Infill Housing # 3

So, those lilacs? The ones in full bloom, at the right side of the property? The day after my last post, the new owners arrived on site and ordered their  removal. So, just like that, they were gone. I know; different strokes for different folks. Those lilacs were at the very edge of the property. If they wanted them, they could have been saved. However, most homebuilders don't appreciate the value of mature trees, which provide beauty, texture, oxygen, shade and privacy. Trees also take up space and these days it's all about maximizing the space.

Here's what the property looks like now, without the lilacs as a border. Thank goodness the one large mature tree at the back is staying.

So, I just couldn't stop myself from taking this next photo. When this truck showed up, about an hour after the lilac trees were ripped out, I thought it was pretty ironic. Green with envy indeed! Most of the greenery has been destroyed!

I can only assume that this company was there to give an estimate on planting small bushes, some new tiny trees and no doubt, a tall fence.

This latest shot shows the placement of stakes, outlining where the house will be situated on the lot. You can build within 1.2 meters of the side property line and that's where they all build - right to that limit.

Infill Housing # 2

So, after years of waiting, it has happened. The house across the street from us is down.  We were away last week and missed the big show. On May 17th we received an email from our city councillor's office, advising us that the demolition permit had been issued. Early the next morning we received a message from a neighbour with this photo.

Note the pink flowering tree to the left of the property

Apparently it only took only thirteen minutes to knock the house down. Imagine how much time it took to build it ! Destruction is simple and mindless, compared to construction.

So when we arrived back in town on the 22nd, we walked around the building site. Regardless of the fact that it was not in great shape, it was a family home for many years, probably built in the thirties. Now it was a pile of rubble.

I can't help but think of the nature of these people's jobs. Imagine spending your days doing destruction. You arrive at the site of some perfectly fine houses and use those hulking machines to destroy what were once the scenes of family lives. What satisfaction could there possibly be in tearing down what others have built?

As we walked to the back yard, we went around a pink flowering tree. Perhaps it was a crab apple. At any rate it was in full bloom. I naively wondered if maybe they were going to try to save it, as it was to the side of the property. Maybe the plan allowed for its preservation?

Not so. About an hour later a worker arrived, got into the machine and promptly knocked it over. Just like that, it was on the ground. It might not have seemed so heartless if we weren't at the peak of the flowering tree season.

Killing that tree seemed to be the only thing on his agenda so he immediately left. Again I walked over and surveyed the damage. The  back of the property was covered in pink blossoms.

Our established neighbourhoods are losing not just our original houses but also many mature trees. It's an ongoing battle involving neighbours, the city and developers. Often the trees disappear before neighbours have a chance to try to save them. I'm hoping that the lilac trees on the right side of the property will survive but I won't be surprised if  their roots are damaged so much that they too will disappear. I've seen it countless times over the years.

So what are you going to do? If I had a lot of energy I might have measured the circumference of the trunk and investigated to see if this company had wrongly killed a tree that should have been protected. However, I just don't have that kind of energy right now. So I cut myself myself some flowers. I filled the trunk of the car and took some to mom. The others I made into bouquets for our place. As Erma Bombeck famously said,"When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." For a few days, we'll enjoy what was once a lovely sign of spring.

Talking about Dying

It's been six weeks since Dad died. As we settle into our new reality, I often relive his last weeks. I've been thinking about how the medical community deals, or doesn't deal with the very idea of dying. Historically, physicians have been  trained to save lives, not to guide patients and their families through the death experience.

As usual, it was a CBC radio program that prompted this recent examination. On Brian Goldman's show, White Coat Black Art,  (May 5) he interviewed a couple of young mothers about the deaths of their children. They belong to a group called One More Thing, as in, doctors often propose yet one more thing that could be tried, to extend the life of a medically fragile child.

The promo for the show reads, "We need to talk about death, say parents of children with life-limiting illnesses. Parents question why the medical system doesn't include death in their conversations with families, particularly those with medically fragile children."  Click here to listen to the show.

Much of what those young parents said, about wanting more honest discussion and preparation for the deaths of their children, could be applied to patients and families of all ages. It would help a great deal if doctors would give their honest assessment. If a professional told you up front, that your loved one was probably not going to live much longer, then everything would change. You could stop the fight to try one more thing, to beat whatever illness you were battling. If that news was delivered honestly and carefully to all family members, then they could work together more easily to comfort their loved one. If the patient heard that news, then he or she would have a chance to come to terms with the diagnosis; they might come to some kind of acceptance and be ready to make the most of their remaining time.

To be fair, a doctor friend told me that "it is always harder to predict prognosis in non-cancer patients". Dad was spared a diagnosis of cancer. He never had to endure excruciating pain or a myriad of side effects from chemotherapy or radiation. However, if cancer has anything positive to offer, it may be that impending death is sometimes easier to predict.  Many years ago a friend of mine spoke about the "gift of time" that cancer gives. In her case, she and her family knew that her mother was going to die from her cancer. They used her last months to spend quality time together, to plan, to reminisce, to enjoy each other's company.

I realize that the decision about whether to keep pursuing more possible medical intervention or to accept the approach of death, is one of the most difficult and profound of decisions. This is not a simple, straightforward task. Of course, we don't want to say goodbye to our loved ones. We want them forever. But at some point we are not doing them any favours when we deny the facts that may be right in front of us.

On the Friday before my father's death, we went to a lot of trouble to bundle him up and have him transported to an appointment with a specialist. That doctor said he was not concerned with the diagnosis of pulmonary fibrosis. He said it could take about a year for Dad to recover from his pneumonia. He gave him a requisition for an xray and told him to come back in six weeks.
Dad died the following Thursday.

I highly recommend having a nurse in the family. In our case we have two. They helped us to recognize that Dad was probably dying and didn't have much time left. He was eating less, sleeping more and becoming weaker by the day. We worked hard to have him followed by the local Palliative Care team. Fortunately, on Monday, palliative care doctors started coming to Dad and Mom's home, where we were caring for him. They were wonderful and gently guided us through Dad's last four days. We were very fortunate to be under their care.  Our daughter works in palliative care in Toronto. Her knowledge and insight were valuable as we travelled on that difficult journey. Dad died at home with many family members around his bed.

From our experience, I think that medical professionals would benefit from more training in the field of death and dying. On a local level, we realize how lucky we were. There are some areas of Ottawa that still have no access to palliative care. There's a lot of education and resources needed to improve the situation for dying patients, of all ages.

Kitchissippi Times - Infill Housing

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you'll know how much infill housing drives me crazy. Here's an article I had in our community newspaper, The Kitchissippi Times, last October.


Dear Editor,

I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed reading the profile of Anne Hamilton who lives in a house on Princeton. (“Who Lives Here: The house with the white picket fence,” September 28 edition of KT.) In the piece, her home is described as “the little blue and white wooden house.” What a refreshing article! Here is a woman who declares, “I was looking for a home, not an investment.” This is, of course, in stark contrast to the vultures who roam our neighbourhoods now, in search of a property where they can tear down a perfectly fine home so they can build an unsightly double and make an enormous profit. I am also extremely tired of reading pieces in other papers where Homes articles extoll the features of gigantic new houses with master bedrooms as big as bowling alleys. No one needs that much space. Ms. Hamilton reminds us of the basics – that a house is a home. She has a “generous yard” which she can enjoy, she is in a good location so she can walk to retail shops. She is perfectly happy with a modest sized home.

“Unfortunately, even small homes are now priced way too high for many folks,” 
writes Mary Ellen Kot. Photo by Andrea Tomkins

The sad thing about this story is that she bought this place in 1991, when small houses were affordable.

Unfortunately, even small homes are now priced way too high for many folks. It’s the lot location that drives the price, not the house itself. And so we are losing most of our small homes; houses where many other residents would be as happy as Ms. Hamilton is now, and has been for many years.

Mary Ellen Kot,Wellington Village

......................................

May 9, 2018

The things is, now it's happening right across the street from us. In this case, I am resigned to the fact that this small house will come down. It's a tired old place which has had very little maintenance over the  years. It would take a tremendous amount of work and money to renovate it, to modern standards. 

However, I  remain concerned about what will be built in its place. I recently checked with our local councillor, to see how far Ottawa's new infill guidelines go. Are they designed to really protect the character of existing neighbourhoods? There are restrictions about the placement of front doors, parking spaces and garages. These have to match the houses on the block. By-laws dictate the height and front yard setbacks etc. As for building materials though -  anything goes. If you want to build a glass and corrugated steel box, in the middle of a block with brick homes with peaked roofs, that's not a problem. So while we await the bulldozers, we're very curious as to what we will be staring at from our front verandah.

On a sadder note, we recently heard that another small house on our block will go up for sale in the next week. Unlike the one across the street from us, this one is very attractive and well maintained. It's lovely. So will one person, or maybe a couple, decide it's their dream home and buy it? Or will it be a developer, who will knock it down and build for profit? 

What's really strange about all this, is that I'm getting used to it. I don't like what's happening but I'm resigned to the fact that our neighbourhoods are being transformed in this current culture of greed. 
ence

My Dad

Most of you who read this, already know, but I will write it anyhow. My father, Stephen Donald Kot, died on March 29th. He was a wonderful father, husband, son, uncle, grandfather, great grandfather, and friend. Click here to read Dad's obituary as it appeared in The Ottawa Citizen and the Weyburn (Sask.) Review.

 Dad would not have wanted all the fuss but Wayne Scanlan of the Ottawa Citizen came to the house and interviewed us about Dad. By very happy coincidence, he appeared a half hour after Dad's teammate, Len Fluet, arrived at the house. Len had just cleared out Dad's locker at the curling club. How lucky was Dad, to be curling at 93! Click  here to read the lovely tribute that Waybe Scanlan wrote.

I was just looking through some old writing of mine and came across this piece that I wrote a few years ago. It will give you an idea of why we are going to miss Dad so much.

It is, of course, an understatement, but I will say it anyhow. As kids, we got lucky in the Dad department. First of all, he has always been a very supportive father to all of us and secondly, we have had him for so long.

At a dinner party a while ago I was telling some friends about a problem that came up at our house. It may have been when we had rats in the basement. I was in the middle if the story and I was saying, “ So I picked up the phone…” and a friend interrupted, “I know. You called your Dad.” 
“Of course I called my Dad”, I answered. “Who else am I going to call?”

That’s been the way we have always operated. For all kinds of issues, we have called Dad. Most of the time he has been able to help us to solve our problem of the day, whether his help has been long distance over the phone or in-person help. In the case of the rat problem, he came right over, set some traps, and helped that rat onto the hereafter.

It’s not just that Dad always helped us or did the work, on our homes and cars. What is possibly more important is that he taught us how to do some of that work. I am the least talented in those areas. Everyone else in the family is more talented than I am. However, even I am slightly inclined, because of all the time I have worked beside Dad.

A month ago Pat and I were having trouble with our garage door. The roller thing kept coming off the rail. Pat was working on it but nothing was working. I went out and looked at it for a bit and realized what the problem was. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. That’s because of being with Dad, watching how patient he is,  how he analyzes things, how he doesn’t  give up when things get difficult.

Love is a verb, not just a noun. Actions speak louder than words.

There are many ways to show love. Dad has always loved us with his actions. He has taken care of us. He has helped all of us out , wherever we have lived and whatever car or house we have been working on.

This week I’ve been with Pat at Norah and Sean’s place in Toronto. Aaron was there when Eliza was born. Just before he left to go back to Ottawa I asked Aaron to look at a couple of things at their house. One was their kitchen tap and the other was a bedroom door that was sticking. Aaron gave us advice and Pat and I were able to solve those 2 small problems. They were only small items but they will be appreciated. If we do small things to help out when we visit, it is because of Dad’s example. When Kath  and I lived out of town and Dad and Mom visited us, they never visited without Dad doing many jobs around our houses: putting in electrical outlets, doing some plumbing or carpentry.

And so we help out our kids and family because of Dad’s example. Although he wasn’t there in Toronto this week, really it is because of Dad that that bedroom door doesn’t stick anymore and the kitchen tap moves  more freely. Dad has spent countless hours working with Aaron, teaching him and teaching all of us. Besides that knowledge, he has more importantly, given us the example of using your talents to help others.

March

Why have a blog if you are not going to write regularly? How busy can a retired person really be?
As usual, I had the very best of intentions. First I was going to write about the death of Rebecca Schofield, and the remarkable impact she had on so many people. What a wonderful legacy she has left - to inspire random acts of kindness.

Then I was going to write about our Caribbean cruise; not just about the food and the pleasure of swimming in the ocean, but about the astounding good nature of the crew who served us on board. If there was an Olympic event for cheerfulness, smiling and helpfulness, the hard-working Filipino and Indonesian staff members on that ship would win the gold medal for sure. They could teach us all a lesson in how to treat people.

However, I have no time or energy to write about anything these days. For the past three weeks I have been accompanying my family on the most difficult of journeys. We are getting closer to the end now. My dear father is dying and my heart is breaking a little more every day.

O Canada!!

Our five year old grandson loves to sing O Canada. When he was here at Christmas time we probably sang it at least a couple of times a day. He also loves to play teacher so Santa brought him his very own pointer for Christmas. Although his reading skills are still developing, he loves to stand at a wall and lead songs or poems from a wall chart.

I've been meaning to write out O Canada on chart paper for him, but haven't got around to it. One of my excuses was that I didn't know whether to use the new version or not. If I wrote "In all of us command" and tried to teach him that, it would be confusing for him, as they are no doubt using the old version at school.

Now, however that issue has been resolved. I was happy to learn that this week the Senate finally passed the bill which amends our national anthem. The Conservatives are angry that other members of the Senate found a way to pass this motion. Apparently eighteen months was not long enough to debate this big change of two words.

I'm especially pleased that we will never have to explain to our granddaughter why O Canada has (had) the words, "In all thy sons command."

Now if I could have everything my way, they would have also changed, "Our home and native land" to "Our home and chosen land" but you can't have everything. This change, to gender neutral wording, was more important. Thanks to the late MP, Mauril Belanger, for championing this cause.