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IN THIS ISSUE

• Hugh Doherty recalls hockey games of long ago
• Frank Sterle writes about kicking the cigarette habit
• Pat Moore comments on two articles in the last issue
• Here´s how to tell the difference between a cold and the flu
• Tom Kyle sends the story of the lone piper
• Pat Moore forwards suggestions about trick or treating
• Dick Monaghan sends a post which ex-teachers will appreciate
• Bruce Galway and Marilyn Magid recommend websites

Hugh Doherty writes: Hockey season is here again, and here´s a reminiscence that some of your readers may identify with:

HOCKEY BY MOONLIGHT

I used to skate a lot during the winter when I was a little kid in Montreal West during the early 1940s. My dad started me out on "cheesecutters" - those little double-bladed skates that strapped onto your boots - and I would go to the local outdoor rink with the other little kids. Later, I got a pair of normal tube skates, and my ankles eventually got strong enough to use them properly. I got to be a pretty good skater, though I never played any hockey, except for the "road" variety," until I was much older. That´s because there were no minor hockey organizations then and no hockey programs for young kids.

We moved from Montreal to Sherbrooke, Quebec, when I was 13 or so, and I still wasn´t playing real hockey in the wintertime, just skating a lot. Except at Howardene Pond.

I went to Sherbrooke High School, overlooking a park called Howardene, which contained a large pond across the street from the school. In winter the pond froze over, often before Christmas, and became a neighbourhood rink. That´s where I began to play some of my first hockey - friendly, cheery, unorganized games which one joined and left at will. There was no bodychecking, no lifting of the puck, not much equipment, except for hockey sticks and skates. People brought their own shovels and ploughs to clear off snow.

For several winters, when the sky was clear, some of my pals and I would play on the pond at night, under the bright, pale blue light of the moon. We didn´t played real games, just raced up and down our makeshift snow-banked rink, stickhandling a puck back and forth among us, seeing who could hang onto the puck the longest. When the weather was really cold, the ice on our rink would shrink and large cracks would appear. The pond was fed by a spring near the shore which almost never froze, and we would bring tin buckets and fill them with water from the spring. We would tamp snow into the ice cracks, then pour water over them from the buckets. It froze pretty quickly, and with a more or less smooth ice surface again, we would go back to our "game." We had rest periods whenever clouds drifted over the moon and it was too dark to see the puck.

I eventually did play some real hockey as a goalkeeper in high school and university. It was all fun, but nothing to compare with those nights on a moonlit pond.

ED. NOTE: That "road" hockey that Hugh mentions was the reason the streets were so icy when I was an unhappy passenger in the race between two buses in Shawinigan Falls which I described several issues ago. I wonder if the little kids still play road hockey in Quebec ... I´m betting they do.

Frank Sterle reflects on the nature of addictions:

DYING FOR A CIGARETTE

It´s true - I was slowly dying, all for a cigarette.

Every time I coughed, my bronchitis-afflicted left lung felt as though it was tearing apart. But nonetheless, I smoked. Slowly, I was dying - all for a cigarette.

But the first thing in the morning of November 12th, 1985 (the day after attending my best friend´s birthday get-together), I was on my balcony, and I lit up my last cigarette. I was so hard up, I had to resort to a rolled-up cigarette, and a poor roll-job I did, too.

I smoked about half of it before I, feeling disgusted, coughed and then threw it over the side of the balcony and onto my neighbor´s lawn.

And that was the last time I intentionally inhaled cigarette smoke. It had been about a two-and-a-half-year habit, with each pack I bought (they were about $2.75 back then) lasting me between one to two days.

Later that day when I visited my doctor about my bronchitis, I told him that I would quit smoking whenever I had a lung-related illness. He was quite concerned for my well-being at that time, and, writing up a prescription for antibiotics, he retorted: "Well, while you´re already at it, why not just quit altogether?"

As I left his office and made my way down to my Work & Learn school (a special very small school for regular-school dropouts, like myself), I thought, Yeah, really; why don´t I just quit? I already feel like s--t whenever I inhale because of my bronchitis. So, quit now.

So I did.

When I got to school just minutes later, it wasn´t long before the first smoke break (there were two of them during each three-hour session of schooling), and I announced to my peers that I´d quit smoking.

"Yeah, right," they all said or thought.

"No, really," I said. "I´m sick already, so I´m quitting now."

Before I knew it, it was smoke time again and almost everybody lit up. Even though the windows were open, the small room filled with cigarette smoke. Unlike all of those smokers who claim that it´s harder to quit the habit when around second-hand smoke, I felt repulsed. In fact, just breathing in all of the smoke was more than enough to calm any nic-fit I might otherwise endure.

And that was the way it was.

After about two weeks, I got over my bronchitis and I was, for the most part, over my habit. I could feel it. The urge simply was not there. And of course, the fact that my proud-of-me parents didn´t smoke made my transition even easier during the following months when the quitter is still vulnerable to relapse.

Furthermore, on May 25th, 1986, I intentionally inhaled my last blast of marijuana smoke. I successfully targeted alcohol in the summer (but to be honest, to this day I have bouts of alcohol consumption). I was clean, but I still hung out with my substance-abusing peers, which only put me in greater risk of relapse. However, instead of tempting me, I only felt proud - even smug - that I could be around all of these somewhat-jealous friends with whom I had consumed so much drugs (tobacco being a drug, too), and I could completely abstain.

Before I knew it, it was New Year´s, 1987, and I was completely clean. Of course, I lost quite a few "friends" because of my total abstinence from tobacco, drugs, and alcohol, but it was well worth it.

However, it was about that time that I experienced the onset of mental illness. Although I was suffering from a milder form of OCD than I would later, I believe that quitting the drugs brought to the fore the potential, or latency, of my brain chemistry for diagnostic mental illness. I went through more than a year of undiagnosed-mental- illness hell before I was stabilized. In 1988 I agreed to enter the Hillside program at Riverview Hospital.

I can recall only a few fellow patients who did not smoke. With the price of cigarettes being as high as it was, tailor-made cigarettes were like legal currency. I soon realized just how disgustingly potent the legal-drug cigarette market was at Riverview, or perhaps the entire mental-health-consumer population both on and off Riverview grounds or hospital psychiatric wards.

The statistical fact is that 40 percent of current smokers suffer from mental illness, and 80 percent of schizophrenics smoke tobacco. How frightening!

Currently, the cigarette supply for institutionalized mental-health clients is regulated by the institution staff; this is a positive step forward that was initiated a fair number of years ago. But apparently, such control still does not hold much sway over (mostly) women with mental illness, who are desperate enough for cigarettes to trade sex for them.

Then, if the desperate women get AIDS, they´ll really be dying for a cigarette.

CORRESPONDENCE

Pat Moore writes: Reading about the quilting project in the last issue of Tale Spinner, I was thrilled to learn about the project and have sent copies of the article off to several friends who are quilters. I have often found quilters to be people who are interested in memoirs and have huge hearts.

I often copy and paste an article from the Tale Spinner to send to friends around the world and I just received the following from Alamae, who is a teacher in the Philippines. She was very impressed by Dalton Deedrick´s story, and so was I, as I found it most interesting. We both think he should write a book.

"Dalton must have been assigned to the Vietnamese refugee camp in Morong, Bataan. He obviously had forgotten the saying "stop to smell the flowers" while he was assigned there. Had he ventured out of the camp for a bit, he would have learned that English (American) is the second language of the Filipinos. Even the schoolkids can understand and speak the basic language. Moreover, he would have learned that Bataan, where he was staying, has a place in history. It is where the American forces were captured by the Japanese during the war and that is where the "Death March" started, ending in Capas, Tarlac.

"But of course, the story was about his dental experience, not about the Philippines. Kindly tell him that I admire his writing prowess. He is a good writer, so if he´s thinking about writing a book, go ahead!"

For the few readers who may not have already received this information, here is a summary of how you can tell

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A COLD AND H1N1 FLU

Fever - rare with a cold; present in up to 80% of all flu cases. A temperature of 100F or higher for three to four days is associated with the H1N1 flu.

Coughing - A hacking, productive (mucus- producing) cough is often present with a cold; a non-productive (non-mucus producing) cough is usually present with the H1N1 flu (sometimes referred to as dry cough).

Aches - Slight body aches and pains can be part of a cold; severe aches and pains are common with the H1N1 flu.

Stuffy Nose - Commonly present with a cold and typically resolves spontaneously within a week;stuffy nose is not commonly present with the H1N1 flu.

Chills - Uncommon with a cold; 60% of people who have the H1N1 flu experience chills.

Tiredness - Fairly mild with a cold; tiredness is moderate to severe with the H1N1 flu.

Sneezing - Commonly present with a cold; not common with the H1N1 flu.

Sudden Symptoms - Cold symptoms tend to develop over a few days; the H1N1 flu has a rapid onset within 3-6 hours. The flu hits hard and includes sudden symptoms like high fever, aches and pains.

Headache - Fairly uncommon with a cold; very common with the H1N1 flu, present in 80% of flu cases.

Sore throat - Commonly present with a cold; not commonly present with the H1N1 flu.

Chest discomfort - Mild to moderate with a cold; often severe with the H1N1 flu.

The only way to stop the spread of the epidemic is to spread the awareness.

Pat Moore forwards

THE TOP TEN SIGNS THAT YOU ARE TOO OLD FOR TRICK OR TREATING

10. You get winded from knocking on the door.

9. You have another kid chew the candy for you.

8. You ask for high fibre candy only.

7. When someone drops a candy bar in your bag, you lose your balance and fall over.

6. People say, "Great mask!" and you´re not wearing a mask.

5. When the door opens you yell, "Trick or ..." and can´t remember the rest.

4. By the end of the night, you have a bag full of restraining orders.

3. You have to carefully choose a costume that won´t dislodge your hairpiece.

2. You´re the only Super Hero in the neighbourhood with a walker.

1. You avoid going to houses that have steps up to the door.

Tom Kyle sends a new version of an old story:

THE LONE PIPER

As a bagpiper, I play many gigs.

Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a paupers´ cemetery in the Kentucky back-country.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost, and I didn´t stop to ask for directions. I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt bad and apologized to the men for being late.

I went to the side of the grave and looked down, and the vault lid was already in place. I didn´t know what else to do, so I started to play.

The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I´ve never played before for this homeless man.

And as I played "Amazing Grace," the workers began to weep.

They wept, I wept, we all wept together.

When I finished, I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.

As I was opening the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say,

"Sweet Mother of God. I never seen nothin´ like that before and I´ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years!"

Dick Monaghan sends this oldie but goodie (especially if you were a teacher):

YOU MIGHT BE A TEACHER...

You might be a teacher if you believe the playground should be equipped with a Ritalin salt lick.

You might be a teacher if you want to slap the next person who says, "Must be nice to work from 8 to 3:30 and have summers off."

You might be a teacher if it is difficult to name your own child because there´s no name you can come up with that doesn´t bring high blood pressure as it is uttered.

You might be a teacher if you can tell it´s a full moon or if it´s going to rain, snow, hail ... anything!!! without ever looking outside.

You might be a teacher if you believe "shallow gene pool" should have its own box on a report card.

You might be a teacher if you believe that unspeakable evils will befall you if anyone says, "Boy, the kids sure are mellow today."

You might be a teacher if when out in public, you feel the urge to snap your fingers at children you do not know and correct their behaviour.

You might be a teacher if you have no social life between August and June.

You might be a teacher if you think people should have a government permit before being allowed to reproduce.

You might be a teacher if you wonder how some parents MANAGED to reproduce.

You might be a teacher if you laugh uncontrollably when people refer to the staff room as the "lounge".

You might be a teacher if you encourage an obnoxious parent to check into charter schools or home schooling and are willing to donate the U- HAUL boxes should they decide to move out of district.

You might be a teacher if you think caffeine should be available in intravenous form.

You might be a teacher if you can´t imagine how the ACLU could think that covering your students´ chairs with Velcro and then requiring uniforms made out of the corresponding Velcro could ever be misunderstood by the public.

You might be a teacher if meeting a child´s parent instantly answers this question, "Why is this kid like this?"

You might be a teacher if you would choose a mammogram over a parent conference.

You might be a teacher if you think someone should invent antibacterial pencils and crayons ... and desks and chairs, for that matter!

You might be a teacher if the words "I have a college debt for this?" has ever come out of your mouth.

You might be a teacher if you know how many days, minutes, and seconds are left in the school year!

THIS WEEK´S SUGGESTED WEBSITES

Bruce Galway forwards the URL for a video of the Norwegian military band:

Bruce also sends this one, the ultimate matzo-ball game:

Marilyn Magid´s suggested site shows a future design for a laptop:

Because of Canada´s antiquated winner-take-all voting system, citizens are denied their democratic right to equal votes, fair election results, and legitimate majority rule. If you are concerned about this, go to