The price of oil and the century-old cheap ride

The screech of brakes outside my house often sends me scurrying to the porch. The four-way stop at a nearby corner is often the cause of the smell of burnt rubber and worn brake linings that greets my nose.

Unfortunately, there is no worrisome screech of brakes as the global economy quickly slows as a result of rising oil prices. A loud screech might actually wake some of us up to the fact that we’re entering tough times.

Thanks to meticulous book-keeping records re oil prices, we know that we’ve been on a wonderfully cheap ride for at least 110 years. From 1865 to about 1975 the price of a barrel of oil was under $5. Now it costs, on average, 20 - 30 times as much and continual increases in price per barrel are likely for the next several decades.


[Please click here for more oil facts and figures]

While the family wallet expanded in many places around the world, particularly in Canada, USA, Europe and some oil-producing nations, and material goods went from experimental (early automobiles) to exciting (the first colour TVs) to excessive (remember the Hummer?), generations of people learned - what seemed to be inevitable truths for many - several adages:

hard work will lead to prosperity

economies will grow annually and forever

bigger is better

Earth’s resources belong to industry

a free market economy is the way up

and sustainability... not so much

... and so on. (Please, chip in your own ideas about other lessons learned during the era of cheap oil).

Today the price of oil stands at $99.81 and our Canadian Prime Minister is in China trying very hard to keep our resource-based economy alive (by, in large part, selling tar sands oil to Asia), thereby keeping Canada’s petro-dollar, healthy lifestyle and dreams afloat.

Since oil is so integral to our economy’s success, i.e., here in Canada, the nature of the line that represents the price of oil on the graph above seems to me to suggest what our future holds. In fact, I would predict violent shifts and ups and downs in our economy, uncertainty related to prospects for jobs and wealth, increases in costs for food, clothing, shelter, transportation, communication and recreation, and higher prices in almost every other area of life that we’ve slowly grown used to since the 1860s.

Though I don’t think we’ll hear the actual screech of brakes, we’ll continually feel, as if we’re riding in an aging car, a significant difference in the ride over the next few decades.

We’ll certainly hear many howls of discontent, e.g., from those who have grown used to many privileges, creature comforts and material goods over the last many decades of growth). We’ll hear more abrasive and often short-sighted calls for deep cuts in public spending, especially from those who think only the public sector is at fault and that the private sector has no need to sacrifice more for the sake of others around us who will need support in these tough times and more ahead.

Over the next number of years, as we transition from an “oil-based, economy first” society to a more sustainable one, I look forward to hearing admissions from Canadians from coast to coast that less is actually more, that by living small one is able to live more fully in intellectual, social, emotional, spiritual ways, etc.


[“Live small, get out of the LIVE BIG clamp”]

Truthfully, someone is bound to learn in the next year or so that they are actually a slave to their house or car and other material goods, and the ‘must-have’ lifestyle and associated debt is giving them stomach indigestion!

A loud screech might be needed for others, and it will come.

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Nature’s Solace: War time - 1940s

Even while cannons crack fiercely, nature often speaks with a calming voice.

Last evening, from the heavy tome entitled ‘Weller’s War’, a compilation of war correspondence from 1941 - 45, I read the following:

The Japs had been raiding (Java) at nine in the morning and five in the afternoon for the last two weeks. They had just left, Australian ground crewmen said.

One of them said, “We stayed in a grass hut and took turns through the night standing guard with the brilliant moon overhead, silhouetting the swaying palm trees and ferns. The lizards croaking in nearby bushes, and the night birds uttering their hoarse shrieks, made it unforgettable. At last dawn came and we took off as soon as the runway was visible.”

Less than three weeks later, Japanese parachutists were to descend on Koepang (on the island of Timor, east of Java), breaking the golden thread to the Indies. (pg. 268)

Amidst even war, scenes of beauty in nature have a unique impact and are long remembered, especially when some description is recorded.

Here is another description, made halfway around the world at about the same time:

The earth encourages man’s belief that it will treasure the traces of his existence for all time. The sea offers no such illusion: before our very eyes it wipes away our footprints.

When the moon breaks momentarily through the headlong rush of clouds, wispy braids of silver ripple across the dark waters. As the moonlight flickers, the waves are transformed from jagged silhouettes into silver-veined slopes of astonishing plasticity, strewn with moon currents, moon glitter, furrows of moon shadow. This gleaming, streaming, and rippling of silver is quite incomparable. It is not of this world. (U-BOAT WAR, Lothar-Gunther Buchheim, author of ‘The Boat’)

Though Buchheim was aboard a German sub to record its history in words and photographs, the voice and appearance of nature provided inspiration for some of his most gripping memories.

Many sailors from other countries, e.g., Canada, and aboard vessels trying to stay out of the crosshairs of U-Boat periscopes, looked upon the same oceans and waves and were affected by what they saw and heard.

The brief descriptions that follow come from my father’s naval memoirs. The crack of cannons no doubt were upon his mind, but nature’s solace appeared in a few forms.

Far off Gibraltar, the British bastion, we passed through the inky blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea as they joined the battle with the green waters of the Atlantic Ocean, which ruled in the end. (pg. 59, “Dad, well done”: The Naval Memoirs of LS Doug Harrison)

Tropical Night Romance - We encountered moonlit nights in which the silhouettes of our sister ships could be seen travelling across the shiny moonbeams on the ocean’s surface. It was peaceful, beautiful, a strangely quiet but dangerous sight. The only sounds were the wash from the propellor and the sound of steam from the small stack (sounding) like a man trying to conceal a bad cough. (pg. 62)


[SS Silver Walnut, merchant ship with LS Harrison aboard, circa 1943]

The Flying Fishes Play - One day as we lined the rail the sea appeared to boil and flying fish by the hundreds broke the surface of the ocean. Many flew into the ship, some onto the ship, and others flew over the ship. Those that didn’t appear hurt we tossed into the sea again after first having a good look at them. Up until this time I thought that flying fish were only a myth and appeared only “On the Road to Mandalay.” The Silver Walnut was compensating us for her breakdowns; she was showing us the sights of the sea. (pg. 63)

I suggest, that if nature’s calming voice was heard even in war time, it can still be heard today as we fight smaller battles on many fronts.

What say you?

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Welcome to Harperville: “Smoke and fire, definitely, down your pants”

[“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.” GH, Jan. 13, Welcome to Harperville]

Please note: In Canada, the minority of people live in Harperville. And the minority is getting smaller.

“Once again Stephen Harper has overstepped his role as prime minister. He dreams up outlandish ideas about pension plans and doesn’t consult the MPs we elected to tell him what to do.” So begins a recent letter to the editor by Paul W. in the London Free Press (Feb. 6).

Paul neglects to mention that after Mr. Harper dreamt about making Canadians live a few more years before collecting their old age security cheque in order to pay for tax cuts for the wealthiest of Canadians, he announced his intentions in Switzerland, i.e., thousands and thousands of miles away from any loyal subjects who also might have an opinion in the matter. Paul should add, "What a weaselly move!" However, he does go on to say that our PM should “throw in the towel” because he’s lost the respect of his party members and “those of us unfortunate enough to have voted for his party.”

I’d be happy to hear what you think about delaying the OAS. Perhaps you’re a senior who feels you’ll really need it when the time comes, i.e., at age 65, and can’t afford any delay. Perhaps you’re a Conservative Party member who is willing to sacrifice a few years of OAS so that Corporate Canada can get more tax breaks in order to do whatever corporations do with tax breaks. Explain to me what they do, if you can.


[“Been thinking about your pension? Save up - now”]

Personally, though I enjoy my lovely little pension now and will apply for OAS when the time comes, I know that public pensions are under pressure, are under funded, and lengthy discussions will be needed about how to maintain the future health of retirement supports. I also know that pensions are supported, in part, by government revenues (also under pressure), so that is likely where the PM’s dreams should first be directed.

Any PM who dreams about taking money from the elderly to support the wealthiest in Canada is just blowing smoke and fire up your pants.

***

Thank you to Paul W.

Please click here to read more “Welcome to Harperville”

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Rare Family Photos: “Mom was hard at work... maybe”

This photo, apparently from 1939, jumped from the ‘pretty interesting’ category to ‘wow, this is really something’ once I took a second look.


At first glance, I enjoyed my mother’s youthful smile, (she was 16 at the time, as cute as a button, and has her arms behind the two men standing), but the rest of the names meant little, and I was about to put the photo away when my eyes settled more firmly on Mrs. A, the middle person sitting on a wood slat.

Hmmmm. I worked on tobacco farms too in my younger years, and worked for Mr. and Mrs. Roger Adams, south-east of Norwich. With photo in hand, I recalled that Diane Adams (Roger’s daughter), at 16, looked a lot like Mrs. A. I also thought, the man sitting behind Mrs. A. also looks a lot like Roger, my one-time boss (circa 1969).

(Note: The name Lou may refer to the man on mother’s left arm; Roger’s name may have been omitted - one of my mother’s few mistakes).

Could my mother and I have worked for the same family or on the same farm? It’s entirely possible.

Fortunately, I know someone in the Lee family (notice a Mr. Lee stands at far right in the photo) who may be able to help me out. But for now, I’m thinking that Roger and Mrs. Adams, one of the hardest working couples I ever met, provided healthy employment for my mother and I, though during tobacco seasons 30 years apart.

Until somebody tells me different, wow, that’s really something.

***

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The Canadian Dream is dust: “Plan for a new normal... now”

[“ Good grief, Mr. Harper. We sure know we’re in trouble when foxes are in charge of the hen house.” GH, Feb. 6, The Canadian Dream is dust: Pensions are political footballs]

You may think otherwise, but I don’t imagine pension plans are going to get stronger in Conservative Canada. The whole idea of working hard for 40 years (thereabouts) and retiring in a good-sized house with a secure pension has seen its day, in my opinion, now that most corporations pretty well have their way with employees, primarily put profits ahead of people and communities, and earn tax cuts as if its their inevitable right.

Tax cuts for corporations are sacrosanct as far as most Conservative politicians are concerned. It’s Rule 1 in their song book. Does that seem right to you, especially as the gap between the haves and have nots is growing?

Because of such short-sighted, unsustainable thinking and its prevalence today, I now throw out a few more ideas about pensions.

Number Four. A very good idea. Reduce current spending. Good jobs seem to be fleeing the country and they will likely be a long time coming back. Our excessive lifestyle was built on the back of cheap oil over the last 7 - 10 decades and oil’s current price (approx. $100 per barrel) will not be coming down as the resource becomes scarcer and as production costs rise. Canada’s petro-dollar comes with no guarantee related to its stability.


["I think the new rule is... 99% of us are on our own."]

Idea Five. Another very good idea. Pay down debt in the next year or two - really go at it - in order to apply idea six.

Idea Six. A most excellent idea. Save money for tough times ahead. Since our Conservative government would like to move people toward voluntary private pension plans, weaken the veracity of the CPP and OAS, and put no energy into encouraging corporations to develop pension plans to assist workers once they leave their jobs, a significant portion of every pay cheque needs to be saved and sheltered inside an interest bearing savings account, Registered Retirement Savings Plan (RRSP), or some other trustworthy money-making vehicle (and not just under the mattress). What is a significant portion? As much as possible... then double it.

Idea Seven. Another excellent idea. Decrease household expenses by moving to a smaller home or apartment close to public transit and eating smaller portions at most meals. The Canadian Dream is dust and our government and wealthy corporations have no sustainable plans for a future that includes the average Canadian.

I apologize for not creating a guaranteed pension plan for you up to this point. I think is out of my hands anyway. But, as people reduce their financial costs and burdens now, they’ll be better able to prepare for life after work.

***

Please click here to read The Canadian Dream is dust: Pensions are political footballs

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Motorcycle Miles: PT 2 “Vancouver Island or bust”

[Neys Park, 2008. "I camped just steps from the wild beach": photo GH]

After completing several complicated mathematical calculations, I learned the distance from my front porch to Courtenay, on Vancouver Island, British Columbia is 4,691 km. In other words, my trip to visit my dad’s old WW2 naval base, down the road from Courtenay, is a long one.


[Leading Seaman Doug Harrison, lower left. Comox, Vanc. Island, 1944 - 45]

The 10 or 11 day bike trip in July will be about 5 km. longer if I turn off the Trans-Canada highway at Neys Provincial Park, on the north shore of Lake Superior, to take more photos of its desolate beach. I can see myself doing that, especially if there is no charge for a ten minute visit.

The trip will be hundreds of km. longer if I detour from my route in order to visit a CN train station in Edson, Alberta. The Edson station is but one of many that my dad and other sailors ‘posed in front of’ while travelling west from Ontario in 1944, before embarking on their final months of service to the Canadian Navy. I can’t see myself making the detour. It would add another day to an already very long trip.


[Don 'Westy' Westbrook from Hamilton: photo from collection of Doug Harrison]

My body - read, ‘my butt and feet’ - will thank me later for just getting to a hostel in Lake Louise, stepping off the bike and pealing off my hot leather boots as quickly as possible.

[Yeah, thoughts of my 2010 trip to Halifax - half the distance - are coming back to me now.]

***

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The Canadian Dream is dust: Pensions are a political footballs

[“... the ratio of taxpayers to pensioners is declining. Has the term ‘gray tsunami’ been taken? If not, I’m coining it here, and that’s what pension funds see over the horizon. G.Harrison, Fri., Feb. 3, The Canadian Dream is dust: Thots about my pension]

I have a pension. Many readers in all likelihood don’t. My monthly payment went up in January compared to 2011’s monthly payout. Many readers will shake their head and reach for the nearest projectile... to toss at my bean.

While I prepare to duck, it seems a good time to ask again, “what can be done to support Canadians in their post-working life, their golden years (the ‘days of denim and T-shirts’ as I like to say), so that all our dreams don’t turn to dust?” (GH, previous related post, Feb. 3)

And as I said then too, “let’s throw some ideas out, like wet spaghetti against a wall, and see what sticks...”

Ideas, in no particular order...

One. A good idea. Canadians in general, are quite wealthy by global standards, and though the gap between the rich and poor is growing, we have the means (a fairly reliable parliamentary system, various policies of taxation and income distribution) to collect and redistribute some of the combined wealth to people, in a relatively fair and judicious manner. So, when discussing the hot topic of pensions, let’s consider and use those means at our disposal as fully as possible, and get our money’s worth from organized levels of government and those taxation and funding systems already in place.


["Four sailors, 1944, on their way to Vancouver Island. No pensions were granted after their years of service. What do you expect in regards to a pension?": My dad is at far left - GH]

Two. That being said, our federal Conservative government is therefore jumping the gun - and this is a bad idea - by pushing onto Canadians a new privately administered pension system called Pooled Registered Pension Plans (PRPP), rather than trying to correct the course with the already established publicly administered plans, the Canadian Pension Plan (CPP) and Old Age Security (OAS) systems. Not just jumping the gun. Prime Minister Harper is also promoting the private plan in a most sly, sneaky and disrespectful fashion - another bad idea - by announcing proposed changes to the OAS while brunching with some of the wealthiest of the wealthy in Davos, Switzerland, and not within the sturdy, democratic hall known to Canadians as the House of Commons.

Three. A bad idea. When trying to educate Canadians about pension plans, reforms, etc., our federal Conservative government should not just rely on reports handed to them on a silver platter by the C.D. Howe Institute, a right-wing think tank made up of, and sponsored by, more of the wealthiest of the wealthy, whose chief philosophies relate to lowering corporate taxes and reducing public social programs, like pensions. Read, more for the wealthy, less for the other 99 per cent of Canadians. (Good grief, Mr. Harper. We sure know we’re in trouble when you put the foxes in charge of the hen house).

You thought pensions were not tied to politics? Oh, but they are. Always will be.

More to follow.

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Please click here to read The Canadian Dream is dust: Thots about my pension

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Motorcycle Miles: “Vancouver Island or bust”

I’ve saved the money. I own the right motorcycle. I have a sturdy pair of jeans, a leather coat and four rugged bags for gear. My wife says, “Go.”

In July I’ll ride to British Columbia, to visit the naval base at which my dad served in 1944 - 45, and to visit a naval museum in which some mementos from his ship are found.


The road to Thunder Bay will be familiar and exhilarating at the same time as I make my way west, one step or mile at a time.


Will the sunsets at Hattie Cove again fill me with wonder? I bet they will, as will the vast prairies, the Rocky Mountains, several wicked mountain passes, and the hammock with my dad’s name on it in a navy museum in Esquimalt, B.C.

Thousands of photos to follow. Set aside a few minutes to view them around the first of August.

[Above photos - beach at Pancake Bay, sunset at Hattie Cove on Lake Superior: by GH, 2007]

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Rare Family Photos PT 2: Susie can still dance ‘The Pony’

[“Last week, after finishing the second edit of a book about my father’s ‘navy days’, I looked at a small pile of related black and white photos from the early 1940s and thought the following deep and rewarding thought: I should send any photos of Chuck Rose to his family. They might appreciate them.” G.H., Feb. 3, Rare family Photos]

There are 17 Roses listed in the online Niagara Falls white pages, and after talking to a few strangers (about a handful of old photos I wanted to give to Chuck Rose or his family), my patience was rewarded.

“Good morning,” I said. “My name is Gord Harrison from London, and I’m trying to locate Chuck Rose, or someone related to Chuck,” I began.

“Hello,” said a woman with a clear, strong voice. “I’m related to Chuck. I’m his wife.”

I had located Pauline Rose (now age 89), and she was delighted to hear from me. Fortunately, I was sitting down.


I quickly composed myself and described the photos in more detail, including my favourite of Chuck and Pauline beside my family’s picket fence in Norwich.

She told me she remembered my parents and the visits fondly, that Chuck had passed away 17 years ago, that David had passed away too, that Susie now lives in Aurora and visits her often, and that I sounded just like my father.

I let her know that both of my parents had passed away some years ago too, that Chuck was mentioned in several places in my dad’s naval memoirs and appeared in several group photos.

After the rewarding conversation ended I mailed off the black and whites and included more family news along with my email address.

Susie has since been in touch. In an email she says the photos arrived safely, goes on at length about her career as a fitness instructor, cottage in Parry Sound, and wonders if I remember the dance moves she showed me.

No. Sorry about that last one. ‘The Pony’ is long forgotten, but thanks to a few old photos, the Harrison and Rose family connection is alive once again. That actually makes my day.

Because she and her husband (a retired teacher, as am I) live next to a highway my wife and I frequent on our regular visits to Fenelon Falls, our two families should be able to meet at least once a year to strengthen the bonds that our parents formed so many years ago.

That’s quite the gift to enjoy, is it not?

[Photo of an old photo by GH]

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Please click here to read Rare Family Photos PT 1: Susie could dance ‘The Pony.’

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Final Edits: “Dad, well done”

A few spelling errors have to be corrected. A few photos have to be lightened of taken again at higher resolution. A few files have to be sent off.


But by the end of this month, my dad’s naval memoirs will be in book form and I’ll be plugging it until the cows come home. Or thereabouts.

You will hardly blame me. It’s brilliant.

[Photo by G.H.]

***

Please click here for more about Dad’s Navy Days.

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Rare Family Photos: Susie could dance ‘The Pony’

This old black and white hangs in my dining room under a picture from my wife’s exciting childhood days. It proves I had my own exciting childhood days, especially when I was five-years old.


[L to R: Gord H., Chick Rose, Susie Rose (foreground), Lannie H. (background), Dale H.

In 1954 (as near as I can guess) Chick and Susie came to visit at my house. Their dad was Chuck Rose, a friend of my dad’s from his ‘navy days’ (1941 - 1945), and the two dads organized a game of scrub in the back yard of my first childhood home in Burgessville.

Please note: The house and sloping backyard still exist, as does the barn on the property, though the current owner, Les Knotts, took the barn apart board by board in the late 1950s, then reassembled it, board by board - by himself - after shifting its position 90 degrees. “That’s so I could park in it,” he said to me, two years ago.

I got pretty excited about what Mr. Knotts told me at the time, but even more about the backyard ball game in 1954. I recall hitting an easy pitch from my dad and sending the ball through a pane of glass in one of our basement windows. It made my day, maybe my whole week!

Really. Something like that has got to make every kid’s day! Because it wasn’t my fault! How cool is that?

Last week, after finishing the second edit of a book about my father’s ‘navy days’, I looked at a small pile of related black and white photos from the early 1940s and thought the following deep and rewarding thought: I should send any photos of Chuck Rose to where they would be appreciated most... to him or his family.

I knew it wasn't going to be easy finding someone whose last visit with my family was in 1958, again, as close as I can guess. All I had to go on were the following snippets of memory: Chuck, Mrs. Rose, Chick, Susie (with red hair, like her mom), Niagara Falls, navy, “The Pony.”

Oh, about "The Pony." At the end of the last visit Mrs. Rose encouraged Susie to dance “The Pony” for my family on our front sidewalk. So, just before her family piled into their car to the Falls, Susie gathered up her courage and danced her heart out. Oh, I now recall a few more things about Susie at the time, i.e., a red face to go with her red hair, pointy knees and elbows - she could have hurt herself - and good rhythm.

I turned to Google and learned there are 17 Roses listed in the online Niagara Falls white pages, and just last week, after talking to a few people about trying to find remaining family members of Chuck Rose, and that I had a handful of old black and whites (One person loved my idea and wouldn’t get off the line; she had 20 questions, at least, and my phone bill will be through the roof!) I had one very stirring conversation.

“Good morning,” I said. “My name is Gord Harrison from London, and I’m trying to locate Chuck Rose, or someone related to Chuck,” I began.

More to follow.

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The Canadian dream is dust?: Initial thots about pensions

[Freedom 55... forget about it. Freedom 75 is now the norm, but only if you save 15 - 20 per cent of your monthly income “as if your house is on fire.” The Canadian Dream is dust. Jan. 30, G.Harrison]

I know how lucky I am. I retired at age 53 (Freedom 53 - who knew?) with almost a full, guaranteed pension after a stellar 32-year long teaching career.

[Definition: stellar, adj. - cool, brilliant, as in “he read to his students almost everyday and not once threw a rebellious child out an open door, or window even.]

I know nothing is actually guaranteed except death and taxes, as many people, for some reason, like to remind me. So, saying my pension is guaranteed, when it relies on the veracity of the economy and on-going good health of the stock markets, is really a bit of a stretch.

I also know not everyone is as lucky as me and I should shut up about my good fortune. Many have no pension now, or are not working toward one and have no guarantee of one - even a small one - in the future. No wonder discussions related to pensions raise the heat in the room for many people.


["I'm looking for ideas about pensions": 'Toon' by GH]

But they must be discussed because most Canadians will require some form of support after their working years. And few can organize their life as well as I can, i.e., to work part-time, as I do now, until my 87th birthday, dance at the party (I’ll do the fox-trot; easier on the knees), eat two big pieces of chocolate cake after opening gifts, and then pass away peacefully in the night with nothing but a smile and smidge of icing on my lips.

Many of us can agree that the number of Canadians requiring support will rise, e.g., perhaps double over the next 20 years, as more boomers reach retirement age. And we know that the number of workers in the workforce is declining (due in part to a weakening of the Canadian economy as good jobs go to cheaper labour markets), so the ratio of taxpayers to pensioners is declining. (Has the term ‘gray tsunami’ been taken? If not, I’m coining it here, and that’s what pension funds see over the horizon).

So, what can be done to support Canadians in their post-working life, their golden years (the ‘days of denim and T-shirts’ as I like to say), so that all our dreams don’t turn to dust?

Let’s throw some ideas out, like wet spaghetti against the wall, and see what sticks...

More to follow.

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Zoom w a View: What a difference a day makes

Photo - Today


I haven’t kept scientific track, but isn’t this the third time since Christmas that we’ve had snow on the ground (and birdhouses) one day and it’s all gone the next?

Two Photos - Today




The owl loves basking in the sun, but not usually until March!

What gives? Is climate change quickening its pace?

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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This Old Economist: “Good jobs are going up in smoke”

["Feed the pig before it sinks."]

[No matter how Canadian jobs stats are sliced and diced, our Conservative Federal Government has no sustainable plan to bring good jobs back to our country. Thanks to its short-sighted, unsustainable, “business as usual” free market economic plan that includes tax breaks for the wealthiest among us (aka “the job creators”) ...good jobs will not grow in good numbers. Jan. 30, G.Harrison]

As if in support of my recently espoused theory - i.e., reviving the job market will be more difficult than bringing a dead mackerel back to life - a well-written letter to the editor appeared on Jan. 28 in The London Free Press.

Tax breaks don’t create jobs

“Gerry Macartney (London Chamber of Commerce) says corporations should first get their tax reduction and then work with the government to find ways to create jobs. I don’t think so.

Why on earth would a corporation create more jobs and more goods just because it gets a tax break? Short answer: It wouldn’t and never has.

The real problem is 10 years of stagnated or declining wages for the workers, with the resulting decrease in demand for goods and services. The money is now tied up in the assets of rich corporations and individuals who literally do not know how to spend their mountains of money.” Gerry H. Grand Bend

You think we’re in trouble now, Canada, with a government that can serve up no sustainable, viable Plan A for jobs yet rewards corporations for being... corporations.

(Is pushing the toxic tars sands a viable job plan once unmanageable future costs to our natural ecosystems and personal health are considered? Is there any wonder Finance Minister Jim Flaherty has drafted a plan to limit future funding to the health care systems we’ll need in the future?)

Directly related to the letter, just wait ‘til more Canadians, now up to their eyeballs in debt, start paying it off regularly as if there is no tomorrow. What will happen to supply and demand of consumer goods then? Do the Conservatives have a sustainable Plan B for that day, decade, or Age, as in The Age of Austerity, with capital letters?

It’s almost as if the wealthy, in their desire to have it all, missed the lesson the tobacco industry learned years ago. That is, if you kill your customers, you’ll eventually run out of customers.

Don’t let your dreams go up in smoke.

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

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Please click here for more from This Old Economist.

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Zoom w a View: “Drip drop, Myrtle”

A bit of snow shovelling warmed me up this morning but the sun’s affects were also felt, seen and heard.

Besides causing me to take off my toque (toboggan, wool cap, etc. This is Canada, eh!), the sun was causing the snow in the rain gutters to melt, then drip upon a small pile of lumber.


Drip, drip, drop, drop.


Three tiny purple flowers, in a warm spot beside the house, were also sprouting.

“Myrtle, aren’t you a bit early this year?”


[Photos by GH]

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This Old Economist: The Age of Austerity is here to stay

[Canada’s economy created 21,700 net new jobs in December, up from the 17,500 previously reported, according to revised data released by Statistics Canada on Friday... but the employment rate was a notch higher at 7.5%. Jan. 28, London Free Press]

No matter how many ways Canadian jobs stats are sliced and diced, our Conservative Federal Government has no sustainable plan to bring good jobs back to our country.

Thanks to its short-sighted, unsustainable, “business as usual” free market economic plan that includes tax breaks for the wealthiest among us (aka “the job creators”) and reliance upon toxic tar sands to prop up its petro dollar, good jobs will not grow in good numbers. Average income for the common man will continue to erode, fuel prices will rise, and the age of austerity in which we live will earn capital letters.

Expect no public education from the Conservatives about how individuals and families should prepare for an austere future. They will dress up employment stats in fine clothes but never tell us how to best manage the inevitable smaller lifestyle we are marching steadily toward.

No longer can the average person expect simply to work hard and enjoy a future that grows more prosperous year by year as parents and grand-parents did, thanks to an ever-growing economy (out-dated now) that rode on the back of cheap oil and gas. Freedom 55... forget about it. Freedom 75 is now the norm, but only if you save 15 - 20 per cent of your monthly income “as if your house is on fire.” The Canadian Dream is dust.

Predictions -

the trend toward smaller incomes, homes and cars will grow

people will soon see the value of turning empty shipping containers into houses on small lots


[Link to photo]

within 5 years the unemployment rate will be rise partly because more Canadians will be paying down or being swamped by their excessive household debt (it now stands at its highest level in Canadian history)

within 10 years ‘The Age of Austerity’ will be the name of a reality TV show

the 1 per cent will get richer

What else will our government neglect to tell us?

***

Please click here to read more from This Old Economist.

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Theatre of the Restless Mind: PT 2 “Dad, a picture is worth a thousand words”

I’m glad my dad carried a camera on his way west from Ontario to Vancouver Island, while he travelled toward a naval base situated in Comox, a small town on the north eastern side of the island, and 90-minutes north (today, by car) of Nanaimo’s ferry landing. By examining one of a handful of photographs from that time in his life, I recently learned the once-thriving town of Hornepayne exists somewhere along the way.

I sussed out from the ‘black and white’ that Horne-payne lies 572.4 miles west of Toronto, 722.4 west of Montreal and 635.4 east of Winnipeg. And that when six young men in navy blue stepped off the train there (with Doug behind the camera) in January or February, 1944, it was cold enough to turn one’s breath into clouds of frost.

In a road atlas I discovered that the town sits on highway 631, about 100 kilometers north of White River (200 km. north of Wawa) and Trans-Canada Highway 17, and about 70 km. south of the intersection - likely a very quiet one - of 631 and Trans-Canada 11.


Hornepayne also sits on the CN rail line that connects Toronto, Sudbury and Winnipeg and many tiny spots that the vast majority of Canadians will likely never see or hear about, even once, over the course of a lifetime.

For example, do Capreol, Wilnet, Westree, Gogama, Kukatush, Foleyet, Elsas, Peterbell, Argolis, Fire River, Oba or MacDuff ring a bell? Not very likely, unless you regularly travel on the CN line between Sudbury and Hornepayne and keep your eyes peeled for signs erected at all the little whistle stops along the way. It may have been while on that stretch of rail that someone first said, “Be careful, pal. If you blink you’ll miss it.”

At www.railfame.ca I read that Hornepayne is the ‘quintessential railway town’. It is ‘hewn out of the wilderness of northern Ontario... symbolic of the railway’s determination to develop that region, and of the character of its inhabitants’. The town was called Fitzbach when first established in 1913 ‘as a divisional point on the Canadian Northern Ontario Railway’s main line between Montréal and Port Arthur. It was renamed Hornepayne about 1920’.

I also learned that the highway that runs through it today (i.e., number 631) was not completed until the 1980s, so it was about 40 years after my father stopped there that ‘the community’s dependence on the railway was ended’. In other words, if I’d lived there in the 1960s and wanted new blue jeans, in all likelihood I would have had to thumb through an Eaton’s catalogue, measure the length of my inseam with the help of a cloth tape from my mother’s sewing basket, mail off an order and then go wait (impatiently, very impatiently) at the train station for six weeks or more. That being said, to this day the railway serves as a vital link to the northern community.

What would six young sailors, chiefly from south western Ontario, have thought of Hornepayne? Would they have felt like they were in the middle of nowhere, or said, “We’re so far out of town we can’t even see the boonies from here?” I don’t know. Never will.


But I do know the old CN train station still stands, though, according to Wikipedia, it "is no longer in use and fallen into disrepair."

I also know, when I drive west to Comox this summer, I’ll likely feel a strong urge to turn north at White River, and drive about 100 km. out of my way in search of hot coffee and a quiet place to stretch my legs.

***

Please click here to read Theatre of the Restless Mind: PT 1 “Dad, a picture is worth a thousand words”

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Cartoon in Progress: “Ollie will like this one”

Grandson Ollie, 5-years old, is a pretty sharp kid.


He’ll know exactly why there are several bubbles trailing one of the four big bad bug brothers.

[Cartoon by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to see another Cartoon in Progress.

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Theatre of the Restless Mind: PT 1 “Dad, a picture is worth a thousand words”

The train whistle shrieked louder than the cold wind racing past its windows, but when Doug Harrison took note of the sound - it came to him as a muffled moan - while he sat upon a bench seat inside a rattling passenger car, six back from a steaming engine, he didn’t immediately realize what it meant.

He looked up from a well-thumbed Toronto newspaper (one of his five buddies had paid a nickel for it the day before, a heavy price he’d thought at the time, but not so now), gazed out the train window and noticed the trees rushing past, as they had for the last hundred miles or more, were thinning.

“Boys, we might see another face in a few minutes,” he said to Leading Seamen Chuck Rose and Buryl McIntyre sitting on the opposite bench and on either side of his resting feet. “I heard the whistle blow and the train seems to be slowing. Good Lord, I could sure use a stretch.”

The train slowed more perceptibly, another sharp whistle blast was sounded, passengers stirred and one old-timer, familiar with isolated Northern Ontario stops and the spare amenities offered at each, said a few words to Doug and the other sailors.

“We’re coming into Hornepayne. Not much more than piles of raw lumber to look at, but there’s hot coffee inside the station.”

Doug and the other sailors stood, straightened, stretched, and shook out a few wrinkles before throwing on standard-issue, heavy, navy blue long coats.

More to follow.

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Please click here for a related post.

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Cartoon on Progress: The big bad bug brothers

Dill and Henry, two of four big bad bug brothers, help entertain grandson Ollie when he comes to visit.


“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a stinky fish!”

If you’re five-years old I think you’ll get the joke.

[Cartoon by GH]

***

Please click here for more about Ollie and Me.

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Dad’s Navy Days: Chilly temperatures in Hornepayne, 1944

In early 1944, six merchant mariners on their way to Comox, B.C. - by way of CN rail through Hornepayne, Ontario - kept their jackets buttoned up tight due to cold weather. As Chuck Rose of Niagara Falls lit up a cigarette, his frosted breath hung in the air.

Unlike today, with Hornepayne’s temperature standing at a relatively mild minus 1 C (feels like minus 6 with wind gusts reaching 31 km/h), Joe Watson (in his long coat), from Simcoe, Ontario and Don Westbrook, from Hamilton, Ontario would have fully appreciated the protection of their thick, navy blue woolen pants.

What would the six young men, most from south western Ontario, have thought of Hornepayne, located north of S.S. Marie, Wawa and White River on a quiet road between (now) two Trans-Canada highways (number 11 and 17).


[Five sailors L to R - Unknown, Chuck Rose, Buryl McIntyre (back), Joe Watson (front), Don Westbrook; Doug Harrison (behind the camera), circa Feb., 1944]

Would they have remarked that Hornepayne “feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere,” “is stuck out in the boonies,” “is over 570 miles from Toronto” or “feels colder than a witch’s brew?”

(According to the CN station’s sign, Hornepayne is 572.4 miles west of Toronto, 722.4 miles west of Montreal and 635.4 miles east of Winnipeg.)

I’m sure those thoughts or others like them crossed their minds before finishing their break, stepping back onto the train west and thinking about all the miles yet to travel before settling down in barracks on Vancouver Island.

Good luck, boys. And Dad, don’t forget to write home.

Below is a recent photo taken near Hornepayne.


[“ I took this photo at 6:30 a.m. at the camp at First Government.” Lisa Verrino, Sept. 14, 2011]

Is Hornepayne worth a visit? Does the CN station still stand? Let me know.

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Please click here for more about Dad’s Navy Days.

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It Strikes Me Funny: 'Key words' always lead somewhere

Occasionally, while checking stats related to It Strikes Me Funny, I look at the top five ‘key words’ entered @ Google (and other portals) that lead readers here. I put my interest down to natural curiosity.

“Well, it sure ain’t your good looks!” my wife adds.

Last month’s top five ‘key words’ are as follow:

northern lights

1996 everest disaster

solar oven plans

permafrost

ants

I’ve included links to images related to the first three sets of words because the photos are well worth a peek (and include proper links back to original sites).

I didn’t link back to the last two words because, and this is just my natural opinion, there are only so many posts entitled “Ants turn blue due to permafrost in January” that one wants to read.

The BIG BAD BUG BROTHERS say...


“Thanks for stopping by!” [Cartoon by G. Harrison]

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Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny

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Old correspondence touches on modern times

[“The secret of the lightning Nazi advances, according to the Greeks, is that every moment spared from strafing is used in diligent, continuous eating. It took some time for the Greeks to understand that the first thing the German army does after bombing a city is to eat everything in it.” pg. 62, Weller’s War]

My mind is back in 1941 and I’m forming the impression that there is much to be learned there.

Recently, after sending off my latest writing project to the print shop (a compilation of my father’s naval memoirs from WW2 entitled “Dad, Well Done”) I found time to take a mental break and browse shelves at a local bookstore with a gift card and hot cuppa dark roast in hand.

Trust me. As I thumbed new books at full and bargain prices (admittedly, mostly at bargain prices!) the same thought often crossed my mind. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

Weller’s War caught my eye. I noticed beautiful cover art work in sepia tones, a photo of keys on an old typewriter, and the words ‘a legendary foreign correspondent’s saga of World War II on five continents.’ With the sound of my own modern keyboard still in my ears and the thought that I’d just finished typing my father’s own notes about WWII, I reached for the book.

Hefty. 630 pages. $9.99. Mine.

Only after I got it home did I read the flyleaf and realize the person who had compiled George Weller’s war correspondence was his son, Anthony, thus causing my “very good choice” to become “the best choice I’ve made in a long time.”


["Merchant mariners, north of Lake Superior, circa 1945": GH]

I wasn’t many pages into it before a familiar feeling swept over me, i.e., an appreciation of living in modern times and not having to eat short rations, sleep on wet limestone floors or cover my ears at the sound of nighttime bombings while holed up in a cave - or cattle corral - on Sicily, as, according to his memoirs, my father had done, or rush from war front to war front to observe and report the atrocities and degradations of war, as Weller had done.

Last night I read the following from Weller’s article ‘Greeks Hungry as Nazi Army Grabs the Food’, Athens, Greece - July 26, 1941:

In any occupied town it is a common occurrence to see a German blitz straight down a menu consuming double orders throughout and tripling anything really toothsome. Such decathlon eating records would be merely a pleasantly human counterweight to Nazi asceticism if the factory girls in Athens were not fainting repeatedly at work for lack of sufficient nourishment. (Pg. 62)

I pictured the scene. Triple orders for the invaders. Insufficient rations for the invaded. “The record of sixteen chocolate cakes consumed at a single sitting” by a German sergeant-major at Zonars, the largest pastry eatery in Athens. Ragged Greek officers - “having marched for three weeks from Albania eating grass” - begging at the back door.

I concluded the 1941 eating records were startling, and the contrast between haves and have nots was as well.

I read another paragraph and, surprisingly, thought of modern times:

Every restaurant from Alexandropolis to Calamata has its own incredible German eating records. Flocas, a famous meeting place in Salonika - the city whose only flour mill was burned down the night before the Nazis entered - is still talking about five Germans who demanded five orders of bacon and eggs with three eggs each. At the time only smuggled eggs were obtainable, at 12 cents each, about five times the normal price. When the Germans finished the first order they demanded another. After that they commanded a third, still with three eggs on each plate. Before invariable successions of rounds of sundaes they insisted on having two large orders of ham apiece.

As far as I can recount, I’ve had fewer than five three-egg breakfasts in my lifetime, and most of those I ate after completing a long training run in preparation for a marathon. Nowadays, a two-egg breakfast makes me feel stuffed. The two slices of toast on the side are plenty, with PB and J (or orange marmalade) if available. And it’s usually available.

As I continue to read Weller’s War, I’ll continue to enjoy it for what it is, i.e., 70-year old war correspondence.

However, I’m sure - though I’m not 100 per cent sure why - many of the articles will spur thoughts about modern times to rise to the surface as well.

Is it something I ate?

***

Please click here for more about “Dad, Well Done”

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2012 in Review PT 7: “Short-sighted government policy affects jobs in Canada”

Good jobs will continue to erode across Canada in 2012 - the Electro-Motive Diesel lock-out in London, Ontario is the tip of the iceberg - and hard-working communities will suffer as result.

When healthy wages and benefits are gutted there will be those who say, for example, that “Electro-Motive employees need to realize they are (a) lucky to have a job” and be grateful they were left with something a bit better than Ontario’s paltry minimum wage.

Those are real words and sting in the face of rising profits for manufacturers who want ever-cheaper wage payouts.

Canada’s short-sighted Conservative federal and provincial governments offer stinging messages as well when hopes for job growth and security are considered.

Finance Minister Jim Flaherty said his government will be assessing public sector pensions before the 2012 budget is reviewed. “Overall, sure, I think we have to. If one’s going to make any sort of intelligent assessment of government spending in Canada, one has to look at... benefits and pensions.”

Review all you want, I say, but any intelligent look at government spending must be twinned with an intelligent look at declining government revenues, and here our government is lacking. Not one word has been mentioned since the Conservatives came to power about the decrease in revenues as a result of their lower corporate tax rates in the near past or what will happen to revenues after future decreases in tax rates.

Not one intelligent word has been spoken about how the increase in spending related to fighter jets and prisons (no one knows the final cost of these two very expensive ventures) may be related to public sector pensions, even though most Canadians can see the two are related, and that someone’s pension may well pay for a concrete prison cell inside a country with declining crime rates.

In Ontario, provincial Progressive Conservative finance critic Peter Shurman says, “We can say that there are some things that are sacrosanct. One of them is you (Liberal leader) will continue with the reduction in corporate tax rates. (We) are unwavering about lowering business taxes.”

Some innovative and far-sighted business ventures do turn tax cuts into jobs and live up to the name ‘job creators’. However, many corporations pass most ‘low tax rate benefits’ along to only the owners and share holders and will move from one community or country to another in search of the cheapest labour, not to create good, secure jobs, but to create more profits. Many times the title ‘job creator’, which our Conservative Prime Minister throws out with abandon, should be replaced by ‘community destroyer’ - to be fair - but don’t hold your breath waiting to hear it. Some things are sacrosanct, but not good, secure jobs for willing workers.

When it comes to job creation, short-sighted government policies come up short.

[Photo by GHarrison]

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Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 6: “Harsh attitudes in the present will crush the less-fortunate”

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2012 in Review PT 6: “Harsh attitudes in the present will crush the less-fortunate”

The following letter to the editor appeared in a local newspaper recently:

Not so fast, EMD workers

As much as I understand how such a wage change could affect the lives of employees used to making a higher wage for so long, Electro-Motive employees need to realize they are (a) lucky to have a job and (b) still going to be making $6 more an hour than a lot of people.

Samantha M.

January 16, London Free Press


As well as asking “Where will good jobs come from in London, jobs well-paying and secure enough to support committed workers and their families well into the future?” in this series of posts, I also must ask, “Where do people get the idea that salaries, just a few dollars more than Ontario’s paltry minimum wage, will pay for groceries and a mortgage for a couple, let alone a small family of three?”

No wonder there was a rally in Victoria Park on Saturday in support of locked-out Electro-Motive Diesel workers.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 5: “Harsh attitudes in the past crushed the less-fortunate”

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The Odd Reflection PT 2: Twenty-three years to go. Surprise!

Several days ago I shared a few words about cheese curds and my plans for the future, not that the two things are deeply entwined, mind you.

About my future: I think one part of my plan, i.e., to be mentally and physically ready to move out of my cozy house in eight years, is a very good one.

First, it will take at least that long to tidy things up in the house so that the move to The Kismet Apartments on Wortley Rd. goes smoothly and lightly, as in “I’ll travel very lightly.”

Secondly, I look forward to my 70s and 80s, the time in which I’ll be less a slave to material things and give more energy to, what I believe to be, the most important people in my life, like my spouse, my boys, grandkids and special friends, and a few key interests, such as writing, reflecting, more writing, tooting about on a bicycle and trimming my possessions back so I can move into Punkydoodle Old Folks Home with just one cardboard box of stuff.

Oh yeah, I’ll be busy.


["Lawn clippings aren't mentioned... but they're in there!": photos GH]

About that cardboard box I mentioned in an earlier post. I’m going to drop the hood on my sweatshirt so that I’ll have room for a packet of my favourite loose tea (so much tastier than any tea bag).

I sure hope the Tea Haus will be making the Hangover Blend when I’m 85. It will be worth the walk downtown.

Smells like a freshly mowed lawn... but better, because I didn’t have to cut the grass.

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Please click here to read The Odd Reflection PT 1: Twenty-three years to go

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Burgessville and Norwich Stories: I want them all

["Burgessville Public School": photos by G.Harrison]

Yesterday I posted a few emails sent to me as result of my latest column re a visit from my son and his busy family. (I survived, but barely). One was out of the ordinary, and I think an issue that was raised will be on my mind for a while.

Last night, after coming home from a hockey game, I opened another email and its contents quickly stirred up a pile of childhood memories.

Really, after writing about grandkids, I didn’t see this one coming.

On 20-Jan-12, at 7:35 PM, Don T. wrote:

Hi Gord,  Since you once were a resident of Burgessville I wonder if you ever did some research about the village.  When I was very young my parents and I lived behind Roloson's  Mill and I can still remember the boom boom of the engine that ran it. 

My grandfather, Allan Pembleton, operated a woodworking, carriage shop next door to the Mill and his son-in-law  M J Buckrell operated a farm sales and repair shop next door to that.  Grandfather's shop has long been removed but Buckrells  is now someone's residence. 

The train used to run next door to the mill and the tracks were eventually abandoned.  My grandparents passed away in the 1960s but their home near the Baptist Church is still there and hasn't changed any. 

We moved to Norwich and my Dad eventually purchased the old blacksmith shop on Stover St. from John Armour and operated there for many years before replacing the building with a more modern one for the time.  I gave brother Gary your email once and I wonder if he ever contacted you?  Keep writing those stories for the paper.   Don T.

While writing my reply, my brain travelled back more than 55 years. I recalled my first girl friend could have inherited a general store if she'd only stayed in town.

Hi Don, 

I am very happy to hear from you. Time passes quickly and our lives get busy (or busier) but it's always a lot of fun to stop and think about my days in Burgessville and Norwich. 

I didn't know that your family spent early years in Burgessville. That is a pleasant surprise. Can you recall the years you were there? Does your early house still survive?

I lived from 1949 - 1955 north of Burgessville's main intersection, in a house halfway between Wettlaufer's General Store and the elementary school. Dad worked at the Co-op across the street, closer to the main corner, and played ball with Gord Bucholtz, who lived with his young family above a metal working shop (Danny B. made tin swords from scrap and, at 6-years old, could fold tin in some sort of press without slicing off his fingers). The Bucholtz building and upper apartment still stands near or beside the post office, just south of the main corner. Immediately south of it is the large Wells family home, red brick, up for sale as of last summer, I believe.

We moved to Norwich in 1955, I entered Gr. 1 and have an early picture with Gary and I sitting side by each with the rest of Miss Beattie's class. She taught my dad as well and he wrote a column about her in the Norwich Gazette in 1993 or so. The column was sent to me recently by Miss Beattie's niece, a Londoner.

Gary and I haven't reconnected after our visit in 1992 in Hanover and a few subsequent emails. I picture him with his feet up in a nice home or snug cottage near Eagle Lake, or polishing his 1960s Chevy for a summer cruise. I visit my oldest boy in Fenelon Falls regularly and I think Gary's about an hour north of there, so he's within reach if he'd like to grab a coffee sometime. If you have his email address I'd be happy to write and suggest such a plan. 

Please also let me know where Roloson's Mill and Pembleton's carriage shop once stood compared to the intersection on Highway 59. I drive through Oxford County several times each summer and will get my bearings about where your family used to live compared to our own next time through.

I played after school with Gerald Buckrell and Eddie Something (his dad operated a garage at the main corner (NE) and can still pick out the Buckrell home. My family attended the red brick Baptist church and my parents were friends with the MacKenzies, a missionary family that lived near and west of the church. Maybe you remember that family. The daughters had funny stories to tell about monkeys chasing them while in Africa or India.


["Gord looks for his old mug inside his first public school"]

We likely attended the same public school and I had a pleasant tour of the building in the summer of 2010. I believe, as a museum, it is now closed due to funding shortages. Miss Dixon's room has been kept as you may remember it - even neater - and another tiny, one room schoolhouse from Springford or Springfield was erected inside the second classroom. Well worth the trip back in time, I must say.


["This one-room schoolhouse is now inside Gord's first classroom"]  


["Gord learns he's one assignment short of a Gr. 1 diploma"]

I was very happy to meet the owners of our old house in 2010 as well; they bought the house from the Co-op after my family moved out, and the property is littered with birdhouses, which would have pleased my dad, an avid bird and birdhouse man. The original barn is still there, hidden under siding, and when I mentioned that it looked like it had been moved, I was informed by the owner that he took it apart board by board in the late 1950s, turned the structure 90 degrees (so he could park inside it) and reassembled it. He also showed me the birdhouse he was working on - number 2,550 or some such high number. I wrote a column about my Burgessville adventure and know he, as of last summer, is still building birdhouses; well over 3000 by now, I bet. He puts me to shame with my paltry numbers of 100 or so units per year.

I have many fond memories of your family's Norwich property, your home above the large workshop, your dad's electric steel guitar, and of a lovely thing your mother said to Gary and I one day when asked, by Gary, which crayon drawing she liked best, his or mine. I would love to stomp down the lane toward where your old sawmill once stood, in which I saw for the first time a saw blade the size of a young boy. You had access to a deep wild property behind the last of many out-buildings as well. Way out back I recall Gary showed me how to float across a large puddle atop a car or truck's gas tank - while rocking it with the funnel. He also shot BBs at me in the winter but my clothes were frozen so I shouted at him for no good reason, unless I was thinking he'd shoot my eye out! (One of mother's many warnings).

Such a long reply. Sorry to fill your afternoon!

Keep well, Don. Say hi to Gary for me sometime. I play hockey every week and think about his smooth style every time a younger guy skates past me... often.

Cheers,

Gord Harrison

Now, if any readers are from Burgessville and/or Norwich (or environs), please let me know about a few people you recall (“Do you recall Mrs. Hilliker? She lived right next door.”) or experiences you had there.

Let’s call it ‘research.’

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Please click here for another story that mentions Norwich.

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