A couple of days ago I found a book that I had borrowed from Sandra on one of our visits last summer. The book was called Blackbird and it was of course about Paul McCartney. It reminded me that it was time to write a short memory story about one of my favorite sisters. Sandra was the sister nearest to my age and I guess we were always close friends for that reason. We grew up together in the fifties and sixties and so it was inevitable that we would share the same interests, one of which was pop music and of course - The Beatles.

Sandra was the sister who also introduced me to the larger world around me. We went from playing games to learning more about the world around us. It was a time of social change and political action and Sandra shared stories with me about wild college parties and people from faraway places. It wasn't all fun and games though and Sandra was frequently in trouble on the home front due to her new social experiences and political leanings. I tended to go along with her as we expressed our new found interests at home. Sandra was a huge Trudeau fan, not Justin but Pierre (the REAL Trudeau) and of course this caused some upheaval at home as Dad was a staunch card carrying Progressive Conservative supporter. Of course this situation was exacerbated by Sandra hanging a huge poster of Pierre Trudeau in the family living room which we had just recently painted a bright shade of pink. Come to think of it, Dad must have been more tolerant than I thought...

Another thing we shared was the time we both went on "vegetarian" diets which was quite radical in those days, once again annoying Dad when we refused to eat any turkey at Christmas dinner. I remember him being furious because he blamed it on those hippies and drugs from UNB. But we stuck to our guns and topped it off by breaking tradition and going to see Andy Warhol's Frankenstein at the theatre on Boxing Day. Poor Dad...

But time moves on and we eventually grew up but we still shared some common interests, in particular the Royal family. We saw the Queen several times and at one time Sandra even shook hands with King Charles who we would later meet again along with Camilla when they checked into The Delta Hotel. Another shared activity was being travelling sale reps - me with Cabot Shipping and Sandra with QSP. She was more dedicated than me and travelled a lot more but we were able to meet up on the road sometimes and that was always special. We were also both avid readers and shared many books with each other over the years - I'll miss that.

But of all the things we did together I think the highlight was our trip to Quebec City to see Paul McCartney. Sandra wanted to be down front so we ran ahead of the crowd little realizing that we would be trapped there, shoulder to shoulder for the next 7 hours! It was exhausting but thrilling and I wouldn't change that memory for the world!

Now there is a new book by Sir Paul (she always called him "Sir Paul") so I am ordering a copy today and I will read it for both of us.  One more thing - Sandra took after Mom in that she did not like posing for pictures so if you are wondering about the picture at the top of this page, it was taken by me at - you guessed it, the Paul McCartney concert.

Unboxing Day

It has been a while since I last posted a story here (if 7 years can be considered a "while") and my how time flies. As you probably know, I became a grandfather since then - my official title is 'Grandude' but that is a story for another day. Suffice it to say it is taken from a children's book written by ex-Beatle Paul McCartney. Just writing that last line makes me wonder what it must be like to forever and always be referred to as an ex- Beatle? I guess in my case I would be referred to as ex-civil servant, ex-computer tech, ex-salesman and ex-paperboy. 

My grandson Cadence is what is now referred to as a 'covid kid' since that is the only life he has known. But kids are kids and they will repeat what they hear so you better be careful. We were all talking one day last year when suddenly Cadence coughed a couple of times and then loudly declared "Oh my God! I'm covid!" We all had a good laugh but it sure drove home what he had been hearing for his three short years here on planet Earth.

This blog post is supposed to be about Christmas so why the title "Unboxing Day"? Well, that is another Cadence thing. If you are a parent or grand parent these days you may or may not be aware of a YouTube phenomenon known as unboxing - where people film themselves opening packaged items such as toys, cellphones, appliances and vacuums. Then they post these videos on YouTube and actually earn money from the thousands and millions of idiotic viewers like me. Cadence has a particular preference for vacuums and has learned the ins and outs of all the brands. Needless to say we have watched countless hours of unboxing videos, mostly about vacuums while he sits enraptured (and quiet). Now unboxing has come to refer to the opening of any boxed or packaged item he sees. It doesn't really matter what it is - the unboxing is what its all about. Hence the title Unboxing Day.

While we await the arrival of Christmas or Unboxing Day this year, Cadence has taken it upon himself to "decate our new compartment." Let me translate. We moved recently into a newly renovated apartment in an old downtown building which Cadence calls our compartment. We don't do much in the way of decorating these days but with his help our new compartment has been decated with beyewful decations. Its easy when you speak the lingo... 

The picture below shows some of his work. If you look closely it even kind of almost spells out Merry Christmas - sort of... I helped with the Merry part but he did the rest by himself.

Forgive me for going on about Cadence but he is a special boy and this story was inspired by him. I know all grandchildren are special and precious but although he is no angel and sometimes is a little devil, believe me when I tell you he was truly heaven sent.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and Happy Unboxing day to you all!

A Christmas Story after all...

I did not plan to write anything this year but something happened this morning that made me decide to share a little Christmas story after all. There has not been a lot of Christmas spirit around our house this season but Julie and I have been doing fairly well thanks to keeping busy with charity work and lots of help from John and Beki. We are all still finding out how to celebrate Christmas in a different yet meaningful way without Cameron and it looks like we will make it eventually. But that is not my story...

As you know, we have students that rent rooms in our basement and although we don't have much interaction we do see and hear them from time to time. We have been very lucky and have not had any problems except for the odd plugged toilet now and then.

Our most recent student was Hau Tran who has been here for the last 7 weeks as he completes an upgrade in his trade. Hau is one of a kind (just like Cameron) and if I could tell you his nationality I would - but suffice it to say he looks Hawaiian or Polynesian but with a huge wild afro under a ball cap. A very nice fellow to say the least and much at ease with himself.

I mentioned that we see and hear our students sometimes but I forgot to say we also smell them. That does not mean they smell - it means that they cook bacon every single day and not just for breakfast! No complaints here - who doesn't love bacon!

However, a few evenings ago Hau was cooking his evening bacon and apparently studying very intently when the smoke detectors suddenly went off. Our house has about 12 smoke detectors and they are all wired together so it is pretty hard to miss even a small bacon fire. That is what happened - when I ran downstairs Hau had the frying pan in the sink and it was still burning brightly. The apartment and the first floor quickly filled with more smoke than you would think could come from one small frying pan.

I remembered that we had fire extinguishers in both the apartments and once I located it and read the instructions the fire was quickly put out - first time I ever had to use one and it did the job quite well.

There was no real damage done except for a lot of smoke and noise as the alarms would not go off until we had John bring down some fans from his place and clear everything out.

After the smoke cleared we left Hau to his studies and kidded him that he had apparently picked the right career as he was certainly not cut out to be a cook. The whole episode was rather amusing and no harm was done - Hau cleaned everything up and even saved the bacon. He wrote his final exam on Thursday and we bid him farewell with an invitation to return anytime. End of story? Not quite...

We also clean the student apartment every weekend, mostly just to tidy up and keep an eye on things - we do not enter the student's rooms as that is their personal space. Now that Hau's room is available I went in to see what needs to be done for our next boarder who arrives in January.

On the night table next to the bed I found the following note from Hau:

"Thank you for everything! I left a gift card for Canadian Tire. That should do for a new fire extinguisher. If not, you will find something to buy there. Ha Ha - Merry Christmas!  - Hau

I took the picture below just as I found it. This small but meaningful and funny (the receipt is a nice touch) gesture has helped to kindle a little Christmas spirit so I thought I would spread it around. Hope you enjoy!

Pansies

Today is the fourth day of May - which can also be referred to as May the fourth and as such has been adopted by those who know and care as a Star Wars special event of sorts. On this day we say "May the Fourth be With You" as a twist on the familiar Star Wars greeting "May the Force be With You".

I will tell you up front that this story is about Cameron and how much he loved Star Wars, but what has that got to do with pansies you may well ask? Well, as usual, my stories have a bit of a twist and so I will tell you about it...

When I was very young I lived in Woodstock near my grandmother who had a good friend named Pansy. Grammie lived in many places around the little town of Woodstock and it seemed to me that there were always pansies in and around wherever she lived. And her good friend Pansy was always around too. So to my childish mind, these flowers obviously had some special connection with Pansy - and I never questioned that, it just seemed natural to me. So even after 50+ years, I still associate Pansy the woman with pansies the flower.

Maybe now you can see where I came up with the title of "Pansies". Cameron loved Star Wars and watched every episode countless times and owned all the movies. He made references to characters and places in the movies so often, that in my mind it has become natural to think of Cameron whenever I think of Star Wars. And I don't question this either - it just seems natural to me. The association is so strong that you might even say that Cameron is Star Wars...

So on this day or whenever someone says "May the Force be With You" you know who I will be thinking of. And I still kind of like pansies...

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.

Murder

Police in Fredericton New Brunswick have uncovered a potentially deadly but ill-conceived plot to annihilate an entire family over the Christmas holidays. At the center of the gruesome discovery are suspects Mac and Julie Haynes – an otherwise quiet and peace loving couple. The “fowl” deed was to be carried out on Christmas Day and apparently the plan evolved several months ago under the clever guise of an invitation to a family wedding.

The out of town guests were lured into the nefarious plot by attending the wedding where the suspects could study the eating habits of their innocent victims. Early reports also indicate that the couple even lured unsuspecting family members to a local soup kitchen but their evil scheme was foiled by too many witnesses.

It has been determined that the weapon of choice was intended to be the turkey which ironically was prepared by the suspect’s son and an out of town guest. While the murder weapon was being prepared the pair continued to weaken their prey by serving small but lethal and delicious hors d'oeuvres. It is also believed that Mr. Haynes had stockpiled several mincemeat pies as a backup plan.

The crime scene was found littered with a virtual arsenal of potentially lethal weapons; the fridge and freezer loaded with frozen lasagna, pies and various dessert squares. The crime nearly became international in scope when a visiting Swedish couple narrowly avoided being served a potentially deadly dish of meatballs and sauerkraut. 

Ultimately the guests staying at the suspect's home managed to escape after one last attempt to wipe them out with a breakfast of bagels, onions, cream cheese and smoked salmon. The unsuspecting victims were last seen fleeing the crime scene with suitcases that may or may not have been booby trapped with concealed confectionery. There is no word on whether or not this plan succeeded.

In a bizarre twist, Jacqui Pierce - the sister of Mr. Haynes apparently learned of the evil plans afoot and mounted a counter attack on Boxing Day with a full on assault of seafood chowder. After several bowls of the irresistible chowder followed by a staggering array of desserts Mr. Haynes suffered only minor heartburn. However there were reports of collateral damage among family members but amounting only to mild indigestion.

Last seen wearing aprons and oven mitts, the reprehensible couple remain at large and are considered to be armed and desperate. If spotted approach with caution and DO NOT - repeat DO NOT accept any offers of food no matter how tempting as these people will stop at nothing. They are reported to be in possession of large quantities of leftovers and are not afraid to use them. Police suspect that this will not be their last murderous attempt and have issued a warning to family members to be suspicious of any future festive gatherings. 

On a more positive note - despite the twisted plans of this devious couple a family spokesman is happy to report that a Merry Christmas was enjoyed by all.

A Christmas Spectacle

When we moved to our new house about four years ago there was a very nice older lady living at the corner of our street. We didn't know her very well but always waved and said hello when we saw her out and about. Her name was Mrs. Slipp.

She was a widow and lived alone but her family members were always around and took good care of her. As our first Christmas approached we were surprised and thrilled to see a brilliant animated display out on her front deck. Four dashing skaters with blades flashing and legs pumping as they seemed to chase each other around the deck with scarves flying in the wind! It was really something to see and it lit up the whole neighborhood.

The festive display of the skaters was made even more spectacular by the stark contrast of our miserable attempt at putting up our dim, energy saving Yuletide wreath. It hung forlornly between our two front windows and you had to actually squint to see it - even in the dark. Other neighbors had yards festooned with brightly colored lights and flood lamps illuminating decorated front doorways but nothing compared to those skaters out there in the crisp night air.

We looked forward to seeing the skaters each year and always thought of it as a herald of Christmas. But as with all good things - this too came to an end. Mrs. Slipp passed away a few years ago and while we were saddened we couldn't help but wonder what would become of the skaters. The house was empty for the first winter and although we missed that vibrant display we tried to make up for it by putting a little more effort into decorating our own house and yard.

We put lights around the front kitchen window and decorated the porch rails with garlands and ribbons. We even had some help from "Victor" who spent the Christmas season on a ladder holding up a string of lights - you all remember Victor don't you? Alas even he could not measure up to the memory of those wintery skaters.

The second year after Mrs. Slipp was gone the house was rented and we wondered again - would the skaters return to brighten our winter spirits? But it was not to be - the girl who stayed there, although a relative, was a busy student and once again our street was left literally in the dark.

Last year the house was put up for sale and family members gathered over several weekends to clean the place out and prepare for new owners. I went over to talk with Mrs. Slipp's son and the conversation turned to her famous Christmas display. I asked him what had become of it and he said some family member would probably take it when the sale was final. I half jokingly told him if no one wanted it I would be willing to buy it. But sadly I feared we had seen the last of those skaters...

Another Christmas passed and spring came. I was in the yard one day just puttering around when to my surprise our old neighbor's son strolled up the driveway and asked if I was still interested in the skaters? Was I!? I practically jumped for joy and asked him how much he wanted. "How about nothing?" was his reply and nothing I could do could convince him otherwise. The skaters were mine for the taking.

It turns out that no one in the family wanted the skaters half as much as I did. I helped him carry them over to my shed and then ran in the house to tell Julie - who was even more pleased than I was if that was possible.

A Christmas miracle in the month of May? Why not? So we are now the proud owners of the skaters and once again our street is ablaze with lights and action for all to see and enjoy. We don't have a front porch so we had to build a makeshift wooden frame that is an eyesore in the daytime but a dazzling sight in the dark as you will see if you get a chance to drop by.

But in case you can't make it, here is a brief video that only begins to capture the spectacle of the skaters in action - complete with a festive Yuletide rendering of "Jingle Bells" which when you hear it will help to explain the picture above.  Enjoy!

For those of you who can't view the video above just click HERE.

The Red Skillet

Admit it. You have all eaten there and loved it and I bet you ordered the hot hamburg platter didn't you - with gravy. Some of you may have even worked there - or at least a place very like it, I know I did. My one week stint in a hair net and apron was at the Kmart Grill in Calgary, Alberta as part of my manager trainee course. I cooked, served behind the counter, wiped tables and cleaned the grill and hated every minute. As a result, I have a lot of respect for those folks who still serve up what continues to be a reasonable facsimile of real food. You can't get liver and onions at McDonald's...

On a quick side note, mentioning that aromatic delicacy reminds me of the late Bill Yates - my old boss at Cabot Shipping Supplies. Bill was a dedicated patron of The Red Skillet and when he was on the road he would seek out a Zellers in every town - his meal of choice being liver and onions. I had the dubious pleasure of dining there with Bill a few times - I say dubious because, well you had to know Bill. He took a lot of ribbing from his partners who always wined and dined at The Ritz or the Top o' the Town... but Bill was a man who knew value when he saw it - and so do I.

There was nothing special about the Red Skillet - they just served up simple fare - hamburger platters, milk shakes, pies and fries and breakfast like you would eat at home. On real plates with real knives and forks... and coffee in a real cup. And you could sit wherever you wanted to - slide into a nice cozy booth or swivel on a stool.

The staff was almost always made up of women of a certain age, who wore support hose and sensible shoes and called you Honey and Dear. They made small talk and made you feel right at home - don't you wish there was still a restaurant like that around here?

Well there is! But alas - not for long. It is no longer called The Red Skillet but Zellers still serve a very respectable $3.99 senior breakfast special every Saturday morning and I highly recommend that you go there before they close and all that is left is a quick egg on a bun at Tim Horton's. At $3.99 for a full breakfast with a bottomless cup of coffee there should be a line up to get in, but where is everybody? Oh yeah, they are all lined up at Tim's - still in their cars. Shame on them.

There is no drive through at The Red Skillet - you still have to make your way there past the counters full of housewares and seasonal discount bargains, then take a left at ladies wear and there it is just past the luggage display. Seat yourself and relax, have a look at the plastic laminated menu - the waitress will be right with you.

I'll say it one more time - go eat at Zellers before it is too late. It's still the only restaurant in town where you can get a full service meal and pick up some underwear and a six pack of tube socks on the way out!

Oh - and don't forget to leave a nice generous tip for the waitress. She needs it more than you do.

Charles Dickens' Beard

How did Charles Dickens' beard end up in my garbage can? How did the author of the English language's most beloved novels appear to regress in age from a venerable bearded icon to a clean shaven youth? How indeed...

First of all, there is no need to clarify that I am not speaking literally about the long dead real Charles Dickens - my astute readers would already have come to that conclusion. No - I am referring to a small replica of him that used to hang in the kitchen and now hangs in my bedroom. OK - let's be honest and call it a doll, although "finger puppet" is the correct term if one must be precise.

I have had my Charles Dickens puppet for a few years now - he was a Christmas gift and I have often admired him as he gazed down from above the kitchen window. After recently relocating him to my bedroom I couldn't help but feel that something about him had changed - was it my imagination or was Charles actually looking younger and more dapper? Had he lost some weight?

A few weeks ago I noticed a small reddish brown object on my bedroom floor - it looked like a piece of cloth, maybe a piece of lint from the laundry basket?  I basically ignored it and assumed it would get swept up or vacuumed - eventually.

Then a few days later I saw it again in the hallway outside the bathroom door - sort of kicked it aside wondering again what it could be. Apparently Julie had also been seeing this little bit of flotsam and assumed it was something of mine - just like I assumed it was something of hers.

Not that we are complete slobs but both of us kept seeing this little thing around the house for what seemed like weeks... it seemed to be more than just a piece of trash so that is why I think we both left it alone.

Finally I could take it no more and asked Julie "What is that little brown piece of stuff that keeps hanging around?" She of course was just about to ask me the same thing so I finally picked it up and put it on my dresser because it still looked like it might be something. But neither of us knew what...

After moving it around my dresser and getting increasingly annoyed with it - at this point it looked more like a cloth bread bag tab than anything else, I finally decided to throw it out. So into the garbage it went and I never gave it another thought.

That is until about a week later when I happened to be looking at Charles in his new location just above my bedroom window and suddenly realized why he looked so much younger and trimmer than his usual self.  He had no beard! Then it suddenly struck me what that strange shaped little piece of cloth was all that time - it was Charles Dickens' beard!  It obviously had come off when I moved him.

I wondered what I could do to restore him to his former bearded self and was considering using a felt marker to draw him a beard or gluing some yarn on his chin. That was when I remembered that I had so callously thrown his beard in the garbage.  Now once again I must insist that we are not the most fastidious when it comes to house cleaning but I knew I had thrown that little beard out and something told me it just might still be in the bathroom wastebasket.

So to make a long story even more disgusting I decided to dig down to the bottom of that overflowing receptacle, past the wadded up Kleenex, empty toilet rolls and used Q-Tips. But my search was not in vain - and there at the bottom was that now familiar little piece of cloth that suddenly looked exactly like what it was - Charles Dickens' beard.

I still have it on the shelf in my room and have every intention of gluing it back on - hopefully that will happen before spring cleaning comes along - I don't want to go through this all again. Now where did I put that glue gun...

Fredders

I learned of the passing of a little old friend of mine this week - apparently of a massive heart attack. I first met Fred about three years ago when I began delivering Meals on Wheels to his apartment just outside of Fredericton. To be honest, he was not the most pleasant soul but Elaine, the lady who shared his apartment with him more than made up for it.

Truth be told - Fred, or "Fredders" as she liked to call him, could be down right belligerent and cantankerous at times.  But she saw only the good in him - always telling me what a good singer and dancer he used to be in his youth. I always chatted with Elaine while Fred either ignored me or glanced suspiciously at me over his shoulder. Nevertheless, she always insisted that he thought the world of me. He would wait for my arrival every week and began to get agitated if I was late.

Elaine is not in the best of health herself but she worried constantly over Fred's every little complaint and gave him the best of care. She kept him warm and always made sure he didn't get caught in a draft as he was quite frail. Between the two of them they smoked a pack a day until Elaine decided to quit for the good of their health. I guess that is why I was so shocked when I learned of his sudden passing.

Fredders may be gone but I am sure I will continue to listen to Elaine's stories about his many virtues and talents. He could whistle and sing! He could dance! And he was pretty! Sometimes he would even fly about the room and perch on her shoulder. That's right - and if you haven't figured out yet that Fredders was a bird those last few sentences must have surprised you. Fredders was a cockatiel - and he belonged to a Meals on Wheels client of mine. He was quite old for a cockatiel, almost 30 - the average lifespan being 15 years. So he had a nice long life.

He was a great companion for Elaine and I am not mocking them in any way. I had always meant to bring him a special treat along with her meal and now it is too late. But wait - there may be a chance to make amends. It turns out that Fredders had not made any prior arrangements for his untimely demise and since Elaine is a shut-in, I have been asked if I would be willing to give him a proper burial. I said that it would be my pleasure and I have reserved a spot for him in my back yard - funeral arrangements are pending.

So what more can I say except Rest in Peace Fredders - you were indeed a pretty bird!

Priceless

As the summer draws to an end I often find that nostalgia sets in and I am reminded of those long ago days when "back to school" still meant something. We had great summers back in the sixties and it sure was sad to see them end. But at that time of year there was also a sense of adventure and rebirth  - an opportunity to show the world who you could be. Or in this particular case - show the world who three people could be.

I hung out in those days with my lifelong pals Dan and Rick. All summer long we listened to rock and roll and dreamed of being in a "group" - meaning of course, a rock band. One of us even made it into an actual group and the other two were content to play the role of being "with the band". You would be surprised how easy it was to get into a dance in those days by just carrying a drum or an amp in through the door. Worked every time...

But the summer of '67 was special as anyone who was there will recall. Movies have been made about it and songs have been written and now my story must be told.  I think the three of us knew we were never actually going to be in a group together but that didn't stop the dream. If we couldn't actually be in a group we could look like one couldn't we? So the week before school off we went to downtown Fredericton to make the dream a reality - sort of.

First stop of course was Herbie's Music Store to browse the racks of new records and see what the latest fads were. Then off to Levine's Department Store where the matronly salesclerk must have been thrilled as she outfitted us in three handsome beige corduroy blazers. Next stop I believe was Zeller's where we found three bright red shirts and three pairs of sharply creased black slacks. But our outfits were not finished yet - something was missing... something that would make our look complete. But what? Off we went to the somewhat pricier downtown trendy men's stores in search of the elusive item that would make three mere individuals into that magical unit - the group.

Our budget was running low. Remember, we did this all on our own with nothing but lawn mowing and paper route money and maybe a few "Back to School" dollars from our parents. Luckily we already had three pairs of matching footwear or "desert boots" as they were called in those days.

So after checking out Capital Men's and Boy's and The Royal Stores we were starting to despair that our look would never be complete. Then in utter resignation we wandered into that last haven of desperate downtown shoppers - Chippin's Clothing Store. As we listlessly browsed through the aisles of rubber boots, belts and suspenders we knew we had hit rock bottom when we suddenly saw them... the fashion item that would set us apart from the crowd - forever.

We knew we had found our look! The cigar smoking salesman behind the counter agreed with us and assured us they were made of the finest polyester blend available and they just happened to be on sale. And size was no problem as they came in only one size. Imagine our joy as we headed home assured that come Monday morning and the first day of school - heads would turn.

And turn they did. All four hundred of them it seemed. What a sight we must have been strolling onto the school ground... who could these sharply dressed strangers be? Why with hair combed down over our foreheads in fashionable bangs and all dressed alike in shades of black, red and beige we could have been anybody or even somebody - we could have been a "group"!

And for that brief moment in time we were a group - we were "The Dickies". What better name for three teenagers wearing black turtleneck dickies to the first day of school on a warm September morning? A few of the more gullible younger students even approached us to ask if we were indeed forming a group. We played it cool and basically said no comment...

So that is the story of the dickies. We never did get around to actually forming a group with actual instruments but we had our 15 minutes of fame as they say. Thank God there were no smart phones or digital cameras in those days - or maybe I am wrong about that. On second thought I would love to see a picture of those three would be rock stars on that bright September morning. Or better yet, I would love to see the looks on those 400 faces as the Dickies walked fearlessly up that hill... that would be as they say - priceless.