Just about any journalist worth a pinch can write or recite a good story. A first year cub reporter at a newspaper can put to paper what he or she has been told in a coherent manner. Broadcast media personalities just read the news to us from prompters or from a page, where the words have been written by someone else. Wouldn't it be way more interesting if our 6 o'clock news anchors, Jonathan Crowe and Freddy Hutton, were in their stories instead of just being talking heads in suits?
What really separates me, as a blogger, a writer and a story teller, from 99% of my compatriots is my ability to create the story. Let me be totally honest. It's never my intention to be cast in the lead role of my own dramatic comedies. There's nothing in it for me to write better stories, at least not materially. I don't have ads on my blog so there are no extra pennies rolling into my bank account from having more page views. I don't have any sponsors, nor do I ever envision any publishing company knocking on my door to sign me to a book deal. If I had my druthers, I'd very much prefer to sit back and "live, laugh and love" at the rest of you rather than the table being turned the other way, as it so often seems to be.
My most recent "slice of life" is still unfolding. I hope to be around long enough to tell you how it turns out, but I may be dead by then! I suspect my baby brother, Bill, wants me out of the picture. If he catches up with me today I'll probably end up in the middle of Torbay (the actual bay of Torbay) wearing a pair of size 10 1/2 cement shoes. My only saving grace from suffering that fate is he no longer has a boat. I took care of that yesterday.
Okay, I didn't actually sink his 18 foot long, ocean going beauty. I almost did. What I did do was drive her over a humpback whale sized rock that was lurking precariously below the ocean's surface just off Outer Cove beach. That rock hasn't moved since I first visited that beach in the mid 1970's, so pleading ignorance just won't cut it. I did it - plain and simple. It kind of makes the title of my most recent story, "Stund Arse", apropos.
As it turned out, the boat itself is unharmed. I can't say the same for the nearly new and very expensive motor that saddles her bow. She's a beauty....or at least she was. A propeller is always a victim when rocks are involved. The good thing about them is that they are relatively easy to replace and relatively not too hard on the pocketbook. As my luck goes, this engine has fancy wings just below the propeller. Now, it used to have fancy wings. You guessed it, relatively speaking, these wings are not cheap. (I keep using "relative", but I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's to remind Bill that we are, after all, brothers.) The guy at the service shop, where I went even before taking the S.S. Minnow back to Bill, said a part can be welded on the wings and the motor will work as good as new. That would be fine if the boat and motor belonged to me. I've been taught that when you borrow something, bring it back the same or even better than when you got it. Therefore, new wings it has to be.
I awoke this morning after a restless night. The sound and the feel of the motor hitting the rock played over and over in my head. I couldn't sleep anyway as I had to keep one eye and ear open in case Bill came to extract revenge. I don't have any fancy man toys for him to flatten. There are no quads, trikes, bikes, or fancy four wheelers in my yard. My only concern was that he may try to do what we brothers did to one another when we were kids - the dreaded wedgie. Thankfully, Bill didn't show up. Maybe tonight I'll be able to wear my thong pj's to bed and not worry so much.
To add sea salt to my wounds, the weather this morning was perfect. As I looked out my front window I could see several boats out on Torbay. The morning mariners would be jigging for cod, as the recreational fall fishery had opened last weekend and runs until this coming Sunday. Just as I love to be out on the water fishing, so does Bill. It was why he bought a boat in the first place and why I was glad he did. The same boat that now sits at the repair shop in the west end of St. John's, which is a long way from the sunny skies and warm winds gracing the calm waters of Torbay this morning. The repair plan is for the propeller to be replaced by early this afternoon. The replacement of the wings is a more delicate job, so I've scheduled that for next week after the recreational fishery is over. That way, Bill should have his partially repaired boat back today and can get out this evening.
I'm not sure what long term damage has been done to my relationship with my younger brother. I hope this is something we'll be laughing about for years to come. Until the actual laughing begins, I probably shouldn't think about asking him if I can use his boat tomorrow?
I do know that having the starring role in this particular story has not only not made me wealthy, but it has also has had the opposite effect. I hope not too many of my future stories end up costing me so much. I may have a solution to my financial quandary. Before yesterday's incident, we did manage to haul eight cod into the boat. It's against the rules, but I'm sure the authorities would understand if I tried to recoup some of my losses by selling these fish. So if you know of anyone interested in some fresh cod fillets, please send them my way. The cost - only $400 a pound (cash only please).
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Stund Arse
Sometimes it takes me a while to master the obvious. It's probably because I tend to ignore things unless or until they impact my life in some way, shape or form.. It's a truism that when something has an impact on our lives, whether positively or negatively, it is only at that point do many of us take notice. As I said, I've been slow on the uptake a few times in my life. Thankfully, there are loved ones around who have helped to keep me grounded and have been more than willing to give me a "duff in the arse" whenever I have needed it most. Perhaps I'm being a little hard on myself. I'm not stund all of the time, just some of it. (And yes, that is the correct spelling of "stund", at least here in Newfoundland. To spell it as "stunned" would be....., well, stund!)
My one shining example of an event that impacted my life was when babies arrived in our household around 12 and 10 years ago. I was at an extremely busy point of my policing career. I was spearheading a new program for the RCMP in Ontario and was partnered with two drug sniffing dogs, Bandit and Max. These Labs were with me 24-7. Their ability to perform well was solely my responsibility and one that I took seriously. There was no down time and no relaxing weekends with family and friends as there was always exercise needed for the dogs, obedience sessions or drug detection training to undertake. That is not to mention the after hours call outs to help combat crime and the hundreds of demonstrations my furry partners and I did for just about every conceivable kids' group, school and charitable organization within hailing distance. Oh yeah, I also punched a regular forty hour work week sniffing around Toronto International Airport..
I had an inkling that life as I knew it was about to change when the kids arrived. It was just the wrong inkling. I erroneously figured life was about to get a little easier, at least for a while. After all, Lynda would be off on maternity leave. For a year after each of the kids were born she would be home all day. No longer would she have to leave the house so early each weekday morning to beat the insufferable rush hour traffic as she and the rest of the suburbanites made their way from Burlington to Mississauga, only to repeat the process to get home each evening. With so much more free time, Lynda would be able to cook, clean and be the perfect mother to our children (and to me!). Surely a hot breakfast awaited me each morning. The added bonus was that I would have all of this extra time to devote to my job and passion, which was playing..... I mean working with my detector dogs.
Reality turned out to be vastly different from the world I had envisioned. Who knew that a new mom actually sleeps very little and she even has to get up a couple of times a night to feed the baby? I had encouraged Lynda to breastfeed. It seemed like the perfect situation - free food and a delivery system that didn't involve me so I would sleep soundly and be well rested for work the next day. Plus it provided a chance for Lynda to bond with the kids, which was important because I wouldn't be home too much because I planned to spend more time perfecting my craft as a dog handler and making the streets safer for my children. I was the one making the big sacrifice in the relationship. Right? Wrong again. Another duff in the arse for me.
On the breastfeeding issue, my advice to new dads or those of you who will be a daddy sometime in the future is simple. Listen to your partner - she will have already researched this to death and have spoken with her mother, sisters, and girlfriends, so you have nothing important to add; look her in the eye and nod a lot when she talks to you about her position on whether or not to breastfeed; whatever feeding choice you make as a couple, tell her that it's the best one for your child (and tell her that again and again); lastly, watch and help out as much as you can. Watching and holding your baby are two of life's simple and most joyous pleasures. Even I figured that one out before it was too late.
So when did the light come on entirely for me? When did I finally realize that Lynda, Kendall and Avery were better off having a husband and father at home rather than a workaholic, slave to the man, poop scooping, dog loving, public servant who called his mobile dog pen home? Perhaps it was 10 years ago, soon after Avery was born? That was when I resigned as a dog handler and turned my dogs over to officers who I hoped would care about them as much as I had. Perhaps it was four years ago when I realized that even though I no longer had a dog for a partner, I was spending even more time on the trail of the scoundrels who use the drug trade and the human weakness that supports it as a means to line their pockets with material riches? Or maybe it was two years ago when I finally left my policing career? The oath I took 23 years ago and the weight of the badge I carried in my wallet were lifted from my shoulders when I finally retired. In the subsequent two years I have continued to "untrain" myself from looking at everyone and everything from a policeman's perspective. It's work-in-progress, but it sure is liberating.
I guess the true answer is I'm still learning to be the best husband and father I can be. I am so lucky to have an understanding partner (the two legged variety) and awesome kids. I'd be the first to fully understand if ever one, or all of them, comes up to me and says "Daddy, why were you so stund for all those years?" and then proceeds to give me a good duff in the arse. I earned it.
My one shining example of an event that impacted my life was when babies arrived in our household around 12 and 10 years ago. I was at an extremely busy point of my policing career. I was spearheading a new program for the RCMP in Ontario and was partnered with two drug sniffing dogs, Bandit and Max. These Labs were with me 24-7. Their ability to perform well was solely my responsibility and one that I took seriously. There was no down time and no relaxing weekends with family and friends as there was always exercise needed for the dogs, obedience sessions or drug detection training to undertake. That is not to mention the after hours call outs to help combat crime and the hundreds of demonstrations my furry partners and I did for just about every conceivable kids' group, school and charitable organization within hailing distance. Oh yeah, I also punched a regular forty hour work week sniffing around Toronto International Airport..
I had an inkling that life as I knew it was about to change when the kids arrived. It was just the wrong inkling. I erroneously figured life was about to get a little easier, at least for a while. After all, Lynda would be off on maternity leave. For a year after each of the kids were born she would be home all day. No longer would she have to leave the house so early each weekday morning to beat the insufferable rush hour traffic as she and the rest of the suburbanites made their way from Burlington to Mississauga, only to repeat the process to get home each evening. With so much more free time, Lynda would be able to cook, clean and be the perfect mother to our children (and to me!). Surely a hot breakfast awaited me each morning. The added bonus was that I would have all of this extra time to devote to my job and passion, which was playing..... I mean working with my detector dogs.
Reality turned out to be vastly different from the world I had envisioned. Who knew that a new mom actually sleeps very little and she even has to get up a couple of times a night to feed the baby? I had encouraged Lynda to breastfeed. It seemed like the perfect situation - free food and a delivery system that didn't involve me so I would sleep soundly and be well rested for work the next day. Plus it provided a chance for Lynda to bond with the kids, which was important because I wouldn't be home too much because I planned to spend more time perfecting my craft as a dog handler and making the streets safer for my children. I was the one making the big sacrifice in the relationship. Right? Wrong again. Another duff in the arse for me.
On the breastfeeding issue, my advice to new dads or those of you who will be a daddy sometime in the future is simple. Listen to your partner - she will have already researched this to death and have spoken with her mother, sisters, and girlfriends, so you have nothing important to add; look her in the eye and nod a lot when she talks to you about her position on whether or not to breastfeed; whatever feeding choice you make as a couple, tell her that it's the best one for your child (and tell her that again and again); lastly, watch and help out as much as you can. Watching and holding your baby are two of life's simple and most joyous pleasures. Even I figured that one out before it was too late.
So when did the light come on entirely for me? When did I finally realize that Lynda, Kendall and Avery were better off having a husband and father at home rather than a workaholic, slave to the man, poop scooping, dog loving, public servant who called his mobile dog pen home? Perhaps it was 10 years ago, soon after Avery was born? That was when I resigned as a dog handler and turned my dogs over to officers who I hoped would care about them as much as I had. Perhaps it was four years ago when I realized that even though I no longer had a dog for a partner, I was spending even more time on the trail of the scoundrels who use the drug trade and the human weakness that supports it as a means to line their pockets with material riches? Or maybe it was two years ago when I finally left my policing career? The oath I took 23 years ago and the weight of the badge I carried in my wallet were lifted from my shoulders when I finally retired. In the subsequent two years I have continued to "untrain" myself from looking at everyone and everything from a policeman's perspective. It's work-in-progress, but it sure is liberating.
I guess the true answer is I'm still learning to be the best husband and father I can be. I am so lucky to have an understanding partner (the two legged variety) and awesome kids. I'd be the first to fully understand if ever one, or all of them, comes up to me and says "Daddy, why were you so stund for all those years?" and then proceeds to give me a good duff in the arse. I earned it.
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