Gratuitous Picture Post

Lots going on around here, but little time to write about it... they say that a picture's worth a thousand words...

Thom Thompson Painted our house... no, Really!

When we bought the Natchez house we fell in love with the lines, the woodwork, the flow... but not so much with the dingy grey stucco exterior. Stucco is a great material for houses up here in the frigid tundra, as it does a good job of sealing out the cold winter winds... but it can get to looking a little shabby. Especially if you firmly adhere to the 'if it ain't broke' school of property maintenance.

Well, a short burst of landscaping work, as well as a successful kitchen renovation (it's almost, really close, just about there) convinced us that the biggest impact that we could make would be to finally get around to painting the outside. We figured

, ehh, it's a few cans of paint, a few days of work, how expensive could it be?

Trust Laura to hire one of the Group of Seven to do the work. She could have settled for Rembrandt, Michaelangelo, Monet - (well, the last one sounds right, anyway), but no - she had to go and solve one of the great Canadian

mysteries instead. Namely - what REALLY happened to Tom Thompson?

For those of you unlucky enough not to have experienced his work, Tom Thompson was a Canadian impressionist painter, famous for his interpretations of the Canadian wilderness. His works sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Here are a few favorite examples...

"The Pool"

"Northern River"

"Natchez Ave. S"

Seems that Tom faked his untimely demise to launch a lucrative career as a house painter. You know how I know it's him?

Well, the impressionist spelled his name 'Tom Thompson". Add an 'H' for house, and what do you get? "Thom Thompson"

And his paintings are still Canadian (insofar as I'm part owner of the house) and will sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars. I hope.

At least it's a step in the right direction... next project - replace that eyesore of a barn door that serves as a storm with something more appropriate... we'll keep you posted...

William Irvine Armstrong, 1922-2011

Eulogy delivered October 12th, 2011, St. Mary Magdalene Anglican Church, Picton, Ontario.

For those of you who do not know me, my name is Drew Dundas, and I have the honour of being one of the grandsons of William Irvine Armstrong. I work as a medical researcher, and in my work it is part of my daily life to read, and listen, experiment, and attempt to better understand the World around us. In my readings, I have always been struck by the impact that can be made on our understanding of the world by great men - Men whose lives leave an indelible mark on the people and societies around them. Some men, by the examples set through their lives, stand as symbols for others---My grandfather was one of these men – not perfect, not a saint. Few of us are. Like many veterans he wrestled with his share of personal demons. Yet he was a man whose principles guided those around him to better themselves and the world around them. We are gathered here today as family and friends not only to mourn the loss of one so dear to us,--but to praise him, to celebrate him and to eulogize him for all that he accomplished, all that he aspired to and all that he dreamt possible for all of us. To list his many accomplishments would take me away from what it is I really want to say---it would take me away from what I truly feel in my mind and in my heart.

My Grandfather grew up in the middle of the great age of aviation. Imagine a time when seeing an airplane fly overhead was so fantastic, so far beyond the range of the ordinary, that children would gaze out of school windows, dreaming of the opportunity to one day explore the skies. Bill dreamed of being an aeronautical engineer, or as we would say today, an aerospace engineer. At that time the only aeronautical engineering program available in North America was at Cal Tech and clearly beyond the financial resources of the family. Unfortunately, a minor economic downturn that we now refer to as ‘the Great Depression’ had made it difficult for his father, a fire captain in the city of Toronto to offer more than his moral support in the endeavor. Still, he aspired to greater things for himself and for the woman he had met and fallen in love with, my wonderful grandmother Joan. When war broke out in September 1939, my grandfather saw not a romanticized adventure, and not just an obligation to stand for the right, but rather an opportunity to better his life. He was fond of telling us of how “If I couldn’t design airplanes, I could fly them.” He volunteered, not once, but twice, after being rejected the first time due to his affliction with that dreaded medical condition - ‘flat feet’. He was accepted for service with the Royal Canadian Air Force and became a flying sergeant, serving with distinction in The United Kingdom, North Africa, and the Pacific before returning to Canada in late 1944 via San Francisco, sailing under the Golden Gate on the deck of a troopship. He continued to serve with maritime and transport command until 1947. My Grandfather’s faith in God must have been tested many times during these days, surrounded as he was by the horrors of war. Yet he never flew a mission without a dogeared copy of the New Testament stashed carefully on the main spar of the wing of his bomber - and he returned safely even after many adventures and misadventures from hundreds of missions over those long years of service. I thanked him once for what he had done for his country, for his family, for all of us during those years. He seemed surprised, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, and humbly noted that he had only done what he thought right, what he thought would result in a better world for his family and his potential descendants, that he had seized an opportunity and that I should not think of him as a hero or unique in any way. I shook my head and smiled, recognizing that this was not false modesty. Rather, quiet recognition that in his years of service he was a part of something bigger than himself, and that his life and actions were part of God’s plan for him. I never saw him in a uniform, he never applied for his medals, he never glamorized or minimized the horror that is war. His love of flying and the skills honed in service to his King and country led to a long and distinguished career as a pilot for Air Canada, a career that he often spoke of as a privilege, a challenge and a joy.

Bill became father to three, Lynda, Bill and Paul, grandfather to my brother David William and I, and great grandfather to my son Fletcher William. It is a testament to his character that now three generations of his family have named sons in his honor.

His sons followed in his footsteps, building careers with Air Canada - ‘the company’ as we called it, while his daughter became a physiotherapist. He was preceded by his beloved wife and our incredible mother and grandmother Joan; a blow that he described as something that he would never get over, so he supposed that he’d just have to learn to live with it. He did learn to live with it – but his love for Joan, Mom, Nana was deep and unfading. His stories of her were as full of joy when I spoke with him last week as they were fourteen years ago shortly after her passing. His love for all of us was exceeded only by his generosity. But with Grampa, there was no such thing as a free lunch. Each of us has followed our own path through life, but as father and grandfather he asked and expected that we aspire to excellence in all that we did and all that we do and that we serve others where possible, respect others always and act with honor, dignity and respect for all people, at all times.

When my grandparents moved to Picton from Toronto, they actively sought membership in this community by reaching out to help others and seeking to serve the neighbours and friends they knew, as well as the friends they did not know yet. They did this through service to St. Mary Magdalene Church and involvement in the Meals on Wheels, or, ‘Wheels on Meals’ program, as they referred to it. While they never expected anything in return for their time and work, on behalf of my grandparents and my family I thank all of you now, as members of their community, for the caring, support, prayers and assistance that you all provided first my grandmother and now grandfather in their times of need. Your actions mirrored his personal ideals, demonstrating again that you get exactly what you give.

In another part of my life I was what some would refer to as an elite athlete. I remember sitting around a holiday dinner table waiting for dessert and a family member asking me why I spent so much time training, when I could focus on more important things like school and family and work and a career rather than on winning some succession of trinkets. Attempting to remain a respectful young man, I avoided a smart or mean spirited remark, but was at a loss for a way to explain what competition meant to me. That reaching the pinnacle of sport; the Olympic games – was not something that I sought because of the prospects of fame or fortune, but rather for the joy of knowing that I was doing something with as much intensity and focus and drive as I could possibly muster, and that the result – whether I succeeded or failed - was something that was both measurable and tangible. I remember feeling incredibly frustrated that I was unable to articulate this. He sat beside me, waiting for me to articulate the feelings that were boiling inside me. When he could wait no longer, he turned and quietly stated, “It’s simple. For Andrew, swimming is an opportunity for excellence, and he should accept nothing less in his life.” I was struck by his intuitive grasp of why I did what I did, why I sought what I sought, and his sensitivity in letting me try to explain before so succinctly articulating what I could not. He could make sense of the things that are explainable, communicate with those who were willing to communicate, and simultaneously accept that there were mysteries of life and the universe that are beyond our understanding.

Of course, I would be remiss if I did not also note that not five minutes later as I mentioned that I had achieved a 97% on a neuroscience exam, he gruffly asked “What happened to the other 3%?”

Great men, --men who have embodied the principles of moral action and virtue---these men deserve praise. They are the men who have set examples for all of us. They are never forgotten. They will forever be admired and revered as models of fairness, justice, honesty, duty, service and sacrifice. The example that my wonderful grandfather set for me throughout his fruitful and prosperous life, and the thirty-seven short years that I had the honour of learning from him will neither be forgotten nor his ideals abandoned. I challenge all of you to aspire to his ideals of service, honour, faith, love and excellence. In that way, his spirit will reside not only within me, but within all of us forever and beyond. He was a giant, a leader and a champion among men. His was truly a life well lived.