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First look at www.oldphotos.ca
You want to become a member ?
Phone this number 250-490-9339
A rapid expansion of the Elephant Hill wildfire in B.C.’s Interior has forced the evacuation of the village of Clinton and the surrounding region.
A series of evacuation orders came in rapid succession on Saturday, and just days after a separate evacuation order was issued to several properties northeast of Clinton due to a rapidly moving wildfire in the area.
Clinton is about 125 kilometres northwest of Kamloops, B.C., and has a population of approximately 650 people.
“It’s pretty scary,” said Clinton resident Tina Horsley upon arriving at the emergency centre in Kamloops. “I have a bunch of animals and six kids. To pack up and take a bunch of people out of there, it’s pretty scary.”
Late Saturday, the evacuation order for Clinton was expanded to include the Chasm Mill site, properties along Highway 97 to the north and south of Clinton, and an area to the north, south and east of Green Lake, including 70 Mile House
I don’t know why but I always manage to fall for the picture of the product and then feel disappointed when the article inside the packaging looks nothing like the advertised picture.
You really would think that, by now, I would have learned the truth about advertising but no, I fall every time.
Take fast food……the ad shows a hamburger as a sizzling piece of golden brown meat, with a piece of melted cheese, tomato and lettuce lovingly arranged and perfectly assembled on a freshly baked bun, each layer perfectly formed and begging to be sampled. You take your tray grab napkins and ketchup and sit down, ready for the feast. Open the wrapper and their lies a very tired looking bun that has slid over to one side exposing a smeary mess of unripe tomato, wilted lettuce, cold cheese and a greasy patty all covered in a beige goop that has been lovingly described as “secret sauce”.
It is not just food that disappoints and is nothing like the picture on the box. How often have you bought something that is shown in the store as something all assembled and ready to go. The reality of the contents of the box is several pre drilled boards of something that never grew in the forest, a bag of assorted size screws, two pieces of plywood a strangely shaped piece of metal and an instruction sheet in seventeen languages. It is at this point that I wonder if I should wait until Dave comes home but the job looks simple enough so I begin the assembly.
When you concentrate on the instructions, which are roughly translated from Portuguese, or some other language you do not understand, you find that the strange piece of twisted metal is actually to be used as some sort of screwdriver, well, you live and learn. The picture shows an exploded version of the bookshelf you thought you had bought, however, when you try to line up your pieces in the same pattern as the drawing, you find the screwholes do not match up, hmmm.
Quite a few tries of assembling the puzzle later and you come to the conclusion that the holes have been drilled in the wrong place, so you try your hand at using an electric drill and make some fresh holes. The pieces now line up but you have used a rather larger drill bit than was necessary so the screw rattles a bit in it’s hole. Never mind, it is holding together so you really tighten the screws as much as possible to avoid the rattle.
You now stand your masterpiece upright and take a step back to admire your handiwork. It looks wrong and on further inspection you discover the middle shelf is upside down and the unfinished side is facing out. Maybe I should have waited for Dave but I will not admit defeat. However, the screws are so well screwed in place that getting them to loosen up results in two broken fingernails and a gouge out of my thumb by the stupid thing masquerading as a screwdriver. I say a few words that are not part of my public vocabulary and, very grudgingly, admit defeat. On Dave’s arrival, he tries really hard not to smirk but in a rather condescending way he finishes the job.
I don’t know who I hate more the furniture manufacturer, the sales assistant who sold me the product or Dave for making it look so easy. At this moment, I hate everyone and everything and I especially hate myself for failing at this simple task. Oh well, only one thing to do, make some coffee and take a book out on the deck and have a good sulk. That is one task that I can do perfectly!
Elizabeth Ballard had a heart for students who were in difficult situations. In 1974 she submitted a story to HomeLife magazine, a Baptist family publication, where it was clearly labeled as fiction, but the content was touchingly true to life. Some of the incidents in the story were modeled after her own experiences or those of others.
Her story was about a fictional elementary teacher, Mrs. Thompson, who wanted to care about all her students the same but there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard (in some versions Stallard). He didn’t play well with the other children, his clothes were messy and he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. At times she resented him.
When she reviewed his file she was surprised to discover the following. Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners…he is a joy to be around.” His second grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student, well-liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.” His third grade teacher wrote, “His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.” Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class.”
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy’s. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, “Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.” After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her “teacher’s pets.” A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.
The story doesn’t end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he’d met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.
Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.
They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson’s ear, “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.”
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, “Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn’t know how to teach until I met you.
Even though this touching tale is an invention, there may well be someone in our life who could be rescued from a life of despair by our compassion and care. Elizabeth Ballard of North Carolina has expressed disappointment that her fictional work continues to be circulated as a true story. However, perhaps we can make it a true story for someone else.
That would truly bring in the sunshine,