Fun and Fitness: Keep on truckin'

After a day of driving last Sunday I felt too tired to sit on the exercise bike for even 45 minutes - all I needed was 11.0 mi. to set a new record - so I settled. Settled for 89.5 miles instead of 100 for the week.

This past week, however, I stayed closer to home and - as of today - I've collected 114.5 miles or points. I kept on truckin' last Monday, covered 40.5 miles on the exercise bike (read a good chunk of another good book too: details to follow), so this week got off to a very good start.

I'm on the road today, probably won't have the energy to ride or walk later tonight but I bet I'll have pep in my legs Monday for another long haul.

Keep on truckin', I say.

Photo by GH

***

Please click here for more Fun and Fitness

Fun and Fitness: Spicy food vs extra miles

I decided upon two goals for last week and hit them both.

“Eat less spicy food” - check.

“Set another land speed record” - check.

All I had to do to achieve the first goal was to say ‘no’ several times. And to achieve the second I had to pedal 17 miles last night on my exercise bike. I covered 32 and pushed my Extra Miles to a new record (N.R.).

Did I have fun? Yes. I watched the London Knights beat the Rangers 4 - 3. 

Am I as fit as a fiddle? Define fiddle.

Photo by GH

***

Did you set a new land speed record last week?

Please click here for more Fun and Fitness

It Strikes Me Funny: “Who’s calling?”

I provide deluxe accommodation for backyard birds. Front porches, and flags so they know in which country they’ve landed.

And once I string wire upon the telephone pole behind the model below, birds will be allowed to call friends long distance.

(Within limits, of course).

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny

It Strikes Me Funny: Nubs - not just a guy thing

It’s not just a guy thing at our house, where I live with my wife, and I’m sure men and women do this around the world. I.e., we add stuff to a mustard bottle that is almost empty, then give it a shake. It’s as natural as breathing.

I made a sandwich for lunch today and as I assembled materials I noticed the Horseradish Dijon Mustard was almost empty but there were tasty and valuable nubs stuck to the bottom of the jar. 

Quick as a flash I added a dash of Heinz Prepared Mustard and a pinch of apple cider to the Dijon nubs and gave the bottle a hearty shake. And four thoughts crossed my mind simultaneously: Fun and fitness, tastier sandwich, saved a penny, my folks would be proud.

Whatever else you think about your upbringing, the following is true: You can drive all the way to China or see the world from all sides, but as soon as you go to make a sandwich you’ll be reminded of home and someone who taught you to use the nubs.

And it’s not just a guy thing, is it?

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny 

Ollie and Me: “The lamb chops were impossibly thick”

Yesterday my heart was warmed by the knowledge grandson Ollie missed me while I was away recently. We cuddled up with a good book (’60 Impossible Things to do Before Lunch’) soon after he arrived for the day.

Before I closed the book I added my own story.

“Last Friday I ate three lamb chops for supper on the train. Really. I know it sounds impossible, but they were this thick!”

[Home Sweet Home: Photos by P. Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Ollie and Me.

.

The Lite News: Do you “feel naked without your cellphone?”

Who knew?

Almost 40 per cent of cellphone users in Canada have a new disorder - the missing mobile disorder. (MMD for insiders and those with sweaty palms but no cell).


Good grief! Where have I been, man?

I have ‘order disorder’ (I’d like to have a neater desk but I get distracted easily).

I have ‘the rescuer’ gene. (I see a pile of scrap lumber on the curb or boulevard. My car stops).

And I suffer from ‘short guy on defence complex.’ (I see a hockey player taller than me and I want to slash him with my stick).

But, and this is a big but, I don’t have MMD - because I don’t own a cellphone. Don’t want one. Never will.

Especially after reading the following:

“Nearly four in 10 report being overwhelmed with physical and emotional symptoms when completely disconnected." (e.g., they flushed their cell down the toilet)

“Respondents report increased heart rates, nausea and panic - and even feeling naked.” (June 7, London Free Press)

What? Nikked?

I admit, I feel the first three symptoms after I slash a big guy on the ice and he starts to chase me - but never starkers (i.e., without every last piece of my hockey gear).

I can understand that 12 per cent of Canadians have dropped their devices in a lake, ocean pool or the toilet. After all, many people are at the same time on their cellphone and close to water, sometimes standing right in it (except maybe the toilet, but I have no stats on that one), every single minute of the day and night.

But naked?

Get a grip, people.

***

I think I’ll stick to sending emails.

My gosh!!! I just dropped my computer into the loo!!

Ha! Just kidding.

Please click here for more Lite news.

.

Port Bruce: The birdhouse capital of Southern Ontario

I can’t say capital of the universe, free world, even the whole province of Ontario because my various travels, though extensive, haven’t taken in all of the locales where birdhouses are displayed.


["Three martin houses, spotted on County Rd. 24": photos GH]

However, while riding to Pt. Bruce yesterday (yes, yet again), the thought dawned inside my little round head that, per capita, Pt. Bruce may have more birdhouses than any other place in - at the very least - Southern Ontario.


["Half-way down the hill at the entrance to Pt. Bruce"]

More than you can shake a stick at.


["Steps from the Pt. Bruce beach"]

Now, Southern Ontario is bounded by Toronto to the east, Windsor to the west and Greenoch Swamp to the north (at least according to my maps) so it’s a huge area - home to more swamps than worth mentioning here - and in all my years (I’d count them out aloud for you but it would take almost forever) I’ve never come across a spot with more birdhouses perched on poles, fence posts or tree limbs.


["This birdhouse is 90 miles from Cleveland"]

Or stumps or fence rails. Or tacked to a shed.

If you can prove me wrong you just go ahead and try.

***

PS

Greenoch Swamp is a real place, about 50 km SW of Dornoch.

And, so I'm told, Dornoch is best known for the production of metal clappers that people attach to their front doors for when company comes.

Noch, noch.

.

I wonder if it’s about the money? Pt 2

Money matters. Apparently, so does our long-form census.

It’s in all the news. It’s not going away.

In an earlier post I stated “maybe our Prime Minister realizes Canada is headed for the poor house,” and that affected his decision about the census. You know, stop producing the penny and stop sending out all those census forms - to save money.

I don’t know if PM Harper has the census under his microscope because it’s an ideological issue as some of his critics say.

To them I say, it may be an ideological issue in part.

It may also be a financial issue in part.

It may be because the Pm is vindictive and small-minded and ornery in part.


["Other- 5%? Let me see. Contrariness?"]

It may be all those things and more.

I wish there was a machine that spit out percentages when an issue came up and it worked like this:

Ideology - 32%

Financial concerns - 28%

Vindictiveness - 12%

Small-mindedness - 8%

Asleep at the switch - 8%

Indigestion - 7%

Other - 5%

The machine would really help.

Until it’s invented, however, we’ll have to make due with lots of discussion, and I’ll continue to speculate that money is involved because money matters and it’s getting tight.

***

What could ‘Other - 5%’ be? Now I’m curious.

.

Life on the channel : Without a boat

In the previous post I mentioned that every time I come to Fenelon Falls I see boats that I'd like to own.

My wife has a different point of view.

I took the following four pictures today and showed them to her.


"I love this boat. Can I buy it?" I asked.

She said, "Settle down."


"How about this one?"

"Settle down."


This one?"

"Settle down."


[Photos of four lovely boats by GAH]

"Okay. How about this last one?" I finally asked.

"Please. Settle down," she said.

If I could settle down I'd settle down on a boat.

***

keep your dreams alive

.

It Strikes Me Funny: How do you spell ‘delectable?’

My wife and I just returned from The Little Red Roaster in Wortley Village and I’m 5 minutes away from writing a very serious post, i.e., ‘How to save 10 bucks a week for tough times ahead.’

But first, something was mentioned during our first normal conversation of the day that I have to put down before I forget.

(We had earlier conversations [“What day is this? Who are you?” “Coffee?”] but they don’t apply here.)

While sipping our coffees two women in their mid-seventies rose behind us to leave.


["Delicious or delectable. You be the judge."]

Their departure triggered a memory. True story.

One of my wife’s friends overheard two grey-haired ladies talking about me one day and told her the following:

One said to the other, “That young man has such a delectable personality.”

When I first heard this story I said to my wife, “I can understand ‘delicious’... but ‘delectable?’ What do you think?”

Unfortunately, my wife had a mouthful of coffee at the time.

I have the stained shirt in my closet to prove it.

***

So, delicious or delectable?

Seriously, I think both are dead funny.

.

Dear Mr. Tim Hortons Pt 2: What the heck?

As sure as I am that the sun will rise in the east tomorrow morning and pots of Tim Hortons coffee in St. John’s, Newfoundland will be among the first in Canada to reach an even boil, I’m sure many readers will think I’ll get absolutely no where in search of the truth about my favourite do-nut - the all-fine-all-the-time Canadian Maple.

But, one or two will surely enjoy the fact that I’m at least stirring the ol’ coffee pot.

(Oh yeh. See Pt 1 for details)

After all, it’s summer time, it’s hot and somebody has to do it.

Here’s what I want to find out:




["In Morrisburg, Ont. my fav do-nut is proudly called Canadian Maple": photos GH]

Why isn’t the Canadian Maple do-nut (Mmmm. Warm. Succulent. Filled with creamy goodness. Covered with real Canadian Maple icing. Zero calories. You know what I’m talking about.) called Canadian Maple in the province of Quebec?

Why is it called Erable du Boston in Quebec and sitting beside a lonely tray of Creme du Boston do-nuts?

Do Tim Horton stores in Quebec get their maple syrup from Boston?

Isn’t Quebec a huge producer of maple syrup?

Isn’t Quebec a part of Canada?

Has Quebec separated from Canada?

Is it now a part of Boston, i.e., like a northern suburb?

Here’s how I’m going to find out, or, at least try to find out.

I’m going to contact Tim Hortons head office as well as the contact address in Quebec.

Then I’m going to wait for the truth.

Because I need the truth.

We all need the truth.

***

Yes, I am having fun, but the pursuit of truth can be fun at times, can’t it?

Hey, you write to them too. We’ll compare notes.

PS

My emails are in the mail. So, I’ve got a head start.

.

Dear Mr. Tim Hortons: What the heck?

Recently, while visiting the Sauble River and town of Paisley area of the world (NW of Deforest City, Ontario) with kayaks strapped to the roof of a friend’s van, I ordered one of my favourite Canadian maple do-nuts at a Tim Hortons coffee shop.

Guess what it was called at the shop near Paisley.


["How can you not love this do-nut... and its name?": photo GH]

Canadian Maple, of course. That’s what it’s called all across Canada, and likely in the US as well, because people in the US know about Canada. Many Americans even like Canada and Canadians.

Wait. I lied. My fav do-nut is not called the Canadian Maple in Quebec. In that province it is called Erable du Boston and sits in a lonely tray right beside Creme du Boston.


(I'm not fibbing here).

To find out more about this terrible slight I am going to compose a masterful letter and send it to Mister Tim Horton himself, even though Tim is dead.

I have to know what’s going on around here.

Don’t Quebecers like the taste of Canadian Maple? The sound of the name?

Has Quebec separated from the rest of Canada?

What gives?

***

Maybe you already know what’s going on around here.

What’s the scoop?

.

It’s raining, it’s pouring, this old man is snoring

Just after I stepped out of the shower Gary called.

I was expecting his call and hoping to hear certain words.

(Gary is the organizer and driver for our Mon. - Wed. camping and kayaking trip. So that the sound of embarrassment wouldn’t be heard in my voice while we talked I quickly grabbed a towel).

“Gord, have you looked outside yet?” he said.

“No, but I heard a lot of thunder at about 7 o’clock. What’s the word?”

(Come on, come on. Gimme the word. The right word.)


["Oh, I love the water, but...": photo GH]

“I think we need to postpone...”

That was the word. I was so tired when I woke up this morning.

Why?

Halifax trip. Fenelon Falls trip. Too much sun last week. Too much food and drink. Motorcycling yesterday. In the sun all day. Didn’t sleep well last night because I forgot to put Noxzema on by burn.

“...postpone the trip until later. You okay with that?”

“Stink. That’s too bad. (I know. I’m a wiener.) You did a lot of planning for us. What are your thoughts about going later?”

“Well, I’ll check the weather and get back to you,” Gary said.

(I’ll be sleeping, I said to myself. Send me a letter).

“Okay. Too bad we have to put things off. (I know. Wienerville. I should be the mayor.) I look forward to the call.”

Really, if it wasn’t for the coffee I made before stepping into the shower, I’d be dead to the world right now. And snoring a happy tune.

***

So, are you still sleeping?

I envy you.

.

Without consistency and good spelling I am nothing

I don’t know how you find summer (I just step onto my porch every June 21st... and there it is!) but long trips and summer vacations get me out of my routine.

Though the two-week long trip to Halifax was one I’ll never forget (It will likely lead to a best-selling book, I’ll become famous, and Brad Pitt will want the title role in a future block-buster. And who could blame him?) my writing projects for the last several weeks have been all over the map.


["The setting for a week of much fun in the sun": photos GH]

Last week I spent my days enjoying the sun and one torrential rain storm in Fenelon Falls with my sons and their wives and energetic children.

My posts ‘from far away’ were all over the map too. I even included one about mud birdhouses from a week-ago trip to Port Burwell.


["One rain-day meant no fat cheeseburgers for supper. That hurt."]

Sorry, but my brain was mushy and Ollie slept and played in the computer room and my sons were jumping off the dock and, as I said earlier, summer vacations mess up my routine.

Really, without consistency and good spelling I am nothing.

However, I don’t look as pale as a package of supermarket chicken wings anymore because my tan is coming along well.


["The rain quieted the neighbour's boat"]

So well in fact, I’ve had to apply several layers of Noxzema just to get some sleep.

(Don’t you love the smell of that stuff, and how it takes the sting out of your skin, or at least helps you fall asleep long enough to forget it’s summer - when the sun is really hot - and you over-did outdoorsy things just a tad?)

Now that I’m home from Fenelon Falls, I sure will be happy to get back to a consistent routine in about four more days, i.e., after a kayaking/camping trip in the Sauble River area (Mon. - Wed. a.m.) and Wednesday’s hockey game.

Until then, pass the Noxzema and be ready for anything.

***

How do other world-famous writer’s do it?

Just cancel summer trips and vacations altogether?

Have a body-double to go jump in the lake?

.

The New Age of Austerity: I can't escape it, even during a snap vacation

On Monday (at my wife's insistence, of course), I loaded the car for a snap vacation (Geez, anything to escape Deforest City's heat and humidity!) and posts about austerity abruptly ended.

(I think it was during such a heat wave that a local writer - short, good-looking; you know the drill - in our boiling city coined the well-known phrase 'I would have got here sooner but I was stuck to the vinyl seats in my van.')

However, the last thing I threw into the back seat was Monday's London Free Press and as soon as I opened it I realized no one will escape The New Age of Austerity.

(It may be a big, long, important age. Note the capital letters!)

Monday's headline: What a watery waste.

Though knee deep in water in Fenelon Falls I learned that Ontarians who draw water from the Great Lakes 'are wasting more than 580 billion litres a year' for four reasons.


["Waste not, want not": photos GH]

A recent report suggests we could conserve by doing the following:

- 213 billion litres (a third of the amount listed) by using high-efficiency toilets

- 162 billion by upgrading old washing machines

- 138 billion by reducing lawn watering and buying drought-resistant plants

- 65 billion by using low-flow showerheads

And in my opinion we're just scratching the surface.


["It only looks like we're surrounded by water at times"]

Really, no mention was made of the amount we use washing our cars or rinsing the driveway afterward, taking long showers, keeping golf courses and other sport fields lush or despoiling through the use of pesticides and other toxic chemicals.

Perhaps we should consider the following ideas before The New Age makes them mandatory:

- install a high-efficiency toilet, washing machine and showerhead

- wash the car only on your wedding day

- check out the price of composting toilets, then install one and use it regularly

- forget the grass and plant periwinkle

- play golf the way it was meant to be played, in rough conditions in the Scottish Highlands with a sheep-skin ball filled with your wife's hair (or husband's, if you play for the LPGA)

(Really, we're so spoiled today. If we see a weed we seek a better lie).

***

Tell me these ideas won't save water and fit in with austerity measures.

.

Ollie and Me: He speaks with a foreign accent but I'm OK with that

Ollie, with parents in tow, arrived in Fenelon Falls yesterday - and in the heat of the day.

Within 30 seconds or less all assembled jumped into the lake - Ollie for the first time.

He took to the water like a duck.

In the afternoon a friendly neighbour came by for a visit and asked Ollie how old he was.

"Fo-a," said Ollie.

"When is your birthday?' asked the neighbour.

Ollie said, "Decemba."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," said the neighbour.

"Decemba," repeated Ollie.


["I was born on a dark and stormy night - in Decemba": photo GH]

Someone inexperienced with Ollie's background might take points off for spelling or poor pronunciation but I know he got it right, English accent added.

His grand-parents, on his mother's side, are English-Canadians and have passed on a few British genes and an old soccer jersey from Manchester.

About Ollie's accent: I love it. It makes me laugh.

And it reminds me of the following experience, related to accents, from my teaching days.

Anna M., from Romania, and without a word of Canadian-English to her name, entered my Gr. 5 class after Christmas break while I taught at a London elementary school in the late 1980s.

I knew my class well by then and sat her beside Patricia Perreira, top female student in my class, and within 30 seconds (in the same amount of time it takes a gaggle of Harrisons to jump ino the lake on a hot day) Patricia was helping Anna with my instructions and important points related to classroom and school policy.

Within the week Anna felt more comfortable in her new surroundings and Patricia had more objects labelled with flashcards than any other classroom in the school - or gaggle of schools.

Though I didn't call on Anna for much information during her early days in my room, I did notice she was picking up new words everyday.

And without knowing it, she gave me my best laugh during that school year.

Because Anna was the only Romanian-Canadian I ever met who spoke Canadian-English with a Portuguese accent.

***

Will Ollie speak English-Canadian or Canadian-English?

I'm not sure, but I'll always love his accent.

.

Snap Holiday (for only my wife's benefit, of course) Pt 2

My wife is so relaxed right now. She hasn't mentioned London's heat and humidity for the last 3 minutes.

She's enjoying her grand-daughters.

She's enjoying a cool breeze off the lake.

She's enjoying having her family around her.

She's happy I was once a Boy Scout and learned one camping rule very well, i.e., leave the campsite neater than you found it.

I apply that rule to visits with my oldest son's family in Fenelon Falls.

After I wake up I make my bed. After I brush my teeth I put the toothpaste away. After I make toast and dirty a dish I shake the crumbs out of the toaster and wash the dishes. If a full scale inspection of the house was done no one would even know I was there. My wife likes that about me.

Today, after my younger son arrived I slipped outside so the boys and their wives could connect. Again, I was almost completely invisible.


["What a great view from the quiet upper deck": photo GH]

Yes, almost.

"Where's Dad?" I overheard my youngest son ask.

"I'm not sure," said my oldest son.

"Did he go out for breakfast?"

"He might have. I don't see any dirty dishes," said the oldest.

"Will he be here for supper?"

"He doesn't usually miss supper. And he does all the dishes too."

"Hey," said my youngest. "Two bottles of Lancaster Bomber are missing from the beer fridge. Did you take them?"


["If I open it quietly, will anyone notice?"]

"No," said my oldest. "Dad must be close by then."

Drat. My Scout's habit of leaving the fridge cleaner than I found it gives me away sometimes.

However, if I stay quiet and rinse out my glass, my wife doesn't complain about that. She just enjoys her snap vacation.

.

Dogs are full of so many questions

Before busting through the haze that had settled over Deforest City last weekend and heading toward Fenelon Falls for a snap vacation (for my wife's sake, of course), I reached for my camera.

A van, apparently commandeered by three suspicious looking mutts, had stopped at the end of our driveway.

They looked at me quizically as i approached and appeared to ask the following questions:


"If this is a drive-thru, can I get three bags of burgers to go? Hold the mayo."


"I can show you my license but what do you mean... registration?"


"Breathalizer test? You actually want to smell my breath?"


"What's holding up our burgers?"

***

Did you see this van in your neighbourhood?

.

The Lite News: How would you answer this question?

Police: Do you know what you’re growing in the pots on your porch?

65-year old grandmother: Yes. Reefer. I planted it.

Stop the presses! Wait just a doggone minute!

This really happened. While Memphis police were investigating a matter in a local neighbourhood recently, they noticed potted plants outside a person’s house. They knocked on the door. They asked Helen Franklin, age 65, the above $5,000 question. (Helen has been charged and is being held on a $5,000 bond).


["Arnie. Someone's at the door for you."]

In my opinion, however, there are several answers to the question that I’d try first - if I’d been in the grandmother’s situation.

Let’s run through this again.

Knock, knock.

Police: Do you know what you’re growing in the pots on your porch?

GH: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I don’t have any pots on my porch.

Let me get my glasses. I can’t see a thing.

Darn kids these days.

My wife buys the plants around here. Let me go get her.

***

How would you answer the question?

.

The Lite News: Florida moms must be as tough as nails

It strikes me funny sometimes the newspaper clippings I stash in the Tupperware bin under my desk.

I got a kick out of this one:

“A Florida man has been arrested for calling 911 several times to report that his mother stole his beer.” (June 2, London Free Press)


["Son, step back from the beer fridge."]

I can understand a mom stealing a beer from her son on occasion. Hey, it gets hot in Florida and sometimes it’s just easier to ‘borrow a beer’ than make the trip to the corner store.

But, how desperate (loaded, unbalanced, _________, insert another adjective here) do you have to be to call 911 to get police to arrest your mom?

How tough (ornery, loaded - as in packin’ heat - insert another adjective here _________ ) does your mother have to be to need the help of police to guard your beer fridge?

It takes all kinds.

***

What would a suitable punishment be for the son?

Got any words for the mom?

.