THE COMPANY YOU KEEP

The story goes that in England there was a very famous banker who would take the 6:30 a.m. train into work each and every day. He would arrive at the bank promptly at 7:30 in time to say a hearty "good morning" to the night watchman as he was ending his shift and getting ready to return home. One day as the banker entered the bank and gave his usual greeting to the night watchman, the fellow asked if he might have a word. The banker graciously answered, "Of course", and ushered him into his office. Sitting down the night watchman said, "Last night I had a dream. I dreamt that you took your usual 6:30 train and there was a terrible accident and many people were injured and killed. May I suggest, sir, that tomorrow you take the 6:45 train?" The banker thanked the night watchman and sent him on his way. The next day, the banker thought about what he had been told and decided that it really wouldn't make much of a difference if he was 15 minutes late for work. So, just to be on the safe side, he took the 6:45 train. Sure enough, the 6:30 train was in a terrible accident and many were killed and injured. Arriving at the bank, he called the night watchman into his office and fired him. Why did he do this?

This riddle and many others were some of the delightful morsels shared by J. Sidlow Baxter, the famous British preacher, when he was in our home for a meal. I count it a great privilege to have been included, along with my brother, at many meals and coffee times with guests in my parents home. Stuart Briscoe, Ivor Powell, Don Richardson, Dr. Helen Roseveare, Dr. Stephen Olford, J. Edwin Orr and countless others are some of the people that I remember who were invited over to enjoy one of Mom's home cooked meals or fine desserts. Mom took a lot of pride, not only in the meal, but in the whole presentation. Her china was a Scottish pattern, Brigadoon, with a beautiful purple thistle pattern. This large set of china is now in the proud possession of our daughter Christy, and it brings me great joy to recognize that Mom's legacy of hospitality lives on in our daughter.

Our home was always a beehive of activity. Mom and Dad entertained constantly. It was not unusual for my Dad to show up at meal time with someone in tow that he had just met. Mom would rise to the occasion and set another plate . . . or two . . . or three . . . . From members of the church, to students, visiting preachers, missionaries, politicians and dignitaries, all were made to feel welcome in our home. A guest book was kept and it's amazing to look back through those hundreds of names and realize the impact of my parents' hospitality.

In those years Prairie had a large board of advisors made up of some of Canada's brightest business, legal and accounting minds. This board met twice a year and was always invited to our home for a meal. I have a distinct memory, that when I was about 6 years old, Frank Reimer (one of the founders of Reimer Express) handed my brother and me each a five dollar bill. He very emphatically encouraged us to get down to the bank the following Monday and start a savings account. I should have listened!

For many years, until Mom's health made it impossible, Dad would invite 15 of his students for dessert every Friday night. Over the years, hundreds and hundreds of students came to our home to see their professor outside the classroom and visit with him in a more informal setting. Mom would prepare one of her famous desserts for the occasion. Baked Alaska, rhubarb custard pie with ice cream or fancy parfaits were the order of the day.

There are a couple of life lessons, learned from observing my parents' hospitality for which I will be forever grateful. The first lesson is that they treated everyone the same. From child to student, business executive to staff member, preacher, teacher, to the odd millionaire and even billionaire, (not that millionaires and billionaires are odd, but . . . ) all were respected and honored. This sent a huge message to us as children about the value of every single person. The second is that most of the time they included us in these meals and coffee hours. Mom and Dad did not buy the axiom, "Children should be seen and not heard", but instead encouraged us to interact with these folks. Of course we needed to be respectful and wait our turn to speak (which was sometimes pretty hard, especially for me) but the experiences were rich in that they taught us a lot about different cultures, viewpoints and various styles of communicating. I believe we received an entire education just from these experiences alone.

Today, as cell phones, facebook, email, texting and twitter seem to have become the main forms of communication, human interaction seems few and far between. In this fast paced world we live in, where communication can be so very impersonal, why not consider inviting a human over for some real genuine "facetime"? As we approach summer, what a perfect time to invite that neighbor, co-worker or friend over to your home for a barbecue or pancake breakfast. Get to know something about them–their heart, their family, their interests and what they are passionate about. You could even text them the invitation!

O yes . . . the nightwatchman . . . remember he said, "Last night I had a dream . . ."?

The bank manager fired him for sleeping on the job.

www.prairieboy.com

© 2012 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

SHATTERED GLASS

"The Queen of Desserts" may have been an apt title to describe my Mother, although I was fortunate to marry a wife and have a daughter who are both known for their delightful culinary skills in that department as well. Mom put a lot of creativity and work into the fine art of the dessert and its presentation.

My parents entertained frequently and throughout the year Mom would labor in the kitchen turning out Hungarian Crumb Cake, Baked Alaska, Chocolate Crunch, Angel Food Cake with ice cream and strawberries, cobblers of various kinds, Apple, Banana and Rhubarb Custard pies, shortbread, doughnuts and steamed pudding. At Easter she would make her special sunflower coffee cake, resplendent in yellow icing, with brown chocolate sprinkles at the center.

At Christmas the work would start weeks before, making Russian Teacakes, Almond Roca, chocolates, peanut brittle, fudge, divinity, mints, rosettes, nuts and bolts and fruitcake. We kids would help pull taffy, decorate cookies and wrap the candy. Many of these treats were shared with neighbors, friends and relatives, but there was always plenty for our own consumption. Mom took a great deal of pleasure  in finding new recipes and trying them out on our family. I never remember anyone complaining! She would have loved Martha Stewart and  all the cooking shows that are available these days. Back then she was her own "Martha Stewart".

It was the spring of 1974 and I had just turned 13. That time in one's life where you're an expert on just about everything and have no problem letting others know about it. Mom had been carefully crafting a new recipe and it was the day of its debut for our family before she rolled it out for company. After the main course, she brought out a tray of fine looking, elegant goblets. These tall vessels contained a beautiful parfait. Bright colors of layered jello, pudding and custard topped with whipped cream and a cherry rounded out the presentation. We couldn't wait to get started! Mom set the tray down and handed one of the parfaits to each of us. She then asked us if we had noticed the new goblets. I can't say that we had as we were more interested in the contents. Mom was always buying dishes in large quantities as it was not unusual for us to entertain 12 or more people at one time. She had found a sale on a dozen of these tall elegant goblets and was rightly proud of her find.

Paying some attention now to the goblets, I announced that they sure looked like plastic to me. The sides appeared far too thin to be glass. I took my spoon and lightly tapped the side of the goblet. "Steve", Mom said, "You be careful, that's glass". "That can't be glass," I said, as I tapped a little harder. "It sounds like plastic to me". "Please be careful or you'll break it", Mom continued. I insisted that it was plastic. Eager  to prove my point, I tapped with a little more vigor . . . Clink . . . to my surprise, there lay a small chunk of glass on top of what was left of my dessert. Oops! . . . I guess I was wrong. I felt bad, but the damage was done and super glue was not going to fix the problem. Mom was  very disappointed, Dad was upset and I was embarrassed.

Did Dad take me out to the wood shed to teach me a lesson? Did Mom make me buy a new goblet? Did I have to do penance for the next year? None of the above. Mom came up with a very clever punishment and one that may have been more meaningful in the long term than some of the others. She washed out the goblet, complete with the shattered piece and placed it on the dresser in my bedroom. Everyday, when I went to get a pair of socks or underwear, there was a clear reminder that just maybe I didn't know it all and there's a reason that we are given people in our lives for guidance and advice.

How many times in life or in business have we thought we knew it all? Maybe a partner, business colleague or friend has clearly warned us, even numerous times, that the results of our actions could have devastating consequences. We plow forward, tinkling the glass until it's too late. The damage is done.

I still like my desserts but I try to be a little more careful about how much I think I know.


Special Gift just for you from the Rendall Vault:

MOM'S SHORTBREAD

1 cup margarine
1/2 cup cornstarch
1/2 cup icing sugar
1/2 tsp of salt
2 cups sifted all purpose flour
Beat margarine until smooth
Sift dry ingredients 4 times
Add to margarine, work with hands until mixture cracks
Roll out to about 1/2 inch and cut in shapes or squares
Bake at 325 for 20 minutes

ENJOY!

www.prairieboy.com
© 2012 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

THE CASE OF THE RUNAWAY VAN

I'm not sure if driving habits can be hereditary or if there's some possibility that automobile DNA is somehow transferable. With a less than stellar driving record, my Grandpa Norbo must have had at least some impact on my family and our driving.

One Christmas vacation in 1990, Jonathan was 2, Rob was 3 and Christy had just turned 5. We decided to go out to Abbotsford and visit Cathy's brother and his family. With a 600 mile drive ahead of us, we didn't get away until later in the day. Cathy's folks were driving their car and we were traveling together. We owned a Ford Taurus at the time and because the kids were all so young, we had 3 car seats lined up across the back seat. Driving long distances with 3 small children can tax anyone's patience and we made some effort to make these trips as smooth and painless as possible. This was long before DVD entertainment systems in vehicles was the norm. We loaded up with Adventures in Odyssey cassette packs from the library, brought along some of the kids favorite music, books, drinks and snacks and hit the road.

Canadian winters can be brutally cold and this winter was no exception. Driving through the mountains can be even more treacherous. Just west of Canmore, in a small hamlet ironically called Dead Man's Flats, we decided to stop for gas, potty break and to switch drivers. I filled up the Taurus and went inside to pay. Cathy and Grandma were in the bathroom with Christy and Rob. Grandpa was filling his car at the pump and keeping his eye on our car where Jonathan was sleeping.

As I was paying the attendant, he looked out his window and said, "Isn't that your car driving away?" I glanced up and sure enough, there was the blue Taurus heading out of the gas bar. Looking again, I saw Grandpa in full pursuit, arms and legs flying as he gave chase. I rushed outside and the car was now heading out of the parking lot. In an instant the car came to a halt as it went up over a curb and crashed into a giant snow drift on the service road. Grandpa and I reached the car at the same time. Opening the door, we found Jonathan sitting in the driver's seat screaming.

While everyone was busy, he had unfastened his seat belt, climbed out of his car seat, up and over the front seat, and put the car in drive. This was before you had to have your foot on the brake to put the car in drive. He was then able to steer the car as he stood at the wheel. Narrowly missing a large fuel tank, he landed relatively unscathed in the pile of snow at the end of the road. I carried him, still screaming, back into the station where Cathy was able to calm him down. We then went back to see about pulling the car out of the snow drift. We were very thankful as it could have been much worse. Good for the car companies for adding the "step on the brake" feature, before a vehicle can be placed in drive!

Flash forward to when the kids were quite a bit older and we were getting ready to head out on our summer vacation to the Shuswap Lakes in British Columbia. This was an annual pilgrimage for us and we spent many good summers there with our kids and several other families, at a couple of cabins on the water. It seemed that before a vacation I was often under a lot of stress, trying to get everything done before we left. Calls had to be made, faxes sent, record company deadlines met, Fed Ex packages dropped off in Calgary, all the while making sure the vehicle was serviced and countless other tasks.

The afternoon before we were to leave, I stopped at the post office to drop off a couple of letters and pick up the mail. Parking right beside the building, I figured I could just leave the van running, duck into the post office quickly and be on my way. I greeted a couple of people as I bounded up the stairs and hurried to the back to check our mailbox. As I was exiting the building, Wentwoth Pike said to me, "Isn't that your van driving away?" Wentworth (or Wentforth as we humorously called him) and his wife Dolores were standing out on the steps visiting with another couple. I looked in the direction he was pointing and sure enough there was the green Transport heading directly north on 3rd avenue. I knew Jonathan wasn't with me, so it couldn't have been him driving! Perhaps it had been stolen right in broad daylight?

By now I had taken off running at full speed, mail in one hand, mail keys in the other. This was made somewhat difficult as I was wearing my thongs, or as they're now called,"flip flops". Traveling 170 feet, the van made a sharp left turn in front of Kirk's Sheet Metal and headed across the street. I could see into the front window and there was no driver to be seen, so that ruled out the theft theory. Moving along at a steady pace, it started across an empty lot north of the Victory Church, narrowly missing two telephone poles as it rolled right between them. I was trying my hardest to catch up, but the van was not slowing down. As it motored a full block across the lot it went right between two parked cars that were on the east side of the next street. Having moved another 330 feet, it narrowly missed a parked car which was on the west side of the street. The vehicle went up the opposite curb showing no sign of coming to halt. Straight ahead was a house. With the right set of tires on the driveway and the left set on the lawn it just kept truckin'. Gaining some ground I managed to reach the van, open the driver's door, jump in and slam my thonged foot on the brake just as it was crunching through the downspout. I was completely out of breath and shaking as the van came to a stop, I was relieved to find it hadn't even grazed the house.

The unpiloted van had journeyed a total of 500 feet or 166 yards. I was a decent 100 yard dash sprinter in school, but this had taxed my limits! After I regained some of my composure, I went up the front stairs and rang the doorbell. The son of the owner was home and I tried to explain to him what had just happened. He looked at me as if I had just come from the bar across the street. I offered to pay for the damage to the drainpipe and he said he would explain it to his Dad. Thanking him, I turned to go back down the stairs to the van. Looking up I and saw a small crowd of bystanders at the other end of the field, peering across to view the outcome of my adventure.

I wish I could blame this occurrence on faulty brakes, negligence by the manufacturer or some other mechanical malady, but alas, I think the bottom line was that in my hurrying and stress, I simply forgot to put the van in park when I got out. It's a miracle that no one was hurt, no vehicles harmed and no real damage done. I called the home owner that evening and he assured me that all was well and he was able to straighten out his down spout.

I'm not sure if they keep Olympic records for races with men in thongs, but I just may hold one.

www.prairieboy.com

© 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.