Aunt Jean's Chaplin

Our Aunt Jean--second-youngest of the four Etsell sisters--is a painter, and she's generously shared her paintings with family. This portrait of Chaplin has lived in Mom and Dad's house for several years, and now it'll live in our theatre room for a while. I hung the painting a few days ago, and just now I added a couple of shelves to host my collection of Chaplin films (along with a few others from the golden age of comedy). 

Thanks so much, Aunt Jean. 

Interred

Just after 11 this morning, Sean, Sylvia and I interred Mom and Dad's mortal remains in a very nice spot in Leduc's beautiful cemetery. We said a few words, ending with our goodbyes and silent promises to return. 

Even after all the stress of heartache of the last few months, this final parting hit harder than any of us anticipated. 

They're together now. That must suffice. 

 

Elizabeth Blanche Woods, 1942 - 2025

Mom passed away very early yesterday morning. Up until the beginning of April, Mom was enjoying her retirement with full independence. But she was hospitalized with pneumonia in April and again in May; in June, she enjoyed a short return to health with in-home support before another infection hospitalized her again--for the last time. 

While we've always loved her, Sean, Sylvia and I got even closer to Mom following Dad's death in 2018. We're all grateful for that strengthened connection. 

Mom was tough. She was resilient. Strong. Principled. Generous. And compassionate. She was a fantastic partner for Dad and a great mother to Sean and me, as well as a great aunt to her many nieces and nephews. 

She loved to read. She loved to garden. She worked hard and took things in stride. She loved her family and the outdoors. She was an excellent curler. She was a teacher, though she left that career behind to raise Sean and me. 

We did our best to help Mom through the stress and worry of the last few months. Even in her hardest moments, Mom was most worried about me, Sean, Sylvia, and her sisters. 

I hope, in some way, that she's with Dad now. 

Good travels, Mom. Thank you for everything. 
 

82

Dad would have been 82 today. Here's a nice photo of Dad in his natural environment by Mom. He loved the outdoors. 
 

A John Saxon Christmas

I made it to the underground mall in Leaf Rapids at the last possible minute. It was gargantuan but nearly deserted, a seemingly bottomless pit of escalators, raised gardens, water features, hanging chandeliers, and storefronts in every dimension. I hadn't bought anything for Dad, and I was in a panic. Now I was riding one of those endless escalators up to a midlevel strip of stores, hoping to find something thoughtful and appropriate. 

"You've already gotten his gift, you know," said a voice behind me. I turned. 

"John Saxon?" I blurted, for there he was. 

"You don't need to get him a gift. He's with me, remember?"

The truth deflated me. I just nodded and leaned against the escalator rail as we rose. 

"He invited me over to watch you and Sylvia opening gifts together last night, enjoying the lights and music. And we were with your mom and Sean, too, in Leduc. And we'll be there tomorrow, when you guys get together."

"So you're getting along?" I asked, somewhat bewildered; for Dad had always irrationally hated John Saxon, though he'd never met the man. 

Saxon smiled. "Your dad never really hated anyone," he said. "We're pals now." 

Not really understanding why, I felt immense relief. 

"Just keep enjoying your life," Saxon said. "That's what he likes to see." 

"Is he still angry?" I asked, for my father was always angry when he came to me in dreams. 

"Only sometimes," Saxon said. "It's not forever." 

We escalated in companionable silence, and then I transitioned back to the real world, like a ghost slipping away from home. 

Gordon Lightfoot: A Legend Passes

Gordon Lightfoot, one of my favourite musicians and a genuine national treasure, has passed on. 

When I was a kid growing up in northern Manitoba in the 70s, I played Mom and Dad's 8-track of Lightfoot's Don Quixote over and over. I wouldn't consider myself a huge fan of folk or country music in general, but Lightfoot transcended genre with music and lyrics of great sensitivity, grace, and power. His songs told stories that rang true and evoked powerful emotion. 

Regarding Don Quixote itself, the title track is exquisite, and I love "Alberta Bound," and especially "Brave Mountaineers," but "Looking at the Rain," linked above, is just...transcendently sad and mournful, soulful and gorgeous, and I can't help but sing along and cry every time I hear it. It's the song I hope survives civilization for aliens to find so that someone out there knows that humans were capable of creating something so timeless and magical.

And of course there are all those other magnificent works from his other albums..."Sundown," "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," "Carefree Highway," "The Canadian Railroad Trilogy," "If You Could Read My Mind," and, most especially, "Early Morning Rain..."

He was a gift to the world. Thank you, Gordon Lightfoot, forever timeless. 

Muttart with Mely

Here's Mom, Sean, me, and Great Aunt Mely (short for "Amelia") at the Muttart Conservatory sometime during the early 1980s. I barely remember the occasion, but I assume Dad must have been there shooting the photo. 
 

Shower Cat

Sean's first cat, Alexander the Great, or just Alex, had some interesting habits. For one, he liked to relax on top of the television, as seen here. He also liked lurking atop the refrigerator, and if you stuck a finger up over the edge, he'd bat at it playfully. I also remember playing a kind of soccer with him; we'd whack a bottlecap back and forth across the kitchen floor. He really loved sleeping on Dad, and sometimes he'd climb into bed with me, too, despite my allergies and my protests of "Go away, stupid cat! I'm allergic!" 

The behaviour I found enjoyed most, though, and found the most perplexing, was the way he'd join me in the basement shower. He didn't like getting wet, but for some reason the shower fascinated him, so he'd sit at the edge of the spray and look up at me. I'm not sure what he wanted, but it was strangely adorable. 

Anyway, I've never been much of a pet guy, but Alex was very cute. 
 

The Mystery of the Arctic Cat

For a few years in the 1970s, during our time in Leaf Rapids, we had an Arctic Cat snowmobile. I don't have any photos of our Arctic Cat, but I do remember it having some purple highlights, so perhaps it was a model much like the one above. 

Leaf Rapids was a great place for snowmobiling. There was plenty of snow for nine or ten months per year, and exploring the dense forest on the back of a snowmobile gave me a great sense of adventure, even if I was just a passenger. 


 

The Other Side of the Theatre

For most of the 1970s, I lived in northern Manitoba. My paternal grandmother lived in Cranberry Portage, so sometimes we drove a little further, to about 10 km south of Flin Flon, to the Big Island Drive-In. Because the summer days in northern Manitoba are so long, the shows tend to start pretty late. On a clear night, the stars were amazing; light pollution was, and is, pretty low up there. These days you listen to the movie's audio via your FM tuner, but back then we had to attach giant metal speakers to the window, and boy, were they heavy, at least for a small child like me. There was something really special about sitting in the front seat between Mom and Dad, sharing popcorn, a small soda clutched in one hand. 

I believe I saw at least three movies at Big Island, but I only remember two for certain: Heroes, starring Henry Winkler as a suffering veteran of the Vietnam War, and The Other Side of the Mountain, a drama based on the true story of skier Jill Kinmont. All I remember of the third film is a woman in a small brown room sitting at a piano while composing a song. 

I feel as though I also went to a drive-in theatre in Edmonton once, but I can't say for certain; I certainly don't remember what film I might have seen. 

The Big Island Drive-In remains open to to this day, so if I ever head back to Flin Flon, I won't let the opportunity to see a movie there pass me by. And wow, check out the concession offerings! 
 

81

We didn't know it at the time, but this was the last time Mom and Sean and Sylvia and I celebrated Dad's birthday--a few days early, on January 27, 2018. We had a nice time, and as I think about Dad on this, what would have been his 81st birthday, I'm grateful for that gathering and all the other times we spent together. I hope he's flying or watching a football game or cursing a blue streak while renovating a room somewhere. 
 

The Last Photo of Dad

Dad died four years ago today. This is the last photo in which he appears, at least that I'm aware of; one of my cousins or aunts or uncles on Mom's side must have taken it, sent it to Mom, who then must have sent it to me. Or maybe my cousin David (seen here between Mom and Dad) sent it. 

The saddest thing about photos of loved ones is that one such photo will be the last, and you likely won't even know it for a while. This photo was shot near Salt Lake, Manitoba, on August 11, 2018. While this was happening, Sylvia and I were with her parents at a dinner theatre show in West Edmonton Mall. A little over a month later, Sylvia and I left the car in Leduc with Mom and Dad just before we flew to New York. Dad's colour was off that day, but at the time we didn't understand the significance of it. 

Just before we returned, Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He was gone a few weeks later. At the time, I honestly thought he was going to be okay; I think maybe my brain wasn't allowing any other possibility.  Even when the doctors had to call off the operation that had a chance to save him, I thought they would just try again another day. They didn't; they couldn't. 

So Dad moved on, and all of us miss him. He was a good man. I wish he was still here; for our sake, sure, but more because Dad was still enjoying life and I feel like he had more he wanted to do. 

That's all. 
 

A Fishy Culinary Tradition

 

Whose idea was it to add breading or batter to fish? Fish is delicious when fried or seared, rich in flavour and texture. Breading it just masks the flavour and makes the whole dish feel much heavier than it should. 

Maybe I'm spoiled. Mom and Dad used to catch fresh fish from the pristine lakes of northern Manitoba and clean and fry the fillets right at the campground. The pickerel and trout they prepared in those days remains my favourite meal of all time. All fish since has paled in comparison. 

Even so, I can still enjoy fish if it's not wrapped in a casing of fried lard and butter. 

Fish: better without the batter. 

Young Sean Woods

Before COVID

Here's a nice image of Sylvia's parents in Mom and Dad's back yard from a few years back. I know it's only been six weeks since much of the world went into self isolation, but scenes like this already seem like they belong to another era. 

Squiggle Me This

A long exposure experiment failure shot ineptly on Mom and Dad's Canon T70. 

Summer of '70

Here's a nice discovery - a photo of Mom and Dad and me that I've never seen before, shot in the summer of 1970 in southern Manitoba. My cousin David has been going through some old family photos and thoughtfully sent this along. 

Spazio 1975

What a wonderful toy this was, and remains. It's a circa-1975 Space: 1999 Eagle Freighter, made by Dinky. Mom and Dad bought it for me in Leaf Rapids in the mid-1970s, and I had many adventures with it alongside my friend Kelvin Bear, who had the Eagle Transport model. For a toy only a few years younger than I am, it's in great shape, missing just a few stickers, the tow rope that once raised and lowered the nuclear waste barrels, and some small plastic bits. This is one item I don't think I'll ever depart with. 

The Fading Stones

Old photographs fascinate me. Here we have what appears to be a stone fence connected to a round stone building. Who shot this? Where did they shoot it, and when? What's the significance of the building?

Based on the other negatives on the strip, I can  limit the "who" to my parents or Dad's parents. "When" could be anytime between the 1950s to the 1960s. Beyond that...a mystery captured in silver nitrate. Or, since this is a scan, in photons, inconstant as memory.

UPDATE: Mom says this could be Upper Fort Garry, north of Winnipeg, sometime in the late 1960s. 

Aldon Gray

Mom sent me some old pictures of her first cousin Aldon Gray (left), of whom she says: "He landed at Normandy and walked all the way to Germany with the South Saskatchewan Regiment. He was lucky to survive, as he was in the infantry and was under fire a lot. As he was single, he stayed in Germany to help with the displaced people until he came home in 1946. He was a quiet person, but very smart. He died in Deer Lodge (a military hospital) in Winnipeg at the age of 97. Your dad and I went to his funeral."

I appreciate Mom letting us know this slice of family history. I cleaned up the photograph she sent a little bit. I wonder what that piece of equipment is to Aldon's right; it looks like either a spotlight or one of those signal lights with the shutters.