Back from The Land of Awesome Sunsets

Hello, Possums! Miss me?
That piece of beauty at the top of this post is a close-up of the honest-to-goodness sun, just as it was setting one night last week over a small lake we simply call Highway Beach, alongside Highway 11 (the Trans-Canada Highway), 40 km south of Cochrane, Ontario. I took the pic with -- get ready for it -- my brand new DIGITAL CAMERA! Yeah, Milky, I got the S3 as you recommended. More on that some other time.

Ma, t and others in Shaniaville: Sorry I didn't get to see you while I was up there. The time absolutely flew! I did spend a good amount of time with Dad and StepMama, and with Little Bro Dan. In fact, here's a pic that my dad took, with my old camera:

Doesn't my favourite Paramedic look great in uniform? Pardon my semi-gush, but I'm constantly amazed at what a great young man he is.

Awright, move along, nothing else to see here. I'll pollute the dubya-dubya-dubya in the days to come with more crapola and photos. In the meantime: DREW CAREY??? WTF? Are they gonna change the name of the show to "What Price Is It Anyway?"?

Where I'll be

For the next couple weeks, about you'll find on this blog is this:


I'm not really going fishing, it's just not something I do, but you get the picture.

I intend to spend most of my time at the cottage, regardless of the weather. My dad tells me, however, that the forecast is for hotter, dryer weather. I would never place a bet on a weather forecast, but that is a hopeful sign.

And on evenings when the sky is clear enough, I'll see something like this:


...or this:


Believe it or not, those are two different sunsets at the same place. I call the sunset the fingerprint on the end of the day, because as breathtakingly beautiful as it can be, no two are exactly the same. If luck is with me, I'll also get to see the Northern Lights. There's nothing like standing on the dock, watching the colourful whips dancing across the sky, crackling, to make you realize that in the whole scheme of things, you're extremely small and insignificant. It's such a relaxing, peaceful feeling.

So keep the place warm for me. I'll catch up with everyone next month. Once my shift at work is finished tomorrow at about 6:30pm, I'll be on vacation, heading north on Monday, back to Ottawa on the 31st, and back to work August 1st.

My latest project

I have a desk that my parents bought me when I lived in North Bay in 1986. They got it, unfinished, at Consumers Distributing (Remember that place? I wish it had worked without the constant "Sorry, it's out of stock. Can you pick another item?" and was still around).

Anyway, I finally got around to finishing it, 21 years after the fact. Here's what it looked like:


And here's what it looks like after four coats of all-in-one stain and varnish, followed by a final coat of clear varathane:


...and where I'll keep it in my apartment, until I think of somewhere else that it might work:


Not bad, eh? Is there any end to my talents? My Grade 9 woodworking teacher, Mr. Romaniuk, would probably give me a C for it, because there are a few spots where the stuff ran a bit. But we didn't get to finish our coffee tables or salad bowls, because he was also a phys. ed. teacher and was away so often, coaching this team or that team. We were his only woodworking class. But I digress.

My next project will be the annual interior cleaning of my car. Yeah, I know, it sounds gross, but I live in an apartment, and it ain't easy to clean it. So every summer, I put one afternoon at the cottage aside to scrub that baby clean. Other than dust and the occasional spill of coffee from the cupholder, it doesn't get that grossly dirty. For one thing, I don't smoke...

What're you reading?

Six more sleeps until this cat starts his summer vacation, and there's a spot waiting for me on the deck at the cottage, to catch up on some reading. Any suggestions? I generally like mysteries, Stephen King and some celebrity biographies.

Right now, I'm reading The Black Ice, a cop novel by Michael Connelly, who was recommended to me by a co-worker last year. His stuff is reminiscent of John Grisham's. I think I've read everything Grisham has written.

I already have two books lined up: Stephen King's latest, called Lisey's Story; and the Hemingway classic, The Sun Also Rises. If I don't finish whatever reading material I bring with me, that's okay. I do most of my non-vacation reading on the bus back and forth to work.

So fire away with any suggestions.

My James Taylor concert story

On Ma Horton's blog today (macoffeeshoppe.blogspot.com), I mentioned how I wish I could sing just well enough to be a back-up singer for someone like Garth and Tricia or James Taylor.

That reminded me of the James Taylor concert I went to.

The year: 1996. The place: the Ottawa Civic Centre. I was still living in Timmins, and Little Bro Dan and I had come to Ottawa for our annual visit with my sister, brother-in-law and their kids. Dano was 13 and had never been to a concert (Hey! He grew up in Timmins, okay?), so we got tickets to James Taylor for him, my sister and me.

We were just nicely in our seats. The concert hadn't started yet. Three hefty women came along, looking for their seats in the row in front of us. When they realized they should be in our row, one stepped over the back of the seats, but the other two were wearing tight denim skirts, so they walked around. Dan was sitting next to the aisle, so we stood up to let the women in. One of them stopped in front of Dano, just long enough to shake her boobs in his face. Dano turns to me with eyes as big as frisbees, and exclaims "I LIKE concerts!"

Help! I need my support group... and a kick in the ass

I was doing so well on the diet and exercise regimen, but have fallen out of it the past couple months. My diabetes is under control, but I think I've probably put back on most of the weight I lost. I've only been to the gym a couple times since I moved to the new place, and find it so easy to decide not to go.

I know that if I get back into the routine of at least two or three times a week, I'll get back on track. I want to do that between now and when my holidays start on the 16th, so that I'll miss it while I'm lazing around the cottage, etc.

So please, kick away.

"Money makes the world go 'round..."

Crap! Now that stupid song from "Cabaret" is going through my hollow head. Up near my list of the crappiest movies of all time. Don't get me started.

Anyhoo, today I was out shopping and stopped at Canadian Tire to get a new electric kettle. I boiled the old one dry last night. I've done that before. I've also turned a stove element on under a couple of them. My aunt, who lives in Florida, says you can't buy electric kettles in the States. So when she needs a new one, someone in Canada has to send one to her.

Anyway, I had $4.35 of Canadian Tire money in my glove compartment, which covered the tax and then some. And this is what I really like about Canadian Tire money: even when you use it to help pay for whatever you're buying, you get some back! Today, it was 20 cents.

Canadian Tire money is another advantage to living in Canada, and not the Excited States. Also ketchup chips and dill pickle chips. My niece is working as a camp nurse at a camp in Michigan for the summer, and her supervising nurse, who is American, loves ketchup chips, so my sister's sending her some.

I know that Shania Twain says ketchup chips are a treat she enjoys when she's in Canada. There's also a chocolate bar that she can't get anywhere else. Crunchie, maybe? Whoever's better at Shania trivia than I am can confirm that.

One more money thing: Also while I was out, I brought all my accumlated change (pennies, mostly, but dimes and nickels, too) to the Coinstar machine at Loblaws. I got $13.63 back, even after the service charge of 9.8 cents per dollar. The machine spits out anything that's not American, Canadian or a real coin. I had a parking token mixed in with the chicken feed, not sure where I got it. Maybe it was in some change sometime and a cashier mistook it for a penny or dime. The machine also wouldn't accept one lonely 2004 Canadian penny. I put it through four or five times, and it kept getting spit out. WTF?

Coinstar sures beat the crap out of counting and rolling.

Doh! I mean Doe... a Deer... a female Deer!

I knew that my new place, situated where it is, would give me an opportunity to spot some wildlife. I've already seen a lot of birds, most notably a red-winged blackbird. Even if I didn't see the birds, they leave proof of their presence all over my car.
I just happened to look out the window at about four o'clock this afternoon, and there was this beauty:

My neighbour had told me about spotting her in the early morning, but at 4pm? When I went out onto the balcony to take a few photos, he was also on his balcony watching her. He figures she probably came across the highway (actually, the Blackburn Bypass) at night some time, and is now spooked by it during the day. Of course, we joked about putting her on the barbecue. I have eaten barbecued venison. It's delicious.
Anyway, it's times like these that I wish I had a better camera, with a longer lens. I'll have to invest in one before my trip to Dubai in December.

Happy Canada Day/Bonne Fête du Canada

I took this photo about three years ago at the family cottage. We proudly fly the flag all summer. This year for Canada Day, I'm even flying a flag from the back window of my car. I bought it yesterday at WalMart, which, of course, is an American company. The flag was made in Taiwan, but it's still MY flag, and I am proud to be a native citizen of the best country in the entire world.

Have a good, safe Canada Day weekend.

Reconnections

In the spirit of what's developed in our little blog group into recounting chance meetings and reconnecting with friends, let's relate more of those stories. Me first.
Rick and I were roommates in our first year at college: me in radio broadcasting, him in aircraft maintenance. We initially lived in different apartments in the same building. He wasn't getting along with his only roommate, and one of my two roommates -- an immature, dope-smoking idiot -- got along better with Rick's roommate, so they traded places.
Rick was a great roommate. He got along famously with Kevin, my other roommate and me. Shortly after Christmas, we moved a classmate of mine in with us. Rob had been rooming at a guy's house, but was getting worried for his own safety. His landlord had a stormy relationship with his girlfriend, and one night, it degenerated into knife-throwing. Rob moved in with us the next night.
At the end of the school year, Kevin was finished his course and left, so another classmate of mine, Glen, moved in with us. Rick brought his pal Jeff into our little group. Jeff was a year behind us in college, and needed a place to live. So there we were, five guys in a two-bedroom apartment. It didn't leave a lot of room for modesty, when all five of us had 8:30 a.m. classes. The shower went on at about 7:00 and ran for the next half hour or so. As one guy finished, another would step in.
One of Rick's classmates needed a roommate, and although our arrangement was going well, Rick knew that him leaving wouldn't be too much of a financial burden on the rest of us, so in October, he left, but we remained close friends.
I was 25 when I started college, so I was six or seven years older than my classmates and roommates. I did most of the cooking. On Mother's Day of first year, after we had all gone home for the summer, Rick called from Ottawa to wish me a happy Mother's Day. "Thanks, I think," I replied. "No, no, Bob," he quickly interjected, "I mean it. You take such good care of me and make such good meals, it was like having a second Mom."
Anyway, after college, we went our separate ways, and lost touch. About 18 years later when I was living in Ajax, I was idly Googling random words one day, just to see where the Internet would take me.
Somehow, I ended up on the website of a men's recreational hockey team in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, of all places. I noticed Rick's name on the roster. It also listed his age, which I figured was accurate. So I emailed the webmaster and said someone by that same name was a college roommate, I'd love to reconnect with him, and would he please pass along my email address, in case it was the same Rick. Sure enough, the next day, I got an email from Rick.
We have stayed in touch via email since then. Two summers ago, Rick introduced me to his wife and their young son here in Ottawa, and I hope to see them again this summer. Rick is an airline pilot in Dubai, and he and Heather want me to visit them there for a week or so. We are planning for that to happen this coming December.
When I met Heather, she said that Rick often talks about what a good cook I am, and that he has been trying to duplicate my spaghetti sauce, which is just ground beef, onions, green peppers, mushrooms, a can of Bravo sauce, and a can of tomato soup.
Anyway, the Internet has made this world even smaller. Because of that, I have reconnected with a good friend who lives half a world away.

Okay. That's my reconnection story. Who's next?

Soul2Soul Concert Review

Okay, my cyberpeeps. I'm just back from Scotiabank Place, and the Tim McGraw and Faith Hill Soul2Soul Tour concert.

I'm not much of a reviewer, but I can tell you that it was a fantastic show. Including opening act Lori McKenna, it was more than three hours of wall-to-wall music.

I actually went mostly to see Faith Hill, and while she did a great job in her solo set, I must admit to liking Tim McGraw's solo set better. And when they sing together, pow-er-full, babies.

One disappointment: Tim didn't sing the two sings I was really hoping for: "Red Ragtop" and "Tiny Dancer".

Catty comments: Faith was having a bad hair night. Static electricity gave her the frizzies, and when the big screens showed an overhead shot, it was evident that she needs her roots touched up. Plus, when she came back onstage to do an encore with Tim, her hair had a big couette on the left side. Sorry, I don't know the English term for it. I've always only known a stray chunk of hair that sticks out by the French term, and think it's spelled couette (pronounced kwett).

Cutest moment of the night: When one of their daughters (I'm thinking the oldest of the three, Gracie) came on stage to help her daddy finish the song that I think is called Angel's Wings.

I give it four Barbecue Stained T-Shirts out of a possible five.

Bob's Fantasies #1: Faith is staying with me at my place tonight.
Bob's Fantasies #2: I am so glad they didn't call me out of the crowd to sing with them. I just haven't practiced enough lately, so my performance would have been adequate at best.

In memory of my buddy

Twenty-six years ago today, I lost one of the six best friends I've ever had. Greg was killed in a car accident between Timmins and Iroquois Falls. I'll spare you the gruesome details, other to say it was a Friday night, he had been in Timmins and was coming back to Iroquois Falls to catch last round with the rest of us.

Greg was 22 at the time. He would have turned 23 in September. He died the day before Terry Fox did, and if you look at the photo, you'll see the physical similarities. In fact, a friend I have made in the last couple of years saw this pic of Greg on the bookcase in my dining room and thought it was Terry Fox. Terry was also our age.

It's hard to believe today that Greg has been dead longer than he was alive, but it also reminds me that his favourite song was Trooper's "We're Here For a Good Time (Not A Long Time)".

He and I and the other five guys made up what our parents called The Dead End Gang when we were teenagers. The seven of us were almost inseparable. The surviving six haven't all been together in the same place in almost 20 years. We don't do the greatest job of staying in touch either, but we know -- and have talked about this often -- that whenever you need one of the other guys, he's only a phone call or email away. We have supported each other through weddings, relationship break-ups, and the loss of parents.

The Gang formed -- actually just kind of happened -- when we were all about 14 or 15. We did a lot of partying and growing up together. When we were all 16 and 17 (six of us were born in 1958, and the pup of the Gang -- Karl -- in '59) we supported Bill through the death of his dad. We also ran the family business -- the local movie theatre -- for about a month, until Bill's mom decided whether she wanted to continue to run it alone. That was a lot of responsibility for a group of teenagers, but also a great learning and bonding experience.

Greg was the Romeo of the Gang. He loved the ladies, and they fell for his charms. He was also the biggest joker, but when you needed a pick-me-up or a backhanded kick in the butt to get over whatever teen angst you were going through, you could count on Greg.

There are four or five days at the end of June, 1981, that I remember, but through a fog of shock and grief. I was a pallbearer for my buddy. He, Bill and I had coached the local Juvenile hockey team with Greg's dad, and every one of the boys from that team were at the funeral, acting as an honour guard. For that, I am proud of them to this day.

In my column that week at the newspaper where I worked at the time, I wrote that friends might die, but good friendship never does. Looking back 26 years, I can confirm that. I think of Greg and the rest of The Dead End Gang every day, and am thankful that fate made us friends.

I have visited Greg's grave at least once every year, and will continue to. Of course now, I also have my Mom's grave to visit in the same cemetery.

Here's to you, Greg. You packed a lot of living into 22 years. I only wish it could have been for a lot more years.

And to The Dead End Gang: As we've gotten older, some of the macho barrier that prevented us from verbalizing how much we mean to each other has gone away, and it's easier when we meet, to express that. As fate brought us together more than 30 years ago, may it bring the six of us together soon for a time of fun and reminiscing. I just know it will feel like it had only been a few days since we last did.

This is almost like holidays!

It's now almost 1:30 a.m. I have been finished work after a seven-day stint for almost two hours now. I don't work again until Saturday and Sunday, after which I have another three days off! Woo-hoo!

Tomorrow (Wed.) I'm going to the Faith Hill/Tim McGraw concert at Scotiabank Place. I read that they put on a three-hour show in Toronto on Monday night.

I've also decided that I'm going to start to play tourist in my own city. After living here for more than two years, there is really very little I have seen, or attractions, etc. that haven't seen in several years, when I really was a visitor. I'm going to check out the museums and galleries, act like a tourist in the ByWard Market instead of someone who works in a building there, and just experience this fabulous city. I might start later this week with a tour of the Diefenbunker. A guy I work with is also off this week, and wants me to go with him.

I already love Ottawa, and hope not to leave here until I retire in 15 1/2 years. Now, I intend to reiterate that love by really getting to know this city.

Crap, I feel old today...

It's not because I'm heading into day 6 of 7 in a row at work. The upside of that is that I'm off Wednesday, Thursday and Friday; work Saturday and Sunday (albeit 14 hours on Sunday) and then have two more days off.

No, what has me feeling old today is my stupid memory for numbers and dates, and the realization that I graduated from Grade 13, THIRTY YEARS AGO TODAY! Oy, my aching bones.

I wasn't even at the graduation ceremony. The head of the guidance department talked my mom into going to accept an award that I won. You see, I was in Calgary, captaining my school's Reach for the Top team in the national championships. We lost the final game to a school from Winnipeg by 25 points -- but that's a story for another day.

Oh well, I'd better stop getting depressed about these milestones. Still to come in the next seven months or so: Little Bro Dan's 25th birthday in August, and my 50th in February.

Anyone else feeling particularly old today?

How I know Lynn Johnston

When I was in college in North Bay in 1984, we learned that Lynn Johnston, the cartoonist from For Better of For Worse, had recently moved to nearby Corbeil (pronounced kor-BEEL in those parts). Someone in my class knew exactly where, so I was dispatched with a TV crew to go to her house and try to get an interview.

We drove up to her house, and I got out of the van and knocked on her door. Sure enough, Lynn answered. I told her who I was and what I wanted. She commented that it was the first contact from local media in the six months or so that she had lived there. When she asked me when I wanted to do the interview, I commented that it wouldn't be fair to ask her to do it right away, but could we set a date. Lynn looked out the door at the college van with the crew in it and said "You have all the equipment in there, don't you?" I said yes, and she said "Oh, what the hell -- come on in."

We did an interview at her drawing board that lasted, if memory serves, about an hour. I still have the audio tape of it, in a box somewhere. She is the nicest, most down to earth person. There is absolutely nothing pretentious about her. She also gave us a tour of her very homey house, on the shore of Trout Lake. She showed us tapes of K-Mart commercials that were about to air, and mentioned that a TV series was in the works. She, her husband and kids had auditioned to be the voices of the Pattersons. The kids got the gig, but the producers didn't think Lynn and Rod were believable enough to be Ellie and John Patterson, the characters modelled after themselves.

I met her on a couple of other occasions, when I was working in radio in North Bay. I recall one time doing a live interview with her on our FM station's noon-hour talk show, that I just happened to be filling in as its host.

Fast forward about 15 years. December, 1999, I was in Sudbury to co-host a Christmas telethon that aired on TV right across Northeastern Ontario. The hotel where I stayed is attached to a shopping mall. On the Friday night, I took a stroll through the mall, and noticed that Lynn would be autographing her latest book -- "The Lives Behind The Lines..." the next morning at the Coles store. So I lined up that morning.

When it was my turn, I mentioned to Lynn that she might not remember me, but I had interviewed her when I was in college, the first interview she had done since moving to Corbeil. "I remember you," she said. "You came right up to my door, and had the equipment with you." I was almost floored. To think that this international celebrity who had probably done hundreds of interviews since that one, would remember! So she autographed my book "For Bob, who has the equipment!".


I have a framed photocopy of the page that I have proudly displayed in the five apartments I have occupied since that day.

Lynn also explained that she has to be careful how she autographs books. One time, a woman asked for an autograph for her husband for their anniversary. "Are you saving it for your anniversary, or is he getting it tonight?" Lynn asked. The lady said he'd be getting it that night, so Lynn signed the book "To George, who's getting it tonight." The woman was insulted, and insisted on getting another book.

Anyway, that's my Lynn Johnston story. I continue to read her comic strip every day.

By the way, right after getting the autograph, I called my parents, who knew I was a big Lynn Johnston fan. I told my Mom that I had bought the newest book. "Take it back!" she said. It turns out that she had just bought it for me for Christmas. Obviously, I couldn't take it back, so she did.

My Mom also enjoyed "For Better or For Worse", and had a hummingbird feeder at the cottage. One time, Lynn's weekend strip featured Michael Patterson helping a hummingbird that had accidentally gotten into the kitchen. He cradled it in a towel, got it back outside, then wrote in his journal something along the lines of "They say that once in your life, you get to hold a miracle in your hands. I just did." My Mom got the strip laminated and put it on the cottage fridge with magnets. It's still there, five years after Mom died.

This is for Ma

KAPUSKASING, Ont. - Police say they believe that two children younger than 12 years old started a fire that torched a community landmark in Kapuskasing.
The Kapuskasing Inn went up in flames May 22, damaging much of the building's structure.
But police say charges won't be laid because of the ages of the children, who were inside the building when the fire began.
One of the kids is accused of sparking the blaze, but police have provided no details on how it started.
Under the law, the children are too young to be held responsible for a crime.
OPP Det. Sgt. Todd Selvage says the incident wasn't an explicit act of arson, but rather `vandalism that just went too far.'

Barbecue recipes, please

Okay, the barbecue is set up, the cast iron grills are seasoned and cooling. In the next half hour or so, I will cook the first steak on my new 'cue.

So let's be a bunch of old ladies and trade recipes. I'm particularly looking for marinades for steaks and chops. Remember, I'm diabetic, so the less sugar, the better.

I'm also going to look online for the beer butt chicken recipe, or ask Cathy for it.

Please, don't be like my great-grandmother who would trade recipes, but intentionally leave out an ingredient or instruction or two, so that the other old lady wouldn't make it better than she could.

UPDATE: I just ate my first steak cooked on the new barbecue. Melted in my mouth. Tomorrow, I'm going to try a chicken breast!

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Happy Father's Day to all Dads, especially THE Dad in our little cyber family, JB. I hope the recuperation is going well.

I called my Dad last night, knowing that I would be working today, and going out for din-dins tonight.

I love and cherish my Dad, and hate what the ravages of time are doing to him and his once-sharp mind.

I haven't seen my Dad (who I usually call "Paw", as the grandchildren all do, including Little Bro Dan) since last July, and look forward to spending some time with him and StepMama next month.



This is Dad/Paw, taken last year at the cottage. I've never gone this long without seeing him in person, so I'm really anxious to go to the cottage next month.

Say it ain't so, Ma

The Mattagami Motor Hotel, the only strip joint left in Timmins (if it's even still open), is being torn down this summer, and Future Shop plans to build a store on the lot.

Check it out here: http://www.channel3news.ca/main2.htm

I think we've talked about the "Mattag" here in Blogland before. For non-Northern Ontarians, it's pronounced mah-TAW-gah-mee, just like ken-AW-gah-mee and teh-MAW-gah-mee (Kenogami and Temagami). And Ma is originally from Kapuskasing (kap-uss-KAY'-sing, not kah-PUSS-kah-sing).

Anyway, Timmins without the Mattagami is, well, better I guess in some ways; just not as sleazy.

Sigh.

Mushroom Cloud Alert

I'm getting a natural gas barbecue! There's a connection for it on my balcony, and this is the first building I've ever lived in that actually encourages barbecues. So I can pick it up on Thursday, and hope to have it fired up by Saturday night -- Monday at the latest, because of my stupid work schedule.

So I've also been shopping for barbecue tools, etc., and have noticed some unusual things. My friend Cathy makes Beer Butt Chicken (totally yummy; drink half a can of beer, shove the can up the chicken's butt; the rest of the beer bastes the bird from the inside) and now commercialism is even catching up to that with a stand for Beer Butt Chicken. Sucker bait -- it stands on the beer can, Stupid.

Sidebar story: I bought some barbecue tools at WalMart today, and was in line at the 8-items-or-less express checkout behind a stupid bee-atch who obviously can't count. Problem is, the cashier doesn't enforce the 8-items-or-less rule. Anyway, when Bee-atch unloads her cart onto the counter, I get between her and the cart. Then when she has checked out her 43 items, she turns to get the cart, and there it is -- gone! I got a certain amount of satisfaction out of that. Serves the ignorant bee-atch right.

I think the cashiers should have to enforce the express rules. At WalMart, your receipt has the number of items you've bought on it. Management should keep track of such things, and lay some heavy crap on the cashiers for anything over eight items at the express checkout.

Dammit, one day the world will work according to MY standards! Unfortunately, I can't bite off my nose to spite my face. I'm already boycotting Zellers, so I can't do the same to WalMart.

There. My Cranky Old Fart rant is over, and I feel much better.