Friday, January 20, 2012

Zoom w a View: Paper Lady in Distress


As I walked my blue recycling box back to the porch this morning I noticed what looked like a torn piece of paper floating across the snow-covered yard.

I bent down to retrieve it... or her.


Terrified, she flew away upon the wind.

[Photos by GH]

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Please click here for another Zoom w a View.

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It Strikes Me Funny PT 2: Email ‘not’ about my grandchildren

In the previous post I mention that I seldom share ‘reader email’ and do so today because, in response to my most recent column (My grandchildren know how to turn weekends upside down), one breaks the mold because of its unexpected nature and departure from the tone of the piece.

Email 4

On 20-Jan-12, at 9:53 AM, m. s. wrote:

Hello Mr Harrison,

I always look forward to  your weekly article and this week article stir the truth of our situation.

Raising 4 girls and having my father in law living with us made our lives miserable. He want the house the way it should be when he was living by himself. Our house is a mess and I try to do my best to keep it tidy but sometimes, its not a priority and it create frictions between us.

Calling us lazy and crook for my kids friends used his cups and we put in the dish washer and he refuse to use other cups in the cupboard. They moved things and he can't find them even though its just under his nose.

So I want to take your opinion after your experience, would you be able to live with them for months or would you rather be in a retirement home?

My father in law is 80 yrs old and he's physically able but Doctors thinks he's onset of dementia.

I'm counting on your opinion for I have to decide this month even though my hubby is feeling guilty. Have a good day!! M.

I read the email several times to make sure I had the jist of it. Then I consulted with my wife, thought things over (M.’s dilemma is like one my siblings and I faced with our mother and father), and sent the following cautious reply, feeling as if I was entering a place where angels fear to tread.

Hello M.,

Thank you for reading my column. You have raised a very serious matter as a result of my last one about the grandchildren coming to visit.

Based on my experience with my mother several years ago (she suffered from Parkinson's disease), I can say the following: I was helped by two good doctors and my four brothers and sisters when it came time to deciding where she should live.

The doctors told us she would get worse and need more care as she grew older. My family and I knew we could not do all the work or provide all the care (some had children, others had jobs, etc.), so we began looking for a good retirement home. My mother didn't fight with us when she moved into her first retirement home, and when she needed more care, we moved her to another one, where she later passed away. 

All of this sounds easier than it was, but I didn't have to make the decisions alone and that made a big difference to me ten or twelve years ago. So, if your husband has brothers or sisters and you have doctors involved you can talk to, I recommend you try to get everyone together for more discussions about what should be done. That way, you are not alone as decisions are made.

Your father-in-law may fight about moving, so he needs to hear more from the doctors and your husband's family too.

My father was accepted at Parkwood Hospital in 2001 because he was a war veteran. He didn't like it at first, he was quite the fighter, very stubborn, but after about two weeks he got along very well and had many pleasant months there before he passed away.

Because of my experiences with my mother and father, I now believe I will go to a retirement home instead of expecting to live with my sons when I am older. I know it would be too much work for them to care for me (although I'm very easy to get along with!) and they have their own families to care for too.

I hope this helps you with your decision.

Sincerely,

Gord H.

I hit ‘send’ and hoped for the best. (How did my column about grandkids spark such an email or request? I guess I really don’t know everything, or - closer to the truth - much of anything).

Fifteen minutes ago I received the following:  

Thank you very much for replying. I really appreciate what you mentioned about your parents. I'll discuss this to my husband and I know my father in law is very stubborn and doesn't want to be in a retirement home, I think he'll get use to it once given a chance.

I'll let my husband read this and will decide from there.

M.


I may reply with a simple “let me know how it goes.”

For now, however, I’ve decided to call it a day.

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Please click here for It Strikes Me Funny PT 1.

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It Strikes Me Funny: Email about my grandkids' visit


I don’t often share ‘reader email’ after one of my columns hits the street because comments are usually short and sweet.

“Brilliant.”

“Nebulous.”

“You get paid?”

Today I share three of a kind in response to my most recent column entitled ‘My grandchildren know how to turn weekends upside down’, and then a fourth, separately, that breaks the mold because of its unexpected nature and departure from the tone of the piece.

I provide the column’s opening three sentences in order to set the aforementioned tone:

Because regular readers deserve to know certain things about me (even irregular readers, though irregularly), I’m going to begin this week’s column with an admission and a related, follow-up question.

I admit, I submitted no column last week because my grandchildren, on frequent occasions, rule the world.

And, when do parents of twins, triplets, quads, quints, etc., ever find time to go to the bathroom, let alone make a sandwich?


[Please click here to read the rest, as published in The Londoner]

Email 1 -

Subject: Grandchildren
Date: January 19, 2012 11:30:35 AM GMT-05:00

Really enjoyed your article on grandchildrens visit can relate totally with your story. The only difference between your story and my experience is that my wife and I usually snooze the day away after they leave.
 
Dick/Mary K.

Reply -

Hi Dick and Mary,

Thank you for your email concerning my recent column. Though we didn't snooze (such a great idea!) the day after our son and family left, my wife and I commented several times about how quiet the house was. Lovely.

Gord H.
@ The Londoner

Email 2 -

From: nanasmith
Subject: Article in Londoner
Date: January 19, 2012 2:14:29 PM GMT-05:00

Hi Gord and Pat enjoyed your story about the grandchildren, I can remember your guys as little ones at Wortley. We have 12 grandchildren and spent a lot of time with them when they were little, now the oldest is 26 and down to 15 yrs old. You are great parents and now grandparents, and it is all worth the upset as they visit. Best wishes to you and yours in the new year, blessings. Marilou and Wayne S.

Reply -

Hi Marilou and Wayne,

Thank you for your email concerning my recent column.

Twelve grandchildren!! Such great news. ('nanasmith' is such an appropriate email tag.) However, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't survive a full reunion if we had 12 rather than the four. Because of the writing and other isolated pursuits (e.g., building birdhouses in a small workshop), I am growing very used to peace, quiet, and an easy pace for most of the day. Fortunately, the noisiness is for short intervals and the kids are so genuinely happy that - as you say - the visits are well worth it.

Please keep well,

Gord H.

Email 3 -

Subject: Grandchildren article
Date: January 19, 2012 3:13:36 PM GMT-05:00

I just read your grandchildren article and can sympathize. It was a great article and as usual I can identify.

Our three grandchildren, who are eight years old and younger, and their parents came from Australia and stayed with us. As you can imagine, they don't come for a weekend. They were at our house for almost six weeks.  

Think about that...your busy weekend lasting 6 weeks. 

I am also a retired school teacher and I love children. They left a week ago and I am still recovering but I can hardly wait until they come again. Janice

Reply -

Hi Janice,

Thank you for your interesting email.

Six weeks!! I don't want to think about it.

I must hang my head in shame, my son and family were only here for four days and I was almost kaput. However, it wasn't too many years ago that my wife and I agreed to invite our younger son and his wife to stay with us while they looked for a house in London, and their long visit worked out really well. They now live two blocks away and we babysit their five-year old. I guess I do better with smaller crowds.

That being said, here's to the next visit!

Gord H.

Now, think about 12 grandkids staying for 6 weeks!

Stay tuned for the unusual change of tone.

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Please click here for a Rare Family Photo

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Thursday, January 19, 2012

Ollie and Me: “Are they real, Grandpa?”

Ollie liked my recent pencil drawings of the big bad bug brothers, so I took them a step farther.


“Are they real?” he asked.


I wonder if a 5-year old will understand ‘alter ego’?

[Photos by G. Harrison]

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Please click here to see pencil drawings at Ollie and Me

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Zoom w a View: PT 2 “Snowy day close ups”


Fronts steps. Slippery today. Keep your eyes open.


[Photos by G. Harrison]

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Please click here for more Zoom w a View

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Zoom w a View: PT 1 “Snowy day close ups”


I shovelled, I swept, I clicked.


[Photos by G. Harrison]


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Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Ollie and Me: “We’re big and we’re bad!”

The “Big Bad Bug Brothers” look like a fun group of guys.


["They need arms, Grandpa!" says Ollie]

Talk about the things I get to doin’ when my grandson Ollie comes to visit!


["Oh, they need more than arms, Ollie boy." photos by GH]

gah

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Please click here for more Ollie and Me.

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2012 in Review PT 5: “Harsh attitudes crushed the less-fortunate in the past”

Do you have a library card? If so, I recommend you borrow a book by Bill Bryson entitled At Home: A Short History of Private Life.

As I’ve been writing and thinking about the demise of good jobs in this decade (particularly in 2012), I’ve noticed that Bryson’s book occasionally provides evidence of several harsh attitudes that crushed not only the spirits but the bodies of the poor and less-fortunate. (As mentioned in an earlier post, the poor made up the majority of citizens for many centuries).

For example, I recently wrote that the consideration of even the most basic human rights in the mid-1800s was hindered by cruel attitudes from unexpected quarters. Reverend T. R. Malthus (1766 - 1834), for some reason, blamed the poor for their own hardships and opposed the idea of relief for the masses on the grounds that it simply increased their tendency to idleness.

And regarding Ireland’s Great Famine in 1845 - 46, I came across the following lines in Bryson’s book:

From the moment of the potato’s introduction to Europe, failed harvests became regular... Three hundred thousand people died in a single failure in 1739. But that appalling total was made to seem insignificant by the scale of death and suffering in 1845 - 46... It wasn’t just in Ireland that the crop failed - in fact, it failed across Europe - but the Irish were especially dependent on the potato.

Relief was infamously slow to come. Months after the starving had started, Sir Robert Peel, the British prime minister, was still urging caution.

“There is such a tendency to exaggeration and inaccuracy in Irish reports that delay in acting on them is always desirable,” he wrote.



[Monument beside Lake Ontario near downtown Kingston, Ontario]

Lest we say that it was only misguided or uninformed public servants that opposed the idea of relief and delayed any meaningful action on behalf of the less-fortunate, we must hear the following about big business interests of the day:

In the worst year of the potato famine, London’s fish market, Billingsgate, sold 500 million oysters, 1 billion fresh herrings, almost 100 million soles, 498 million shrimps, 304 million periwinkles, 33 million plaice, 23 million mackerel, and other similarly massive amounts - and not one morsel of any of it made its way to Ireland to relieve the starving people there. (pg. 84, At Home)


[Enlargement of monument script: Photos by G. Harrison, 2006]

By now some readers are likely wondering, “What do these harsh attitudes of the past, whether demonstrated by public or business leaders, have to do with the decline of good, secure jobs in the modern era?”

To be sure, I think that’s a very good question as well.

More to follow.

FYI - periwinkles are any small marine snail belonging to the family Littorinidae (class Gastropoda, phylum Mollusca)

- plaice is the common name used for a group of flatfish. There are four species in the group, the European, American, Alaskan and scale-eye plaice.

So now you know!

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Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 4: “Grandparents will recall the worst of times”

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Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The Odd Reflection: Twenty-three years to go

My wife mentioned her Uncle Bill at lunchtime today while putting a few cheese curds and crackers onto the dining room table. Bill had the cheese delivered to us after Christmas.

Bill is 94 years old, continues to live an active life (he loves to gab, takes part in weekly dances and occasionally speaks to elementary school classes about his experiences in WW2), and now resides in a retirement home in Gananoque, Ontario.

Seconds after the curds arrived at the table I popped a curly piece into my mouth, thought of Bill and the move he’d made a year ago into the ‘old folks home’ from his apartment overlooking Lake Ontario. It was a necessary move. I’ll likely have to make that kind of move in the future too. Many readers will have to as well.

That being said - about the curds and all too - regular readers with very, very good memories will know how long I want to live, and why.

(Quick review: 87. Why? I retired at 53. I contributed to the pension fund for 32 years and want to withdraw from it for 32 years - plus 2 extra years. We all want two year’s of gravy, don’t we?)

At the moment I’m 62 years old, hope to live in my own house until I’m 70, and then a small apartment until I’m 85. And at 85 I plan to walk from the elevator of the Kismet Apt. on Wortley Rd. (two blocks from the Red Roaster; the Kismet isn't built yet, but maybe someday soon) carrying just one cardboard box of household items on my way to the cab that will drop me off at Punkydoodle Old Folks Home overlooking Thames Park. (Punkydoodles isn’t built yet either, but I have the lot picked out if anybody cares about such things).


["This photo just might make the cut."]

And what’s in the cardboard box? I’m glad you asked.

two pairs of used Levis

one leather belt (the one I bought from Quigley’s Leather Works in 1969 for $5)

four T-shirts

one sweatshirt, likely a hoodie

ten pairs of underwear

three pairs of socks

my iPad 12

six particular framed photos

a bottle of Tums

wild cherry breathmints

a small red cedar birdhouse

one well-thumbed copy of “I Want to be Buried at Sea”

the Good Book

Besides the clothes on my back and leather shoes on my feet, I won’t require much else, except regular visits from family and friends bearing cold IPAs or hot dark roast coffee.

Of course, I have 23 years to go, so plans might change a little.

Maybe I’ll see you at Punkydoodles.

PS Uncle Bill. Thanks for the curds.

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Please click here for a trip down Memory Lane.

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Robin, Action Hero, Revisited: He merits affection


A few days ago I found Robin, a small action figure, sitting in a low crook in my neighbour’s tree. Poor Robin.


During his career related to crime fighting, in comic books and TV, his partner, the unstoppable Batman, received much of the glory.


And today, as a small action figure (with holes in his shoes), he seems forlorn and forgotten, especially when found outdoors without good boots.

I feel he deserves better.


["Where to now, Batman? I'm ready for adventure."]

[Artsy Fartsy Photos by GH]

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Please click here for photos and prose related to Robin.

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Zoom w a View: PT 3 “Robin, Robin, get back in the game”


Robin, Robin, you’ve had quite the fall
And I’m surprised no one’s helped you at all.


Robin, Robin, I’ll righten you, and then
You can watch out for crooks, be ‘up and at ‘em’.

[Photos and brilliant prose by GH]

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Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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Monday, January 16, 2012

2012 in Review PT 4: “Great - grandfathers will recall the worst of times”

The erosion of good jobs is one of the key issues that will dominate 2012, a year that has lurched into the room in soiled pants and pushed final thoughts about 2011 aside.

Discussion about why good jobs are disappearing will, I’m sure, provide many challenges this year. Hopefully, some positive answers will be addressed.

I will say here, honestly, I have never faced the hardships workers face today in the public and private sector. As far as good, secure, well-paid jobs are concerned, I lived in or went through the best of times (interesting, entertaining, meaningful part-time or full-time work seemed available wherever I looked in the 1950s and ‘60s). So, I’m not well-practiced in facing or overcoming low or no employment.

However, I do know we don’t have to look back too many centuries, even mere decades, before my time to see that good jobs were almost non-existent for the majority of workers and that even tiny improvements in wages, benefits and working conditions were only won through blood, sweat and tears.

Long before you and I were born the dominant consideration in life for both children and adults was inescapably economic. Daily bread was hard to come by in order to simply survive and every person, almost from birth, was considered a unit of production. When John Locke (1697) suggested to England’s Board of Trade that children of the poor - about everyone in the phone book - should be sent to work from the age of three, no one thought it unrealistic or unkind.

One hundred years later, hundreds of thousands of slaves toiled in the cotton fields in the southern states (of the U.S.) and child labour filled the floors of booming cotton mills in England.


“Children were malleable, worked cheap, and were generally quicker at darting about among machinery and dealing with snags, breakages, and the like. Even the most enlightened mill owners used children freely. They couldn’t afford not to,” writes Bill Bryson. (At Home: A short history of private life)

Thank goodness for the wise intervention of far-sighted politicians and their 1844 Factory Act. It reduced the workday for children, most of whom were working 12- to 14-hour days, six days per week. Some worked even longer, particularly during busy periods to meet large orders, likely at Christmas (with no time-and-a-half).

Improvements in conditions, at least in England, came very slowly. Many children were sent onto the streets to survive on their own at age seven or eight and by the 1860s London had 100,000 “street Arabs” who had no education, no skills, no purpose, and no future. The consideration of even the most basic human rights (a very modern term, it seems) was hindered by harsh attitudes from unexpected quarters. Reverend T. R. Malthus (1766 - 1834) blamed the poor for their own hardships and opposed the idea of relief for the masses on the grounds that it simply increased their tendency to idleness.

“And there can be few more telling facts about life in nineteenth century Britain than that the founding of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals preceded by sixty years the founding of a similar organization for the protection of children.” (pg. 415, At Home, B. Bryson)

To learn about the inexorably slow improvements to the poor wages, benefits and working conditions closer to our home and to the modern era in which we live, we need only ask our aged parents (who may recall the Dirty Thirties, Great Depression and longer work days), and grandparents and great-grandparents who worked the mines, mills, forests, farms and factories for very meager benefits in many cases - if they’re still alive.

Though many of these people and their stories are likely gone, I’m sure they would agree that boomers like myself lived during the best of times and the younger generations alive today are seeing the decline of our good, secure jobs.

More to follow.

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Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 3: “For jobs, I grew up in the best of times”

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Friday, January 13, 2012

Zoom w a View: PT 2 “Robin, Robin”


Robin, Robin, sitting in the snow,
There’s just one thing that you should know.


Crime is down on Cathcart Street,
Come back inside - but wipe your feet.

[Photos and brilliant prose by GH]

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Please click here for more PT 1 “Robin, Robin”

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Welcome to Harperville: “Smoke and fire up your pants”

[“Some critics of Ottawa’s economic approach say they’re concerned with (Canada’s) increasing reliance on petroleum revenue they contend comes at the expense of other regions.” Jan. 12, London Free Press]

Canada’s Conservative Federal Government (aka The Feds) has one plan and one plan only for the country’s economic future, i.e., sell as much dirty, expensive tar sand oil as soon as possible.

There is no Plan B, so if you feel the heat a-risin’ up your pant leg, a weak, short-sighted economic plan for 35 million people in a warming climate may be one reason.

Another reason. When Line Dance Minister Jim Flatulence, the man in charge of the largest debt in Canadian history and an unmanageable deficit, says, “It’s clear to me it’s not time for dangerous new spending” (Jan. 12, Free Press), he doesn’t mention the excessive costs related to purchasing fighter jets from the U.S.A. (the actual costs are unknown), to building new federal prisons in a country with a lowering crime rate, to expanding the size of the House of Commons, and to the largest Prime Minister’s Office in the history of Canada, if not the known universe.


[“Let me know how your debate goes”: see Dolighan.com]

Add to the mix a Prime Minister who doesn’t give a tinker’s toot for the environment (he may not even know that global warming, climate instability and Canada’s excessive exploitation of natural resources are related) and we have perfect conditions for a lot more smoke and fire up your pants.

Keep a water bucket handy if you can afford it.

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Please click here for more Welcome to Harperville.

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Thursday, January 12, 2012

Zoom w a View: “Robin, Robin”

Robin, Robin, sitting in a tree,
I see your eyes are staring at me.


Robin, Robin, fighting crime all day
I see you’ve worn your soles away.

[Brilliant prose, and photo of Cathcart St. super hero, by GH]

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Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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2012 in Review PT 3: “For jobs, I grew up in the best of times”

[“In small-town Ontario... jobs grew on trees - or tomato vines - as far as I was concerned as a ten-year old. I had my pick of part-time jobs...” G. Harrison, 2012 in Review PT 2, Wed., Jan. 11]

When I was a young boy in the 1950s and early ‘60s, part-time jobs were almost a dime a dozen, like small dinner rolls or penny candies from the corner store. I can honestly say I had an easy time earning more than just pocket change when needed, especially during harvest time.

Full- or year-round jobs were almost a dime a dozen as well; one just had to be able-bodied and in the right place at the right time.

One of my newspaper customers, Art Maedel, ran the town bakery and when he opened Norwich’s first supermarket in the summer of 1962 I promptly asked him for a job (while collecting 40 cents at his door for a week’s worth of The London Free Press).


["I did much waiting at the door for my 40 cents"]

He said I was too young (at 12 years old) but after I turned 13 - in September, three months later - I asked again, and was given a job; it lasted me through Gr. 8 and five subsequent years of high school.

Additional jobs appeared like good money on trees in nearby tobacco fields, and I often asked to be released from the grocery store during summers in order to pick up double or triple the earnings by doing farm labour. Sometimes I didn’t ask. I’d simply tell Mr. Maedel that I was leaving for the summer, only to return ‘cap in hand’ in the fall. I was never turned away, likely because I was indispensable. (Insert laugh track here!) After a brief scolding I would grab a white apron from a wall hook and begin restocking shelves without missing a beat or my next pay cheque.

My tobacco and grocery store money, for the most part, paid my way through university (one year) and teachers’ college (also one year) and because of my brilliant interview skills - I can nod in all the right places along with the best of them - was able to sign my name to an elementary school teaching contract (in London) after a five minute chat.

Because I never threw a child out a window (oh, I wanted to on occasion, I really wanted to...) or talked back to a principal the way I did as a teen - to principals or my mom or dad - I retired in June, 2002 with an unblemished record after a full teaching career. And shortly thereafter, because I like to keep busy, I began writing a weekly column for a community newspaper, worked behind a coffee bar for a few months to earn money for a motorcycle and started rescuing lumber in order to make great-looking birdhouses (if I do say so myself) on the side.

At this point in my life, I can say that as far as good, secure, well-paid jobs were concerned, I lived in the best of times. And I still do, related to interesting or entertaining part-time work.

I feel I can also say, unfortunately, gone are those days for many people, and that 2012 will be a key year to consider why such is the case.

More to follow.

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Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 2: “For jobs, I grew up in the best of times”

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Climate Change Concerns: London, Ontario, January 12

There is some evidence that Canadians are cutting back on spending and reducing personal debt (which still sits at historic highs) because it has likely dawned on some that they are only one or two pay cheques away from the poor house.

Few realize, however, that we are only one or two bad crop years away from historically high food prices and shortages of some valuable commodities because of climate instability related to high carbon emissions, like those from our costly economic engine, the tar sands of Alberta and Saskatchewan.


["Climate instability outside my window": photo GH]

Look outside. Do you see typical January weather where you live? Here in London, we’re experiencing another mild, wet winter. Yes, there will be some snow in our future, perhaps near future, but global warming is having its way with us.


[Please click here for more climate change graphs]

Is climate change seen out your window? Take a photo. Let me know.

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Please click here for more Climate Change Concerns.

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Wednesday, January 11, 2012

2012 in Review: "Yummy tomato... crummy weed"

From the series ‘2012 in Review’:

In small-town Ontario, 16 miles south of Woodstock and the 401 highway and 40 miles north of Long Point and Lake Erie, jobs grew on trees - or tomato vines - as far as I was concerned as a ten-year old. I had my pick of part-time jobs helping local growers bring in their harvest of tomatoes, asparagus, apples, strawberries, green and yellow beans, bales of hay and a variety of other crops.


["I had my pick of part-time jobs...": illustration by GH]

At such jobs I not only earned decent pocket-money but learned valuable life lessons as well.

***

Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 1

Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 2

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2012 in Review PT 2: “For jobs, I grew up in the best of times”

[“2011 is gone and forgotten. Gone because 2012 has lurched into the room in soiled pants and most people can’t look away. Forgotten because there are many growing trends - all too familiar - to keep us fully occupied.” G. Harrison, 2012 in Review PT 1, Friday, Jan.6]

Many Canadians will lose sleep as the erosion of good jobs becomes an ongoing occurrence in our country.

Thoughts like “My job may be next!” and “I’m just a pay cheque away from tough times” will become common place.

While good jobs continue to disappear for a variety of reasons (e.g., down-sizing, right-sizing, corporate greed, weaknesses associated with the free market economy, short-sighted government policy, etc.), I must admit that, as I look back on my job history, I grew up in the best of times.

In small-town Ontario, 16 miles south of Woodstock and the 401 highway and 40 miles north of Long Point and Lake Erie, jobs grew on trees - or tomato vines - as far as I was concerned as a ten-year old. I had my pick of part-time jobs helping local growers bring in their harvest of tomatoes, asparagus, apples, strawberries, green and yellow beans, bales of hay and a variety of other crops.


["Jobs grew on trees - or tomato vines...": illustration GH]

At such jobs I not only earned decent pocket-money but learned valuable life lessons as well.

For example:

Cutting asparagus hurt my back

After picking tomatoes I could quickly wash my hands by squishing a ripe (but marred) tomato between my fingers

Wear a long-sleeved shirt when tossing hay bales

Ask for help when throwing a 50-pound sack of green beans onto a truck

If I saved up, tomato money would last until Christmas.


Full-time or year-round jobs didn’t grow on trees; one had to be in the right place at the right time.

In my case, I was offered my first year-round job while bouncing a tennis ball off the back wall of the Norwich public school when I was 10 -11 years old. Francis Webber saw me there, noticed I had nothing better to do than chase after a ball, stopped to chat and soon asked if I wanted his London Free Press paper route. 40 customers. $4.00 per week. Back home in less than an hour.

I took it and soon bought - out of my earnings - my own large metal carrier for my red CCM bicycle (the carrier was the perfect size for 40 copies of the Free Press and a complimentary canvas bag) and in good weather I could finish my route in 30 minutes and be back in bed by 7 a.m. Easy - kapeasy!

Why, I was earning almost 80 cents an hour without even breaking a sweat!

Stay tuned for more of “the best of times.”

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Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 1: Good jobs will continue to erode

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Saturday, January 7, 2012

All Dads Have Gas 2

Unarguably, all Dads have gas. There is at least one children’s book - a true classic - about the subject. Case closed.

Fish have gas too. Just follow the bubbles.


[Toon by G. Harrison]

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Please click here for more All Dads Have Gas.

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Friday, January 6, 2012

2012 in Review: Good jobs will continue to erode

2011 is gone and forgotten.

Gone because 2012 has lurched into the room in soiled pants and most people can’t look away.

Forgotten because there are many growing trends - all too familiar - to keep us fully occupied.

I predict many will be kept awake as the erosion of good jobs becomes an ongoing occurrence in my home city, London, Ontario and elsewhere.

“My job may be next!” some Londoners will say.

“I’m just a pay cheque away from tough times,” others will say.


["Sorry, Old timer, but your services aren't required any longer": Get Low, the movie]

Why are good jobs disappearing? Is it because of the nature of the Canadian work market or the price of the oil that greases the skids of industrialization? Is it the outcome of globalization or the growth of U.S. protectionism. Or, as we consider the particular labour struggles at the Electro-Motive plant in London, is it the result of unionized labour or greedy, power-hungry corporations... or something else, i.e., one other thing, or many other things?

The erosion of good jobs is one of the key issues that will dominate 2012, like a grown man in soiled pants would spoil any polite conversation at a classy dinner party.

Good jobs relate to good communities and schools and health care and lifestyle and much of what Canadians have grown used to having and being in the last several decades. Good jobs relate to suitable, secure pensions and travel and recreational opportunities and the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the homes we live in, the cars we drive and all the other possessions we feel we want or must have.

However, good jobs, in my opinion, have gone from something of a guaranteed commodity to a shaky proposition in the course of my lifetime and I must shake my head at the future working men and women seem to face - including my sons and their families - over the next 25 years, what could be the course of the remainder of my life.

More to follow.

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Please click here to read My New Economic Plan, inspired by ‘Get Low’, a small Hollywood movie.

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Cartoon in Progress: “Wazzat U?”


“Pip!”

gah

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Please click here for another Cartoon in Progress.

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All Dads Have Gas

In the brilliant children’s book ‘All Dads Have Gas’ the reader learns that gas - toots, windy fluffs, farts - is produced globally by the big and the small, not just by Dad’s.


["The book will likely become a classic": Toon by GH]

Dad’s may be chief producers on hot sunny days after they’ve enjoyed a sodee pop and a few pickled eggs, but they’re definitely not alone.

Even fish produce gas.

I bet you didn’t know that.

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Not just Dad’s and fish.

Please click here for more news about gas producers.



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Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Cartoon in Progress: The Chicken Dance


“Yes, I can’t dance.”

gah

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Please click here for another cartoon.

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Prose: chickens of ordinary stature

I like chickens. I bet you do too.

I wrote the following bit on January 5, 1974. (Yes, I was such a creative young man.) So, tomorrow marks the poem’s 38th anniversary.


Check your freezer. If you find any chicken from 1974, say, stuck inside a block of ice at the bottom (and I know that kind of thing can happen), tomorrow would be a good day for a fry up. Raise a drumstick with me.


chickens of ordinary stature

mildly,
chickens
smell like the dickens.
usually,
they lay eggs
between their legs.

from chicken coop
to chicken soup,
nothing left
but chicken poop.

gah

[Photo and cartoon by G.Harrison]

***

You’re welcome.

Please click here for more prose, something a bit more recent.

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Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Rare Family Photos: Under the water tower

In December, while compiling my father’s naval memoirs into book form, I uncovered two rare things at about the same time.

The first was a rare article my father and mother wrote together for the Norwich Gazette. Both wrote separate columns for several years. I doubt they shared space in the same column more than once or twice.

The second was a rare photo of my grandmother (on my other’s side) with three of her four children. (Fred, her oldest son, may have been married at the time, or else he took the photo). Together they form a tight group outside their small frame house that sat under the Norwich water tower, about a block south of the village’s solid red brick post office. (FYI - the house still stands; the post office burned down except for the old clock tower.)


In the photo from the early 1940s I see my Scottish grandmother Ida Belle (nee Gordon) Catton, a hard-working, kind-hearted widow, with her left hand over her only daughter’s shoulder (i.e., Edith, 18 - 20 years old, about 10 years away from becoming my mother).

Up front I see Verne Catton (16 - 18 years old, and not in the mood to smile; perhaps he had just lit up), and Arthur (11 - 13 years old, wearing a pleasant smile and hand-me-down trousers, common for the day).

The brick structure in the background may be a municipal building, now long gone.

Mother wrote the following in the Gazette about seeing her boyfriend while he was on leave at Christmas, 1941:

I remember the day he came home on short leave, though I can’t recall that we knew what day he would arrive. In the morning I had washed my hair and put in a few curlers at the top.

In those days most of us wore our hair long, to our shoulders, and with the side hair rolled up in a pompadour. I hadn’t got around to putting any make-up on, and I was just poking about waiting for my hair to dry, which took a long time for we didn’t have hand-held blow dryers then. My brothers were out and Mother was doing some Christmas baking at the kitchen table.

I walked into the dining room and looked out the door window and saw an odd-looking person coming down through the parking lot which used to be just in front of our house. I remember that I called out to Mother: “There’s a strange looking person coming down the road, come and see,” but before she could wipe the flour off her hands, I recognized Doug and called out; “It’s Doug Harrison!”

There he was, navy hat on one side, gas-mask over one shoulder, walking down through the snow. I ran out the door, wet hair, curlers and all, and down the snowy sidewalk with Mother calling after me, “Edith! Come and put your coat on!” but I kept right on going.

I got to the end of the sidewalk and as we met I got a bump on the forehead and Doug got a bang on his nose. His nose used to bleed easily, and there he was, nose bleeding, trying to find a handkerchief, trying to hang on to his gas-mask, one arm around me, and then he said, laughing, “This is a great way to welcome me home!”

We managed to get into the house, where he sat down at one end of the table, and we found more handkerchiefs and mopped him up. Then, as I sat on his lap he asked, “How about a cup of tea?”


["How about a cup of tea?": photos of rare photos by GH]

I made him the tea and then, after I had put on my make-up and combed my hair, we went up to Spring Street and spent the rest of the day with his mother.

I don’t remember Christmas Day that year; whenever I think of that Christmas time, I just recall that strange outfit, the recognition, the rush through the snow, and the words, “This is a great way to welcome me home!”

Such stories and photos keep the memories related to the Harrison/Catton family history from drifting away on the next light breeze.

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Please click here to view another Family Photo.

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Soft Blankets, Tall Walls


Last night, between 2 and 4 a.m., something fell outside our house. I didn’t hear a sound.

Did you?


In a few minutes I will head outside to join my neighbours at work, snow shovel in hand. When I get to the 3-foot wall of snow at the head of the driveway, that’s when you’ll hear something.

[Photos by G.Harrison, Jan.3, 2012]

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Please click here for a photo with a different temperature.

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Canadian Icon

I would only risk life and limb to run upstairs at a dangerous clip in my son’s house, race outside onto a slippery wet balcony that hangs over rock so hard it almost kills a person just to look at it, and fumble with a camera (“Where’s the little ‘On’ button?”) for the likes of Gordie Howe, Celine Dion and one other Canadian icon whilst they swim in the Fenelon Falls channel.


Recognize the Canadian icon?

For local viewers who just came back indoors after shovelling 18 inches of snow off their front walk and drive (not counting the 3 ft. wall of snow the Corporation of the City of London just dumped behind our cars!), the photo was taken December 15, i.e., 2 and a half weeks ago. Note - no ice or snow in the channel.

[Photo by GH]

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Okay, maybe I’d run upstairs to the balcony to see Gretzky swim by.

Please click here to view Electric Turkey Soup. Very refreshing.

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Monday, January 2, 2012

Rare Family Photos: 'The Group of Seven' Harrisons

My dad had three brothers and three sisters and, as far as I know, there are very few existing photographs that include all seven sitting in a relaxed pose, or in any other type of pose.

Knowing how difficult it is to get my three sisters and one brother together for even the shortest of reunions, I predict the odds are two million to one that five such photographs exist in the world.


But here they are, the seven Harrisons from Norwich (within two generations they were joined by scores of others, all of whom were very hungry), on a side porch after a wedding. The mother of the groom sits in front.

Question: Can you guess which of Dad’s sisters was the proud parent on that day? (Hint: It’s not the one I picked first, i.e., the one with the broadest smile that would suggest she was very happy to see her son go into the world and eventually become, e.g., a high school principal).

I found the photo in my small collection and am very happy to see my dad (far left, back row) enjoying a lovely sunset at the end of a very pleasant day.

In all honesty, I think I contributed to his smile on that day. I had just turned nine, was not invited to the wedding and was very likely running amok behind my grandmother’s back. He is smiling because he knows he won’t have to chase after me for at least another hour or two. He might even have time for a smoke and a couple of beers before heading home.

Your welcome, Dad.

On the back of the photo is found the following:

The Harrison family, Donnie and Jean’s wedding, October 6, 1958.

‘Donnie’ would be Donnie Sherman; his mother is Jessie Sherman, far left, front row. But notice the long face!

Why is that? What could my Aunt Jessie be thinking on this happy day?

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Please click here to see another Rare Family Photo.

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Electric Turkey Soup


Electric Turkey Soup - photo by G.Harrison

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Please click here to read about the world’s best (except for one not-so-small thing) turkey soup.

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Turkey Soup


Except for the bay leaf, my wife’s turkey soup went down very well at noon today. For the fifth day in a row I have enjoyed the rich taste immensely, along with all of the natural goodness contained in all ingredients.

The ingredients include;

- leftover turkey-lurkey
- leftover celery, carrots, corn niblets, onions, peas
- rice
- bits of dressing that stuck to the turkey’s ribs
- the odd piece of bone or cartilage that slipped past quality control
- and finally, one large bay leaf, large and jagged-edged enough to stick in a grown man’s throat.

Every Boxing Day for the last 30 or 40 years my wife has made the soup, and every year at noon hour - when I know soup’s on - I run to the fridge and begin slurping the tasty concoction before she can finish her sentence about it.

“Turkey soup is ready, with all the things in it that you like best, but don’t forget - like you did last year, and the year before that, and so on, and so on - that the bay leaf is not for eating. I repeat, not...”

***

Maybe if I chewed it longer...

Please click here for more leftovers.

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Sunday, January 1, 2012

Norwich Boy Earns “Dad, well done”


I asked myself this morning, how will I explain my long absence from the blog? It wasn’t that Christmas was so busy I didn’t have time to think. I had lots of time to think... and write... and think...

My dad, G. D. (Doug) Harrison (born Sept. 6, 1920, died Feb. 6, 2003) contributed to the Norwich Gazette, his hometown weekly, for many years, and one day in the fall of 2011, while I looked for a particular article he had written (I needed a pithy quote for a Remembrance Day article of my own), I found a worn brown folder longing for attention. Though I knew it wasn’t what I was looking for, I opened it.

Instead of a single quote about what motivated Dad to join the Merchant Marine, I found 46 hand-written pages - over 35 years old - that summarized, as well as he could remember (and he had a sharp mind up to his death), his involvement in World War 2. Accompanying the notes was a neatly typed 21-page version of his familiar scrawl.


I tipped my hat to my youngest sister, Jane Harrison for her efforts, then set the folder aside. I wasn’t quite ready to dig into it. I had a deadline hanging - like a sharp Navy dirk - over my head.

A month later I decided to turn his memoirs into a small book, realizing as I typed that it was coming together many years too late. The person I needed to talk to for more details, wanted to talk to about certain events, ask questions of or discuss a fine point with, was dead and gone. Now that I want to ask, “Tell me about where you were when the ships were loading for Dieppe?” my dad inhabits another sphere.

Many others surely understand the hard lesson I learned as I typed, i.e., I’d waited too long to ask for the good stories I’d now like to hear, am ready to hear. Such is life, my dad would say.

Fortunately, my dad wrote many things down in his later years and I have his hand-written notes, his contributions to two books assembled by foresightful members of Canadian Combined Operations and numerous articles he wrote and later clipped from the Norwich Gazette about his ‘Navy Days’.

And compiling his notes into book form kept me pretty busy for the last 3 - 4 weeks, so busy I barely had time to wrap presents for Christmas morning.

My schedule is a little more relaxed now and I hope you’ll understand re my absence.

PS Does anyone have the address of the person who invented the gift card? I feel I need to send them a big ‘thank you’ note.

[Photos by GH]

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Please click here for a link to my backyard adventures with local furry scoundrels.

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Friday, December 23, 2011

Rare Family Photos: “I must have a metal plate in my head”

One of my sisters must have one too.


In this rare family photo (def’n. - rare, adj. uncommon, no one will ever see it again), taken at the “Norwich District High School Fashion Show” - as per my mother’s neat script on the back of the photo - circa 1958, you’ll notice that my older sister Dale and I are tilting our heads toward Mum while wearing plastic smiles. We must have had metal plates up top, and Mum a magnetic force under her hat.

Why else would we be smiling? I for one hated the fashion shows. My true feelings are plastered all over my youngest sister’s face. (Jane didn’t start smiling until she figured out her date for early retirement a few years ago. Now she can’t stop).

And brother Kim? I can’t tell whether he’s happy or sad under that goofy grin.

I’ll soften my feelings for this particular fashion show for just a second. I do recall liking the jacket, cream coloured with burgundy ribs and I think Mum bought it for me. I was wearing it (or something else with burgundy dye in it) during a freak rainstorm and, instead of jumping under the protective awning of a Main St. store in Norwich, I stood - mesmerized - and watched a wall of water from the sky (the wet wall reached from one side of the street to the other; it was blue to gray in colour; it made an unforgettable noise, like a modern street-washing machine) move slowly down the street before me. By the time I awoke to the fact I was getting drenched (the rain felt very warm and fresh), completely drenched, burgundy dye was dripping from my fingers and running across the sidewalk and into the gutter.

I remember Mum’s question to me after she saw my ruined jacket. “Why didn’t you get out of the rain?

I can’t recall my exact answer. Something about a magnetic force controlling my head.

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Please click here to view another Family Photo.

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Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Ollie and Me: “He makes me laugh”


We all need one special talent to help us make our way through the world with some confidence. Ollie has at least one.

Though he’s cute, that’s not his special talent. I dare say every child is cute at age five. But wait ‘til they’re 13 and want their own car.


Ollie can turn his eyelids under (Or is it ‘over?’) to make me laugh. How he figured out how to do it escapes me.

Maybe he’ll outgrow the special talent once he has his driver’s license.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Any special talents in your household?

Please click here for more Ollie and Me.

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Link and Learn: How to stop squirrels. WTheck?

It can actually be done?

For readers following my series about “a squirrel-proof feeder” and who are not buying a word of it, please be aware that there are others among us who study the problems related to squirrels in far more detail than I ever will.

I mean, I just want to beat them (badly), keep them from my seed mix and design a feeder that will one day, maybe soon, grant me entrance to the hall of mighty minds.

Reader G. Howell recently left the following comment:

“I admire you for trying; and I know that somewhere, someday someone will come up with the perfect squirrel proof bird feeder that is actually squirrel proof yet not bird proof. When that happens, that individual will become very wealthy. Keep trying, I look forward to perhaps purchasing one from you.”

I add it here in its entirety for three reasons:

First. I look forward to becoming very wealthy.


["One more squirrel walks away - empty - from my feeder"]

Second. Because of Mr. Howell’s positive support I want to go on record and say he’ll get the deep discount.

Third. Mr. Howell provides a wealth of very good information about squirrels at the following website, Howtostopsquirrels.com, and anyone interested in defeating the cleverest of squirrels (even some of the not-so-clever ones) would do well to link to the site.

Keep up the battle!

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Please click here to read A Squirrel-proof Feeder PT6

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