Member Bio: Trevelyan Beard
Born in England where Trev was very lucky to be accepted for an apprenticeship in Machine Construction, he emigrated to Canada in 1950, married and obtained a B.Sc. then an M.Eng degree.
Retired after very happy working life. After 24 years of married life joined the ranks of the divorced.
Volunteered with CESO to work abroad for stately sum of $5 per day enjoying stints in Jamaica, India and Colombia, a highly recommended way of seeing the world at minimum cost.
Outwitted cancer and a heart attack and saw the rancor of the divorce turn into a renewed friendship with his ex.
Long-term projects: write an autobiography for his eight grandchildren; develop a certain product for sale on eBay; tidy up the house; write short stories and poetry; make videos; stay close to the grandchildren.
Favourite ‘Rant’: Anyone seeking the secret to a good life has only to remember one word: Attitude. It can be developed, nourished and trained. “My attitude is to be cheerful, positive and helpful. Provided one has just enough money to get by on and a reasonable state of health, you have it made. Simple as that!”
Amnesia
By Trevelyan Beard
A little tired after the meeting, Trev emerged into the outside world, looked up at the sky and mused, “It looks a bit like rain.” He gazed about him and thought, “Now let’s see; where is the car?” He paused and looked north, then south. He realized that he couldn’t immediately think where he’d left the car. He stopped to lean against a wall of the building, waiting for the location of the parking garage to float into his mind. The location didn’t appear.
Now he stopped thinking casually and gave it his proper attention. The location just did not come to Trev’s mind. This was a new experience and he felt vaguely uneasy. He stopped paying attention to the people walking by, instead, concentrating on the problem at hand. Nothing happened. A little shocked, he tried again and found that his actions prior to entering the building would not come to mind either, no matter how hard he tried. Leaving the house was clear and so was some of the journey driving along Eglinton. But nothing after that. He couldn’t even remember entering the building.
The realization that something was really wrong with his reasoning dawned on him, and he felt a flush coming to his cheeks. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t sick, he wasn’t suffering a headache. No matter how intensely Trev concentrated on the short period of time-the journey in the car from some point on Eglinton to actually being inside the building-none of it existed in his memory. It started to drizzle, and he looked at his watch-it was nine-thirty. Perhaps he was experiencing a touch of amnesia? It wasn’t the onset of a stroke-he felt fine. His memory since emerging from the meeting was fine. It was just that period in which he had selected a parking garage, parked and then walked into the building that was a complete blank. He felt in his pockets for the ticket stub but it was nowhere to be found.
Common sense took over and he made for the first parking garage that he could see. No success, no recollection. He tried another location and again, no success. Now there was a steady drizzle as he went from location to location, five in all. He widened his circle and continued this grim search, to no avail. Ten o’clock arrived and a few places started to close. He went into the front lobby of a restaurant to get out of the rain and leaned against a wall in order to think. The police might be able to help, he thought. At that moment a cruiser came round the corner and he quickly exited the building and signaled for the officer to stop. He sat in the front seat and explained what had happened. The office acted as if this were an every day occurrence and proceeded to drive around to the dozen or so parking garages in the area. No luck. None of them brought back any memory response in the slightest.
The officer turned to Trev and said the next step was to bring in specialized help as he had another, more important call to make. In a very short time, an unmarked car appeared with two plain-clothed officers. They would continue the search. For the next two-and-a- half hours, the search continued with the circle widening. At one point, the officers assured Trev that if unsuccessful, not to worry, as they would run him home to Markham.
They soon decided to widen the circle drastically. They drove north to Broadway Avenue and slowly approached the entrance to a parking garage. It was magic. Trev instantly recognized the entrance. What a relief! One officer jumped out and entered the building. Five minutes later, he emerged with a smile. “It’s in there,” he announced. A telephone call to the owners, a promise to pay the charge and a handshake all around, and the adventure was over! The ticket stub was on the dashboard, something Trev had never done before.
Trev drove home hugely comforted with the successful ending to the night’s mystery. It was two-thirty in the morning when he pulled up into his own driveway. The next day, his memory for that short period returned. He thought, “What is God going to throw at me next? First it’s one thing, then another.” At least the amnesia episode was of short duration!
I’ve Got it on the List
by Trevelyan Beard
I woke around seven with a feeling of anxiety pressing down on me.
“Oh yes,” I murmured, “The project for Writers Club. Durn it, I can’t nail down a plot.”
With only a day or two to go, something had to be done. I rolled out of bed and sat on the edge, reached for a pen and paper and resolved not to move until I had a plot all determined.
A flash of thought and I had it… a story about the anxiety of an upcoming writers’ evening and no story on the horizon. The reason for the absence of a plot was, of course, the mountain of jobs both big and small that were clamoring for my attention. For instance… and I started listing all the jobs in the queue to be worked on:
1. Finish fixing the shed roof before it rains again.
2. Wage war on the dandelions just starting to sprout.
3. Patch the rusted area on the car roof that’s letting in water.
4. Re-hang the gutters blown down in the recent gale.
5. Unplug he plugged drain in the bathroom sink.
6. Address the general untidiness of the house since my brother is planning a trip over.
7. Work on that software program review I promised ‘Panorama.’
8. Dig out my friend’s lawnmower, still waiting to be fixed.
9. Look at the computer and its hundred things not working right.
10. Face the laundry, growing higher by the day.
“And that’s just a start,” I thought.
I knew all about the terrible disease called ‘anxiety-itus,’ where the victim becomes more anxious each day until a kind of fear sets in. I knew the cure was to pick up a job and complete it, then another, and so on until the one hundred items had been whittled down to half. My problem used to be my ‘perfectionist’ attitude that prevented any job from being completely finished. A bad habit of mine was never putting things away – just look at the workbench piled shamelessly with screwdrivers, screws, wrenches, bits of wood ends, and other paraphernalia that should have been packed away.
Finally, realization dawned and I knew, really knew, the solution to my procrastination: make a list. At last, I would have a tidy bench, a tidy kitchen table, a tidy floor, and so on ad infinitum.
I stopped with a furious suddenness and said aloud, “I must select just one job and stay with it until completion. That way they will gradually be reduced to zero. I think I’ll just take a nap to think things through. Then I’ll not feel so weary!” A little voice spoke to me, “But that’s what you always say, and by the time your nap is over the sun will have gone down and dinner will need to be made and then it will be time for bed.”
Could it be possible that with my kind of mindset, it was normal for me to be indecisive just as it was normal for some people to drink too much no matter how hard they applied themselves to be otherwise… a sort of inevitableness? After all, I reasoned, I did have my good points. I was an inventive guy and I could do poetry!
Just then, I noticed two boxes of books someone had given me, stacked on the kitchen floor just as they had been since year one. My resolve was admirable – I transported the books to my car to take to the Recycle Depot up the road. I strode over to the workbench and put away some of my tools. I then made breakfast – steel-cut oats and powdered milk. Filled with this resolve to ‘do things,’ I filled the watering can, added Killex and attacked the dandelions. Four trips, and I was done. Tomorrow, I would haul out the lawnmower. But first, it’s time for a spell of reading and a cup of tea to be followed by a well-earned nap.