16 October 2012 ~ ROSIE; A GREAT IDEA

16 October 2012 ~ ROSIE; A GREAT IDEA
 

It started out as just an idea.  We were moving to a new town and the kids were already starting to get upset at not “ever” being able to see their friends again; oh, the agony of it all!  So my wife, Jane, and I thought it might be a good idea to get a dog; an Irish Setter.  We had one in the early years of our married life, back in England, when kids weren’t even on the distant horizon.  Her name was Holly and she emigrated from England with us and we loved her.

So, the idea turned in to an internet search.  And the digital trail took us all across Ontario, Canada to a small town called Clinton, ironically just a short drive by Canadian standards; and that is where Rosie was born.  And that is where our idea became a reality; this little vulnerable bundle of red with a tail like a rat.

The idea of getting another Irish Setter was never in ‘the cards’ after we bade farewell to Holly because that hurt; she was the first family member for Jane and me.  Yes, dogs are family members in my book.  I am not detracting from cats or hamsters or any other of God’s creatures.  But show me a dog and I can show you a natural bond.  It doesn’t matter how short you throw the stick, your budgie isn’t going to fetch it again and again and again.

Our children grew up with Rosie and Rosie grew up with our children.  Rosie’s personality was as effervescent as any other healthy, happy dog.  But my goodness, her character!  Those that knew Rosie know all about her character.  My children learned a lot about character from Rosie and so did I.  Personality is who you are, but character is what you are.  Some people are known to have a split personality but you never hear about a split character.  Character is being afraid but doing it anyway; like barking your objection at a stranger whilst making a run for it behind the couch.  Like ripping up the Thanksgiving decorations (probably because there were no tissues available) in protest for being left alone one Sunday morning and knowing there’ll be hell to pay when everyone returns.  Character is spirit and Rosie’s spirit was not to be broken; not that we ever tried.  If ripping up tissues was the main vice of her character then so be it; and so it was, right up to as recently as this month.  As much as her back legs gave her such pain it would not deter Rosie from scrambling up the stairs to check out all rooms for tissues whenever left alone, no matter how brief.  I adored Rosie’s character; fearless but afraid, stubborn but unconditionally loving, pureness within mischief, honest deceit.  There was certainly some fiery Irish blood coursing through the veins of this red haired wonder. Unleashed, she could outrun the wind itself.  What a sight it was; her beautiful red ‘feathers’ from her ears to the end of her tail just flying in her wake.

I know dogs bark at cars and even sometimes chase said cars, but Rosie is the only dog I am aware of that actively pursued cars vigorously whilst being a passenger in one!  It was hilarious; for a short time there we actually had to use a collar and leash on her, while she was in the vehicle, for her safety and ours.  But, like the tissues, she never really gave it up; at least she toned it down enough.

If you’ve never had the joy, and pain, of having a dog as a companion then you may not understand why tears are flowing right now; and that my nose hasn’t run like this since I was but a child myself.  So if you’re even the least bit curious, I highly recommend these three books because these authors are professional writers and I am not. 

• The Art of Racing in the Rain ~~~ Garth Stein
• A Dog's Purpose ~~~ W. Bruce Cameron
• Marley & Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog ~~~ John Grogan

These writers will take you on a journey that every dog owner already knows; the journey of joy and love and frustration and pathetic helplessness at one’s own yearning to make your faithful friend better again.  The aching wont of not being able to tell your friend how grateful you are to have been a part of such an amazing experience of unconditional and non-judgemental love.  Oh, what an absolutely great idea our Rosie was.  You need to read these three books.

Today I had to let the idea go.  Today, whilst our caring vet and my wife and one of my now adult children and me were in tears but at her side, we had to let Rosie go to sleep.  But I’m not sure if I will sleep so well on this night.  Already, my home is too big without her.

My heart, though, is so full of her love and my memories of her that it feels like it is too full and fit for bursting.  Rosie was the best idea ever. 

Rosie in the Summer 2009
A Brief Video of Rosie; puppy to a beautiful old lady.

 

 

2 October 2012 ~ ALL IN GOOD TIME; 1, 2…

2 October 2012 ~ ALL IN GOOD TIME; 1, 2…

Apparently the time is now.  As a young lad, when my mum would tell me to do something, she usually meant now.  Of course there were also times when the time isn’t now; it’s right now.  I learned a lot as a child.

Sometimes, I think it was to ensure I wasn’t lost in some sort of space-time continuum, assistance would be offered to encourage me in the pursuit of doing something now, or right now.  It involved the counting of numbers; but hearing the number ‘three’ was usually followed swiftly by some form of adult vocabularic verbage that didn’t involve numbers.  It was more like suggestively violent, ‘out-loud’ thoughts.

I can recall that old “you can’t leave the table until you’ve finished your dinner” parenting rule; and also wishing we had a dog.  Time, as a child, was of no consequence unless you were sitting alone at the dinner table with about three brussel sprouts on a plate to keep you company.  Interestingly enough, as an adult I have noticed that after a ‘few drinks’ I can pretty much eat things that I would normally not eat.  Now I am not saying that we should slip a few shots in to our kids’ but, in the pursuit of science, it would be an interesting finding if youngsters had a glass or three of wine at the dinner table and then you hear “Blimey, those brussels look a bit good.  Can you pass some over here please, dad?”

For me, time, as a child, was measured by my stomach and the street lights.  If my stomach growled then it was probably meal-time and if the lights came on it was time to be home.

Today, as a fifty-plus adult, I rely on digital time in many different time zones because of the nature of my work.  I rely on electronic prompts to do this and to do that because of the nature of my memory.

Oh, and I don’t think that, as parents, we ever employed the “you can’t leave the table…” rule.  Maybe the suggestive violence; but just a little!  But now my kids are adults in their own right; in fact my son, Martin, is bigger than me so I daren't talk back to him now.

Time flies and times have changed!

30 September 2012 ~ I HAVE TWO MOTHER-IN-LAWS ~ AND IT IS GOOD!

30 September 2012 ~ I HAVE TWO MOTHER-IN-LAWS ~ AND IT IS GOOD!

 

It’s two in the morning.  I just know I can’t go to sleep until this is written.

Yes I do have two mother-in-laws.  My own mum sadly passed away just over two years ago, and it was a great loss to me, as her son.  My lovely bride’s mum flew over to visit us here in Canada in the early summer.  I wrote a blog about Brenda (Grandma) and now I feel compelled to write another, for my lovely bride’s step-mum, Joyce; the second wife of about twenty years, of Jane’s now late father, Jack. 

So what does this all mean?  It means my kids; albeit young adults now in their own right, are still blessed with two grandmothers that love them unconditionally.  And yes, that is important.  Joyce Norman (aka Nana and/or Nanny) has started her journey back to England to where her life is lived. My wife, and my teenage daughters, Zoe (in college) and Alex (Grade 12) have had an absolute blast with their dear Nanny Norman.  And you could tell by the devastating heartbreak that was rife in our home when it was time for Joyce to leave.  Even my girls’ boyfriends had their hearts won over by her too.  As a father, it was a pleasure to watch.

Our son Martin, on Vancouver Island in British Columbia on the far west coast of Canada, spent almost an hour on the phone with Nanny just to say goodbye.  This, again, is a true testament to family love.  Love is, indeed, one of God’s greatest gifts bestowed on us all.

And the joy was all so simple!  We enjoyed those good old fashioned evenings of Rummy-Cub and Rumolli and had laugh after constant laugh around the family dining table.  Now, that is what it is really all about.  Not all that pretentious money driven stuff; but the simple family stuff. 

I’ve heard of those stereotypical horror stories about mother-in-laws, but I am blessed with two great ones.  And my kids are blessed with two brilliant grandparents, in Grandma and Nanny.  And it all leads to happiness and harmony and respect and love and laughter abound.

Thank you Joyce.  Thank you Nana (Nanny).  Thank you for flying over from England and spending four magnificent weeks in our home with our family; your family.  I am only sorry I missed out on the first two weeks because of being in a foreign country plying my wares in order to make my living to support your daughter and grandkids.  But I had the pleasure of two weeks of your company; and for that I am grateful.  But what makes me even more grateful is your promise not to leave it five years, like you did before, until you visit again.  I know you came close, tonight, to spending some money to delay your flight back to England by another week or two.  A noble thought on your part.   And as selfishly as we would have let you, you also realised that other family members have been waiting, patiently, for you to return.  You were welcome to stay, but you made the right and selfless choice.  Nanas have to spread their time over many people because you are at the top of the ‘love list’.  A position that is earned, over time, by acts of selfless love, kindness and devotion to others.  I tip my hat to you, but you know I don’t where one because I clearly do not have a hat head.  But if I did, it would have been tipped!

Safe trip home in this brightly lit harvest moon night as you also make your way back in these overnight skies to your England.  I know you will pass along all of the hugs and kisses to everyone when you get there.

You are not just a Nana or Nanny; with your cell phone and computer and all the other gizmos, you are clearly a techno-Nanny; savvy in the digital world that folks younger than you still find themselves alienated from.

Like a Mary Poppins, you came and left and it was all too soon.  Come back soon Nana (Joyce) because you will always be welcome here and a bed will always have your name on it.

God bless you for your delightful sense of humour and your unconditional love.  If you think, for whatever reason, that two years might be too long, then just come anyway.  Always knowing that with us, our hearts are always overflowing with love, thoughts and memories of you, you dear sweet lady.  And always know you are welcome to come back whenever you feel the need; two year, two months, two weeks or two days… we will all be waiting!

God speed, as I go to bed now, at 2:35 in the morning. This writer can go and peacefully rest, knowing that Bob will collect you when you land and then take you safely back to that place that you call home.  The home that my lovely bride, and her two siblings Richard and Helen, grew up in.

We look forward to your call in the morning to say that you are home; safe and sound.  Thank you for coming... and come back soon!

27 September 2012 ~ ECUADOR; A LAND OF BEAUTY

27 September 2012 ~ ECUADOR; A LAND OF BEAUTY

I have recently returned from a 2-week training assignment in the city of Quito, the nation’s capital for Ecuador.  This is a truly magnificent place to visit.  Here, at 9,650 feet above sea-level, it is a whole new world to experience.

You can go on the internet and read all about Ecuador.  You can learn all about the diversity, both natural and cultural, of this nation of about 14 million people.  You can discover that there are four regions, called the Amazon rainforest, the highland Andes, the Coast and the Galapagos Archipelago; whose inhabitants of amazing giant tortoise always fascinated me at high school in my geography studies.  You can read all about the intriguing story of the so-called ‘Panama Hat’ that actually originated in Ecuador and is worn by both men and women.  In fact there is so much that you can read about this country of almost 170,000 square miles that has the equator running through its northern parts.  But how do you, as an aspiring writer, put in to words that, which you experienced, first-hand?  I can only equate it (no pun intended) to the dilemma an accomplished writer would have when trying to explain to you, in words, the flavour of vanilla ice-cream.  It’s practically impossible; you just have to lick it yourself in order to experience and appreciate it.  And that is the case for this wondrous country of Ecuador.

I was staying at the Best Western Plaza Hotel and Casino in the heart of the modern area of the city of Quito, in the region of the highland Andes, and I now have a better understanding of ‘altitude training’ that many athletes go through in their quest for sporting achievement.  Upon arrival I became aware of the lack of oxygen that my body was normally accustomed to.  The bouts of breathlessness, at first, was startling and I really did have to pace myself for tasks as simple as climbing a few flights of stairs.  Oh, but the trade-off was worth it!

I loved the mornings.  If there are no clouds, you are guaranteed a view of a most extraordinary dawn.  The sun rises quickly on the equator.  One morning, whilst having my coffee, enjoying the panoramic view from my hotel window, and at the same time watching the city of Quito wake up, I was able watch one of the peaks of the Andes mountain range get lit up by the dawn sun.  There were a few clouds swirling around the peak that changed colour very quickly with the rising sun.  Then, it was as if a veil of warm light was rolling down the mountain side as the sun rose and covered it with a magnificent glow.  It was absolutely breathtaking.

Across the road from my hotel window, on the Avenida Naciones Unidas (United Nations Avenue), was a large park; La Carolina, where I could view, at my leisure, the people and their activities.  I have seen the same juggler using the same spot in the park at the same time on most days.  About 5:00PM, on the same avenue that borders one side of the park, there is a guy bobbing in and out of the on-coming traffic trying to make a buck by cleaning your windshield… in a wheel chair!  In the park there was always some activity going on because it was such a lively place within the bustling city of Quito.  It reminded, somewhat, of Central Park in New York City; a haven within the metropolis.

At first, it was somewhat surprising to notice that people were selling just about anything on the streets of Quito; literally.  I mean, they would come up to the cars that were waiting for a green light and would offer you their wares; be it mandarins, candy, linens, ice cream, etc.  This did not seem to pose an inconvenience because some drivers would wave them over to buy a netted string of about six mandarins or whatever.  It was eventually clear to me that this is part of the delightful culture of Ecuador.

Although I was there on a business trip, I was able to have a weekend free.  On my first Friday I was able to get a ticket to watch Ecuador play Bolivia at the Estadio Olympico Atahualpamore, in a qualifier for the soccer World Cup Finals in Brazil, 2014.  As a football fanatic this was a brilliant experience.  I’m just glad of two things; one, Ecuador only scored once and two that I was located only three rows from the top of the stadium.  Why?  Because when Ecuador scored everyone, in their delight, stood up and cheered whilst launching their beers up in to the air.  Well, they have to come down; and they did, all over the fans that were in front of me.  It literally rained beer for a few moments and some of these guys were soaking wet.  Not that they seemed to mind.  They were happy their team, and country, scored and they were not surprised by what took place regarding the beer.  I was both surprised and relieved.

The Saturday afforded me the time to be a tourist.  Outside the park La Carolina is a double-decker open topped tour bus.  Once you have paid for your ticket, you can get on and off any time at any place you like because of the designated stops along the route.  This allowed me to take in some wonderful places; the Plaza Grande and all of the historic district of Quito.  El Panecillo was really nice, with a statue of the Virgin Mary, and its view over the city from the elevated hill located in the middle of the city.  But the view from El Tererifco was a true sight to behold.  You had to take a cable car up the last 4,000 feet or so to an altitude of over 13,200 feet.   I have never been so high above sea level outside of a perfectly serviceable airplane.  At such a height, even the silence is deafening.  But at least there weren’t any car horns that I could hear, just the wind.  The view from this altitude was simply stunning.  I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.  But the giddiness that I felt wasn’t just from the sights and sounds; the air was very thin up there!  I actually felt relieved when I took the cable car back down the mountain and felt I was at sea level, even though I wasn’t; yet a week previous I was struggling with an elevation of 9,650 feet!  The human body is quite remarkable when it comes to adjusting itself to its climate and surroundings.  I actually felt I could breathe without too much difficulty!

To say that I enjoyed this whole experience would be an understatement.  I had the privilege to train seven true gentlemen for two weeks.  Although mostly in a classroom environment, we had a day where we took a two hour drive south, through the Andes mountain-range, to Cotopaxi Airport, just outside a small town called Latacunga.  We spent the day on a live aircraft going through a series of exercises.  Outside the hangar, looking north, was a spectacular view of Cotopaxi Volcano; elevation over 19,000 feet, and, even on the equator, the peak was high enough that it was snow-capped.  After our busy day in the hangar, the guys took me into Latacunga, to a genuine Ecuadorian diner, for some local food and a cold beer.  I don’t think that this would be something a tourist would have had the opportunity to experience because my guess is that it was not a resort, of sorts; just the local folks going about their regular daily lives.

I think that as you get older, you lose some of the courage you had in your youth.  I would not have wanted to drive around Quito because I am not sure what (if any) high-way code they use other than car horns.  I was amazed that I didn’t see one single accident.  These guys seemed to know what they’re doing, but I didn’t have a clue!

Ecuador is a country that, to me looking on the outside, is a happy place.  People talk to each other and they are friendly.  This is something you don't see too much when in a big city in North America.  I only wished that I could speak Spanish so that I could engage with the locals, and my students, more than I did.

I would love to go back to Ecuador, but I think I would prefer to go as a tourist so that I could have more time and take in the coastal area and the Galapagos Islands.  Not sure if I'm brave enough to take on the Amazonia just yet; but you could tempt me!

16 September 2012 ~ HOLDING HANDS

16 September 2012 ~ HOLDING HANDS

 

 

A lot of good folks have emailed me to say that they’re looking forward to my blog about Ecuador; it’s coming.  But first, I would like to write about something I saw at Miami International Airport, on my journey back from Ecuador.  I had a rather long layover in Miami.  There’s nothing like people watching when you have lots of time to kill at a busy airport.

When you’re not caught up in your own world, you get the chance to look at other peoples’ worlds; albeit the view is from the outside looking in (read my blog on views).  But first we need to take a quick journey back in time…

One of the first dates my lovely bride and I ventured on when we were a young couple was to spend a day taking in the beautiful cathedral in the city of Lincoln, England.  Jane used to take the train to come and visit me in Lincoln on weekends.  The cathedral, like any other, is magnificent.  I particularly wanted to see the Battle of Britain window.  As we were meandering through this magnificent gothic building, Jane reached out to hold my hand.  As surprising as this may sound, it took me completely off guard.  I couldn’t actually recall the time previous, when a hand was held in mine.  I felt a bit uncomfortable, but I tried to hide it.  It just didn’t seem natural to me, at that time in my younger man’s life.

I’m older now, and (hopefully) wiser.  I am not some psycho-analytic babbler here, but I think I might have figured out why I felt as I did that day when Jane took my hand in hers.  I do not actually recall my parents ever holding my hand.  It wasn’t that they didn’t love or care for my sister and I.  It is just that they never held my hand.  I recall my dad holding my hand on only one occasion; we were all getting in to a Mini Cooper that belonged to his friend.  In those days you could get a lot of passengers in a Mini Cooper; no seatbelts, no safety regulations.  Mum, my sister and the girlfriend of my dad’s friend in the back, with me sitting in between Dad’s legs on the front seat.  One Mini-Cooper, six people.   I was eight years old.  I trapped my fingers in the car door and it hurt and I cried.  All the way back to our house my dad held my hand and massaged my aching fingers.  By God I wish he was here to do it for me again today.  I never forgot how much it meant to me when he held my hurting hand. 

Thanks to Jane, I am very comfortable holding hands.  I have always held the hands of our three children.  My son, Martin, and I held hands all of his young life, but sadly that ‘day’ arrived.  We were walking up to the mall to do some ‘guys’ Christmas shopping together and we were holding hands.  Then we realised that Martin might actually be too big for dad to be holding his hand.  After all, his shoe size was already three more than mine!  We had a chuckle when the thought came to us that we may have looked like lovers rather than father and son.  Society is strange, if it had been one my daughters, Zoe or Alex, it would be acceptable.  In fact it is socially acceptable to hold the hand of the opposite sex at any age; and thankfully our societal view is slowly changing, such, that you can hold any hand at any age.

So, at Miami airport, whilst people watching, the holding of hands is something that I always notice.  Airports of today are a stressful event.  But you can see both sides of love; especially between the departure level and the arrival level.  So in between the frustrations and other emotions of the travelling masses, I always seem to notice when hands are being held.  It is such a sight to behold, whether young or old. 

But in Miami airport I saw the most beautiful sight of my day.  The last passengers to deplane from an aircraft are the passengers that need assistance.  I don’t know if this gentleman working that day was a staff member of Miami International Airport, or if he was a Ground/Customer Service Agent for American Airlines.  But he escorted the last passenger off the aircraft, in to the terminal, and continued on towards the exit.  This older lady was obviously unsure of anything that was going on based on the worried and perplexed look on her face.  But even I, from a distance, could tell she was in good hands; his kind black hand held on to her fragile white hand.  They were strangers just a few minutes ago when he boarded to help her deplane.  Now they were locked in one of the most important gestures that we, as living, thinking, caring human beings, by God’s design, are all able and capable of doing; holding hands.

I like holding hands!

12 August 2012 ~ OLYMPICS AND ALL THAT

12 August 2012 ~ OLYMPICS AND ALL THAT

In my last blog I briefly talked about my roots.  I am lucky enough to say that I am a proud expat of Britain.  Now, after over twenty years in my new life in Canada, I am also lucky enough to call myself a proud Canadian.

When I took out my Canadian citizenship back in 1991, there were latent thoughts of being Judas; that I was turning my back on my roots.  I was still young at 33 and my head was not as smart as I hope it is today.  At the ceremony we sung God Save the Queen and at the end we sung Oh Canada.  I knew the words to both National Anthems.  Still do.  To be a citizen was important to me.  It allowed me to have a vote and a voice.  For those of us that live in a free society, it is an invaluable asset.  I rarely vocalise politics and I’m not starting now.  This blog is not about that.

When parents start a family and have three children, they do not divide their love between the three.  Parents multiply their love for their children by three.  I am proud to say that I love my home of Canada as equally as I love my roots of the fair and green isle of Great Britain.  My love is also multiplied; not divided. Two great countries that are still my two great homes.

And so, as a writer of sorts, I feel the need to stay up late tonight.  The urge to pour my thoughts and animated wit on to my laptop screen is too much.  I was caught up in the moment of time called the Closing Ceremony!

There is nothing like the Olympics to rekindle the fire of patriotism; in particular for the host nation.  Here in Canada we are essentially a winter sport country.  We have our hero athletes, too.  Sidney Crosby, from the province of Nova Scotia is a national hero in the sport of ice hockey.  Two years ago, when Vancouver hosted the 2010 Winter Olympics; just as the marathon is the final event in the summer games, the ice hockey gold medal is the last one at the winter games.  Sid was the lad that scored the golden goal in the extra period of the Gold Medal Final against the arch nemesis of the United States of America.  They employ the golden goal in this sport (next goal’s the winner) and he came through to be an icon.  If nobody scores in that extra period of twenty minutes, they play another period.  Then another and then another.  The winning team has to score the winning goal.  No lottery of penalties in this sport.  Strongest, last standing team wins.  Citius, Altius, Fortius.

With London 2012 it pleased me no end that the Canadian TV coverage showed more than just Canadian athletes.  We were fortunate that the broadcasting company focused on other great achievements too.  That meant that I was able to see my ‘other’ team and root for them as well.  And I did.  I was proud of Team Canada’s achievements in London 2012.  But I was proud of Team GB also.

I was a sportsman in my youth.  I did a lot of long distance running; not to compete, just to build stamina and endurance.  I played football, if I speak as a Brit and I played soccer, if I speak as a Canuck.  I also dabbled in water polo, squash, rock climbing, boxing (not for long, though) and a number of other different sports.  But football was my game.

I don’t want to talk about the athletes here.  They are, without doubt, our heroes and icons.  I want to talk about the Closing Ceremony.  The show that was put on for the Closing Ceremony was, for this writer at least, nothing short of amazing.  My other true love is the art of music and words.  I enjoy playing my guitar and I have now embarked on learning the harmonica.  I have jammed with many friends over the decades.  I recently even had a chance to jam with my daughter, Zoe’s, boyfriend.  In fact Tyson keeps his drums at our place now.

So for me, the closing ceremony was an absolute thrill.  I insisted, to the family, that we make a night of it.  We did.  Plates of munchies of all kinds and the big screen hi-def. TV was played through my stereo at a ‘decent’ volume.  What a show.  It had it all.  I admit I didn’t know all of the great talent that Britain supplies to the world.  But I knew most.  I had tears when John Lennon, with Imagine, was played.  Showing a great man of peace in his prime before some idiot cut him down.  To watch the late, great Freddie Mercury interact with the crowd also moved me to tears.  Then there was Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here; so poignant. 

My teenage girls were ecstatic with the Spice Girls, and so was I.  Brian May from Queen, The Who, Ray Davies from the Kinks with Waterloo Sunset.  Brilliant!  Brilliant!! Brilliant!!!  The world was shown that the great is well and truly still in Great Britain.  I am so proud.  It is my belief that this sort of resilient display is what got this great nation through The War. 

Everyone has a mentor; mine has been Sir Winston Churchill ever since I was a lad.  Perhaps it is because of that part of my other love, writing.  This great man wrote his own speeches (often in his bathtub) and it was his words that rallied a nation when, at times, all he had to offer was words.  It has been said that words are cheap, but when they come from an icon like Winston they are not cheap; they’re priceless.

So for me it was one of the best concerts I can recall and the whole world had the chance to join in.  Music.  Joy.  Passion.  Pride.  Love and Peace.  John would have been proud; imagine!  It reminded me of Live Aid 1984.  When, as one world, we focused on one thing; the brotherhood of man.  For me, with all that music, it took me back to that time.  The time when the whole world was together as one.  Such synergy!

Remember that button on my laptop that I talked about in my last blog? (INTERNET + GOOGLE EARTH = MEMORY LANE).  I sure wish I could have pressed it tonight and beamed down to London town and been a part of this historic moment in time.  I couldn’t, of course.  But I recorded it!  I will be able to relive Great Britain’s other ‘Finest Hour’ anytime I want; the Closing Ceremony of an Olympics that was served to the world by Great Britain in gargantuous proportions of talent.

Well done Canada for 2010.  You put on a great show and shared with the world the musical talents of the likes of Randy Bachman (BTO) and Neil Young (a great singer/songwriter) and many others.  But tonight my emotions run high as a Brit.  To get so much talent, athletic and artistic, together for one moment in time, for the world to watch, was an absolute marvel.

What Great Britain told the whole world tonight, in this writer’s humble opinion, is simply this; each of us needs the abilities of all of us.  And if you take one small part away from this equation of life, as we know it, then the whole becomes incomplete.  London 2012 took the whole world, and made that world compete and complete.  As a Brit, as a Canadian and as a member of the most important race in history; the human race, you have my undying and heartfelt thanks. 

JOB WELL DONE!

10 August 2012 ~ INTERNET + GOOGLE EARTH = MEMORY LANE

10 August 2012 ~ INTERNET + GOOGLE EARTH = MEMORY LANE

I still play vinyl.  I still own a Walkman.  But my Kodak film camera, with attaching cube flashbulbs, has long since bit the dust.  I remember my first calculator, VCR, CD player, etc.  All that aside; there is nothing quite as wondrous as the World Wide Web.  For the past hour, whilst enjoying a fine glass (or three) of wine, I have been travelling the earth visiting all of the houses I have lived in as man and boy; quite remarkable!  It really is a virtual trip down memory lane.

Years ago, when visiting England for the first time in ages, I had my lovely bride, Jane, run the 8mm camcorder (no view screens back then) for ages whilst I drove the rental car through the streets of Liverpool where I first kicked a ball as a lad.  I realise now what a right royal pain in the arse I must have been.  But at the time it was important to me.  I wasn’t sure when I would ever be back in this old stomping ground of my younger youth.  There have been many times, usually late at night and before the internet, that I would pop in the tape and take that drive down memory lane.  Homesick?  Perhaps.  The fact is that I have moved around the planet that much, I catch myself asking what I could, or should, call home any more.  But it doesn’t take me long to realise that home, my roots that is, will always be Garston, Liverpool 19. 

Today, and for the past twenty-four years, my home has been Canada.  This is where Jane and I moved to when I came out of the Royal Air Force.  Initially I missed the pubs and the football.  Today there are a lot of ‘English’ bars where you can whet your whistle and I can watch all the footy I want on TV.  I can read my old favourite newspaper, The Daily Telegraph, but I refuse to pay for the opportunity to fail at their crossword; I couldn’t finish it even when I lived in England. 

With Facebook I can have brief chats, share photos and generally mix and mingle with friends of old as well as new.  Up until this moment I have taken all of this for granted.  Not anymore.  I mean, I can pretty much do it all on my laptop.  What an age we live in compared to the Walkman!  The fact that I can carry around with me about two weeks’ worth of music in my shirt pocket and not require the services of a wheelbarrow in the process is amazing!  So at home, I do still play my vinyl, but the digital portability for my iTunes astounds even me.

Ugh!  I can’t believe the colour the garage door has been painted on the first house we bought back in England.  That has to be the worst green ever!  The front lawn still looks much the same; in need of cutting! 

Just took a jog along the sea front in Great Yarmouth.  The tower is still there.  I think it was called the Oasis Tower when we lived there.  Although I can notice quite a few changes, some things still look the way I remember through my child’s eye.  Uncanny that.

But my Liverpool has changed dramatically.  Change is necessary, I suppose, but I selfishly wish sometimes that I could just go back to how it all used to be.  I am not kidding myself here; I am well aware that the quality of life I lead now compared to then is by far much nicer.  But wouldn’t it be brilliant if you could press a key on your laptop and, just like Scrooge’s ghost of Christmas past, you could ‘beam’ yourself down to the times of scraped knees and jam butties and not knowing the difference between whether you were clean or dirty; you left that decision up to your mum! 

Here I am, out on the deck, and my teenage girls are inside watching the Olympics on the big screen high-def. TV with their laptops on their laps and their cellular phone by their sides.  All I needed (and had for that matter) was a football.  I got to watch Batman down the street at number 20 once a week because we didn’t even own a TV.  Yes, they were happy times, but so are these. 

I am thankful that I still have the memories in my own RAM in between my ears.  Bit of techno jargon there!  I know that you know what it means, because you are reading this on a computer.

How did our parents manage without slow cookers, microwaves, washing machines and dryers, dishwashers and so on?  I don’t recall my mum owning a vacuum cleaner until I was about twelve. We were a family of four with no car and coped quite easily getting groceries once a week without making it the huge logistics exercise that it’s become today.  And that was without stores being open on a Sunday!

Recently I was in Germany on business, it was May I think.  I was in my hotel room having a face-to-face conversation on Skype with my family back in Canada.  They were telling me that they had been in the garden all day planting flowers.  I said I can`t wait to see them when I get back home in a couple of days, but my techno-savvy daughters just picked up their laptop and showed me around the garden!  Brilliant!

There is no doubt that technology has come a long way since the first thermos-flask.  Despite all of these great inventions, my favourite still has to be the digital clock-radio; not because you don`t have to wake up to the sound of a pseudo fire alarm bell, but because of the brilliant Snooze Button!

Good-Night…