No! That’s NOT just MY size! Linda Knight Seccaspina
My very first job when I was young and thin was working as an assistant fashion designer in a children’s wear firm. It wasn’t the most glamorous work, but I gained a lot of much needed experience. Even in those days they had an official Canadian children’s sizing chart that clothing companies had to adhere to. When you bought your kids clothing you knew that a size 2 was a size 2 no matter what company produced it. So, what ever happened to the women’s clothing industry? The average woman is now about 25 pounds heavier than she was in 1960. Yet larger women are sent to the new plus-size clothing racks, usually defined now as size 14 and up.
I can buy three pairs of jeans in the same size and when I get them home good luck getting two pairs of them on. Jean companies advertise how advanced their fits are and call them “Just My Size”. Well, I’ll tell you what jean companies are- they are not “Just My Size”, but I assume they might fit someone else! Or, how about the trendy stores who sell sizes 0 to 10 for the cool kids. You know the ones–which targets the trendy folks who favour coffee over food. Last time I got a 10 on was my shoe size.
When I had my own clothing store years later I had to assure customers that some companies made their clothing way too small and if you needed a size 9 you might as well try on a 13. Sometimes I had to comfort many a customer because they thought they had gained weight.
More women have developed eating disorders now over the size of clothing than anything else. Retail stores do not help either with their skinny mirrors. These mirrors are not a piece of fiction – they do exist and are a threat to our ‘round bottomed nation’. When my store took over the main floor once occupied by a major Canadian fashion chain I warned everyone about the mirrors. They were all built on a slight angle and everyone looking at their reflection appeared 5-7 pounds thinner.
The fashion designers do not help either, and even the ageing ones seem to feel everyone over 40 should be a size 2 or a 6 at the most. Can these people not design anything that flatters our prime ‘muffins tops’ and the ‘bicycle racks’ we proudly wear on our upper backsides? Let alone the horrible matronly prints they use; heck that would be another book in itself.
A store I would personally like to shake my finger at is that huge pink lingerie chain, who feels they offer women the best in intimate apparel. Maybe they do, but are they really thinking about youth stylings instead of someone who is packing some cleavage and the results of a family meal or two?
If you order a bra from their mail order catalogue you will notice a huge difference from a similar item that you purchase from one of their retail stores. Sizing seems to be different and the side boning is awful. A few wears and a wash and those under wires are going to be digging for gold in your armpits for hours. Someone told me to ignore the pink lingerie stores as their sizes are based on the models who are actually angels (ever see their wings in the fashion show?) and everyone knows celestial sizes run small.
When Subway advertises a foot long sandwich it is a true foot long. Why is it so hard for the fashion industry to understand this? I had eating disorders all my life trying to get into clothing that was made way too small. But for decades now I have tried to calm the minds of women who have struggled with a negative body image their entire lives. I am now ancient and I just tell everyone I am a “4 dressed up as a 9″. Okay, maybe a long way from a 9, but I wear something comfortable that is really just my size and not yours! As they say, the clothes from the internet generally don’t quite fit well, but you have to admit their boxes are great. In the end remember:
People who have had too many cocktails, children and leggings always tell the truth!
Be proud of who you are and don’t change for anyone!!
As I see my granddaughter Tenley sit at her Dad’s desk I remember my days of sitting at the desk at the F. J.Knight Company on South Street in Cowansville. My grandfather and dad had a business of being electrical contractors for over 60 years. They also had a retail store where they sold fixtures and whatever you needed for electrical work in the front of the house. I sat at the front desk in that store every Friday night for 14 years selling lightbulbs and whatever while my Dad Arthur, chewed the fat as they say, with his customers.When I was 12— I was promoted to working summers typing out invoices with carbon paper (three layers). There were so many pieces sold per invoices it drove me nuts. I also did the window/ window sills display for them… pretty funny when you think of it. At 3 pm every day my Grandmother Mary Knight came into the store with cheese and crackers and a glass of milk. Friday nights,when the store closed– it was Tommy Hunter on TV and then more cheese and crackers. I was always trained to work hard, respect people, but have a damn opinion please LOLOL– So it gives me great joy to see Tenley ‘helping” her Dad, and I already know she has opinions.
Linda at age 2
Feb 21, 2022
It’s 10:03 am and I am just doing my email. Once upon a time I was up at the crack of dawn ready to seize the day– not anymore. My eyes still red from weeping during the ‘chick flick’ marathon last night on the E channel. Favourites such as: Pretty Woman, When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail, still have most of my senses.
My routine has changed, no doubt about it. I have to sit on the edge of the bed for a spell every morning. The old engine and brain needs to warm up, and sometimes I wonder if I should just go back to bed. Then I get up and wander to the next bedroom and sit down to get my clothes for the day. I remember the days I did not make sound effects when I got up to go up anywhere.
‘Sit down’ seems to be the key word these days. I glance at my phone, get the day’s news and realize that it’s okay to get up as the world will not end today. Maybe tomorrow…. I’ll take my chances today.
I throw my underwear and pants down the stairs to the bottom floor so I can put them on without falling over. You know what they say: If you get your leg through one pant leg and not fall over, it’s a really good day.
The bathroom is next and I purposely do not bring my phone in there, or I might not be out of there until 11. I sit there and decide what I am going to feed Steve for breakfast and lunch. I know we are going to my daughter-in-law’s mothers for dinner, so one last thing to wrap my brain around, as it’s still not up to mid speed.
Underwear is on– with now mandatory protection –as the TV ads are true, and I will not go any farther with that information. I open the door and go sit on the couch. Pants on, I am ready to seize the day. Maybe.
Steve has been sitting there for probably a good 30 minutes, but he says nothing. I remove the butter to add to the frying pan and a giant chunk flies up in the air and lands on the floor. I quickly pick it up, examine it and throw it into the frying pan. Glued to his phone he begins to laugh having seen that stunt of mine. I tell him it wasn’t dirty, and then ask if he has eyes in the back of his head. He laughs and tells me he would have done the same thing.
It’s 10:30 now and instead of posting history I have wasted 30 minutes writing about getting older. At least I am not as old as I will be next year. But I live and forget my age, I can still ‘drop it like Im hot”– I just may now need a little help getting up these days!!!
Linda at Grammys on South Street in Cowansville, Quebec.
Today I thought about my Grandmother and her insistence on wearing clean underwear on a daily basis. These days I can’t seem to find anything decent in my drawers. There’s just something about a pair of well worn granny panties that makes me feel safe, so I stick with what I know best.
My late mother constantly carried on about my underwear. In her case it wasn’t so much if they were clean or not, but whether they had more holes than swiss cheese. I always told her not to worry, that I would just pretend they got torn in whatever accident I had if need be. But she never stopped..
“What will they say if you get into an accident?” she frequently repeated mimicking my Grandmother.
Each time they mentioned the underwear situation I began to worry. If you are in an accident, do they refuse you at the hospital for having unattractive underpants? Do the gynecologists have coffee among themselves and talk about what underwear they have seen that day? Does medical staff prefer granny panties or thongs?
To encourage me I was given 7 day underwear for my birthday when I was 5. Did you actually wear Monday on a Monday? Did it really have some deep meaning that we did not know about? If you got in an accident did someone quietly mention to you on the ambulance gurney that you were wearing the wrong day of the week?
At age 6 I actually did get hit by a car and was carried into the house by neighbours. I woke up on the living room couch with Grampy Crittenden handing me an Illustrated Classics comic book about the story of Jesus. My Grandfather quietly asked my mother if I was okay. My mother said,
“I think so, but I am so worried she didn’t have good underwear on and we don’t want the town to talk. Her underwear was so stretched out and worn she could have fit the whole town of Cowansville in them!”
Yes, those enormous baggy briefs are regularly thought to be everything you wouldn’t want in an undergarment. To make it worse the younger generation lumps them into a category of being only for the Golden Girls set. I am proud to say that when I had my heart attacks a few years ago I am sure the medical profession was still not impressed by my underwear choice and talked for days about it. Anyways at my age thermal under is now considered really hot underwear and I am too busy thinking about the afterlife now. Question to self- Should I bring a change of clean underwear?
April 30, 2019 ·
The Story of the Green Pea– A Linda story from the past…
Today at the CPDMH fundraiser at St. James Linda dropped a pea down her cleavage. She felt it there but she could not reach it– especially with folks around. So she endured it and walked over to the dessert table. She told her friend Francis from St. Marys that she had a pea down her and if it fell out of the bottom of her dress it was hers. It still did not come out. So she walked back to the table and felt it travelling down her. She knew the pea would free itself soon. As she sat down out came the green pea from out of her crinoline and she said to everyone at the table. “Ive got it!” — In all occasions you have to give ‘Peas a Chance’ right?.. peace out my friends and have a wonderful day!! Keep history alive no matter what it is..:)
Remembering Allan Code— When I was interviewing Nancy Code Miller years ago I told her how her father had saved someone’s life. In the early 90’s I taught aerobics at the Sussex Club in Ottawa. One of the members was on the verge of depression. Her husband had left her, she had two small children, and was destitute. When a friend was driving her to Smiths Falls, she saw Alan Code’s dealership and stopped to look at the cars. She had advised Mr. Code she would probably not be able to afford it, but he patiently sat down with her, and they picked out her car from the colour to the upholstery. The delivery date of 6 months was her goal to get her life in order. I don’t think she ever did pick up the car, but she eventually got a job, and all was right in the world. She told me she credited her success for the future to Mr. Code. He had given her hope. In talking with Nancy today, I can see the apple has not fallen far from the tree. Tip of the hat, and a big hug to you both, for believing in our small town of Carleton Place.
It “Depends”
I used to watch a lot of channel 700 with the Vintage Songs from the Past. They just played Gino Vanelli’s “I just want to stop” and I stopped typing- yes I stopped posting and typing. It brought me back to the day when I was buying purses for my store Flash Cadilac from this gal from England who was staying with a friend below Gino Vanelli’s apt in Old Montreal. He heard us talking about him and came downstairs and sang this song to me. I almost peed my pants. Time has flown by, and as for peeing my pants? I just stare at the Depends commercials now and realize time is drawing near. LOL
Photo– 1995? After the 54 Rock Fashion show I put on. LOL Exhausted
Just Like Me– They Long to Be Close to You
I am sitting here listening to The Carpenters realizing that no song today will ever give me the same reaction their songs did. If silk had a sound, it would sound like Karen Carpenter. I am fighting back the tears right now as their songs echo through my headphones. The Carpenters were played continuously for times of angst in my life, and honestly, sometimes left me more depressed than I already was.
Then I remember one summer evening driving back to Ottawa from a White Zombie concert in Montreal and trying not to fall asleep at the wheel. I was bringing three other people home, and everyone was fast asleep- that was no help. I began to laugh at my shenanigans at the venue that night screaming in zest at Rob Zombie that “I wanted to bear his children”. Giggling at those minutes of nothing but pure insanity could still could not keep me awake.
Insert- one Carpenter’s Gold CD in the car CD player and I begin to sing at the top of my voice with the windows open. Surely that would keep me awake! First track ends and the song “Close to You” comes on. Immediately I hear three voices in the back seat begin to sing the song together in great harmony. I was shocked — these folks knew every word of The Carpenter’s song. I realized then and there that when Karen Carpenter sang– she touched everyone’s soul. After that night I was never sad when I heard the Carpenters melodies because I realized life is a gift–don’t be sad—as someone, somewhere, is still wrapping it up for you as “We’ve Only Just Begun!”
Today I got my “HOBIpalooza” shirt in the mail and I was smiling like a young girl with a David Cassidy poster on my wall. For those of you who don’t know who David Cassidy is, that’s your Google homework today.
Who is HOBI ?– well, he is J-Hope from the South Korean band BTS. I love this band as they make me smile and their music is infectious. So when J- Hope performed in Chicago a month ago, this senior citizen wanted to go.
The very last time I had been to Lollapalooza was in the 1990s in Barrie, Ontario.That was decades ago when I had seen Rage Against the Machine at least a couple of times and was a huge Jane’s Addiction fan. Years have passed, and now I don’t think I could bring myself to walk into a very used porta potty, or stand for a few hours– even with a trendy glitter cane.
I’m in the Netflix portion of my life now sadly and there isn’t a day I don’t miss the excitement of a good live concert. BUt, I’m not going to pay triple digits to listen to that one good song– even if J-Hope has many.
So allow me to be thrilled to have one of the concert T Shirts that didn’t cause me to sprain a tendon or stand in a line to pee. Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional– and I’m never going to grow up.
What was it with Peter Fonda in 1969? I never did watch the film Easy Rider until the 80s, but I sure loved Peter Fonda. One could say he was the ‘cutest, easiest rider’ of the many icons. Fonda and Dennis Hopper didn’t just play cocaine-dealing motorcyclists riding their way across a fast-changing America. Both became poster boys for an equally fast-changing film industry. To me he was a lanky, long-haired icon of countercultural rebellion of which I was certainly part of. Peter Fonda and I were both “born to be wild”.
It was near Christmas in downtown Montreal that last year of the 70s. I was searching for the perfect gift for my friends and I soon found IT at the very back of Simpson’s Sears. There in the camera section were black and white posters on the back wall of Peter Fonda sitting on his bike. When I asked about them the salesclerk said they had just come in and the stock had not been brought down yet. I was determined to have one of these cherished items for my friends and I to put on our walls, so I asked if I could wait. She rolled her eyes and agreed while she called the stock room.
That day was December 21, and you can imagine the crowds at the counter buying film to take holiday photos, and I was definitely in the way. Each time a different salesclerk asked if they could help me I just smiled and said: ” I’m waiting for Peter Fonda!” . I glued myself to that Simpson Sears floor for the next 90 minutes. I was not leaving without Peter.
I knew my father was not going to be happy seeing another thing going up on my walls, but posters to me were brand new. Posters had been originally a method of advertising and promotion, but in the 1960s, a new crop of psychedelic signs became the signs of the counterculture, and I was involved. My stepmother, who was so enamoured with Pierre Trudeau. She had put his poster up on the living room wall to annoy my father who was a campaign manager for Jean Jacques Bertrand who served as Member of the Legislative Assembly for the District of Missisquoi in Quebec. If Pierre could be up on the wall so could Peter! I mean they had the same name after all LOL.
The posters eventually came downstairs and plopped on the counter, and I happily bought 6 at the price of 99 cents each. I will never ever forget that day and the 60s. Easy Rider was never a motorcycle movie to me– it was about what was going on in our lives as teens and freedom. Today, I still try to be who I am, but every day it’s harder to “get my motor running and venture to the highway”– but there is no doubt I was born to be wild LOLOL.. That never changes.
This week’s chuckle.. Be yourself.. be who you want to be..
I have to admit my life has flourished through creativity and I have never taken the word “no” for an answer. In fact, I have never listened to anyone who tried to talk me out of my views on life, fashion, and being yourself. At age 15 I marched into the Vice Principal’s office who doubled as a guidance counsellor at Cowansville high School and told him I would not be returning to school the next year. I also asked for my $10 dollar school book deposit back.
I can still remember to this day where his desk was positioned in the room, and the look on his face that was partially hidden by his oversized spectacles. In a crisp but curt tone he scolded me.
“My dear Miss Knight, what golden path have you chosen for yourself?”
“I am going to be a fashion designer Sir,” I said emphatically.
He got out of chair and perched himself on the edge of my chair and asked me loudly if I was jesting.
Jesting?
Jesting?
Do I look like a person who jests?
I quickly realized had I told him I had gotten pregnant by the Keebler Elves it would have gone over better. He continued in a loud monotonous drone telling me young ladies became either nurses or teachers. The elderly gentleman suggested that maybe I look into the world of home economics if “I enjoyed sewing”. Seeing most of us either skipped our “Home Ec” class because of the Suzy Homemaker recipes or stared at the teachers legs while she spoke because we knew it made her uneasy, that notion was definitely out. With that I stood up and again I asked him to cut me a cheque for $10.00. With my Grade 9 education, a shake of his hand, and $10.00 the world was now my oyster and no one would ever criticize the way I dressed.
Well, Ladies and gentleman, we all know how that went, and through the years there has not been a day that people have not said something about my clothing. My sons are conservative and I respect that, and they close their eyes to my daily attire. Never once has one word been said– until last night.
Son number 1 invited me to an event and immediately the conversation went like this:
“Forgot to tell you Mum….”
“These tickets are front row, right in front of his microphone and please wear something nice! Please don’t wear something crazy, because you will be a target of this comedian. If that happens Mum– we don’t know you!”
Today I received this photo of my youngest son and his brand new baby daughter. I can feel the love between the two oozing out of the photograph. It seems like yesterday he was a small boy himself and I remember the falls, the accidents and the worries that he will have to endure with his two daughters. But, he will also have the memories, the laughter and the stories to remember just as I have now……
Aug. 6th, 2006 at 10:38 AM
Around 2:30 am this morning a large shadow lurks inside the doorway of my bedroom and wakes me up.
“Mom, Mom, have you got any tweezers?”
Mothers have to be prepared, but somehow I think I can be excused if I am not carrying tweezers in my PJ pocket at that time of the morning. The son shows me his hand that has swollen up very badly. Seems he got mixed up with some brambles and thorns on his ATV, and it is definitely causing some sort of infection.
I look for Benadryl, and within seconds he can’t move his hand and the swelling is worse. I said,
“Let’s go to the hospital”.
Now, it’s not a long journey mind you, about two blocks down the street, but the “production” must begin. I have to get dressed, haul the car out without waking up the dogs and everyone else in the house, and worry every second hoping he will be okay.
Emergency is like a ghost town, no one there, except for one lone lady at the desk. She eyes us with irritation as we disturb her reading and asks us what’s wrong. I show her my son’s hand and she asks if he has taken Benadryl. With his hand now swollen up like The Incredible Hulk I want to scream that we are beyond that at this point.
When asked to produce his health card the son has of course lost his health card and yet another hospital card. She asks if he has ever been here before. At that point I want to laugh and say,
“Yes, actually, he has been here so much as a child the doctors said they were going to name a wing after him”.
The nurse tells him to come into the emergency section and I hear Larry King interviewing Kathy Griffin on the waiting room TV. I tell him to go by himself, as if he is old enough to drink and vote he’s good! I figure if I have to be up at 3am I might as well enjoy myself, and I am actually considering it “a Saturday night out” at this point.
I don’t want to seem callous, but I have been through every disease and injury of the week with this son, so I know I can watch television in peace here. He will definitely pull through with a huge Hallelujah and some sort of prescription.
Thirty minutes later a doctor in scrubs walks by me half asleep hardly able to open his eyes. They had to call someone to come in, as someone went home sick. He looks at me with one eye open and bangs into the door frame–yes, my son will get good care here.
Ten minutes later the son comes out with a prescription for the infection. He is told the thorn is in deep and not to take it out just yet. The Larry King interview is over, we leave and drive the two blocks home. By the time we pull into the garage he is almost asleep and I am wide awake with tears coming down my face relieved that he is okay.
Being a parent can be a frustration sometimes— it’s like using a blender with no top on it, but you make do. Then you remember that years ago– both your sons’s first breaths took yours away–and it still does. You never know the love of a parent until we become parents ourselves–just like this photograph.
I can’t remember how old I was when I began to watch Charlie Brown Christmas programs. All I know is at the age of 70 I can still quote a lot of the text from the TV shows with tears in my eyes, and now my grandkids watch them.
Charlie Brown reminds me of a lot of friends I walked through life with. They were never sure which road to take, and then when they did, they still questioned it.
However, Pig-Pen didn’t care if anyone brought him down because of his constant lingering smell and trailing dust. Each Christmas Pig-Pen reaffirmed that:
It is OK if you just don’t smell right some days.
It is OK to sit around with dirty hair and pyjamas, too.
It is OK to be silent and OK to be not.
It is OK to not join a crowd.
It is OK to treat your home like a dust magnet sometimes.
It is OK to drag some of your perpetually messy past life around as long as it just becomes a pile of dust behind you.
What if today we didn’t get our tinsel in a tangle and we were just grateful for everything this Christmas?
Stop looking up at the sky and eating those December snowflakes. Remember how great life can be during the holidays, and maybe just save them for January.
LINDA SECCASPINA CARLETON PLACE (Thankfulness is always a virtue.)
The will in the heart of man to do and dare is not dead nor does life get tedious, not around Appleton anyway, ’tis said. Mr. Howard Fumerton of the 11th line of Beckwith, bought a building from Mr. Elmsley of the 11th line of Ramsay and expressed a desire to move the buiding intact. So with men arid tractors, the procession started. Old Timer ‘Bete’ was noticed standing by sadly shaking his head and murmuring “It can’t be done.”
But through fields, highways and byways the moving proceeded slowly until one afternoon something happened one of the skids and the building settled down in a creek for the night. Mr. Art Fumerton came to the rescue and eventually the building was in Mr. Fumerton’s yard and he firmly believes in the Spirit of Christmas and the old saying “It can’t be done” has changed to “who says it can’t.”
December 1918 Ottawa Citizen
This letter to Santa was written by Ruby Butler from Perth, Ontario in 1918.
The armistice of November 11, 1918, brought relief to the whole world and hope to 10-year-old Ruby Butler in Perth. The Spanish flu, however, was a devastating and previously unknown form of influenza, and struck Canada hard between 1918 and 1920. This international pandemic killed approximately 55,000 people in Canada, most of whom were young adults between the ages of 20 and 40. No matter what we are going through, we have all worked together this year, and while we can’t smooth out the surf, we are all learning to ride the waves safely and carefully. As old Mr. Fumerton said in Almonte,” “It can’t be done” has changed to “who says it can’t.”
Tenley, Elia and Avery, Carleton Place 2020
What has not changed is that the children of the world are still writing to Santa amid a world that a lot of them do not understand. Yesterday my daughter in law sent me a photo of my grandchildren and their cousin sitting in front of a window where they could hang out with Santa safely. I looked at Tenley’s eyes and saw the love and belief in her eyes. Santa still exists, and while I am old enough to understand that a man cannot fly around the globe led by reindeer, I still believe in the magic. I love spreading magic because it relives our childhood memories and encourages everyone to have kindness, empathy and generosity in their hearts, especially when we need them most like now.
Like the writer of the 1918 Santa letter who did not want Santa to die I am sure the children of today have had lots of fears that they do not talk about. They probably also silently worry someone they know will contract the disease, but they remain silent. This year I chose not to remain silent. From my kitchen island I decided to spread virtually what I thought would take people’s minds off of things, and the pandemic, and make them smile. The child we once were stays with us, and I for one refuse to let it go.
This year especially; I feel there is a lot we can learn from the children we used to be. That little person still exists; you just need to listen to what he or she has to say. It’s important to learn from experience, to change and become a better person. But, what most people seem to think is in order to do so, we must leave our old selves behind– and that is wrong. The easiest thing in the world was having fun as a child because even the littlest things made us happy. They still can.
If there is one thing you ought to try and hold on to for this year and next year– it’s this: Be happy, have fun with the simplest of things, enjoy life, and find hope in even the most dire circumstances — you’ll find the strength to accomplish things others wouldn’t believe possible.
For a day take a step back and revert to olden days when crazy cartoons and bowls of sugary cereal felt like living the dream. Laugh every day, love yourself like children do, be kind, considerate, and compassionate. Each New Year gives us the perfect chance to start something new and fresh. Just make the world a better place for yourself and others. Make someone happy….
As old Mr. Fumerton said in Almonte,” “It can’t be done” has changed to “who says it can’t.”
Temley age 6, Linda me, Elia age 3, Sophia age 7 and Baby R (another girl) coming any day now!!
Looking at the unassuming apartment complex now, who would’ve known that a college once existed here at 160 Chapel Street? Known as the “People’s University,” Pestalozzi College was a student-run cooperative residence that existed in the late 1960s and into the 70s as a free-thinking, open-concept school, based on the model of Toronto’s infamous student-run Rochdale College. Some of the extracurricular activities that occurred in the building included literary readings and the Ontario Provincial Gay Liberation Conference in 1973 as well as Ottawa’s first public gay dance, hosted by GO (Gays of Ottawa, who also had their headquarters there). Existing as an alternative school, the entire building was a strange mix of open education, residence, and “free love and good drugs” that eventually fell apart in much the same way that Rochdale did. By the late 1970s, both school and building existed as a community centre of sorts, offering facilities for artists’ studios and yoga classes before the entire building (with very little notice) was converted by its owners into an apartment complex, Horizon Towers. A holdover from the Pestalozzi days, the Sitar Indian Restaurant on the ground floor still exists (417 Rideau St., 789-7979). —The Water Tower Project
It was 1972, and I was being transferred from Au Bon Marche in Sherbrooke, Quebec to their new Liberty Stores just after the Cummings Bridge in Ottawa which connected Rideau Street to Montreal Road in Vanier. The Vinebergs, who were the owners, were taking a big chance on opening that store as gossip said Ottawa people did not cross the bridge into Vanier.
I needed a place to live and the kind store owners had decided I was to settle in with a nice family in Alta Vista. Well, that thought went into the dumpster, and the only place I wanted to live was Pestalozzi College on Rideau Street. Being a former weekend hippie, 23 years-old and the future owner of the “den of sin clothing emporium” called Flash Cadilac on Rideau Street–well, you can see where this was going to go. I rented a room in a 10-man unit with 9 other men because I knew this was where I was meant to be. One-bedroom apartments at Pestalozzi went for $145 monthly; two bedrooms, for $180. Single rooms in four, five and 10-man units rented for $85 monthly; double rooms, for $65 per person. How could you beat that price to live in what I considered “the place to be”.
When I first got there they had a volunteer system to do some of the chores like vacuuming, but 1/3 of the building did not agree with that. Similar to the piano that I once practiced on the 6th floor, well, the thought of volunteering left the building and the minds of the 650 residents. I have no idea why they thought that would work out because even if we all got along, cleanliness was not a priority in our unit, or any other unit by the looks of them. But there was still the 22nd floor library reading room in the $7.5 million building at the corner of Rideau and Chapel Streets with the television room next to the reading lounge to make you feel like you belonged.
Pestalozzi was a lot of small communities combined into a village, like our 10-man unit– it was a series of communal units. Sometimes the residents were sitting horizontally grouped around a floor reading and talking–or there might be a group of parents or those that love bicycles, you name it. It seemed that each group knew what they were doing, like ours, but no one had no idea what was going on in the building except when the continual abuse of the garbage shoot set on fire each week.
There was a board of eleven members and the hired maintenance, security and bookkeeping staff. I was immediately labeled a ‘wacko’ in my unit as I have never been the ‘average bear’. I wore floppy hats and vintage clothing being an eclectic fashionista since a very young age. Then there was the fact that I have lots of opinions and am not afraid to speak them. But, soon they overlooked the freakiness and became like brothers. They were the first to defend me with Halloween masks and fake axes to rid me of bad dates. But, I still felt safe even with the occasional break and entry, stolen bicycles, drunks and once in a while, drug dealing. I guess I moved there too late to see the nude parties on the roof and the most eccentric thing I ever saw was some of the male students in my unit trying to teach their dogs to climb trees. Maybe I just didn’t want to see it, as this is where I felt I belonged, good or bad.
A year and a half later, one gentleman from the 10 man unit (Angelo Seccaspina) and I were a couple and we moved to one of the one bedrooms in the building. I can’t begin to tell you how bad it got after that. You have heard about the miracle of birth? Well, cockroaches can do that too. Seeing one on the floor or your counter is no problem, but when they disappear you know you have issues. I swear the building became ground zero in Ottawa and they had military training. We tried everything known to mankind to get rid of them but those cockroaches moved up floor by floor until they reached the top and raised a victory flag. The dream was over, and we moved to the farthest point in Nepean to get rid of them.
There is still not a day I don’t regret living there. It came after protesting the Vietnam war, and standing up for what was right, which I still do. It was a great dream they had, and I can say I was part of some of it. But sometimes dreams don’t pan out quite like you want them too and the building lost money each of its first five years with the utility and mortgage payments regularly going unpaid. After losing more than $5 million, the college was finally taken over by the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corp. in 1976.
Comments-
I visited Pestalozzi in the summer of 1971, IIRC, looking to stay there for my first co-op work term in Ottawa from U of Waterloo, but it did not work out. (I don’t think they were really organized yet.) In Waterloo, I stayed several terms with Waterloo Cooperative Residence, which was the most successful of the student co-ops in Canada. I see it’s still going.- Jaan Kolk
Linda
I completely forgot about Pestalozzi and Rochdale, until reading your article.
I came to Ottawa from Montreal in 1969, on my way to Vancouver, but never made it out west. I rented a room at the 30 Gilmour co-op, now it is a halfway house. Ottawa was much different then, I remember going to a school on Lisgar street, for a free meal everyday. You’ve brought back memories that I’d forgotten about. I do remember your store Flash Cadillac, but I don’t think I ever visited.
I’ve often wondered what became of all the folks that came and went from 30 Gilmour. There were people from all over, including a few draft dodgers, one of which actually came here with his Dad. We all got acting jobs as extras for a couple of days, in a film that was being done here. There happened to be a neighbour who worked for Crawley Films and came over to ask if we would be interested in making a few bucks. We even had to join ACTRA to make it legal.
Those were the days…we thought they would never end.
Cheers Bill Shattuck
Angelo and I stayed together off and on until 2014 and he helped me open Flash Cadilac at 174 Rideau Street in 1976 and closed in 1997. Sadly, he passed away in 2014 from cancer. During his bout with cancer I continued writing on what it was like to live with cancer and then turned to history. Who knew after writing for decades and being printed in the U.S. for years I would have turned to history, but that is where my heart is and will be until I die. To pass the past along is an honour.
Flash Cadilac, Ottawa, Ontario.Flash Cadilac was a unique store before its time. It opened in 1976 at 174 Rideau Street in downtown Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. It was owned by fashion designer Linda Seccaspina and her late husband Angelo. The emporium was one of the longest running stores in downtown Ottawa and Linda closed down everything in 1996. (I had Savannah Devilles after Flash for a few years –The Last Skull of Savannah Devilles
The store was not without controversy. It was deemed a den of sin by some, and had a large wall that carried photos and autographs of many famous people that had shopped there.Their clothing was often featured in Flare Magazine, and the beginning TV years of CJOH-TV’s “You Can’t Do That on Television”. Canadian music stars such as Lee Aaron, Alanis Morisette, Glass Tiger, Toronto(band) and many more wore Linda’s designs. She was also a great supporter of street kids and helped as many as she could to get them off the street.Linda went on to open another store after Flash Cadilac for two years called Savannah Devilles, closed it, and seemed to disappear out of sight. She was featured on the Canadian Women’s Channel “W” before her store closed and declared an icon of Canadian fashion. The Ottawa Citizen upon the closing of the store called her “The Mother Theresa of Punk Rock”.
That was lovely, but if I had to pick a bio for the store I have always loved the following written by blogger, chef, and friend: Doff Doppler aka Devin Goulden.In the beginning there was Flash Cadilac, a store notoriously known for its apparel: leather, lace, whips, chains, tattoos, and piercings. I would say that sums it all up folks!
Jaan Kolk–You might enjoy this photo from WCRI, Phillip Street, in the 1970s. It was the first warm day of spring
I used to believe in full moons, tea leaves, psychic readings and especially my horoscope. I never left the house without reading what some stranger had written in the daily newspaper. If my dream book went missing it was insomniac time. I had a psychic visit my store one day who told me she loved the clothing I sold so we made a trade. Madame B would come once a week and tell me things that I needed to know in exchange for some free items. She would look me straight in the eyes and grasp my hand while telling me the same things week after week. Madame B always told me to relax and things would eventually come.
“Who knows what is coming, but something is coming!” she would always say.
That bit of information cost me a piece of jewellery each week. Madame B confirmed that when we first met she saw a giant red aura around me. But then so did the woman who worked at Walmart in Brockville. That bit of information from Madame B cost me a silk scarf; the woman at Walmart asked for nothing. On the fourth week of knowing Madame B I told her I finally found a house after looking for a very long time. Madame B assured me that very house would definitely be my new home as she tried on a pink bra and admired her reflection.
Thirty-four days later I moved into that very same house and Madame B told me I would live there forever, as she pocketed a necklace and tried on a skirt. On the sixth week I brought a Ouija board into my new home that was intended to talk to the spirits of the past. Madame B did not assist me this time because my shop was running out of bras, skirts, and sweaters. That night, I took out my finest candles – tall, slim and pure white. I lit them and they shone brightly against the dark of the night. I prayed for the old man who had died in the house and then for his wife who was now in an old folk’s home. I asked for their love to last an eternity. As I blew out the candle, tears ran down my face. The very next day I found out that the old woman had passed during the night.
I thought I heard the smooth wood mantle sigh as the house had come full circle and so had I. Finally I felt so complete that I never needed to listen to Madame B again or hand out free merchandise. I believed that I could handle life myself now, and so ended the days of needless information, charlatans and free merchandise.
I sat in my new spot at church again today. For 38 years I have sat in the same place on the north side because that was where I was comfortable. Everyone seems to have a spot somewhere. My grandmother Mary Louise Deller Knight sat in the same pew at Trinity Anglican Church in Cowansville, Quebec until she died. Mary was so devoted to her community that she actually passed away in the church pew at 9:50 that Sunday morning amid echoes of loud chatter around her of: “Wake up Mary, you are going to miss the service!”
So for 69 years I continued the ritual of sitting in the same spot no matter where I went. When I moved to Carleton, Place Ontario in 1981 a pew spot was chosen and that’s where I sat- next to an elderly neighbour named Muriel.
Muriel made an impact on me and there is never ever a day that I will not forget her. You see she made me promise that I would sit in her spot in a certain church pew after she died. If you were sitting in it when she was alive she made you move. She told me that bad things would happen to me if I didn’t sit in her spot upon her demise. If you have seen me sit on the right hand side of the church it is for a very good reason, and– if you are sitting in her spot I used to slide myself in there no matter how many people are sitting there. After all God said she had full custody of that seat and like Muriel I always have thought that life should be Pay per Pew. That was until 4 weeks ago when a couple sat in my spot and all of a sudden I just did not know what to do.
Should I ask them to move?
Will the ghost of Muriel come to haunt me since I was not sitting there?
Really, a person should be comfortable sitting any place. It’s no big deal as there are many seats available on the south side of the church. I could have taken one of those as the people who sit over there are very nice. I know most of those people, and I would be welcome on the south side.
However, I’m not going to sit on the south side. That’s for southsiders and I’m a northsider. I can just hear those southsiders if I sit over there saying: “What’s she doing over here?” I’ll tell you what she’s doing over there-someone took my seat, that’s what.
So what did I do? I said nothing and sat on the other side of the pew. I admit it felt weird for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like I was left handed, or a frequent flyer, and there was a name on the pew. Let’s face it — world order will not be in shambles if you sit somewhere else.
Have you ever noticed that you’re stuck in your ways when it comes to seating preferences? Do you always sit in the same chair when you enter a conference room, or select the same bike each time you take a spin class? No matter what we think or try to rationalize –you are where you sit, and don’t let too much of yesterday take up today. It’s not worth the view from the seat.
Photo– 1995? After the 54 Rock Fashion show I put on. LOL Exhausted
Just Like Me– They Long to Be Close to You
I am sitting here listening to The Carpenters realizing that no song today will ever give me the same reaction their songs did. If silk had a sound, it would sound like Karen Carpenter. I am fighting back the tears right now as their songs echo through my headphones. The Carpenters were played continuously for times of angst in my life, and honestly, sometimes left me more depressed than I already was.
Then I remember one summer evening driving back to Ottawa from a White Zombie concert in Montreal and trying not to fall asleep at the wheel. I was bringing three other people home, and everyone was fast asleep- that was no help. I began to laugh at my shenanigans at the venue that night screaming in zest at Rob Zombie that “I wanted to bear his children”. Giggling at those minutes of nothing but pure insanity could still could not keep me awake.
Insert- one Carpenter’s Gold CD in the car CD player and I begin to sing at the top of my voice with the windows open. Surely that would keep me awake! First track ends and the song “Close to You” comes on. Immediately I hear three voices in the back seat begin to sing the song together in great harmony. I was shocked — these folks knew every word of The Carpenter’s song. I realized then and there that when Karen Carpenter sang– she touched everyone’s soul. After that night I was never sad when I heard the Carpenters melodies because I realized life is a gift–don’t be sad—as someone, somewhere, is still wrapping it up for you as “We’ve Only Just Begun!” .
It “Depends”
I watch a lot of channel 700 with the Vintage Songs from the Past. They just played Gino Vanelli’s “I just want to stop” and I stopped typing- yes I stopped posting and typing. It brought me back to the day when I was buying purses for my store Flash Cadilac from this gal from England who was staying with a friend below Gino Vanelli’s apt in Old Montreal. He heard us talking about him and came downstairs and sang this song to me. I almost peed my pants. Time has flown by, and as for peeing my pants? I just stare at the Depends commercials now and realize time is drawing near. LOL
lindaseccaspina 