"acting up"

Gord's Journal

["Joan and Diane give Gord the gears about his apron"]

I thought I looked 'sixty, sexy and sassy'!

link to Gord's Journal

Photo JH

favourite photo, favourite hammer

This hammer would last the lifetime of many a working man, even outlive most.

I bought if for five smackers (love at first sight) from an old fellow who sells tools - some from my hometown of Norwich - at Western Fair Market. It's a beaut, don't you think?

Photo by GH

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Please click here to read "Old money bags"

Please click labels below for more connections to 'who knows what'

Gordie Boy: “Don’t throw out my old hockey gloves”

I have a long list of items that should go into a box for the curb. Some day I’ll get around to throwing these things out. I won’t miss them a bit.

I have another long list. On it are things long gone that I should have set aside for some sort of museum. E.g., my dad’s Navy duffel bag (circa 1940s); his yellow and black hockey pants lined on the inside with wooden slats; my baseball cards from the 1950s and ‘60s; my comic book collection from the same era; family letters; my first pair of leather CCM Tacks (skates), etc. Occasionally I shake my head about my losses.

And I have another list that includes things I won’t throw out for a long time. Maybe my sons will appreciate them - just for a year or two, that would be fine - after I’m gone.

On that last list appears the following entry - Gordie Boy’s first pair of new hockey gloves.

They are one of my favourite things. They were a Christmas gift from my mother, circa 1964 (Dad didn’t buy many gifts and I’m now much the same way). Once the gift was opened I whooped for joy. They currently hang in my workshop and wood dust becomes them. And members of my immediate family know they must not throw the battered gloves out with the trash.

I hang onto the old leather gloves - in part - for the following reasons:

They link me to my mother. She scrimped and saved for those gloves much like she did for my first new bicycle.

The gloves and I travelled a lot of miles together in the 1960s. I played in an intercounty league, got used to losing by wide margins, but learned to love the sport of hockey.

My gloves and I were seldom parted, but in case we were, I put an ‘X’ on them - with white adhesive tape - so I could find them easily after any melee.

When I look at them I am taken back 4 - 5 decades in the blink of an eye.

They help me recall a few glorious games and funny stories.

They are old warriors and are perfect companions for my first leather helmet (also hanging in my shop).

They smell like cramped dressing rooms in small town arenas.

They smell like hockey. 

And so it goes.

I’m certain I have a few more years of hockey in me and I’m pretty sure when I hang up my skates they won’t owe me anything, much like my first new pair of black leather hockey gloves.

Score one for Gordie Boy.

Photos by GH

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What are you hanging onto until the last minute?

Please click here for more about Gordie Boy

It Strikes Me Funny: Got a hobby? Why not talk about it?

The first group of people I met this morning (a dog washer in a blue swim suit, a brown retriever getting a bath, the retriever's owners who could afford the dog but didn't care to wash it themselves) were funny enough to rate a lengthy mention here but they seemed a bit skeptical about photos and an interview for my blog.

"So, do you know that guy?" I asked the couple who weren't even willing to dry their dog off. (I pointed down the beach to my left).

"That guy? That's Harvey Johnson." (Author's note - that's not his real name. He turned out to be a crank).

"Fine then. I'll talk to him for my blog," I said, and approached Harvey.

"Harvey. Hi. Can I ask you a few questions for 'It Strikes Me Funny'?" I said as an ice breaker.


He turned my way but saw the camera and began to walk toward the shore. Rather hastily, I might add.

"Do you look for stuff on the beach or in the water as a hobby? Is it a vocation? What?" I asked. (Harvey covered a lot of ground, and water, in just a few seconds).


He didn't respond so I said, "Did you find something interesting this morning? A gold ring, some loose change, anything to help pay off your gear? Is it paid off already? How much did it cost?"

Harvey didn't look my way again or answer my warm up questions.


[Photos by G. Harrison for It Strikes Me Funny.]

"So, you're done for the day? Isn't it early yet? I just got here myself. How much did your headset cost?" I asked as Harvey walked across a children's playground toward a parking lot and a blue Plymouth Neon.

Harvey Johnson exitted the building in 30 seconds or less.

What's up with that? I mean, if you have a cool hobby, why not talk about it?

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Please click here for another exciting episode of It Strikes Me Funny.

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The Workshop: Compost bin from rescued lumber

Company sitting on the back deck will hardly notice the lovely new compost bin (light blue cedar tongue and groove, stained spruce, old gas can on top for flavour) hiding behind my blue spruce.


["I'm not sure what flavour the gas can adds, but it's something.": photos GH]

Upon closer inspection they’ll see a box made from scrap that will last 30 years.

Note to self: “The lower door is a bit narrow, so don’t ever throw out that skinny spade you have in The Annex.”

Gotchya!

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Where’s the metal hoot owl?

Not needed. I made sturdy latches for the top hatch.

Squirrel and raccoon proof?

We’ll see.

Please click here to see more from The Workshop.

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In My Workshop: I may have to get out my oil paints

My oil paints sit in a small cardboard box under my basement work bench - collecting dust.

They’ve been there for a long time, ever since my brother the artist said he needed space for one more in an art class, so could I switch to the next year. (I guess he was thinking 2018).

However, I may dust them off.

One of my older sisters sent me photos yesterday of her latest abstract oils, and a red light went off in my head.


After changing the battery in the smoke alarm I thought, I could use that technique to depict some of the sunsets I admired while visiting Lake Superior a few years ago.


Can you see it? Can you dig it?

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And if I get to Halifax and back in one piece in June, I’ll retrace my miles along the North Shore of Superior because those sunsets and highway views are still in my mind.


What happens if you click on Lake Superior below?

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