December 17, 2016

Dear Kith and Kin

In a year that seemed to move us light years beyond anything that could be deemed mere

Foolishness, how can one begin to ruminate on 2016? We watched the collective angst of

everyone, over almost everything, as an assortment of rogues whipped up their lesser angels.

My high school journalism teacher, Mr. Brockmann, at Pearl River High School taught us to

recognize such roguery. When I forget, I visit http://literarydevices.net/fallacy for a

refresher. How the world needs more Mr. Brockmanns. Collective angst and mass hysteria

are nothing new under the sun, but never have we lived in a time when every whisper,

suggestion, innuendo, rumour, insult, snigger and outright lie can be transmitted instantly

and exponentially into a massive rude vortex. Deafening! 25% of Americans eligible to vote

heeded lesser angels, ignored fallacies, and let loose we-know-not-what upon the world. I

minds the favourite saying of another college prof: “man is a speck of reason floating on a

sea of emotion.” Indeed. We all have lesser angels, heaven knows. It’s work to recognize and

tame them, but, no matter our creed, that is the work we should be about all the time, if

anything resembling peace and justice is possible. We do continue to hope ... don’t we? I

fear Dark Times ahead. I am grateful I have no descendants - but friends and relations do.

So, I continue to write ankle-biting letters-to-the-editor and elected representatives, sign on-

line petitions, be a nuisance to FaceBook friends, boycott Nestle and fight for the bees.

A moment of lighter hysteria this year came from the satirical site http://babylonbee.com

HEAVEN—In a stunning leak Monday, sources in heaven claimed to have

“reliable information” that the triumphant return of Jesus Christ will occur

during the deciding Game 7 of the World Series between the Cleveland

Indians and the Chicago Cubs ...

When the 9th inning starts, look for a circle of clouds to gather over Lake

Erie, and get ready for some fireworks,” he added.

And a circle of clouds really did gather to make that season clincher one

of the best in years.

In the smaller world that is Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, we, like many of our generation, were

focussed on my father’s rapid descent into the deeper reaches of Alzheimers, starting with a

silent nighttime “wander” in bare feet and pajamas on a very cold night in March. This took

us all by surprise, including cousin Tony staying with us while recovering from a near-fatal

strangulated hernia and awful surgeries. Our ad hoc nursing home was visited daily by the

VON (Victorian order of Nurses.) We have been managing reasonably well since we moved

here - now almost 6 years ago, and good years, too. We celebrated Dad’s 95th birthday in

July - just after he broke a bone in his hand. If you wish to partake in the goofy tale of his

birthday cake, you can find it on my infrequent blog: http://selimatheshredder.blogspot.ca

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November 11, 2016Camp Hill Veterans’ Hospital Garden

(July archive). Things accelerated rapidly. Then came pneumonia in October just as I was to

fly to the St. John’s Storytelling Festival which certainly introduced “chaos”. Before his

pneumonia, we had planned Dad would go to Camp Hill Veterans’ Hospital for respite care

after my knee surgery. The surgery was cancelled whilst I waited on gurney in johnny shirt

heading for the OR (no beds!) and rescheduled Dec 19. Dad’s rapid decline, and the surgery

delay, brought on a serious reality check. He is living at Camp Hill permanently now. We are

more fortunate than most. Dad is a WW2 veteran, eligible for both respite care and now his

move to the Veterans’ Hospital, which is as good as it can get for anyone at this stage, and

reasonable in cost. I fear our next generation of veterans will not be so lucky. The staff at

Camp Hill are wonderful. Dealing with Veterans Affairs bureaucracy was “interesting” at

times - but nothing like Revenue Canada - which has finally refunded money they owed me

after two years of something resembling persecution. I wasn’t hiding income in foreign tax

shelters, honest. I had to send my charitable receipts 3 times before they ended up on the

right desk! I bet I donated more than Donald.

Dad is quite confused, talks each day about moving

back with us - or moving to Camp Hill - and is

constantly befuddled by his TV - as am I. Don’t let

me get started on my cable company rant. Dad

never ceases to smile and is pleasant to everyone

around. He is popular with the staff and enjoys

visitors even if he doesn’t know who they are, but

Alzheimers is a grief that keeps on giving. One of the

blessings of the surgery cancellation, was getting to

spend Nov 11th with him at the Veteran’s Hospital.

Apparently such cancellations are not rare. I’m not

about to complain about being bumped for

emergencies - I was once one myself - but I am sure

it very hard on doctors who have booked their

valuable time for surgery but have no beds for their

patients to recover. We’re due to try it again tomorrow on Dec 19. By the time you read this,

I may well be on the mend. Ron has two new teeth and more to come in 2017. Another

benefit was all the lovely Christmas concerts I got to, including being able to stand up and

narrate “Brother Heinrich’s Christmas” at our own Dartmouth Choral Society concert on

Dec 10. I had envisioned reading it in a wheelchair, and not being able to sing because of

missed rehearsals. There is a “field recording” at: http://www.elinorbenjamin.ca/AF/

In spite of all, we managed to have a “Real Vacation” in late May and early June. Dad went to

Camp Hill for 3 weeks “respite care”. We haven’t taken a “Real Vacation” in a long time,

although we have had a few decadent extended week-ends going to the Metropolitan Opera,

and feasting with friends over the past few years, including 2016, and plan to go again this

April. We have seats at the centre of the balcony (eek!) for the Live in HD Broadcast of

Eugene Onegin on April 22, 2017. Most of our travels have “reasons” - conferences, family,

gigs, etc. But, when my high school friend Tamsen told us she and her husband had

purchased “10 days for 10 people in a farmhouse in Burgundy” in a fund-raising auction, it

seemed that “no reason” was the best reason of all. Furthermore it promised no wi-fi, and

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Our “farm house” - nicely modernized with alovely view and good kitchen

Époisses de Bourgogne -smelly, runny and, possiblythe most decadent cheese I

have ever eaten

Our house stocked with the fine products of Burgundy

Escargot de BourgogneAuthentique

bad cell reception. Now that’s a “Real Vacation.” We

discovered we could get there without going through

Heathrow or Charles DeGaulle (, by flying in the

morning to St. John’s (where we could spend the day

and evening with friends) and overnight to Dublin,

where we had the chance to spend some time with

Micael Ross, my host from storytelling trip to Ireland

in 2005, and out the next day to Lyons, which is a

civilized airport. Mercifully, no flight exceeded 4

hours. A rotating air traffic controllers’ strike in

France threatened plans. We were developing Plan B

based on all the busses at Dublin airport with

delicious looking destinations, all within a day’s

journey there and back, but were reprieved at the 11th

hour and carried on.

We rented a car and had a mostly relaxed drive north

into Burgundy where the first village we came to was

Mercurey. I was so excited to be in a real Burgundy

village, we had to stop and buy wine immediately. We

found the house in Cussy-en-Morvan - a hamlet of a few

houses in the middle of the Parc Naturel Régional du

Morvan, a protected area of woodlands, lakes and

traditional farmland located in the Department of Saône-

et-Loire about halfway between the Saône and the Loire.

The nearest place with a bakery and store was Anost - a

15 minute drive. Blessed are the croissant-seekers, for

good coffee will await them on their return. The weather

was mostly cold and damp, but the house had a wood stove and was cozy

to come back to in the evening, especially when stocked as above.

We did not eat this local escargot in our yard,

although a few of his cousins fell to our forks later

in the journey.

This is not a well-known area of France, but most

worthy, uphill from the famous wineries along the

Saône River in a beautifully maintained, hilly

forest. Douglas Firs are selected individually and

harvested when mature. No clear-cutting here! It

was great fun driving on the twisty little roads with

their roundabouts jammed into tiny cars and arguing with the very British

GPS voice. I’d go back in a minute.

Ron did a lot of research for our excursions. We began to realize there was a theme to the

area - resistance. A trip to the Oppidum of Bibracte near Autun was stunning. This was the

hillfort where Vercingetorix rallied the Gallic tribes to rebel against Julius Caesar in 52 BC.

It is on top of beautiful Mont Beuvray. Caesar wrote his victor’s version of the Gallic wars

while staying there, then relocated to the city known today as Autun. Excavations began only

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Ron loves this picturehe took at the top of

Mont Beuvray with thesun out so I had to

include it.

The view of the Abbey atbreakfast on the Greuze Terrace

in the late 19th century, but the museum, the archeological sites and

interpretation activities are stupendous. We scratched the surface. It

is well worth going out of your way. If you can’t go, check out Wiki. It

was the only time we saw the sun.

Another memorable day was at the Museum of the Resistance in Saint

Brisson. Heavily wooded, and sparsely populated, the Morvan Forest

was home to the 'maquis', the underground movement that fought

until the Nazis conquered all France. “Decimation,” a word often used

incorrectly, is too gentle a word for what happened here during the

War. And the final word of resistance came from Madame who served

us Coq au Vin in Anost, complaining all the while about the Muslims

taking over France, ‘though we saw nary a head scarf during our

whole stay in Burgundy. Plus ça change ...

Of course, there was eating and drinking, including lunch at the establishment of the famous

Bernard Loiseau who committed suicide in 2003 when newspapers reported his restaurant

was to lose its 3rd Michelin star. Later when Tam and Miguel and Sally headed to Paris, Ron

and I drove south to Tournus for 2 nights en route to Lyons airport. Ron’s research revealed

Tournus had more Michelin-listed restaurants per capita than

any place else in France. We drove through the peaceful village

of Taizé, home to an ecumenical monastic order, founded in

1940 by Brother Roger Schütz, curiously viewed as idolatrous by

some Christian zealots, thence to Cluny, and the ruins of the

Benedictine Cluny Abbey, destroyed during the French

Revolution, and sold off for building stone. Tournus on the

Saône River is a gem. The Romanesque Abbey of St. Philibert,

also Benedictine, fared a little better in the Revolution being

deconsecrated and dedicated to the "Constitutional Cult." So

many cults. So much zeal. It is a serene building to visit and just

“be” in. We stayed in a charming hotel named after a local 18th

century artist, Jean-Baptiste Greuze. It had a computerized

shower, with a manual, that I failed to understand. Nevertheless

I got clean, and we had a sybaritic meal that evening in a

restaurant of the same name. We could have eaten 10 meals at

Boston Pizza for the same price, but there would be no glory to

remember in our pending dotage. Space runneth out. I must

mention flying to Ottawa to participate in Jennifer and Jan’s

“Celebration of the Wonder Tale” at Taylor Lake where a dozen of us took turns telling half

hour fairy tales, with loons calling at appropriate moments, then dine al fresco pot luck, by

the Lake with the best company and cheer one could ever want. My long-contemplated one

woman show “Cousin Silas and the Moose Woman” about my Baptist missionary cousin,

Silas Rand, has “launched” and run 4 times. I hope a further life for it when I am mobile

again. The St. John’s Storytelling Festival was a tonic. Bless the lovely doctor who said they

would keep Dad in the hospital until I got back. In the meantime, there is gratitude to be

expressed everyday at the wonderfulness of friends and relations, and care-givers. 2016 has

taken too many away, and 2017 will take more. Every day we give thanks for having lived

this long and having so many good memories. I wish you Peace and Hope and Healing for us

and the Planet.

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