Biographical info

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Installment 5 of “Jake, Little Jimmy and Big Louie,” a Children’s Chapter Book

We apologize for the long delay in posting the next installment of Ian’s children’s chapter book, “Jake, Little Jimmy and Big Louie.” Our excuse is that we have been otherwise occupied for most of January and the first days of February because Gayle finally had a surgery date of February 7th for a total hip replacement on the left side. She has had both her right knee and right hip replaced in the past – the knee in 2000 and the hip in 2011. Now she is truly a bionic woman on both sides!

Ian is still trying to adjust to a number of changes in his medications and couldn’t be left completely alone while Gayle was in hospital, so we had to arrange for some home care and a LifeLine installation for him. That is going well and we’ve been able to count on the home care attendant to help both of us for a short time after Gayle was discharged on February 9th. Thank goodness for our Canadian health system. So far we have had little additional expenses other than the low LifeLine costs, our pharmacy expenses until the yearly supplement kicks in and our regular monthly BC health payments.

Ian and Jimmy, the cockatiel, circa 1999.

Ian and Jimmy, the cockatiel, circa 1999.

Today we are sharing a photo taken about 1999 of Ian schmoozing with his cockatiel Jimmy, who was the inspiration for this present story about a budgie named Jimmy. We hope you’ll enjoy it and the next chapter of “Jake, Little Jimmy and Big Louie.” If you remember the last chapter, Jimmy had been lost and just as the chapter ends Jake had received the good news that Jimmy had been found and would be returned by the police.

“JAKE, LITTLE JIMMY AND BIG LOUIE”

by Ian Moore-Morrans

edited by Gayle Moore-Morrans

Copyright © 2012

CHAPTER FIVE

Jimmy Returns and “Thing” Arrives

The following day, the police were at Jake’s house with Jimmy safely in his cage. Jake was in orbit over the news that Jimmy had been found, for he had hardly slept that whole week while Jimmy was missing. Lying awake in his bed at night, he had prayed that Jimmy would be kept safe, wherever he was, and that Jimmy would come home soon. He promised to love Jimmy and always try to take very good care of him. This promise had kept him certain that Jimmy would be found, so when Jake’s father told him the good news, he sort of expected it.  ‘Well’ he thought, ‘it got Jimmy back to me.’

(The rest of the chapter’s content has been deleted prior to publication.)

Picture suggestions:

Jake smiling and holding little Jimmy, just as Ian is holding Jimmy the cockatiel in the photo at the beginning of this posting

Jimmy sitting on Jake’s shoulder.

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Crisis Situations – Am I Happy With the Way I React? No and Yes!

Thanks to Francis Guenette on her blog, “disappearing in plain sight, writing about writing” for drawing our attention to Word Press’ “Daily Prompt: In a Crisis” for January 17th. In it Michelle W. poses the challenge: “Honestly evaluate the way you respond to crisis situations. Are you happy with the way you react?” The challenge was interesting enough to encourage Gayle to respond by answering both “no” and “yes,” giving the following examples:

Thirty years ago I was living in Frankfurt, Germany with my late husband Gus and our two children, a daughter (6) and a son (1). I was a stay-at-home mom at the time. Gus came home from work every noon for a hot meal – our dinnertime. We had just finished eating dinner in the kitchen and were still sitting around the table when Gus put our little espresso pot onto the stove to make us some coffee. Now this was the old-fashioned kind of pot into which you put water in the bottom piece, espresso powder into the holed metal basket, added a rubber sealing ring around the top edge of the bottom piece and screwed the empty top piece onto the bottom piece to form a little espresso pot. With the pot on a heating element, the boiling action should have forced the water up through the coffee powder basket and into the top area. Voila – espresso. Unfortunately Gus had neglected to put the sealing ring into place, causing the coffee pot to “explode”! Our one-year-old was trapped in his highchair. Our six-year-old sat frozen to her chair. Gus jumped into action to take the part of the pot still on the element off the burner and turn off the stove. What did I do? Well, obviously without thinking, I got the heck out of the room! I just ran out and left my kids sitting there, never giving them a thought! Was I ever disgusted with myself – and embarrassed. Luckily no one was hurt from the explosion. My kitchen, however, was another story. After hugs all around, Gus took the kids into the bathroom to clean up the three of them. I got busy doing my “penance.” First stripping down to my underwear, I grabbed a stepladder and bucket to wash off the ceiling; put curtains, towels, tablecloth and our clothes into the washing machine and dishes into the dishwasher; applied heaps of elbow grease to clean up the wet and grainy dark brown mess dripping from cupboards, stove, fridge, table, chairs, window, etc. and finally mopped the floor. I’m still embarrassed about my cowardly reaction. What a protective mother I was—not!

Last year when I was visiting my daughter, son-in-law and two grandsons (ages 1 and newborn) in Norway, I was proud and relieved to find out that my reaction to a crisis had changed from “flight” to “fight.” I was holding my 13-day-old grandson Ben at the breakfast table as we were discussing returning to the hospital with him as he was not looking or reacting well. All of a sudden he stopped breathing. I screamed, “He’s not breathing!” My son-in-law and I sprang into action and did CPR on him until the ambulance arrived and the emergency medical personnel took over. Soon a helicopter ambulance flew in carrying a pediatric cardiologist and finally the baby and doctor flew off for a hospital in Oslo with my daughter and son-in-law following in the auto ambulance. I stayed behind to care for the 13-month-old and two dogs. A few hours later my son-in-law called to tell me that Ben was dead and had been baptized at the hospital. I can’t even try to describe how heartsick we all were, still are, and perhaps always will be over the loss of Benjamin. I’ve always heard that the hardest loss is one of a child and now I know how true that is. An autopsy determined that Ben had a previously undetected heart problem which led to his death. Instead of the planned baptism, we began to prepare for a funeral. With God’s help, we all got through it somehow, and found comfort in being together. Considering that our CPR did little to prevent Ben’s death, I was still thankful I had taken a refresher CPR course the previous year and that I had realized instinctively that my best reaction in this particular situation was “fight.”

Gayle Moore-Morrans

Installment 4 of “Jake, Little Jimmy and Big Louie,” a Children’s Chapter Book
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Installment 4 of “Jake, Little Jimmy and Big Louie,” a Children’s Chapter Book

The story we’ve been posting is about a boy raising birds. Just so that you know I have had some experience raising a bird in the past, Gayle is posting a photo I took around 2000 of my late poodle, Peppy, playing with my bird, Jimmy, whom I gave to friends with children when we moved away. Now you see where I got the name for my wingless budgie in the story “Jake, Little Jimmy and Big Louie.” Unlike the budgie in my story, my Jimmy had wings, was bigger than Little Jimmy and, as you can see, he was a cockatiel rather than a budgie. He did a lot of things that Jimmy the budgie learned to do. For instance, he loved to sit on my shoulder and he did learn to “talk” after I repeated words to him over and over. He also learned to whistle, as I was always whistling around the house at that time.

Peppy and Jimmy-2000

 

 

Poodle

Peppy

and

Cockatiel

Jimmy

 

 

 

Finally, we have another chapter of my children’s chapter book to post. We’d love to get some feedback from anyone who has read the beginning four chapters of this book, especially feedback from children who have read it or had it read to them. All you need to do is post a comment at the end of this posting.

In this chapter, Jake runs into a bit of trouble as you can see by the chapter’s title.

“JAKE, LITTLE JIMMY AND BIG LOUIE”

by Ian Moore-Morrans

edited by Gayle Moore-Morrans

Copyright © 2012

CHAPTER FOUR

Little Jimmy is Lost!

Spring break was soon over. As the weeks went by, Jake hurried straight home from school each day, immediately heading for his bedroom. Every day, as he opened the door very slowly (in case Jimmy was close to it), he would say, “Hi Jake, hi Jake, hi Jake,” so that, hopefully, Jimmy would hear and copy it.

Jake had been saying “Hi Jake!” and “Jimmy’s a good boy!” over and over to Jimmy in the past weeks, hoping that he would repeat something. Then, one day as he slowly opened his bedroom door while saying, “Hi, Jake,” a little high voice from somewhere over there said, “Hi Jake, hi Jake.”

Jake was thrilled. ‘Wow, neat!’ he thought. ‘My little bird can speak. Cool!’

Jake looked around and discovered his pet on the pillow. He went over to the bed and sat on the edge. Jimmy immediately hopped onto his lap and started to climb up Jake’s sweater. Using his beak and claws, he gradually pulled himself up until he was perched on Jake’s left shoulder, saying, “Hi Jake, hi Jake.”

Well—Jake couldn’t have been happier. This little bird of his was certainly the best little budgie in the whole world! “Hey! Who needs a dog or a rabbit? Not me!” he laughingly told his little pet.

~*~

One day his parents came home from shopping with a small travel cage for Jimmy. They had seen it at a flea market and thought that it may be useful if Jake ever wanted to take Jimmy to the vet or out to the back yard. Jake agreed that it was great and would come in handy.

After a few trips to the back yard, Jimmy learned to hop right into the travel cage when Jake put it beside him. It seemed to Jake that Jimmy knew when he was going to go outside to the grass, because he rushed to get into the cage as soon as Jake opened the door for him. That was when Jake remembered Bill saying that Jimmy was a “smart little guy.”

Then Jake got braver, or maybe sillier, judging by what happened next. When his best pals, Brien, Eugene, and Eugene’s one-year-younger sister, Tiffany, came over, the four of them would head to the park with Jimmy in his travel cage. They would sit in a little circle on the grass with Jimmy’s small cage in the middle. Jake would open the cage door, allowing Jimmy to come out and hop about the area among them. Their usual spot was close enough to the pond to watch the ducks, but far enough away from the water so that Jimmy was in no danger. They did this quite often when the weather was nice and they all agreed that Jimmy enjoyed it as much as they did!

~*~

One day, during the early part of September, the four “amigos,”—with Jimmy wandering around them—were sitting enjoying a sunny Saturday afternoon on the soft grass at their usual spot in the park. Suddenly they heard a woman’s voice shouting, “Stop him; stop that boy. He’s got my purse.”

As their heads turned in the direction of the voice, they saw a boy, not much older than they were, running along the path at the edge of the pond and almost in their direction, clutching a lady’s handbag.

“C’mon, you three. Let’s get that guy.” Brien shouted as the thief ran past them. With that, the four of them jumped to their feet.

There wasn’t enough time to put Jimmy into his cage, so Jake scooped him up and tucked him into his jacket pocket. They then started racing as fast as they could after the thief.

Twisting around bushes, trees and flowerbeds while running over a large section of the park, Jake gradually outdistanced his friends because of his longer legs. He was quite a bit in front when suddenly the thief, who knew that he was soon going to get caught, threw away the purse. Jake didn’t let up. He was just a very short distance behind the thief when the boy suddenly turned on him, putting his fists up, ready for a fight. Two seconds before they were about to clash, Jake quickly bent over and with his head lowered, rammed the thief in the middle of his chest.

The thief was taken by surprise; all the wind was knocked out of him. They both fell to the ground, wrestling as they rolled around. The next thing Jake knew was that Tiffany had joined the scuffle, grabbing hold of the thief’s hair. Battling the pair, the thief didn’t have much strength to fight after Jake had plowed into him. This made it easy for Jake and Tiffany to hold him down until Jake’s two other friends and two nearby adults arrived on the scene.

Since the trio had finished off their skirmish by rolling into one of the flowerbeds, Jake and Tiffany’s clothes were very dirty. Getting to his feet and, beginning to clean himself off, he suddenly thought, ‘Jimmy’. In all the excitement, Jake had forgotten all about his little pet. His hand flashed to his jacket pocket. It was empty!

Jake panicked, his heart missing a beat and tears filling his eyes. He’d lost his best friend! Had Jimmy been crushed when Jake was rolling on the ground? Was he close by or nearer to where they’d started running? Where could Jimmy be? Was he still alive? Had some passerby stepped on him? All of these questions raced through Jake’s mind, making him fear the worst.

They had covered a lot of ground, running here and there and around bushes as they chased the thief. Jimmy could have fallen out anywhere in between. Not only was Jimmy tiny; he was also mostly green—a perfect camouflage, making it very difficult to see him in the grass!

“Hey guys, I’ve lost my Jimmy.” Jake called out. He found it hard to talk, to tell them to be careful where they stepped in case they would hurt him. They had covered a lot of ground and Jake knew it would be very difficult to retrace their actual route.

Eugene took over. “Okay guys, we’ll spread out and slowly go back to where we started. Don’t worry, Jake; we’ll find him for you.”

The four started to retrace their steps, going back gradually to where they had been sitting. They zigzagged back and forth, all the time quietly calling “Jimmy, where are you? Jimmy?  ——— Jimmy?”

During the search, Tiffany approached a group of boys and girls about their own age who were playing in the area, and asked them to help look for the little bird. She explained what Jimmy looked like and with the extra help, Jake felt a bit better. The five extra pairs of eyes could make a difference and the more people that were looking for Jimmy, the more confident Jake became that they would soon find him.

“Jimmy, where are you?” Jake called out continuously. He had a strange lump in his throat and felt so terrible to have lost his little friend that he could scarcely get out the words.

It was more than an hour later and they were almost back to where they had started the chase and still there was no sign of Jimmy. When they reached the spot, Jake got another shock; Jimmy’s cage was gone!

“Hey guys, look—Jimmy’s cage has been stolen. This is where we were, isn’t it?” he said, turning around and around, looking, and trying to confirm their spot. “It is where we were, isn’t it?”

“This is where we were, for sure,” Brien said, “but we should slowly go back again to where we started the search—to where we caught the thief. We should search again and again ‘til we find him. Maybe we’ll get the cage later.”

“Yes, you’re right, Brien; but why would anyone steal Jimmy’s little cage?”

They found some more kids nearby who also joined the search. There were now fourteen young people searching everywhere for Jimmy and not a trace of him could be found. They looked again and again all over the area where they had chased the thief, but eventually had to give up because it was beginning to get dark.

~*~

“Somebody has stolen Jimmy,” his dad stated. “You searched the whole area for two hours and didn’t find any trace of him, right? You know that Jimmy was trained to go into his cage, right? This tells me that Jimmy must have fallen out as soon as you put him in your pocket, and when he couldn’t see you, he headed for ‘home’. He went into his cage, where he felt safe. Someone must have come along, picked up the cage with Jimmy in it and just kept on going. Either that or a passer-by, seeing no one around, found him and thought he’d been left there intentionally.”

“Oh, Dad, that’s awful! How can we get him back? Do you think we can?”

“First thing we do is go to the police station and let them know what’s happened. We’ll find out when we go there if he’s been turned in. Next thing we do is put an ad in the paper, hoping someone reads it that knows of a person who has just acquired a wingless budgie, or even just any budgie. We may get some sort of response—at least it’s worth a try. I’ll do it right away.”

After they visited the police station and wrote out a report, Jake felt better, hoping it would do some good.

~*~

A week later, Jake’s dad walked out the back door with a great big smile on his face. He was grinning widely as he approached Jake, Brien and Tiffany, who were playing in the back yard.

“Big news, guys, what do you think? There’s been a call from a man who knows someone who has just become the owner of a budgie in a little cage. It seems like the ad in the paper has paid off.” This, of course, caused the three to jump up in the air with glee and hug each other.

Mr. Moore then called the police to report the phone number of the person who had called him. The police sergeant at the desk had informed Jake’s dad that they would investigate and get back to him as soon as they found out anything.

~*~*~

Picture suggestions:

Three boys and one girl sitting on the grass in a circle, with Jimmy in his travel cage in the middle of the circle.

Jake chasing the thief, who is holding a lady’s purse.

Jake wrestling with the thief.

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UNUSUAL HOLIDAY FLAVOURED PASSAGES FROM MY MEMOIR

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The holiday season has once again returned to our house. Gayle and I are planning two more book readings before the end of the year. She chose this coming Thursday, December 13th, which just happens to be St. Lucia Day, the start of Christmas celebrations in Sweden. Since her family heritage is mostly Swedish-American, she likes to do the day up big and invite friends in for some good Swedish Christmas baking. She’s been baking and decorating for over a week. We’ll be combining her Swedish Christmas atmosphere with two book readings for friends, acquaintances and the public at our home: one at 2 p.m. and another at 7:30 p.m. In contrast to her candle and ornament laden decorating and entertaining, Gayle has chosen and assigned me several readings that have to do with my unique and unusual memories of the holidays. My memoir, “From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada” which was published this year doesn’t contain the usual fond and nostalgic accounts of Christmases past or holidays celebrated up big and fancy in the midst of large family gatherings. (I leave that to my wife/editor for her writings on her childhood memories.) One probably notices from the title of my memoir, that an impoverished childhood and a Scottish upbringing puts a certain slant onto many of my reminiscences.

Gayle, Ian and Christmas tree

From Chapter One, “The Cold and Hungry Years,” – (My Non-Event Christmases of Childhood)

“Speaking of winter, that brings up Christmas. Ah, Christmas! That time of year was a “non-event” for us. The day would come and go—and I didn’t know a thing about it for years! Then I found out that there were kids who would get a toy cowboy outfit that had a cowboy hat, a belt with a holster for the shiny revolver and maybe spurs. The poorer folks would share the things among the family members. Using the above for an example, one would maybe get the hat, another, the gun-belt, another would get the gun and the spurs and then they had to take turns with them!

“I was about six or seven when I learned that there was a man dressed in a red suit who would come and give good children a present and I wondered why it was that I didn’t get anything as I didn’t do anything bad. Gradually I learned that the man in the red suit was only a story—a farce—a great big lie. Then I didn’t feel so bad. It’s no wonder that I still don’t have a great deal of love towards the occasion, or Santa Claus, for I know there are still lots of kids around today who get the very same as I got back then–nothing!

” Today, my heart goes out (not really!) to people reminiscing about Christmases long ago and proudly stating how they didn’t get very much compared to the kids of today, that they only got a little doll, or they only got a children’s bake oven or something simple like that—or maybe that their parents could only afford a chicken for the Christmas dinner as a turkey would have cost too much. (I don’t think I knew what a chicken was at that age and if I did, I would probably have thought it was food for a king!) If I can remember right, my first Christmas present was an orange—and that was from the Salvation Army Sunday school when I was eight or nine years of age! Yep, some people didn’t know they had it so good!”

From CHAPTER SIX, “Back to ‘Dear Old Blighty'” (This chapter told of my return to Britain after serving in the Royal Air Force in the Suez Canal Zone, 1951-3. I married my penpal Mary and we eventually had two daughters. This New Year’s Eve story tells of my youngest daughter’s birth and how her life was saved by a bottle of Scotch whisky.

“Two years later our second daughter, Shirley Christina Morrans, was born. She wasn’t due until February 1959 but decided that she couldn’t wait and so arrived at around five-o’clock in the morning of the 31st of December, 1958—seven weeks early. She was born at home, as this is what Mary and I decided (we could do that—our choice) after the carry-on we had at Motherwell Maternity Hospital during Audrey’s birth. At that time, technology wasn’t anywhere nearly as good as it is today, and apparently it was dangerous for a baby to be that premature.

“It was fortunate Shirley chose the 31st of December which is New Year’s Eve, called Hogmanay in Scotland. Hogmanay is about the most important holiday for us Scots. It was tradition for everyone to have a bottle of Scotch in the house at that time of year so as to be able to offer a ‘wee dram’ to any ‘first footers’ who may appear at the door to wish us a ‘Happy New Year.’ If it had been any other time of the year I wouldn’t have had any whisky in the house as I didn’t normally drink the stuff then!

“The midwife was sent for shortly after midnight. She arrived, checked things and left again, saying that she would be back in two hours. She returned exactly as she promised. The midwife then worked with Mary while I did all the hard work (again!) of walking the floor downstairs! When Shirley finally arrived, she was blue—and that was not good. The midwife asked me if I had any whisky in the house. I said “yes,” that I had a bottle. She ordered it and a basin, too. When I had brought her both, she laid the baby in the basin, opened the bottle of Scotch and poured all of it over the baby, massaged her with it. The midwife then told me I had to rush to the phone to call for an ambulance and oxygen immediately.

“It was a one-minute run to the nearest phone kiosk (call box). There I found a button that could be pushed in case of an emergency. A male voice answered and asked me what I wanted. I told him I needed an ambulance and oxygen immediately for a premature birth as the baby was struggling for life. This idiot told me to go and find a policeman to verify my story. Well, I think I called that bloke everything under the sun and told him that if my daughter died I would hold him personally responsible!

” The ambulance arrived at the house, took the baby away—not to Motherwell Maternity but to Bellshill Hospital, where she was put into an incubator. Mary was fine, as the afterbirth came away just before the ambulance arrived. Shirley came home after two weeks in the hospital and remained in excellent health.

“(For many years I kidded Shirley about owing me a bottle of Scotch.) One day—maybe around 1995—she and her family were spending a vacation with us when Shirley came to me with a bottle of Ballantyne’s. I asked her what that was for. She gave me a nice wee kiss and laughingly told me, “This is the bottle of Scotch I owe you, Dad.”

“Well, I gladly accepted it, not only because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but also because I had learned to appreciate a good whisky by then!”

Copyright © 2012 Ian Moore-Morrans

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A Scotsman Shares His Story

This article appeared in our local newspaper, the Vernon Morning Star on Wednesday, December 5, 2012. Thanks, Katherine Mortimer, Lifestyles Editor, for coming over to interview us and for an excellent article. The only correction we’d make is in the quote from me “that’s it for Scotland for me. I’m never going back.” Though I guess I did say that, I really meant that I’m never going back to Scotland to live. I was last there in 2000 and found it too expensive. Besides that, Canada is now home for me. Actually, I can’t even go out of Canada at the moment, as I no longer qualify for travel health insurance – too many health concerns. We hope that restriction can be lifted sometime in the future – time will tell. Hope you enjoy the article, we did!

A Scotsman shares his story                                                                       Okanagan's Mr Scotland and His Bonnie Lassie

By Katherine Mortimer – Vernon Morning Star

Published: December 05, 2012

 

Gayle and Ian Moore-Morrans (Okanagan’s Mr. Scotland and his Bonnie Lassie) in full regalia for a performance of song. Ian’s book, ‘From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada, has just been published.

 

 

When Ian Moore-Morrans looks back on his childhood on the coast of Scotland, it isn’t with what could be called affection.

 

But the cold, the damp, the constant hunger and life of poverty have made for a fascinating life story, which forms the basis for the Vernon author’s memoir, From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada.

 

Moore-Morrans sets the stage from the first chapter, The Cold and Hungry Early Years:

 

“Thinking back on my early childhood, the most miserable overall time was when it was evening, dark outside, middle of winter, clothes damp and cold from the rain, no oil for the lamp, no candles either, which meant no light of any kind in the dump we lived in, no fire to warm me a wee bit and no food.”

 

Sipping a cup of hot coffee while sitting in the cozy — and warm — Vernon home he shares with his wife, Gayle Moore-Morrans, Ian explains that he was bitten by the writing bug at the age of 60.

 

His first novel, Beyond the Phantom Battle: Mystery at Lock Ashie, was published in 2010.

 

The idea for a memoir began when, as a recent immigrant to Canada, his late wife, Mary, used to send him to the grocery store.

 

“As I was going through the checkout, my Scottish accent always gave me away and inevitably one of the girls would tell me their grandfather was Scottish but they never knew anything about him.

 

“So I told my wife I was going to write my life story so my grandchildren and two daughters would know about their roots — I think they need to know where I come from.”

 

A retired machinist, the Scottish-Canadian grew up in Campbeltown on the Kintyre Peninsula, Argyll, Scotland.

 

Ian and his brother were raised by their single mother during the Depression of the ‘30s and subsequent years of the Second World War.

 

“We had no bread winner and of course there was nothing in the way of social services in those days. I used to put cardboard in my shoes after the soles wore out.

 

“It was a pretty bleak childhood, with all of us living in the attic, just 10 feet by 10 feet, with a table, a bed and a dresser. All four of us slept in one bed: me, my brother, my mother and my grandmother.”

 

Ian has lived in various places all over Canada since emigrating from Scotland in 1965.

 

“I was doing well in Scotland by this point but I had itchy feet.

 

“I wanted to go to Australia, but an unscrupulous government agent encouraged me to select Canada and told me all of the good things about it, that there was no crime in Toronto, that you could buy a house for $200, and that there were no slums.”

 

With a job lined up for him as a machinist, Ian brought his wife and young daughters across the Atlantic only to discover the job had fallen through. Living in Ontario, he worked a series of short-term jobs, including a stint as a Wonderbread salesman.

 

“In Scotland, I had a nice council house and I wasn’t one for going to the pub and spending my money, so it was difficult to give up the life we had there.”

 

Told with honesty and plenty of humour, From Poverty to Poverty has been compared to Frank McCourt’s acclaimed memoir, Angela’s Ashes.

 

Like the late Irish author, Ian has an uncanny ability to recall conversations and specific details, from his childhood, to his time in the Royal Air Force, from raising children with Mary, to coming to Canada and the subsequent poverty in which they lived for the first few years.

 

With Gayle as his editor, Ian began working on his book a number of years ago, writing down everything he remembered.

 

“I had no outline, no notes, I just kept on writing as it came to me. It was painful at times to look back and I get emotional. The last time I went back I told my late wife, ‘that’s it for Scotland for me. I’m never going back [here to live].’”

 

Published by Friesen Press in Victoria, From Poverty to Poverty is filled with photos detailing Ian’s life, but only from a certain stage.

 

“He has no photos of his childhood, the first one was taken when he was 14 and in the Salvation Army band,” said Gayle.

 

Besides writing, Ian specializes in singing Scottish ballads while outfitted in full-kilt regalia. He and Gayle, a retired editor, sing, write, edit and relax in Vernon since moving here from Mexico in 2008.

 

In addition to his novel and memoir, Ian has also published a how-to eBook, Metal Machining Made Easy, in 2002.

 

The second volume of his memoir, Came to Canada, Eh? is now under way.

 

Ian and Gayle were both widowed when they met in 2003 in Winnipeg.

 

“When we were courting, he showed me the book, which was then just stacks of paper, rather than an actual book. And I thought it was wonderful, but he needed an editor as he wrote in a sort of ‘stream-of-consciousness’ style.”

 

They were married three months after their first meeting and Gayle, a magazine editor, took an early retirement in 2004. After selling their house, they bought a motor home and left Winnipeg to explore retirement in Mexico, eventually settling on the shores of Lake Chapala, a large community of English-speaking ex-patriots. Joining the Lake Chapala Society Writers’ Group, they met writers from around the world.

 

Returning to Canada in 2007, the couple spent a year in Penticton before moving to Vernon.

 

The public is invited to readings for From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada at the Moore-Morrans residence, Lakepointe, #69, 6688 Tronson Rd. (just west of the airport) Dec. 13, at 2 p.m. and again at 7:30 p.m. Please RSVP to 250-275-1446 or gayleian@gmail.com. Signed books will be for sale. Since Dec. 13 is St. Lucia Day (the beginning of the Christmas season in Sweden) and Gayle’s heritage is Swedish, St. Lucia baking, some Scottish goodies, coffee and tea will be served.

 

The book is available online through Chapters, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and can be ordered through booksellers or directly from the author.