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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| PROMPT November 14th A Mystery Genre prompt tonight. You are researching your genealogy and find that ancestors from different generations and different countries made visits to the same remote place. Tell us about this remote place. Why were your ancestors going there? In 1903, Joseph had endured a crossing of the Atlantic Ocean to leave his life in Ireland behind. Though he feared the rough swells and the endless seasickness would kill him, he landed in Montreal with the clothes on his back and a determination to make something of himself. Saying farewell to the ship he said a quick prayer he would never have to board her again. Without one ounce of regret he set out for Shawville, Quebec on a journey that saw him walk and hitch rides in passing wagons. Once amongst his cousins, Joe settled in to work with the local blacksmith. Customers coming in regaled him with tales of riches to be had if a man were strong and willing to relocate. Before too many months had passed, he boarded a train for British Columbia and set out for a cross-Canada trek. Now it was 1904, the perfect time to begin anew. As the train rattled along, Joe swayed in his seat and dared to dream. He smiled as he thought of his destination's name, Mission. What an apt name for his new adventure. Hours blended into days, and Joe became disoriented. To add to his shock, three gruff man brandished weapons one day and demanded the passengers' money. He remembered the conductor shouting they were near Silverdale when asked at the end of a gun. Not wishing to be shot, Joe handed over the few dollars in his pocket. The one thief, more silver-haired than his partners, tipped his hat and actually said thank you. As if anyone had willingly forfeited their monies. It may not have been a fortune, but it was all he had and he'd worked hard for it. With his skills, he'd never worried he would find employment amongst the logging and mining communities. He'd packed light. Joe never forgot the terror he'd felt aboard that train. Unarmed, he'd hesitated to raise a ruckus and irk the bandits. In Mission, he volunteered to join the search party for the thieves. For weeks he slogged through thick forests and climbed rocky ravines without so much as a glimpse of the wanted men. In time, Joe accepted he would never recover his meagre stake and he settled into his new life. Years later, he returned to Quebec and his tale of witnessing a train robbery earned him a few drinks from fascinated listeners. Fast forward several decades and Nathaniel a Canadian descendant of Joe decided to recreate his ancestor's western trek. He'd heard the stories over and over. Were they myth, or legend? Could he see for himself where the bandits had jumped from a train and disappeared? Where had they absconded? Had they buried their loot as they fled? Could it still exist under layers of leaves and branches? The idea of trekking about in terrain that had not changed noticeably excited Nathaniel. Would he find the robbers' stash that rumours insisted had never been located? Would he stumble upon a bleak skeleton guarding that ill-gained treasure? Would he discover anything at all? Could he coax the locals to share their memories of the great train robbery of 1910? Did anyone aid and abet the men? Perhaps one of the seniors would be a thief hiding in plain sight. Now that would make for a great story. |
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