Country roads...

If you’ve been following my ramblings, you’ll likely have surmised that we really enjoy our life away from the hustle, bustle and general craziness of life in the big city. Driving in the city always presented challenges – but the one thing that really did me in was the amount of traffic and what happens to traffic when construction is introduced to the equation. The standing joke used to be that the city of Toronto experienced two seasons -- winter and construction. These days, thanks to apparent advances in technology and the like there would appear to be only one season -- construction with a capital "C".

I wish that I could say that conditions are different here. Actually, “conditions” are quite different. I can drive from our house into town in 15 – 20 minutes. Over four years ago, the same distance from our house in the ‘burbs to downtown would often take 90 minutes plus!

The “challenges” in rural Ontario are different and, frankly, much more dangerous. At least twice a month, there are horrific accidents on our local two lane “highways”. For some reason, put a John Deere cap on a fellow’s head and common sense and any knowledge of the Highway Traffic Act or, God forbid driving lessons, literally fly out the window – usually the front windshield since seat belt laws are merely "suggestions" to some. These accidents are often as not “blamed” on the roads themselves – not driver error or even sheer stupidity.

OK, so perhaps I’m generalizing but there are certain driving habits that truly make me cringe: On a two-lane highway, when a car has signaled to turn left and is waiting patiently for on-coming traffic to pass, inevitably some lummock decides that their time is so darned important that they’ll deke up the right side of the aforementioned vehicle – on the soft shoulder and often in an intersection, to boot! Holy diaper change!

Once again we’re on the same two-lane highway; driving in front of you is a full-size monster pick-up truck. It is going to turn left into a driveway or at an intersection and actually kindly signals ahead of time to advise of intent. Splendid! But wait.... They will then veer into oncoming traffic and barrel down the wrong side of the road toward their goal causing motorists approaching legally to either (a) take evasive action and drive off the road into oncoming traffic or perhaps a herd of cows; or, (b) stand on their brake pedal, causing their wheels to lock up – and then observe the chaos that ensues in the their rear view mirror. Meanwhile “Earl” in his mighty Dodge Ram with twin tail pipes makes his turn, oblivious to the potential destruction caused by his actions.

My personal favorite; TLATO refers to “these” folks as “yee haws”. Guess what road we’re on? There are a few cars traveling at or slightly above the posted speed limit. So far so good. Traveling up a hill that curves around a bend as it falls off on the other side; there are solid double yellow lines dividing the road. Our Jeff Gordon wannabe zips out from behind to pass on the left, going up the hill and over, with no idea of oncoming traffic – until it’s too late.

Driver error indeed.

Further, there are still rumors of folks in northern Ontario (yes, there are regions much further north than us) that still judge distance between point A and point B by the number of beers one consumes while driving...

Sometimes making a lane change with no signal evident on the Don Valley Parking Lot seems kind of trivial and not worth elevated blood pressure or an aneurysm in comparison.

Siblings...

Those of you that know me are aware that I’m the eldest of six siblings; four sisters and one brother. There are 12 years between me and the youngest, Lindsey.

Like any large family, we always been close to one another; depending on our respective ages and who pissed off whom recently.

Years ago, while still living in the city one of us (I’m sure that someone will lay claim to this) suggested that just us sibs should get together. No kids. No spouses. Just the six of us out for dinner. It was fun. It was safe. Not enough time to harm any relationships or even mend old wounds. We did that one or twice until moving up here. Then it became an annual event diarized on everyone’s calendar, usually a weekend in early February. This year we all agreed on a date after one email! Amazing!

My brother and me refer to our sisters as the Sisterhood, or ‘hood, for short. Sorta like a coven of witches – in a mostly good way. They spend more time together individually and en famille. Ross and I enjoy family but are not huge fans of mass get togethers where everyone is there, but you talk with no-one. Having said that, there is an exception; but you’ll hear about that in July.

Anyway… this weekend is our weekend. And we’re all really looking forward to it. Over the years, we’ve grown a little closer to one another as we carefully peel back layers and discover things we never new or were afraid to admit or even ask. There have been some shocking moments. There have been some hilarious moments, but always, we each come away from those two days a little wiser. More appreciative. And not just for each other – that’s almost a given. It’s as if we all go on a life course for a weekend. Our own Survivor. But no-one is voted off. At the end of the Sunday, after a disgusting, once a year heart attack on a plate breakfast, there’s often reluctance to leave. Another laugh. Another story. Perhaps another tear. Definitely another hug or six.

Until we do it all over again next year.

The "crash" of '08...

Animals can, as most pet owners know, be an expensive proposition. Food, pet insurance (OK, to some not necessary, but regardless), vet bills, etc.

However, there are also those unforeseen, hidden costs, too.

May I present the latest evidence of that as (likely) perpetrated by our resident Dynamic Duo, Zack (cat) and Ben (dog).

My net worth was reduced by $ 20.00 overnight!

Why not February 26th...?

I know that this will sound like a cliché, but it’s a fact...

Wikipedia and other sources would have you believe that Valentine’s Day was actually named after an individual… or an event…. or both… possibly going back to the 14th century, or thereabouts.

Perhaps, maybe and yeah, right.

I still think that Hallmark had everything to do with it.

Let’s see, Christmas and Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Ramadan et al have passed. Next is St. Patrick's Day*, then Easter and Passover. Hmmm… what can we do to ensure yet another gi-normous “blip!” in our sales figures? How about, oh I don’t know mid-way through the shortest month of the year… and so February 14th, Valentine’s Day came to pass.

Here’s the cliché; I don’t need a special day to tell my partner, my wife, my best friend (yes, it’s the same person) that I love her – I can do that any and every day. For the record, I’d be lying if I said that I did – I’m told just thinking it does count, though.

God help me if I forget and a card, a real “I-need-to-touch-this” card, not a “fake” card, one of those oh-so-convenient-I-forgot-cards (an “e-card”), does not appear with TLATO’s morning double espresso though!

That did happen. Once.

And yes, although Sheryl is in Florida at the moment, I did tuck a card into her purse as she left our house Sunday. I was advised that I would also find one, hopefully before the day itself.

Monday morning, there was a bright red envelope in my underwear drawer.

And so, without further ceremony, merry Valentine’s Day to you all – and especially to you, Sheryl. Love you!

*Oh yes, why do we not "celebrate" other Saints Days for that matter? St. George's Day; St. David's Day or even St. Andrew (we're talking UK "events"). With due respect, how the heck did the Irish manage to swing that one, St. Patrick's Day -- on both sides of the pond??

Curling reality TV show...?

I’m sorry, but just when you thought that it could not possibly get any worse, BANG, some executive, with way too much time and not enough dollars to pay for their leased Mercedes comes up with this hare-brained scheme.

No, I’m not kidding. Apparently, two “rock” stars – no, not Russ Howard (hey, this is a National sport in Canada, don’t you know?), Bruce Springsteen and John Bon Jovi (is there something in the New Jersey water) are among a group of entertainment types who rent arena time on occasion to pick up brooms instead of guitars. Now for some time, many entertainment-types have also laced up skates and taken to the ice to play a period or two of ice hockey. These two “fugedaboudit” individuals have allegedly been approached by some crazed executives who truly believe that the television-viewing public are all morons and will watch anything.

Please… What’s next?

OK, how about this? Approach some of the more unstable women in La-La Land (so many to choose) and ask them to compete in a reality series around the most excellent of all spectator sports - stripping! Vote for your favorite celeb at the end of the show. Dial 1-800-POORME for Lindsay, 1-800-ALIMONY for Britney or 1-800-NOBRAIN for Paris….

Better yet; combine both ideas. Pole dancing on ice! “And here’s our first performer, Kate, getting it on to “Slippery when wet” by New Jersey’s second (or maybe third depending on where the Chairman of the Board fits) favorite son!”

Come back writers -- please; (almost) all is forgiven.

And before I forget, happy birthday, Ross!

Phase 2...

Many of us now possess suitcases with small wheels for ease of lugging them around airports and parking lots. Quite convenient, you’d agree? Under normal conditions, absolutely. Sheryl’s suitcase for her trip to Florida has them, too. However, her suitcase was so heavy and cumbersome; the only way I could get it to the car from the house was on a freakin’ heavy duty dolly!

Many weeks ago I volunteered to take Sheryl to the airport for her trip to visit her Mum in sunny Florida. Well, technically, I said I would drive her to her Mum’s condo in Toronto the day before. That way I would not need to leave the house at half-past some ungodly hour to get her to the airport in plenty of time – plenty of time to sit around for two hours drinking a five dollar Styrofoam cup of ersatz coffee and play any number of handheld games before anything remotely resembling pre-boarding occurred.

The weather for today’s drive, to put it mildly, sucked. Snow, blowing snow and my personal favorite, white outs! The drive was nerve-wracking, to say the least; I swear my knuckles actually burst through skin about 30 minutes into the 2-hour drive. Of course, the best is yet to come; I had to repeat this torture for the return trip!

Don’t misunderstand; I do love my wife and my mother-in-law. These driving conditions? Not so much.

There was however a pot of metaphorical gold at the end of my rainbow. We went to one of our favorite delis in the north end of the city for a late lunch. Our feast was beautifully marbled yet still borderline lean, suitably salty pastrami on double rye bread with hot, golden mustard and a crisp kosher dill pickle. OK, terrific French fries, too – but I didn’t eat them all! This delightful cholesterol-sodden meal almost made the drive worthwhile! Where we now live, there are no true delis. Sure, there are some places that call themselves “delis”, but not as we know them. They’ll serve a version of smoked meat, but not cured on the premises, hand-cut or hand-trimmed and piled impossibly high while served at just the right temperature… And now “Gagdonalds” and other chain restaurants (say it ain’t so, Timmie’s) are serving their own versions of “deli” sandwiches? Ha! Not even close. You can’t convince me that they even look appetizing never mind taste the way Switzer’s et al intended. I’m surprised that somewhere south of the Mason Dixon Line (or, in deference to our southern cousins, Macon) some litigious, fee-contingent lawyer has not decided to initiate a class action suit for false and misleading advertising.

However, I digress.

The packing is now done and relative sanity has been restored to our country household – at least until TLATO discovers her e-ticket is not quite where she thinks it is. Unless, of course, the intent was to leave it on top of a litter box for one of our five aforementioned cats.

So… Coffee, tea or me…ow??

Polar plunge...

On Sunday afternoon past we had the 27th Annual Polar Plunge at Rotary Park in Ennismore. That same evening, a slightly better attended and viewed (94 million + in North America alone) event called Super Bowl XLII from Arizona also occurred.

Bundled up in our -40 degree parkas and doofus hats and mitts (around here, we dress for comfort, not style), we drove to the plunge that has occurred for more than a quarter century at Bel Rotary Park on the shores of Chemong Lake.

Within an hour or so of our arrival and staking out a suitable spot to watch groups of crazed but well-intentioned individuals (money is raised for various charities) jump, dive, cannonball and belly flop into a hole approximately 20 feet square cut out of the frozen lake, the immediate area was indeed a sight to behold. Many dressed for the event; a group of young men presented themselves as the poor man’s answer to Chippendale dancers. Truth be known even if the real deal had been here, the end result would have yielded the same result – total shrinkage. Many other outfits were likely found in dusty attics and I believe the occasional flash of gray duct tape was seen holding something together. In addition to the various organizers, there were medical teams on standby, a diver in the water and half-dozen firefighters attempting to look earnest in full emergency survival gear at the hole’s perimeter. Snowmobiles of all vintages and colour and pick up trucks were “parked” on the frozen surface.

People were there to support friends and in our case, there was some morbid curiosity involved.

Off to one side were a couple of hot tubs, the steam rising thick in the cold air as our intrepid yet foolish divers plunged clumsily into them, many screaming silently after experiencing the bone chilling waters. I should also point out that some, young and old alike, must have undergone some kind of religious epiphany judging by their audible comments.

I digress; spectators were there to have a good time and support friends and numerous good causes.

The plunge was the “polar” opposite of the evening’s event. Presented in all its awe inspiring glory good old US of A glory. Unlimited budgets, overpaid athletes, celebrities and egos in a covered stadium “entertaining” the world at large. An astounding record was expected to be broken. It did not happen. The underdog team from New York beat the odds-on Vegas favorites.

Just like our merry bathers on Chemong, the Giants had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Our respect and admiration goes out to them all – but mostly to the unsung heroes, the everyday people who gave up their time and perhaps even momentarily jeopardized their health -- and all for what? A new environmentally friendly Cadillac Escalade Hybrid (now if that is not an oxymoron, I’m not too sure what is)? No; merely an enthusiastic cheer from their peers and a mug of hot steaming soup.

Quite often it’s the simple things that everyday people learn to appreciate the most.

Birthdays...

February 1 we “celebrated” a birthday in our house.

Our youngest Maine Coon cat, Zack (or “Doodle” as he is oft referred) turned one year old.

Contrary to what some of you might believe, we did not have all five cats and Ben sit around a table with platters of Fancy Feast and kibble wearing silly paper hats – although I did see Sheryl rummaging for some old Christmas crackers…

We don’t have children of our own; our animals are our kids – a cliché perhaps but they are a huge part of our life as many of you already know.

However, between both of us we have 19 nieces and nephews so it’s not as if the sound of children running through a house is completely foreign. Sadly a few years ago one nephew was taken from us in a tragic accident.

Point is family is very important to us both. Even when they piss you off. Not that anyone has really pissed off either one of us – lately.

February 1 also marks the day of Sheryl’s Father’s birthday, Regrettably, Joe died a few years ago after a long bout with illness.

Although I did not know Joe for too long, he always struck me as a kind and gentle man. Joe was a loving husband and Father to his wife, Janette and his three kids, Sheryl, Lorne and Marc. If Joe had ever been asked to prepare a resume, you would look at it and shake your head in disbelief. An intriguing and utterly genuine man he dabbled in many things including serving his country in WWII; real state agent; developer in Canada and the US, a landlord – even a professional wrestler; and, a prodigious poet and songwriter! He was a man who would and did do almost anything and everything for his family – regardless. Sure, we all saw him when his illness made him irritable and feeling lousy, but his face would light up, no matter how he felt when his grandchildren were present.

Joe single-handedly kept dollar stores in business. He would buy armloads of things for his grandchildren and they would invariably be stored in the trunk of his car, his own personal tickle chest. Whenever he saw his grandchildren, his pockets would be stuffed with what we would call junk, trinkets. To a five year old, they were simply treasures from their beloved Grandfather.

Going to a restaurant with Joe was always fun (the ketchup incident notwithstanding – another time, another place!). While everyone at the table was eating fish or chicken, Joe would be sitting beaming, eating dessert in place of an entrée. Meat he could have anytime; it was the prospect of eating something sweet, a treat that gave him happiness. And if a grandchild tugged at his sleeve and asked for some, without hesitation Joe came into his own and would cheerfully spoon feed the youngster cheesecake or rice pudding often to the point of having the kids finish his meal – much to the chagrin of the child’s parents who were trying to get them to eat their vegetables!

So birthday wishes to all who celebrated February 1; and a special happy birthday to you, Joe – we all still miss you.