I’m glad I found the research department

I stepped into the research room at The War Museum in Ottawa and walked toward the receptionist with a couple of questions.

“Do you have any information here about the SS Silver Walnut, from World War Two?”


[“A revealing passage re my dad’s convoy to Sicily, 1941 - 42”]

The woman immediately typed an entry into her computer.

“No,” she said.


[“A convoy prepares to leave Bedford Basin, Halifax”]

(Shite. My dad never knew what happened to his much-loved navy vessel after the war. I was hoping I could find out, even though he passed away in 2003).

“Well,could you direct me toward information about the Merchant Marine?”


[“SS Silver Walnut is not listed as lost, sunk or destroyed”]

Tippity-tippity-type.


[“My dad would have agreed with the title of this book”]

“Yes,” she said, then pressed Print, and left her desk to pick up the list of books I might be interested in finding.


[“One of my favourite posters. I must try to find one”]

I was soon at work.

Even play. The shelves of books could be moved slowly by turning a hand crank and I pretended to squish my wife between two large shelves.

.

That’s right. Good times were had by all.

We were on vacation, after all.

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Inside The War Museum, Ottawa

Last week, shortly after I saved up travelling money like a man possessed (or dispossessed; depends on how I feel at times) my wife and I visited Ottawa.

On Monday we viewed as much of the National Gallery as possible before our brains exploded or I got arrested, and on Tuesday we drove a bit west of the downtown and Parliament Hill to do a bit of research at The War Museum.


On our way to look for books or materials related to two particular subjects (the Merchant Marine, WW2, for me; veterinary surgeons - specifically a grand-father - WW1, for my wife), we came upon a memorial room, something I had not found on my trip in June or this year.


[“A Soldier of the Great War: A Canadian Regiment - Known Unto God”]


[“Darn. The painting of ‘A Canadian Sailor’ was missing from the museum’s wall”]


The museum’s lone copy of The Merchantmen At War was a gold mine of information concerning the role of the Merchant Marine (my dad was a member) in WW2.

Two poems inside by John Masefield were particularly poignant.


[“Epilogue: Once, in a life, when unprepared...”: photo GH]

My dad, now gone, would have cheered had he read the lines. The book looks familiar, so perhaps he did.

***

While viewing the photos I recalled a time, 10 or so years ago, when my dad and I talked about travelling to Ottawa together. I checked out information about hotels, etc., but his failing health caused him later to say he just wasn’t up to it.

Though I regret the opportunity lost, circumstances in life often find a balance, and in my case - they have.

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The War Museum, Ottawa Canada (sans restrictions!)

During a recent trip to Ottawa, our nation’s capital city, my wife and I visited The War Museum, home to many fine exhibits dedicated to those who served in WW1, WW2 and subsequent wars, and home also to a fine research department.


[“At the main entrance”: photos by GH]


[“Bunker style, but still impressive”]


[“The Center and West Blocks of Parliament form a backdrop”]


[“Well-groomed and, thanks to the geese, well-fertilized grounds”]


[“Practice for a ceremony for Canada’s new Governor General”]

None of the above photos, unlike the previous day’s, were prohibited!

I breathed easier.

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The Long Road Back Pt 4: Mini-vacation, mini-points

Before leaving town to visit grand-daughters in Fenelon Falls and Prime Minister Harper in Ottawa (turned out he was busy; I got the ol’ brush off; kinda reminded me of my year in Grade 12, in an odd sort of way) I got top marks in two important departments.


["Guess what street this pub is on": photos GH]

One, I saved up enough money to afford really expensive restaurant meals while away. (Chicken wings at The Earl of Sussex Pub don’t come cheap, my friend!)


["Bonus points come in handy at Pier 21"]

Two, I earned bonus points completing my fun and fitness routine on days Sept. 20 - 26, so I could act like a slouch while away.

Now that I’m back, however, I have many miles to cover (or points to earn) so that the habit of goofing around doesn’t become permanent.


["Ouch. Time to ride many miles!"]

Time to go for a bike ride.

See you shortly.

***

I need 85 miles/points in two days or else I’ll burn up more bonus points.

Of course, that’s what bonus points are for, right?

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The last five shots at the National Gallery

I think there are at least 350 rooms inside the National Gallery and to get from one to the other you usually step through a wide but shallow doorway or space.

Occasionally the space between rooms is 12 - 15 feet long, and on my first trip through such a long space I spied a porthole.


Accustomed to stopping and staring at and taking prohibited photos of valuable pieces of art, I stopped and stared at the porthole.

What is it? I asked myself. A piece of contemporary art perhaps?

I stepped closer to the round shape.


No, the porthole only provided a view of the inner workings of the gallery’s air-conditioning system, but the effect was as brilliant as the skeleton of the white plastic lawn chair whale hung from the ceiling of a room I’d visited a short time back.

I looked to my left. No security guard.


["The third shot. Brilliant lines. Shimmering colours": photos GH]

I looked to my right. A person looked at me curiously, saw my camera, then moved on before I could take their picture.

I took three quick pictures before leaving the building and gazing at the Center Block of the Canadian Parliament Buildings.




Have you ever seen a more beautiful group of buildings?

How about a more brilliant air-conditioning system?

If you have, I beg to differ!

I mean, look at them pipes, would ya!!

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This Old Economist: Now I’m a sump pump?

I am (unofficially) an old economist and you can call me picky, or demanding, but I don’t like being called a sump pump.

Being called a ‘consumer’ all the time by economists with degrees from who-knows-where (my B. A. degree - in its own plastic sleeve and taped to the back of the furnace - is from the University of Western Ontario, a prestigious educational facility in Deforest City) is bad enough.

Having such high expectations placed upon my shoulders doesn’t feel good either at times.

For example:

“Consumers are going to drive any economic turnaround.” (Sept. 24, London Free Press)

Really? What if I don’t want business as usual, same-old same-old? What if I sit on my wallet as much as I can to help spur a smaller, more sustainable economy? What will you call me then?


["There you are, hard at work. Life sucks, eh."]

And after reading the following, i.e., “it doesn’t seem that government stimulus efforts have done the trick when it comes to increasing, or even stabilizing, consumer confidence,” I feel that not only has the economy been manipulated - poorly - but I’ve been manipulated too and am now poorer, deeper in debt.

Is it just me? I don’t think so.

And wait until people read that we’re now seen as sump pumps.

Michael Antecol, VP of TNS Canada recently said, “While a listing economic recovery is better than no recovery, it might not take much to sink the whole ship. After last month’s mini-rally, it seemed consumers might be the sump pumps that could return some buoyancy to that recovery in the form of sustained confidence. Now it seems as if those pumps are sputtering, leaving some rocky days ahead.”

Being called a sump pump just sucks.

Call me picky, or demanding, but if the government and economists want my help driving the economy, then they should listen up.

This old sump pump wants to see 900 sq. ft. homes and smaller apartments in every new development, especially near the historic core of the city (and not out near some God-forsaken big box complex), smaller models of ‘Made in Canada’ furniture and appliances, smaller cars for the smaller driveways and real efforts to get bums and freight out of cars and trucks, respectively, and onto trolleys and trains.

I want to hear government leaders advocating for much smaller lifestyles.

That’s just for starters.

***

See, I told you I was picky and demanding.

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This Old Economist: The HST is not a killing tax

I don’t call the HST a killing tax.

I know somebody that does but that’s another story. And a brilliant one, if I do say so myself.


["Does somebody need a grave dug?"]

I call the HST a consumption tax with a warning bell around its neck. The more one consumes, the more one hears the bell.

Some government and business leaders may have felt that the HST would stimulate the economy, but it hasn’t yet done so.

And according to a recent article, “Canadian retail sales unexpectedly fell in July as the harmonized sales tax (HST) and cooling housing market dampened spending, in the latest sign the economic slowdown is filtering down to the consumer.” (Sept. 23, London Free Press)


["Soon I won't even be able to afford my smokes!"]

Our spending has dampened. We can hear that bell, eh!

According to this old economist (really, anybody with a wallet and three pieces of ID can be an economist), there are other reasons Canadian spending has dampened.

We’re becoming more aware, as citizens of one of the fairest lands in all the world, that costs and debts are going up all around us.

In other words, ‘Thing$ are still going North$$.’

Canada’s national debt will very likely surpass $600 billion in 2011.

US debt will surpass $14.5 trillion in 2011.

Levels of personal debt in Canada and the US are at unprecedented levels as well.

More public and private pension plans carry growing deficits than ever before. (Retire to Florida? Think Point Pelee instead.)


["Some folks will sink without savings"]

Way past over the top, says this old economist. It’s definitely time to rethink our economic plans.

The HST, which may have been meant as some kind of economic stimulus - by brighter minds than mine - is clearly seen as a broad consumption tax by struggling consumers in light of all the other ‘thing$ going north$$.’

Bad timing, eh. I don’t think we’ll ever stop hearing that bell.

And in my opinion, that’s a good thing too.

***

So, reduce spending, pay down debt, and save money for tough times ahead.

Or, ‘get small before you get low.’

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Mounted Police and the Midnight Bandit

Even though the Mounties haven’t yet parked a horse at the end of my short driveway (do they carry their own shovels?) I feel a bit like the Midnight Bandit already.

Cover your eyes. Some of the following photos, and several others, are from restricted areas.

Surely to Pete, they wouldn’t arrest me for the following photo, would they? It’s from the cafeteria!


[“Chrome bumpers - beside a lady who slurped her soup”: photos by old-what’s-his-name]


[“Plastic replica of Habitat 67 - Montreal Expo”]


[“Looks like the skeleton of a whale. What kind?”: answer below]


[“White whale. White plastic chair whale! Brilliant, eh!!]


[“The stone floor is not of stone. A composite.]

I asked if I could take a picture of a block of stone in the wall inside one gallery. I was told ‘no.’

However, as I left the building I met the building manager and he let me.

He said the walls and floor were not made of real stone.

“Knock on the walls,” he said.

They sounded hollow. The blocks are made of a composite of materials.

That’s right. Our gallery was made on the cheap.

But everything inside is pretty well priceless.

***

Save your money. Go to Ottawa. (I know a nice place to stay near The Highlander Pub - $20 per night if you’re willing to sleep with other inmates. More money for a private cell.

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So far, nobody has squealed on me

["Prohibited photos from inside the gallery": photos GH, whoever that is]

I haven’t come up with a word yet, but a recent visit to the National gallery was more than delectable.


Because I didn’t look for any signs regarding what I could or could not do inside the gallery I didn’t see any, and as a result I snapped photos whenever I wanted.


Small oils on cardboard and wood (e.g., 12" by 10") caught my eye while strolling among works by the Group of Seven. Occasionally a small painting would become a larger masterpiece.




I was in awe.

***

The Mounties have not yet arrived at my door, so, more soon to follow.

I saw works in oil, stone, clay, cloth.

Are you ready for some chrome and plastic?

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While in Ottawa, we supped and laughed at...

The Highlander Pub on Rideau Street.


["How many malts? I wondered.": photos GH]

It was there I was able to use my favourite line all-time.


Although ‘where have you been all my life’ (my wife actually bought it) and ‘you’re sitting in my chair, Mr. Dryden’ (I actually had to tell Ken to relax, that I was just kidding) are near the top of the pile, I have a better one.

After taking the first bite of a steak sandwich I caught my wife’s eye and said, “This is delectable.”

She laughed. I knew she would.


["During quiet moments I gazed outside the window"]

The key word is ‘delectable,’ and when properly used brings much mirth to our conversation.

Several years ago, while by wife sipped coffee at The Roaster (Where was I? I have no idea.) she couldn’t help but overhear two ladies talking at a nearby table.

“I really enjoy Gord Harrison’s columns, don’t you?” said one, not knowing his lovely and now fully attentive wife sat an arm’s length away.

The woman continued. “His personality is so delectable.”

Delectable. That’s one heck of a word, but in my case, not hard to live up to at all (I guess).


["The view was - in a word - delectable"]

My gosh, how we laughed when she retold the story to me later in the day.

It’s such a good word (so descriptive, so bang on) I’ll use it well into my nineties.

After a hearty lunch I’ll say, “The soup and Jello were delectable today, eh?”

I bet my wife (you know, old-what’s-her-name) will still laugh.

***

Don’t miss our visit to The National Art Gallery.

You bet, I spared no expense!

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Under the cloak of darkness and secrecy

Whatever you do, don’t tell Prime Minister Harper I snapped pictures of restricted photos inside the National Art Gallery in Ottawa, Canada.

Usually I’m not so bold. Usually I don’t post blogs that could get me thrown into the clink.

But, I’m so proud of the work on display on Canadian soil.

Even the gardens inside the gallery are works of art.


Okay, I don’t get why orange squares are so valuable but I’ll try to be open-minded. After all, I was a square once, maybe still am.


Need a pair of red boots? We own four pair and a red cupboard.


I swear, I once had boots just like this in the early 1970s.


Yes, there are strong winds a-blowin’ on Lake Superior.


The above work is about 3 by 4 feet in size. Amazing.

***

More to follow, as long as you don’t squeal on me.

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After 40 years of marriage I took my wife on a...

Mini-vacation to Ottawa.

Yup. She was so impressed.

And she didn’t seem to mind, as far as I could tell (after 40 years of sharing the same sugar bowl with her I have a sixth-sense about lots of stuff, e.g., she doesn’t like it when everything I wear at one time is made of denim), that I planned to have us walk to the National Art Gallery, only 6 - 15 blocks away from our hotel - again, as far as I could tell.


Visitors will come upon a striking monument dedicated to the spirit of reconciliation as they approach the gallery.


The outside of the gallery is most impressive, in my humble opinion.




The inside is nothing short of spectacular.


The above is one of the last in my set of ‘permitted photographs.’

***

Coming up next (under the cloak of darkness and secrecy) - the photographs that could cost me a whole whack of my hard-earned Boy Scout badges.

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More angst than accuracy Pt 2

[Pt 2 has been long awaited, I am sure. It would have arrived sooner if not for a short vacation (hold on, 3 million photos to follow) and my dealings with a wonky computer while in Ottawa. I spoke to Prime Minister Harper about my problems and he said he’d get John Baird to deal with it right away. Right, I won’t hold my breath.]

Arn Brown deals in angst. Lots of it.

So much so that if he had even a half-decent accurate argument I’d be swimming in it too.

However, most of what Arn writes in a recent letter to the editor (Sept. 23, The Londoner) fails the sniff test.

He writes, or rants, take your pick:

“You turn on the light, HST;

you turn on the tap, HST;

you flush the toilet, HST;

you turn on the coffee maker, HST.

And the list goes on. Fourteen per cent on every aspect of life.”

I get the fact we pay HST on utilities such as hydro and water, but “every aspect of life” has to be described as a bit wonky, just like the computer I had to deal with in Ottawa recently.

When Arn continues with “every necessity, every activity, every action in your home is subject to HST” I suggest we not panic.

Yes, I may pay more for hydro in the future but, unless I do my gardening with an electric-powered hand trowel, my outdoor work around the house is exempt from the tax.

So is bird-watching from my back deck (And cat-watching. I do a lot of cat-watching while 6 or 7 local feline felons watch the birds). And so on. A lot of great things in life are still free, if you catch my drift.

Arn also goes on to describe the HST as a “killing tax. It is a brutal and smothering invasion of your home.”

Now, I’m not in love with the HST but “killing tax” is over-stating the matter.

The HST is a consumption tax, in my humble opinion, and rather than kill us, it will make us more aware of how we can conserve in 1,001 areas. (1,001 is short by half, not an over-statement).

If Arn wants to sleep easier at night he should unplug as many appliances as possible that use power while he sleeps, e.g., TVs, computers, radios. And use fewer appliances while awake.

If he hates HST on his water bill then he should conserve water at every opportunity. If he loves to wash his car in the driveway or set up sprinklers on his lawn he should stop doing so immediately. He should learn to take a 120 sec. shower.

If Arn is discouraged by HST on countless shopping items he should buy fewer items.

Sure, I sound harsh. But when he said “the excessive (government) spending and tax has to end” I thought of the excessive spending we all do at times, if not all the time.

We are now being called on our own excessive spending habits, and angst will be part of the drill for many.

Arn’s angst is but the tip of the iceberg, as many protests (i.e., to say NO to austerity) in Brussels (Sept. 29), Spain, Italy and Greece seem to attest.

Changing 60 - 65 years worth of bad habits won’t necessarily be fun to watch.

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