I'm going to write today as if the words came from a shotgun. There won't be one specific theme, but instead I'll throw a bunch of thoughts at the cyberspace wall and see if anything sticks. I hope at least one of the attempts resonants with you.
As its Thanksgiving weekend, I'll first start out by wishing all of you health and happiness. In a nutshell, if you really think of it, if you have those two simple things then what more can you ask for. Perhaps there is one more thing - an extra helping of mom's gravy on Sunday when the Nixon and West clans sit down together to devour the turkey and fix-ins. We'll remember my dad and Lynda's dad too. Dad would have the plate so loaded that it required side boards and Ron would be reminded that gravy is not meant to be a beverage. I am thankful for having such fond memories.
Minor hockey has begun another season and the next John Slaney or Daniel Cleary is waiting to be discovered in the frosty rinks of our province. I'm not coaching this year, so it's been a strange fall season. I did go to the rink this morning to watch some of the kids I coached last year as they played their first tournament of the season. Hockey is unique in the passion it inspires. The rink is a tin can but it is a shrine nonetheless. It seemed that every player had an entourage. In the congregation were parents, both sets of grandparents, copious uncles and aunts, and reluctant siblings. At this time of year, as well as for kids who are at the age that most still sleep with blankies, hope abounds. After a hour, I left the rink. It was great to watch the kids work so hard and to compete. I think I made the right choice not to coach hockey this year. I'll use that extra time to volunteer at my daughter's swim club. Pools tend to be a lot warmer than rinks and the expectations for the kids' success are more realistic. I know that Kendall won't become a millionaire because she is a great breaststroker, but I've already booked plane tickets for the 2016 Olympics in Rio.
I admire so many people. They are not celebrities or famous in any way. These are people who take the crap that life throws at them and make the best of it. Life is short. We all have others depending, in one way or another, on us. Those of you who tackle the untimely death of loved ones, ill health, difficult employment situations, job loss and so many other challenges, continue to fight the good fight. Don't forget that those of us who know and care about you are not meant just to be spectators.
I'm back on the job hunt. Being a dad, house husband, chauffeur for my children and children's friends, and a blogger are all great but the pay sucks! Having kids is expensive, as is running your brother's boat aground. I have an iron in the fire, so I'll let you know if and when it becomes a sure thing. Lynda is on the proverbial fence about me working. We've enjoyed a couple of years of me just being available to do all of the stuff that comes with having a home and a family. I'm thinking of telling her that I'll give up the job search if she provides some thoughtful fringe benefits (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I'm pretty sure I know her reply will be along the lines of "So when do you start your new job." I haven't told her yet that I'm not too hopeful on landing the job. I've applied to be the captain of the Bell Island ferry.
It's time to head home. I have to check on a leak that's coming from the main floor into the basement. It's been going on for the last few days. I left it as I kind of hoped that Lynda or mom would look after it, but no such luck. I do laundry and the dishes and I'm still expected to fix stuff around the house. My dad and father-in-law must be rolling in their graves. Perhaps they have a point. I think I'll have another coffee and read the paper. After that I'll head home and beg Lynda to forgive me. Just maybe I'll have to make it up to her by providing her with fringe benefits. Now wouldn't that be a real nice "thanks giving".
Saturday, October 06, 2012
Thursday, October 04, 2012
Broken Dream
A few days ago, my wife, Lynda, informed me that I'm "half cracked". Apparently she is not alone in her assertion, as she also told me that several other people agree with her. I was speechless....a rarity.
For those of you who may not be quite sure how someone comes to be labelled as "half cracked", let me explain. I believe the term is unique to Newfoundland and it's synonymous with crazy, but in a nicer way. If that's at all possible? The context in which the term is used and the intonation the speaker utilizes when describing someone in such a manner is oh so important. As a result, it is possible to be called "half cracked" and it is not meant in a derogatory sense. Some of the funniest, most genuine and caring people I know certainly fall on the good side of being half cracked. It's not unusual to hear the following: "Let's get together with Wayne and his wife this weekend. They're a lot of fun and he's half cracked." Or how about after an awesome Friday night on George Street - "Everyone was sure having a time. They were all half cracked. Want to go down town again tonight?"
So being described as half cracked is not necessarily a bad thing. I think that's how Lynda meant it when she said it to me last week. I can see how I have earned the title over the years. Perhaps the negative thing about being half cracked is that it's not possible to ever go back to being un-cracked. Think of an egg.......makes sense I guess, as an egg with a broken shell can never be whole again. (As proven by all of the king's men.) But if I take that thought process a little further, then is an egg really ever half cracked? It's either cracked or it isn't. Right? It's the same as being pregnant......you're either pregnant or your not.
So that explains what transpired between Lynda and me yesterday. No, Lynda is not pregnant and neither am I! I came up with what I saw as a good idea and was gathering more information about it. I must agree with Lynda that it is somewhat of a different idea. Actually, the word she used was "extreme". It turns out that not too many people have done it before. I spoke to someone knowledgeable in the field and was told that she had not had anyone do what I was proposing in the 25 years she has been involved in this endeavour, even though it is quite possible to do it and it is actually a very good thing. I'm not about to tell you what it was. That's between Lynda and me.
As it turns out, the timing is probably not right for me to proceed with this idea. Lynda is great at helping me see the big picture during those times when I am looking at things through a narrow tunnel. I appreciate her counsel. There was no need to consider the context or the intonation she used when she was telling me what she thought of my idea. It was short, sweet and quite clear. She said I was "cracked". I think it sounded better when I was just "half cracked".
For those of you who may not be quite sure how someone comes to be labelled as "half cracked", let me explain. I believe the term is unique to Newfoundland and it's synonymous with crazy, but in a nicer way. If that's at all possible? The context in which the term is used and the intonation the speaker utilizes when describing someone in such a manner is oh so important. As a result, it is possible to be called "half cracked" and it is not meant in a derogatory sense. Some of the funniest, most genuine and caring people I know certainly fall on the good side of being half cracked. It's not unusual to hear the following: "Let's get together with Wayne and his wife this weekend. They're a lot of fun and he's half cracked." Or how about after an awesome Friday night on George Street - "Everyone was sure having a time. They were all half cracked. Want to go down town again tonight?"
So being described as half cracked is not necessarily a bad thing. I think that's how Lynda meant it when she said it to me last week. I can see how I have earned the title over the years. Perhaps the negative thing about being half cracked is that it's not possible to ever go back to being un-cracked. Think of an egg.......makes sense I guess, as an egg with a broken shell can never be whole again. (As proven by all of the king's men.) But if I take that thought process a little further, then is an egg really ever half cracked? It's either cracked or it isn't. Right? It's the same as being pregnant......you're either pregnant or your not.
So that explains what transpired between Lynda and me yesterday. No, Lynda is not pregnant and neither am I! I came up with what I saw as a good idea and was gathering more information about it. I must agree with Lynda that it is somewhat of a different idea. Actually, the word she used was "extreme". It turns out that not too many people have done it before. I spoke to someone knowledgeable in the field and was told that she had not had anyone do what I was proposing in the 25 years she has been involved in this endeavour, even though it is quite possible to do it and it is actually a very good thing. I'm not about to tell you what it was. That's between Lynda and me.
As it turns out, the timing is probably not right for me to proceed with this idea. Lynda is great at helping me see the big picture during those times when I am looking at things through a narrow tunnel. I appreciate her counsel. There was no need to consider the context or the intonation she used when she was telling me what she thought of my idea. It was short, sweet and quite clear. She said I was "cracked". I think it sounded better when I was just "half cracked".
Monday, October 01, 2012
Yutes
My homeland is a changing. Most noticeably, at least this year, is the fact that eastern Newfoundland has had descent weather since mid June. Three and a half months of fairly nice weather, whereas in a typical year, three and a half weeks would be the norm.
The animals that inhabit the north eastern part of this province have also changed since the days of my youth. It is not uncommon to see squirrels busily squirrelling away food for the winter. Where the heck did they come from? Also, once rare as hens teeth, foxes are now as common as cats used to be in my rural neighbourhood, which may explain the cat shortage. My neighbour actually befriended a little black fox and they enjoyed sharing early mornings together on his deck that overlooks beautiful Outer Cove. That was until someone left the poor little guy dead in the middle of the road after hitting him with their car. The fox was youthful, so perhaps he was not wise to the dangers of man's progress.
A more recent addition to the landscape is the wily coyote. I have yet to actually see one, but word of their presence abounds and provides excellent fodder for the local newspaper and radio call in shows. On my favourite Saturday morning cartoon as a kid, the Roadrunner didn't seem to fear Wile E. So why is it that the mere mention that the coyote now inhabits our province causes native Newfoundlanders to lock up their children and to bear arms against the unwelcome intruder. It's almost as if the coyote was a CFA (a Come From Away or person not born in Newfoundland). In a sense I guess it is.
Now it seems we have a new and even more dangerous species to worry about. It's something called a "yute". I first heard of them in a movie called My Cousin Vinny. That was a few years ago and in those days they seemed to travel in pairs. I vividly recall the actor, Joe Pesci, telling the judge of the notorious behaviour of "two yutes". It now seems that they sometimes travel in packs.
Like the wolf, I have yet to see any actual yutes either, but I understand they are masters of disguise and deception so that's not all too surprising. Yutes can appear to be harmless and can blend so well into the landscape that you hardly notice them. Stumbling upon one yute is not supposed to be so bad, as they seem to only be dangerous when in larger numbers. Apparently they are right here amongst us. There was a report on the radio this morning that five were captured in St. John's over the weekend. From the sound of things, these yutes are more predatory than just about anything else we have here on the island. This particular gaggle of yutes is alleged to have lured a 24 year old, physically disabled man to a wooded area in the city's west end, where they proceeded to deprive him of his valuables and his dignity. As this seemingly nocuous species is prone to do, they pummelled, pounded and "laid the boots" to their prey. Perhaps the beating was necessary so the yutes could soften up their victim.
What these yutes are purported to have done reminds me of something I witnessed when I was a much younger man. I attended bull fights in Spain and was surprised to see that the matador finished off the bulls only after a legion of less heralded taunters had turned them into ground beef and the once mighty animals were barely able to move. Thirteen bulls were killed during that afternoon's spectacle. Not all at once, as even a bull, upon observing the goings on, would understand the fate that awaited and would surely attempt to survive. A stampede of thirteen bulls would have certainly evened the odds somewhat. To ensure victory, the bulls were singled out. Once separated from the herd, the youthful gang of wannabe matador's tortured and maimed their victims. A single weakened bull was easy prey.
The way I see it, yutes are the matadors. The 24 year old, on his way to a movie, walking alone in the parking lot, just happened to be the lonely bull. I think it's time we took responsible and tamed the yutes so they can live amongst us in peace and harmony. If we don't, then the next time it could be you that becomes their prey and that's no bull.
The animals that inhabit the north eastern part of this province have also changed since the days of my youth. It is not uncommon to see squirrels busily squirrelling away food for the winter. Where the heck did they come from? Also, once rare as hens teeth, foxes are now as common as cats used to be in my rural neighbourhood, which may explain the cat shortage. My neighbour actually befriended a little black fox and they enjoyed sharing early mornings together on his deck that overlooks beautiful Outer Cove. That was until someone left the poor little guy dead in the middle of the road after hitting him with their car. The fox was youthful, so perhaps he was not wise to the dangers of man's progress.
A more recent addition to the landscape is the wily coyote. I have yet to actually see one, but word of their presence abounds and provides excellent fodder for the local newspaper and radio call in shows. On my favourite Saturday morning cartoon as a kid, the Roadrunner didn't seem to fear Wile E. So why is it that the mere mention that the coyote now inhabits our province causes native Newfoundlanders to lock up their children and to bear arms against the unwelcome intruder. It's almost as if the coyote was a CFA (a Come From Away or person not born in Newfoundland). In a sense I guess it is.
Now it seems we have a new and even more dangerous species to worry about. It's something called a "yute". I first heard of them in a movie called My Cousin Vinny. That was a few years ago and in those days they seemed to travel in pairs. I vividly recall the actor, Joe Pesci, telling the judge of the notorious behaviour of "two yutes". It now seems that they sometimes travel in packs.
Like the wolf, I have yet to see any actual yutes either, but I understand they are masters of disguise and deception so that's not all too surprising. Yutes can appear to be harmless and can blend so well into the landscape that you hardly notice them. Stumbling upon one yute is not supposed to be so bad, as they seem to only be dangerous when in larger numbers. Apparently they are right here amongst us. There was a report on the radio this morning that five were captured in St. John's over the weekend. From the sound of things, these yutes are more predatory than just about anything else we have here on the island. This particular gaggle of yutes is alleged to have lured a 24 year old, physically disabled man to a wooded area in the city's west end, where they proceeded to deprive him of his valuables and his dignity. As this seemingly nocuous species is prone to do, they pummelled, pounded and "laid the boots" to their prey. Perhaps the beating was necessary so the yutes could soften up their victim.
What these yutes are purported to have done reminds me of something I witnessed when I was a much younger man. I attended bull fights in Spain and was surprised to see that the matador finished off the bulls only after a legion of less heralded taunters had turned them into ground beef and the once mighty animals were barely able to move. Thirteen bulls were killed during that afternoon's spectacle. Not all at once, as even a bull, upon observing the goings on, would understand the fate that awaited and would surely attempt to survive. A stampede of thirteen bulls would have certainly evened the odds somewhat. To ensure victory, the bulls were singled out. Once separated from the herd, the youthful gang of wannabe matador's tortured and maimed their victims. A single weakened bull was easy prey.
The way I see it, yutes are the matadors. The 24 year old, on his way to a movie, walking alone in the parking lot, just happened to be the lonely bull. I think it's time we took responsible and tamed the yutes so they can live amongst us in peace and harmony. If we don't, then the next time it could be you that becomes their prey and that's no bull.
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