Stay Warm

There is one thing I crave more than anything else at Christmastime and it is not snow, it is not festive food and drink or even presents  - it is simply to stay warm. There was a time when it was presents but I have outgrown that - except for the giving part that is. And there was a time when it was food and a time when it was drink. But those have all taken a back seat to my quest to stay warm.

Even though we live in a relatively modern well heated and insulated home - we still watch the old power bill about three hundred and sixty days a year. But once the Christmas holidays roll around and we have friends and relations dropping by we pull out all the stops and crank the heat up for all to enjoy - especially me.

Don't get me wrong - I still love the festive food, wine and music, but if I had to choose one thing to splurge on - it would be to stay warm. We are fortunate to have four kinds of heat in our house - electric baseboards, a heat pump, a gas fireplace upstairs and a wood fireplace downstairs. And despite this sometimes I am still cold! I love to turn the thermostat up as high as it will go and just bake in the heat.  And if it gets too warm - you can always open a window.

I grew up being cold - my sisters and brothers will vouch for that. We lived in many houses that were chilly and uninsulated and only partially heated. We relied on oil fired space heaters and ancient inefficient wood furnaces - one place even had coal fireplaces in several rooms although as I recall they gave minimal heat if any.

We spent many a winter's night under piles of blankets and Dad's old army "great" coats. On really cold nights Mom used to boil glass milk bottles for us to take to bed as sort of makeshift hot water bottles. I am not sure why we didn't have hot water bottles although my wife says it was because we were poor - I guess nobody told me. On even colder nights we used to fight over who got to take 'Lady' to bed with them. Lady was our Collie and she was the best bed warmer I ever had until I got married - and discovered the joy of homemade woolen socks.

Some of my fondest and warmest memories of those days are when Dad would stoke the furnace on Christmas Day. Even an old inefficient furnace could throw plenty of heat with enough logs piled in. And our heating system was pretty basic - a big open pipe passed directly through the middle bedroom, with shutters that opened and closed to control the heat; kind of a low-tech thermostat, but it did the job.

There is a lot of controversy in this province over fracking for shale oil and drilling for natural gas.  And they even argue over pipelines pumping oil from the Alberta tar sands to the east coast. Well all I have to say is "bring it on" and they can pipe it right into my furnace thank you very much - this eastern bastard has frozen in the dark for long enough!

Of course there is the other kind of warmth too. The warmth of family and friends - the warmth that comes from within. The best combination of course is when you have both at the same time and that usually happens on Christmas Eve. We may have lived in a lot of "rustic" places but I don't think I have ever been cold on Christmas Eve.

So drink a toast, throw another log on the fire and turn that thermostat up a notch or two. Have a Merry Christmas and stay warm - inside and out!

B.A.B.Y.

I was out for an early evening walk a while back and I found a rubber ball lying in the grass by the side of the road. It looked rather new and surprisingly clean - no sign of chewing or dog slobber so I picked it up and gave it a bounce. It felt good and somehow very familiar - so I continued to bounce it down the path I was on. Before long I found myself behind the local school where I noticed a perfectly good brick wall to throw it against. Suddenly I was eight years old again...

...and living in Oromocto, NB. Now for those who don't know, Oromocto was the perfect place to be a kid in the late 1950s because it was a model town built for one reason and that reason was  to raise kids. They claimed it was to support the local Army base but I know better. It was the post-war baby boom and they were actually paying people to have babies. Seems hard to believe now but it's true.

And there were so many of us babies that we had to learn how amuse ourselves. The adults certainly didn't have the time - they were busy working and raising even more babies. Maybe that is where the name of the game was from.

"B.A.B.Y." was a two-player game we made up at school - one player threw the ball against the wall and if the other player failed to catch it he was assigned a letter. First one to spell B.A.B.Y. was a "baby"... simple competitive fun. And quick enough to get in a game or two during recess. How quaint that the worst name we could think of for the loser was to be called a baby - ah the innocence of the times.

We also played other games that involved more than two players, games like 500 Up and Scrub -  both variations of baseball that required absolutely no adult supervision or organization. Scrub was the most democratic of games in that everyone got a chance to play all the positions - regardless of skill. And in 500 Up everyone was included and everyone had fun - even the little kids way in the outfield chasing after grounders.

Another simple game was Four Squares - where 4 kids stood in 4 squares and bounced a ball around until someone was "out". There was nothing worse in kid's games than to be "out" - almost as bad as being a "baby". I never did get the point of Four Squares and it seems to me that mostly the girls played it. Either that or they just bounced the ball and sang "One, two, three O'Leary". The boys preferred to play "Catch" - perhaps the simplest game ever. And aptly named - throw the ball and catch the ball - no winners, no losers. And it is no small coincidence that all of these games involved balls. In fact I was going to call this story "Balls" but I had second thoughts about that...

We played a lot of games with balls - at home and at school. Baseball, basketball, volley ball and even the dread Tether Ball which involved a thick leather ball chained to a steel pole - who dreamed that one up? All of these games were played with some sort of ball, but for me the best ball of all was the India rubber ball. The one I had was a dark khaki color, it filled your hand like a baseball, weighed about a pound and made a deep satisfying thud when you bounced it on the sidewalk. This was not a ball for playing a game, it was too heavy and too dangerous - it was a ball made strictly for bouncing; perfectly round and molded with no seam down the middle so you always got a true bounce. I have been yearning for a genuine India rubber ball ever since, just like King John in the children's poem Kings John's Christmas by A.A. Milne - if you don't believe me, look it up.

Those certainly were simpler days and a lot of fun could be had with a cheap rubber ball - even those red, white and blue sponge balls favoured by kids and dogs alike. I think a lot of stress could be dealt with if people spent more time bouncing a rubber ball against a wall. I have been back to the school several times since I found that ball and I must admit that my bouncing and catching skills are improving. So if you think you are up to the challenge let me know - I'll meet you down behind the school one of these days and then we will see who the B.A.B.Y. is.

The Face on the Barroom Floor

There are many qualities I admired about my father - his unmatched carpentry skills, his quiet patience and his well developed sense of fashion. OK - most of you might have caught on by now that I am being a little sarcastic, but only in jest and only in the most respectful way. In all honesty the thing that always amazed me most about my father was his memory. I obviously did not inherit this mental ability as I still have trouble remembering my own phone number. I think my brother Bob inherited this skill as he has more of the gift of telling a tale or spinning a yarn than I do.

Dad was not an educated man in the formal sense of the word but I can honestly say he was one of the smartest people I ever knew. He was good at telling jokes and stories and could recite poems that were as long as your arm. Dad was never at a loss for words and he shared his talent with people from all walks of life - doctors, lawyers, politicians and even a few Indian Chiefs.

I think Dad did most of his reciting while enjoying a drink or two but I also remember him helping me memorize 'The Wreck of the Hesperus' when I was in grade school - all 22 verses. And he did a fine job of reciting 'Barefoot Boy with Shoes On' at a family gathering for my grandmother. No preparation or crib notes - he just stood up and let the words flow.

But the poem I remember Dad reciting the most was 'The Face on the Barroom Floor'. The last time I recall him doing it was at a neighbor's house on New Year's Eve around 1972. I was so inspired I even made a brave attempt to memorize the poem myself a few years ago but I think I got as far as "Twas a balmy summer's evening....." which you may or may not know is the first line of the poem. If only I could hear Dad recite it again - I know I could learn it this time. Well - that is what this blog post is all about, Charlie Brown.

I have had an old cassette tape labelled "Perley Reciting Poems" that has been kicking around my dresser drawer for years. It is a tape he made and was planning to send to his friend Stan Mouncy who had moved up north, but thankfully he never sent it. Stan's loss was my gain...

I have looked at the tape for many years but I always stored it away and promised to listen to it another day. In fact I was kind of hesitant to play it because I thought it might be painful to hear Dad's voice after all these years - but boy was I wrong. It was wonderful and I listened to the whole thing.

And now I have uploaded the file for all to hear and enjoy - but be warned, the tape is in pretty poor shape with lots of noise and tape hiss but if you listen you can hear every word....

Click on the screen below and listen carefully. For those of you who can't see the screen below you can watch it on YouTube here and you can even read the words here. Maybe we should all be like Dad and learn to recite a poem or two and now is as good a time as any. Its easy - what are you waiting for?

'twas a balmy summer's evening....

Peas and Carrots

Even though spring is here and despite the title and the cute little graphic below, this is not a post about gardening. It's about a special kind of relationship that only exists between two who are completely different yet somehow the same. Soul mates as it were. It has been an unusually long and boring winter and it seems like my soul mate and I have been apart for months. I sure miss the fun we used to have together - she was my best friend. She was always raring to go in the morning and she was the last thing I thought about at night when I covered her up.

We used to spend so much time together her and I - we were practically inseparable.  There wasn't a day that went by when we didn't share some little adventure together. As Forrest Gump would say, the two of us were "just like peas and carrots."

It seems that I hardly see her anymore and I spend most of my time dreaming about all the things we used to do.  A ride in the country, a trip to the store or just spending idle time together. Now it seems that we are destined to spend our days (and nights) apart... 

The dark days of winter are particularly hard on her and it is almost impossible to get her going. She used to be so active and useful - always running here and there. Now she just sits there like the very fluid of life has been drained out of her - and I feel like it is all my fault.  What could she be thinking about? Does she blame me for this season of discontent? I know I haven't taken her out anywhere for a long time but who can blame  me - she can't handle the the snow and ice and she just hates the cold weather.

I looked in on her the other day and it almost broke my heart how much I miss her. There she was - sitting absolutely still and staring blankly out the window. It was dark and smelled a little gassy in there but that is to be expected - all cooped up like that with no fresh air or exercise. I guess I have no choice - one of these days I am going to have to physically push her out the door and give her a good kick start.

I have to admit that even after all these months of inactivity she still gets my motor running. Just looking at those familiar curves and that soft comfy seat make me long for better days ahead. I can only sigh when I think of how it will feel when I get my hands on her again and wrap my legs around her. I can’t even remember the last time I straddled her although I am pretty sure it was late last fall. 

Once the weather warms and things dry up I am sure it will be better and I will finally get her outside gain. All I will have to do is rinse off the winter grime, change her oil and filter and the two of us will be as one again. How fortunate I am that Julie understands that special bond that only exists between a man and his motorcycle.  Different yet the same - just like peas and carrots... 

Round and Round

There is an old saying that what goes around comes around and that has never been more true than for recorded music. There is even a song lyric about how "the music goes 'round and 'round... and it comes out here" which actually referred to blowing through a horn. But the music does indeed "go 'round and round" when you think about it. And it has been going round and round for a long time... here is a brief history from my own personal experience.

The first music I can ever remember hearing was actually old 78 rpm records that Dad owned, and he didn't own many. I think he only had about 3 that I can recall. The ones that stand out are The Cowboy Mouse and Prisoner at the Bar by Doc Williams. These were usually played on a Sunday morning on a pretty basic old record player and they were scratchy and dirty and sounded like crap. But they were all we had and Dad sure got his money's worth out of them. Amazing how music sticks in the memory - I haven't heard either of these songs in over 50 years - but watch this:

The judge was there, the jury too, the people from afar.
"Not guilty" were the only words the maiden heard him say.
At last he held her in his arms - love always has its way.

Those are some of the words to Prisoner at the Bar - all from memory, I didn't Google them - honest!

Next, I remember my uncle Buddy had some old wax cylinder records at the old farm - and these were actually played on a wind up gramophone - you can't get any more analog than that. What a shame they were wasted - actually used for target practice and for the dog to fetch. Then for a brief time I recall we had a home tape recorder that must have weighed 50 lbs - not sure where Dad got it but it was a beast! It was used mostly for home recording of voices and singing - what I wouldn't give to hear some of those old tapes! My sisters and brother will surely remember Radio Station M.O.O. out of Woodstock, NB. - that was how Mom kept us kids amused on those long nights while Dad was away.

After that came 33 rpm and 45 rpm records that we played on record players with needles that not only wore out the record but also wore out the needles. When they started to skip all you needed was more pressure to dig deeper into the grooves, so we placed pennies on the tone arm and they kept on spinning round and round.

The 8 track and the cassette sort of broke the pattern of the recorded disk for a while but the music was still going round and round inside those cassette cases. The amazing thing with cassettes was that you could switch tracks and skip around using fast forward and rewind. Maybe that was when it all started to change... we no longer had to wait for the music to come around.

CDs and the digital revolution came next and now there was even more music going 'round and 'round and thanks to laser beams there were no more needles to wear out. I still have my first CD that I bought 25 years ago and it sounds as clear and pristine as the day I bought it - Graceland by Paul Simon.

Of course the next big revolution in digital music was the mp3 format which meant you could download a song in several seconds over the internet and we have never looked back. Now the music is in the clouds and we stream it rather than buy it. A never ending digital stream of zeros and ones going 'round and 'round in our heads...

I loved listening to music on all of those spinning disks and spindles but I am not mourning their demise - in fact I say good riddance; I have drawers and closets full of stuff I will never listen to. With all the music going 'round and 'round the world at the speed of light its all I can do to keep up. It's all good though - right now I am listening to Bob Dylan's "Street Legal" on the computer while I write this - just because it popped into my head.

I don't know what lies ahead for recorded music but I have been able to survive the transitions so far - maybe someday we will be able to just think of a song and it will be there... just like "Prisoner at the Bar."

Freedom of ████

There are several ██████ in the news these days that I feel very strongly about. First of all I am fed up with ███ - and I feel we all have the right to ██ whoever we want. What would this world be without the freedom to ███?
 
The truth often hurts and if this ████ blog offends some of my more ████ readers - ███ ! We live in a free country do we not? We all have the right to  ███ and I for one intend to exercise that right - even if I have to ████ to do it .
Secondly, there is too way much  ██████ in this country and not enough ███. What is wrong with the ████ anyway? I should have the right to ██ in public if I want to.

And what about the ████ ? It is bloody well time those ██████ 's started pulling their weight. Who do they think they are anyway? Just because they have lots of  ███ does that make them any more ████ than me or you? Of course not!

I think it is time I made my position very clear. The truth is that ███ is ████ and it is all the fault of those damn ██████ and their █████. There - I said it.

And finally, what this country needs is a damn good ████ ! I have a right to ███ and if I want to ███ that is my business.

Those of you who agree with me deserve a great big ████ and those who disagree can ██ my ███ ! As always I welcome your comments - don't be afraid to ███ your ███ even if it is completely ████‼

99 ALT 0162

What is it that is so compelling to me about the magical price of 99 cents? Or to be more precise - "99¢" as it is more commonly written. I guess it is because it seems so much cheaper than a whole dollar. I am no math wizard and I know 99¢ is only very slightly less than a dollar but somehow it seems like it is a whole dollar less than a dollar. And when you look at it that way - it seems almost free.

You would think my favorite place to shop would be the Dollar Store, but no - they lie. Hardly anything there costs a dollar anymore. I even heard of a chain of stores called the 99 Cent Store but I checked out their website and they lie too. Sure the unit price is 99¢ for a lot of items (like school glue for example) - but the catch is you have to buy a case of 24. Hey, who are they kidding?  If I am gonna spend 99¢ for school glue - I want to buy only one and I want change back from a dollar!

No - my favorite place for 99¢ deals is the Victory Meat Market.  They always have something on sale for 99¢. A package of plastic spoons - 99¢. Four little individual restaurant portions of peanut butter shrink wrapped on a tray - 99¢. Who can resist? Certainly not me. Sometimes they even have unidentified meat products and yes I have bought those too. Shrink wrap it - slap a 99¢ sticker on it and chances are I will buy it. I will buy almost anything for 99¢.

Once I bought a pair of socks for 99¢ using my Visa card. And I keep seeing these incredibly tiny 4 packs of toilet paper for only 99¢. I haven't bought any yet because deep down I know it is not a good deal and Julie is usually with me to point that out. But I will not be able to resist much longer, even though I am sure one tiny roll would not even last through one trip to the bathroom - still, man - 99¢

I once a bought an incredibly tiny Hagen Das ice cream at the Superstore for 99¢ - about three very small mouthfuls. But it was only 99¢ and it even included the tiny spoon. I was satisfied but would I have been as tempted if it was a whole dollar? I am not sure.  Julie always says that I would buy a bag of dog shit for 99¢ but even I have my limits.  A bag of fake dog shit maybe...

I just can't resist that little yellow 99¢ sticker - those two digits and that alluring little ¢ sign call to me. Now that they have discontinued the penny the days of the two digit deals are numbered. I guess we won't be seeing that little ¢ sign anymore and I for one will miss it. But I sure won't miss typing it and that is why I draw your attention to the title of this blog post.

You will notice I have used the "cent" symbol many times in this post - but do you have any idea how hard that is to do? The dollar sign is easy - just use the shift key and press 4. Like this - $. Easy. Now try to make a cent symbol. Go ahead - I will wait.... (Theme song from Jeopardy). Give up? I am sure you clever ones have already googled it and by now you know that all you have to do is hold down the ALT key and press 0162 on your numeric keypad and then release the ALT key and voila - you have a ¢. Try doing that twenty times while writing a blog - I just did.

Anyway - I will continue to seek out those 99 cent deals as long as they are still out there but I guess I will have to start looking for the $1.00 sale tickets. I went shopping last night and brought home a whole bag of dollar deals - but somehow it just isn't the same. The thrill is gone.