Month: December 2017

December 17:  After a relatively balmy autumn, the weather has turned frigid. The overnight temperatures are in the low minus-teens and the day-time highs not much warmer. It was -10C for my run this morning and, given these extremes of climate, I often wonder what possessed people to emigrate to this country in the first place. Thoughts turn to my paternal grandparents who emigrated from Scotland in the early 1900’s.

We really only have a very sketchy outline of how that came to pass. Grandma(Mary) and Grandpa (James) were both born in Scotland in 1881. As a young woman, Grandma  emigrated to South Africa. I believe that she may have been married there, and perhaps even have had a child. From there, she emigrated to Canada. Grandpa was trained as a machinist. He worked for a time with the Scottish railway and then left that country for Jamaica. My Dad suggested that this may have been due to his involvement with the union movement.

While in Jamaica, he was in touch with his 2 brothers, some of whom may also have been there. At that time, the sole method of semi-reliable communication would have been the mail, and the brothers were using the address of a rooming house as an informal post office. In time, the mail dwindled and contacts were lost. Now all we have left is the knowledge that there are several other branches to the McKillop family, but no way of knowing who they might be. (Many years ago my Dad told this story to an acquaintance from Jamaica and asked him if he knew anyone named McKillop. “I do indeed”, he said. “Of course, they’re all black….”)

Grandma and Grandpa were married in Toronto in 1909; they were both 18.  My Father was the youngest of 5 children by a considerable margin, and he was born in 1922. Grandpa was a machinist with the CNR and I have an abiding memory of visiting the roundhouse and climbing aboard steam locomotives with him and my Dad. Strangely though, while I remember specific sayings or events related to all of my other grandparents, I don’t remember much more about him. I don’t remember him ever actually saying anything to me.

The family lived in a small house on Sackville Street, north of Wellesley Street, in what is now Cabbagetown. It can’t have been easy for them, yet each of the children went on to have families and a successful life. Many of my relatives from that side of the family are now in Prince Edward County and I have not seen them for many years. It seems that we can lose touch without the help of Her Majesty’s Post.

And so the McKillop clan established itself in Ontario. As snowflakes drift by the window, I wonder what they must have felt as they arrived and spent their first winter here. Perhaps, had things been different, we all might have found ourselves on a beach in Jamaica and permanently avoided Ontario winters.

December 3: It was on this date in 1992 that the first SMS (Short Message Service) was sent by Neil Papworth, a 22-year old engineer. It was sent from a bar in Milan to a cell phone owned by the then-director of Vodaphone Richard Jarvis. Papworth used a computer since phones of the day were not able to send text messages. CBC News (quoting SKY News) reports that 151 billion SMS and MMS (Multimedia Messaging Service) were sent in 2012 alone. Since that year, traffic has generally declined. “When you send someone a text message you often lose a lot of the context that you might get when you are speaking face to face,” social media expert Toby Beresford told CBC News. “And that’s a real challenge for us in the new era.” Who knew ?

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A friend e-mailed to say that this site had disappeared and been replaced by a page from Bluehost, my provider. I had my computer cleaned last week, and told the tech that the one thing I was really concerned about was losing the site and all of the work that it represents, and apparently that had happened. I stumbled around the Bluehost site for a while in a fruitless attempt to understand what had happened and how to fix it. Most of these computer-based sites are written by people and for people with a level of computer literacy. I frequently find them baffling, and in this case, I finally logged in to their chat room seeking a fix.

I was connected with Smithla, who was likely in south Asia, and we set about fixing the problem. I provided login and password identification for the account that I had miraculously managed to keep at hand during the 3 years the site has been up. After a few moments, there was a response that the connection seemed to be pointing to the wrong IP. At this point, we could have been speaking Swahili. In any event, a further moment and the site was back, fixed remotely by a stranger likely half-way around the world manipulating a system completely foreign to me, and, I suspect, most people.

At risk of sounding like a latter-day Luddite, I am often alarmed by the many ways we put our trust in technology, and specifically the Internet. Where would we be without it ? I use it to access e-mail, do research, follow the news and do virtually all of my banking and investing. It’s all there and I seldom keep a paper copy of transactions because I have been told to think of the Internet as “secure”.

Thing is: The Internet was established to share information; it is inherently an open network that anyone can access and use for their own purposes. This is all fine if you are a Pollyanna and believe that bad people will not do bad things to us through the Internet. Yet who among us has not had e-mail hacked, or worse ?  What’s going to happen when “terrorists” seize all or part of the on-line monetary system and all of our on-line records vanish ? This seems to me to be only a matter of time. My only hope is that there are enough Smithlas in south Asia to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.