COMM415 Class Weblog

Celebrating the Semicolon in a Most Unlikely Location
Cary Conover for The New York Times

Neil Neches, on a No. 5 train, underneath the placard that has earned him plaudits for his proper use of the semicolon.

By SAM ROBERTS
Published: February 18, 2008

Correction Appended

It was nearly hidden on a New York City Transit public service placard exhorting subway riders not to leave their newspaper behind when they get off the train.

“Please put it in a trash can,” riders are reminded. After which Neil Neches, an erudite writer in the transit agency’s marketing and service information department, inserted a semicolon. The rest of the sentence reads, “that’s good news for everyone.”

Semicolon sightings in the city are unusual, period, much less in exhortations drafted by committees of civil servants. In literature and journalism, not to mention in advertising, the semicolon has been largely jettisoned as a pretentious anachronism.

Americans, in particular, prefer shorter sentences without, as style books advise, that distinct division between statements that are closely related but require a separation more prolonged than a conjunction and more emphatic than a comma.

“When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life,” Kurt Vonnegut once said. “Old age is more like a semicolon.”

In terms of punctuation, semicolons signal something New Yorkers rarely do. Frank McCourt, the writer and former English teacher at Stuyvesant High School, describes the semicolon as the yellow traffic light of a “New York sentence.” In response, most New Yorkers accelerate; they don’t pause to contemplate.

Semicolons are supposed to be introduced into the curriculum of the New York City public schools in the third grade. That is where Mr. Neches, the 55-year-old New York City Transit marketing manager, learned them, before graduating from Tilden High School and Brooklyn College, where he majored in English and later received a master’s degree in creative writing.

But, whatever one’s personal feelings about semicolons, some people don’t use them because they never learned how.

In fact, when Mr. Neches was informed by a supervisor that a reporter was inquiring about who was responsible for the semicolon, he was concerned.

“I thought at first somebody was complaining,” he said.

One of the school system’s most notorious graduates, David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer who taunted police and the press with rambling handwritten notes, was, as the columnist Jimmy Breslin wrote, the only murderer he ever encountered who could wield a semicolon just as well as a revolver. (Mr. Berkowitz, by the way, is now serving an even longer sentence.)

But the rules of grammar are routinely violated on both sides of the law.

People have lost fortunes and even been put to death because of imprecise punctuation involving semicolons in legal papers. In 2004, a court in San Francisco rejected a conservative group’s challenge to a statute allowing gay marriage because the operative phrases were separated incorrectly by a semicolon instead of by the proper conjunction.

Louis Menand, an English professor at Harvard and a staff writer at The New Yorker, pronounced the subway poster’s use of the semicolon to be “impeccable.”

Lynne Truss, author of “Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation,” called it a “lovely example” of proper punctuation.

Geoffrey Nunberg, a professor of linguistics at the University of California, Berkeley, praised the “burgeoning of punctuational literacy in unlikely places.”

Allan M. Siegal, a longtime arbiter of New York Times style before retiring, opined, “The semicolon is correct, though I’d have used a colon, which I think would be a bit more sophisticated in that sentence.”

The linguist Noam Chomsky sniffed, “I suppose Bush would claim it’s the effect of No Child Left Behind.”

New York City Transit’s unintended agenda notwithstanding, e-mail messages and text-messaging may jeopardize the last vestiges of semicolons. They still live on, though, in emoticons, those graphic emblems of our grins, grimaces and other facial expressions.

The semicolon, befittingly, symbolizes a wink.

This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

Correction: February 19, 2008
An article in some editions on Monday about a New York City Transit employee’s deft use of the semicolon in a public service placard was less deft in its punctuation of the title of a book by Lynne Truss, who called the placard a “lovely example” of proper punctuation. The title of the book is “Eats, Shoots & Leaves” — not “Eats Shoots & Leaves.” (The subtitle of Ms. Truss’s book is “The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation.”)

Celebrating the Semicolon in a Most Unlikely Location – New York Times.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/25/opinion/l25semicolon.html?th&emc=th

Hey, I shared about this article in class. Please read and enjoy. I laughed out-loud in a few spots. Enjoy.http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/11/world/asia/11indiacar.html?_r=2&th&emc=th&oref=slogin&oref=slogin 

Hey! I got more done than I thought I would!

It’s a rainy Friday in Langley. Indoors, safely out of the familiar drizzle, a cacophony of “E-I-E-I-O!” echoes in the warehouse acoustics of the Douglas Recreation Centre, as mothers begin to push their strollers into the large room. Anyone passing by would only see a few energetic kids and a long table set in the middle of an empty room. Margaret Dumbrell, however, sees another successful Friday Lunch Club at Best Babies for the Langelys.

“I just love them,” says Margaret, in reference to what she calls “my moms.”

Best Babies has been operating under Aldergrove Neighbourhood Services for 12 years now, providing health-related care for at-risk mothers in the Township.

“They’re not all ‘high-risk,’” clarifies Margaret. She explains that, though some suffer from addiction or abuse, many Best Babies participants are simply at risk for social isolation or lack of support. The program also serves people with financial risk, illness, newcomers to the area, and immigrants.

The main goal, she shares, is to end unhealthy cycles in motherhood. “[We] want them to be a good mother, and good parents.”

Margaret is a part-time Outreach Counsellor, with training in prenatal nutrition and a background in counselling. Her day begins like many others, paperwork and phone calls in the Best Babies office, which is hidden in a run-down building behind the Fraser highway one-way. Instead of pictures of her family, the walls of the small office are decorated with health posters, newborns, and a breast-feeding calendar still open to November.

But Margaret spends little time in this office. Her real work takes place out in the community, in the homes of women who have sought out Best Babies. The first stop of her morning is a 9:30 appointment with Jill.

It’s in a typical Langley suburb; Jill’s northwest-style home has colourful walls decorated with a large wedding photo and Canucks paraphernalia. The coffee table is covered with baby magazines and parenting books. There is also one work entitled 45,000 baby names – not that Jill and her husband need it. They have already decided on Cassie, after hockey player Cassie Campbell. Jill has also gotten a visit from the public health nurse, just one of the many community connections Best Babies has. They also work with hospitals, schools, doctors, the Ministy of Child and Family Development  and other programs under the umbrella of Aldergrove Neighbourhood Services.

The pregnancy, now over eight months along, is not Jill’s first. Her son, Marcus, died at the age of three months, after doctors ignored Jill’s maternal instincts that all was not well with her infant son. His picture also decorates the house.

Though Jill appears irrepressibly happy, her previous traumatic experience, in addition to being new to the area, puts her at risk for post-partum depression, a common postnatal occurrence. Margaret discusses the risk factors with her on the comfy leather sofa; it’s like she’s chatting with a long-time friend, not a client. Her tone is instructional, but genuinely concerned, and above all, encouraging.

Jill is understandably anxious about her pregnancy, but says, “as soon as I hear that baby cry, I’ll be fine.”

“You will be, you will be,” assures Margaret.

After leaving Jill with a ten dollar food voucher, a check on her prenatal vitamins (both provided to Best Babies participants), and the promise of another visit before the baby’s born – if Cassie waits that long – it is back to the office to prepare for Lunch Club.

Lunch Club is one of the main services offered by Best Babies. The Friday club is for moms of kids aged six months to two years, while Tuesday and Thursday clubs are for prenatal mothers and those with children under 6 months, many of whom are also receiving home visits.

Today the table is laid out with a healthy meal of grapes, salad, bread, and fried rice casserole stocked with veggies. The spread ends with a surprising dessert: free condoms. “We always have those,” explains Barbara Price, coordinator of the program.

The ladies sit and chat with Margaret and Barbara, enjoying the company many lack during long days at home with only kids. This seems to be the most universal draw of the postnatal lunch club: the opportunity for “adult conversation.” During an after-lunch craft time – today they’re sewing pin cushions – the moms chat about books and current events, in addition to maternity leave and sleepless nights.

During this time, both Margaret and Barbara spend time holding and playing with the babies, a definite perk, assures Margaret. But this is not the main point of the program: “It’s the moms,” says Margaret. “I work with the moms. I want the mother to be a good mom, a happy mom.”

Later Margaret is explaining to a newcomer how Best Babies works as she fills out an information card: “We keep track of every woman,” she says, “so that we can get more funding.”   

Barbara explains the reason of this: Best Babies is funded by Health Services Canada, which gives money to all national Best Babies programs that have sprouted up since the original one started in Montreal, circa the 1940s. When Barbara helped initiate the Langley branch 12 years ago, they were funded for 73 participants.

Since then, there has been no increase in funding, though last year they served 152 prenatal and 156 postnatal women. Donations, she says, are invaluable.

After lunch club is cleaned up, Margaret gets ready for another home visit. This one is located in a more verdant, wooded Langley neighbourhood. The participant is Kathleen. She is 17, and living at her boyfriend’s parents.

Young mothers are common participants in the Best Babies program, often referred from local high schools. Kathleen heard about the program from her boyfriend’s mom, and is full of questions for Margaret. They chat about diet, breastfeeding and labour, while Kathleen hugs her extended stomach. She will be a mother in less than two weeks.

Margaret is again soothing: “You’re going to be okay,” she says. “You can do it.”

On the way home, Margaret speaks of the implications of young pregnancy, how girls often experience a “catapulting into adulthood.”

It is clear she believes what she told Kathleen: with the right support and attitude, they can do it.

After a quick coffee break, it’s back to the office around 3:30. Margaret makes calls to women she hasn’t been able to visit. One is struggling from severe post-partum depression. Because of her condition, Margaret has opted to give the participant her cell-phone number.

Not every participant at Best Babies is as well-adjusted as many of the moms at lunch club. Some participate in unhealthy lifestyles, drinking, smoking or doing drugs while pregnant. Margaret tells of women living on the street, coming for help, and another case where a mom had three children, all sent to foster care because of addiction.

“[These cases] are not often,” she says, “but you remember them.”

“You worry, are you doing a good enough job? Are you meeting people’s needs? Sometimes, there’s only so much you can do,” she says.

But the hard times are always tempered with the rewards of the job – which includes more than just getting to play with babies. She tells stories of high-risk women who take the program, then disappear, only to call again years later, saying “thank you, I’ve got a good life now.”

This is not the only joy. The best part of her work is “watching the mom grow into a woman, into a mother,” says Margaret, “watching her develop and become more confident in herself.

Observing the clients she assists, this seems to be working. Pictures of former participants – healthy moms, babies, and a few dads thrown in as well - fill a cork-board collage in the Best Babies waiting room – proof of the program’s success.

After a long day of work, it is time for Margaret to go home to her own family, which includes a baby of her own – her new grandson. “I love my home, I love my family,” she says. “They’re what keeps me grounded.”

 Though it’s been eight long hours, she is satisfied: “At the end of the day, it’s a good feeling.”

WC: 1363

It’s the day after Thanksgiving. The afternoon sun peers through the clouds, melting the morning frost and reflecting off the Puget Sound. Boats are anchored. Visiting families bustle around, buying groceries. The Christmas festivities are beginning in the village on Lopez Island.

All around town the local shopkeepers decorate for tonight’s town-lighting festival. Businesses leave their doors open for holiday shopping and offer free hot chocolate in the town square. Later that evening, locals and visitors sing Christmas carols around an open fire as they wait for the lighting.

The afternoon still finds businesses open and running, while others remain closed and prepare for later in the evening. One of the latter is the Love Dog Café, located at #1 Lopez Village. A young woman hangs twinkle lights along the wisteria-clad trellis above the outside dining deck. She’s the daughter of Connie Martin, the owner, manager and head chef of the restaurant.

Multiple windows separate the deck from the inside dining room, which seats close to 45 people. Blue carpet, cream-colored walls and a heating wood stove set the ambiance of this A-frame eating space.

 Connie prepares food back in the small kitchen, and NPR plays in the background. Rufio and Tonka, her two Burnese Mountain dogs, are out back, eating left-over meat scraps. The dogs come to the restaurant everyday with Connie.

 Yet one will not find “Connie” printed on business cards, but “White Bear Woman,” her legal name.

White Bear is wearing a red shirt with a black apron. She’s mixing freshly minced garlic cloves with basil and olive oil, a concoction into which she now places large slabs of lamb. This marinating container holds one of the special additions to tonight’s menu. Other specialties include savory potato cakes and bacon-wrapped scallops with an ancho-cranberry sauce. As she continues to work with Kiba, the assistant chef, to complete the long to-do list for the evening’s necessities, White Bear determines to make the night successful.

But will anyone show up for dinner?

The number of potential customers is not the main concern. White Bear is constantly confronted with countless details that affect the way she runs her business, some that even cause her to question why she comes back to work everyday. The Love Dog Café is one of the most lucrative restaurants on the island, and success can mean hardships along the way, both in the public and the private.

During the prep work, White Bear discusses various employee difficulties with Kiba. He takes inventory of the restaurant’s supplies.

            Sprigs of rosemary and fresh basil leaves, used for entrée garnish, lie next to Portobello mushrooms and a large ham.

There is a bowl of turkey meat heating on the stove. White bear dices tomatoes and dumps them in with the turkey for the night’s soup.

“I know a lot of people have it at home, but it’s what I’ve got to use up,” she says.

She prepares three cases of lasagna from scratch with a homemade red sauce. She tops them off with fresh mozzarella, bakes and them freezes them for later.

Kiba is now slicing Portobello mushrooms for the night’s menu.

Two hours until opening.

***

White Bear’s habits of using all the current ingredients reflect her overall philosophy of running the restaurant on old-fashioned principles: use all food, don’t waste any; re-use supplies, like containers, rather than throw them away; repair things that are broken rather than discard them.

These material practices reveal her values, but White Bear approaches her business as worldview thinking. Take the name “Love Dog” as an example. The term refers to a spiritual warrior and comes from works of Rumi, a Persian poet of the ecstatic kind who believes that life is made of many enlightened moments, like multiple beads on a necklace. According to interpretations of Rumi’s poems, the intensity of longing to meet the Master (God, Creator, Allah, etc) and to understand Him is matched to the same intensity of a dog crying for its master.

When a customer looks at the menu, they read the following on the cover: “There are Love Dogs in this world that no one knows the name of. Will you be one?”

White Bear [uses] this worldview as the ideal means behind running the restaurant, and it is evident in various locations throughout the building. At the main entrance, there hangs a white board that greets the guests with the following Rumi quote: “Keep knocking and the joy inside will eventually open a window and look out to see who’s there.” The board is framed with twinkle lights. One of the bulbs in burned out.

These quotes are carried to the dish pit as well. As the employee goes about his tedious, grimy job, he can distract themselves with a Zen quote on the wall in front of them:

“There are two ways to wash the dishes: the first is to wash the dishes in order to have clean dishes, and the second is to wash the dishes in order to wash the dishes. If we wash them only to get them out of the way with an eye to the cup of tea after, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes…if we can’t wash the dishes, the chances are we won’t be able to drink our tea either. We will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus we are sucked away into the future, incapable of actually living one minute of life.”

The dish pit is full of prep dishes. The restaurant opens in less than two hours now. Those dirty dishes need to be cleaned and put away before the customers start arriving.

            “I was thinking of the olden days,” says White Bear, referring to the past when there was an actual dishwasher on staff. Now, the other employees have to wash the dishes themselves whenever they get a chance.

            White Bear sometimes has to pick up the slack left by fewer employees. This has been the case since she first opened the business in January 2000, cooking three meals a day, seven days a week.

            “Up until this last year, I never had a day off,” she says, noting that she may have taken three of four days for personal reasons in the past four years. “I just couldn’t stand up and do it [anymore].”

            Personal burnout caused her to cut back her business hours. In the winter of 2005, the Love Dog Café closed one day during the business week. In September 2006, it went to two days. Beginning in May 2007, White Bear began serving only dinner between 3-9 pm, and continues to do so into the winter season.

            “That move was only based on my energy,” she says.

This inevitable move dissolved nearly 10 jobs on Lopez Island, a significant portion of the community.

            It was crucial for the business’ health, though. Between May and September of 2007, there were one third less sales than previous seasons but more profit. The financial situation however is not her biggest concern.

            Many restaurants close down during the winter season due to slower business. “I feel guilty to have this beautiful space in the village…sit empty,” she says. White Bear feels that she is letting down the community by not offering food to those that want a meal away from home.

“It feels unethical to me.”

Some people will go out for breakfast, but not dinner, and vice versa; most will not go out to eat twice in one day.

“I wish there was another way,” she says. “That’s why I wish had a business degree, so I could know what to do,” she laughs.

While a business degree would help, White Bear’s educational background reveals the academic insights of her worldview thinking. After getting her undergraduate degree in Creative Writing, she earned a double-masters in Creative Writing and Creative Mythology from Washing State University. However, her program of choice required her to utilize that creativity.

“There wasn’t even [an actual] degree in mythology [at the time],” she says. She built the program from the ground up herself.

White Bear began her doctoral studies in mythology, but left academics to pursue poetry reading.

Today, she finds herself in the familiar pattern of preparing food for others to eat.

 “Watch out, they’re burning!” she says to Kiba who cooks the Portobello mushrooms on the grill. “They take a lot of oil and water,” she tells him. Kiba places the finished product into a zip-lock bag to keep them fresh for the night’s meals.

Kiba, 22, is under pressure at this time. He is the hope for keeping the restaurant open while White Bear recovers from her upcoming surgeries on her hip and wrist. She will be recovering for at least two months, leaving Kiba as head chef.

Tonight, the other assistant chef called in, saying she can’t work. This means White Bear has to do all the cooking while Kiba helps the servers.

One hour before opening.

***

Staff shortages are not unusual at the Love Dog Café. Sometimes it’s due to employees being unable to work, but White Bear has had harder situations to face with staff.

“The one [thing] that I think of right away is that I’ve had a lot of dishonesty among my employees,” she says.

“I hate it.”

Such issues cause White Bear to fire such staff members. The action does not stop as the restaurant walls; it carries out into the small island community of nearly 2,000.

“It’s really hurt my trust in people, but [has] also really hurt my reputation,” she says. The rumor mill circulates an altered image of her, one that is difficult to work for.

“It’s really hardened me.”

White Bear mentions that if her business was in a larger city, this would not have as big of an effect on the business. It’s not the case on Lopez.

“For me, [the rumors are] huge,” she says. “It can be devastating to my business.”

These rumors carry out into the atmosphere among other local restaurant owners. The Chamber of Commerce tries to foster relationships among the local businesses, but it’s “competitive rather than supportive,” she says, adding that “it’s part of the fabric of the small community.”

Even among the competitive atmosphere and circulating rumors, sometimes the biggest challenge is letting the community know the restaurant is open for business during the winter season. Lopez Village looks dead because many restaurants close down this time of the year.

“People will assume we’re closed [as well] and drive right by our ‘open’ sign,” says White Bear. She is constantly thinking of new ways to convey that the business is open, such as getting new signs and putting twinkle lights around them.

Sometimes customers arrive, and sometimes they don’t. When business was slow a couple years back, the staff ran out of things to keep them occupied. They started making origami paper cranes, with a goal of 1000 in mind.

This reflects a peace tradition started by a Japanese girl after the Hiroshima bombings in World War II. It’s believed that when one makes 1000 paper canes, it changes the spiritual energy in the world and brings about peace.

Cranes now hang from the restaurant’s windows with jewels. They had been sold by donation to go towards the PRASAD project [Philanthropic Relief Altruistic Service and Development], a tsunami relief agency. On Thursday, January 27^th, 2005, White Bear put on a fundraising Indian-themed dinner that raised $4,320 for the relief organization.

45 minutes until opening.

***

White Bear adds more ingredients to the turkey soup. She slices carrots on the white cutting board. Some are solid yellow, others are purple on the outside. These vegetables arrived this morning from Horse Drawn Farms, one of her local produce providers.

White Bear knows that people like eating locally grown food, so she caters to their wants.

“We try to play [the “local” aspect] whenever we possibly can,” she says.

This perk doesn’t come without a price. Between August and October, White Bear paid Horse Drawn Farms $2,500 for vegetables, sometimes causing meal prices to go up.

“We’ve tried to rely on the quantity of the business to make up [for] raising prices,” she says.

Customers aren’t always receptive, though. White Bear says that nine out of ten people say the Love Dog Café is more expensive than other restaurants than this. As a counter, she started putting ads in the Island’s Weekly, the local paper, saying, “You can still get a dinner at the Love Dog for under $10.”

White Bear values her employees and guests regardless of strife, though. As customers eat their meal, they look up to see a ceiling beam that separates the dining room from the kitchen and prep station. On the dining room side, it reads, “All are welcome in this circle of friends and breaking of bread. May this food nurture your body and strengthen your spirit.” On the employee side, it reads, “You are a beloved child of the goddess. You are allowed to make mistakes. Yes, you are.”

Customers appreciate White Bear’s efforts to welcome them into her establishment. One such patron is Joanne Graham, who has eaten with her husband at the Love Dog Café twice a month since it first opened.

“I think she’s a good cook; we like her. She has good quality food,” says Joanne.

Joanna also recognizes White Bear’s work ethic. “If there’s ever a problem [with the food, she makes it right [because] she cares.” She recalls one time when a friend didn’t like her meat in the meal. The friend told White Bear, who apologized and gave her a gift certificate for a free meal. White Bear realized she hadn’t inspected that particular shipment of meat, so she stopped using that beef company.

30 minutes until opening.

***

White Bear has had her share of trials during her six years of operating the Love Dog Café. Many are typical in the small island community. Others are related to business, employee and personal relations. All have played a defining role in making her who she is today.

            One was legally changing her name to White Bear woman. More significant though is the painful journey that led to that change.

            “God, that’s a 12-year long story,” she says.

When White Bear was a young girl, she was physically abused by her older brother. The nature of the abuse turned sexual and continued until she was 14. This abuse left her lonely, until an unexpected companion came into the picture.

“I had an imaginary friend that was a white bear. It came [into my bedroom] and comforted me,” she recalls. The bear was her source of friendship and remained a secret.

When she was 35, White Bear met an Arapaho medicine man from a Native American tribe in Oklahoma. She went to one of his ceremonies on Lopez Island and started working with him.

All was well until he asked her a life-altering question.

“How long have you had that white bear?” he asked.

            This was the first time she was asked this. “No one ever knew about [the bear],” she explains. “He was able to see that inside [of me], and I understood that he could really see [me].”

            This question brought about a dramatic self-realization for White Bear. She saw that she had two people in her: one was Connie Martin, familiar to those around her; the other was the white bear, familiar only to her.

            What followed was a spiritual process that led her to changing her name to White Bear. She fasted several times without food or water for up to four days. Some time later, her name was legally changed.

            “I think that’s part of why people are scared of me – there’s something they can’t see.”

***

Nine loaves of braided sea salt rosemary bread lie on the counter. On the opposite side of the kitchen sits a small basting brush with olive oil next to a bowl of grated cheese.

            The dining room is set. The waiting lounge is heated by the wood stove. Many books wait to be read by customers. One is a collection of Rumi’s poems. The cover has an editorial by translator Coleman Barks. It describes everyone’s

“deepest yearning for the transcendent connection with the source of the divine: there are passionate outbursts about the torment of longing for the beloved and the sweet delight that comes from union; stories of sexual adventures and of loss; poems of love and fury, sadness and joy; and quiet truths about the beauty and variety of human emotion. For Rumi, soul and body and emotion are not separate but are rather part of the great mystery of the mortal life, a riddle whose solution is love.”

Rumi’s work inspired the name of the restaurant, and White Bear’s story continues to shape its direction.

            Between her personal spiritual journey and the continual snares that accompany owning a business, White Bear finds her drive to press on in two areas.

            First are the quiet times she has to herself in the restaurant. Everyday, she gets four hours of uninterrupted prep time to get ready for the evening’s dinner rush. Personal time is crucial.

            The second falls right into her job description.

            “I think it’s my passion to feed people,” she says. “You make the plate of food, and it’s so beautiful. I love watching [the customer’s] face as their food comes out to them.”

            The customer gazes not only at the meal but also the personal care that goes into preparing every plate of food. White Bear takes pride in her job as well as the individual ingredients that make her food a self-described form of art.

            “I just got a new box of cauliflower and it’s purple, golden and crisp,” she says. “It’s just beautiful.”

***

3:00 pm. The Love Dog Café is now open for the night.

WORD COUNT = 3,003

At 5 a.m. the first group of enthusiastic children breaks the silence, scampering out onto the ice, a herd of tiny gladiators. While they should still be asleep, they instead lace up their skates to flail and fall and slide in unison, all chasing the tiny black disk like little lemmings.

A whistle is the only thing that brings them to a stop, and the little padded hockey heroes turn to the coach who begins his instructions. 20 sets of eyes stay glued to him, hanging on every word, as he barks orders. It may be the only time of the week that this  many five-year-olds focus so intently.

It was here, in White Rock, B.C., that Ryan Walter Jr. began his pursuit of hockey greatness. All the Walter boys, three in total, were first put on skates at the tender age of three, an indication of both their talent and their father’s enthusiasm. Ryan, the middle son, did not take to skating as well as his older brother Ben, whose gifts were evident even as a toddler. These early morning ice-times would prove to be prophetic.

For Ryan, it seems the stars should have aligned; his father, Ryan Sr., was the captain of the Stanley Cup winning Montreal Canadiens in 1986 and played almost 15 years in the NHL. Ryan, 20, and his brothers, Ben, 23, and Joe, 17, were all naturally gifted as youngsters. And as Ben grew to be an outstanding Jr. A player most, Ryan included, thought he and Joe would follow, as Ben did, in their father’s footsteps.

“I looked up to him,” Ryan says of his older brother. “My goal was that at the same time, or a year later, I would reach the same level he played at.” This goal would prove a difficult one, as Ben, a natural scorer, moved swiftly through hockey’s minor ranks and into Jr. ‘A’ as a sixteen-year-old.

“It makes it a lot tougher when you don’t play like your brothers or your dad,” Ryan explains. “My dad could tell me what to do, but he wasn’t the same hockey player as me, whereas with my older brother, they were almost identical.”

The George Preston Memorial Complex could stand as the atypical Jr. ‘A’ hockey arena. It is small, with an interesting mix of things old and new, which suits the town it stands in. The ceilings and end walls are made of wood, showing the age of the structure, yet the scoreboard hanging over centre ice is state of the art. It is the home of the Langley Chiefs, Joe’s team, who are facing the Surrey Eagles on an otherwise non-descript Wednesday night in December.

Joe Walter is not a super-star, in fact, he’s far from it. On the Chiefs he plays a role normally reserved for veteran, experienced players, meaning he sees time mostly on the penalty kill. Joe plays older than his years, but doesn’t score, missing on his only true chance. His hockey intelligence helps him break up several Eagle opportunities, and his knowledge of the game is evident on the ice.

It’s easy to see the similarities to his father as he skates; relying on his hockey smarts rather than sheer skill, his sense of the developing play which rarely leaves him in the wrong place. He scatters the stat sheet with a few body checks, but it is an otherwise unmemorable game, with Surrey winning easily, 8-3. What stands out though isn’t who’s on the ice. It’s who isn’t.

Ryan was supposed to play in Langley, just as his brothers and his father had. His path, however, was a different one. At 15, he made the bantam ‘AAA’ team and set his eyes on playing Jr. ‘A’ the following season, in what would have been the next step toward actualizing his goal of imitating his brothers footsteps. But rather than following Ben the next year, Ryan ended up playing Jr. ‘B’ for the Richmond Sockeyes. The year after that, he was the final cut at the Langley Hornets Jr. ‘A’ rookie camp, and was told to ‘Come back next year’. The coach went so far as to assure a spot if he returned as an 18-year-old.

Self-doubt began to set in.

“That point was kind of frustrating,” Ryan says, “because my goal had always been to be at the same point my brother was, and it looked like I wasn’t going to.”

The following season, Ryan received the call he’d been waiting for. The Langley team wanted him to return to camp and, to sweeten the deal he was guaranteed a spot on the team. As with all things in life, it was too good to be true; there was a condition. He was to bring his younger brother Joe.

“I remember being okay with that,” Ryan says, “but every year I’d almost made it, and it was looking like they were more interested in my little brother.” Indeed, the 16-year-old Joe was an intriguing prospect. Even at this precocious age he had a legitimate chance of making the Chiefs’ roster, which was mostly 19-and 20-year-olds. For Ryan, this posed a unique problem.

“If I was going to play at that high level, I wanted to play on my own team, just like my older brother played on his own team,” he says.

Facing the likelihood of fighting for ice time with his younger brother, Ryan surprised everyone by walking away from Jr. hockey for good.

“I don’t mind fighting for ice time on another team,” he said, “I don’t even mind playing fourth line on another team. But I’m not going to play fourth line on a team where my brother is on the second line.”

Ryan left the Chiefs, while Joe made the team and is poised to receive a scholarship; following Ben’s exact path to that point. Hockey purists might look at Ryan’s decision with skepticism. They would have questions about his character. They might call him selfish, to look at his decision to walk away from the team as a lack of maturity, a sign that he’s not a team player.

“I remember that being a huge struggle,” Ryan says. “I pretty much had a spot on the team, but I don’t think they had even come to see me play.” It was evident the Chiefs saw Ryan as their means to get to Joe. Facing the difficult situation, Ryan knew he had to walk away.

In a hockey family with nearly regal bloodlines, such a decision such is bound to come with tension. Parents, that undoubtedly love their son, thought he was discouraged, would regret quitting later. The son, tired of playing catch-up to his brothers, could sense his goals were changing.

“Ryan’s interested in so many other things,” his older sister Christi says. “He loves hockey, but it isn’t his only passion.”

Christi, 22, saw everything through a different lens, one that wasn’t backlit with a love of hockey. She’s the only one of five Walter children (youngest Emma is a dancer) not involved in competitive sports. When Ryan was ready to walk away from hockey, Christi was the only person in the family he could talk to.

“He felt like they were trying to pressure him to keep going,” she explains. “But my parents just didn’t want him to do something he’d regret.”

In Canada, a player is eligible to play Jr. ‘A’ until age 20, after which, it is either professional hockey, or another career objective. Ryan Sr. felt his son may regret quitting at 18, when after the disappointment subsided he could not go back.

Both sides made a list of pros and cons, and the debate went back and forth.

“I would come up with a reason to quit,” Ryan says, “and they would come up with one to keep going.”

“They thought he was just discouraged,” Christi explains, “because of the politics of hockey. But I think he was ready to let go, and it was hard for them to understand that.”

With each year that Ryan heard the coaches say ‘Come back next year’, he allowed himself to embrace, even if only slightly, the notion of not playing hockey.

“Ryan is a really smart guy and he has a lot of potential in other areas,” Christi says. “He felt like maybe hockey was not what he wanted to do. He loved to play, but if it wasn’t going to go to a high enough level, then he wanted to pursue his other interests.”

————————————–

As a break-up takes more than one night,  with years of disappointment, frustration and small failures to pushing one, or both people, out of the union, this almost explains the ended relationship between Ryan Jr. and hockey. He’d kept his true feelings hidden, years of growing frustrated, realizing that he was not gifted as his brothers were. When he finally decided to walk away, it was a decision that was in the making for years, unbeknownst to his parents.

While wrestling with giving up hockey in August of that year, Ryan continued to receive information packages from Trinity Western University. Earlier in the year, he’d been accepted to the Communications program, having applied only as a back-up plan. But now that so-called ‘Plan-B’ was beginning to look more enticing, Ryan called to see if he could get in.

Upon arriving on campus last fall he had no idea how long he’d be staying.

“My original plan,” Ryan confesses, “was to transfer out after a year. That was before I found about the Titans.”

The TWU Titans club hockey team plays in the B.C. Intercollegiate Hockey League. They compete with four other schools; University College of the Fraser Valley, Simon Fraser University, University of Victoria and Selkirk College. Ryan may not have known the Titans existed, but when he joined the team, it reminded him of an earlier hockey experience.

As a 14-year-old Ryan played on a Bantam ‘AAA’ that gave him his first taste of true team chemistry.

“It wasn’t all about winning that year,” Ryan says, “but we did win. Everyone loved each other, and in hockey that seldom happens.” That year left an impression on him that none of his previous years could equal.

“I remember thinking that if hockey was like this from here on, that was what I wanted to do,” he says.

The years that followed Bantam were frustrating, but Ryan found his experience on the Titans rekindled his love of the game and, also reminded him of his time as a 14-year-old.

“All the guys are awesome,” he says of his Titans teammates. “I’ve had more fun playing for the Titans than I’ve had in the past three or four years.”

Ryan came to TWU with the goal of focusing on his studies alone, in order to minimize distractions. However, he found that playing for the Titans returned the enjoyment he felt playing hockey.

“The fun’s back,” he says, “which is really cool because I didn’t think I was going to play hockey again.”

“Every week I look forward to playing hockey, which I lost in Jr.”

Part of the reason the fun has returned is the role Ryan has skated into for the Titans. In his days as a Jr. ‘B’ player, Walter was a role-player, buried on the third or fourth line of the hockey club. Now, with the Titans he has taken a leadership role, serving as a motivator but also as a player who lets his play stand for itself.

Former teammate Brock Grin noticed Ryan’s natural leadership ability in their time on the ice together.

“He definitely has a leadership role,” Brock says. “He was one of the guys we looked to, he led by example, and off the ice he tried to help guys out.”

Hockey purists might have saw Ryan’s past actions as selfish, but his teammates on the Titans see no evidence of that. His motivation now comes from the birth of a new goal; the Titans have a chance to enter the Canadian InterUniversity Sport league, the premier level of inter-university competition in Canada.

“If we got a CIS team in two or three years,” Ryan explains, “to make that team is actually higher than Jr. ‘A’.”

Most players that suit up for CIS teams played in the Canadian Hockey League, the highest level an under-20 player can achieve. In 1993 the CHL and the CIS combined to produce a ground-breaking scholarship program that allowed ex-major junior players to receive a year of university for each full year they played in the CHL. For a new team to enter the CIS, they likely wouldn’t be able to fill their whole team with CHL players, leaving the door open for players like Ryan, who still have a hunger to play hockey.

On this Saturday night however, the CIS seems a long way away. The TWU Titans are playing UCFV, a first-place team in the BCIHL, in front of a smattering of fans. The Langley Twin Rinks arena is a far cry from the 3, 673 seat arena the defending CIS champion University of New Brunswick team plays in, and is small even compared to the George Preston Recreational Center.  

Tonight the Titans get off to a poor start, letting in three early goals to a talented and physical UCFV squad. There are many differences in the game now when compared to all those years ago in White Rock. The pace is faster, more violent and there seems to be more at stake. Yet one thing about this game will never change. It is more powerful than any league, any team, any rejection, failure or renewal: Ryan Walter loves to play.

Though he has abandoned his dreams of professional hockey while his two brothers seem poised to be among the lucky ones who make it, there is no bitterness between them.

“Every day I check their stats, I check how they’re doing,” Ryan says. “I love going to my brothers games; I think it’s awesome.”

Part of his ability to arrive at that sentiment comes from feeling comfortable with his decision to attend University.

“I’m confident with where I am right now,” Ryan says. “I love going to school and I love playing for the Titans.”

———————————————————————

Christi Walter describes her father as a brave, strong man who has a passion for living life.

“He’s always encouraging us to have a hungry spirit,” she says. “He gave me a note about that four days ago, when I had four papers due. It said, ‘stay hungry honey.’ That’s his whole life goal.”

It is no surprise then that he has left a legacy to his son. And while the hockey gene seems to have passed Ryan over, his passion for life and multiple interests seems right in line with the description of his father.

“When he was young he wanted to be a scientist, a computer animator, a hockey player and something else, Christi says of Ryan. “He loves University because there is so much to talk about.”

After Ryan Sr.’s hockey career was over, he began to pursue other goals, indeed staying hungry while doing an MA at TWU, doing colour analyst work for NHL hockey games and starting up a few small companies.

“He has a passion for leadership and he developed a whole other career that is different from hockey,” Christi says. “He’s just passionate. I really look up to him for that.”

While Ryan Jr. wasn’t able to follow his father’s footsteps on the ice, it seems he is making nearly identical strides off it. Though his career ended sooner than his father’s, he is finding his gifts at an earlier age.

“He’s a lot like my dad in that sense,” Christi says. “He’s always been the kid who has a million different things going on.”

After all; like father, like son.

I was a Facebook lesbian.

I was married to Sarah Beth Groot, a charming and somewhat erratic nineteen year-old girl. Considering the length of the marriage, it was better than most. We never fought; we never had to deal with paying the bills or taking the kids to school. We didn’t even live in the same city. And when our mothers voiced their disapproval, the click of a blue button released us from our eternal vows unscathed and without second thought, and with no divorce papers or divided belongings.

Welcome to Facebook.

The newfound reality of the wonderful World Wide Web can buffer even the toughest of relationships and social situations. Originally just an excellent tool for gathering information, the Internet is now a place to hide (or display) one self.

“We all want to be someone other than who we are,” says Tavia Sarkissian, a geography student at the University of Victoria, “and the Internet gives you the option to embellish [one self].”

Facebook, a social networking system designed to “connect you with the people around you” appears to be the new Google of social network systems.  Many dropped Myspace cold to be a part of the Facebook revolution. Students and young adults have taken this opportunity to display their photos, connect with friends, join forums, and keep tabs on distant acquaintances.

Facebook covers all the bases. The brainchild of * student Mark Zuckerberg in 2003, Facebook was funded by * at a generous rate of $500,000. Zuckerberg is now ready to sell at $*.

And he will get his asking price. Facebook contains information not legally accessed by most agencies. Originally just a college network, it has expanded so that anyone with a valid email address can create a profile. Once a member of Facebook, one can search for friends by name, upload pictures and tag friends in them, write notes on friends’ walls, and create groups by theme. Additional to the original Facebook are applications, which spice up a profile with things such as games, cartoons, quizzes, and free music.

Employers can narrow down their employee searches using Facebook as a sort of polygraph. Applicants’ “real lives” are candidly displayed for the scrutinizing. Businesses can advertise, connections can form, and people can collect information.

The shy guy at the party no longer has to muster up the courage to ask for a girl’s number. He can rush home, open up The Book (no, not Yellow Pages), and have her relationship status, hometown, favourite books, musical taste, and of course, her email address glowing before him on the screen. Instant results. No courage required.

If the letters MSN, ICQ, or AIM mean anything to you, you are probably used to communication on the Internet. This generation, more than any other, is using Instant Messaging as a means for keeping in quick contact. We are accustomed to getting the information we want, when we want it. Cable, phone, and Internet companies are competing for faster hook ups with a wider range. Technology only gets faster, and in turn, we become more dependant on its cooperation.

We require information now, and technology is there to give it to us. So what?

Social networking itself is by no means a malevolent development. But some people just don’t know where to stop.

“People are checking out of life,” says Kent Clarke, professor at Trinity Western University. “You can only do that for so long before you begin to detrimentally affect your real life.”

Aware that students with computers are visiting Facebook or other social networks, Clarke observes that those with computers in class maintain consistently lower marks than others in the class.

“Back-benchers have consistently lower marks. John is in the back row, John has his computer, John has lower grades,” says Clarke.

No matter how dynamic he makes his lectures, Clarke continues to lament his students’ attention spans. Like any other good professor, he wants to see his students motivated to learn, but he’s noticing even his brightest students are beginning to fall victim to the computer.

“I used to give notes to students beforehand, and students would come to class and tune out.” Originally introduced to the classroom setting for the purpose of taking notes, the laptop has now become a student’s worst enemy, according to Clarke. He notices that those resorting to the trusty old pen and paper method are excelling in class.

Faculty at the university have acknowledged the issue and have considered banning computers from the classroom to bring the focus back to academics.

Facebook may be dubbed “bad for the soul”, and “an academic drain”, but it excels socialization skills, right?

Well, not really. That shy guy at the party has cleverly located the pretty girl. But what now? Does he phone her? That’s silly. Why phone when he can text message? Or better yet, email? That way, he faces no chance of sounding like himself on the phone or spouting out some sort of social blunder. Yes, in an email, he can calculate his pick up line, press a button, and if she doesn’t reply, then he’ll have his answer. Either way, he can’t lose.

Tavia Sarkissian, a Psychology student at the University of Victoria, met her current boyfriend on the Internet in 2003. He approached her on the dating site Plenty of Fish, asked for her email, and after a month of Instant Messaging, “asked her out” over MSN. He travelled from Victoria to her house at the time in Vancouver to meet her for the first time.

“Whoever invented the Internet was a great matchmaker,” says Sarkissian.

“I was nervous, for sure. I was meeting my boyfriend! What if he doesn’t like me? What if he thinks I’m fat? What if I’m boring? I was scared he’d be shorter than me, or that we wouldn’t click.” Obviously, everything worked out. They continued to Instant Message over MSN to save on phone bills. However, they continued to rely on MSN as their main communication tool after she moved to Victoria to attend the university.

“It’s healthy to have communication in a relationship,” says Sarkissian. “And the Internet lets us do that, all the time.”

“Even though we’re living in the same city, sometimes it’s just easier to talk to him online than to go out and do something.” Sarkissian admits that because they met online, sometimes it’s easier to connect with him using that same method. Whatever apprehensions she may have about connecting are eased with the convenience of Instant Messaging and email. “I’m glad I’m living in 2007,” she says.

It’s so easy to “connect” that people are missing out on the actual connection. Traditions that keep the mystery and excitement are being traded in for convenience and predictability. People are copping out on life.

On that note, lets take the limelight off Facebook for a minute.

In 2003, a virtual reality site called “Second Life” burst onto the online scene. Its “residents” can now create virtual characters, meet other characters, start a business, maintain a career, and buy land with American dollars. The site claims to cater to artists, lawyers, housewives, musicians, firefighters, and students. Anyone can join, and they all come together to form a surreal community online. According to the site, there are some “who make part or all of their real world living by being a creator in Second Life.”

Upon being born again under a chosen name, the applicant receives an email saying, “Welcome to your Second Life!” From there, one can choose the preferred body style and hair colour. The next step is to shop.

“Geoff Stoney”, one of the shopkeepers in Second Life, claims to have mastered street-style in his clothing line, Regal. He designs and sells his clothing to other residents. His glossy dark hair, clear complexion, and straight smile give his customers confidence that they have come to the right place for the latest in comfortable fashion.

“Stylized jeans, knit hats, funky tops,” says Stoney. “You name it, it’s in here!” Stoney supports that people should be able to be who they can’t be in their physical lives. He is there to offer the option of a different style that some might not have the body or the courage to pull off.

Stoney is adamant that Second Life offers exactly what its name suggests: a second life. “It’s your personality coming through, in the end,” he says. “You’re meeting real people.” He acknowledges that it is not the same as the physical world, but the online reality is just as valid because peoples’ personalities are maintained, just in a different shell. He says he would rather spend his money on things that excite him, and he just doesn’t find his physical life that exciting.

Second Life, Facebook, Instant Messaging, and other social networks offered on the Internet are, without a doubt, a convenient tool for gathering information, displaying information, and connecting with others. Used with a little self-control, the Internet will prove to be a fruitful advantage.

However, at this point in my writing this article, I’ve checked my email six times, visited Facebook twice, cruised Second life for 20 minutes, and had 11 conversations on MSN. Hopefully my Second Life character, Artemis Harbour, will learn self-control better than I have. It’s comforting to know that if you mess up badly in real life, you always have a second one.

“Age is Only a Number”

Christina Meland

December 13, 2007

The salt-and-pepper haired lady isn’t as lively as she used to be.  Age is one factor that cannot be fought against.  Fight.  O, she has fight all right.  She fought to keep her marriage together.  She fought to be restored to full health after a massive heart attack.  She fought to keep her husband out of the nursing home when the symptoms of Parkinson’s disease became too much for her to handle alone.  Ardy Funrue of Silverton, Oregon fought to keep on top of the work at her farm while her husband slowly passed away in a nursing home in town.  But time stands still for no one. 

As Ardy Funrue seats her tiny frame into a cushioned recliner, she picks up her knitting needles and rocks contently back and forth in rhythm to her stitches.  Her purple sweater and matching purple sweatpants make the white hairs on her head stand out in stark contrast, a reminder of the constant battle between her chronological age and the life inside.  She marches to the beat of her own drum, a drum that is not growing older by the day. 

“This is a lifeline for the Silverton Hospital,” she says referring to the pendant that she is wearing around her neck.  “If I push it, it’ll call Silverton Hospital.  It’ll call my children too.  We had a good neighbor of ours who had five daughters,” Ardy rambles on.  “So when she wanted to call her daughters she’d push it.  She called it all the time!  She’d always be pushing it.  If I pushed it, I’d get Cindy or Dan.  But I’ve never pushed it.  My kids got it for me, they think I need it.  But I don’t.”

Ardy is a fighter.  She has lived in Silverton with her late husband, Bud for fifty-seven years.  Bud recently passed away in April.  Ardy moved out of her farmhouse into Mount Angel Towers Assisted Living while her late husband was in a nursing home in the same town. She didn’t want to go back and forth between the nursing home and her farmhouse. 

Traditionally, elder care homes are divided up into three levels: Independent living, Assisted Living, and Complex Care.  Most senior homes in the United States and Canada, however, offer only one level of care.  If there is a couple that needs two different levels of care, they are inevitably split up according to their needs.

For seniors, the pain of caring for a dying spouse is compounded by the reality that he or she will have to enter a nursing home at the end of their life. 

This is the case of Bud and Ardy Funrue.  They were high school sweethearts who recently celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary before he passed.  Bud, a retired armed forces officer who served in Belgium and Germany during World War II, and Ardy, a registered Nurse for fifteen years, married in 1946.

The Funrues built a home for themselves and their 3 children.  A tiny-three bedroom farmhouse in the corner of fifty acres is where Bud and Ardy called home for fifty-seven years.  They spent every waking moment together.  They cooked together, raised their children together, farmed together, went to church together, and grew old together. 

Bud was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1985.  The body tremors, unsteady hands, and slurred speech were faint at first, but as he aged, his disease caught up with him. 

One day, Bud was stepping up from his garage into the house and fell backwards on top of Ardy.  Ardy recounts this event with a twinkle in her eye, saying: “It’s nice to know that after all these years of marriage, Bud still falls for me.”

He was 6 feet 2 tall.  She is 4 feet 9 inches.   

“He needed two people to get him up because he kept on falling out of bed,” she says laughing.  “He kept thinking, ‘O, I can get up.’  But then he couldn’t because he didn’t have the strength.”

In February of 2007, Bud fell over one too many times for Ardy.  He was put into Benedictine Nursing Home in Mount Angel, Oregon so he could receive the care he needed.  Ardy commuted from their farmhouse to the nursing home to visit him every day.

***

The elderly population is larger that it has ever been.  According to Statistics Canada, the population of people over the age of sixty-five will outnumber the population of children under the age of five for the first time in human history.  The population of Canadians age sixty-five and older is expected to double between 2011 and 2031 (Stats Canada).

This shift in population distribution will cause multiple challenges for the next generation to face.  In the next decade, more elderly people will be retiring from the workforce, with fewer young people to fill their shoes.

Canada and the United States are already facing issues closer to home. Middle age Canadians are asking the question of where will my parents live?  Elderly couples are looking at the same challenge as Ardy and Bud: living in different cities in order to get the care they individually need.

***

The piano plays softly in the background as patrons seated at the round tables fill the room with a jolly hub of conversation.  Servers walk around refilling half empty cups of coffee at leisure.  From the best seat in the room, the one in the corner, facing the room, tables of old friends sipping tea and telling secrets can be seen in full view.  Men exchange ‘top this’ stories over coffee and sandwiches.  Couples wink at each other over the flames of candles.  This scene is familiar to coffee shops, corner cafes, and family restaurants.  However, this scene is unique.  In fact, this scene is very atypical to its environment.  The place is Elim Village, a Christian retirement community.  And the people seated around these tables are nearing the end of their lives.

“People are dying to get out of Elim” Anthonie Jansen, CEO of Elim Village in Surrey BC jokes, “Because that’s where you age and where you will possibly pass away”.  For most people, putting one’s spouse in a nursing home at the end of their life is not a laughing matter.  Nor is it something that anyone looks forward to.  At Elim village, however, a new idea for elder care is developing. 

The idea of Elim was conceived out of a bible study group on the book of James in 1992.  “The bible study group, there were six gentlemen,” Kathryn Reimer, Marketing Administrator explains.  “And one in particular had one parent in Squamish and one in Hope, so he was going back and forth and trying to care for both.  He thought, what’s stopping someone from getting a piece of land and developing a community where you don’t have to move out of the community based on your level of care?”

Each member of the bible study put $25,000 towards this idea.  Today, Elim Village is a one hundred million dollar property.  The twenty acres that Elim sits on houses one-hundred nine condos for Independent living, one-hundred twenty-five apartments for assisted living, and a one-hundred ninety-two bed complex care building that is scheduled for completion fall of 2008.

Elim is centered on the concept coined “Aging in Place”, in which a senior is offered three levels of care within the same community: Independent, Assisted Living, and Complex Care.

“For example, if my wife and I were to move into the independent units, and my wife had Multiple Sclerosis, and she would need help and assistance, then we can move into the Assisted Living building, and I can move with her so that I don’t stay here and my wife will end up in Prince George or somewhere,” Anthonie explains.  “That’s what Aging in Place means, that we’re all one community and are supportive.” 

The independent condominiums form a circle around the village.  Seniors living in these condos are completely independent.  These seniors do, however, reap the benefits of the community.

“They are such a great part of our community,” Anthonie describes this situation.  “They form clubs and opportunities.”

Among these opportunities includes plans for community center called the Oasis building.  This building will have a coffee shop, a quilting center, pharmacy, doctor’s office, and recreation center.

“So that’s our healthy-unit, “Anthonie continues.  “When you start ‘Aging in Place’, that means you start out in independent living.  Then we have the Emerald building.”

The Emerald building includes one hundred eighteen apartments in a four-story building. 

“It’s for people who need supportive living,” Marian Heemskerek, Manager of Care for the Emerald Building explains.  “They can have a nice apartment and come here to eat two meals a day.”

The Emerald building takes seniors with two prescribed services.  Ron Pike, Director of Operations explains what this means: “One [service] is assistance with activities of daily living [which are] clothing, bathing, and getting around.  The second is medication.”

If a patient needs more than these two services then they will move up to complex care. 

The services provided in complex care will include help with activities of daily living, and medication assistance, but will also encompass special services for people with dementia, such as Alzheimer’s.

“It’s inexpensive advertising because what we have here is pretty unique; it’s pretty special to western Canada,” says David Herman, Marketing Coordinator.

These three levels of care offered within the same community is not the only unique aspect that Elim holds in its favor.  Elim Village is also a Christian Community, and they make this perspective known as one of a three-fold marketing product.

“Being Christ-Centered means that our staff, our whole philosophy, believes in the spiritual needs of our residents,” says Anthonie.  “We bring to them a spiritual perspective, we don’t preach to them.”

Elim village has a full-time pastor who offers counseling services, chapel services, grief support, hospital visitations, and conversation.

“We hire him for sixty percent of the time, but he’s here about one hundred and twenty,” Anthonie says.

The emphasis on providing holistic care to its residents is not an aspect that is left out of the marketing strategy.

“People know when they come here,” Anthonie explains, “That even government-subsidized people who may not be Christian know they are coming to an organization that believes that Christ should be the center of all.  That brings honor to our aged.”

This Christian perspective places a new emphasis on aging.  The atmosphere at Elim village reflects this perspective. 

“Death isn’t something that is very scary.  It is scary in that we may have to suffer it because it’s a fact of life,” Anthonie says.  “But it is not scary because for goodness sake, it’s something that we may even joke a little bit about because it is a fact of life.”

***

The City of Langley offers a more traditional and common senior center.  In addition to the four nursing homes in Langley, the Langley Senior Recreation and Resource Centre is another option for seniors to stay in their homes, but still have their social and practical needs met.

The Langley Senior Recreation and Resource Centre is a government funded non-profit organization that offers recreation programs, outreach programs, and adult day care.  Through the support of multiple programs such has clubs, driving, shopping, housing counseling, outdoor trips, and meal delivery, two-thousand seniors are able to remain living in their homes.

The center runs off of only forty paid staff members, and two hundred fifty-three volunteers. 

“Langley is on the forefront for helping seniors,” Silvia Fassler, Volunteer Coordinator at the Langley Senior Resource Centre says.  “But the problem is that there are a lot of startup programs and not a lot of follow through.”

According to Silvia, the government pays for start-up programs, such as the day center, or meals on wheels, “but then they are on their own after a year regardless of how successful the programs are.” 

The center has to bring in their own money after the initial year. 

“The government assumes that we can generate our own money after the year, but it isn’t always possible,” Silvia says.

Because the center relies so heavily on volunteers to run the center, more money can be put into the programs.  Other than the government funded start-up programs, the center does a lot of fundraising on its own. 

“What is unique to this senior center is that we rent out our halls for weddings or parties,” Silvia says.  “We also charge for programming.  For example, bus trips charge enough to pay the recreation staff, to the dismay of the seniors who say ‘Why does my bus trip cost thirty five dollars?’  However, this makes these types of programs only realistic to the more well-off seniors.”

With the elderly population growing, offering services such as adult day care and outreach programs that can bring meals to people’s doorsteps is just another link on the chain of services offered to seniors who need different levels of care.

Silvia says that the biggest need of the elderly population is “supporting them in their independence.  The big change is that people will stay in their own home longer, so we will need to support them in their own home.  Not everyone will be able to afford Assisted Living Facilities, so it will be cheaper for people to stay in their homes and have in-home care.”

***

A portrait of her family covers the far wall of Ardy’s living room.  Her four children and twelve grandchildren surround Bud and Ardy.  Behind the group is a sparkling blue lake surrounded by fir trees and fields.  Bud hand-dug this lake that has been the gathering place for family reunions for many years.

Ardy’s apartment in the Assisted Living Facility is too big for her.  A sewing room, two bathrooms, living room, kitchen, and master suite are too hard for her to keep up herself.  She was not planning on living there alone.

“That’s why I have two bedrooms; I was hoping he might be able to come here with me,” she says solemnly.  “But he never got better, you know, because of his health.”

What started out as optimism for renewed health for her husband ended in sorrow when Bud Funrue passed away April of 2007. 

After spending sixty years with someone, what does one do when they pass away?  Thankfully, Ardy Funrue still has fight in her.

“We have little snacks in the afternoons.  Every Friday afternoon is happy hour, from two-thirty to five pm- I don’t always get there,” she says quickly with a laugh.  “They’ve got a lot of activities: exercise, yoga classes.  They have a wonderful library for a place this size.”

Ardy also leads a small bible study, and plays pinochle quite competitively. 

Ardy and Bud Funrue would have benefited from a place such as Elim.  A place where Bud could live in the same apartment as Ardy, getting the support he needed while she still could remain independent.

As she continues her knitting, the light catches a sparkle on her left hand.  Her wedding ring. 

Her day-to-day life is now devoid of the man she loves, but Ardy finds the good things in life to be thankful for.

“I’m so happy here.  My hip is real bad right now, you know.  I walk with a walker, and I love it because its so close- 14 steps to my bathroom.  It’s wonderful.  It’s just a good place.  Wonderful people, wonderful food.”

Ardy is just one face among the many aging people in our society being faced with same battles and challenges. 

“We’re all the same age.  Eighty-five, ninety, one hundred [years old].  That’s what we are,” says Ardy.  “I will be eighty-four.  Most of them are about eighty-five to one hundred [years old].  That’s what we are.”

Hmmm. Let’s see if I can post on the 415 blog!

Testing a new template for the blog. What do you think? To view comments, hit the comment counter in the date-stamp line.