Surfacing

Recently, I posted the following comment on my Facebook page:

A new father quoted the lyrics to John Lennon’s song Beautiful Boy here (on Facebook). Which reminded me of the night Lennon was shot dead in New York and the newspaper I worked for (The Ottawa Citizen) asked me to write a reaction piece. So after tucking my beautiful boys into bed, I sat down and wrote from the heart.

Many, many year later, doing an online search for my name, I discovered that someone was kind enough to get permission and post it on the Web. I didn’t want to put a damper on the new father’s joy, so I decided to post the link here.

My son 32-year-old son Travis then posted the following comment:

“Did they run the piece the next day? I’m just trying to see if I can find it.

My reply:

Travis. The piece ran on Friday, Dec. 12, most likely in The Citizen’s weekly entertainment tabloid, tgif. (You might remember tgif, you appeared there a number of times, including a famous cover shot [Thank you, John Major] taken at La Ronde amusement park in Montreal.)

Lennon was shot that Monday night (Dec. 8). I was next door playing video games with Lloyd, while listening to Monday Night Football,  which is how I first heard the news from legendary sports broadcaster Howard Cossell.

I was stunned speechless.

I think I wrote the piece the next night and they ran it in tgif on Friday. [tgif was included in the Friday paper, hence its name] I wrote a weekly album-review column, Revolutions, which appeared in tgif, and wrote articles, including cover stories, for them.

I was still somewhat chocked up when I tucked you, and Tyler, in that night, before sitting down to write. I don’t think I ever wrote anything else in such an emotional state.

The paper loved it. People remembered it for a long, long time. And I was happy that it came out as well as it did, considering much of it was written in stream of thought, AND feeling. I didn’t go back and rework it, or polish it up, because I wanted to retain the spontaneity of emotion.

Any clippings, and a few copies of tgif, [I’ve kept] are buried somewhere down in the basement. I don’t think I have a lot saved, so it’s nice to see this piece preserved so far on the Internet. (And yes, I long ago saved a copy from the Internet.

Love, Dad (who has always worried over his own beautiful boys and prayed the Lord to keep them safe.)

Here is what I wrote back then:

LENNON DREAMED FOR US ALL

By Bill Provick, Ottawa Citizen Staff Writer

Published on Friday, December 12, 1980

Introduction

The music of the Beatles rocked the world, and the murder of head Beatle John Lennon shocked it. Today TGIF music columnist Bill Provick, who grew up as part of the Beatles generation, attempts to explain the impact of Lennon’s life and sudden death.

[Article]

John Lennon dreamed of “life in peace” for everyone in Imagine and he was right when he added he was not the only one.

While his fellow Beatles filled us with pleasure, it was always Lennon that filled us with ideas.

For me, Lennon lived in and through his music. All the publicity about his changing lifestyle was just so much background. It was the images, the emotions, the humor and the pain he shared with us that earn him such a special place in our minds and hearts.

The others accepted their roles: Paul McCartney as the gifted composer / arranger / performer; George Harrison the slightly bitter, inhibited lesser-light whose belated bid for artistic credibility drowned in his religious propaganda, and Ringo Starr as the anti-star, the gifted amateur who endeared through his off-beat charm.

Individuality maintained

But through it all, and under intense pressure, Lennon insisted on being himself. Right or wrong, he dared to speak his mind and forced us not just to listen, but to think.

When Beatlemania threatened to turn them all into golden idols, he fought back. He publicaly stated that the Beatles were bigger than Jesus Christ. He didn’t believe they were, or even should be, but he wanted to shock some sense into his near-hysterical public following.

A mere pop band was being deified and perhaps he sensed that crucifixion usually followed. And he was always crucified in the media, but, as always, he stuck to his convictions.

You tended to hate him or love him, but he made you react.

Enduring personal respect

The others had immense popularity spiced with artistic respect but it was Lennon who inspired the enduring personal respect that sparked such intense loyalty.

We didn’t always agree with him, and even he had to revise some of his stances, but it was all part of his human nature — the very humanness that set his music apart from everyone else. Only Bob Dylan has come as close to turning messages into memorable music.

Lennon was tortured. He grew up without a dad, lost his mom early, and was raised by his aunt. It was little wonder he soon became a rebel in need of a cause.

Anthems to live by

His causes were always admirable if not practical. He gave us anthems to live by: “All you need is love,” “Give peace a chance,” “Whatever gets you through the night.”

Like many, I saw myself in the musical mirrors Lennon provided. He was the Beatle who dared to look at the darker side of love — primarily the fear of rejection that lurks like a landmine in any romance.

Unlike most of the other musicians providing soundtracks for our lives, Lennon shared his ups and downs. He touched numerous responsive chords within us, often magically articulating our very own thoughts, hopes and fears.

This personal, long-distance bonding of psyches made Lennon’s music transcend mere entertainment.

I never knew him but I knew what he brought to my life. Just being able to speak our troubles out loud often helps; hearing them reflected in our music provided a near-magical solace.

Lennon was a close personal friend who was always as close as the nearest turntable.

Rock’s rarefied lifestyle

Lennon was caught in the rarefied lifestyle of a rock superstar but he didn’t let it eat him alive as it had done others. He even strove to remain the working-class here, with partial success.

And he taught us valuable lessons — including the fact that fame and fortune don’t insulate people from their personal demons. In Lennon’s case, those demons were frequently loneliness tied to jealousy.

No matter what, we were all still vulnerable. We could still be scared and scarred by life.

“Hatred and jealousy, gonna be the death of me

I guess I knew it right from the start

Sing out about love and peace

Don’t wanna see the red raw meat

The green-eyed goddamn straight from your heart”

— John Lennon, “Scared“

And like so many of us in the post-peace-and-love ’70s, he was more than a little tired. He suspended his musical career and, again like many of us, turned his attention to raising a family of his own.

Again, I could relate to it.

I suffered through the teen-age trauma of first loves with the Beatles. And understood how one could get moony and dewy-eyed over McCartney crooning silly love lines to Michelle.

At the same time I could relate even better to Lennon’s flair for looking at the darker sides of the clouds. I could understand how traditional insecurity can turn a person into a emotional bully.

“Well I’d rather see you dead little girl

Than to be with another man

You better keep your head little girl

Or I won’t know where I am

Better hide your head in sand little girl

Catch you with another man

That’s the end…”

— Lennon-McCartney, “Run For Your Life”

And now, more than 15 years later, Lennon re-entered my life in a more active manner, and I found I could still relate to his new music. Double Fantasy — including his beautiful song to his young son:

“Close your eyes / have no fear

The monsters’s gone / he’s on the run

And your daddy’s here

Beautiful boy

Beautiful, beautiful boy . . . “

— Lennon, “Beautiful Boy”

But the monster wasn’t gone.

He waited on the streets of New York City.

And as I tuck my boy into bed, I feel the fear and I feel the loss.

And I can’t stop feeling what this man taught me — never stop imagining, never stop dreaming.

And the music plays on, still transcending its own medium, and giving life — and now death — a little more meaning.

It’s a dream worth keeping.

“So long ago .

Was it in a dream? Was it just a dream?

It seem so very real, it seemed so real to me

Took a walk down the street

Thru the heat whispered trees

I thought I could hear

Somebody call out my name

As it started to rain

Two spirits dancing so strange…”

— Lennon, “#9 Dream“

— Bill Provick

The Ottawa Citizen

E-published with permission.

Well, typing that title is the first time I’ve used 2010 to indicate the current year. Probably underlines the fact I haven’t posted here since New Year’s Day.

Sometimes I think I should just do what I’m doing now, just sit down and write whatever comes up. Even if I’m here at the moment because I’m stalling again on attacking a sink full of dishes. The worst part is, they’ve been waiting there for me for a couple of days now. I won’t tell you how many times I’ve drained the grown-cold water and ran some new hot water.

It’s been that kind of week. I don’t want to go into details. It’s unfortunately an all-too-frequent occurrence — an unpleasant side effect of the pills I take daily, the painkillers in particular. We had hoped some new pills recommended by my pharmacist, instead of the off-the-shelf stuff recommended by my doctor, would help and for a time they did. But eventually . . .

I think the lack of exercise is a contributing factor. It’s getting to be a bit of a vicious circle. One (me, at least it seems) needs a certain level of energy AND physical comfort to engage in exercise. Without it, one keeps hoping and trying to get to that level so they can start at least a minimum routine. But if you’re forced to bed by other factors, that means even less exercise than the normal standing and walking of an average day. Which puts the minimum energy and comfort that much further out of reach.

Oh I know the answer is to just go ahead and do SOME exercise, ANY kind of exercise and worry about the after affects later. But if the after affects put you back in bed, you end up back at square one.

Which allows the ever-threatening blanket of even mild depression to quietly roll in like a persistent storm front.

So why am I telling YOU all this?

To make you feel sorry for me? Hell no. And please don’t ever. I don’t care how miserable things can get for me, there are always people suffering worse and doing so with much more grace than I can ever seem to muster.

To perhaps reassure you in the reminder that you are not alone? Perhaps. To a certain extent, at least. It’s often been my motivation in being so open about myself, including my weaknesses and shortcomings, as well as tribulations faced. It can be different for everybody, different sources, different manifestations, but I do believe that every life includes a fair amount of the — to be blunt — shitty. So yes, in that way, this may comfort.

But I think this time, at least, it may have even more to do with just getting it off my chest and perhaps out of my head.

—–

Well, just got off the phone with my son Travis who is heading out for a week with friends down in Nicaragua. And Mariette just got in from work. And I no longer have the energy or desire to continue the above.

I could throw this post into the Draft bin, but there’s enough unfinished stuff there already. So I guess I’ll hit Publish for the same reason I started this — just for the helluvit. 🙂

WHITE-KNUCKLE BOXING DAY

I love a white Christmas. I love when the snow doesn’t come too early — like in November, or even October. I also love it when it comes early enough to avoid any last-minute worrying about a green Christmas — green as in no snow.

I love it best when we get those huge white fluffy snowflakes drifting down on Christmas Eve, though to hope for that every year might be a touch greedy.

Snow piling up again on New Years Day

I know abundant snow on the ground can be hard on motorists and pedestrians alike. But if it’s polite enough to wait until December to fall — the 21st being THE best date for snow before Christmas — then I welcome it with open arms and gloved hands.

(The first snowfalls, that almost never stays, I greet with open mouth, extended tongue and head tilted back to face the sky. It’s a personal tradition I’ve had since childhood. One I think a few others may share.)

So I welcome timely snow, almost no matter how deep. After all, if we’re going to live this far north (Ottawa, Canada), we might as well enjoy one of the benefits of our local environment — that mood-enhancing blanket of white that makes turns the outdoors into more of a winter wonderland. At night, coloured lights that sparkle in the crisp, cold air, cast glowing bands of colour across a softened canvas.

Fresh snowfall leaves the street out front looking serene

Oddly enough, at the same time, a blanket of snow outside can make the indoors seem a touch more warm and cosy. Especially if one doesn’t have to go outside too often. Better yet, almost never.

Around here snow gets plowed from roads and streets and most importantly at this time of year, shopping mall parking lots. So after the initial disruption, it often ends up easy enough to get around.

Sure there’s the shovelling and snow-blowing of walkways and driveways, but usually there’s a welcome respite before the next snowfall — or until the city plow returns to dump a small wall of heavy snow across the end of your just-cleared driveway.

Comfy and cosy

Still, whether it’s upon returning from work, Christmas shopping, or moving tons of white stuff from the driveway, it’s always nice to come inside when there’s snow outside. There’s often a certain extra layer of relaxation to be gained from sitting back, warm socks on feet, warm mug in hand and warm heart settling down from the sudden exertion, while gazing out at the quiet, peaceful, comforting view of unmarked snow.

This is pretty much what we had this year. For which we felt much gratitude.

What I hate is rain. It can turn things dark and dirty, revealing stuff we were grateful to not have to see again till spring. One year, several decades ago, while travelling from home to home for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day visits with family and friends, we actually had to deal with flooded intersections. But that was highly unusual, to say nothing of slightly surreal.

Freezing rain is probably more common than rain. Surprisingly enough, it’s more of a love-hate thing.

If it comes in the night and isn’t too severe and is dealt with in time to not pose severe hazard to motorist and pedestrian alike, it can be quite enchanting in terms of providing a sparkling, crystal coating on everything, especially trees and branches.

If however, as it did this year on Boxing Day, it results in a nuisance ice storm, knocking out power, threatening trees, downing branches and making driving quite hazardous, it’s obviously far less welcome.

Thus it was that we woke on Boxing Day (the day after Christmas Day in Canada and England) facing treacherous walking and driving conditions on a day we were scheduled to visit family on the far side of the city.

Strap-on safety

Fortunately, things were manageable if one took appropriate measures. Wear boots with a decent grip. In Mariette’s case, she got to add the strap-on Icers she received from Santa (via Lee Valley Tools). Basically they are thickish rubber soles, sporting screw-head-style studs, that are strapped to the bottom of one’s boots.

Gotta get me a pair of these Icers like Mariette's, or perhaps the slip-on kind called STABILicers.

As son Travis, who was visiting for Christmas as usual, and I slowly inched our way to the car, I couldn’t help mentally chastising myself for not having bought a pair for myself. And Travis. And maybe Tyler and Miche. And why not . . . ?

Well, maybe next year. We may have bought mostly small, neat and/or practical stuff in doing seemingly 80% to 90% of our Christmas shopping in one night, in our first ever, long-anticipated visit to the internationally famous Lee Valley Tools, but it’s amazing how quickly these things can add up, money wise.

(I’m just glad our first visit there coincided with Christmas shopping. As I told Mariette: “Imagine if we’d gone and spent this much, or close to it, merely visiting the place for the first time. At least this way everything does double duty as Christmas gifts.” And yes, the stuff there is so neat we probably would have still bought extras of things we liked, to give to people we like.)

But as I say, getting ,more pairs of Icers are for another time. For this year, Travis and I merely moved slow and steady. One trick is to slide your boot along the slick ice, rather than lifting your feet. The trouble with lifting your foot is that it’s more likely to slip when you step back down, and experience has shown that such sudden falls can be quite painful.

Of course it’s not enough to just get to the vehicle, one has to then circle it, banging and cracking and removing the ice that covers everything. Windows AND lights, front and back, are most important.

Cross-checking car doors

At least it was fairly mild compared to the time many years ago when we, and our neighbours, were all out there banging brooms and hockey sticks against our vehicles that were covered with ice so thick that a thump with closed hand or trusty elbow had no hope of even cracking this dangerous heavy coating.

Come to think of it, that might have been THE Great Ice Storm 11 years ago that had people, from here to Montréal, and back, without power for weeks. We were fortunate. I think we lost power for only a day or so.

In fact in our part of town, we got off fairly lucky, all around. Though we did almost lose our orphaned white birch in the backyard. (More about that in EMERGENCY RESCUE, FOR A TREE.)

Eventually we were set and Mariette backed the car out of the driveway with great care, with Travis and I keeping a sharp eye up and down the street for the sudden appearance of any other motorist, who might be hard put to stop in time.

We slowly crawled down the street, testing traction. Mariette, being a good driver, knew to try stopping BEFORE getting to the first stop sign. On ice or even just snow, it is always amazing how many drivers wait to the last second, only to find themselves embarrassingly — and dangerously — sliding right through the intersection when there’s virtually no traction to be found.

Moving with caution we were soon enough on the multi-lane Hwy. 416, where we saw our first car in the ditch. It’s never a good sign when the car in the ditch is turned completely around and facing back in the direction from whence it came.

There were few moving cars in sight, but enough had already passed by to help melt the ice, to a still-slick but fairly thin covering of icy slush.

By the time we got to the 417, known as the Queensway as it passes from east to west through the city, increased traffic — still far short of normal — had removed more of the icy slush, though a dangerous amount remained between lanes.

I may have exaggerated in using the term “white-knuckle,” but we were on high alert as we cautiously made our way to the east end of town to our breakfast appointment.

Slip-sliding away

Once safely parked, we still faced further hazards just getting to the restaurant. It was out of the car, gingerly. Get your balance and step cautiously up onto a sidewalk that was not only wide and covered with sheer ice, but also sloping toward the street.

Mariette offered me her arm but I politely declined. Not only did I need the room to do my slide-this-foot, slide-that-foot sort of crab-walk across the sidewalk, but if I did slip and fall, I didn’t want to be dragging her down with me.

Down with a sidestep off the curb into an ice/slushy incoming lane. Across the slippery gap slowly, hoping no car suddenly turns in. Up and over a narrow divider. Slowly across the icy/slushy outgoing lane — again hoping no traffic would appear. Finally, back up onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

The ice was patchier there but why was this walk also so wide — AND sloping DOWN toward the street?

Were we glad to eventually get inside the restaurant to the welcoming smile of our other son, Tyler, and his 16-month-old daughter, Rachel? You bet!

Unfortunately our daughter-in-law Miche had to stay home having been felled by a nasty bug. (Cold? Flu? Combo? I never did find out the specifics but when we did get to see her later in the morning, it was obvious she was indeed suffering.)

After a fine Gabriel’s breakfast and a lot of fun with Rachel — once she got over her initial make-strange-reach-for-“Dada” welcome — we cautiously travelled on to Tyler and Miche’s house.

Tyler said he almost slid into the snowbank before turning into his driveway, but we, coming from the other way, never noticed.

We had a lovely Boxing Day, exchanging and opening gifts and playing with Rachel. (See THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD.)

In the late afternoon, as planned, Mariette and I and Travis drove to an east-end cinema to see the movie Avatar in IMAX 3-D and quite enjoyed it. (See AVATAR: HOW COULD SOMETHING SO TRITE BE SO AWESOME?.)

Safely home again

Originally we were to return Travis to Tyler’s so he could spend the night and the next day with them and they could drive him to the airport for his flight back to Toronto the following evening. But Travis, not wanting to impose with Miche feeling so poorly, had brought his luggage with us to the theatre. A quick call to check Miche’s condition after the movie confirmed what we expected — now was not a good time for him to stay over and need a ride to the airport.

This being Boxing Day, by the time we’d driven to the movie, traffic had increased considerably, with Boxing Day shoppers getting some belated courage, and road conditions improved measurably, with more tires and more friction to melt away the freezing rain. Avatar is a longish movie, so by the time we drove home in the early evening dark, traffic had thinned again considerably.

Still, Mariette continued to drive with appropriate caution and though it again took longer to get to our destination, we arrived safely.

We navigated the driveway with care and were quite happy to be home once more.

The weather may have been miserable and the driving conditions hazardous, but with proper Canadian caution, we didn’t have to sacrifice a day with family that we’d been so looking forward to with such delight.

Everything was well and good. Until I woke up before dawn and discovered my poor birch tree had not fared as well. Which brought back memories of a fierce fight to save it from the ice, 11 years ago. (See EMERGENCY RESCUE, FOR A TREE.)

Freezing rain. God’s way of saying you’d better drive, and walk, slowwwly.

I know. I know. I’ve been warned for years, as have we all. Still, a moment of inattention is all it takes. Fortunately the computer virus I recently acquired was more bloody nuisance than anything destructive.

Still, I’ll tell my story here as yet another reminder to all.

Monday, three days after Christmas, was finally a day for sleeping in and reading/napping whenever the urge struck. For the first time in weeks I had only one task on tap. Even then it was something I wanted to do, rather than having to do.

Sometime during the day I wanted to sit down and write some stuff on my blog. Already I had stuff about the Boxing Day ice storm bouncing around in my head. I was looking forward to writing some of it down, not only to clear my head, so to speak, but to also finally get some new stuff on the blog. (Check out White Christmas, White-Knuckle Boxing Day when it gets here.)

But first I took a detour to Facebook to touch bases and get up to date there. In the process I noticed a post from a friend and former colleague, whom I haven’t spoken to in some time. (That post, which had no Comment option, now that I think of it, has since disappeared, for reasons about to become obvious.)

Facebook user fee?

The post urged me to join a group that was vowing to NOT pay for using Facebook. Purportedly, the company planned to start charging a user fee some time in June.

Having been through occasions when a social Web site switched to a paid subscription protocol, I’ve been curious to see if Facebook ever dared taking a similar stance. Personally, I don’t think they will. But it must be a tremendous temptation. Even if in the process they lost huge masses of users who refused to pay, imagine how many would remain, ready to cough up hard-earned coin just to avoid losing what for some borders on addiction.

But I digress, as usual.

So I clicked on the link which took me to a group site where I could join in this anti-fee movement. I was more curious than committed, so when I saw a URL said to lead to a site that explained everything, I clicked on it.

When nothing happened, I looked closer and realized it was merely the address and not an active link. So I swept and copied the address, opened a new tab, and pasted in the address.

BIG mistake

Oh oh. Should NOT have done that.

My full-screen Mozilla Firefox browser window, with a handful of tabs opened, switched to a single, smaller window. A disjointed cacophony of sound and voices erupted from the speakers. A jumble of text and images jumped around the window flashing off and on.

The window itself jumped all around the screen, disappearing and reappearing, seemingly at random.

It was somewhat disconcerting and most annoying.

While the noise occasionally included sound bites from a podcast I’d listened to earlier in the day, there was one female voice that dominated, repeating over and over again  a rather stupid announcement: “Hey guys, I’m watching porn on my computer.”

Embarrassing, I assume, if one caught this virus on a company machine in an office. Simply dumb and annoying when it was only the cats and I in the room at the time.

And then there was one truly disgusting photo that kept popping up. Not sexually pornographic but obscene in a way that leaves me unwilling to describe it. I realize, of course, that if I don’t, I raise curiosity and open things to possibly the worst speculation.

It didn’t stay long enough for me to study in terms of determining the context and I was reluctant to look at it anyways.

But I guess as a warning to others who might stumble upon this mess, it seemed to be an image of a bloody infant, but not one that was merely newborn.

I felt assaulted

I know it was all designed to be upsetting but that didn’t stop it from working. I not only felt annoyed, I felt assaulted.

I even became a little frantic to get it off my screen in case it was further polluting and infecting other files.

With it jumping around so much, it was impossible to click on Close. So I called up Task Manager to shut down Firefox, figuring that just closing the window might not be enough.

I ran a system-wide scan using my free copy of the anti-virus software AVG. When the scan eventually finished, it reported no problems.

Unhappy with my old standby, Norton, I installed the free version of AVG a year or so ago on the advice of my oldest son, a professional computer expert who said that as far as he could see, at the time, this was the best free anti-virus program.

It worked fine and I was quite happy with it and used it on both my desktop and my laptop.

However, a few months back when I went to get another update, I got this message about having to buy the program if I wanted further updates. Given that other purchased programs subsequently charge a subscription fee for updates, I didn’t find that particularly unreasonable. (I confess I may have misread things in terms of purchase becoming mandatory, but when I declined the offer to purchase, I certainly didn’t get a way to download any updates.)

I eventually told my son and he said he’d check around to see if there was something better.

Meanwhile, of late, I’d get these confusing pop-up messages informing me that something (the free AVG program itself?) was reporting that the auto-protection was turned off. I’d go turn it back on and still the message would pop up from time to time.

Paying the price

So faced with this highly irritating virus, and feeling my computer was suddenly vulnerable, I decided to log on via Internet Explorer, which I rarely use, and purchase a full copy of AVG. I was so fed up with security problems that I even opted for the money-saving two-year subscription. I downloaded and installed the program and will also receive a copy on CD, which I will keep as a back-up. (I know I could always go and download again but what if some virus screwed up my ability to log on with any browser software?)

This time when I ran a scan, AVG recognized the “threats” and got rid of them. However, when I ran Firefox again, its files, of course, were still corrupted and infected. And when I let the viral display run a bit longer before shutting Firefox down, the virus kept adding a fictional newsgroup with an inflammatory racist name to my Mozilla Thunderbird e-mail program. It also set up an offensive e-mail that apparently I could send to friends with just one careless click.

So I un-installed this infected copy of Firefox — without losing my personal preferences and setups — and used IE to download another free copy, which worked fine, with no signs of that extremely rude virus, and all my tabs and bookmarks and settings.

I know. I’m lucky I didn’t encounter something actually destructive. And lucky I didn’t lose a bunch of stuff on my computer.

I should NEVER have pasted in that unknown URL, especially when I was unsure about the continued effectiveness of my “free” anti-virus software.

I don’t have copies of the “free” and paid versions of AVG to do a direct comparison, but I have the feeling that I get more with the bought version. That’s usually the way.

Anyway, it’s an investment in peace of mind, especially now that I’m more easily distracted and open to occasionally doing things without thinking them through.

As for all those friends who, after the fact, 🙂 recommended other anti-virus programs, including a “free” version of Avast, your advice is a little late. But I DO thank you anyway for your concern and desire to help.

And hope you never have a similarly infuriating experience.

Signed,

The Old Dog (who got caught by a nasty trick that isn’t even new)

Moments ago, I was standing at the kitchen sink running water for a sink-load of dishes left over from last night. As is my habit, I glanced out the window. I noticed that the light dusting of snow overnight had not melted completely away. Enough remained to work its magic.

And suddenly, like the warmth of a hot drink on a cold day, a lovely feeling seeped through my body from head to toe.

Christmas.

I was filled with the gentle joy of Christmas. Not to sound too Scrooge-like, it was a commanding sense of Christmases past and the Christmas to come.

It just felt so utterly like Christmas.

It felt wonderful.

I confess I was a bit surprised and a bit caught off guard. For one thing, it’s rather early, in my book, for feeling that way. Our football season ended just last night with a truly incredible Grey Cup game.

Also, that old-fashioned wholly natural Christmas spirit has seemed to grow more and more elusive.

For years now we haven’t been making a big deal about Christmas. We rarely get a real tree any more, going with a two-foot artificial job with built-in fibre-optic lights. Each year we put up fewer and fewer decorations — and still take till spring to get the last of them tossed back down into the basement.

We even buy fewer gifts. And see fewer people.

A quieter Christmas

That’s not to say we don’t have lovely Christmases any more. We do. They’re just quieter and, by design, much less taxing.

Just not quite so Christmasy as when we used to make a bigger production of the annual holiday.

Still, a highlight each year is the return of our oldest son Travis from Toronto where he’s lived and worked for years now, ever since graduating from the University of Waterloo.

We see more of our youngest son Tyler throughout the year as he and his wife Miche live here in town, even if at the opposite side of the city. Still, visiting them at Christmas is another highlight. And it will be even more special this year because, at almost a year and a half, our granddaughter Rachel is even more aware of her world and thus more aware this year of Christmas.

Still, as nice as our laid-back Christmases are, I can’t say I actively look forward to them. Mostly, I guess, because they are a reminder of the limitations I live with. These days energy — mental and emotional as well as physical — is an even rarer commodity for me, something that not only has to be rationed but the sheer lack of energy can make the simplest things a chore.

If we go out, or do something that is strenuous for me, I always have to pay with downtime. With recovery time. With time in bed. Missing things.

So at Christmas we do a lot of sitting quietly together, often reading or simply relaxing, enjoying each other’s company, in conversation or silence. Actually, I think it helps make Christmas more of a relaxing time for Travis and Mariette. They certainly don’t seem to complain.

But for me, the choice is not optional. That’s why it reminds me of my limitations.

The danger of fatigue

I can easily exhaust myself with the simplest of stripped-back preparations — from basic housecleaning to minimal decorating. (Thank goodness Mariette takes care of the food shopping and such.)

And when I am overtired, everything hurts more, which can grate on my nerves even worse than usual, too often sparking an emotional outburst I often regret. Even if my observations are valid, expressing them in an even slightly overwrought manner can create needless tension. (Obviously I wouldn’t call this paragraph an inside joke, more of an inside apology for Thanksgiving, which for us was in October. Those to whom the apology is aimed, well, you know who you are.) 😕

As everyone has probably guessed by now, I am not a stoic. I’m not one who can maintain a smiling brave face and never let on that I am suffering inside. I’m not one of those people sometimes considered heroic for maintaining such a brave front. “He was such a saint. You’d never know he had a problem or how much he was hurting inside.”

I have managed to ignore the pain as much as possible, though I’m sure it’s still obvious when I’m having bad days. But I noticed something last night. I was rocking back and forth a bit as I sat on the couch watching TV. I don’t always realize what I am doing but rocking and/or rubbing my legs are what I do when the chronic (24/7) leg pain is worse than usual.

Mariette mentioned that it looked like I had to go to the bathroom.

“Why do you say that?” I said.

“Because you’re rocking back and forth.”

“Oh. That’s because my legs are bothering me.”

Now she used to know that. But I think I’ve been so quiet, most of the time, about the leg pain, that she’d forgotten.

Of course being quiet about the leg pain was probably buried under my complaining about all my OTHER aches and pains. 😆

Warts and all

I think what happens is that, as one friend informed me, I am far more contemplative than most people. Which is why I am so open about everything, warts (complaining, crankiness, emotional outbursts) and all, when rambling like this.

And with not enough to distract me most days, I have had to work at not obsessing about my health problems and how they’ve negatively affected my quality of life. I don’t always succeed, but I think I’m doing much better now. Though perhaps that statement might seem odd given how I’ve ended up rambling on here about that very subject.

At the chronic pain clinic, now so many years ago, we were taught not to act out our pain. To not be afraid of misleading people with a smile.

That’s a surprisingly hard thing to do. One thing I found I had in common with fellow sufferers of chronic pain was this fear of giving people the impression everything is fine, only to have them surprised and/or confused when the pain breaks through, or wears one down, to the point they can’t pretend to be happy and feeling fine.

From experience, we find that this can cause its own set of problems.

“Why are you acting this way? You seemed fine.”

“Why can’t you (go here, do this, work at that)? You seem fine to me.”

We’re afraid people will get the wrong impression and expect too much leading to inevitable disappointment, annoyance, even anger.

The depth of discomfort

I do try to smile as much as I can — though I’m sure I could do much better at it. And my “complaining” or “pained expressions” often don’t come close to revealing the true depth of discomfort. (I long ago learned that “discomfort” is a medical term for PAIN, as in “You may feel a little discomfort . . .”)

But this whole idea of being honest and not misleading people is why I have compromised and add the “all things considered” when I say I’m fine. Because despite the constant pain, the trouble sleeping, the depression, the sometimes keen discomfort of constipation, the guilt about not doing more (including keeping up with my blog), the fear about my faltering heart, etc. etc., amazingly enough, I AM basically fine.

Which is why I consider all this openness about my medical problems more a matter of sharing than bellyaching. 🙂

But enough of that. I realize now that while I seem to have gotten way off topic, I really haven’t.

It’s like the artist who notes that without darkness, there is no light.

Without realizing all that works night and day against me being simply comfortable, let alone feeling good, one cannot understand how truly wonderful was this sudden influx of Christmas joy.

I’m actually looking forward to Christmas. And I know it will be an even better if it’s a white Christmas.

And I’m going to try real hard to worry less about things not done. Try real hard to get as much sleep and rest as possible. And try real hard to be less grouchy.

So Trav, I think it’s safe to come home again. 😉

And to all who are kind enough to be reading this, even though technically it’s not even December yet, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, and a light dusting of snow.

(And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, best wishes for whatever you do celebrate at this time of year. And if you don’t live in the snowbelt, sorry about that and I hope you have nice weather.)

Oh how I love snow. Just a little can be like magic dust, so frail but so powerful. I am so grateful to be smiling a genuine smile of such pleasure.

Percé Rock at Percé, Quebec, with its distinctive bow shape (left) waterline hole (right).

First, a flashback to Gaspé

A while back I set up one of my favourite photos of the iconic Percé Rock as the wallpaper on my desktop PC. It was to get me in the mood for, and remind me of, an then upcoming train trip to Gaspé, Quebec.

The Gaspé Peninsula

The town of Gaspé is on the tip of Quebec’s Gaspé peninsula, which separates the Bay of Chaleur, between Quebec and New Brunswick, and the St. Lawrence River, where it opens up into the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

When the kids were younger and we were spending a couple of weeks each summer at a seaside cottage in Prince Edward Island, we’d always save the last week for touring some maritime area before heading home. One year we finally drove around the Gaspé Peninsula and it was beautiful.

We spent a night in the town of Percé and it was magical, especially the carriage ride around town with all the trees decked in white Christmas lights and patios and backyards all around with people partying in a gentle, happy manner. (No open drunkiness or rowdiness.)

Percé Rock from a distant train.

Unfortunately, on the train trip we didn’t get anywhere near the rock. Just a distant view from the tip of the bay just above the rock in the map/picture above. Though I was eagerly looking forward to another look at this magnificent rock, I should have realized the very steep inclines leading in and out of the town of Percé would obviously affect the train route.

The train stuck to the forests on a ridge west of the town rather than going right through the town. Thus the only view from a distance. Oddly enough, it didn’t matter. The distant view was enough to remind me of the rock’s grandeur. Also, we’d already determined that we’d have to come back and next time, like our new-found friends on the train, we’d stay over a few days, rent a car, and tour the area, including the short trip down from the town of Gaspé to Percé.

Then we’ll get all the closeups we want of the rock and the surrounding area. This time the waves — which on our first visit were a beautiful aquamarine with white frothy tops — may not be too large for the tour boat to dock at Bonaventure Island, which is a bird preserve literally covered with sea birds. Another great reason to go back.

Getting to the point — at last

OK. Time to end this digression — as wonderful as the memories are — and get back to answering the question posed in the title of this submission.

Recently I went to the official site of our hometown NHL hockey team, the Ottawa Senators, to look up some information. While there, I decided to check out their 2009 offerings of wallpaper. There were two, and I did download both. I even saved them to my Senators subfolder in the Sports subfolder of the Wallpaper subfolder in my Pictures folder. (Am I anal, or just well organized?) 🙂

It turned out I didn’t particularly like either one of them.

One featured some text — “A FORCE UNITED” — beneath a logo with a splash of colour with sharp, ragged edges as if scraped (mutilated?) by hundreds of skate blades. Pardon the pun, but I expect the designers considered this graphic pretty edgy. For an old coot like me, despite its simplicity, it was far too busy for my liking. And to be looking at every day.

The second one featured another splash of colour with the Centurion face graphic peeking around the edge of two stacks of calendars — for the six and a half months of the 2008-2009 regular season — with all the scheduled home and away games marked on the calendars.

The big problem is that even at 1600×1200 resolution, the calendars are needlessly hard to read.

So scrap those two.

An old favourite

And then, while in that folder, I noticed a wallpaper photo from last year featuring my favourite Sens player, and captain of the team, the highly talented and equally hard-working Daniel Alfredsson — aka Alfie.

I figured why not. The team really struggled last season and lost their opening game at Madison Square Gardens against the New York Rangers last Saturday to start this season. So maybe I should throw Alfie back up as my wallpaper as a sign of support, and hopefully a good luck sign.

So up he went. And last night guess who scored the winning goal — on a penalty shot — against our arch rivals, the Maple Leafs, right in their home rink. Looks like Leaf fans may have to go back to booing Alfie each time he touches the puck.

On the play, Alfie was filling in for injured new Sens forward Milan Michaleck, who has been high-sticked in the face on a drive to the Toronto net. With Michaleck holding his bloody mouth while being lead to the dressing room — he returned and played well later — Alfie stepped in to take the penalty shot.

It was slightly ironic that on the shot, Alfie easily beat fellow Swede, the huge rookie goaltender known as The Monster (for his size, not his demeanour). The Monster, whose real name is Jonus Gustavsson, played well despite the loss. Certainly better than the so-called No. 1 goalie for Toronto, the ever-so-leaky Vesa Toskala.

My hero

Special mention should go to low-paid, well-motivated grinder Shean Donovan, who was inserted into the lineup for this game, no doubt to provide Ottawa with more grit and determination around the opposing net. It paid off with Ottawa’s first goal.

But the real hero for the night, because as usual he lead by example all night, but especially for scoring such a pretty winning goal, was of course Alfie.

I think I’d better leave my current wallpaper up for a while. 😀

Daniel Alfredsson, No. 11, and captain of the Ottawa Senators

(If you’d like a wallpaper-sized copy of the above photo, send me an e-mail at bill@provick.ca)

Enter the Lamb Lady

We met a nice lady at Acorn Creek Farm’s Melon Fest and Pepper Pow Wow who ran a farm where she raised a different kind of livestock — yaks. We were more interested in the lamb she had for sale, but she was all out when we met her.

She did encourage us to come visit her at the Ottawa Farmers Market (www.ottawafarmersmarket.ca), where she promised to have some lamb. We dubbed her The Lamb Lady.

Genuine farmers markets

So we went to the Ottawa Farmers Market, at Lansdowne Park, the following Sunday (Sept. 13) and were almost overwhelmed by the number of booths, and the wide array of meat, vegetables, fruit and assorted other things. (See list of purchases below.)

Somehow in all this, we missed her booth and ended up getting our rather very fresh lamb from the Natural Lamb booth, run by a couple of local farms. The lamb may have been pricey, but in keeping with the concept of you get what you pay for, a lot of things are a little more expensive at this market. Ottawans, however, seem quite willing to pay the price for good quality.

A newspaper article a while back pointed out how, for example, some farmers charged $3 for a few tomatoes at the Parkdale Market in Ottawa’s near west end and $5 for the exact same amount and quality of tomatoes at the Ottawa Farmers Market, at Lansdowne Park.

It was explained that there were two main reasons for this price difference. At the other markets in the city, the Parkdale Market in the near west end and the legendary Byward Market downtown, farmers were competing with resellers, those who buy produce elsewhere — like bargain tomatoes from Montréal, for example — and truck them into town to sell at these markets. Local farmers say they can’t compete unless they match the bargain prices.

However, only producers — genuinely local farmers with truly local meat and produce and such — are allowed to sell at the Ottawa Farmers Market. So the farmers take it as an opportunity to sell at what they consider a fair price. And the customers, like ourselves, obviously agree in terms of getting fresh, local product of high quality and, at the same time, supporting local farmers.

The other stated factor is that the overhead — rental fees and such associated with leasing a stall — is much higher at the Ottawa Farmers Market. Again, customers are willing to pay for the convenience of having a truly local market right in the city.

Bye bye Byward

Many of these farmers don’t even bother trying to sell at the much bigger, more established Byward Market because it has become known as a home to resellers. Which creates other issues. Like out-of-town resellers setting up on the sidewalks right in front of establish fruit and vegetable stores who operate year round and obviously have a much bigger overhead.

As revealed in a recent newspaper article, at least one such fruit store owner says he has to actually lay off staff during the summer because business is so slow trying to compete with the temporary stand of the resellers parked right on his doorstep.

While the Byward Market was rich and vibrant with local farmers during my childhood, I do believe it has become more of a tourist attraction these days. It has even become almost better known for its robust night life, with all the bars, clubs and restaurants in that condensed, central area.

I know from experience that the addition of so many tourists can make the Byward Market far too crowded for comfortable shopping. Which is why I switched to the much smaller Parkdale Market years ago — before we got into true farmers markets featuring real local farmers and locally grown, raised or fabricated products.

Naturally delicious lamb

Now, back to the prices we paid for the lamb we got from Natural Lamb (www.NaturalLamb.ca), which also provides fresh lamb to local restaurants. (This idea of local restaurants obtaining ingredients from local farms is a growing, and quit pleasing trend. A number of chefs even visit and enter into contracts with specific farms, which assures the restaurant of fresh ingredients and gives the farmer a stable revenue source to aid in his business of running a farm.)

Note: 1 kilogram = 2.2 pounds    $1 Cdn. = $1.07 US

Rack of lamb: $44.00 per kilogram ($20 per pound)   Bought: .366 k (small rack) for $16.10 Cdn.

Lamb chops: $36.60 per kilogram ($16.63 per pound)   Bought: .298 k (4 chops) for $11.80 Cdn.

Ground lamb: $18.15 per kilogram ($8.25 per pound)    Bought: .414 k for $7.51 Cdn.

Now this lamb is considered organic because it is declared pasture-reared, hormone-free, antibiotic-free and pesticide-free. It also contains Omega-3. It is described as being from Katahdin lambs which are said to produce “a high-quality, well-muscled (meat) that is naturally quite lean and consistently of a very delicate flavour.”

Now I confess I really don’t know lamb prices. I do sometimes order lamb in restaurants and enjoyed a very delicious rack of lamb at Fitzgerald’s Restaurant (www.fitzgeraldsrestaurant.ca) in Almonte, late this summer. But until now, for home consumption we’ve bought legs of lamb, usually frozen and from New Zealand, at the grocery store.

As Mariette does the shopping and even if I did later check a label, I have no idea how much they cost. I do know the lamb was usually very good and quite plentiful at mealtime — which is why we preferred a whole leg of lamb.

But however the prices above check out, all we know is that the lamb we enjoyed was worth every darn penny. I’ve never had lamb this good outside of a restaurant. It was everything it was said to be and more.

I was able to do the rack of lamb more rare than medium, just as we like it, and it was exquisite. As were the chops on the BBQ.

Even the ground lamb was superb. I mixed it with a lesser amount of butcher-shop quality lean ground beef for use with basmati rice as the filling in my stuffed peppers. Even mixed with the beef, the lamb was so distinctive and so very darn tasty. I made far too much filling — and probably didn’t need the beef — but we reheated the excess filling (meat and rice) the next day and it was still superb.

T-bone steaks to yak about

But of course the title of this article doesn’t even refer to lamb. So back to the woman we’d dubbed The Lamb Lady.

In one last look around the market that Sunday morning we finally noticed The Lamb Lady. (Her friends at Natural Lamb had said they hadn’t seen her but confessed they’d been confined to their booth since before the market opened.)

We felt we had spent enough for lamb but decided we’d try her yak meat. I knew yak to be a bit dry, so I opted for T-bone steaks. We bought two for $30. (The package was hand-labelled so I don’t recall any weight or price-per-weight information.)

Early yesterday afternoon, running short of items to BBQ, I took these steaks out of the freezer and left them in the fridge to thaw overnight. Tonight, with the potatoes and cauliflower already in the steamers, and the BBQ warming up, I took them out of the fridge, unwrapped the brown paper and discovered two things — the steaks were THICK (2″ thick with only a slight taper at the end furthest from the bone) and they were still PARTIALLY FROZEN!

So on they went right away and I mentally cancelled the planned salad as I had to keep close watch on these monsters, leaving no time for chopping and dicing or anything.

They actually came out not too bad. Not burnt but fairly well cooked on the outsides and what we call medium-rare (slightly more rare than medium) at the centre. And the centre, fortunately, was as hot as the outside.

I confess that each of these monsters darn near overwhelmed our plates.

The verdict

So, how was it?

Better than I feared but not good enough that we’d buy more.

It’s not as gamy as say, venison, but it certainly is different.

As I said to Mariette: “At least if we ever went to Mongolia and they served us yak, we’d know we could eat it without a problem.” However, at home, the problem was we didn’t like it anywhere near as much as we like all our traditional meats, the ones our palates are familiar with and enjoy.

Now I confess I had a late breakfast — two eggs, fried potatoes, two slices of excellent pea meal bacon (from the Pork Guy at the OFM) and toast — at around 3:30 p.m. or so. (I’d gotten up late and then distracted on the computer and wouldn’t have bothered, but I’d been looking forward to this breakfast so long, I couldn’t resist.) So I didn’t have a lot of room. I made sure that I tasted enough of the monster T-bone to form my opinions, then concentrated on the potatoes and cauliflower. I didn’t even finish a normal serving of those.

Mariette also didn’t eat much of her steak. She’d forgotten the steaks were yak meat and was wondering why they tasted strange. Until she thought to ask me. In the end, we agreed it was an interesting experiment but we’ll pass on yak from now on.

Purchased at the Ottawa Farmers Market (Sept. 13)

Chamomile, catnip, calendula and orange peel tea
(Very good, very relaxing. Came with two tiny quartz crystals “charged with the healing intention of each tea blend.”)

Almond-coconut “hand-crafted” granola
(Delicious. I tended to sprinkle it over my regular healthy cereals so it would last longer.)

Elk smoked sausage
(Another “experiment” due to be eaten in the not-too-distant future.)

Homemade salsa, with sun-dried tomatoes.
(Very good. I even used some instead of ketchup on my BBQ hamburgers.)

Sun-dried garlic and feta dip.
(That’s according to my scribbled notes. This was for Mariette and she said it too was very good.)

Pea meal bacon.
(Had it today for the first time. Some of the absolute best I’ve ever tasted.)

One duck leg.
(Made the mistake of throwing it on the BBQ with the hamburgers at dusk. The burgers were finished much sooner and the duck leg half forgotten in the dark. It ended up rather burnt on the outside and dry in the inside. One quick taste and I ditched it. Will try again another time.)

Apple and date oatmeal cookies.
(Tried to stay away from baked goods but these looked every bit as mouthwatering as they turned out to be.)

Raspberries.
(I prefer my faves, blueberries, on my cereal but these fresh raspberries — so delicate they have to be eaten quickly — were pretty darn good.)

Blue and green grapes.
(The small basket was half-full with blue grapes, half-full with green. The blue grapes were delicious. The green ones were far too sour, even for Mariette, so we ended up tossing them. For me, the blue grapes alone were worth the price of the whole basket.)

One candy apple.
(A dee-licious bit of nostalgia. See the article Candy-coated memories further down in this blog.)

Assorted plums.
(From small yellow ones to large-egg-sized blue ones. The yellow ones were too squishy, and a little sour for my tastes. But the larger yellow, and red, and especially the blue were quite tasty, if eaten almost right away — like over two days or so.)

Broccoli.
(By far the very best we’ve had all year.)

Califlower.
(About the size of a bowling ball. I kid you not. So fresh and white and perfect it was almost too bright to look at. Took three meals to finish it off and it was beautiful each and every time.)

Brussel sprouts.
(I have always loved Brussel sprouts, but these were disappointing. Too much dirt. Also, bruises that needed cutting out, giving them a flat side, which tends to burn when sautéeing as they tend to roll on to the same side every time. I agree with Mariette that they were still quite tasty. But I’d have liked them to cook a little more evenly. BTW, Mariette only learned to like Brussel sprouts when I learned to sautée them, instead of boiling or steaming them. I kind of like them better in a hot frying pan as well.)

New small potatoes.
(Varied in size, from marble-size to slightly smaller than a ping pong ball. I intended to roast them with the rack of lamb. Unfortunately my potato cupboard was full and the cupboard I did store them in, well it was higher — above the kitchen counter — and the door was opened a few times every day. Meaning the potatoes were too warm and ended up too soft and had to be trashed  when I went to use them.)

Spinach.
(This summer we learned all over again to really love a good, fresh, spinach salad, especially with our favourite mango-poppyseed vinaigrette — which we no longer buy one bottle at a time. I do do a mean spinach salad and a good fresh bunch of spinach usually provides for three nights of salad. It ain’t soup but it sure is Mmm-mm good!)

Support your local farmer

So hopefully this will give area residents an idea of what’s available and where. For others, perhaps it will encourage them to check out what’s available in their area.

Despite the mention of crystals and granola above — the crystals were like a surprise in a box of Cracker Jacks — we’re not hippies (though I am still proud of my ’60s heritage as at least a semi-hippy). Nor are we health fanatics. And we still shop at grocery stores between visits to farmers markets. But it’s just something we found fun, probably good for us, and worthy in terms of supporting local farmers.

We’ll still hit some of the markets for fall stuff. And now that we’re hooked on fresh, local produce, fruit and meat, we’ll probably be making a lot more visits next year to some of our favourites sources — the Carp Farmers Market, in Carp; the Acorn Creek Vegetable Farm, near Carp; the Ottawa Farmers Market, at Lansdowne Park in Ottawa. And probably a few new ones, like the Chelsea Farmers Market at Chelsea on the Quebec side of the river and who knows what others we might discover here in the Ottawa Valley.

Not only has shopping for fresh ingredients become a lot more fun, but the meals are also far more dee-licious! 😀

An Irish breakfast

Mariette and I just got back from a great Sunday morning. We started off with an Irish breakfast at our local pub, Greenfields (www.greenfieldspub.ca), with my brother Gerry and his wife Arlene, our son Tyler and his wife Miche and our darling granddaughter Rachel.

I was especially pleased to see Rachel as I haven’t seen her for a while now. I was ill the last couple of times Mariette provided babysitting services.

I hadn’t seen the others for a while now either, so it was great to finally get together again. As usual, there was much catching up, as well as the almost mandatory stories and jokes. There was much laughter between mouthfuls, which is just as we like it.

Rachel was, as usual, on good behaviour and feasted on fruit — mostly grapes — and sausages that her mom cut up and placed on her plate. She’s still at the “no utensils” stage and greeted each handful with a wide grin.

I even managed to describe some of our train trip to Gaspé and back without getting lost too often or talking too long. (At least it didn’t seem too long to me.)

Eventually we were all pleasantly full and looking for our waitress to bring our bills. As planned, we were taking Tyler, Miche and Rachel for a visit to the Canadian Museum of Nature, housed in a landmark stone building down on Metcalfe Street here in Ottawa. It’s the building that looks a bit like a castle.

We invited Gerry and Arlene to come along but unfortunately they had other commitments.

The Canadian Museum of Nature

The museum — http://nature.ca — is an old favourite. On the drive downtown, it struck me that as kids, and even as teens, my brothers and I, and our friends, would regularly hop a bus downtown to hang out and explore this, our favourite museum.

It seems funny now, the idea of kids regularly and voluntarily going to a museum, without any parental or adult influence.

Looking back, I kind of like the idea that amidst the host of our boys-will-be-boys activities, a love of museums blossomed all on its own. I also look back and wonder at how independent we were. How readily we’d take buses downtown to attend movies — Disney films played exclusively at the Elgin Theatre and the lineups were always around the block — sporting events — stock car races at Lansdowne Park — and cultural sites — like museums.

We never asked our parents for rides, even when we lived in what was then known as the near-west — first near Carling Avenue and Bayswater Avenue, and later near Richmond Road and Island Park Drive. For us, drives were what we gladly took with our parents on Sundays, most often in the country.

The Museum of Nature, formerly the Museum of Man and Nature, has changed over the years. In fact half the museum has been renovated and the other half is closed for renovations until next year. (The entire museum closes on Monday, Oct. 5, for a month for further construction.)

Fortunately for us the half still open on Sunday housed the sections we most wanted to see — the mammal displays, the bird displays and of course the dinosaur displays.

Mammals

I chose first and we took the only working elevator — large but slow — to the Mammal Gallery (2nd floor). Despite the more modern look all around, the dioramas featuring mammals of all sizes, from the largest moose to the smallest vole, are much as they were, just cleaned up, freshened up and repainted.

Rachel, who loves her book about Brown Bear — “bwown burr” — was a little intimidated by the two stuffed grizzlies on display, but the more I referred to them as “brown bears, brown bears,” the more she got into them. Of course the huge polar bear, and her cub, were “white bear and her baby.”

Though the musk ox and the bison and the caribou were all rather large, she quickly learned to take them in stride. It was cute to see her walk up to the glassed-in dioramas and give a little reassuring shout to see if any of the animals actually moved.

It was good to see all my favourites still in their favourite surroundings.

Birds

We coloured and cut out paper birds in a craft area near the Bird Gallery (4th floor). Some rather cheerful assistants put them together for us so that they hung from a piece of yarn and the wings flapped as the yarn was pulled up and down. Rachel’s bird, coloured by her and her dad, was most energetic in flight as Rachel moved her arm up and down rather rapidly. But the smile on her face as she “flapped” about was priceless.

And when that one got a little mushed up, I gave her mine.

The birds on display were so abundant, we fairly zipped through this area. Rachel continued to alternate between running around and being pushed in the stroller. Good thing it came with a seatbelt, her dad being such a speed demon at times. 😉

Dinosaurs

In Miche’s favourite area, the Fossil Gallery (1st floor), there were the usual displays of full-sized skeletons of various dinosaurs, plus fossils and hands-on stuff, including, as on other floors, a lot of touch screens on which to check out all kinds of related information.

I actually didn’t like this new gallery; too bright and white, and somewhat sterile. I preferred the old rooms that were darker. One could stand among the towering skeletons and let one’s imagination generate a certain awe.

Still a new section, filled with several full-sized replicas — dinosaurs with bodies and colourful skin, and eyes and tongues and such — was fairly cool. I had Miche take a picture of me holding the end of one dinosaur’s rather large and long tail. Of course with limited room in which to back up, all she got was me and the tail. Viewers will have to imagine the rest of the dinosaur.

What was neat though was that in the picture I seemed to be standing in a mist or light fog.

I later joked about getting a picture of me bent down looking up under a horse-sized dinosaur to see if it was male or female. I was just kidding but when Miche raised her camera, I figured, what the heck, why not. Unfortunately the angle didn’t work as well as hoped. The flash on my bald spot created a distracting white glare. 😆

There was so much to see and hear that we had to move fairly briskly through most of the areas — trying to do a quick visit to the three floors we wanted to see before Rachel or I tired too much. (I didn’t fade first, but in the end I faded the most.)

We all agreed there’d be many more visits in the months and years ahead and that as Rachel gets older, we’ll probably be able to take our time a bit more. As for Grampa, well he’ll probably end up being the one who gets pushed around — in a wheelchair rather than the free strollers provided by the museum.

Of course our final visit was to the Gift Shop where the grandparents got to slightly spoil their granddaughter. I kept seeing such cute stuffed toys but the rule is no more stuffed toys, or other large items, as even though they’ve just moved into their first house this summer, space is still at a premium and they’re still feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the toys and stuff.

I did find a grizzly bear about 3¹/₂ inches long, “sculpted” in that hard rubber. I quickly got permission to buy Rachel this brown bear and got to experience the joy of seeing her eyes light up when I gave it to her.

I also spotted something for me. A grey T-shirt with the silhouette of raven in black, beneath which were two words in black: Raven Lunatic. I told Mariette it was so appropriate for me, I just had to have it. While picking up my T-shirt I spotted a kid’s T-shirt with a funky (aka cute, cartoonish) dinosaur on the front. The thing was the dinosaur was kind of quilted and its face was attached in such a way that you could lift it, like a flap, and reveal the mouth and teeth underneath.

It happened to be in orange, one of Rachel’s favourite colours, and a size 2, slightly large but still small enough to fit. So Oma (grandmother in Dutch) got to buy that for Rachel.

In the end, we all went home quite tired,  and quite happy.

And now that I’ve finished this, I can go for a much needed nap. 😉

WHY is everything last minute when getting ready to leave? Oh yeah, guess I COULD have saved myself MANY hours if I HAD NOT started this humongous Playlist thing with all these train songs. (g) Ain’t finished yet.

Took a while to search the iTunes Store online for train-related songs. Stopped listing them at 200. Merely added a few more from the 200-to-600 list. NOT that I selected 200 from the list. Just that I listed the first 200 I found at the iTunes Store, then skimmed through the next 400. The purpose was to highlight the ones I want. One star for “Would be nice.” Two stars for “Want this.” Three stars for “Need this.” And four stars for “Must have.”

Currently there are 40 with one star (Would be nice) and that was after some heart wrenching pruning.

No Railroad Bill , by Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee.

No Wreck of the Old ’97, by Johnny Cash.

No Hobo Bill’s Last Ride, by Hank Snow.

Tell me it ain’t so.

Sadly, it is. And you should see some of the more familiar names on the one-star list. I don’t want to mention any others, as none of these will make it for obvious financial reasons. (sigh)

There are 23 with two stars (Want this) and these were supposed to automatically make it. (To make it, they, like all the songs on this particular list, have to be downloaded from the iTunes Store, usually for .99 cents each. So you can  see why it may only be a few, if any, of these two-star songs that do make it.)

There are about 15 with three stars (Need this) and four with four stars (Must have). In fact one of the four-star songs is Gordon Lightfoot’s Canadian Railroad Trilogy, which I already have on CD and have imported it to my iTunes Library. So, as Vic Rauter would say, make that only three four-star songs: Chatanooga Choo Choo by Glenn Miller and his Orchestra; On The Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe, by Johnny Mercer and Mule Train, by Frankie Lane.

Can anyone argue with these three songs?

I also just realized I already have on CD Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash. (I also have his Blue Train, which I don’t recall seeing on the iTunes Store list. So I’m adding it for free.) So that means only 14 three-star songs and three four-star songs (See how confusing it can get?) so maybe a two-star song like Midnight Special by CCR or It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry, by Bob Dylan or Trans Europe Express by my favourite German band, Kraftwerk, might make it after all. Maybe even all three.

I still have a little bit of credit left on the $50 iTunes credit card Travis gave me almost two years ago. (Took me a while to get up the nerve to use it, though it proved sooo easy.) And I had Mariette pick up a new one ($25) today while she was out shopping.

(I’ve learned that buying these special cards, which are only good at the iTunes Store site, pays off by letting me download a song or two I like instead of buying a whole album, either online, or as a CD. It’s how I got to choose which of Arlo Guthrie’s versions of City of New Orleans I wanted to download/buy a week or so ago.)

So the shopping list has been compiled and I’ll have to see what ends up being bought/downloaded when the crunch comes. It’s late and I still have to try to buy/download as many as I can without using up all my credit at the iTunes Store.

I’ve also gathered together on one machine the train-related songs I already had in my iTunes libraries, plus the songs I had on CD — yeah Locomotive Breath by Jethro Tull, the aforementioned Canadian Railroad Trilogy and even Rod Stewart’s rendition of Downtown Train. As happened with the latter song, and others, the iTunes Store search turned up several versions of some songs. I have to confess Tom Waits rendition of Downtown Train was very tempting. But then you see the limitations I was facing.

At the same time, I wasn’t the least bit tempted to buy the Pocket Songs Karaoke version of Train In Vain, even though I can’t find my Annie Lennox or Clash CDs, which are packed away some place. I KNOW my London Calling CD is lying around somewhere, but I’m far too tired to go look.

The search at the iTunes Store site for train songs didn’t even turn up Train In Vain by the Clash, or Lennox or even Dwight Yoakum’s version, for that matter. These three, plus Toxic Sloth, and a number of other names, cropped up when I just did a search by song title.

Oh well, it’s far too late, and there’s too far to go this night, for me to worry now about all that.

In fact I’d better get busy buying/downloading from the iTunes store so I can put all my selected train-related songs on my iPod with one special playlist.

I WILL publish complete lists when I get back from my train trip. And again, thanks to my dear friends who took the time to post such worthy suggestions.