Hockey Madness in Vancouver

I watched most of last night's Stanley Cup final hockey game. The writing was pretty much on the wall near the end of the second period when Patrice Bergeron made it 3-0 with a shorthanded goal on Vancouver's Roberto Luongo during a Canuck power play. Note to Luongo: Karma's a bitch, eh? Guess that trash-talking of Boston goalie Tim Thomas didn't pay off for you. Even veterans like 43 year old Mark Recchi were swarming the Vancouver net minder. Great job, Bruins. I know that my cousin back in Victoria is proud of you this morning as he's been a Boston fan since we were kids and they last won the cup in 1972 with stars such as Bobby Orr, Phil Esposito, Johnny Bucyk, Gerry Cheevers and John "Pieface" Mckenzie. Cousin Derek and the fine city of Boston have waiting a long time for this. Congratulations.

What interests me more, though, this morning is the rioting in the streets of Vancouver last night. I'll start off by saying that I lived in Vancouver for two years back in the mid-80's. Back in the days that I thought that I had a future in the mining industry out there. The city is fantastic and one of the most most beautiful urban centres on the planet. That being said...they have a bit of a problem dealing with defeat. This is the third time that the Canucks have made it to the finals in the team's history. The third time that they have lost. Some may remember their last appearance was in 1994 when they lost to New York Rangers in game 7 in Vancouver. They rioted in the streets after that one as well. They also rioted after the Guns N' Roses concert of 2002 was cancelled at the last minute after Axl Rose failed to show up.

Photo Credit: Ryan Remiorz/CP

As I noted, Vancouver holds a special place for me and they are the jewel in the Canadian crown but this morning, as I look at the damage in photographs online only hours after the game, I'm saddened and consider them the 'black eye' of the country. They have a bad track record. Probably 99.9% of the people on the streets last night (and there were over 100,000 of them) were peace-loving fans who were out to support the team and the fantastic season that they gave their supports. The police need to round up the trouble makers, instigators, hooligans, etc. and parade them in front of the media and set an example. There may be times when civil unrest is warranted, but the end of a disappointing hockey game is not one of them. It's a game. Vancouver, and perhaps all of Canada, needs to examine the underlying issues and try to determine where all of that anger is coming from.

Photo Credit: Wilson Wong/CBC

I'll finish off by congratulating the Bruins fans out there (especially those of Michael Ryder from Bonavista here on The Rock). For those in Vancouver? Yeah, last night sucked. Today will suck too. I hope that those that participated in that madness last night can look at themselves in the mirror today and feel proud. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day for you all. I'll close by throwing out a few Twitter messages that CBC had published this morning. Short, to the point, and hopefully a better representation of the feelings of the average Vancouverite and Canadian.

"Watching this riot makes me sad, and sick to my stomach.. What an embarrassment."  annachelsea

"This proves we don't deserve the Stanley Cup. With so many people around to let this happen... Makes me sad." #canucks #riot     shanebee

"In other countries people riot against oppression or for equality, in Canada we don't do any of that..... unless its over a hockey game."     Nathan Jordan


"Today, I am ashamed of the Canadians who have been rioting in the streets for the last 3 hours. It's a GAME. The Christians didn't riot when the rapture didn't happen as prophesied, why is a GAME more reason to riot then? GIVE YOUR HEADS A SHAKE! You have a responsibility first to uphold the integrity of our country's image and civic pride. We aren't animals. We're Canadians."     Dane Martin

Name That Tune

I wasn't a singer as a kid. I sucked at it. Dogs would run away when I sang. That's why I took up the violin in the 5th grade. The dogs would stay around but they howled pitifully. I'm still not sure if they were singing along or if they were in agony. I think humming is a safer musical pursuit. I'm not very good at that either, but at least the ears of those around me don't bleed. Much.

A BBC story on the Internet caught my eye this morning. Residents in Woodland, a village in county Durham, England, have been experiencing a constant buzzing noise that some attribute to abandoned mine shafts in the area. Sounds like something out of the X-Files (apparently this was the subject of an episode of the popular show, but I don't remember it). The phenomenon has actually been documented in other parts of the world for 40 years. There have been similar incidents in Bristol, England in Bondi, NSW, Australia and in Taos, New Mexico. Hey...isn't that near Roswell? I know, it would be easy to play the UFO card at this point as the experts still haven't come up with an explanation. Some believe that it's a form of tinnitus while others think that it's related to machinery or equipment operating in nearby factories. Link to the Wikipedia page here. I'm thinking that it's those 7 bearded, little men swinging their pick axes in the shafts below ground. Or UFO's...

Have you ever heard strange noises? (And I'm not talking about the couple in the next apartment)

We could have a St. John's Hum but I probably wouldn't hear it anyways because it would be drowned out by those voices I hear in my head.

Ain't No Sunshine

We in St. John’s are beginning to understand what it’s like to be a mushroom. Kept somewhat moist and warm and in the dark. The fog started rolling in from the Atlantic late Saturday and we haven’t seen the sky since.


The following screen shots are from the harbour cam on top of The Rooms, our provincial museum high up the hill that overlooks downtown. On a normal day (as per the first shot) you can see blue sky, Signal Hill and the brackish water of the harbour (just be thankful it’s just the sights and NOT the smells). The second shot has been our view for the past four days.



Notice the cruise ship coming in through the narrows



Like something from a Stephen King movie


Thankfully we’re not really into tourist season yet. Maybe the fog will lift by July…

Speaking of impeded views…I read a blog today that mentioned a recent article by Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times. I linked to Ebert's Journal and read ‘The Dying of the Light’, a fascinating look at the onslaught of 3D digital movies by Hollywood and the new projectors that produce “gloomy, underlit images.” Mr. Ebert also points out that many theatres are leaving the 3D lenses in the projectors (mainly because the new projectors are very complex to open), even for 2D films, and the result is that the lens absorbs 50% of the light trying to pass through. Use the link to pop over and check out his story.

In an effort to lift the spirits this gloomy evening, I’ll link to a video of George Harrison singing "Here Comes the Sun". Every little bit helps.

Things in Glossy Wrappers

Did another week fly by already? Has anyone noticed that the older you get the faster time flies by? Kind of a logarithmic equation, for those of you math inclined.

If time is going to whiz by, I wish it would do it with summer-like temps. We’ve been trapped in the fog today at Land's Edge. Not raining, but damp and only 10C (50F or so). Too wet to mow the lawn. He, he, he…that’s a shame.

All week I’ve waited by my mailbox for a very special delivery. One day I heard the lid on the small, wooden box slam shut and I leaped to the door only to find my copy of Cat Fancy* magazine. You know the issue…the one with the sexy Persian on the cover (Did I just say that out loud? I only meant to think it).

The next day I heard the mailbox and sprang into action. Alas, it was only the current issue of Scenthouse magazine. Glossy pages aplenty--all with fine articles and stunning photography. The wafting aroma of lavender from the centerfold was especially titillating to the olfactory system.



Notice my devil eye.

Finally, on Friday, the package I had been waiting for all week had arrived. It had come to The Rock from eastern Tennessee, therefore I figured that the box probably didn’t contain Jack Daniels*. Inside was Leather, Denim & Silver~ Legends of the Monster Hunter (edited by Miles Boothe). I won this Pill Hill Press anthology in a contest held by my online buddy KC Shaw of The Knotted Thicket. Sure, I wanted to win the anthology so I could read her story “Antler and Eye,” but I was really gunning for the additional prize…the Underwood Deviled Ham* stamp that she had especially made up years ago. Wicked cool! Many thanks, Kate. I really appreciate the anthology and demonic logo.

The first thing I did was try to stamp my fez, but ‘V’ smacked me before I could sully the treasured hat. I made do with stamping my arm. That's the closest thing I’ve had to a tattoo since the second grade when Wendell stenciled the Hot Wheels* logo on my forehead. Well, there was the time in the third grade that I tried to stencil that Empire State Building on my…

Ignore the fact I bite my nails



*Inevitable Disclaimer~The author of this blog is not intentionally endorsing the products: Jack Daniels, Underwood Deviled Ham, Hot Wheels or the lovely Cat Fancy Magazine. However, he IS open to receiving free schtuff. From anyone, anywhere...

On Awards and Guys in Fat Suits

I've had a few days of R & R since the end of the contest and am ready to resume the regularly scheduled programming...whatever that is. I am still unable to post comments at a lot of blogs. I hate blogger.

Thanks again to all who entered and participated in some fashion during the run of the contest. Laurita and I will be meeting shortly to package up the books and send them off to the recipients. You can expect those to arrive before the snow flies.

It's business as usual about here. Not a lot of drama. I had my final basketball game of the season last night. There were only four players per team, so no substitutions meant no time off the court. It was an exhausting hour. Fortunately, we had on hand several tanks of oxygen, a defibrillator and a Saint Bernard with a tiny keg of brandy.



Hit zero gravity button...

 The boy had his grade 9 carnival last week at the school. That is the year-end activity the school now holds instead of a graduation ceremony and dance. It's a fun evening at the school with lots of fun schtuff set up. The bouncy castle, fly-paper wall
and the sumo suits were but a few of the activities. They found that the formal affairs were getting out of hand. The ball gowns, tuxes and limos were getting a bit much for their age bracket and those in charge chose to take a step back. Good choice.



*Sniff* I'm a little verklempt right now

They also held a 'Student Choice Awards' where the grade nine's could vote for their peers in several categories. Best smile, most unique hair style (male and female), best strut (male and female) and most forgetful were a few of the categories. Sean's friend 'K' won the award for student most likely to  'take over the world'. I am proud to announce that Sean brought home the award for 'Funniest Student'. I quizzed him on that...funny as in 'strange' or funny 'Ha-ha'. It makes a difference, and the answer will also determine what side of the family THAT came from. I reminded him that the honour wasn't likely to help him much in his goal of gaining entry to the Marine Institute here in St. John's...no matter how many Billy Connolly jokes he told.

Lost on the Rock Contest - Honourable Mention

*Note to all* Blogger appears to have been going through some issues yesterday. I wasn't able to post comments and I received an email from somebody telling me that they couldn't post at this blog. If you tried to post a comment to any of this week's stories or interviews and could not, please go back and try again today as I'm sure the writer's would appreciate the feedback.


We bring the Lost on the Rock week to a close with our honourable mention stories. I am presenting Numbers, by Gerard Smith of London, England. The theme of 'Loss' tended to produce sad, melancholy or even horrific stories. Gerald's serendipitous tale really caught the judge's attention as it offered up a possibility of hope. Check out his blog All kinds a random. It definitely is, as the banner at the top of his blog describes...Observation. Opinion. Experience. Random. Stuff.

Also, please take a moment to drop by Laurita Miller's blog, Calling Shotgun.  She is presenting Simply Lost by (the one and only) John Wiswell.

We now present Numbers, by Gerard Smith...



 Numbers

The girl was frantically shouting out numbers as she chased after the departing tube train. When it was gone she dropped, deflated.

She rose again: hopeful, "Did anyone get the last two numbers?" Silence of course – Londoners.

She was gloriously beautiful, as was the guy on the opposite platform with whom she flirted; the electricity between them as potent as that which flowed through the tracks that separated them. I saw the sparks.

On the train I approached her, "Excuse me."

She looked at me warily, London wary.

"Zero, nine – the lad on the other train, they were the last two numbers, I'm sure." She scribbled them on her hand, thanked me and smiled – wow!

I envied that guy. He had power. Girls never looked at me, let alone run after trains for my number. In the days that followed I looked out for them; had my vigilance united the glorious couple? I saw nothing more of them.

Day in day out I took that tube train: to spend my days balancing books, my evenings watching TV.

For fourteen years Lucy enriched my life. The thought of going home to her buoyed my day. I was bereft when she died, yet her death elicited little sympathy from my colleagues – she was a cat. I mourned her loss alone.

The years, like the tube trains, just trundled away.

The colour gradually drained from my life. Numbers became harder to crunch; a misplaced numeral ensured the loss of my job. I didn't take the tablets the Doctor prescribed; oblivion seemed preferable.

When I felt the familiar rumble of the approaching train, I closed my eyes. I felt serene falling forward, ready.

Someone grabbed me!

"What you doing man, you were gonna frigging jump?"

It was a young man, so full of life, so familiar?

"No!” I lied.

"You freaked me out." He had an American accent.

Our eyes met – did I see them both in him, that glorious couple from years ago?

He put his hand on my shoulder, "Are you OK?"

His empathy soothed me, " Yes, thank you, thank you so much.” When he smiled I was left in no doubt, he had his Mother’s smile – wow!

The blackness lifted and left me.

I wondered if it was serendipity that placed him there to heal me? But no, I believe that someone, somewhere, arranges things: thank goodness, thank God.



Bio: I’m Gerard Smith, a 45 year old Director in a Healthcare Communications Agency. Although Irish, I’ve lived and worked in London for 23 years; I love the city, it’s become home. I’ve only recently started writing, spurred on by the short/micro/flash fiction genre, which really suits my impatient need to know what happens ASAP (without compromising on story.)

Interview With Michael Jackson

Today's interview is with Michael Jackson, 4th place winner in the Lost on the Rock contest. I had considered changing the title of this post to 'Interview with Mike Jackson' so as not to confuse fans of a certain entertainer. Actually, I don't mind if thousands flock to my site accidentally. Perhaps they will read about THIS Michael Jackson, of Warrington in the UK, and want to flock to his blog and read more of his fiction.

Our Mike Jackson is a former primary school teacher and has only joined the writing game since he retired two years ago. He used to love telling stories to the children at school and now enjoys writing the stories at his blog MJShorts. His story Where is Esther? appears today at Laurita's blog Calling Shotgun.

Have you ever been lost? Physically? Emotionally? Grammatically?

I don't remember ever being lost physically or emotionally but at the moment feel a little lost with a children's book I'm writing. It's my first attempt at a book and the first three chapters seemed to fly on to the page but since February I've become bogged down. It's as if I've lost my way - I've tried going back to the beginning and picking my way through to see where the problem lies, but I'm still lost. I've decided to leave it alone for a while and see what happens. It might be that I have to abandon this journey and set off on a new one.


Tell us about your writing. What is your favorite genre? Do you have a favorite story or character you’ve written?

I only started writing 'properly' when I retired just under two years ago. For the first 12 months or so I concentrated on two blogs - one was about education and the other a more general 'rambling thoughts'. In December 2010 I started a new blog to post my short stories. This has become both fun and addictive. I find myself experimenting with short stories, flash fiction, dribbles, drabbles, 5x5 stories, twitter stories. I enjoy responding to the different writing prompts that fellow bloggers are often posting.

I'm not sure if I've settled on a specific genre yet. Many of the stories on the blog are humourous and some are science fiction/fantasy. I plan to write a children's book and it will be fantasy. I also enjoy writing dialogue only stories, one of my favourites is 'Life In a box'.


Where is your writing space?

My writing space is my 'Studio' - my wife calls it my shed. I made it myself, cedar wood shingle roof, fully insulated t keep out the cold and wet, it has it's own electricity supply and Internet. I keep a lot of my books in there, numerous writing pads/journals, it's got a very comfy armchair and a lovely view of the garden. I can, and often do, spend hours in there.

Are you working on anything right now?

At the moment I am developing my blog of short stories, trying to get to grips with Twitter, wondering whether, as a writer, I should have a Facebook page and about to embark on writing chapter 4 of this elusive children's book I've started.

When you think of Newfoundland, what pops into your mind?

Newfoundland - the first thing that pops into my mind is Canada and snow. As a child I remember being told that the explorer who discovered it called it Newfoundland because it was a 'New Found Land' - I loved the simplicity of the idea.


Bio: I've come to 'writing' late in life but have always enjoyed telling stories. As a primary school teacher and for 25 years a Headteacher I had lots of children to tell stories to! I've been retired for almost two years now and am thoroughly enjoying the time and the freedom to write. I enjoy writing stories for my 'Short Stories' blog and meeting lots of other enthusiastic writers/bloggers.

My Blog: http://mjshorts.wordpress.com/

Lost on the Rock Contest - 3rd Place

Our third place winner in the Lost on the Rock contest is Sue Harding of Warwickshire, England. I understand that some of her intimates refer to as the "Knitting Assassin". Perhaps that's because she hangs about with so many of those noir-ish types. I have had occasion to drop in on her blog I Refuse To Go Quietly! and have always enjoyed the writing she presents.

Take a moment to drop by Laurita's Calling Shotgun to read our interview with Sue. We'd now like to present Oubliette, another fine tale...

OUBLIETTE

If I climb to the top of the stairs, there is a low door leading into a small attic. I come up here when the memories become too real. This is my place of ‘leaving behind’ the pain; it is my oubliette, my place of forgetting.

No-one else comes here. Only one other knows of it and he is sworn to secrecy. It is something we share and yet he can only ever wait outside because I will not let him in.

It was all so long ago and yet I remember it as sharply as if it was just happening. In some ways, perhaps, it still is.

Neville knows not to come in. We have been together so many, many years and yet I have never allowed him into my secret room. Obligingly, he has never asked. He merely accepts that from time to time I need to withdraw from life and be separate.

It was Neville, you see, who found out what had happened all those years ago. He had been exploring the woods and had come across the old potting shed at the back of the old nursery. It was all broken down and overgrown; the glasshouses standing vacant, the panes broken or missing.

I’d stopped crying by then, afraid it was the nasty man come back to check on me after he'd pushed me down into that dungeon-like cellar. When I felt the noise of footsteps above me I panicked in the darkness and stumbled into a pile of old clay plant pots. With his curiosity aroused Neville had discovered the door and pulled it open.

Thinking to make my escape, I’d leapt forward snarling and spitting like a cat, ready to attack and plunged forwards bowling him over. I was startled by the brightness and by the figure of a young lad rather than the horrible old man who’d smelled of dirt and tobacco. I’d been almost hysterical when Neville had grabbed hold of me and it was only when he shook me hard and yelled back at me that he wasn’t going to hurt me that I finally stopped screaming.

Neville, my saviour. He became a good friend in the days and months that passed, after he’d taken me safely home. I swore him to secrecy that he must never tell anyone what had happened to me and when we finally arrived back at my home he honoured our agreement. My mother was crying with relief and my father just wouldn’t let me go. They’d been about to call the police when they couldn’t find me, having searched the surrounding area for hours. Neville backed up my story that I’d been playing hide and seek with some friends, down by the old nursery, when I’d got stuck in the potting shed after the door handle had come off. He’d heard me crying and rescued me.

So, Neville became quite a hero and a fixture in my life from that time on. We grew up, he went off to college and I stayed on at school, being a few years younger. We courted and eventually married. At least, that’s the happy ending everyone believed.

The truth, hidden behind the aspects of middle-class conformity and appearances of genteel post-war Britain, was quite a different prospect; 1950’s society still clung precariously to established stereotypes of propriety that would not have openly accepted the arrangement that governed our marriage.

Neville endured the probing questions that suggested our lack of offspring might represent a failing on his part, even to the point where he didn’t contradict the misconception that others were happy to believe.

All these years he has patiently stayed beside me, content to be my protector and allow me to live a quiet and sheltered life. Our arrangement is simple – that part of his life is separate. He is very discreet, of course. I often wonder what makes him stay. Perhaps there is more to love and living our lives together than can be explained away by a simple definition.

But even now after more than sixty years there are times, flashbacks, to a long ago summer when a sunny day brought to a halt the excitement and wonder of youth and ushered in the loss of innocence, as I retreat once more to my place of forgetting. There, in my times of solitude, I block out the worst images and fight to replace them with blackness, as if splicing and editing cine film until I can look back and not see the past.

Neville found me, he rescued me and he has sheltered me all these years, but still I am tied to the trauma of what happened back then. How I wish I could wipe away the memories of a past that will not go away. Perhaps, if I had the determination and the courage, I would bow to his gentle suggestion of counselling, but I am trapped by the fear that it might bring other memories to the surface. Solitude is a small price for me to pay but it has cost Neville dear.

After eleven years' hard-labour as a Library Assistant I am fortunate to have been able to give up work this year and am now a 'kept woman'! (well, I think that sounds better then the 'pensioner' connotation of early retirement!) I now spend my days reading, writing, knitting (no, it's not boring - excellent time to mind-plot!) and in keeping with my persona as a life-member of the Campaign for Real Ale, consuming quantities of quality brews and red wine - though not both at the same time!


I hang out at my blog: http://www.irefusetogoquietly.blogspot.com/ - callers there are most welcome, especially if they'd like to contribute to 'Thursday @ 3'!