The No Travel Travel Trailer.

While growing up we had a neighbour named Fred. Fred was married to Claire and both were alcoholics. Functioning and contributing members of society but alcoholics nonetheless.

They were also by far the nicest people, drunk or sober, that we ever had as neighbours and I learned a lot from them, particularly Fred whom we often interacted with over the fence between our two adjacent properties.

Fred was a mill worker all the 10 plus years we lived next door. Every morning like clockwork we would see him leave for his shift at the mill from our kitchen as we were eating breakfast before school. 8am to 430 M-F. He’d then come home and immediately start drinking, fall asleep in the one bedroom shack he and Claire lived in and get up the next day and go to work again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

At the time I didn’t give it much thought but now looking back I don’t know how Fred did it. I mean I’m now around the same age Fred was then and if I drink more than 2 beers on a work night, I’m hung over most of the rest of the next day. And here Fred was doing that every night and going into a mill with machines that could take your limbs off. I guess heroes don’t always wear capes, sometimes they were hard hats and safety boots.

Fred and Claire had no kids so they both took a liking to me and Fred and my Dad often shared a beer and a chat over the fence. Fred was often a witness to how hard my dad and I were working in the yard or in the shop and was quick to say we were working too hard and would always offer us beer. Dad would constantly remind him I was only a teen and not beer worthy. So yeah, I liked Fred a lot.

Fred and Claire had a little 14 foot travel trailer parked behind their house. When we first moved next door I assumed they would use that trailer to go camping in but in all the years we lived next door to them, that trailer never moved an inch. I remember when they finally got rid of it, it basically fell apart when they tried to yank it from the spot it had been parked in. No joke, the trailer became part of the earth it was stuck so hard and was so rotten it basically disintegrated to dust.

That’s not to say that trailer didn’t get used. It would house all of their empties. Fred had more interest in going to the liquor store to buy beer than he did in returning his empties for a refund. Those were usually handed over the fence in giant garbage bags for me to return. He never wanted the money for them, he just needed the space for more empties so Fred kept me in cassettes and CDs for most of my teenage years.

Sometimes, as couples do, Fred and Claire didn’t see eye to eye on certain things and their disagreements could be heard coming from their tiny home. It was never physical, just a lot of incoherent drunken yelling and blaming and general airing of grievances. This was usually followed by the sight of Fred coming out of their house with an alcoholic beverage in one hand and a blanket and pillow in the other. We’d be sitting outside barbecuing and there would be a quick conversation over the fence to the tune of

“Did Claire kick you out of the house again Fred?”
“Yeah”

He would then go to the trailer and would usually have to remove a few weeks worth of empties just so he could sleep in there so more bags of empties would make their way over the fence and I was well on my way to my next CD purchase. Have I mentioned I liked Fred?

When Fred retired from the mill with all his limbs intact, Claire wanted to travel so the tiny trailer was pulled from its permanent location and was replaced by a much nicer and larger class C motor home. If memory serves they took two trips in that thing and then it too was parked, pretty much in the exact same spot as the old tiny trailer. It was there when I left to go to university and I remember talking to Fred about it before I departed. By then I was old enough to share a beer with him over the fence.

Fred saw the beer glass as half full because this larger motor home could house a lot more empties and with me going to university he’d lost his means of returning them. He figured by the time I got back the following summer he’d be ready with enough empties to pay for my 2nd year. It was like he was setting himself a goal.

When Fred passed away 10 years later, having been a contributor to my university education, and Claire moved away to be closer to her family, I felt like my own family members had passed.

So what did I learn from Fred and Claire? They were both very kind and genuine people, always supportive and neigbours that were there when needed but never intrusive. Fred, particularly, was always quick to say take a break, have a beer, don’t work too hard. Sure they were flawed but who isn’t? They loved each other, were content with what they had and shared with their neighbours their kindness and their empties.

Momisms.

While I still miss talking to Mom and hearing her laugh and calling me Fronk in her best Dutch English accent, I have come to take great enjoyment in the memories I have of her before the last year of her life. That last year was filled with some not so pleasant memories. My sister and I would probably agree that remembering our mother happy in her home with the dog and the cat and leaving raw eggs out of the counter instead of in the fridge where they rightly belonged is a much better way to honour and remember her strong independent stubborn spirit.

Mom came to Canada in her mid forties so learning a new language was tough for her. She took English lessons for years after immigrating and while most people could understand 75-80% of what she was saying, her conversations were a mix of Dutch and English that only those of us who spoke both languages could fully understand.

Mom and Dad both donated blood but Mom had trouble reading and comprehending all the requirement questions and had at one point simply memorized which ones to answer yes to and which ones to answer no to. Sorry Canadian Blood Services. Even if she answered incorrectly to the question about having exchanged money or drugs for sex at any point, I’m sure her blood was tested, right? Thankfully she stopped donating about the time the questions on that form changed but it showed how determined she was to do the things she wanted. Procedures be damned.

She wasn’t keen on driving in Canada though which explains why her marriage to our Dad almost ended in divorce when he tried to teach her how to. This despite the fact she’d been a real Evel Knievel on her scooter back in the Netherlands, me in the basket up front and my sister hanging on for dear life on the back with only our Mom wearing a helmet as memory recalls. I guess I was supposed to be her air bag if it all went wrong?

She also had a way my Mom of playing dumb when she needed to but she was far from it. As someone who would, as a teenager, try and sneak things by her, I can attest she was no fool and she had certain turns of phrase that resulted in embarrassing many of us in front of our friends.

For example when she meant to say Town Pantry (a local Chevron gas station) she would always say Town Panty which would always make my friends blush and me cringe.

As in would you go to the Town Panty and pick up my lottery tickets Fronk? She was once lucky enough to win $10,000.00 from a scratch ticket purchased at the Town Panty so maybe Lady Luck has a sense of humour?

Inside out was always inside outside to Mom, as in make sure you turn your clothes inside outside before tossing them in the laundry basket. Other than inside outsiding your clothes Mom only had one other rule when she was doing laundry. Any money left in pockets was hers to keep, no lost and found, no give backs, no do overs. It was like her tip for washing our clothes which looking back now seemed like a pretty good deal. It ended up costing my Dad a lot more one wash day though when he left some nuts and bolts in his work pants and one of the bolts got jammed in the holes of the dryer as it was spinning. It caused the motor to burn out and the kitchen was quickly filled with smoke. Dad’s wallet was quickly emptied for a new dryer.

Superstitious was stupidstitous to Mom because according to her, smart people weren’t afraid of black cats and walking under ladders and Friday the 13th.

Mom was a social drinker. Always two drinks, usually no more, but never less. One of her favorite drinks was a Paralyzer but she always referred to them as Tranquilizers. Maybe she should have worked in advertising?

She also loved her some daily Judge Judy and she always hung onto the belief that when court was called into session and the bailiff would say “All Rise!” what Mom always heard was “All Right!” Racial profiling ignored, who knew my Mom was such a Matthew McConaughey fan?

When care aids come into her home to help her with some basic tasks in her later years, the lovely home care people would keep a binder on the fridge with dates, notes and appointments in it. During one of my visits Mom had this tome out on the table and remarked that they’d noted in it what a happy dog she had. Glancing at the book what they’d actually written in it was what a yappy dog she had but I never let her know what they really thought of her loyal friend.

She and that yappy dog lived together in that house for many years and brought each other much happiness in her retirement years after our Dad passed. She took the dog for walks to the Town Panty to pick up her own lottery tickets and washed his little doggy jacket inside outside in the laundry, even on Friday the 13th.

She’s certainly missed for all the joy and laughter she brought us and for all the things she taught us. Live, laugh, love and make sure you empty your pockets before laundry day because if you left a $10.00 or $20.00 bill in your pockets you were not getting it back. That was going straight to lottery tickets at the Town Panty.

Flat bed, flat head, flat out!

Much has been said and written about the relationships between fathers and sons and our fathers are in most cases the biggest and important role models in our lives.

That was certainly the case for me. My dad was the most important male figure in my life. We didn’t always get along or see eye to eye on a lot of things but the older I get the more I appreciate the things he tried to teach and impart to me.

As a teen though, my relationship with my father was strained at times and I will admit that I didn’t make things all that easy for him on occasion. Between the accidental arson of a local hardware store to the numerous vehicles crashed and written off over those tumultuous years I’m sure I caused him several grey hairs.

So even though I loved and admired my dad for his work ethic and his never quit attitude, tensions between my dad and I could sometimes be cut with a knife, or in one case a 3/8″ wrench.

We always had a lot of equipment and vehicles around our house and shop. As a highway maintenance contractor we had to load a lot of stuff into and out of a lot of pickup trucks and dad went through these vehicles on regular basis. These trucks were always second hand with usually high mileage so their lifespan under our care was usually short and hard. The first thing dad always did with every one of these hunks he brought home, some running, many not, was to remove the box from the back of the truck so that he could make a flat bed for them which made it easier to load tractor attachments, tires, tools, hydraulic equipment and the like.

This process usually took a weekend’s worth of time and it’s how my dad and I spent many a weekend in the shop, dirty, sweaty, oily and greasy. The truck box was removed, frames were welded and wood was installed with pivoting side and end gates. Dad was a pretty good welder so these trucks always looked better after he got his welding torch and wrenches on them. It’s a skill he tried to teach me but as a teen aged boy learning to weld was something I had no interest in. I now wish I would have learned those skills as I admire people who can weld and fabricate and can turn cold metal into something useful like my dad could. Some of these beds were even fabricated with tool boxes and cabinets to house large oxyacetylene tanks. This was all before Instagram so there’s not many photos of his creations and I wish we’d taken photos over the years because the man was a decent fabricator and welder.

One weekend dad brought home a his latest acquisition, and it wasn’t completely clapped out like most of the hulks he’d dragged home. As soon as I saw him coming up our long driveway I knew I was probably going to be canceling my weekend plans so that we could create his latest flatbed.

We started on Saturday morning. Early, too early for this teenager who was much more interested in sleep or watching MTV than pulling on some dirty coveralls. That argument fell on deaf ears with my father so there we were at 8am pulling out the torches and wrenches. Things started badly and everything that could go wrong did. It’s like this truck was hell bent on not being made over. It fought us every step of the process. All the other crappy trucks would easily give up their truck beds and comply to fabrication but this nicer truck just didn’t want to co-operate. The box took forever to remove as the underside was bent and rusted in spots we needed access to, It wasn’t as square as we needed it to be so there was just a lot of measuring and re-measuring which lead to a lot of finger pointing as to whose fault it was that nothing was fitting. By late Saturday afternoon we were very behind, frustrated and not getting along at all. And then it happened.

Dad was lying under truck and I was sitting on the frame after we’d finally managed to separate the bed when he asked (barked at) me to hand him a wrench. Now, our versions of what happened next vary slightly. My version of events has the wrench slipping out of my sweaty hands. Dad had no time to put his hands up and the wrench fell from about 3 feet and landed right across the bridge of his nose, immediately cutting him open. Dad’s version always remained that I dropped that wrench on purpose in frustration. Maybe a bit of column A and a bit of column B. Officially, I stand by accident.

Regardless, the moment that wrench landed on his nose and busted him open I knew my next move.

RUN!

Before dad could crawl out from under that truck I was already off the frame and heading down the driveway. As Mom recalled it she was sitting in the kitchen drinking a coffee when she saw her son running at full speed down the driveway in an ill fitting pair of coveralls followed moments later by her husband who was wiping blood out of his eyes with one hand while wielding a wrench with the other. She decided not to get involved.

I ran down the driveway, turned right and didn’t look back. Dad gave up at the end of the driveway and went back to the shop to seek first aid. I waited a good hour before mustering up the courage to return home. As I made my way up the driveway I wasn’t sure what would greet me. What I found was my father leaning against the fence having a beer with our neighbour Fred. He’d apparently seen and heard all the commotion and came over to see if we needed a referee. The beer and the chat with Fred calmed my father down so when I got back the shop was closed and dad informed me we were done for the day. It was time to throw in the blood soaked (shop) towel. Like the truck should have been, the day was a write off.

We turned a corner on that flat bed and our relationship the next day. Blood is thicker than water even when your own flesh and blood makes you bleed accidentally, Accidentally dad!

I know there’s pride in not quitting and persevering to get a job done and while my dad was the epitome of that mantra even he realized that the universe had been telling us this wasn’t our day and to just go back to bed or to watch some MTV.

Gone in the Wind?

Yet another confession, this time of a post teen arsonist. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Catch up in a previous blog post.

I’ve never been much of a ladies man. Never the tallest or best looking kid in the bunch most of my life, even though as a wee lad I did model for a French kids clothes catalogue. Those photos are in a vault never to see the days of light ever again so maybe I peaked too early? Good looking kid, average looking adult.

I’m also not the best at picking up signals. A women basically has to throw herself at me for me to clue in she might actually be interested in my company. It’s signals Jerry, signals! (Seinfeld fans will understand)

Now I learned long ago no means no and boundaries are to be adhered to so maybe I’ve just played it safe all these years. From where I stand on the sidelines of love (that’s not a bad band name by the way) it appears to me women do have a certain amount of power in a relationship and so much for the better maybe. But what do I know? I’m single.

I’ve had relationships in my life and to be completely honest I have only been deeply in love once or twice during all those relationships combined. Maybe that’s all you get in life? One or two true loves and I used mine up? Something to consider I suppose.

Might be commitment issues. Might be some things in my life have made it hard for me not invest fully in any relationship. Maybe I’m just destined to be alone and somewhat happy as opposed to being in a relationship that doesn’t make me or my partner happy. Whatever it is, it is what it is. If you’re one of the women in my life I’ve been in love with I hope you knew it at the time. I may not be the best at sending signals either.

A few years ago I did have occasion to go on a date with a woman I’d known casually for a few years who was recently separated from her husband and they were clearly headed for a divorce. It’s always sad when a commitment like that ends but having never experienced that I won’t speak to its effect on the parties involved. She asked me to dinner, as a friend and someone to lean on I assumed at the time so we went. We walked a few blocks from where we were both individually parked to the restaurant. We had a drink with dinner and an honest and open conversation where I tried my best to console her on her upcoming divorce. I had no sense she may have been sending me signals during that dinner.

After dinner we began to walk back to our cars and at one point I felt something on my backside. Seeing as how I am terrible at signals I couldn’t for some reason rationalize this as her hand on my behind so I just filed it as a wind gust at my back. She didn’t say anything about it when I didn’t react and we never spoke of it afterwards. We remained friends for years after that and then she re-married and moved away. The subject never came up again between us.

I told my friends this story the day after it happened and instead of being in any way consoling or trying to help me analyze what this was all supposed to mean they just laughed and from that day forward anytime we are out somewhere and the weather is blustery, I’ll hear no end to the teasing and joking about that night.

Not sure what the take away from this all is. Maybe it’s take some chances, send signals to someone if you’re interested in them and if that doesn’t work be more blunt and speak up? Don’t regret not saying something heartfelt to someone for fear of looking weak or dumb.

As the song “The Promise” by the band When In Rome says

I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
(I promise you)
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
(I promise you)
But if you wait around a while I’ll make you fall for me
(I promise you)
I promise, I promise you

Whatever you do, maybe just don’t leave it to the wind?

Confessions of a pre-teen arsonist

It’s Nov 5th today and this is a day that I always would rather erase from the calendar. It is however one of those days that has memories that have shaped me for a large part of my life. Be honest and own your mistakes.

We emigrated to Canada when I was quite young. While it didn’t phase me to get new friends and learn new a language I know it was tough on my sister who came in her teens and had some tough times leaving her friends behind to come to a new country. High school isn’t always the most inviting and welcoming to newbies and my sister certainly wasn’t thrilled with moving to Canada. Her first few years in Canada were probably not her wonder years to say the least.

It’s not like we didn’t speak English at all when we got here but we were very novice. Dad had given us English names as he’d always envisioned a move to reunite with his family in Canada who’d emigrated here after the second world war. Dad had been back and forth between Canada and the homeland a few times and after marrying our mom and having my sister and I he wanted to move us all to Canada and we arrived one summer on Canada Day, of all days, to begin our lives here.

I was placed in Grade 3 and on my first day learned my first word in school from a classmate. Up until that time we’d read some English books and when we came that summer the Price is Right and other TV shows were our main English immersion summer school classes.

Puke! That was the word my classmate taught me. His sister had apparently performed this act the previous night and he shared this with me. I had no clue what that meant or was so I just nodded and caught on when he mimed the act a few seconds later. So Jamie, if you’re out there, you can take credit for teaching me my first English word. Well done.

In order to make ends meet in our new country my mom and dad both worked. Dad had a day job and eventually went on to own his own contracting business while mom ran a day care in our home and was a house cleaner and a janitor at a local hardware store 2 nights a week. This establishment was owned by uncle, (yes nepotism existed in the 80’s folks) who wanted to see us succeed so he gave us a hand up as opposed to a hand out.

When I graduated high school and wasn’t quite sure about university I stayed home that summer and tried to find a job. My parents were quite clear. Stay at home and get a job or go to school in the fall…..and get a job to pay for it. They too were wanting me to get a hand up not a hand out. I applied at the local pulp mill as they always hired students in the summer but was not hired. I went to pick up my mom from one of her cleaning jobs and told her my job search would be continuing. My uncle got wind of this and a few days later came to me to tell me one of his warehouse workers was leaving and that he needed someone for at least the rest of the summer. I’d already been accepted at a local community college to take some university transfer courses so this was the perfect solution. The fact he even offered me this job in light of the story that preceded his job offer shows what a gracious and forgiving man my Uncle Co was and remains to this day.

But let’s flash back a few years. It’s my second year in Canada and Mom is working nights as a cleaner at the hardware store. Dad who by now was his own contractor wasn’t home so I accompanied my mom and her co-worker to the store where I would run around the store and warehouse while they cleaned.

It was Nov 5th, a Thursday, that I accompanied my mom and her coworker to the store and she began to clean the offices and counters. At some point I came across a pack of matches left on a shelf and being my age fire was very intriguing so I lit one match. As it was burning down to my fingers I needed somewhere to get rid of it so I tossed it into a plastic garbage can in the paint department. paint. department. plastic.garbage.can…..see where this is going? That can was full of flammables and immediately caught fire. Not wanting to burn down the store I picked up the now on fire garbage can and dragged it outside. My fatal mistake after that was instead of leaving it in the 5 acre asphalt parking lot to burn to the ground I dragged the can behind a wood framed warehouse which inside contained yet more flammables like plywood and lumber. Now more concerned with putting this fire out than getting caught playing with matches I ran back inside the store and went upstairs to get a glass of water to put out this fire which was now becoming a bit of an inferno. After the third glass of water my mom’s coworker was starting to wonder why I was so thirsty and that was right about the time the fire alarms went off.

We exited the building and I don’t remember exactly how long it took the fire department to respond but I do remember walking down the road away from the scene of the crime with my mom asking if I could skip school the next day. Not sure to this day how those two things were related in my arsonist brain but that’s where my head was at as we walked.

As it turned out the fire somehow got into a corner of that warehouse and was deprived of air so the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as it probably should have been. It was still was quite a mess and took some time for my uncle’s business to recover from.

The next morning the fire marshal came to our house, I believe it was during school hours so I guess I was allowed to skip school that day. He broke me with 2 pointed questions.

“Were you in the store last night Frank?”

“Yes.”

“Did you set this fire Frank?”

“Yes”

Case closed.

I was charged with arson as a juvenile and had to go to court. My uncle was told by his insurance company that they weren’t going to pay his claim as they thought he’d put me up to this in some sort of insurance scam. I do believe eventually they saw that this was clearly not a scam but more of a dumb kid doing dumb things and paid out his claim.

I got probation from the judge and was told if I kept my nose clean until I was an adult they’d expunge this incident from my record. I’ve never checked to see it that ever actually was expunged. Perhaps I should? May be best to let that lie?

So when my uncle hired me to work for him that summer after I graduated high school we were both well aware of the optics of him hiring the arsonist that almost leveled his enterprise. He joked he hired me to make me work off the damages. He may only have been slightly kidding as the warehouse that I burned did suffer from leaks for years after the fire repair. One summer day both he and I were on the roof in +35 degree weather doing some repairs in the area where the fire had been and he asked me if I knew why he’d asked me in particular for help that day?

“Yes.” was all I replied.

I got the nickname Flash and Torch and Sparky from my co-workers when they learned of my pre teen exploits and for years after that any time there was a fire in my hometown some joker would always ask me if it was my handiwork.

“No.”

Why I no longer sell stuff on certain platforms

I have some stuff. Maybe too much stuff and since my mom passed away I seem to have 2-3 of certain items no one really needs more than one of….maybe two.

I’m pretty sure no one needs more than one desktop Scotch tape dispenser or letter opener or toaster or kettle etc. While it’s nice to have a backup letter opener during the Ed McMahon Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, (kids, ask your parents about that) one letter opener should probably be enough for my household needs.

During a recent bout of energy I decided to declutter a bit and wanted to sell some of these superfluous items. Around my parts we have several options available for relieving oneself of unwanted items. VeeeerageSale, Used(town).com, keeeeejeeeejeeee CraigOliverList and of course the Face Page M@rket Sp@ce. I wasn’t interested in using the LetterBay as I figured local would be better, faster and easier. I do have access to a dumpster for free disposal of unwanted goods but I was trying not to throw usable items into landfill.

I started by listing a chair. A folding camping style chair that had a cooler compartment and backpack straps. These things go new online for $40.00 or more so I listed the item at $20.00 for a quick sale.

My item was as near as new as it was never used and pretty much still in the bag from when I acquired it, and had been out of the bag once or twice, never seeing the outside world. It was just sitting in a closet taking up space. Let’s give this thing a chance to go camping, to a racetrack, to a backyard BBQ, to a mountain top, anywhere but my dark closet I figured.

I took 4-5 pictures, wrote up the add and posted it.

One person asked to come see it but my neighbourhood wasn’t convenient for them it so I took it to my place of work for them to see and pickup as that was more convenient for them. 

That lead to them being a no show but they did reschedule for a different date and time. That reschedule time was then requested to be changed to a yet another date and time and then when I took time out of a weekend to be home for their convenient time, a half hour after they were to show they wanted to push the time back yet again. As I’m a first come first served man of my word my elbow bump is as good as a written contract kind of guy I allowed all of these inconveniences.

During this time another person reached out with a “What’s the lowest price you’ll take” message to which I thought but didn’t reply “Seriously dude?  It’s $20.00 not $200.00 plus I had a person coming to look at it…..or so I naively thought. 

Informed of this that second person messaged me several more time inquiring if the original person had shown up and asking me to let them know if they didn’t take it so we could negotiate a price. I don’t know what people value their time at but for me this was becoming more like a second job.

When the first person yet again didn’t show and wanted to yet again push the pickup date & time, I’d had enough and replied with:

“Sorry but my patience has run out here. I’m moving on to other persons who have also expressed interest in this item.”

What I wanted to write was

“I am no longer interested in selling this item to you.  You’ve now rescheduled this pickup three times.  I’ve taken the item to and from work and wasted a good part of my Saturday waiting on you to not show up…..and all this for a $20.00 item.

My time is worth more than this and I’m not the lay away department at SprawlMart.  Hope you’re able to find this item somewhere else.   Good bye.”

I then listed the item as sold and will find another way to declutter. Sorry potential buyer #2 but I’m done having my time wasted.

I have several more items I’d like to sell.  All at more than $20.00 but if this is the kind of thing I’ll be dealing with I’d be better off paying myself NOT to sell these items. My time would be better spent giving this stuff away but then someone will probably ask for free delivery or for me to give them money to take these things off my hands.

A friend of mine puts items he wants to get rid of at the end of his driveway with a sign stating what he wants for the items he’s placed there. Most of the time those items are simply stolen without someone leaving him any money but he doesn’t care. He tells me his goal was to get rid of the items and by someone stealing them the thieves have basically saved him a trip to the dump where he’d have to pay to dispose of the items. I think he may be onto something.

If you know me and want certain items like:

A slightly used NEXUS folding walker (with basket)

A MOPAR jeep rear tire bike carrier*
*fits only certain models of Jeep Liberty and Wrangler

A Tire Step for short people to reach the top of their SUV or truck*
*SVU/Truck not included, please don’t ask.

or a Good Year Toy Car Carrying Case*
*Hotwheels, Matchbox cars not included….If you know me you’ll know why.

Find a way to get a hold of me because I’m not listing these items on any web site anymore.

Their next stop is the landfill or the end of my friend’s driveway.

The Last Hose Nozzle

It’s been a year since my dear mother died and while we’re all still grieving her loss it has come to the point where I can smile and enjoy the memories of the great times we shared together. While I tend to be a little selfish in keeping my memories of my mother close to my heart in order to keep her close to my heart I will share with you the story of the hose nozzle.

When Dad passed away more than 20 years ago I was worried how Mom would be able to handle all the things that Dad used to do with and for her.  As it turned out I needn’t have worried. Although my mom grieved his loss I also saw in her strength and resolve that I had never really seen before.  She bought herself a two-bedroom rancher style house and there she lived out the rest of her 20 years with the dog and the cat surrounded by friends and family and she did things she never did before.  She learned to balance her checkbook, negotiate mortgage rates, managed her house maintenance, renovated her kitchen to her liking and reveled in her garden and her yard. She was very house proud my mom and I vividly remember the first spring she spent in her new home.

I lived about 4 ½ hours away from my mom so would go see her several times a year on holidays and long weekends.  That first year in March she called me up and asked me to stop off at a hardware store to pick up a garden hose nozzle so that she could water her flower beds.  Not an unreasonable request but somewhat odd in that she had a mall directly across the street from her home where she could go and pick one of these up for herself anytime she needed one.  Her excuse was I’d be able to get her a decent one from a real hardware store so that’s what I did.  I presented it to her as a simple housewarming gift and she happily used it all spring and summer to make her plants and flowers bloom.

At the end of that summer in September when gardening season was nearing its end I went back to Mom’s place to help her winterize her house.   I’d clean the gutters in preparation for the winter rains soon forthcoming and would take in all the outdoor furniture to be stored till the following Spring.  As part of this winter prep, I disconnected the garden hose with the nozzle and placed it in the shed for winter storage.

Winter came and went and the following March I got a phone call from my mom asking me to please bring her a hose nozzle for her garden hose.  When I reminded her that I had given her one the previous Spring she claimed she couldn’t find it in the shed so I bought her a new one and sure enough when I got home the hose was in the shed but the hose nozzle was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t given much thought and the new nozzle was installed and again used all summer and again tucked away the following Fall in the shed.

Next March the pattern repeated itself.  Mom asked for a new hose nozzle but this time I didn’t buy her one figuring the one from last year had to still be in the shed.  No such luck so a new nozzle was purchased yet again and installed in Spring and tucked away in the Fall.

This bizarre pattern repeatedly itself for what it seemed was the next 17 years.  It seemed like every Spring a new hose nozzle was purchased, installed and tucked away in the Fall only to somehow disappear before the following Spring.

Sometimes Mom would claim last year’s hose nozzle was cracked, or it was leaking, or the dog ate it (still my favorite excuse as the result of her Shih Tzu dog eating a metal hose nozzle would result in a significant Vet bill) but whatever the story was it always resulted in me buying her a new nozzle nearly every year.  Didn’t seem to matter if it was plastic or metal or pistol grip or 3-Pattern/5-Pattern/7-Pattern or dial nozzle or water wand or fireman nozzle, they never seemed to last more than a season or two.

Maybe Mom was hocking these hose nozzles in order to feed her secret Bingo habit?  Whatever the reason, I stopped losing sleep over it and without asking would just go buy her a new one every Spring resigned to the fact that by next Spring this one too would somehow vanish.

When health issues forced my mom out of her house last year we had the task of emptying the contents of her home.  As I was disconnecting the garden hose from the hose bib I was surprised and became somewhat emotional to find the last hose nozzle I bought her still attached to the hose, not leaking, not cracked, not dog chewed.  I unscrewed it from the hose, placed it in a zip lock bag and took it home with me.  Why that never occurred to me to do for all those 20 years is something I’m going to avoid thinking about.

I have placed that last hose nozzle in a drawer in my home and part of me hopes that when I open that drawer next spring I will come to discover that it has vanished.

 I will happily to go to the hardware store and buy a new one.

Top Ten Signs You Might Be Aging Out Of Grey Cup Trips After 19 Years.

Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.  This is my last Grey Cup Trip and Top Ten List.  Nope.  No more, sorry.  I’m done…..but then again why not one more and make it an even twenty.

Yet again we braced ourselves for an outdoor CFL Grey Cup game in the last week of November.  We were pleasantly surprised at the +4 degree weather for most of the weekend but not surprised at all by the genuinely warm and inviting reception we always seem to experience regardless of the host city or the teams at the center of the action.  The CFL Grey Cup festivities are, in my opinion, the best party a lot of Canadians know nothing about. That’s a shame because it’s easy to recommend and yet very hard to explain if you’ve never been.  So please consider attending a Grey Cup weekend if a city close to you happens to be hosting.  Even if you don’t want to sit in -30 degree weather, consider going to some of the parties, the banquets, and the free street festivals that are always a part of each weekend. 

Now having endorsed the Grey Cup and all it entails, all the boys sat down in one of our few sober moments this weekend and are seriously considering changing things up and not attending the Grey Cup next year.  We’re torn; we love this weekend for all it means to us but maybe, just maybe, we we’ll change things up for 2020.  New decade new tradition?  Many of us started going on this trip in our 20’s and we are all clearly not in our 20’s nineteen years later.

So with that in mind I came to the realization and this year’s top ten list.

Top Ten Signs You Might Be Aging Out Of Grey Cup Trips After 19 Years.

10. Before you get on the plane you’re wondering if your will is up to date and to whom to leave your Hotwheels collection.

09. You’d rather take home to snuggle the airport therapy dog than anyone at the CFL parties who are half your age and with whom you have no shot.

08. You take an UBER two blocks because you can’t force yourself to walk to McDonald’s to use your coupon.

07. When the cheerleaders and dancers are doing their thing and all you can think about is if they’ve had their flu shot this year.

06. When the dueling Piano Kings play 70s and 80s  songs at the Stamps party and you know every lyric to every Bell Biv DeVoe and Air Supply song.

05. You take out your phone to take pictures of menus so you can enlarge them in order to be able to place your order.

04. You realize that a GIC at even 1% for 19 years could have had you retired by now.

03. You wonder if you have enough medical benefits left for a stomach pump.

03. You’re already wondering how to fake a hip injury so you can get out of going to Saskatchewan next year.

02. You’re looking at Hawaiian shirts on Amazon and at flights to Florida for next November.

01. Your suitcase packing list has changed from condoms and weed to antacids and depends.

 

 

2018 Top Ten (and a half) Grey Cup Pieces of Advice

Another grey cup in the books.

First, I have to thank Ivan who is the step dad for one of our crew. Ivan picked us up Friday morning to take us for brunch at a Ukrainian restaurant. He stuffed 4 large guys and me completely full of food leaving us in a food coma for the better part of the day. The upside was it turned out to be a great absorber for the alcohol to be consumed later. Thank you Ivan and Uncles Ed’s Mundares Sausage House. Check ‘em out if you’re ever in Edmonton and tell them Ivan sent you. It might even get you a free pierogi.

After 18 years I honestly don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, the top ten list that is. I’m pretty sure I’d at least like to make it to 20 grey cups in a row. God, Jenna and my liver willing of course.

However, if and when my streak ends, and someone takes my roster spot on team Grey Cup Drunk here are my top ten and a half pieces of advice.

10)
If you get Doug (Coach) as your roommate make sure you bring a comforter, an electric blanket and a portable space heater because he likes to set the hotel thermostat to cryogenic.

09)
If you’re going for beers with Bob (Crazy Bob Dakota) make sure the bar serves steamwhistle. Lots and lots of steamwhistle. Other than that CBD is pretty low maintenance.

08)
If Kyle likes you, he’ll make you do lots of shots. If Kyle doesn’t like you, he’ll make you do lots of shots.

07.5)
Don’t let Bdan order you an Uber. It will try to pick you up in a completely different city than the one you are currently in.

07)
If the bar you are in has a Video Lottery Terminal, give Matty $20.00 and he’ll be happy the rest of the night. Just remind him to tip his chair against his VLT machine to save it for him when he wanders off lest the $3.25 in credits he has left gets played by someone else.

06)
If you go out with Jason (Hummer) on Friday night plan to get intoxicated and get any conversations out of the way because you probably won’t see him again until Grey Cup Sunday.

05)
If you’re tucking Bart in for the night, consider lining the floor with plastic bags or at least Google a local CSI hazmat company to clean his room the following morning.

04)
If you’re going to make calls and type texts at Craft Beer Market, it’s probably best not to do so near the ladies’ washroom. It might get you placed on the creeper list and cut off from any more beers. Not sure which is the greater punishment.

03)
If you continually break glasses at Kelly’s pub the bouncer will threaten to give you a sippy cup. But at least he won’t cut you off from any more beers.

02)
If your roommate brings home someone from the bar, you’ll definitely want to leave the room. Maybe join Bart who is probably holding a nonsensical staff meeting in the hotel lobby.

and the best piece of advice I can give you if you are asked to go to a Grey Cup weekend with this crew is

01)
Just say no! Take the money and buy a car or a house. Go on vacations where it’s not below zero, where you don’t have to recreate the events of last night based on ATM receipts and where your doctor won’t give you the disappointed dad look when you see him about your odd colored stool upon your return.  Have I made my point?

If you are invited to take my place, think twice before saying yes because this has now been 18 years for me and I still can’t say no.

See you in Calgary in 2019?!

Top Ten Signs Your 2017 Grey Cup Weekend is Going Typically Typical

10) You haven’t spoken to, texted or emailed the rest of your grey cup crew for several months but you all somehow manage to show up in Ottawa vaguely aware of some hotel reservation somewhere in one of your names.

09) At the Irish karaoke bar you’ve accidentally stumbled into a woman sings “Jenny (867-5309)” but she starts the number with a 2.
Jenny I got your number

08) Within 3 minutes at another bar you are unwittingly roped into conversations with 3 women; one who claims her 74 years of virginity were blown with one Quaalude, one who wants to talk about the only lover she has in her nightstand and one who worries about ending up alone at the ripe old age of 30. Check please!

07) Kyle and his friend Kirkland Tequila are once again the least favorite guests to attend any function.

06) Kamikaze Kathy drives her big yellow school bus over curbs, sidewalks and hard medians to get you to the game on time.

05) You swear this is your last grey cup weekend and then you remember thinking the same thing for the last 17 years.

04) You want to go for breakfast but by 3pm one guy is still in the shower, one guy is still passed out and one guy is someplace he can’t name eating a giant plate of meatballs.

03) You try to remember and recreate the events of the previous night guided only by ATM and Visa receipts.

02) The ‘reputable’ ticket seller you want 4 Grey Cup tickets from will only meet you at an ATM for cash and all his emails are from Cashonly49838-2@aol.com.

01) It’s snowing at halftime. You’re cold, drunk and singing along to the same set Shania Twain sang back in 2002.