My four year old nephew, the real James Nixon, knows more than the average kid his age. In fact, it would seem that he is in a class by himself on the genius continuum. You see, little red headed James knows everything. To verify, all you simply have to do is ask him. Sure, it's an easy claim to make. There are lots of pretenders out there. Lynda's uncle Paul is "Cliff Claven-like" in knowing just about every tidbit of useless information. (Paul kind of looks like Cliffie too! Lucky Brenda!!) But when compared to James, Paul turns out only to be a pretender to the throne of being all knowing.. He is simply a master at parroting what he has seen on reruns of the Discovery Channel.
I have witnessed James' brilliance. The smart ones seem to have a mastery of grasping the obvious, whereas all others look for hidden meanings and answers to questions that never needed to be asked in the first place. The past Sunday, the Nixon clan gathered at mom's for our traditional weekly feast (FYI - any time there's gravy involved, then it can be classified as a feast). I was sporting a week's worth of facial scruff. I had let it get to that point for two reasons: one was to see how grey I had become, given I have very little hair on the top of my head to gauge such things; the second was to see if more manliness would spur on more womanliness in Lynda. From my experiment I learned that I could give Saint Nic a run for having the snowiest looking beard and I also found out that Lynda is all the woman I will ever need regardless of how much hair I have or from where it chooses to sprout. I dare not say any more, as she has forbidden me to mention her in my stories. (When she starts to read them, then I'll stop. Maybe.)
A week into having a face that more resembled a bear than my usual baby butt complexion, not one person had said anything to me. Not my wife, not our best friends who were home from Ontario, not my brothers, my kids, my mother, nor my many close friends who had seen me just about every day since I gave my Gillette razor a much needed vacation. I was beginning to wonder. Perhaps all of those years of trying to go unnoticed while following drug dealers around had made me a virtual ghost. I know I'm not drop dead gorgeous or a radical dresser, but eventually someone had to look me in the face and blurt something out.
Finally, finally, finally, someone took notice. Yes, it was James. As I sat on mom's couch, basking in the glow of having 'gluttoned' myself on a few plate loads of gravy covered something or other, James saddled up beside me, put his little hands of my cheeks and exclaimed "Uncle Jim, you have a beard!" James lived up to his self professed genius. I was so proud of him. I was about to give him a huge hug but when I took a good look at his face, he was sporting a gigantic moustache fashioned out of Grammie's gravy. It was hideous. I could barely bring myself to make eye contact. I certainly couldn't bring myself to tell him. I didn't want to be cruel and hurt his feelings. I figured it best just to say nothing. After all, he's four. He'll get over it.
Suddenly, the light bulb illuminated above my head. It all made sense to me now. People were looking at me for the last seven days. They were seeing my bristly beard take shape. The reason that no one said anything is that they were disgusted and embarrassed for me. I knew it couldn't have been my manly beard that grossed them out. I must have forgotten to wash off last Sunday's gravy moustache.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Good Times in the Maritimes
"Please sir, put me anywhere except the Lock Up." Those words were spoken to me by a federal inmate who I was bringing back to Newfoundland for a court appearance. The inmate was a resident of Nova Scotia's Springhill Institution, courtesy of my former colleges at the RCMP's St. John's Drug Section. The Lock Up is the temporary holding facility for those awaiting court appearances in St. John's. The clientèle there are mostly those who were arrested during the previous night for any number of alleged wrongdoings. Alcohol is often a factor that lends itself to getting on the wrong side of the law, so the Lock Up also has a "drunk tank", where the inebriated can sleep it off - albeit, best done with one eye open! The Lock Up is like something from Middle Ages, minus only the rack and guillotine.
Having never visited Springhill Federal Pen, the few hours I spent with this guy were enough to paint me a nice picture. I believe his exact words were "I love it there." A world class gym, better than basic cable in his private room...I mean cell, and the best food my new acquaintance ever had.. I also learned that he had a rough upbringing and a very unsettled home life as a kid, so his bar may have been set a little lower than for what most of us would consider a decent life. Still, as a deterrent to a committing crime, it was clear to me that jail time was anything but, for this citizen. Our federal penal system managed to provide all of the comforts of house and home. So well, in fact, that it represented a better life than anything he had experienced previously. I got the feeling that he wasn't looking forward to the day that those steel doors closed behind him and he had to fend for himself in the world of free men. On that day a few years into the future, I pictured him standing in front of the doors of Springhill Pen, staring at the vastness and uncertainty of the world before him, then turning and running back to the cold steel door and hitting it with flailing arms while screaming "Let me in.".
Let's come back to the present. Eight years or so have passed since I first met Springhill Pen's #1 fan. I'm no longer a police officer but buddy still finds himself mixed up with some pretty serious criminal charges. Murder is as heinous as it gets. A few months ago, a physical altercation resulted in a man's death and my former travelling companion is alleged to have killed this person. Given the seriousness of the crime, he has been in custody in St. John's ever since. His newest home would be our provincial jail, located on the shores of beautiful Quidi Vidi Lake. What can I say about the aged and decrepit place other than it's a hole! Everything that Springhill Institution is, the "Pen" isn't. Couple that with the fact that he would be making frequent stopovers at the Lock Up as his murder case makes it's way through our system of justice at the usual pace of a tortoise, then I see buddy as being very dissatisfied with his accommodations. That was confirmed when it was recently revealed that he was planning a prison break. His efforts were detailed and advanced enough that he now faces additional charges of attempting to escape lawful custody.
So what do we take from all of this. It's probably fair to say that this is a very troubled individual. Long before I took him from the comfortable confines of Springhill Institution, he likely had caused his more than his allotted share of mayhem in our little corner of the world. Somewhere along the road travelled, he has seemed to come to the perverse realization that getting caught for a crime that carries a penalty of "2 years less a day" just isn't worth committing. Those crimes mean serving your jail time at one of our Newfoundland jails, most likely at the Pen. So unless you go big, you'll have to stay at home.
A conviction for murder could see him go away for life, which means 10 to 15 years in our justice system. If that befalls him, off he'll go to one of our federal pens. He's probably hoping for Springhill. The good news for him is there are even nicer places. Some of our country''s "best" criminals reside in town house style luxury that have all of the status and security that come from being in a true gated community.
If I were the Judge (now there's a laugh), as buddy was standing before me and I was finding him guilty of murder, I'd wipe the smile from his face very quickly. I wouldn't give him 10 years, 20 years or even 50 years. There'd be no Club Fed for him. I'd smash the gavel down and pronounce sentence - "Two years less a day, to be served at Her Majesty's Penitentiary, St. John's with weekends at the Lock Up." I can picture him now, standing at the cold steel door and hitting it with flailing arms while screaming "Let me out.". Now that would be justice served and a warning to those thinking of travelling that sane road.
In case you are wondering, eight years ago I dropped my friend off at the Lock Up. I was naive enough to try to find a better jail cell for him, but had no luck in doing so. It turned out that's where he belonged.
Having never visited Springhill Federal Pen, the few hours I spent with this guy were enough to paint me a nice picture. I believe his exact words were "I love it there." A world class gym, better than basic cable in his private room...I mean cell, and the best food my new acquaintance ever had.. I also learned that he had a rough upbringing and a very unsettled home life as a kid, so his bar may have been set a little lower than for what most of us would consider a decent life. Still, as a deterrent to a committing crime, it was clear to me that jail time was anything but, for this citizen. Our federal penal system managed to provide all of the comforts of house and home. So well, in fact, that it represented a better life than anything he had experienced previously. I got the feeling that he wasn't looking forward to the day that those steel doors closed behind him and he had to fend for himself in the world of free men. On that day a few years into the future, I pictured him standing in front of the doors of Springhill Pen, staring at the vastness and uncertainty of the world before him, then turning and running back to the cold steel door and hitting it with flailing arms while screaming "Let me in.".
Let's come back to the present. Eight years or so have passed since I first met Springhill Pen's #1 fan. I'm no longer a police officer but buddy still finds himself mixed up with some pretty serious criminal charges. Murder is as heinous as it gets. A few months ago, a physical altercation resulted in a man's death and my former travelling companion is alleged to have killed this person. Given the seriousness of the crime, he has been in custody in St. John's ever since. His newest home would be our provincial jail, located on the shores of beautiful Quidi Vidi Lake. What can I say about the aged and decrepit place other than it's a hole! Everything that Springhill Institution is, the "Pen" isn't. Couple that with the fact that he would be making frequent stopovers at the Lock Up as his murder case makes it's way through our system of justice at the usual pace of a tortoise, then I see buddy as being very dissatisfied with his accommodations. That was confirmed when it was recently revealed that he was planning a prison break. His efforts were detailed and advanced enough that he now faces additional charges of attempting to escape lawful custody.
So what do we take from all of this. It's probably fair to say that this is a very troubled individual. Long before I took him from the comfortable confines of Springhill Institution, he likely had caused his more than his allotted share of mayhem in our little corner of the world. Somewhere along the road travelled, he has seemed to come to the perverse realization that getting caught for a crime that carries a penalty of "2 years less a day" just isn't worth committing. Those crimes mean serving your jail time at one of our Newfoundland jails, most likely at the Pen. So unless you go big, you'll have to stay at home.
A conviction for murder could see him go away for life, which means 10 to 15 years in our justice system. If that befalls him, off he'll go to one of our federal pens. He's probably hoping for Springhill. The good news for him is there are even nicer places. Some of our country''s "best" criminals reside in town house style luxury that have all of the status and security that come from being in a true gated community.
If I were the Judge (now there's a laugh), as buddy was standing before me and I was finding him guilty of murder, I'd wipe the smile from his face very quickly. I wouldn't give him 10 years, 20 years or even 50 years. There'd be no Club Fed for him. I'd smash the gavel down and pronounce sentence - "Two years less a day, to be served at Her Majesty's Penitentiary, St. John's with weekends at the Lock Up." I can picture him now, standing at the cold steel door and hitting it with flailing arms while screaming "Let me out.". Now that would be justice served and a warning to those thinking of travelling that sane road.
In case you are wondering, eight years ago I dropped my friend off at the Lock Up. I was naive enough to try to find a better jail cell for him, but had no luck in doing so. It turned out that's where he belonged.
Friday, June 07, 2013
Not So Private Poop
It has been five and a half months since I last wrote on my blog. I may have to change it's title to something more appropriate that reflects the whimsical way in which I ply this hobby. How about "Jim's Stories - Don't Hold Your Breath Waiting"; or maybe "Tales So Private that I Didn't Write Them". Maybe I'll just stick to the title I already have. After all, it's what my readers have grown to know and appreciate. By the way, thanks so much for the surprising number of inquiries as to where my stories had gone and when I'd get back to pounding the computer keys. I'm humbled. Imagine how I'd feel if four people had asked!
I should update you on a few of the important things that have happened during these months of my hibernation.
My last story was about my dog, Jasper, and how we suspected he had gone off to die. We last saw Jasper on December 23rd. Well, about a month ago, Jasper's skeletal remains were found in the woods very close to our house. It was comforting to know he was nearby during his last hours and minutes and that he could probably see and hear those who loved him most. I buried him not far from where he was found. His grave is adorned with many of the very same rocks that we used to play fetch with him. Of all of the pets we've owned, Jasper is the only one buried on our property (unless you count the many goldfish that are somewhere in our septic field). We have Ruby now. She actually came to us from the pound last September. She's a wonderful dog and has fit into our family quite nicely. We have discovered that Avery is very often distracted by Ruby's cuteness. Sure Ruby is great, but I will always have a soft spot for Jasper, the big guy.
In February I started working, actually working where I get a pay check. It's June and I'm still there! As many of you know, my track record for sustained employment hasn't been very sterling since leaving the RCMP in October, 2010. I had 10 days at Costco and 4 weeks at a provincial government job before I decided that neither of these jobs was for me. Coaching hockey, basketball, chess and most recently, baseball, are great but always result in a net loss to the bank account. Cod fishing is unbelievable and I can't do that often enough. Catching 5 fish a day for 3 or 4 weeks isn't about to make anyone rich. It's probably illegal to sell them anyway, as it's a "recreational" fishery. I also think I enjoy giving the fresh fillets, tongues and cheeks away as much as catching them. I can't wait to surprise Mrs. Roche with a feed or two of fish in a couple of weeks. Oh yeah.......I began to tell you about my job. I'm working with the engineering company where my two brothers have worked for years. I guess maybe I had an in to this job but I'm well suited to what they have me doing too. My boss is actually my long time friend, builder of my house, the one who have me my first wedgie and introduced me to bingo at The Star and A. Frank Willis. There's a lot more to add about Bud, but that's a story for another day. So far, so good at Acuren. I like when my hands are busy, as it keeps my mind from wandering off to places where it shouldn't go. As a cop, on several occasions I had to pick narcotics out of human faeces. So far, nothing I've experienced at Acuren has been nearly as crappy. I guess I'll stick around there for a while longer.
My family is my priority in life. My kids are my passion. Kendall will be a teenager next month. I know she is ready, I'm just not sure I am! She continues to be in love with her competitive swimming. As I'm waking her three times a week at 4:45 a.m., I often give her the choice of staying in bed or getting up for practice. She never misses. Last weekend, at a provincial meet, she won 5 individual gold medals and 2 silvers, as well as 2 more golds in the team relay. In addition to being proud of her, I'm learning first hand what true dedication and hard work can accomplish. Avery will be 11 next month. She is so smart, funny and well rounded. She's my Gilligan and fishing buddy. This year I'm hoping she'll learn to gut the cod fry up a feed of tongues for Grammie. Avery can best the entire Nixon clan in any computer gaming challenge and she's great at getting the #1 answer for any question on Family Feud. I'm off now to coach Avery's team in our second game of baseball. During yesterday's game, Avery was doubled off of first base when she ran on a pop fly. She asked me why she was out and I explained the rule. She listened intently and understood, never to make that mistake again, I'm sure. She did say that it was my fault as I hadn't told her that rule. I may not have taught her all of the rules of baseball, but it seems I've done a fairly good job of teaching her to speak up for herself. Did I already tell you that she's only 11! I'm surrounded at home by women - from kids to Grammie and Lynda somewhere in between. Perhaps having picked dope from poo won't seem so bad after all a few years from now.
Stay tuned for more intrigue and adventure. I'm just not sure when that will be.
Jim - The Not So Private I
I should update you on a few of the important things that have happened during these months of my hibernation.
My last story was about my dog, Jasper, and how we suspected he had gone off to die. We last saw Jasper on December 23rd. Well, about a month ago, Jasper's skeletal remains were found in the woods very close to our house. It was comforting to know he was nearby during his last hours and minutes and that he could probably see and hear those who loved him most. I buried him not far from where he was found. His grave is adorned with many of the very same rocks that we used to play fetch with him. Of all of the pets we've owned, Jasper is the only one buried on our property (unless you count the many goldfish that are somewhere in our septic field). We have Ruby now. She actually came to us from the pound last September. She's a wonderful dog and has fit into our family quite nicely. We have discovered that Avery is very often distracted by Ruby's cuteness. Sure Ruby is great, but I will always have a soft spot for Jasper, the big guy.
In February I started working, actually working where I get a pay check. It's June and I'm still there! As many of you know, my track record for sustained employment hasn't been very sterling since leaving the RCMP in October, 2010. I had 10 days at Costco and 4 weeks at a provincial government job before I decided that neither of these jobs was for me. Coaching hockey, basketball, chess and most recently, baseball, are great but always result in a net loss to the bank account. Cod fishing is unbelievable and I can't do that often enough. Catching 5 fish a day for 3 or 4 weeks isn't about to make anyone rich. It's probably illegal to sell them anyway, as it's a "recreational" fishery. I also think I enjoy giving the fresh fillets, tongues and cheeks away as much as catching them. I can't wait to surprise Mrs. Roche with a feed or two of fish in a couple of weeks. Oh yeah.......I began to tell you about my job. I'm working with the engineering company where my two brothers have worked for years. I guess maybe I had an in to this job but I'm well suited to what they have me doing too. My boss is actually my long time friend, builder of my house, the one who have me my first wedgie and introduced me to bingo at The Star and A. Frank Willis. There's a lot more to add about Bud, but that's a story for another day. So far, so good at Acuren. I like when my hands are busy, as it keeps my mind from wandering off to places where it shouldn't go. As a cop, on several occasions I had to pick narcotics out of human faeces. So far, nothing I've experienced at Acuren has been nearly as crappy. I guess I'll stick around there for a while longer.
My family is my priority in life. My kids are my passion. Kendall will be a teenager next month. I know she is ready, I'm just not sure I am! She continues to be in love with her competitive swimming. As I'm waking her three times a week at 4:45 a.m., I often give her the choice of staying in bed or getting up for practice. She never misses. Last weekend, at a provincial meet, she won 5 individual gold medals and 2 silvers, as well as 2 more golds in the team relay. In addition to being proud of her, I'm learning first hand what true dedication and hard work can accomplish. Avery will be 11 next month. She is so smart, funny and well rounded. She's my Gilligan and fishing buddy. This year I'm hoping she'll learn to gut the cod fry up a feed of tongues for Grammie. Avery can best the entire Nixon clan in any computer gaming challenge and she's great at getting the #1 answer for any question on Family Feud. I'm off now to coach Avery's team in our second game of baseball. During yesterday's game, Avery was doubled off of first base when she ran on a pop fly. She asked me why she was out and I explained the rule. She listened intently and understood, never to make that mistake again, I'm sure. She did say that it was my fault as I hadn't told her that rule. I may not have taught her all of the rules of baseball, but it seems I've done a fairly good job of teaching her to speak up for herself. Did I already tell you that she's only 11! I'm surrounded at home by women - from kids to Grammie and Lynda somewhere in between. Perhaps having picked dope from poo won't seem so bad after all a few years from now.
Stay tuned for more intrigue and adventure. I'm just not sure when that will be.
Jim - The Not So Private I
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