tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41361270297201292272024-03-13T13:51:53.083-02:30Conversations From Land's EdgeLet's talk weather, writing, educational topics, humourous stories. Maybe some weird stuff...and photos of me in a fez.
Follow the #fridayflash hashtag in the right hand margin (under the Labels heading) for a sampling of my flash fiction.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.comBlogger322125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-16115740356452676172013-01-25T07:39:00.001-03:302013-01-25T07:41:13.743-03:30Tipping My Hat on the 25thWhat kind of a Scotsman am I anyway?<br />
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I awoke to the morning show folks on the radio discussing the fact that it was Robert Burns Day and that, of course, leads to the topic of haggis. Or is it 'Haggis' with a capital 'Haitch'?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fsMm_qNGZ4w/UQJk0kqKc2I/AAAAAAAABnw/oXsHGB1fbac/s1600/haggis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="314" oea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fsMm_qNGZ4w/UQJk0kqKc2I/AAAAAAAABnw/oXsHGB1fbac/s320/haggis.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This yummy visual courtesy of blogs.southernshorenow.ca</td></tr>
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As I was saying, the morning show crew surprised me by the announcement that it was Burns Day and one of the guys mentioned that haggis <strong><em>"looks like the kind of thing people ate before they invented food"</em></strong> ...I can't says as I can argue against that.<br />
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I was once visiting with my cousin as a boy and we were digging about in the kitchen cupboards, foraging for food, and came across a tin of haggis. I didn't know that haggis was tinned. I thought that it was one of those beasties that was freshly slain in the morning and served up at supper time with a wee dram (or four) of the hard stuff. <br />
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Regardless of what you are eating tonight, have a wee toast of your favourite beverage to remember Robert Burns on his 254th birthday. Unless you forget about the day. Like I did.<br />
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I will close with a quote that I believe is attributed to the great man...<br />
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"<strong>There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing".</strong><br />
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Well said.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-1304784829635145722012-12-10T21:12:00.000-03:302012-12-10T21:12:53.476-03:30...and the Monkey is Included in the Price of the Benno?
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dxFMrLXLSio/UMZy1b5AANI/AAAAAAAABm4/cRhpgaLT53M/s1600/ikea-monkey-pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dxFMrLXLSio/UMZy1b5AANI/AAAAAAAABm4/cRhpgaLT53M/s1600/ikea-monkey-pic.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo courtesy of Bronwyn Page</td></tr>
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You kinda had to figure that it would take a monkey story to bring me out of my slumber.<br />
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Yes, the blogosphere has been positively electric the past 24hours with updates on Darwin, the 8 month old <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhesus_macaque">rhesus macaque</a> that was found in the parking lot of a Toronto Ikea store yesterday. One's first thought is that the little bugger had escaped from the zoo. However, his diaperclad butt and his double-breasted shearling coat might be reason enough for one to speculate that he had fled from his style-conscious owners. <br />
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And yes...ownership of monkeys is illegal in Toronto. I'm sure that it's the same in pretty much all Canadian municipalities. You can link to the first story I found this morning <a href="http://www.lfpress.com/2012/12/09/dapper-monkey-found-at-ikea-store">here</a> by the Toronto Sun. His condition was updated in the afternoon in a Globe and mail story found<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/toronto/ikea-monkey-safe-but-having-a-bad-day/article6151399/"> here</a>. They indicated that he was, "...having a bad day" however they did locate a temporary home for him at a primate shelter NE of Toronto. A tough day, indeed. Way worse than mayor Rob Ford's situation of late.<br />
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I have already been reminded today by 'she who shall not be named' that I am in need of a new winter coat and even the monkey is better dressed than me. Don't get me wrong. I really feel for the little guy. Stolen from his mother in a foreign country, taken to Montreal and forced to learn French...OK, so I'm exaggerating a bit. I think that people who smuggle creatures like little Darwin should be locked up in jail. That's my political statement for the day.<br />
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On a more commercial note, there are probably thousands of children around the world today pleading with their parents..."If I can't have a pony then I want one of <em>THOSE</em> for Christmas!" <br />
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Perhaps somebody is already hard at work--marketing little Darwin dolls. Complete with interchangeable coats and tiny optional hats. And when you pull the string the little dear poops into its diaper. <br />
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Over and out. Hope that you all are having a better day than Darwin. Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-23030227381628802242012-10-30T08:27:00.001-02:302012-10-30T08:38:19.624-02:30New Anthology ReleaseAs my good friend Cathy Webster pointed out the other day, it's only a few sleeps until the release of <a href="http://emergent-publishing.com/bookstore/best-of-friday-flash-volume-2/">The Best of Friday Flash (volume 2).</a> Or BOFF2, as it is fondly referred to within the Friday family of writers. Forget the jokes...we've heard 'em before...<br />
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I was up early this morning to <strike>write</strike> <strike>create</strike> finely sculpt this blog post to announce that we <em>both</em> have stories that made the cut and will appear in that fine anthology. I am quietly celebrating...having added champagne to my morning orange juice. This is a grand substitute to the harsh-tasting vodka that normally flavours that beverage. I now hold the date of October 30th in as high regard as Christmas Day and that special day in May when my income tax return magically appears in the mail box. But enough about me, lets talk about BOFF2.<br />
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The Friday Flash family was created in 2009 by <a href="http://madutopia.com/blog/">Jon Strother</a>. It's an Internet meme designed to increase your visibility as a fiction writer. The idea is simple enough. Write a piece of flash fiction, defined as 1000 words or less, post it to your blog, and then on Friday announce it to the world via Twitter or some other social network along with the link to your post. If you use Twitter be sure to include the hash tag, #fridayflash. You can read more about Friday Flash <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/">here</a>.<br />
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The Best of Friday Flash (volume 2) can be described as nothing less than an international affair. It is published by <a href="http://emergent-publishing.com/">eMergent Publishing</a>, an Anglo-Australian small press founded founded by Paul Anderson and <a href="http://jodicleghorn.wordpress.com/">Jodi Cleghorn</a> in 2009. The anthology contains short stories by established and emerging writers from the United States, Great Britain, Australia, Canada, Italy and a couple of other countries yet to be named.<br />
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I have enjoyed the work of many writers in this anthology for a long time through the Friday Flash group and am pleased to have my name in the table of contents with them. I am also pleased to see that Canada is so well represented in the Best of Friday Flash (volume 2). <a href="http://muskokariver.blogspot.ca/">Cathy Webster</a>, that fine writer from Bracebridge, has <em>two</em> stories in this anthology. Other Canadians? You will also find the writing of <a href="http://www.tsbazelli.com/blog/">T.S. Bazelli</a>, <a href="http://laur-eventing.blogspot.ca/">Lauren Cude</a>, and ex-pat <a href="http://blog.jenbrubacher.com/">Jen Brubacher</a> who now lives in the U.K. (we won't hold that against her!). Please click on their names and check out their blogs. </div>
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If you are a fan of short, crisp stores pick up a copy of the Best of Friday Flash (volume 2) by ordering online. You can order this publication in paperback or you can download it in various formats. <a href="http://emergent-publishing.com/bookstore/best-of-friday-flash-volume-2/">Click here</a> to order and see a full table of contents for this anthology.</div>
Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-7600746484412333052012-10-25T20:21:00.000-02:302012-10-25T20:23:54.419-02:30#Fridayflash~ Thor's Hammer<strong><em><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">THOR'S HAMMER</span></em></strong><br />
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The three children floated on their raft in Diablo’s pond. Meaghan, usually boisterous, was quiet today. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she stared into the murky water.<br />
Luthor nudged her with his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”<br />
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She shrugged in response.<br />
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“Holy crap! Did you see that trout jump?” Dickie shouted.<br />
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“Shut up, I’m talking to Megs,” Luthor shouted, swatting him with a rolled up horror magazine.<br />
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“Jeez, sor-ree!”<br />
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“We’re your friends, right?” Luthor continued. Meaghan stared ahead, nodding slightly. “Tell us. Maybe we can help.”<br />
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“It’s just…I’d really miss you guys if we moved.” she said.<br />
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“But you told us your mom wouldn’t move again until you finished school. That’s still four years away,” Dickie said.<br />
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“Yeah…,” Meaghan answered, tears tracked down her pale cheeks. <br />
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“…it’s really got to do with that man—“<br />
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“What man?” Luthor said.<br />
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“You’ve seen him around. That creepy, bald guy at the end of Cochrane Street?”<br />
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“I know him. He hardly ever goes out.”<br />
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“I’ve seen him too. He jogs every day. Just before dark,” Dickie added.<br />
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“Tell us…,” Luthor whispered.<br />
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“He’s talked rude to me. Dirty stuff. “He also touched me…,” she added, glancing at Luthor through reddened eyes. <br />
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Luthor grasped the edge of the raft, his knuckles white. “Did you tell your mom?” <br />
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“She wouldn’t do nothing. The same thing happened in Jersey three years ago.”<br />
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“What did she say then?” Dickie asked.<br />
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“She told me it was all a misunderstanding. A week later she had us packed and moved here.”<br />
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“I know you’re worried,” Luthor said. “But this is wrong and we’re going to fix it.” Dickie nodded in agreement.<br />
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“How?” <br />
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“Don’t you worry about it, Megs.” <br />
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* * * * *<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7kRMLw1pjQ/UIm7r7quJHI/AAAAAAAABio/-ywSLIZIQo0/s1600/Glacial_Erratic3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" oea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7kRMLw1pjQ/UIm7r7quJHI/AAAAAAAABio/-ywSLIZIQo0/s400/Glacial_Erratic3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo courtesy of <span style="color: #009933;"><a href="http://www.nenature.com/">www.<b>nenature.com</b>/</a></span></td></tr>
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The boys had found a large, moss-covered boulder on a hillside far from the path. Luthor’s grandpa called it an erratic and said they were scattered all over New Hampshire during the last ice age. For three days they removed dirt from beneath the rock, propping it up with long bits of wood wedged into the dark soil.<br />
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On the Friday evening before Labor Day, Luthor stayed in the woods while Dickie waited near the jogging trail. As the bald man neared, the boy, frantically waving his arms, jumped into his path.<br />
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“Please help, mister—my friend’s hurt!”<br />
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“What happened?”<br />
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“I think he broke his leg. Come quick!” Dickie said, and dashed through the trees. The man hesitated for a moment and then followed the boy. They ran far into the woods, eventually stopping at the boulder.<br />
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Dickie was breathless. “Down there, mister,” he said, pointing under the erratic.<br />
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The man bent over the moaning boy. “Are you hurt?”<br />
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Dickie snatched the hammer that lay against the base of the rock and struck the man in the temple. Luthor scampered from the hole as his friend swung again, sinking the claw into the base of the man’s skull. He screamed, clutching at the hammer as Dickie shoved him into the void.<br />
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Luthor grabbed a shovel and rammed the blade into the man’s throat, unleashing a gush of blood. “That’s for Meaghan, you perv!” he hissed.<br />
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The boys removed the wooden supports, causing the boulder to list forward. They shoveled the excess dirt around the edges of the rock and covered the soil with moss, leaves and branches.<br />
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* * * * *<br />
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Luthor watched the grey clouds from his office; the rain pelted the window and wound down the glass in sparkling tears. <br />
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The intercom voice startled him. “Dr. Guttormson, your patient is in exam two.”<br />
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Luthor strode down the sterile hall, rapped the door and entered the exam room. A thin, vaguely familiar woman sat on the bench. She smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Meaghan King. You probably don’t remember me, but my name was Murphy when we were in junior high.”<br />
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Luthor chuckled and squeezed her hand.” Of course I remember you, Megs. How did you end up in sunny Seattle?”<br />
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“I’m in computer sales and my work transferred me here. Dickie Stein said I should look you up.”<br />
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“Dickie? We haven’t talked in years. When did you see him?”<br />
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“Years ago, after we moved back to New Hampshire. He showed up at my door one day selling life insurance. What a grand chat we had.”<br />
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“That’s great,” Luthor said. He swallowed and leaned closer to Meaghan. “Didn’t you and your mom leave town because of that bald guy…on Cochrane Street?”<br />
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She thought for a moment and laughed. “Oh that! Mom got another job in Boston and moved us away. Practically overnight. What I told you guys was a huge pile of crap. He never touched me—he never even talked to me.”<br />
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* * * * * <br />
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Forgive me readers, as I haven't submitted a #Fridayflash story in over 22 months! The days leading up to Halloween seemed like a good time to throw a horror story out there, so I dusted off this one from 2010. My story, Thor's Hammer, previously appeared in <em><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/52-Stitches-Horror-Stories-2/dp/098202665X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1292252063&sr=8-2">52 Stitches-Horror Stories</a></strong></em> (vol. 2), edited by Aaron Polson and published by his Strange Publications. A scary little gem to pick up before Halloween. Aaron is a horror writer second-to-none and you can follow him at <a href="http://www.aaronpolson.net/">his blog</a>.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-74717267942506014022012-10-17T08:37:00.000-02:302012-10-17T09:19:46.603-02:30Mushrooms and Fancy HatsAs with most conversations, I will start off by observing the weather...<br />
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We had a sub-tropical day yesterday with a high of about 20C (70F). It was mainly overcast so it didn't feel as warm as it could have. That's a far cry from the hint of snow that were observed on the rooftops of some parts of town on the weekend. I'm no weather man, nor do I play one on TV, but I believe that this spike has to do with the tropical storm Raphael headed in our direction. They are predicting it will pass us somewhere to the east so we won't be battered as we were by Leslie about three weeks ago.<br />
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The warm summer and comfortable fall have the grass growing like prairie wheat. I'm soon going to have to <strike>order</strike> <strike>ask</strike> bribe the boy to leave the cavernous depths of the basement to go out and mow the lawn.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JXArvGjY3Hw/UH6KxIodVEI/AAAAAAAABgw/eOzTOaOqLC0/s1600/mushroom2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" nea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JXArvGjY3Hw/UH6KxIodVEI/AAAAAAAABgw/eOzTOaOqLC0/s400/mushroom2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Upon closer observation, I noticed a dark-coloured mushroom growing in the grass(ignore the weeds). This blackish (blue-ish?) nasty looking thing had me wondering if our front garden had been hijacked by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magic_mushrooms">psilocybin (magic) mushrooms</a> 'farmers' looking for a safe place to grow their crop. After a few minutes of internet research--Google images--I managed to find several photos of magic mushrooms. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo courtesy of magic-mushroom.net</td></tr>
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The one pictured to the right certainly does NOT look like the fungus growing in the lawn. It's a good thing that I didn't add that to last night's pasta...whoa, just had a flash back to an old <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheech_%26_Chong">Cheech & Chong</a> skit from the 70's...you remember that old shtick, don't you? I shall paraphrase...<br />
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"Looks like dog shit, smells like dog shit, feels like dog shit, tastes like dog shit. Must be dog shit. Good thing we didn't step in it!".</div>
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All that aside, supposing that it <em>WAS</em> psilocybin and I <em>HAD</em> added it to last nights linguine then perhaps I would have given up my trusty fez for some new head-gear. Something a little reminiscent of the old propeller beanies (see below). Were they from the 50's? Don't ask me...I wasn't around in those days. Perhaps, though, if I had some 'special' mushrooms I could be magically transported back...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You want me to fly where...?"</td></tr>
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Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-19399938730805499132012-09-30T22:08:00.000-02:302012-09-30T22:15:30.670-02:30Michael, Kerry and DoraI started typing this blog post with the idea that it would be titled 'Thirty Days Hath September' because it reminded me of the promise I made to myself (weeks ago) that I would post at least once this month. Talk about getting in under the wire...<br />
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The three names in the post title seemed to be more topical to the last couple of weeks.<br />
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I have been on 'vacation' the past week. Partly because my sister, Kerry, was visiting from Edmonton and partly because it was my 50th birthday during the week (and Kerry flew in to help talk me off the ledge). She had a lovely visit with our parents up the shore and then she spent a few days here in town to catch up on current events with us and with old friends. Kerry enjoyed kayaking in Cape Broyle, hiking at Cape Spear and generally browsing the downtown shops. <br />
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It was on one of these walks that she stumbled upon the legendary <a href="http://www.nickjr.com/dora-the-explorer/">Dora</a>, who had obviously hit upon hard times (see photo below). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XYN50S6NLC8/UGjRYf0jcjI/AAAAAAAABfg/HnpVsEg1Pcw/s1600/dora1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XYN50S6NLC8/UGjRYf0jcjI/AAAAAAAABfg/HnpVsEg1Pcw/s400/dora1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dora is down on the mean streets of St. John's</td></tr>
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Dora had dried leaves stuck in her hair, was clad only in a pink bikini, and was lying on the steps of what had once been a popular strip joint (or so I am told) on the east end of Duckworth Street. <br />
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Almost forgot...her feet had been chewed off as well...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The scene of the crime</td></tr>
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Kerry documented the sad scene with a photo (no doubt to sell to the scandal mags) and we went on our way, trying to forget that this young <strike>tart</strike> woman had once been a legendary explorer who had won the hearts of young girls (and 10% of the boys) around the world. Two days later we again passed by the building and found that Dora had crawled down the side alley (left) of the same boarded up building. My sister, used to seeing other sad souls on the mean streets of Edmonton, was moved nearly to tears and felt that Dora needed a helping hand (and prosthetic feet also). </div>
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Dora became our travelling companion for the rest of the day. I tried several times to engage the young woman in conversation but sadly my Spanish is lacking. The only understandable thing she muttered was, "Ola Senor...you buy me rum, si?" My sister insisted I pose with Dora to prove to my blogger friends that I had met a bona fide celebrity (below).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9d61FwuRraE/UGjUbajlleI/AAAAAAAABfw/8g3S9IVKoEI/s1600/alan+and+dora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9d61FwuRraE/UGjUbajlleI/AAAAAAAABfw/8g3S9IVKoEI/s400/alan+and+dora.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Am a bit embarrassed here because as I reached for Dora's arm I accidentally grabbed her left breast (not the reason I am smiling)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kerry tried fruitfully to take several photos of Dora with scenes of the city in background. The young star had obviously 'gone Hollywood' and was very difficult to work with. The only usable photo (all the others had her showing 'too much skin' or flipping us the bird) I will display below.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VBuRKoXbDAM/UGjWT8kn3zI/AAAAAAAABf4/jRTENIFeMEw/s1600/dora2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VBuRKoXbDAM/UGjWT8kn3zI/AAAAAAAABf4/jRTENIFeMEw/s400/dora2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dora, with Cabot Tower in the background, did the splits (we had her readjust her bikini bottom in an attempt at modesty)</td></tr>
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Kerry soon tired of the scene and was quickly over Dora. She posed for a photo with her new friend <em>Schooner the Newfoundland dog</em> on Signal Hill (below).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FUZc8FfqWzo/UGjXV2Tg7VI/AAAAAAAABgA/tBOj1CzXydc/s1600/dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FUZc8FfqWzo/UGjXV2Tg7VI/AAAAAAAABgA/tBOj1CzXydc/s400/dog.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kerry, her new BFF Schooner and the vast Atlantic beyond</td></tr>
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Also on the agenda this week was when V and myself got together with writing buddy <a href="http://ringkeeper.blogspot.ca/">Laurita Miller</a> and met up with cyber-friend <a href="http://notfromhereareyou.blogspot.ca/">Michael Solender</a> and his wife 'sweetie' in a downtown coffee shop. They had travelled from North Carolina to spend two weeks here at various locations on 'The Rock' and seemed to have had a lovely time. I think that it's great to finally meet writing buddies in person but sadly the opportunities are so few and far between (yeah, I know...tres cliche).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-36MyiRRsDik/UGjik9rA1vI/AAAAAAAABgY/K-jxMn2EHMA/s1600/IMG-20120929-00245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-36MyiRRsDik/UGjik9rA1vI/AAAAAAAABgY/K-jxMn2EHMA/s400/IMG-20120929-00245.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael Solender, Alan Davidson and Laurita Miller strike a pose for the paparazzi</td></tr>
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Thanks all for dropping by...I shall post again...at an undisclosed time, on an undisclosed date.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-65146272664460750512012-08-18T17:21:00.000-02:302012-08-18T17:34:41.366-02:30Money for ConsumablesWhen one I was younger, one of those products was very popular with me...<br />
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OK, maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself but my opening remark will make more sense by the end of this post. Honest.<br />
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Myself and V recently spent a few days in the <a href="http://www.grosmorne.com/">Gros Morne</a> area. A little getaway while the boy is attending sea cadet camp in Nova Scotia. We again vacationed <em><strong>'in country'</strong></em> this year because <strong>a)</strong> it's way too expensive to get off of this island and <strong>b)</strong> we are saving our money because we'd like to do some home renovations in the spring.<br />
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I will eventually get around to posting a few photos of the Northern and Baie Verte Peninsulas. However, I am at the mercy of my technical wizard who has not yet magically moved the photos from the camera/Playbook to the computer. <br />
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<a href="http://www.shallowbaymotel.com/">Our hotel</a> in Cow Head (for some reason, a place name that always gets me thinking about "The Godfather") surprised us by giving us a room key to a cabin instead of a hotel room. This cabin, in fact, was a bungalow with five rooms. The front two rooms had unimpressive views of the gravel parking lot but the three rooms at the back had back doors that opened on to small decks with a fantastic view of Shallow Bay. We could throw a rock and hit the water. Nice.<br />
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We had to walk a couple of minutes to get to the hotel for meals and to attend the plays performed nightly in the theatre next door to the hotel. We also made several pilgrimages to the hotel for ice to keep our beverages cool. It was on one of these runs that I noticed all of the items for sale in the vending machine that shared the same alcove as the ice dispenser. Chocolate bars and chips aplenty. They even had the foresight to put in little bags with shaving stuff and toothpaste and other toiletries that may have been forgotten at home. <br />
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In the bottom left hand corner of the vending machine (behind the grubby, fingerprint-smeared glass) I spied two items that made me laugh. Let me clarify...it wasn't the items as much as their juxtaposition that was the source of amusement. To the right was a small packet of Fritos BBQ Hoops for $1.50 and to the left was a single Trojan condom in a shiny blue wrapper for $3.50.<br />
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Alan's disclaimer...I am not officially endorsing either of these products <strike>even though in my youth one of them was very popular with me.</strike></span></strong></em><br />
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While V hunched over the ice machine, coaxing out its semi-solid contents, I gazed at the two items in the dimly lit corner of the vending machine and wondered how many men <strike>over the years</strike> have laboured over the choice of which 'RING' to spend their limited vacation dollars on. Or how many kids have thought, "That's WAY too much money for a water balloon!"<br />
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Remember: get the one that gives you the most happiness. Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-15023251249450437872012-07-14T23:58:00.000-02:302012-07-15T00:37:32.383-02:30FirstsUpon closer examination, isn't life really a series of firsts?<br />
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The forming years...your first step, first day at school, first time riding a bike.<br />
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Your coming of age...your first date, first time driving a car, first time having sex (with someone else).<br />
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I have of course driven a car but have not ridden a motorcycle. I did ride on the back of one driven by a male college classmate of mine. High speed and a late spring snow storm made the two hour trip a special experience. I clutched him from behind in a most un-manly fashion. I hope that I didn't leave scars (either physical or psychological). The motorcycle fiasco was both a first <em><strong>and</strong></em> a last for me. Though one day I still hope to attend the <a href="http://www.pd13.com/content/3/Origins">Friday the 13th bike rally</a> that occurs in Port Dover, Ontario. Every Friday the 13th, the population of that quiet, Lake Erie town of 6400 rises by tens of thousands.<br />
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The firsts continue in the adult years. The job, the first marriage (I say <em>first</em> because some people treat marriage as sport that should be indulged in with semi-regularity like mud wrestling or bowling) and the birth of the first child. <br />
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I experienced another first on Friday. I had booked the day off work as a technician was coming over to wire up the house with <a href="http://productsandservice.bellaliant.net/PS/nb/english/productsandservices/ps_1.jsp?section=2&bodycont=productsandservices.fibreop_overview&curbody=2">FibreOp</a> that is now the new rage. V and I drove to the office of 'the competition' to return their cable box. The run around that we received from them only reinforced the notion that we had made the right decision in switching companies. Anyway...after that stop, V wanted to stop at a public park where she knew that a co-worker was getting married. This woman has only been with the them for three weeks so none of the staff were invited to the wedding. As we walked past the park the bride recognized V and waved her over and invited us to witness the ceremony.<br />
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I have driven past that park many times before and have never noticed the stand of pine trees in the north-west corner...past the public swimming pool and just east of the ball diamond. The trees formed a tight oval and the group of 30 or so family and other witnesses stood on top of the small, grassy mound within the stand of trees. <br />
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The wedding was the first that I have attended in my six years here in Newfoundland. The day was sunny and warm and the two women held hands as the vows were read and the marriage was made official and binding. The wording struck us as similar to our own wedding. Simple vows and one reading by a guest and the ceremony was done in about 15 minutes. The wedding was obviously a low-budget affair, yet its simplicity was charming and easily one of the nicest weddings that I've ever attended (and the first I attended that I was NOT invited to). <br />
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When I got up yesterday morning I didn't think that I would be 'crashing' my first gay wedding.<br />
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I should try that again some time. I wonder what tomorrow has in store...Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-51122010638299229172012-07-04T13:29:00.000-02:302012-07-04T13:30:50.838-02:30Can-Am HolidaysIt's that special time of year.<br />
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On The Rock we finally get warm weather AND a long week end. In fact, Canada Day passed three days ago and we had a short get-away at my parent's house 'up the shore' (thanks, Laurita, for the correct local terminology...).<br />
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Today is now the fourth of July and our one-time adversaries, our American cousins, celebrate their Independence. It is also the 200th anniversary of the start of the War of 1812 (which ran until 1815) when our cousins dropped by, unannounced, for a visit. I don't profess to know anything about that war so I won't go any further on the topic, embarrassing myself on my lack of Canadian history. Honestly, I don't recall it being taught in school. Then again, school was <strike>decades</strike> a long time ago and maybe I just forgot. Or maybe I was sick that day.<br />
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The Canadian government commissioned the minting of a new coin commemorating the War of 1812. It is a handsome looking 'toonie' with the image (below) of the British frigate <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Shannon_(1806)">HMS Shannon</a> on one side and the aged Queen on the other.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eOABNufSR9c/T_RfnsyfHEI/AAAAAAAABd0/dljZ7YtrC80/s1600/shannon+coin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" sca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eOABNufSR9c/T_RfnsyfHEI/AAAAAAAABd0/dljZ7YtrC80/s320/shannon+coin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Speaking of war ships...the boy is ready to wage his own battle with his own <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bateau">bateau</a> (Har! Get it?...bateau?) When we arrived at my parents house we discovered a row boat sitting in their driveway. It was a well-used craft belonging to the former home owner who figured that since Sean was a sea cadet, and a future sailor in the Royal Canadian Navy, he might appreciate the boat.<br />
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Now begins the task of stripping the hull of flaking paint, old caulking and sundry dried out sea vegetation and freshening it up with a layer of fibreglass and paint. Sean's Papa Davidson, a painter of 50 years, has already begun the tedious task of researching how to <strike>start a good fire</strike> fibreglass the boat and the fine art of applying marine paint. I had suggested to the boy that he name the vessel after a girl in his life. We decided against that as the boat would obviously have to change name on a regular basis...<br />
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I have included photos below. Be sure to click on them to enlarge.<br />
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<em>SO</em>...to my American friends...have a great day! I hope that you booked a couple of <em>extra</em> days to extend the holiday into the week end. Have fun with those fireworks, but keep them over there.<br />
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And no hard feelings about that war business, eh?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f2-r0Tv81Ow/T_Rk48mxLGI/AAAAAAAABeA/bBJIAzyEy0I/s1600/IMG_00000444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" sca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f2-r0Tv81Ow/T_Rk48mxLGI/AAAAAAAABeA/bBJIAzyEy0I/s400/IMG_00000444.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At 13'-9" it's not the HMS Shannon, but one can be sure that it can still do some damage</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XffgImy6eSo/T_Rk_AuMTiI/AAAAAAAABeI/HdPg6h3rOVw/s1600/IMG_00000446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" sca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XffgImy6eSo/T_Rk_AuMTiI/AAAAAAAABeI/HdPg6h3rOVw/s400/IMG_00000446.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Y'think that this 1" crack is noticeable?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LmHJRbnHw0k/T_RlFM6hCCI/AAAAAAAABeQ/YqO9r5UsjA8/s1600/IMG_00000448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" sca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LmHJRbnHw0k/T_RlFM6hCCI/AAAAAAAABeQ/YqO9r5UsjA8/s400/IMG_00000448.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy and boat are nearly christened by the mysterious wee dog</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-32869700154293627152012-06-18T22:53:00.000-02:302012-07-16T14:36:12.627-02:30Pirate Girls and Adventure on the High SeasI think that my lack of posting <strike>anything at all</strike> may stem from the fact that this blog was set up to talk about <strike>scandalous gossip</strike> writing projects. The fact that I have written virtually nothing for months, I think, has weighed heavy on me and I've developed this idea that if I'm not writing then I shouldn't be blogging either. I mean, there's only so many times that people want to visit here and listen to me rant about hockey riots or my back issues...or the fact that I'm too <strike>lazy</strike> busy to write anything (or can't think of interesting stuff to write about).<br />
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I was driving somewhere the weekend and a car in front of me had a bumper sticker that made me smile...<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j7By9PZ5Jiw/T9_F9GzZDsI/AAAAAAAABdA/xw0G_DjCGy4/s1600/pirate+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j7By9PZ5Jiw/T9_F9GzZDsI/AAAAAAAABdA/xw0G_DjCGy4/s1600/pirate+girl.jpg" /></a></div>
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The sticker, of course got me thinking about the incomparable <a href="http://jodimacarthur.blogspot.ca/">Jodi MacArthur</a> and her "Wicked Woman's Booty" episodes published at <a href="http://pulpmetalmagazine.wordpress.com/2010/06/29/episode-1-%E2%80%9Cstolen/">Pulp Metal Magazine</a>. Then that led me to thinking about other writer's whose blogs I used to follow but have recently been ignoring. My apologies to all for not being a very good on-line friend. Not even a very good casual acquaintance...<br />
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I visited my own blog today and was surprised to find that the visitor count is nearing 30,000. Wow, I guess people have been dropping by in my absense (thanks mum)...I image they visit less to see if I've written anything new and more to see how long I'd go in silence. Perhaps the visit to see if I would let the blog go fallow for a whole season, or maybe to see if I'd give up the entire crop for good. I can't promise anything in the way of productivity. I may post again in two days or perhaps it will be two weeks or even another two months will slip by before I let my thoughts coalesce and the words fly from my finger tips (or something like that). I was also surprised to discover that since I last visited here there have been visitors from five more countries...Gambia, Jersey, Botswana, Uganda and El Salvador. It's nice to see that my lack of writing productivity has even garnered interest in the African countries. I'm not sure, though, why Jersey is showing up all of a sudden. I mean, my on-line buddy <a href="http://bukowskisbasement.blogspot.ca/">Anthony Venutolo</a> is a Jersey boy and has dropped by here many times before...I thought his presence would have showed up on that site meter eons ago...and WHEN did Jersey get it's own flag...probably had something to do with that Tony Soprano fella...<br />
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We had a fine Father's Day here on The Rock yesterday. We finally had a 'warmish' day and the Finch-Davidson-Stansbury families again gathered for the boiling of the lobsters. I won't bore you with yet another tale about a crustacean feeding frenzy or scandalous stories about the horrific dining habits of certain family members. The curious can see the pics from my <a href="http://conversationsfromlandsedge.blogspot.ca/2010/06/ive-got-few-items-to-cover-here-so.html">2010 post</a>...or perhaps <a href="http://conversationsfromlandsedge.blogspot.ca/2009/06/fathers-day.html">the year before</a>...<br />
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The day ended for us by driving Sean down to the harbour downtown where he jumped on a fishing boat and was whisked off to sea...I kid you not. We're very proud of the boy as he has had a dream of working on a boat and set out to accomplish that goal. I mean, yeah, it's just for a couple of days. But he got acquainted with a fisherman (the father of another sea cadet) and set out to <strike>bug the shit out of him </strike> convince him of his deserving to be there by loading up crab pots on another boat (for free, I might add and for helping off load crab from his boat two weekends running. This is sort of a try-out for the boy as his real goal is to get to go out for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turbot">turbot</a> fishing for 9 or 10 days about 150 miles off our coast in the Atlantic (I suppose I mean ON TOP OF the Atlantic...)<br />
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Below are a couple of photos from last night. The first is Sean waiting at the dock for Cap'n Rodney to arrive. I won't name the boat (to protect the innocent) but if you get a magnifying glass you might be able to make out the name. V took the second photo from Signal Hill looking down into the Narrows where the fishing boat was passing through headed out into the Atlantic.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yes Cap'n...you wants TWO sugars in your coffee?"</td></tr>
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<br />Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-30637607427477583562012-04-16T08:23:00.000-02:302012-04-16T08:23:15.558-02:30The Sweet and the SadThe boy's Easter break has finally come to an end. He spent three days visiting my parents up the shore. Apparently, two of those days were spent helping guys on a fishing boat load crab pots and rope. I was very pleased to hear that Sean put in many hard hours work and (finally) got a taste of the working world.<br />
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'V' spent Friday night with the girls from work at the boss' house learning how to make tasty treats called 'cake pops'. One apparently takes a cake, squishes it up with icing, forms it into a roundish shape, dips the result into coloured icing, decorates then...voila! I've included three pics from the evening. Apologies if they seem a bit grainy as she took them on her Playbook so she could email them to me. Apparently, the more alcohol consumed the greater the creativity.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9-Cgsdq588s/T4vsT9kwQDI/AAAAAAAABcY/s5kDOrYzQX4/s1600/IMG_00000271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9-Cgsdq588s/T4vsT9kwQDI/AAAAAAAABcY/s5kDOrYzQX4/s320/IMG_00000271.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aliens, Frogs and Dogs (oh my!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Spuj2NFK0NY/T4vsaUIBQZI/AAAAAAAABcg/ulL74EAmJks/s1600/IMG_00000275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Spuj2NFK0NY/T4vsaUIBQZI/AAAAAAAABcg/ulL74EAmJks/s320/IMG_00000275.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheep...in various stages of undress</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1CLLIhJbuGI/T4vsgX_TtCI/AAAAAAAABco/D96Ki4d75rc/s1600/IMG_00000280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1CLLIhJbuGI/T4vsgX_TtCI/AAAAAAAABco/D96Ki4d75rc/s320/IMG_00000280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dogs and a sheep and a pig<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> As you can see, you're pretty much free to create what you're imagination can whip up (keep it clean, though, if it's for a kid's party). I bet these bad boys would be really popular at party for five year olds. I'd highly recommend that you hand them out as they are leaving your house as you gotta know that many of those pretty decorations are going to end up on your carpet, or sofa, or wherever. I say pass them out with the goodie bags at the end of the party so they can shed their decorations while sitting in their little car seats in the back of their mother's Prius or Beemer or whathaveyou...<br />
<br />
I took this past Friday off so we could run a couple of errands and to take Sean to the Canadian Forces recruiting office downtown. We figured it was about time for him to see somebody down there regarding career options in the military. We also figured that it wouldn't hurt to have somebody other than ourselves stress to him the importance of his sciences and math in school towards a getting a job (that he wants) in the navy. Hopefully some of that will sink in over the final two years of school.<br />
<br />
Friday was also a sad day for our family. We finally made a tough decision that we had been putting off for some time. Our greyhound 'Jet' has been having pain in his neck since last November. We took him to the vet in February and he was sedated and X-rayed in March. No definitive cause could be given for his pain, but the vet suggested that Jet could be shipped off to the veterinary college in PEI for an MRI. Even with a diagnosis, there would be no guarantee that a surgery would be successful.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tBQ7Jw46C1Q/T4v0a0tPFFI/AAAAAAAABcw/J6BDc3NY8VA/s1600/DSCN2379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tBQ7Jw46C1Q/T4v0a0tPFFI/AAAAAAAABcw/J6BDc3NY8VA/s320/DSCN2379.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jet (aka Sharp Shooter) in 2008</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Jet was on pain killers for the past few weeks, but even they were doing little for him. We finally decided on Friday to schedule an appointment with the vet to take him in for 'the final visit'. Needless to say, the day ended on a sad note but we are convinced we did the right thing for him.<br />
<br />
We had the rescue greyhound originally known as Sharp Shooter for four years. He was aloof by nature, much like your regular household cat. His normal day consisted of mooching during meal preperation and sleeping for about 16 hours a day. Jet did not fetch or cuddle on the sofa and was not a great conversationalist but we'll miss him just the same. Below he was captured in a rare moment of glee..<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s4PlD6Dt34g/T4v0uG8LkyI/AAAAAAAABc4/GyR96ndRF_I/s1600/Glee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" nda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s4PlD6Dt34g/T4v0uG8LkyI/AAAAAAAABc4/GyR96ndRF_I/s320/Glee.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Scratch my tummy and I'll bite you!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-69511132135581729922012-03-31T11:24:00.000-02:302012-03-31T11:24:05.813-02:30The Big OnePretty catchy title, eh?<br />
<br />
It is referring to the fact that it's my parent's wedding anniversary today. In fact it's their 50th wedding anniversary. Fay and Alan were married in Paisley, Scotland on this date in 1962 and celebrating 'The Big One' today in St. John's with family and friends. The wedding was a small affair and there aren't many around any more who were in attendance that day. It will be my 50th birthday later this year, so if my math is correct I may have been there in some fashion...<br />
<br />
We would have liked to have bought them something golden as an anniversary gift but with the price of gold these days...I think that we'll settle on taking them somewhere nice for supper tonight. I sent a recent photo of my parents (shown below) to the local television station, <a href="http://ntv.ca/">NTV,</a> and they showed it with all of the other wrinkly, toothless folks celebrating anniversaries of 50+ or birthdays of 90+ (personally, I dream of making it to 70...90 would take a miracle of modern science).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a3MLi5A33AY/T3cJ0aoCJwI/AAAAAAAABcQ/n4HSvirQVEU/s1600/davidsonzoom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dea="true" height="262" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a3MLi5A33AY/T3cJ0aoCJwI/AAAAAAAABcQ/n4HSvirQVEU/s400/davidsonzoom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note: photo cropped to delete bulging bellies and knobby knees</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/newfoundland-labrador/story/2012/03/31/nl-spring-storm-331.html?cmp=rss">The weather has played an evil trick on us today</a> with the return of high winds and heavy snow, but I doubt it will stop them from making the 1 1/2 drive into town. <br />
<br />
My mother is pretty nosy and I'm sure that she pops by and visits the blog once in a while to see how my rash is progressing, so I'll send out a shout to her.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>"Happy anniversary mum and dad"...</strong></em>I'd wish you a happy 50 more but I think we both know <em>THAT'S</em> not gonna happen!<br />
<br />
Pretty sentimental stuff, eh? <br />
<br />
<strong>*Sniffs, wipes away a tear*</strong>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-91163547671067185872012-03-24T11:12:00.002-02:302012-03-27T16:18:36.764-02:30...a Rash...Where?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vbeF0A_FE8g/T23BJaKhFJI/AAAAAAAABcA/93jpsJxhWPg/s1600/AIR_20120310_00001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vbeF0A_FE8g/T23BJaKhFJI/AAAAAAAABcA/93jpsJxhWPg/s200/AIR_20120310_00001.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by V</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This rash business is highly <strike>contagious</strike> overrated and not nearly as dramatic as the title of this post implies.<br />
<br />
It was about three weeks ago that a rash gradually infiltrated my face, just below my right eye. In the grand scheme of things, there are worse places a guy could get a rash...if you know what I mean. I'm now flashing back to when the boy was wee. You know, back in the parasitic stage. For those of you with kids...do you remember what the baby's butt looked like if you left their diaper on a <em>bit</em> too long or if you didn't use enough of that special cream? Yeah, my face kinda looks like that. And that bruising under my eye? I could say that V has taken to smacking me about...but really, I've got bags <strike>the size of V's purse</strike> like that under my eyes all the time.<br />
<br />
Back to the rash...(yes, an entire blog post about a skin condition). <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rash">I read at Wikipedia</a> that some causes of rashes are allergies, anxiety, acne, menstruation (doubtful, in my case) and secondary syphilis (um...no comment).<br />
<br />
My old Scottish granny probably would have exclaimed, "Ach, it's just the evil in ye coming oot!"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T11zVr_h2yE/T23KBzvFshI/AAAAAAAABcI/bOr5VjiElNY/s1600/phantom+mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T11zVr_h2yE/T23KBzvFshI/AAAAAAAABcI/bOr5VjiElNY/s320/phantom+mask.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo courtesy of thesun.co.uk</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Perhaps granny was right, but I shall continue to fend off the rash with some outdated stuff from the medicine cabinet. An expensive ointment, meant for a rash I had on my leg three years ago. I always make sure that the bathroom light is on, though, while I'm rooting about in the medicine cabinet. I fear that one day I will mistakenly grab that <em><strong>other</strong></em> ointment, in the similar sized tube, called Prepara...</div><br />
In the event this rash is a permanent fixture on my face (much like my crow's feet or my cheesy grin) I have a plan 'B'. I just have to figure out where to order one of these bad boys online (the mask, I mean)...I wonder if it comes with a vat of black hair dye too?Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-69609791346476775972012-03-15T10:06:00.000-02:302012-03-15T10:06:38.505-02:30High Drama in Canada and Killer AdvertisingHibernation continues for me...however, I was scanning the news online yesterday when I stumbled upon a couple of stories that were just <em><strong>begging</strong></em> to be commented on. Even if it meant leaving the warm, musty confines of the man-cave to enter the frigid air of the real world for a couple of hours.<br />
<br />
Headline #1...<strong><a href="http://news.nationalpost.com/2012/03/12/dick-cheney-cancels-toronto-trip-says-canada-is-too-dangerous/">Dick Cheney cancels Toronto trip, says Canada is too Dangerous</a></strong><br />
<br />
I had to read the headline a second time...<em><strong>Canada</strong></em>...<em><strong>dangerous</strong></em>...compared to WHAT, exactly? <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q_K9X3zZ1r8/T2HYqlkC_GI/AAAAAAAABb4/oi30RwUsBYI/s1600/dick+cheney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q_K9X3zZ1r8/T2HYqlkC_GI/AAAAAAAABb4/oi30RwUsBYI/s1600/dick+cheney.jpg" /></a></div>I mean, a person could comment on the fact that Mr. Cheney (accidentally) shot a buddy while quail hunting in Texas back in 2006, or throw out statistics all day regarding the differences in gun control and violence between major Canadian and US cities <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_intentional_homicide_rate">see <em>Wikipedia take on this here</em></a> , but it would just muddy what the story is about. That particular article, by the way, is by Canada's <a href="http://www.nationalpost.com/index.html">National Post</a>. It refers to the riot of last September (surprisingly this riot had nothing to do with hockey) when Cheney appeared in Vancouver for a talk at a private club. The story mentions that he was confined to the hotel for several hours while riot police dispersed the crowd outside. Shocking. <br />
<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/dick-cheney-deems-canada-too-dangerous-for-speaking-visit/article2366950/">This article</a>, by the <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/">Globe and Mail</a>, does a better job of giving the background regarding WHY there was a protest in the first place. Organizers believe that Cheney should have been arrested and tried for war crimes regarding his stance on the treatment of prisons (ie. water boarding) at Guantanamo Bay.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BOv6dTF9afg/T2HN6Zb7NAI/AAAAAAAABbo/WnnS542LNAw/s1600/rcmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BOv6dTF9afg/T2HN6Zb7NAI/AAAAAAAABbo/WnnS542LNAw/s1600/rcmp.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Despite which side of the fence your political leaning rest on this, methinks the only danger afoot would be for the protesters...when the riot police arrived on horseback, resplendent in their cool hats and red tunics, and clubbed the protesters senseless (Monty Python could have done a cool skit about THAT). Or perhaps scalding syrup or Timmies coffee would be splashed down upon the crowd from the boiling cauldrons on the roof of the hotel...or even a remote chance of the protesters being skewered by rampant hockey players who, quite frankly, have nothing else to do during the daytime because their games are played in the evening.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The bottom line is...I wasn't going to attend his speech in Toronto anyway. Even if THEY paid ME money to attend (besides, it's a three hour flight from here and the cost of flying off of this island is deadly).</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Headline #2...<strong>Tide Detergent One of Most Shoplifted Items</strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H4YpqzkQHJs/T2HS5rTwSDI/AAAAAAAABbw/rppn1Bp7NMQ/s1600/tide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H4YpqzkQHJs/T2HS5rTwSDI/AAAAAAAABbw/rppn1Bp7NMQ/s200/tide.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You know what...you don't have to put much thought into this one. Just click on the link below to go to the short news story about the high theft rate of Tide detergent (note that the story is out of Washington, so I assume that it's problematic only in the US and not Canada---we apparently don't wash our clothes here, and perhaps that's the REAL reason that Mr. Cheney does not want to visit us).</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://ca.news.yahoo.com/video/world-22186928/tide-detergent-one-of-most-shoplifted-items-28602575.html">http://ca.news.yahoo.com/video/world-22186928/tide-detergent-one-of-most-shoplifted-items-28602575.html</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My first thought was <em><strong>how on earth does one smuggle a jug of Tide out of a store?</strong></em> I mean, there's the obvious scenario of a woman sticking it up under her sweater and pretending to be pregnant. But...where can a guy stow the thing *shudders*.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Anyway...a big Thumbs Up to the folks at Tide for this successful (and free) ad campaign.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-16536455784102134522012-02-15T19:05:00.000-03:302012-02-15T19:05:34.565-03:30Is it Spring Yet?A couple of weeks ago, several North American groundhogs tried to tunnel up from their lairs to let us know if spring was near. Don't get me started ranting about a society that relies on weather forecasts from rodents. <br />
<br />
We on The Rock have experienced high winds, torrential rainfall and generally warmer weather the past few days. Enough of the piled-up snow melted, allowing the boy to scour the back garden in search of dog sausages (armed with a long-handled shovel, several garbage bags and a military grade hazmat suit). <br />
<br />
The warm weather has also <strike>roasted</strike> rousted me from my hibernation. A little bird informed me that my number is up...actually, me letter is up. I am the featured <strike>studmuffin</strike> friend today as part of Cathy Webster's Letter From a Friend series. You can read my submitted letter to Cathy and her humourous lead-in commenting on my writing, my chapeau du jour and my general 'hotness.' All That, and more, may be found at her blog <em><strong><a href="http://muskokariver.blogspot.com/2012/02/alan-davidson-letter-from-friend.html">Life on the Muskoka River</a>.</strong></em> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Cathy did say some sweet things about me. And she made up a bunch of stuff too. So when my overall embarrassment subsides I will crawl back into my burrow and wrap myself up in my 'tablecloth' until spring. Environment Canada has gotten the forecasts so messed up recently that I've taken to consulting a Ouija board prior to leaving the house. Also, Naked Pete (shown below) said that Spring will arrive promptly on April 1...can a blind, hairless rat be wrong? <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fd0rarGMLsc/Tzwv-OzeKHI/AAAAAAAABbU/buMtlCVKEDc/s1600/naked_mole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="323" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fd0rarGMLsc/Tzwv-OzeKHI/AAAAAAAABbU/buMtlCVKEDc/s400/naked_mole.jpg" width="400" yda="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>Just noticed that Pete's got teats...what's up with THAT?</strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-65254889684578248082012-01-29T16:37:00.000-03:302012-01-29T16:37:18.512-03:30What...Another birthday?It's Sunday afternoon and we can now call the boy's birthday weekend officially over. <br />
<br />
Sean is now 16. The years have sped by faster than an unleashed greyhound chasing a fleeing poodle. It seems like only a few days ago that it was Day 1 at the hospital: my arms were outstretched and my hands clasped that alien-like person---his tiny fists were clenched, his bottom lip pouted and he was wailing at the top of his lungs. 'V' was recovering from the 23 hour delivery. She managed a pained smile and whispered, "He's lovely, now take him back to the nursery."<br />
<br />
His actual birthday was during the week (mid-term exams here) so we deferred celebration until the weekend. A late January birthday here limits the possible activities. They tend to be indoor celebrations. For instance, last year we took him and three of his friends to dinner and a movie at the mall (they got to sit at their own table to avoid the embarrassment of being seen with us in public---I suppose it may have been the fez...). A couple of his friends have opted for 'Sweet 16' parties in the basements of their homes. Sean wouldn't have that as he knows perfectly well that he lost most of his sweetness by the age of 10.<br />
<br />
Christmas dinner this past year was held at my parent's house, so we did not get a chance to cook a turkey at home. And the last time we DID host a large meal, the numbers were too big to break out the china and silverware (a setting for 8 people). <br />
<br />
As I have mentioned before at this blog, my son seems to walk to the beat of a different drummer. He decided this year that he would like to celebrate his birthday by having some of the b'ys over for a turkey dinner served up on the Royal Albert China with silverware and, if I may be allowed a cliche, "the whole nine yards." The photo below shows the Saturday night setting before the boys moved in for the kill. For those keeping score at home, the pattern on the china is 'Brigadoon'.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ThvkBjGgFU/TyWehN51RII/AAAAAAAABZg/ch0_HCOcDs0/s1600/IMG_00000160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="223" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ThvkBjGgFU/TyWehN51RII/AAAAAAAABZg/ch0_HCOcDs0/s400/IMG_00000160.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were going to put out one extra setting in case the Queen dropped by...</td></tr>
</tbody></table> As it turns out, only two of Sean's guy-friends managed to attend the fancy dinner. I told the boy that perhaps the other boy's tuxedos were not clean from their previous dining experiences and they were too embarrassed to 'dress down' for this occasion. We hosted a few more boys on the Friday night with a couple of take out pizzas and a movie in the family room that is normally out of bounds to the teenage species (they have their own recreational area in the basement). Pizza was by Boston Pizza (I mention this only in case someone from that fine organization reads this and throws a freebie our way). <br />
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The more casual Friday soiree was also a bit of an odd occasion as there were firearms (pellet rifles) being used downstairs. They have a 'firing range' set up in the crawlspace that can be accessed from the basement and amused themselves with a bit of target practice prior to dining. For the record--we are not negligent people. The only reason we let the boys get into this at all is the fact that most of them are sea cadets and have training in the use of the pellet rifles at the base.<br />
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'V' was given a bit of instruction in cake decorating a while back and did her own cake and cupcakes (see photos below). I must say, that was the highlight of the weekend for me. Sean had a four hour drill practice with the cadets today so we rushed together some bacon and eggs for brunch. This is one of those rare occasions that I'm allowed to pollute my arteries with cholesterol (I only hope that my physician does not stumble across this blog). <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gg1agGYIXME/TyWe5J8ygLI/AAAAAAAABZw/upc_Tb8dWFI/s1600/IMG_00000147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="223" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gg1agGYIXME/TyWe5J8ygLI/AAAAAAAABZw/upc_Tb8dWFI/s400/IMG_00000147.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only 16 candles. I can't remember back that far</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eFUYB-Bk0-M/TyWfD0H3inI/AAAAAAAABZ4/ObL4pdNENs8/s1600/IMG_00000145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eFUYB-Bk0-M/TyWfD0H3inI/AAAAAAAABZ4/ObL4pdNENs8/s400/IMG_00000145.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They all tasted like mint (umm...I didn't eat ALL of them...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And in closing I must shout out the praises of 'V' who did an excellent job with the sacrifice of the bird, the baking of the tasties and for showing bravery above and beyond the call of duty by taking the boy out in search of a suitable birthday gift. His early attempts at getting a car or a recreational boat were denied. We may be stupid, but we're not crazy. We settled on a technical gadget thingy to aid with his computer fun. It looks like it should fly. And at THAT price it should serve me single malts and whisk me away somewhere warmer for a vacation...Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-51361489556935839742012-01-08T20:46:00.000-03:302012-01-08T20:46:34.003-03:30Count on MeThe holidays are officially done. The last of the peanut brittle has been scoffed up, the tree is down, the lights removed from that sad little bush outside the front door and the hundreds of other festive things have been stowed away for the year. And that's not counting the hundreds of ornaments on the tree or the fact the tree has about a thousand of those tiny little lights...<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nc_S3Jo719k/TwowG2QLQzI/AAAAAAAABZY/RMeaX-Oq0-Y/s1600/numbers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nc_S3Jo719k/TwowG2QLQzI/AAAAAAAABZY/RMeaX-Oq0-Y/s320/numbers.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy of shutterstock.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I guess that I should mention that I have always had an interest in numbers. As a yute, when I could first count, I would repeatedly count all 21 of my digits. This has not changed as an adult (the counting thing, not the number of digits) as I still make mental calculations in my head. Not obsessive like, but definately a good user-upper of my time.<br />
<br />
While driving on the highway I will see a sign indicating the number of kilometers (miles to my US cousins) and calculate at present speed how long until my arrival. I will do that at every road sign. Perhaps the timer on the stove is counting down the seconds until the moose stew is ready. I will catch myself closing my eyes and counting down in an attempt to reach '1' as the timer sounds. Crazy, no?<br />
<br />
This reaches to the world of statistics as well. I am notorious for following the stats of hockey teams. Points for players, goals against averages of goalies and wins vs. loses can be found taking up precious space in my head. Up until last year I competed in a yearly hockey pool with the folks back at corporate HQ at an undisclosed location in SW Ontario. The winner would often get <strike>hundreds of dollars</strike> milk and cookies and the admiration of the guys. I think that my penchant for numbers helped me win more than my share of the goodies over the years and they recently decided to have an 'in office' draft of players that would obviously exclude me (unless, of course, I footed the bill for the plane flight to get there). <br />
<br />
I content myself these days by watching the stats and monitoring the progress of the players on our local team--the St. John's IceCaps, the newest club in the <a href="http://theahl.com/">American Hockey League</a>. My lack of posting blogs the past few weeks has obviously taken its toll on the number of visitors. Though who could blame them? Why drop by daily to see the same post slapped up on the screen, gathering dust and being circled by vultures.<br />
<br />
Those of you who have followed this blog for a long time may recall the spinning globe I had in the margin. Each time a person dropped by there location was represented by a mark on the globe. It was very cool. Unfortunately it made me dizzy and I fell from my office chair way too much. My wife, however, blames it on the single malt. Whatever.<br />
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I HAD to have a (free) counter thingy to keep track of those kind folks who visited my humble blog. I noticed that quite a few people were using <a href="http://flagcounter.com/">Flagcounter</a> and I made the switch. It keeps count of the countries who attend the blog and also the states and provinces of those in America and Canada. For a fee you can open other provincial and state counters for a number of foreign countries. <br />
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I have had the feature on my blog for about a year and see that I have had visitors from 112 countries. I quick peek into Wikipedia reveals that there are 192 sovereign states and an additional 13 states whose sovereignity is disputed giving a total of 205 countries in the world. I have therefore had visits from 54.6% of the countries (no, I did not figure that out in my head). This year I have had over 3100 US visitors, 2000 from Canada (thanks mum), 1000 from the UK and 300 from Australia. Since the first of January I have had visitors from four new countries. <em><strong>Hello!</strong></em> to that person from Saint Kitts and Nevis who dropped by on the first of January. On a side note...Saint Kitts and Nevis is only 104 square miles in area with a population of about 51,300.<br />
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Are you sick of me throwing out numbers yet? Har! I could go on all day. Anyway, whether you are a new visitor or have tolerated me since my beginnings in 2009 I'd like to wish you all a Happy 2012! Health and happiness to my writing and non-writing friends. Incidentaly, if you add 13 to 2012 and then take the square root, the answer is 45...Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-19854843103675855182011-12-31T21:01:00.000-03:302011-12-31T21:01:57.788-03:30Year End Round UpIt's nearing 6pm here and I'm on a push to finish this post...otherwise the title would be rendered invalid.<br />
<br />
For those that don't know this, St. John's is the first city on the North American continent to celebrate New Years. The time difference makes it a bit awkward to watch Dick Clark (whoa, he's 82 now!) and such New Years eve shows on the TV. The ball drops in the Big Apple at 1:30am our time. I've taken out my false teeth and used my walker to make my way to bed long before that.<br />
<br />
We've enjoyed the neighbourhood Christmas lights the past few weeks but they will soon be coming down. Except for those who leave them up all year round. My favourite (again) this year is the large display of muted green, blue and purple lights in the trees along the busy boulevard from our provincial parliament buildings to the university. My pet peeve is the dozens of ladders on the sides of homes with fake elves perched on the rungs. Also on that list are inflatable candy canes that light up and those inflatable clear balls with blowing snow and a Santa trapped inside. They remind me of the display at St. Patrick's Church back in London. The big fella and his crozier are proudly displayed on its front lawn encased in a clear plastic cylinder. He seems a bit excluded from the general public, but at least he's protected from snakes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMiIoqZG_iA/Tv-l-S02voI/AAAAAAAABZQ/taZ4b-7V30c/s1600/reindeer+lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" rea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oMiIoqZG_iA/Tv-l-S02voI/AAAAAAAABZQ/taZ4b-7V30c/s320/reindeer+lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Where was I...yes, Christmas displays that leave me scratching my head. You see a lot of homes here with those little electric lights sitting on the sills of all the front windows. They look like little menorahs except there are fewer lights involved and they're made of plastic. I'm not sure if they are symbolic of something. Does anybody out there know? Please enlighten me. Finally, have you seen those lit-up deer all over the place. You know the ones...a light metal frame in the general shape of a deer with small, white lights strung all over it. I think they sell them at Costco. Probably every where else as well, going by the number that can be found grazing on the front lawns of houses in this area. I did see a photo of one deer display that showed great humour and a lot of originality. The gutted deer in the picture to the left was hanging from an arbour SOMEWHERE in North America. There's a lot of hunters living here and I'm sure the trend will catch on for NEXT year.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l82_Gb9DMuc/Tv-kA3d01YI/AAAAAAAABYs/SEIrwMefPwk/s1600/Station-agent-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l82_Gb9DMuc/Tv-kA3d01YI/AAAAAAAABYs/SEIrwMefPwk/s320/Station-agent-poster.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>I watched a couple of really good independent movies on IFC this holiday season. The first was a comedy-drama called <strong>'The Station Agent'</strong> (2003). It's about a young man with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achondroplasia" title="Achondroplasia">achondroplastic dwarfism</a> who inherits from a friend a small train station in Newfoundland, New Jersey (yeah, that's the name...it's just a coincidence...honest). Fin (an amazing performance by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Dinklage">Peter Dinklage</a>) seeks a life of solitude, shying from human interaction. However his neighbours find ways to insinuate themselves into his life. This tale of friendship and lonliness was written and directed by <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_McCarthy_(actor)" title="Thomas McCarthy (actor)">Thomas McCarthy</a> and is well worth your time should you see it in the TV listings (or chose to rent it).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yZMuD3d2OoU/Tv-lQtoDz9I/AAAAAAAABZE/k4u4LasG0IA/s1600/saint+ralph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yZMuD3d2OoU/Tv-lQtoDz9I/AAAAAAAABZE/k4u4LasG0IA/s1600/saint+ralph.jpg" /></a></div>Another thoughtful movie is <strong>'Saint Ralph'</strong> (2005), written and directed by Michael McGowan. This story begins in Hamilton, Ontario in 1953 and is about a boy whose mother is in failing condition in hospital. This young man, played with tons of charm by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adam_Butcher">Adam Butcher</a>, is a social outcast and attends a Catholic school. He decides the only way she can be helped is with a miracle and he sets out to train for the upcoming Boston Marathon. The cynical and dismissive headmaster is played with uncharacteristic malice by Newfoundland's Gordon Pinsent. This is a good one to lift one's spirits and has a lot of laughs. <br />
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This year has seen me mainly unproductive in the writing world. Even the frequency of blogging has fallen off the past couple of months. It's now 3 hours until midnight. I'd make a resolution to do better if I believed in that sort of thing. I'm of the mind that if one wants to improve they should work on it at any time of the year, not just January the first. I'd like to wish you all the best for 2012. May health and happiness be the order of the day for you and yours, my friends.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-76322114304671103392011-12-23T10:45:00.001-03:302011-12-23T11:13:48.072-03:30Mummering: What's Old is New <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C2mv0kuZvlM/TvSKhc9D_CI/AAAAAAAABYg/BNXAvgoFTf0/s1600/mummer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C2mv0kuZvlM/TvSKhc9D_CI/AAAAAAAABYg/BNXAvgoFTf0/s400/mummer.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Keith Gosse/The Telegram</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Upon moving here to Newfoundland in 2006 I quickly observed that 'The Rock' was unlike any other location in Canada. A little-known Christmas tradition that has gained a resurgence in popularity in recent years is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mummering">mummering</a>.</div><br />
It is believed that mummering found its way to Newfoundland from England nearly 200 years ago. The tradition involves a group of people disguising themselves in costumes and visiting homes within their community. They will entertain their hosts by singing and dancing and perhaps telling jokes. The hosts will supply them with snacks and 'liquid refreshments' and try to guess the identities of the visitors. This is not easy as everyone has their faces covered and men are often disguised as women and women as men. This tradition was made popular in "The Mummers Song" by Newfoundland folk duo Simani in 1982. Play the 3 1/2 minute video, first aired on the CBC program <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/landandsea/">'Land and Sea'</a>, for a feel for what a visit from mummers was like for those living 'round the bay'.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/E86bcriRtW8" width="420"></iframe><br />
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And...below THIS is a link to a two minute video from last Saturday's Mummer's Parade here is St. John's.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0dSCu6uk5kU" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
The mummering tradition has been noticed by the US satirical new organization <a href="http://www.theonion.com/">The Onion</a> and featured/lampooned in a recent video. You can see that two minuted video below.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="270" scrolling="no" src="http://www.theonion.com/video_embed/?id=26900" width="480"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.theonion.com/video/traveling-group-of-medieval-mummers-is-americas-to,26900/" target="_blank" title="Traveling Group Of Medieval Mummers Is America's Top Pick For Holiday Entertainment">Traveling Group Of Medieval Mummers Is America's Top Pick For Holiday Entertainment</a><br />
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So there you have it...all you wanted to know about mummering. And a bit more. Holiday wishes to you all...whatever it is you may be celebrating this time of the year. And finally a feel-good story...the little puffin who found his way home. In a case of 'misdirection', a 6 month old puffin somehow got lost and flew from the Atlantic Ocean to downtown Montreal (mon dieu!). He was flown back (courtesy of Air Canada) to St. John's last night and will spend a couple of weeks R&R at a bird sanctuary before being released back into the 'wilds'. Now <em>there's</em> a happy ending. <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/newfoundland-labrador/story/2011/12/22/montreal-puffin-home.html#next">You can link to that story here</a>.<br />
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<strong>*sniffs and wipes tear from eye*</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-55074897374361677282011-12-17T11:11:00.000-03:302011-12-17T11:11:31.045-03:30An Encounter in the WoodsJust thought that I'd pop into the blogosphere again for what's quickly turning into a semi-monthly posting schedule. Perhaps my inactivity explains why the number of followers has dropped a couple since my last post. Perhaps that svelte picture of me in my last post offended a couple of people? Too much butt-crack perchance? Hopefully nobody thought that was really ME!<br />
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My back pain persists but at least I'm staying away from the hospital. A couple of weeks ago the dog was lying on the floor of my office...looking at me with sad, bloodshot eyes. He has been ailing as well of late. Perhaps some sympathy pains from man's best friend?<br />
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I figured that a mid-day walk would be good medicine for us both. It was a bit chilly so I threw the lined coat on our greyhound and leashed him up. As we left the house, Jake the Shih Tzu spied us from the house across the road. He stood on the back of the living room sofa and I'm sure was imagining a big, tasty rat as he vigourously shook his stuffed toy.<br />
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We walked down the gravel path into the urban woods, breathing the fresh air and stretching our limbs. Jet eventually forced me to use a poopy bag. Thankfully only one (anyone who's owned a large breed dog knows that a dumpster is a requirement in the back yard). A beagle darted towards us. It had a collar with tags but there was no owner in sight. As it neared its hind end dropped and its tail curled between its hind legs. I tried to lure it towards me but it ran off the path into the stunted pine trees. (<em><strong>On a side note</strong></em>...in my former life as a 'Dog Catcher' only one type of dog ever tried to bite me...a beagle).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oBBnD2pQiWM/TuynEecs1EI/AAAAAAAABYU/nRw1GNP4SVk/s1600/beagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" oda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oBBnD2pQiWM/TuynEecs1EI/AAAAAAAABYU/nRw1GNP4SVk/s320/beagle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A young man came along the path. He looked a bit cold as he wasn't wearing a jacket. He stooped as he grasped the collar of a shepherd-ish looking dog. He explained that the dogs escaped the house when he had the door open. The lived at the end of a nearby busy street. I couldn't loan him my leash as my dog would no doubt run away. With my back in its present state, I was deduced to running the 100 yard dash in over 12 seconds and knew there was no way I would be able to catch the sprinting greyhound.<br />
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He explained that the beagle was his step-father's hunting dog. She was normally kept in a pen (Boo!) and naturally ran to the woods after the 'great escape'. He tried carrying the beagle in one arm as he stooped to grasp the collar of the other dog. The beagle squirmed too much so he put her down on the gravel path.<br />
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I told him that perhaps he should lead the dog he had home and I would keep the beagle following me in the woods until his return. "Good plan, dude!" he said. <br />
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Unfortunately the beagle spied a woman jogging along the nearby busy street and chased after her. "<strong>Bella</strong>," the young man bellowed after the fleeing beast. The scene in the faux forest had become a bit too surrealistic for my liking. I knew we were only a few sleek bodies and sparkles away from being in a bad Hollywood blockbuster (apologies to Stephenie Meyer).<br />
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To make a long story short, the young man soon returned with a leash and Bella the beagle grew tired of chasing the jogger and returned to the woods in search of more challenging game. She hung about Jet and I until she was secured on the leash and returned to her life of drudgery.<br />
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The EndAlan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-92170567196636670012011-12-01T08:34:00.000-03:302011-12-01T08:34:36.607-03:30I am a BeetrootWe've quietly slipped into December and now begin the three weeks of madness that lead into the Christmas festivities. Speaking of madness...<a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> is now complete. My congratulations to those of you who completed the 50K word goal. Maintaining the required pace (of about 1666 words) for 30 days can be really challenging (physically, mentally and maritally).<br />
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New topic. I've posted before about the odd assortment of people who have appeared on my doorstep for one reason or another. You may recall my mentioning the man selling fish products door to door from the trunk of his car. Though the list looked tasty enough, I just can't see myself buying food products that have been stored with old beer bottles, jumper cables and a spare tire. <br />
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A few years back I had a middle-aged man appear looking for used books in order to make enough money to get the ferry to return home to the mainland. I gave him a few paperbacks and he tucked them into his plastic bag and continued on. The following year he was back again looking for more books. At least this time he didn't spin the story of using the money for ferry fare. I gave him a couple more.<br />
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Two years ago <a href="http://conversationsfromlandsedge.blogspot.com/2009/09/knock-at-door.html">I posted about an elderly gentleman</a> selling a book about the (recent) history of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Perlican">Old Perlican</a>, a fishing community on the northern tip of the Avalon Peninsula. There was a story about the old man and how he lost both hands in an electrical accident back in the 70's. I bought a copy of the book for $20. He gingerly pinched the bill between the tines of his right hook and tucked it into his shirt pocket.<br />
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We have had charitable fundraisers, security system salesmen, politicians and purveyors of religion appear at the door. Sometimes the traffic has been so heavy it's hard to imagine that we live on an island. I guess that suburban door to door 'visitors' are universal. Perhaps the oddest thing I've seen at the door was the week after Halloween of this year. Supper was on the go in the kitchen and darkness had fallen. The doorbell rang...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MGC6sgzhLGg/TtdpcYRM19I/AAAAAAAABYM/YJ1Bgp2L35w/s1600/oxfam_veggies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="202" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MGC6sgzhLGg/TtdpcYRM19I/AAAAAAAABYM/YJ1Bgp2L35w/s400/oxfam_veggies.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Happy Vegetables.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I opened the door and three young people stood before me, ready to get into their spiel about Oxfam. I have nothing against this fine organization but their people were more than a little creepy showing up at the door, in the dark, dressed as vegetables. Seriously. One was a carrot, another was a celery and the third was a vegetable yet to be named. <em><strong>Note to Oxfam</strong></em>: it may be in the best interest of your fundraisers NOT to show up at people's doors dressed as food items at supper time. Their being a couple days late for Halloween didn't help the oddness of the encounter. I can't help but think of a Barbara Walters interview in this situation. "If you were a vegetable, what type of vegetable would you be?"<br />
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What's the oddest person/thing that has appeared at YOUR door?Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-72580121522306378872011-11-16T20:29:00.001-03:302011-11-17T07:17:15.959-03:30On Back Pain, Laziness and Lame Ass ExcusesOK...I suppose I left off on my last post with a bit of an ominous tone. And a cheesy grin.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Seriously, I'm doing great. Well...at least adequate.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I thought that I'd pop in and reassure the two or three readers I have left that I'm not pushing up daisies. Thanks for the concern shown via comments, phone and email.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the past <strong>*checks back to when he last posted*</strong> 36 days I've managed to stay out of the hospital. The first couple of weeks of that time frame were taken up with my sister's visit from Edmonton. Our AHL hockey team began their season and I went to 5 home games in 11 nights. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I've visited my Dr. again once, had another blood test and been to see a physiotherapist 5 times. I was hoping to come back with some cool pics of my liver from an ultrasound. However I can't be scheduled in until January so the organ will have to remain a mystery for a while longer (anybody...did that sound weird?). Perhaps it's kidney shaped instead of liver shaped. All this internal organ discussion has got me a bit hungry. All we need now are some mashed potatoes and fried onions and we'd be all set.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">With all the time out of the office I find myself playing 'catch-up' after hours, sometimes until 7pm.</div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tVZZfUdTKTs/TsRLK5gfvsI/AAAAAAAABYE/JMrksQfOJJ0/s1600/Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tVZZfUdTKTs/TsRLK5gfvsI/AAAAAAAABYE/JMrksQfOJJ0/s320/Back.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not a picture of me...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My back is still bothering me quite a bit. So much so that I'm still keeping away from basketball. The geezers aren't too concerned as I'm not the only one off with an injury (fondly referred to as <strong>'broke'</strong> in the circle of the elderly). My main concern is that I"m probably the topic of conversation when they head out for beers after the game. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I'm still waiting for those exercises I was shown at physio to start working for me. Damn voodoo. I even purchased a new office chair hoping for better back support. At that price it should have come with a codeine dispenser. Now THAT would have been useful.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I suspect my sense of humour departed the same time I went to the emergency with the fever and chills. A general laziness has set in (yes, a <em>special</em> laziness...one <em>much</em> more consuming than my usual laziness). Perhaps my humour, and ambition, will soon return.</div><br />
I will stop whining now, wipe away the drool dripping from the corner of my mouth and shamble into the living room. It's Wednesday night and Survivor is on TV soon. Oops! Did I say that. I only meant to think it.<br />
<br />
Be back soon...well, at least sooner than 36 days. <br />
<br />
The boy's report card is coming home by the end of the week. Hmm...perhaps something blog-worthy...Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-5157202816884734762011-10-11T07:32:00.002-02:302011-10-11T07:32:00.536-02:30Evening at the EmergencyA couple of afternoons last week I had a problem with chills followed by fever. It didn't concern me...the entire event lasted only a couple of hours. It's the season when people get the flu, so I figured something was coming on. I never developed a head ache and wasn't sick. On Thursday I woke up to a chill, followed by fever. There was no way I could work and I called in sick to corporate HQ. I felt better after a couple of hours and talked with my sister who is visiting from Edmonton.<br />
<br />
By mid-afternoon the chills returned and I lay on the sofa, covered by a blanket, shivering for a couple of hours. V came home from work and stuffed a thermometer in me (my mouth). I had a temp of 103 F. She called our Dr.'s office but he was just closing up for the day and suggested she take me to the emergency department of the hospital. She drove and I sat with a plastic container in my lap (just in case...we didn't want a repeat of the 'vomit volcano' in the van as happened with the boy earlier in the year). <br />
<br />
The ER was fairly busy (when is it not?) and we were told it would be a 3-4 hour wait. I was surprised, though, that 5 minutes later I was called to see the triage nurse. I went through the ritual...pulse, blood pressure, temperature, pee in a bottle...I was a bit surprised when she sent me off for a chest X-ray...in a wheel chair! I think the rolling chariot was a response to the 103F I scored on the thermometer. THAT and the rapid heart rate. I guess it's bad for business if one keels over with a heart attack while wandering the crowded corridors of the ER...<br />
<br />
When I got back from X-ray I was put in the 'Plaster Room' across the hall from the triage nurse. I think I was kept there, with the crutches and tensor bandages, in case I was carrying some nasty plague. Or perhaps my fez was a distraction to the huddled masses in the waiting room. Anyhow, I was soon put given a 'johnie coat' and told to put it on. "Should I strip right down to my socks and underwear?" I inquired. The nurse looked horrified. "Please...No. Just take off your shirt. That will be fine."<br />
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I was then put on a hospital gurney and left in the hall of the ER with a couple of elderly people. Obviously we were going to have to wait a while to reach the promised land behind the sacred double-doors. A girl came along and took another blood sample. This was apparently to make blood cultures. She assured me that the little glass bottles she carried <em>didn't</em> contain alcohol and I <em>shouldn't</em> drink them....Har! Humour, that's the ticket. I passed the time by watching the comings and goings of injured people. That, and the little man that occasionally passed by on some sort of ride-on vaccuum cleaner. Who WOULDN'T want that around the house!<br />
<br />
I eventually saw the ER doctor. He poked and prodded my stomach, listened to my chest and generally asked a lot of questions. The bottom line was that I wasn't showing ANY other symptoms besides the chills/fever and rapid heart rate...both of which were now gone as the nurse had given me a couple of ibuprofen earlier in the visit. He could not explain what was causing the fever. He was curious about my previous history with liver function problems (many years ago) and issued me a form to go off for more blood tests. It was a long six hours, yet pockets of time flew by rather quickly.<br />
<br />
I'll be off to see my family Dr. again in a few days. It was a strange way to lead into a long week end, but the past four days have past uneventfully. We went for a nice turkey dinner at my parent's house yesterday. It was nice to have the entire family back together again. Many thanks to the stalwart 'V' who hung out with me at the Emerg and asked all of the pertinent questions that I was too stupid to think of. She also took a photo or two on her new phone. I'll inclued one. You won't want to see the other pic as the 'business' end of the johnnie coat may have caught a breeze and blew open...it reminds me of that time with the kilt...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YMC2ZYIuw50/TpQOI2eaAtI/AAAAAAAABXw/fNApsFe8wg0/s1600/IMG-20111006-00075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" kca="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YMC2ZYIuw50/TpQOI2eaAtI/AAAAAAAABXw/fNApsFe8wg0/s320/IMG-20111006-00075.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They took my fez...apparently it wasn't sterile...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-87831214556040673902011-10-06T12:04:00.000-02:302011-10-06T12:04:00.998-02:30A Funny<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZSL4bpoFMA/Tox0yFC_C_I/AAAAAAAABXs/tw9XDWbAsJA/s1600/guillotine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZSL4bpoFMA/Tox0yFC_C_I/AAAAAAAABXs/tw9XDWbAsJA/s320/guillotine.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>In some foreign country a priest, a lawyer and an engineer are about to be guillotined.<br />
<br />
The priest puts his head on the block, they pull the rope and nothing happens -- he declares that he's been saved by divine intervention-- so he is set free .The lawyer is put on the block, and again the rope doesn't release the blade, he claims he can't be executed twice for the same crime and he is also set free.<br />
<br />
They grab the engineer and shove his head into the guillotine, he looks up at the release mechanism and says, "Wait a minute, I see your problem..."<br />
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<br />
<br />
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I figured it <em><strong>must</strong></em> be pick on engineers week somewhere in the world.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4136127029720129227.post-34224408884702013202011-10-03T10:21:00.001-02:302011-10-03T10:21:00.411-02:30Slugs and Bad Behaviour<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today's stormy weather (leftovers from hurricane Ophelia) pushed some toasty weather at us on Friday and Saturday. We reached a balmy 22C (74F) over the week end. Yes, for Newfoundland THAT is balmy. We've reverted back to normal temps as we dropped down to a misty 10C yesterday (50F).</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WMkHEz0ej7g/TomYkU_UkYI/AAAAAAAABXo/UCOFkW47WR0/s1600/slug-and-snail-advice-rc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WMkHEz0ej7g/TomYkU_UkYI/AAAAAAAABXo/UCOFkW47WR0/s320/slug-and-snail-advice-rc.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Squishy, and friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The weather yesterday and today has been damp enough to bring out slugs on to the front walk. They are actually 'miniatures'...only about 1/2" long. There was a tiny snail as well, about the size of a pinkie nail. It makes what I call the "Double S Shuffle" to the driveway a bit treacherous...nobody wants to hear that cracking sound beneath their foot while walking. A little bomb going off. Worse yet, you don't want to look back to see that the slug you thought you had narrowly avoided has mysteriously disappeared *peeks under foot*.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">All this talk about cool weather and slimy things has me thinking about a couple of incidents of 'bad behaviour' in the hockey world recently (this IS a blog by a Canadian guy...how are you NOT going to hear about hockey on a semi-regular basis?). </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Here is a <a href="http://slam.canoe.ca/Slam/Hockey/NHL/Winnipeg/2011/09/24/18733111.html">link to a story</a> by a sports writer who received a racist message on his answering machine. The message was not directed at him per se, but at the management of the new Winnipeg Jets franchise for its having 5 black players on the team. The caller spewed a lot of 'Feks' and 'N-Words' in his rant. He apparently was miffed because he could not get tickets to a game and took it out on the sports writer for some reason....</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In a similar tone, about two weeks ago the Philadelphia Flyers were playing an exhibition game against Detroit in my old home town of London, Ontario. The game went to a shoot out and as the Flyer's Wayne Simmonds skated towards the net for a shot, a banana was thrown on the ice in front of him from the upper deck. I should add here that I probably attended over 100 Knights games while living in London and never once saw any sort of fruit be tossed onto the ice. Let alone a banana as a black player was shooting the puck. The player ignored the racist insult, by the way, and scored on his shot. <a href="http://www.lfpress.com/sports/hockey/2011/09/22/18727071.html">Link to story here</a>.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There was a lot said in the media about the incident, both nationally and internationally. I have heard some talk reflecting the notion that it really wasn't THAT big a deal. Right...</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">London is a conservative city, and the incident speaks to the racist tones that lie just beneath the murky surface of civility. Both the banana and racist call incidents may be isolated cases of A-holes popping out of the slime, but they really indicate a racist sentiment still plaguing society. I think that this giant 'melting pot' needs a stirring.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">On a side note...the <a href="http://ca.news.yahoo.com/police-charge-26-old-london-man-over-nhl-163426103.html">26 year old banana thrower in London was identified</a>. The police felt that his actions did not warrant a hate crime but he was "...served a summons for engaging in a prohibited activity under the provincial Trespass to Property Act." That and the arena may ban him for a season or longer. Ouch! That slap on the wrist must really hurt. Though the man has retained a lawyer...</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Second side note...Wayne Simmonds, the target of the banana thrower, was involved in his own scandal just days later in an exhibition game with the New York Rangers. Simmonds was in a scuffle with Ranger's tough-guy Sean Avery when Simmonds uttered a homophobic slur against Avery (<a href="http://www.lfpress.com/sports/hockey/2011/09/27/18744411.html">yet another story link</a>). For those of you who are unaware, Avery became something of an advocate for the gay rights movement when he endorsed marriage equality in the state of New York earlier this year. I guess that Simmonds didn't like that and spoke his mind in the heat of battle.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>So much bad behaviour occurring around this simple game of putting a rubber disk into a net. It seems to me that folks have got to give their heads a shake and start growing the hell up. Behaviour on the ice and around the ice should be no different than in any other segment of society. People have got to get the message out that this sort of behaviour has never been acceptable, is not acceptable and never will be acceptable. <br />
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*Gets off soap box*<br />
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I'll close with a final link to a story by long-time sports writer Morris Dalla Costa of the London Free Press after the banana incident. The article is titled <a href="http://www.lfpress.com/news/london/2011/09/23/18732491.html">'Silence can be Racism</a>." <br />
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Well said, Morris.Alan W. Davidsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17067022519729701245noreply@blogger.com3