... It Strikes Me Funny by G. Harrison

Motorcycle Miles: PT 3 “Vancouver Island or Bust” (VIB!)

2012-02-09T18:11:00.003-05:00

Details regarding a June or July trip (likely July) are slowly coming together. I’m learning there are many things to consider, including the usual, i.e., route, accommodation, money, how many pairs of jeans to pack, more money, etc.

Today I thought it would be nice to visit my son and his wife in Fenelon Falls on “Vancouver Island or Bust”, or VIB: Day 1. A 340 km. ride from London, easy - kapeasy. Free accommodation, a nice supper, play time with my twin granddaughters, a cold beverage on the dock, a good sleep.

["The view from my son's dock. Add a cold beverage. Perfect."]

Though it adds a day to the journey, making it a 12-day ride in all, it makes my first day shorter and not a repeat of TB: Day 1 on a 2007 trip... to Thunder Bay. It keeps me off the Chi Cheemaun ferry that crosses Georgian Bay or off Highway 69 that takes me around Georgian Bay and to Sudbury, routes I’ve taken in the past.

Though it bumps my overall mileage to Courtenay, Vancouver Island past 5,000 km., it may be worth it overall.

["Early morning, north shore Lake Superior, 2007 TB:Day 7"]

Of course, the ways things are going, I could change my mind and come up with something new next time I open my Canada road atlas. And why not? I’m only riding to British Columbia once. Might as well do what feels right and get more bang for the buck.

[Photos by GH]

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Please click here for Motorcycle Miles: PT 2 “Vancouver Island or bust”

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The price of oil and the century-old cheap ride

2012-02-09T16:05:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

[Please click here for more oil facts and figures]

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

hard work will lead to prosperity

economies will grow annually and forever

bigger is better

Earth’s resources belong to industry

a free market economy is the way up

and sustainability... not so much

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Nature’s Solace: War time - 1940s

2012-02-08T14:03:00.006-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What say you?

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

2012-02-08T09:02:00.004-05:00

[“There is no Plan B, so if you feel the heat a-risin’ up your pant leg, a weak, short-sighted economic plan for 35 million people in a warming climate may be one reason.” GH, Jan. 13, Welcome to Harperville]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Thank you to Paul W.

Please click here to read more “Welcome to Harperville”

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

2012-02-08T08:25:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2012-02-07T17:02:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Motorcycle Miles: PT 2 “Vancouver Island or bust”

2012-02-07T16:02:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Canadian Dream is dust: Pensions are a political footballs

2012-02-06T16:38:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

Ideas, in no particular order...

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

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

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Motorcycle Miles: “Vancouver Island or bust”

2012-02-05T14:27:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2012-02-05T14:06:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Photo of an old photo by GH]

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

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Final Edits: “Dad, well done”

2012-02-05T14:01:00.002-05:00

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

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

You will hardly blame me. It’s brilliant.

[Photo by G.H.]

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

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Rare Family Photos: Susie could dance ‘The Pony’

2012-02-03T16:37:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

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The Canadian dream is dust?: Initial thots about pensions

2012-02-03T15:45:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

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Zoom w a View: What a difference a day makes

2012-02-01T13:25:00.004-05:00

Photo - Today

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

Two Photos - Today

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

What gives? Is climate change quickening its pace?

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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

2012-01-31T10:58:00.006-05:00

["Feed the pig before it sinks."]

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

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

Tax breaks don’t create jobs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t let your dreams go up in smoke.

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

***

Please click here for more from This Old Economist.

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Zoom w a View: “Drip drop, Myrtle”

2012-01-31T09:24:00.003-05:00

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

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

Drip, drip, drop, drop.

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

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

[Photos by GH]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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

2012-01-30T14:19:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Predictions -

the trend toward smaller incomes, homes and cars will grow

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

[Link to photo]

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

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

the 1 per cent will get richer

What else will our government neglect to tell us?

***

Please click here to read more from This Old Economist.

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

2012-01-28T15:35:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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Cartoon in Progress: “Ollie will like this one”

2012-01-28T15:33:00.003-05:00

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

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

[Cartoon by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here to see another Cartoon in Progress.

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

2012-01-27T10:26:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

***

Please click here for a related post.

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Cartoon on Progress: The big bad bug brothers

2012-01-27T10:22:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

[Cartoon by GH]

***

Please click here for more about Ollie and Me.

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

2012-01-26T12:59:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Below is a recent photo taken near Hornepayne.

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

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

***

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

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

2012-01-26T11:50:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

northern lights

1996 everest disaster

solar oven plans

permafrost

ants

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

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

The BIG BAD BUG BROTHERS say...

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

***

Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny

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Old correspondence touches on modern times

2012-01-25T10:57:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Hefty. 630 pages. $9.99. Mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it something I ate?

***

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

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

2012-01-23T15:58:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Photo by GHarrison]

***

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

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

2012-01-22T13:13:00.002-05:00

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

Not so fast, EMD workers

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

Samantha M.

January 16, London Free Press

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

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

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

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

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

2012-01-22T12:51:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

Oh yeah, I’ll be busy.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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Burgessville and Norwich Stories: I want them all

2012-01-21T12:47:00.006-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi Don,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such a long reply. Sorry to fill your afternoon!

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

Cheers,

Gord Harrison

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

Let’s call it ‘research.’

***

Please click here for another story that mentions Norwich.

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Zoom w a View: Paper Lady in Distress

2012-01-20T15:20:00.006-05:00

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

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

Terrified, she flew away upon the wind.

[Photos by GH]

***

Please click here for another Zoom w a View.

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

2012-01-20T14:36:00.003-05:00

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

Email 4

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

Hello Mr Harrison,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello M.,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope this helps you with your decision.

Sincerely,

Gord H.

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

Fifteen minutes ago I received the following:

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

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

M.

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

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

***

Please click here for It Strikes Me Funny PT 1.

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It Strikes Me Funny: Email about my grandkids' visit

2012-01-20T14:06:00.004-05:00

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

“Brilliant.”

“Nebulous.”

“You get paid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Email 1 -

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

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

Dick/Mary K.

Reply -

Hi Dick and Mary,

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

Gord H.
@ The Londoner

Email 2 -

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

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

Reply -

Hi Marilou and Wayne,

Thank you for your email concerning my recent column.

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

Please keep well,

Gord H.

Email 3 -

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

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

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

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

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

Reply -

Hi Janice,

Thank you for your interesting email.

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

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

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

Gord H.

Now, think about 12 grandkids staying for 6 weeks!

Stay tuned for the unusual change of tone.

***

Please click here for a Rare Family Photo

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

2012-01-19T12:12:00.003-05:00

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

“Are they real?” he asked.

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

[Photos by G. Harrison]

***

Please click here to see pencil drawings at Ollie and Me

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

2012-01-19T11:57:00.003-05:00

Fronts steps. Slippery today. Keep your eyes open.

[Photos by G. Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View

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

2012-01-19T11:45:00.002-05:00

I shovelled, I swept, I clicked.

[Photos by G. Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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

2012-01-18T13:29:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

gah

***

Please click here for more Ollie and Me.

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

2012-01-18T12:23:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Monument beside Lake Ontario near downtown Kingston, Ontario]

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

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

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

So now you know!

***

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

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The Odd Reflection: Twenty-three years to go

2012-01-17T13:00:00.006-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

two pairs of used Levis

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

four T-shirts

one sweatshirt, likely a hoodie

ten pairs of underwear

three pairs of socks

my iPad 12

six particular framed photos

a bottle of Tums

wild cherry breathmints

a small red cedar birdhouse

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

the Good Book

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

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

Maybe I’ll see you at Punkydoodles.

PS Uncle Bill. Thanks for the curds.

***

Please click here for a trip down Memory Lane.

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Robin, Action Hero, Revisited: He merits affection

2012-01-17T11:17:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

I feel he deserves better.

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

[Artsy Fartsy Photos by GH]

***

Please click here for photos and prose related to Robin.

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

2012-01-17T10:56:00.002-05:00

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

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

[Photos and brilliant prose by GH]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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

2012-01-16T12:50:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

***

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

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Zoom w a View: PT 2 “Robin, Robin”

2012-01-13T11:32:00.003-05:00

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

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

[Photos and brilliant prose by GH]

***

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

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

2012-01-13T11:17:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep a water bucket handy if you can afford it.

***

Please click here for more Welcome to Harperville.

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Zoom w a View: “Robin, Robin”

2012-01-12T12:45:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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

2012-01-12T10:17:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

***

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

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Climate Change Concerns: London, Ontario, January 12

2012-01-12T09:45:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

[Please click here for more climate change graphs]

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

***

Please click here for more Climate Change Concerns.

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

2012-01-11T12:41:00.005-05:00

From the series ‘2012 in Review’:

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

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

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

***

Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 1

Please click here to read 2012 in Review PT 2

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

2012-01-11T12:26:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For example:

Cutting asparagus hurt my back

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

Wear a long-sleeved shirt when tossing hay bales

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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All Dads Have Gas 2

2012-01-07T12:15:00.002-05:00

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

Fish have gas too. Just follow the bubbles.

[Toon by G. Harrison]

***

Please click here for more All Dads Have Gas.

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2012 in Review: Good jobs will continue to erode

2012-01-06T11:37:00.003-05:00

2011 is gone and forgotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow.

***

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

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Cartoon in Progress: “Wazzat U?”

2012-01-06T10:40:00.002-05:00

“Pip!”

gah

***

Please click here for another Cartoon in Progress.

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All Dads Have Gas

2012-01-06T10:34:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

Even fish produce gas.

I bet you didn’t know that.

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Not just Dad’s and fish.

Please click here for more news about gas producers.

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Cartoon in Progress: The Chicken Dance

2012-01-04T14:36:00.002-05:00

“Yes, I can’t dance.”

gah

***

Please click here for another cartoon.

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Prose: chickens of ordinary stature

2012-01-04T13:48:00.004-05:00

I like chickens. I bet you do too.

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

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

chickens of ordinary stature

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

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

gah

[Photo and cartoon by G.Harrison]

***

You’re welcome.

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

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Rare Family Photos: Under the water tower

2012-01-03T11:19:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Please click here to view another Family Photo.

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Soft Blankets, Tall Walls

2012-01-03T09:59:00.004-05:00

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

Did you?

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

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

***

Please click here for a photo with a different temperature.

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Canadian Icon

2012-01-03T09:46:00.004-05:00

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

Recognize the Canadian icon?

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

[Photo by GH]

***

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

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

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Rare Family Photos: 'The Group of Seven' Harrisons

2012-01-02T14:45:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your welcome, Dad.

On the back of the photo is found the following:

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

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

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

***

Please click here to see another Rare Family Photo.

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Electric Turkey Soup

2012-01-02T14:14:00.002-05:00

Electric Turkey Soup - photo by G.Harrison

***

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

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Turkey Soup

2012-01-02T14:05:00.003-05:00

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

The ingredients include;

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

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

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

***

Maybe if I chewed it longer...

Please click here for more leftovers.

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Norwich Boy Earns “Dad, well done”

2012-01-01T16:36:00.005-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Photos by GH]

***

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

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

2011-12-23T13:15:00.003-05:00

One of my sisters must have one too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Please click here to view another Family Photo.

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Ollie and Me: “He makes me laugh”

2011-12-21T11:21:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Any special talents in your household?

Please click here for more Ollie and Me.

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Link and Learn: How to stop squirrels. WTheck?

2011-12-21T11:04:00.004-05:00

It can actually be done?

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

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

Reader G. Howell recently left the following comment:

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

I add it here in its entirety for three reasons:

First. I look forward to becoming very wealthy.

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

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

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

Keep up the battle!

***

Please click here to read A Squirrel-proof Feeder PT6

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A Squirrel-proof Feeder PT6

2011-12-21T10:26:00.006-05:00

That was then. This is now, Day 9

Thirteen months ago, on Nov. 18, 2010, on a wet, dreary day much like today, I set up two sturdy bird feeders on the clotheslines that cross my back deck.

Thirty seconds after the fact, a stealthy band of rabid squirrels (well, they looked rabid to me) raided the fresh seed that was meant for birds hiding in my spruce trees. I growled, gnashed my teeth and fell to the floor after watching one squirrel give me the thumb's up whilst hopping across the clothesline on one foot, sans balance bar or frilly umbrella (like in the cartoons).

"Easy ka-peasy," it seemed to be saying.

["At least I had a great view from my window"]

That was then. This is now.

On Dec. 13, 2011 I paraded onto my back deck - confidently; I hummed a marching song - with my latest feeder. It sported a wide metal collar, i.e., an $80 exterior lamp shade, the most expensive squirrel-guard in Canadian history.

Am I proud? Of course I’m proud. Am I expecting trouble? Of course I’m expecting trouble. Though squirrel-free (as far as I can tell after making an untold number of visits to my back window every day) for 8 full days, I know that somewhere on a nearby fence rail, or amongst the spruce branches in my yard, huddles a band of malicious thugs with paper, pencil, measuring tapes and expensive grappling in hand.

Thirteen months ago they quickly triumphed.

But that was then.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Will Gord succeed where few have gone before? Will Gord one day take his rightful place in the hall of mighty minds?

If you can stand the suspense, stay tuned.

Please click here ("It's easy ka-peasy") to read A Squirrel-proof Feeder PT 5.

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Bird Watching: Mr. Blue Jay

2011-12-20T13:30:00.003-05:00

By moving my camera into position I scared off half of the pair of blue jays that visited my feeder this morning. Perhaps they will return together later in the day, or tomorrow.

Many birds are jittery, so I think I’ll cover the window closest to the feeder with a piece of cardboard, leaving one circular hole in the center for my camera lens.

Is Mr. Blue Jay visiting your feeder? Any other birds?

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Bird Watching.

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Family Photos: “Get me outta here! Really”

2011-12-20T12:54:00.005-05:00

I think the photo below was taken in 1957. Maybe 1958. I can’t be sure. Perhaps my oldest sister can recall the year she had white- or cream-coloured spectacle frames. Perhaps my second-oldest can remember when our mom decked her out in a straw hat.

Mom wrote the following on the back of the photo:

Back row - Dale Harrison, Liane Harrison, Gordon Harrison
In front of Liane - Kim Harrison
Fashion show Norwich
Thompson? Kibler? Edwards girls

So, she provided a few names. That helps identify most of the victims, i.e., of her plot to embarrass not just her own children but others as well. But she didn’t record what I was thinking. Surely she knew.

“Get me outta here!” immediately springs to mind. “If my school mates see me in this matching hat and jacket I’m as good as off the scrub team.” (My pant legs are turned up three or four inches as well. That wouldn’t help.)

Karen Thompson, far right of photo, wants out of the fashion show as well, and seems to be checking out the nearest exit, stage left.

My brother Kim (center) seems to be handling things better, but he is three years younger, perhaps content to be wearing something other than my hand-me-downs.

The youngest girls I don’t know. The Kibler twins? But the girl to my brother’s right is Gloria Edwards, the inventor of the mini-skirt.

Recently I received a written comment from my oldest sister about an earlier family photo. She said, “hey, what's with all the homely family pictures? don't tell anyone which one is me..ha, ha..those where the days.”

My answer... it’s time the world knew. And about hiding your identity? Too late.

***

In the above photo I also seem to be saying, “I’ll never do another fashion show for Mom.”

Au contraire mon ami.

Please click here for more very rare Family Photos.

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It Strikes Me Funny: PT 5 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

2011-12-16T10:16:00.005-05:00

["The lone black squirrel ate up Plan A"]

[“Sure, I regret the loss of seeds and manly pride (what’s left of it, anyway), but the lone raider at least quashed my dreams before they got too big for my head.” G. Harrison, PT 4]

When I caught a lone black squirrel eating seeds in my bird feeder, I half expected it.

Earlier on the fateful day I’d imagined myself as a squirrel and thought of a way to thwart the green metal barrier attached to my feeder pole. And I felt, deep in my heart and feeble brain, if I could do it, a squirrel could do it. And it did. Rather quickly too, I might add.

So, on to Plan B.

["A larger, very expensive feeder guard.Is it worth it?"]

I took the feeder back into my workshop, removed the feeder from atop the pole, removed four small pieces of wood holding the green lamp shade in place, slipped off the metal shade, and turned my attention to an antique lamp frame with a metal shade attached, one that was significantly larger than the green one.

Within minutes I had the larger shade in my hand. It felt heavy, durable, ancient (likely it had thwarted many a devious plot by some one or some thing), and very expensive.

The 40-pound frame and shade, with original thick copper wiring still attached, had cost me $80 at an antiques dealer. And I was just going to use the one part of it, the rare fluted shade. What I held in my hand was likely going to become the most expensive squirrel guard in Canada., and I didn’t care. I just cared about beating the squirrels, one black one in particular.

I slipped the shade onto the pole, spent 15 minutes making four wood blocks to hold it in place, reattached the bird feeder and carried the new and improved stand outside.

I whistled a marching song as I stood the stand triumphantly upon my deck, filled the feeder with fresh seed and walked confidently into the house.

["Stop in the name of the law!": photos by G.Harrison]

A week has gone by. Not one squirrel has reached the feeder. I think I’ve won the game this time.

I say, three cheers!

***

Could this be the end of the squirrel saga? Is man cleverer than the squirrel?

Please click here to read PT 4 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

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It Strikes Me Funny: PT 4 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

2011-12-15T22:14:00.003-05:00

[“Surely, however, with months of training on lesser (bird feeder) stands, once the critter has a good hold of the rim it will find a way to scramble over. But will it then be stuck, with nowhere to turn? I can only hope.” G. Harrison, PT 3]

["What's happening in my feeder?"]

I actually thought my new bird feeder would withstand raids from a local band of squirrels for at least a few days. Heck, I would have been happy if the feeder had remained squirrel-free for even a few hours.

Soon after I filled the feeder, however, with a lovely selection of mixed seed, I visualized how one ingenious squirrel might get past the metal lamp shade that I’d attached on the support pole to fend off attack. And, shortly after I visualized the scene, a black squirrel visualized the same scene and was up and into the seed bed right under my nose, i.e., while I stood at a nearby window - watching and shaking my fist.

["Drat! You rat!": photos by GH]

Sorry, I lied. I have to admit that it wasn’t ‘shortly after,’ it was ‘very shortly after.’

I say this knowing the admission will cause friend Don to laugh into his cereal bowl and wish I’d taken hid $5 bet.

That being said, with Don and others like him in mind, i.e., people who feel a squirrel-proof feeder will never exist, allow me to say I’m actually glad the attack happened early, and that I saw it happen. Sure, I regret the loss of seeds and manly pride (what’s left of it, anyway), but the lone raider at least quashed my dreams before they got too big for my head.

Plus, I already had a plan B firmly planted in my mind for the time when Plan A crashed and burned.

Wait ‘til you see it.

***

Please click here to read PT 3 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

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Zoom w a View: Family photo circa 1958

2011-12-15T21:02:00.003-05:00

On the back of this old picture are the words ‘Doug and Edith Harrison and family, December 1958.’

It was cold outside but warm inside the house, at least where we were sitting and standing, i.e., in front of the oil stove. The one stove pipe exitted the house; the upstairs, where we all slept, was not heated until a basement was dug under the house and an oil furnace installed.

My brother Kim (on Dad’s lap) and I - both in warm pajamas - seem to be looking into the next room, perhaps toward the Christmas tree. Kim seems happy with what he sees and I look a little sad and worried.

Did Santa discover I had cut the spokes on Sonny Bucholtz’s bicycle? Likely. My folks knew for certain.

Not that I would be without toys, however, on Christmas day. I could always play with my red building bricks (note cardboard tube at right edge of photo) or play Battleships with a piece of paper and pencil.

This year I’ve asked for Meccano. I hear it’s a step up.

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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Christmas without snow? WTHeck?

2011-12-15T18:12:00.003-05:00

I want snow. Two feet of the white stuff or more.

The idea of a Christmas season without snow looms... and already I feel blue.

Even a neighbour’s Grinch is feeling depressed about the notion.

[Photo by GH, one who feels the same]

***

Please click here for another WTHeck moment.

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Zoom w a View: Circa 1959

2011-12-13T12:26:00.003-05:00

It didn’t happen often. So few families could manage it.

It would take hours, even days, to get everyone into their Sunday finest, hair combed, teeth brushed, standing still in the side yard.

My family managed it only once as I recall.

[Reproduced photo by GHarrison.]

Though I can’t remember who snapped the picture, I’m sure the person said, “Say cheese everybody, and look directly into the sun. Excellent.”

[GH is standing in front of his mother.]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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It Strikes Me Funny: PT 3 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

2011-12-12T10:39:00.004-05:00

[“ Before I could say ‘what the heck,’ the squirrel bounced off the drift, sprang toward a support pole (used to keep the feeder seven feet above the deck), catapulted from it toward the feeder.” Dec. 11, G. Harrison]

Last winter I fed birds in my yard on a very regular basis. Darn squirrels made out like bandits on many occasions as well, after one of them figured out a way to do the triple-jump.

This year’s attempt at a squirrel-proof feeder may be my best yet. In the last two days I’ve seen squirrels at its base but nowhere else. Still, I fear an assault at any minute.

["Will this tall model keep the squirrels away? We'll see."]

Three will race across the deck and, with a well co-ordinated leap, hit the support pole at its mid-point and get the stand swinging back and forth. Then another, in charge of ropes and pulleys, will add his weight just as the stand is nearing its tipping point. Two will jump out of an eaves trough, two more will spill out of a tree and my squirrel-proof feeder - so I thought! - will come crashing to the ground.

If the stand doesn’t tip - by hook or by crook - one clever squirrel will find a way to climb past the metal lamp shade.

I can see it now. A squirrel will shinny as high as it can, grasp the pole with its hind legs - muscular little beggar - lean backwards and grab, desperately, the metal rim with one tiny paw. At least I hope it’s ‘desperately,’ and fear of falling will cause its eyes to glaze, its narrow brow to sweat. Flop sweat. The worst kind.

["Both black and gray squirrels are stymied... for now"]

Surely, however, with months of training on lesser stands, once the critter has a good hold of the rim it will find a way to scramble over. But will it then be stuck, with nowhere to turn?

I can only hope.

Will Gord’s latest feeder save his precious seed for the birds only? Will several families of squirrels pack their bags late one night - soon - and slink away into the darkness, never to return?

Stay tuned.

[Photos by G. Harrison]

***

Please click here to read PT2 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

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The Workshop: Cedar feeder and its lifespan

2011-12-11T13:42:00.003-05:00

Some readers will know I use new and rescued lumber to make birdhouses and feeders and that I’m particularly fond of cedar.

One 8-foot long board is all that is required to build a 14-inch tall, 18-inch long feeder, as per photos, and even boards from Home Depot don’t break the bank if rescued boards don’t suit the design.

So I know the cost and what lumber I like to use, but what I don’t know is how long such a feeder will last. I suppose in another 30 years I’ll have part of the answer, but that’s a long-time to wait.

Do you know how long a cedar bird-feeder (5/8th-inch, unfinished) will last? And if I coat it with linseed oil, will that add 10 years to its life?

["I shouldn't cut cedar. I should frame it as art!"]

I bet I’ll know more when I’m 100, but help me now if you can.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Please click here for another trip to The Workshop.

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It Strikes Me Funny: PT 2 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

2011-12-11T13:21:00.003-05:00

[“There is some argument - soon to be resolved - concerning my standing in the halls of those determined word workers who have produced squirrel-proof bird feeders without expensive tools, fancy materials or any instructions from NASA scientists.” GH, Dec.10]

To hinder squirrels from feasting on seeds inside last year’s feeder, I attached bottles, cans and wooden barriers to the clothesline, and upped the code to 7-7-7-7 to thwart the many advances in the diet and conditioning of London’s squirrels.

["Someday, I should put a feeder on top of a greased pole.": photo GH].

While I waited to see the results of my ingenious plan, a friend told me he was willing to bet five bucks on the squirrels. He said I wasn’t onto something other than the path toward another failed attempt. Yes, he admired my diligence, but felt I was deluded if I imagined myself cleverer than a squirrel.

I’m glad I didn’t take the bet.

One day I saw three squirrels huddling on a fence rail, then turn and approach my deck, and while two served as lookouts, the biggest and brightest furry beast, after one last look at his notes, ran toward a snow drift - away from the feeder.

Before I could say ‘what the heck,’ it bounced off the drift, sprang toward a support pole (used to keep the feeder seven feet above the deck), catapulted from it toward the feeder. In midair it twisted to right itself and - unbelievably - grabbed the feeder with two front paws. I gasped. It lifted a hind leg, clutched the feeder’s edge and rolled itself into the seed bed.

Standing alone in the back room, I spontaneously applauded, then caught myself and cursed. Good grief. Back to the drawing board I went.

How’d I do?

Stay tuned.

***

Please click here to read PT 1 A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

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WTHeck? Lost treasure found

2011-12-11T10:57:00.003-05:00

I didn’t go looking for treasure. It fell into my lap.

In brief, here’s what happened: My son called on the phone and mentioned his wife would like a jewelry box for Christmas. Something small. I thought of the small box inside my study closet that once belonged to my son’s grandfather. I retrieved it while talking. Voila.

Inside were a few coins, including a couple of my dad’s old silver dollars and one U.S. 50-cent piece with J.F.K.s likeness stamped on one side.

I said to myself, I thought the U.S. coin had been stolen. Welcome back!

Because the 50-cent piece was minted in 1971 and is in very good condition, I bet it’s worth at least a dollar now. And since I found it years ago on the floor of a local grocery store then that one dollar is pure profit.

Talk about your treasure!

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Now, if I could just find my glasses.

Please click here for It Strikes Me Funny.

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Favourite Things: A pair of cedar birdhouses

2011-12-11T10:52:00.003-05:00

A friend called this week with a request.

“Do you have any birdhouses? I need a couple for Christmas?”

Does the sandman have sand? Does a hobby horse have a wooden neck? Isn’t Tinker Bell just the cutest little thing?

“Come on over,” I replied.

I arranged a selection of birdhouses in the living room, scanned the crowd, and my eyes landed on two of my favourites - side by side.

Aren't they just the cutest little things?

[Photo by GH]

Tell me about one of your favourite things.

***

Please click here for more Favourite Things.

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It Strikes Me Funny: A squirrel-proof feeder? We’ll see

2011-12-10T15:33:00.003-05:00

There is some argument - soon to be finally resolved - concerning my standing in the halls of those diligent, determined word workers who have produced squirrel-proof bird feeders without expensive tools or any instructions from others, including NASA scientists.

Now, for those readers who would say that such a thing does not, cannot and will never exist... don’t be too hasty. Because I think I’m onto something.

["My new feeder stand is about the right height... I think"]

Friend Don K. is one who will not agree. He’s usually the first to say that I’m not onto something other than the path toward another failed attempt. And though he admires my diligence, he feels I’m deluded if I imagine I myself cleverer than a squirrel.

Admittedly, there have been many failed attempts in the past.

My first bird feeder (hung on the clothesline near a wooden pole) will go down in history as merely sturdy, usually well-stocked, and with a Level 1 or lowest rating in the ‘difficult to reach’ category, as far as dozens of locals squirrels are concerned. I’m pretty sure some of the older squirrels still talk about it while sun-bathing together on the fence rail closest to my back door and deck.

["Will a few seeds attract squirrels? We'll see."]

Shortly after building it I attached it to our clothesline outside the back door, but was unaware of the 6-6-6 placement code, that a feeder must be 6 feet above the ground, 6 feet from the nearest vertical surface (e.g., a window ledge or other jumping off point), and six feet from the nearest over-hanging tree branch. I was also unaware that squirrels work in teams to overcome the 6-6-6 code, are able to draw complicated Venn diagrams in the dirt and have been known to laugh out loud at Level 1 feeder placement.

["No squirrels today, so I'll attach the new feeder to its stand."]

My second attempt was more successful. I applied the code more carefully, even went so far as to modify it to 6-6-6-6, to remind me to keep my feeder 6 feet away from building materials. The squirrels were stymied until they discovered they could reach my feeder by traversing clothesline hand over hand... rather, paw over paw, while upside down. One agile pest travelled atop the wire right side up without a balance bar or umbrella (like in the movies).

I thought that was crossing the line, so I attached bottles, cans and wooden barriers to the clothesline and upped my code to 7-7-7-7 to thwart the benefits of my squirrels’ abundant inner city diet.

How’d I do?

Stay tuned.

***

Please click here for more It Strikes Me Funny.

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The Workshop: A winter refinishing project

2011-12-10T13:14:00.003-05:00

My oldest son called this morning to discuss his Christmas wish list, and when he mentioned his wife would like a small jewelry box I heard a ‘ping’ in my head.

I walked toward my study closet with the phone to my ear, looked inside the door, and on a bottom shelf I spotted the small wooden box that had once belonged to his grandfather (my wife’s father) - the source of the ‘ping.’

“I have something she might like,” I said. “A small box, like you said, no more than seven by five (inches). It once belonged to your Grandpa Bob.”

“But it’s painted a light green,” I said while turning it over in my hand. “Nice old hinges. And it comes with a silver U.S. half dollar. Very nice.”

["A winter refinishing project. Lovely.": photo GH]

We decided to put the idea of turning the old box into something suitable for jewelry on hold, until we knew what shopping my wife had done already.

But the idea of refinishing the box (removing the layers of paint, cleaning the hinges) is not on hold, because I am now very curious about what kind of wood has been hidden from view for dozens of years or more.

Birdhouse making has slowed to a crawl now, and though I have other things on the go (a squirrel-proof - - insert laugh track here - bird feeding stand needs a coat of paint), by mid-January a short refinishing job will likely be front and center.

Readers of this blog will be the first... no, second, to know what hides under the paint. Stay tuned.

***

Please click here for another visit to The Workshop.

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Zoom w a View: Warm rings in winter

2011-12-10T11:47:00.003-05:00

As I walked toward the Red Roaster in Wortley Village yesterday (a hot cup of dark roast had my name on it, as did a snug corner with a view of the street) I spied a yellow ring.

It had snow round about it and inside its center.

A thought sprang to mind, i.e., a maple-iced donut would go well with my coffee.

I then put the camera back inside my pocket and stepped on the gas.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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Is winter here to stay?

2011-12-10T11:35:00.008-05:00

On the first day of winter so cold I feel the need to put on longjohns you’ll find me a very happy man - for more than one reason.

First. I get to wear my old red longjohns and experience a special feeling, i.e., after owning them for about a dozen years, I’m finally feeling I’m getting my money’s worth.

["Fresh snow stays longer upon the rooftops": photos GH]

Second. The cold weather that drives me to put on a second layer might also allow the snow to stay on the ground and upon rooftops, tree branches and fence posts and railings.

["My walk to the Roaster is a squeaky event"]

When the snow piles up in the backyard I tend to cut back on my hours in the workshop and increase hours on other pursuits.

I’ll read, write, draw, think and stay a bit longer in a snug corner of a local coffee shop. Winter is a time to hibernate, after all.

Once Christmas is over, hear me snore!

***

Please click here for information about one winter time project I am enjoying each day.

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Climate Change Concerns: Canada’s cold voice sends a chill

2011-12-07T11:39:00.005-05:00

[“The Conservatives want to play alone in their oilsands box.” Interim NDP leader N. Turmel, Dec. 6, London Free Press]

Thirty-five per cent of Canadians will be delighted that Peter Kent, former news reporter and now Canada’s Federal Environment Minister, delivered in full Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s climate change policy at the climate conference in Durban, South Africa.

The majority of Canadians, not delighted, felt the chill in Kent’s steady, practiced voice as he read the following, like just another nightly news report, thus confirming Canada will not be a supporter of a second Kyoto Protocol:

“We believe that ultimately a new agreement that includes all of the world’s major emitters (of greenhouse gases) in both the developing and the developed world is the only way to materially reduce annual mega-tonnage to the point we can work to prevent global warming hitting or exceeding two degrees.” (Dec. 6, London Free Press)

After he spoke, he likely placed Harper’s neatly typed memo, or ‘policy’ to some, back inside his briefcase and sat down in his still-warm chair to a smattering of applause from other long time high-emitters of greenhouse gases, e.g., Japan, Russia and the US of A.

The upshot of such a stance will undoubtedly result in continued extensive emissions worldwide, as the developed countries (who have emitted most of the CO2 found in the atmosphere today, or who have had the highest emissions per capita for so long in order to live in big houses and drive luxury cars, e.g., the US, Japan, Germany, Russia, Canada) preach the message that “cleanliness is next to godliness, so get your emissions under control” to the developing countries that have attempted, for a relatively short period of time, to develop a richer, western-style lifestyle of their own.

Of course, Canada’s Conservative Prime Minister Harper already anticipated as much (his cold, terse memo to Kent’s audience in Durban would have no other major result), and will now bask in the realization that his plans to masterfully develop the environmentally toxic tar sands will continue unimpeded for many years, strengthening Canada’s petro-dollar and the illusion that unsustainable practices are good for Canada and then the world.

In order to keep the Canadian reputation as world-class thinker from slipping entirely from view on the world stage, Kent later added that ‘Canada would continue to pursue a modest target of reducing greenhouse gas emissions by 17 per cent from 2005 levels by 2020.’

Translation, for those who can’t understand Canadian Conservatives: “It’s the very least we can do, so we’ll do it.”

Kent also announced ‘Canada would increase its funding to $600 million a year for the next two years to help developing economies adapt to global warming in the future.’

Surely, a few sharp minds in Durban saw some irony in PM Harper’s decision to raise the amount of ‘hush money’ from $400 to $600 million.

The western tar sands are generating more income for the Conservative government along with higher levels of toxic emissions in the land, air and water in Alberta and beyond, so Canada is now better able to afford to help developing countries adapt to the fearful consequences of global warming.

In my opinion, after Environment Minister Kent closed his briefcase in Durban, he stepped off the world stage perhaps for the last time.

***

Please click here for more Climate Change Concerns.

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Zoom w a View: Drip drop drip drop

2011-12-06T14:26:00.002-05:00

[Photos G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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What does the future hold? “Le cose cattive”

2011-12-06T14:06:00.003-05:00

Lessons from Italy: Non c'è problema a venire!

I think things look bad and there’s trouble ahead in North America, if recent events in Italy can teach us anything.

Italian PM Monti ‘unveiled a $40.3-billion package of austerity measures on Sunday... in a drive to stave off a crisis that threatens to overwhelm the euro zone.’ (Dec. 5, London Free Press) But if the euro zone weakens there will likely be many repercussions in tidy old North America, home of an excessive lifestyle that rests firmly on the back of cheap oil and an unsustainable free market economy.

The news article re austerity measures in Italy reveals what will likely occur on the N. American side of the Atlantic in the years ahead.

[Please click here for full article]

“Monti said... the package was painful but necessary.”

What our future holds: N. American austerity measures will be painful for many, but not all.

“We have had to share the sacrifices, but we have made great efforts to share them fairly.”

["Things look bad."]

What our future holds: The sacrifices will not be shared fairly.

“Welfare Minister Elsa Fornero broke down in tears as she announced an end to inflation indexing on some pension bands, a move that will mean an effective income cut for many retired people.”

What our future holds: There will be signs of sympathy from those in power toward the poorest in society but that will be about it.

“As well as an end to inflation indexing for many pensioners, the measures will see the minimum pension age for both men and women raised in stages to 66 by 2018 with incentives to keep workers in employment until 70.”

What our future holds: N. Americans will soon get used to hearing news about ‘Freedom 75,’ maybe ‘80.’

“Contrary to expectations before the announcement, there was no increase in income tax but a new property tax, expected to raise some 10-12 billion euros, will account for the bulk of the new revenues.”

What our future holds: N. American Income taxes will be slow to increase because corporations will effectively block the government at every turn. However, more families on tight budgets will have to seek smaller accommodations.

["There's trouble ahead."]

“The package also cut a number of local government functions in a bid to reduce the cost of public administration. Measures to boost growth include tax incentives for companies to employ workers and special measures to favour women and young people.”

What our future holds: The public sector will continue being under attack in Canada and the US but the private sector will get more tax incentives because of the short-sighted belief that corporations are job creators ahead of being profit takers and down-sizers.

“But Monti left for a later date the vexed question of reforming of contracts that hinder companies from laying off workers, a measure seen as key to overhauling the labour market, but which is bitterly opposed by unions.”

What our future holds: N. American governments will continue to suppress the powers of unions as they drive to depress wages and remove workers’ rights.

Some readers may believe that the Italian and N. American financial and economical situations are far removed from one another, and things that occur on one side of the Atlantic need not be repeated on the other side. They are partly correct.

The same types of unfair, short-sighted measures applied in Italy need not be applied here, but many already are as N. American corporations strive to increase wealth (at the expense of workers’ wealth and rights) with the assistance of government policy.

Things look bad. Le cose cattive.

There’s trouble ahead. Non c'è problema a venire!

***

Please click here for news about smaller lifestyles.

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Like Father Like Son: “Catch the resemblance?”

2011-12-03T15:18:00.005-05:00

I hit a gold mine.

Prior to Remembrance Day I was looking for old copies of my hometown newspaper (my dad’s column about why he joined the Merchant Marine was in one of them) when I came across an old manilla folder filled with a large nugget of Harrison family history, i.e., my dad’s hand-written notes pertaining to his naval memoirs and a typed copy, 21 pages long. Better than one Norwich Gazette column, it is!

["Better than one Norwich Gazette column, it is!": photo GH]

I am now making an effort to turn the notes into a book that will include 2 - 3 dozen photos from dad’s war years, from 1941 - 1945, and while reading his notes the phrase ‘like father like son’ has crossed my mind several times.

He writes, “I was from a family of seven, three girls and four boys. My mother needed a new door sill for our home so she somehow procured a lovely board from a lumber yard. I stole the board and Sonny Bucholtz and I hollowed it out and used it for the main part of our first ship, the Bluenose.”

I recall visiting his mother, my grandmother, in my dad’s family home when I was 5- or 6-years old, and the house was no palace. It was one poor family my dad grew up in, especially after his own dad died when my father was a 10-year old. In humble surroundings he learned the value of a dollar, didn’t part with any dollars easily, and I’m much the same way.

He and I are similar in other ways as well. We both like working with wood (he turned out scores of birdhouses in the 1990s), but I don’t steal mine. I rescue most of the lumber I use for chairs and birdhouses and, as some readers know, I buy the rest in order to save time with cutting and sanding.

Like my dad, I enjoy a good laugh and don’t mind (too much) if others laugh at my expense.

I don’t think dad will mind if I share the following from his naval memoirs:

I quit my job at potteries (in Hamilton, 1941) because of a small misdemeanor of taking a smoke. I was called to the office and reprimanded but the foreman wanted me to stay on, but when I quit, I quit, and he knew where he could stuff his clay, which was formed and molded, then enamelled and heated at high heat for use as electric fence insulators, toilet and sink bowls and for electric stove elements.

I can understand dad’s feelings of indignation, his stubbornness, getting his back up, so to speak. I’m still laughing, however, about all the things he learned to do with clay before, or was it after (?), stuffing it where the sun don’t shine.

That was one great sentence you cooked up, dad. Thanks.

***

Please click here for a laugh on me.

http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2011/12/i-wish-id-said-it-first.html

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Get ready for smaller lifestyles by 2020

2011-12-02T14:28:00.006-05:00

A minority of people in North America has already adopted a smaller lifestyle (e.g., live in a small house, drive a smaller car or predominantly ride a bike or walk, purchase fewer clothes, shop for groceries with shorter list in hand, etc.), and has done so out of necessity or because of the many benefits,

Below is a small news clip that affects the vast majority of people and lifestyle, whether it be considered normal or excessive.

[News clip from Nov. 5, London Free Press]

The “forecast price for a barrel of oil by 2035” is $212 (according to the International Energy Agency). Methinks, the 'new normal', as far as lifestyle is concerned, will likely come into play far earlier than 2035.

For example, by 2020, when average debt per Canadian family will be at $160 or higher per $100 of income (it’s at $150 at present), many people will be considering far more than dropping TV cable, cancelling their newspaper subscription, doing without a family pet or ordering Chinese every Friday night. Many will be considering selling their big house in the burbs for something smaller that’s close to work or a good grocery store. Quite a few will definitely get rid of their second car.

Many North Americans will be caught by surprise because governments, corporations and media do such a good job at propping up the illusion (now fading in the eyes of growing numbers of people who have little hope of finding a decent job in their lifetime) that progress will continue unimpeded for as long as they hold the reins of modern society.

[“With higher fuel prices, get used to pushing.”]

Read the last line of the news clipping, i.e., the report’s forecast for 2015 is up about 10% from the same report just last year.

Hmmm, what’s happened in the last year? And have things improved since then? How does 2016 look?

Let’s hang in there for another 4 - 5 years, then we’ll all know. And while we’re waiting, let’s shift our lifestyles down a notch or two.

***

Please click here for more high-priced concerns about the future.

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The Workshop: Cedar feeder, dry ‘tri’

2011-12-02T13:52:00.003-05:00

I finished a large bird feeder recently and as soon as I washed the red paint off the brush a thought came to mind: I should build more of them.

Two cedar feeders are now assembled and, once painted and oiled (w a titch of maple stain) and are dry, will go on display on the porch or in a local shop.

(Feeders - approx. 15 in. tall at peak w four 11 inch supports sitting on base 16 in. long by 9.25 in. wide. Two roof panels are each 18 in. long and 7.5 in. wide.)

Next up: I need to add roofs to two more tri-plexes so that they’ll be ready for the spring rains. Winter has just arrived, so I have lots of time... I think.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for another trip to The Workshop.

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It Strikes Me Funny: Fossil treasure cache, environmental carnage

2011-12-02T10:56:00.002-05:00

[“The news is grim. The accelerating disintegration of Arctic Sea ice means that summer ice will probably disappear within the next decade. The dark open water will absorb more solar radiation than reflective white ice, significantly increasing the rate of global warming.” C. Hedges, Death of the Liberal Class]

On CBC News online the headline reads ‘Fossil treasure trove found at oilsands’, because last week, during her shift operating a fine piece of heavy equipment, Maggy Horvath came across a nearly complete plesiosaur fossil.

This gave one writer cause to report, “Alberta's oilsands is not just producing black gold — they're also yielding a treasure trove of ancient reptile and dinosaur fossils. The area, which contains one of the largest proven crude oil reserves in the world, was once covered by an ancient sea. It's the 10th fossil discovered on leases held by the oil giant.

This is great news of course for those who back the world’s largest oilsand’s development in search of black gold, because while Canadians are distracted by ancient bones there will be little thought given or talk about the oilsands as Canada’s largest CO2 producer and contributer to climate instability and as one of the largest environmental scars on planet Earth.

"I think it's great that I'm part of this,” said Horvath. “It felt pretty good to call my son and let him know that I found a prehistoric fossil while working in the mine.”

I’m sure anyone who unearthed a rare fossil would feel much the same way. It would feel good to see a part of our natural history come to life, so to speak, especially in the midst of one of mankind’s most degrading digs. A museum piece is found, thus making the largest scar upon our planet seem more worthwhile.

I write these words because Syncrude’s press release about the find and the media’s story is all one-sided.

That is, a treasure cache is held up to the light of day while the greater story - one of permanent, irreparable destruction to the air, water and land - is buried in the oilsands, thus allowing the illusion of mankind’s unstoppable progress to continue for another week, another month, another year.

***

Please click here for a look at 'Climate Change Concerns' related to ice shelves and ozone.

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Cartoon in Progress: “Life’s like that, eh” 41

2011-12-02T10:16:00.002-05:00

Ookpuck hoped he could move up to a bigger model this year.

gah

***

Please click here to view “Life’s like that, eh” 40

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“IT STRIKES” Again: My American Idol baby and ten steps to a healthier lifestyle

2011-12-01T09:32:00.003-05:00

[The following column was published in April, 2003, a time when I always had coffee money and a few fivers in my pocket. Oh, how times have changed. The fivers are gone and the two-mile loop (mentioned below) has been replaced by an exercise bike. gah]

My American Idol Baby and ten steps to a healthier lifestyle

Tupperware Friday was a big hit. I mixed together five items found in plastic containers at the back of the fridge, added a splash of Memories of Kashmir Spicy Tandoori Sauce and created a hotter, spicier version of Harrison Hash. Because her taste buds have been numbed by other tongue-tingling excursions down strange culinary paths, Pat didn’t notice the difference.

By 7:30 p.m. the dishes were done. After expertly balancing the last pot onto the top of the awkward tower of rinsed dishes I turned to my wife and asked, “What would you like to do tonight? Go for a walk? Stay in?”

Pat stared suspiciously at the stacked dishes and didn’t answer right away. I sensed she was tired after a long workday so before she could formulate a response I grabbed the TV listings. The first three programs scheduled for 8 p.m. were Search for the Most Talented Kd in America, Test the Nation, and Star Search.

“More difficult choices, Pat. Would you like to see (I read from the listings) ‘Youngsters from across the nation perform in a talent competition’?”

“You mean American Idol?”

“I imagine it’s a younger version of that show. Probably like ‘if some of the teenagers made you weep, wait ‘til you see this’!”

Pat said, “What else is on?”

“How would you like to ‘take an IQ test along with a studio audience’?”

“That’s the last thing I need - an IQ test on a Friday night.”

["My American Idol Baby can hit high C!"]

I quizzed her on two easy items just to warm up her brain. I said, “For 5 points - name 5 things you ate for supper this evening.”

Pat tried valiantly. “Left-over rice, some kind of spicu sauce, red peppers. (A short pause.) Corn niblets maybe.”

After a longer pause I said, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. You’re out of time! Not even close.”

We began the second round. “For 10 points - where are your glasses?”

Before she could answer I slapped my hand over the nearest coaster. “Bzzzt! Too slow!” I declared. “They’re on your face.”

“Now, let’s see what else is on TV,” I said. “There’s Star Search. It comes with no explanatory notes but I think we catch the drift.”

We agreed that instead of being offered seasoned performers we are getting more and more peeks at potential entertainers, possible up and comers, who seem to be less prepared every year. So TV viewing is a bit like asking for cheddar to go with your apple pie and getting a gob of Cheez Whiz.

Simon Fuller, the creator of American Idol, wants next to recycle careers of “people who have had a taste of fame but, sadly, their candle has been snuffed.” (Time magazine, Feb. 2003)

And if he carries some programming to their logical extremes we might soon be viewing even younger entertainers with ‘potential’, i.e., American Idol Baby, ‘brought to you live from the maternity ward.’

I put the listings down and snuffed the idea of watching TV. Ten steps later Pat and I were on Cathcart St., walking our two-mile loop.

gah

***

Please click here to read more “IT STRIKES” Again.

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I Wish I'd Said It First

2011-12-01T08:45:00.004-05:00

What can I put on the back cover of my next (soon to be released, and brilliant) book of collected columns?

How about another picture of me, one taken when I was young and had money in my pocket for more than coffee? Admittedly, coffee money is great, but a few fivers would be nice too every once in a while.

How about a few quotes of mine that have - undoubtedly; how could they not? - become famous?

E.g., live small and prosper.

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

It’s your turn to make the popcorn.

How about quotes from others, especially quotes I wish I’d made? And ones that relate to my writing.

["Can't sleep? Have I got the book for you."]

For example:

The best cure for insomnia is to get a lot of sleep. (W. C. Fields)

Perfect.

***

Please click here for It Strikes Me Funny.

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Zoom w a View: Does the weather suck big time?

2011-11-30T10:37:00.003-05:00

Now that the first snow of the year has landed in my backyard, I need to do two jobs, instead of one, first thing in the morning.

I’ll need to first whisk off the birdhouse before adding seeds to the porch roof. (Note to self - buy a whisk, buy more mixed seed).

And because of the deep puddles in the backyard due to this week’s unseasonal rainfall, I should also buy a high pair of rubber boots to keep from getting soakers - as I did yesterday. (Both feet!)

Who once said, if you don’t like Ontario’s weather, wait five minutes?

I think whoever-it-was got it right.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

***

Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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Welcome to Harperville: “Still more smoke and fire up your pants”

2011-11-30T08:16:00.004-05:00

[There will be no golden eggs in this winter’s federal budget for Opposition MPs with their hands out. Nov. 26, London Free Press]

Line Dance Minister Jim Flatulence, never short for words, said a lot of interesting things about his upcoming budget recently, “left little or no room for anyone looking to derail the government’s cost-cutting agenda”, but also left several things unsaid, according to Conservative Prime Minister Harper’s tight-lipped plan.

What was said?

“As we do every year, we will hear from various groups, including the opposition, calling for more spending, new programs and bigger government.” (Nov. 26, Free Press)

What wasn’t said?

The Conservatives will thumb their noses at the opposition in the spirit of co-operation with the majority of Canadians, and will keep really quiet about the ‘more spending, new programs and bigger government’ of their own as the mystery bills for their ‘Omnibush’ Crime Bill, fighter jets and last Economic Action Plan come home to roost in the future.

["While Harper spends, spends, spends - suck on this, Canada!": photo GH]

What else was said?

“Although we stand prepared to be flexible and pragmatic should circumstances warrant it, we will stick to our low-tax plan to create jobs and economic growth.”

What wasn’t said?

The Conservatives have no plan or money if there is no economic growth because their current low-tax plan has reduced the size of the government coffers considerably, and it will shrink even more once their next promised corporate-tax reduction comes into effect.

What else was said?

“If European leaders continue to dither, future generations will inherit unsustainable debt burdens.”

What wasn’t said?

Canadian Conservative leaders will continue to dither with their low-tax plan to create jobs.

PM Harper has no Plan B.

Canadians already carry unsustainable debt burdens and future generations will inherit even more.

PM Harper and his Line Dance Minister will blow even more smoke and fire up our pants in the spring.

Stay tuned.

***

Please click here to read “More smoke and fire up your pants.”

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Newspaper Clippings: “Canadian wages keep falling”

2011-11-30T07:20:00.005-05:00

[Canadian workers are failing to keep up with the rising cost of living as real wages continue to fall dramatically, new data from Statistics Canada shows. Nov. 25, Metro]

Average weekly earnings for non-farm payrolls fell in September. Many already know that.

When the “3.2 per cent inflation rate for the month is taken into consideration, the drop in real wages was more dramatic.” (Metro) Many already know that.

Many also know Canada’s unemployment rate is hovering around 8 per cent, with my home region of London suffering 9 per cent rates. Many know that because of the high rate of under-employment, low wages associated with part-time employment and lack of reliable full-time jobs with some semblance of benefits, the true unemployment rate is double or triple the reported number.

["I'd like something smaller than a Falcon, please."]

What many do not know is if governments and businesses have plans to create an alternative economy to the unsustainable, market-first, high-production-of-wasteful-goods model that is faltering in most countries of the world at present, and that will continue to do so into the future as easy, cheap oil disappears.

May I suggest The Small Economy, based on the culture of small (rather than the culture of big)? May I suggest the building of small houses (900 sq. ft. and smaller, not larger) and accompanying smaller-scaled appliances and furnishings, small vehicles (e.g., a three-wheeled, enclosed scooter with a small bed in the back for groceries) and necessary smaller-scaled parts and accessories, and small, energy-efficient apartments close to the downtowns of cities to save on fuel and infrastructure costs. (I’ll take a one-bedroom on the fifth floor - close to Gambrinus - as soon as it’s ready!)

Don’t hold your breath waiting for governments or corporations to promote The Small Economy or the culture of small. But - as real wages continue to shrink - prepare for it nevertheless.

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Please click here for more reasons to adopt the culture of small.

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One Year Ago Today: Two lovely birdhouses

2011-11-29T14:16:00.005-05:00

With a few clicks I can find images on my computer that were taken exactly one year ago today.

No surprise, there are hundreds of pictures from my grandson’s birthday party. In three or four I look younger than I do now. Exactly one year younger.

The last picture of the day, Nov. 29, 2010, was taken inside my workshop. Two birdhouses. Lovely blue paint. The wood came from Value Village. I wish I had more of it!

["I could use a pile of blue boards!": photo GH]

When I saw them I also began to think... if I wanted to examine over 5,000 images on file, I suppose I could count how many birdhouses I’ve made since then. I bet I’d reach 80 - 100.

Forget it. I think I’ll just go out to the shop and continue working on the ones I’ve got on the bench today. That’s a better use of my time.

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Please click here for more from The Workshop.

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Ollie and Me: Never too young to love Bob Dylan

2011-11-29T13:31:00.004-05:00

It’s raining cats and dogs and green frogs outside, so Ollie and I are listening to Bob Dylan tunes in my study.

He’s as cozy as a bug, drawing pictures on a magic board and asking endless questions about Bob.

“What is this song called? Why is it called that? What’s he saying? Why is he saying that? Can we play it again?”

I try to explain what an album is, what a CD is, that songs have one name and albums usually have another. When I mention the CD ‘under the red sky’ he wants to see it, so down to the basement we go to my Bob Dylan shelf.

“Why isn’t the sky red?” he asks when he sees the CD cover.

That’s a good question, I say, and later I play ‘Born in Time’ three times in a row upon Ollie’s request.

I did my best to explain the lyrics “You were snow you were rain, you were striped you were plain” but feel I came up short.

However, I may have found a soul mate - five years old on Thursday. Never too young for Bob, eh.

[Photos by G.Harrison]

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Next week, Tom Waits.

Please click here for more Ollie and Me.

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It Strikes Me Funny: Strange ‘Key Words’ find my blog

2011-11-27T19:45:00.004-05:00

If you ‘googled’ Birdhouse London chances are good you’d be directed to my blog.

Other key words will also do the trick. E.g., 'buy nothing day’, ‘permafrost’, and for some unknown reason, ‘naked at Port Burwell.’ (Don’t ask. I don’t know. Even if I did I wouldn't tell.)

["Nothing but a few fishermen on the dock as far as I can see": photo GH]

Today, while checking stats related to my second blog (re prose, song lyrics), I discovered that a reader had found it by typing in the following string:

verse for a friend who has not kept in touch since you left w

w? wth? What does it all mean?

My first guess is, the string went on for a few more words but was too long for the key word record.

My second guess is, the missing words are “with my brother” and the reader found my Hit Single entitled ‘Lordie Lordie.’

And about ‘naked at Port Burwell’... still nothing.

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Please click here for the lyrics to my Hit Single 'Lordie Lordie.’

Please click here to mead more It Strikes Me Funny.

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The Workshop: “I’d better make more big ones”

2011-11-26T12:38:00.006-05:00

Because I’ve been asked the same related questions on at least a dozen occasions (i.e., “Do you put seeds inside a birdhouse to attract birds?” “Where do seeds go on a birdhouse to attract birds?”), I recently designed a simple house and feeder combo.

I thought, it’s brilliant and should satisfy some folks who not only want to watch birds as they settle into a nest for a season but feed them as well.

Shortly thereafter I was asked another question. I.e., “I like the combo but do you have a larger feeder?”

Back at the old drawing board, rescued lumber and a few pen scratches came to the rescue. Two nights ago I added red paint to easy-to-reach flat surfaces and later applied white pine trim and linseed oil (w a titch of maple stain).

I think they look really good together and the feeder, once placed upon a portable stand, will be a fine addition to my back deck (or someone else’s) this winter.

Though I really like the combo idea, I’m going to make a few more big feeders before the snow flies. Oh, and double my order of mixed seed from Home Hardware!

[Photos by G. Harrison]

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Please click here for another stop inside The Workshop.

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Zoom w a View: “Showing off tri-plexes”

2011-11-26T12:02:00.004-05:00

That’s right, I’m showing off - uncharacteristically, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Someone recently wanted to see birdhouse tri-plexes and I had nothing to show for my labours except a few photos.

But even in photographs, there's something about red cedar that catches the eye, isn't there?

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Please click here for more Zoom w a View.

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The Workshop: "I'll have it ready by Tuesday, no problem"

2011-11-26T11:43:00.003-05:00

I said thank-you to the caller, hung up the phone and began to feel nervous. Someone was coming over in an hour or two to visit the workshop and look at a few cedar birdhouses, tri-plexes in particular, and I realized, upon hanging up the phone, that I might be all out of them.

A quick look in the basement and workshop proved me right. The four I had made the previous week had been sold.

What can I do? I thought. Show the caller a few pictures? Show her the one my wife bamboozled me out of selling and has sitting on the porch?

["I'll just show off this lovely picture": photos by GH]

That sounded fine to me. But, to burn off some nervous energy, I cut and sanded pieces for two more tri-plexes and stacked enough materials on my work bench to make it look as if I knew what I was doing and that I could back up my usual line to anyone who need things done in a hurry, i.e., sure, sure, I can have it ready by Tuesday, no problem.

There, I’m feeling better now. (Today is Saturday, right?)

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Please click here for another trip to The Workshop.

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My last word about London’s cargo hub

2011-11-25T11:21:00.004-05:00

[Jamie Robertson, president of a local freight-forwarding company believes there’s “no ongoing business at the cargo terminal.” Nov. 19, London Free Press]

My last word? Readers are no doubt delighted. So I’ll make it quick.

No matter how Mayor Joe Fontana or London International Airport’s boss Steve Baker spin the numbers related to the amount of freight moving in and out of the city’s $11 million cargo hub, I’ll still think we’ll get a poor bang for the buck, maybe even lose our shirts and cargo pants.

As many in North America and Europe shift from the culture of big to the culture of small, and as fuel prices rise, the shipping of cargo by plane - the most expensive method - will become less profitable.

And what were the Mayor’s last words re the matter?

He said, “There’s no doubt the numbers are staggeringly positive.” (Nov. 19, London Free Press)

And Steve Baker’s last words?

Baker asked city councillors to urge the federal government to create a “free trade zone” to spur more shipments and more “remarkable” growth from London’s cargo hub.

My last word: The hub still won't fly. How remarkable or staggeringly positive are the numbers if one must urge the creation of a not-necessarily-for-free trade zone?

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Please click here if you can’t get enough of the news about London’s cargo hub.

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