaning given<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">where meaning [is] scarce.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will learn to live with regret.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will learn to live with respect.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That the structures that constrict you<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">may not be permanently constricting.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you will probably be okay.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That you must accept change<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">before you die<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">but you will die anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So you might as well live<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and you might as well love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">You might as well love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">You might as well love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Gill Sans MT", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-46398606767863220832020-11-02T12:55:00.000-05:002020-11-02T12:55:35.332-05:00Taking My Time... Blog Post, 2 November 2020<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Taking My Time...</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Blog Post, 02 November 20</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My blog posts have been irregular since Bill and I moved to Picton in September. Not only has life been busy with all the usual things accompanying a move, but it's also been a time of reflection for me: what do I want to do with this blog, now that I've moved back to Prince Edward County? And what do I want to do with my photography? How will my photography change without regular trips to Toronto and Australia to indulge my love of street photography?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In September, I saw myself waiting for inspiration to answer these questions. But now that we're nicely settled into Picton and sensing life's new rhythms, I don't think I'm waiting for inspiration at all. Wrong metaphor!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Instead, I'm actively seeking clarity, examining options, and setting priorities for my photography. Sitting around and waiting for inspiration is not my style! If there's one thing I've learned about creativity, it's that it doesn't happen when I'm passively waiting for an idea to strike. I'm at my most creative when I'm busily photographing, processing, and writing. It's in the doing that the ideas flow for me.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And in these two months in Prince Edward County, I have been doing a lot of photography and studying my craft. I'm very excited about the first draft of a photography book I have created using the Blurb module on Lightroom. The four-part online course from Maine Media Workshops (<a href="https://www.mainemedia.edu/" target="_blank">link</a>) about using Lightroom for book publishing was enormously helpful. And I'm also excited about totally rethinking and upgrading my website, blog, and social media presence. More about that later.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So this is a time of renewal and regeneration, not a time of waiting around for the Muse to strike. I'll post more as the process unfolds.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Meanwhile, here are some photos I made at glorious Bon Echo Provincial Park on 24 September of this year. Enjoy!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As always, I appreciate your support.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9_-8aeyTNek/X6BGOPpb7_I/AAAAAAAAGHw/4oCOJ7oXj1w19V19tkE_woPQG21EBpLYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25238_Docked_Canoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1240" height="494" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9_-8aeyTNek/X6BGOPpb7_I/AAAAAAAAGHw/4oCOJ7oXj1w19V19tkE_woPQG21EBpLYgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h494/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25238_Docked_Canoe.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-022fuOBva5s/X6BGSmLQsMI/AAAAAAAAGH0/rww_8ZC8c_oUSRZuHYSIEOkn_zYN15SigCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25237_Dog_in_Canoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-022fuOBva5s/X6BGSmLQsMI/AAAAAAAAGH0/rww_8ZC8c_oUSRZuHYSIEOkn_zYN15SigCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25237_Dog_in_Canoe.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nGR1_kR_9ys/X6BGWg7NVrI/AAAAAAAAGH4/e7W9o3sPFCwv-0cZzBR7XaSNdAQxugnXACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25236_Leaves_in_Water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nGR1_kR_9ys/X6BGWg7NVrI/AAAAAAAAGH4/e7W9o3sPFCwv-0cZzBR7XaSNdAQxugnXACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25236_Leaves_in_Water.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uR3168gSDuw/X6BGcu6pX0I/AAAAAAAAGH8/FVMaoKarV4k0PbgOZZtx-dJijTx3YEyxgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25235_Hammock_Guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uR3168gSDuw/X6BGcu6pX0I/AAAAAAAAGH8/FVMaoKarV4k0PbgOZZtx-dJijTx3YEyxgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25235_Hammock_Guy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S6RZz9WUcSk/X6BGgli7XSI/AAAAAAAAGIE/PvgZsB0NeScle6_iVa0koLx0p9kksMa_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25234__Bike_on_Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1009" data-original-width="1240" height="520" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S6RZz9WUcSk/X6BGgli7XSI/AAAAAAAAGIE/PvgZsB0NeScle6_iVa0koLx0p9kksMa_gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h520/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25234__Bike_on_Beach.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AJ_lskIzx6Y/X6BGktnq7aI/AAAAAAAAGII/rSmI_kKaWUAQmJJzfdiYMOtfD_J7J0oygCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25233_Canoeists.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AJ_lskIzx6Y/X6BGktnq7aI/AAAAAAAAGII/rSmI_kKaWUAQmJJzfdiYMOtfD_J7J0oygCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25233_Canoeists.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XlPfpICDuME/X6BGoJyi3OI/AAAAAAAAGIQ/J_Ypjeb51y0QBku4HB3j2dn3XyuWVc01wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25232_Distant_Trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XlPfpICDuME/X6BGoJyi3OI/AAAAAAAAGIQ/J_Ypjeb51y0QBku4HB3j2dn3XyuWVc01wCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25232_Distant_Trees.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hYcRdf1Iu8c/X6BGyCAewBI/AAAAAAAAGIc/vzLA0jqFjsgg9UGo7OWzhJAgBnHOELSQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/8005%2B%2BBon%2BEcho%2B24Sept20%2BUnderwater%2BSand%2BBars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1240" height="494" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hYcRdf1Iu8c/X6BGyCAewBI/AAAAAAAAGIc/vzLA0jqFjsgg9UGo7OWzhJAgBnHOELSQwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h494/8005%2B%2BBon%2BEcho%2B24Sept20%2BUnderwater%2BSand%2BBars.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cqwaGMdXPQY/X6BG1d8gvgI/AAAAAAAAGIk/VuX34N-VT0QTsn_SpMXvU8X2W3Q9K9XIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/8114%2B%2BBon%2BEcho%2B24Sept20%2BBranches%2BMirrored%2Bin%2BWater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cqwaGMdXPQY/X6BG1d8gvgI/AAAAAAAAGIk/VuX34N-VT0QTsn_SpMXvU8X2W3Q9K9XIwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/8114%2B%2BBon%2BEcho%2B24Sept20%2BBranches%2BMirrored%2Bin%2BWater.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wRAFxadPjDI/X6BG5IyJxvI/AAAAAAAAGIo/qVtr49JateUxnxFVsCuQvyUMPn0wURHQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/8152%2BBon%2BEcho%2B24Sept20%2BCanoes%2Bon%2BDock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wRAFxadPjDI/X6BG5IyJxvI/AAAAAAAAGIo/qVtr49JateUxnxFVsCuQvyUMPn0wURHQQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/8152%2BBon%2BEcho%2B24Sept20%2BCanoes%2Bon%2BDock.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KvEEOD92imk/X6BG9qt9D1I/AAAAAAAAGIs/x-gM5DZ3_7QuDd3uYB0PgTBS_HX1fnkPACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25231_White_Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KvEEOD92imk/X6BG9qt9D1I/AAAAAAAAGIs/x-gM5DZ3_7QuDd3uYB0PgTBS_HX1fnkPACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Bon_Echo_%25231_White_Flowers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-52391866260894772202020-10-13T17:44:00.002-04:002020-10-13T17:44:55.159-04:00Click the Light Fantastic!<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: large;">Blog Post - 13 October 2020</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Click the Light Fantastic</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Without light, photography would not exist."</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">- Ken Liddon, President,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Prince Edward County Photography Club</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today's blog post is a celebration of light and photography. The starting point is October's activity challenge for the members of the Prince Edward Photography Club: to explore a variety of lighting techniques in our photography. Every member gets to submit six photographs from this exploration, each image illustrating a different approach to light. Fearless Leader Ken Liddon then assembles all the submitted photos into a culminating slideshow. As with so many of the Club's themes and challenges, this activity served as an excellent prod for me to get off my duff and engage the world with my camera. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The following six light-filled photographs are the images I submitted, plus a bonus seventh image. I hope you enjoy looking at them and reading my accompanying notes.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for reading my blog. Although I have not yet returned to creating weekly blog posts, I have been enjoying posting irregularly.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wFsos32ucVg/X4YYCXZBPbI/AAAAAAAAGFM/URqh0j2pzjoRKamko-SPjPuEZJ6ywqtIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25231_Kiirei_Samuel%2527s_.Glass_Sculpture_Backlighting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="494" data-original-width="1240" height="254" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wFsos32ucVg/X4YYCXZBPbI/AAAAAAAAGFM/URqh0j2pzjoRKamko-SPjPuEZJ6ywqtIwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h254/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25231_Kiirei_Samuel%2527s_.Glass_Sculpture_Backlighting.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Light Fantastic Photo #1:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Backlighted photograph of a glass sculpture by Prince Edward County glass artist Kirei Samuel, Lalaland Glass Studio.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Photographed 3 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CabaUqFLUsU/X4YYtC75QJI/AAAAAAAAGFU/MgOetAbe24AAwW7zdCclLWWGZcr3LSrIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25232_Duck_on_Jasper_Ave_Pond_Golden_Hour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CabaUqFLUsU/X4YYtC75QJI/AAAAAAAAGFU/MgOetAbe24AAwW7zdCclLWWGZcr3LSrIwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25232_Duck_on_Jasper_Ave_Pond_Golden_Hour.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Light Fantastic Photo #2:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Golden Hour image at sunset </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">on the Jasper Avenue Pond, Picton.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Photographed 3 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rT1k83t2W-w/X4YZRMkwduI/AAAAAAAAGFc/wX8KN9QT9toaDxIcjZ4Oiu7GLnAV_PLSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25233_Kate%2527s_Ptarmigan_Flat_Front_Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rT1k83t2W-w/X4YZRMkwduI/AAAAAAAAGFc/wX8KN9QT9toaDxIcjZ4Oiu7GLnAV_PLSwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25233_Kate%2527s_Ptarmigan_Flat_Front_Light.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Light Fantastic Photo #3:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Low light photo of Kate's ceramic ptarmigan.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Photographed 11 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iSQjFH9XyTE/X4YZ53NCN7I/AAAAAAAAGFk/WHTSnBJ8RdACI35IHt5VcRkJ5UtOk4LIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25234_Mark_Armstrong%2527s_Blue_Glass_Ball_Blue_Hour_Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iSQjFH9XyTE/X4YZ53NCN7I/AAAAAAAAGFk/WHTSnBJ8RdACI35IHt5VcRkJ5UtOk4LIwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25234_Mark_Armstrong%2527s_Blue_Glass_Ball_Blue_Hour_Light.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Light Fantastic Photo #4:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Blue Hour image of a glass ball created by Prince Edward County glass artist Mark Armstrong. (Armstrong Glass Works)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Actually, it's not <i>really</i> a Blue Hour photograph. Blue Hour photography usually is done just before dawn or just after sunset. Here, I cheated by contrasting Mark's piece against a brilliant October daytime sky.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Photographed 3 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gt0winpynNg/X4YbQWQrVYI/AAAAAAAAGFw/AzvaDdXn8wsZ05gVveZTB6COYFm1our4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25235_Lesley_Snider%2527s_Shawl_Inner_Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gt0winpynNg/X4YbQWQrVYI/AAAAAAAAGFw/AzvaDdXn8wsZ05gVveZTB6COYFm1our4wCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25235_Lesley_Snider%2527s_Shawl_Inner_Light.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Light Fantastic Photo #5:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">An image radiating inner light - not really a photographic technique, but one that inspires me. Featured is a piece of fabric art created by Prince Edward County fibre artist Lesley Snyder. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Rosehaven Yarn Shop)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Photographed 11 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2fR4xPUf9rw/X4YcD5Jd1QI/AAAAAAAAGF4/F04Ekj2fHNgjv20EC6AJ728MPWGMC1n2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25236_Slake_Brewery_Taps_Interior_Available_Light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2fR4xPUf9rw/X4YcD5Jd1QI/AAAAAAAAGF4/F04Ekj2fHNgjv20EC6AJ728MPWGMC1n2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Larry_Tayler_Light_Fantastic_%25236_Slake_Brewery_Taps_Interior_Available_Light.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Light Fantastic Photo #6:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A photo using available indoor light without flash. It shows the beer dispensing taps at Slake Brewing, Prince Edward County's </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">newest brewery. (Excellent beer, by the way.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Photographed 2 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Gzt4kfSj0s/X4YeCKy7c_I/AAAAAAAAGGQ/S3jeiXqRLhoGpcfDzrxTemHZPIyeyynyACLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/Flame%2Bin%2BBarn%2BWindow%2B8943%2B%252B%2B8960%2B%252384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1500" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Gzt4kfSj0s/X4YeCKy7c_I/AAAAAAAAGGQ/S3jeiXqRLhoGpcfDzrxTemHZPIyeyynyACLcBGAsYHQ/w534-h640/Flame%2Bin%2BBarn%2BWindow%2B8943%2B%252B%2B8960%2B%252384.jpg" width="534" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bonus Photo - Light Fantastic</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A composite photo combining a barn wall near South Bay, Prince Edward County, and a Thanksgiving dinner candle.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Both images photographed 11 October 2020</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-38179616775207178882020-10-05T12:33:00.000-04:002020-10-05T12:33:13.251-04:00Harvest Photos - 5 October 2020<p><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Photography Friends -</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Belonging to the Prince Edward County Photography Club is an important part of my 'photo life'. Each month, there are various themes and challenges to stimulate and challenge my camera, my technical skills, and my eye. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One of the September themes was "Harvest Time." Below are the five images I submitted, most of them featuring vegetables from Aaron Armstrong's Blue Wheelbarrow Farm near Bloomfield. (<a href="https://www.bluewheelbarrowfarm.ca/" target="_blank">link</a>) Throughout the summer, Bill and I have been participating in Aaron's Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) scheme, whereby each week we've been receiving a crate of gorgeous fresh vegetables.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">You can check out the YouTube slideshow that features all the harvest photos submitted by Prince Edward County Photography Club members <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sh1bADdN2JQ" target="_blank">here</a>. If these photos don't put you in the mood for Thanksgiving, I don't know what will!</span></p><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Enjoy the yummy photos!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xUsZa-yuJEQ/X3tJxwLbkoI/AAAAAAAAGEU/PpbCmxsTJhopOJYXfTiy-c1yC-Tid39RwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25231_Blue_Wheelbarrow_Tomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="1240" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xUsZa-yuJEQ/X3tJxwLbkoI/AAAAAAAAGEU/PpbCmxsTJhopOJYXfTiy-c1yC-Tid39RwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25231_Blue_Wheelbarrow_Tomatoes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v_PHgXDthKE/X3tJx-CNoEI/AAAAAAAAGEM/DUK7obkjUw84UPf8VDc-6XE2W3zMrqtSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25232_Blue_Wheelbarrow_Garlic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v_PHgXDthKE/X3tJx-CNoEI/AAAAAAAAGEM/DUK7obkjUw84UPf8VDc-6XE2W3zMrqtSwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25232_Blue_Wheelbarrow_Garlic.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--kxPjElYcMs/X3tJx7lb8lI/AAAAAAAAGEQ/VJziLzEkaoYDUpIH29pxO3016TgrtRQsgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25233_Bluw_Wheelbarrow_Field_Cherries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--kxPjElYcMs/X3tJx7lb8lI/AAAAAAAAGEQ/VJziLzEkaoYDUpIH29pxO3016TgrtRQsgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25233_Bluw_Wheelbarrow_Field_Cherries.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKUq5mPuoX0/X3tJyXgKzkI/AAAAAAAAGEY/BGtZjoHWVs86Is6_EsZyEuHuNu3_7ZWeACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25234_Blue_Wheelbarrow_Romaine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKUq5mPuoX0/X3tJyXgKzkI/AAAAAAAAGEY/BGtZjoHWVs86Is6_EsZyEuHuNu3_7ZWeACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25234_Blue_Wheelbarrow_Romaine.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8GyJrkHI2-s/X3tJyvQNv9I/AAAAAAAAGEc/pdLpR4Sc2pkkQLOHtxjrhXAwaRRVUVr8QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25235_Blue%2BWheelbarrow_Mushrooms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="1240" height="612" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8GyJrkHI2-s/X3tJyvQNv9I/AAAAAAAAGEc/pdLpR4Sc2pkkQLOHtxjrhXAwaRRVUVr8QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h612/Larry_Tayler_Harvest_Time_Theme_%25235_Blue%2BWheelbarrow_Mushrooms.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-63289004464022655442020-09-30T12:20:00.004-04:002020-09-30T12:30:35.509-04:00Angry-Looking Cat on Bowery Street<p><span style="font-size: large;">Blog Post - 30 September 2020 </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Until I get my creative moxy back, I've decided to change my approach to the "Making Eye Statements" blog. Instead of a weekly post that features photos and commentary, I'll be occasionally posting intriguing single photos that I've made during daily walks, often accompanied by Edna, our Bassett Hound. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ySAa9IYn_RQ/X3Svbcc41PI/AAAAAAAAGD0/0PxpNgRJKOI6EWKhfLYcZFaeCTA2RXKvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/8228%2BAngry%2BCat%2BDownes%2BAve.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ySAa9IYn_RQ/X3Svbcc41PI/AAAAAAAAGD0/0PxpNgRJKOI6EWKhfLYcZFaeCTA2RXKvQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/8228%2BAngry%2BCat%2BDownes%2BAve.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>Todays photo: an angry-looking cat on Bowery Street, Picton. Photographed 24 September, 2020.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Enjoy!</span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-44423445276807740562020-09-20T12:58:00.010-04:002020-09-20T18:08:57.632-04:00Blog Post #189 - 20 September, 2020 - "Welcome Home"<p><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Home. Again.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">On Tuesday, September 8, Bill and I fulfilled our dream of moving back to The County – coming home for both of us. (That’s Prince Edward County for those unfamiliar with Ontario’s geography.) Every part of the day worked as planned: legally, financially, and logistically. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Bless all those people who made the move possible.</span><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">On Monday, September 7, we slept the last night in our Belleville home, which we had owned for almost seven years. By 9am the next day, it was no longer ours, having been purchased by an energetic young couple with all kinds of dreams for it. I loved that house, and it served us well...and it remains in good hands. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will miss our Belleville neighbourhood and our Belleville neighbours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">On the night of September 8, we slept the first night in our new Picton home. And it is a delight – sleek, elegant, and well designed. Kudos to the Port Picton Homes people who created it for us. And bless Bill for all he did to make our living space so welcoming.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The boxes are mostly unpacked. Most of the main floor is complete, with the inevitable small details to be fixed/adjusted/worked around. My office space, where I am writing this post, is spacious and airy. I am a spoiled camper. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The basement is also taking shape. Bill’s quilting studio is a work in progress, with the emphasis on ‘progress’. It promises to be a nurturing, well configured space. I can’t wait to see what magic Bill creates there. The basement also features a laundry room with Bill’s triple sink for fabric dyeing, a two-piece washroom, a furnace room for storage and mechanicals, and – wait for it – a space for my new model railway. Woohoo! Did I mention that I was <i>totally</i> spoiled?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The animals have settled in, each in their own way. Otis, the long-haired miniature dachshund, has been through house moves before, so adapted quickly. PITA, the cat, took a little longer to get used to the space. She spent much of the first 24 hours hiding amongst the boxes and yowling mournfully. By the second day, she had adjusted, however, fully claiming every square inch of the house as her own. Edna, the Basset Hound, took longer to understand what was going on. Sometimes, she just stood in the hallway, looking mystified and confused. In the days that followed, she gradually got used to her new surroundings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Over the years, I have lived in six houses in Picton, starting with 26 Centre Street when my family left our farm near Wellington and ‘moved to town’ in 1957. The last time I moved out was 1984 – thirty-six years ago – when I went to Toronto to start a thirty-year love affair with both Toronto and my late first husband, Spencer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And now, I’m back home again, this time with my loving second husband, Bill, in my seventh Picton home. I am blessed beyond measure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The photos: <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Most of them come from a tour I made last Monday of family graves in The County: my mother and father in Wellington; my maternal grandparents in Bloomfield; my paternal grandparents in Picton; and my niece near West Lake. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Palatino;">It was important for me to touch base with these people and tell them I had come home.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I hope you enjoy the images.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">About the blog: I don’t know how often I will post for the next while. It depends on where the wind takes me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PGqprlh22aw/X2eB2beJD0I/AAAAAAAAGCA/M5LyDU2228Y9OZN4DFZ-1kYfvZ3zyZDyACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6922%2B%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BAngel%2Bc%2BHarp%2BBlog%2Bedited.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1072" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PGqprlh22aw/X2eB2beJD0I/AAAAAAAAGCA/M5LyDU2228Y9OZN4DFZ-1kYfvZ3zyZDyACLcBGAsYHQ/w554-h640/6922%2B%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BAngel%2Bc%2BHarp%2BBlog%2Bedited.jpg" width="554" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wellington Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mBczrd78Tcs/X2eB44X2FhI/AAAAAAAAGCE/BU1mN0a_jLIP4gJ5IVMps2zT17WGMXIHgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/7026%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BSand%2BPiper%2BJasper%2BAve%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mBczrd78Tcs/X2eB44X2FhI/AAAAAAAAGCE/BU1mN0a_jLIP4gJ5IVMps2zT17WGMXIHgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/7026%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BSand%2BPiper%2BJasper%2BAve%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sandpiper on Our Local Pond</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l9nxC5dyMhc/X2eB6yLayfI/AAAAAAAAGCI/X49-WCq2zo053o0oz38nNP_aIDiDnG_PACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/7011%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWest%2BLake%2BCemetery%2BTwo%2BRoosters%2BB%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1139" data-original-width="1240" height="588" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l9nxC5dyMhc/X2eB6yLayfI/AAAAAAAAGCI/X49-WCq2zo053o0oz38nNP_aIDiDnG_PACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h588/7011%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWest%2BLake%2BCemetery%2BTwo%2BRoosters%2BB%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">West Lake Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TyeTywX6wCI/X2eB9Lxp_4I/AAAAAAAAGCM/IejBi6pLiWYUPRrOqOMD502mj_aA8vS7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6927%2B%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BHorse%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TyeTywX6wCI/X2eB9Lxp_4I/AAAAAAAAGCM/IejBi6pLiWYUPRrOqOMD502mj_aA8vS7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/6927%2B%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BHorse%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wellington Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nAa0XoURoGU/X2eB_dlZ8XI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/CnSzdTeML6AyNE9730ALn7oj-F4AW7_2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6908%2B%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BPuppy%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="1240" height="578" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nAa0XoURoGU/X2eB_dlZ8XI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/CnSzdTeML6AyNE9730ALn7oj-F4AW7_2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h578/6908%2B%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BPuppy%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wellington Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RCNtMc0E8ZU/X2eCBiNJYUI/AAAAAAAAGCU/tbm3Ua3ZrZUi2TWbItRCoW7H8i8w4xmvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6906%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BAngel%2Bc%2BPurple%2BFlowers%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1240" height="440" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RCNtMc0E8ZU/X2eCBiNJYUI/AAAAAAAAGCU/tbm3Ua3ZrZUi2TWbItRCoW7H8i8w4xmvQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h440/6906%2B%252381%2B2020-09-14%2BWellington%2BCemetery%2BAngel%2Bc%2BPurple%2BFlowers%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wellington Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crVXe9MONJw/X2eCDbejVXI/AAAAAAAAGCY/M4Ey0ozDXMcCFOBsve_rykonofdqudjpACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6812%2B2020-09-14%2BBowerman%2527s%2BBiker%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crVXe9MONJw/X2eCDbejVXI/AAAAAAAAGCY/M4Ey0ozDXMcCFOBsve_rykonofdqudjpACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/6812%2B2020-09-14%2BBowerman%2527s%2BBiker%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cyclist on Highway 33 near Bowerman's Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8Ny3OzgDAo/X2eCFDZziUI/AAAAAAAAGCc/mBRVys1xXckz3RjJCUjVz3tltWK6Dk2WQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6782%2B2020-09-14%2BBowerman%2527s%2BField%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="1240" height="412" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8Ny3OzgDAo/X2eCFDZziUI/AAAAAAAAGCc/mBRVys1xXckz3RjJCUjVz3tltWK6Dk2WQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h412/6782%2B2020-09-14%2BBowerman%2527s%2BField%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Field Near Bowerman's Cemetery</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sr-QqdUh8Sc/X2eCHGTO15I/AAAAAAAAGCk/vWe3DPcJD88ReGWRthFBTUQ-Jd7tPJk7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6541%2B2020-09-14%2BGlenwood%2BWrought%2BIron%2BChair%2BDetail%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sr-QqdUh8Sc/X2eCHGTO15I/AAAAAAAAGCk/vWe3DPcJD88ReGWRthFBTUQ-Jd7tPJk7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/6541%2B2020-09-14%2BGlenwood%2BWrought%2BIron%2BChair%2BDetail%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chair Detail, Glenwood Cemetery, Picton</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOD-h-YrXu8/X2eCI8jSgMI/AAAAAAAAGCo/Wj5D7kSZqTMl9ZsziKlemvfdO77fo2o4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6532%2B2020-09-14%2BGlenwood%2BBack%2Bof%2BHead%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pOD-h-YrXu8/X2eCI8jSgMI/AAAAAAAAGCo/Wj5D7kSZqTMl9ZsziKlemvfdO77fo2o4ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/6532%2B2020-09-14%2BGlenwood%2BBack%2Bof%2BHead%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Statue Detail, Glenwood </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Cemetery, Picton</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NO1v-tPBvzg/X2eCKNJIWdI/AAAAAAAAGCs/ij2AArTIJDU0iiRuA84DO9rp3D8rKVMJACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/6520%2B2020-09-14%2BFink%2BVase%2Bon%2BMantle%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NO1v-tPBvzg/X2eCKNJIWdI/AAAAAAAAGCs/ij2AArTIJDU0iiRuA84DO9rp3D8rKVMJACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/6520%2B2020-09-14%2BFink%2BVase%2Bon%2BMantle%2BBlog%2Bcopy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">My Prized Fink vase on our mantle -</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Palatino; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Designed and created in Canberra, Australian Capital Territory.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Purchased in the Salamanca Arts Centre, Hobart, </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Tasmania. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">An Australian design icon.</span></div><br /><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Picton, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-53207540958524037172020-08-02T12:38:00.000-04:002020-08-02T12:38:09.025-04:00Blog Post #188 - August 2, 2020: "Conversations About Racism, Part Three - Reconsidering Sir John A. Macdonald"<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Blog Post #188 – 2 August 2020<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><font face="Palatino" size="5">Conversations About Racism, Part Three</font></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Reconsidering Sir John A. Macdonald<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><font size="5"><br /></font></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><font size="5"><u><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Note</span></u><span style="font-family: Palatino;">: A YouTube version of this post can be found <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xAVSA1lMnE&t=2s" target="_blank">here</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></font></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Viewing time: 15 minutes.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">It’s time to reconsider my opinion of Canada’s first Prime Minister, Sir John A. Macdonald.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I’ve enjoyed studying history for over sixty years. Inspired by gifted teachers, I majored in Canadian history at university. The more I studied history, the more nuanced it became. I once naïvely believed that history was fixed – a universally agreed set of facts, dates, causes, and consequences. Frozen in time, never to be reconsidered, only to be recalled.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Then I grew up. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">The world was infinitely more complex than that. Disputed understandings of the present lead to disputed understandings of the past. New insights, evidence, and theories constantly arise and challenge established versions of events. I clearly remember the day a world-altering insight registered in my young mind: history depends on who writes it. And those who write it used to be the ‘winners’, predominantly white and male. Of the many revolutions currently roiling the marketplace of ideas, one of the most important has been the opening up of history to alternate perspectives, especially from disenfranchised, oppressed, and previously silenced voices. The cat and the mouse experience the same events very differently. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Which brings me to Canada’s first Prime Minister, John Alexander Macdonald, aka ‘Sir John A’. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Some background for non-Canadian readers: born in Scotland in 1815, Macdonald migrated with his family to Kingston, Upper Canada (now Ontario) in 1820. He started practising law in nearby Picton in 1833. His legal career took him back to Kingston and into politics. Ultimately, he became the prime architect of Canadian federation. Tradition calls him ‘The Father of Confederation’. As a result of his leadership, cajoling, and arm-twisting, the Dominion of Canada came into being on July 1, 1867, a date now designated as Canada Day. In the beginning, it comprised three British North American colonies: Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and the Province of Canada (modern day Québec and Ontario). In subsequent years, Canada expanded to all the land mass north of the USA to the Arctic Ocean, with the exception of Alaska. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Macdonald was Prime Minister twice: from 1867 to 1873; and from 1878 until his death in 1891. He was a towering, controversial figure who inspired both passionate support and deep loathing. He spearheaded the building of the Canadian Pacific Railway to bring British Columbia into the federation, connecting the country with a line of steel in 1885 – but not without scandal, rancour, and violence. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Macdonald helped forge a country that arguably would have been swallowed up by the ravenous United States had he not stubbornly stood his ground. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sEn3dF_q8CQ/XyblUVlUUyI/AAAAAAAAF-g/NPRlfbObzDk21CuXxVpxiryfoBPTQP5cACLcBGAsYHQ/s1420/1891%2BPoster%2B2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1420" data-original-width="938" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sEn3dF_q8CQ/XyblUVlUUyI/AAAAAAAAF-g/NPRlfbObzDk21CuXxVpxiryfoBPTQP5cACLcBGAsYHQ/w529-h800/1891%2BPoster%2B2.png" width="529" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I have always had a fond spot in my heart for Sir John A. He helped found the land of my birth, the land I call home, the land I love. He was a larger-than-life figure who strode this country like a colossus. His personal life was marked by grief and tragedy. He was a notoriously heavy drinker. He was deeply flawed.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">And, it turns out, he was a racist, even beyond the standards of the late 19<sup>th</sup> century, when Canada’s predominantly white culture was pervasively and casually racist. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Which takes us to Canada’s infamous Residential Schools for Indigenous children and <i>The Indian Act.</i><o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><font size="5"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino;">The Indian Act</span></i><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> was passed by the Canadian Parliament in 1876. Although Macdonald was not Prime Minister when <i>The Indian Act</i> was initially passed, the law was based on <i>The Gradual Civilization Act</i>, passed under Macdonald’s leadership in 1857 – ten years before Confederation – by the legislature of the former Province of Canada. <i>The Indian Act</i> codified the relationship between the Government of Canada and the Indigenous peoples of this country. And <i>The Indian Act</i> is still in effect, although it has been amended over the years. It is a shockingly racist, paternalistic law that has traumatized tens of thousands of Indigenous people. In the early 1880s, when Macdonald was once again Prime Minister, Residential Schools for Indigenous children were established across Canada under the authority of <i>The Indian Act</i>. The goal of the Residential Schools was to strip Indigenous children of their cultures and languages and to force them to become ‘white’. <i>The Indian Act</i> legalized the forced removal of Indigenous children from their homes and families, followed by relocation to distant Residential Schools. Most were operated by the Roman Catholic Church and various Protestant denominations. In the words of Macdonald, “An indigenous child educated where he or she lives is simply a savage who can read or write.” In Residential Schools, Macdonald intended that the kidnapped children “acquire the habits and modes of thoughts of white men.” <o:p></o:p></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">The children were forbidden to speak their birth languages and forced to learn French or English. Their cultural practices were banned. And – appallingly – they were subject to massive abuse: sexual, emotional, and physical, often at the hands of priests and nuns. It is estimated that 150,000 Indigenous children were coerced into attending these schools from the 1870s until the last one closed in 1996.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><font size="5"><b><i><span style="font-family: Palatino;">1996!</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><o:p></o:p></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">The trauma suffered by these children is incalculable. Tragically, the trauma reverberates from one generation to the next. The profundity of the racism inflicted on the bodies, minds, and souls of these children is vast, nauseating, and heartless. And the wretched consequences continue to be felt in every corner of this land. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">If you want to learn more about the obscenity of the Residential Schools, a sobering starting point is the 2015 final report (<a href="http://www.trc.ca/assets/pdf/Honouring_the_Truth_Reconciling_for_the_Future_July_23_2015.pdf" target="_blank">link</a>) of The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC). The TRC was established in 2008 to document and assess the impact that Residential Schools had – and continue to have – on Indigenous peoples in Canada. The report’s unflinching honesty and rage needs to be required reading for every Canadian citizen. Its ninety-four “Calls to Action” (<a href="http://trc.ca/assets/pdf/Calls_to_Action_English2.pdf" target="_blank">link</a>) remain, sadly, mostly unfulfilled.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">The second element of Macdonald’s racist legacy was his attitude towards the Chinese. In 1885, he said in the House of Commons that allowing Chinese people to settle permanently in Canada would mean that “the Aryan character of the future of British America would be destroyed.” He also considered that the 1885 passage of <i>The Electoral Franchise Act</i>, which took the vote away from men of “the Mongolian or Chinese race”, to be his “greatest achievement.”<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Completing Macdonald’s trifecta of racism, historians have uncovered evidence of his support for the Confederate cause in the American Civil War (1861-1865) and even suggest that these sympathies influenced his choice of the word “Confederation” to describe the new Canadian nation. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Let that one sink in.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><font size="5"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">(See “Reconsidering the Underground Railroad: Slavery and Racialization in the Making of the Canadian State” by retired Queen’s University/University of Toronto professor Abigail Bakan, <i>Journal of the Society of Socialist Studies</i>, Spring 2008, pages 18-19. <a href="https://socialiststudies.com/index.php/sss/article/view/23765" target="_blank">Link</a>)</span><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> <o:p></o:p></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">So, when I examine John A. Macdonald’s legacy, I see institutionalized, state-sanctioned racism.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I often hear people say that we mustn’t judge the past by the standards of the present. I disagree. That’s what the modern study of history is predicated upon: contemporary eyes critically examining the past while discerning guidance for the future. And sometimes these contemporary historians discover that our past leaders behaved very badly indeed, even by the standards of their own day.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">So the conundrum becomes: how do we recognize the contributions of such figures in our past, while acknowledging the profound damage their policies and actions caused?<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="5"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4tgjA44PvDw/XybnqU5LMDI/AAAAAAAAF-s/A6nA8Xy15OUPGXSLtVsK4IOXw0tseQRBACLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/5166%2BSir%2BJohn%2BA.%2BMacdonald%2B%2522Holding%2BCourt%2522%2Bby%2BRuth%2BAbernethy%252C%2BPicton%2BOriginal%2Bnamed%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="1240" height="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4tgjA44PvDw/XybnqU5LMDI/AAAAAAAAF-s/A6nA8Xy15OUPGXSLtVsK4IOXw0tseQRBACLcBGAsYHQ/w800-h600/5166%2BSir%2BJohn%2BA.%2BMacdonald%2B%2522Holding%2BCourt%2522%2Bby%2BRuth%2BAbernethy%252C%2BPicton%2BOriginal%2Bnamed%2Bcopy.jpg" width="800" /></a></font></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Which brings us to <i>Holding Court</i>, the 2015 statue of Sir John A. Macdonald by the gifted Canadian artist Ruth Abernethy. The statue stands in front of the Picton Public Library and commemorates Macdonald’s first court case in Picton, October 8, 1834, although the details of this case are disputed. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><font size="5"><i><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Holding Court</span></i><span style="font-family: Palatino;"> is the source of controversy in Prince Edward County: some staunchly defend the statue as a celebration of Picton’s – and Canada’s – heritage, while others want it removed because of Macdonald’s traumatic treatment of Indigenous peoples. Red paint has been thrown on it twice in recent weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="5"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nMfHYI4bEXU/Xybn3FX39CI/AAAAAAAAF-w/sCc9ZPRfqnksSYowhK31mxrxVSPVO9EowCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/4998%2BSir%2BJohn%2BA%2527s%2BRed%2BFoot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nMfHYI4bEXU/Xybn3FX39CI/AAAAAAAAF-w/sCc9ZPRfqnksSYowhK31mxrxVSPVO9EowCLcBGAsYHQ/w800-h800/4998%2BSir%2BJohn%2BA%2527s%2BRed%2BFoot.jpg" width="800" /></a></font></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><font size="5"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Full disclosure: in 2015 I donated money to The Macdonald Project, the organization that proposed and raised money for the creation of <i>Holding Court.</i> (</span><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><a href="http://macdonaldproject.com/" target="_blank">link</a>) My opinions about Macdonald have evolved since then; were that fund-raising campaign held today, I would not support it.<o:p></o:p></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">The County of Prince Edward, the municipal government that is the custodian of <i>Holding Court</i>, has established a community consultation process about the statue’s future. Representatives of the nearby Mohawks of the Bay of Quinte are part of this process. I will follow the consultations closely.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">My views: <i>Holding Court</i> cannot continue as it currently exists. The painful reality of Macdonald’s racism and treatment of Indigenous people demands – at the very least – contextualization and recognition of the ongoing trauma. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">One option is to relocate <i>Holding Court</i> to Picton’s Macaulay Heritage Park for display in a museum setting. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">In any case, it cannot stay where it is, as it is. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Another approach would be to remove the figure of Macdonald from <i>Holding Court</i>, while keeping the empty witness chair on public view. I like the powerful metaphor of that image – an eloquent reminder of my country’s unwillingness to acknowledge its past.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Thanks to the miracle of Photoshop, this is my version of <i>Holding Court</i>, without Macdonald.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vF6eEyKVcRg/XyboczFGBdI/AAAAAAAAF-8/KM19hAHQpEQRsre9Z8_4hi7ix0JHYvCtQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/5166%2B%2522Holding%2BCourt...Without%2BSir%2BJohn%2BA.%2BMacdonald%2522%2B-%2Btransformed%2Bnamed%2Bre-edited%2BJuly%2B25%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="930" data-original-width="1240" height="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vF6eEyKVcRg/XyboczFGBdI/AAAAAAAAF-8/KM19hAHQpEQRsre9Z8_4hi7ix0JHYvCtQCLcBGAsYHQ/w800-h600/5166%2B%2522Holding%2BCourt...Without%2BSir%2BJohn%2BA.%2BMacdonald%2522%2B-%2Btransformed%2Bnamed%2Bre-edited%2BJuly%2B25%2Bcopy.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I recognize, by the way, that artist Ruth Abernethy might object to having the two elements her sculpture split apart.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">So....to sum up:<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I have had people – white people – tell me that, while they claim to understand the anger felt by Indigenous peoples about their racist treatment in the past, it is now time for them to let go of that anger and move on. In other words, “Get over it.” The mind-numbing racism of this thinking leaves me speechless. The racial wounds are so profound and deeply embedded in Canadian society that a simplistic push for ‘closure’ trivializes and exacerbates intergenerational Indigenous suffering, leading to further traumatization. Rather than healing the trauma, such a push merely reflects white reluctance to acknowledge Canada’s reprehensible treatment of Indigenous peoples.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I hope that this modest essay helps promote a healing path.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">I am going on hiatus for a few weeks while Bill and I move to Picton. I plan to re-start photography, writing, and blog posts, early in the autumn.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Until then, stay safe, stay well, and stay curious.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">The photographs that follow come from a photo collage project I developed two years ago as my thinking about Sir John A. Macdonald began shifting.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">Belleville (soon to be Picton), Ontario<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5">LarryTayler.com<o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"><br /></font></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-331og0-zPG0/XybopPKdE7I/AAAAAAAAF_A/Um13fTBLPjUmmyWZbYaZN32A-q50aPExACLcBGAsYHQ/s1144/SJA%2BCity%2BPark%2BKingston%2Bedited%2B1x1%2Bhead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1144" data-original-width="1144" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-331og0-zPG0/XybopPKdE7I/AAAAAAAAF_A/Um13fTBLPjUmmyWZbYaZN32A-q50aPExACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/SJA%2BCity%2BPark%2BKingston%2Bedited%2B1x1%2Bhead.jpg" /></a></div><font size="5"><br /></font><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9c9Xdcnj-Ng/XybqGcp8uKI/AAAAAAAAF_M/A93mC0T2E0AzCNdU6HH1MJnm72NWWQUIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1353/6142%2BFigure%2Bon%2BSJA%2BStatue%2Bfinal%2Bnamed%2Bresized%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="1240" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9c9Xdcnj-Ng/XybqGcp8uKI/AAAAAAAAF_M/A93mC0T2E0AzCNdU6HH1MJnm72NWWQUIwCLcBGAsYHQ/w734-h800/6142%2BFigure%2Bon%2BSJA%2BStatue%2Bfinal%2Bnamed%2Bresized%2Bcopy.jpg" width="734" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVwHlcj2XNA/XybqJyzoZoI/AAAAAAAAF_Q/nYtDCBr2vQIFJ9S9yKxoFvi3p8epXKxSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1550/SJA%2BSigns%2BFinal%2BTwisted%2Bsmall%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1550" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVwHlcj2XNA/XybqJyzoZoI/AAAAAAAAF_Q/nYtDCBr2vQIFJ9S9yKxoFvi3p8epXKxSwCLcBGAsYHQ/w800-h640/SJA%2BSigns%2BFinal%2BTwisted%2Bsmall%2Bcopy.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1L_hZ12sNw/XybqNjOMT5I/AAAAAAAAF_U/9oKfqhRJqOw478CKY-1XGVusaf3NzCiPgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2870/SJA%2BLocoon%2BFerry%2Brenewed%2Bnamed%2Bresized%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1046" data-original-width="2870" height="291" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h1L_hZ12sNw/XybqNjOMT5I/AAAAAAAAF_U/9oKfqhRJqOw478CKY-1XGVusaf3NzCiPgCLcBGAsYHQ/w800-h291/SJA%2BLocoon%2BFerry%2Brenewed%2Bnamed%2Bresized%2Bcopy.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oqmBPvD9Zjc/XybqTYGaP3I/AAAAAAAAF_Y/zLAdkpYfkxA6L0jXY5z1bBYuSiD9opd0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1240/SJA%2Bin%2Ba%2BBin%2Bwith%2Bside%2Bphoto%2Bc%2BResidential%2BSchools.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1240" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oqmBPvD9Zjc/XybqTYGaP3I/AAAAAAAAF_Y/zLAdkpYfkxA6L0jXY5z1bBYuSiD9opd0gCLcBGAsYHQ/w800-h800/SJA%2Bin%2Ba%2BBin%2Bwith%2Bside%2Bphoto%2Bc%2BResidential%2BSchools.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0xo4b8tZiIg/XybqYh8zIcI/AAAAAAAAF_g/Wo0UpuE89AAa6vF01dgwDi5wYAPbWi25ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1553/SJA%2BBust%2Bwhite%2Beyes%2Bfinal%2Bunnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1553" data-original-width="1240" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0xo4b8tZiIg/XybqYh8zIcI/AAAAAAAAF_g/Wo0UpuE89AAa6vF01dgwDi5wYAPbWi25ACLcBGAsYHQ/w639-h800/SJA%2BBust%2Bwhite%2Beyes%2Bfinal%2Bunnamed.jpg" width="639" /></a></div><font size="5"><br /></font><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; line-height: 28px;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><font size="5"> </font></span></p>Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-61751239962693236672020-07-26T12:40:00.003-04:002020-07-26T12:40:43.004-04:00Blog Post #187 - "A Celebration of Oddity", 26 July, 2020<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; 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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">A Celebration of Oddity</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Blog Post #187 – 26 July 2020</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last week, I celebrated bits of beauty. This week, it’s a celebration of oddity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dictionary.com defines oddity as “singularity, strangeness, or eccentricity.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, I know a thing or two about oddity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a child, I once overheard a friend of my mother’s whisper to her, “Well, Rose, Larry is...um...an <i>odd</i> little boy.” (Note to parents: kids <i>always</i> hear what people whisper.) Up until that point in my life, I hadn’t been aware of any adjectives used to describe me. I was blissfully oblivious about categories or pigeon-holes. It did not seem odd to me, for instance, that I would take inordinate interest in setting fires, stealing gun powder, or listening to CBC Radio. It is only in retrospect that I see the oddness of a pyromaniac child with a worrisome interest in explosions and politics. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">But once I had heard my mother’s friend whisper that word “<i>odd</i>”, I fully embraced the label. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Yes, world, I am odd<i>.</i> Yippee!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">It wasn’t long before I was studying Russian, subscribing to <i>Hansard</i>, and quoting from Chairman Mao’s <i>Little Red Book</i>. Not to mention sending rocket designs to NASA, writing outraged letters to <i>The Globe and Mail,</i> and reading <i>Lady Chatterley’s Lover</i> to learn about sex. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yup, definitely odd.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Which means that one of the things that delights me most about photography is recording odd images. Off-kilter images that my mother’s friend would not have understood. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I thank her for the label. It has served me well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">In that spirit, I offer the following odd photographs for your perusal. Enjoy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Closing note: this is my penultimate blog post before going on hiatus while Bill and I move to Picton. (Yes, dear Reader, I have reached “P” in the dictionary.) Once we are settled into our new home, I plan to re-start photography, writing, and blog posts, likely in early autumn. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Next week’s theme will be part three of my “Conversations about Racism” - a reconsideration of the legacy of Sir John A. Macdonald, Canada's first Prime Minister.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville (soon to be Picton), Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com</span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-19542567251458300812020-07-19T13:06:00.000-04:002020-07-19T13:06:32.274-04:00Blog Post #186 - "Bits of Beauty" - July 19, 2020<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Blog Post #186 – 19 July 2020<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bits of Beauty<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s time to celebrate bits of beauty. I’ve dipped into my file of photos made during the peak of Covid-19 isolation to find images that don’t fit any particular theme but that deserve to be seen. They range from a snow-covered daffodil in our back yard to a wonderful old neighbourhood dog. I’ve even thrown in a close-up of my husband’s prized pickled eggs!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;">Bill and I are coming to the end of our sojourn in Belleville. We bought our house here almost seven years ago, a year before I retired. We moved full-time from Toronto six years ago. Those six years have been filled with gifts, challenges, and wonderful memories, but it is now time for us to go back home – to Prince Edward County. For those unfamiliar with Ontario’s geography, Prince Edward County – not to be confused with Prince Edward Island on Canada’s east coast – is a large island on the north shore of Lake Ontario. Our new house will be in Picton, the main town of Prince Edward County. It’s about a 25-minute drive south of Belleville. Our moving date is scheduled for Tuesday, September 8. Once August arrives, life will be very busy – packing, organizing, and saying good-byes. I plan to write two more weekly blog posts before going on hiatus. Next week, I want to write about some odd photos I’ve made during Covid-19 times, and then I’ll finish off with the third part of my conversations about racism. Once we get settled into Picton, I plan to re-start my photography, writing, and blog posts, likely in early autumn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the bits of beauty in these photos.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-6233549911053032482020-07-12T13:38:00.001-04:002020-07-14T13:56:28.285-04:00Blog Post #185: "The invisible white WE" - Conversations about Racism, Part 2. July 12, 2020<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "palatino"; font-size: large;"> </span><b><i><span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Note: </span></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">There is a 12-minute recorded version of this <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">blog post available on YouTube.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">With thanks to Bill Stearman for the suggestion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: palatino; font-size: large;">( <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARwTsajw5-8">Link</a>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Blog Post #185: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">‘<i>The invisible white <b>WE</b>‘</i> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Conversations About Racism, Part Two<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">All good people agree,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And all good people say,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">All nice people, like Us, are We<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And every one else is They.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">- Rudyard Kipling, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">“We and They” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">(1926)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It is ironic that I start Part Two of my Conversations about Racism by quoting Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), the white English author who popularized the term “the white man’s burden.” I loathe the racism in Kipling’s writing, but I do find this quotation, from the final stanza of his poem “We and They”, to be a useful starting point for today’s topic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">In this essay, I’m exploring the power of what I call <i>‘the invisible white <b>WE</b>’ </i>when talking about Anti-BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Colour) racism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Please see my disclosure statement about the term ‘<i>invisible white <b>WE</b>’</i> at the end.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">In Part One of this series about racism (21 June 2020 – <a href="http://makingeyestatements.blogspot.com/2020/06/blog-post-21-june-2020-racism-alas-my.html">Link</a>), I wrote about being born white in a predominantly white community. When growing up, I was not aware that I was white. In the same way that to a fish, the water is invisible, the concept of being white was invisible to me. In that essay, I made the connection between this invisibility, white privilege, and white systemic racism, all in aid of confronting my own racism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Here’s an anecdote to illustrate what I mean by ‘<i>the invisible white <b>WE</b>‘</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">About eighteen months ago, I saw a Facebook post that featured the photo of a large sign placed near the entrance of an American Protestant church. It was the kind of sign typically seen in front of churches welcoming non-attenders into the life of the congregation. (Forgive me, but the details of the sign are garnered from memory. Alas, I did not save the photo, nor do I know the church’s denomination or location.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The sign read something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">WE...welcome People of Color.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">WE...welcome Indigenous people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">WE...welcome Gay and Lesbian people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">WE...welcome disabled people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">WE...welcome minorities.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">WE...welcome you!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">An impressive list, I thought to myself...until I looked at the word ‘WE’. Who, exactly, is the ‘WE’ that’s doing all this welcoming? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It isn’t minority people (whatever that means).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It isn’t disabled people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It isn’t Gay or Lesbian people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It isn’t Indigenous people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And it isn’t People of Colour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">By process of elimination, you’re left with the conclusion that it’s white, straight, able-bodied people who are doing the welcoming. And they’re not identified. They’re way too busy welcoming all the people who <b><i>aren’t</i></b> like them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">This is an example of ‘<i>the invisible white <b>WE</b>‘</i>. By not including people like themselves in the list of those being welcomed, they have rendered their whiteness invisible. After all, they are the norm. They consider themselves the ‘normal’ people who are generously welcoming all the ‘other’ people into the life of their church. They have the power to define what constitutes ‘other’. And it’s not them, because they’re already there. The distinguished American journalist Isabel Wilkerson calls this phenomenon “invisible scaffolding.” (“America’s Enduring Racial Caste System”, <i>New York Times Magazine</i>, July 5, 2020, Page 28)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The implication of this racial invisibility hit me hard. It came at a time when I was starting to fathom my own white privilege. The concept that white was so ‘normal’ in my culture that it didn’t need to be named or acknowledged was hugely disturbing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I posted a (too) hasty reply on Facebook to the church sign, saying something cheeky like, “I guess this church doesn’t welcome white people, because they’re not on the list.” Within minutes, someone posted a comment objecting to the tone of my comment and accusing it – and me – of being racist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I tried drafting a better response, explaining that I was in fact trying to be anti-racist and that I was grappling with being a racist simply because I had been born white in a white society, but the subtleties were too complex to cover in a brief reply. Rather than risk an online argument about what was – and what was not – racist, I deleted my comment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">A good example of white privilege, don’t you think? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">This episode taught me three lessons:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">1. ‘<i>The invisible white <b>WE</b>‘</i> is a powerful force in our society.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">2. I hadn’t done enough homework to articulate my point of view and to reply to challenges of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">3. The term ‘white people’ makes many white people nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Here’s my current thinking about racism: for white people, race and white privilege are normalized and are, therefore, invisible. The sociological term for this invisibility is ‘implicit bias’. The group that has the power to define ‘normal’ is the group that benefits most from that power. The more entrenched that power becomes, the more invisible it becomes. The more invisible it becomes, the more those who benefit from it deny that it exists. To repeat the metaphor I used earlier, “To the fish, the water is invisible.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">(Last-minute addition: Robin DiAngelo, author of <i>White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism</i>, adds to this metaphor by pointing out you can’t be untouched by the water you’re swimming in. See below for more information about Dr. DiAngelo.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I am not saying that all use of <i>‘We’ </i>when examining racism is bad. There are <i>‘We’ </i>groups that are intentionally inclusive and anti-racist. What I am trying put into words is the insidious, invisible white attitude that denies racism and white privilege exist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "palatino";">A good starting point for research about implicit bias is the Perception Institute. (<a href="https://perception.org/research/implicit-bias/">Link</a>)</span><span style="font-family: "palatino";"> According to the Perception Institute’s website, it is a “consortium of researchers, advocates, and strategists who translate cutting edge research on race, gender, and other identities into solutions that reduce bias and discrimination, and promote belonging.” It is based in Washington, DC.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Another anti-racist resource is Robin Diangelo’s fabulous book, <i>White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism</i>. It is an excellent guide for understanding white racism. It has sharp edges and is uncomfortable for me as a white person to read – by design. Highly recommended. Diangelo – who identifies as white – believes that white people need some racial humility. She focuses particularly on white people who believe they are free of bias. As she says, “Another way that my life has been shaped by being white is that my race is held up as the norm for humanity. Whites are ‘just people’ – our race is rarely if ever named.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">(Watch one of Dr. DiAngelo’s powerful YouTube presentations <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45ey4jgoxeU&t=1537s">here</a>. And listen to Krista Tippett’s <i>On Being</i> interview with Dr. DiAngelo and racial trauma expert Resmaa Menakem <a href="https://onbeing.org/programs/robin-diangelo-and-resmaa-menakem-in-conversation/">here</a>.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">My friends: the above thoughts mark the beginning of a journey for me. I have no easy solutions, but at least my journey has begun. I’ve started writing Part Three of these conversations – a reconsideration of Sir John A. Macdonald, due in early August. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "palatino";">Disclosure</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "palatino";">: when I searched the term <i>‘the invisible white <b>WE’</b></i> to see if anyone else uses it, Google found only one reference. It is contained in an essay by Sue Shore in <i>Whitening Race: Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism</i>, edited by Aileen Moreton-Robinson (Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, Australia, 2004, page 101). The title of Dr. Shore’s essay is <i>Destabilising or Recuperating Whiteness? (Un)mapping ‘The Self’ of Agentic Learning Discourses</i>. Dr. Shore teaches at the International Graduate Centre of Education at Charles Darwin University, Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia. Portions of the book are available without charge on Google Books (<a href="https://books.google.ca/books?id=FJOGAwAAQBAJ&pg=PA101&lpg=PA101&dq=%22the+invisible+white+we%22&source=bl&ots=tIoINoxbAy&sig=ACfU3U0FARJlUFiphBbzbIvVq5Zb8wVTqQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiohZ6Un53qAhVboHIEHflgAlgQ6AEwAHoECAEQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22the%20invisible%20white%20we%22&f=false">Link</a>). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The photos: They all feature graffiti on railway cars in the Canadian National freight yard in Belleville. Graffiti art can be an elegantly complex world of in-groups, codes, and secret symbols. It reminds me of the equally complex world of <i>‘the invisible white <b>WE’</b></i> : full of in-groups, codes, and secret symbols. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Until next time, my friends, stay safe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario, Canada<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-39653602421133823552020-07-05T13:54:00.001-04:002020-07-05T13:54:36.004-04:00Blog Post, July 5, 2020: "Belleville House & Lawn Decorations"<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville House and Lawn Decorations</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">ITBT – <i>In The Before Times</i> – I had not realized how much east-end Belleville loves its house and lawn decorations. We’re not talking about the tasteful door wreaths that I’ve blogged about earlier. No, this time, I’ve been photographing seriously funky ornaments and tchotchkes. And ceramics. Lots and lots of ceramics. I have dozens of photos of such decorations, most made while Edna and I had our daily, socially distanced walks. It’s as if these ornaments were talismans (talismen? talispersons?) intended to ward off misfortune and to welcome in good fortune. And, depending on my mood, I was either charmed and delighted by them – or appalled and dismayed. Mostly it was charm and delight. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Side note: I’m saving my dismay for people who don’t wear face masks or shields when near non-bubble people.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">In fact, I could have created several themed albums of ornament photos: wall-mounted bicycles; faded plastic flowers; puppy and kitten statues galore; acres of angels; miniature houses placed in trees; donkeys pulling wagons; and oddities that defied category. And each of them – I hope – loved and cared for by doting owners.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">The last photo, a creepy concrete head I discovered on Farley Avenue in May, has special meaning for me. The Quinte Arts Council (QAC) is featuring it on the cover of the upcoming summer edition of <i>Umbrella</i>, the quarterly magazine it publishes about the arts in the Bay of Quinte area. The theme is ”Arts in Isolation: The COVID-19 Issue”. I think my photo speaks to the ambiguities and uncertainties of our times.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I offer this collection of ornaments in appreciation for all those people who curate exhibits for their homes, lawns, and gardens. Enjoy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-20720122998927057422020-06-28T13:31:00.002-04:002020-06-28T13:31:38.579-04:00Blog Post - 28 June 2020 - "Signal Textures"<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Signal Textures</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the last few weeks, I’ve posted essays on topics that included racism, homophobia, Christianity, and growing old. Heavy going, much of it. Emotionally risky for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">This week’s post is more modest. And next week’s post as well. Think of it as hitting the refresh button.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, I’m writing in celebration of textures and beer. Regular followers of this blog may recognize texture as a recurring theme in my photographs. Even after five years of serious photography, I continue to find textures visually rewarding and nurturing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">What’s new is celebrating beer along with the textures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Let me explain:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love a good Pilsner beer. Few things are more satisfying for me than a cold Pilsner on a hot day. Until I moved to Belleville in 2014, my favourite Pilsner had come from Toronto’s Steam Whistle Brewery, located in the Canadian Pacific Railway’s former John Street Roundhouse at the foot of the CN Tower. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mmmmm – love that Steam Whistle Pilsner!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">But my love of Steam Whistle’s Pilsner was challenged in 2017 by Radio Tube, a Pilsner brewed right here in Belleville by the Signal Brewing Company. (<a href="https://www.signal.beer/">Link</a>) Signal Brewing is the brainchild of the talented and farsighted Belleville businessman Richard Courneyea. Richard saw the dilapidated remains of the former Corby Distillery in Corbyville – just north of Highway 401 on the Moira River in Belleville – and he had an idea. Richard’s dream was to restore the building and repurpose it as a brewery and restaurant. After years of planning and building, Signal opened in 2017 and soon became part of Belleville’s DNA. One element of that DNA is Signal’s Radio Tube Pilsner. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Move over, Steam Whistle! You’re sharing ‘fav’ status with Radio Tube! (And, no, Richard didn’t pay me to write this!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Similar to restaurants all over Canada, Signal Brewery closed down in March. And, similar to resourceful restaurateurs everywhere, Richard and his team were soon back at work supplying take-out meals – and hand sanitizer. And, of course, the Radio Tube Pilsner kept flowing – much to my delight when Bill and I would pick up dinner at Signal’s take-out window.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And here’s where the textures come in: the area adjacent to Signal’s Corbyville location is rich in industrial textures, both from the site’s storied past and Richard’s recent renovations. Early one spring evening, while Bill was standing in a distanced line to pick up our Signal dinner and beer, I wandered around the area with my camera. And these photographs are the result.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy them. And I hope you also have the opportunity to enjoy Signal’s beers, menu, and ambience, especially now that its beautiful patio has re-opened on the banks of the Mighty Moira. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-64309125630838989702020-06-21T13:21:00.000-04:002020-07-12T13:07:13.502-04:00Blog Post - 21 June, 2020 - Racism. Alas, My Racism.<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "palatino";">Racism. Alas,</span><span style="font-family: "palatino";"> </span><i style="font-family: Palatino;">My</i><span style="font-family: "palatino";"> </span><span style="font-family: "palatino";">Racism.</span><span style="font-family: "palatino";"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Part 1 of an Ongoing Conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes, you have to write about difficult things. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">This is one of those times. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I have been asking myself what role I play – as a white person – in the systemic racism that keeps manifesting itself in Canada and other countries. Am I complicit in the racism that Indigenous people, Black people, and other People of Colour experience simply because I’m white? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I have been listening, reading, thinking and weeping about this question. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And my answer is: Yes, I am complicit. Appallingly and remorsefully, I am complicit. Which means I am a racist. A polite, well intentioned racist, but a racist nonetheless. By default.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It is now time to write about racism – <i>my</i> racism. This essay is the beginning of the beginning of that conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">These thoughts – these untidy, confusing, shameful thoughts – are wholly my own, and I am speaking only for myself. Some may think I am virtue signalling. Please believe I am trying hard to avoid doing that. I am just trying to understand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">If you do not agree with what I am saying, especially if you identify as white, please take your disagreement elsewhere for now. I hope, however, that you will return to my words at some point and reconsider them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">If you do agree with what I am saying, please let my words live in your heart for a time. Combine them with your own wisdom and see what takes root.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">First things first: I was born white. And I was born into a predominantly white rural Ontario community. As the cliché goes, “To the fish, the water is invisible.” I was not aware that I was white. When I made decisions, I did not have to consider my race. I did not fear being followed by a store clerk when I shopped. I did not fear being stopped by a police officer. I did not fear having other people assume I was doing something illegal. And when I saw ‘Flesh-Coloured Band Aids’ in our home, I did not think twice about the fact that the colour of those band aids matched my skin colour... because white was the norm. And I was white. Therefore, I was the norm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I now know that everything in that last paragraph adds up to white privilege. Invisible White privilege.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">As a result, I simply did not think about being white during my childhood. Photographs in <i>The National Geographic</i> showed me that far, far away, there were people who looked different from me. But these <i>National Geographic</i> people were exotic exceptions who had nothing in common with me or the other people in my community. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Because everyone in my community was white.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Except, of course, for the Hill family, the Indians (the term we used then) who lived in the tenant house on our farm. I did not understand why they lived there. But I did understand – without being told – that I was not to visit them. Of course, I <i>did</i> visit them because I liked the Hills, and I liked playing with their daughter, Betty. They were nice people who did not seem that much different from me...except that my clothes were cleaner than theirs. And their house smelled – the smell of poverty, I now realize. I do not recall my parents ever saying anything negative about the Hills, but I knew that there was a line – my family and I stayed on one side of that line and the Hills stayed on the other. We all knew our places, without anything being said. Nothing was <i>ever</i> said. Because, of course, nothing <i>needed</i> to be said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And I remember the first time I saw a Negro (again, the term we used then). My mother and I were walking in our local village when we saw a Negro woman across the street. I was curious because she was clearly ‘not one of us’. When I turned to ask my mother about the Negro, I saw my mother staring at her intensely. Not unkindly or fearfully. But staring, nonetheless. She then looked down at me and whispered, almost in awe, “<i>That woman is </i><i>black</i>.” And then she resumed staring. And nothing else was said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Bottom line: I lived in a cocoon of invisible whiteness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">My parents were good people. Loving, kind, generous people. I heard no overt racism from them; I saw no overt racism. The concept of race in our community was dealt with in silent agreement about who belonged and who did not. Everyone knew the rules. The Hills were allowed to stay because they were invisible. And they knew the rules. The visiting Black woman was an exception who would soon be gone – because she knew the rules too. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the next months, I plan to write more about my understanding of racism and my white privilege. There is no schedule. I need time to listen, read, think, and process. I hope my photography will illuminate the journey.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">For now, I am using two guiding principles to examine my racism and my white privilege:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "palatino";">Guiding Principle #1/The Prime Directive</span><span style="font-family: "palatino";">:<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">When exploring racism, I will:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">A) Stop talking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">B) Listen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">C) Believe the lived experience of racialized people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "palatino";">Guiding Principle #2/The Other Prime Directive</span><span style="font-family: "palatino";">:<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">A) By not having to consider my whiteness when making decisions about my life, I exhibit white privilege. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">B) By denying my white privilege, I switch from being <i>implicitly</i> racist to being <i>explicitly</i> racist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for reading this post.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Larry Tayler Photography<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">LarryTayler.com<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-59939524592289875462020-06-14T12:52:00.000-04:002020-06-14T12:52:28.075-04:00Blog Post, 14 June 2010: Journeys of a Gay Christian<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Friends,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">A special post this week, in celebration of Pride Month.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">A quilting friend of Bill’s, Betty Ann, is an active member of Trinity-St. Andrew’s United Church in nearby Brighton, Ontario; several months ago she asked me if I’d like to speak at her church’s annual Pride service on June 7. The Trinity-St. Andrew’s congregation, under the stewardship of the Reverend Wanda Stride, is an “Affirming Ministry” within the United Church, which means that it actively promotes the “inclusion and justice for people of all sexual orientations and gender identities,” both in the congregation and the wider population. United Church congregations from all parts of Canada are “affirming” and help make life safer and more welcoming for members of the LGBTQQ2IA+ communities. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">I readily accepted Betty Ann’s invitation, expecting that I would be addressing the congregation in person. Alas, COVID-19 had other ideas! So on Sunday, June 7, I made my presentation via Zoom. Below is the text of my presentation. Reading time: about 15 minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">The photos that follow are intended to be joyful, colourful reminders of Pride month. I hope you enjoy both the presentation and the photos!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Journeys of a Gay Christian <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pride Service Presentation by Larry Tayler<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Trinity-St. Andrew’s United Church, Brighton<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday, June 7, 2020<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you, Reverend Wanda and Betty Ann for inviting me to be part of your Pride activities. I am proud to be speaking to you as an openly gay man who is Christian. And my husband, Bill, is Christian. And my late husband was Christian. Now, some Christians believe you can’t be both gay and Christian. Well, they’re wrong. I feel sorry that their understanding of Christianity is so limiting. They really are missing the radically inclusive message of our faith. The lived experience of my life and the lives of countless others call out their homophobia. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I like the word ‘pride’ to celebrate the Lesbian, Gay, Bi-Sexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning, Two-Spirit, Intersex, Asexual, Plus communities. Not everyone likes the word pride in the context of sexual identity. However, I’m not using ‘pride’ in the vain sense of “what cometh before the fall,” but in the generous, loving sense of a community’s acknowledgement of itself. It’s the same pride I feel for my grandchildren because they’re such wonderful human beings. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, I’m calling this presentation “The Journeys of a Gay Christian” because there are two journeys I want to explore with you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">My first Christian journey begins in the United Church of Canada. The United Church is part of my family DNA – on both sides. For decades, my mother’s family belonged to the Bloomfield United Church, while my father’s family belonged to the Wellington United Church. Yes, friends, I am a true Prince Edward County boy, having been born and bred in the County 73 years ago. My paternal great-grandfather, the Reverend Dr. Melvin Tayler, was a minister in the Methodist Church of Canada for many years before church union in 1925, after which he became a United Church minister. He had charges in the Eastern Townships, Montréal, and the Ottawa Valley. He even came out of retirement in 1927 to serve for a year at the Picton United Church when the previous minister left town suddenly with the pregnant church organist – but that’s another story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">In my youth, I spent most Sunday mornings at the Wellington United Church – through years of 10 o’clock Sunday School classes, 11 o’clock church services, confirmation classes, White Gift Sundays, Christmas pageants, Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, and countless dinners in the church basement featuring baked beans, scalloped potatoes, sliced ham, Jell-O salads, and dry brownies, all catered by the Women’s Missionary Society. On December 31, 1966, my friend Sandy and I climbed the bell tower of the church and at midnight, we rang the bell 100 times to welcome Canada’s centennial year. For me, those early and mostly positive experiences of church in general and the United Church in particular were formative and influential. My family’s theology was simple – of course, there is a God; of course, you go to church; and, of course, you serve your community. For them, <i>that</i> was the real Trinity: Faith, Worship, Service.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">While growing up on the family farm near Wellington, I also knew that I was attracted to men. I had no vocabulary for it, but I <i>knew</i>. My idol, after all, was the Lone Ranger in his tight pants, spending nights with Tonto out there on the lone prairie. Well, even as an eight-year-old, I had fantasies about how they kept warm during those chilly nights. Interestingly, I felt no shame about these fantasies. And nothing I heard from the pulpit of the Wellington United Church threatened me with hell-fire and damnation for having such thoughts. But I also knew that I had to keep everything to myself, which ironically fostered an active inner life that was highly satisfying – and still is. I grew up liking my own company, enjoying my fantasies, and feeling totally comfortable with having a rich inner life. I look back on the awareness of that inner life as the beginning of my spiritual awareness as well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">But the world’s negativity towards homosexuality inevitably barged into my tiny, perfect fantasy life with violence and brutality. As a nine-year-old, for some reason I told a twelve-year-old on whom I had a crush that I <i>really</i> liked him. His response? He beat me up. I can still feel – and hear – his fist landing in my stomach and then my face. His friends joined in. That pain stays with me, as does his laughter and the laughter of his friends. It was not the only time I was beaten up. It seemed that as I got older, I had to keep relearning the lesson that I mustn’t say anything about my real feelings for other boys. Honesty got me beaten up. Honesty hurt. I didn’t know the word homosexual at that age, but I understood more about society’s hatred of homosexuals from the schoolyard than I ever did from a United Church pulpit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">So those are the building blocks of my first Christian journey: growing up in the United Church, comfortable – perhaps too comfortable – with its traditions, and remaining essentially closeted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">In my late 20s, however, I found United Church services to be constricting. To be honest, I also found my life to be constricting, so I gradually drifted away from the church. I did, however, maintain an active interest in Christianity, the Bible, and spirituality. Looking back, I realize that I had already begun my second Christian journey. And this is the journey that led me to becoming a member of the Religious Society of Friends, aka, the Quakers, an affiliation I have maintained since the mid-1970s. A dear Belleville friend, herself a life-long Quaker, introduced me to Quakerism by saying, “I think this sounds like you.” And indeed it did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some background for those who might be fuzzy about Quaker history: cast your mind back to mid-17<sup>th</sup> century England, during the English Civil War. It was a time of profound change throughout England and Europe. The Protestant Reformation had been brewing for over a century and the Age of Enlightenment was on the cusp of blossoming. Traditional understandings of authority were being challenged and people were reading the Bible in their own language, thanks to the printing press, rather than having it read to them in Latin by a priest. And then, breathtakingly for the time, some of those readers began to interpret the Bible for themselves, much to the chagrin of the church establishment. In England, things got really out of hand when the House of Commons found King Charles I guilty of treason and beheaded him on January 30, 1649. When commoners execute their monarchs, all manner of mayhem can ensue. From this revolutionary brew, several small religious sects arose, including the Religious Society of Friends, members of which were disdainfully referred to as ‘quakers’ because they sometimes shook while speaking during worship. Members of the Religious Society of Friends eagerly adopted the name. By the way, the group’s official name comes from what Jesus said to his disciples in the Gospel of St. John, Chapter 15, verse 15, “I have called you friends.” Quaker beliefs include the conviction that you don’t need a priest or minister to interpret the Bible for you – you can do that for yourself, with divine guidance, because there is that of God in everyone. The way to resolve conflict is to appeal to that of God in others and settle disputes without violence, which is known as the Quaker Peace Testimony. Other basic tenets of Quakerism were simplicity, plain dress, the equality of men and women, and refusing to swear an oath. The worship services, known as meetings, were held in expectant silence, with people speaking only when they felt that God had given them something to say. Or, as one Quaker has put it, “Speak only if you can improve on the silence.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Although early Quakers were certainly Christian, over the centuries that has evolved. Contemporary Quakers espouse a wide variety of theological understandings, from Bible-based Christian literalists on one end of the spectrum to universalists and non-theists at the other end. Some conservative Quaker meetings even have ministers. There are also small but dynamic groups of Jewish Quakers, Muslim Quakers, and atheist Quakers, just to make life interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">If someone were to ask me to describe my form of Quakerism, I would say I am a progressive Christian who believes more in the importance of Jesus as an exemplar of human potential than in the theological complexities of Christ. The human Jesus is the one who walks with me and talks with me. The supernatural Christ requires magic and suspension of my intellect. The human Jesus celebrates with me on the good days and weeps with me on the bad days. The supernatural Christ sets a high standard that I will never be able to attain. The human Jesus allows me to grow into the theology of my beloved Grandmother Tayler who would say to me when I was depressed, “You’re perfect enough, Larry.” That’s the kind of Christian Quaker I strive to be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, it’s hard for me to separate my spirituality from my sexuality. As I explored Quaker spirituality in the 1970s and 1980s, I was also actively exploring my sexuality. It was a powerful combination in which I saw no contradictions. In fact it was at a Quaker lesbian and gay workshop in Pennsylvania in 1983 that I met Spencer, my first husband. It was an inspired match, and we shared our lives together in Toronto for the next 29 years. Both of us drew on our Quaker spirituality and our gay sexuality to live full, productive, engaged lives. During the AIDS crisis, we were politically active and involved in the Toronto gay community. One of our callings was to attend the funerals of gay men whose families refused to attend. For us, it was a form of witnessing. Too often, walking into the funeral homes involved running the gauntlet of so-called Christians yelling in our faces, “God hates fags.” You can’t unhear that sort of hatred. More positively, my most rewarding activity was serving as the Quaker representative on the AIDS Spiritual Network, a coalition of faith-based groups that nurtured the spiritual needs of people living with AIDS. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the midst of the AIDS crisis, Spencer and I decided to marry, even though that wasn’t a legal option at the time. The local Quaker community was not fully supportive of equal marriage then, although it certainly is now. Sadly, we even received hate mail – imagine that: Quaker hate mail – as we tried to have our relationship recognized as a marriage by our Quaker meeting. After many difficult, unproductive sessions among members of the meeting to discuss our request, we finally gave up and simply organized our own wedding ceremony. It was a glorious celebration that I recall with joy and tears. From then on, we identified our relationship as a marriage and referred to each other as husbands. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">During this process, we experienced generous support from many people, but we also encountered a significant amount of homophobia. Quite frankly, the process wore me down, and I cut back on active participation in my Quaker meeting. By the early 2000s, I stopped attending altogether. And that continues to this day. I fell out of the habit of attending Quaker meetings. So, alas, I am not a poster boy for Quakerism. However, I continue to identify myself as a Quaker, stay connected with the larger Quaker community, and attend occasional Quaker Gatherings. And I have a number of dear Quaker friends, many of whom were incredibly supportive during my first husband’s illness and death in 2012. But over the years, I have decided that there is more than one way to be a Quaker. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Which brings me to my fabulous second husband, Bill. He calls himself a “small ‘q’ Quaker”. He has found sustenance from his Quaker connections over the years. And we share a passion for seeing life as a series of spiritual journeys. Quakerism provides us with an important vocabulary for experiencing these journeys. When we married, we had a Quaker service, even if it was held in the chapel of the Anglican Girls’ school where I taught for twenty-four years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And my journeys as a gay, Christian Quaker continue – in my reading and writing, in my photography, in my public speaking, in the workshops I facilitate, and in the life I strive to lead. I am blessed beyond measure and practise gratitude at each and every turn, especially in these days of uncertainty and isolation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I am grateful to Trinity-St. Andrew’s for its outreach into the LGBTQQ2IA+ communities. You are making the world a safer, more welcoming place to live. Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I thank you for your attention today and wish you the traditional Irish blessing, “May you have enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Larry Taylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021911066731524641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6764501165960708751.post-6399068044043272222020-06-08T11:49:00.000-04:002020-06-08T11:56:32.645-04:00Blog Post, June 8, 2020 - "Grace, Gravity & Getting Old"<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Friends,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">This week’s blog post features the text of <i>Grace, Gravity & Getting Old</i>, a presentation I Zoomed to St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in Picton, Ontario, on Thursday, May 28, 2020. I had been scheduled to make the presentation in person at the church, but our friend the pandemic had other ideas! Many thanks to the Reverend Lynne Donovan for inviting me and for setting up the Zoom broadcast. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The title comes from the Quaker philosopher Parker J. Palmer’s 2018 book <i>On The Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity & Getting Old</i>. Palmer wrote the book to mark his 80<sup>th</sup> birthday. It is a wise and thoughtful meditation on aging – qualities I hope I brought to my riff on his book. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">If you wish to see a YouTube video of the Zoom broadcast, find it here. (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Bdff5eQyZA&t=163s">Link</a>) The quality of the video is a bit shaky and my words don’t always match my lips, but it gives you a different dimension of the presentation. (Those of you who enjoy green screen glitches on Zoom will get a kick watching how the glorious Tasmanian tree I use on the Zoom green screen plays around with my head.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I presented the original version of <i>Grace, Gravity & Getting Old</i> in person at St. Andrew’s over a year ago on Sunday, May 5, 2019. I also posted it to my blog shortly afterwards. This encore presentation incorporates changes I’ve made in response to COVID-19. It also includes an expanded definition of my understanding of grace. As always, I welcome your comments.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The photos at the end all come from the six weeks Bill and I spent in Tasmania in February and March, 2019. They were part of <i>Tasmanian Grace</i>, an exhibit of my Tasmanian photos at the John M. Parrott Art Gallery in the Belleville Public Library last June. I’m including them because I wrote most of this presentation while we were in Tasmania. I like to think that the spirit of Tasmania reinforces my words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy both the words and the photos.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Grace, Gravity & Getting Old<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">An Encore Presentation by Larry Tayler<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Picton, Ontario, Canada<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">First presented on Sunday, May 5, 2019<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">ZOOM Version, Thursday, May 28, 2020<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I want to start my presentation with a framework metaphor written by the Spanish poet Antonio Machado:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Pathfinder – there is no path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">You make the path by walking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">By walking, you make the path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Caminante, no hay camino.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Se hace camino al andar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Al andar, se hace camino.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Pathfinder – there is no path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">You make the path by walking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">By walking, you make the path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">In pre-pandemic days, I am told if you were to walk into a crowded bar in Madrid and loudly proclaim the first line of that poem – “¡Caminante, no hay camino!” – you would be greeted enthusiastically by people in the bar completing the poem, after which you would be given a free glass of wine. And a fine time would be had by all. I’ve never been in Madrid, so I don’t know if that story is true, but I do know that the poem’s wisdom illuminates the heart of what I want to say today. For the power of its metaphor is not just the physical act of walking a path – it is fully realized only in the wider context of the spiritual and emotional journeys that we all undertake, whatever physical limitations we may face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Pathfinder, there is no path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">You make the path by walking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">By walking, you make the path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">So let’s talk about grace, gravity, and getting old – which is another way of saying, let’s talk about the journey of life in the autumn years. And as Machado alludes to, no matter how many people have made that journey before us, and no matter how much insight we can glean from their wisdom, each of us is ultimately experiencing that journey alone, for the first and only time. We’re making it up as we go along. And we know in advance that we don’t make it out alive. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">My title – “Grace, Gravity, and Getting Old” – comes from the Quaker teacher and philosopher Parker J. Palmer. It is the subtitle of his 2018 book, <i>On The Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity & Getting Old</i>. Parker is best known for his books about spirituality, teaching, and leading a life of integrity. His most popular book, <i>The Courage to Teach,</i> was my introduction to him in the late 1990s. One of my peak experiences was spending a five-day retreat with him in rural Pennsylvania. I still get goosebumps when recalling the humanity, wisdom, and impish delight that Parker brought to our small band of teachers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Parker turned 80 in February, 2019. To honour this milestone, he wrote the book that inspired this presentation. It’s a meditation on living, aging, and trying to make sense of things. I devoured it within days of its publication in July, 2018, and wrote about it in my blog. Lynne read the blog post and contacted me to see if I wanted to speak about ‘Grace, Gravity, and Getting Old’ at St. Andrew’s. I readily agreed, but said that I wanted time to let the book’s themes percolate through my mind before writing about them. So, most of this presentation was actually written in February, 2019, in a small cabin in Tasmania’s Huon Valley where Bill and I spent five glorious weeks, Bill quilting and bebopping; me writing and photographing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">When I started writing, I realized that Parker’s book was only the starting point for a wider meditation on my own aging process, my frustrations at the way elders are marginalized in our culture, and my thoughts on how we can shake things up a bit. While most of what I’m saying today was inspired by dear Parker’s book, many of the ideas don’t actually appear in it. If you don’t like the ideas, come see me, not Parker Palmer. And, yes, there will be a call to action at the end.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Let’s take the three elements of the title in reverse order, starting off with ‘Getting Old’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I’m 73 years-old. My husband likes to say I’m the oldest man he’s ever slept with. He’s 69. Now, I’m learning that in this aging game, there are hierarchies. When I hear 40-year-olds complain about getting old, I roll my eyes and wish I had their knees. When I told my 99-year-old Aunt Jeanne about the topic, she roared with laughter and said, “Aging? What do you know about aging? You’re just a baby.” So, whatever I say today will no doubt provoke eye-rolling from both youngers and elders alike! Here goes anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, at 73, I know my body is aging and changing. My right knee does not always co-operate. My lower back complains when I’ve stood for too long. Or sat for too long. My eye sight is not as sharp as it once was. My reaction times have slowed. My muscle strength has diminished. My digestive tract is not always, um, reliable. My memory for names – never great in my younger days – now requires more ‘scaffolding’. Getting in and out of a low-slung car is no longer graceful. Getting in and out of ANY car is no longer graceful. My hair, what remains of it, can’t support the glorious permed curls of my 30s. I wear sensible shoes with sensible orthotics. And each year, I’m discovering hitherto-unknown sections of the drugstore in search of ointments and assistive devices. I am not alone in this process, and I make no claims to uniqueness, but my experience of that process is distinctly and powerfully my own. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, having listed what I call my ‘GAPS’ – General Aches and Pains – I can also happily report that my iPhone tells me I walked 1,988 km last year, averaging more than 8,600 steps day. I have my own teeth, can handle the 15-hour Air Canada flight from Sydney to Vancouver, read voraciously, play a mean game of Scrabble, laugh uproariously at the slightest provocation, enjoy fart jokes with grandchildren, and generally live life to its fullest, while counting my blessings at each and every turn. I have taken to heart the wise words of my dear late Quaker friend, Muriel Bishop, who, in her mid-80s, encouraged me to always honour my diminishments. Let me repeat that: she encouraged me to always honour my diminishments. She cautioned me to never see my body as the enemy that is somehow letting me down or betraying me. Instead, she lovingly observed her own body, calmly noted its changes, and then got on with whatever adaptations were necessary for staying engaged with the world. Sounds like a pretty good philosophy to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">With that in mind, let’s move on to ‘Gravity’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Gravity is one of those words that leads a double life. On the one hand, it is what young Isaac Newton ‘discovered’ when that infamous English apple supposedly fell on his head while he was in isolation from the plague in the mid-17th century. Gravity pulls stuff down. It’s the natural phenomenon that keeps us glued to the surface of this planet so we don’t go flinging off into outer space. And it surely has an effect on our bodies. Think of all those bellies, bottoms, and bosoms that migrate south with the help of gravity over the years. I’m not being judgemental about my body or anybody else’s body – I’m simply looking in the mirror! And consider how much damage gravity can cause your body when you find yourself tripping, slipping, or falling. Finally, think how quickly gravity asserts itself when, perhaps unwisely, you try climbing up the 1,776 steps of the CN Tower. So, it is quite legitimate to talk about the literal effects of gravity when discussing aging.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">But the more interesting side of gravity is its metaphysical aspect – its gravitas, which is the Latin root of gravity. It is the wisdom that comes with age and experience. The insights that give elders longer perspectives on life’s challenges. The cumulative effects of an engaged life that instinctively knows “everything old is new again.” The sense of being grounded, adaptable, and perceptive. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">This, for me, is the Promethean aspect of gravity. Recall the ancient Greek legend of Prometheus – the Titan whose very name means ‘forethought’ – who created humans from clay, who stole the immortal fire from Zeus, and who then gave that fire to humanity for its use. Prometheus is known for his complexity, his rebellious creativity, and his innovation. He suffered grievously for disobeying Zeus, but he stands as a symbol of the power, potential, and heartbreak of being human. He is a figure of gravity and represents the wisdom of lived experience. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And so, when I talk about gravity, I’m talking about the individual and collective experiences of elders. I mourn the fact that this collective wisdom gets marginalized and dismissed. Unlike many indigenous cultures where elders are venerated and their wisdom is sought out, we live in a culture where elders are seen as a burden, a cost, and an inconvenience. Too often elders are simply put into storage and forgotten. Or even worse, allowed to die alone. Witness the horrors of COVID-19’s impact on long-term care facilities in our country. What an unspeakable waste of humanity and potential. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">But, having said that, I believe that elders must also earn the respect of youngers. They can’t just sit back and expect veneration and privilege to come their way. They have to demonstrate that their wisdom isn’t merely a ‘copy and paste’ of the past, but is a living, breathing, adaptable wisdom that is willing to take risks. That way, elders will earn their way into the dynamic conversations of the day without being dismissed as stodgy agents of the past. In other words, elders need to recast the metaphor of gravity from that which weighs us down to that which holds us together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Which brings me to grace, the last and most important element of this presentation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Grace is an elegant word that can de devilishly hard to define. Interestingly, despite having used the word in the subtitle of his book, Parker doesn’t fully explain what he means by the word. In theology schools, there are entire academic departments dedicated to defining it and fighting turf wars over it. The Roman Catholic understanding of grace is very different from the Protestant understanding – and I won’t take you down that slippery, angel-strewn path. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, I am not a theologian. A theological enthusiast and Biblical dabbler, yes, but a theologian – no. But here’s my definition of grace, the one I’m operating from in this presentation. Grace is the gentle, powerful fusion of kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and love. I repeat: Grace is the gentle, powerful fusion of kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and love. It is all that is lovely in life. For those with the gift of faith in God, grace is reaching out from that of God within themselves to that of God in others. It becomes the ultimate form of mutuality, understanding, and empathy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The theologian Serene Jones says that, “Grace is free; we don’t ‘earn’ it nor are we required to deserve it. <i>That’s what makes grace, grace</i>. It comes unbidden to us all.” I repeat: “Grace is free; we don’t ‘earn’ it nor are we required to deserve it. <i>That’s what makes grace, grace</i>. It comes unbidden to us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The genius of grace, however, is that it does not need a belief in the traditional concepts of God to be a powerful force in our shared humanity. Its very decency and integrity stand on their own as guideposts for our journeys. Now, <b><i>my</i></b> personal understanding of grace <b><i>is</i></b>grounded in the belief that God acts within me and through me, but I’m not claiming any exclusivity to the power of grace because of that belief.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">So…Grace: Kindness. Compassion. Forgiveness. Love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I want to tell you about some of the thinkers and poets who have helped shape and challenge my understanding of grace, especially as it relates to the aging process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Let me first talk about what makes us happy because the case I’m making is that when we treat ourselves with grace, we’re able to extend that grace to the way we treat others. And to treat ourselves with grace, I believe we must have a strong sense of ourselves as being deserving of that grace. Being deserving of that grace implies a sense of self-acceptance and personal happiness with who we are as people. In other words, when we are happy with who we are – and I don’t mean giddy, silly happy here, but deeply, self-respectfully, appreciatively happy – that’s when we can treat others in that same deeply respectful, appreciative way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">The American clinical psychologist Mary Pipher wrote a moving essay in the <i>New York Times</i>on January 13, 2019, entitled “The Joy of Being a Woman in Her 70s”, which I highly commend. In her essay, Pipher talks about gratitude not being a virtue, but a survival skill. As she says, “…our capacity for [gratitude] grows with our suffering. That is why it is the least privileged, not the most, who excel in appreciating the smallest of offerings.” She maintains that our happiness is built by an attitude of gratitude coupled with a deep sense of intention. Attitude is not everything, she says, but it is almost everything.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Pipher once interviewed the great jazz pianist Jane Jarvis, not long before Jarvis’ death in 2010 at the age of 94. She simply asked Jarvis if she were happy. Jarvis quickly replied, “I have everything I need to be happy right between my ears.” I repeat: “I have everything I need to be happy right between my ears.” Wisdom for the ages, indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Pipher follows up with an anecdote about her Aunt Grace, who lived in the Ozarks. Pipher also asked her if she were happy. Aunt Grace’s reply? “I get what I want, but I know what to want.” I repeat: “I get what I want, but I know what to want.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">It seems to me that these three powerful women – Mary Pipher, Jane Jarvis, and Aunt Grace – offer us much wisdom about the path to personal happiness and grace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Parker Palmer himself writes in his book about the importance of attitude. He says that he wants to collaborate with his body and his mind during the aging process – he has no interest in defying the process, but wants to work with it. One of his suggestions is to do this:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">“…every day, exercise your heart by taking in life’s pains and joys. That kind of exercise will make your heart supple, so that when it breaks – which it surely will – it will break not into a fragment grenade but into a greater capacity for love…[I]f you hold a healthy awareness of your own mortality, your eyes will be opened to the glory and grandeur of life.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Parker sums up the importance of attitude in creating the kind of self-acceptance and happiness that leads to grace when he quotes the late, wondrous American poet Mary Oliver, who simply says: “[I] instruct myself over and over in joy.” I repeat: “[I] instruct myself over and over in joy.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ll finish my thoughts on grace by talking about the English poet David Whyte. His thoughts on creating powerful attitudes can teach us so many good and wonderful things about happiness and grace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Here’s what he said in an interview in December, 2018, with Krista Tippett in the <i>On Being</i>podcast – a podcast I highly commend for its weekly infusion of spiritual nourishment:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">“The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance. Our <b><i>choice</i></b> is to [either] inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or, conversely, as misers and complainers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I repeat: “The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance. Our <b><i>choice</i></b> is to [either] inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or, conversely, as misers and complainers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I find Whyte’s concept of inhabiting our vulnerability to be a powerful agent of grace, a recognition that we must start off by dealing with ourselves <b><i>gracefully</i></b>. How can we respond to others in grace if we’re not nurturing ourselves with that same grace? I repeat: How can we respond to others in grace if we’re not nurturing ourselves with that same grace? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And then there’s Whyte’s recognition that life comes with loss. As we age, we do indeed become intimate with disappearance. How we respond to the disappearances in our lives, however, becomes crucial to our journeys. Do we respond with complaints and negativity, or do we respond with generosity and courage? So at the same time, Whyte understands the physical and emotional realities of our aging selves, while also challenging us to respond to that process with courage and generosity, both with ourselves and with others. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">But Whyte takes the aging process beyond mere acknowledgement and forbearance to a whole new level. Let me quote him again from the same <i>On Being</i> interview:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;"> “There’s a form of youthfulness you’re supposed to inhabit when you’re in your 70s, 80s, or 90s, It’s the sense of immanent surprise, immanent revelation…the shape of your own absence.” I repeat: “There’s a form of youthfulness you’re supposed to inhabit when you’re in your 70s, 80s, or 90s, It’s the sense of immanent surprise, immanent revelation…the shape of your own absence.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">He then adds, quoting from his poem “Everything Is Waiting For You”: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s astonishing how much time human beings spend away from their frontiers. The doors have always been there to frighten you and invite you.” I repeat: “It’s astonishing how much time human beings spend away from their frontiers. The doors have always been there to frighten you and invite you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">So he’s encouraging us to reframe aging as a time of learning, discovery, and delight. Of pushing ourselves through new doorways and exploring evolving understandings of our presence on this planet and beyond. My friend Muriel Bishop, the one who gently encouraged me to honour my diminishments, would have had a deep appreciation for what Whyte is saying. I can only imagine the remarkable conversations that David Whyte and Muriel Bishop might have had! Two deep, loving, questing souls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, in all this talk about courage, grace, and transformation, I also need to touch on fears. Whenever I start a major new project, I buy a journal for recording thoughts, ideas and quotations. Here’s the one I bought for “Grace, Gravity, and Getting Old.” And here on the first page is a Post-It note that simply says, “Fears.” It’s the first note that I made. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I’m told that the phrase “Do not be afraid” appears in the Bible 366 times. Well, easy for the Bible to say!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I never say to anyone, “Don’t be afraid.” If you’re afraid, you’re afraid. It’s like saying to someone, “Don’t be sad,” “Don’t be angry,” or “Don’t be upset.” If I’m feeling afraid, sad, angry, or upset, <b>THAT’S</b> what I’m feeling! No amount of well-intentioned do-goodery from friends, family, or professionals will change the fact of what I’m feeling, especially when it’s coupled with that rarely-helpful advice to “just get over it – move on!” Or, my favourite, “Don’t be so sensitive, Larry.” ARGH!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Fears I have in abundance – from Tasmanian Tiger snakes to COVID-19. And from developing dementia to what might happen in downtown Toronto if the Leafs ever <b><i>did</i></b> win the Stanley Cup again. In virtually any situation, I can come up with a dozen fear-based, wretched scenarios in a nanosecond. And I worry. And I fret. And I stew. My fears may appear baseless to others, but to me, they’re real.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">But as with everything else in life, it’s not the feeling, or the situation, or the behaviour that is the issue – crucially, it’s how you choose to deal with it that makes all the difference. It’s that choice – that attitude that Prometheus, and Aunt Jeanne, and Aunt Grace, and Mary Pipher, and Parker Palmer, and Jane Jarvis, and Antonio Machado, and Muriel Bishop, and David Whyte, and Mary Oliver, and Lynne Donovan each illuminates so powerfully. The attitude that looks at a challenging or fearful situation and says, “I will CHOOSE to respond in love, grace, charity, compassion, courage, and dignity. And I will make that choice both in dealing with myself and with others.” I repeat: “I will CHOOSE to respond in love, grace, charity, compassion, courage, and dignity. And I will make that choice both in dealing with myself and with others.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And do you know what? We make these choices one unique decision at a time. Inside St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church on January 26<sup>th</sup>, 2019, when many of us gathered to celebrate Christi Belcourt’s marvellous “Wisdom of the Universe” mural on the exterior wall of the church, Lynne Donovan said, referring to the thousands of painted dots in Belcourt’s mural, “You accomplish things one dot at a time.” I repeat: “You accomplish things one dot at a time.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">That is what I’m asking you to do, to make grace-filled decisions one brave, self-respectful dot at a time. That is the call to action that I talked about at the beginning. I’m calling on you to CHOOSE to respond to yourself and to others with grace, courage, radical hope, and love. As the author Anne Hines says in her beautiful 2005 novel <i>The Spiral Garden</i> about a North Toronto minister who has a spectacularly public crisis of faith, “I think, in the end, I would rather have courage than certainty.” I repeat: “I think, in the end, I would rather have courage than certainty.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Let me finish by reading one of my favourite poems by Mary Oliver. It’s called “I WORRIED” and it appears in her 2010 poetry collection, <i>Swan</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the river<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">flow in the right direction, will the earth turn<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">as it was taught, and if not, how shall<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">I correct it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">can I do better?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">can do it and I am, well,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">hopeless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">am I going to get rheumatism,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">lockjaw, dementia?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And gave it up. And took my old body<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">and went out into the morning,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">and sang.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">And so, my friends, I encourage you to find and share the wisdom of your stories. I encourage you to find the sacred in your everyday lives and to rejoice in it. I encourage you to be fierce and courageous and outrageous. I encourage you to create your path by walking it. And I encourage you to join Mary Oliver and to go outside and <b><i>SING</i></b>!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iqoDlIqK0jI/Xt5biU_VBPI/AAAAAAAAFvo/IG0oUvDvth0VVFAgM0u8SNm7dmz1SJTaQCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1Ocqz44oEdOe1DKWo24a_kVuopuZc82gdaiG711HXnWa-YpCy2RBRDb7WUUZk-mfKMLcG9YfqUq0KsOcwKHhvlWw83BGT6_gpW7INaj8Ehap4B7IrXCjEi-VOzwwYvlW7q1obPnNCMH5-iUAKj_5oMxwcMqfhFpfDMzDXhFA9KLg9F7qdhPmVQ3ReZRxtBXssWZWTvkASArY8pc4S1Pcz7SklTeG-XuQIkHYKRb4LVflg5Ic7Ic_BTBEwcoRiVHqet_O8vKra4P9iaYg0zHuyWA9VQzoK1QJOSE2gxPsv2nGp5WvhDpppQzLraKLBQcTBWrvrZsJkmTkcngMRYvhOAfzA3sdjPRrnrVvkYERbFiOhPmnCgGzasrxpEH7Dda_5UJ0awwiewu0umt1FLcIp_jpc1okfZqQSXlDm76OpCdcsb91w7EsudeFJNb4ufs4BC8TxZxyR_2Xo5undls9cLnMCKFke22Qyz99ODYUJukjkdBhUDQ6cNIT1wjLJL3WVgMMfQSjsNDI0ibgbyR-Ii0wNo20CZZ09SlyzdmTn74rI38b1HKYBGKNIxT0z6xP3BdbM9p8i20h9HBNMv7iXIz3qEBLqfghCTXCW9MKW9-fYF/s1600/1212%2BFence%2BDetail%252C%2BGrace%2527s%2BRoad%252C%2BGlaziers%2BBay%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iqoDlIqK0jI/Xt5biU_VBPI/AAAAAAAAFvo/IG0oUvDvth0VVFAgM0u8SNm7dmz1SJTaQCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1Ocqz44oEdOe1DKWo24a_kVuopuZc82gdaiG711HXnWa-YpCy2RBRDb7WUUZk-mfKMLcG9YfqUq0KsOcwKHhvlWw83BGT6_gpW7INaj8Ehap4B7IrXCjEi-VOzwwYvlW7q1obPnNCMH5-iUAKj_5oMxwcMqfhFpfDMzDXhFA9KLg9F7qdhPmVQ3ReZRxtBXssWZWTvkASArY8pc4S1Pcz7SklTeG-XuQIkHYKRb4LVflg5Ic7Ic_BTBEwcoRiVHqet_O8vKra4P9iaYg0zHuyWA9VQzoK1QJOSE2gxPsv2nGp5WvhDpppQzLraKLBQcTBWrvrZsJkmTkcngMRYvhOAfzA3sdjPRrnrVvkYERbFiOhPmnCgGzasrxpEH7Dda_5UJ0awwiewu0umt1FLcIp_jpc1okfZqQSXlDm76OpCdcsb91w7EsudeFJNb4ufs4BC8TxZxyR_2Xo5undls9cLnMCKFke22Qyz99ODYUJukjkdBhUDQ6cNIT1wjLJL3WVgMMfQSjsNDI0ibgbyR-Ii0wNo20CZZ09SlyzdmTn74rI38b1HKYBGKNIxT0z6xP3BdbM9p8i20h9HBNMv7iXIz3qEBLqfghCTXCW9MKW9-fYF/s640/1212%2BFence%2BDetail%252C%2BGrace%2527s%2BRoad%252C%2BGlaziers%2BBay%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Fence Detail, Grace's Road, Glaziers Bay</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Coronet Protea," Royal Botanical Gardens, Hobart</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Binalong Bay Beach</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cattle Grazing, Grace's Road, Glaziers Bay</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YBtHcOJRQII/Xt5bWRpZDII/AAAAAAAAFvs/me2twDUh5BQ23Fbkb0ZIi1XEoQJrCysPgCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1OcqwZw958gpiuBoQ2Ov59ConvDUCKPBlvmaiUiwZUdETsw0h8foQJYbK5WUH0cuTVcEqD7TGIx-MZX6ZDR3gkgkzx-7uB3i8YoohJa54yRaQ9o0YEkhurBy6O9lhbc8FkchzZLX3EWsnydLc3H4wDNhcxcrhd_mv5n8BS_u9cC_sUIvw-6uGCX1OeZmCBWbs3vLbZktA42r65z1DT7w_w9C_SzGApleVsL8gPII1SA319UbMfA83sMkvVhfdrG568sc5LeH6PVIW2-XXtmV0dz2Ad3Vgvm6f__dgc_oacrDdhlKH1AEcWkXhklvLSL2k1U1ZOsLAtzij_NjhfJbD5gZD0pqqodn3piJHsK67woWJL6o-GNjfRD7Y57m3CkCruP63osNTLMdvIiII3Hh7e9zJYhl1YwvMn09aJgS3jTEN5im_sf9v7JxkMAyTauaxYxF_VqYUYlDhZ-Szv-X0o1XzJylNnufe0Z8iV37ebRA_8UovzSuOYFmd9hRdF5ljj9pgSr_v6s-jg5mS-JpU6vWtDFSbekwhHyQj3n6j7iOPEBrvCXdgFYQ9XqFmlaApcn8nWBEtjpGOvQXUf0L9M5AZfoflaJWEPa1-6MPq9-fYF/s1600/4734%2BStormy%2BWeather%252C%2BSandhill%2BRoad%252C%2BGlaziers%2BBay%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YBtHcOJRQII/Xt5bWRpZDII/AAAAAAAAFvs/me2twDUh5BQ23Fbkb0ZIi1XEoQJrCysPgCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1OcqwZw958gpiuBoQ2Ov59ConvDUCKPBlvmaiUiwZUdETsw0h8foQJYbK5WUH0cuTVcEqD7TGIx-MZX6ZDR3gkgkzx-7uB3i8YoohJa54yRaQ9o0YEkhurBy6O9lhbc8FkchzZLX3EWsnydLc3H4wDNhcxcrhd_mv5n8BS_u9cC_sUIvw-6uGCX1OeZmCBWbs3vLbZktA42r65z1DT7w_w9C_SzGApleVsL8gPII1SA319UbMfA83sMkvVhfdrG568sc5LeH6PVIW2-XXtmV0dz2Ad3Vgvm6f__dgc_oacrDdhlKH1AEcWkXhklvLSL2k1U1ZOsLAtzij_NjhfJbD5gZD0pqqodn3piJHsK67woWJL6o-GNjfRD7Y57m3CkCruP63osNTLMdvIiII3Hh7e9zJYhl1YwvMn09aJgS3jTEN5im_sf9v7JxkMAyTauaxYxF_VqYUYlDhZ-Szv-X0o1XzJylNnufe0Z8iV37ebRA_8UovzSuOYFmd9hRdF5ljj9pgSr_v6s-jg5mS-JpU6vWtDFSbekwhHyQj3n6j7iOPEBrvCXdgFYQ9XqFmlaApcn8nWBEtjpGOvQXUf0L9M5AZfoflaJWEPa1-6MPq9-fYF/s640/4734%2BStormy%2BWeather%252C%2BSandhill%2BRoad%252C%2BGlaziers%2BBay%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stormy Weather, Sandhill Road, Glaziers Bay</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8zK7MWgZJ1s/Xt5bbxk2qbI/AAAAAAAAFvk/LSRCNAUqtWgGHy6ojRbz41jsd17d0-bPQCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1Ocqw3MkfVtI2NC6UuQw-3Gm9r0d9U-Q59X1sUazOnJP4v3LjZ4UuCtVAMrDDgEfRc4ob91Ixdaekh0pNkqYO18b9ezYHOKXDYzmvuC5kEDABS5i5NIm1eGnjl0RpYn1dS-UNGAN03Xc1o4G_1Y7vKDQQpMTmToBkqkOstxlquGPUND9gzC8XfzB90OV5jsDIcgigMA7CJjIhQRGjUCNcxRtbeB8P9fbTAuOo-P3YmLKqaXTk6HU69CMcPwhe4yRMipu31XzXA794h3z6OtwiMZmPszn8ytun7CHs0REiP97h42rXWu5GzAj1-secHuLrvUo4C74cyu-wssdlxAWSqsqIIVdwL9Abo00PCQM-pDXE01WY9c4RZNA8IKtXP49C2nOm5FNFjQYlUUqtQMdg4Ns7LgRfW3MqymLUn57PiiZHYbAEjufAAfXDmxBU4xKl3KJDpbCHUvnzXbladliQ353fcYy1XVucYCvR1yno-DYOF_WENxJRadnA70TZyoUj5lEXcIOt1bs9oq0Emfyi4lBTBg8BGGjebxSjdMvsBY1E5_2RI-az_bIeok3NP95ilFeaJii0WUB6Pl9B-2abGT5SfSlBh5q45bqUYMJO--fYF/s1600/4534%2BRugged%2BShoreline%252C%2BMickey%2527s%2BBeach%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8zK7MWgZJ1s/Xt5bbxk2qbI/AAAAAAAAFvk/LSRCNAUqtWgGHy6ojRbz41jsd17d0-bPQCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1Ocqw3MkfVtI2NC6UuQw-3Gm9r0d9U-Q59X1sUazOnJP4v3LjZ4UuCtVAMrDDgEfRc4ob91Ixdaekh0pNkqYO18b9ezYHOKXDYzmvuC5kEDABS5i5NIm1eGnjl0RpYn1dS-UNGAN03Xc1o4G_1Y7vKDQQpMTmToBkqkOstxlquGPUND9gzC8XfzB90OV5jsDIcgigMA7CJjIhQRGjUCNcxRtbeB8P9fbTAuOo-P3YmLKqaXTk6HU69CMcPwhe4yRMipu31XzXA794h3z6OtwiMZmPszn8ytun7CHs0REiP97h42rXWu5GzAj1-secHuLrvUo4C74cyu-wssdlxAWSqsqIIVdwL9Abo00PCQM-pDXE01WY9c4RZNA8IKtXP49C2nOm5FNFjQYlUUqtQMdg4Ns7LgRfW3MqymLUn57PiiZHYbAEjufAAfXDmxBU4xKl3KJDpbCHUvnzXbladliQ353fcYy1XVucYCvR1yno-DYOF_WENxJRadnA70TZyoUj5lEXcIOt1bs9oq0Emfyi4lBTBg8BGGjebxSjdMvsBY1E5_2RI-az_bIeok3NP95ilFeaJii0WUB6Pl9B-2abGT5SfSlBh5q45bqUYMJO--fYF/s640/4534%2BRugged%2BShoreline%252C%2BMickey%2527s%2BBeach%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rugged Shoreline, Mickey's Beach</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eucalyptus Trees, Don River, Devonport</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FDWYF9Kd9Sc/Xt5bJ_hgXmI/AAAAAAAAFvc/5yb4ZzOPd280GqpkNMd_AjEvqjKqq3CugCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1OcqwIG7BriY8rG1sL4z0daIjEPMJEcHxeVerk9nSoMKPs0wcaJU-IB30J2kPmMFYglVCTQH3JkN87ijZlzk4sCYmcRGUoZeCJ4OfhDH_9AWat_4VTmIZpYYzG8O9bZ1kkNZTs7-hFV1XP6bFMYAk8_UGi7c-LuSI1187fSeGXq3cPughD-NH4wkosA7OJ_2WYZjiKGBunkViePlrVaENzgSlRd5dDe11XbiywoE-VRzC2AMwLct64XrEF-bTChIoz1tFh_QZ3XxQv4sUp1h76BBsamBg48aVrr65sTKmEC9lqpcFnZQLF6Fq-GqKKKaHbX7xoS728ecHioodKQlsvSgvarpDnzqYQV7FioWFMJXOkfBedVTAiiA4FpDAvwcZ-xjWe-kO3mlK13Ey97aMzBQO54QVkTH4dM3057usoGHoAGtbuR_zbT20tvakVLKrX3XOi16wyB-rOjsSGONgumD-BzVGrBePPRX1igppzJYOCXPLD8vBYyiahpFnzLl25YULpdGBzyT_3whj_hzQ3FT9XBhiHzWb9MrH2O7iOpzgs4Ja6DgMSfjIbvkhY0SQ7VPn6IRMGuvNT9_mnMZypbY5QXCUQ8r2M6YYyMOa--fYF/s1600/8320%2BDog%2BWalkers%252C%2B%2522The%2BGardens%2522%252C%2BBay%2Bof%2BFires%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1240" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FDWYF9Kd9Sc/Xt5bJ_hgXmI/AAAAAAAAFvc/5yb4ZzOPd280GqpkNMd_AjEvqjKqq3CugCEwYBhgLKs4DAL1OcqwIG7BriY8rG1sL4z0daIjEPMJEcHxeVerk9nSoMKPs0wcaJU-IB30J2kPmMFYglVCTQH3JkN87ijZlzk4sCYmcRGUoZeCJ4OfhDH_9AWat_4VTmIZpYYzG8O9bZ1kkNZTs7-hFV1XP6bFMYAk8_UGi7c-LuSI1187fSeGXq3cPughD-NH4wkosA7OJ_2WYZjiKGBunkViePlrVaENzgSlRd5dDe11XbiywoE-VRzC2AMwLct64XrEF-bTChIoz1tFh_QZ3XxQv4sUp1h76BBsamBg48aVrr65sTKmEC9lqpcFnZQLF6Fq-GqKKKaHbX7xoS728ecHioodKQlsvSgvarpDnzqYQV7FioWFMJXOkfBedVTAiiA4FpDAvwcZ-xjWe-kO3mlK13Ey97aMzBQO54QVkTH4dM3057usoGHoAGtbuR_zbT20tvakVLKrX3XOi16wyB-rOjsSGONgumD-BzVGrBePPRX1igppzJYOCXPLD8vBYyiahpFnzLl25YULpdGBzyT_3whj_hzQ3FT9XBhiHzWb9MrH2O7iOpzgs4Ja6DgMSfjIbvkhY0SQ7VPn6IRMGuvNT9_mnMZypbY5QXCUQ8r2M6YYyMOa--fYF/s640/8320%2BDog%2BWalkers%252C%2B%2522The%2BGardens%2522%252C%2BBay%2Bof%2BFires%2B-%2BLarry%2BTayler.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dog Walkers, "The Gardens," Bay of Fires</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cattle Paddock, "The Gardens," Bay of Fires</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dawn, Grace's Road, Glaziers Bay</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "palatino";"><span style="font-size: large;">Belleville, Ontario, Canada<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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