cross it off the list 3

With some fear and trepidation I delivered a wee boat to a friend yesterday. Fear, not because it looked a bit like a wooden shoe (I could just say, "Actually it's the other way 'round. Wooden shoes look like my boat.") but because it was several months late.

Not to fear. My friend guessed what was in my backpack before I unwrapped the prize and loved it. Loved it and held it to his chest, reminding me of a young boy who still lived inside.

I bicycled home 50 pounds lighter, minus a few ounces for the boat.

This morning I happily crossed one more item off my list.

Photos by GH

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Please click here to read boat ready for delivery

cross it off the list

The note in my wallet, originally written in pencil several months ago (perhaps a year ago), was so faded when I found it the other day I could barely read it. But when I did I felt a hammer hit me in the middle of the chest. Don F. I'm very sorry.

["I deciphered it and wrote over it in pen"]

A friend wanted a particular type of birdhouse (one with a Coke machine and old radio out front, with wooden and metal signage on the sides) and a wooden boat that would remind him of one he had as a child. He'd even shown me a black and white photo of himself, as a five or six year old, clutching one of his favourite toys. The thought of that photo hit me in the middle of the chest as well.

Yesterday I got down on my hands and knees in the shop and reached under one of my benches for four pieces of lumber I'd been saving - for the boat - for far too long. I put the best piece on the bench and wondered about some type of plan. How do I go about this, I said to myself?

I don't have a plan or my friend's photo. But I've made a beginning and am wondering, when I finish, if I should deliver it in person, with the deepest of apologies, or leave it on his porch under the cover of darkness?

Photos by GH

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Please click here to read add it to the list 3

Rare Family Photos: "Friends past and present"

My sister Lannie Dee has remained fast friends for over 60 years with one of the girls in the attached photo, circa 1949. The quality and duration of the friendship makes this black and white, taken beside Main St., Norwich, a rare one indeed.

Knowing my sister (front row, left), she likely had these kids organized into a well-oiled work party. They would likely have been told to climb the fence behind them and dig in the dirt. And Lannie is holding the only spoon.

"Follow me, Dave (Dave Croft, front row, middle). Come on, Carroll (Carroll Butler, life-long friend, front row, far right). You too, Murray (Murray Butler, back left). I don't know you other two girls but you come too."

And I bet they were all soon making another big mound of dirt upon which to play 'King (likely Queen) of the Castle', next door to the Norwich Presbyterian Church and our great-uncle Arthur's house. To this day Lannie probably has the same spoon in the kitchen drawer.

Photo of photo by GH

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Do you have old photos from Norwich, Ontario?

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Short Story PT 1: "Where are you, Joe?"

I think I know why - not how - an idea popped into my head today and I'm glad I stopped what I was doing long enough to write myself a note: 'Finding Joe Umenetz (yearbook)'. I hadn't thought of Joe Umenetz for 43 years. I guess conditions were right.

Conditions:

I added a coat of white wash to several log cabin birdhouses in my small workshop

I ripped four strips of MDF board and clouds of fine dust floated in the air

I breathed some of it into my lungs before I opened the door and turned on the fan

I listened to the 5 p.m. news on CBC radio about a possible teachers' strike

I opened a bottle of Scotch ale because 5 p.m. is Happy Hour

I thought back to my year at Teachers' College

And then Joe Umenetz came to mind. I thought, I wonder where he is? And I made a 'note to self'.

Here's what I know about Joe: He has a tricky last name and I may be spelling it wrong. He's my age. He was someone I got along with at London Teachers' College in 1969 - 1970. He wrote a funny piece of prose - something about a lion swimming after a boat - in the back of my college yearbook. He was quirky (Did Joe live 'The Life of Pi'?) and I've always liked quirky. He was a clever cookie.

I think it will be interesting to try to find Joe and see if he remembers me at all. For starters I'll try to locate my college yearbook and check the spelling of his name. Then I'll try to find his phone number.

Anything else I could or should do?

Photo by GH

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If I can find Joe I will have a fine conclusion to this great short story.

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Ollie and Me: Say “sneeze burgers”

Because I see Ollie more than my other grandchildren I will say we have bonded the best. And though my wife is his primary babysitter I take him for bike rides whenever she needs a break.

This afternoon, while I pedalled and Ollie relaxed in his bike trailer, I caught myself saying, “It doesn’t get much better than this, Gordie.”

[“Say ‘sneeze burgers’, Ollie’.” And he did.]

[“You get in the back seat, Grandpa, and I’ll drive.”]

[Ollie likes the cannons at the Fork of the Thames]

[At Thames Park Ollie spotted pieces of quartz]

I’m hoping our good relationship will last through his teen years (maybe he’ll take to me to see ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Captain Jack Retires at 65’] and he’ll willingly volunteer to bike me to the local coffee shop (in an adult trailer with a/c) when I’m in my 90s.

What are the odds?

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to view more Ollie and Me

   

Ollie and Me: Ten minutes with The Supremes

I was searching Google Images yesterday for a picture of The Supremes. “Where Did Our Love Go?’ (from YouTube) was playing on my computer.

Grandson Ollie heard the song, entered my study and studied the screen with me during a sweet ten minute visit.


["I know where some of my love goes": photo GH]

“Who are they?” he asked as the music played.

Where does one begin?

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Please click here for more Ollie and Me and the next Elvis.

.

fire

together, we
can walk through fire.

alone, oft times
not,

because the strike
of a match
alone
can be too much.

gah

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context


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Old time hockey players are tough hombres, maybe more

A friend just emailed with some tough news, but for him, not for me.

His message actually made me laugh.

He’s a good defenceman (sometimes goalie) and I won’t have to face him during our fifty-plus hockey games for a few weeks.

He wrote:

Hi GAH. I finally had my thumb checked out this morning and I have a broken bone that will prevent me from playing hockey for awhile.  The hard splint really limits mobility. 

The doctor was quite surprised that it happened 19 days ago and that I was just now getting it checked out. I explained that old time hockey players, especially aspiring goalies, are tough hombres. Signed, RA


[“Tough hombres, Christmas a.m. run: Reg, David (son), David, Bill, RA, GAH (kneeling)]

I replied:

Your email really made me laugh. 'Tough hombres' is right. That's a good one. 

Plus, I'm sometimes reluctant to see a doctor because I'm pretty sure he'll find more than one problem, and give me a lecture.

Drop over to the workshop anytime; cold beer in the fridge.

I’m usually pretty chintzy with my beer, but he’s suffering enough, eh.

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