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.

Cold? Uff da. You don't know from cold!

This past weekend I took a quick drive up to Winnipeg, Manitoba to attend the funeral of my great aunt Julie. My dad (Sir Richard) was flying in to help handle some of the estate issues and to represent the Toronto branch of the family so I thought that I'd join him.

My timing was impeccable.

A few hours after I left Minneapolis it started snowing. Really, really snowing. Hard.

Sunday morning, this happened.

Which led to this:

Actually, there are probably a whole buncha things that led to that, but anyhow...

When I arrived home, here's what I found.

There were 16" of snow on the ground at home, conservatively speaking. The driveway had not been shoveled, but some enterprising neighborhood kids had knocked on the door and offered to clear the sidewalk for $10. Great deal for Laura. Fortunately for myself, I had stopped in Fargo, ND and purchased a brand-new, secondhand refurbished snowblower.

In about an hour, the rest of the work was done.

On the positive side of the coin, it's nice and warm here in Minneapolis at -10F this morning. As Einstein said, everything's relative... it was -40F in Winnipeg yesterday morning. That's why they plug in their cars there. No joke. This is a public parking lot with free plug-ins for your block heater.

Awesome. My dad rode back down with me to minneapolis, and will be here for the week. maybe we'll be dug out by then... and maybe Brett will stop crying...

Truth in Blogging Chronology act of 2010

Sponsored by Dr Laura Dundas, (Independent, Minnesota)

...it has been brought to my attention that I missed some significant events... and as usual, the auditor is correct.

Anyway, let the record reflect... during September, Nana Lynda came into town and spent the better part of a week with us. Then I headed to Harvard, UCONN and Salus Universities on a speaking tour with Jason, Jerry and Barry... and when I got back, Grandad John and Grandma Nina were here for the week. We crossed the mighty Mississippi at the site of St. Anthony Falls... the reason that Minneapolis is where it is.

We also went to the World's largest corn maze with Kim, Jeremy and Jameson. It's not Indiana, but Minnesotans are serious about their corn.

There was a 'corn pit' that was a hit with the kids. Probably the best pics from the day too...

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat...

...so we're going to eat him.

Anyway, no posts since September!! That's embarrassing. Well, maybe not embarrassing, but definitely a poor showing.

Since we last posted, more than a few things have transpired...

1. We went to Canadia for Real Thanksgiving - which was a great visit. We flew into Buffalo (disaster - the airline didn't bother to bring our luggage with us from JFK), and drove up. Dave was in town for work, so we all got to hang out. We went to see Grampa in Picton, who had never met Fletch, spent lots of time with Owen, Dom, Parker, Chace, and Skylar, and had thanksgiving with Pete, Sara, Avery and Cole Kendall. I was excited to meet Kai Shibata as well when Beck brought him to Mom and Dad's house- amazing - he's a perfect mini Shibby! Great weekend. We even managed to sneak a trip to the Chicken Ballet in.

2. We sold the house in Nashville. Which we have very mixed feelings about. On the plus side, for once, I'm not just putting all of my paychecks into paying mortgages, but on the minus side, it feels like we've cut a cord with East Nashville that we really didn't want to cut. Laura teared up when we signed the papers. So our Nashville friends better come and visit, 'cause we miss you and the weather here is awesome. If you're a bear.

3. Miraculously, a lifelong dream came true when a Porsche 911 Super Carrera showed up in my driveway. Okay, I drove it there after I bought it, but that's why you bust your hump for seven years rehabbing two houses, getting a PostHoleDigger... right? the car arrived (fortuitously, I

think) during Dr. Spencer's Halloween visit. Fortuitously, because it meant that Laura couldn't actually kill me until AFTER Beth left, by which time she had calmed down a bit... I jest. Sort of.

4. I've been out to Portland, OR to present research at the NCRAR (National Center for Research in Auditory Rehab). What a cool spot - the NCRAR is in the Portland VA hospital, which is on a mountaintop (well, it would be considered a mountain in Minnesota, anyway) and is accessed by road, and GONDOLA. How cool is that? I stayed right downtown in the Pioneer Square district. Portland is a cool city - it has the most breweries per capita of any city in the Western Hemisphere. Also the most crackheads, but I digress.

From Portland I hopped on the 2010 version of the Wright Brothers flyer and took the hop up to Vancouver, BC to visit Dave and Nikki. We had a great time in Vancouver - I really enjoyed it this time around (Vancouver that is, I always enjoy hanging out with Dave). He had blown up ridiculous mustache pictures from our last sailing trip and nonchalantly put them into frames all over the apartment. I shudder to think about what Nik must have thought of me before I arrived!

5. While I was in Portland, Laura and Fletcher headed to their home away from home, on the river in Connellsville. They stayed there for almost three weeks, leading up to Thanksgiving. I flew in to the 'Burgh on thanksgiving day (which incidentally, has to be the best day to travel in the USA EVER - the airport was a ghost town). Nick Sandusky picked me up at the airport (thanks Nick!) and delivered me to Connellsville in style in Glen's MB E430. Nice. We had a great visit with the family, and were excited that Cassie made the trip up from Blacksburg to hang out as well.

6. Finally, Laura and Fletch decided to come home, and Laura has started a part time job with Starkey doing qualifying exams for our research participants. Fletch is hanging out in daycare two days a week and seems to be adjusting okay, although walking in to pick him up on his first day was a heartbreaker. He was sitting with his back to the wall holding a teddybear that he'd adopted, while the other kids were running around and playing. I guess that it'll take a few days to adjust...

7. Christmas arrives in St. Louis Park! And Chaunahka too! In our house though, we're sticking on the gentile side. Decorating the house is going well - it's a great canvas to start with, but having a great decorator like Laura sure helps!

Well, that's about it for today... I'll try to post more sooner, rather than later!

Deep Fried Fruit...on a stick

Where else would you put fried fruit? Or candy bars? or spaghetti and meatballs?

Nowhere. They belong on a stick.

Or so we learned, when Nate and Bri came to visit and we all went to the Great Minnesota Get Together along with 210,570 of our closest friends.

(seriously, that was the attendance for the fair on ONE DAY) Technically, I guess that we were with 210, 565 of our closest friends... but anyway...

It seems that Minnesotans have made a game out of putting things on a stick and frying them. Here's short list of the things I can remember:

Pronto Pups (corn dogs... on a stick)

sausage, peppers and onions... on a stick

cheese (big stick-of-butter-sized hunk of Velveeta)... on a stick

pork chops... on a stick

Turkey legs (the stick is integral - no wood required)

roast corn... on a stick

deep fried fruit... on a stick

spaghetti and meatballs... on a stick

italian sandwiches... on a stick

deep fried bacon... on a stick

mac and cheese (seriously, on a stick)

burrito - on a stick

Scotch Eggs.... on a stick (but not as good as Brit's Pub's, despite the stick disparity)

...the list goes on and on. I wonder where they get all the sticks?

Nate and Bri made the trek up from Orlando - quite a hike on the map -

View Larger Map

As always, we had a great time. The weather was reasonably nice - not too hot, not too cold, and there was lots to do throughout the weekend. Credit for the pictures goes to Bri - ours are embarrassingly poor in comparison...

(see? No joke!)

Come visit again soon!!