Happy New Year

Christmas was always my favorite time of year. I spent as much as I possibly could without the slightest regret and I showered my friends and family with presents and enjoyed every second of it. Even knowing that it would take until the following year to pay off the bills…no regrets! Fortunately for me, that was a time when we didn’t have credit cards to run up.

New Year’s was also special. Life was full of expectation. Somewhere along the way, I had developed a mantra, “Turn the Page”. Every New Year’s eve was the best time to use it.

“Turn the page”, I would say to myself, after having made a royal mess out of the year, or part of it. Turn the page, forget it, start anew.

There was something about January 1st. It was a big blank page- regardless of my failings, disappointments, regrets, mistakes and catastrophes, I could put it all behind me, start anew. I would resolve to work harder, be a better person, save money, lose weight. I was successful with some more than others… sometimes, but I tackled them all with optimism.

Some New Year’s eves were more memorable than others.

1960- At eighteen years old, a New Year’s party was the most important night of my life. I had the dress; a pretty powder blue brocade and rhinestone jewelery but I just couldn’t find suitable shoes anywhere. Living in the far north, with only few stores, we learned to be resourceful. Just hours before going out, I rummaged in the basement of my parents home, thrilled to find powder blue paint, (the colour of my brother’s room,) and I set about painting my white, summer, very high heeled sandals, and while I was at it, touched up a couple of the rhinestones on the necklace and earrings. I was just dazzling!

1963- Pink chiffon cocktail dress with silver shoes & bag. (Audrey Hepburn-ish)

1968- Purple elephant hipster pants with a purple satin blouse.

1974- A white turban with a real diamond broach on the front with black Palazzo pants.

Ah, life was just wonderful.

Eventually, one of my New Year’s resolutions was “get over yourself!”

I still make New Year’s resolutions with fairly predictable outcomes, and mostly hope that I will be a better person this year. I will be 65 this month. I am still a work in progress.

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!

Patti

A Heart’s Desire-Merry Christmas

When I was very young, I was told, whenever people asked me where I lived, I would reply The North Pole.

Snow Lake, Northern Manitoba and Central Patricia, Northern Ontario, surely must have felt that way to a kid. We thought Santa Claus was “in the neighbourhood” and he could always get to us first. (That proved true after all). Our neighbourhood resembled the pictures and cards we saw of Santa’s village…lots of snowy trails, sparkling stars, and Christmas trees as far as the eye could see.

Believing in Santa Claus is a beautiful, mystical and fleeting time of life for some of us.

Believing in your Heart’s Desire can last a lifetime.

My first “Heart’s Desire” recollection was at the age of ten when I got the Brownie Camera I had asked for.

As a parent I tried to give my children their heart’s desire, but I can remember having failed because of trying to keep that element of surprise we associate with Christmas gifting. It took a long time for me to understand a heart’s desire.

I finally got it right! I ask. I ask my family to give me their wish list. I ask my Grand daughter to think it over carefully and then tell me her heart’s desire. I ask my husband. I even ask myself.
I wish you discover your HEART’S DESIRE, and I wish you

A MERRY CHRISTMAS & A HAPPY, PEACEFUL NEW YEAR

Little Patti

PS, My husband of…forever, recently bought a Gibson Les Paul guitar. We celebrate his 70th birthday remembering, it is never too late for your Heart’s Desire.

Heathe Steel Mine, Newcastle, NB

Our family parted ways in 1961, when Elmer and Mary moved from Chibougamau, Quebec to New Castle, New Brunswick with their 14 year old son, my brother. I was newly married and my sister was in Nursing in Montreal.

Elmer was offered a big challenge to get a mine back to full and profitable operation, and although they loved Chibougamau, I think the challenge was too great to pass up and after all, moving on was part of the mining game.

In retrospect I wonder if the decision was made for him. He was diagnosed with Silicosis and his X-ray card was taken away, so he was only allowed to go underground once or twice a week. The new deal may have helped him to comply. The mine was an open pit copper, lead and zinc mine.

Heathe Steel mine was discovered in 1952- By 1957 a mining and milling operation had been established.

It was a property with nine lives much like many other mines in Canada- highly dependent on metal prices and reserves.

It was suspended in 1958 and resumed in 1962. Between 1969 and 1979 the mine was in full, profitable operation, but through the 1980’s and 1990’s it opened and closed a few times and finally the mine was allowed to flood in 1999.

Elmer worked at Heathe steel from 1961 to 1974, when he retired. It was said, that he was largely responsible for it’s success during that period of time and he was very highly regarded by co workers and friends.

Newcastle was just one of many little towns along the Miramichi River that was impacted by the varied “performances” of Heathe Steel mine. They were towns long before the mine came in and towns afterward but the human experience was immeasurable.

Many mining towns in the old days opened in the wilderness, grew-up, operated, closed. Everyone got invited to the “party” and when it was over they all packed up and moved on.

That was not the case in populace areas such as the Miramichi where employment and education opportunities were few and families had homes and roots in their towns for decades.

My family planted new roots- Elmer and Mary lived in Newcastle’s Heath Court (a company housing area) and worked for Heathe Steel followed by his son, and then his son’s son from 1961 to 1999.

Their livelihoods and entrepreneurial skills and spirits rose and fell with the mine’s precarious history.

The Heathe Steel Mine brought huge changes to The Miramichi, both good and bad, and left an important legacy: Young people understood the value of education. The periods of prosperity, as well as the uncertainty and hardships visited on their parents and grand parents by big industry will not be as likely to happen in the years to come. They are educated and can orchestrate their lives.

BRAVO!

Beautiful People in Life

Beautiful people walk through our lives. Sometimes they stay and sometimes they visit. Sometimes we recognize their beautiful qualities and sometimes we don’t .

This is the story of my friend Barbara, the most beautiful person I have ever known.

Barbara was born in Montreal, and found out at the age of 14, when her Father died suddenly, that she was a foster child and she was removed from the only home she knew.

I met Barbara two years later. She was a student at the same school for the deaf as my 6 year old daughter. I was looking for a deaf student to babysit my daughter through the summer and teach her sign language. I had noticed Barbara on several occasions at school and thought she would be the perfect person. I had no idea at the time, just how “perfect” she was!

We had a wonderful summer. Barbara loved staying over at our house even when she wasn’t babysitting. We coaxed her to taste food she had never tried, (like banana peppers and liver) we encouraged her to continue going to school, and our family bloomed- Our only child had a big sister, we had a little sister and it was hardly a difficult decision when she came to live with us because she was already a part of our family.

The following years were busy ones for all of us. We all remembered laughing… a lot!

At last, Barbara met the love of her life. She married and had three brilliant children. Our lives entwined, our children entwined and we celebrated special occasions and New Years Day together every year and always considered ourselves so lucky to have each other.

In 30+ years we never had a harsh word among us. That’s remarkable.

Barbara was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 45, she was treated with new therapies that took a devastating toll, but she fought through, wanting to be with her family as long as possible. Her children were young adults when she lost the battle. She was 50 years old.

I remember her vividly, frequently, with love. She was a remarkable woman, a faithful friend. I never think about the day she died. I always remember her birthday in November.

Barbara would approve.

A Letter from Elmer, June 24, 1965

http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/732.html

First…Please read the poem “Little Bateese” on the site above

My father Elmer, was a hard rock miner with a talent for reciting poems that tell a story- Among his favorites “The Cremation of Sam McGee”,”Casey at the Bat”, and “Little Bateese”. He could recite word for word and we liked them better than Fairy Tales.

Recently, I discovered this letter among my souvenirs and I thought that it was perfectly funny!

“June 24, 1965 Saint John De Baptist

Allo U three,

Me, I promise to write so many time. I’m not forget you. So now I’m take my pen by the hand and I say to myself, write! So here am I.

The Grandmere, she is one very buzzy woman. She wash, she scrub, she change zee house upside down. By gum, I’m tink dat woman she gon clean every ting in site. I ask her why she fuss so much. She say her Gran’ bebe they come to arrive soon so she gon to give it hell now cause she don’t gon to have a chance later hon.

By gar, maybe after the dust she settle down some, I can see what goin hon. Right now, I’m tell you, ees not safe roun here. I’m glad tomorrow come an I get back to nice, quiet, safe place at the mine.”

Chibougamau-More about the good, the bad etc…

By 1959- Chibougamau had the signs of being firmly settled as a thriving community- It was still isolated, and pretty wild at times, but there was talk of a road going through to Val d’Or, planes and buses were going in and out on a regular basis as were the transport trucks carrying fruit, vegetables and fresh milk which were always in short supply in the early days. The Hudson’s Bay store was well stocked with dresses, gift items, and guns as well as food. The streets were not paved and the sand stung our faces, ruined our clothes and hair do’es, as the wind whipped through town twenty four hours a day in summer and I won’t even describe the effects of winter!

I don’t remember a tree standing in the town site. I guess it was faster to build the much needed houses without navigating around trees. There were plenty of pine trees surrounding the town and for hundred of miles in every direction, but the town site had been laid bare. Miners were not known for their horticultural skills, mostly because of their transient nature and the climate, they were not likely to plant trees and flowers to “pretty up” their company houses.

There were very few cars in town. We walked everywhere we needed to go and that was usually as unpleasant as could be. My father had a car and I drove it whenever I could. Those were the days when we taught ourselves how to drive. The police would stop me frequently to ask if I had yet obtained my license and I always had an excuse- They were very nice about it, and I never got a ticket…or a license there for that matter.

In the summer of ‘59, I worked at the local radio station CHIB, located in a back room of the Sport Shop. Two well known local brothers would come in twice a day to sing O Canada and read the news, sports and weather reports. (The serious stuff). They were forever playing pranks on each other, like setting fire to their news reports as they were reading, and the sound booth often rocked with laughter at the most inappropriate times. Between their on-air times, the station & Sport Shop were in the hands of me and a friend. She and I played music, taped records, read bedtime stories, and gave tips on makeup, cooking, & child care. Child care!! (We were 16!) We were just awful!

One day our boss brought in crates of dirt and put a sign in the window of the Shop “Worms For Sale”, because fishermen/tourists were always asking him to stock worms. He explained how we should scoop them into small cartons for sale. We listened intently, and the moment he was out of sight… “pppffft!” The fishermen would come in and ask for the worms. “Worms? We don’t have any worms!” we would exclaim. The worms all died and our boss was pretty annoyed with those ungrateful fishermen!

In 1961, cable was finally made available and there was TV! Most of us didn’t have a TV set.

In the years that followed, we worked at the mines, married, and started our families. We made life long friends and life long memories. Even though most of us eventually moved on to other towns and other careers, we remained grateful for the experience of living in the great northern Canadian wilderness.

PS, Read more on Chibougamau- May12, June 2, June 4, June 17, 2007

Eastman, Quebec-The “Haunted” House

Recently there has been some interest in this little town, so I thought that I would write about another aspect that an explorer may follow.

About one mile from the old Quebec Copper mine site there was a narrow gravel road that led up a hill to a “haunted house”. We went there often on our bikes, but the road was in such poor repair we had to push the bikes most of the way. The house at the top of the hill was the typical “haunted” variety, 2 stories, gray, and falling down. In fact, it was a very dangerous place-the kitchen floor had caved into the basement and we never dared go to the second floor. The living room had wooden floors which had a large intricate “medallion” of many colours in the middle that was copied directly above it on the ceiling.There were lots of old bits and pieces of things scattered around and we were fascinated by the old calendars, (I wish I could recall the dates.) I found 2 cylindrical records-one was called “Evening Shade by the Knickerbocker Quartet”, which I eventually gave to someone but I never could play them. I am not sure who lived there, but something tells me it was the family connected to the old Huntingdon mines. I think that the house was at the end of a country road that may have actually continued over the other side of the hill, and we may have been getting there by a secondary road or path. Could the name of the road been Sweet Road or a similar name?

Those were the days when parents would let their young kids go unsupervised for hours at a time, exploring and playing. Sometimes it was scary but most kids liked a good scare, and no harm ever came to us.

I often think of that old house, wishing I could have learned more about the people who had lived there and why it fell to disrepair.

Every kid should have their own Haunted House!

PS, check this site:

http://matt.wandel.ca/burchell_lake/index.html

A Deserted Island

The reason that I continue to write under the title Mining Towns in Canada is because that period of time was the genesis.

If you have been a littlepatti reader, you have met Mary and have come to know her as the lovely person she was.

Even so, she had her moments…with three children to chase after, sometimes, she was understandably at her wit’s end!

On one of those days she exclaimed “I’m going to run away to a deserted island!”

… “but you will take us, won’t you”? I asked. And being Mary, she replied “Yes, of course” and she had a good laugh about that one.

I couldn’t help but try to imagine a “Dessert Island!”

God-sent

When I was about 5 years old I found God. Or maybe God found me. It could have been on a cold winter night when I fell off a sled and laid on my back in the snow and watched huge stars dangling just above my head, Northern lights streaked the sky and diamonds sprinkled on the snow sparkled and took my breath away. I like to believe it was that night that I glimpsed a Higher Authority.

Years later, I began the process of sorting through those childhood memories. Of course, I aspired to being a figure skater like Barbara Anne Scott, a real Princess like Elizabeth, and a swimmer like Esther Williams (to name only a few), but among the day dreams was a sense that I had a very important job to do in my life and it was not about fame or money. I just knew that! As I grew older I was actually able to put words to the feelings but somehow I knew better than to talk about it.

I often wondered about it and when “the job” would reveal itself to me.

Twenty years later when a Doctor at Children’s hospital told me that my child was handicapped, I finally knew what that important job was. It was a relief.

My child was a challenge. She was wonderful. She was frustrating. She was interesting. She taught me humility, love and infinite patience far beyond my capabilities.

Whenever I prayed to God, which was not very often, I would say “Okay, I’m doing the job, don’t ask for anything else”!

Maybe God approved. He never did ask more of me. He rewarded me in many ways.

The ultimate reward was my child.

PS: We often go into the back yard on a starry summer night and lay down and let the stars fall onto our faces.

Hey! I’m not that smart…

Thanks to my parents, I grew up thinking that I was smart. They never told me I was smart, they never hung my art work on the fridge or bragged about me to their friends. I guess it was a process of elimination. They never called me stupid, and in their infinite wisdom never criticized me so I came to the conclusion somewhere along the way that I was smart. Kids don’t delve into that grey area- average, mediocre, “special”- We only do that as adults. So, lucky me, I was smart!

I was so “smart” that I was an underachiever at school- The principals always lectured me about working up to my potential. Maybe I was, but who knew? I was so “smart” that I quit school and found a succession of very good jobs, performed well and developed a reputation for being smart. I never stopped to analyze it but “You are what you eat” strikes a chord in me.

I had plenty of failures along the way, but I was smart enough to learn from each and every fiasco I created and I admit that I repeated some mistakes over and over again until I got it right or… right enough.

Life was easier back then. There was time to learn and the penalties for acting stupid were not very harsh.

Maybe being smart was different after-all.