Keeping in Touch

Hi, Don: Well, here it is a Sunday in the sunny but cool Garden City. Have been thinking constantly of you so thought I'd get a line off to you and see how you are doing. Are you still at the gates or were you rejected there? Of course I jest, and know that the gates were opened automatically when He heard you were on your way. You did explain to him that you would be waiting for me so we could travel the Somme together before we got ourselves settled in?

I don't know how long I'll be sticking around here before I can get there to see you so if you would rather not wait but instead go ahead in and catch me later, you do that. I'm sure you have some folks you want to spend time there with. Of course in particular, your Pa and mother and Joe. Please say hi to them from me and make sure you say hello to Cpl. Bailey for me. I don't know whether I can get back to the St.Pierre Cemetery ever again but assure him I'll stop by and see his marker should I return. Oh, and maybe even look up Canon Scott for me and tell him I said it is a Great Day for Heaven, Boys, now that you've got Holy Ness up there. Not happy times down here but a Great Day for the legions of Holy Him.

I have The Somme Cross in front of me. It is hanging from the Toc H symbol, forever to remind me of my bestest friend in the world ever, and the holiest of places I have ever stepped foot in. Maybe we can stop there on our tour. You will be pleased to know that Canon Paul blessed The Cross in memory of you and your ministry and for all those who gave their lives in The Great War. I, admittedly, broke down and had to hurry out of the church.

I was back at church today having missed last Sunday. I was a little too emotional after the service for you on the Friday to make it to church on the Sunday. And I must tell you what a delightful man is your friend Blair Crescent Ray! He was not very well at the service but like the trooper you must know him to be, he made it through. He wrote that he was going for a blood transfusion yesterday so I'm hoping he is feeling much better. Oh, yes, I sent him a copy of the book Snapshots from the Home Front. I'm sure he will get a big kick out of it. I regret that I waited so long to send you your copy. I know you saw it but I don't think you had time to enjoy it. Maybe I'll bring a copy along with me. We can read it when we settle in for a night in the Brickworks outside of Albert. I digress. I said a prayer for you in church today but sometimes I think that anybody who spent so much time on The Hill as you, and who was cultured within the halls of Edith Cavell School is far beyond reach.

I have not written Mel yet. I will do that soon. That's a promise. Poor Mel looked lost at your service. I know he will deeply miss you.

Oh, I wrote your obit for the Gun Pit and TOG has given it front page. It's all bullshit of course but I did get in a mention of your Western Hill roots. I would mail a copy to you but I would probably wind up in the Norris Wing if anybody sees me putting the label, "To, HN. Heaven, Ontario, UT (up there)".

Spot is now on thyroid pills. His is on the low side so maybe the pills will get him around the park at least three times before he sits down and looks at me. I think maybe he is just bored because when I take him to the beach he is a ball of energy and foolishness. Right now he is completely exhausted from this afternoon romp at Municipal Beach and is sawing wood on my couch as I type (key). Which reminds me, how is Pal doing 'up there'? I bet his breathing is perfect and not a flea within 6 million light years. Say hi, and let him know I think of him often.

Oh, look what I found when going through my HN files. You chasing some school girls at the War Museum. What a great day that was.

Well my dearest friend, I'm thinking I should close this for now. It has been great talking to you and I hope if you are not too busy up there that you won't mind if I keep in touch now and then. I won't attach any special thingies with this because I wouldn't want to sully your image.

Good bye for now.

Your pal,

Me (on the right)

Beach rock painting.

There is no doubt about it, these beach rocks make for an excellent fantastic SpotArt surface. I now have about a dozen beach rocks piled in a corner of my room and this morning I decided it was time to use at least one of them up. A friend had asked that I do a portrait of her and her man’s two dogs, so with Spot flopped out and snoring on the kitchen floor, the day overcast and damp, I thought now would be a good time to get going on the ‘commission’.

I went to her Facebook albums and found a couple of pictures which I thought I could work from, saved them to my pictures then printed them out. The one dog is just a mass of hair while the other one is black with a white chest. Almost impossible to paint with any kind of definition.

I first sketched the dogs on the rock in pencil. Satisfied with the outcome I then outlined the characters in India ink – much like doing a tattoo. I figured out what paints I would need the blopped them out on to the easel. I then went to My Music on the computer, clicked on Bob Dylan and began to paint. Half an hour later I was finished.

I let the masterpiece dry for twenty minutes (acrylic) then took it outside and sprayed it with polyurethane. This coating adds at least $50.00 to $150.00 to its value, depending on how gullible the buyer is. Another half an hour and it was dry and ready to package.

Tomorrow I think I will paint an action scene on a beach rock. Maybe our Governor General dining out in Inuvik.

The good old hockey pool

My son-in-law, Tim, is now out of the will. Why? Let me go back and I’ll begin at the beginning of what led to his downfall.

I have not played hockey since 1976. I have not watched, listened to or read anything about hockey since 1976. That changed a few weeks ago when the super of the complex we live in approached me and asked if I would like to get into the building hockey pool – ten bucks a pop. I thought, “Why not, I might get lucky and win a hundred or so.”

A couple of days later the super came to me with a bucket containing a bunch of folded pieces of paper and told me to go ahead and draw one. I did. I drew Carolina Hurricanes. Truthfully I had never heard of them. “Not a bad pick,” says he to me.

Wouldn’t you know it, the Hurricanes blew Boston away. I remember Boston. Jerry Cheevers was in net, Bobby Orr on defence and I think Derrick Sanderson was playing then too. They were not playing now.

I’m on my way to the cup thinks I. Next match up was the Penguins. Who couldn’t beat a team with that stupid name?? Game one and the Hurricanes lost. It was then that my son-in-law comes into the picture. “Don’t worry, dad, Carolina always lose the first game. They are grinders.” When they lost the second game I called and asked for some reassurance that it was just a fluke. “Don’t worry, dad,” he says, “they are going to eat the Penguins.”

After losing the third game I had the sinking feeling that the Penguins were going to turn the Hurricanes in to a light puff of wind, a footnote to the 2009 Stanley Cup. Or is it Grey Cup. Whatever. “They should be able to hammer this team,” dad, “don’t give up on them.”

Last night they lost. Wiped out in four games straight. I have yet to hear from my son-in-law. I expect my daughter to call and see if she is still in the will. I have to think about it. Maybe her sister and her husband will get it all. Unless, of course, son-in-law Jim takes me on a skunked fishing trip.

Bed-in anniversary!!

So, it was forty years ago that John & Yoko came to Montreal and began their bed-in for peace. Certainly a noble idea but more of a photo op than anything when one looks at the success of the movement. There was none.

Vietnam dragged on for years after. Africa is still in flames. The mid-east is still a tinder box. Iraq is embroiled in a civil war thanks to the Bush government. Afghanistan is not exactly the place to raise your children. Cambodia did some culling from 1975 to ’79. Iran and Iraq couldn’t get along in the 80’s. India and Pakistan have been at it a few times sin the bed-in. The Irish and Brits had their Troubles for a number of years after John asked to Give Peace a Chance. Let’s not forget Chechnya and Georgia in the old eastern European zones. Tienamen Square, Moldova, Haiti, Egypt (Muslim Brotherhood against the government), Peru-Ecuador War, Indonesia, Jordan, Sri Lanka, etc., etc., etc. So, sorry, John and Yoko, war wins hands down.

On the plus side I had a lovely morning with my friend and our dogs (Spot & Jackson) down at Municipal Beach. Who needs bed-ins when you own a dog? All world leaders should get a dog and lighten up. World peace would be obtained with a wag of the tail.

That's my solution and you read it first right here.

At the beach

Sunday afternoon at the beach. Me and my bulldog and Jess. A perfect day for skipping stones. Or throwing sticks. Also a perfect day to confirm my bulldog’s inability to emulate the Man from Galilee.

While Jessica honed her skills (or lack thereof) at rock skipping, I was tossing a stick in the water in order for Spot to hone his retrieval skills. Spot seemed more interested in going after the skipping stones which, much to Jessica’s chagrin, were not skipping but plunging straight into the lake without a by your leave.

Spot would begin the chase, get knee deep in the lake, lose sight of the fast-sinking stone then slosh back to shore. Jess gave up on the stones so Spot was able to concentrate on retrieving the stick. Dash in, glom onto the stick, slosh back to shore. Could not get stick from him so I have to work on that. Pick up another stick, get his attention, fire it into the lake and he would chase after the new stick. Uh, oh. ... a little deep. He tippy-toed along the bottom as the water rose higher on his somewhat less than sleek body. One step too many and he . . . sank.

I dashed in to grab him but like a hippo he walked on the bottom and in a matter of seconds he rose above the surface like Martin Sheen in that scene from Apocalypse Now. For the remainder of the hike Spot would only go in until the water was up to his chest. The stick would float away and he’d come back to shore looking for a ‘good boy’ cookie.

Meanwhile Jessica had got the hang of skipping rocks so in celebration we headed down to the Avondale Ice Cream Bar and pigged out before supper.

Next week Spot will wear his life jacket like his pal Ollie.

Who Will Remember Corporal Bailey?

On the way home after the funeral service for my friend Don, a sad thought came to me. Who will remember Corporal Bailey now that Don has gone? Corporal Bailey died on the 11th of April, 1918 and played a significant role in Don and my friendship. How can that be?

In August of 2005 I had the opportunity to travel to France and Belgium and visit a number of Canadian First World War battlefields. In particular I wanted to walk the Albert-Bapaume Road, an old Roman road that runs straight as an arrow from the town of Albert to the town of Bapaume in the Picardy region of France. This particular road was the main road that British, Australian and Canadian troops took to enter the horrid trenches during the Battle of the Somme, July, 1916 to November 1916. My grandfather had walked this very road in October and November, 1916 with his 46th Canadian Infantry Battalion.

When I learned that I would be going overseas I immediately called Don to let him know my good fortune and was there anything I could look up for him over there. His father had been with ‘C’ Battery, Royal Canadian Horse Artillery and had been wounded at the 2nd Somme in April 1918 near Amiens during the great German Offensive. Don immediately wrote back and asked if I would be anywhere near Amiens, would I find time to stop at. St. Pierre Cemetery outside of the city and find the grave of Don’s father’s friend, Corporal W.C. Bailey.

I did indeed visit Amiens and I did find Corporal Bailey’s well-tended grave in the St. Pierre cemetery. I placed a poppy on the grave, signed the register and took several pictures for Don. I phoned Don later that night to tell him I had found Corporal Bailey and had pictures for him. He wept.

The next year Maria and I were in France and once again I took time out to visit Bailey’s grave for Don. Once again Don wept.

How could the death of Bailey play such an important role in our friendship? The story Don’s father brought back from the war was that Cpl. Bailey and himself were out-riders on one of the guns in ‘C’ Battery, and for three or four days straight Bailey had been on the left horse and Gunner Henry West on the right of the gun teams. On the morning of April 11th, Corporal Bailey suggested to Gunner West that for a break they change sides. Henry agreed. In less than an hour German guns had picked them up and laced them with shrapnel. Gunner West was wounded. Corporal Bailey was killed instantly.

I thought on the way back to our motel room from the funeral service, “Had they not changed horses, Gunner West would have died; Don would have not existed, and I would never have had such a friend.” Such are the games the fates play.

With Don now gone, who will remember Corporal Bailey? Me? Yes, but with whom?

Off to Ottawa

So, I’m going to Ottawa Thursday morning. How to get there? Train? Plane? Bus? On to the internet. I’ll check the plane fare from Hamilton to Ottawa.

Clickety, click, click, click. I’m into the WestJet site. No flights. Clickety, click, click, click. I’m into another site that searches all airlines for a flight out of Hamilton to Ottawa. No planes fly out of Hamilton to Ottawa. What the . . . ??

Hmmmm. . .. . Air Canada out of Toronto. A few more clicks and I’m into the Air Canada site. A few more key stroke clicks and I have the data entered. SEARCH. Yep, I can get out of Toronto on a Tango flight. Round trip for two on the dates I selected . . . $664.00! What the heck has happened to those cheap return trips to Ottawa? Something must be cheaper than this.

On to Porter Air out of Toronto Island airport. Yes, they service Ottawa. Clickety, click, enter, enter, enter . . . SEARCH. For the dates and times entered. . . .$760.00! What the. . . ? Porter isn’t even flying jets to Ottawa, how come so expensive? Flying is out. On to Via Rail.

Clickety, click, click, click and I’m on to the Via Rail site. A few more clicks – not too fast because the site is rather difficult to navigate for these addled grey cells of mine – hit SEARCH and . . . GOOD GRIEF!! . . . . over eight hundred bucks! A couple of sprays of nitro and I decide it is time to go to the last resort – Greyhound.

Greyhound winds up to be the cheapest of the three modes of travel. Around $345.00 for the two of us return. Not including the taxes.

“We might just as well go get our tickets this morning,” I say to Maria, “but lets stop at the train station just in case I got things wrong on Via’s site.” Off we go and into the wilds of Western Hill where our weed-surrounded little station sits.

Into the lobby. What’s this?? It is looking quite fresh and friendly. And what a bonus awaited us at the info booth. A very friendly, competent gal behind the glass who had us set up in minutes, explaining that we should forget about booking on line because there is nobody there to explain the deals Via have. Alas, had we been able to book on Monday we could have purchased round trip tickets for two at half price. As it was we were able to get our return trip at that deal. One full price, the other rides free.

Thursday morning we are on our way. I can hardly wait to hear the hissing of the steam and see the sparks from the coal whiz by the coach windows.

Ice cream by the pound

Another afternoon at the beach with Spot and Ollie. She Who Must Be Obeyed accompanied Spot and I while Ollie’s mom and dad accompanied him. The boys were on their best behavior –Spot not as amorous as the last beach day and Ollie, well, Ollie was just being Ollie. Very hot for us parents but the boys had gallons of crystal clear Lake Ontario water to drink and if they drank too much they just heaved it up and drank another gallon.

After the walk it was suggested by Ollie’s dad that we find a place to get ice cream and relax in the shade. “Avondale’s on Stewart Road,” says I, and off we went.

Does anybody remember buying an ice cream cone for X number of cents or dollars for the single, double or triple scoop? Four ice cream cones might cost you five/six bucks max. Not so any longer. One pays by the weight of the ice cream and the cone.

We (actually Ollie’s dad) purchased four single scoop cones – black cherry, rum & raisin, orange sherbet and coconut. Thirteen dollars and thirty cents for four single scoop ice cream cones!! And the thing is they don’t last any longer than the old pay-by-the-scoop ice cream of a few years ago. On the plus side they were scrumptious.

I hope the kids doing the serving are being paid a decent wage. They were being run off their feet.

Next time I’ll hit the Dairy Queen. Get me a soft ice cream (large) dipped in chocolate. Besides, the soft ice cream is easier for Spot to eat.

The Padre of Permilla

It’s not easy, this death. Especially when you are the one left behind. Best friends are supposed to last forever. Not fair that he should go and leave me.

Parents are different. As much as you hate to lose them, it is what parents do. They leave. We grieve but really we know and accept it is the order of things. Friends are for life. What the heck happened? Who wrote this script? We had too much fun to share yet.

I’m good until I think of something foolish he wrote. Then I’m no good. I blubber a lot. Then I think of letters passed between us and I will smile at the memory. Then I’ll weep. Damn, I’m old enough to know this happens to friends, especially those friends who are looking at the slippery slope part of life. Still, it’s not easy, this death.

I awoke sometime early this morning from a dream. I was gasping for breath. I couldn’t get it. I struggled. No air. Awake. Heart pounding. Don’t know the time. Back to sleep. Wake again. Three in the morning. Potter around then go back to bed then sleep.

I get up and wonder how my friend is. I don’t think he will make it. I take Spot out to the park and come back to find a message on the phone. My dear friend died at 1:45 a.m. Was that the time of my dream? I like to think it was. If so, I know Don was thinking of me in his last moments. It sounds good but maybe selfish? It’s not easy, this death.

My friend was an Anglican priest. I was to call him Holy Ness. He became the padre of our 10th Field Battery Association. Don was a big man. Raised on Western Hill. Wound up on Permilla St. Years ago I drew a cartoon of Don. I called it The Padre of Permilla. I had him on a plinth in Walkinshaw Park. Don roared with laughter. As only Don could laugh. I’ll add it to this blog. I need to smile.

It’s not easy, this death. Especially when you are the one left behind. Best friends are supposed to last forever. Not fair that he should go and leave me.

Wait at the gates my friend.

Melancholy fixer

When you are feeling a little low and your effexor prescription has run out, there is only one thing you can do -- at least that is what I have recently discovered. The one thing?? Eat!

After much experimentation and little success I have at last found something that will take all one’s worries away. I’ll share the good news with all my loyal followers. . . all six of you: toast, peanut butter, home made marmalade and a banana.

I prefer rye bread myself but if you are really in need of a fix, white bread will suffice. On to a hot-out-of-the-oven piece of toast one should spread a half inch layer of crunchy peanut butter -- the oilier the better. On top of the coating of peanut butter add (or slather) a thick ply of homemade marmalade. If you don’t have a daughter who makes homemade marmalade I would recommend President’s Choice marmalade.

For the final topping, peel the banana and bite off either end until the remaining section of the banana is the same length as the piece of toast. Split the banana down the centre and place both pieces on top of the toast. Actually I try to have my banana ready for placement before the toast is ready thus leaving one with a warm, mushy effexor stand in. Place the entire works on several paper towels, slip a Jethro Tull CD in the player (do not, I repeat, do NOT play Leonard Cohen if you are more than a tetch melancholy), retire to your favourite chair and get high. All things will be all right with your world.

Refer any questions to Dr. Jim or his buddy Dr. Pat.

For Don

I talked to my best friend today. He is dying. I don’t think I shall hear his wonderful voice again.

We go back about 15 years. We have written daily for the past ten. I will write him until the end. And then what?

We both have a profound passion for history. His father served the guns with C Battery, RCHA during The Great War. My grandfather, the infantry in that same horrible war. That was our initial bond. Our friendship grew from there.

He became my mentor in all things spiritual. I became his mewntor in all things outside of his life. Two opposites. One spirit. Ever hear of soul mates. We are. No doubt about it.

I wrote a little skit some years ago. It is about an old vet on his death bed. In the room is the one who has come to lead him away. We shall all meet him some day. I dedicate this to my dear friend Don. I’ll see you on The Somme, my friend.

For Don


"And so, you've finally come for me?"
"Yes."
"It's been some time since I last felt your presence."
"Yes, it has been some time."
"I've thought a lot about you over the years and I have off times wondered when you would appear."
"I've been busy these past years but a date with you has always been assured."
"And how are the boys? Do you think that they will remember me after all the time that has gone by? God, how I've missed their company."
"Oh yes, how well they remember you. Often Jimmy Hobbs would say to me, 'When are you getting old Nobby?' And I would say, 'Soon enough, Jimmy, soon enough.'"
"Jimmy Hobbs! God bless him! It's been years since I thought of Jimmy. You know, till now I'd forgotten what poor Jimmy looked like. Can you imagine that? Him and I were as close as brothers. And what we went through together! Christ, didn't we make a mess out of old Fritzie's dug-out the night of that trench raid? Oh, well I remember Jimmy yellin' down the dug-out entrance, 'Come on Fritz, get your asses up here!'"
"Yes, Nobby, I remember that too."
"Yes, yes, of course, you were there. But there was Jimmy just a cursin' and me handing him them grenades as fast as he could reach back for them. Oh my, that was some night, what with the star shells popping off over head and Fritzie's machine guns justa' chattering away. Yes sir, that was some night. Damn, something's in my eye. Would you pass me the tissue from the side table? I can't seem to reach it."
"Don't worry, Nobby, your eyes are okay now."
"Why, yes, yes they are."
"I'll look after you, Nobby."
"And what about Donny? Oh, shoot, what was Donny's last name? Damn, I can see his face before me."
"Donny Miller."
"Yes, yes, Donny Miller."
"It has been a while, Nobby, but don't be too concerned, everything will come back to you."
"Donny was with me when we first tried to take that damned Regina Trench. Do you remember him saying, 'Nob (he always called me Nob) I'm gonna' get me one of them spiked helmets that Fritzie wears.' Sure, didn't we start through our wire -- mud up to our knees -- and Donny just a singin'. 'Nob, Nob, -- Nob, Nob, I'm gonna get me a picklehaube.' Said he would some day tell his grand children... he got it in a hand to hand fight with a huge Prussian Guardsman ... I told his mother..."
"Yes, Nobby, I remember that."
"Well we didn't take Regina Trench that day, did we. And mind, it wasn't that we didn't give it our best. But Jesus!, the mud and wire and Fritzie's shells and Fritzie's machine guns... Where was our supporting artillery??"
"They were suffering too, Nobby. I met quite a few of them that day."
"Yes, I guess you were a busy one that day. But, by God, it will be good to see Donny again."
He's not changed, Nobby."
"And Bill Wilson?"
"He's waiting to see you, Nobby."
"Christ!, didn't Bill and I get ourselves into a fix up there on Vimy Ridge?"
"That you did, Nobby."
"There's Bill 'n' me stuck in that shell hole -- boy, she was snowing that day -- and it seemed to us that the whole German army was counter attackin' us, do you recall?"
"I remember that, Nobby."
"Yes, there's Bill with that bloody Lewis gun just spitting away at Fritz. And me passin' him those pans of ammunition. Damn, that was a good old gun! And, Jesus, those shells were ploppin' all around us. But Bill held them off, didn't he. He sent me back for more ammunition... I, I couldn't get back to him. Oh how I've prayed that Bill didn't think I'd deserted him."
"He knew you did your best, Nobby."
"But, don't you see, what with the shell fire, the snow, the mud ... why, I just couldn't find him again."
"Bill knows, Nobby, he knows."
"I, I just recalled Davey Atkinson! We called him Lefty. By the Jesus, could he throw a Mills bomb! Where was we that Fritz was holdin' us up that one time?
"Decline Copse, at Passchendaele, Nobby."
"Now how could I forget that! Yes, there was one of them pill boxes holdin' us up in front of them shattered trees by the railway line. The Aussies were on our right, weren't they?"
"You have a fine memory, Nobby."
"So Lefty says to me, 'Cover me, Nobby, I'm gonna' try to pitch some eggs into that nest!' Well, up I gets and starts fifteen rounds rapid fire from my old Enfield. I last seen Lefty runnin' and throwin', runnin' and throwin'. His eggs were bangin' all around that pill box. But damned if I didn't catch a bullet in my chest! I could still see Lefty chuckin' those bombs before I passed out. Did he make it? I never heard."
“He is waiting for you, Nobby."
“And Len Striker? How about Shifty Burns? Jake Smithers? Tommy and Sammy Wright? And ..."
"They are all here, Nobby. They are all waiting to see you again."
"And what about Willy Jones, and..."
"Nobby, it is time to go."
"Yes, yes, it is time to go... and Johnny...."

Yer pal

Jim

A lovely warm and bright day today. Enjoying such a day I thought of my one grandson who is toughing it out off the coast of Florida with the Canadian Navy. That led me to thinking of an incident which occurred when I was sailing off the coast of Florida with the Canadian Navy back in 1962 or 63. The day back then was a warm and bright day. . . .

. . . . Our squadron along with some of our Cadillacs had been on maneuvers with the Americans along the eastern seaboard. It was now Sunday, we were off the Florida coast and a 'make-and-mend' (afternoon off) had been called throughout the flotilla. We were steaming at about 10 knots, the sun was bright, the breeze was warm and it seemed most of the ship's company (those not on watch) were basking all over the upper deck.
A shadow fell over me and I squinted up. Petty Officer Huffman was standing over me. It was after tot time and one never knew what Huff would get up to. "Stainless," he said. (by then that was the nick-name which had stuck to me. Seemed everyone had a standard nick-name -- 'Dusty' Rhodes, 'Shady' Lane, 'Killer' Kane, 'Nobby' Clark (that one I could never figure out) and of course, me, 'Stainless' Steel.) "Wanta' do some fishing?" "Sure, P.O.," I replied. "Is the old man gonna stop the boat for a while?" "No, we are going to troll," said he.
We rousted up a couple of more mortar men and went down to the galley. Huff talked it over with the duty cook who was pretty drunk by then and he handed us some raw steaks. Huff then rummaged around in the ordnance work shop and reappeared with quite a large treble hook which on some previous occasion he had made up. We then headed up top and back to the quarter deck.
( When we were on anti-sub exercises the Weapons Underwater gang had to string over the stern a device called the CAT. I believee this stood for Canadian Anti-acoustic Torpedo gear. It looked like a model airplane with a double bar running over the body forming what looked like wings (probably three or four feet in length). A steel tongue went between the bars to stop any vibration. When the CAT was towed astern from a steel cable and we wanted to disengage the tongue and cause the bars to chatter, a tripping arrangement on the deck was activated. (The order was, "Trip CAT!) The noise given off by the activated CAT was about fifteen times louder than that of our screws, so, theoretically, any acoustic torpedo would home in on the CAT rather than us.)
We fed the CAT's cable through the stern fairlead, attached the treble hook on to the end of the cable, baited it with three lovely steaks and fed it out over the stern. When it was run out about 100 yards, we locked the cable drum and returned to our basking. I assume Huff went back down to his mess for another 'wet.'
About an hour later Huff was back. It was time to bring in the cable. A crowd gathered along the after guard rails. We manned the cranks on either side of the drum and began the tortuous job of winding in the hundred yards of cable. The Cap was still steaming merrily along so this was quite a chore.
Shortly a cheer exploded from the stern. "Shark, shark. Jesus Christ, you guys got a friggin_ shark!" We cranked it up level to the deck and the guys began clubbing and stabbing at it with their seamen's knives. Eventually the poor thing was subdued and rather dead. It was not big. Maybe five or six feet long. Nobody wanted to take the hook out of it's jaws. Nobody really wanted to get near the damn thing now that we had it. Eventually we convinced Huff to pull the pin from the shackle which held the hook and let the whole works fall back in to the sea.
As we cleaned up the deck and the mob dispersed I over heard Huff to say, "Hey, anybody wanna try to water ski?"

I can imagine our Canadian Navy is the same today as it was those many years ago and I imagine there is probably a P.O. Huffman on every ship.

Spot Update

For all his many fans I would like to report that Spot had a much better day today. Though, admittedly, not perfect. I cut his does in half and though he wasn't as restless as yesterday, he was antsy enough for me to think that I must go to Plan B as far as the meds go. He has just now zonked out on the kitchen floor after having only one or two cat naps (did I say cat??) in the afternoon. Mr. Spot does not take short naps. Mr. Spot enjoys the afternoon on the couch. I will call his doctor tomorrow and see what we can do for him.

I will now put this through spell check like I should have done with the earlier blog.

Eye Art

I decided I needed to take a break from creating the much admired and sought after SpotArt. Several years of steady masterpieces had taken its toll on me so before I grew stale and my work much less sought after thought ever so good I thought I would let my mind wander and let the creative juices flow. Within minutes I had a vision of my creative path and the vision was Googly Eyes.

On one of my many adventures with Spot my bulldog he had found a coconut bobbing along the shoreline of Lake Ontario near Port Dalhousie. I brought it back home with me and sat it on my printer to let it dry. The next day I looked at it and much to my chagrin a crack had developed in the nut and its milk had leaked out over my printer. Don't ask. I don't know why I set the thing on the printer in the first place. I quickly lost interest in the coconut and it sat silently and forgotten in my room until just a few days ago. After recognizing a kundilini of sorts I knew the coconut and I were fated Thus we have the first of many Googly eyes creations to adorn the apartment.

But who was going to see it sitting on the floor. I had to come up with another way to display these thoughts that were going through my addled grey cells. Then I thought of how most of us are forever watching the clock. Well, I suppose if one is still working you are watching a clock. I don't work so time isn't. So. . . what about time watching us? Where to display it, where indeed.

What better place than on an alarm clock. I have no need of an alarm clock so what better clock to put it on than Maria's. She hasn't noticed yet and I'm not about to point it out to her lest she trieds to take the eyes off thus leaving residue from my hot glue gun on her Sony alarm. I will probably hear about it in the morning.

I have recently taken an interest in rocks, mainly how they were formed and how many millions if not billions of years ago they were formed. My good friend Pat is a rock hound and it was through travelling with him (space and otherwise) that I grew to appreciate the lowly rock and certainly learned to appreciate what the poor thing went through to become the rock or rocks I now have in my small collection.

On one of Pat's travels he picked up an eight pound (whatever kilo) chunk of basalt, beautifully polished and corners naturally rounded. It has been on display, well, not really on display, but a door stop since we moved in to these digs. It kind of guards the room as it is but I thought it might do a better job with a pair of eyes. I think most people would agree that I've made it a much more interesting rock in two minutes than mother nature did in 60 million or whatever years.

Then I suppose there are some who would think I should stick to the stunningly beautiful and most sought after SpotArt.

As a post script I should state that I'm trying to lay the pictures out a little different and I have no idea how it will turn out when I publish this. If it works, great. If not, it's back to the drawing board or keyboard or whatever.

A better day

A much less stressful day today. Spot seems to have made a full recovery. He has returned to his incorrigible saucy self and has probably eaten two dozen if not more treats because I have bowed to his every whim.

He actually walked around the park once today making a nuisance of himself by bouncing and spinning around Cathy, Lynne and Mori as he tried to gain their attention for a cookie. On his own I think he cleaned them all out.

I think the dosage on his new meds will have to be lowered. He was up at six o’clock this morning! Something he has never done in the almost 8 years we’ve had him. He has not had more than five minutes sleep today and that certainly is not like him. Obviously the meds are making him buzz. We’ll get that sorted.

Anyway, from the park he led me to Carolyn’s house where he stuck his nose in the cookie jar as soon as he walked in. It is very difficult to carry on a conversation when one has to put up with a spoiled bulldog demanding his way, which, alas, he certainly has a way of doing. We didn’t stay long and I’ll have to continue our conversation over the phone.

In the afternoon we stopped at the book store to see Cathy and he carried on with his sauciness and I actually had to scold him. He did settle down while I browsed for books but I knew it wouldn’t last long so out we went and off home.

Later: Called the vet and told her that The Boy has been vibrating around the house since six this morning. “Don’t give him his pill tonight and cut the tablet in half in the morning. He should settle down by six or seven tonight.” Sounded like a good plan. Poor guy.

By five p.m. he was doing a little dance so I thought I’d better get him out to the back forty and see if I could walk some of the energy out of him. Out we went and he dashed over to the side fence and peed for about thirty seconds. He then scooted off to the back where he proceeded to munch on grass for about three quarters of an hour, barfing twice but looked much better after. We then headed down Lake Street where he had a lovely poop alongside the school yard fence. Back to the apartment and he finally flopped down in the kitchen at around six-thirty. His breathing slowly got back to normal and he drifted off to sleep.

I snuck out and played a couple of games of darts tonight and when I returned he was sound asleep under the bed. Right now I’m sure the neighbour below us can hear his snoring vibrating through her ceiling.

Spot crisis!

When I was walking Spot out to the car this morning to go to the park he started to have a rough time breathing, threw up some bile then passed out in the parking lot. I immediately dropped my coffee, knelt beside him and pulled at his tongue several times to get him breathing. He finally started gasping and after a few minutes his breathing was less laboured and I was able to stand him up. A few minutes later he was back walking towards the car. He was very quiet and subdued but I thought he should be okay.

At the park I took him out of the back of the car and set him on the grass. He just looked at me. I was able to get him to come into the park but that was it. He just wasn’t interested in anything so I said good bye to one of the morning gang, put Spot back in the car and drove off to the vet’s. Spot will tell the rest of the story:

“My dad then dwove me up to see Martina and Hobsy an' when I gots to them they wushed me wight in to the back woom. Well, they didn't wush me in, my dad carried me in but don't tell my mom. Then Jen an' everybody else gave dad heck for carrying me an' then they got me hooked up to a bwood pwessure thing an listened to my heart an' stuck a thermometer in my bum an' gave me some needles an' then they took me in for some x-ways. Meantime I was a wittle bit stoned fwom something they gave me an' my dad told Martina and Hobsy and the west of the girls that if I was okay we would go home and listen to Jimi Hendrix an' Pink Floyd.

“On the x-way table the waid me on my side an’ took a pichur of my chest an’ then they swid me up a bit an’ took a pichur of my tummy area. I don’t weally wemember much cuz I wuz having a good time somewhere in my head wiff my dad.

“So. . . my heart is okay an' my wungs are okay. My wivver is okay an' my tummy is okay. The doctors are pretty sure my twouble lies in my throat cuz I got too much fat flesh there an' it is cwosing off my air pipe so I'm not getting enough oxygen. I'm now on some Apo Theo LA which is post to keep my airway open so I can breathe easier an' gets more oxygen.

“When I gots home I wayed down an’ swept all afternoon an’ then my dad took me out for a pee then I came in a’ swept till six o’cwock an’ my dad took me for a pee again. Wight now I am getting off this compooter an’ am going to get on the bed an’ sweep until noon tomorrow. I will not, I wepeat, I will not be at the park.”

I guess that is it from Spot. He has gone under the bed and I don’t expect to see him until about nine o’clock in the morning. I will hear from him though because he already has a good snore on the go. Hopefully Spot will have recovered by tomorrow afternoon and I can get him out for a lovely drive through the blossomed peninsula. I’m sure he will love that. I will not attempt to get him to walk any where.

My VISA is still smoking.

The Spot epiphany revisited

Another lovely day. The kind of day when one likes to take their best friend out for a walk. In my case it is taking Spot out for a walk. You would think after my confession of yesterday that I would never bother trying to have a day on the nature trail with The Boy, but something inside me said, “He loves going to Decew House. Take him there and we will walk the trails. It’s a lovely morning, he will love it.”

After Spot and I both had an early morning nap Maria and I and Spot boarded the elevator to the 1st floor and made our way to the car. I had an inkling the trip might be a lost cause by the way Spot was poking along behind me. “Nah,” I think to myself, “he loves the Decew House hike.”

And it is a lovely site. Today was especially nice with the sun reflecting off the yellow heads of a zillion dandelions. They made the entire area appear warm, buttery and inviting. They also reminded me what a pain they made my life when I owned the house. I suppose I could have let the damn things over run my yard but I had to make it look like I did something around the house while Maria was still working and I wasn’t.

I digress.

I heaved Spot out of the back of the car and placed him on the ground, not expecting him to dash off and roll around in the dandelions but at least to show some excitement about being back at one of his favourite recreational parks. He stood there looking up at me. I moved off with Maria towards the remains of Decew House expecting him to trot along after us. He stood there looking at us. I waved a cookie in the air and that got him as far as the house. Another cookie got him through the house and into the back yard. And there he stood. He would not move. On the plus side, he didn’t sit down.

Maria and I went back to the car and he trotted along after us. I had noticed a trail running towards Lake Gibson just across the road from the parking lot and suggested “we get him ‘over there’” and he would surely want to explore new ground. We walked toward the road. He walked to the back hatch. Maria and I returned to the car. I opened the hatch, he placed his feet on the edge of the bumper and I boosted him in.

I started the car and we all went home.

I think tomorrow if it is not raining I will make a run out to Charles Daley Park. I know he loves it there.

My Spot epiphany.

It is a sad thing for me to admit but after yesterday’s folly with my bulldog Spot’s refusal to entertain any thoughts of a boring walk anywhere other than a beach, I’ve concluded two things. 1. He runs my life. And 2: Perhaps he is getting too old to be taking for walks all over the Niagara Peninsula. “Take me to the beach or don’t take me anywhere,” seems to be his mantra as of late. When I don’t take him anywhere he runs both of us ragged in the apartment with his toy.

Take these last few weekends. For the past seven + years I have taken him every morning to a park where we have met scads of people with various and sundry breeds of dogs. Over the years some have passed on – dog and owner – while others have remained the same. And every morning Spot was there, hopping and twirling around, being his normal saucy self bugging everyone for treats.

At times I’ve been so embarrassed with his antics I have brought THE toy along (a Cuz toy with feet) which acted as a diet pill. As long as he had the toy he wouldn’t bother with treats, he’d just run and run as I chased after him. Lately I noticed that rather than running around with the toy he would go off into the shade and chew on the feet. It might have been helping his diet by still not eating treats but he certainly wasn’t getting the exercise. I gave up bringing the toy, and he has taken to shortening the walk by dropping back from we humans and cutting across the field, thus covering far less ground than what he used to. Oh, he still jumps and hops and twirls but not in the incessant way that he always did.

But back to these past few weekends. Puppies have shown up. And what do these puppies do? They bug Spot. They hop and twirl around him and because he is rather short and stubby they find his bum the easiest bum in the pack to sniff. My boy has no patience for this and with a snarl he tries to warn them off. Puppies don’t often listen. So with patience gone and ears pinned back, Spot heads out of the park and down the street to his old house where his ‘auntie Carolyn’ soothes his feeling with treats.

Yesterday and today were washouts at the park. He had to be coaxed into and coaxed around the perimeter. Once he got to the gate at the far end of the park and closest to the street where his old house is, he sat and would go no further. I took him down the street and left him at with Carolyn while I went and retrieved the car.

Of course I tell everybody it is just the puppies. Well, I do believe that is one of the reasons, the other is that he really is getting older and the long morning walks are getting too much for him. Yet when we get back to the apartment and he gets his toy he’s a young lad again. Alas, he can’t go on until noon like he used to and seems to be quite happy with fifteen minutes of foolish play then half an hour or more of snoozing.

Me thinks he is trying to teach me something. Heck, what’s wrong with a morning snooze now and then? Afternoon naps are good to. Just ask him.

A morning walk with Spot

The day promising to be perfect I thought I’d have a grand morning with Spot, so I hauled him out of bed at eight o’clock and over to the park we went to meet up with all his friends. I figured a good half an hour there then we could come back to the apartment and pick up Maria then off to Niagara on the Lake we would go. Alas, the park did not work out to be a half an hour. There was a puppy there this morning and it was like a little gnat buzzing around poor Spot. After one turn around the park and with the little pest bugging him, he’d had enough and headed out of the park and down to my daughter Carolyn’s house.

He made a nuisance of himself there for about fifteen minutes, eating about ten dog biscuits and being his saucy self. Enough of that and it was back to the apartment where we picked up Maria and headed down Lakeshore Road to Niagara.

The drive was lovely. Orchards were in bloom and the trees were ablaze with pink and white blossoms. Spot was happily standing between us, his big head resting on my right shoulder and periodically passing wind or grumbling for a cookie. I keep a jar of his cookies on the console just for such occasions..

We arrived at the park alongside the Niagara River and noted that one needed to pay for parking. I refused to do so. So, breaking the law, out of the car we got and felt revived and full of vim and vigor what with the cool breezes wafting across the river. I lugged Spot out of the car and we strolled about twenty five feet into the park. He stopped and sat. He would not move. Even for a cookie he would not move. We returned to the car, opened the back hatch. He trotted back and I hoisted him in.

Off to Simcoe Park we went and there he repeated the same performance. Loaded him in again and because he had had such a fun time at the Queenston Docks a few weeks ago I decided that would be the place he would enjoy. By then Maria was suggesting we put an end to our folly and just go home.

The river road drive as usual was most pleasant. In fact there wasn’t one rubber-necking, creeping along tourist to get my blood aboil. A perfect run indeed. I wonder does everybody who has a grape vine in Niagara call themselves a winery? Every other sign points to a winery along the road!

We swung off the River Road into the village of Queenston, passed the little stone church by the river and down the road to the docks. We parked well above the docks by a little trail leading down through the woods toward the river. Once again I took The Boy out of the back of the car and off down the trail Maria and I went. He did not. He stood and looked at us. I gave him the 'come' command and he sat down. Maria and I returned to the car; I put him back in and we drove home. He sleeps as I type.

First of the month senior's moment.

Duh, another first of the month! Another morning in front of the computer as I try to remember my password to get onto my online banking so I can pay the bills which are due today. I have so many passwords its ridiculous. Passwords for PayPal, Future Shop, Chapters, AbeBooks, Biblio, Cogeco, Blacks Photography, Hotmail, Amazon, Gmail, Norton, Tim Hortons, Utube,WestJet, Food Channel, President’s Choice, Rogers, Sears, umpteen bank cards, Facebook and my blog. Passwords for companies or sites that no longer exist. Is it any wonder that I’m always behind on my bills?

I have only one bill I pay by cheque. I don’t need a password for the cheque book but it takes me until mid month to find the cheque book.

As far as the monthly vet bill for Spot goes I wish I could set up an automatic withdrawal with my bank. Either that or have X number of dollars paid into the animal hospital’s mortgage account. I doubt that a password would be required for that. I must speak to the doctors about that when I take Spot in for his monthly cheque, er, check up.

This is my second month of receiving Federal Pension cheques and I thank all those contributing to my well being. Thank you.