Eleanor Lawrie, Author

This cute little guy reminds me of SHELBY F. SQUIRREL!  Animals inspire me a lot. Their  lives are filled with work, activity, community and fun. We have mostly lost that simplicity in the human world.

WORK ETHIC: Do we still have it? To me it means going above and beyond what is asked of me. I wonder where that concept is learned best. Probably it’s the home and parenting, but if that is missing for whatever reason, it falls to the schools. But it’s difficult to teach when a student is not allowed to help push a grand piano in case he or she is injured. In its wisdom the TDSB has a rule which says it’s OK for a female staff person to do such heavy labour, alone. I say have the strong young people learn how to do such a job safely, and let them experience what it feels like to help for no pay other than a thank-you. And even go the extra bit above and beyond in the process.

ACTIVITY: We live sedentary lives for the most part. Healthy activity is something we have to add to daily routines, because we have the comfort of modern appliances to do most chores. Our ancestors were more hale and hearty, products of physical work on a daily basis. While the automation and accessibility of our conveniences are miracles in themselves, the result is that we have become soft. Now, in order to be healthy we must add exercise to an already busy, stressful day. Hm, do you have the energy left over for that?

COMMUNITY: Living in close proximity to hundreds of others can be smothering. We deal with that by practising indifference toward each other. Neighbours often don’t meet or converse, even when passing in the street. Many factors contribute to this but one of the strongest is the use of computers, cell phones and the endless variety of other electronic toys. I’m guilty of it myself! My time for playing scrabble online, attending to email, and now daily FaceBook visits, is a large part of my existence now.  Valuable asset for a shut-in but it’s too easy to end up there without realising we’ve let it happen

FUN: This has been a stressful winter for me personally. Many a night my dear husband would make sure to get me through an episode of “The Big Bang Theory” to guarantee a much-needed laugh or two.  We used to play Cribbage or even Upwords (that neat vertical Scrabble game). These distractions were good honest fun, but TV habit has won out, with the huge variety of channels available and the computer woos me away to check whether there is a play waiting for me on Pixie Pit or Lexulous. The joy of watching our budgies play is definitely fun. But silly as they appear at times, their daily routines are worth taking to heart. Work, Activity, Community, Fun.

Forgive my ramblings. I wonder if I could come back as a squirrel or a budgie.

Thanks to my new friend, Birgie Ludlow, I can present this colourful, happy cover for “The Complete Adventures of SHELBY F. SQUIRREL and Friends”. It’s wonderful when one enjoyable event, our recent POETS & PAINTERS effort, bring people together, and make wonderful things happen.

I’m excited for another reason as well, because on May 28 I will be spending the day at a local school for its first Craft Fair. And, of course, Shelby will be there with me.

Just one of the chapters in the new SHELBY F SQUIRREL adventure. Danger! A very real threat looms, affecting the very lives of all the forest animals. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Chapter 8: ENTER TYRANNOSAURUS REX

Shelby and Petra were still dozing the next morning when they were rudely awakened. In fact it wasn’t even fully daylight. With bleary eyes they peeked out.

The main noise had come from a large white truck that was now parked almost under their tree. On its top was a huge circular disk, at least six feet across. It was rotating slowly and then stopped as the two little squirrels gaped, their jaws hanging open.

The other disturbance, which continued, was a sea of babbling voices as cameramen appeared and microphones were handed out, cables running everywhere.

“What do we do now?” Petra whispered, her voice shaky.

“Just calm down, they’re not here to cut trees. But we do have to find out why they are, and the sooner the better!” answered Shelby, hoping she would not go into a complete panic. He asked her to stay and watch, meantime Marvin had popped out of the burrow not far away, and was taking it all in.

Overhead, the Wise Old Owl perched, then quickly took off. Shelby knew he was off to alert the animals who were on call today. Rosie Robin landed quickly on the limb, a little out of breath again. She was doing that too much lately. Shelby made a mental note to speak to Rusty and suggest he keep an eye on her, and help her cope with all this stress.

“I’ve already got my people informed and they’re on the way. I told them to stay hidden for now, until we know what’s happening!” Rosie panted, folding and refolding her wings.

Shelby gave her a huge smile and she flew off again, this time to rest. Her job as sentinel was over for the day. And there were enough others to launch a very effective defensive line.

A few minutes later, Shelby could see a pair of swans from the farm approach and conceal themselves in the thick shrubbery. Across from them, a slight disturbance in the branches told him that Sultan and a group of his hens were waiting patiently.

If they were here, then Billy Goat or one of his lady friend would soon arrive as well. High in the branches, he noticed both Molly and Polly. They gave him a wave and presumed their vigil, ready to spring into action.

Soon Shelby’s nose told him the skunks had also arrived, and were waiting nearby.

They were ready for almost anything, it seemed.

Finally, when the sun had almost risen above the treetops, they heard a rumble in the distance. Soon the ground was vibrating along with the racket it made as it got closer, whatever it was. TV cameras were aimed toward the approaching sound. An anchorwoman with microphone in hand craned her neck to get the first view.

Shelby gasped in terror when he saw what looked like a monster, sitting precariously atop a huge flat-bed truck. It was supported by huge tires with deep treads, and had a small cabin encased in sleek glass. Sprouting upward ominously was a mighty crane that bent double and swooped back down toward the ground. At its end hung a massive set of jaws.

The tension in the air was palpable.

The flat-bed truck positioned itself and a ramp was lowered. The dreadful machine started up with an efficient roar and began to inch backwards down the ramp.

Meanwhile, another flat-bed had parked on the opposite side of the road and was unloading a miniature version of the leviathan that was now lumbering toward the trees. It chugged to a stop not far from the TV truck.

The drivers stood around talking, the news anchorwoman was interviewing a man who appeared to be in charge. He was wearing a yellow hard hat, and carrying a clip board.

The small machine was now unloaded and pulled up parallel to the other one. It was literally dwarfed beside it. Shelby’s head was spinning, trying to imagine how the innocent animals would win the fight against those terrifying mechanical Tyrannosaurus Rex jaws.

All the excitement soon abated however. The TV crew got back into the truck and unloaded their cameras, locked the door and got into a waiting car that drove off quickly. So did the men who had driven the machines down the ramps of the flat-beds. They climbed into the truck cabs, the motors roared to life and they lumbered away, leaving the gathered troops puzzled and a bit disappointed.

Slowly they emerged into the open and gathered to talk it over. Charlie had arrived in the meantime. The first thing he said was how impressed he was to see the number of animals ready to launch a counterattack, and so quickly after the alarm was given. Their plans were working well for being ready. That was worth knowing.

Billy Goat spoke up eagerly, “We’ll all be ready again in the morning!!”

Some of them chorused their agreement. Molly and Polly were looking serious and not joining in.

“We should see what we can do to break those two things they parked here!” said Polly vehemently. All their heads swivelled to stare at her. Shelby was quiet, but he had been thinking something similar.

Molly continued. “We have pretty nimble fingers. We can try undoing anything that moves.”

“We should see if those cabs are locked, and look for things to take apart inside there,” said Darby, who had arrived as men were leaving. “Flying Squirrels have pretty smart fingers too!”

“And so do we!” loudly added Howard, the Wise Old Owl’s nephew. “And our talons are very strong, too.”

They stayed together for a few more minutes before disbanding. The plan was to meet later once it was dark enough to do some damage without being seen. Shelby went right over to see the skunks. This was definitely a time for their particular talent.

The moon was high when the chosen troops for the night’s sortie crept silently out of the trees toward the Tyrannosaurus Rex monsters, where they sat gleaming dully in the night air.

The Wise Old Owl had cautioned everyone to leave the TV truck alone. He told them that it was only there to film or record the unfolding events.

“Word must have gotten out about what happened here with those two men who tried to paint yellow marks on the trees. That would explain the TV truck being here,” he averred firmly. That was received with excitement, to think their plight and their heroic efforts would be make public. Perfect!!

Molly and Polly set to work on the tire valves. Howard found pulleys and springs to pop off, and opened the two gas tanks. Rosie and Rusty hovered nearby waiting. As soon as the caps were off they busied themselves flying to and fro, dropping bits of bark, dried leaves, and feathers down the malodorous black hole. Howard quickly screwed the lids back on when they had exhausted their arsenal.

Petra, Peter and Darby helped Shelby explore the cabs for things to undo. They wound off the knobs of most of the levers. Marvin joined in with a horde of family members, and squirrels and mice all chewed industriously through every possible cable. Then they all hopped down to clear the way for the skunk family.

Soon the whole area reeked heavily, while the seats of both cabs were thoroughly coated with disgusting skunk slime.

 They shouted cheers at each other, then they faded back into the trees.

The sentries all went to their proper homes because they knew everyone was already on deck to appear for more work in the morning.

( My deepest thanks to a dear friend, Sandy Sakofsky, for allowing me to use her story ‘Stephen’ as the inspiration for this chapter, indeed for most of this whole story. )

This lovely painting by Birgie Ludlow was produced as her interpretation of my poem.

Mist and Magic

Eleanor Lawrie

At the end of the meadow is a stand of trees

Tall and graceful, imposing with ease.

In mist and magic, they seem to sleep

But noble branches a watch do keep.

They beckon, they call, they sing and sigh:

Come closer, come hither, do not fly;

Here is a shelter, a haven sublime,

Enfolding, surrounding for all of time.

Stripped of leaves, an upward thrust

Joining the clouds, presenting a trust

That all is together, all is one

Harmony for Earth and Moon and Sun.

Majestic, imposing, magnificent limbs

Deliver a chorus of crooning hymns.

All who can hear, absorb the sweet sound:

Tranquillity, love all around.

Noble and steadfast, through ages they live

Never to take but eternal to give

Ethereal joy, deep, heaven-sent

Exudes perfect peace; all is content.

Our event, which took place April 7, 2016, had 18 participants. Nine each writers and painters. The complete show is dazzling! It’s a unique and wonderful way to bring two groups of creative people together.

My father was born in a croft cottage built exactly like this, in the Shetland Islands. It was 1907. When he was born, my Aunt Mary was seven years old, born August 12, 1900. I loved her dearly. An amazing, and loving person, she lived to be 103 years old.

I wrote this story based on fact that she had written down. The conversations are how I imagined it might have played out.

FROM THE WINDSWEPT HILLS

The hand-piled stone house was positioned on a gentle slope that provided a small degree of protection from the constant gales. It was a crofter’s cottage on the distant Shetland Islands, the year 1907. The one room inside held a fireplace at each end, one of which served as the stove and the other, if it got lit, was meant to provide heat and comfort. Scarcity of money meant this was a decidedly rare event. Instead, the wind whistled down the chimney and around the cracks adding to what was already coming in through the walls. The floor was dirt and in winter it happened from time to time that the cramped space was shared with their bony cow.

Mary had just celebrated her seventh birthday in August. She was a century baby, fifth in the family of seven. She was dimple-cheeked, with wide blue eyes that didn’t ever miss a thing, and a smile that would melt your heart. Her hair was reddish blonde, a riot of curls.

Two smaller children, Grace and Davie, competed for Mary’s attention, always needing to be fed or dressed or played with. Mary lavished them with her time and her love, something that came naturally to her. Life was hard but they survived.

It was many long months since their father had last been home. He would leave at a moment’s notice, and stay away longer each time. He had not returned since the last visit, which their mother had borne with a resigned air, not having much to say. Now, in October, there was a new wailing baby boy. They called him Robert, and he immediately became Mary’s own Robbie.

She appointed herself chief guardian of this newest addition. Her mother, still recovering from the birth, welcomed the girl’s help. Mature beyond her years, the baby was safe in her arms, and he was quiet, easily lulled to sleep with her humming.

Then with no warning, one morning her mother said, “Child, you’re to put on your best dress, not before washing yourself, mind you!! Then, you’re to come with me.”

It would be no use to argue or cry and make a scene, so just after breakfast on a cold, late November day, mother and daughter set out over the hills together. Three hours later the mother returned to the two toddlers and the baby. Grace and Davie were bickering, and baby Robbie was crying in his cradle, despite the attentions of the neighbour that had come in to look after them.

No, the mother told herself sternly. I’ve done the right thing. There isn’t enough to feed this new mouth, so now at least Mary will be looked after. In return Mary would be scrubbing, fetching water, and helping with the children in the big house over the hill. If she was lucky she would get a little schooling, but there was no guarantee. Then when Grace was older she too would be given to the care of a well-to-do family, and would work to earn her keep.

The afternoon wore on, and a strange feeling of emptiness pervaded the chilly cottage. She had finally coaxed the baby to sleep and the other two were each given small chores to do. She busied herself with the pot hanging over the fire, and checking the potatoes, carrots and turnip in the large pot. Then she placed a few small pieces of fish on the top of the bubbling surface to poach. Her mind in turmoil, she turned to pull a few bowls off the crude shelf and her gaze settled on the little figure that had just stumbled through the door.

She took a fast step toward her, raising her hand. “What are you doing here? You were to stay, you were to stay!! Now what will happen? What have you done, child?” she shrilled.

Mary, chilled to the bone, her feet blistered from the long walk, burst into huge convulsive sobs, rooted to the spot. Robbie began screaming, and the other two were gape-mouthed with fright.

At last, the mother nodded, “See to him, Mary. See to him.” and turned back to the kettle, her eyes brimming. The children must not see her tears. Behind her, the baby became quiet in Mary’s arms. Her littler sister and brother snuggled up close to her knees, adoring faces upturned.

There would be no more talk of the big house over the hill.

A truck like this one pulled into the forest this morning before daylight! Shelby and Petra F Squirrel watched, fascinated, as several people spilled out and set up cameras and microphones right under the tree where they had slept.

It’s at the edge of the forest by the main road, where Shelby and Petra have been on sentry duty for several days. They have taken up temporary residence closer to where the dangers arrive from the main road.

It’s not long before loud rumbling that shakes the very ground takes over the already confusing scene. By now several other animals have gathered to observe.

The source of the approaching noise fills all of them with absolute terror! What comes into view is huge, threatening, with a dangerous jaw that looks big enough to swallow Charlie whole!

When this monster machine is left parked, with a smaller version right beside it, the animals jump at the opportunity for sabotage!!!  Morning will tell them how well they succeeded!

Chapter 8 of the SHELBY F SQUIRREL sequel: ENTER TYRANNOSAURUS REX.

There are mysterious blue X’s on many of the trees in the forest this morning!  Oh, my! Something is going on, and SHELBY F SQUIRREL doesn’t like it.

Just a few days ago two men walked through the woods with a camera and a tape recorder. SHELBY and PETRA followed them and were quite puzzled by their behaviour. But ROSIE ROBIN was there when they sat and compared notes before driving away. Photographs of all the animals, and recordings of the forest’s sounds! Nobody can figure out why!

Time to consult CHARLIE, the trusty old farm horse. Being taxied by the Wise Old Owl and his family gets SHELBY and his friends wherever they want to go!  CHARLIE and his cousins say the photographs and recordings are for a book and maybe a movie about the forest.

But with the appearance of those nasty unfriendly looking X’s, the mood has changed to one of deep worry in the forest and on the farm. What is the farmer thinking? Is he concerned too?

What is happening? Can any of them do anything about it?

A sequel is on the way, starring all the characters of THE COMPLETE ADVENTURES OF SHELBY F SQUIRREL AND FRIENDS, but everyone is a little older and wiser.

More to tell later…….   Stay tuned, dear young readers!!

Picture painted in deep forest

I just want to tell you that there will be a SHELBY F SQUIRREL sequel. And here is CHAPTER ONE:

MYSTERY IN THE FOREST

Shelby and Petra were basking in the fresh air. It was a beautiful spring day, with Rosie and her family sending their melodious notes echoing through the treetops.

Sunshine filtered through the fresh green leaves creating deep shadows against dancing rays of gold. Little motes floated in the bright columns, and butterflies made flashes of orange and yellow as they flitted about. Shelby and Petra felt more like napping than gathering food.

Darby and Peter had left long ago, which was their habit lately. It would be nightfall before they would likely return. The mother flying squirrels were happy to sit back and enjoy the warmth of the sun on their fur high in the branches of the gentle pine where they found cones holding sweet seeds, and soft needles to line their nests.

Petra sat up suddenly, pricking up her ears. “What’s that noise?” she asked, peering around and then staring at Shelby with a spark of fear in her eyes.

“I don’t hear anything!,” he responded, trying to sound calm. He had seen a truck nearby a few times, and just had an uncomfortable feeling it was up to no good. But then he was naturally distrustful of new sounds and anything that might invade their paradise here.

“Let’s go look!” shouted Petra, taking off with a flying leap into space. With a small sigh Shelby followed her as she led him to the forest’s edge. Sure enough there was the small brown van, the same one that had been hanging around for a week or two.

They decided to follow the two men that climbed out carrying small bags and notebooks. One of the men glanced upward, as though he sensed them above him, and quickly brought his camera up and snapped several shots.

“Couple of flying squirrels up there, Tony,” he said, jerking his head in their general direction.

“Yeah, hope we see lots of signs of wildlife. We need to produce solid evidence if we want to get anywhere against the plans for this woodlot. Let’s take a walk. You have your recorders all set up?”

“Yup, I’ll pick up everything from birdsong to mice running through dried leaves, you’ll see!”

“Glad you’re the one deciphering it later. I’ll take care of the visual. If we separate, then I can use my own recorder to dictate notes. You wouldn’t want my jabbering on your nature tapes!”

With a hearty chuckle he marched off toward the farm on the west side of the forest.

Shelby whispered to Petra, “Okay, you go with that one, and I’ll follow the one with the recorder. We have to tell the Wise Old Owl about this tonight for sure.”

Petra soon realized that she would have difficulty keeping up with the photographer below her. He walked briskly, barely pausing to click the camera before swinging away to forge ahead.

She realized he was noticing the animals of the forest as he went. Their curious faces were peeking out of burrows, or around tree branches or between leaves. Once, she spied Molly and Polly clinging to the trunk of the tree that was home, quite camouflaged in the dappled light and shadow. And Rosy Robin was easy to find as she continued to sing and warble at the top of her voice. In fact Petra thought Rosie was following the man too.

Somehow it made Petra’s heart feel warm as he paused to click the shutter. But then her being froze in a mixture of pleasure and fright! He was looking directly at her, wearing a funny little smile.

“Well, well!” he said, as he brought the camera up, and snapped before Petra could react.

He checked the result and laugh loudly. “Now, that has to be a first! Little flying squirrel wearing a total look of guilt! I do believe you are following me!”

Petra was horrified! She just turned and fled blindly, her heart beating frantically, crashing through the branches until she was at their home nest hole.

“Shelby!! Shelby!!” she called, really distressed now because he was nowhere in sight. With a small tremor of shock she realized how much she depended on him every single day. It took a while for her to calm down enough to remember he was following the other man. Of course, he wasn’t home!! That just made her feel both frightened and foolish.

She sat down to think for a moment or two, but couldn’t sit idle at such a time. In another moment, she was in flight, determined to get the job done that she had been given to do.

It was easy to find the man with the camera, but now she scrupulously kept her distance. He was still taking what seemed like hundreds of pictures, sometimes bending very low and sometimes just clicking as he walked. The whole time, his low voice droned on, recording the extra details needed to catalogue everything at the end of the day.

Petra began to lose her fear, and relax. He wasn’t threatening any of her friends and he was being careful not to damage anything he came close to, like a nest on the ground or the opening of a small animal’s tunnel.

Meanwhile, Shelby was tracking the man with the specialized recording equipment. He watched him holding a big fuzzy shape ahead of him, sometimes reaching high above his head, and even bending low to the ground. This man was careful with his steps, proceeding quite silently through the grass. He was avoiding any dried twigs that would snap, or loose stones that would tumble or scrape under his boots.

Shelby sat and cocked his head, wondering what this was all about. It was peaceful and not looking dangerous. At least not so far. Shelby’s head buzzed with questions. Maybe a little visit to Charlie later on today would be a good idea.

The sun was low in the west, descending in a sea of peach-coloured clouds against a turquoise sky. Stars were already visible high above them. The two men had long departed in the little brown van.

As if by magic, suddenly the Wise Old Owl was with Shelby and Petra. He folded his great wings and fluffed his feathers with a brisk ripple before speaking.

“We need to find out what those men are doing in our woods!” he exclaimed with an edge of haughty authority. “I’ve never seen anything quite like their carry-on today, and I’ve been around forever!”

“Well,” began Shelby hesitating a little, since he wasn’t used to giving suggestions to the Wise Old Owl. He still remembered his first night flight and the lesson the old bird gave him as a very young flying squirrel. Straightening himself upright, he continued, “I thought maybe we should ask Charlie, if you think that’s a good idea.”

The owl’s head snapped around to glare at Shelby. His eyes seemed to bore right through the tiny flying squirrel. Wise Old Owl had been a kindly uncle to Shelby and all his friends for all their young lives. They all had great respect for him because he usually had an answer for everything.

Now the huge bird blinked once, and cleared his throat to say, “It’s okay, Shelby! You’re quite grown up enough now to speak to me as an equal, and I welcome that. Your idea to see Charlie is an excellent one. Let’s go right now!” And as if on cue, just then the largest member of Wise Old Owl’s extended family arrived with a loud whoosh of wings.

“Howie, you take Petra and I’ll take Shelby.” And with a flying squirrel clinging to each of their wide strong backs, the owls took off toward the farm.

Since my computer stopped recognizing my internet wireless connection on Monday (Yikes, 6 DAYS AGO!!) I have been visiting the most sacred wonderful place on earth, my beloved LIBRARY to check email and try to keep in touch. Nice to be BACK!!!

This photo shows our three lovely little budgies who are becoming more equal friends every day. In this shot, you’ll notice that Buddy (blue) is slightly separated from Jonny and Jellybean. That pair was so joined and bonded!!

Now the daily activities include equal schmoozing between Jellybean and Buddy while Jonny blithely occupies Jellybean’s throne perch, which is part of the Budgie Gym we bought for them. The days of Jellybean and Jonny grooming each other while Buddy looked on enviously are now a distant memory.

It brings to mind, especially in these times of such global struggle for humanity to be humane, that these tiny creatures have the mechanisms in place which all people need to foster and practise.

Even though it is natural for two males to fight quite viciously over one female, this trio has learned to be friends and put aside the instincts to rule. The pecking order in prior times here has had Buddy as Number One, indisputably. Suddenly, he found he was Number THREE!!

A short period of pouting had to be tolerated, and the reward for all of us, Andy and myself included, is days of joyous chirping, swooping flights around the living room, and hours of playing budgie games.

The proof of how busy all three of them are these days is the widely scattered little black and white donuts that we have to clean up every morning!!!  Quite a graduation from the three separate piles they produced in the first days of frozen sitting while sizing each other up.

Oh, and need I mention that Jellybean is now NUMBER ONE?  She’s quiet but efficient, and assumed this position like the little queen she is.

When I look at this photo, I see all the things I know to be against healthy posture in any and all flutists. My eyes are to the far right, when by putting the music stand more in front of me I could be looking straight ahead. My mouth is not looking very relaxed, the pulled-down corners, and stress lines show that. And that head bend!  Ouch!

That photo was probably taken when I was about 18. I loved playing the flute more than anything else in my world, and this was just one of the amateur orchestras I was part of for a few years. Not sure which one: Bennington Heights, Richmond Hill, or North York come to mind. North York rehearsed in Earl Haig Collegiate in Willowdale. For me the time spent in these groups was done for experience, but also in the hope that someone would recommend me for actual jobs!!

The first really big actual job was the Hamilton Philmarmonic, when Lee Hepner was conducting. I auditioned in 1961 (I think it was) and got the job. Now let me add the fact that my teacher, Keith Girard, a long-time member of the Toronto Symphony, had played for years under Lee Hepner, and had received a call from Lee asking Keith for his best students to come and audition.

The biggest surprise, even beyond the fact that I got the job, was that Keith received another call after the auditions were over. This time Lee asked him which of his students he thought should get the job, and Keith recommended me!! The other applicant was someone I admired immensely, who I always thought much superior to me in every way.

I was part of the Hamilton Phil for 10 seasons. The next year I became Co-Principal Flute for the Niagara Symphony, in January of 1974.  Not long after that, the whole woodwind section was shuffled and I became the Principal. That was beyond a dream come true! I moved with my daughter, Kira, to St Catharines after 2 years of commuting from Toronto.

For a lot of the years in the Niagara Symphony, the Principal Oboist was a guy named Ronnie Richards. I remember him telling me that I should learn the Alexander Technique. I foolishly didn’t look into it, thinking I had no problems and my posture was correct for playing the flute.

Fast forward to 1984 in the spring, and a church in Buffalo. I was part of a trio made up of flute, violin and harp that performed at weddings and had been doing so since 1977. In the middle of one of our pre-service pieces, I suddenly could not produce a sound on the flute. It was as if my face froze.

Well, in a trio like ours, the flute has the top voice, the tune, you might say. It was lucky for me that particular job wasn’t for flute and harp duo, another combination we made available to people. I asked Dianne Humann, who is still in the first violin section of the Niagara Symphony, to take the flute part and I made an effort to play the harmony that the violin usually played.

I thought with some rest I would be back to normal in no time. The harsh reality of it was that I had great difficulty finishing that season with the symphony, barely able to squeeze out the air for the one remaining concert. It was a Pops concert, so the music was less demanding. A proper Masters concert with any major flute work would not have been possible.

Over the summer things didn’t change, and it was horribly clear that I would have to give up my position in the orchestra. This was a huge blow. But I still thought in a few months things would be resolved.

It was like always being able to walk, and suddenly not being able to tell your feet to move or how to do the job. The messages to my brain did not get through. I could not form the shape needed with my face and lips to produce proper sounds on my flute.

I continued teaching, often showing students how to finger passages, but without being able to actually play them.

Finally I went to Dr John Chong, the founder of the Musicians’ Clinics. He and his staff tried everything, gave me every test imaginable and nothing was found. After three years and facing a lumbar puncture to look further, I decided to pack it in and I took up the recorder.

I added several piano students to my large following of flute students, and practised the recorder. A concert series even happened for 4 seasons, with a  following of loyal supporters and sponsors. In 1989 I took the ARCT exam in recorder. In order to even apply for this exam I needed to do all the theory I had never learned. In 2 years I did 11 exams, and passed the ARCT with flying colours in 1989.

I still owned a flute, and just by demonstrating to students, gradually was recovering my ability to sound like a professional. By 1994, I was playing enough to want to have help keeping it intact this time.

Dr Chong listened and watched me for about 30 seconds, stopped me and announced perfunctorily, “It’s your neck!”  This was  eleven years later. What had happened in the medical world and also because of Dr Chong’s constant researching, was that Repetitive Strain Injuries were by then known to occur in a vast number of other occupations besides the ones that had been previously documented.

What followed was a totally new posture, and Alexander Technique lessons. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_technique.  I was very lucky to have Steven Glassman as my teacher. He was in Niagara-on-the-Lake most summers at that time, to do classes and lessons with Shaw Festival performers. The Principal Flute in the Niagara Symphony for all the years since I left, Doug Miller, gave me Steven’s name. Thank you, Doug! You are a world-class flutist and have been an inspiration to me all along.

It was wonderful to perform again, and I even was hired for a few symphony concerts! During the next 11 years I had the great honour to perform with Timothy Phelan, Classical Guitarist.  Tim is another world-class musician, a real soulmate in the realm of music. Our collaboration has always been magical, one of those rare things when both people feel the music in exactly the same way. If you listen to the samples for Guitar and Flute or Violin on Tim’s Wedding Music page, that’s me playing the flute after 1995, my renaissance.

Dr Chong videotaped me while playing so I could observe the more correct position I was learning for my neck. My embouchure, the mouth shape, also changed and for this I thank Ivan Jakubek, flutist and best repair and overhaul man in the business. His comment that one should stay as natural as possible really hit home and stayed with me.

The truth is that today, at the age of 72, I have no problems with producing a good quality of tone on both my flute and my piccolo. I only play in an amateur local concert band now, and I never take my instruments out of their cases from rehearsal to rehearsal.

In an effort to recover my flute career, I also took the ARCT in Flute Performance, my diploma is dated 1997. I was 53.  The practising involved for that, in particular the technical side, has left me still able to easily play any passage I come across. It still amazes me how proper preparation, even learned so late, stays with one literally forever.

My teaching changed drastically, with a real emphasis on correct posture, and the proof was clear in my continued ability to demonstrate anything on demand.

I have no regrets, and my latest involvement with Dr Chong has taught me even more. This time around it was pain management, for a chronic problem, probably rooted in my long years of incorrect kinked neck posture while playing. An earlier blog talks about that amazing experience. http://www.flutesandflyingsquirrels.com/2015/10/20/life-can-start-at-70/

Lesson learned, and thankfully remembered: Never Give Up!!