Some Ways to Remember John Lennon

Guest Blog by Burt Stein

originally written in 2015

A bit of necessary background:  This story should have appeared in Freetime Magazine of Rochester, in late December 1980.  What kept it from reaching completion then was a combination of shock, anger, and a case of writer’s block that wouldn’t quit.  But I still regret that my days at Freetime ended (though amicably) on such a bitter historical note. 

John Lennon was murdered 35 years ago on the night of December 8, and I think I’m finally ready to get (re-)started, even if nothing of that original attempt still exists except in my memory.  (“Just like starting over?”  Spot on.)  So this, at last, is dedicated to the Freetime staff I once knew, and the world that changed as never before when a madman killed a Beatle.

*** 

 “Listen, the snow is falling o'er town,
Listen, the snow is falling ev'rywhere.
Between empire state building
And between trafalgar square.
Listen, the snow is falling o'er town.

“Listen, the snow is falling o'er town,
Listen, the snow is falling ev'rywhere.
Between your bed and mine,
Between your head and my mind.
Listen, the snow is falling o'er town.”
                                 —Yoko Ono (1971)

Sunday, December 14, 1980:  At 12:01:01 PM, a single snowflake softly fell over midtown Manhattan—but, though it heralded many more, hardly an ordinary snowflake.  With the sight of it through our office window, there came the feeling that a cosmic circle was closing upon itself.

*** 

It was a time when jobs were precious (though not nearly as much so as today); Jimmy Carter was entering the twilight of his single term as President of the United States (for many critical reasons, largest of all his continued failure to secure the freedom of 52 Americans then being held hostage in Iran); Bruce Springsteen and Debbie Harry were receiving maximum exposure on Top 40 radio; and in New York City, there still existed map points such as the Biltmore Hotel, Reuben’s Delicatessen, and the famously sleazy old 42^nd Street from Sixth Avenue on up.

Meanwhile …

Tidbit by exciting tidbit, the news began to spread as summer 1980 yielded to autumn:  After a somewhat cloudy five-year hiatus, John Lennon and Yoko Ono had been signed to Geffen Records and were once more up to something musically, hunkered down at the Hit Factory studio in New York City.

Double Fantasy, then the first new studio album from Lennon and Ono in those five years, was released on November 17, 1980.   Though each passing year makes this harder to recall, we were thereby blessed with nearly 22 days in which to happily experience that album’s original 14 tracks as the newest creations of two living artists.

Apart from this-must-be-uptempo “(Just Like) Starting Over” (which, as the first 45 to represent the collection, had already been released on October 24 of that year), the first such LP track I remember hearing on the radio (via soft rock WTFM, 103.5, New York) was “Watching the Wheels”—piano at its core, and somewhat more mellow than the Lennon sound we had come to expect, but a nod and a wink in seeming celebration of Lennon’s more recent role as father and househusband (“No longer riding on the merry-go-round/I just had to let it go”).

One other standout track among Lennon’s half of the Double Fantasy songs was the nod to his young son Sean that was “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)”, awash in steel drums with a whisper of mandolin, and clearly inspired by his nautically perilous yet musically rewarding ocean voyage from Rhode Island to Bermuda that June.  It also contained—in hindsight—the most poignant lines found anywhere on the album:  “Before you cross the street/Take my hand/Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans…”

This excerpt from “A Rare Glimpse of John Lennon, Sailor” by John Clarke Jr. (©2010, 2012 Paste Media Group) tells us much more about that journey, including its most pivotal creative moments:

“…Lennon arrived on the island June 11 relaxed, re-energized and inspired.  He stayed for two months—writing, recording and staying up all night working on his new songs, and visiting clubs and shops in downtown Hamilton.  On a trip to the Botanical Gardens with his son, Sean, they spotted a freesia hybrid flower called Double Fantasy and thus the album title was born.  Another time, having drinks with two local journalists, Lennon came up with the lyrics for ‘Watching the Wheels’.  On the club’s walls flashed projections of turning wheels while one of the journalists lamented to Lennon that he should be writing great songs—not shut in a New York apartment, no longer part of the ‘big time’.  During his stay, he also wrote ‘I’m Losing You’, ‘Beautiful Boy’ and an early version of ‘Woman’.  During that last summer vacation of his life, Lennon was also inspired to write ‘Borrowed Time’ after listening to Bob Marley and the Wailers’ album ‘Burnin’ ’.  In one of his less-poetic moments, he later described this productive time as ‘a diarrhea of creativity’.”

And Yoko Ono?  Back when she first hit the radar as an Apple Records artist at the dawn of the 1970s, we had no way of guessing that her own out-there vocal style would someday become a building block of New Wave music.  By 1980, that genre’s time had begun, and Ono’s equally apportioned contributions to Double Fantasy (most notably “Kiss Kiss Kiss” and “Give Me Something”)—plus a breakthrough 45 all her own, then still under wraps—proved to fit snugly under the New Wave umbrella.  But the full celebration of her own musical triumph would have to wait a while. 

***

Deeper within the history of Double Fantasy lie the contents of a bootleg CD titled John Lennon: Free as a Bird/The Dakota Beatle Demos.  These 22 acoustic tracks, recorded both figuratively and literally in-house, are without exception both eternally haunting—often giving us an open window into Lennon’s state of mind during those final years—and still more instructive as to the evolution of the Lennon songs that ultimately became one-half of Double Fantasy.  Most beautiful among these is “India” (a.k.a. “India India”, if you prefer):  “I’ve got to follow my heart/Wherever it takes me/I’ve got to follow my heart/Whenever it calls to me/I’ve got to follow my heart and my heart is going home”.

Most haunting, bar none, is “Dear John”:  “…Don’t be hard on yourself/Give yourself a break/Life wasn’t meant to be run/The race is over/You’ve won”.  At one point during this track, Lennon interpolated a portion of the “September ... November” refrain from “September Song” by Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson (itself most famously recorded by Jimmy Durante)—and regrettably, if not altogether unexpectedly, when this Lennon home demo was later released legally as part of a Capitol compilation CD, his nod to Durante (or Weill) was conspicuously absent from the track, no doubt for legal/budget reasons.  (Accept no substitutes.)  

*** 

 “No friends and yet no enemies

Absolutely free

No rats aboard the magic ship

Of perfect harmony”

                      —John Lennon (1980)

And so to the inevitable question:  Where were you and how did you hear the news on the night of December 8, 1980, after a bastard named Chapman went into combat crouch, and our world came crashing down?

For me, the word arrived through disconnected fragments via Vin Scelsa on WNEW-FM (102.7), then the undisputed album rock powerhouse of NYC.

Here’s the way I recall the rest of that evening in my Brooklyn apartment, though some of the finer points may have grown hazy for me over the years:  First, there was a recorded police dispatcher’s call for cars to proceed to the Dakota apartment building—which, suddenly dropped in among the usual hourly “wheel” of records/commercials/Scelsa’s random observations, at first sounded to me like a sick joke packaged by somebody behind the scenes at ‘NEW.  Several more uninterrupted minutes of music followed before Scelsa returned to the microphone, at which point he was noticeably straining to compose himself while sifting through a stack of just-received wire reports from diverse sources.
 
Then, more music still, which quickly morphed into a string of Lennon and Beatles tunes—as, standing still near my home stereo system, I felt my stomach begin to churn.

Scelsa finally returned as “Watching the Wheels” faded into a rare bubble of silence; seconds later, while trying in vain to camouflage his emotions, he made the confirmed announcement that Lennon had been shot dead at the entrance to his home.  More silence.  Scelsa’s only comment:  “And I am at a loss for words.  I think for the first time in my career on the radio, I don’t have anything to say.”

Another pause, followed by the opening notes of “Let It Be” … that song itself then quickly interrupted by an NBC News Hotline Report.

At that point, not yet in deep shock but getting there, I switched off the stereo and moved to the TV set in the other room.  On WABC, Channel 7, was the ever-reliable “Monday Night Football with Howard Cosell”—and I was just in time to hear Cosell, having been handed another wire report, provide the most chillingly surreal media moment of the entire night.

And that was all for the radio and television at my place … all I could do was slump into my favorite chair and go numb. 

***

Sunday, December 14, 1980:  As on many Sunday mornings then, I was doing some very welcome overtime as a proofreader/typesetter at a long-gone shop called Type Systems, on East 38^th Street in Manhattan.  On site too was a novice proofreader (Type Systems knew her as—yes—Nancy); we both stayed until about 12:15 PM.  While neither of us had been able to get over to Central Park that week, we knew well of the ongoing daylight and candlelight vigil there by an uncounted number of Lennon’s most devoted fans.

And we had the radio on, once more tuned to WNEW.  It was announced that morning that there would be a moment of silence at 12:00:00 PM, to be immediately followed by the live debut performance by David Sanborn of a new jazz composition dedicated to the memory of Lennon and of his singular career.

At 11:59:59 AM, we both put down our blue pencils and closed our folders.

At 12:00:00 Noon, ‘NEW went silent.

At 12:01:00, Sanborn began to play.

And at precisely 12:01:01, outside Type Systems’ picture window, that first snowflake appeared.

Transfixed for the moment, we stayed tuned until Sanborn’s closing notes faded, then got our coats, shut down the equipment and locked up the office.

And as we parted company down on 38^th, with the snow now falling steadily, I said to Nancy with more than a small quiver in my voice, “Get home safely.”

“You too, thanks,” she replied, sounding much the same.  

*** 

 “Between tokyo and paris,
Between london and dallas,
Between your love and mine.
Listen, the snow is falling ev'rywhere.

Snowfling, snowfall, snowfall,
Listen, listen,
Listen, baby,
Listen.”

                       —Yoko Ono (1971) 

How Mary Survived Multiple Cardiac Arrests, Part 2

The original blog was written by Mary and Paul Pakusch in 2012.  Much has happened since then and Mary agreed to write about it. 

Here is the link to Part 1, which covers the original cardiac arrests, a description of what a cardiac arrest is, how it affects Mary, and includes the years 2006-2012.

https://paulpakusch.blogspot.com/2015/12/how-mary-survived-two-cardiac-arrests.html

Here is her story from 2012 to now.

By Mary Pakusch

September  2019

Although Paul and I have been divorced for a couple of years now, we still get along. Paul recently asked me if I was interested in writing more about my cardiac arrest experiences since he published his original blog about it several years ago. At the time I had written about my initial cardiac arrest and the 2nd one I had 1 1/2 years later. In the following 11 years or so, I’ve gone into v-fib and needed to be shocked approximately 18 more times. It’s hard to keep count. 

Paul actually gave me some notes to help job my memory. The past few years have been traumatic, and sometimes it’s hard to remember all the details. 

After my 2nd SCA, I don’t believe I had another one for quite a few years. I know I wasn’t allowed to drive indefinitely after that one, and I think that lasted about 4 years before I was given permission by my cardiologist to drive again. I remember at least one year of Paul driving me to work and picking me up every day. I spent about 10 hours a day at work because of his schedule and availability. That actually worked out, though, because it decreased greatly the amount of work I had to bring home. I also had a year of a colleague from work picking me up every day. It was so wonderful that she did it, but stressful for me because I felt like such a burden. I don’t remember how I got home those days. I feel like maybe a couple of teachers and maybe Paul shared that job. 

The next time I remember having a cardiac arrest was in May 2014. That year had been a particularly stressful one for me at school.  I was teaching in a 5th grade classroom most of the day, and then I was split between a 3rd grade classroom and working with a kindergarten student the rest of the day. I also belonged to a new committee that was taking me out of the classroom a few times a month. I vividly remember walking down the hall with the 3rd grade teacher I worked with a few months before I had the SCA and telling him, “If I’m going to have another cardiac arrest, it’s going to be this year!” I didn’t realize how true that would be. 

Anyway, that same year the fifth grade teacher I worked with was newly married and his wife got pregnant. In May he was out for a week when the baby was born. It was at this time that school got even more stressful for me. My students had been complaining a lot about bullying going on with some of the other kids and one day I had had enough. I had a class meeting and got very stern about what the consequences would be if it continued. Then I stopped at my principal’s office on my way out for the day and asked her if she would be wiling to stop by and talk to the kids the next day. Driving home I felt very bad heart palpitations. I didn’t think too much of it as I knew it had been a stressful day. That night I had 4 or 5 SCA’s while I was sleeping. My cardiologist said I almost had one while I was driving home, but it self-corrected by itself so I didn’t know my heart had gotten that out of rhythm. 

I remember feeling very dizzy during the night. It never occurred to me that it could have anything to do with my heart. I was trying to lay in positions that wouldn’t make me feel so dizzy. Then, toward daylight I had another episode of dizziness and felt a hard thump in my chest. That was the first time it occurred to me I might have gotten shocked. I woke up Paul and told him what happened. I sat up and at this point I thought it was the only shock I had had. Paul was concerned because I was talking about going to work since I now felt fine. I was in denial and didn’t want to believe it was actually a shock I had experienced. Finally I decided to call in to work and wait until the doctor’s office was open so I could transmit the data from my ICD over the phone line. When I did, they called back and said I had actually had 5 shocks overnight.  I had slept through 3, passed out for 1, and felt that last one. They wanted me to get to the hospital and call an ambulance since I could get shocked again. I can’t remember the details, but I think Paul left work and got home before the ambulance was ready to take me out. At the time I joked the scariest part was being brought down the 5 or so stairs that led to the front door. They kind of tipped me a little on the stretcher and one of the guys got yelled at for it. I think he was new. 

I went to Strong Hospital for some reason. Maybe my doctor was working at the hospital that day. I’m not sure. I was in the ER for quite awhile. Paul came to stay with me. While I was there I felt fine, but I ended up having another shock. I  sat up on the cot to plug in my phone when I felt the dizziness come on. By then I had learned to recognize the feeling. I remember starting to lay down. Something I hadn’t mentioned before is that every time I get shocked I have really crazy dreams or experiences that are hard to explain. I see all kinds of colors and I sometimes feel like I’m spinning, but not in a bad way. Then I feel like I’m falling, somewhat like a feather, not a sudden drop. When I was in the ER I felt like I was falling forever. When I finally landed I opened my eyes and saw many concerned people looking over me. I said out loud, “I’m back…” They kept asking if I was ok. By then I was fine, like I always am after I get shocked. Then I saw Paul sitting in a chair across the hall. They had gotten him out of the way. He looked extremely distressed. I don’t know who was more worried about who at that point. But he came over and saw that I was fine. 

I believe this hospital stay lasted several days. They needed to figure out why I had what they termed a “V-fib storm,” especially after all those years with nothing happening. Through questioning me, we figured out I had started a new medication for anxiety about 5 days before that. Since I had been so stressed at work I had asked my doctor for something to help. I so wish I remembered now what it was called. Little did I know that it had a known side effect of causing heat palpitations and people with heart rhythm problems shouldn’t take it. I was furious with my doctor because she should have known that. While I was in the hospital my doctor wanted to try a different medication for my heart, but it could have bad side effects so they usually keep a person in the hospital for a few days to monitor them when it’s first started. I think one of the days I was there the monitor I was hooked up to went off because I had a run of v-tach, but my heart got back into rhythm on it’s own, so I wasn’t shocked. Then the doctor wanted me to get a treadmill test. I had thought I was going home, but instead I was told they were going to keep me another day to do that test. I was very nervous because the only other time I did one I felt very uncomfortable. Nothing bad had happened, but it was scary to me. While I was waiting to be brought down for the test I was getting more and more anxious. I could feel heart palpitations. Someone finally came with a wheelchair to get me. I told her I was very anxious and felt like something bad could happen. She was supportive, but there was nothing she could do. Then when I got to the room, the technician started putting my leads on. I told him also that I felt like something was going to happen. He said not to worry. If it did, I was in the right spot. We walked over to the treadmill and there was a bed right beside it. I got extremely dizzy and remember saying something “here we go” and trying to sit on the bed before I passed out. The next thing I knew I woke up in the same room surrounded by hospital staff. Later, my cardiologist said, “Well, I guess we got the information  we needed.” I didn’t know what she meant at first, but figured out since that we now knew for sure that anxiety and stress were a huge component to my heart issues. She also felt the medication they were monitoring me for was not a good one. I don’t know if it could have induced those 2 events, or if it just wasn’t working and it was a med that they try to avoid if possible. 

It was a relief when I finally got to leave the hospital, but I was back to not being able to drive. This time it was for 6 months. I think because we knew the medication had caused my v-fib storm, the doctor felt safe letting me drive after 6 months of being incident free. Paul and I had to cancel an Alaskan cruise we had scheduled for August. My anxiety at this point was quite high. I struggled for a couple of months just leaving home to go to the store. My family was very supportive. I think I went back to work the 2nd week after school started. I had some restrictions, but overall I was ready. 

The next time I had a SCA was February 2016. I had decided to leave Paul and it was the day I moved out of the house. I was moving to a 3rd floor apartment in Henrietta, about 20 minutes away. I had gotten a moving company. Because of the circumstance I didn’t feel comfortable asking my daughters to help me move and no one offered, so I was pretty much on my own. Paul had actually offered to help, but that would have been awkward and mean for me to accept. I actually asked him if he could be not home until I was gone. I got my van loaded with the stuff I didn’t want the movers to take. Once they had the truck loaded up they wanted to follow me to the new apartment. We drove all the way there and while they got ready to unload the truck I walked upstairs to open the apartment. I carried a lamp up with me because it was easy and I figured I shouldn’t waste the trip not carrying anything. When I got there I walked in and set down the lamp in a corner. Then I turned around and felt that familiar dizziness. I woke up in the middle of the living room floor with no idea at all of where I was or how I got there. Since it was a brand new empty apartment there were no clues like familiar furniture. Just as I started to feel panicky, I noticed the ceiling light in the dining area. For some reason that was enough to remind me of where I was. By then I heard the movers downstairs. They were working on figuring out how to get the couch upstairs. I crawled over to the wall and leaned against it. When they walked in they asked where I wanted it. I didn’t want to tell them what just happened because I didn’t want them to feel like they shouldn’t take the time to unload my stuff. So I just said I almost passed out and needed some water. One of the guys went down to my van to get my water bottles out for me. They seemed relatively unconcerned, so I let them keep working. In the meantime I called Melissa, who was at work nearby. She immediately left work and came to the apartment. After the movers were done I called the doctor’s answering service since it was a Saturday.  When I told the doctor on call what happened they said as long as I felt ok I should be fine, but if it happened again I should go to the ER. 

Melissa had Spencer came over and they spent a few hours with me. I felt perfectly normal. I had wanted to go to MCH to visit George, so they left and I took a nap. I decided if I felt normal after the nap then I would drive the 4 miles to see him. I did. Around midnight I came back to the apartment. I walked up the stairs and into the apartment. Standing at the dining room table I started to feel that dizziness again. I had just enough time to step away from the table and onto the carpet before I passed out. When I woke up I crawled to my chair and immediately called 911. I think I also sent out a text to the 3 girls and Paul letting them know I was going to Strong. When the ambulance arrived they evaluated me and tried to decide the best way to get me down 3 sets of stairs. They ended up putting me in a special chair and carrying me down. That was one of the scariest experiences of my life! I had no control. They kept telling me to keep my hands in even if I felt like I needed to grab the rail, or the chair could tip. They were very slow and careful, but I was terrified the whole time. 

Paul ended up meeting me at the hospital. I was grateful, but it was also awkward since I literally had just left him that morning. He stayed with me in the ER for a few hours and then decided to leave. Finally a few hours later they put me in a room. My doctor increased my medication and I was back to square one as far as not being able to drive. I was more upset than ever before because now I was living alone and didn’t have people around who could drive me places. My daughters were very supportive and helpful, but I also have to admit to cheating a little. George was only a few miles down the road, so I decided I could drive that distance. I just avoided the expressway and going any distance further than that. Luckily Uber came out around that time. I used it to get to my therapy appointments. 

One of the worst parts about this hospital stay was my general lack of visitors. Paul actually came to see me and stayed awhile. We had a great talk. I don’t think any of the girls came, and when it was time for me to go home no one was available. I felt very lonely. I knew I had upset them by choosing to leave Paul and I didn’t want to push anyone at that point. I ended up posting on FB that I didn’t know yet how I was getting home. Luckily one of my friends at work saw it and offered to get me. She drove me home and then stayed with me for awhile. I think Melissa came over after that and spent some time with me.

I think I was ok for awhile after this incident. I was actually almost a year before my next cardiac arrest. I was working in a 5th grade classroom that year. I had moved up again with my small group of students. I loved the teacher I was working with, but we had one student and his mother that was causing a huge amount of stress for us. I told the teacher and the school counselor that I worried they would be the cause of me having another cardiac arrest. 

Christmas vacation came. After a relaxing week off, I went back to an already busy day on January 3, 2017. I had a CSE meeting for one of my students. I knew it was going to be a battle with the school district to continue services for him as he entered middle school the following school year. I had to plan for a sub to replace me during that meeting. Then, the difficult student I had gave me a hard time about doing some of his work first thing in the morning. So when the class went to art class I was going to make a modified homework assignment for him. I walked the whole class to the opposite end of the building where the art room was, walked all the way back to my classroom, and then grabbed some materials and went up to the office area where the copy machine was in a small room. When I walked in, another teacher from the 5th grade team was using the copier, so I put my things on a table and leaned over to write something down. I felt that familiar dizziness and stepped backward so I wouldn’t hit the table. It was a very small space. 

I woke up facing the ceiling, and again not really knowing where I was. I started to recognize the few things I could see, such as the recycling box near me. Then it came back that I was at school. By then Mike, the other teacher, had jumped over me to yell for the nurse. Her office is across the hall from where I collapsed. She was by my side on her knees. The principal and the special education coordinator for the school district was standing at the door. There were several more people out in the hall. I told the nurse I was fine, but that I had been shocked. I think they had already asked the secretary to call an ambulance, and they had put the school on lock down so no students would come by and see me like that. The nurse wouldn’t let me get up, even to sit. My co-teacher then came into the room where I was. I was so relieved to see her. We had gotten very close in the first few months of school. She later told me the special ed coordinator was giving her a hard time about coming in. 

I gave someone I think Melissa’s phone number because I knew she would be the most likely to be available. My co-teacher asked the principal if she could come with me to the hospital until someone from my family got there. He agreed. I wanted to cry, I was happy she cared that much about me. Sadly, getting onto a gurney and being put into an ambulance had become old hat, so I didn’t feel nervous about any of that. I just couldn’t believe it was happening again. One of my fears was that I would collapse at school. I was thankful, though, that it was while the kids were out of the classroom. It would have been traumatizing for them to see me collapse like that. 

This hospital stay was relatively short, I think. It’s hard to keep details straight.  The one thing I know for sure, though, is that the doctor was concerned enough to decide we needed to try something other than just medication. We discussed the possibility of surgery. She had been talking to several different specialists and found a doctor that could do a left sympathetic denervation. That meant they had to deflate my left lung for the procedure, and then cut a nerve chain in my spine that led to my heart, I think. It is responsible for the fight or flight response. It hadn’t been used a lot for my condition, but the times it was, it was successful. I was scheduled for the surgery in May. Obviously I was out of work again for the rest of the year. I had planned on retiring at the end of that school year, so it turned out that was my last day of teaching ever. Not exactly the way I had planned on ending my teaching career. 

This is where I am a little foggy about the time frame. I think it was about a month later that I had another incident. Technically I didn’t get shocked, but at first I thought I did. My heart went into v-tach and I passed out. It got out of the bad rhythm on its own, but I didn’t know that. This was the day I learned how dangerous cheating on the driving was. I had driven the short distance to MCH. I always parked in the back and walked along a path past the “smoking hut” where a lot of residents hung out. I had just walked past them carrying a cup holder with 3 coffees from Tim Horton’s when I got dizzy and passed out. I woke up face first on the sidewalk with coffee spilled everywhere. My pants were ripped and my knee was bleeding. I knew immediately what had happened. I looked back to the hut and no one seemed to have noticed. I tried to holler that I needed help but no one heard me. I figured my only option was to walk the rest of the way into the building and get help there. When I got to the door one of the residents I knew was coming out. I asked him to get me security. He was in a wheelchair, so he wheeled down the hall toward  the security office on the other side of the building. I sat on a bench in the entrance-way hoping I wouldn’t have another shock. No one else was around for several minutes. Finally an aide I knew walked through. I stopped him and asked him to call security for me. There was a phone nearby. They got there quickly and when they found out what happened, they called a code blue. Now I was surrounded by all kinds of people. I asked someone to get George. In the meantime an ambulance was called. They had me on the gurney by the time George got downstairs. The first thing he said was that he had a bad feeling it was me when he heard the code blue for the lobby. He knew I would be arriving around that time. 

I don’t remember much about the hospital stay except that the doctor was getting concerned about the frequency of my episodes. She did some more adjusting of medications. I think that’s when I started taking the Nadolol, which messed me up badly. It caused me to get dizzy and out of breath when I walked. I was still taking the huge dosage of Metoprolol so I was already tired all the time. This made it so bad that I couldn’t get through a day without taking a one to three hour nap. I was out of work for the rest of the school year for sure. I still visited George, but I used Uber to come and go. 

So I had my surgery in May and seemed to feel great through the rest of the month and June. I had a chance to go to school and say goodbye to my students, and I had a retirement party. Saying goodbye to the kids was the hardest part. I had that group since they were in 3rd grade. They would be leaving to go to middle school soon. One little girl put her arms around me and we both just cried and cried. One little boy I was close to refused to talk to me. I know he was angry I had “left” them. 

By July I felt the surgery and medications were doing the job. At that point George’s son had moved in with me temporarily. We rarely saw each other, but he was using the empty 2nd bedroom I had, and paying me a little bit of rent. One night I went to MCH to visit George and I stayed until close to midnight again. I took the Uber home and came upstairs. Matt was already in bed. I walked over to the living room light to turn it on when I suddenly felt really dizzy. I panicked and hurried to my chair. Just as I sat down I passed out and got shocked. When I woke up and figured out what happened I sat there for several minutes trying to decide what to do. I knew I should call 911, but I needed to go to the bathroom. I decided that was my priority for the moment. After I went, as I started to wash my hands, I passed out again. I hit my shoulder on the sink, leaving a painful bruise. I was just figuring out again where I was when I felt a sharp hard pain in my chest. I said out loud, “What was that?! Why does it hurt so much?!” Then it hit me I had just been shocked a 3rd time in about 5 minutes. I was terrified and afraid to stand up. I crawled out of the bathroom and knocked on Matt’s bedroom door. I told him I had been shocked and I needed him. He popped out of bed immediately and came out to the living room. I crawled up into my chair and passed out once again. Matt witnessed my 4 shock of the night. I asked him to call 911 for me. By then I was shaking badly. I also had him give me my night heart pills. That may have prevented me from having any more shocks that night. 

When the ambulance came I told Matt he didn’t have to come with, but he wanted to. I had to take the ride on a chair down the stairs again, but this time they did a better job and it was much steadier. Matt met me at the hospital and waited until we knew someone else was coming. We joked around some about my 9 lives, etc. At least he kept my spirits up. This was my worst experience psychologically. I had so hoped the surgery had worked, and being aware of 4 shocks in about 10 minutes was terrifying. 

It was this experience that caused me extreme anxiety that affected my daily life. I was afraid to get up and walk across the living room, let alone go anywhere. I still visited George, but I had Matt bring me in a wheelchair. The Nadolol was really bothering me on top of the anxiety. My life became very limited. Obviously the doctor was concerned as well. She talked about me having an ablation, which is essentially burning off a small part of the heart. It was the part she believed was causing it to go into a bad rhythm. She had me wear a halter monitor for 48 hours to track the palpitations. This would help her determine which part of my heart she needed to ablate. The results were interesting. I had about 4, 000 palpitations a day. Although heart palpitations in most people are harmless, the doctor had already determined that they can lead to a cardiac arrest for me. All I could think of was that I had about 8,000 opportunities for a cardiac arrest in two days. I can’t remember who said it, but someone later told me to think about it as 8,000 times I didn’t have a cardiac arrest. When I went in for my results, the doctor asked me what I do after 5:00 in the evening. I responded that’s when I go visit George. I thought she would say my palpitations got worse ( I immediately got it in my head I might have to cut back on my visits), but instead she said that’s when they seemed to calm down. Going to visit George was actually relaxing me! That was good news. 

So the decision was made that I would have an ablation done. For some reason that I no longer remember, it didn’t happen until early November. I moved to a new apartment on November 1 and I believe it was within a week that I had that procedure. Although they gave me anesthesia, it was the twilight kind. That means I was in and out of consciousness. I have had heart procedures done that way before, so I wasn’t nervous about it. It’s actually kind of cool! The only bad thing was that I ended up going into v-fib during the procedure and getting shocked. I was awake for that and didn’t enjoy it at all. I remember asking if I had just been shocked. They felt bad I was awake for it. Being shocked wasn’t supposed to happen during that procedure. 

I think I went home the next day. It was a relief to know I now had 2 procedures and all the medication backing me up so I wouldn’t need anymore shocks. Then about a week later, mid November 2017, I brought my clothes down to the laundry room. When I got back I sat in my chair and then felt that familiar dizziness. Sure enough, I was shocked again. Back to the hospital. I cried. I cried more than ever before, even in the ER. This wasn’t supposed to be happening anymore. 

When I spoke to my doctor she told me she thinks it happened because of everything my heart had been through the past couple of years, including the ablation. She said it needed time to settle down. Now it’s been almost 2 years and I haven’t had another shock. My fear is still there, though. It is just in the past 6 months or so that I’ve been able to work on getting out of the house, drive without feeling panic, walk any distance including going into a store. We have cut back on my medication, including taking me completely off the Nadolol. That made a huge difference right away. Just the other day I had my 2nd visit to Wegmans with my daughter and granddaughter. The first time we went we ate dinner and walked up and down a couple of aisles. This time we walked across the whole store and I did a small shopping trip. It was such a great feeling to be pushing a cart with my granddaughter in it! 

I still have some things to work on, but I have come a long way with my anxiety. I can only hope that I will never have to go through any of that again. I guess time will tell. 

I want to thank Paul for asking me to write this. It is interesting to think back to all of that. It makes me appreciate how far I’ve come. 

Paul: I want to thank Mary for writing this.  Although we are not married anymore, I still care very much for how she is doing.  She is the mother of our three children and grandmother of our grandchild plus our step-grandchild.  We have always wanted to share these experiences with others to educate people on what a cardiac arrest is.  Our divorce does not change that.  As for me, I am very happy in my new life with my new wife, Stacey.  Stacey is very supportive of these efforts, for which I am very thankful.

Learning to Fly at Age 70

Guest Blog by Don Dick

Note:  Don was a pilot friend of mine who passed away several years ago.  Not long before he died, he forwarded to me the text of a speech he gave in 1999.  He gave me permission to publish it in my blog.  I miss him, the many hours we spent flying airplanes together, and the lunches we had together from time to time.

(Presented at the annual dinner meeting of the Rochester Flying Club on April 24, 1999)

When it was mentioned to me that we didn't have a speaker for our meeting tonight, I enthusiastically volunteered because I'd like to shout from the mountain tops that flying is not just for adventuresome young bucks. Some of us older folk do very well, thank you, and it is never too late to start. I was 70 when I took my first lesson, earned my private pilot's license just about a year later, and since then have been having a ball spending my kids' inheritance.

There are many choices of new things to do when one retires. I worked at an Eastman Kodak division where the General Manager each month met with employees about to retire. He always asked each what he or she was going to do. I was present when one responded, "I have this cottage down on Conesus Lake. It has a dock going out into the water. I've got this rocking chair, and I'm going to put it out on the end of the dock and sit in it. Then, maybe after about 6 weeks, I'm going to start to rock." The alternative is to find something that is totally captivating and challenging, something that makes it exciting to get up every morning. In my view, flying is one of those passions.

One of the other wives here tonight asked my wife, "What is it with these pilots? All they think about is flying. All they talk about is flying. It's like a disease. They're like "druggies," having to get their flying fixes." She may be right. There might just be something unique in our genes. Most of us have always been fascinated with airplanes and finally made that dream of flying come true.

In my case my dad came very close to building a glider when I was very young, intending to sail it from a nearby hill. Mother prevailed, however, and he put family responsibilities ahead of his dream. A few years later (I was about 6) we were visiting in Houghton, Michigan when Dad saw a sign advertising Ford Tri-Motor airplane rides for $5.00. $5.00 was a lot of money in those days, but he couldn't resist, and my older brother and I joined our parents in our first ever flight in an aircraft. I still vividly remember the inside of that airplane, the inclined cabin floor (tail wheel, of course), wicker seats, and that large steering wheel type yoke just visible through the opening to the cockpit. What a thrill when the airplane lifted off and the ground fell away. The flight was all too short for me, even at 6.

From where we lived in northern Wisconsin it was about 10 miles to the nearest airport. Now it is IWD, just north of Ironwood, Michigan with a 6,501'x150' paved runway. Back then it was just a large grass field. Only one aircraft, a Piper Cub, occupied the hangar. Most of the other aircraft were transient, open cockpit bi-planes. Whenever one flew over my house in the general direction of the airport, I'd jump on my bike, pedaling the 10 miles each way, hoping it would still be there. Usually it would not.

One of my dad's younger brothers was the first in our family to learn to fly. When I was about 10 we vacationed in Ann Arbor, Michigan where this uncle lived. He was taking flying lessons but had not yet received his pilot's license. However, he arranged with his instructor to take me up for a half-hour lesson in a Piper Cub. After a very cursory briefing about the stick and rudder pedals, what not to touch, and what hand signals he would use, I climbed into the back seat and we were off. It really wasn't much of a lesson, but he did let me move the stick and rudder pedals enough so I could later brag to my envious friends that I had actually flown an airplane.

When I was a senior in high school, our math and physics teacher volunteered to mentor an Aeronautics Club. About a dozen of us joined, including 2 girls as I recall, which surprised me that this interest was not just a guy thing. Our activities mostly dealt with the theory of flight although we did take an airport field trip near the end of the year, but the club helped keep my interest in flying alive.

During WWII, I was fortunate to attend the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland where summer of the second year included an aviation program at the Navy seaplane base across the Severn River. Again, it was mostly theory, but I did have two flights in a Navy OS2U, an observation/scout aircraft normally catapulted from the stern of battleships and cruisers. It had two open cockpits and a single large pontoon under the fuselage. The first flight, with me in the back as a passenger, was rather docile, consisting mainly of water take-offs and landings and water taxiing. However, in the second flight, the pilot climbed considerably higher and purposely stalled that sucker, kicking over the rudder putting it in a spin. I literally grabbed the edge of the cockpit opening and hung on for dear life. Up to that point I knew I wanted a flying career in the Navy. Right after that, I wasn't so sure. Even now I wonder how he recovered from the spin with that heavy float underneath swinging like a pendulum.

A short while later I had a ride in a Navy PBY amphibian patrol aircraft from Annapolis to the Naval Air Station at Chincoteague, Virginia. That convinced me that I really did want a Navy flying career and I submitted a formal request for flight training at Pensacola. At that time, though, there was about a 2-year waiting period, which time I spent as a line officer on an aircraft carrier operating out of Newport, Rhode Island. That was at the end of WWII, and the good mechanics were leaving the Navy in droves, resulting in numerous maintenance problems and an increased accident rate. Also during that interim, I married the girl of my dreams and even though the fire was still burning to fly, decided (like my dad) that my priorities should put a stable home and family first, and I left the Navy for a career at Eastman Kodak.

Now, fast forward through 6 children, teeth straightening, college education expenses, etc. to about 1994 when the kids had all left the nest. Our number 1 son, a dentist, started taking flying lessons at Ledgedale Air Park (Brockport, New York). The flying genes must have been passed along. He kept me informed of his progress, let me view his King videos, and unintentionally rekindled my passion, except that after having had open heart by-pass surgery, my new goal was just to be somewhat helpful in the right seat. I even bought myself an E6B calculator. He earned his private ticket just prior to my 70th birthday and said, "Dad, where would you like to go?" That was easy as I had long before planned a dream trip. We flew in a Cessna 150 from Ledgedale south to the Geneseo VOR, then east across the Finger Lakes (Conesus, Hemlock, Canadice, Honeoye, Canandaigua, Keuka, Seneca, Cayuga, and Owasko), landing at Skaneateles. Then we took off, heading north to Lake Ontario near Sodus Bay and followed the lake back to Rochester and Ledgedale. What a great ride! And what gorgeous countryside we are blessed with to fly over in this area. I was hooked.

On my 70th birthday the entire family assembled in my honor and presented me with a pot of money, suggesting that I splurge and spend it on something I wouldn't normally consider buying. That was the easiest decision of my life. I turned the money over to my son's instructor at Ledgedale and said, "Bob, I'd like to take flying lessons until this money runs out. Then I will stop. I don't expect to learn to fly, but I would like to sample of as much as possible of the training my son has gone through." He was agreeable, and that is exactly what we did for 6 lessons. I was flabbergasted at the first lesson, when after walking me through the preflight, he insisted that I sit in the left seat. From that point on we did just about every requirement, including stalls, at least once. He even had me taking off and trying to land the airplane. The last landing he said I did all by myself, but I'm suspicious that he may have helped a little bit.

After that I continued to fly right seat with my son, but as those occasions became less frequent, I realized I just had to get my "fix" on a more regular basis. So I called the instructor and found him agreeable to going up with me once a month. Even that wasn't enough, so we made it about every 2 weeks. By that time I was getting serious, passed the written, and somehow managed to get Oklahoma City to issue me a special 3rd class medical. Unfortunately, Ledgedale discontinued flight training and I had to switch to Cardinal Aviation at the Rochester airport, but flying Beech Skippers out of Class C airspace turned out to be a big plus in my training. I earned my private pilot license shortly after my 71st birthday, joined the Rochester Flying Club, and have since tried to fly at least once a week.

I often think of that retiree sitting out on the dock waiting to start rocking, and other acquaintances who are mainly glued to the boob tube most of every day. Some people play bridge, do crossword puzzles, read, or whatever, to keep mentally active. To me nothing beats flying for the motivation to keep studying and learning. It is a continual and exciting process which really keeps those brain cells jumping.

As demanding as flying is, it's not beyond what an older adult can do. In fact most of the normal limitations of aging are easily accommodated. For example:

* Flying is usually not physically demanding, except perhaps when I am alone and have to push the aircraft back into the tie-down spot. Thankfully, it has wheels and rolls pretty easily on a flat paved surface.

* As a retired person I have a lot more discretionary time for flying. If ceilings are a little low today, I'll fly tomorrow, or whenever. I can even afford to be generous and not fly evenings or weekends so the working club members can use the airplanes during those popular times. It also allows me to take on more flying club responsibilities. (My wife says I have to go to the airport nearly every day to powder the airplanes' noses.)

* Eyesight usually deteriorates with age but has not adversely affected my flying. My trifocals are perfect: upper lens for looking out the windows, middle lens for viewing the instruments, and lower lens for reading the charts. Made to order!

* I do have a minor hearing loss, but no problem. I just turn up the volume on the radios, intercom and headset.

* Of course there is always the concern that I may lose my medical, but that won't mean I can't fly. One can always go up with a CFI.

I will admit to one age-related problem, however, for which I haven't yet found a good work-around. My urologist tells me I have a tired, 70+ year-old bladder and an enlarged prostate that even surgery didn't completely fix. But looking on the bright side, I have a built-in timer and never have to worry about running out of fuel when flying. Also, when I have to get up in the middle of the night and have trouble getting back to sleep, I do better than counting sheep. I say the phonetic alphabet forwards and then backwards. After that comes the Morse code, alphabet and numerals (dit dah, dah dit dit dit, dah dit dah dit, dah dit dit, etc.). Did you know that we have 13 visual checkpoints around Rochester? I mentally recite these in order, clockwise from Webster around to Hilton. And can you recite the names of the 11 Finger Lakes from west to east (Conesus to Otisco)? If still awake I review FAA requirements for cloud clearance, transponder use, emergency procedures, etc. Somewhere in this litany I'll drop off to sleep.

There are friends who question my sanity, and some ask, "Aren't you afraid up there, especially with all those big airliners flying around?" My stock answer is that I'm not afraid until after the airplane is tied down and I get in the car and try to merge into the Scottsville Road traffic flow. It's even scarier trying to get on the I-390 expressway, competing with all those zooming zombie auto drivers.

I'd like to close with a favorite story. Back in the days of the 4-engine, piston-driven airliners like the Constellation, this guy (we'll call him Herman) came on board and sat next to a seat partner. Everything went well during the first part of the flight. Then the pilot came on the intercom. "We've just lost our outboard starboard engine. It's o.k. though. This airplane flies perfectly well on 3 engines, but it will take us an extra half hour to get to our destination." A little later the pilot made another announcement. "More bad news. We've just lost our outboard port engine. But don't worry. The airplane can fly on two engines but it will add another half hour to our trip." A short while later there was a third announcement by the pilot. "Sorry to have to tell you this. We just lost the inboard starboard engine, which means that our arrival will be delayed a bit more." At that point Herman turned to his seat partner and said, "I sure hope we don't lose our 4th engine - or we'll be up here FOREVER."

Being up there forever is an interesting thought. While none of us will be able to continue to fly forever, the potential is there for continued enjoyment and fulfillment well into our final "golden" years. I offer myself as evidence of that premise.

Finding a Suitable Vacation Spot for a Large Family

Guest Author: Don Dick

Editor's note:  This story was written in 2012 and given to me to use as I see fit.  Don has since passed away. Since travelling for family reunions is a popular activity, I believe there are some good tips he has to offer.  I appreciate his generosity in sharing these tips and allowing me to continue to use his story.

With 6 children, their 5 spouses, and 8 grandchildren, planning and organizing family vacations for all 21 of us has always been a challenge. After trying a number of approaches and venues, we finally found the perfect place: a family-owned resort on Couchiching Lake near Orillia, ON, Canada, about an hour and a half drive north from Toronto. Fern Resort has been our gathering place for 5 days of fun and togetherness each August for the past 7 years and will host us again in 2011. However, we've had some interesting experiences trying different venues along the way. Much of the narrative that follows describes the circuitous path we took in getting to Fern.

When our children were young we'd drive from our home in Rochester, NY to Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire where my wife's parents co-owned a small cottage with her dad's brother. Accommodations there were spartan: two small bedrooms, septic facilities which always seemed to malfunction with extra guests, and drinking and cooking water having to be hauled in jugs from the town of Meredith, 5 miles away (bath and wash water were pumped from the lake).

However, the view was great and we had a dock for swimming and sunning and a boat for water-skiing and touring the 25-mile-long lake dotted with islands and channels. There were also lots of things to do in the area - most for a fee. This arrangement was doable when the kids were very young and cribs could be set up, but sleeping on a couch, porch swing, or air mattresses on the floor was no longer satisfactory as they grew older. Also, camp, summer jobs, and finally marriage and families of their own, complicated things, as did two of our children relocating to the Pittsburgh and Chicago areas. For a while the sub-families joined us individually for shorter periods when able, but we finally concluded that the family cottage was no longer suitable if we wanted to promote family togetherness. But what to do?

The first new venue we tried was closer to Rochester; viz., renting a larger 3-bedroom cottage for a week on Keuka Lake, one of New York State's finger lakes. One of the bedrooms had 2 bunk beds plus a cot, which accommodated 5 of the grandkids. A large dining room also had a double hide-a-bed couch. That facility was a was a step up, but still could not accommodate all of us so a daughter and her husband camped out at a nearby state park, and another pair drove down from Rochester to join the group each evening. We rented a boat from a local marina for greater access to the lake, so compared to New Hampshire, we thought the facilities were a definite upgrade. A downside was the time spent in the kitchen and shopping for food, a load which fell mostly upon my good wife.

The following year we had an entirely different experience, renting an 8-bedroom ocean-front home for a week on Long Beach Island in New Jersey, just north of Atlantic City. This was a showplace, valued then at $3,000,000. It had a second floor dining room with a fantastic view of the ocean, only a stone's throw away, and a living room large enough so all of us could gather to watch a giant TV or do whatever.

It was a huge place, and so convenient to just walk out a back door, up over the protective sand dune, and onto what was like our own private sand beach. We felt like royalty staying there. The downside, besides the expense, was that we still had to do our own meal preparation and clean-up. Learning from the previous year, we organized chores so my wife and I prepared breakfasts and lunches, each sub-family was responsible for one evening dinner, and everyone pitched in for meal clean-ups. Great as it was, however, the family concluded that one vacation at the New Jersey shore was enough for a while.

Our next year's adventure was truly different. We arranged a 6-day package deal at the Water's Edge Inn and Conference Center across from the water park (Enchanted Forest/Water Safari) in Old Forge, NY. The package included rooms, 3 meals/day, plus the use of one of their conference rooms for family get-togethers and rainy day activities. We were on our own for things to do but that was not a problem in Old Forge. Water's Edge was on Old Forge Pond (like a small lake) which is at the SE end of the Fulton Chain of 8 lakes (Water's Edge is left center in picture at right). A son-in-law was able to bring his fishing boat and keep it at one of the motel docks. In addition to the Inn's indoor swimming pool, there was a very nice, municipal sandy beach for the little ones just across the outlet bridge. The water park was the big attraction though every day seemed packed with activities. That 6-day stay rated a thumbs-up from all in the family, though leading us to conclude that we definitely didn't want to go back to preparing our own meals.

The following year we decided to try an "American Plan" resort," meaning rooms, things to do, and 3 meals/day included. To our surprise, more "American Plans" seemed to be offered in Ontario, Canada than in our area of the U.S. (which we think of as America). We settled on a family-owned resort called Severn Lodge on Gloucester Pond, a part of the Trent-Severn Waterway near the Georgian Bay end. About a 2-hour drive north of Toronto, it seemed like Severn was in the wilderness; no towns of any significance nearby. The setting was beautiful, however, in a cove, with two docks, one for larger boats and adult swimming and diving, and another for rental boats, including pesky personal watercraft.

Severn also had a swimming pool, hot tub, and sandy beach. We were housed mostly in small air-conditioned cabins, all with porches and waterfront views, although one family of 5 stayed in a 10-room, 2-story motel-like building. The dining room was in the lower level of the main lodge. Breakfasts were cafeteria-style, and dinners served in two shifts. The food was excellent. Lunches were mostly barbecues near the main dock although sandwich and other orders could be placed at a pass-through counter window of the dining room. At lunch time staff members also roamed the premises taking food and drink orders and bringing the food to wherever guests were assembled, which for us was a clan gathering on adjacent porches of a duplex cabin.

Severn also had an outdoor pool and hot tub, 2 tennis courts, 2 shuffleboard courts, several horseshoe courts and a separate recreation building for indoor activities and evening entertainment. Being a pilot, I was impressed that guests could even sign up for airplane rides. At the appointed time, the float-plane landed in the water nearby, taxiing up to the rental dock for passenger boarding and disembarking, repeating this for as many flights as needed to accommodate the guests who had signed up.

Perhaps the most memorable event occurred on the afternoon before our leaving day when the whole eastern grid's electrical power was lost. The dining room staff put forth a Herculean effort, with candles on the tables for lighting and bottled water to drink. Fortunately, kitchen cooking was with gas, so the main menu was not affected. However, the air-conditioning was off making it very warm in the dining room and beastly hot in the kitchen. Power was restored in the wee hours of the morning and everything was back to normal for breakfast, but on the drive home we could see that many areas were still without power, including many gas stations.

Overall, our crew gave Severn unanimous thumbs-up. A major negative for one family with a son subject to asthma attacks was being a 3/4-hour drive from the nearest hospital. Others, while having a great time, felt they had done about all there was to do at Severn and preferred trying something else the following year.

That something else was Fern Resort in Orillia, ON. We had considered Fern the previous year, passing on it in favor of Servern because Fern seemed a bit large and impersonal for our group and somewhat more expensive. Now it seemed a logical upgrade from Severn, having many more things to do on site. A big selling point also was an excellent hospital ten minutes away in Orillia. Although Fern had various types of accommodations, we lucked out in being able to get a block of rooms, including two 2-room suites, on the 2nd floor of a 2-story motel-type building overlooking the water and yet only a short walk to the pool area and dining room.

Our stays at Fern have been for 5 days, arriving Sunday afternoon and leaving the following Friday morning. We've found the entire complex surprisingly compact, including the 5-hole golf course and hiking/biking trails of varying lengths.

There are two heated swimming pools, one quite large with surrounding deck chairs, a 2nd smaller one with a diving board, plus a small kiddie wading pool and a hot tub. A poolside bar makes great "smoothies," popular with our group on warm days. We make good use of the tennis, badminton, and basketball courts, the golf course, miniature golf, trampolines, bocce, shuffleboard, climbing wall and high challenge area, bicycles, pedal carts, etc. There is an indoor pool and exercise room which we haven't used much because we've been blessed with unbelievably good weather during our August stays.

On the waterfront, our group has made daily use of kayaks, canoes, pedal boats, and small sailboats. All of the foregoing facilities are free, the only activities with an extra charge being water-skiing and "banana tube" rides, and massage parlor treatments. Our son-in-law brings his boat, which he launches and recovers at a Fern Resort boat launch and can keep tied up at the dock area. Besides his frequent fishing trips, he provides boat rides and water-skiing for our group. Lake Couching is on the Trent-Severn Waterway and is connected to a larger lake, Simcoe (on which the larger City of Barrie is located), by a channel through a narrow isthmus.

Fern Resort offers organized and supervised daytime programs for the younger children and for teenagers, in which some of our young-uns have participated. A list of special activities is published each day covering a wide variety of interests, be it cooking, crafts, contests, or whatever, which are available that day. The morning bingo game is especially popular with our gang. Fern's recreation building has computers & electronic games and pool and table tennis for young people, and there is a tiered auditorium with a stage which is used for entertainment by professionals brought in by the resort each evening . One of the annual highlights each year has been our family softball game, where we take over the baseball field for part of an afternoon. Our group is assigned two adjacent tables in the large dining room. Breakfast and dinner are our primary "togetherness" times, with different seating for each meal as we fill up the tables in the order we arrive. There is a lunch option either to be served in the dining room or to eat at the poolside barbecue. The food at Fern is great, usually with 4 choices of main course items, and/or to serve yourself from a more limited buffet which always includes kid's favorites. It is truly amazing how they can serve 300+ guests at a single sitting. Maid service every day is another plus, not having to make our own beds. A brother and sister are the present owners, the 4th generation of the family to be owners. They live adjacent to the resort property and are on site every day directing activities, supported by a large staff augmented by college students working there for the summer. We've also found the reservations staff to be thorough, responsive, and a pleasure to deal with. For guests wanting additional non-resort activities, there is a huge Indian gambling casino up the highway a few miles, there are many fine golf courses in the area, Orillia has a beautiful park and shoreline biking/hiking/roller-blading trail, and the nearby Orillia airport is a must for me to check out every year, with its paved and grass runways, and a seaplane base. We have a plethora of Fern photos, mostly of family members involved in activities, pictures I prefer not to have published. Fern Resort has all the information anyone would want, so my suggestion is to go to their website for pictures. Photos and contact information may be found at:

Fern Resort
4432 Fern Resort Road
R.R. #5
Orillia, ON, Canada L3V 6H5
Website: www.fernresort.com
Email: getaway@fernresort.com
Tel.: 1-800-567-3376
Fax: (705) 327-5647

I previously mentioned that our primary initial concerns about Fern Resort had to do with the added expense, the size of the facility, and that things might seem crowded with the relatively large number of guests. None of these concerns were problems for us. We've found Fern to be a good value; i.e., what we receive for the cost. The size of the property similarly is no obstacle as the way facilities are located, it is only a short walk from our rooms to any place or activity on the campus. What has amazed us most is how 300+ guests are so diverse in interests and what they want to do that there has never been any waiting or delay to do what we want to do. As a fringe benefit, it has been a positive thing to mingle with Canadians, getting to know some of them quite well, as about three quarters of the guests are Canadian.

However, to raise our initial comfort level and to provide advance information to the family before our first stay in 2004, my wife and I made a preliminary trip to Fern for an overnight stay in order to check it out. We could tell, even when registering, that Fern would be a good match for our family. A fringe benefit of our early trip was taking a then new Rochester/Toronto fast (car) ferry which eliminated about three and a half hours of driving each way, including the dreaded QEW highway. The ferry made the trip so much easier, a number of us from Rochester used it that year and the following year - after which that ferry service was deemed not financially viable and the ferry sold. We miss it.

There may come a time when the family will want to try something else. So far, the vote at the end of each stay has been enthusiastically in favor of returning to Fern the following year. There are advantages to being repeat guests. Those who return for 3 of the previous 5 years become V.I.P.'s, qualifying for a price discount and an invitation to a V.I.P. wine and hors d'oeuvres party each year. We get to keep the same group of rooms. We also get a 10% price discount for payment in full by February 15th, which has been a bargain compared to low interest rates these days. We also save a bit by having Fern Resort make charges against our CapitalOne credit card which has no foreign exchange fee (most charge 3%). We used to save additionally because of a favorable exchange rate for Canadian currency but that now is about an even exchange.

Before closing, I'd like to put in a plug for Ontario's Trent-Severn Waterway - an amazing interconnection of lakes and rivers and canals, which, by means of 45 sets of locks, including a gigantic hydraulic lift lock at Peterborough and a unique marine railway at Big Chute, permit small boat travel in either direction between Lake Ontario and the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron. If I were younger, I think I would like to rent a pontoon houseboat and transit the entire waterway. A couple from our church took a waterway cruise on the Kawartha Voyageur (Ontario Waterway Cruises) from Trent to the marine railway, returning by bus, and enjoyed the scenery and small group camaraderie immensely. The Trent-Severn Waterway is a treasure of which I was completely unaware prior to our vacationing at Severn and Fern resorts.

The bottom line of this dissertation is that Fern Resort seems ideal for our family vacations and has our full and sincere endorsement. There's even a spot where this 85-year-old can find peace and contentment, watching water-skiing activities and the Trent-Severn Waterway boats passing by.