Sister Ignatius was my grade seven home room teacher. She also taught English and Social Studies. The “Sister” was young, enthusiastic, and happy. I loved Sister Ignatius and her lessons. She thoughtfully shared an opinion as I prepared to enter my final year in grade school. “Coletta, you have a mind that takes you to some curious places. You should consider becoming a writer or a politician.” I will return to her advice after I have shared a few bits and pieces of my life.

 

I grew up in a village called Port Dalhousie. It was eventually amalgamated with the city of St. Catharines located in the Niagara Region, Ontario, Canada. Port Dalhousie is almost an island, surrounded by water on three sides. Years ago cornfields and strawberry patches circled the west boundary. Our home was on Main St. The spectrum of backgrounds was extraordinary. Multi generational Canadians as well as new immigrants hailing from Poland, Holland, Germany, England, Austria, Scotland and Ireland. Nurses, waitresses, school principles, janitors, engineers, plumbers, seamstresses, locksmiths and grocers shared our block. An amazing mix of cultures, incomes, homes, and education. A bowling alley occupied the corner plot. It still does. Main St. eventually accommodated four apartment buildings. There was a bit of complaining at the outset but in a short time the apartments simply became part of Port’s landscape. There was a small factory. When the factory closed the building was turned into a multiunit apartment as well. A lovely woman lived in a large home overlooking the “canal.” She provided rooms to the men working on the ships. The rest of Port Dalhousie was the same. It resonated peace and companionship. Few lines existed. Neighbours shared and gifted one another in endless ways. If I had the power to create neighbourhoods, I would make Port Dalhousie the template. When I was growing up “Port” was considered the wrong side of the tracks. Today, it is one of Niagara’s most desirable places to live. Irony, thy name is those who berated Port Dalhousie and now would give their life savings to live here. I lived in Toronto and Waterloo for over 25 years. I always knew I would return to Port. I did so in 2002 and have happily lived here since.

 

My name, how did an “Irish” child end up with an Italian name? The story goes like this. My mother was ill and landed in hospital weeks before I was due to arrive. A nun visited her regularly to chat and offer support. The nun gave mom a prayer card. The prayer was to St. Coletta, the patron saint of women seeking to conceive, expectant mothers, and sick children. She explained that the name derived from the Italian word for little dove, often associated with peace, love and new beginnings. My mother decided that if her child was successfully delivered and was a girl she would name her Coletta. So here I am!

 

As a seven-year-old I was tall for my age. I tended to stoop to appear shorter. Mom gave me two choices. Enroll in dance classes or wear shoulder braces. I chose the former. My passion for movement and dance emerged. It continues unabated. My husband Ellis tells me I become a different person when I dance. It’s true. Dancing takes me to a place that only I own. The conversation is between me and myself. It offers an opportunity for exhilaration and reflection from an otherwise inaccessible corner of my world.

 

I love to eat. Breakfast and dessert are my favourite. I am sad as I dip my final slice of spotted dog into my soft poached egg. An empty marmalade jar is my definition of self neglect. I love bacon, black pudding, and sausage. I close my eyes and quietly inhale as I relish my last sip of brandy combined with my favourite dark chocolate. Ellis is Jewish. I am Catholic. We celebrate Chrismukkah. Each December we make fruit cake. We save a healthy wedge, regularly douse it with rum, and happily munch on it the following December after the tree has been decorated. Absolute bliss. Oh, I almost forgot. Spotted dog is Irish soda bread with raisins. There are some who call it spotted dick. I figured using “dog” was enough for readers to swallow.

 

I am nosy. I ask questions, listen, and ask more. There are many reasons. I am a curious person. I enjoy hearing other people’s life stories. Being nosy is also self serving. I may get to share my own experiences, values and knowledge. I also like to gossip. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. Liz Smith, a celebrated gossip columnist of Newsday, the New York Post, and other newspapers across the US wrote that sharing a secret has its charm. Gossip makes us all more interesting. Information about neighbours, family, politicians, actors, athletes, royalty, etc. freshens conversation and relationships. It is a pleasant, easy and universally accepted way to get to know one another. Healthy gossip is, healthy. As fascinating as it may be, and while I have periodically faltered, I have found it best to avoid the dark side.

 

My parents hale from County Clare, Ireland. Truly a piece of heaven on earth. They regularly shared yarns such as raising and racing greyhounds, betting on ponies running along the strand line in a nearby village, picking periwinkles off the rocks along the Atlantic shore, cycling miles with their friends to a village dance, and death descending on the neighbour’s house after the banshee’s visit the previous night. I saved many of my mother’s letters from “home.” Beautiful script and memorable accounts of our family in Ireland and simple local gossip. Chatting, showing interest, and listening is the most treasured part of my inheritance. They have created connection, shaped my values, and prompted curiosity. They inspired my love of storytelling.

 

My father was actively involved in Irish politics. It was an important part of his identity and continued when he arrived in Canada. Both my parents loved Canada. They appreciated their status as Canadian citizens. Knowledge of the political landscape was part of that package. It was a way to give back as well as an obligation. Politics was regularly on the agenda at the dinner table, as they read the papers and listened to the news, and as they met with friends and family. They canvassed on behalf of politicians at all levels, enthusiastically participating in local meetings, fundraising, and celebrations. My personal interest and comfort level with politics and politicians emerged along the way. They have served me well in my employment and personal life.

 

I met my husband Ellis in 1978 at the University of Toronto’s Faculty of Social Work. We were enrolled in the same stream, graduating with a Masters in Policy, Planning and Administration. Over the years our personal and employment journeys took different paths. Eventually we reconnected. An unexpected spark arrived. We fell in love. We have distinctly different personalities and interests. A gift that has caused each of us to become more introspective, learn and grow. Our lives are wonderfully and appreciatively entwined. Out respective families and friends play a cherished role in that. No matter the pressures, the arguments, the distractions, each day is completed with a shared “I love you.”

 

When I graduated, I was hired by the Toronto Community Services Department and the Provincial Government’s Ministry of Community & Social Services. My work focused on policy and program development for children, families and community. I was like a toddler; “why” was a critical part of my vocabulary as I discovered the world of work and the human services sector in particular. “Why” has maintained its status. I wish that were the case for the entire adult population.

 

I subsequently moved to Waterloo where I shifted to the Not-For-Profit sector. I invented my own version of Lego. Figuratively that is. I concentrated my efforts on helping organizations mandated to build community health, physical health and mental health. Organization have their own “bricks, plates, tiles, curves, hinges and joints.” I used my skills to help them fit their pieces together. My tools included writing, strategic planning, program review, team development, group facilitation, problem solving and governance. My mission was to create connection, collaboration, innovative solutions and measurable effective outcomes. I continued to strengthen my version of Lego as a partner with COMPASS Consulting and as the Executive Director of Quest Community Health Centre. Imagine working in a world where you get to use Lego each and every day to help fortify organizations and systems and bring new ones to life! I have a rather unique perspective when in comes to employment. Applying my version of Lego is one.

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The second involves making love. I believe employment should mirror making love. Give, take, care, explore, discover and always be free to laugh. If those aren’t happening express your appreciation, perhaps provide some feedback, and move on.

 

In 2019 I decided it was time to “pro-tire.” As an older adult my time is allocated differently. Reflection seems ever present. It is a dual-purpose tool that simultaneously creates and captures my many thoughts. A larger proportion of my personal pie chart is dedicated to family and relationships. Mentoring, volunteering and advocacy continue to be mainstays. Prevention and community are touchstones that will aways guide my pursuits. My husband and I discuss politics and geopolitics over an extended morning breakfast, as part of our evening ritual, and with friends and family over dinner, coffee and messaging. Risk is a valued companion. I sometimes dip my toe in the water; I sometimes dive deep. While on occasion I have been “kicked out of the pool” celebrations have been a more regular occurrence. In 2025 I received the King Charles III Coronation Medal for my contributions to building community in the Niagara Region.

 

My husband Ellis recently suggested that I explore blogging. I imagine this was not an entirely selfless act. Ellis is regularly the primary and patient recipient of my reflections, rants and raves. I am preparing to take a risk. I am discarding my winter woollies and diving into the pool. As the philosopher and poet John O’Donohue writes, my blog will encourage me to “come home to myself.” It will be like my diary, but different. I will use my blog to write and share my reflections, describe the features of my life experience that I love and enjoy, make observations about the characteristics of the world that I respect and admire as well as those I find unacceptable, sad and frightening.

 

And as for Sister Ignatius. Who would have imagined that the observations shared by a nun who taught my grade seven English class would serve as such a significant undercurrent in my life journey? I sincerely hope “Sister” has the opportunity to read my blog, Too Many Thoughts!

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