Sorry my blog is late. I just returned from Ontario, where I visited and visited and visited. Had loads of fun and interaction and the time spent was certainly important for keeping the bonds with my family and friends strong and true. But Whew!
I think I just wrote a poem...
I think I just wrote a poem...
***
Oh, and a special news flash. My friend George is back in Cape Breton, primed and ready to absorb some more Cape Breton beauty, hospitality and down-home common sense. Why, he even apologized for not talking much when we were having supper at “The Lakes” Restaurant last night. He explained that the red wine and the gorgeous scenery he was observing through the window had left him spell-bound. We understood, totally.
George preparing for the long trip to Cape Breton
***
In a recent blog, I wrote about my experiences with panhandlers in an Ontario city. I mentioned one man to whom I gave some money on a dreary Thanksgiving Sunday. The important point I was trying to emphasize was that when I offered the man more money on a later occasion, he turned it down. He also thanked me for the money I had given him, and then told me he had bought groceries with the lucre.
Well, I met him again on this last trip. I think he was doing his garbage picking rounds. I also was more aware this time, that he was missing most of his teeth. Anyway, we exchanged pleasantries and then I asked him if he was okay for money. He told me that he would get his pension cheque at the end of the month.
We parted with both of us having our dignity intact.
Well, I met him again on this last trip. I think he was doing his garbage picking rounds. I also was more aware this time, that he was missing most of his teeth. Anyway, we exchanged pleasantries and then I asked him if he was okay for money. He told me that he would get his pension cheque at the end of the month.
We parted with both of us having our dignity intact.
***
Like most little kids, my two grandchildren have their battles, their jealousies and their competitions. One evening, I was in their ‘WRECK’ room, where there are a zillion toys which I would have salivated over and died for when I was a child. Standing fairly prominently in the room full of indestructible chairs, dinky toys, stuffed this and thats, zappers and clappers and whatnots, is one mother of a toy crane. Which I think was put together by my grandson, Carter. Carter could take a box of broken up corn flakes and put them together. And even if he couldn’t reassemble them into their original corn flake shape, he could invent a new cereal shape out of them.
This large, possibly Lego toy concoction even has a remote with it. The grandchildren like to get the crane swinging this way and that way and it can pick up objects and might even be able to break-dance to the music of Billy the Singing Lobster.
Anyway, what I’m saying is that it would have been a blow-my-mind toy if it had been in my boyish life. For that matter, it is now.
On one of my visits, my elder grandson, Carter, was playing with this crane. Meanwhile, his younger brother, Callum, was trying to find something to do. One choice he had in mind, I’m sure, was to disrupt whatever Carter was doing.
Anyway, during this Mayberry moment, I’d grabbed my son’s guitar. I began to tune it and then did a little amateurish finger picking. Which attracted Callum. Offered him a possible activity. So he took an interest in what I was doing. Even reached out and did some strumming of his own.
Obviously, the older grandson took note of this. Saw that I was taking an interest in his brother. Wasn’t possibly paying as much attention to him as I should be. So, it must have put him beyond the pale of self-control when Callum was allowed to strum the guitar all by himself, while receiving my total attention.
The attack came without warning. A Carter blitzkrieg. One minute Callum and I were talking and sharing a moment with the acoustic guitar and then, in the blink of an eye, I was in darkness.
Was I having a stroke? Was I going blind? No. What I was experiencing was having my head tucked nicely inside the confines of a wastepaper basket. Which Carter had expertly jammed over my head.
Thus sayeth the Lord, “Stop taking an interest in my younger brother and pay attention to me or there will be more to come.” Brotherly love comes with its own dangers.
I’ll end this story with the observation that my son and daughter-in-law are two great parents. Why, the waste-paper basket was even empty when it was thunked down over my noggin. That was some sort of blessing.
“There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.”
Walter Whitman, There Was A Child Went Forth
This large, possibly Lego toy concoction even has a remote with it. The grandchildren like to get the crane swinging this way and that way and it can pick up objects and might even be able to break-dance to the music of Billy the Singing Lobster.
Anyway, what I’m saying is that it would have been a blow-my-mind toy if it had been in my boyish life. For that matter, it is now.
On one of my visits, my elder grandson, Carter, was playing with this crane. Meanwhile, his younger brother, Callum, was trying to find something to do. One choice he had in mind, I’m sure, was to disrupt whatever Carter was doing.
Anyway, during this Mayberry moment, I’d grabbed my son’s guitar. I began to tune it and then did a little amateurish finger picking. Which attracted Callum. Offered him a possible activity. So he took an interest in what I was doing. Even reached out and did some strumming of his own.
Obviously, the older grandson took note of this. Saw that I was taking an interest in his brother. Wasn’t possibly paying as much attention to him as I should be. So, it must have put him beyond the pale of self-control when Callum was allowed to strum the guitar all by himself, while receiving my total attention.
The attack came without warning. A Carter blitzkrieg. One minute Callum and I were talking and sharing a moment with the acoustic guitar and then, in the blink of an eye, I was in darkness.
Was I having a stroke? Was I going blind? No. What I was experiencing was having my head tucked nicely inside the confines of a wastepaper basket. Which Carter had expertly jammed over my head.
Thus sayeth the Lord, “Stop taking an interest in my younger brother and pay attention to me or there will be more to come.” Brotherly love comes with its own dangers.
I’ll end this story with the observation that my son and daughter-in-law are two great parents. Why, the waste-paper basket was even empty when it was thunked down over my noggin. That was some sort of blessing.
“There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.”
Walter Whitman, There Was A Child Went Forth
The Elder Setting up the Younger, Perhaps?
***
Do you know why I got a bargain price on my hotel room? Because of Buster, our small pooch.
When I arrived at the check-in desk the receptionist asked me if I’d brought Buster with me. I told her he was at home, but promised to make some prints of pictures of Buster and give them to her. Which I did, a few days later.
The receptionist said, “It was so funny when you asked me to put you through to Buster’s room.”
I’d asked that when I had phoned our room the last time we were all here.
“You knew who he was, too,” I said. We both had a good guffaw. Maybe two guffaws.
Anyway, as she was booking me in she told me she was going to give me a special rate. She then gave me a lower daily rate than normal and not only that, but gave me the same low rate for the peak weekend days when the prices go up.
So, do you see what I mean when I say that Buster got me a discount on the price of my hotel room?
“If you can uncomplaining spend the day
In solitude and when it ends
Greet those who finally return to play
As long lost friends
And if digging, without damage to a single rose
You find your long lost bone on which to sup
You’ll have acquired a hound’s discerning nose
And - what is more - you’ll be a dog, my pup!”
Lily Tuck, Sniff
When I arrived at the check-in desk the receptionist asked me if I’d brought Buster with me. I told her he was at home, but promised to make some prints of pictures of Buster and give them to her. Which I did, a few days later.
The receptionist said, “It was so funny when you asked me to put you through to Buster’s room.”
I’d asked that when I had phoned our room the last time we were all here.
“You knew who he was, too,” I said. We both had a good guffaw. Maybe two guffaws.
Anyway, as she was booking me in she told me she was going to give me a special rate. She then gave me a lower daily rate than normal and not only that, but gave me the same low rate for the peak weekend days when the prices go up.
So, do you see what I mean when I say that Buster got me a discount on the price of my hotel room?
“If you can uncomplaining spend the day
In solitude and when it ends
Greet those who finally return to play
As long lost friends
And if digging, without damage to a single rose
You find your long lost bone on which to sup
You’ll have acquired a hound’s discerning nose
And - what is more - you’ll be a dog, my pup!”
Lily Tuck, Sniff
Buster is a Leafs Fan, of Course!
Early Misty Morning in Cape Breton
