Foto Faux (1)

One Old Box Camera and a Dark Room

"a picture is worth a thousand words"

There are many sayings we should listen to, abide by:

treat others the way you want to be treated

don't believe everything you read

the Leafs will never win another Stanley Cup

a plaid shirt and striped pants don't go together... and the pants won't make you look thinner

beauty is in the eye of the beholder

There are many more, but I have shared enough to give the saying under my top photo some weight. And that's what I was looking for as I took photos of a stray leaf that had somehow found its way onto a wooden chair on my front porch.

As soon as I saw it I thought, "Photo Study."

So, here we go with 'Foto Faux':

I will snap the photos and present images here in real time.

Now I will move the leaf to the back deck.

More to follow.

Please link to The Lady in the Long Black Coat

Photos GH

It Strikes Me Funny: "Drive faster, Martha Dear"

["I love my nog"]

The date is January 5th. The challenge for the day: Do I drink the last cup of Neilson Lait de Poule or do I not? Do I treat 2014 as The Year of the Great Risk?

["It was legal on Friday. Is it legal today?"]

Considerations: I'm in my own home. If I was at a friend's house I'd think twice. I can imagine certain consequences.

["Good-bye! We're sorry to see you leave so early!"]

     Mr.: My stomach is beginning to cramp.

     Mrs.: I told you to stay away from that nog.

     Mr.: Drive faster, Martha Dear!"

     Mrs.: On, Dasher!

Bottom's up! I'll be fine, I'm sure.

Photos by GH

More It Strikes Me Funny

It Strikes Me Funny: ". . .extraneous. it's extraneous"

A Visit to The Underwear Store

The year is 2033, about a week after Christmas. I'm 84 years old, as agile as a cat and still playing hockey twice a week. Yesterday my left winger says something about the elastic on my old undies, I'm sensitive about stuff like that, so today I walk from Wortley Village to The Underwear Store downtown. I don't even get winded. But I learn something.

"Navy blue cotton boxers?" I say to the first salesperson I see.

She nods and points to a greying, western cedar shelf unit that covers half the west wall of the former Kingsmill's Department Store on Dundas Street. 

Before I reach the long shelf I can smell it and say, "Excellent lumber. Got size 32-inch waist?" She points toward the left side of the shelf unit. I begin my search. There's dozens of cubbies with numbers and arrows beside each pile of cotton briefs and I soon find my way. But something's different. 

"There's no price tags," I say. The girl is nearby and helpfully points to a sign above the cedar shelf. '$5/pair.'

"There's nothing on plastic hangers," I say. 

She shakes her head and says, "Piles are easier."

I say, "None of those fussy, sticky strips on each pair with the size?" She shakes her head.

"In other stores some undies come wrapped with a strip of cardboard showing a few details, like size and type, even come in small boxes or plastic bags," I say.

She nods and says, "I know. But we've cut down on packaging."

I nod approval. "And some have tags attached with plastic filament and, gee, you can hardly get those off without ripping something, like your fingers. And then there's some with seals of approval on the inside  - you can't even see them unless you look real close. Sometimes they come off in the wash and you wonder what you've been eating."

She laughs. "I know. All that is extraneous. It's extraneous and people complained, so now we go this way."

I give her a thumbs up and we walk to the till.

"Got change for a fifty?" I say. I rub a new synthetic, modular bill between my fingers to make sure six or seven aren't stuck together. "Fresh off the clothesline this morning." 

She smiles. Winner. Now there's a store I'll shop at again.

Photos by GH

Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny

It Strikes Me Funny: Happy Hour

Once or twice per week, at 5 p.m., I put down the hammer or stop what I'm doing in the workshop and celebrate 'happy hour.' I do this by selecting and drinking an interesting beer before supper. Yesterday's choice seemed particularly fitting.

The aroma of the heather ale fit perfectly with the aroma of the cedar I was trimming. And the name of the brewery was a match for what I yell out whenever I catch a sliver or hit my thumb with a hammer.

Photos by GH

***

Please click here for more lame humour

It Strikes Me Funny: “So much has changed in 5 years”

My new Ontario health card arrived in the mail today, two weeks after I received my passport, applied for on the same day.

As I thought about the arrival of the cards and my photos, I drew three conclusions:

Government officials wants me to leave the country more than they want to care for my health (“Quick. Send him his passport. Get him out of here!”)

[“Old card on top is five years old”]

Restrictions related to photos were more relaxed 5 years ago; i.e., I was allowed to wear my glasses

My head has doubled in size in 5 years! 

[“My big head fills my new driver’s license too (top card).”]

In ten years I won’t be able to walk through a doorway!

[Photos by G.Harrison] 

***

Has your head grown as much in five years?

Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny

It Strikes Me Funny: Problem. Idea. Prediction.

Problem. Though the uppers will look good for several more years, the soles now leak like a sieve.

Idea. 

I’ve fixed several other items with my trusty, roll of red duct tape. Why not tired soles?

Prediction. I’ll get another year of light use, e.g., on dry days. Some people will laugh at my idea.

Please weigh in. Let me know what you predict.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here to view Photo Poser 16

“IT STRIKES” Again: A sale on lasagna and the ultimate chef challenge

[The following column was previously published in May, 2003. There is not a frozen ‘super market’ lasagna that even comes close to my wife’s recipe, especially if I make it. ‘Nuff said. gah]

A sale on lasagna and the ultimate chef challenge

Frozen lasagna in a grocery store’s flyer caught my eye the other day. Five pounds - $9.99. That’s incredible, I thought. Who can beat that?

“When you make lasagna how much does it cost?” I asked Pat.

“It’s pricey. Why?” my wife inquired as she looked up from her magazine.

I pointed to the flyer and said, “Can you make better lasagna than this for less money?”

“Ours might be thicker and tastier but I doubt we could beat the price,” she said.

I heard a touch of cynicism in her voice. The Harrison cook-off was born.

In the past I have been involved in a cook-off or two at Aberdeen Public School. Staff members vied for the prize of light-hearted, short-lived cooking glory and meager recognition. By the time afternoon classes began the winner was left with piles of dirty dishes and a few left-overs.

But in my kitchen it was about the glory, the honour, and ten bucks. I perused Pat’s recipe, made slight modifications and prepared to walk to Valu-Mart in Wortley Village for enough ingredients to fill a 9 by 12 inch pan.

At the store it took me all of 30 seconds to discover that $10 wasn’t going to get me very far. Mozzarella cheese was $5.69 for 600 grams and a pound of lean ground beef cost about $4. I decided it would be wiser to make two batches at once and try to beat the average sale price of $2 per pound.

A customer informed me I could save money by purchasing regular ground beef instead of lean. I resisted. A cashier said she had stopped making her own lasagna because she couldn’t match the price for five pounds of the PC brand. I pressed ahead.

With noodles, mozzarella, pasta sauce, tomatoes, cottage cheese, beef, peppers and mushrooms, I figured I had about 8 pounds of ingredients. Total cost was $17.08. Oh, it was going to be close.

The next day, an icy morning in early April, I assembled the ingredients, then sliced and diced, grated the cheese and cooked the noodles. By 11 a.m. the delicious aroma of fried onions, peppers and spice filled the house and by noon all was ready to spoon into two casserole dishes. An Italian sausage, onions, garlic and a few spices I had on hand brought my total costs to approximately $18.50, so I needed nine pounds of very tasty lasagna to win household glory.

“How are you going to weigh it?” Pat asked innocently.

I stopped stirring the sauce and replied, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

After a short pause I said, “We’ll go by the total volume. I’ll measure the sides of each pan and multiply by how deep it is to calculate cubic inches."

I arranged fat layers of noodles, cheese and sauce in the greased pans, and quietly celebrated as the ingredients approached the rim of each dish. After careful measurements and calculations I estimated I had 24 cubic inches more lasagna than two pans of store-bought - for $1.50 less.

After 35 minutes at 350 degrees the steaming lasagna was served.

“It’s delicious,” Pat said. “Perhaps I’ll take some to mother’s house tonight.”

That one vote of confidence was reward enough.

***

Please click here to read more “IT STRIKES” Again

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: My American Idol baby and ten steps to a healthier lifestyle

[The following column was published in April, 2003, a time when I always had coffee money and a few fivers in my pocket. Oh, how times have changed. The fivers are gone and the two-mile loop (mentioned below) has been replaced by an exercise bike. gah]

My American Idol Baby and ten steps to a healthier lifestyle

Tupperware Friday was a big hit. I mixed together five items found in plastic containers at the back of the fridge, added a splash of Memories of Kashmir Spicy Tandoori Sauce and created a hotter, spicier version of Harrison Hash. Because her taste buds have been numbed by other tongue-tingling excursions down strange culinary paths, Pat didn’t notice the difference.

By 7:30 p.m. the dishes were done. After expertly balancing the last pot onto the top of the awkward tower of rinsed dishes I turned to my wife and asked, “What would you like to do tonight? Go for a walk? Stay in?”

Pat stared suspiciously at the stacked dishes and didn’t answer right away. I sensed she was tired after a long workday so before she could formulate a response I grabbed the TV listings. The first three programs scheduled for 8 p.m. were Search for the Most Talented Kd in America, Test the Nation, and Star Search.

“More difficult choices, Pat. Would you like to see (I read from the listings) ‘Youngsters from across the nation perform in a talent competition’?”

“You mean American Idol?”

“I imagine it’s a younger version of that show. Probably like ‘if some of the teenagers made you weep, wait ‘til you see this’!”

Pat said, “What else is on?”

“How would you like to ‘take an IQ test along with a studio audience’?”

“That’s the last thing I need - an IQ test on a Friday night.”


["My American Idol Baby can hit high C!"]

I quizzed her on two easy items just to warm up her brain. I said, “For 5 points - name 5 things you ate for supper this evening.”

Pat tried valiantly. “Left-over rice, some kind of spicu sauce, red peppers. (A short pause.) Corn niblets maybe.”

After a longer pause I said, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. You’re out of time! Not even close.”

We began the second round. “For 10 points - where are your glasses?”

Before she could answer I slapped my hand over the nearest coaster. “Bzzzt! Too slow!” I declared. “They’re on your face.”

“Now, let’s see what else is on TV,” I said. “There’s Star Search. It comes with no explanatory notes but I think we catch the drift.”

We agreed that instead of being offered seasoned performers we are getting more and more peeks at potential entertainers, possible up and comers, who seem to be less prepared every year. So TV viewing is a bit like asking for cheddar to go with your apple pie and getting a gob of Cheez Whiz.

Simon Fuller, the creator of American Idol, wants next to recycle careers of “people who have had a taste of fame but, sadly, their candle has been snuffed.” (Time magazine, Feb. 2003)

And if he carries some programming to their logical extremes we might soon be viewing even younger entertainers with ‘potential’, i.e., American Idol Baby, ‘brought to you live from the maternity ward.’

I put the listings down and snuffed the idea of watching TV. Ten steps later Pat and I were on Cathcart St., walking our two-mile loop.

gah

***

Please click here to read more “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Wisdom might have everything to do with feeding the birds PT2

[This column was originally published in April, 2003. There is a link to PT1 below. gah]

...Past government policies helped distribute more fairly some of our country’s wealth. Those days are gone.

Consider these clippings from March and April 2003:

The ranks of high-powered, high-salaried Canadian workers ballooned by more than two-thirds between 1990 and 2000, with almost half a million people in the exclusive club of those who earned more than $100,000 a year (Canadian Press)

Average earnings have gone up in Canada and they’re higher than they’ve ever been now. The reason - the upper end made big gains. But... the number of full-time workers who earned $20,000 or less also increased in the 1990s... (Canadian Press)

“What these figures show is we have a growing gap between the rich and poor,” said Rebecca Coulter of the University of Western Ontario. (London Free Press)

Canadian food banks assisted 295,228 people in 2002. Ontario’s food banks accounted for 40% of that total. 35 - 40% were children. (London Food Bank, Decade report)


["It's wise to feed the birds": photo G.Harrison]

London police are dealing with people who have a mental illness at an alarming and rapidly increasing rate... more of those people are being arrested because police have no other options. (Kelly Pedro, Free Press)

“Better housing, income and options are needed for people who are mentally ill,” says Lisa Heslop, supervisor with the London police victim services unit. (Kelly Pedro)

In a move that acknowledges some customers face genuine hardship, London Hydro announced... a $50,000 donation to THAW, helping low-income (earners) facing hydro cutoffs. (Mary-Jane Egan, London Free Press)

I think it wise to feed the birds.

gah

***

Please click here to read ‘Wisdom might have everything to do with feeding the birds’ PT1

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Wisdom might have everything to do with feeding the birds

[This column was originally published in April, 2003. It was inspired by the short-sighted attitude [also hard-hearted in my opinion] revealed in a letter to the editor of London’s local newspaper. gah]

Wisdom might have everything to do with feeding the birds

Robbie Smink of St. Marys quoted a wise man in a recent letter to a local paper but left me none-the-wiser.

“If you put the bird food out the birds will come.”

Robbie wanted politicians to ‘wise-up’ because many people are lining up to ‘not pay’ their hydro bills (“The excuses seem unlimited... their ability to milk the system, uncanny.”). He sees “no end in sight” to those needing assistance through London’s THAW program.

“Why can’t politicians grasp this simple concept?” he asked. Smink fears government involvement in other areas of our lives because “there would soon be countless needs, chronic shortages, lineups and waiting lists as we already see in social housing, education, health care...”

I think governments understand Smink’s simple concept and have already enacted many seed-removal measures. Deep cuts to health care, education and social services are well-documented. Is it now time to stop feeding the birds entirely?

Smink intimated as much when he offered for our enrichment the wisdom of Quebec Premier Bernard Landry (another simple-concept-fellow who doesn’t approve of bird feeders); “If a small bird with a tiny brain can house and feed her young and look after herself, why can’t people?”

Both men should throw out a few crusts and observe what happens. As a variety of birds swoop toward the bread a natural pecking order will be seen and the offering will not be distributed evenly.

A wise woman said, “We should re-establish and strengthen our universal family allowance program, which Ottawa killed... leaving us without family or housing allowances. The spectacle of hundreds of thousands of Canadians lining up at food banks is a commentary on how badly we need a program to help families pay for the most basic necessities.” (Linda McQuaig in ‘The Wealthy Banker’s Wife’).

It is not people in lineups or on waiting lists that should chiefly concern Robbie Smink. It is present-day, calculated, government policy meant to deprive people of assistance and a sense of equality. Past government policies helped distribute more fairly some of our country’s wealth. Those days are gone.

(Author’s note - do past government policies fan the fire under the Occupy movement today?)

More to follow.

***

Please click here to read the full letter that prompted the above column.

Please click here to read another exciting episode (How could it not be?) of “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Bert and Ernie debate the merits of the big raise at Queen’s Park

[The following column, inspired by actions of then Premier of Ontario Ernie Eves, was first published in April, 2003. I was so ahead of the curve! : ) gah]

Bert and Ernie debate the merits of the big raise at Queen’s Park

Bert (leaning dangerously out of the upper window over the Sesame Street Deli): Hey Ernie? Ernie? Is that you?
Ernie (rocking back stiffly and looking upward): Hey, Bert. Yeh, it’s me.

Bert: I had to call you twice. You seem to be in your own little world.
Ernie: Oh, I was doing some mental arithmetic. I really concentrate when I do that.

Bert: And I didn’t recognize you at first from up here. Are you doing something new to your hair?
Ernie: Yeh. (He runs his orange hand through his plastic hair.) It’s a new expensive gel. You should try it.

Bert: No thanks. I I like how my hair spikes up all on its own. Natural preservatives you know - kinda 1970s.
Ernie: Wanna come down for a milkshake, Bert? Deli’s open.

Bert: I’ll get ready. Whose turn to pay this time?
Ernie: I’m pretty sure it’s still your turn. I was just doing the math.

Bert changes quickly into his favourite striped T-shirt and green pants and hops out the window to the sidewalk below. Animated conversation continues once they are comfortably seated at a yellow table next to the Sesame Street fire hydrant, cold chocolate shakes in hand.

Bert: So how’s your job going at Queen’s Park?

Ernie: Well, I haven’t been there for a few months. I scheduled a long break after sweating over considerations for a 23 per cent pay hike.

Bert: Oh, wouldn’t that mean you’d be working longer hours?
Ernie: I really love your sense of humour, Bert. You’re so naive. I don’t think you’d ever make a decent politician.

Bert: You don’t think so, eh?
Ernie: Well, I’m sure we could debate that for hours but we won’t.


[Photo link]

Bert: So Ernie, I was wondering. How come I have to pay for your shakes all the time?
Ernie: It’s just common sense bert. See, I give you a little money if the wind is blowing in the right direction, then I expect you to pay it all back, and more. Didn’t you catch my budget from Brampton?

Bert: I wasn’t invited. I did turn on the TV but all I got was infomercials. So what would I have learned?
Ernie: First off you’d realize if you want to get a message out, don’t do it at the Magna training centre. With my business background I should have remembered it’s all about ‘location, location, location.’

Bert: Yeh, you seem to be taking some heat about that move.
Ernie: I’m just letting you know the media seems to be preoccupied with the location as opposed to the content of the campaign... er, budget speech.

Bert: Well, you could have used your house at Queen’s Park. There are more seats for people. Folks could have discussed the fine points with you.
Ernie: Yeh, that would have been the highlight of my day, Bert. Hey, do you like my new slogan? Sell - like there’s no tomorrow. Cut - like there’s no one watching. Lead - like you’ve never been hurt.

Bert: Wait a minute, Ernie. You’re just reading stuff off my T-shirt.
Ernie: Yeh, but it’s so clear and catchy. Bert, can I have your shirt?

Bert: Get your own shirt. You can afford it, can’t you?
Ernie: Of course I can. Just asking. You ready for more chocolate shake?

gah

***

Please click here for another exciting episode of “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Playing quick games of charades at the all-way stops in Old South

[The following column was first published in April, 2003. According to recent personal experience, the game of charades is still played on a regular basis at the corner of Elmwood and Wortley. gah]

Playing quick games of charades at the all-way stops in Old South

In the March 20th issue of The Londoner Victoria Stirling wrote “Some London motorists can drive you nuts.”

Watch out. I may be one of those people.

She mentioned drivers “who sit at a stop sign” and suffer a “temporary loss of consciousness,” then don’t go anywhere until she starts to move.

I’ve regularly been in the middle of similar situations when trying to negotiate one of the 200 all-way stops in Old South. Short, dramatic or comic operas often occur when a few drivers meet simultaneously at an intersection.

On a brilliant day not long ago I was driving west on Elmwood toward Wortley Rd. and the all-way stop. My windows were rolled down, I was happily belting out “All My Wheels Are Turning” with The Anger Brothers on CD and was totally unprepared to answer the question: “Who The Heck Goes Next, Alex?”

I braked, nodded at a pedestrian to cross and surveyed the busy intersection. I observed several cars stopped to my right and left and had no idea who was on first. So I nodded toward the two lead drivers, gestured, smiled and said aloud, “You guys go ahead.”

The Anger Brothers and I were nicely harmonizing on “Should they stay or should they go? All my wheels are turning...” when I noticed the driver on my left was waving. He may have seen me pause for the pedestrian and wanted to reward me with one free pass.


["Hey, I know how you guys feel.": photo link]

So, I flicked my hand politely in return and replied, “Nice thought. Let me check with the guy on the right because I waved him through a second ago.”

I looked over and noticed the same driver still in place. I caught his attention with a few hand and head movements and asked, “Are you going or what? I gave you the wave. What’s it going to be.”

The driver wagged his head, mouthed a few words and signaled back.

I honestly couldn’t decipher the answer but assumed he replied, “I think you’re up, buddy.”

“Okay. That’s two waves and a head bob back to me,” I told myself.

Believing I had the green light I started to continue west through the intersection, but, almost immediately, my peripheral vision warned me of imminent danger. I instinctively turned my head left and came face to face with the large chrome grill of a Buick Park Avenue. Recent edition.

With full knowledge that a new bumper on my Civic would cost $700 I hastily stopped past the middle of the pedestrian crosswalk.

I gestured and spoke boisterously to the Buick’s driver. “Hey! What gives? You gave me the wave. Don’t blame me for checking back with the other guy. And look at him. (I pointed.) He’s still sitting there. Now there’s a nice guy.”

Without a nod, gesture or final salute the Park Avenue drove around my precious bumper and continued north. And meanwhile, back at the ranch, the driver on the right spotted the Buick on the move and seized the opportunity to head south.

I gave one final wave to the dust of both drivers and to three pedestrians peering quizzically into my passenger window. I headed west to the three-way stop at Cathcart mentally rehearsing Act Two.

***

Please click here to read another exciting episode of “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Maybe a 19th Century alternative would suit us better

["GH likes shakin' off the dust ever once in a wall."]

[The following column was first published on Oct. 21, 2009, two years (almost to the day) before Mike Seabrook, VP of London Airport, “urged patience, saying the [cargo] terminal [is facing] a global downturn in the cargo business because of the lingering economic downturn.” (Oct. 18, 2011, London Free Press]

Maybe a 19th Century alternative would suit us better

I ended last week’s column (‘Turning London into a cargo hub has a few flaws’) by asking the following: Does shipping cargo to and fro in one of mankind’s most carbon-intensive ways look promising economically?

I asked the question based on my understanding that a goodly percentage of North Americans are reducing their spending (perhaps permanently), saving money and growing more concerned about debt.

As well, many link excessive lifestyles to fossil fuel consumption, carbon emissions and resultant climate change, and think legislation is required to direct large companies to cut their emissions.

Shortly after the column hit the streets a city councillor contacted me.

Upon receiving the call I became as nervous as the proverbial cat.

I thought, it’s either news that a rich and important award is on its way or my tax bill is going to be more than a titch higher next year.

Instead, a positive discussion began in which one of our hard-working councillors (and I mean that sincerely) expressed confidence in the cargo hub, and said that because some cargo will travel fewer miles once it comes into London, a smaller overall carbon footprint will be realized. The councillor also mentioned that fuel efficiencies are likely to occur in the future to bring about more environmental benefit.

I on the other hand, though happy for the discussion, also felt confident that based on our track record, fuel efficiencies will not come very quickly, and positive gains could be negated by over-using the service.

And though happy for any increase in employment that the cargo hub would bring to our region, I wish very strongly - because air travel is the most polluting and carbon-intensive form of transportation - that sustainable, eco-friendly jobs were more the order of the day.

Another issue the councillor and I did not discuss was raised by a reader via email that arrived later the same day.

Rick O. wrote:

“I too wonder about the wisdom of City Hall's plan. 

“You briefly mention excessive consumption sustained by cheap oil. 

“Well, the era of cheap oil is coming to an end whether we like it or not, and City Hall should give that some thought. Regardless if one believes peak oil production is here already, or still several years off, the fact is the price of oil is going to go up a lot - the present short-term recession induced pull-back in the price of crude notwithstanding. 

“So, when fuel prices soar, as they will, airplanes won't. Shipping by air simply won't be viable unless, of course, the cargo you plan to transport has a very high price to weight ratio - like diamonds perhaps.

“Where does that leave us?  The economical and environmentally sound way to move people and goods within North America is by rail (assuming peak oil to be at hand and global warming to be a fact). 

“So, Gord, I think you should suggest to City Hall that London become a rail hub instead - unless you think they might consider that too 19th century.”

No, Rick. I don’t think rail is too 19th century at all.

And I did say to the councillor that just as the City Hall backed the wrong horse years ago - in my humble opinion - when it got rid of London’s electric trolley system and replaced it with buses that have a healthy appetite for fossil fuels, we may be doing the same again by banking on air cargo system over more sustainable alternatives such as rail and the Great Lakes waterway.

Author’s Note: I also wish I’d thought of Rick’s line - when fuel prices soar... airplanes won't.

***

Please click here to read another exciting episode of “IT STRIKES” Again concerning the supposed cargo hub.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Turning London into a cargo hub has a few flaws

["Count on me to shake the dust off once in awhile."]

[The following column appeared October 14, 2009, almost two years ago to the day before a news clip containing an update about London airport’s cargo terminal and its failing grade. Hey, sometimes I get it right. gah]

Headline - Turning London into a cargo hub has a few flaws

That’s right. You heard it here first.

I’m not sure if City Hall’s plans to turn London’s airport into a cargo gateway at a cost of $11,000,000 has long-term legs.

Or wings.

Some city councillors and business leaders will wonder, why don’t I just sit still, be quiet and let the experts get on with the job?

For three reasons.

First, the ‘sit still, be quiet’ approach didn’t work for me while a kid at home or a student in public school and university after I discovered I learned more by asking questions, even if I just blurted them out. And today I have a few questions about an air cargo hub.

Next, I can’t sit still about our economy - and never very quietly - especially after what I learned recently and mentioned in last week’s column (Maybe a ‘zero growth economy’ shouldn’t really be a shock).

For example, many Canadian consumers (some of them surely right here in London) are worried about their wages and pensions and are reducing their spending on many types of material goods (ergo cargo) in their desire to save money and clear up their debt load.

If polls out of the US can be trusted (I think they can be), the new age of frugality may last for months and months. If US consumer spending (which makes up about 70 per cent of the American economy) continues to decline and their unemployment figures continue to climb (9.8 per cent last month, numbers not seen since 1983) they will soon match our own and their great and mighty recession might last for years and years.

With our chief trading partner in such dire straits, does that bode well for a cargo-based economy in London? Unless, of course, it’s cargo people really, really need, e.g. small amounts of food, clothing, basic household supplies and hockey pucks. (Winter’s coming, eh, and my 50-plus team loses about four per week).

Finally, not only are North Americans learning they can’t live forever or much longer beyond their means, they’re learning there are other worries larger than pension shortfalls and more frightening costs to unlimited production and consumption than unmanageable debt.

Large numbers of North Americans are now joining the dots between an excessive lifestyle and fossil fuel consumption and the production of pollution and carbon and climate change.

According to the book The Suicidal Planet, surveys reveal that two-thirds of the US population ‘are mostly or completely convinced by scientific consensus on global warming and the causal effect of carbon dioxide emissions. Only 6 per cent now think that it is not a problem requiring action. Polls also show that the great majority now subscribe to the view that greenhouse gas emissions should be limited and say they would support legislation requiring large companies to cut their emissions.’

As well, ‘three-quarters consider that doing nothing about climate change is irresponsible.’

I’m sure many Canadians feel the same way and will keep their wallets in their pockets rather than continue to buy into excessive consumption as we’ve done for far too many years, thanks in large part to the availability of cheap oil.

In other words, does shipping cargo (whatever it is) to and fro in one of mankind’s most carbon-intensive ways look promising economically?

Author’s note - re The Suicidal Planet by Mayer Hillman: I’m only half done but it looks more like a homicide to me.

***

Please click here to read another exciting episode (How could it not be?) of “IT STRIKES” Again by G. Harrison.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Round 2 with the red scourge and a carefree matinee

[The following column about my trip to Texas was first published in March, 2003. In it I reveal another use for oatmeal. Give it a try. gah]

Round 2 with the red scourge and a carefree matinee

The poison ivy travelled around my body mercilessly and it seemed impossible to prevent it from spreading. I continually scratched my arms, legs and stomach without relief.

Pat warned me of the consequences - to no avail. I woke up three nights in a row in mid-scratching frenzy, arms and legs covered with more rashes and blisters. Once fully awake I would shuffle into the shower with my trusty Sunlight laundry soap.

Pat learned by phone message that our son in Texas didn’t have poison ivy though we had both cleared the same tree branches from a country road. The news didn’t make me feel any better.

One evening while lathering and rinsing exposed areas for a second or third time a verse for a new, heart-rending country song came to mind:

Well I got poison ivy on my a-a-arm,
One little blotch won’t do much ha-a-arm.
But it started to spread to other spots,
Pretty soon I had quite a lot.
Poison ivy runnin’ down my le-e-eg,
Ohhh (heavy on the steel guitar), shoot me please!”

Later that night we re-opened our household medical books. Pat read her Digest while I toweled dry and applied calamine lotion to blisters and anything resembling a spot. Even freckles received attention.

She said, “Most cases of poison ivy rash are caused by directly touching the plant. But it is possible to get the rash by handling anything contaminated with the sap - tools, clothing, etc.”

“The book of home remedies recommends I take a bath with about three-quarters a box of oatmeal. No way,” I said.


["Would you take a bath with Quaker Oats?"]

She looked at me curiously and asked, “When you got poison ivy last September what clothes were you wearing?”

“Running gear. But all my stuff from ‘Dances With Dirt’ (a 100-km. team event held on wild, muddy trails near Hell, Mich.) have been washed and used many times since. Ivy sap won’t be on those clothes.”

“How did you get your soggy gear home from the race?” Pat wanted to know. “In a plastic bag or suitcase?”

I thought carefully while applying a second layer of soothing calamine.

“That’s it!” I exclaimed. “My blue gym bag.I grabbed it out of the closet while packing for Texas. I hadn’t touched it since Michigan. Stink!”

“I guess we’d better wash it too,” Pat said patiently.

As if on cue, once the mystery was revealed, the rashes and blisters visibly receded at a steady pace. Twice daily (or nightly) showers with laundry soap decreased to one and finally to none. And within a week physical health was restored for a mere $1.35 worth of Sunlight and a half bottle of calamine.

I felt so relieved and carefree I offered to treat Pat to a movie on Thursday. We reviewed seven matinees being presented at Rainbow Cinemas for $2.50 and settled on ‘Catch Me If You can.’

The best part?

I didn’t have to scratch my arms or legs once and I didn’t smell like oatmeal.

gah

***

Please click here to read another exciting episode of “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: “A red rash and other souvenirs from my visit to the Lone Star state”

[The following column first appeared in The Londoner in March 2003. You remember when I first wrote about ‘The Bucksnort Cafe’, right? And yes, that was a long time ago but, as you’ll see, my story still stands up... or something. gah]

“A red rash and other souvenirs from my visit to the Lone Star state”

In early March, a few days after visiting with my son in Texas, I noticed a few red spots on the inside of my right arm. I didn’t think much of it as I gave them a hearty and satisfying scratch.

The next day the irritated area was redder, wider, itchier. Several spots and a rash had also appeared on my left arm and leg.

“Stink. I think I’ve got poison ivy,” I muttered to Pat, and we tried to think of any times I had been in contact with plant life while visiting in that southern state.


“I hung around the fire hall and motel room, I rode in the fire truck, I wandered around Harold Brown’s ranch a bit, “ I said. “We went for a long ride around Commerce on Sunday but didn’t get out of the car.”

Pat recalled, “No, you and David pushed a tree off the road.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Remember how most of the tree was covered with vines? Stink! I should have noticed it. These spots are burning.”

“Don’t scratch the blisters,” she said. “Poison ivy will spread.”

We searched the bookshelves in various rooms and found the ‘Reader’s Digest Household Medical Encyclopedia’ and a dusty copy of ‘Home Remedies - What Works” (Thousands of Americans reveal their favorite home-tested cures for everyday health problems!).

Pat read from the Digest, “The rash starts with burning and itching of the skin at the site of contact, followed by watery blisters.”

I said, “I’ve got the burning, the itching, the blisters. Great. I go three for three in something for the first time and it’s poison ivy. Thank-you, Texas.”

“This book says we should ‘launder any clothing that has been contaminated with the sap’. Do you remember what you were wearing during the Sunday ride?” Pat asked.

“Probably jeans and a T-shirt,” I said.

“Which jeans? Your T-shirts have gone through the wash.”

I looked down at the jeans I was wearing.

“These jeans,” I said matter-of-factly.

I had packed one pair for the trip and I was still wearing them. I stripped off my pants and flicked them with my foot into a laundry hamper.

“What are those red bumps on your legs?” Pat asked.

You guessed it.

Shortly after opening the second book I read that Ruby (age 66, from Minnesota) and Pauline (age 84, from Pennsylvania) encouraged folks to bathe with Fels-Naptha soap, “first introduced in Philadelphia in 1894.”


["No Fels-Naptha. Try soap from Canada!"]

We didn’t have any 109 year-old soap in the house so I trotted off to the Valu-Mart in Wortley Village while Pat went to Shoppers for calamine lotion.

I checked the detergent aisle. No luck. I looked for Dial hand soap next because I’d read Dial Corporation bought Fels-Naptha in 1985 and most of the original ingredients remain. No success. Instead I bought two bars of Sunlight, pure soap, made in Canada, “trusted for over 100 years.”

As I paid I asked the cashier if the store ever carried Fels-Naptha.

“Not for years. You could check Quarter Master across the street. I saw something online about Fels-Naptha recently. Poison Ivy?” she asked.

Maybe I wasn’t alone in my misery.

Today, however, I am happy to report that after two days of showering with laundry soap the rash is receding, only a few more blisters have appeared and i smell sunshine fresh.

***

Please click here to read more “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

It Strikes Me Funny: “Royal Spam”

While sorting mail this morning a postcard with a photo of a man with a big round head caught my eye.


TD Bank wants me to spend time with Kevin O'Leary.


TD wants me to listen to a speech about investing my substantial assets, i.e., assets worth at least $300,000, which in my case include my only car and small house.

Should I risk my assets for some financial gain?

Insert laugh track here!

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for a flight of fancy.

.

100 Challenges Ahead: 3 “My house feels too big”

[Americans Thomas Sargent and Christopher Sims, recent Nobel Prize winners in economics have no easy answers to a global crisis one called simply “this mess.” Oct 13, London Free Press]

According to a report by TD Economics, “older Canadians are growing their debt loads faster than any other age group and retiring more indebted than ever.” (Oct. 12, London Free Press)

If I read the bar graph provided with the article correctly, and I’m very sure I did, in the last 10 years people aged 65 and older have increased their debt load by 160 per cent while their assets have grown by only 80 per cent.

If that troubling trend continues, “it could threaten their standard of living and exacerbate volatility in asset markets, pension fund deficits and declining employment pension coverage.”


["Many would be better off in a small house": photo GHarrison]

Many my age and older will one day face the ‘big house’ challenge, i.e., will be stuck inside a house that’s far too big to handle in a variety of ways, i.e., financially and physically just for starters.

The trend for the last 60 years has been toward bigger houses (“since the 1950s, a typical four-person family home has increased from 1,000 square feet to 2,500 square feet on average,” Oct.1, London Free Press), and many of today’s seniors were a part of the growing culture of big.

I feel many seniors are now trapped inside a big house, unable to make the necessary changes to a right-sized life-style.

Moving, duplexing to earn income, caring for the present house, etc., are now beyond the ability of many of them or much tougher due to the current recession.

Do you know someone who may feel like a prisoner in their own home? What can be done?

***

Please click here to read 100 Challenges Ahead: 2 “I won’t change”

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: I’m glad I went to Texas and can sing about ‘The Bucksnort Cafe’

[The following column was first published in March, 2003. Why did I travel 4,200 km. in 42 hours and venture into an unknown land? Because of love and devotion? There was some of that. gah]

I’m glad I went to Texas and can sing about ‘The Bucksnort Cafe’

I went to Texas because ‘The Village Idiot’ wasn’t open.

My son David was graduating from a fire-fighting program at A & M University in late February. I had decided not to attend. I planned to take the savings on travel costs and treat David and his son Jackson to a vacation in Ottawa upon his return. On one hand my wife Pat liked my plan. On the other hand she wanted to go to Texas.

I thought travel plans to Texas had been put to rest after a lengthy talk over coffee at The Roaster four days before David’s graduation. However, when we stepped outside we met David’s girlfriend Shelley on her way inside. She informed us she had given up her plans to fly south for the ceremony because of airport security and George W’s Code Orange.

I again mentioned Ottawa, the savings, Texas was a three-day road-trip, that it was now Tuesday, that David and Jackson would have great fun reconnecting in our nation’s capital in mid-March. The ladies were momentarily appeased but soon began a serious conversation about alternate ways the two of them could get to Texas.

I felt it was time to shop for used vinyl and CDs.

As I hurried across Wortley Road to ‘The Village Idiot’ I thought, “Gordie, your plan is excellent - stick to it. Hey, buy a CD. You’ll feel better.”

Unfortunately the shop wasn’t open. I checked my watch. 10:10. I asked myself, where’s Robert with his friendly hello when I need him? Rather than walk home alone I retraced my steps to see if Pat and Shelley had reached a final decision. As I approached I noticed their desire to travel south had clearly reached critical mass. Tears were flowing.

I hesitated but weakly offered, “Well, I’ll check the maps again for you two when I get home, though I’m pretty sure you’d need three days.”

I got on the phone and the Internet. I soon believed the three of us could get there a day early if we shared two days of hard driving. Goodbye Ottawa. Hello Texas.


["David, in the center. Photos from a second graduation in Toronto, Canada."]


["GH with sons Paul and David and grandson Jackson, at Toronto grad ceremony"]


["Shelley, David and Jackson. David now works for Toronto Fire Dept."]

After making arrangements I shared with Pat, “We’re booked at a Best Western in Nashville on Wednesday night and we’ll be in time for supper with David on Thursday. David said we can stay at his dorm. One of us gets the floor. I think it’s you. How’s that sound so far?”

“Wonderful!”

As Pat stepped out the front door to go to work she said, “Don’t forget traveller’s cheques, health insurance, U.S. money, bedding. Boil eggs for sandwiches, pack the portable bed, your good shirt and a sports jacket.”

“Um, okay. You’ve been thinking about this a bit, eh?” I said.

“Since the invitation arrived in January.”

We arrived in Texas on schedule and held a cheerful reunion in a cold, wet parking lot near David’s residence.

We savoured huge, juicy steaks at a firehall on Friday and proudly watched the evening’s festivities. When David was honoured as class ‘Prime Minister’ the three Canadians in the auditorium simultaneously pulled out cotton handerkerchiefs.

We drove 4,200 km. in 42 hours, made 30 new friends and snapped 72 more photos of David with Shelley.

We enjoyed morning coffees at the Cowhill Express Company, shared mutual jokes with tall Texans about funny accents and drove past a town called Bucksnort.

I’d go again in a minute.

gah

***


Please click here for another exciting episode of “IT STRIKES” Again.

.

“IT STRIKES” Again: Far too many consumer choices to ponder and not a plastic pail in sight

[The following column was first published March 6, 2003. Since that time my bladder has become even more time sensitive and I now let my wife take care of filling up the car with gas. It’s an ‘age’ thingy. gah]

Far too many consumer choices to ponder and not a plastic pail in sight

Occasionally common consumer-oriented desires collide.

Usually producers want to provide a variety of options to consumers and consumers want an unending selection of goods. But the more choices available, the more time is needed to peruse them. This can lead to producer/consumer conflicts and more.

My watch read 8:35 a.m. Appointment was at 9. Time enough for a stop at The Roaster.

I checked my pockets. $4.15. I could afford a medium coffee, toasted cheese bagel with butter and marmalade and something for the tip jar.

While stirring two packets of raw sugar into my coffee I checked out their wide selection of milks and creams. I spotted 1%, 6%, 8%, 10%, 18%, fresh ‘half and half’ and Beatrice French Vanilla Coffee Duet made from real dairy cream.

For a lark I asked Barb, the cashier, “Any 2 per cent?”

With coffee and sticky breakfast on board and minutes to spare I drove to Westgate Honda for my car’s three-month physical. I had a longer wait than expected so I read all of the magazines on hand, drank free orange juice and more coffee.

When I left I noticed I had ‘to go’ in a somewhat urgent biological sense but thought I could make it home to the comfort and privacy of my own bathroom. As I approached Oxford and Wonderland, however, I noticed a reasonable price for gas at the Petro-Can station on the corner. I pulled in for a fast fill-up.

After finishing at the pump I joined a long queue of fellow customers inside the station. I also glanced about for a washroom, but seeing none, decided to hold my place.

Time marched in one spot for several minutes, then someone stepped inside to ask, :Do you sell rear wiper blades.?”

“No, we don’t carry those anymore,” the young clerk replied.

I surveyed the room to evaluate the selection of goods offered to busy motorists. No wipers? Wasn’t it a gas station?

Chocolate bars, cigarettes, bundles of wood, nifty ‘three-paks’ of bungee watches (on sale for $12.95 or a bazillion Petro points), soft drinks, and every snack food known to mankind were on display. But no wipers.

The line shrank slowly. My desperation grew. I ground my teeth until I reached the counter, my money ready.


["Painful photos by GH"]

“Hi, Im pump seven. Here’s 20 bucks,” I said, dancing left and right.

Before the clerk took my money he wanted to ask a variety of important skill-testing questions.

“Do you collect Petro points?”

“No,” I said, moving the $20 closer to his eyes.

“Would you like to sign up for a Petro card while you’re here today?”

“No,” I said, waving the bill like a red flag. I readied my answer for any subsequent queries about Air Miles, cash back or super-sizing my fries.

“Can I help you with anything else then?” was the cheerful last question.


“Got any plastic pails or an empty Tim Horton’s cup?”

“No, we don’t carry those anymore.”

gah

***

Please click here for another exciting episode of “IT STRIKES” Again.

.