It Strikes Me Funny: This is what blogs are for at times

The deadline for my column is Sunday, 2 p.m.

Today I was running ahead of schedule because I had posted a few related ideas to my blog in advance, as is usually the case, so I had the topic on my brain.

This is what my blog is for at times, in my opinion. It acts like a wall at which I throw spaghetti. Sometimes the spaghetti sticks. Sometimes it doesn’t.

My blog is also useful in other ways.

For example, today as I was writing I recalled the time I was riding home from Thunder Bay (August, 2007) and had to stop at a gas station that displayed prices I’d never seen or paid before in my life. Like this week's prices in London. (Not that I didn’t see the high prices coming, however, as I suggest in my column).

Unfortunately, I outran my word count so ditched the episode.

My blog suffers no such restraint.

“The scene is still vivid in my mind. It was a foggy morning, I was chilled to the bone, the red ‘low fuel’ light on my old Virago was glaring at me, and the first gas station I approached sold gas at $1.17.9 per liter.

Seeing the sign precipitated mild shock and awe and it slowly dawned on me that folks can charge whatever they want on that stretch of highway.


["Tough times and high prices in Thessalon ONT": photo GH]

Sure, I could have said to the station attendant that the prices were outrageous and I had a good mind to turn around and go some place else.

But two things would have happened.

He would have given me the blank stare while digesting my words and formulating a suitable response. Then he would have told me the next station was two hours down the road and politely said, “See ya later. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Sorry, I digress.”

Word count - perfect. Blog - helpful when it comes to using extra spaghetti in the pot.

***

Please tune in next week for the full column.

Last week’s column; useful link appears in right margin.

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INTRO: Is The Money out There?

[This post should be read while listening to ‘A Hard Day’s Night.’]

Yes, I am going on and on about growing public and private debt loads in Canada and associated dangers, aren’t I?

However, I bet I’m not alone.

I’m sure observers, writers and people - with opinions about everything - from other countries in the same boat are saying a few things as well.

I believe Greece is sailing in very turbulent financial waters as I speak, so surely to goodness somebody soaking up sun on the Mediterranean is asking the question, what’s a Grecian earn.

But soon I’ll shift gears and pose the question, can we bail ourselves out?


["Hey, we can do this": photo GAH]

I’ll begin the search for newspaper clippings and magazine articles and opinion pieces that support my brilliant theory that we can live comfortably within our means in Canada without starving to death (other countries can too), that the money is indeed out there.

I’ll likely consider some of our spending habits and our views toward taxes. I bet I’ll find brilliant ways to pay down debt that experts have long over-looked.

(And why not? What is youthful optimism for, if not that?)

I’ll likely just go on and on about solutions within our ability and grasp.

So, cheer up. You’ve been warned.

***

How has Canada, for example, turned things around in the past?

How did our government accomplish 11 straight years of budgetary surpluses?

Please click here to read Part 1 of the new series.

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For third day, blogger.com not up to snuff

FYI to readers:

Several features attached to my blog are not working properly, and I don't think it's my fault.

Many other things are, i.e. related to content, but not the following:

I cannot post with images or links., labels, bold text etc.

Drat. And I have a great 'century birdhouse' to show you!!

I cannot use labels or bold and italic text.

Stink. How will I emphasize my BIG, IMPORTANT MESSAGES??

And, I cannot respond to your comments.

Believe me, i want to, but I can't.

E.g., I wanted to tell Jane, of Gaston Studio, that I borrowed a line from one of her comments for my latest column.

See http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186 for full details.

So, there's obviously something fishy going on in the blog world - and, as usual, I missed the memo.

To top it all off, I can't find my car keys.

***

Wait 'til you see the century birdhouse.

Have you seen my keys?

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Link and Learn: I sing songs that all sound alike after awhile

My younger brother and I get along very well. Our similarities and differences are better appreciated now than when we were kids and battled for equal billing around our small family home.


[Younger brother on the left; sure, sure, he looks harmless enough.]

How he ended up being the cause of terrible heartbreak in one of the favourite songs I like to sing I’ll never know.

For your entertainment, amusement and musical enjoyment (??) I’ve started a new site that will eventually list all of the hit songs I’ve written over the years. I’ll also throw in a bit of prose for good measure.

Perhaps one day I’ll add an audio link so you can wonder aloud why I would ever think about singing in public, even around a campfire.

Join the crowd. @ Hit Songs, Lyrics and Prose by G. Harrison

***

Do you write a song or two on occasion?

Post your lyrics. I’ll tune in.

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Link Up: Poetry and prose strike a musical note

In an earlier post I dropped in a poem by Robert Frost.

Bobbie, a regular reader, said that among her favourite poets (including her youngest daughter) was Rabindranath Tagore.

You know what happens next, right?

No?

Here is My Song by R. Tagore:

This song of mine will wind its music around you,
my child, like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead

like a kiss of blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side
and 
whisper in your ear,
when you are in the crowd

it will fence you about with aloofness.


My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,

it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead

when dark night is over your road.

My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,

and will carry your sight into the heart of things.

And when my voice is silenced in death,

my song will speak in your living heart.

Link to more poetry by Rabindranath Tagore.

Link to more poetry by Robert Frost.

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Reading and Riding: Sliced Iguana on a bun? Anyone?

When I have a thick book or hard read to get through while riding my bike, I take occasional mental breaks by reading something that’s not such a hard slog.

At present, Sliced Iguana - Travels in Unknown Mexico fits the bill.


Though I haven’t reached the part that explains the title (iguana on a bun, on melba toast, or in a stew?) I have learned a few things about Mexico and the downside of mankind’s control-taking nature.

About seafaring Spaniards that changed the face and heart of the New World, Isabella writes:

“Everything foreign, unfamiliar or inexplicable, however beautiful and benign looking, must be regarded as suspicious and potentially life-threatening, something to be tamed and exorcized... it had to be civilized, to be made European.”

So the Spaniards worked hard at “bringing the landscape under control, making it look and work as much like Europe as possible.”

Wide swaths of environmental destruction followed, leaving me with two thoughts:

“We still put far more energy into destruction of our surroundings than reparations.”

“Surely, the iguana’s going to get sliced any minute now.”

***

We still have lots to learn. Sliced Iguana, by Isabella Tree. Very interesting so far.

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Great Quotes 2008: “Speak your mind, even if...”

My favourite quotes from 2008 were posted in two earlier posts [link to Favourite Quotes Part 2] and I thought their messages were important enough to warrant mention in my recent weekly column.

Due to the holidays email from readers was down a bit. (Yeah, that’s it. The fact I recycled material from six previous columns had nothing to do with it).


So, I was happy that Christy left this comment:

I saw this on a bumper sticker on our trip home - "Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes."

Folks. If you feel passionate about something, you have to say so.

I’d listen.

***

Live small. Love your neighbour. Pursue a simple life. Blaze a new trail.

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Dear Anne Landerz: Is my wife trying to kill me?

Dear Anne,

My wife of 38 years cooks supper most evenings, which I truly appreciate - most evenings - but always leaves the leftover food on top of the stove to cool off while we’re eating.

This bugs me because, later, while I’m doing dishes, I think to myself: “How long has that meat pie been cooling out in the open? Won’t deadly bacteria start to grow if it’s not put in the fridge right after serving supper? Is Pat trying to kill me to collect the life insurance?”

Signed, Feeling a Bit Whoozy

Dear Whoozy,

You’ve been married for 38 years? She does this most evenings? And you’re not dead yet?

Get a life. When she starts leaving the milk out write back.

Anne Landerz

***

Weigh in, folks.

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Number 1 Hit Single: i don’t need

Everybody sing:

i don’t need
anything but you

i don’t need a cell phone to talk to you
don’t need a big screen TV to see me through
don’t need designer jeans to make me a purty boy
just need you across from me
in your favourite chair.

i don’t need to take a trip to Spain
don’t need a journey by car or jet plane


don’t need folks waiting on me to feel content
just need you asleep beside me
at the end of day.

i don’t need a fancy car to drive around
don’t need a name known all over town
don’t need fat RRSPs in the piggy bank
just need you to laugh with me
while dancing in the kitchen.

i don’t need
anything but you.

gah

***

If this blog gets too predictable you just let me know.

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A love of recreational hockey runs in the family

Part 1

The following email just arrived from my 37-year old son who resides in Fenelon Falls [and you’re dead right... I don’t look old enough to have a son that age]:

Hey, Dad!

Finally got into a league in Cannington (25 mins from Fenelon). They play on Thursday nights and I would be playing for the sponsored Pefferlaw team at $250 for the season, which is a steal!

Here's the catch - I just made the tryouts for the Kawartha Old Boys (35+ league out of Fenelon) and they're a great bunch of above average players with a penchant for quality ale...

...I remember what I said to you when you retired ...

If I was retired I would play hockey all the time!    

Keepin' you updated!

Love, Dave


["Play hockey all the time.": photo link]

In other communications with Dave I learned how hard a time he had finding a league.

And I know he loves to play.

When he visits London on a day I’m playing he brings his hockey equipment and, for a small nominal fee, gets 100 per cent enjoyment out of hitting the ice with me and 25 - 30 other rec players.

[Is hockey in your blood too? How did it get there?]

Good for him, I thought.

I typed a response. Stay tuned.

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Nature Bats Last: A blog that will raise a few eyebrows

In my last post I mentioned a comment from theresa and in it she mentioned three blogs that she follows, one of which was entitled Nature Bats Last.

I checked it out first because the name reminds me of a quote by Barry Commoner (I’ve mentioned it more than once, sorry) that Dr. R. Nielsen used to introduce chapter 1 (Environmental Degradation) in The Little Green Handbook:

“Sooner or later, wittingly or unwittingly, we must pay for every intrusion on the natural environment.”

Today’s post at NBL is entitled “Crash course” and reviews two (of several) comments made related to the supply of oil.

A comment made by one man almost made my hair curl - after I raised both eyebrows and spit into the wind.


["Drill, drill, drill!"]

I’ll check out the other two later.

But first, I have to towel off.

Check out NBL. Tell me what you think.

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Zoom w a View: Water, water everywhere but not a drop of...

Quick. How does that line end?

You might have to be my age to remember.

Both teachers and students of photography, however, will find it easy to share their camera work (or play) with others after following a few simple instructions posted at Written Inc.

Carmi's theme this week at Thematic Photographic, relates to - water. (Not Quik)

Below: My son and grandson in the water at Fenelon Falls


Next, grandson Jack tells me about the one that got away


Water and sand make beautiful music together



Click here for more Zoom w a View.

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It Strikes me Funny: Don’t wear curlers or Argyle socks during the Olympics

The Olympics begin shortly and Beijing residents have been given an etiquette booklet to help them greet the world in appropriate style.

For example, the booklet advises against the following (among other things):

“(wearing) too many colours, white socks with black shoes and parading in pajamas.” [Full article - click here]

In my opinion the booklet should have gone further and addressed all nations in an attempt to rid the world of a multitude of sins.

E.G. No one should wear Bermuda shorts with Argyle socks to the knee unless the Olympics are held in Bermuda or Argyll, Scotland.

No one should be seen outdoors wearing curlers and a tattered housecoat.


Or indoors.

Whereas Beijing residents have been instructed not to “ask foreigners their age, marital status, income...”, everyone should refrain from asking:

“Do you like my new haircut?”

“Do you think these jeans fit?”

Anything else?

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Motorcycle Miles: Out of the cage and into the ditch to wax poetic

I once said that bikers of all stripes enjoy soaring outside the cage.

In other words - we like traveling on the open road outside the protective confines of a car.

As well, I occasionally joke about the lure of motorcycling:

“I like to feel the wind blowing through what’s left of my hair.”

And you’ll often catch me on my bike with a camera because I can easily stop for a few minutes at the side of the road or in the middle of a bridge to enjoy a view one would seldom see from behind the wheel of a car.


after stepping off the bike
and into a common roadside ditch
I saw a burst of spring,
stood on a green floor of unfurled leaves,
then smelled a breeze
uncommon to my city senses.


Click here for more Motorcycle Miles.

Reading Books, Riding Bikes: Buried in Killing Power and Cheap Food

I read while riding a recumbent bike in the basement and though I’d like to say I’m learning and staying lean at the same time I’d only be half right.

Cycling makes me hungry and soon after I dump sweaty clothes in front of the washing machine I open the door of the fridge and look for replacement fluids, especially in the shape of a can of Guinness.

The following is from The Little Green Handbook (TLGH), one of two or three books I dip into several times per week:

“Between 1989 and 1993 about 100 million pistols, revolvers and rifles were sold through US-approved commercial channels to Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico and Peru.”


After several mathematical calculations I learned that, if annual sales remained the same, another 350 million light weapons would have been sold since then - by the US alone. Many other countries sell vast numbers of weapons, of all kinds.

TLGH is a book that outlines seven trends shaping the future of our planet and ‘Conflicts and Increasing Killing Power’ is one of those trends. What a blast.

In The Omnivore’s Dilemma I read of another disturbing trend:

“Of course the problems of our food system are very different - if anything, it produces too much food, not too little, or too much of the wrong food.” pg. 257, Michael Pollan

Why so many bullets and burgers?

When time allows, link to the two books; see “Recommended reading”, side panel.]

[On the lighter side, also see Cartoon in Progress at Four Mugs and a Crock]

Deforest City Blues: Will my boys move back before I sweep out the garage?

Yes, I worry a bit about my adult sons moving back home.

I’m not too old to step up to the plate during hard times but I feel more attached to the food and cold beers in the fridge now that they’ve had their own homes for a few years.


Read about some of the reasons why more adult children are moving back home. You might have to sweep out your garage too one day soon. Good luck with that.

[My most recent column in The Londoner]

Monday Memoirs: I started out small but could grow hair with the best of them

[Please, write your own memoirs on Monday and let me know; they will provide others with something to talk about when you’re not there.]

I don’t remember the ride home from the hospital after I was born but my old birth certificate reads: Birthplace - Woodstock General Hospital. September 18, 1949. Canada.


[I was given this bracelet at Woodstock General so I wouldn't get mixed up with the Garrison twins]

My mother later told me that I was born on a Sunday, weighed over 8 pounds (still do) and was called Gorgeous George by the nurses (not any more) because I had a healthy head of thick hair (gone).

Once Mom, Dad and I got back to the house in Burgessville I was introduced to two older sisters and sent to my room. I was fed on a regular basis and developed a taste for homemade desserts after being fed mud pies by one of the girls.

At breakfast one morning I discovered I was rather witty.

“Eat your crusts,” I was told by Mother. “There are children in India who don’t even have that much.”

“If the children in India like crusts they can have them,” I replied cheerfully, and pushed them in her direction.

I was again sent to my room.

So I went to my blackboard and drew a picture of an Indian. As I recall it was almost an exact likeness to one on the back of a nickel. I was quite impressed.

My mother was also a talented artist and entered contests, a few of which she won. Our first TV was a prize Mother won by drawing the Blue Bonnet margarine girl. I saw her original picture and noticed it was much more detailed than my Indian. I worked hard to improve my artistic ability.


And I think I’m getting better.

[Read about the recent running exploits of The Crock at Four Mugs and a Crock]

Book Review: Like to Eat? The Omnivore’s Dilemma a ‘must read’

I’m reading three books at the same time, four if I count the one I peek at during TV commercials that concerns Bob Dylan’s big song, Like a Rolling Stone, and though The Little Green Handbook by R. Neilsen is loaded with amazing facts, figures and charts [U.S. military budget is 42 % of gov’t spending and rising, education is less than 7%] I spend most of my time with my nose in The Omnivore’s Dilemma.

I’m on page 219, slightly over halfway through the very readable text, and getting an alarming and long-overdue education about our continent’s over-reliance on corn and industrial-sized, fossil-fuel-driven farming practices that debase humans, animals and our ecological surroundings. [And it’s true. If factory farms had glass walls many of us would never eat beef, pork or chicken again.]

But I’m also learning about how farming can be a very innovative, rewarding and environmentally friendly vocation or life.


For example, author Michael Pollan spends time on a family farm that cultivates grasses, mainly dependent on free sunlight, that in turn support the healthy growth of a wide variety of animals and by-products.

Chickens team up with cows to manage the grass and replenish the soil, chickens and rabbits team up to provide a unique cash crop, turkeys keep grape vines in tip-top shape, pigs turn cow patties and grass into free, rich compost, and together with a farmer who knows more about plants and animals than 20 factory farmers put together forms an enterprise that rewards the land rather than kills it.

Read the following quote and tell me where the author was at the time - a factory farm or grass farm.

“Unfolding here before us, I realized, was a most impressive form of alchemy: cow patties in the process of being transformed into exceptionally tasty eggs.”

I recommend the book highly to anyone who wants to eat healthy food and leave the air, water and land in good condition for future generations.

[Check Recommended Reading in the right hand panel for a link to an even better book review and go to Motorcycle Miles to read a bit about my next adventure.]

Men Are From Mars: Women are from Venus or farther away than that

I noticed my wife’s iron on the stove after finishing a hefty-sized plate of mac and cheese and piece of toast covered with a three berry spread that tasted like some kind of industrial lubricant and thought, Pat and I are complete opposites.

I grabbed the tea kettle from the nearest burner and reflected: She dutifully irons her clothes every day, even if we’re just walking three blocks to the Little Red Roaster in order to have coffee with the same people we’ll see for the next 30 years, warts, mussed-up hair, wrinkles and all, and I haven’t used one for 15 years.

I think I stopped ironing my clothes about two seconds after realizing nobody cares a toot how many wrinkles are in my shirt so neither should I.

But my wife cares.

She sets up the ironing board every morning about the same time my alarm goes off, heats up the iron while I’m catching the first bit of news on CBC radio (“Oil prices fluctuated yesterday causing economists to suggest Canadians should sell their big homes and move in with their parents. Now, over to Sports.”) and presses yesterday’s wrinkles into oblivion as I’m taking my first steps of the day.


She wants to look her best. I want to reach the bathroom without wetting my pants.

She unplugs the iron and puts it on the stove to cool down. I turn on the shower and hope she’s left me hot water.

She picks my clothes off the floor near the foot of the bed and I plunge her hair out of the drain so the water rising in the tub doesn’t touch my ankles.

Miraculously, though we approach wrinkles in two completely different ways, we reach the front door ready for coffee at about the same time.

[More news, even better than CBC radio, at Four Mugs and a Crock]

Monday Memoirs: The Early Years - I hear I was just a kid

My oldest sister is writing her memoirs and she isn’t even dead yet.

Is that legal?

I’m told it is. Especially if you’re just an average person and don’t have someone following you around town, scribbling notes about your activities or speaking quietly into a tiny tape recorder whenever you do something significant (e.g. “he’s pouring his morning coffee”; “he just added milk and brown sugar, thinking it's healthier than white, which it isn't”; “for Pete's sake, he just poured orange juice onto his cereal again”).


My sister recently said I should write my own memoirs too. She thought I’d have fun recalling long-past events and memories of myself and others.

I thought, she must think I'm average!

Shortly thereafter, however, I realized I am as average as the next guy, maybe even averager, and no one else is going to write a fat volume about my so-called life once I’ve kicked the bucket or slipped through the immortal veil or tripped over the mortal coil or simply skipped the light fandango (whatever that is).

Though I call this new project ‘Monday Memoirs’ I started today because I’m travelling to my oldest sister’s home tomorrow and won’t be home ‘til Tuesday.

She said she wants to tell me about the time she was three and a half.