Gord’s Grilled Goby: I’m onto something in a non-invasive way

I recently read that the bottom-feeding, aggressive goby has invaded many of SW Ontario’s lakes, rivers and streams - and had two immediate and enlightening reactions.

Nature is under attack from an invasive critter - and this time, it’s not man.


["Looks harmless enough, but it ain't": photo link]

But maybe man can help nature fight back.

"The goby is a bottom-dwelling fish that has great potential for causing impacts on Great Lakes fisheries. The round goby takes over prime spawning sites traditionally used by native species, competing with native fish for habitat and changing the balance of the ecosystem." [More information]

Now that sockeye salmon stocks are declining in Canada (see post below) perhaps we can turn our attention to the goby, in the same way Australians did concerning rabbits when that furry creature (to my bearded Aussie friend - I’m referring to the rabbits here) started to take over the continent down under.

Since most North Americans like to eat just about anything in sight perhaps we could add Goby on a Stick to our weekly menu.

Charcoal flavoured Goby, BBQ’d Goby w Lemon Sauce, Grilled Goby w Guinness - all winners.

My suggestion: Use our insatiable appetite to reduce the numbers of this invasive species.

[Originally the round goby and the tubenose goby were introduced into the St. Claire River in 1990, probably via contaminated ballast water of transoceanic ships. Round goby are thriving in the Great Lakes Basin because they are aggressive, voracious feeders which can forage in total darkness.]

***

I’m onto something, aren’t I?

.

Nature’s wealth is going through a recession too

Natural sockeye salmon numbers are down so low in the Fraser River that one day soon the majority of Canadians may be reduced to eating a factory farm replacement.


["The number returning from the sea - down substantially": photo link]

The lower quality replacement will sit on our plates alongside our factory farm pork, beef, chicken and lamb. (I’d include wieners but I think they’re still made from real chicken lips).

My suggestion: Reduce your intake of fish and meat, reduce our reliance on factory food, and give nature and natural herds a chance to rebound.

Ten to twenty years ought to do it and our average weight per person might return to near normal levels.

***

Want to lose five pounds before Christmas?

Reduce meat in your meals by 50 per cent and skip the second helpings at Thanksgiving.

Am I onto something?

.

If I didn’t live in The Village, I’d live downtown

I really like the downtown.

My wife and I started out together in a cheap apartment in SE London in 1970, and when opportunity knocked one year later we moved downtown, across from City Hall.


["Across from City Hall": photo GAH]

Who knew it would be so exciting?

I love Victoria Park. Had it to myself while jogging at 7 a.m. before breakfast and driving off to school in 1971-73. I loved walking out the door on weekends and shopping for groceries at the Dominion store (York and Wellington) five minutes (count ‘em), five minutes away.


["David's first birthday; Gord w bad haircut": March, 1971]

I hated it when our new Gendron baby carriage was stolen from the YMCA. Not the current Downtown YMCA. I mean the original downtown YMCA on Wellington, north of Dundas. The one that burned down in a blaze of terrible glory.

I hated that I could barely see PM Trudeau from my balcony, as he escaped his body guards at the corner of Wellington and Dufferin, during a rare visit to Deforest City, and took a run for it in order to shake hands with the common man, none more common than me.


["Two Dave's I know; my son and his uncle, D. Tamblyn, formerly w OCEAN": photo GAH]

I’m now happy as a clam in The Village, a 15 minute walk from the JLC, 25 from City Hall (yeah, I checked).

But if my neighbours boot me out of my lovely cottage (plus wee workshop - it’s heaven) because they’re finally tired of constantly hearing the strains of Dylan (or my weak attempts at delivering a hit single) drift through my open windows, I’ll land downtown.

Downtown - as long as my wife gives the thumbs up.

Yeah, two people live in my... our house.

.

Downtown London: Is it worth the cost of renewal and upkeep?

As a former renter in the downtown core (Apt. 8, Dufferin Arms, right across from City Hall), I will say yes.


["Dufferin Arms - a long haul to the fourth floor": photos by GAH]

Absolutely.

Just as taxpayers collectively pay for dog parks and swimming pools etc., without any intention of ever owning a dog or going for a swim, so too should we continue to put and keep the shine on downtown even though a small percentage of Londoners live there or visit on a regular basis.


Once the population of downtown London hits 25,000, it will be the place to be - and not just when the Rib Fest is in town or Labatts is giving away free samples.


["At what corner will you find this reminder?": GAH]

It's true. It’s open late.

***

Do you think it’s worth the cost?

.

Waking up with the need for new hockey pants

Truthfully, my thought about hockey pants was the second urge I woke up with this morning.

Because of my advanced age (I kiss my 50s good-bye in less than a month) and two cups of tea before bedtime, I had to stroll very quickly down a short hall to the loo - as if I had everything under control, even in the dark - and negotiate a familiar routine with one eye closed.

Back to the hockey pants.


["Maybe some new socks too": photo link]

I ripped a hole in the old pair and because I have my first CPP cheque arriving in late October I woke up thinking, I should get my new pair now and pay them off later. The monthly cheque will be a perk, for sure.

Here are a few more, courtesy if my oldest sister and some site she visits regularly.

Perks of getting older



There is nothing left to learn the hard way.



Things you buy now won't wear out. (Including hockey pants? Quite likely.)



You can eat supper at 4 PM.



You can live without sex but not your glasses.

***

I’m not sure about that last one.

I’ll check with Sweetie Pie.

.

My Next Hit Single: Come On Over, I'm Over You

Backgrounder: “My wife and I have gone through hard times but never hard enough to end in divorce. Thirty-nines years later I still say, she’s a keeper. Her thoughts on the matter? I’m not exactly sure, but I bet it's half good. This song was written as a bit of fun about an unfunny topic.” gaharrison

Come On Over, I'm Over You

1. I get the pet dog, you get the cat,
I get the pet mouse, you get the rat.
I get the parakeet, you get the cage,
I get the parsley, you get the sage.
I get the whiskey I like to drink,
You get the Tupperware under the sink.
I packed all our stuff, divided by two.
So, come on over, I'm over you.

Chorus:

Come on over, I said we’re through.
Come on over, it’s sad but true.
I'm over you and your cold embrace,
I'm over you and your hard-luck face,
Come on over, see my new place.
And, pick up your boxes, I need the space.

2. I get the car, you get the truck,
I get the chicken, you get the duck.
I get the pots, you get the pans,
I get the blue box, you get the cans.
I get the couch with the pull-out bed,
You get the twelve-speed we kept in the shed.
I packed all our stuff, divided by two.
So, come on over, I'm over you.


[“Halfa this is yours too. Come on over”: photo link]

3. I get the coffee, you get the tea,
I get the radio, you get the TV.
I get the shoes, you get the clothes,
I get the garden, you get the hose.
I get the dress shirts and all of my pants,
You get the song, you get the dance.
I packed all our stuff, divided by two.
So, come on over, I'm over you.

4. I get some money back, you get your purse,
I get my freedom, you get the curse.
I get the roof tops you get the floor,
I get my leg room you get the door.
I get the high road, a bottle of wine,
You get the low road and half of what's mine.
I packed all our stuff, divided by two.
So, come on over, I'm over you.

Optional -

5. I get the helo pad, you get the yacht,
I get the gold bars, you get the stock.
I get the time-share in Boca Raton,
You get the mansion, the five acre lawn.
I get the Bentley, the cottage in France,
You get the beach house, the long picket fence.
Whatever we dreamed I divided by two.
Now, come on over, I'm over you.

GAH

***

Yeah, like the Bentley is ever going to happen.

Click here to link to other hit singles, prose and lyrics.

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Torontonians drop ball on Coors beer campaign

Instead of sitting around being miffed about a B.C. billboard campaign [“Coors Light is colder than people from Toronto”], and lighting up the Molson PR Dept.’s switchboard [“That is just so inappropriate, Sir”], the people and city of Toronto should quickly laugh it off.

The billboard ad is a visual version of ‘pull my finger, dude.’

Kinda funny in a light-hearted, sophomoric way, eh. But nothing to write home about. Or pick up a phone about.


[Toronto City Hall: courtesy photo link]

Toronto, here’s what you should do - all in the name of boosting your great city and some homegrown beers that actually taste like beer.

Run a few billboard ads of your own. May I suggest:

“Come to Toronto, try a Mill St. Stock Ale. You can actually taste it. That other beer tastes like water.”


[“Cold water on the left, warm on the right”: courtesy photo link]

“What do Toronto and Mill St. Tankhouse Ale have in common? More flavour in their little finger than that other beer has in a month of Sundays.”

“Want flavour and excitement? Come to Toronto. Sample the wares from any of its top-quality mini-breweries. Want bland? Try that other beer.”

Come on, Toronto. Time to have a bit of fun.

***

Any other fine beers from the Toronto area come to mind?

Any billboard ads?

.

My oldest sister might be onto something

Next month, Lannie turns 65 the day after I turn 60. Our combined party should be a good one.

Assorted cold beverages will be served. All requests to dance in the street will be approved.


Recently she sent me the following set of perks, 19 included in all. I’m only listing a few at a time, in order to spread out the joy. (Yeah, right!)

Perks of getting older:

No one expects you to run--anywhere.



People call at 9 PM and ask, did I wake you?



I’m never in bed by 9 PM but I get upset when somebody calls. I don’t want to miss my Law and Order.

.

Hey You: Your Retirement Pension has been Approved

Jim Doodles, I’m almost a senior citizen! (When have I ever said Jim Doodles before? Where did that come from?)

And I’ll only receive a letter like the one following once in my lifetime.


From the Canada Pension Plan:

“You will receive your first payment at the end of October 2009. Shortly before your first payment, we will send you a notice providing you with the exact amount.” Signed, The Government of Canada

Come on, man. I’ve been waiting almost 60 years to get some of my money back from the government. I want to know exactly how much you’re going to deposit into my thingamajig at the bank right now.

Will it be enough to put some toward my line of credit (that home reno hit me hard), pay for new hockey pants, buy a mountain bike (I’ve got to get off my 12-speed Miele, even though it is a sweet ride. My butt can’t take it anymore), buy a T-shirt that says ‘Respect yer elders, Dipweed,’ and save for a wee vacation?

If my CPP (that’s seniors’ lingo for cash for life) can do all that it will take the sting out of waiting for so long.

Almost 60 years!

***

Is there a book entitled ‘Pros and Cons of Turning 60’?

If not, what are the pros and cons?

.

Zoom w a View: Outside the workshop door

While cleaning stain off an old brush I noticed a few interesting details in the wood on The Shed wall.




Now, back to that Adirondack chair that needs sanding!

***

I should build frames and display knots and twists in the wood - as if art. Then sell it for big bucks.

Am I onto something? The perfect job?

.

Zoom w a View: Here Birdie, Birdie, Birdie

Okay, the stain is drying, and birds will soon have another inexpensive condo to check out.


These two strike me as a bit too dark, but we'll see what birdhouse buyers and birds think soon.


Next week, another chair hits the drawing board.

***

I'll take a vacation eventually. Fortunately, a lake is nearby.

Stay tuned.

.

Letter to the Editor: Will downtown London become a fortress for the rich?

This is a short, simple intro: Years ago, as the city of London sprawled outward toward the shores of the Great Lakes, the historic core turned into an empty, dirty shell of its former self.

Good planning on the part of City Hall and local developers? Hell no.

However, it’s making a slow, hard comeback (by 2075 it should really be something), for several reasons, one being “the numbers and income levels of those living in the downtown.”

(Please read ‘Addressing downtown’s negative perception’ by Sean Meyer, in today’s issue of The Londoner, London’s community newspaper).

But even the few positive gains in the core give off a certain smell to some observers.

J. Congdon today writes (in The Londoner’s ‘Letters’ section):

“Clearly this growth initiative (downtown) is aimed at people between 30 and 45, earning enormous salaries and able to afford to live in the high-end apartments and condos recently constructed in the downtown area. Contractors can sell to this clientele and are not interested in bright, moderately-sized one and two-bedroom apartments where people with an annual income of less than $100,000 can share in the many benefits and pleasures of downtown living. Too bad, but that’s the way it is.”

Personally, I think that sucks - if it’s true.


["A downtown worth saving": photo link to urbanity]

The downtown should be home to people with a wide range of incomes and interests. Besides expensive condos there should be a healthy selection of one-, two- and three-bedroom apartments in my price range (yeah, I make a lot less than $100,000 annually).

I’d like to know if J. Congdon is right.

As years go by, will the downtown squeeze out the little guy?

Will it become a fortress for the rich, a playground only for those with fat wallets?

Help me out here.

***

Isn’t the downtown perfect for 700 - 900 sq. ft. apartments, so that people can see the benefits of a ‘live small and prosper’ lifestyle?

In a small apartment, people only have room for so much stuff, which is a good thing, right?

.

My birdhouses just aren’t as spicy as Willy's

Willy, an exceptional birdhouse builder from Tilbury Ont., makes one spicy meatball, and I want to know what country or heritage influences his work.


["A riot of colour": photo courtesy of cousin Doug Harrison]


["Recycled lumber, courtesy of my brother-in-law's workshop": GAH]

My own, made in Canada, are mainly influenced by the availability of used or recycled lumber and a can of double boiled linseed oil.




You want colour? My latest batch, finished yesterday, will really warm up in colour after I apply linseed oil.

But they won’t be a riot of colour like Willy’s. He’s on his own.

***

Next to Willy, I look like I was deprived of crayons as a kid.

Have you see any as colourful as his?

.

Is my older sister trying to tell me something?

My birthday is coming up in a month, a big one as far as some people are concerned.

I say, so what. So what if I’m hitting si... six... sixt...

Hey, you know what? It doesn’t really matter because I feel like I’m 19.


["Like, how can a mess of candles be funny?"]

You know, tired in the morning, dreading the alarm and the big Psych 20 exam at 10 a.m. (B.F. Skinner - you suck, man!)

My oldest sister is hitting 65 the day after I hit ‘whatever,’ and that’s a big one, so she’ll get all the attention.

However, to prep me for the big change in my life (Say what? I’ll put my underwear on differently? Get out of town.) she’s been sending me one-liners under the following heading:

Perks of getting older.

Such as, kidnappers are not very interested in you.

And, in a hostage situation you are likely to be released first.

Like, how is that funny to a si... six... teeeeee year old guy?

***

My life isn’t going to change is it? There’s no exam, right?

.


Birdhouses with a very spicy flavour

Whatever country this birdhouse builder is from, it’s one that adds a lot of spice to food.


The builder lives in Tilbury, Ontario, and isn’t too talkative. So says my cousin Doug, who snapped these photos recently.

I think a motorcycle road trip is in order, with two or three of my own birdhouses packed in my saddlebags.


Maybe the fellow would make a comment or two about my own, then open up a bit more about where he’s from, where he gets his ideas, what or who influences his craft, and so on.

***

There’s a story in Tilbury, isn’t there?

If you make birdhouses, or know someone who does, drop me a line.

.

Even Wortley Village dropped the ball on this one

In all my years as resident of the best neighbourhood in London, Ontario (or anywhere else in the world for that matter), I’ve never said a discouraging word about the place.

In fact, I’m very fond of saying - These are my streets. These are my people - as if I was Mayor of The Village or all I surveyed from the top step of my wee front porch. (Really, I don’t want the job).

However, while peering out the front window and sipping coffee at The Village Red Roaster recently, a few thoughts went through my head and they took a turn for the worse.


The following thoughts have been arranged in precise chronological order:

(Hmmm... maybe I’d make a good mayor after all).

“There’s so much traffic on Wortley Road through The Village. It’s disturbing my cheery mood.”

“Bicycles would be so much quieter.”

“But they’d get squashed like bugs. There’s no room for them.”

“We’re actually trying to accommodate cars to the nth degree on a very narrow street.”

“There’s two lanes for traffic, plus two lanes for parking. Cyclists don’t stand a chance.”

“Wouldn’t three lanes for cars and one lane for bikes be healthier?”

“I’ll even volunteer - whether I’m mayor or not - to paint the bike lane a nice shade of blue, so drivers know it’s not for them.”

“We’ve accommodated cars far too long here in The Village.”

See, I told you my thoughts took a turn for the worse. Drivers of all shapes and sizes would hate to give up a lane, interrupt their drive home to park in a new location or go just one way on what is now a two-way street.

I’m certain drivers would howl - for at least two weeks. But then, after the giant pain died down, they’d accommodate the small change like everybody else.

And bicyclists would feel safer and pat me on the head for being such a good mayor... er, I mean... coming up with such a good idea.

.

Deforest City Blues: We don’t have enough roads, bike paths and sidewalks

You’d think, by looking at some of the monster cars, houses and backyard pools in this town, City Hall would have enough tax money to satisfy everyone’s wishes related to their personal transportation choices - but it doesn't.

And I think it never will.

City streets aren’t plentiful or wide enough to accommodate every car, bus, SUV and bicycle in our possession. Bike paths are non-existent in some areas and many cyclists are afraid of getting killed on crowded arteries. And sidewalks are apparently too narrow, leaving pedestrians and the occasional cyclist to duke it out in their undershirts.

The total number of summer cyclists must have increased this year because about half the letters to the editor in The London Free Press are entitled ‘Cyclists, get off our sidewalks’ and encourage responses like ‘But I’ll get killed by a Dodge Ram.’

Everett H. from St. Thomas recently wrote:

“Bicycles belong on the street. Sure (as a cyclist), I am a little scared too. Some drivers seem to ignore bikers’ left turn signals. That is very dangerous. If you’re too scared...walk or use public transportation. To city police: Please ticket offenders.” [Aug. 14 issue of the Free Press]

[Keep in mind, Everett is 70-years old, so he’s a seasoned pro. And he’s from St. Thomas, where traffic is a fraction of what it is in London. Even so, he’s still alive, and staying that way is the main goal of many of us.]


["Me and my Uncle Louie": Just kiddin']

I’d agree with him if the tarmac, curbs and traffic in this town weren’t so miserable.

And because we’ll accommodate cars over mass transit (e.g., my favourite, an electric-trolley system) until I’m dead or the cows come home (I think that means when we’re all dead and cows will rule the earth and do away with personal transportation altogether), and cry out for lower taxes until we’re blue in the face, we’ll never lay down enough bike paths to get cyclists off the streets and sidewalks.

To city police: Don’t ticket all offenders. Many cyclists travel very safely on city sidewalks.

***

Do you agree that most cyclists can safely co-exist with pedestrians, on most streets?

Do you live in a city that faces some of the same problems with people traffic?

What to do?

.

Look on the bright side of reports about the economy

If you only look at newspaper headlines, and don’t read between the lines, you will get depressed. And I don’t want you depressed when good things are actually happening out there in economy land.

Take this headline, for example, in Friday’s issue of The London Free Press.

The headline reads: Wal-Mart profits flat as same-store sales slip.

My gosh, if America’s flagship is flat then we must all be in trouble! Right?

Not at all. The store earned $3.44 billion in profit in the last three months, almost to the penny the same as it earned three months earlier. Profit was flat, or the same, not flattened.

Wal-Mart’s president knows what’s going on: “Overall, our customers are more disciplined in their spending,” he said. He called saving more and spending less “a new normal.”


["A new normal!"]

It’s not depressing news that people are trying to dig themselves out of debt. It’s the best news of the week. People are catching on - they can’t spend without limits as if money grows on trees.

Though the paper reports same-store sales fell at Wal-Mart and calls it a “worrisome confirmation of broad weakness in consumer spending” most of us realize it’s very good news.

Worrisome? Heck no.

We’re getting smarter. More frugal. Trying to develop and maintain a sustainable household budget.

Geez, governments should do what consumers are doing. Big businesses and newspapers should do what consumers are doing. And be happy about it.

‘Cause there’s no news like good news.

***

Know what? I think I’ll cut back on potato chips, cookies and ice cream this week (all billion dollar industries in North America, home of many of the heaviest and ‘deepest in debt’ people in the world) and save up for something healthier, like a stay-cation - with a big smile on my face.

Front page news? It should be.

“Gord Glibber Than Usual”

“Gord Gone to Lucan”

Am I onto something?

.

My favourite diner is no longer home to four-penny cheese

Because I visit it so often on my way to Lake Erie, my motorcycle could find the New Sarum Diner without my help.

I said in a column a few years ago that the diner was the home of four-penny cheese (“what a bargain”) because a cheeseburger only cost 4 cents more than a regular burger. Today the price difference is 20 cents.

[Which begs the question: What are cows doing differently that’s so darn expensive? Come on... I want to know.]

And over the last few years The Homer Burger has gone up $2.00.


[Link to photos of my favourite diner]

Not that I care about that.

The Homer Burger is named after a local guy named Homer and only found on The Diner’s menu, so I’ve been told while doing extensive research with burger juice dripping from my chin.

Here’s what the menu says:

“Big and cheesy. Triple patties, double cheese and bacon. Served on a kaiser with slaw and fries. 3/4 pounder.”

Costs $11.99.

I get heart-burn just thinking about it, and though I don’t recommend you try one, I encourage you to go for lunch and take a good look at the many original black and white photos of Elgin county’s oldest diner.


And I wasn’t kidding about the research part, or the burger juice.

“It was built in 1930 as a corncob pipe factory. Later became known as Dooley Crane’s filling station. In 1943 it became the Deluxe Diner and White Rose service station.”

I didn’t take a photo, however, believing I had one on file. Big mistake.

***

Need directions? Give me a dingle.

Got your own favourite diner. Drop me a line or post a photo.

.

Motorcycle Miles: One more reason I love my old bike

My wife told me to go jump in the lake yesterday, so I did.


However, on my way to Port Bruce (north shore, Lake Erie) I jumped off my bike once or twice to nab a photo, and wrote a few notes while waiting for my lunch to arrive at the New Sarum Diner (the oldest diner in Elgin County) to help explain why I love motorcycling on my ’94 Virago.

Here are the first words in my notebook: The air was alive.

After a wet, cool July, the hot and hazy days of August are infusing the soil and plants with much-needed energy, producing furious growth in fields of corn and soy and roadside ditches filled with wild carrot, chicory, buttercups and lilies.




["Corn on one side, hot sweaty golfers on the other side of the road.": photos by GAH]

From atop my bike I could almost hear the corn grow as millions of rows of yellow tassels flashed by - like countless pages being flipped by a giant thumb.

I was nearly lifted off my seat by the rich smell of life.


As I rode into a shaded valley I could feel the temperature drop and millions of wild carrot tops created a mile-long fragrant stream, as if for my eyes and nose only.

A motorcyclist’s senses are usually more alert than the average driver’s because the tarmac is closer to his face (one reason of many), but during yesterday's hottest hours my senses fired on all cylinders.

Yes, the jump in the lake helped as well.

***

Have you noticed lately many rich smells in the air as well?

Is it because spring was delayed by wet, cool weather?

Maybe it’s the golfers?

.

It Strikes Me Funny: We grew up eating warm potato salad

I started an earlier post with the following line:

“No wonder the word ‘dysfunctional’ pops into my little round head every time I join my sibs at a family reunion.”

[Click here to read the post - it’s brilliant.]

Here are another two words linked in my brain to family reunions: Potato salad.

I’ve said it a 1000 times and will repeat it until I die, “If you invite 100 Harrisons to a pot luck you’ll get 50 kinds of potato salad.”


["Singing for my supper": GAH]

Why? We love the stuff.

We grew to love it when we were kids. It was on our plate every second meal (thus the 50:100 ratio at reunions), still warm, freshly made.

Eat it or starve was my mother’s motto.

Trust me - there wasn’t much else in the fridge. Maybe the last egg, a dried up carrot and a wee bit of old Jello (including the skin scraped off the bottom of the jellie bowl).

I’m eating some potato salad right now. There are lots of choices for lunch in the fridge but I chose potato salad.

Cold. I prefer it that way now. With big chunks of egg, the way my mother used to make it.

Q: How do you know you’re at a Harrison reunion?

A: Count heads. Then wander over to the buffet table.

Potato salad, 50:100.

.

Letter to the Editor: About that weekly trash pickup

The city of London will one day have the perfect trash pickup system.

No kidding. It will happen.

[Citizens will be asked to put out just the right number of bags, in standard sized containers, with recyclables, compost materials, yard waste and old refrigerators filled with paint tins lined up neatly in a row - all wrapped in recycled Christmas paper.]

However, after one round of the perfect system someone will find fault and start to moan.

That someone might be Tyler S., who recently said the following in a letter to The London Free Press (Friday, Aug. 14 issue):

“While I applaud city council for the summer overnight parking project, I can’t help but winder how many would favour weekly garbage pickup.

Nothing says “good morning” like the smell of a warm dumpster and maggots as I walk through my garage to leave for work.

I would like city council to make another rational decision and include weekly garbage pickup for the residents of London.”

Now, before we all jump on the weekly pickup bandwagon, is there anyone with an even more sensible idea?


[Reduce spending, reduce production, reduce garbage]

“Oh! Pick me! Pick me! Oh! Pick me!”

Yes, you there. The man sitting at his computer.

“I say, charge two bucks a bag, pick up every ten days, and drop off a flyer to Tyler about how to do a better job with his dumpster.”

***

Anyone got a better idea?

.

Memory Lane: My dad pulled out pigs’ teeth in our kitchen?

No wonder the word ‘dysfunctional’ pops into my little round head every time I join my sibs at a family reunion.

Egad (as my mother used to say). Childhood was a scary time.

A week after visiting my first childhood home in Burgessville [link to earlier post - brilliant] and telling my siblings by email how the property had changed (I included a lovely photo, circa 1954, in which it’s pretty clear I’d peed my pants. Egad... the hits just keep on comin’), I received this note from an older sister.


[GAH on left; Sisters Lannie and Dale (the two tallest girls) on right]

Dear Gord,

Yes, I remember Mrs. Hilliker. I used to call her Mrs. Helicopter, because I couldn't say her name. I used to go over to visit her once in awhile, and she had a huge conch, on the floor, under a cabinet.

She would let me listen to the conch, and tell me to listen to the ocean. Then she’d ask, could I hear it? I certainly, did, and listened to it every time I went over. Lannie says she used to board with us before she moved to her new home next door, but I don't remember that.
 
I remember the pigs dad had, and remember one occasion when he brought them into the house, one by one, to pull out their teeth, I guess so they couldn't fight. They squealed something terrible, and I guess it made quite an impression on me. I'd like to see a complete picture of the old house, and yes it was brick. 

See you soon, love, Dale  

PS I like your chair.

Fortunately, I don’t recall the pig incident.

By the looks of the old photo, I was likely playing outside in a pile of dirt.

***

The chair she refers to is in a post below - again, brilliant.

.

Ollie and Me: He would rather push than pull

I know, life is tough.

Give me a hot weekend and I’ll take my place in a chair and watch my grandson push everyone into the river.


He isn’t willing to help anyone out of the water.


It’s more fun to push people off the dock.

I’d say more but it’s my turn to hit the water.


Yup, life is tough.

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The Workshop: Beauty in the eye of the beholder

During a recent reno I tore off, then saved for a rainy day, boards of white pine from our porch- with no particular project in mind.

Thanks to recent rainy weather and a book I picked up about Adirondack chairs several projects have been started, most completed.


Some of the wood’s finer details caught my eye.


["Finer details": photos GAH]


Double boiled linseed oil with a half-teaspoon of maple stain warmed up the colour of the pine.

Why leave most of the old stain on the chair? Because too much work is involved trying to clean it.


And I don’t mind sitting on a comfy chair and telling my friends and neighbours where I found the scruffy lumber.

“Remember our green board and batten?” I’ll ask.

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Wood’s beauty is in the eye of the beholder... several steps back

Herman and Don, both with a keen eye and critical mind, sat on my porch the other day admiring my latest work of art.

I said, “I call it ‘A Piece of Wood.’”

Don was with me when I bought the slab of mulberry, saw a bit of the frame making process, and spoke first.


“The first things I notice are the four screws.”

Herman said, “Perhaps you could put a bit of green or orange enamel on the screws, make then stand out a bit more, make them more a part of the art piece.”

I considered their ideas and said, “Think about my main audience, people on the street, 75-year old women on bicycles. They won’t notice four small screws.”

[After slaving over the project - I was also onto a new one - I didn’t want any more work.]

Before Don left, he stopped a man who was doing yard work at the church across the street. He walked him over to my front yard and asked his opinion about my art piece.

“What do you think?” he said.


The man, eyes as wide as saucers and likely thinking, who the crap is this guy, said almost immediately, “I like it.”

It might have just been me, but I detected genuine enthusiasm in his voice - mixed with a bit of adrenaline-induced fear.

“It’s just a piece of wood,” I said.

“That’s all it needs to be,” he replied.

After everyone had cleared my yard I thought about the words ‘that’s all it needs to be.’

Pretty fitting, in my humble opinion.

***

I already have my next project in mind.

I think I’ll call it ‘A Piece of Walnut.’

Stay tuned.

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I spotted another old cyclist: Believe me, that makes two

Yesterday afternoon, after packing my bag and before leaving town, I met a friend for a much-needed coffee.

Good thing I did.

[That’s right. Even before taking a long-deserved break from chores, blowing this pop stand and dancing the light fandango I had to have one last cuppa coffee at The Red Roaster. I’m addicted to the dark roast.]

On the way home in his car I saw an older woman from behind on a snappy bike.

“Don. I think this is the woman I’ve been trying to photograph,” I said.

Don said, “Why?”

“She’s an example to us all,” I said. “We should all ride our bikes into our seventies. Eighties even.”

As we passed the person I noticed she sat upon a mountain bike, not a snappy bike with reflectors on the spokes.


["No photo of the cyclists... yet." photo from the porch GAH]

Not surprisingly, the rider was not the seventy-five year old lady I'd seen earlier in the week. But she was 75, or older.

“Speed up,” I said. “I want to get my camera.”

However she turned a corner as we hurried to my house and another opportunity was lost.

But, that makes two 75-year old ladies who ride bicycles around The Village. And hopefully, it will become a trend.

***

Believe me. One day I’ll get a photo (it won’t be this weekend - I’m on assignment in Near Northern Ontario) of one of these spry ladies and prove to the world that bicycles are indeed the way to travel in this neck of the woods.

Bicycling keeps a person fit... for free.

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Where is my 75-year old cyclist?

Yesterday I mentioned I was too slow to snap a picture of an older woman on a snappy bike (or was it a snappy woman on an older bike?).

This morning I returned to my porch with my coffee and camera and... waited.

And waited some more. Read the paper. Clipped an article about Canadian shopping habits. Formed an opinion. (“Our wealth has its downside.”)

[See below - Wealthy Canadians still shop while others reduce]


Waited some more. Snapped a picture of the empty street. Came inside to tell you about my fruitless search.

But I’ll look again later. Hopefully, I’ll spot the snappy cyclist.

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Wealthy Canadians still shop while others reduce

A survey by WIN-Leger marketing reveals the global recession has caused consumers to tighten spending, though in Canada, not as much.

For example:

Globally, about 45 per cent cut grocery spending.

In Canada, 36 per cent did so.


Globally, 33 per cent cut spending on mobile phones.

In Canada, 22 per cent.

A few figures don’t supply absolute proof, but I think Canadians are doing pretty well compared to many other countries.

So well, in fact, we’re also world leaders in greenhouse gas production.

Gives new meaning to the “shop until we drop” mentality.

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