CLIMBING
MOUNT NEVER REST

A TRIBUTE TO A GREAT MOTHER AND MENTOR FROM FAMILY AND FRIENDS

COMPILED BY KEVIN JACKSON

PREFACE

George Bernard Shaw once said, “Man can climb the highest summit but he cannot dwell there long.” If that is true, then Pat Jackson is the exception that proves that rule. Not only has she remained at the top, even as she evolves with age, but she has always set new heights to the limits of what we vaguely call “human capacity.” The example of how she lives her life has been a source of awe and inspiration for three generations of family and friends, and mom continues to hold court and many continue to make the effort to see her. It’s kind of like Germans with their sausage. Friends can go for a about six months and then they need to see mom or they just don’t feel right. She is magician, mentor, inspiration, psychiatrist, doctor, family counsellor and confidant to many.

Everyone who knows Pat Jackson admires her knowledge, her wisdom, her capacity for love and generosity and her unflagging sense of doing the right thing. An emotional woman, she is stoic in the face of praise or unfair criticism. But these are not the things which make her great. The greatest thing about mom is her ability to transcend herself, her ancestry, and her environment and to become what she dreamed of being. She is not great because she was born in a log cabin She is great because she got out of it.

She is the last of a breed of mothers that grew up on a farm during the Great Depression. It was an age when people put family first, when milk and bread were delivered to your door, when televisions were black and white and something special, when adolescent confusion was channelled into boy scouts and girl guides, when christmas trees were real, when everybody went to church on Sunday, when teachers were respected, when doctors made house calls and penicillin was still considered a wonder drug, when baby bottles were made of glass and throw away diapers hadn’t been invented yet.  

Few parents had the courage or capacity to willingly create a family of eight children, unless of course they were practicising Roman Catholics, in which case they didn’t have much choice. In a modern society it is a thing of the past.

This book is about what Pat Jackson has given to a few of the many people that are fortunate enough to know her. The title “Climbing Mount Never Rest” was mom’s creation. She said if she ever wrote a book about her life that is what she would call it.

A number of people contributed to this book: Rhonda and Lou Clancy, Kirk Jackson, Craig Jackson, Clark Jackson, Trish Kelly and Bob Adams, Rachel Kelly, Robin and Farkas Baranyai, Jamie Clancy, Gwen Infurnari, Michael Bubna, Min Hill, Mary Lou Schmuck, Edna Broughton, Kay and Lou Busselle, Sophie Schulko, Marlilyn McDougall, Linda Braun, Pat Lang, Karen Bosworth, Elizabeth Roeder, Lori Brown, Esra Firalti, Vair MacPhee, Nicala Farwell and her mother Sonia, Bryn Davies and Monika and Georgia Hempel.  

Mom’s Childhood

I love the person that can smile in trouble,

that can gather strength from distress,

and grow brave by reflection.

‘Tis the business of little minds to shrink,

but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct,

will pursue his principles unto death.

……….Thomas Paine

Those of us who know Pat Jackson will find the story of her childhood difficult to believe. In fact, some people will not believe it at all because it is beyond the limits of most people’s imagination. This is true more so for people who know mom because she turned out exactly the extreme opposite of what a person who survived her circumstances should end up to be. She grew up in the kind of environment that, if known to the authorities, would have become a textbook case study in child abuse and torture. 

Mom’s father was Joseph Marcyniuk, who, along with his brother Arthur, emigrated to Canada from a Ukranian speaking province at the eastern extremity of what was then the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Following the collapse of the Romanov dynasty in 1917, the Russian Ukrainians tried to set up their own government but they were subsequently occupied by the German army. Concurrent with this, the Austrian Ukranians began to ask for independence and to join with the Russian Ukranians. This was the seedbed from which Arthur and Joseph decided to leave home and begin a new life in Canada. They left behind them their parents and a sister and reached Canada in 1917. 

They settled first in Vita, Manitoba and then shortly purchased two 160 acre quarter section homesteads in Dallas, Manitoba, next to a Peguis Indian Reserve and the Fisher Indian Reserve. The purchase price was $10 for 160 acres, which essentially covered the cost of the survey. The 1915 and 1918 Plan of Township 28 shows that the land they settled on was ‘gently rolling country covered with poplar willow scrub and muskegs’. The home that Joseph built that summer of 1917 was made of logs and had a mud floor. His worldly possessions consisted of a team of oxen, a cow, a walking plough, a harrow and a wagon. Shortly after this, Josesph married Pauline (‘Polly’) Kiryliuk, a first generation Canadian born of Ukranian immigrants. Seven years later, Particia Mary Marcyniuk, was born. She would be the second of four children born to Joseph and Polly.

Dallas Manitoba was a beautiful but God forsaken place at the turn of the last century. The government had induced immigrants to the area with the promise of extending the railroad to Dallas. However, the railroad only ever reached as far north as Hodgson.  

Polly was mentally unstable and when mom was still in pre-school her father and mother were divorced, which was something unheard of in those days, especially within an ethnic community. Mom and her younger sister Margaret remained with their mother but her two brothers Peter and Teddy went to live with their father in Selkirk, Manitoba. Polly had affairs with numerous men and gave the two daughters up to live with their grandparents. However, Polly was unable to make ends meet and went on government assistance, or Welfare, as it was called back then. The more kids you had the more Welfare you received so Polly decided to get all the children back in order to get as much government assistance as she could.

In those days people on Welfare wore clothing that identified them as such so that anybody living on government assistance was instantly recognized. The mother cared little for her two sons and two daughters and saw to her own needs first and treated the children with contempt. She once asked for additonal money from the government so that she could make a dress for each of her two daughters. Once she got the money she then made a dress for herself.  

Mom’s home life consisted of constantly moving from one place to the next, often in the middle of the night in order for her mother to escape paying the rent. She was in and out of different schools as a result.

Mom used to walk the cows early in the morning before school and on one occasion a neighbouring farmer chased the cows off his land, resulting in the cows having blood in their urine. When Polly noticed the ruined milk she beat mom so badly she urinated on the spot. 

Mom remembers her mother burning her arm to try to get her to divulge where her brother Teddy was hiding so that she could beat him. During one incident Polly beat Teddy so severely that he lost his hearing. Because this happened when he was only 3 years old he never learned to talk and went through life as a deaf mute until committing suicide in 1977. Mom recognized at the age of 6 that someone had to learn to communicate with Teddy in order that he feel part of the family. She subsequently taught herself sign language and was the only family member to do so. Many years later she taught her daughter Trisha who then taught her niece Robin. A champion of the handicapped, mom used to go to cub scout meeting to teach boys how to sign.

Mom, along with her brothers and sister were often abandoned for a week at a time while their mother visited one of her many boyfriends in Winnipeg. The children had no food, electricity or heat, and with temperature sometimes 40 degrees below zero. Occasionally their Uncle Steve would come over with food.  

Mom walked over three miles to school every day, barefoot in the spring when the rain was too heavy, and in subzero weather in the winter, with only a blanket to cover her because she did not have a coat. The other school children would steal the banket from her because they knew from her clothing that she was on government assistance so would tease her. But even with this experience mom recalls with a smile the young Jewish boy who used to try to fend off her attackers.

The defining moment came in moms life when she was 14 years old. Polly had a 35 year old lover, named Metro Chernican, that she wanted to move in with but was concerned how this would appear to the neighbours. Her solution was to have her 14 year old daughter marry her boyfriend so that they could live together and Polly could carry on her affair with her 14 year old daughter’s 35 year old husband. (Polly and Metro Chernican eventually married years later). At this point mom felt that this was the last straw in a lifetime of abuse and torture. With only 50 cents in her pocket, she made it on her own to Winnipeg, somehow learned where her father was living and knocked on his door and introduced herself to him. Since her parents were divorced at such an early age, she never knew her father or what he even looked like. Mom was all of 14 years old and now had to fend for herself. She never made it past Grade 6.  

Once safe with her father, Mom got a job as a domestic for a Jewish family in Winnipeg. In 1940, at the age of 16, she made her way to Toronto and got a job working for Burns Meat Packing. Later she worked at Dominion Stores and then eventually started working at the John Inglis War Plant making Bren Guns for the War effort. She met her future husband and our father, Don Jackson in Toronto in 1942 before he left overseas and they were later married in 1946.  

One year later she gave birth to a daughter, Roberta, or “Bobby,” in memory of dad’s brother Bob. He was a bomber in the RCAF in World War II and died in an 863 plane bomber raid on Stuttgart, Germany on March 16, 1944. Only one Halifax was shot down that night and it was Uncle Bob’s. Bobby died of croup exactly three months after she was born. A second child, a son, died from Placenta Previa complications at birth in 1948. Shortly after this, the doctors informed mom that she would never have any more children. Mom had eight children after that (including one set of twins). They are, in chronological order: Rhonda (1949), Cameron (1951), Kevin (1954), Kirk (1956), Donald (1958), Craig (1960), Clark (1960) and Trisha (1964). All told: six boys and two girls. The eldest and the youngest were girls.

By any criteria mom should have turned out to be a major head case. Multiple personalities, street urchin, alcoholic, prostitute or worse. Instead, she somehow grew from it all and became the standard in motherhood that family and countless friends over three generations have tried to emulate and learn from. Mom represents a beacon of light for a lot of people struggling through life, and yet, if you tell her this it all somehow seems a great mystery to her because in her mind she simply did the best she could….nothing special….just the best she could.

Mom is living testimony that you can overcome any hardship, reverse any setback, rise to meet any challenge, persevere to achieve any goal. The key in all of this is to understand who you are and then to like who you are. However, she was not without her critics. Mom’s reaction to criticism is typically stoic and she responds by saying only that she likes herself and is comfortable with who she is. In uttering those three words…… “I like myself,” she crystalizes both the problem and the solution for many people who are not comfortable within themselves.

Avoiding a Car Accident

Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eye off the goal

……Hannah Moore

With the ubiquitous trips to the doctors and recognition that a babysitter was not a feasible option (more on this later), mom would somehow fit 5 kids (this was before the twins were born) into her white Ford Consul for a 45 minute trip into the big city of Hamilton so that Kirk and Cam could get allergy shots every Monday. How she fit us into that car and avoided tickets for overcrowding an automobile remains a mystery to this day. However, what is even more amazing is how mom turned this hyper mob of youngsters into well behaved look-outs without raising her voice.  

To control us, she simply created a scenario whereby we needed to keep a sharp eye out on the road ahead in order that we spot any bridges or overpasses and duck accordingly in order to avoid losing our heads. Naturally we were all quiet as mice with eyes fixed on the horizon. When we finally spotted a bridge or overpass, all of us, including mom, bent our heads to avoid getting them ‘knocked off’. Yes, there was excitement in the car when we spotted a bridge or overpass, but it was all part of a game, which mom had created to keep us occupied and calm. 

Any other adult I know would have become a shreiking banshee after 5 minutes. They would have been threatening the kids with losing their heads if they did not shutup! Mom reversed the equation and stimulated our sense of observation and had all 5 of us participating in a game together. This “equation reversal,” as I call it has given me an approach to problem solving that led to my success in business. When a solution fails, do the opposite, as ridiculous as it may sound. You don’t learn this in school.  

The Wisdom of Solomon

One of the best ways to persuade others

is with your ears –

by listening to them

…..Dean Rusk

One of my brothers, coming home after one of his infinite visits to the doctor, explained to mom that Dr. Nathan had told him that he had the flu and had to be on medication for a week. At the end of his report, my brother, having just turned 18 and able to drink, was careful to mention that Dr. Nathan said it was okay for him to drink alcohol while he was taking the medication. Mom, without missing a beat said, “Dont’t give me that. I know Dr. Nathan and if you asked if you could drink while on medicine he would tell you, If you can’t go without drinking alcohol for a week then you have a far bigger problem than the flu.”

That simple logic would often stop us dead in our tracks and send us back to the drawing board to come up with ever sophisticated ways to try to get past mom. Arguing was pointless because her simple logic cut through everything. 

A Sense of Humour Extraordinaire

Many people know how to work hard;

many others know how to play well;

but the rarest talent in the world

is the ability to introduce elements of playfulness

into work, and to put some constructive labor

into your leisure

…Sydney J. Harris

Both Mom and Dad have a wonderful sense of humour and can see the lighter side of just about everything . This trait has been passed down to their children as well. A few examples to illustrate. When he was about 10 years old, mom told my brother Kirk that she was going across the street to visit her neighbour Mrs. Schmidt. Kirk pleaded with her to stay home and play with him. Mom insisted she had to go. Kirk’s response to mom was, “But mom, I don’t give a Schmidt.”

Another example. Mom was discussing with Kirk a story she was reading about a native Indian from Newfoundland. Without missing a beat Kirk said, “So when he says ‘how’ he really means it.”

That sense of humour, combined with a vivid imagination that comes with growing up in a large family has become a hallmark of the Jackson’s. We are all pretty adept at stringing together seemingly unrelated events to create a humourous moment. Playing on words is our calling card.

Mom used humour as a tool to cope with lifes challenges….always preferring to see the lighter side of a bad situation.

Christ With 5 Loaves and 3 Fishes

The secret of all victory

lies in the organization of the nonobvious.

To accomplish great things,

we must not only act, but also dream,

not only plan, but also believe.

….Anatole France

Raising 8 kids with the bread winner earning his income on a commission basis, stretching a dollar became an art that Mom was the master at. Turkey dinner is great, but what comes after is even greater. Once the meat is eaten, strip the bird and make turkey sandwiches and boil the bones. The meat that comes off the bones becomes the basis of turkey stew and dumplings. The broth becomes Turkey soup. Nothing went to waste and we loved all of it. 

My niece Robin expressed Mom’s qualities in the kitchen when she said, “She can make soup out of anything. Grandma applies the principles of inventiveness and hoarding to her culinary efforts. There is no leftover that cannot be reinvented in a soup, layered into a casserole, or wrapped up in a cabbage leaf.”

Was it a Commune or a Kibbutz?

The beautiful is a phenomenon

which is never apparent of itself,

but is reflected in a thousand different works

of the creator.

…..Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Birthdays are always a great occassion. But Mom, as only Mom could, figured out how to make them even greater. Always stretching a dollar beyond its breaking point, she would wrap gifts in newspaper and put them in a cardboard box for what became a Treasure Hunt. To make it even more fun, everyone at the party got a box and participated in the hunt as well. Looking back she could have been blacklisted as a communist. This was, after all, the late 50’s. This constant focus on the family and simplicity in approach, which pervades everything Mom does to this day, did the following:

• stimulated the love for “the hunt” in all of this. This probably explains my interest in archaeology and flea markets;
• drew everyone in the family together so that one persons happy moment became everybody’s happy moment. We are probably the only human beings walking the earth that received up to 8 birthdays in a year;
• saved on wrapping paper, and utlilized material to be recycled or reused.

The hunt was so much fun, that the actual gifts became secondary in importance. This is perhaps best illustrated when Robin (the first grandchild) , experiencing her first hunt exclaimed with delight, “Look, I got newspaper!”

The Fantasy of Christmas and Easter

If there be any truer measure of a person

than by what he does,

it must be by what he gives

…..Robert South

Every kid loves Christmas and Easter. You would think that the excitement of these events would be sufficient to allow mom to rest a bit on the oars and either sleep a bit or deal with something else on her list of chores. Not so with Mom. She took something great and made it greater. 

For Christmas we had a ritual ceremony that we performed with great fanfare. Our eight stockings were hung on the chimney and at the appointed time we formed a line and ceremoniously brought in the cookies and milk for Santa and his reindeer.

To add to the mystery of it all, when we woke up Christmas morning we saw that all of the cookies had a bite out of them and the milk was partially drunk…..clear evidence that Santa and his reindeer had indeed been in our home the night before. When I questioned mom as to why Santa and his reindeer did not finish their milk and cookies (as we believed that leaving any food on our plates after dinner was unthinkable) Mom said that if they ate all the milk and cookies from every home that they would be unable to get back up the chimney. Again, reinforcing the fantasy while at the same time stimulating brain activity.

With Easter we all had separate baskets and the eggs were very well hidden, with our parents teasing us for the rest of the entire day saying that there was still one egg we did not find. Don’t ask me how they did this, but I remember bunny rabbit tracks in the snow on our porch on at least one of those Easter mornings.

Everything Mom did she did to perfection. She made the bad things alright. She made normal things great. She transformed great things into fantasy.  

The Time We Thought Mom Had Finally Lost It

Leadership is the ability

to get men to do what they don’t want to do

and like it

….Harry S. Truman

Borscht is one of the great joys of our life, handed down to us by our mother….a byproduct of her Ukranian and Austrian roots. However, we didn’t always feel that way. There was a time when the site, smell, even the name of Borcht struck morbid fear in all of us. The first time we saw it in front of us we all had the same impression….blood soup. Mom had finally gone insane and we were drinking blood. I whispered to my brothers and sisters that if we stuck together and refused to eat it that there was nothing mom could do and she would have to serve us something else. Talk about a midget against Goliath. 

Mom heard the petition, didn’t raise her voice at all, respected our reasons….she even agreed we didn’t have to eat it…. at that moment. She did add though that we would not be able to leave the table until we did. That still wasn’t enough to put us over the edge though. Helping to bring the relevant issue into sharp focus, the coup de gras came when mom said, “If you think it’s bad now when its warm, think of what it will taste like when it’s cold!” Using our brains, we caved, and thank God we did because we love the stuff.

As a final note on the borscht incident, I said to Mom, “Okay you win.” I led the grace and with eyes closed and hands in prayer said, “God is great, God is good, let us thank him for this awful food.” Mom’s back was turned as she laughed in silence.

Once again, using reason instead of emotion gave us valuable lessons and helped us overcome our fears to enjoy ourselves more, not to mention valuable problem solving skills.

Another Great Mystery of Life Solved

Nature imitates itself.

A grain thrown into good ground

brings forth fruit;

a principle thrown into a good mind

brings forth fruit.

Everything’s created and conducted

by the same Master:

the root, the branch, the fruits –

the principles, the consequences.

….Blaise Pascal

All of us go through that phase in our life of trying to figure out what we want to do for a living. Mom was there to offer wisdom that set me free in every sense. Dig this advice. “If you pursue a job that doesn’t pay well but you love, in time you will excel in your performance and earn more. However, if you take a job you hate but pays well, you will end up paying the additional income on a shrink and medication for your ulcers.” The example she always gave was my younger brother, who told mom that he loved his job with the airlines so much that he would work for nothing.

I recently passed this advice on to my brother-in-law when he had to make a career choice.

This advice helped me choose graduate studies in economics and mathematics instead of business administration. It help me save my first million dollars before I was 40 and has allowed me to live a lifestlyle where my hobby is my livelihood and my family comes before all else. If I have to trace it down to one defining piece of advice in my life, it is this. And this from a woman who had to leave home at 14 and was forced to drop out of school at grade 6.

Raising Entrepeneurs and Killing Two Birds with One Stone

A dollar put into a book and a book mastered

might change the whole course of a boy’s life.

It might easily be

the beginning of the development of leadership

that would carry the boy far in service to his fellow men.

…Henry Ford

Many people cannot fathom what it must have been like to raise 8 kids. They can imagine what life could be like on Pluto, but they cannot imagine raising 8 kids. Mom used her wits at every turn. Naturally when you have one, two or three kids you can give them all your attention and things are generally quite manageable. Choir practice, baton lessons, Brownies and Guides for my older sister, no problem. Driving my older brother to hockey lessons at 6am on the weekend, piece of cake. Cubs and Scouts for all the boys….all in a days work. By the time the twins arrive (children number 6 and 7) even a saint is going to ask for help.  

Yes, Mom had “domestics” who would help out, but after one of them had a nervous breakdown while hanging out 100 pounds of laundry to dry and ran away into the forest, leaving all her worldly possessions behind, there was a general recognition that we were somehow going to have to fend for ourselves more and not be able to completely rely on outsiders to help us.  

Enter the good fairy system. Mom set up a system whereby the older kids could earn stars for helping to watch the younger kids. These points would accumulate and translate into cash payments. It was a bonanza which developed a spirit of entrepeneurship. 

That set the ball rolling. When I was 9 years old I walked into the forest and picked blueberries and put them into the blueberry containers my parents saved, and then knocked on doors in the neighbourhood, selling them for 25 cents a pint. I came home that night with $1.25 in my pocket and no blueberries. Dad was so proud he made me an ice cream cone and declared to my mom that they could now begin to think of their retirement.

By the time I was in graduate school, I owned 6 houses and had a house painting business that employed up to 20 people at one point. And it all started with the system mom established to get the older children to help her look after the twins.

Mom turned a job that would have been percieved as drudgery by most kids into an opportunity to earn money. Mark Twain would have approved. Once again, in typical mom fashion, she met her daily life challenges by finding solutions that acted to strengthen our character, rather than resort to impulsive anger. 

The Yeti Lives….We Know….We Saw It

The true measure of a person is not the number of servants he has,

but the number of people he serves

…..Arnold Glasgow

One of the everlasting physical sensations of our childhood that will likely survive all others is the feeling of going to bed on a Friday night and the feel and smell of clean bed sheets and pillow cases. Laundry was a full-time occupation in itself and went on 7 days a week, with Friday being the day that the 9 beds had their sheets changed. Every Friday evening, after bathing us, we would line up for mom to do fingernails, toenails and ears, so when we jumped into bed we felt like we had been reborn. 

Mom’s daily routine of hanging out clothes was legendary in our neighbourhood. Every day, two lines extending the full diagonal length of the backyard, winter or summer, was the hallmark of our home. In fact, we had a neighbour who was an elderly Jewish woman living with a family. The daughter was worried because the elderly mother was going for a walk one morning and the weather looked questionable. The mother replied, “If Misses Jackson hangs out laundry, I go for walk. No laundry outside – no walk!”

Contrary to the habits of many of our neighbours, it was a religion with Mom that laundry was dried outdoors and not in a dryer (except for rags because she was too embarassed to hang them outside). I think she hung out the clothes not just because she wanted to save on the cost of electricity but more for the love of her kids. She wanted us to feel the freshness of the bedsheets. This religion applied in sub-zero weather as well. I remember the sheets frozen solid and the harmonious noise these suburban iceburgs made gently swaying on the clothes line at night and fearing they would rip when folded over. I remember Mom’s hands numb from the cold and bleeding at times (she suffered from severe excema on her hands for most of her life). Can we think of anyone who would have done this for their family? I mean there we were living in an affluent neighbourhood and she looked like something out of Dr. Zhivago when she would hang out clothes in the winter. 

Every lunch Mom would say, “I am going to hang out the clothes…please try not to kill yourselves!” After nodding dutifully, it was a matter of minutes before somebodys soup was polluted with milk or a sandwhich. During winter, the resulting whining would bring on The Yeti. The scene of mom, running to the frost covered glass window, with scarf covered head, dad’s boots and an oversized coat, with laundry basket in tow, pounding threateningly on the door, is something none of us will ever forget. And it happened on a regular basis.

This love, at the cost of physical pain, to provide a luxury to her kids, has helped all of us to understand that love is about sacrifice.

Darts Anyone?

All problems become smaller

if you don’t dodge them but confront them.

Touch a thistle timidly, and it pricks you;

grasp it boldly, and its spines crumble.

….William F. Halsey

Kirk and I were having our regular game of darts in the basement. However, in this game each of us was the dartboard. The one piece of ground that was the holy of holies in the house was the pool table. When dad bought the pool table he warned all of us that if it did not last five years he would not replace it. We didn’t understand how anything in our home could remain unbroken for five years so naturally there was an aura of untouchability surrounding the pool table. Anyway, Kirk was hiding in the dark shadows of the laundry room while I was comfortably safe crouched on the floor under the “holy of holies”…..or so I thought. Suddenly out of the darkness comes a dart sailing on the floor, making a bee line for my knee. My fantasy mind took over and I saw a torpedo unleashed from a U boat, when suddenly the torpedo found its mark. With or without my fantasy there wasn’t much I could have done given how cramped I was.  

At this moment Dad was home after doing the weekly grocery shopping. As usual, there was a line of siblings from the car to the kitchen passing bags of groceries to each other, when dad noticed me limping, as I walked past the garage door entrance. He asked me what was wrong. I told him I had fallen down. He told me to be more careful and then forgot about the matter. Mom, in the background, and a little more in tune with the behaviour of her kids, called us over to her and said, “Now, tell me what really happened so I can determine if you need a Tetanus shot so you don’t get lock jaw or gangrene.” Mom had a phenomenal way of getting to the relevant point by tapping into our worst fears. She did it so fast it was instinctive.   

This was the moment of truth……whether to confess and invite possible retribution and humiliation or run the risk of spending the rest of your life walking on sticks and answering to the name of “Stump” or, worse, ending up looking like Dr. Sardonicus. Kirk and I looked at each other in silence and then truth won out, with the feeble explanation of “we were having a game of darts and one accidentally ended up in my knee.” What followed we had seen a thousand times before and a thousand times since. Mom’s eyes closed and mouth opened, her hands slowly covered her face, opening slightly to emit the words, “What have I done in a previous life to deserve kids like you!” or, “You kids are enough to drive a saint crazy,” or something to that effect.

Mom was constantly “on” when it came to her family. Nothing escaped her. She was definately the NCO in the trench instructing the infantry in the middle of a fire fight wheras Dad, the breadwinner, was more like the general 15 miles from the front line, receiving reports. Think about it. I fell down was an acceptable explanation? Mom had ways of getting us to tell the truth without beating a confession out of us. Her powers of observation have been a great example.

Basic Common Sense

Systems die

­- instincts remain

….Oliver Wendell Holmes

When one of my brothers was having trouble at Lord Elgin high school, an experimental open concept school, Mom went in to talk to the Guidance Councillor, complaining about the lack of discipline in the school. The GC responded, “What have you got against the school, you got an Ontario Scholar out of it.” Mom responded with, “What does one situation have to do with another? If I am driving a cart and one wheel breaks, do I congratulate myself that three wheels are working fine or do I roll up my sleeves and fix the broken wheel?”

Mom would add the caveat that, “God must have loved the average person because he made so many of them. You don’t need to develop an approach to education that focuses on the gifted or the disciplined. They will make it to school even if they have to crawl on their hands and knees to get there. You should focus on the average kid and the average kid needs a structure to work within.” The teachers and guidance councillors were unable to challenge Mom’s logic. Interestingly enough, Lord Elgin eventually reverted back to a more institutional and disciplined approach to education. Once again, Mom was ahead of her time and understood the principles of educating adolescents far better than some of the professional educators.

This was typical of Mom. Her basic logic and common sense would stop scholars in their tracks. And she would do it always occupying the higher moral ground. She always worked toward treating the family as a whole, but had the capacity, inclination, knowledge and energy to deep dive to help any one of her kids when the need arose….always.

Changing A Career Path

Find a purpose in life so big

it will challenge every capacity to be at your best

….David O. McKay

Mom was a firm believer that happiness at what you did with your life was more important than what you actually did. She left it up to each of us what we wanted to do with our lives, stating “I love you no matter what you do.” However, this did not mean that she stood by when she saw something starting to go off the rails. As an example, in pre-school I developed a great interest in the weekly garbage pickup. I would wake up early so that I could stand in front of the living room window to see the garbage men, straddled on the back of their truck like modern day cowboys, jumping off when the truck was still moving, toss cans in the air with ease and then compact all the garbage. The site of it gripped my imagination and I had decided at the age of 4 that my ambition in life was to be a garbage man.  

How did Mom deal with this? Well, she engaged in active listening and asked probing questions about what specifically I liked about the profession of garbage man.. Eventually the root cause surfaced: it was because they received free gloves. Once Mom understood this the solution was simple. She acknoweledged the free gloves but pointed out that if I ever changed professions that I would have to give the gloves back. Well after I learned this valuable piece of information I really didn’t want to be a garbage man anymore and began to focus on other things.

Later in life when I had to make a choice as to which path I wanted to go down in university the choice was between business and archaeology. Mom’s advice was to pursue archaeology as a hobby but earn my bread from business. That is precisely the path I chose and I am happy I did (actually I chose economics and mathematics). I made my fortune in business and retired at the age of 45 to live in Turkey where I am surrounded by some of the world’s best archaeological sites…..thanks to Mom’s advice.

In addition to giving sage advice of a strategic nature about what to do with ones life, mom was equally adept at the tactical level as well. Mom embodied the two qualities of extraordinary love for her children and child psychologist. In addition to helping me decide what I wanted to do with my life, her life examples have shown me that when you want to get to the bottom of something difficult it is important to ask questions. 

Rearing and Reardon

A really great person is known by three signs –

generosity in the design,

humanity in the execution,

moderation in success

. …Otto Eduard Leopold Von Bismarck

One day mom had Dr. Smith over to the house for dinner. She was the doctor who had helped mom deliver all of her 8 children (as well as our sister who died from croup and our brother who died shortly after birth). After dinner we cleared the table and with Pavlovian symphony embraced our tasks in the kitchen. Dr. Smith commented to Mom how well mannered her kids were. Mom with characteristic modesty said, “Oh, they’re wearing their party manners.” Dr. Smith responded with, “Yes, but you’d be amazed at how many kids don’t have them to put on!’ 

Another incident. One of my brothers and I and about a dozen neighbourhood kids were playing street hockey in front of the Reardon’s, who lived at the end of the street. Neither of my parents had met Mr. or Mrs. Reardon. When Mrs. Reardon began complaining to us about trashing her front lawn, several of the kids began arguing with her. In the midst of all this, with kid brother beside me, I apologized on behalf of the gang and said we would be more careful. After which, Mrs. Reardon asked, “Are you a Jackson?” I nodded and she went on, “You can always tell a Jackson because they are so well mannered.” And none of the Reardon parents had ever met any of us before. We were respected within the community because of how we were raised, and people respected us who had never even met us.

Learning Community Service

The most important thing for a young man is to establish credit –

A reputation, character

…….John D. Rockefeller

My brother Cam would argue with mom when she asked him to serve the garbage haulers coffee in the winter and apple juice mixed with gingerale in the summer. She would explain that these are precisely the people in society we should serve. They are just as important as the doctor who makes housecalls or the serviceman who repairs the appliances. They provide an essential service and they deserve our respect. (I also think that mom was trying to curry favour with the garbage haulers so that they would take away ANYTHING that was thrown out.) If that is true, it is one of a thousand examples of mom killing two birds with one stone: better household management and installing in each of us the necessity to contribute and be involved in our community. For many of us it was our first experience in community work. My brother Don used to put on a magic show for the kids at Joseph Brant Hospital. For Cam it was the first lesson in a long line of events that eventually led to him becoming a politician representing the very community in which Mom made our family well-known and respected.  What little time mom had to herself, she used it to serve her neighbours and the community. Among other things, she would give haircuts to patients at JBH

A Scout Leaders Leader

It is energy –

the central element of which is will –

that produces the miracles of enthusiasm

in all ages.

Everywhere it is the mainspring

of what is called force of character

and the sustaining power of all great actions.

…..Samuel Smiles

With 6 boys in the scouting movement at one time, our scout leader, Bill Orchard, referred to us as The Jackson Patrol. Mom outdid herself here as well. One memory that comes to mind is the time that she sewed a large flag for the 11th Burlington, our troop. It was used regularly at all of our major events.  

But this was nothing compared to the Balloon Project. Our scout leader had secured a contract with one of the cereal companies to stuff ballons into plastic wrappers and seal them. They were going to be give aways you would dig for in a box of Cheerios. Every family who volunteered could take as much raw material they wanted to help with the project. Well, as with everything Mom did, she surpassed everyone’s expectations. She organized an assembly operation in the TV room at home that would have put any Chinese sweat shop to shame. One person would sort the ballons, another would separate and open the wrappers, another would stuff the balloon in the wraper and another person would seal the wrapper shut with a hot iron using an ironing board and, finally, drop it into a jumbo sized box for shipment.  

Mom realized that the line rate could go up if she proliferated the functions on the line, which translated into a need for more labour. The site of mom going outside and rounding up the neighbourhood kids who were playing in the streets (all boy scouts of course) like a cattle driver and giving them a brief training in the sweat shop was a sight to see. The scout leaders were overwhelmed, and Mom was probably responsible for managing 95% of the entire throughput of the contract.  

When I look back I think that Mom felt six times the responsibility that any other mother would have because of the number of scouts in the family. Of course it was a pain at the time, punctuated by some really fun moments with our friends. Later in life I was responsible for a factory building automobiles, and it was the challenge of increasing productivity that turned my crank. Those days stuffing balloons gave me my first insight into the concept of an assembly line.

But when I look back with the benefit of hindsight I realize that Mom was actually reinforcing the very principles that defined what the Scouting movement was all about:  

Always be the best you can be,

help each other, and

serve your community.

She found time to do this between cleaning and ironing a metric ton of laundry each week, not to mention serving over 200 meals in the same period, and at least one or two trips to the doctor, veterinarian or hospital.

A Female Joe Kennedy

The shortest and surest way

to live with honor in the world

is to be in reality

what we would appear to be;

All human virtues increase

and strengthen themselves

by the practice and experience of them

…Socrates

When George Kerr, the longtime MPP for Burlington, retired, my older brother wanted to make a bid to replace him. 

The first task at hand was, of course, to get the nomination from the Progressive Conservative Party in Burlington. This is essentially a popularity contest which boils down to which candidate can sign up the greatest number of delegates to the convention. Mom created and organized a political machine that virtually guaranteed his victory. She worked night and day and mobilized her friends to do the same to get as many delegates signed up as they could. Afterwards, family and friends unanimously conceded that mom was responsible for the majority of delegates that got Cam the party nomination.

Years later, the Burlington Liberal Party asked a family acquaintance if she would run on the Liberal ticket. She responded with “Are you kidding? The only person who can run against Cam Jackson in Burlington and win is Cam Jackson’s Mother!” 

However, to hear mom speak about this achievement and respect she responds with characteristic stoic qualities, saying simply that she only did what was expected of any mother and she would do the same for all her kids.

eBay

Intelligence and the spirit of adventure

can be combined to create new energies,

And out of those energies may come

exciting and rewarding new prospects

….Norman Cousins

Last year my younger sister created a company on the internet to sell historic ephemera. To supplement this she sells on eBay as well. Mom, visiting her daughter-in-law one afternoon noticed she was throwing something of perceived value out in the garbage. Mom responded with, “give it to Trish and she can sell it on eBay.” Although Mom has never touched a computer in her life, somehow she understood the principle behind eBay and was then able to apply it to an area quite apart from what my sister was involved in.  

Mom no longer has the energy to do for my sister what she was able to do for her older children but her heart is there. She recently explained about my sister’s new company…. “too bad I wasn’t a few years younger or I would be in there with both feet!”

That’s an understatement. Based on what I have seen her do in the past, she would have set up a war room and contacted every person she knows to look at my sisters website. She would have organized tea party’s and had people over to inspect what my sister was selling. She would have arranged for free displays at a host of organizations around town that would do anything that Pat Jackson asked of them.  

The Witch Doctor

It is the character of a brave and resolute person

not to be rebuffed by adversity

and not to desert his post

….Cicero

                                                                  

The problem with 8 kids in the house is that if one of them falls ill, eventually they all will. On one occassion (shortly after the birth of the twins) our Aunt and Uncle were visiting from Texas with their four children. All the kids started coming down with strep throat. Mom immediately quarantined the babies (she even had a smock and face mask outside their bedroom door for anyone that was going to enter). Our beloved doctor was on holiday so the person covering for him arrived at the house to examine the children. What she found was mattresses laid out on the TV room floor looking like a makeshift hospital out of Gone With The Wind. She approached with her stethoscope, bending over to examine each patient while trying to keep her footing without hurting anyone. (I don’t think they prepare you for this in Medical School!) Mom was in tow with a face mask and clipboard taking instructions on each child from the doctor.  

The doctor emphatically stated that there was no way the twins would be able to escape the illness and told mom to prepare for that as well. The doctor obviously had never met Mom before! In addition to the twin’s quarantine, each child had their own coloured cup to minimize the risk of any further spread of infection. Along with the antibiotics, there was hot tea, gargling with salt water, soaking feet in epson salts….all cures that Mom had in her bag of tricks. Amazingly, she still found time to boil the glass baby bottles. All this after delivering twins only six weeks earlier.  

Before our exhaused Aunt and Uncle returned home, they tried convincing our parents to let them take one of the twins with them, exclaiming in their Texas drawl, “You all are gonna collapse!” Some time later the same doctor was covering for the regular paedeatrician when another house call was required. She said she would come only on the condition that “there wasn’t another epedemic. The last house call made me feel like I was in the middle of disaster-stricken India!” 

Her expertise at child illnesses, built up over 30 years, is relied on to this day. When a grandchild falls ill, mom gets a call from her daughter or daughter-in-law as to what should be done.

Heal Thyself

Press on.

Nothing in the world

can take the place of persistence.

….Ray A. Kroc

When Mom and Dad lived in Hamilton Mom was suffering from dizzy spells. She asked the doctor what the problem was. He responded that the problem was psychosomatic…..it was all in her head. Some people would have accepted that diagnosis, at least for a while. Not Mom. She took a methodical approach to the problem and began tracking her routine and the timing of the dizzy spells. She noticed they always occurred when she was doing laundry in the basement. Isolating the location, the rest was easy. It turns out there was a gas leak from the furnace and she was slowly being poisoned. It turns out it wasn’t “all in her head” afterall.

This methodical approach to problem solving was a living thing with mom. It is a great gift she has passed on to all of us.

Later in life, a team of medical researches at McMaster wanted to study our family because of the high incidence of male children. Mom made them redefine their thesis when she told them it was hogwash because her first four kids were two males and two females, so if she stopped giving birth at that point what would it have proven?

The medical profession, it turns out, is not flawless in their diagnosis and mom forever showed us the value in using basic common sense and to trust our instincts and, most of all, be persistent.

Breathe the Breath of Jesus

Leadership appears to be the art of getting others to want to do something

you are convinced should be done

….Vance Packard

You would think that at the end of six days of a 36 hour workday that Mom would take it easy on Sunday. Not so. We had to go to church, the preparation for which was a crusade in itself. Don’t ask me where she found the time or inclination, but she starched shirt collars. Once we wrestled with our collars it was time for inspection by Mom. God help you if you had milk on your upper lip. In this case Mom would lick her finger and rub your upper lip until the milk was gone. When you were unfortunate enough to go through this ordeal you would walk around for 15 minutes with a grimace on your face, trying to remember to not breathe though your nose. The look of pain would elicit that most often stated question by dad of “what’s wrong?” By the time we reached church and occupied a full bench, we all felt relief that the ordeal was about halfway over. 

Having only two parents to manage eight kids, the task of keeping separated the combination of kids most prone to mischief was something that required proactive management. One unfortunate Sunday a blunder was made and that lethal combination of Kirk and I ended up sharing a hymnal, which was a big mistake for reasons that will now become obvious.  

When we began singing Breathe the Breath of Jesus, Kirk began blowing at me. As I stood there singing away and breathing the Breath of Kirk, the dots connected and I began to laugh. Have you ever laughed when you are singing? Everbody hears you….everybody. Looking up at Dad first, I noticed his face was a little red but he kept singing with eyes forward. Mom on the other hand was looking straight at me with an expression on her face which suggested, “When I get you home I am going to kill you.”

Well she didn’t kill me and the worst was over before we left the church, but Mom was once again the NCO with the infantry in the trench.

There’s Education and There is School

The only people who achieve much

are those who want knowledge so badly

that they seek it while the conditions

are still unfavorable.

Favorable conditions never come.

….Clive S. Lewis

Mom was only able to complete grade 6 education, but often stumped school teachers and professionals with her home-spun common sense. Despite this, just listening to people from the various ethnic communities in the farm district and Winnipeg ghetto she grew up in, she was able to speak over 7 languages. At one time in her life mom was able to converse in German, Ukrainian, Polish, Russian, Yiddish as well as Signing language. She would often say she went to the School of Hard Knocks.  

One evening, Mom was helping Rhonda with her homework. Rhonda was delighted with the insight and ideas that her mother was providing her. At one point Mom said playfully, “Don’t you ever wonder where I would be if I had an education?” Rhonda responded with, “Ya, you’d know what I was talking about!” Mom still laughs about that to this day. 

The Real Jewish Mother….or is it the Ukranian Mother

For success,

attitude is equally as important

as ability

….Harry F. Banks

Most parents buy household goods from stores, pay retail and never develop a relationship with the people or organizations they buy from. Well that’s fine when you have 0-3 kids at home. But eight kids requires more of a vendor-supplier relationship. Dad, for instance, used to always keep $100 in his wallet to take advantage of any bulk deal that would suddenly spring to life in front of him. He often commented that he spent $50 before he got out of bed in the morning. This is because he would wring up a tab with the breadman, the juiceman and the milkman, paying them for three weeks worth of staples at a time. You can’t imagine how much bread and milk was consumed in our home.

Mom’s fabric supplier was an old Jewish man on Ottawa Street in Hamilton (we usually had 7 or 8 bolts of fabric in our basement at any given time). She needed a fabric supplier because in addition to everything else she did in a day, she made drapes for the home and upholstered furniture as well as kids clothes and anything else that required sewing. Mom would make regular visits to Mr. Kimmel and negotiate a price that left him wincing but Mom was one of his best customers.  

One day mom sent me to get some fabric and to negotiate with Mr. Kimmel. She was too busy and couldn’t make it….probably rushing one of my brothers to the hospital for stitches, or waiting for the technician to come and fix the furnace or something similar. She instructed me before I left on the tactics of the negotiation and how much I should offer. She kept repeating that it was critical that I let Mr. Kimmel know that I am the son of the Jewish lady with eight kids. See, with moms knowledge of languages she could adapt herself to almost any commercial situation from an advantageous negotiating position. Well, when I got to Mr. Kimmel I screwed it up and said I was the son of the UKRAINIAN lady with eight kids (as I was not yet quite in tune with my mother’s tactics and just told the truth, like an idiot). Sitting on his perch, and very reminiscent of Jabba the Hut, Mr. Kimmel kept repeating in a thick Yiddish accent, “I don’t know no Ukrainian lady with eight kids.”  

A subsequent phone call to Mom that her instructions weren’t having the magical effect I had expected, and she corrected my error. When I went back I said, in what must have made me sound like a confused orphan, “Sorry, I made a mistake, I am the son of the JEWISH lady with eight kids.” Well Jabba’s eyes widened in astonishment, and this time he kept repeating “Is that your mother?……that’s not your mother. Is that your mother?…. that’s not your mother.” It was not until a phone call with Mom that Mr. Kimmel was convinced. With head bowed, the movement of a hand, and something mumbled, Mr. Kimmel completed the transaction in a flash and I walked away with an end piece of something. Buying a coil of kolbassa, a jar of kosher dill pickles, and a loaf of rye bread from our favourite Deli next to Mr. Kimmel’s, I sat in my car with mouth stuffed contemplating my failure as a negotiator and confusion over who I really am.

An experience like this is invaluable for any future businessman. Looking back I also realize that having eight kids is something extraordinary within the Jewish community as well.  

The Lunatics Have Left the Asylum

It is only after an unknown number

of unrecorded labors,

after of host of noble hearts

have succumbed in discouragment,

convinced that their cause is lost;

it is only then that the cause triumphs.

….Francois Guizot

Once upon a time scientists could not physically see an atom. Instead, they could see its shadow under an electron microscope. So it is in trying to fathom the immense ability required to simply stay sane as a mother of eight kids. We can see the shadow of this by looking at what happend to the never ending stream of domestics that mom occasionally hired to help her meet the day to day needs of the home.

Some were un-wed mothers that came to us via Children’s Aid. They helped mom in exchange for room and board. In the process she tried to teach them about child-rearing. Others (that were paid) were spinsters and in once case, a married couple. There were tons of them. None of them lasted more than 60 days. They would start full of enthusiasm and energy but that wouldn’t last long. It was just a matter of time before each and every one of them would, at a minimum, develop a 10,000 yard stare, become manic, or in one case, simply vanish into thin air one day while hanging out 100 pounds of laundry in the backyard. This particular one left all her posessions behind and was last seen escaping into the forest beside our home. We chewed them up and spit them out, without knowing it at the time of course. After all we were just stimulated kids with overactive imaginations and too much energy. A few samples come to mind.

Doreen was one of the earlier ones. Mom was in the hospital giving birth to the twins, if memory serves, and Doreen was the surrogate mother. Profanity was forbidden in our home and was punished with having your mouth washed out with soap. Not just any soap…..Sunlight soap. It’s probably the first commercial/industrial soap ever invented. It certainly tasted nineteenth century. It removes stains and, as we discovered, all your energy and self-esteem. It was the household version of electric shock therapy and had just about the same effect. Well, one day I swore and Doreen said, “Your mother said I could wash your mouth out with soap when you swore.” These words struck fear and brought on an urgent hunt for the closest hiding place. When captured and dragged to the bathroom to receive punishment I was dumbfounded and speechless to see that Doreen’s and mom’s version of this punishment were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Taking IVORY soap and rubbing it across my lips twice, I looked up and asked “is that it?” She said yes in a way that somehow suggested I had actully been punished, which confused me. What followed was all of us running joyously through the house uttering every swear word we could imagine. I am not sure what happened to Doreen because she was nowhere to be seen while this was happening. I think she went for a long walk.

Fast forward and Doreen is now putting us to bed. Realizing after the soap incident that she was weak and unable to manage us, we decided we didn’t want to go to bed and that she couldn’t make us. She would physically grab one of us and put us into bed, only to find that when she went for the next one, the one she just put to bed had escaped and was now hiding, amongst other places, in the bottom drawer of our parents dresser. After half an hour of this Doreen had a nervous breakdown. She sat in the kitchen crying uncontrollably. We had never seen a grown woman cry before and sensed that this was not a good thing and, frankly, were a little afraid. So we started to come out of our hiding spots and huddled around her, stroking her head and consoling her so she would stop crying, telling her everything would be okay, and then we went to bed without incident.

A few days later my younger brother and I got bored and decided to leave home. Influenced by TV serials like Our Gang, we wrapped our favourite toys in the couch slip cover and ran a hockey stick through it, propped it on my shoulder and confronted Doreen that we were running away. Instead of preventing this, she just started to laugh. It was a strange laugh. Kirk and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and then made our way up the mountain adjacent to the house. We remained there until Dad came home that night and brought us home. It was a good thing he did because earlier that day I had to go to the bathroom and we did not have any toilet paper. On top of this Dad had warned us about the dangers of poison ivy. So I used the couch slip cover as toilet paper. Dad helped us to transport the toys back home. I would love to have heard the subsequent conversation between Dad and Doreen.

Helga and her husband Steve were another example. They came later in the game, perhaps because mom recognized that no individual woman was enough to handle us. I remember Steve holding me in his arms smiling and then the look of sudden anger on his face when I yanked the gold chain he was wearing from his neck. Helga had her hands full with the others until finally things snapped and we found ourselves in bed at 4 pm in the afternoon on a hot summer day. With chests heaving from spent energy and arms behind our heads relaxing in bed we heard Helga and Steve arguing. Helga, of strict disciplined north German stock, was crying uncontrollably stating that she could not take it anymore and had to leave. Steve was trying to console her and kept reminding her that they had promised they would stay for another week and that they were strong enough to do it. Talk about the Russian Front.

There was another case of a woman, I already mentioned, whose name escapes me because I don’t think she was with us for more than a few days. She went out to hang out clothes one day, and ran away into the forest, never to be seen again. The most memorable moment I can recall is Kirk, Cam, Rhonda and I entering her room and cleaning out what she had left behind…..including her teddy bears.

Mrs. Muir was another case. A soft spoken spinster who was a light smoker when she first arrived, was chain smoking so furiously by the time she left that it would put a Korean to shame.

So, by looking at these shadows we can begin to fathom what it took to stay sane. However, it is still a mystery how, as a mother, she was not only able to stay sane but managed to achieve the level of performance she did.

If You’re an Indian, Where is your Tepee?

There is no exercise

better for the heart

than reaching down

and lifting people up.

                                                                       …..John Andrew Holmes

When I was about six years old mom had hired a Mohawk Indian from Brantford to help out around the house. I was intensley interested in Indians then and refused to accept that she was one because she shattered my stereotype. Sitting along the top of the couch I was grilling her, saying, “If you’re an Indian, where is your tepee? Where is your horse? Where are your Indian clothes? Where is your bow and arrow and tomahawk? Where’s your whiskey? Have you ever scalped anyone?”

I still remember that poor woman trying to respond. I can still see her behind those coke bottle lenses of hers. Mom was nowhere to be found while I was grilling this poor woman. However, Mom was never outside of earshot and figured she would stay out of the discussion either because a) she did not want to shatter my world or b) she figured it would be good training for that poor Indian woman to develop the courage to defend herself or c) she was peeing herself with laughter.   

Before it was called LGBTQ

When you are doing something that is right, you just do it and take care … Someone has to do this.

                                     … Alice Nkom

One of the women mom and dad hired to help out was a transgender woman named Sherry. It was the early 60’s and in those days society was much less tolerant than today and transgender people usually suffered great prejudice and were often shunned or abused. I remember one day Sherry came to us and had a black eye. I had never seen a woman with a black eye before and it disturbed me. When I approached mom to ask her what happened she was peeling potatoes at the sink and pretended like she didn’t hear me. Looking back I think she wanted to protect me a little longer from knowing how mean some people can be. She didn’t want to have to explain to me what prejudice is.

Sacred Places

A great person leaves clean work behind him

and requires no sweeper up of the chips

….Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Life with eight kids has an effect on the appearance of a home not too disimilar to what a small tornado would do. I mean, in winter there were dozens of pairs of shoes and boots clogging the house entrance, along with umpteen coats and dozens of mittens, scarves and hats. How do you keep the place presentable and not looking like something the Humane Society would have issue with? You have your sacred places. 

We had understood the concept since early childhood by way of my older sister’s bedroom. Mom and Dad shoehorned up to four brothers into one bedroom but my older sister had her own bedroom from day one to the day she left home. Even when she left home her status was different than the rest of us. My father paid for her university and all living expenses. The male members of the family were expected to work and pay their own way through university. It was natural that this elevated status would be accompanied by taboos about entering the room without permission. Every room in the house had an open door but our older sister’s was off limits. For most of her youth she was an only daughter surviving in a sea of wild animals for brothers so it is natural I suppose.  

By the time we moved to Burlington, Mom carved out the living room as a shrine for guests and special occassions, complete with an oriental carpet. Even our pet poodle Tammy knew it was off limits.

This ability to create an oasis in a desert, a place of peace in a turbulant environment, was remarkable and provided us with good lessons that there are no excuses for a messy environment. Mom used to say that soap and water costs nothing. The same principle she applied to her own appearance and presentation was the same principle she applied to managing the home. She was able to keep her hat on in the middle of a hurricane.

The Crevice Tool, Round Brush, Hospital Corners and Fingermarks

A community is like a ship;

everyone ought to be prepared

to take the helm

….Henrik Ibsen

Living in home with ten people is a community. Management of that community was Mom’s daily chore. Due to the prolfiferation of boys in the family, all of us learned how to clean a home better than most people who do it professionally. We learned to use the crevice tool when vacuuming hard to get areas, how to make hospital corners when making beds, how to use an SOS pad properly, how to spot dirt that most people couldn’t even see. Friday was the day we cleaned the house from top to bottom: change bed sheets, dust, vacuum, polish floors, carpets, clean fingerprints from walls, etc.

Due to the size of the household, Mom elected for a system whereby each person would undertake a specific chore on behalf of everyone. So one person would wash the dishes, another would set the table, etc. These chores would then change as we got older and took on new chores. This allowed for specialization and accountability.   

Looking back, she created a machine of efficiency in the house. I recall when I was a kid I was doing something with Dad in preparation for some guests we were expecting in a few hours. I said to Dad, “The people will come and they will say, Pat! I don’t know how you do it!” I thought dad would die of laughter.

Scouting was an integral part of our childhood. Mom found a way that we could still go to camp every weekend but still do our house cleaning on Friday. It was simple. Thursday night we would pack our knapsack and get our clothes ready for the weekend. Friday we would run home, complete our chores by 6pm and a car would pick us up to take us to camp. Mom found solutions to everything that enabled all objectives to be met….both personal and family.

Management of the Kitchen

I have three precious things which I hold fast and prize.

The first is gentleness;

the second is frugality;

the third is humility,

which keeps me from putting myself before others.

Be gentle and you can be bold;

be frugal and you can be liberal;

avoid putting yourself before others

and you can become a leader among men.

….Lao-Tzu

Getting eight kids to the dinner table is a chore in itself, with Mom reminding the laggards that she is not running a hotel. Well, we all had individual dietary likes and dislikes and somehow she was able to accomodate all of them. In effect, she was providing special meals to those who didn’t like a particular vegetable or meat. She did it efficiently and with the minimum of effort, but what is amazing is that she bothered to do it at all. 

If we left some food she would remind us about the starving children in Biafra. When we countered that they were more than welcome to it, without missing a beat she would point out that the food would spoil in transit to Africa. And after everyone was served, we would see Mom eating alone in the TV room while she was colouring her hair or mending something! And long long before concern for the environment became fashionable, Mom insisted that we seperate wet garbage from dry garbage, that cartons be collapsed before being thrown out, that cans have their lids removed and rinsed before being thrown out.  

She managed things so that there were always leftovers in the fridge that could be quickly prepared for dinner in the event that she was not at home, particularly on Monday. If the milk went sour, it would be used in making pancakes. If the bread went dry it would be converted into breadcrumbs and mixed into hamburg. Water from the diaper pail was used as fertilizer in the garden. Dehumidifer water was used to water the indoor plants. Nothing went to waste, not even the waste.  

The Breakfast From Hell

Your best hope for success

is that your associates

aren’t as good at judging you

as you are at judging them.

…..Frank Tyger

For a period of about six years I used to wake up around 6:30 am and wander downstairs to prepare the morning routine for the household. I don’t know why I did this. I was certainly never asked to. It was just a way of blowing off energy I guess. Anyway, I would clean any mess from the night before, prepare the breakfast table (which was actually a J-shaped counter attached to the cooking area), prepare the coffee (later in high school I would prepare everyone’s lunch), and boil the milk for porridge. After all this, around 7:30, I would wake mom up, telling her that all was ready for her.  

As time went on and I got a little older she showed me how to actually make porridge. However, I could never quite get it right and my brothers and sisters reading this will all correctly claim that this is a gross and malicious understatement. If you can imagine what the surface of Mercury looks like then you can get a pretty good idea of what my porridge looked like. The other extreme was that it never quite became cohesive. The balance between these two extremes became my search for the grail and I must admit that if I ever did achieve my goal it was because of the law of random averages and nothing else. I was trying my best and how I avoided ulcers over the stress I felt preparing it is something, but suffice it to say, my siblings really did not relish the thought of breakfast in our home during the school week.  

Still rubbing sleep from eyes and staring open mouthed into this mastic membrane mass that looked like some creature out of the Outer Limits was the general routine in the mornings, Monday to Friday. Conversations went something like this: “No, no” or “Not this again” or “This is sick” or “I’m not gonna do it.” Sometimes it got ugly. Right about the time I was going to be lynched, Mom intervened and saved all of us. Beating the membrane until it was able to move, she would work in milk to allow it to move down the throat. The half-inch of burnt material at the bottom of the pot was problematic but she found a way around that as well. Working in brown sugar made it actually taste good. Sprinkling hail on top of it after it was served in front of us, made it down right presentable and actually enticing.

It was my very first experience at marketing and showed me that a disaster can turn into victory with a little effort and the right attitude. It also showed me that cooking was not one of my key strengths.

Vitamins for the Brain as Well as the Body

The lightning spark of thought,

generated or, say rather, heaven-kindled,

in a solitary mind,

awakens its express likeness in another mind,

in a thousand other minds,

and all blaze up together in combined fire

…..Thomas Carlyle

Some of the kids we knew ate macaroni and cheese for dinner, peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch, and boxed sugared cereal for breakfast, wheras these were almost seen as “treats” in our home because Mom made everything from scratch. Don’t get me wrong, we probably consumed a ton of peanut butter when we were kids, but mainly from sandwiches we made for ourselves when Mom wasn’t around in the kitchen, and by not being around in the kitchen. I mean she was in the basement doing laundry or cutting hair, upstairs stripping beds or outside hanging out clothes, or rushing one of us to the hospital. We ate well in our home. One friend observed:

Health food gurus have nothing on your mom. She was ahead of her time in the use of grains and carbohydrates and in all those years, I have never heard of a story of a ‘burnt offering’ meal, and I have heard plenty of stories.

Dad would buy cheaper grade steaks and marinate them for 24 hours and they tasted like filet mignons. If the statement is true that you can judge a man’s wealth by how he eats and not the size of his mortgage, then we were the wealthiest family around. On and given Sunday in the summer, family friends would descend to experience one of Dad’s barbeques. Dad used to comment that Lou, our brother-in-law, would come over on Sunday in order to get a decent meal. My sisters, by osmosis, became good cooks in their own right, but those steaks of Dads were famous. Mom would supplement dad’s effort and cook up a dutch oven of buckwheat (kasha in Ukrainian), with bacon and onions and serve it with sour cream. She would serve buckwheat as a substitute for potato chips as between-meal snacks. None of our friends had ever had it before but they loved it.  

Perhaps they never heard of it because it was sold in animal feed outlets; that is until much later on when some entrepeneur discovered it was health food and then it was sold by the ounce in health food stores. We bought it by the sack. As I attended university in the area mom would have me buy this staple from an animal feed outlet outside Kitchener-Waterloo. Mom was ever vigil about the food we ate, serving salad with each meal, serving a hot and nutricious breakfast, and homemade soups for lunch. 

Despite how well we ate, she also insisted we take vitamins every morning. The one that comes to mind is a liquid called ABDEC. It was in liquid form and we took seven drops every morning. I would usually read anything around me while at the breakfast table and then one day it dawned on me that the name ABDEC contained the first five letters of the alphabet. Furthermore, it contained only the first five letters of the alphabet. It contained 40% of the vowels in the alphabet and 40% of the word contained vowels. I would sit there in the mornings and add successive letters and see how far I could go in creating a new word. I was intrigued by all of this and wondered who the guy was who invented the word ABDEC. 

Fast forward and in my first year of university I am earning $2 an hour giving private lessons in Calculus to fellow students who, I guess, never had ABDEC as a kid.

Mom (like me) probably didn’t know it at the time that ABDEC would be enriching my mind as well as my body and stimulating an interest in mathematics, but I guess that is one of the great things about the extent of my Mother’s love. It covered everything she did for us. Perhaps something that intense actually creates its own new realities or externalities. Expressed another way, good things come from love.

An Early Lesson in Reverse Logic and Negotiating Tactics

A right judgment

draws us a profit

from all things we see

…..William Shakespeare

In addition to the role the ABDEC vitamins played in stimulating an interest in logic and mathematics, there are other dinner table experiences which reinforced this interest. Food is an important commodity in a household of ten. Second helpings required a combination of courage, negotiation and finesse to acquire. It’s not that there was any shortage of food…..only the perceived notion of a shortage. This became a venue to hone our skills at competing with one another. Mom would only intervene in those moments when there was not enough to go around and things would get ugly. This was in about 5% of the cases. In other cases it was something almost Darwinian.  

I learned at an early age that if I asked the question “Does anyone want another helping?” I had to wait for a response before I could proceed with a second helping. Very often there was no response, which meant I had to ask the question again at which point somebody would wake up and I now had to share dinner with at least one other sibling and very often the herd mentality would set in and everyone suddenly wanted a second helping.  

After going through this a few times I decided on a different tact. I posed the question in the negative, stating, “I guess nobody wants any more food, eh?” A non-response in this case was a tacit approval to go ahead and help myself unobstructed. At least that is what I reasoned to myself. My brothers and sisters caught on after a while though and paid that extra bit of attention when I was hovering over the stove with plate in hand.  

This is one of the byproducts of large family rearing. You develop creative approaches to problem solving. Fast forward thirty years later and I am solving problems that have stumped my more experienced predecessors by simply reversing the direction of the business equation that seemed to defy solution. I built a career on that trait, and it would never have manifested itself in my character without my being raised in a large family and having a mother that seemed to instinctively know the right time to intervene in the affairs of her kids and when to let them learn by trial and error.

Haircuts and Bonding

Character is formed, not by laws, commands,

and decrees, but by quiet influence,

unconscious suggestion and personal guidance

….Marion L. Burton

Early on, our father purchased barber scissors and electric clippers from his barber so that Mom could properly cut the kid’s hair (yet another way for mom to stretch the dollar). Years later, with the addition of more children and the purchase of a larger home, Dad also bought a professional chair from the same man. The thing weighed a ton! Over time Mom became very good and up until recently was cutting her great grand kids hair. Naturally when cutting one kid’s hair in the basement you can’t keep an eye on the others upstairs. The solution? Mom had a broom nearby and when things would reach an undefined level of activity in the kitchen directly overhead, without saying a word, she would take the broom and pound on the ceiling about five times without any emotion, and then go back to haircutting. This would work for a while and then things would start to get out of hand again and she would repeat the exercise.  

Even the haricutting experience would provide an opportunity to have fun. Unbeknownst to Mom, one of us would be hiding behind the furnace waiting for Mom to move into position so that only the person getting the haircut would be able to see the brother behind the furnace. The object of the game was to get the guy in the chair to laugh, thus requiring an explanation to our Mother as to what was so funny. Some funny conversations with Mom would follow. They were nice moments and we learned many things. One thing my neice Robin claims she learned was never lick your lips during a haircut.

Critics of large families point out that there is not enough one-on-one time with each child. I am happy that this was not the case in my family. One example of good quality one-on-one time was during those haircuts. Pounding on the ceiling notwithstanding, you had mom’s undivided attention. Those moments helped me to sort out what I wanted to do with my life. Amazingly, my mother washed and set my older sisters hair until she was 14. Years later, my older sister admitted that she felt like an abandoned child when mom stopped doing her hair!

The First Day of Kindergarten

Not for himself,

but for the world he lives

…..Lucan

Growing up in the village of Stoney Creek was wonderful because it is such a historic place and we were fortunate enough to live at the end of a dead end street so that we had a forest beside us and a small creek behind us. From when we were old enough to understand that we were part of a family, Mom had us doing basic household chores. The idea behind it all was to do your chores first and then you could play. Growing up on 34 Cherrywood Drive we had a wonderful environment to play in. Our school in Stoney Creek was built in 1876. I can still recall the creaking of the staircase when you would walk up to the second floor.  

The first day of Kindergarten is something people may forget but I remember it vividly because one of the girls in the class was crying uncontrollably at being separated from her Mother. She actually peed herself right there in the class. I couldn’t understand what she was so upset about. I learned later she was an only child, which makes sense as to why I could not understand her. By the age of five, I already had achieved a certain degree of independence because of the concept of sharing that pervades most of everything that happens in a large family household.

I kept waiting for the flash of insight to happen that first day of school. At the end of the day I walked home and informed Mom that I had quit school. Mom asked me why I was quitting. I said, “All they do is play and I already know how to do that.” She informed me that I couldn’t quit. I asked, “Why not? Dad could quit his job, so why can’t I quit school?”

Mom talked me through this and managed to get me to go the next day. Just to make it extra interesting she sewed me the coolest blanket for my school naps. It had the head of a cat and the material for the body was full of animal scenes. That blanket made me want to go to school at least long enough for other aptitudes to kick in and I never looked back.

Mom always talked to us about everything. The way she did it though it was always a two-way communication. She stimulated our thought process by making us think when we talked. She supplemented this by shaping our immediate physical environment in a way that we always felt safe and warm.

Three years later, in 1962, Stoney Creek celebrated the 150th anniversary of the War of 1812. The whole village was alive and having fun. I begged Mom to make me a costume that I could wear to school. She did not have much time but she sewed two white stripes on navy blue pants, found a navy blue shirt and I had a navy blue civil war hat from a family visit to Old Fort Henry in Kingston. It was a fast job and not really kosher and I knew I would be ridiculed by the kids at school that I was dressed up as an AMERICAN (blue) instead of a CANADIAN/BRITISH (red). So I found myself at eight years of age combing through what limited research material I had to figure out how I could pass this off as a Canadian uniform. I finally found something. The morning I wore the outfit to school, I was late. My grade 3 teacher turned to me when I entered the classroom and said “Good morning Kevin. I see you are dressed up as an American.” I replied, “No Miss Atwood, I am part of a British artillery unit based in Kingston between 1820 and 1835.”  

Well there was only one other kid in the class with a costume. His was far cooler than mine. He was a genuine British officer with a store-bought outfit. My explanation to Miss Atwood nothwithstanding, at recess he and I agreed to split the class in two and fight each other as British vs. Americans for control of the hill on our playground. Kids got hurt and the two of us ended up standing before the Principal explaining what we were doing.

Thanks to Mom I was living in my fantasy. She was the only mother in the entire class that made an outfit for her child….the only mother. She had seven kids at that time but still found the time to do it. It may have taken her only half an hour and it looked like it was half an hour, but it provided me with my very first experience at leadership, although kids got hurt. It also provided me with the courage to walk into class late (something unheard of back then). It also furthered my interest in history and it was my very first research project. It was the first time in my life that I anticipated a future outcome and took steps to address it in advance.

In all my life I can never recall Mom ever once saying no to anyone who asked for help, so long as she was physically able to do so. This is still the case today. 

You Can Run But You Cannot Hide

Try to forget yourself in the service of others.

For when we think too much of ourselves

And our own interests,

We easily become despondent.

But when we work for others,

Our efforts return to bless us

….Sidney Powell

When my older sister and her family moved to Burlington they bought a nice home that needed a lot of work. Not the structural kind of work requiring trades people, but all the stuff that the family could do with a ton of elbow grease, a lot of time, and a strong constitution. Everything had to be ripped out and replaced or bleached. It was a mammouth task and Mom, as usual, played her part in mobilizing the troops to help transform the blood red carpet and spanish wrought iron into a respectable home.  

Toward the end of the project, waking up from a hangover in my flat in Hamilton during my university days, I got a call from mom telling me she found an aluminum door for sale in the articles to sell section of the Hamilton Spectator and that it may be exactly what my sister needed. She wanted me to drive up to Hamilton mountain and get the dimensions of the door and to call her and see if it was a match. I made a feeble attempt at protesting, as my head was splitting, saying something to the effect of “why me?” What followed was a lambasting to the effect of “your sister needs your help and she would do it for you,” which was true on both counts. 

Mom was forevor helping her kids, even when they had flown the coop. She believed then, as she believes today, that family is all about helping one another and she has instilled this in all of us.

Embrace Your Fears

Greatness, in the last analysis, is largely bravery –

courage in escaping from old ideas and old standards

and respectable ways of doing things.

If you do not dare to differ from your associates and teachers,

you will never be great or your life sublime.

You may be the happier as a result, or you may be miserable.

Each of us is great insofar as we perceive and act

on the infinite possibilities

which lie undiscovered and unrecognized

about us

….James Harvey Robinson

There are few experiences that people fear more than going to the dentist. This explains why dentists have the highest suicide rate amongst professionals and die younger than any other professional group. To illustrate this, the very first family dentist we had was as a certain Dr. Zuronsky, whom we saw regulary right up to the time that he had a severe mental breakdown. I can only hope that we played no part in that. 

Before our dentist went over the deep end, on one rare occassion Dad took us to the dentist when mom was sick. Dr. Zuronsky told him that my orthodontic problem could not be corrected by anyone. This did not stop Mom. She took me to a Speech Therapist who gave me certain exercises to perform, one of which was blowing through a straw in a glass to make bubbles while keeping my tongue afixed to the roof of my mouth. Another exercise was to suck on a candy by keeping my tongue afixed to the roof of my mouth. How did Mom get me to practice this at home? She knew that I had a great love for making jigsaw puzzles. She told me that as a treat for hitching a piece of the puzzle to take a drink of 7-Up from a glass by first blowing bubbles as the Speech Therapist showed me and then to alternate so that when I hitched the next piece I could suck on a candy, as shown.

Once again, as she had done so many many times with us, she got us to do what we needed to do by making it okay for us rather than forcing us.

When eight kids go to the dentist it tends to be a full day ordeal. Like locusts we would descend on the waiting room and consume all of the reading material and occupy all of the chairs. That was not a problem in itself because if anyone else entered the waiting room and needed a chair, we were trained to offer our seat. While most kids would postpone the dreaded moment of sitting in the dentists chair, as frightened as we were, we would actually fight amongst ourselves to be the first one up. The logic was simple. By going first, you avoid listening to the screams of others going before you and all the tricks your mind plays on you while waiting for the moment of terror to come. It’s all about minimizing pain.   

Speaking of dentists and pain management, Mom, a non-drinker, elected not to take anesthetic when she was having her teeth drilled. Why would she willingly become Dustin Hoffman in the Marathon Man? Mom didn’t like the after effects of the anasthetic and had mild allergies, so, ever the practical person, she elected to have no anasthetic at all. Yes, the consequence of this was more pain in the chair, but when you got up there was no after-effect.  

I think that the main reason Mom was able to do this in the first place was because her tolerance for pain was exceptional. After all, giving natural birth to ten kids, and the ablilty to cram 36 hours of work into a 24 hour day would, by necessity, make you numb to pain. Looking back I think there is another reason why mom forced herself to not take anasthetic. The pressure in her life was so extraordinary, the responsibility so great that she could not willingly allow herself to be less than 100% even for a minute.  

Look at it from her perspective. What if she is groggy and not able to be at her best when crossing the street with eight kids, what about driving everybody home? There are risks that need to be avoided, and to do this, she accepted physical pain in order to be the best mother she could be, every minute of the day. In the same way she approached all of her activities, she needed to get through the dentist ordeal as quickly as possible and move on to the next task.

For some of us, those visits to the dentist gave rise to courage in our character and the desire and ability to actively confront our fears head on. This could only happen in a large family because if there were only one or two kids, there would be no three-hour waiting time that would be within your abiltiy to eliminate.

As an example, I had a great fear of heights, but elected to go mountain climbing when I was living in Switzerland to specifically deal with that fear. It wasn’t a stroll up a hill. It was glaciers, crevasses, crampons, picks, harnesses, and in the middle of August. I reached the top. This lesson extended to business as well. When managing an organization, don’t spend all your time engaged in activities you are comfortable with but dig into those areas where you are actually uncomfortable because odds are that that is where the devil is.

No Gain to Complain About Pain

He is great enough

That is his own master

….Joseph Hall

Even when she was 78 years old, when her back pains reached a point that she had to see a specialist, the doctor asked Mom what walking device she was using. When she said she wasn’t using anything the doctor then asked her what pain medication she was on. When mom said she wasn’t using any medication at all the doctor remarked that this was impossible because one of the discs in her lower spine had completely disintegrated and her bones were rubbing together. Mom rarely let us know that she was in pain. In fact, she rarely ever complained about anything at all. If she mentioned that her back was giving her problems, she would follow it with her wonderful sense of humor and say something like “are you going to have a pity party for me?”

The Solution to the World’s Problems

It should be our purpose in life

to see that each of us makes such a contribution

as will enable us to say that we,

individually and collectively,

are a part of the answer

to the world problem

and not part of the problem itself

…..Andrew Cordier

                         

This last summer my two sisters, my younger brother and I got together to do a big purge at Mom’s. You can imagine the amount of stuff that accumulated over the years as Mom continuously hunted for things for her rapidly expanding family. As part of the purge we held a garage sale. During that sale I had the opportunity to meet a few neighbours of Mom’s that I had never met before. All of them were singing great praises about what a wonderful human being she is. I will never forget the following story.

One of the neighbours told me that everyone in the neighbourhood knows that if you canvas Pat Jackson for a donation, regardless of the cause, she would always give a toonie. The neighbour explained that Mom says she does this because if everyone did this then enough money would be raised to find a cure for Cancer, AIDS and everything else. The way that the neighbour told it kind of reminded me of how I used to talk with pride about my Linear Programming Professor in Graduate School. It was the aura you give off when you are humbled by a superior quality in a mentor, a quality you aspire to. Mom has this effect on countless people.

A Mother to the Neighbourhood

“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.”

…Robert Browning

I witnessed a number of cases where mom became a surrogate mother of sorts for young men and women both. I recall that when Rob Tremblay, our next door neighbour accidentally slit his wrist washing the dishes late at night, rather than wake his parents, he ran next door to my parents to rush him to the hospital. An old girlfriend of my brother Don had been sexually abused by her stepfather and when she informed her mother about it the later did nothing. When mom died she asked in her will that all of us provide financial  aid to that poor victim, who visited mom quite often. Similarly when a friend of one of my brothers was physically abused by her husband, it was often our mom who would step in and fill the role of comforter and mentor. Mrs. Johnson was a local neighbour, married to a world famous eye doctor. When he left her and moved to the Middle East, it was to mom that Mrs. Johnson turned to for help. Mom drove her to get groceries or run errands and often gave her money.

No Such Thing as Jealousy or Greed….They Come Later

In the high art of serving others,

workers sustain their morale,

management keeps its customers,

and the nation prospers.

One of the indisputable lessons of life

is that we cannot get or keep anything

for ourselves alone

unless we also get it for others

…..J. Richard Sneed

My 12 year old daughter is currently pestering me for a new cell phone. When I ask her why she wants a new one she tells me it is because all of her friends have the latest model and that she is jealous. She asks me, “Weren’t you jealous of your friends when you were a child?” It made me think. There were definately kids who had more than us but I never recall feeling anything other than the fact that they were different.  

One case comes to mind of a classmate in grade 2 who travelled to England with his family. In the village of Stoney Creek back in the early 60’s that was really something. And as much as the love to travel is part of my genetic makeup (I have visited 55 countries in my life), the fact that he had done something so cool had no effect on me. My daughter is an only child and it dawned on me that being part of a large family you are part of a community within the home. You share everything: your toys, your clothes, your birthdays, your experiences. This overriding focus on sharing translates directly into equality and everyone being treated as equals (with the caveat that daughters had special status).  

Greed comes later in life, but as a kid there is not much to be jealous about because you see yourself as part of a whole. Your focus is on us rather than me when it comes to material posessions. Even with our father earning a modest income, we felt rich not only because of the volume of toys around us or how mom clothed us on a thin budget, but the quality of experiences we had with each other. When any of us got a really cool gift, we were dutifully reminded that we had to share it. To my mind, that made me eight times richer than any of the kids I grew up with. We would be lying if we said that there was a single moment of boredom when we were kids. I asked mom about this later in life and she confirmed that not a single one of us ever expressed jealousy about one of our friends when we were kids.

Relationship Management in the Neighbourhood

Life’s great gift

is natural talent

….P.K. Thomajan

One day one of the neighbourhood kids hurt my brother. Not seriously hurt, but we felt Mom should do something about it. When we told her she listened and then I asked her what she was going to do about it. She said she wasn’t going to do anything. When I asked her why, she said that kids fight today and they are best friends tomorrow, but when adults argue it can be carried on for a long time. I was confused by this at the time because when the shoe was on the other foot and I had hurt that kid, his parents cornered me and verbally assaulted me. But when I considered my experience and then Mom’s words, I understood that my mother was far surperior to the parents of that other child. In fact, the whole thing seemed to reinforce something else mom had been telling me for years, which was, “if you can’t bring someone up to your level, don’t let them bring you down to theirs.”

This is not always easy advice to follow, but whenever I have seen my Mom abused by family or friends, she clearly takes the higher ground and does not stoop to their level. Mom “walks the talk.” With her it is not only a case of “do as I say”, but also “do as I do.”

Another incident comes to mind. Rhonda had applied twice for a job at Skyway Drugs. Mom took matters in hand and drove over to see the owner, Jerry Swag. Mom let into him with “with all the business we do here…..”, and after an earful Jerry caved with “I’ll take care of it”. Mom responded with “you can do me one other favor”. “What’s that”, replied Jerry. “You can let her go if she’s no good”. 

Religion and Language

If there be any truer measure of a person

than by what he does,

it must be by what he gives

…..Robert South

In everything mom did, she focussed first and last on the needs of others. I cannot remember anything she did purely for herself that did not involve family except for three cases.

• she liked to watch John Wayne movies (while she was ironing)
• during Thanksgiving and Christmas she had a weakness for that part of the Turkey that she called the Pope’s Nose
• she loved Dolton figurines which dad would buy her on special occassions

Other than that she did not have any personal preferences for anything, at least as far as I remember. She didn’t drink alcohol (which is just as well because raising eight kids could have easiy turned her into an alcoholic) and she didn’t like airplanes. She smoked cigarettes until 1978 and when we complained about it she would remark, “count yourself fortunate that this is my only vice….with kids like you you should be grateful I am not an alcoholic!”

Her entire life centered around serving others. Before marriage she was discussing with Dad which religion they would raise their future family in. Dad said he would change to Catholicism. Mom countered that instead of that she would change to Anglican and there would never be any discussion about the matter again. We grew up Anglican.

Another example was language. Despite a grade 6 education, Mom spoke six foreign languages, none of which she passed onto her children. When I asked her why she never taught us to speak Ukrainian she responded that if she was able to speak to her children in a language that Dad did not understand then he would feel alienated from his children and it would cause problems in the home. This, despite that fact that Mom was close to her Ukranian roots. For Mom the family was the centre of her universe and all things in her life served that end……even religion and culture.

Weapons of Mass Destruction

Only the people

who can impose discipline

on themselves

are fit to discipline others

or can impose discipline on others

…..William Feather

Our imaginations and lessons from Mom on the value of improvising, we created what was by far the coolest arsenal of homemade weapons in the neighourhood. We were the envy of our friends. Plastic dart guns are okay I guess, but putting needles in the end of them made them more utilitarian. A baseball bat is a weapon in itself but pounding nails in it turned it into a mace. Once my younger brother realized that the ingredients for gunpowder could be purchased from the local pharmacy and food grocer, creating burning school houses and small bombs became a hobby for all of us. Our basement was our labratory but the nearby forest was our test site. Well, one day Mom discovered our secret hiding spot in the basement where the weapons were stored. It took a lot to astonish Mom because she had seen just about everything but she had never seen the likes of this. We dutifully despiked everything and dismantled our bombs with the promise never to engage in this activity again. Luckily, she did not tell Dad…..or the police.

The Only Time We Got Past Mom

All rising to a great place

is by a winding stair

….Francis Bacon

Anyone reading this book will get some appreciation for the degree of vigilence and attention required in watching over eight kids. It was very very difficult getting any foul play past mom. The quest to accomplish this, in itself, stimulated our imagination and created a certain martial discipline in each of us. It was probably our first experience at project planning. When we were older, on the very rare occassions that Mom was absent from the home without the kids, she would leave either the eldest son or daughter in charge to keep order in the house and ensure that the rest of us did not kill ourselves. We had already developed a plan for such situations.  

The home we lived in was very large, with 5 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms. The staircase connecting the ground and second floor was winding and enclosed on one side by the landing which was shaped like a piece of square paper that had a circle cut out of it that was equal in diameter to the width of the paper. The game was for one brother to chase another brother upstairs. The route of the chase was running 10 feet along the upper hall, stradle the railing and jump onto the landing (which tapered to nothing so you had to really jump), then run to the opposite end of the landing (where the landing again tapers to nothing), jump onto the top step of the staircase, run along the upper hall, straddle the railing and so on.  

It was a more dangerous version of the game of tag. The area of greatest risk was in standing on the two inch perch on the other side of the hallway railing and jumping over the abyss to catch enough room on the landing to avoid falling backwards down to the ground floor. The other risk, of course, was that Mom would suddenly appear at the front door and catch us in the act. To deal with this second (and more fearful) risk we selected one from among us (usually one of the twins as they were the youngest males, or Trisha) whose sole responsiblilty was to sit at the front bedroom window, which gave the best vantage point from which to identify any automobile approaching the house. When her car was spotted, the sibling on watch would shout “Mom’s home!” At this point the game was over and all of us rushed to predesignated washrooms to wash our faces to get the redness out. With TV left on, mom would open the door to find all of us sitting and watching TV, red faced and chests heaving.. 

There was a version of this called Throw Trish from the Landing. It was very simple really. My brothers and I would take turns tossing her down to the floor below, catching her in our arms.

On one of these tag occassions I was chasing my brother and he failed to jump far enough. Later we tried to repair the imprint of his fingernails on the wallpaper extending the full length from the second floor to the bottom of the ground floor. The ground floor hallway was tiled and at the bottom of the steps, flanking both sides, were two of those plastic classical urns that had a plastic plant wrapped around a wooden stake, supported in a bed of sand. They were everywhere in the 60’s. One of these urns was directly in the path of Kirk’s involuntary decent. It happend in a flash. Kirk, along with the sand and plant, was lying on the floor, and in cinematic fashion, with hand outreached, looked up at me saying, “I fell!”  

Worried that my kid brother was seriously hurt I leapt from the second floor down to the ground. Seeing that nothing was broken (or was it just wishful thinking), we pulled ourselves together and started the cleanup. Mom had tried a lot of vacuum cleaners in her day but she swore by Rainbow. With faith in the Rainbow we vacuumed everything while Kirk, the acknowledged Mr. Fixit in our clan, tried to get the plastic plant back to its former shape. No matter how hard we tried, there always seemed to be some residue of sand left on the floor. When mom came home we could faintly hear the sand crunching under her high heels. We looked away but Mom stopped, thought for a moment and then asked, “What have you been up to?” That was one of the closest calls of our childhood to getting caught..

A Different Kind of Fireworks

The central question

is whether the wonderfully diverse

and gifted assemblage of human beings on this earth

knows how to run a civilization

….Adlai Stevenson

       

My fathers ancestors on his mothers side were United Empire Loyalists who had been granted a large tract of land between Gananoque and Lansdowne along the St. Lawrence River, in what was then Upper Canada. This was given in return for services rendered to the Crown during the American Revolution. This became our perennial summer vacation spot. Among all of the really cool things about the area, (not the least of which was the 200 year old family cemetery) the one attribute that surpassed everything, was the fact that fireworks were legal year round and not just at Halloween, as was the case back home in Burlington. One of the first acts we would undertake when we hit cottage country was the visit to the local fireworks store. We had saved up our pennies all year from our paper routes, snow shovelling and anything else we could earn a buck from and put it down on the counter like miners cashing in their payload. We stocked up on as much firepower as we were legally allowed and then took our punt over to Hog Island, a small uninhabited island you could walk cross in about 10 minutes.  

Once ashore we would divide up the fireworks and split the family into two teams of three brothers each, with both sides retiring to opposite ends of the island. A blow of the whistle would signal the attack. The object was to occupy the opposite side of the island. However, what it turned into was ingiting and hurling as many firecrackers as possible at the opposing side, and sometimes to members of the same team. It really didn’t matter. Why it is that nobody on shore ever called the police to investigate those explosions on an apparently uninhabited island remains a mystery to this day. 

Finally making it back to the cottage, Mom must have smelled the wreak of gunpowder hanging over us but never said a word. She seemed to instinctively know the fine line between the need to work off our testosterone and stopping us from hurting ourselves.

Hand-Me-Downs

What the future holds for us

depends on what we hold for the future.

Hard working ‘todays’

make high-winning ‘tomorrows’.

…..William E. Holler

Mom sewed everything and was a genius at removing impossible stains and converting used clothing with tears or stains into something that looked brand new and was a fashion statement. People in the neighbourhood and from up to 50 miles away would make a regular pligrimage to Mom as the option of last resort to mend something or remove a stain on fabric. If kid’s pants were worn out on one knee, sew patches on both knees. Hand-me-downs are a fact of life in any large family, but mom created a wardrobe for us that looked like everything we wore was bought brand new from Eatons. And mom never let us go anywhere without looking our best. One example of this.  

When we were still living in Stoney Creek, Mom and Dad went grocery shopping with kids in tow. When one of the employees helped load the groceries into the trunk, he declared to Mom and Dad that he had won the bet. When my parents asked him what he meant, he said that he had bet one of his workmates that we had the biggest car in the parking lot, which we did. And this was strictly on the basis of how we were all clothed. We were definately lower middle class in income but the way mom clothed us we looked upper crust.

Mom’s penchant for creating clothes that are still being used 40 years later by third generation kids has influenced friends to do the same. One example is from Linda Braun, a friend of my older sister. Recalling when mom came to her baby shower, she states:

“Your mom gave me the loveliest handmade hooded bath towel and matching cloth. It was used and washed daily for both my sister, my sister’s three children, my three grandchildren, and it sits freshly laundered wating for the next grandchild to come along. It was a gift from the heart and the head and the thought carries on.”

Naturally within the family her sewing skills were sacrosanct. When mom had a car accident and required surgery on her arm, her six year old grand daughter Rachel heard about it and her first reaction to her mother was, “Oh my God! That’s Grandma’s sewing arm. What are we going to do mom?”

When Dad died, Mom would supplement her income by mending clothes. It became her “part-time job. 

Never Answer the Door Without Your Eyebrows

In every triumph

there’s a lot of try

….Frank Tyger

Despite the almost slave-like conditions Mom lived in, she always looked her best. One of her grandchildren, Robin, explained it best when she said, “You’ll never catch her unkept. Men sweat, women perspire, but Grandma glows.” A family friend expressed the same thought when she said, “Your mom makes it look easy to run a household and family and still looked relaxed and gracious.”

When I was a child of 6, talking to my Mom on the phone on the eve of her returning home after giving birth to my twin brothers, she asked me if I had any requests from her. I said, “Yes, when you come home can you please look like how you look when you are going out and not like how you look when you wake up in the mornings.” 

Ever the practical person and looking for ways to save time, Mom who never really had natural eyebrows (probably the gallons of sweat had washed them away over the years) came up with the idea to have them tatooed on. It really worked and allowed her just that little extra time so she could fulfill her role as grandmother, mother, friend, sage, cook, seamstress, doctor and magician just a little bit better. Mom never went out “without her eyebrows on.”

A Real Magician

I found that the men and women

who got to the top

were those who did the jobs they had in hand,

with everything they had of energy,

enthusiasm and hard work.

….Harry S. Truman

Hitler sent German engineers to Iran before World War II to help build an infrasture there, believing that the Germans and the Iranians were descended from the same Aryan race. There is a myth in Iran to this day about those engineers. They say you would go to bed and night in a desert and you would wake up in the morning and see a city.  

So it was with Mom.  

When my older sister got married and the family went to bed one night a few days after the news broke, we all woke up astonished to find that my mother had upholstered a complete living room set for my sister. It means in addition to working her normal day from 7:30 am to 1:00 am, she worked through the night non-stop. When he saw what she had done, Dad asked her if it wouldn’t have been easier to just give them $1000? Mom chastised Dad for thinking that way, because it was all about doing all that could be done.

Mom has a nose for deals on used items like a bloodhound. My neice Robin explains that: “Although I don’t share the thrill of the bargain hunt, I have to admit she’s got an eye. Grandma can spot the Osh Kosh overalls in a pile of tattered jeans and restore them to mint condition, all for fifty cents. Grandma has a gift for creating a matching purse or hair accessory out of the smallest scraps of fabric. A staggering array of stain removers for any situation. Toys created out of the thin air in an empty juice bottle plus a few dried beans. And Velcro shoes! The lady could have been a millionaire.’ 

Linda Braun, a family friend explains, “Every room in the home had touches of Mom. She had used her creative talents (and her scrounging ability at garage sales and flea markets) to add flair and pizzazz. I will never forget the beautiful headboard and comforter she had on her bed, courtesy of a sale on fabric. She proudly showed me her 24 (yes, I distinctly remember) glass jars that had been a Catelli pasta promotion she was busy finding a new use for. The chicken had been grilled by Dad, who boasted that the secret was peanut oil that mom had found at an unbelievable price and purchased 9 jugs. I thought I had been a careful shopper, but they taught me a thing or two in one afternoon!”

What is even more revealing in the above quote is that an outside member of the family refers to mom not as ‘your mother’ but Mom. She has that effect on people. She fills a lot of gaps in peoples lives and sets such a high standard of motherhood that many family friends think of Mom as their Mom as well.

I Wouldn’t Want to be a Girl Growing up With 6 Brothers

Great people rejoice in adversity,

just as brave soldiers triumph in war

….Seneca

As already mentioned, girls had special status in our home. The first born and the last born were girls. In the middle were six boys. Whether they were special because they were the first and last, or whether they were treated as special in order to enable them to survive in a sea of brothers, we are not sure. They were the only ones with their own bedrooms and, in my older sister’s case, the only one whose university edcuation and living expenses were free, and they were the only ones whom dad and mom sorted out for untouchable status. Both Rhonda and Trisha were protected by the decree from Dad that any brother physically harming his sister, no matter what the degree, and regardless of the reason, would have to answer to him. He never filled in the blanks and left the punishment to our imagination. Somehow the thought of being skinned alive comes to mind. So there was real fear, which directly led to the need to come up with more ingenious ways to enable Rhonda and Trisha to recieve their fair share of torture without phyiscally being touched in any way. They were, after all, still one of us and my brothers and I found ways to play with them as we played with each other, subject of course to the decree from our parents. It was an exercise in constrained optimization. In fact, thinking back, all of those hundreds of visits that Mom made to Emergency and the doctor, never once did it involve either of my sisters as a result of our playing.

Just a few samples. My older sister was babysitting us so we strapped some belts together and lowered ourselves out of our second story bedroom window and then walked through the front door after we were supposed to be in bed. She was convinced that someone was helping us outside. 

Another time we would shut off the master switch on the electricity for the house and imitate the sounds of ghouls and ghosts. Although she was a teenager at the time, I think that is when my older sister began to get grey hair.

My younger sister had to go through this gauntlet as well. Throw Trisha from the Landing has already been mentioned. In addition, after watching a particularly scary movie one of us would ask her to get something from the basement laundry room (where she had been told a workman had been buried alive when pouring the concrete floor). Once there we would turn out the basement lights while simultaneously throwing an emply laundry basket down the steps. What Trisha experienced, in order of events was: lights go out, basement door slams shut, a loud thud in front of her. The resulting screams could be heard throughout the whole house.

Another form of “Trisha Toruture” was for one of us to wait for up to an hour hiding in her closet or under her bed until she would come into her room for the night. Once she was close to falling asleep we would start scratching her mattress (if we were hiding under the bed) or slowly start opening the door if we were hiding in her closet. I’m sure it’s no coincidence she started growing grey hair at age 13.

There was another instance of Trish being dangled over the lift bridge at Hamilton Harbour being told there were sharks in the water.

Once Rhonda, when she was babysitting us, made the fatal mistake at the dinner table of annoucing she had to go to the bathroom. Without saying a word, three brothers immediately got up and occupied the three bathrooms in the house until, after one hour, Rhonda was a sobbing wreck at the foot of the gold bathroom door. I recall on several occassions seeing the base of the bathroom door painted over because of my older sisters scratches. Its a wonder she never developed bladder problems.

In hindsight I am not completely convinced that the decree from Dad was such a good idea. I like to think that our play with our sisters helped to counter their special status so that they did not end up going through life being spoiled. Whatever the combination of life experiences my sisters turned out to become excellent mothers in their own right and very flexible and tolerant human beings.

In 1967, my older sister engaged in perhaps the greatest solo adventure of her life…..hithchiking to the Montreal Expo. She told Mom about it in advance and Mom said nothing. After she did it Mom was shocked. Rhonda said “Well, when I told you before you never even raised your eyebrows.” Mom responded with, ‘If I raised my eyebrows every time each of you said you were going to do something my eyelids would be permanently fixed to my forehead!”

Again, that simple logic that defied argument and instead made us think. It’s a wonder that none of us became lawyers (although come to think of it this was the ambition of one of my brothers and my youngest sister).

Life Lessons

What makes greatness

is starting something that lives after you

…..Ralph W. Sockman

Mom had a bag full of gems of wisdom, most were of her own creation. A few she borrowed and improved on.

Cast your bread upon the water and it always comes back….it may come back a little mouldy but it always comes back.

One door closes and another one opens….sometimes you have to kick it down but it opens.

A mother can raise eight children but eight children cannot take care of one mother.

If you pursue a job that doesn’t pay well but you love, in time you will excel in your performance and earn more. However, if you take a job you hate but pays well, you will end up paying the additional income on a shrink and medication for your ulcers.

I hope you know the difference between a welcome mat and a door mat. (In reference to how we treat people who show us kindness)

If I can’t bring you up to my level I won’t let you drag me down to yours.

Know yourself and everything else follows.

Don’t do a job and then make a job.

I am an unclaimed treasure.

Look for your brother but don’t get lost.

If I cooked a hot meal the least you can do is eat it.

I wear a belt and suspenders and my pants fall down anyway.

You have to bloom where you are planted.

I’m a hothouse orchid but life treats me like a dandelion.

I look at a donut and see the cake and not the hole.

I’m not in this position because I am stupid. I’m in this position because I’m a victim of circumstance.

Don’t tell me to read the book. I wrote it!

It’s better to come from a broken home than to live in one.

This is not a dress rehearsal.

To make a long story longer…

I’d make a poor prostitute – I would do for love what I wouldn’t do for money.

That light is burning a hole in my pocket!

Where are your slippers?

Having your feet firmly planted on the ground is better than being on a pedestal where you could easily be knocked down from.

Use the past to survive the present, and don’t worry about tomorrow because it’ll kill ya.

Sometimes the ones most difficult to love are the ones who need the most love.

What did I do in a previous life to deserve kids like you!

You kids are enough to drive a saint crazy!

What will we tell your father?

Wear socks and underwear without holes in case you get in an accident and have to go to the hospital.

I’m a doer, not a stewer

Child-rearing is like reigning in a team of horses. You have to always pull back slightly on the reigns otherwise if you don’t you have a runaway team, a runaway cart and you have no choice but to jump off. 

I’m an 8-slice pie being cut into 12.

After being widowed: 

I’m looking for a retired diamond merchant with a bad cough.

OR

There’s nothing out there but losers, boozers, duds and studs!

When my brothers and sisters would be making noise or shouting or something in another room Mom would ask, “What is it?” The response that usually came back was “nothing.” Mom would then respond with “Then make it sound like nothing!”

She also would revert to speaking Ukranian in moments of astonishment, anger or laughter. Pardon my translation:

May the duck kick you in your shins

The Devil should take you

Oh dear Lord, help me!

Baby Care

Raising eight kids mom wrote the book on child care. Here are a few of the countless examples:

Long before the medical profession came out with this advice, mom had colour coded plastic cups for the kids to avoid the spread of infection

Get a baby to stop crying by rapidly patting your hand gently over the baby’s mouth so that the sound of his crying is continuously broken (think of a verbal equivalent of what you see with a strobe light). The baby is so amazed by the new sound of his own crying

that he stops crying because of the new stimulus. It also stimulates the childs sense of observation in the process.

How do you cut a baby’s nails without cutting the skin? Mom would take the baby’s hand and scratch corn starch with it so that the corn starch would be under the childs nails. Mom would then gently trim the resulting white area.

How do you get a child to eat when he wants to play in his high chair instead of eating? Again mom would accomplish her task by stimulating the childs imagination. She would pretend that the spoonful of food was a train and saying, “here comes the choo-choo train” would make the noise of a train and steer the spoon toward the mouth. In 100% of the cases the child would stop playing and be fixated on the new game. If he did not open his mouth on the first pass mom would veer off at the last second and take another run. Mom would then continue to expand the game and the childs imagination by being an airplane, a boat, a car and so on.

For toilet training mom would put dead flies in the toilet (that would collect on the windowsills) so her sons would use them for target practice while learning to aim.

Diaper pail water can be used as fertilizer in your garden. 

Q-tips dipped in petroleum jelly and gently inserted into the opening of the rectum of an infant can assist a hard and difficult bowel movement.

Flannel sheets that were “past their prime” could be sewn and made into diapers

By strapping a hand-held mirror to the rear-view mirror you can keep an eye on the kids. Years later this is now a specialty item in children’s shops.

Wrapping a (warm) hot water bottle around a baby’s tummy and placing a small clock in the crib will stimulate the warmth and heartbeat of the mother. Yet another item now found in specialty shops

Recipes for a Nothing Budget

Mom could stretch the food budget beyond anyone’s ability, and delivered up delicious meals in the process. Here are a few money saving tips:

Chocolate milk is expensive so when birthdays would come around mom would mix white and chocolate milk together to go further.

When bread goes dry, store it in an open paper bag and then make bread crumbs

When making porridge (or for cream soups) use powdered milk instead of liquid milk

When the ketchup bottle is empty save it so that when making spaghetti rinse out the ketchep bottles and use it in the sauce

Instead of eating potato chips and other junk food at night or after school, make kasha.

If milk goes sour use it for making pancakes.

When potatoe chips lose their freshness lay them out on a pan and heat them in the oven and they taste like new.

Egg whites can be whipped up and used as cheap hair conditioner.

To keep brown sugar fresh, add a slice of apple into the jar and it will retain its moisture.

Save the aluminum bag that potatoe chips come in. When bread starts to lose its freshness sprinkle a few drops of water in the bag, add the bread, seal the top and heat in the oven and the bread tastes like its straight out of the oven.

Remembrances

Trisha Kelly (nee Jackson)

With the exception of underwear, I cannot remember going to a store to buy “retail”. Hand-me down clothes and “seconds” were the standard in our home. Being the youngest girl to six older brothers, I thought that the hand-me-down rule would not apply! I was wrong. I remember as a pre-teen, begging my mother to buy me a new pair of Levis jeans. She flatly stated that the cost of buying one new pair of jeans would be equal to a whole new “seconds” wardrobe. I clearly remember the ugly, no-name jeans that she found in one of the closets and remember promising myself that I wouldn’t be caught dead in them. Mom re-stitched the seams in the same colour as the current popular brand and took the Levis tag from one of her bag of remnants and sewed it to the back pocket. Having no choice but to wear them to school the next day, I was barraged with comments by my peers all asking where they could buy those cool jeans! My shame was instantly turned to pride.

As a child, I remember my Dad always enjoyed his breakfast in bed. As I grew older, I questioned this routine and thought it unfair that my mother catered to this considering the size of her daily plate! It wasn’t until I was older (and after my father had passed away) that I questioned her on this. She smiled and said, “Because it made my life easier!” Not comprehending for one second how this could be, she explained, “Your father could never handle the noise and activity of our house in the morning which always left him and you kids on the edge. This of course, would make it more difficult for me to do ‘my job’. By spending five minutes making him a simple breakfast, your father would walk out the door with a smile on his face, feeling like a King.” Rather than betraying the feminist model (my initial interpretation) she was once again finding another way to be a more efficient and effective parent. 

Throughout my childhood, the annually-held Haddasah Bazaar in Toronto was an eagerly anticipated event in our household. For years, mom would write me a note excusing me from school for the day. After an exhausting 8-hour day we would fill the trunk with green garbage bags full of used clothing. It felt like Christmas. As much as we loved the bargains – we truly loved the hunt. I loved watching my mother “do her thing”. She would charm the ladies with her sayings and her sense of humor and in the process get the best possible deals. Through her I learned the fine art of haggling and the value of good quality clothing. To this day I pride myself in the fact that I can clothe a family of five for a fraction of most families clothing budgets.   

As a teenager, I had early morning basketball practice during high school. Since she was the last child at home and obviously didn’t need help in the mornings, Mom would sleep in rather than getting up with her at 6:30. On these (cold) practice mornings, Trisha would wake up to the smell of hot porridge even though Mom was fast asleep. Mom had mixed everything the night before and left it to cook overnight in the infamous Wear Ever pot on top of the furnace vent. Viola! Even asleep she was still providing a hot and healthy breakfast. 

Mom, you have always taught me that a person should lead by example. That is precisely what you have don with me. So much of who I am today I attribute to you. When the positive comparisons in our lives are acknowledged (by me or others) I feel an incredible sense of pride. When I am challenged, I seek your advice or think of how you would react in the same situation. You never let me down. You are a constant source of strength and inspiration to me. I thank you for the unconditional love and unfailing support you have always shown me. I am so honored to call you my mother.

Love, Trish

Rachel Kelly

Baba, you are a truly amazing woman, words cannot even describe how absolutely incredible you are. You raised an uncanny amount of kids in a loving yet disciplined environment, and didn’t lose your mind. That would be astonishing for any other woman, but it’s no surprise coming from you! 

To this day and as long I as have known you, you’ve generated warmth, love and a sense of security. People are drawn to you in a way that is extremely understandable, given your great sense of humor and pleasure in offering knowledgeable advice. You are an exceptional cook, and your hugs are beyond comparison. I have yet to meet anyone, professional seamstresses included, that can mend things like you, not matter how ripped, tattered, torn or broken. 

You are creative, inspirational and charismatic; a strong, independent woman as well as a loving mother, grandmother (Baba) and a caring friend. Your remarkable qualities are mirrored in your youngest daughter, my mom, and I can only hope that they will one day be passed on to me. You will always be a role model to me, and I will always love you unconditionally.

Love, Rachel

Bob Adams

Pat, in almost four years I have watched and learned a great deal from you. It’s the simple things that you do that put a smile on people’s faces including my own. You always take the time to help. It’s simply not enough to describe you as helpful as you always “kick it up a notch” to the point where it makes others want to contribute even more to whatever cause, project or task at hand. 

The many stories of how you raised your children and using fun, innovative ways to teach has always captured my interest. One of those innovations was putting dead flies in the toilet so the boy’s could aim at them for target practice preventing them from peeing on the seat. How imaginative is that?

Thanks to you I have a complete “new” wardrobe of dress shirts. I am constantly in awe of your ability to uncover a diamond in the rough. 

Lastly, your daughter Trish has adopted many of your traits. I see so much of you in Trish. Everyday there is a new learning experience. I am most proud of the respect, integrity, honesty and kindness that she consistently shows those around her. She has been taught these qualities by you from day one. I have so many things to be grateful to you for, but for that I am most thankful.

Love Bob

Kirk Jackson (‘Kiki’)

MY MOM

‘M’ is for ‘Mending My Favourite Jeans’. If anything is left of the original pair, it’s probably a belt loop. I remember taking a leak at the Pig & Whistle and a guy came up to me and offered me $100/U.S. for them. But with mom’s many, many hours of diligent darning and the fact that the setting wasn’t the best to exchange handshakes – I told him NO. Mom never gave up on those jeans and neither did I. I still have them to this day, some 35 years later.

‘Y’ is for ‘You And I Have the Same Shoe Size!’. When mom would get a new pair of shoes, it was my ‘dole’ to break in the new sole. Speaking of ‘break’, I remember a buddy coming to the front door on Bromley Road. Mom called me after letting him in, and as I passed her to go meet him, she pointed to my/her feet (she didn’t say a word, she just pointed). I guess they were so comfy (you know, like a ‘nicey’) that I forgot I had the damn things on. Well, I nearly broke an ankle(s) trying to kick them off as I neared the corner towards the front hall. That was the day I was destined to work for an airline.

‘M’ is for ‘Mashed Potatoes’. I don’t know why, but for a guy who later on became pretty proficient at applying wallpaper past, I just couldn’t acquire that ‘mashed taste’. In spite of being outnumbered around the dinner table, and the fact that mom could have used an 8 burner stove at the best of times, she still managed her limited time, as well as stove elements to keep my boiled spuds seperate from the others. Mom could always find a way of making each and every one of us feel ‘special’.

‘O’ is of ‘Oh Kiki, What Have You Done Now?’ To this day, there remains a degree of ‘damage debate’ as to who, among the boys, had incurred the most injuries on ones self. With that aside, one personal ‘fract’ remains. Since breaking my back in grade nine, I was left, not only in a body cast, but a bad experience with a certain Burlington Hospital. (I will never forget mom using baby powder and the crevice tool on the Rainbow vacume to ease my discomfort). Because of my distaste for the local hospital, future injuries were met with mom’s haste – to Hamilton – to St. Joe’s – the birthplace of all of us. Two occurances come to ‘mind’.

One, late at night, after a dinner outing with another couple, only to come home finding me on the floor and unable to get up. Off to Hamilton we went, dad driving and me proned in the back seat with my head on moms lap. Dad was doing his level best to avoid bumps, yet maintain speed, and mom stroking my forehead while trying to talk down my pain. Finally arriving at the hospital emergency room, it took the weight of three Nuns in full habit to try and straighten me out and then give me a needle the size of the CN Tower. Oh yah – I had my first enema as well! (I was destined to work in the Airlines). Diagnosis? Twisted bowels – TWISTED BOWELS!!!!

The second, late afternoon mom had just come back with Cam for his weekly allergy shot, only to come upstairs and find Kev and I the bathroom desperately trying to clean blood from a cut on my forehead. The cut had been the result of a machete blow……I mean….uh….the corner of a dresser, and was too deep. (Kev promised me a million bucks to stick with the dresser theory). Anyway, back to Hamilton, for the second time that day, during rush hour, and mom never complained. Unlike myself, the ‘green’ interns doing the sutures must have thought that my cut was so nice, that they ended up stitching it twice…..TWICE!!! Well, it was back to Burlington after that (not just home that day but future hospital visits as well). Diagnosis? Severe cut from a sharp instrument, most likely a blade. (Kev got to keep his million). The moral of the story? Leave the sewing to mom.

And lastly, but nowhere near the least……

‘M’ is for ‘Maestro’. To this day, it still boggles my mind how mom could survive, so insurmountably, the uncertainty and bewilderment she faced 24/7. To rise above the challenge and enigma, that was our youth; still remains a crowning achievment to this day.

Mom, I am so proud to have inherited so many of your great qualities (too many would throw my back out!). And it’s because of you that I enjoy a great quality of life. One, like yourself, that I will always strive gladly and freely to pass onto others. Be it sibbling or stranger.

Happy milestone MA – you will always deserve more!

Love Kiki.

CRAIG JACKSON

Wow! What a tall order! I don’t know where to begin. I suppose one should begin from the beginning.

My Mother was very gregarious as a child. My Mother speaks seven different languages. This is a consequence of my mother (as a child) having seven neighbors who spoke seven different languages. It’s too bad that Canada wasn’t ready for our own Margaret Thatcher; because Canada would then have had a Patricia Jackson.  

My Mother blossomed into (by all accounts) a beautiful young woman. It’s too bad that we already had a Rita Hayworth because otherwise we would have had a Mary Marce (that would probably have been the appellation that Louis B. Mayer would have stamped on my mother) to help sustain us through the dirty thirties.

My Mother became a purposeful wife and mother and my Mother created a dynasty based on mutual trust and respect for each family members individuality. It’s too bad that my Mother, after having completed her (erstwhile) mandate as Prime Minister, could not have fulfilled a greater purpose as Secretary General of the United Nations.

My Mother entered into a period of meditative solitude after Dad died. I liken my Mother’s widowhood to the withdrawal of Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) from his academic circles. He also shared his quiet (bachelor) life with a poodle. He was a brilliant conversationalist (ditto Mom) who often captivated his friends until past Midnight (sadly Mom doesn’t have the stamina for it now, but I can remember several good gabs that ran that late). Many new people entered my Mother’s circle from that time and she had many frequent callers. If more of Schopenhauer’s academic peers had come knocking on his door (one in particular), then we might have avoided the communist revolution. 

So you can see, (in terms of these myriad towering ironies) that it is a daunting task to try to describe my mother by way of paying tribute to her achievements or in trying to imagine what she might have achieved. I can only express my feelings in terms of my own experience. And so, in effect I don’t have to catalogue my Mother’s achievements to express my appreciation. My Mother taught me that the little things mean a lot. 

Of all the things that I have learned from my Mother, the most important principals have been; THRIFT and GENEROSITY. They now have greater meaning for me as a father. You know the old axiom; you don’t know what it’s like to be a parent until you become one yourself. Well, that is certainly true in terms of my appreciation of my Mother. You would be surprised at how often you can enact the principles of thrift and generosity in everyday life. In the 21/2 hours just prior to sitting down to start this letter I: Left home in my new van; actually my brother’s used van that is in beautiful condition. He sold it to me for half of its market value. I had to get to Value Village because my (30% off of your entire purchase) coupon was going to expire in 2 hours. I needed to buy a new pair of slacks because of the startling weight loss from my high protein diet. The success of my diet is largely due to the great (last-day-of-sale) mark downs on fresh meats at my local A&P. My dramatic weight gain was due to anxiety over my son Douglas’ (5 years at the time) emergency brain surgery at Toronto Sick Kids in February. My sister has a Condo that is a 15-minute walk to Sick Kids, so the rest of the family was able to stay there for almost a month. I couldn’t go out the door without my Sister trying to press a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. At Value Village I purchased a great pair of slacks, a nice dress shirt, a T-shirt and a winter jacket in my favorite color for myself as well as a VERY cool shirt for another brother and a CD for a musician friend of mine. I didn’t have time to go through the toys, I prefer to do that with my boys anyway. I saved a lot of time because I know the stock at my local VV (what Jackson doesn’t?). I probably would have spent over $300.00 and 3 hours at a shopping mall to get that much stuff; I spent $25.00 and half an hour. At this point in the reading Mom would probably say; “Say no more Son, that says it all”. I live in the north end of Peterborough and since I was in the south end to hit VV and it was 8:30 PM, I hit Loblaws for the half price hot case markdowns; I got a 16 chicken wing count for the (half) 10 price. I then went to my wholesale gasoline supplier (they have a 24-hour cardlock on the pumps) and I saved seven cents a litre on a sixty litre fill. Then I went to the YIG (Loblaws affiliate) 5 minutes before closing because at that time of night, they haggle! I got the last three barbecued chickens for $2.00 each. YIG is right beside the highway and so I made a beeline back home. I gave one chicken to a neighbor and one to a student tenant of mine and I kept one for myself. Then I sat down to my computer; 21/2 hours from the time I left the house. My hand to God this is a true story. If all of my Mother’s children could dredge their memory for stories like this; then this tome would resemble a Toronto phone book. 

Even though this is ample testament to the principles of thrift and generosity in my Mother’s legacy, the most important part for me is how I am now passing this legacy on to my children. I don’t care what anyone else says; the greatest experience in life is to nurture and adore your children. I have three kids and we were eight when I was growing up. One of my Mothers abiding principles is to love your children equally, so it’s really just a matter of my kids getting a bigger slice from the same pie that I did. I teach my kids that saving money in order to spend it on other people is a fun and easy way to share. 

In my Condo, which is a short walk to Trent University, we have 25 townhouse units with an 82% Student population. Frequently, in the outdoor Blue Box compound you will find beer bottles, beer bottles! Listen people! University students are not refunding beer bottles! Why isn’t there a think tank on this? Why isn’t there a committee in the Ontario Government? Why aren’t they examining how this is a direct result of the wine cooler manufacturers lobby against deposit/return? Why aren’t they looking at the excellent deposit/return system that Newfoundland has been using for the last 7 years for ALL BEVERAGE CONTAINERS? I’m sure they will find that this initiative in Newfoundland has done more to foster thrift and generosity, and for that matter, enterprise and confidence in the leadership in that poor beleaguered Province than any other current initiative. My boys, my Mother and for that matter, Cam Jackson MPP, understand that it’s the same thing as finding a dime (or a quarter for the large bottles) on the ground. What university student wouldn’t pick up a found dime or quarter? I weep! When the boys come to visit me, that’s the first thing they want to do; check the communal blue box for beer empties. 

I help Douglas to distinguish beer bottles from cooler bottles in the same way that I help him to sort Lego pieces when he is working from a set of Lego instructions. Douglas has a short attention span and other behavioral/cognitive problems because of a congenital brain disorder (Agenesis of the Corpus Callosum) I started him on Lego before he could walk or talk; to help improve hand/eye, fine motor skills. My Boys LOVE Star Wars; I made sure that they did because of the importance of Star Wars to my Nephew Jamie when he was a child. For his 6th Birthday, I gave Douglas a 1064 piece Lego set that he coveted (The Elephant Walker (ATAT) from The Empire Strikes Back) even though the set was skill rated 14 years of age. I pulled parts for him and helped him to interpret the instructions but he did all of the building. It was hard work and in one building session he cried because he thought it was too hard. Within 2 months he finished the set and he is fiercely proud of his achievement. Not as proud as he is of the Big Fish he caught this summer, but that’s another story.

During a more recent visit, Douglas gleaned $2.20 in beer empties. I drove Douglas to the beer store, he returned the empties himself and received the money, in hand from the beer store clerk. I asked him what he wanted to do with the money and he replied (like a Man of Means); “Well Dad, I think I’ll take you to lunch. How does McDonalds sound?” This is a typical Douglas frivolity and it just happened to be 2 cheeseburgers for $1.69 day and so he still had enough money for a treat for himself at the local variety store. We went to lunch, he paid for it and BOY, did he ever feel like a big shot. 

I’m the Secretary of my Condo association and I hosted an owner’s meeting last Saturday. My eldest; Donald (8 years) was a big help from Friday morning until just before the meeting and his constant presence really grounded me. I would give him a job and a job rate (5 cents @ to collate and folio insert 7 pages X 25 reports; for example). In this way he can work out a math problem to figure out his earnings! We played this same game with 10 different tasks. My favorite was; washing 16 stacking chairs @ 25 cents. He really lit up when he worked out the math on that one! I bought the chairs at a church sale for $5.00 for the lot. The legs were a little bent so I guess they were culled from the herd. I had them on permanent loan to a farmer friend of mine (for his 4H meetings) who plows the snow in the same church parking lot for free. My farmer friend has such high esteem for our friendship because we used to be neighbors and because my other brother who works at the airport gave my farmer friend and his wife and kids the VIP treatment when they flew out of Pearson. My farmer friend had the stacking chairs in storage at his Dad’s next door. His old dad (at 69 years) isn’t as sharp as he used to be (Mom’s a razor at 80) so when I found them in the lean-to behind his Tractor Shed; they had rotten fence boards stacked on them and diesel oil dripped down them. So I thought; Great! Another job for Donald! When we got to work (me with the Varsol and Mr. Clean, Donald with the Garden Hose) I made sure that Donald had the fun part. About half way through the job I asked Donald; “What are you going to pay your staff?” He answered; “I don’t know, half?” I said; “No son, that’s too much. Remember, this is your job and part of your job is to supervise me.” He replied; “OK, how about a Loonie?” I said; “Sounds good to me! I’m glad to get paid anything for any work that I do.” And then Donald said; “But I’ll tip you Dad…. You’re worth it!” I would defy anyone reading this to relate a more rewarding experience in his or her personal life, except of course for my Mother. Mom would probably say, in her unmistakable idiom; how much time do you have? Donald used his earnings to buy a VERY cool Lego set to share with Douglas. Our local A&P just happened to have several different sets in the back-to-school section for 1/3 of their original retail value.

Donald, and (to a lesser extent by virtue of his age) Douglas are really starting to think in terms of their own resourcefulness. Donald and I are already discussing plans for him to start an on-line Lego store @Bricklink.com. My boys clearly understand in their own minds, that;

(THRIFT = POWER) + (GENEROSITY = CHARACTER) + LIFE = SELF

It’s the LIFE part of the equation that they still have to work out…Don’t we all.

I Love You Mom

Your very own Craig

Clark Jackson

The Hipadoodling Files

By the way, Mom, what is hipadoodling? Whatever it is, we all seemed to do it really well. I guess I still do it to this day. My kids and wife can attest to that.

One of the first and funniest memories I have with you is coming home from Dr. Carr’s and you decided to take the noisy bridge. You were in a hurry and the bridge started to go up. After it came down, we were driving across it but we couldn’t see any boats so you said it was probably a “G.D.” cricket swimming on his back with a hard on. I got a great visual picture of that in my head and proceeded to laugh hysterically.

Speaking of Dr. Carr, sometimes when I would go in for my allergy shot, he would ask you if I had been misbehaving. If you said yes, he would lovingly jab me in the arm, pull out the needle, and then re-inject me with the shot with a grin on his face. (I really miss that guy)

You always told us when we were young and hipadoodling that alligators have the right idea. They eat their young. It’s a good thing that you didn’t follow along with the alligators, or we would have had to say yes when you saw someone on the street and asked us “Who’s fatter, her or me”. (By the way, Mom, you were never fatter)

It’s funny, every time I’m in the supermarket and see Hostess Twinkies, I think of you following us to school making sure we didn’t buy any off of Earl, the bread man. You would hide behind the corners of houses thinking that we couldn’t see you, but what you didn’t know was that I gave money to my friends to get the Twinkies for me.

I remember our dog, Tammy, and how you would have her hair done up with bows and her toe nails covered with nail polish. You would ask us to take her for a walk looking like that and wonder why we wouldn’t want to take her until after the sun went down. Or when we would take her for walks and tie her up in the neighbour’s garage and go off with our friends. She would come home and pee on the carpet. Do you remember the night I had a Halloween party with my friends from out of town and Tammy was having puppies? One was stillborn so you gave it mouth-to-mouth and brought it back to life. That was so amazing. Only a Mother with kids that hipadoodle could do a thing like that.

I remember you thumping on the floor to get one of us kids to go outside and ring the doorbell so that you could get off the phone with whoever was talking your ear off.

And when we were horsing around and you would yell at us to find out what was going on, we would say nothing, so you would yell back to “make it sound like nothing.” I still use that one on my kids. Oh, by the way, I also still listen to “hairy stations” on the radio.

But most of all, I want to thank you for my memories of every time I was upset or frustrated, you would sit me down and talk me through it and help me understand. For this, I truly thank you.

And Mom…Guess what?

I love you.

Clark

Rhonda Clancy (nee Jackson)

Motherhood means mucilage to me. Our family fabric has torn from time to time but it was always made stronger in the mending. And who has done more invisible mending than you, Mom? The matriarch keeps the family intact. It is proved over and over again.

For all the wonderful lessons you’ve taught us, for a lifetime of devotion, for all the God-given gifts you’ve so generously shared, I thank you with all my heart. So many memories:

A

bdec: 7 drops, apple polishing and decorating apple baskets,

always put it back where you got it,

always wear clean underwear,

always start with clean countertops,

always wear slippers in the house,

always respect your elders and lend a hand,

always wash your hands before you eat and after you use the washroom,

always give your teacher/nurse a little thank you gift,

always make enough to feed an army,

always offer a cool drink on a hot day,

always keep the same coloured cup so you won’t spread germs,

always use the paper scissors for paper and the material scissors for fabric,

always hold hands in the parking lot and crossing the street,

always get the machines working for you first,

and always remember that if a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing well

 

B

irthday boxes, bartering, barber chair haircuts, bargain hunting, buckwheat groats and pancakes, bar mitzvahs, Boxing Day, Ben Casey (and Dr. Zorba), bed making and hospital corners, babysitting, Baba’s hugs, borscht and blood sausage, bunny rabbits and lucky rabbit’s feet, badminton, bridge mix and potty training, barbecuing, blowing out the light, button box bingo, Bromley Road

C

lub (ladies), Christmas gift wrapping ‘til midnight, careful shopping, compost, crevice too, cherry blossom drives, correct way to swab for pink eye, correct way to sort, pre-treat, wash, dry, fold, iron and put away clothes, correct way to hang out laundry, countless ways to economize, candy cupboard, cups and saucers, children – always lot of children, collars on shirts can always be turned, Carpenter, Chestnut Street, Charlotte Avenue, Cherrywood Drive, Charleston Lake, the correct way to feed, bathe, burp and diaper a baby

D

utch ovens, doctors, diapers, “don’t run with scissors,” dogged determination, do unto others, did I say diapers?, darning

Embroidery, environmental sensitivity, eggs poached perfectly, eight is enough, ever quotable, as in: “I’d make a poor prostitute – I’ll do for love what I wouldn’t do for money”; “Don’t tell me to read the book, I wrote it”; “I was recycling long before anyone had even heard the word”

F

ood – a good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness, fixer-upper, family and friends, fundraising made fun, Friday night baths and clean sheets

G

randchildren and great grandchildren (can there be any greater gift in the second half of your life? Where else could you possibly see the very best of all of us?), greenest grass on the block, glory hole, garbage picking during spring cleanup, galvanized steel tubs as swimming pools, garage sales, games in the car, garbage men always get a cold drink and a thank you, gefilte fish (I still don’t get it)

H

ome, hearth, hoover, Herman and her 3-storey penthouse, hernias and “hernhead,” hipadoodling, haircuts, homemeade is always best, hospitality, home movies, holy trinity = celery, onions and green peppers, humour, hats, hatpins, hatboxes, hanging out the laundry and whistling to the cardinal, how to make great coffee (no, strike that), halvah and Habitant pea soup, Hallowe’en costumes, Hadassah, hot chocolate with marshmallows after tobogganing

I

roning – first tea towels, then pillow cases and shirts, ice skating in the backyard, interview skills, as in “where are your slippers?”

J

ackson, jars, junk (I think not), jewellery, Jamie, jammies right out of the dryer

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K

asha – with and without bacon – always with onions, kielbasa, Kenilworth Avenue, knobbins

L

aundry goddess, lava soap, lettuce soup, lilacs and lavender, loaves and fishes, Lawrence Emporium, laughter is the best medicine, layered salad (with and without bacon and cucumber), love of language, people, movies, horses and nature, Liz Taylor, let your fingers do the walking

M

arkdown madness, muña muñas, mending, Montezuma’s revenge, multitasking, Mr. Kimmel & material shopping on Ottawa Street, Meagan and Matthew, the miracle of motherhood

N

o running shoes to school (only for gym), nurse, as in “are you a ?” Niagara Falls, Nat King Cole, numbnuts & nincompoop, never underestimate the power of bay leaves, never forgot a name, no more needles at school

O

scar night, onion soup mix, operations, operators, Owen Sound and setting up our first home

P

erogies, polish sausage, pedal pushers, parenthood, pmpfff, pablum with sterilized water or juice or formula, puttering in pj’s, precious, polishing savage shoes and booties, pressing wildflowers, popsicles (1/2 always)

Q

ueen of clean

< >

R

ecycling everything from leftovers to diaper pail water, resourceful, rye bread, raisin salad, Rover, re-use: bags, string, candles, bows, gift wrap, stamps, tea bags, eggshells and coffee grounds as fertilizer; rinse everything before it goes in the dishwasher

S

unday dinners, summers at the lake, soap for swearing, slippers, sweet peas, snow peas, seven-up, did I mention slippers?, seamstress to the stars, scalawag, sterilize everything, SOS, shredded wheat for supper, sorting china cups and    saucers, save everything, Scouts, spring and fall cleaning, salts of lemon, shuttle service, sales of every kind: garage, yard, clearance, auctions, flea markets, Xmas trees, insurance, wear ever, real estate, lemonade, paper routes, fund-raisers, door-to-door, cold calls, scratch and dent

T

elephone etiquette, tooth fairy, triage on the living room floor, Tammy, tootootootoos, turn out the lights (that light is shining in my pocket), teaching sign language to Robin, Brownies, Guides, teacher extraordinaire i.e. right from wrong, wildflowers from weeds, ivy from poison ivy, Mantovani from the Monkees; taking a temperature three different ways, treasure hunts

U

nder the flashing blue light at K-Mart, upholstery 101, up-up boxes, Ukrainian, UNICEF, use water and cortisone sparingly

V

ocabulary, the vacuum song … crevice tool, beater bar, floor brush, uh-huh

W

earever popcorn pot and Friday nights after a bath, where are your slippers?, Willy Wonderful, white for dishes and towels because it goes with everything, waste not – want not, World’s Fair, Wizard of Oz, what’s with the slippers anyway?, waiting rooms, weaseling out of the dishes, “war” on the toilet tank

X

mas with all the trimmings at 5102 after moving in December 22, X-rays of our feet at Savage shoes

Y

ork U., yummy Christmas baking, “your slippers!”

Z

oo – Prudhommes, Zen and the art of vacuuming 

And finally: 

Good night Irene, goodnight

I’ll see you in my dreams

Don’t forget to blow out the lights

1— 2 — 3 — poof 

Love you Mom. Happy Birthday.

Love,Rhonda

Lou Clancy

I became aware of your capacity to make the best of things while passing through Dundalk 35 years ago. 

You were driving your daughter and my new bride Rhonda north to our first apartment in Owen Sound. Neither of you had been that far north before and the air was thick with apprehension.

As we entered and exited the village of Dundalk, your Liz Taylor saucer eyes became plates when we passed the only other vehicle on the road, a horse-drawn buggy. “Where are you taking my daughter?” you gasped, then quickly turned to mock horror and laughter. 

Actually, I should have realized your inner strength and ability to put on a brave face a couple of months earlier when I told you and Don that we planned to marry, but I was too preoccupied putting on my own.

Shortly after we arrived in Owen Sound, Don and Uncle Harold showed up in a truck of our first furniture. Chairs, lamps, bed, dishes, pots and pans – all reclaimed and made new again by your magic hands. But perhaps the most impressive pieces were the living room chairs, which you reupholstered and rigged with latches so they could serve as a couch. Those chairs survived four moves.

This was the start for a broke, too-young naïve couple, and we’ve never forgotten. 

Thank you.

Love, Lou

Robin Baranyai (nee Clancy)

Life lessons my Grandma has taught me

Embrace change. They say that people become more set in their ways, but I’ve never met anyone so willing to embrace change as Grandma. Her attitude regarding technology was captured by playfully nicknaming the garage-door opener “R2D2.” As someone who spent many years in high gear, she accepts new time- and effort-saving gadgets with practical enthusiasm. When new parenting hazards emerge, she never says “Nonsense, peanut butter is fine for babies. I raised eight kids on peanut butter!” She is always adapting. She even makes kasha without bacon, and I love her for it!

Use your gifts. Although she is modest about her talents, Grandma never denies them. Instead she honours her extraordinary gifts by putting them to good use – whether in the service of family, friends or community. She believes it’s her responsibility not to waste her God-given talents, and we are all walking (and well-dressed) testaments to her generous efforts.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Although I don’t share the thrill of the bargain hunt, I have to admit she’s got an eye. Grandma can spot the Osh Kosh overalls in a pile of tattered jeans and restore them to mint condition, all for fifty cents!

Necessity is the mother of invention. Strategic appliqués. A gift for creating a matching purse or hair accessory out of the smallest scraps of fabric. A staggering array of stain removers for any situation. Toys created out of the thin air in an empty juice bottle plus a few dried beans. And Velcro shoes! The lady coulda been a millionaire. 

Never answer the door without your eyebrows. You’ll never catch her unkempt. Men sweat, women perspire, but Grandma glows.

Never miss an opportunity to say “I love you.” At the end of a life, the regret most rarely expressed, right after “I wish I spent more time at the office,” has to be “I wish I didn’t tell all the people I loved how much they meant to me.” Grandma is both articulate and demonstrative in her love – she tells us and she shows us, leaving no room for doubt in our hearts. I am reminded by her example how very important it is not to let the really essential things go unsaid.

Practice and don’t preach. Grandma doesn’t compromise her beliefs, but as she says, “they’re my beliefs.” In the practice of her faith, she has never imposed her beliefs on others. If everyone could live this way, there just might be peace in the world.

Never lick your lips during a haircut. A lesson learned in the basement at Bromley Road and never forgotten!

Don’t throw anything away! True, the pack-rat gene has some drawbacks. But I respect Grandma’s dedication to finding the intrinsic usefulness of every object. An empty toilet paper roll is a handy wrap for an electric cord. A frayed shirt is a perfect painting smock. An old toothbrush is the perfect cleaning accessory for the tight spots around taps. And old sticks of gum are nice to have around when the grandkids visit.

Always have gum. Some lessons we learn by negative example, and so I have added a caveat: “but throw it out after six years.” Grandma’s gum – sugarless Excel – still brings back a shudder. It came from the Drawer of Abandoned Sundries – pens and paper clips and bits of string. The gum had the taste and texture of minty cardboard. Rigorous mashing of teeth was required to tenderize it into something that might be described as “chewy.” But not for long. It was barely five minutes before the ancient gum lost its viscosity and – suddenly and without warning – shivered into a crumbly, wet mass of white. If you didn’t spit it out before it lots its chew, you never quite could. Little lingering white curdy bits got stuck all over the tongue. These had to be scraped off with the mouth wide open and tongue thrust forward as if being poked by a doctor’s popsicle stick – and with just as much gagging.

You can make soup out of anything. Grandma applies the principles of inventiveness and hoarding to her culinary efforts. There is no leftover that cannot be reinvented in a soup, layered into a casserole, or wrapped up in a cabbage leaf.

There is always an extra seat at the table. “Mrs. J.” presides over an even bigger family than the one she gave birth to. Friends have always been welcome in her home and around her table. Whatever there was, there was always enough to share. Especially laughter.

“If I can do, I do. If I can’t, I don’t stew.” This profound bit of wisdom is something I am still striving to master. Grandma never sits on her keester and gripes. If she can help someone, she helps. If something can be improved, she improves it. If it’s broken, she’ll fix it. And if she can’t … she moves on. She doesn’t fret about the things she can’t change, and truly has the wisdom to know the difference. This combination of personal responsibility and transcendent acceptance leaves me in awe and gratitude.

Thank you Grandma. (Guess what?)

Love, Robin

Farkas Baranyai

Happy Birthday Pat. Best wishes to a wonderful mother, a terrific grandmother, and a superlative great grandma. You have my enduring respect and affection. I guess now I can forgive you for replacing that stove.

Love Farkas

Jamie Clancy

Elizabeth Taylor – need I say more?

Guess what, Grandma?

Luv ya, Jamie

 

‘Auntie’ Gwen Infurnari

What a wonderful idea it is to make a book for your Mother’s birthday! I’m sure with all her wit and wisdom you could produce a boxed set or two.

You mentioned that your mother survived the loss of a husband and a son. She also lost her first baby daughter Roberta at the age of three months and then suffered the loss of her second child, a still-born baby boy.

As you suggested, I wrote a few key words to jog my memory about the many humorous happenings. These are the ones that first popped out. I hope you kids won’t hate me for dredging up embarassing moments from their youth. Anyway, here goes…….

1. ‘Nicey’. Every night Kirk would rub a feather on his, which was his ‘nicey’. Well, you can imagine the pillow punching every night to get Kirk his ‘nicey’. Many nights those pillows were were extremely unyielding.

2. ‘Stunda Runda’. Definition…..whay you are when you’ve done something really stupid. It has been a phrase I’ve blatantly stolen from your mother because it fit into my life so well and so often. My Italian-speaking husband has used it on several occassions as well……so ‘stunda runda’ has gone international!

3. This is one of my all time favourite incidents and I’ve never let Pat forget this one. Your parents were having a big bash in their home. The house was FULL of guests and their children. I remember Pat saying to Rhonda – ‘quit playing Rhonda, you’re supposed to be serving drinks’.

4. Rhonda and I were at the local dry goods store – McCarls in Stoney Creek. I was buying thread, buttons or the like. Rhonda saw a display of ladies underpants. She said, ‘mommy wears these underpants but hers have drawstrings’. Well, I could have fallen on the floor with laughter. The drawstrings were the stretched out elastic which with a large family Pat hadn’t replaced yet. This was especially funny to me because I’ve done the same thing with no excuse. Perhaps Rhonda and I should have bought elastic that day.

5. Kevin was in trouble for biting so your mother issued a threat of great magnitude if he did it again. Well, kids will be kids and Kevin erred again. Pat went to look for him and found him in the carport with his hands folded in prayer saying. ‘Oh Dear God please help me!’ Pat and I used that phrase numerous times after that since it worked so well for Kevin.

6. Every month or so Pat and a group of friends got together and had an evening they called ‘Club’. Your mother was a very fastidious housekeeper as you no doubt know. When she was the hostess, she had the house all primped up just so and then along came supper for the ‘tribe’. When I dropped in she had all you kids lined up on the stairs having your supper. It was no doubt easier to dust the stairs than to go after those pesky rogue crumbs from the shining kitchen floor.

7. Another funny inicident which has remained with me concerns your father. Your dad was in bed and called your mother up to check his condition. Your mother went flying up to check on him. Well, you dad was languishing in bed with a thermometer in his mouth. The only thing out of the ordinary was that it was a rectal thermometer. With your mother’s keen sense of humour, I’m sure her reaction to this scenario was worthy of an Oscar.

8. During the early years of their marriage, a friend named Joe made a set of cupboards for your parents. Joe died shortly after this. Your mother treasured those cupboards and took them with her wherever she went. Whenever she talked about Joe she would always refer to him as ‘Joe, may he rest in peace’. She probably has those cupboards made by ‘Joe, may he rest in peace’. (Note: mom still has those cupboards to this day and has asked that wood from the cupboards be made into her coffin!)

9. I will always remember your mom’s care and compassion for me. When I was home sick, she would send over a delicious lunch. There was always a piping hot homemade soup and a tasty sandwich. My favourite soup was a potato and ham ambrosia. To this day, I still make a version of her green pea soup. Her gorgeous tuna sandwiches made me a tuna lover!

I enjoyed taking this trip down memory lane. The most fun for me has been to imagine how your mother will laugh at these incidents. Your mother has kept the priceless ability to laugh at small happenings, even if they involve herself.

I wish you well with this imaginative and well deserved tribute to Pat and I thank you most sincerely for including me.

Minerva ‘Min’ Hill

There is so much to say about Pat, I could fill pages. I met my friend Pat in 1980. Pat has been the best friend ever. I found her sincer, helpful, funny, loyal. She is really a damn good friend. Nothing is too much for Pat for she has so much knowledge and is very helpful. I am blessed to know Pat, we laugh and cry together.

I love you very much Pat. I wish you many happy, healthy years to come. And I thank you for being my friend.

Mary Lou Schmuck

By now you will have received numerous rememberances of your wonderful mother, to help honour her 80th birthday in October. Here are 3 examples of how, yet again, ‘climbing Mount Never Rest’ was an achievable goal for Pat Jackson.  

1. Back in the ‘olden days’ I remember visiting your family home in Stoney Creek, and after a hectic day your mother exclaimed: ‘I so wanted Rhonda to study, but it was one of those days at our house’.
2. In December of 1993, your mother arrived on time for a birthday party for my mother, held in a restaurant in downtown Hamilton. The vehicle she drove, she referred to as the ‘jewish canoe’, which she had borrowed at the last minute from a neighbour when her garage door opener failed. Remember, if you will, it had been several years since your mother had driven Uncle Don’s Lincoln Continental; but she took courage in her hands and proceeded on her way.
3. Perhaps you will consider having a chapter entitled ‘Finding the Rainbow Beyond Sadness’. Prior to Rhonda’s birth your parents experienced the death of an infant daughter to the mysterious ‘crib death’. In 2004, it is referred to as SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) and is believed to be related to a form of sleep apnea. Your older siblings may recall taking turns to watch you as you slept, to ensure that nap time was only temporary.

Mrs. Pat Jackson has a heart of gold, and I trust that her 80th birthday party in October will truly honour her thoughtful ways.

Edna Broughton

I think your idea of writing a book for Pat is just wonderful. Her are a few of my thoughts.

The Jackson’s were one of the largest families that came to Dr. Carr’s office, keeping Pat very busy indeed. I believe she changed their clothes three times per day – her washer and dryer had to be the busiest machines. But no matter how tired Pat must have been she always had a laugh for me. We became good friends and although we haven’t been able to get together very often during the passing years, the good memories still exist.

Stan and I wanted Pat and Don to take a trip with us to Bermuda but ‘no go’ for Pat because she couldn’t leave her family with another care giver. That ‘80’ has rolled around, and I know how that feels, my best wishes are sent to a ‘great gal’.

Auntie Kay and Uncle Buzz

Lew and I have had the pleasure of Pat’s friendship for more than 58 years since first meeting her at our wedding in 1946. Don and Lew were wartime buddies, so naturally Don would be Lew’s ‘best’ man, and he brought along his bride, thus our friendship began. When I met Pat, I thought she looked like a movie star, so elegant with hat and gloves, certainly not like any of my close friends. So, Pat! ‘wha appen you?’ (this is a joke between us).

Pat has always been an almanac of advice and information. If you were searching for an article, and it was out of size, out of stock, out of print, out of date, no matter what, she would find it for you or suggest a substitute, which led me to say, repeatedly, ‘why didn’t I think of that?’ Pat has many specialities. When she invisibly mended a pair of pants for Lew, I was amazed at the results. I asked her ‘where did you learn to do that, did the Nuns teach you?’ ‘Yes’, she replied, ‘the Nuns….nuttin of this, nuttin of that, nuttin of anything else’. What a great sense of humor she has.

Pat is always gracious with these gifts of herself and her time. I like to refer to Pat as a survivor, and a true Christian Humanitarian.

We love you Pat, happy 80th and many more to come.

Aunt Sophie

Pat has been my best friend since Julianna’s birth. She stayed with us and became an older sister.

If I ever had a problem in sewing, she was there for me. She was a friend in my difficult times when my folks were sick and then when they died. Everyone should be so lucky to have a friend like her. I love her dearly and wish her the best of everything. 

Marilyn McDougall (nee Wheeler)

My favourite memories of Pat take me back to many wonderful times shared at our cottages just across the water from each other at beautiful Charleston Lake. What a great time that was for our famililes!

We met Don when he came into my husband’s small engine repair shop in Lansdowne. Don discovered that we both owned cottages on Charleston Lake and invited us to drop over one evening. That began a beautiful friendship of our families. Our children became friends and David and Clark had some INTERESTING times. Should I mention a certain motorcycle escapade? Got my neck in a sling for that one. David and Clark worked together at Stratford’s on Hill Island. I think they ate more than their wages but they were at that age where they could put down a good sized meal. I believe they charmed the ladies of the kitchen staff and received a bountiful plate for very little payment.

I remember most the many long evenings over coffee sitting a the front window chatting with Pat. We solved most of the world’s problems looking at our favourite lake from our window seats that summer. We watched the kids swim, play games, etc. and spent many, many enjoyable hours.

Our family enjoyed more than our share of great evening meals at Pat’s dining room. Pat is a terrific cook and I never knew anyone who could create such a tender steak. I loved Pat’s elegant upsweep hairstyle which she wore when we first met. An elegant style for an elegant lady!

I sure wish we lived closer so we could share some more of those lovely long peaceful chats we had at Charleston Lake. We do keep in touch and that is all that matters. We are now grandparents and things change. David and his wife, Marielle, and my two sweet granddaughters, Emilie (my namesake) now 13 years old and Chloe who is 11, are spending two weeks at the Shangri-La on Charleston Lake, and Mary Jane and her new husband as of June 11th will be there the following week. We are making new memories now but there is nothing quite like the old ones. Love ya Pat! HAPPY 80TH BIRTHDAY AND MANY MORE.

Pat Lang

Everyone has friends, but not everyone has ‘special friends’ – I am one of the lucky ones because I have a really special ‘special friend’ – Pat Jackson, aka ‘Mrs. J’ to her kids friends.

Do you have a stain on a favourite blouse? Don’t panic – take it to Pat, whose skills with stains is legendary.

Have to go to Joe Brant for a pre-op appointment? Pat took me twice. The second trip found us in the waiting lounge where a young lad (about 3 years) was crying and his mother could not comfort him. But Pat could. She reached in her pocket and out came a candy cane. The crying stopped and a huge smile appeared on the boys face. (Who carries candy canes, just in case???)

Some of us have ‘senior moments’ of forgetfulness. Pat and I have Anges Moorhead moments. Ask Pat for an explanation.

For someone who is ill, has had an accident, or has just moved onto her street, who is the one who is there first, with coffee, sandwiches, cookies and offers her phone, car, whatever they need????

Pat saw some a kid playing hockey in the street and noticed the hockey net had a large hole. She took the net and spent hours mending it, and the youngster was thrilled to have it fixed…….but here’s the kicker…..Pat doesn’t even know the kid or his family!!

This lady is so remarkable in som many ways – generous, loyal, supportive and posesses the wildest sense of humour!

YOU GO GIRL!!

Linda Braun

The first time I met Mom Jackson was at a surprise baby shower for Marcie. Naturally she won the prize for the woman with the most children, unseating my Aunt Sherry who took it for granted her seven kids ensured her of a gift! Your Mom gave me the loveliest hooded bath towel and matching cloth. It was used and washed daily for both my children, my sister’s three children, my three grandchildren, and it sits freshly laundered waiting for the next grandchild. It was a gift from the heart and the head and the thought carries on.

Several months later. While driving through Burlington, we called Lou and Rhonda to say hello from a phone booth. While we were on the phone, Mom dispatched Lou to find us and escort us back to Chez Jackson. Five minutes later, my infant daughter had disappeared into the waiting arms of one Jackson after another and I found myself on tour of the house. Every room had touches of your Mom. She had used her creative talents (and her scrounging ability at flea markets and garage sales) to add flair and pizzaz. 

I will never forget the beautiful headboard and comforter she had on her bed, courtesy of a sale on material at some flea market. She proudly showed me her 24 (yes, I remeber distinctly) glass jars that had been a Catelli pasta promotion which she was busy finding new ones for. The chicken had been grilled by Dad, who boasted the secret was peanut oil that Mom had found at an unbelievable price and purchased 9 jugs. I thought I had been a careful shopper, but they taught me a thing or two in one afternoon! She also gave me the secret of her buckwheat and soup stock, all in the space of about three hours. She made it look easy to run a household and family and still look relaxed and gracious.

Health food gurus have nothing on your Mom. She was ahead of her time in the use of grains and carbohydrates and in all those years, I have never heard a story of a ‘burnt offering’ meal, and I have heard plenty of stories.

When Wayne died suddenly, your Mom and Trish waited in line for hours to come to the visitation in Waterloo. It meant so much to us that they did, but I know she wouldn’t have done otherwise. She always had an instinct on how and when to reach out. One of the most profound things I ever heard her say, and something I kept as a mantra during the ‘puberty’ years of my kids, was, ‘sometimes the ones who need love the most are the hardest to love’

Your Mom is definitely not a hard person to love. Cheris the memories of the past and those yet to be created.

Karen Bosworth

I have worked in Cam’s Constituency Office for close to 20 years, and over those years, have felt extremely close to your mom and family. In actual fact, and in many measures, you all did become my family.

To know Pat well is to know that she has a hidden sensitive side. As well, she is one of the most glamorous, kind hearted and humorous women alive.

Pat is an amazing cook and when over the years her home-baked goodies came into our campaign office, in a head-spinning flash more desk drawers than can be counted were slammed closed and became a secret stash of her caloried contraband. I always felt particularly sorry for the campaign evening shift workers who never got so much as one sample of her delicious home made treats.

One year, Craig was assisting with the filming of a Chef’s Cooking Show in Hamilton. Cam ensured that a few of us got into Hamilton to help fill the studio (which appeared on television as though hundreds of guests were in the studio – but in actual fact numbered about 40).. Cam got us in alright, but it was proud mom, Pat, who made certain that we all sat in the front row seats and that we all stayed for the entire filming…..no sneaking out early!

Pat and I have remained in the single life, but she assures me each time she bounces into our office that ‘single we may be, but she and I are truly those ‘unclaimed treasures.’’

I love this woman!

Elizabeth Roeder (nee Radnoti)

‘To make a long story longer’, which has stuck in my mind and with permission from your mom. It is an honour to be asked for my input. Thank you

Your mom has been an inspiration to my going on in life….survival. I have gone through some rough times after my marriage and your mom helped me through it all by explaining her tactics for survival. Comparing myself to what she went through, she made me realize that not staying bitter keeps us younger. Smile at my adversary instead of swearing at them was hard but I felt better for it. I also learned to walk away if someone is always pulling you down. It is better to be without them. It hurts but they are doing it to get rid of the threat to their way of doing things, and (this is some people) if they cannot control someone they prefer to destroy them. And if you do share space, make your own health more important and keep yourself busy so they cannot destroy the good in you. How your mom reacted to comments made by people or to the labels they gave or to people putting you down or wanting the upper hand all the time, she showed me that none of this mattered.

She has advised me about where to go when I was in pain, and to never stop fighting because the doctors would sooner forget about your needs than help you.

And when my dad had his attacks, your mother was in so much pain, because she knows how wonderful my dad is. She is always asking what she can do for him. In fact I had to talk her out of running around because of all the health problems she was having, the car accident, the recovery, the spinal fusion, the recovery.

Your mom became even more important in my life after I lost my grandmother. She used to be my source for wisdom, and taught me that you have to take care of someone while they are alive because once they are gone they cannot hear ‘I love you’, or ‘what can I do for you’, or ‘how are you today’, or taste a bite of their fashirt (Hungarian breaded burger) which is your mom’s favourite with mashed potatoes. I like to take some to her when I make it.

There are many things she lived through that she used as an example to how she handled, but many I promised not to repeat. As she eloquently put it, ‘use the past to survive the present, and don’t worry about tomorrow because it’ll kill ya’. Her dealings with her husband taught me how to cope better in my marriage

I have to admit that the three greatest women in my life…..my mom, her mom and your mom, have been my inspiration to live on.

Before I married I was on a pedestal. Mothers used to approach me to go out with their sons, but I didn’t want to be called a gold digger. I do not care about being on a pedestal, for your mom, being one of my greatest examples of survival, taught me that ‘having my feet firmly planted on the ground is better than being on a pedestal where you could be easily knocked down from’.

Through the years your mom has been interwoven in all the major parts of my life. She has been one of the great ladies for whom I am thankful to be in my life. It has been a great pleasure to be near to her. And I will continue to do so, as long as I am able to.

Lori Brown

When I think about Mrs. J., the obvious associations of Burlington & Lord Elgin High School come to mind. Because first & foremost, she is one of the “mom’s” of some of the most important friends from my teenage years; and we all know, the late-sixties/early seventies were heady times. Being an understanding mom in those days took imagination, a sense of humour and outright courage. Looking back, as a mom myself now, I marvel at how alien we must have seemed to our parents who were raised in the days of proper attire, respect for one’s elders & hard work; certainly not the endless freedom we privileged teens seemed to experience. They saw older family members leave for W.W.2 and the rhythm of life in Canada change drastically to accommodate the war; we experienced the conflict in Vietnam from the perspective of “peace & love” and hanging out with draft-dodgers at Rochdale College in Toronto.

How this woman kept her sanity dealing with these challenges and many others, EIGHT TIMES OVER, & kept her humour throughout is a marvel to me. She has inspired me countless times, and in far too many ways to recount here but perhaps the best example is her unique & inimitable humour. One day, when I was particularly weary and indisposed to any outlook except that of resignation & hopelessness; Mrs. J. simply gave me that knowing look, arched her perfect eyebrows, and said “Lori, I think the crocodiles have the right idea”. I waited; not in the mood for a platitude or earnest life lesson, and prepared to accept this with withering scorn when she sighed theatrically, and continued “They eat their young”. 

Alec, Max, Esra & I love you very much, Mrs. Jackson. I am so glad the world has a Pat Jackson in it, and grateful that for some glorious cosmic reason, we have been able to experience and benefit from, some of the 80 years you have graced it with your dynamic, compassionate and loving presence.

Esra Firalti

Mrs. J. want to thank you so very much for being in my life. Growing up with only one grand-mother who lived in Turkey was hard for me, and I am so lucky to say I have you. When she passed away, I was left grand-parent-less but somehow, knowing you are in my life helped me feel better.

When I’m around you, I feel loved. Trish is not only my mum’s friend but my second mother. Without her, I would not know you the way I do. Sometimes when I’m over at her home and the word “Burlington!” is said, I rush to get my shoes and hope Trish is bringing me along so I can see you. 

All of your help with mending and sewing has made everyone’s lives a lot easier. My graduation could not have gone on without you, due to clumsy me ripping my skirt. And in grade five when I was a humongous Raptors fan, you found me one of their jackets so I could represent my team. 

I love you dearly Mrs. J. Happy 80^th birthday. You have always been there for me, and I hope that somehow I was there for you. Love you to bits………..

Vair MacPhee

Things I’ve learned from or know about Mrs. Jay:

1. Diaper pail water can be used as fertilizer in your garden.
2. Meat can be retrieved from chicken bones for sandwiches once the bones have been boiled for soup.
3. Egg whites can be whipped up and used as cheap hair conditioner.
4. Q-tips dipped in petroleum jelly and gently inserted into the opening of the rectum of an infant can assist a hard and difficult bowel movement.
5. Bones are made to be broken.

(It is no coincidence I am childless)

6. “The City” is not a large urban community, but an endless deep and overstuffed closet that until recently housed an inordinate number of miscellaneous articles including a small family from Cambodia.
7. Her olfactory sense is so sensitive she can smell salad upon entering a house.
8. You always need to dust first before you vacuum because if you do it in the reverse order the dust will fall onto what you have already vacuumed therefore driving the duster/vacuumer crazy.
9. Housekeepers don’t always come back when they go to hang out laundry.
10. She will walk until her feet bleed before she will pay for a taxi, but will without question pay for an operation to extend a hamster’s life.
11. The covering of an ashtray with a cigarette pack does nothing, despite the sweet intentions. But it is only years later as a non-smoker that I learned that.
12. A free bruised banana makes and even tastier banana cake that a fresh one that you paid for.
13. Mrs. Jay is the sole supporter of the Powdered Milk industry.
14. It is not frugal housewifery to heat an iron for one garment.
15. Mrs. Jay thinks “diddle-ee, diddle-ee, diddle-ee, diddle-ee” sung repeatedly is a song.
16. Despite what she says, anything in the door of that fridge of hers, is suspect.

I am so grateful to you for so many things. I have had such a great friendship with Trish over the years and still today, but I also know that I have a friend in you. I love you and who you are. All your children and surrogate children are credits to you. 

Nicala Farwell

One of my earliest recollections of the wonderful person I would come to know as “Mrs. J” occurred in the winter of my 17th year, in 1980.

I had quickly fallen head over heels in love with Trisha and recognized her as a true soul mate almost the moment I laid eyes on her. On my initial visit to 225 White Pines, Trish took a rectangular tupperware container out of the freezer and opened the lid to a whole new world.” What are these little squares of heaven?”, I asked. “These are my mother’s Nanaimo Bars” she stated matter-of-factly. To this day and many hundreds of bars later, I have never tasted another to rival those made by Mrs. J, though my search goes on, unabated.

I also remember calling Trish to go to “the mall” one Saturday morning only to be told by Mrs. J, that Trish had to stay home to “vacuum the baseboards”. Well, maybe the baseboards in my mother’s home were vacuumed and maybe they weren’t but I had never heard of such a thing but sure enough, those Jackson baseboards were the cleanest I’ve ever seen.

Thank you Mrs. J, for your kindness to Darren and myself over the years, for your thoughtfulness and most of all, for my dear friend Trish. She truly is a chip off the old block.

Happy 80th Birthday, Glamour Girl!

Sonia Lawrence

Although I have not been in the company of Mrs Jackson more than I think a couple of times, both occasions have stayed quite vividly in my memory.

The first time was in her home when Nicala and I were living in Toronto. Trisha was visiting her mother with her first baby Rachel. Nicala and I were in Burlington to look for an aprtment and combined the visit with going to the Jackson home. Mrs. Jackson received me graciously and I was struck with her colourful personality. I remember thinking at the time what an attractive vivacious lady she was and it was quite fascinating to watch and listen to her conversation.

We had tea served on beautiful china cups and saucers and home made fruit loaf which was delicious. Mrs. Jackson gave us a tour of the house pointing out interesting family photographs and artifacts. In the basement she had all kinds, shapes and sizes of clothes she had picked up from various outlets for whoever may be in need of them at any given time. I thought this most admirable and enjoyed the visit immensly. On the whole I thought Mrs. Jackson a most kind, elegant, eloquent lady with a most captivating personality.

The second occassion I had the pleasure of meeting her was many years later when I was shopping with my daughter Shelley in Winners. We met Mrs. Jackson and we all talked at length of our families. About 15 minutes later I was in the dressing room to witness an outraged Mrs. Jackson rapping sharply on the door of the handicapped dressing room and informing the shrinking individual inside that she had no business to be in there and to vacate it promptly! Way to go Mrs. J……still a feisty lady

Happy happy 80th Pat Jackson, have a wonderful birthday!

Diane Folks

About ten years ago, Kirk asked me to drop something off at your mom’s house for him (I live in Burlington). I had the three boys in the car with me. Of course when we arrived, two of them had to go to the bathroom!…..Mike was 5 years old, and Greg was 3.

I didn’t know your mother, so I was a little hesitant to ask her if my little darlings could use the facilities, but she was very gracious and let us all troop into the house (it was winter, and about a foot of snow on the ground….). As I was waiting for the boys, I told your mom that I worked with Kirk, and that our Michael LOVED soldiers and GI Joes…..and that Kirk was always coming into work with a new “treasure” that he had found at the flea market or Value Village. Michael’s room was filled with the stuff that Kirk had picked up for him. As I’m telling her the story, she walks over to the closet…..digs through a few things, and comes out with a vintage GI Joe doll (not the ones they make now….but an original from the 60’s!!!!!) I guess it had belonged to one of you kids, and she’d saved it for all these years. She showed it to Michael, and he knew how special it was. As we were leaving, she gave it to Michael to keep !!!!! Needless to say he was thrilled and I was a little overwhelmed. What a special lady your mom is. 

Michael is now almost 16….he’s outgrown the GI Joe phase of his life, but he still has that doll that your mom gave him on his shelf in his room along with his hockey trophies.

Monika and Georgia Hempel

Motherhood: 24-7 on the front lines of humanity.

Are you man enough to try it?

… Maria Schriver

Mrs. J, from you I have learned kindness and the following:

• To remove rust from clothing use lemon and salt and leave in direct sunlight
• You are the only person I know who has white (clean) dust
• Wipe your hands over the sink (with a rag and not a dishcloth) so you don’t drip on the floor – Something I am still trying to learn!
• To laugh when I feel like crying
• The meaning and use of a “crevice tool”
• The secret location of the giant back of slippers which MUST be worn to avoid foot sweat damaging the carpets or (perfect) hardwood floors
• Always use the dull side of a knife to scrape chopped food off a breadboard
• How to properly stir the kasha (I’m still trying – honest!)
• How to paint like Lucille Ball

………. And a few hundred other tidbits.

You are sublime. I love you,

Monika and (Guess What) Georgia

Bryn Davies

Mrs. Jackson is one of those unique individuals whose spirit looms so largely in the lives of those whom she’s touched. I had the privilege of getting to know her as a parent when I was teaching at Lord Elgin High School from 1974-81. Don, Craig and Trisha were students of mine at the time, and it wasn’t long before I was invited into their home and treated as a member of the family. 

There were many occasions when I would drive Don home or simply drop by to play a game of pool, to listen to music or to visit Mrs. Jackson over a cup of tea in my “special” cup. Pat always exuded a gregarious warmth. Her mastery in the kitchen was equal to her heartfelt pride in her Ukrainian heritage. I vividly recall how Don beamed after his culinary project for Russian History where he prepared a banquet of borscht, perogies and cabbage rolls, no doubt under his mother’s careful tutelage.

During those same years the image of Don Jackson Sr. had taken on mythological proportions. As the bread winner, he was always working or resting. Many of my visits were punctuated by a whispered plea not to make too much noise because “dad is sleeping.” You can imagine my surprise and pride when Pat invited me to spend some “down time” in her home prior to a Parent’s night, and offered me her husband’s study to prepare for the evening. It wasn’t until after Don Jr. moved out, and into our home in Toronto, that I finally met his dad. I will always remember the warmth of Mr. Jackson’s handshake and the intensity of his eye contact. The picture was now complete.

One of my most poignant memories of Pat was at a séance following young Don’s death. Prior to the gathering, Pat met Nelly Neilson who was invited to direct the experience. Nelly asked Pat if the name “poorsy” meant anything to her. Pat revealed that this was a pet name that she had used as a term of endearment only for Donald, and that nobody other than Donald would have known this. The wave of emotion that engulfed the room gave hope to the probability that Pat and her son were still connected at a very deep level and that for all of us, life and death have layers of meaning yet to be peeled away.

Finally, there have been occasions – far too few, in retrospect – when Susan and I would drop by for a visit, especially en route to some southern destination at Christmas or March Break, and Pat would always have a bag of home made bits and bites for the car. I know in later years, Pat has confronted her health issues with dignity and resolve, surrounded by her children and grandchildren who love her so deeply. As she approaches her 80^th birthday, we wish her all the comfort and happiness she so richly deserves.