November 2026

Stephen Colbert on Seniors

"We are often called “the elderly,” but that quiet label hides a truth most people rarely pause to consider: we are the last living witnesses of a world that no longer exists.

If you look closely, you might notice gray hair, slower steps, or the quiet patience that time alone can teach. But if you truly listen to our stories, you will discover something far more extraordinary. We are not simply older people moving through the final chapters of life.
We are the survivors of one of the most breathtaking transformations in human history — a generation that walked from the slow, deliberate rhythm of an analog world into the dazzling speed of a digital one without ever losing our sense of humanity along the way.

Our journey began in a very different place.

Many of us were born in the 1940s, 1950s, and early 1960s, when the scars of World War II were still fresh across Europe and Asia and the world was slowly learning how to hope again. Cities rose from rubble. Families rebuilt lives after years of uncertainty. Childhood unfolded in ways that would feel almost unrecognizable to younger generations today.

Our toys were simple: marbles played in dusty yards, hopscotch drawn on cracked sidewalks, checkers and cards gathered around kitchen tables while the smell of dinner filled the house. When the streetlights flickered on in the evening, it was the universal signal that childhood adventures were over for the day and it was time to go home.

There were no smartphones, no streaming videos, no endless scroll of digital distractions. Instead, we built our memories in the real world — with scraped knees, laughter echoing down neighborhood streets, and friendships that formed face to face, without the mediation of screens.

Music became one of the defining soundtracks of our youth. The 1960s and 1970s arrived like a wave of color and rebellion. We watched culture shift around us, carried by electric guitars and voices that dared to question the world.

For many of us, gatherings like the legendary Woodstock Festival of 1969 symbolized something powerful: the belief that peace, music, and community could reshape the future. Hundreds of thousands of young people stood together in muddy fields, listening to artists who poured raw emotion into towering speakers known as the Wall of Sound. Those concerts were not merely entertainment; they were moments when strangers felt like a single generation singing the same hope under an open sky.

Education looked different then, too. Our notebooks were filled with handwritten notes carefully copied from chalkboards. Research required patience, long hours in libraries, and stacks of heavy books rather than a quick internet search. We learned to slow down and think through ideas because information did not arrive instantly. Mistakes were corrected with erasers and ink, not with the click of a delete button.

Love carried a different rhythm as well. We fell in love while vinyl records spun on turntables and cassette tapes clicked softly inside plastic players. Music became the background to first dances, long conversations, and dreams about the future. Those relationships grew into marriages, families, and lives built step by step through the 1980s and 1990s — decades that saw technology begin to reshape the world around us.

Yet nothing compares to the bridge our generation has crossed. We are the only generation to have experienced an entirely analog childhood and a fully digital adulthood.

We remember waiting days — or sometimes weeks — for handwritten letters to arrive in the mail. We remember rotary telephones and party lines where neighbors could accidentally overhear conversations. Communication required patience and anticipation. Today, we can see the face of a loved one across the ocean instantly on a screen small enough to fit in a pocket.

The world changed in ways few could have imagined. We watched humanity land on the Moon in 1969, a moment when millions of people sat in living rooms staring at black-and-white televisions as Neil Armstrong took humanity’s first steps on another world.

We saw the rise of personal computers, the birth of the internet, and eventually the arrival of smartphones that placed entire libraries of knowledge in our hands. Machines that once filled entire rooms now exist on devices lighter than a paperback book. We moved from punch cards and mechanical tools to artificial intelligence and global networks connecting billions of people instantly. And through every shift, we adapted.

Our bodies carry the marks of the times we lived through as well. We grew up during fears of polio and tuberculosis, illnesses that once terrified entire communities before vaccines helped bring them under control. We witnessed the global challenges of pandemics and health crises across decades, including the recent silence and uncertainty of COVID-19, which reminded the world that resilience is still required in every generation.

Science itself transformed before our eyes. We saw the discovery of the structure of DNA in 1953, the decoding of the human genome at the turn of the century, and the early steps into gene therapy and advanced medicine. Transportation evolved from simple bicycles and steam engines to hybrid vehicles and electric cars gliding almost silently through city streets.

Few generations have witnessed such sweeping change. And yet, despite everything that evolved around us, certain things remain unchanged. We still understand the joy of a cold glass bottle of lemonade on a hot afternoon. We still remember the taste of vegetables picked straight from a garden. We still know the value of a long conversation that unfolds slowly without a keyboard or screen interrupting it.

Our memories stretch across decades. We have celebrated births, mourned losses, watched friends depart, and carried their stories forward. Those of us who remain share something rare: the experience of standing at the crossroads of history, holding memories from a world that younger generations know only through photographs and stories.

But we are not relics. We are living bridges. Our perspective reminds the modern world that progress does not have to erase wisdom. The speed of technology does not have to replace patience, kindness, or reflection. We remember what life felt like before everything moved so fast — and that memory carries quiet lessons worth sharing.

So when someone calls us “elderly,” we can smile. Because behind that word lies something extraordinary. We are the generation that crossed two centuries, witnessed eight decades of transformation, and walked from the age of handwritten letters to the era of artificial intelligence.

What a life we have lived. What a remarkable story we continue to carry. And if you belong to this generation, take a moment today to look in the mirror and recognize something powerful.
You are not simply growing older. You are living history. You are part of a generation that will always remain one of a kind. And perhaps, in the quietest and most meaningful way, you are becoming legendary."

Victoria Bridge Archive

These papers are an absolute gold mine as far as the coming of railroads to the St-L area and are filled with fascinating photos and drawings.

Does anyone know where the St-L Municipal Yards were located? It was in this area that the stone from Ile la Motte on Lake Champlain was unloaded and used to build the bridge abutment after the blocks were floated down the Richelieu River and loaded onto flat cars.

Who knew that the train from St-Lambert to Moffat's Island and then a steamboat to the Port was the safest way to get to Montreal before 1860?

The three images above (click to view larger) are just a small sample of what you will find inside the attached newsletters. I urge you to click on the links below and take a trip back in history.

Class of 1977 - 50th Reunion

WHEN: May 14-16, 2027

WHERE: St. Lambert or close by venues which will be booked once numbers of those attending are confirmed. Please contact Bev Lowe (Walker) as soon as possible so venues and DJ can be booked.

Email: tombevwalker@gmail.com

RSVP: Send me an email if you will be attending and bringing a Plus One with you to all events or just the dinner dance on the Saturday night. This is the one I particularly need numbers for, in order to book a venue and DJ. So far, people who have responded are bringing a Plus One to the Saturday evening dinner/dance, but also a lot of solos, so just come and have fun!!

Come and reconnect with classmates. You don’t have to have graduated in 1977, just attended CCHS at some point with the class of 1977. It will be a blast!!

If you know of any classmates please share this information with them.

Thanks
Bev Lowe (Walker)

The Antipodes

Bishop’s University Academy of Performing Arts
is thrilled to announce their upcoming fall production of The Antipodes.
 

An acclaimed play written by Pulitzer Prize-winner Annie Baker, this piece is directed by Dr. Rebecca Harries. Dr. Harries has previously directed hit productions at Bishop’s such as Baker’s Circle Mirror Transformation and Jordan Tannahill’s Concord Floral.

In a mysterious writers’ room, eight storytellers set out to find a story about a monster or “something monstrous” that will light “the way out of the forest” in “dark times”. As they follow this path, the writers and their high-powered boss reveal their own lives and may awaken the monster within. Punchy, incisive and thought provoking, The Antipodes is a captivating theatrical experience that will leave audiences reflecting long after the final curtain.

This piece features upper year students from all over Canada, including students born and raised in the townships. It runs at Turner Studio Theatre from November 18-22 at 7:30 PM.

Performance Details
Turner Studio Theatre, Bishop’s University Campus
2600 College Street, Sherbrooke QC, J1M 1Z3

Showtimes
November 18-7:30 p.m.
November 19-7:30 p.m.
November 21-7:30 p.m.
November 22-7:30 p.m

Tickets
https://lepointdevente.com/lieux/turnerstudio

Laura Lee Storen

Laura Lee “Laurie” Storen, beloved mother, grandmother, sister and friend, died peacefully in her sleep on August 27, 2026, in Denver, Colorado at age 76.

Born in Montreal in 1949 to Alexander Storen and Irene (Griffith) Storen, Laurie was the fourth of their children. She became a registered nurse at Royal Victoria Hospital, where she met Dr. Ronald Mark Becker. They married and began their family in 1973 with the birth of their daughter, Heidi Ilse. Their son, Mark Alexander, followed in 1975. The family moved to New York in that year, where Laurie continued her work in cardiac nursing and Ron joined the cardiac surgery team at Montefiore. Their son, Noah Storen, was born in 1978.

The family eventually settled in Chico, California. After her marriage ended, Laurie began a new chapter in her life. While working and raising three children, she earned a bachelor’s degree in communications from Chico State University. In 1991 she moved to Chicago where she built a rewarding, second career with several Chicago-based and national nonprofit organizations. As her children went off to college, Laurie embraced the opportunity to build a life that was entirely her own.

Giving to others was at the heart of who Laurie was. She regularly donated her time and resources to local soup kitchens, inspired in part by her modest upbringing and her strong belief that those who had enough should share with those who did not. She loved telling stories about her grandfather, who would sometimes give away meals even when his own family had little to spare—a family tradition of generosity that clearly lived on in Laurie.

Laurie was warm, kind, and genuinely interested in getting to know people. She made friends wherever she went and across every walk of life. She was generous with her time, cooking, laughter, and especially her compliments. She had a unique and special way of making people feel seen and appreciated.

In 2008, Laurie returned to Canada to be closer to her aging parents and her sister Judith (Storen) Kozak. She settled in Belleville, Ontario, and became a beloved member of the Peet’s Point community on the Bay of Quinte. She filled her days with gardening, cooking, enjoying good food and wine, and continuing to find ways to help nourish those in need. Her Canadian friends and neighbors supported her through two rounds of breast cancer treatment and became an important part of her life.

In 2023, as her health challenges increased, Laurie moved to Denver to be closer to her daughter, Heidi, and her family. Even as her cancer progressed, Laurie once again created a warm and vibrant community around herself, first at Vita Littleton and later at MorningStar Observatory Park. She reassured those around her that she was not afraid of her progressing disease and spoke often and with genuine gratitude about what a wonderful life she had built.

That gratitude was perhaps one of Laurie’s greatest gifts. She knew that life was not always easy, but she chose to focus on the people she loved, the meals she could share, the gardens she could tend, the friendships she could nurture, and the good things ahead of her.

Laurie is survived by her sister Carol Storen, brother Peter Storen, daughter Heidi Becker (Aaron Kirkpatrick), sons Mark Becker (Amanda) and Noah Becker (Katherine), and grandchildren Abraham Kirkpatrick, Aliza Kirkpatrick and Mason Becker. She is also remembered by several nieces, cousins and their families.

May Laurie rest peacefully with a healthy pour of sauvignon blanc nearby, a tennis match on the television, and a scratch-made meal for anyone who happens to be hungry.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to The Breast Cancer Research Foundation, Food Bank of the Rockies, or Humane Colorado.

Brian Mackarous 1962 - 2026

His last teaching assignment before his retirement was at St. Lambert International.

Brian Mackarous (July 11, 1962 – August 29, 2026), a lifelong Montrealer, passed away peacefully at the age of 64.

Brian was immensely proud of his service with the Canadian Grenadier Guards, where he served from 1981 to 1997 and attained the rank of Colour Sergeant. His years with the Guards remained an important part of his identity throughout his life, and the friendships, traditions and sense of service he found there remained with him long after his time in uniform. He received the Canadian Decoration, and in 2026 was deeply honoured to receive the King Charles III Coronation Medal in recognition of his service to his country.
Brian earned a Bachelor of Arts degree from Concordia University in 1987 and a Bachelor of Education degree from McGill University in 1994. He went on to devote more than three decades of his life to education, teaching from 1994 until 2025. His final teaching position was at Saint-Lambert International High School, where among his favourite subjects to teach were Secondary I Mathematics and Secondary V Contemporary World History. Over the course of his career, generations of students passed through his classrooms, and teaching remained an important part of his life until his retirement.

Outside the classroom, Brian embraced an active and adventurous life. An avid cyclist, he spent countless hours on his bike and enjoyed the camaraderie and competition of dragon boat racing as a member of a racing team. His adventurous spirit also took him far from home, including two trips to Japan and two climbs of Mount Fuji.

Brian was fiercely independent, strong-willed and determined, with a character that was unmistakably his own. He valued his independence deeply and lived his life on his own terms. He brought that same determination to his years in the military, his career in education and the many interests and adventures he pursued throughout his life.

Brian was predeceased by his parents, Angeline (Habib) Mackarous and John Mackarous. He leaves behind his brother, Philip Mackarous; his sister, Jo-Anne (Mackarous) Roggin; and his nephews, Andrew and James Mackarous, along with extended family, friends, former colleagues and students whose lives he touched over the years.

We wish to express our heartfelt gratitude to the many healthcare professionals who cared for and supported Brian throughout his illness, particularly the teams at the Montreal Neurological Institute and Hospital, the McGill University Health Center (MUHC), and the Benny Farm CLSC. Their extraordinary compassion, guidance and dedication provided Brian with dignity, comfort and as much independence as his illness would allow, while also providing invaluable support to us throughout an extraordinarily difficult journey. We will always be grateful for the kindness and humanity they showed Brian and our family.

Funeral Arrangements
Visitation will take place on Friday, September 18, 2026, from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. at Urgel Bourgie Funeral Complex, 1255 Beaumont Avenue, Town of Mount Royal.

At 1:30 p.m., members of the Canadian Grenadier Guards, with whom Brian proudly served, will formally escort his casket into the funeral home. Family and friends will then have an opportunity to pay their respects and share a final moment with Brian.

A religious service will be celebrated at 4:00 p.m.

In lieu of flowers, the family kindly asks that those wishing to honor Brian's memory consider making a donation to the Montreal Neurological Institute and Hospital (The Neuro) or the McGill University Health Center (MUHC)

Ainsley "Joe" Dorning

Born in St. Lambert, Quebec, Ainsley Dorning was known simply as "Joe" throughout his life.
After graduating from Sir George Williams University, which later became Concordia University, Joe embraced a series of eclectic roles that spoke to his restless spirit. These included spending summers as a cowboy in Alberta and driving logs down the Ottawa River.

In the 1950s, Joe took to the skies as a pilot for the RCAF, where he flew the F-86 Sabre jet. Following his time in the Air Force, he transitioned into a career within the Canadian public service, eventually serving as the Director of Personnel for the National Museums of Canada.

After he married, Joe began his young family in Quebec before they eventually settled in Ottawa, a city he lived in for much of his life and grew to love deeply. Joe truly excelled at the "life" part of work-life balance. He was a man who never met a stranger; whether it was the person behind a counter or a passerby on the street, he always had a warm smile, a wave, and a moment to chat. His genuine kindness made him a favorite among casual acquaintances and deeply loved by those who knew him best.

An avid outdoorsman, Joe spent his years skiing, cycling, and skating. Even when an unsteady gait made playing tennis impossible, his spirit remained undaunted. He would still show up to the courts, racket in hand, ready to take on all comers. His adventures extended far beyond the local courts. He spent years camping and canoeing through Canada's national parks, and upon retirement, he took his passion for cycling across the globe. He famously biked the perimeter of Ireland and navigated the busy streets of London before pedaling through France, Belgium, and Denmark.

When he wasn't exploring the world, Joe was likely found wherever there was music. As a lifelong lover of dance, he was typically the first one to arrive on the dance floor at family events and invariably the very last one to leave.

Later in life, Joe moved to Guelph, Ont. While a fall in 2024 curtailed many of his beloved activities, he never stopped trying. His New Year's resolution in 2026 was simply "walking and playing tennis."

For his 90th birthday, his children hired a pilot to take him up in a restored Harvard Trainer one last time. His family would like to thank his wonderful caregivers at St. Joseph's Healthcare Center including Beulah, Hannah, Magda, and the many others who cared for him with such compassion.

He is survived by his twin sister, Audrey, who lives in St. Lambert and his children: Jennifer (Barry) and their children Patrick (Jaclyn) and Katie; Craig (Lisa) and their children Ainslie, Jack, Robert (Larson)and Malcolm (Katz); Anne-Marie (Ted) and their children, Kyra and Daisy; and David Dorning.

Turn the other cheek?

The married couple was in a terrible accident and the husband's face was severely burned. The doctor told him that he couldn't get a skin graft from his own body because he was too skinny.

The wife lovingly offered to donate some of her own skin. However, the only suitable area was from her buttocks, a rather delicate matter. So, they both agreed to keep it a secret and the doctor promised not to say a word.

After the surgery everyone was amazed by the man's transformation; he looked more handsome than ever. Friends and family couldn't stop complimenting him on his fresh youthful face.

One day, deeply moved, he said to his wife, “Dear i want to thank you for everything you did for me. How could I ever repay you?”

She smiled and replied, “My love, I get all the thanks I need, every time I see your mother kiss you on the cheek.”

The golfer

Seamus was about to tee off on the first hole when a second golfer (Paddy) approached and asked if he could join him. Seamus said that he usually played alone, but agreed to the twosome.

They were even after the first few holes, Paddy said, "We're about evenly matched, how about playing for £5.00 a hole?"
Seamus said that he wasn't much for betting, but agreed.

Paddy easily won the remaining 16 holes. They walked off number eighteen while Paddy counted his £80.00. He then confessed that he was the pro at a neighboring course and “liked to pick on suckers.”

Seamus, shocked, revealed that he was the Parish Priest.
Paddy the pro was flustered and apologetic and offered to return the money.

Seamus replied, "You won fair and square. I was foolish to bet with you. Keep your winnings."

An embarrassed Paddy asked, "Please, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Seamus replied, "Well, you could come to Mass on Sunday and make a donation. And, if you want to bring your mother and father along I'll marry them.

Thought for the day

Medical Term / Redneck Definition

Rednecks have the lowest stress rate, because they do not understand the seriousness of most medical terminology.

Artery / The study of paintings
Bacteria / Back door to cafeteria
Barium / What doctors do when a patient dies
Benign / What you be after you be eight
Caesarean Section / A neighborhood in Rome
Cat Scan / Looking for kitty
Cauterize / Made eye contact with her
Colic / A sheep dog
Coma / A punctuation mark
Dilate / Live too long
Enema / Not a friend
Fester / Quicker than someone else
Fibula / A small lie
Impotent / Distinguished well known
Labor Pain / Getting hurt at work
Medical Staff / A doctor’s cane
Morbid / A higher offer
Nitrates / Rate of pay for working at night – normally more than days
Node / I knew it
Outpatient / A person who has fainted
Pelvis / Second cousin to Elvis
Post Operative / A letter carrier
Recovery Room / Place to do up holster
Rectum / Nearly killed
Secretion / Hiding something
Seizure / A roman emperor
Tablet / A small table
Tumor / One plus one more
Urine / Opposite of your out

How to avoid the draft

A bear and a rabbit are conscripted into the army and waiting for their medical checkup.

The rabbit says to the bear, “Listen, I don't really want to go to war. Can you just kick me in the leg so that when I go in and see the doctor, I've got a limp?” The bear says, Sure, but can you do the same for me when I come out? I don't want to fight either.”

The rabbit agrees and the bear kicks him in the leg. It's a good kick. The rabbit only just manages to keep himself from falling over and crying out. And when he goes into the doctor's office, he's indeed noticeably limping.

The doc takes one look at him and says, “Nope, army can't use you. Not with that leg.” Sends him home.

When the rabbit comes out, he returns the favor and kicks the bear in the leg. Unfortunately, however, the bear is a bear and the rabbit is a rabbit. The kick doesn't even hurt. The rabbit tries kicking him again harder, tries punching him, biting him, even hitting him with one of the waiting room chairs. By the time the bear gets called in for his checkup, the rabbit has spent a good 10 or 15 minutes beating him all over. And he's at most managed to give him a light little nosebleed.

Sadly, the bear thanks him for doing what he could and heads in to see the doctor.

The doctor takes one look at him and says, “Nah, can't use you, mate.” The bear is thrilled but surprised. He goes, “What? Because I've got a bit of a bloody nose?” And the doctor says, “No, because that nurse over there just said she saw you getting your ass handed to you by a limping rabbit.”