Merry Christmas Sandra Dunham*

(*small gifts)

My Christmas story this year has the obscure title "Merry Christmas Sandra Dunham" but I decided to give it the subtitle "small gifts" in honour of those small but memorable Christmas gifts that we have all either given or received. The ones that seem to stick in your memory and somehow remain meaningful throughout the years. I think when you read this story you will see why I added the sub-title.

This story is also about saying thank you for all those small gifts. Thank you to all the people who have made, and continue to make Christmas so special. So what's with the jet plane and who is Sandra Dunham? Well, that is what we in the story writing business call a "hook" and it is meant to pique your interest. If your interest is sufficiently piqued - then I suggest you read on...

Christmas, as we all agree, is a time for giving but that is only one side of the equation isn't it? Givers need someone to give to - otherwise what would be the point? I have been the giver of many gifts, but I have also been the "getter" and that is why I want to say thank you. I have a lot to be thankful for so let's get started! And where better to start than with my parents?

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for all the fine Christmas dinners and the trees and decorations. Thanks for all the toys and thanks for the clothes and socks and underwear that I didn't appreciate when I was a kid. Thanks for staying up late, being Santa Claus and filling my stocking with all those small gifts.

Thanks to my wife for buying me what I didn't even know I needed, for knitting me wool socks and sewing me a Christmas night shirt. Thanks for staying up late with me on all those Christmas Eves and helping me be Santa Claus. Thanks for wrapping all those small gifts and thanks for reminding me every year how important they are. Thanks to my kids for all those small gifts that parents love the most. And thanks for letting me sit through all those Christmas concerts...

Thanks to my sisters and brothers for sharing all those exciting Christmas Eves and glorious Christmas mornings, for trimming all those trees and putting up garlands in the many houses we lived in. Thanks for all the small gifts that added up to so many under all those trees, and thanks for the special visits over the holidays - past, present and future.

Thanks to my in-laws for the gift of visiting us on so many Christmases when you could have been home enjoying your own small gifts. I continue to be amazed and appreciative of anyone who is willing to endure the stress and inconvenience of traveling at Christmas. In some ways this may be the best gift of all...

To my good friends I say thanks for all the Christmas cards, the parties and the laughter; thanks for all the small gifts we have exchanged over the years. Our families have grown but we still make time to be together during the Christmas season.

And finally, a special thanks to Sandra Dunham. A girl in my class in grade seven who must have been oh so thrilled when she drew my name that year for the Secret Santa exchange of gifts. We didn't really talk or even know each other - so how did she know how much I loved model airplanes? How did she know how much happiness a small but appropriate gift can bring? Maybe she just got lucky or maybe she had a thirteen year old brother - all I know is that on a stormy last day of school in 1965 that small, inexpensive gift sure made an impression on me. After forty odd years I can still remember the fun I had sitting at the dining room table putting it together. Isn't it amazing that of all the gifts I have received over the years this one still stands out?

I hope I didn't miss anyone, but in case I did - let me say it all over again. "Thanks - I love it!" "How did you know?" "Just what I wanted!" and "You shouldn't have."  In closing I just want to say may we all continue to both give and receive those small gifts. God bless us all... and Merry Christmas Sandra Dunham!

YOU BET YOUR BULBS!

Congratulations! You have just won an allegedly fabulous set of festive Christmas bulbs! Not those wimpy, low watt eco-bulbs either - these are the real thing. Bright, shiny bulbs that light up even in the daytime. The kind that make your power meter spin like a Christmas top! The kind that can inflict third degree burns! You know the ones I mean - the ones that leave no doubt that Christmas is a time for joy and celebration, not penny pinching and thrift. Be thrifty the other eleven months of the year... like me.

And just what is the deal with those new age Christmas lights anyway? Dark, soul-sucking black holes of money saving anti-matter. If people buy them for the energy savings, then maybe they could save even more by turning them off completely. What is wrong with a few strings of brightly lit red, green, yellow and blue bulbs? And the brighter the better - if you want to save the planet go hug a tree, preferably a Christmas tree.

When it comes to Christmas lights I am a purist - as far as I am concerned Santa's suit is still RED, holly and ivy are still GREEN, candle light is still YELLOW and the last time I was in the mall, Elvis was still having a BLUE Christmas. So now that you have put up with my Christmas rant it is time to play YOU BET YOUR BULBS! 

Of course no one actually keeps the bulbs they win - they merely qualify you to play the game. The rules are simple - the first six contestants to visit the Y.B.Y.B. website (click here) and find the hidden bulb that is a link to a special email address can enter for a chance to BET YOUR BULBS! Just click on the secret bulb (hint - it is red) and email your guess at the mystery number between 1 and 100. Don't forget to type "You Bet Your Bulbs" in the subject line or you will be disqualified. The person closest to the mystery number could win a cash prize of up to $100.00. As a finalist, you will be asked a skill testing question and then your name will be entered in the big cash drum. If your name is selected, my lovely assistant Vanna will then spin the big cash wheel revealing your wonderful prize. The winner will receive an email from You Bet Your Bulbs so be sure to check your inbox often.

Confused? Don't be - it's all part of the fun. Somebody has to win and it might as well be you. So what are you waiting for - today might be your lucky day. Merry Christmas and thanks for playing YOU BET YOUR BULBS!

PS This is not my annual Christmas story either - still working on that...

Brother Can You Spare a Tree?

Don't worry, this is not my Christmas story – I am still working on that masterpiece. This is just a little seasonal anecdote that I thought I might share to pass the time and hopefully give my faithful readers a chuckle or two.

A few years ago when we lived in a large house downtown, I decided to put a small Christmas tree on the front porch roof for all to enjoy. As usual I didn’t want to spend a lot of money so I thought I would go off to the local farmer’s market on a Saturday morning in early December to look for a smallish, cheapish tree. Also, as usual, I did not have much money with me – in fact for some reason I only had five dollars and eighty six cents - but how much could a small tree cost anyway?

I was browsing around the tree lot and there were some real beauties on display - seven, eight and nine feet tall. The prices seemed to range from about $40.00 and up, a little out of my range, but I was undeterred. I saw a man with a pick up truck full of what appeared to be smaller, less cultured trees so I wandered over to have a look. I told him what I had in mind and he held up a few candidates, some six footers that went for around $30. "Do you have something smaller?" I asked – "it is only for display outside on the porch". And lo and behold he reached under the truck and pulled out just what I was looking for – it was just over 4 feet tall, kind of scraggly but it would do fine for my porch roof. "How much?" I asked – and when he replied “How about six dollars?” I knew that with a little Yuletide haggling it would be mine.

Now just as I was reaching into my pocket for my $5.86, it so happened that my friend Mike Kennedy, a Saturday market regular, was walking by. Mike is a fine Irishman who never passes up an opportunity to point out my inherent Scottish "tendencies".

“Watch that cheap Scottish bast...” he had begun to joke with the tree merchant just as he heard me making my stingy offer of $5.86 - the timing cold not have been more perfect! Mike got to witness me in all my Scottish glory - haggling over fourteen cents on a Christmas tree and I think it might have made his day.

Anyway, I got the tree - put it up later that afternoon in a big wind and caught a miserable cold that stayed with me throughout most of the Christmas season. I doubt that there is much to be learned from this little story but I can't help thinking there is a moral here somewhere, maybe something Dickensian or even Biblical?  But upon further consideration I think Mike was right after all - it's just a little Christmas story about a cheap Scottish bast...

Buddy

It finally happened last Tuesday at ten o'clock in the morning. It was a chilly October day and I went for a walk on my break at work and darned if I didn't have to wear my winter hat. As usual I was listening to the weekly News from Lake Wobegon podcast and as coincidence would have it, all the good folk in that fictional mid western town were getting their winter hats out too. Minnesotans are a steadfast and hearty breed and so are we here in Eastern Canada. If it's time for hats in Lake Wobegon - it's time for hats in New Brunswick. Onward toward winter...

I am a late comer to wearing a winter hat – in fact I only bought my first hat about 5 years ago after a long period of careful consideration. I always hated wearing hats because they messed up my hair, but Father Time and Mother Nature in their wisdom have taken care of that problem and ultimately my concern for neat hair has now been outweighed by my concern for a warm head. 

Buying a hat was not easy for me because it had to pass what I like to call the “hat test”.  Julie will attest to the fact that there was indeed such a stipulation. The deal was that if I could put a hat on my head and she could look me in the eye for ten seconds without laughing – I would buy it. It took me literally until I was 54 years old to finally find a hat that could pass the test and that I could park my face under. Needless to say, I do not have what they call a "hat face"...

But there is another benefit to wearing a winter hat. And that is that I can finally shake that balding guy who keeps following me around the rest of the year.  I call him Buddy. I have never had a real good look at Buddy but he appears to be slightly older than me, thinning on top and kind of puts me in mind of Prince Charles - at least from behind. I first started to notice him a few years ago whenever I was sitting in the barber's chair - the barber would hold up a mirror and there was Buddy sitting in the chair right behind me. Of course I only saw the back of his head but that ever thinning scalp was hard to miss. I have since stopped going to barber shops just to avoid him. Now he has started to follow me into banks and stores and anywhere there is an overhead security camera or mirror. Whenever I happen to glance up,  there he is - standing right behind me, with that unmistakeable scalp of his shamelessly on display.

Recently I was in the local convenience store where they have an over head security monitor - I had a quick look and to my relief all I saw was what appeared to be my own hat. So it looks like I have given Buddy the slip for the time being - he seems to leave me alone during the winter months. But something tells me I'll be seeing him again when the warm weather returns. Maybe this year I'll be smart and buy a summer hat. On second thought, maybe I'll buy two - one for me and one for Buddy. That ought to get rid of him for good. Sounds like a plan.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

I have a confession to make. I am a counter - I count things. Call it a habit, a hobby or an affliction, but it's what I do. For example, ice cube trays have 14 ice compartments and a typical set of stairs has 17 steps including the bottom one. I know this because I have counted every set of stairs I have ever climbed.
I think this all started when I used to drive for a living and started counting white lines on the highway and the wheels on 18 wheelers. But I think there may be a certain amount of O.C.D. (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) going on here too. I think we all have a little bit of that, don't you?

I have always counted my steps when walking past houses and buildings, sometimes trying to guess in advance to see if I am correct. I frequently am.
When I do a menial task like cutting up a carrot, chopping wood or fork-splitting an English muffin, I count each action without even knowing I am doing it. And sometimes I just count - almost like a soothing song in my head. But I am in good company there - surely you have all heard the refrain from the Beatles song "You Never Give me your Money"?

And now my job even involves counting - how great is that? It's like getting paid for humming. (By the way I am also told that I hum while I eat.) I don't have to count at work but some of my tasks are repetitive and it just helps pass the time. But why do I know that the urinal at work has 17 holes and the sink drain has only 9? I have counted holes in ceiling tiles, coins in my pocket... and I just looked out the window and counted the rungs on my ladder - 10. A nice even number and somehow satisfying.

So now you know about my counting fixation. Please don't feel sorry for me or think I am some sort of freak - it is just as natural to me as breathing in and breathing out. Well, I guess it is time for me to go count the socks in my sock drawer - just kidding... or am I?
By the way, there are 412 words in this blog - go ahead and check if you want to. And there are only 103 more days until Christmas - but who's counting?

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

If you listen to the news, watch TV or read a newspaper these days you will know that food is bad for you. Actually it is not the food itself that is the problem, but what we put in it and on it. Sit down to a nice meal of boiled potatoes, sweet corn, and fresh green beans and you are in good company. But once the "dinner guests" arrive and we all start to spread and sprinkle and stir it is a different story. It's not what we have for dinner that harms us but who we invite to the table.

The always present dinner guest of course is the irresistible and seductive Salt who shows up even when she's not invited. She may be oh-so-quiet and polite but don't be fooled - she is an evil bitch who just has to get into everything!

Next there is Salt's alluring little sister, Sugar - who nobody can resist. We have all loved her since we first met way back in childhood and she just seems to get in your blood. Sugar is like a favorite aunt or grandmother who sweetly offers you just one more cookie. And since she put so much of herself into them, well it would be just plain rude to refuse. And last of all there is that old country cousin Fat. Fat is that chubby little guy who everybody loves but he can get tiresome when he hangs around too long, and he usually does.

With these three always dropping by for dinner what is a person to do? After all - they are family and we can't just turn our backs on them and we can't live without them. And besides, even with their bad habits and wicked ways - we sort of like it when they show up, don't we?  Salt always spices things up and Sugar knows her way around a dance floor. But it's just not a party until good old Fat shows up. When these three get together you never know what they might cook up.

Those are the Big Bad Three and interestingly enough Fat is starting to look pretty good lately. Apparently it is OK to be Fat now - as long as you are otherwise healthy. Think about that for a minute and it actually starts to make sense. Sugar and Salt are insidious and will hound you to your grave but you can keep an eye on Fat - and you can always get rid of him by taking a nice long walk. Sugar and Salt are sneaky – you don’t always know when they come to visit but everyone knows when Fat is in the house. 

I guess the moral of this story is that it's OK to throw a little party now and then but we should watch who we sit down with every day. Good old Fat won't harm you too much if you keep on the move but don't turn your back on Sugar and for God's sake watch out for that Salt.

Birthday Birdie!

Fishandchips

Fish and chips. Two words that go together so well that it's almost like they should be one word - "fishandchips". Are there any two words in the English language that go together as well?  How about pension and cheque? "Pensioncheque". That has a nice sound to it too but what is the connection? Read on...

Everyone loves fish and chips and if anyone says they don't I expect that to be a lie of sorts. Even the Beatles love fish and chips - if you don''t believe me, click here to see what I mean. And we don't eat them enough any more, now that we know they are so bad for our health, what with all the grease and vinegar and batter and salt. Is your mouth watering too?

I have had fish and chips many times and in many ways - homemade, takeout and eat in. Fredericton has had some famous fish and chip shops and I have eaten at them all. Frank's on the Exhibition grounds was my favorite followed by the Lucky Lunch. Ozzie's down by St. Andrew's serves world class fish and chips, and I have had them in Vancouver at a famous place called "The Only Seafood" where you stood patiently in a long line just to get served what may be the best fish and chips in the world. 
But one of the most memorable times I had fish and chips was when Mom came to our place at Kelly's Court and bought us all fish and chips from Deluxe French Fries. What is so memorable about that you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

Mom bought them for us with her very own money - her first old age pension cheque. It was probably the first money that was totally hers since she had been a shop girl back in Scotland. She was celebrating. Not only the money but the fact that she had just come from a check up with Dad at the hospital and he was getting better. His cancer was "in remission" - another two words that go together very well. So Mom was pulling out all the stops - it was fish and chips for all and she was paying.

My parents were not rich – far from it. That just made whatever they gave all the more special – one of life’s many ironies I think you will agree. And for Mom to just pull that cash out of her purse and order up a feast for us all to celebrate must have felt pretty good...  I know it sure tasted good.

So have your own celebration one of these days - celebrate whatever you like but I suggest you do it sooner than later. And do it with extra batter, lots of vinegar, tartar sauce and what the hell - pass that salt shaker!

Millionaire!

This may come as a big surprise to anyone who knows me but - I am a millionaire! Yes - a millionaire!

I just did the math and a few simple calculations prove beyond a doubt that I have indeed passed the million dollar mark quite some time ago.

Of course, I haven’t got my million dollars all at one time and stacked up in a big pile. The way I see it, that would make me a miser, not a millionaire. I am more of a "moveable" millionaire if you will - the money just keeps passing through.

McDonalds claims to have served over 245 billion burgers but where are those burgers now? Gone - just like my million dollars. But don't get me wrong - I am not bitter. In fact the truth is I had a lot of fun with my million dollars and did a lot of good. It is true that I blew most of it on food and shelter, clothing, toys, furniture and cars. But I wasn't totally frivolous with my million dollars - I also gave a good portion of it away.

To institutions like the government, insurance companies, public utilities, banks and charities. This type of selfless investment kept me and my family warm and safe while keeping countless others employed along the way. So I guess that makes me a bit of a philanthropist too... who knew?

I am not finished being a millionaire either – it takes a long time and it is an ongoing process. The world needs more millionaires like me - we keep countries afloat and the wheels of industry turning by letting that money flow through our hands. With the economy in such trouble and the state of the world in general, maybe you better get your calculator out and see if you can help – you might be a millionaire too. Just like me.

Lessons Learned

On this Father's Day I thought it might be appropriate to review some lessons learned and unlearned from my father...

Swimming lessons - throw kid as far into lake as possible, repeat until kid swims or drowns

Bike lessons - launch under-sized kid as fast as possible on over-sized bike

Driving lessons - explain patiently in a calm, quiet voice that "THAT IS THE #%$*ING CLUTCH!!"

Relaxing lessons - snore loudly through entire episodes of the Monkees and Batman

Eating lessons - try new things - raw liver, horse radish, celery flavoured oatmeal

Sports lessons - watch entire seasons of hockey while sound asleep

Mowing lessons - get two ride on mowers, one that only goes and one that only cuts - pull the latter behind the former

Dental hygiene - Dentist Schmentist! pull all loose teeth with thumb nail

Home renovation - why do it right when you can do it now!

Preventive Maintenance - "If it ain't broke - fix it until it is."

Music lessons - from Doc Watson on 78 to Boxcar Willie on 8 track 

These "lessons" are not in any way meant to be disrespectful of my father - I could never do that. Besides, he is up there in Heaven helping to hold the place together with bent coat hangers and duct tape, waiting for me and I am pretty sure he is still wearing a belt.

There are also a few lessons I did not learn. Like how to grow a successful garden - guess I should have paid more attention. Or how to go to war and how to bravely face a terrible disease - hope I never have to learn those lessons. And finally how to face the end with dignity - I guess I will have to wait and see about that. Meanwhile I think I will try to remember what I have learned already and keep working on that gardening.

Matthew 25:35

Jesus cleaned my windshield last Saturday afternoon. Yes - you read that right. And not only that, but he also provided me with a free hot dog and a cold drink of water too. And as with so many of my stories, it seems that an explanation is called for...

Last Saturday was a beautiful day and I was working around the yard getting caught up on a number of tasks. Painting the garden shed, washing my motorcycle, mowing the lawn etc. I needed gas for my lawnmower so I drove down to the local Irving and started filling up my gas can. To my surprise not one, but two smiling attendants greeted me and offered to wash my windshield. My suspicions were immediately aroused but I replied that I would indeed love my windshield washed and they both started scrubbing away - one at the front and one at the back.

As they worked away one of them informed me that I was welcome to help myself to free hot dogs and bottled water too... now I was really suspicious. After all - this was an Irving station, and they charge for air! But it was right around noon and I suddenly realized that I was both hungry and thirsty.

After I paid for my gas I looked at the card one of the windshield washers had given me and it explained that today was Love Fredericton Day - sponsored by several local church groups. That explained the smiling, eager service I had received at the pumps. It also explained the group of excited young kids and teenagers who were bustling around the parking lot - what I had assumed was a car wash for charity.

As I was fixing up my hot dog another car drove up and the driver was offered free hot dogs and water just like me. He seemed to hesitate and as he reached for his wallet to make a donation I heard one little guy explain loudly and with all sincerity that there was no charge, it was all to show that God loves us.

And why shouldn't he? It was a beautiful day - the yard was full of happy, sincere people putting their faith to work in a simple way that we can all relate to. Clean windshields, free hot dogs and a cold drink of water on a hot day. Amen to that.

By the way - if you are not familiar with the biblical verse referenced in the title - look it up. You can use a Bible if you have one handy, but go ahead and use Google if you prefer, God won't mind a bit.

Fiddleheadin'

Fiddlehead season arrived late this year due to the unseasonably cold weather and high water but that wasn’t going to stop me. On a cold, wet and windy Saturday morning I headed out to my favorite spot to see what the crop was like this year. I drove as far as I could to my destination but I knew I would have to make the rest of the way on foot. I knew exactly where to go and before long I spotted what looked like a nice patch of green and so I headed that way. 

A wise picker always arrives early to get the best selection but a quick look around the area told me I wasn’t alone. The folks ahead of me were taking their sweet time but I was patient - I let them know I was there but kept my distance and waited until they had moved on. I am very choosy when it comes to picking fiddleheads and I like to search out the big ones.

I was pleased to see that the others were observing proper picking etiquette which dictates that you take only what you need, move on and leave some for the next guy. I’ll admit the crop looked a little picked over, but that just meant I had to dig a little deeper and search a little harder for the good ones… I knew it would be worth the effort.

I’ll admit it was cold on the hands but that is just the price you have to pay. The fiddleheads were wet as if they had just been soaked and it was quite chilly and my fingers were growing numb; for a minute I wondered if it was worth all the bother. But fiddleheads are such a rare treat that I pressed on, proud of myself for upholding such a proud and hearty New Brunswick tradition.

Some other early risers had spotted me and were looking eager to share in the bounty so after filling my bag to the top I was ready to move on.  My wet, aching fingers reminded me that I had parked quite a long way off so I decided to call it a day and head for home while my treasures were still fresh. I got a twist tie to secure my load, placed the plastic bag into my shopping cart and quickly made my way to the Express Checkout line. And that was when I wondered again if it was worth the cost – $4.99 a pound can really add up! Good thing I only picked a half a pound...

Maybe next year I’ll be more adventurous, avoid the crowd at Sobeys and do my picking the old fashioned way, down closer to the river - at the Victory Meat Market. Maybe I’ll see you there…

Up a Tree

Have you ever wondered what your life would look like as a TV program? No? Well I have. Consider it for a minute. What would it be? A game show or a reality show? Maybe a talk show with a never ending parade of guests dropping by. After giving it a little too much thought I have decided that my life on TV would be a classic sixties half hour sitcom, complete with commercials, theme song and of course a catchy title.

The cast of "Up a Tree" would be basically me and Julie, coping with our daily domestic situations, sharing good times and bad - now and then dealing with our dysfunctional family members and entertaining our wacky friends. I even have my theme song all picked out - a slightly uptempo instrumental version of "Misty" - the Johnny Mathis classic.

Picture it. As the theme song plays I enter the kitchen, announce that I am home, park my keys and wallet on top of the fridge and open the door in search of a pre-dinner snack as Julie patiently rolls her eyes, folds her arms and mugs for the camera. As the opening credits roll, I toss my hat at the hook on the wall and miss it every time - tedious and predictable but always good for a laugh.

Like most classic sitcoms and indeed real life, nothing much ever happens on my show. Maybe I misplace my car keys or forget to put water in the coffee maker again... how about an episode about building a deck or getting the lawn mower out of winter storage? Doesn't sound like much but you would be surprised what some clever sound effects and a well placed laugh track can do. And there are no parental advisories due to foul language, violence or nudity  - unless it is my turn to do the laundry.

No need to worry about missing an episode of  "Up a Tree" because it airs pretty much 24/7 - and there are always plenty of reruns. So tune in any time, sit back and put your feet up. And as that other TV show used to say - "Ya'll come back now - hear?"

Victoria

In honor of Victoria Day, I am pleased to present the lyrics to the song "Victoria" by Ray Davies. If you care to listen and sing along - just click on the picture of Victoria.

Long ago life was clean
Sex was bad, called obscene
And the rich were so mean
Stately homes for the Lords
Croquet lawns, village greens
Victoria was my queen
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria

I was born, lucky me
In a land that I love
Though I am poor, I am free
When I grow I shall fight
For this land I shall die
Let her sun never set
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria

Land of hope and gloria
Land of my Victoria
Land of hope and gloria
Land of my Victoria
Victoria, 'toria

Canada to India
Australia to Cornwall
Singapore to Hong Kong
From the West to the East
From the rich to the poor
Victoria loved them all
Victoria, Victoria, Victoria, 'toria

Preparation H

The second annual Wheels for Meals Bike-a-Thon is only a little over six weeks away. After eight solid months of winter this type of grueling event cannot be attempted without some form of preparation. 
It has been said that success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration but I would like to add to that equation. I feel that preparation is equally important to success and that is why I have proudly developed a training system entitled Preparation H. Haynes is the name and Preparation is the game. It may be a pain in the ass but it is for a good cause.

But what is Preparation H you ask? It is a strict regimen designed to prepare my body for actual physical movement. I will begin to move muscles that have not been used since last October. I will increase my lung capacity by slowly and repeatedly breathing both in and out. I will boldly try to stay awake - even after supper.

With the financial help of my sponsors I will make every attempt to once again complete the entire 20 kilometer route without the aid of steroids or artificial stimulants of any kind. With nothing but Preparation H behind me I will be swelling with pride, burning with passion and itching to do my best.

And this is where you can help. This year there are three sponsorship categories - please choose the one that best describes your commitment level:

$20.00 donation = Shining Golden Angel of Perpetual Kindness *
$10.00 donation = Silver Champion of Pure Generosity
$ 5.00 donation = Registered Bronze Participant

(* Only Shining Golden Angels of Perpetual Kindness will be issued a tax receipt)

With the help of Preparation H and your generous donation (and maybe just a little talcum powder) I know this year's Bike-a-Thon will be another blistering success! Please click on the email link below and make your commitment today. And thanks!

haynes@nbnet.nb.ca

Dinky Toys

Has anybody seen my Dinky toys? They must be around here somewhere because there were dozens of them and you can't just misplace dozens of neat little miniature cars can you? Especially when they were such a vital part of my childhood. I loved them and I took care of them - so where did they go? I can still even describe some of them for you. A green Volkswagen bug, several army trucks, a 1961 yellow Thunderbird with whitewall tires and doors that really opened, and a teal blue convertible with a tinted windshield. You don't just lose treasures like these.

Man I loved those little cars! You could buy them anywhere from five and dime stores to Mazucca's Smoke Shop. Sure they were made of die cast toxic metal and finished in several coats of lead paint - but that is what made them so durable and so real! And they had real little rubber tires - not the hard plastic ones that came later on those cheap Hot Wheels.

I looked after them - I washed them, I lined them up and counted them. I even built a little wooden shelf to display them in my room. Where did they go - I haven't seen them in about 45 years? For years I had a recurring dream about my collection of Dinky toys. In the dream I always found them safely stored away in a shoe box in a big dining room hutch that my parents owned and I would wake up almost believing it was true. Unfortunately that old hutch is long gone too...

If you are a girl you don't understand about Dinky toys, they were probably just something you stepped on in the hallway. But believe me - nothing gave more pleasure than to spend time in your bedroom or on the living room rug driving over make believe roads.

I suppose they still are for sale somewhere but now they would be considered collectors items and that would spoil the fun. Besides, I want my own Dinky toys back. So if you happen to see a shoe box of well used, well loved Dinky toys lying around, and want to see a grown man cry - just drop me a line.

Another Baboon!

I almost decided to not write this but then I realized that my faithful readers (all seven of you) would understand.  You might remember that I wrote a previous blog entitled "El Dummo" about a seemingly miraculous apparition of a baboon that appeared in a set of our neighbour's outdoor Christmas tree lights.

Well believe it or not - it has happened again, but not in a tree this time and not in lights.

This latest baboon has revealed itself in the form of a rust stain on a concrete wall and if you care to read on you will be given explicit instructions as to where it is located so you can see for yourself.

All you have to do is drive around to the back entrance of the Chalmers Hospital and park near the sign for the Meals on Wheels pick up area. And there he is in all his simian glory - waving his arms in the air and running like... well, a baboon. 

Let me make it perfectly clear that I do not go around looking for these mystical wonders and even if I did I wouldn't go looking for baboons. Believe me, when they appear I am just as surprised as you are. I am not sure what this all means in the grand scheme of things. It is not totally unheard of to see strange visions but usually it is the face of the Virgin Mary or Jesus. I'm not even sure I would recognize Jesus in a rust stain anyway but I know a baboon when I see one.

So head on up to the Chalmer's Hospital at your first opportunity, but hurry - it is a construction zone and who knows how long it will be there. I should mention that there is a security gate but just look the guard right in the eye and say "I am here to see the baboon." 


Let me know how that works out for you...

Soup

For sale: One half can of Habitant pea soup, large 28 oz. economy size – hardly been touched. It is sitting in a bowl in my fridge right now and will only last for another day so don't hesitate. I ate the other half and I am pretty sure I am done with it. I bought it in a moment of nostalgic weakness remembering it as one of those "comfort" foods we enjoyed in our youth. But I guess sitting on the toilet at 1 A.M. is no longer my idea of comfort, not to mention the cramping I endured all day at work.
So if you are a fan of this French Canadian delicacy, act now and I will throw in a few chunks of smoked ham and a sleeve of saltine crackers. 
If not claimed within 24 hours I will have no choice but to deposit this bowl of delicious but deadly soup in the toilet - this time cutting out the middle man - me.
Any offers?

Tea

Before we get started, let me state that I am a confirmed and contented coffee drinker - two cups in the morning with breakfast is my standard routine and I couldn't start the day without it. We have a drip coffee maker and there is no sweeter sound than when those drips start dripping. Especially when I have set it the night before to come on automatically - like magic!

Good coffee is something I don't mind paying for and I have learned that you get what you pay for. But tea is a different matter altogether and the truth is I actually prefer bad tea. I have tried many teas but to me the cheapest brand with the most tea bags is what pleases me. I just bought 72 bags of Signal tea bags at Sobey's for $1.99 - a little pricey but I am running low.

My mother was a great tea drinker - she drank it steeped and strong and all day long. The teapot was always on the stove and she just simply added more tea bags and water as needed. Mom knew how to get maximum mileage out of a tea bag and she kept it nice and warm under a tea cozy. I on the other hand, make my tea by boiling water in a pot on top of the stove - throw a teabag in a cup, add boiling water and then squeeze the bag against the side of the cup with a spoon. Toss the used tea bag in the sink, a little milk and sugar and I am away. I like my teabags square, not round - and packed in paper not flow-thru gauze. And like my father I prefer my tea "with it" - as in "Would you like a cup of tea? Sure - what have you got to go with it?

A wise man once said that coffee is food but tea is medicine and I couldn't agree more. If you are getting over a cold or flu do you recover by having a robust cup of coffee and a danish?  Of course not - a civilized person nurses oneself back to health by taking a little dry toast and some weak tea.

Tea has been around for thousands of years and is more socially acceptable in polite company than that young upstart coffee. If the Queen came to visit (and when I was a child I always believed there was a distinct possibility that this might happen) what would you serve her? Why a cup of tea of course - served in your finest hand painted china, complete with matching saucer.

And maybe just a little something to go "with it"....

Everyone knows what the title of this blog says because we all speak and read Pig Latin. Anyone who was ever a kid learned it as a second language. The linguistics are quite simple; take the first letter off a word, stick it on the end and add "ay". Cat becomes atcay and dog becomes ogday. Not exactly a tough code to break but every kid was proud to learn this cryptic language. It was fun to pretend that we could all speak in a secret code, forgetting that our parents were kids once too and knew everything we were saying.

But some of us soon became bored with this simplistic language and moved on to higher things - something we called Long Pig Latin. I'm not exactly sure who invented L.P.L. and I have never heard it spoken anywhere else. It may have been my sisters and cousins trying to amuse each other during our many extended visits. After all, in the days before computers and televisions with 500 channels, there was plenty of time to come up with an entirely new language

The rules for L.P.L. were a little more complex than regular Pig Latin, but nothing that one couldn't master over the course of a few long summer afternoons. I learned this language over 45 years ago and I can still speak it quite fluently with very little recent practice. If only French was so easy to master - I might be a cabinet minister today.

Here is how it worked. Consonants were simple - you took a letter, added a U and then repeated the letter at the end. So B would be bub, C would be cuc and D would be dud. Like I said - simple. The vowels were a little more challenging but that is the case in any language. A few ground rules had to be laid as follows:

The letter A was pronounced "ah", E was pronounced "ee", I was pronounced "eye", O was "oh", and U was "you". But what about the letter "Y"? This posed a rather tricky verbal problem but someone's inspired solution was to pronounce it as "whinney". And when I say inspired I am sincere - as it gives the language a unique and distinct flavour as you will see in the sentence "I like to ride my bike" translated below into Pig Latin and Long Pig Latin:

Pig Latin: I ikelay otay ideray ymay ikebay.

Long Pig Latin: I lul-eye-kuk-ee tut-oh rur-eye-dud-ee mum-whinney bub-eye-kuk-ee.

Speaking in Long Pig Latin was challenging to master and was more like spell talking - as you had to actually spell each word as you went along; this is also what made it so long. Google in Pig Latin is Ooglegay as we already know, but you have to agree that Gugohohguglulee is way more exotic and impressive. I will admit that it takes a bit of getting used to but give it a try and I promise it will grow on you. It is a language best learned sitting on a porch swing all day or lying on a lawn staring at clouds for endless hours. But as so few of us have time for that kind of dedication anymore that I fear it is destined to become a lost dialect. Thank goodness there are still some of us left to document this little bit of linguistic history.

Like any language you must use it or lose it. It would be a shame for this language to be lost - think of the time that would have been wasted on those long ago summer days. Maybe it's not too late for a revival, thankfully there are still a few of us original speakers out there, and you know who you are. The rest of you can learn it - I know you can. So here is a little message to encourage you. Relax, take your time and always remember...

"Pup rur ah cuc tut eye cuc ee  mum ah kuk ee sus  pup ee rur fuf ee cuc tut!"

Walking Around....

... by Freebooter

Spring is in the air... sidewalks are finally clearing up.... looks like some people don't stoop to scoop.... too dangerous to walk on the roads.... unless you are in a group of joggers... safety in numbers I guess... people don't pay attention driving these days... those cell phones... who are they calling.... maybe the mayor to fix all those potholes....

Flood season will soon be upon us... happens every year about this time... good thing the time is changing so we can watch the water rise... hope the city helps fund the Regent St. wharf this year... where else are we going to park our yachts... maybe they should consider parking meters for boats... make the fat cats pay like the rest of us...

Lots of money being spent downtown... new convention center... must try that new escalator... new Liquor Store opening up downtown... just in time for St. Patrick's Day... downtown not like it used to be... can't even buy a good cigar anymore... everybody is in such a hurry to get their coffee on the way to work... whatever happened to the office coffee pot...

Daylight savings time is here... what are we saving it for... maybe so we can stay up late and do our taxes... a sure sign of spring... gas prices on the rise again...  guess walking around is still the best way...

DIGITAL DONUTS!

Get this. In only a few short years I will be sending you another kind of digital donut - the kind that you can actually eat. Impossible you say? Read on...
 
This is a hot topic so I have to get this blog out right away. 3D food printers are on the way! This is not science fiction - you are looking at one right now! Regular 3D printers have been around for quite some time - in fact I have seen them at work on Base Gagetown. They have a system that prints out actual 3D scale models of soldiers, vehicles and buildings for strategic planning of battle scenes etc. It was only a small leap of logic before the minds behind this sort of technology discovered that they could add the element of edible textures and flavours. And now the flood gates are open...

Even as you read this, there are food printers being developed that can be loaded with cartridges containing the ingredients required to print out 3D replicas of almost any food you can imagine. Chocolate cake, lasagna, seafood, chicken - anything that can be liquefied, melted and squeezed out of a nozzle. Even donuts - especially donuts!
These food printers are being tested in manufacturing plants and research facilities now and it is estimated that they will be in your home within 5 years.

And once this revolution is in full swing who knows where it will lead? Imagine downloading a recipe, loading the correct cartridges of ingredients, press a button and dinner is served. Sounds a little "Star Trekkie" but it is a reality today.

So just remember you read it here first (or second if you already read it somewhere else first) and get in line for some digital donuts - coming soon to a printer near you. Would you like yours printed with Justin Bieber's face on it? No problem....

Books II

Good day class. Today's lecture is on the impact of the industrial revolution on the publishing industry in the mid nineteenth century. Hello.... still there? Class.... anyone?

Actually the topic of this blog is about as dry as it sounds and I fear only the most steadfast readers will proceed. Some of you may have read my recent blog entry (Books 1) about reading and the future of electronic books in the digital age.  This topic started me thinking about the past and how different the world of publishing is today.

My favorite author without a doubt is Charles Dickens and I can't help think that were he alive today he would be 100% in favour of this new technology. After all, he popularized the reading of fiction among the general population in a time when many couldn't even afford to buy a book due to the high cost of publishing. He cleverly wrote his books in weekly and monthly installments which were sold for a few pennies or serialized in newspapers making them affordable to the working class.

In the mid 1800s books and newspapers were published using the typesetting method which meant that each letter of each word was manually set in a hand held frame and then inserted into a printing press where it was inked and printed. I mention this only to illustrate the incredible strides that have been made in the publishing world since that time. It was also an era when great improvements were being made in transportation making it possible for books to be distributed and sold virtually worldwide.

Recently I was inspecting some microfilm of an early New Brunswick newspaper from 1847 and was thrilled to find a serialized chapter of "Dombey and Son" by Charles Dickens which was written earlier that same year. Imagine how that came about! Starting with a hand written manuscript, a copy would be sent by ship from England to New Brunswick where it would have been manually typeset, printed and sold on the streets to eager readers awaiting the next installment. The amount of work and effort involved is almost impossible to imagine. Unfortunately Charles Dickens did not make much money from this process as international copyrights did not exist at the time.

In contrast to the labour intensive and time consuming process described above, I just downloaded a free copy of "Dombey and Son" - the entire book including illustrations was complete in under two seconds. As amazing as this is, the thought of typesetters assembling each letter of each word (upside down and backwards, no less!) of every printed page is equally astounding to me.

This concludes our lesson for the day and those of you who are still awake are to be commended for your tenacity, stamina and patience. I was going to assign a 5000 word essay but your undivided attention has proven that you are scholars as well as true seekers of knowledge. A passing grade is assigned to all - class is dismissed.

DRIVEWAY REPORT

7:43 PM February 16, 2011:

MAINTENANCE PERSONNEL ADVISE DRIVEWAY SURFACE AT 30 BRIGHTON CT SNOW PACKED WITH BARE CENTER STRIP..... WHEELING IS FAIRLY GOOD WITH SLIPPERY SECTIONS NEAR THE BIG PINE TREE..... HEAVY DRIFTING REPORTED AROUND THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE WITH ICY SECTIONS NEAR SHED.

EXTRA CAUTION ADVISED AT INTERSECTION OF DRIVEWAY AND PATH LEADING TO MAILBOX.... AN ALERT HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR THE ENTIRE DRIVEWAY AND TRAFFIC HAS BEEN REDUCED TO ONE LANE.... OVERNIGHT PARKING IS RESTRICTED TO CARPORT.

VISIBILITY FAIR TO POOR DUE TO UNUSUALLY HIGH SNOW BANKS.... TRAFFIC ADVISORY HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR SLUSHY AREA NEAR THE ROAD.... REDUCED SPEED SHOULD BE USED WHEN EXITING DRIVEWAY ON GARBAGE DAY.... WALKWAYS ARE REPORTED TO BE IN MODERATE CONDITION DUE TO SLIGHT DRIFTING IN EXPOSED AREAS.

WARMING TREND FORECAST FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS WILL HOPEFULLY ALLOW EXHAUSTED STAFF TO TAKE WELL DESERVED BREAK.... PLEASE!!

Bee Mine

When I was growing up Valentine's Day was the most unromantic day of the year. After all, it was for kids and what did kids know or care about all that smoochy stuff? It certainly had nothing to do with love or sex or romance like it does today.

Valentine's Day was more about friendship and popularity - in other words, it was all about the numbers. Before Facebook and social networking Valentine's Day was a rare opportunity to tally up all your friends  - and what better way than by counting your Valentines. 

And it was about as accurate as Facebook too; in a well meaning attempt to keep things fair and equitable, the general rule was that everyone had to give a Valentine to everyone. So if there were 30 kids in your class you got 30 Valentines. I suppose there were some kids who received more than their share and some who came up a little short. But as the great philosopher Frank Sinatra once said - "That's life. That's what all the people say. You're either ridin' high in April - or shot down in May."

But for love sick, shy kids like me, Valentine's Day was the one day of the year when you could throw caution to the wind and finally tell that cute little girl in your class that she was the one for you. Of course you didn't do it in person - you did it by sending her a cheap Valentine that said something cryptic like "Eye A Door U" or the even more suggestive "Bee My Honey".  Hot stuff when you are nine years old! Then there were the generic "Howdy Pardner" or "You're Swell" Valentine cards to give to the boys in your class or to the less attractive girls - wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea now, would we?

So in keeping with the all inclusive, generic, gender neutral Valentine policy of my youth, I just want to say I think you're swell and wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, Pardner!

Fuckery and Hullabaloo

Our door bell has been defective for about two years. It was accidentally damaged by a wayward paint roller the first day we moved in and has never been right. Due to a bent chime it would no longer go Ding for the side door and Ding Dong for the front door - instead it went Ding for both. So we never knew which door to answer - I know that doesn't sound like a big deal but there have been some close calls. Answer the wrong door and you just might find yourself face to face with a Jehovah's Witness or miss out on a box of Girl Guide cookies. Obviously something had to be done...

I suggested putting up a sign at the side door that said Ring Once and one at the front door that said Ring Twice - problem solved, total cost $0.00 and both my Scottish mother and Handyman father would have been proud. But that would have been too simple wouldn't it? And besides, any idiot can fix a doorbell, right? So I bought a simple new door chime kit with lots of helpful installation instructions and after much fuckery and hullabaloo it was determined that it did not match up with our ancient 10 volt transformer. The best we could get was a ding for the side door and a muffled wheeze for the front door and it was downhill from there.

At this point I made the mistake of researching door bells on the internet - I had no idea there was such a fascinating world of door bells out there! There are beautiful wood grain sculptures with polished chimes, programmable door bells that play custom recorded songs and messages for any occasion. Biometric doorbells that scan your eyeballs and read your fingerprints! There are wireless door bells shaped like parrots, horses, porpoises - even talking Homer Simpson door bells! But alas such luxuries are not to be afforded in our modest doorbell budget, so back to the store I went and bought another model of the proper rating to match our good old transformer and then home again jiggedy jig. End of story - right? Wrong.

After much more fuckery and hullabaloo involving complicated schematics, advanced math, trial and error and black magic, the net result is that we now have no doorbell at all - no ding, no dong. But that is OK because now our defective doorbell fits right in with our misfiring gas fireplace, our non-toasting toaster and fuse-blowing cook top stove.

I realize these issues seem frivolous and petty and I would be more than willing to lend a sympathetic ear to anyone who cares to visit and share a cup of tea while we chat about the world's problems. Please feel free to drop by anytime, but it might be a good idea to call first and when you get here don't forget to knock - LOUD!

Buddy Can You Spare 001011001000111010011010011011000110110000110100100101100010110011101?

Remember money? I bet some of you used to get paid with real money just like I did. And I don't mean a cheque either - I mean real folding money and coins, right down to the last penny owed. I think the last time I was paid in real money was when I worked retail in Calgary. Every Friday afternoon we would form a long line and receive our pay packets from the payroll lady who sat behind a folding card table in the lunch room. Pay packets were kind of exciting to receive; little brown envelopes with your name on the outside and cash on the inside - actual legal tender in exchange for a job well done. Now there is a blast from the past!

But for the last few decades it seems that more and more of us have been getting paid with electronic currency, digital money or to call it what it really is - numbers. The numbers are assigned to our bank accounts and then we in turn assign some of these numbers to other accounts in other banks to pay bills or buy goods. Then if we have enough numbers left over we can merely swipe or wave a card to purchase virtually anything - even a cup of coffee and a donut at Tim Horton's.

This is not necessarily a bad thing but it makes one wonder how much real money there actually is in the world anymore. Does anyone know, does anyone really care? How about panhandlers - a segment of the economy that has traditionally dealt in cold, hard cash? Their way of doing business surely must be threatened as prices go up and actual money becomes increasingly scarce. The days of soliciting the public for nickels and dimes are surely drawing to an end - why just last week an ambitious fellow in the street asked me for $7.00. Now I ask you, who carries around that kind of cash - certainly not me!

But there is hope. How long before we see an enterprising beggar on the street offering strangers the opportunity to transfer him some funds on his laptop or cellphone? The technology exists today although few of us would have the confidence to actually participate in such a scheme. But I fear it won't be long until someone comes up with a handy pocket sized gadget for that very purpose. Think of the opportunities for an entirely new mobile device with clever names like the PanHandler, the BumBuddy or Heaven forbid - the iSwipe.

Ours is a fast moving economy built on innovation and ingenuity, so it is only a matter of time before we long once more for the good old days of the pay packet. And how we will wish that guy on the corner could still be satisfied with a couple of quarters.

Books 1

I love books. I love reading. Nothing pleases me more on these cold winter nights, than getting under the covers, putting on my special old man reading glasses and propping a good book in front of my face. Or in summer (remember summer?) reading out in the yard under a shady tree. I am quite fussy about my reading and will search for weeks for the right book - just ask Julie. It is usually a tense few days around here when I find myself between books. So I try to avoid this situation and keep a book or two ahead if I can. I have even been known to read up to three books at a time - one for bed, one at work and one in the bathroom. Wouldn't it be great to keep several hundred books ahead?

And that brings me to the tricky topic of electronic books and e-readers. One can now love reading without loving books and without even owning a book. When I first heard of electronic readers I was very keen on them but I have not seen one yet that I like. I will admit I have only seen a few, the Sony Reader and the Kobo - both of which to me just don't seem to have the right feel. The Ipad seems to come closest to approximating the real reading experience - you can actually turn the pages and I am sure Apple could plug in the sound of pages turning if they wanted to.

Believe it or not, I first read an "ebook" on my computer over 12 years ago. It was written by Mike Nesmith (that's right - one of the Monkees). He published the first five chapters of his novel "The Long Sandy Hair of Neftoon Zamora" on his website. To finish the story you had to buy the actual book so I ordered one and had it shipped - even paid extra to have it autographed. Pretty clever marketing for a Monkee. However, the first widely available electronic book for download was "Riding the Bullet" by Stephen King way back in 2000. In one day it sold 400,000 copies at $2.50 per download before the servers crashed. But it did manage to pave the way for the massive book publishing revolution we are seeing today.

I enjoyed reading both of these early examples of electronic books because they were well written and worth reading. What I didn't enjoy was reading them on a computer screen - hard on the eyes, hard on the back and not a very pleasant experience other than for the sheer novelty of it. I am curious and excited about eReaders but at this point I still prefer real books - and I know a time will come when that pleasure may become a thing of the past. Fortunately this won't happen in my lifetime. I don't think there is any need to start hoarding books at this point in time but the future definitely belongs to the electronic reader.

I guess my point is that these two formats can and will co-exist for the time being. Books are here to stay but I fear they may ultimately come at a premium. I don't own an eReader yet but I am sure I will in the near future - we all will. I can even picture myself climbing into bed on a cold night and firing up a chapter or two of Charles Dickens. Maybe I'll even have the book read itself to me.

Now if they can only figure out a way to duplicate that book smell...

Words

You may have heard about the recent controversy over a new publication of Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn which has had the offensive word edited so it can be taught in schools.

This issue rears its stubborn head every few years and I don't have much to say about it other than we all know the word. I read Huckleberry Finn when I was 11 years old and even though I was not the most enlightened youth I knew instinctively what Mark Twain was trying to do. I was more shocked by the way Jim was treated than by the word used to describe him - if you read the book you will know Jim and the word. And if you haven't read it - it's time you did.

If the new publisher of this book thinks they are "protecting" the youth of today from being exposed to the ugly truth that history reveals they better think twice. There are millions of copies of this book in print that are not going anywhere. And with the advent of new technology anyone can download the original version in mere seconds like I just did.

I suppose if this new version makes the book accessible to more young readers then perhaps it is not all bad. I personally think most readers can handle the fact that the book was written in another time and dialect. It has been said that there is no such thing as bad publicity so ultimately this recurring controversy only serves to promote more interest in this book which has been in circulation for over 100 years.

Mark Twain was no fool. He once said "Never let your schooling interfere with your education." I think any schools that choose to teach from the new expurgated version will be guilty of doing just that. I listened to a live radio show recently where they discussed this issue and took listeners calls. There were many comments but the best one was from a 10 year old girl who said she felt she should be allowed to read the book in the same way her father and grandfather did. Smart girl...

And now just to bring the matter up to date - here is another little digital donut for ya. You remember Dire Straits song "Money for Nothin'" don't you? It was a huge hit on radio and MTV and has become a mainstay of popular music. Well, the CBSC (Canadian Broadcast Standards Council) has just seen fit to ban this song from the Canadian airwaves due to the inclusion of an offensive word. I won't tell you what the word is - if you don't know you can find out for yourself. But not on the radio. Maybe they should just have the offensive word changed to "clampett" like Weird Al did in his satirical version which can be seen in the video below. Enjoy - and y'all come back now, hear?