tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22552209881284468622023-11-16T02:33:56.712-05:00Dew On The NewtsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-19316153722200645292012-12-31T09:39:00.000-05:002012-12-31T09:39:06.762-05:00The Only New Year's Resolution I Ever Kept<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's New Year's Eve... the end of another year. This is the time people like to make resolutions - promises for the new year, usually to do with behavioral changes. "I'm going to quit smoking" or "I'll quit drinking" are popular choices as are things like "I'm going to start working out" and other 'healthy' goals. The problem with New Year resolutions is they rarely work out. People almost always break them. I know I always did...</div>
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I used to make a resolution every New Year's Eve... usually something like those I've mentioned above... quit drinking, smoking, fighting... whatever. None of them ever <i>really</i> came from the heart. They were promises made because that's what you do at New Years, right? A resolution is almost mandatory, a way to look toward the future with a promise to personally make it better somehow yet does anyone truly believe in their New Year's resolution? I know I never did.</div>
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I'd make those resolutions (usually while under the influence of alcohol or drugs or both) and I always broke them, often within 24 hours. It's no mystery why I broke the promises I made to myself... I didn't believe in them anyway. It was just the thing to do on New Year's Eve. Everybody was doing it and almost everybody was breaking them early in the new year. </div>
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Breaking my New Year's resolutions shouldn't have bothered me. I always knew I was full of crap making them so why should I care if I broke them by doing what I resolved not to or ignoring the lifestyle changes I'd resolved to make? But I did care. It always bothered me... year after year after year.</div>
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Until December 31, 1979 - New Year's Eve of 1980. That was the year I finally got it right. The year I made a resolution I've kept for over 30 years and will continue to honor until the day I die. It wasn't a resolution I'd ever made before, had nothing to do with improving my life or curtailing bad habits. All it did was forever remove from me the issues surrounding New Year's resolutions. It is beautiful in its simplicity...</div>
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<i><b>On Dec 31, 1979 I resolved to never again make any New Year's resolutions. </b></i></div>
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That was the only resolution I ever kept. The only one I never broke. If you have a problem keeping the promises made under New Year resolutions maybe this one is for you too. I'm not saying don't want to improve yourself and your life, not saying those aren't great and noble things to strive for. All I'm saying is don't anchor yourself to one singular date to do it. Don't wait for New Year's Eve to make those resolutions, just get started whenever the time is right. Mark the passing of one year to the next however you want, party as much as you need or desire (or don't) but forget about promises made on New Year's Eve. </div>
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<i><b>A real promise to one's self comes on its own time.</b></i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-36111733610366664902012-12-29T08:06:00.000-05:002012-12-29T08:06:01.519-05:00Tis the Season to be... What, exactly?<div style="text-align: justify;">
Have you ever stopped to wonder what Christmas means to people... even what it means to you? I know a lot of people will answer something about Christ's Birthday, or it's a "season of giving" or maybe a "time when family and loved ones connect" and it might have been one or all of those things once but I wonder if that's <i>really</i> what Christmas means to people now. I wonder if people <i>really</i> know what Christmas means to themselves anymore.</div>
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My wife and I no longer celebrate Christmas. We don't get a Christmas Tree, decorate out apartment or exchange gifts. For us Christmas has become something to endure... crowds, store closures, the falsity of people who act anything but charitable towards others at any time of year but especially Christmas. The memories of people and things past which alternately reawaken aching loss or rekindle searing heartbreak.</div>
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It wasn't always that way. Both of us come from families where Christmas was a time of gift-giving, celebration and family get-togethers. The religious aspect of it was noted and moderately followed but mostly Christmas was about getting together with family. For me it was always a strange time. I liked the gift giving (and getting) but always felt my own family - my parents & siblings - rarely had any real time to ourselves aside from a few short hours Christmas morning before all the visiting and extended family stuff started. </div>
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And that family stuff... Wow! As a kid I felt it strange seeing people who didn't necessarily get along all year suddenly become close at Christmas time. (At least until the booze started really flowing anyway, then the real fun stuff started.) For the most part, family feuds were put on the back burner for Christmas... a truce of sorts brought on by the need to honor the spirit of the season by forgiving (at least temporarily) all the various slights, insults and character traits exhibited by and between various family members the rest of the year. </div>
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Raised on my family's example, I believed Christmas was a time to let go of old grudges, a time of forgiving. As I understood it, Christmas was when everyone in the family worked to put differences aside and come together in solidarity and peace to celebrate making it through another year. I believed those same principles applied to people outside our family as well. Christmas was a time to be a little more charitable, a little more forgiving and tolerant and a little more pleasant to others be they friends, neighbors, casual acquaintances or complete strangers. </div>
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My wife's family had similar Christmas experiences and values and I think most everyone else did also. I think back then most people still believed in and practiced the time-honored Christmas values of forgiveness, tolerance, acceptance and patience toward others. It wasn't hard to find evidence of that. During the Christmas season people everywhere were more accepting of others' behaviors (and more polite to strangers) than at other times of the year. At Christmas people showed real gratitude to those stuck working during the holidays and everyone tried a little harder to get along. </div>
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Back in those days even the people who <i>didn't</i> do or believe in Christmas showed those same values toward those who did celebrate the season. Nobody got bent out of shape over a stranger wishing them "Merry Christmas", school Xmas pageants, Christmas trees on government spaces, Santa Claus or any other Christmas traditions or accompaniments. If they did, they kept their opinions to themselves... didn't spoil the fun for everyone else. </div>
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Where are those Christmas traditions now? Where is the collective respect towards our fellow man... the tolerance, patience, acceptance and love shown not just to family and friends but complete strangers? Where is that Christmas spirit found in the new holiday traditions of me-first entitlement, indulgence and greed? Just what the heck are we as a society celebrating anymore? Why do we even bother keeping Christmas a holiday anyway when for most people it's all about themselves? Why close the stores and shopping centers if all it's about is <i>buying</i> stuff... usually for ourselves... instead of <i>doing</i> stuff for others... of <i>giving</i> strangers a helping hand (or parking space)... of <i>tolerance, respect, kindness and love toward your fellow man?</i></div>
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We have pushed Christmas (and God) from most of our schools, government and public places. We have created a society where wishing someone a "Merry Christmas" may be considered offensive... where Presidents and Prime Ministers call Christmas trees "Holiday trees" so as not to offend those whose beliefs or faith systems don't recognize Christmas. We are driving Christmas - a time that used to be about recognizing, strengthening and glorifying the bonds between us - underground. We are making the best of our nature into something vile and offensive while at the same time treating one another in the most offensive of fashions with every trip to the mall.</div>
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Whatever happened to being nice to each other? What happened to being polite and respectful to strangers? Why do we lose patience with each other sooner and with more negativity at Christmas than any other time of the year? Why are we as a society and as people "celebrating" Christmas by turning more and more toward the antithesis of what it stands for? Just what <i>are</i> we celebrating, exactly? </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-89994355412472802592012-12-18T20:07:00.001-05:002012-12-18T20:07:12.733-05:00Recommended Reading<div style="text-align: justify;">
This isn't a regular blog entry. </div>
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I'd like you to take a moment and read an entry in a blog belonging to someone else. I think it's message is important and shouldn't be lost among the scads of other blogs, internet posts, Tweets and mainstream media stories and coverage about the events that spurred the writer to post it.</div>
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Those "events" are the recent school shooting and subsequent deluge of media & internet commentary.</div>
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PLEASE read this:</div>
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<a href="http://www.blogher.com/we-need-talk-about-adam-lanza?page=full" target="_blank">We Need to Talk About Adam Lanza</a></div>
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For more information on Autism check out <a href="http://www.autismcanada.org/" target="_blank">www.autismcanada.org</a></div>
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Thank you.</div>
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God bless</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-22532833180422672442012-12-16T08:49:00.000-05:002012-12-16T08:52:48.079-05:00Oh yea, there are things going on...<div style="text-align: justify;">
Regular readers (if there is such a thing) may have noticed I haven't written any new entries for some time. One person actually asked me if I'd given up writing this blog, wondering if it's because "there's nothing worth writing about" in my life these days. That's hardly the case. There are LOTS of things going on in my life (and the world at large) that are 'blog worthy'...</div>
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Here are just some of the subjects I've considered writing about...</div>
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<b>My job at the quarry</b> - the actual job... the stigma of working at a place many people believe (erroneously in my opinion) to be a detriment to the environment... the uncertainty of lay-offs and my struggle to remain at work in the face of looming unemployment... the physical toll on my body... the personal dynamics of the quarry workforce... the birds and animals I see there.</div>
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<b>Driving</b> - my commute to work... the bad habits of some drivers and the scary moments they cause</div>
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<b>Current events</b> - the latest school shooting, the Christmas season, politics etc</div>
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<b>Birds</b> - birdwatching adventures my wife and I have enjoyed... the various bird species and the behaviors I witness... the community of like-minded people at <a href="http://www.whatbird.com/forum/" target="_blank">the Whatbird.com forum</a>... </div>
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<b>The past</b> - thoughts and reflections on my "dark years"... where I've been and who I've known... scars inside and out</div>
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<b>God</b> - my journey to spiritual understanding... the quest to find balance in my life... religion... </div>
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Oh yea, there are LOTS of things worth writing about. The above ideas are just a fraction of blog-worthy fodder in my mental rolodex. I have a number of topics lined up that I definitely plan to write about and new inspirations come every day.</div>
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So why haven't I?</div>
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There is no easy answer to that. It's not like I haven't had the time, the energy or the will to sit down and write. I have. What's stopping me from adding new blog entries at every opportunity is my own state of mind. When I look at the urge pushing me to write about something, like driving, for example, a big part of my desire to write is born of negative emotion... anger and frustration. Like, I want to rant about driving and the people I share the road with. </div>
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Ranting about things is very easy and can make for some entertaining reading but I have to ask myself if that's what I want to do... if ranting in full sarcastic and cynical mode is the <i>right</i> thing to do. As fun as it can be in the short term, is it something which will stand the test of time without regret? Will writing in a negative bent help me achieve <i>balance?</i> I already know that it will not.</div>
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I have discovered negativity is easy, a self-serving, self-sustaining way of thinking which can cloud one's appreciation for life. I have no wish to write from a negative point of view even if by necessity I must write about negative things since so much of the human condition embraces that easier path. If I'm to write about anything I must endeavor to do so from a place that is free of my own negative feelings and bias.</div>
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When I restarted this blog I pledged to remain honest and truthful. The truth is I have struggled with negativity most of my life... spent years embracing it in the way I looked at the world and everyone and everything in it. I have come to realize negativity is at its core a very arrogant way of looking at things... a self-centered "me first" mindset which allows one the luxury of side-stepping personal responsibility for their life, their actions and their emotional state. </div>
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Negativity's mantra is "Life's not fair." Believing that causes one to react to everything that doesn't fit their way of thinking (or their wants, needs and opinions) as a personal slight against them. They get upset about things that really aren't about them at all. </div>
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<i>Life is not fair or un-fair. Life just is.<b> </b></i></div>
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Man is the only living thing which questions life, the only living thing that believes it <i>deserves</i> to be alive.</div>
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I wish to write about life, including the inherent negativity Man brings to it, but I don't want to <i>be</i> negative while doing so. I don't want to look back at my blog entries with regret. There is enough negativity in the world already. I have no desire to add any more to it.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-84281532366392611322012-12-02T11:56:00.000-05:002012-12-02T11:56:10.573-05:00Here for a good time?<div style="text-align: justify;">
While driving home from work a couple days ago I heard the old Trooper song "We're Here For a Good Time"... Vocalist Ra McGuire singing:</div>
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<i>"We're here for a good time</i></div>
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<i>Not a long time</i></div>
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<i>So have a good time</i></div>
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<i>The sun can't shine every day"</i></div>
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That got me to thinking about the phrase "here for a good time, not a long time" and how often it's cited as validation for personally gratifying behaviors. Like, because our lifespans are relatively short - maybe even tragically so - it's important to have a good time while we can. Many people truly believe that and rank having a good time high on the list of things they need to do. Gotta have a good time today because we may not be here tomorrow. I know I sure used to think that way.</div>
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When I was in my teens I didn't think I'd live to be thirty so I was always searching for ways to have a good time. When I actually reached that age I merely shifted my supposed termination date to somewhere before forty (No way I'm makin it to <i>forty.</i>) and continued my search for a good time because after all... we're not here for a <i>long</i> time, right? I mean... <i>Everybody</i> knows that. </div>
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<i>"We're here for a good time, not a long time" </i></div>
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A <i>lot</i> of young people feel that way and many of them continue to feel that way long after they have in fact been around a long time (relatively speaking). Many people well past forty, or fifty... people well into their sixties, seventies and beyond still live their lives looking for a good time but here's the thing...</div>
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Having a good time isn't necessarily a good thing.</div>
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I know a lot of my good times often left me feeling anything but good when they were over. Hangovers, bruises, regrets... Those are just some of the residual affects of me having a good time. I'm sure others wouldn't have to look too deeply into their own lives to find their good times often came with side-effects of the not-so-good kind. </div>
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I think the phrase <i>"We're here for a good time, not a long time"</i> is something for us to believe and to base our thought processes and behaviors on but it's important to define what the word "good" means...</div>
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For years I believed, like the majority of others, that "good" in this instance meant "fun". We have to have a <i>fun</i> time. We have to have a <i>good</i> time by doing something <i>fun,</i> something we <i>enjoy</i>. We have to FEEL GOOD by HAVING FUN because... (cue suspenseful music...) </div>
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<i>IT COULD ALL END TOMORROW!</i></div>
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And how much fun would THAT be?</div>
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I still think <i>we're here for a good time, not a long time.</i> I truly believe that is the way to live one's life but NOT because we're here for a short time. I think it's the right thing to do no matter how long we may or may not be here for. The difference between the way I look at being <i>here for a good time</i> now isn't the way I used to look at it. I don't think interpreting "a good time" to mean "having fun" or any other personally indulgent behavior is what the ideology (or way of life) that phrase espouses is all about. I think it's about something entirely different... something that won't leave you with a hangover.</div>
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What if being <i>here for a good time</i> means <i>being </i>good?</div>
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What if, instead of devoting one's life, health, energy and mindset to the pursuit of personal gratification and enjoyment (having FUN) and <i>calling</i> that "good"... we devote our lives, health, energy and mindset to <i>being good?</i></div>
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And by "good" I mean honest, caring, charitable and understanding toward your fellow man (and other lifeforms, the planet and everything else<i> </i>too) </div>
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The more I think about it the more I realize how wrong I was thinking life was all about me having a personally indulgent FUN time... how I rationalized that self-centered belief by thinking I deserved it due to the fact I won't be here for a long time - maybe not even tomorrow. </div>
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I understand now that interpreting "good" to mean "fun" can be a road to a lifetime of empty promises, a pursuit of soulless gratification which ultimately means nothing no matter how long or short one's lifespan may be.</div>
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But striving to BE good, loving and respecting ALL life can bring one's own life meaning, experiences far richer and gratifying than momentary fun (and no hangover!)</div>
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So think about it... </div>
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About <i>being</i> good...</div>
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<i>"We're here for a good time</i></div>
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<i>Not a long time</i></div>
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<i>So have a good time</i></div>
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<i>The sun can't shine every day"</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-29730554009398367252012-11-26T21:16:00.000-05:002012-11-27T00:56:14.166-05:00a Bird in the Hand - I Believe in Miracles<div style="text-align: justify;">
Almost everyone is familiar with the adage <b>"A bird in the hand </b><span class="st"><b>is worth two in the bush".</b> Most people interpret it to mean a secured thing, one in your actual possession is better than a potentially better thing that isn't secured or not yet belonging to or held by you. Some people paraphrase it as "be happy with what you have, don't get greedy and try for more." Pretty much everyone agrees the implication of the bird-in-the-hand adage is trying to attain the better or more desirable thing (the 2 birds in the bush) may cause you to lose the thing you already <i>do</i> have (the bird in hand) and you'll wind up with nothing (because <i>all</i> the birds will fly away.) </span></div>
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<span class="st">I've never really pondered the meaning of </span><i>"A bird in the hand <span class="st">is worth two in the bush"</span></i><span class="st"> since I first heard the phrase years ago. I don't remember where or when exactly, maybe in school, but I do know I always agreed with the general consensus that it was about the folly of greed and how wanting more of something can lead to having less of what you already have... and I'm not writing this blog today to argue any differently or even to talk more about that old adage except to say the <i>reality</i> of having a bird in hand was to me, priceless.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOP6gEDhxLQLaG1egCZFi-Svd0umckoyhLaV6UQonygVuSgt9yon2N-RPtN6sGWXVAxe7TJ1VS3-Y-020jFol3GCad34hxKoWSKigrOf2Jgwn3skJHJUMBmf3a6DHeMw-fRb4EzmgVWT_W/s1600/Bird-in-Hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOP6gEDhxLQLaG1egCZFi-Svd0umckoyhLaV6UQonygVuSgt9yon2N-RPtN6sGWXVAxe7TJ1VS3-Y-020jFol3GCad34hxKoWSKigrOf2Jgwn3skJHJUMBmf3a6DHeMw-fRb4EzmgVWT_W/s320/Bird-in-Hand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="st">I recently had a bird in my hand. A few different birds actually and the experience was... amazing.</span></div>
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<span class="st">It happened a couple days ago on an outdoor walk with my wife and dog, one described in some detail in the preceding <a href="http://www.dewonthenewts.blogspot.ca/2012/11/hendrie-valley-sanctuary-first.html" target="_blank">blog entry</a> Neither my wife or I can recall ever having wild birds perch on us (with the exception of some Stanley Park pigeons which hardly qualify as "wild", at least by my reckoning.) We do a lot of exploring in the wilderness areas around Hamilton and birdwatching is a huge part of the activities we enjoy. As a result we've seen a <i>lot</i> of birds but before that magical day at the <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> none of those birds we were watching ever landed on us. Nearby maybe but never actually <i>on</i> us.</span></div>
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<span class="st">My wife was the first to have a hands-on <i>(on-hand?)</i> experience with a bird when a chickadee alit on her upraised palm. It stayed there only a second, barely long enough for us to grasp that <i>a bird had actually landed on her!</i> We were both elated but she was ecstatic at what just occurred. Seeing her look of wonder, amazement and joy nearly melted my heart and I was disappointed about not getting a picture of the magic moment which induced it. I had my 300mm lens on and was standing beside her, way too close to enable a shot even if I had been able to raise my camera to my eye before the chickadee took wing again.</span></div>
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<span class="st">Soon enough we figured out the chickadees (and a white-breasted nuthatch) were looking to us for a free meal. Accustomed we presumed to being fed by park visitors the birds were <i>very</i> comfortable being in the presence of humans (accompanied by a dog no less - a chihuahua, but still.) I was lucky to find an old granola bar deep in a jacket pocket which supplied crumbs for Tammy to offer our new park friends. <i>This</i> time I would have camera ready...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhod6IbAeMadEYqTAKdpBBjx23MymXH6Q5VyhLqsQVowStJ8B9QWg9zWU3YZTyG7ofsTPn0AVICnM_Ivgyq5Rs6Xc-QAQGh6LZX-PgxUN8sU-EXP_WH7CdN5lBTfoJehNZuhD0Ca8DfLcJU/s1600/Tammy-Black-capped-Chickadee-121123-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhod6IbAeMadEYqTAKdpBBjx23MymXH6Q5VyhLqsQVowStJ8B9QWg9zWU3YZTyG7ofsTPn0AVICnM_Ivgyq5Rs6Xc-QAQGh6LZX-PgxUN8sU-EXP_WH7CdN5lBTfoJehNZuhD0Ca8DfLcJU/s320/Tammy-Black-capped-Chickadee-121123-02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="st">It was an indescribably awesome thing to watch and photograph my wife hand-feeding the nuthatch and chickadees. She was <i>so</i> happy, completely enthralled by the little feathered creatures jumping from bush to bush, branch to branch as they approached, flying around her, hovering over her, perching <i>on</i> her! I was also enthralled with wondrous joy watching her experience this first-in-a-lifetime event. Seeing my wife surrounded by and interacting with those birds was deeply moving on an emotional and spiritual level. My happiness at what she was experiencing during those bird-filled moments provoked an awareness of how deep and strong my love for her is. At the same time came a clear and true spiritual realization - <i>miracles don't just happen, they exist.</i> </span></div>
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<span class="st">That first spiritual surge was brief, just a quick sure knowledge - more <i>feeling</i> than thought - everything and every <i>thing</i> is connected. It wasn't until Tammy suggested I try feeding the birds and I too beheld the wonder that is <i>a bird in the hand</i> that the spiritual connection again became apparent. The knowledge that miracles <i>do</i> exist, that everything is intrinsically linked to everything else. The evidence was right there in my hand...</span><br />
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<span class="st">The actual physical sensation of a chickadee landing on my hand was very light. Aside from a slight tactile sense of its feet touching my skin there was no evidence I could actually <i>feel</i>. I had no sense of the bird's weight when it landed on me. Take-offs sometimes brushed air across my hand but there was no feeling of any weight being lifted. Chickadees aren't weightless of course (1/3oz or 9-12grams according to easily-Googled literature) but they're so light they might as well be. Even the relatively larger and heavier white-breasted nuthatch's weight (20 grams or so) barely registered... although their take-off launch did shove against my finger with enough force to indicate separation between us. The touch of the birds was <i>so</i> light I have to wonder if I were blindfolded, unable to witness by sight the wonder of <i>a bird in the hand,</i> would I</span><span class="st"> know they were landing on me at all? </span><br />
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<span class="st">Actually <i>seeing</i> a chickadee perch on my fingertip was truly amazing. Awe inspiring (even if in the photos I look a little less than awe-struck. Bifocals, folks. In order to see the birds in clear focus I had to tip my head back.) I couldn't look at that bird perched on my finger without concluding I was witness to a miracle in the happening. When I realized the chickadee was looking back at me I knew for sure. In that moment I sensed the connection... the spiritual bond that binds everything together... the singular energy source within every atom and the space between. </span><br />
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<span class="st">Some truths are too large in scale for anybody to grasp. I gained just a whisper of <i>real</i> knowledge framing the moment I and the chickadee in my hand assessed each other... the barest glimpse of truths beyond the understanding of mankind. I don't know if there was a message or lesson in that moment for the bird but for me it came down to this: <i>I am you and you are me and we are all together.</i> There's more to it than that of course but that's the <i>feeling</i> I got during that moment of bird-in-hand. I didn't <i>think</i> it. My thoughts at that moment were more akin to something like <i>"Wow! This is AWESOME!"</i> </span><br />
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<span class="st">And before any of my regular readers start thinking I'm off on some kind of God and faith sermon... relax. </span><span class="st"><span class="st">This isn't about that. </span>I'm not preaching anything. I don't think the bird was some kind of messenger of God. This bird, and all the other birds I saw that day including the ones who didn't fly over and land on my hand were just birds. The bird wasn't looking <i>right at me</i> like the American Kestrel I spoke of in an <a href="http://www.dewonthenewts.blogspot.ca/2012/10/did-god-send-kestrel-to-calm-chaos.html" target="_blank">earlier blog.</a> The little chickadee was looking at me like he was just checking me out, comparing me visually perhaps to other humans encountered in its past. When he was done that he grabbed a crumb from my palm and split. </span><br />
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<span class="st">It was like that with the other birds that came to my hand during those magical minutes I offered them crumbs. Not all of the birds paused longer than it took to grab a crumb of granola but some did. That they initiated contact at all was amazing. We saw other people handfeeding the birds that day and I did find out later that the chickadees and Nuthatch's of <i>Hendrie Valley</i> park are known to be "hand-tame" (which probably explains why those other people all had regular wildbird-safe seed with them. And, when you think about it... just who trained who here?) </span><br />
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<span class="st">Anyway, the point is seeing the bird in <i>my</i> hand was evidence of a miracle. That a chickadee even exists is a miracle. And if it's a miracle then <i>I'm</i> a miracle... and if I'm a miracle then <i>you</i> are a miracle also.</span><br />
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<span class="st">What, you don't believe in miracles? Too bad. Not believing in miracles is like seeing the world from the inside of a windowless bus. I know. There was a time when I didn't believe in miracles. Now I do believe. I believe they are everywhere all of the time. Miracles are within us, all around us. We just don't see them for what they are because we as a species have blinded ourselves to their existence. </span><br />
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<span class="st">Believing in miracles is the only way of having a chance at recognizing one when it occurs. Given how much we've used our freedom of choice (the gift of self-awareness) to distance ourselves from life's real truths it's a miracle our species is still here. It's a miracle <i>you</i> are here. And if you still have doubts consider this...</span><br />
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<span class="st">You are but one of over 7 <i>billion</i> humans alive today. And <i>all</i> of them (you & me included)... the <i>entire human race</i> equals an almost immeasurable fraction of the collective biomass of organic species clinging precariously to life on the thin crust of a planet </span><span class="st">12,600 km</span> <span class="st"></span> wide, a planet traveling 107,000 km/hr around a star 100 times bigger. And that star is traveling around a galaxy with <i>200-400 billion</i> other stars and <i>it</i> is spinning through the universe among an estimated <i>100 billion</i> other galaxies.<br />
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In all that vastness of creation it took a miracle for you to even exist and yet...<br />
here <i>you</i> are. Is <i>that</i> not a miracle?<br />
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I can't explain the miracle presented during my interaction with the chickadee. I barely understand it myself. Suffice it to say it was a very humbling experience, one I will have to devote much thought. I'm not suggesting literally having <i>a bird in the hand</i> will provoke a similar experience for anyone else but it can't hurt... hand-feeding the birds... slowing down for a moment... turning toward the natural world around us...<br />
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And maybe... just maybe... believing in miracles.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The expressed opinions are mine but s</span>ome numbers and facts for this blog entry came from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_Page" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a></span> <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-23831454043368293002012-11-24T16:28:00.001-05:002012-11-24T16:28:10.281-05:00Hendrie Valley Sanctuary - First Impressions<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday, Friday Nov 23rd, the weather was awesome but weather forecasts called for an abrupt change to colder temps and stormy skies, even possibly snow to the
Southern Ontario region we call home. My wife Tammy, our chihuahua Isabeau and I had been enjoying the warm weather and sunny skies all week with daily adventures at a range of our regular haunts and favorite places. We'd explored Bayfront Park, the Princess Point / Cootes Marsh trails, even a couple walking excursions around our home neighborhood and Hamilton's downtown core. With colder temperatures and snow in the forecast for the Saturday I wanted to take full advantage of Friday's awesome weather by adventuring in an area new to us and decided we'd go to the <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary.</i></div>
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The <b> </b><i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> is owned and maintained by the <a href="http://www.rbg.ca/" target="_blank">Royal Botanical Gardens</a>. It's located near their main visitor center and garden displays area just outside of Hamilton's borders in the adjacent city of Burlington. We accessed the park from a lot on Plains Road West near Botanical Drive (<a href="https://maps.google.ca/maps?hl=en&tab=wl" target="_blank">Map</a>) but there are other points of entrance available. As usual at RBG owned areas parking costs $1 an hour so we were expecting that but it was a pleasant surprise to discover the ticket machines accept the new 2013 loonie coins and somewhat surprising to discover there was no daily limit (usually $5) and the Valley was open to visitors 24hrs.</div>
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The <b> </b><i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> is a 100 hectare wilderness park that is considered by the province of Ontario as an Area of Natural and Scientific Interest (ANSI). It contains a 50 hectare Marsh fed by Grindstone Creek and lots of forested slopes and ridges. The Valley and wetlands within (which apparently drain a 90 square kilometer area) is also considered an Environmentally Sensitive Area (ESA) because it contains many rare and endangered native plants, fish and other species. Some areas and trails are closed to better protect the environment but there is still lots to see and experience. </div>
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Trails through the park are sometimes hilly but almost always wide and smoothly surfaced. It can get wet and muddy in some spots so appropriate footwear is advised. On the valley floor there are elevated wooden walkways which give park visitors a great vantage point to enjoy the wetlands and creek without impinging on the natural flora and fauna. Trails are well marked and many contain Family Activity Panels at various points of interest. The colorful panels usually have 4 nature-based questions and exercises which encourage young park visitors to learn more about the area and its natural denizens by engaging in hands-on challenges and activities like 'touch 4 different kinds of trees to see the difference in bark' or 'find a caterpillar'. There were a few family groups at the park on Friday and they all, kids and adults, seemed to be enjoying the Family Activity Panels.</div>
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It was apparent as soon as we entered the <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> trail system via the Cherry Hill Gate that one activity regular park users enjoy is feeding the resident squirrels. The park is home to Eastern Gray Squirrels and their Black cousins. Both species seemed totally unconcerned about Isabeau or us posing some kind of threat. To the contrary, the squirrels approached us willingly and only got wigged out after realizing we had no food to offer them. Not that they needed any! I don't think I've ever seen so many squirrels so fat before. These guys are definitely not hurting for a meal.</div>
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There were more Gray Squirrels than we normally see and they had some interesting physical traits not common to the Gray Squirrels we see elsewhere... These <i>Hendrie Valley</i> Gray Squirrels had white-tufts of fur behind their ears. It's a feature found on many Gray Squirrels but not as pronounced and common-to-all as it was on the ones here. Another interesting easily observable difference the park Gray Squirrels had from squirrels in other areas was the length of their tails. The <i>Hendrie Valley</i> squirrels have shorter than usual tails. Even the park's Black Squirrels had shorter tails than usually seen on these species. I assume it's some genetic trait within this community of squirrels that accounts for the physical differences between them and squirrels elsewhere. Whatever the reason, it doesn't impact their ability to gain weight and certainly doesn't negatively affect their cuteness factor.</div>
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We had a great time at <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i>. I love exploring areas for the first time. Every step, everywhere you look there are never before seen wonders and this park is full of amazing natural beauty. At this time of year with most leaves carpeting the forest floor instead of on the trees it was possible to see vistas and forest views unavailable in the spring. There are multiple ponds along Grindstone Creek as it winds and curves across the valley floor on its way to Lake Ontario. Views from the trails were awesome (thanks in no small part to the absence of leaves) but there were also spots where platforms were provided allowing park viewers an unobscured view.</div>
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As always we were hoping to see birds and the <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> gave us a birdwatching experience like we've never had before. We spotted our first bird just moments after entering the park, a large Red-tailed Hawk cruising through the treetops in a glen to our right which put it almost eye-level with us. Less than a hundred steps later when we paused to shoot photos of a particularly fat Gray Squirrel we were suddenly surrounded by a mixed flock of Dark-eyed Juncos and Black-capped Chickadees. With them came a White-breasted Nuthatch which was the first of my many "Wow!" moments that day. That initial group of birds was very casual in their approach, a behavior which repeated numerous times with other birds we encountered in the park on our visit. The feathered denizens of <i>Hendrie Valley</i> are obviously comfortable and conditioned to the presence of humans and dogs.</div>
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That the smaller birds in the park had no fear of humans was made even more apparent as we traveled deeper into the trail system. The Chickadees and Nuthatch's were especially bold, often following us as we walked along the creekside trail, sometimes even cruising past us only inches away or perching in branches directly overhead. On a whim, Tammy offered an outstretched open hand and to our delight and astonishment a Chickadee flew down and perched on her fingers. It was an amazing. Until that moment a wild bird had never landed on Tammy before and we were both excited although I was disappointed not to have gotten a picture.. </div>
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When another group of Chickadees greeted us further down the trail I began searching my pockets and found the crumbs of a granola bar in an old wrapper deep in my pocket. With this offering Tammy was able to have multiple Chickadees land on her hand and this time I was ready with my camera to capture the magic moments. To our mutual surprise and delight a White-breasted Nuthatch also alit on Tammy's out-stretched fingers, instantly becoming our new favorite bird!</div>
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I was also able to offer a few crumbs to our new feathered friends and the birds blessed me with finger-perching magic moments as well. Both the Chickadees and the Nuthatch made visits to my hand. We later saw other park visitors hand-feeding the birds and it's apparently well documented behavior for the <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> Chickadees and Nuthatch's so be sure to take some wild-bird seed or bird-friendly sunflower seeds with you if you visit the park. And be sure to have your camera ready to record the magic miracle moment when a wild bird chooses to land on you. I personally found it to be a very humbling moment, one I'm very grateful for.</div>
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In addition to Black-capped Chickadee, White-breasted Nuthatch and Red-tailed Hawk we also saw a number of other bird species... Great Blue Heron, Sharp-shinned Hawk, Northern Cardinal, American Black Duck, Mallard Duck, Downy Woodpecker and thankfully just one House Sparrow. (I say thankfully because House Sparrows are one of the most damaging introduced invasive species to ever blight our shores. More about that in a future blog.) We also saw a couple of species which were kind of surprising considering what time of year it is... Redwing Blackbirds and American Robins.</div>
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It's not uncommon to see the occasional Robin around at this time of year, especially when the weather has remained relatively mild through the fall as it has this year but seeing a flock of robins is definitely out of the ordinary. They've usually all split to warmer climes in the south by now so encountering a flock of them at <i>Hendrie Valley</i> was a bit of a shock. It's interesting to note they all appeared to be young birds so maybe they just don't get that being Robins, they're supposed to fly south for the winter. It's not inconceivable that successive seasons of warming temperatures could temper a migratory bird's inherent genetic urge to move south. It has been unseasonably warm, who wouldn't want to skip school (or work) to enjoy a day off in the park? Perhaps the flock of young Robins we saw skipped the class on migrating at bird-school back in August. </div>
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We also saw a couple of young Redwing Blackbirds which was even more surprising than seeing Robins. We haven't seen Redwing Blackbirds around for almost a month. The two we saw at <i>Hendrie Valley</i> were both still sporting the spots identifying them as young birds. They were huddled deep inside some trail-side shrubbery, puffed up against the cold despite it being one of the warmest days we've had of late. They didn't look happy at all to be there. I don't have much hope for a happy ending for them. With the temperature drop overnight, the snow and high winds... conditions are far worse than they were yesterday. If those Blackbirds were having a hard time then it must be seriously discomforting, maybe even life-threatening to them today.</div>
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Putting aside any concerns about the young Blackbirds we saw in <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> yesterday's adventure was definitely among the year's favorite outdoor excursions. In the almost 3 hours we spent at the park we didn't see all of it but what we did see was enough to ensure we will be visiting again and again. I recommend the park to anyone looking for an interesting easy-to-access nature experience. We look forward to seeing the park through its upcoming seasonal changes and I'll probably shoot thousands of photos there over the next year. (I shot almost 400 on Friday.) It's a beautiful spot, another natural wonder practically in our backyard. At a cost of $1 and hour, it's hard to find a more economical spot for anyone (especially families) to enjoy a day in the great outdoors.</div>
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In closing I again recommend the <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> to anyone in the GTA - Golden Horseshoe area looking for a fun, easy-access wilderness adventure. Just a few more notes for those thinking of going...</div>
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I saw no designated picnic areas in the park but there are plenty of areas where a group could sit and eat lunch. There are no garbage cans in the park though so be prepared to carry out whatever you carry in. And speaking of garbage... we saw very little trash at <i>Hendrie Valley</i> which was a pleasant surprise since littering is so prevalent these days. Perhaps its close proximity to RBG headquarters ensures the Sanctuary gets a little more attention than some of the other wilderness areas where littering and trash dumping is an issue. </div>
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Like in all other RBG wilderness areas<i></i> <b>bicycles are NOT permitted</b> on any of the trails in <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> and we saw no evidence people were riding bikes within the park boundaries (unlike other areas like Princess Point where cyclists regularly ignore such rules much to the detriment of the natural terrain and enjoyment of pedestrian park users. No doubt the subject of another future blog) Again, maybe it's the closeness to Royal Botanical Gardens which helps keep bicycles out of <i>Hendrie Valley.</i> It may be that regular park users police it themselves or maybe bike riders shun it because the trails offer no route that is easier or shorter than pedaling around it on city streets. Whatever the reason, this RBG wilderness area is refreshingly free of bicycle traffic and for that alone is warrants a high-enjoyability ranking.</div>
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Those requiring wheelchairs or scooters to get around, and those whose mobility issues are such that walkers are required might find <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> inaccessible. The wooden walkway on the valley floor and many of the trails are certainly wide enough and smooth enough for wheelchairs but getting down to those trail is the issue. You're going steeply downhill entering the park and climbing up to get out of it. Many of the bridges and elevated walkways lack ramps, it's all stairs so I don't recommend this park to the mobility challenged. (And parents of young kids - you'd probably be better off with a backpack or similar body-worn device rather than stroller to carry your little ones.)</div>
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Enjoy your outdoor adventures at <i>Hendrie Valley Sanctuary</i> and elsewhere but remember...</div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><b><i>Take nothing but photographs and memories.</i></b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-43573734127207586902012-11-19T11:20:00.000-05:002012-11-19T11:30:30.422-05:00I'm Older Than the Internet - Thank God.<div style="text-align: justify;">
A running gag among friends and acquaintances, a joke I often play into, is reference to my extremely advanced years. The premise is I'm a <i>very</i> old man, ancient, aged far beyond the known limits of a human lifespan. The jokes, ribbing and needle-sharp sarcasm arising from that can be a lot of fun but the real punchline is I'm not <i>really</i> that old at all... at least a decade away from what used to be considered the age of mandatory retirement.</div>
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I'm not so old that I was born, as my friend Jessy Jones once remarked, <i>"by candlelight because electricity wasn't invented yet."</i> I'm in my mid-fifties so yes, electricity was already invented when I was born... but the internet wasn't.</div>
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It may seem strange or incomprehensible, perhaps even unbelievable to the young twenty-somethings of today's plugged-in modern world but it wasn't too long ago there <i>was</i> no internet... or cell phones. When I was a young man in my late teens and early twenties things like computers were still far from being a household item. Nobody had cell phones. If you wanted to call someone you had to be at home or find a phone booth. The internet? The TV only had a couple channels and you had to get up, cross the room and turn a dial to do that. High-end TVs weren't monstrous seventy inch 3-D plasma screens with nine hundred pre-programmed channels with built in PVRs which record ten different shows at once. In those days a high-end TV was a color set with a remote control.</div>
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I'm glad there was no internet during those strange wild years of my adolescence and early manhood. There are uncountable incidents and situations from that time in my life which might have carved a few interior scars but left no permanent tangible evidence of them ever happening. And for that I am grateful. Sure, there might be a few old friends, acquaintances, family members and others whose memory holds a faded image of some coming-of-age embarrassment I might have endured but it's unlikely their recollections will ever see the public light of day.</div>
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The more I think about it the more grateful I am there was no internet around during my final grades of high school and the years immediately after. I was lucky there was no internet back then... or cellphones with their high-def camera and video capabilities. I had a <i>lot</i> of embarrassing moments... epic displays of dangerously stupid and/or ridiculous behavior... and of course borderline-disturbed gang hazing from my peers which might have scarred my psyche permanently had real-life nightmares not already done so. <i>Lots</i> of embarrassing life moments. </div>
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Had there been an internet with a YouTube and a Flickr, imgur or other photo sharing site, I would have been a prime candidate for those funny (albeit slightly pathetic) photos of drunken idiots jumping off houses or passed out with one eyebrow shaved off... both things I have personally experienced. Thanks to there being no internet or instant wireless connection to others via cellphone, no video cameras in every hand (or on every corner), no means of passing gossipy news to the whole world with the push of a button, my wild and crazy years went mostly unnoticed by the world at large. </div>
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My friends, family, schoolmates and area acquaintances might have witnessed or heard tell of instances where I acted a complete fool or possibly harassment-victim-as-butt-of-"harmless"-joke but complete strangers would never see evidence of such (unless they happened to actually be there at the time) because there was no internet, no global interactive data transfer and storage medium available to anyone with a cellphone. Back in those days things got forgotten and embarrassing moments vanished in the mist of past history. And that's a good thing because some of them were <i>not</i> what you'd like to see photo or video evidence of thirty years later! For example...</div>
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Back in the days when I and my regular group of friends would get together on weekends and party ourselves exhausted it wasn't uncommon that someone would drink or imbibe other substances so much they required a period of unconsciousness and ended up passing out in the wrong place, or in front of the wrong people, or both. It was something I usually tried to avoid. Passing out in front of my crowd was dangerous. Friends could be deviously sinister and twisted when it came to tormenting any member of the group too incapacitated to defend against them. I was often among the tormentors but sometimes I was the victim.</div>
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The weekend of this particular embarrassing experience my friends and I were party-hopping, moving from one party to the next and all the while I was eating magic mushrooms and drinking whatever alcoholic beverage I could get my hands on. I got ridiculously intoxicated and at some point during that Saturday I blacked out. A couple hours and a couple parties later I passed out. My friends had their fun with me then left me sleeping in a basement room of the house we were at, abandoning me there when they all left to chase another party.</div>
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I woke up suddenly on Sunday morning with the immediate realization I had no idea where I was or whose basement rec-room I spent the night in. I could hear voices and movement upstairs and panicked. I didn't remember coming to this house or why. For all I knew I might have broke in to rob the place. Still slightly wasted and fearing discovery I quickly found my shoes and fled the house through the basement door, pausing only to ensure the coast was clear before hot-footing it through the yard, out the driveway and down the street.</div>
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I was relieving myself in a vacant lot and congratulating myself on a successful escape from my mystery roof-for-a-night lodging without being discovered when it finally dawned on me where I was... about eight miles down the highway from the village I lived in. I'd have no choice but to start walking and try my luck at hitchhiking. Cursing my friends for deserting me I started on my journey. I wasn't happy about being left passed out and helpless in a strange house with no back-up should any of our sworn enemies happen by.</div>
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Soon enough a car came by and the driver stopped to my thumb's-up hitch a ride gesture. I climbed into the front passenger seat and thanked the driver, a guy maybe in his mid-thirties, for picking me up. All I got in return was a puzzled stare. It seemed to take a few moments longer than it should have but he eventually put the car into gear and we made the short trip into town in relative silence. Other than a grunted "yes" to my request to "bum a smoke" from the pack on the dash he never said a word to me. He did however, keep shooting puzzled glances my way, almost like he wanted to ask me something. He didn't ask anything though and all I got for my "thanks for the lift" remark when he dropped me off was another lingering strange look.I quickly stopped thinking about the driver and began thinking again about my lousy friends. I had a few choice words for them and I had a pretty good idea where to find them at this time on a Sunday... </div>
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I marched the two blocks which encompassed the downtown area of my hometown, passing probably half a dozen people along the way. They all reacted in some way to seeing me... a quick double-take... a look of confusion... a head turning almost fast enough to conceal a widening grin. I registered these various visible notations exhibited by the random townfolk that saw me but I was so focused on getting to the village mall, finding and confronting my so-called friends, that I didn't pause to wonder <i>why</i> everyone was looking at me strangely. Too bad. I might have saved myself further embarrassment...</div>
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I strode as confidently as physically possible into the mall, a task that took some effort given I hadn't slept off all the effects of my earlier mushroom and booze-fest. The place was quite busy, there wasn't a lot else to do on a Sunday in those parts and many people treated a trip to the mall like a picnic with friends in the park. I was looking for <i>my</i> friends and sensed I was close so I have no idea what reaction I may have sparked among the other mall visitors I passed. I was only interested in getting to one group of people and I knew just where they'd be... at the last window table in the mall cafeteria.</div>
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Sure enough, the turncoat friends who had deserted me the night before were at our regular cafeteria hangout. Sitting with them were a couple others of our gang who'd skipped or missed the fun and games of the previous twenty-four hours. I started down the length of the cafeteria toward them, righteous indignation bringing heat to my face as I anticipated the tongue-lashing I was about to unleash. As I drew closer to them my friends began to nudge each other and grin. Then they broke out into gales of laughter, a rising wall of sound that brought me to a complete stop.</div>
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It was only a second that I stood there bathed in the laughter and ridicule of my friends, supplemented and augmented by the collective derisive mirth from other cafeteria goers, before all thoughts of revenge were vanished in the realization I was the butt of a joke far more insidious than abandonment in a stranger's house... and <i>that</i> joke was ongoing. Things were just starting to get interesting.</div>
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It didn't take a mirror to figure out somebody had messed with my face while I was passed out. I <i>know</i> my friends did it but in the light of subsequent events nobody ever copped themselves to it (but a couple did rat out others.) Not that I was particularly anxious to see <i>what</i> they'd done to my face but I had to assess the damage and see if clean-up or repair was possible so I headed straight for the cafeteria washroom. There were mirrors, sinks and soaps I could use in there... but most importantly, it was imperative to my self-esteem that I get away from the taunting laughter and the restroom provided a sanctuary of sorts..</div>
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What I saw in the mirror explained everything I'd seen and encountered that day. The strange silence from the guy who gave me a ride, the various odd reactions from people I saw on the street and in the mall, the mocking, cruel hilarity of my peers triumphant game which left one of their own a publicly mocked village idiot. I stood trembling in rage and humiliation at the mirror. The door behind me opened and shut as whoever was going to enter decided (wisely) against it. I was on the verge of completely losing it. I had been humbled, scorned as weak, defenseless against their laughingly applied emotional graffiti which was far uglier than the fool's mask they painted on me when I was a tranquilized human mannequin the night before...</div>
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They hadn't used make-up or lipstick. The girls who hung with us learned pretty quick that personal items used for the group's make-over on a passed out victim were usually returned in an undesirable or unusable condition, if they were returned at all. I would have preferred make-up because it's relatively easy to remove but I wasn't so lucky. My tormentors weapon of choice was a permanent black marker, one of those big white cylinders with the two inch black cap covering the nib, a giant piece of hard, turpentine-smelling leather or something. Schools and stores used them all the time. They wrote on <i>anything</i> and resisted water and anything else that tried to remove the ink once it dried.</div>
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My tormenters deserve marks for creativity. Instead of the black-eyes, black-noses, mustaches, beards, scars, pimples, bugs and other simple things usually scribbled on the face and other exposed flesh of passed out targets, there was some actual artistic effort applied to the unwanted mask of shame they drew on me. Special attention to detail made the stuff on my cheeks really stand out - never mind that it was crudely drawn male genitalia - each erect penis was in almost perfect symmetry with its counterpart on the opposite cheek... Pointed from jawline to the corner of each eye (testicles on my chin) each cartoon phallus was oozing drops which dripped back down my cheeks like the real tears I was shedding. That wasn't all the art displayed on my face... one of the more calligraphic-inclined attackers had printed the word "FAG" across my forehead. Staring at myself in the mirror I could think only one thing... thank God they didn't take an eyebrow.</div>
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After a lot of vigorous scrubbing I had successfully smeared the drawings on my face to make them unrecognizable as anything but smudges but there was still more work to do once I got home and into the industrial strength cleansers in dad's garage. By the time I exited the restroom my friends had left the cafeteria and nobody remaining stared openly at me as I walked out but naturally I was hypersensitive to the furtive glances and tittering whispers in my wake. I walked home with my head down, shoulders hunched, not so much worried people might see the remaining blackened smears as I was shamed that the red heat of my embarrassment would show through.<br />
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I could relate the eventual confrontations and ramifications stemming from that successful attempt by my friends to make me look like a "dickhead"... or talk about the gamut of emotional turns their "FAG" label created, in my own head and in others of my small coastal fishing and logging community once the story started making the rounds... or ruminate on the coulda-woulda-shoulda things memory brings but it's not necessary to the point of <i>this</i> story....<br />
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Eventually people stopped talking about my penis-face, stopped using that incident as emotional ammo during insult wars, forgot about it entirely in the face of new hilarity, new follies, new victims being publicly raped of their dignity. In other words... it happened and then it was forgotten. Had there been an internet and cell phones back in those days it's likely a picture of me in all my passed-out phallic glory would have been posted for the world to see before I even woke up. The artistic attack itself might have been filmed. My victimization, my shame, my humiliation and embarrassment could have been uploaded to the web... to remain there forever in some ethereal electronic shadow... waiting for discovery at a moment when past embarrassment coming to light would be most inopportune.<br />
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That kind of thing happens every day. Compromising photos and videos are uploaded by the millions, the internet is loaded with people's embarrassing moments and forever on... with a few simple clicks... they can come back to haunt you. There are moments in everyone's past that should remain there but the internet has created a means for the follies of history to remain with us... It can mean anyone may in their future be called to answer for, or be judged on, youthful mistakes, transgressions and behaviors which are no longer part of who they are, what they believe or how they live. Victims can be victimized again... and again... and again...<br />
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I am older than the internet.<br />
Thank God for that.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-67223357469779027432012-11-17T21:53:00.001-05:002012-11-17T21:54:38.072-05:00The Best Advice My Father Ever Gave Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
My father wasn't much for giving advice... or maybe I wasn't good at recognizing it when I heard it. I don't know. I do know there weren't a lot of formal father to son advice sessions while I was growing up. There was probably a few incidents that provoked him into delivering advice (just as probably ignored) but I can't recall any specific instances. My dad and I didn't really hang out much. We had some shared interests which made for some great father-son interaction but didn't include any helpful direction for the future which loomed before me, no advice about life, the universe, or anything.</div>
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That is, with one notable exception.</div>
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Back in the 1970s I was anything but a normal teenager but just like the regular kids I wanted a drivers license. To realize that dream I needed to prepare for and then pass the Driver Examination test. It wasn't something I could do by myself, especially since I didn't even own a car. I had no choice, I had to ask my father if he'd teach me to drive. Dad was the only option, mom didn't drive back then. My older brother did but there was no way he was going to let me use his car to learn how to drive. Perfectly legit - he was a recent grad, one of the cool guys (a group me and my friends called "The Car Boys") he drove a 1968 Mustang Convertible. I was 2 years his junior, a pseudo-hippie glamor-punk with my eye on a '69 Austin Mini. Let me drive his car? He was understandably loathe to even have me as a passenger. Nope, dad was my only option and I remember being terrified - not that he'd say "No", just in a general sense - but I did somehow approach him with my plea.</div>
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To my surprise dad agreed to teach me how to drive. That experience could certainly make for an interesting blog or two but dad teaching me how to drive isn't what <i>this</i> blog entry is about. It's the <i>advice</i> he gave me during that teaching that this is about. The <i>best</i> advice he ever gave me. Advice that has not only stayed with me throughout my life but also <i>saved</i> my life on more than one occasion.</div>
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Actually, in a sense, this blog entry is about dad teaching me how to drive because the best advice my dad ever gave me did in fact teach me <i>how</i> to drive. It shaped the way I drive, influenced my driving behavior, kept me alive and unscathed more times than I can remember. It's great advice, applicable to anyone and while it might on the surface be specific to driving is actually true to most interactive human behaviors. That advice is...</div>
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<i><b>"Never underestimate the stupidity of the other driver."</b></i></div>
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It is brilliant in its simplicity... Never underestimate the stupidity of the other driver. My dad repeated that phrase to me a number of times during my driving lessons, always using any or all of the other vehicle traffic as examples. These examples would invariably ask the question inherent to his original advice to <i>never underestimate the stupidity of the other driver.</i> The question is always the same, it's your answer that can change everything. Like the advice which leads to it the question is brilliant in its simplicity. In its shortest form the question is: <i><b>"What if?"</b></i></div>
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I'd be on a driving lesson with dad and he'd point to a car poised at a cross street and say "What if that guy pulls out in front of you?" or nod toward the car in the adjacent lane and ask "What if that guy swerves into this lane?" If I questioned the likelihood of that happening or otherwise avoided answering the question dad would go back to his original advice <i>never underestimate the stupidity of the other driver.</i> Like, he was saying <i>What IF that guy IS stupid enough to pull out or whatever. </i></div>
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Dad wouldn't leave me hanging. He'd make suggestions on how to prepare for that potential moment of stupidity from the other driver. More than anything else <i>"What if"</i> was the theme of my dad's driving instruction. Accomplishing the actions of driving like parallel parking, shifting gears, reversing, knowing the rules of the road wasn't enough... the act of asking <i>"What if"</i> would have to be mastered before my father was satisfied I was ready to take the driver exam.</div>
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It took me awhile but eventually I understood dad's underlying message was about driving defensively. It was about recognizing potential hazards and choosing the best course of action to avoid or minimize damaging consequences should they occur...</div>
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AND, most importantly, never... not for a second... absolutely <i>NEVER</i> underestimate your fellow human's capacity for doing the unbelievably stupid... because they will. People will change lanes on top of you, pull out in front of you, step off the curb against the light, ignore stop signs... the list of stupid things people do never ends which is why <i>never underestimate the stupidity of the other driver</i> is the BEST advice my dad ever gave me. (even if it did take about a decade to really sink in.)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-15797308535714027152012-11-13T12:05:00.001-05:002012-11-13T12:05:13.868-05:00Dear Derek & Stuart, Your Grandpa is a JerkI don't know you boys and I don't know your Grandpa but I do know he's a jerk. You probably don't think so since he thinks so highly of you but take my word for it, your Grandpa is a jerk. He's also a vandal. That's right, Grandpa is a criminal who defaces and ruins the property of others.<br />
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I know you boys and your Grandpa like Hamilton's Bayfront Park. I don't blame you, it's a wonderful place. It would be a better place if your Grandpa stopped writing graffiti all over it. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about... all the little messages and love-notes to you boys which he puts all over the park.<br />
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Crap like this:<br />
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You've seen this, right Derek & Stuart? This and a hundred more just like it are scattered all around Bayfront Park. Your Grandpa uses his permanent marker to scribble messages to you on the rocks along the lakeshore walk. He even writes stuff on trees! You may think it's cool that your Grandpa thinks enough of you to leave you messages in the park but it's NOT cool. It's something a jerk and a vandal would do.<br />
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What makes your Grandpa think it's okay to deface public property, to scrawl his notes to you all over a park that belongs to everyone? Nobody else wants to see that. People come to the park to enjoy the nature and beauty it offers. Why should we all have to see the garbage graffiti your Grandpa leaves for you? We shouldn't have to walk by endless messages to you boys. It's not right and your Grandpa is an arrogant, thoughtless JERK (and a vandal) for doing this over an over again.<br />
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His cute little messages to you boys are seen as ugly little scribbles by the rest of us park visitors. There is no escaping them, they're everywhere! And, unlike regular garbage that can be picked up and removed your Grandpa's garbage graffiti doesn't go away. Messages he left you in past years are still visible and still as ugly today... like his 2011 Christmas message...<br />
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I hope you learn better things from your Grandpa than what he's teaching you with these notes and messages. I hope you realize it's NOT okay to vandalize and deface public property. I hope you boys won't grow up to be jerks and vandals just like your Grandpa but what I really hope is that somehow MY message gets to you... and your Grandpa. It's a simple message...</div>
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<b>STOP DEFACING BAYFRONT PARK YOU STUPID JERK! </b></div>
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I hope you boys realize what your Grandpa is doing is wrong. I hope you tell him to stop ruining the natural beauty of Bayfront Park (or anywhere else). I'd like to tell him that myself. I've tried to spot your Grandpa in the park because I'd like to catch him in the act, writing another message to you boys. I'd have a word or two for him about his vandalizing ways. To be honest, I'd love to shove that permanent marker of his right down his throat.</div>
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And so, Derek and Stuart, there you have it. Your Grandpa is a jerk and a vandal. It might be unbelievable news to you but thousands of other park users know it to be true. You boys are old enough to know what's right and what's wrong. (I've seen your ages in his Birthday messages to you) You must know in your heart that what your Grandpa is doing with his marker in the park is wrong. Isn't it time you told him so, time to tell him to stop it? </div>
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You boys may not know me but trust me when I say it would be better for your Grandpa to hear it from you than hear it from me up close and in person. Seriously. I can be a real jerk too, especially when I'm defending something I love... And I love Bayfront Park. I hope your Grandpa stops his evil ways soon because if he doesn't the odds are, sooner or later, the two of us will cross paths. The result for your Grandpa will be far uglier than any of his garbage graffiti. Trust me.</div>
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Sincerely,</div>
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Gordo</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-14229403356046823462012-11-09T18:52:00.000-05:002012-11-09T22:47:04.867-05:00Ronald Reagan, 100 Huntley Street & Canada - U.S. Relations<b>Ronald Reagan</b> was President of the United States from 1981 to 1989. <br />
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<b>100 Huntley Street</b> is a TV show has been around since the 1970's. It's still on the air creating shows for hundreds of stations across Canada and the U.S.. 100 Huntley Street is part of a larger Christian Faith non-profit charitable corporation called Crossroads Christian Communications which also does aid and relief work in addition to Christian missions. Here's their website: <a href="http://www.100huntley.com/" target="_blank">100 Huntley Street</a> <br />
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In 1983 100 Huntley Street broadcast a weeks worth of shows live from Washington DC as part of series called "The Maple Leaf Salutes the Stars and Stripes". The series was their way of saying 'thank you' to the U.S. for being a good neighbor. (James 2:8 <i>"Love thy neighbor as thyself"</i>) As it happened, that week saw First Lady Nancy Reagan celebrate a birthday so the cast and crew of 100 Huntley Street sang "Happy Birthday" to her on the show broadcast on that date, (a Wednesday). On Friday of that same week the show received a letter from President Reagan wherein he wrote about the shared ideals of Canada and the U.S. and their relationship. <br />
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While touring 100 Huntley Street's Crossroads Centre in late September I came across that letter framed and hanging on the wall amid other messages and testimonials to that organization. I was struck by Reagan's words, the impact of his description about the relationship between Canada and the U.S.. I doubt very much any recent or current Canadian or U.S. government leader could claim our countries share the same relationship today.<br />
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And that's too bad.<br />
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Take a moment to think about where Canada and the U.S. are today, our economies, our commitment to the ideals upon which our nations were founded, the relationship between us now, the uncertainty of our shared futures...<br />
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Then read President Ronald Reagan's letter to 100 Huntley Street printed below (in bold & italics) and see what all of us have abandoned... in my opinion, to the detriment of us all.<br />
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<b><i>Nancy and I are most proud to send our warmest greetings to the people of Canada on the occasion of this very special program, "100 Huntley Street," which honors the long friendship between our two countries.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Through the year our countries have grown and prospered. Working together we have developed our economies, and the living standards of our people are the envy of the world.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Our success stems from the greatness of the people and their dedication to time-honored moral traditions upon which our nations were founded. They may achieve all that they will in a system that is free from government oppression. In America and Canada the opportunities for success abound and are available for the asking.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>God has blessed us in so many ways. Because of our good fortune we have never hesitated to share with others in time of need -- at home and abroad. When famines, natural disasters, or wars occur, our people are battling to help and sharing whatever we have with our neighbors. The apostle Paul wrote in 11 Corinthians: "But in all things approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience, in affliction, in necessities, in distresses."</i></b><br />
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<b><i>We've never been perfect, but no one can say we haven't tried our utmost to make the world a better place.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>The United States and Canada are as two close brothers, always working together for the good of the entire family. If it were possible for all nations to maintain the warm friendship or achieve the level of trust our two countries enjoy, the world would be the peaceful place the prophet Isaiah foretold: "and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."</i></b><br />
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<b><i> The people of the United States are grateful for the long friendship our countries have enjoyed. On behalf of all Americans, we send thanks to our brothers and sisters to the north and wish them the best always.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>- Ronald Reagan </i></b><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-16575500459222465912012-11-04T20:39:00.000-05:002012-11-04T20:39:16.403-05:00Bayfront Park BeaversBeavers are Canada's national animal, an honor shared since 2003 with the Canadian Horse and one currently under attack by proponents for Polar Bears who feel beavers are too representative of Canada's "shameful" colonial past. Anyone who uses cash money knows the beaver is on our nickel. They are generally regarded as "hard-working" because of their dam-building prowess but aside from that, it's a safe bet most Canadians don't know a lot about them.<br />
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Most people probably don't know beavers are Rodents, the world's 2nd largest in fact. Only South America's <span class="st">Capybara is bigger than our beaver. The "Capy" can weigh in at 150lbs while the beaver generally maxes out these days at 55-70lbs. Back in the days before white people showed up and the beaver was trapped extensively for its rich pelt there were an estimated 90 million living in North America. Back in those days the largest beavers weighed over 100lbs. Now there are an estimated 6-12 million beavers in North America.</span><br />
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<span class="st">Although beavers are still considered common in many areas of Canada including southern Ontario many people have never seen one. A drive through almost any rural or wilderness area within 50kms of any Southern Ontario city will likely provide many beaver dam and lodge sightings but actually seeing a live beaver is something the majority of people in Ontario cannot truthfully claim, especially those who live in cities. </span><br />
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<span class="st">Beavers have certain needs like water and a good supply of the trees from which to get food. They build dams. Habits like those make the beaver an undesirable pest to many municipalities and it's not unheard of for Canadian cities, towns and villages to wage a war of extermination against them. Some urban centers tolerate beavers and while they may take steps to limit their destructive potential, like wrapping trees in wire, they generally don't actively hunt and destroy the aquatic rodents unless their dams impinge on water drains or cause flooding.</span><br />
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<span class="st">Hamilton is one of those "beaver tolerant' communities. Being situated on the westernmost shore of Lake Ontario and abutting the Royal Botanical Gardens Conservation Area and other wilderness preserves makes "The Hammer" a prime candidate for beaver habitation. There are beavers living in Hamilton, some within 5 blocks of downtown, but it's unlikely many Hamiltonians have ever seen one. Beavers are nocturnal for one thing - they do the bulk of their activities at night, and when they are up and about they spend most of their time in the water. </span><br />
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<span class="st">I know from experience that it's rare to see a beaver in Hamilton. My wife Tammy and I have spent hundreds of hours over the last 10 years exploring the city's waterfront parks, most of that in Princess Point and Bayfront Park (the two are joined by the 3.5 km "Waterfront Trail") but up until Oct 27th of this year we never saw a live beaver. We've seen lots of evidence of beavers, teeth-grooved stumps and gnawed branches and logs can be found all around Bayfront Park. Many of the planted trees have chicken-wire barricades encircling their trunks. Some of the beaver sign is very old but there are fresh cuttings all the time and there was a beaver lodge built last fall on the edge of the Cootes Marsh outfall, under the York St Bridge. </span><br />
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<span class="st">What there isn't is the most obvious of beaver trademarks... a dam. Apparently beavers can live without making a dam... or even a lodge because we've never seen a beaver dam anywhere in Bayfront Park. There was a single lodge built up against the bank where the canal from Cootes Marsh (under the York St Bridge) meets the western edge of Hamilton Harbour. Despite there being no dams and even without the lodge it was obvious from the other evidence (chewed trunks, fallen trees etc) that beavers did indeed inhabit the area in and around Bayfront Park. </span><br />
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<span class="st">Beaver have proven to be the most elusive of the mammals inhabiting our two favorite parks. We've seen deer, squirrel, chipmunk, raccoon, muskrat and mink but not until late last month did we see our first live beaver. I say "live" because we did see a deceased beaver in the summer, a small one, just up the canal from the lodge. That lodge wasn't huge and well built like most beaver lodges I've seen. It fell into disrepair through neglect and human abuse in the weeks after seeing the dead beaver. After the initial sadness induced by seeing the dead beaver we reached a kind of acceptance we'd never actually see a live beaver on our waterfront adventures (but we do get excited and reach for the cameras whenever we saw new evidence of their existence... like this newly fallen tree we saw today, Nov 4th, in Princess Point...)</span><br />
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<span class="st">It was Saturday, Oct 27th of this year when Tammy & I saw our first live beavers in Hamilton. It had been raining for most of the day. We'd taken our Chihuahua Isabeau on a wet, rainy walk earlier in the day with mixed results. As dusk approached the rain stopped and we jumped in the car for a 5 minute drive to Bayfront Park in the hope an evening "adventure" would make the dog comfortable enough to poop in wet grass. (Go ahead, laugh. You're legs aren't 4 inches long.) We also took our cameras because, well, that's what we do. Not that I was expecting to see much opportunity for anything except shots of the water in the rapidly fading light. </span><br />
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<span class="st">On our walk up the path Tammy and I did get some photos of the water and shoreline and Isabeau had a poop (dutifully scooped & properly discarded) so when we reached the point where the path curves around the beach area we elected to turn around and retrace our steps. It was going on to full dark by then, most of the available illumination was from the lampposts lining the path. On a whim we decided to walk down a gravel path, one of 4 that arc to raised waterside areas before rejoining the main paved path. The smaller path went down a slight incline before widening into the area where the lake waters lap against the rows of armor stone which elevate viewers 3-4 ft above the water level. Just as I neared the bottom of that slight incline I heard a noise behind me then Tammy said "Omigod, there's a raccoon right there! No, it's a <i>beaver!</i>"</span><br />
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<span class="st">It was a beaver! And it was huge! It had climbed up a tunnel exploiting the gap between a couple of the big armor stones that ring Bayfront Park acting as erosion guards. Tammy scooped Isabeau up in one hand and had her camera in the other but the beaver didn't seem concerned about the dog or us. I was unencumbered by a canine but was having no luck with my camera as my flash doesn't work. Tammy was able to get off a couple of shots which accompany this entry. (I managed a couple smudges that sorta, maybe, might look like a beaver.) While it would have been nice to get a picture perfect record of what we saw the fact is, we were witness to something very special, something not everyone gets to see...</span><br />
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<span class="st">The beaver passed by us and scrambled up the embankment to the main paved path, we quickly moved back up the path to follow. As we got to the main path the beaver was just entering the bushes on the other side. We could see shrubs and small trees moving then heard a loud SNAP! A 12-15 ft tall tree fell over and seconds later the beaver reappeared on the path with the trunk of the tree clamped in his jaws. In no time it dragged the tree across the path, down the bank and over the armor stone into the lake where another smaller beaver had been swimming back & forth the whole time.</span><br />
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<span class="st">It was an experience that lasted maybe 2 minutes but what a fantastic couple of minutes it was! A real live beaver! Falling a tree and dragging it to the water... right in front of us! That this happened within a mile of where we live, just a few blocks from the downtown core of a city with half a million inhabitants makes it even more wondrous! I still can't get over how lucky we were to have seen such a thing!</span><br />
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<span class="st">Hamilton is awesome! Peregrine Falcons, Red-tailed Hawks, American Kestrels, Great Blue Herons and other birds nest within the city limits, some right downtown. Coyote, raccoon, deer, muskrat, mink and beaver all live in Hamilton, a city with a reputation for being dirty, stinking and sterile. In my 10 years here I have seen all those myths dispelled and I'm continually surprised and amazed at the things I see. I love this town! </span><br />
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<span class="st"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-86002642263967918182012-10-31T22:45:00.000-04:002012-11-01T18:49:27.353-04:00Did God Send a Kestrel to Calm the Chaos Within?I work in a quarry. It's an interesting job that I usually enjoy but it does have its moments. The hours are long and the work is hard, dirty and dangerous. Basically we uncover solid rock, blast it into pieces and then crush it into even smaller bits which eventually end up as the base for highways or concrete or some other infrastructure construction need. I work in a union shop with a seniority list running from guys with over 40 years in the pit to guys hired earlier this year. The relationships between employees and management can lead to stressful situations and so too does the interaction among employees and shifts. Arguments, feuds and rumors are a normal occurrence and even attempting to avoid all the drama can by itself be stressful.<br />
<br />
Last week at in the pit was more stressful than most. The contract with the company expires Jan 1st. On Sunday about 60% of us "red-hats" attended a meeting wherein we elected Chief Steward and other union and JHSC positions plus the members of our negotiating committee. Not everyone was happy with the results and they brought their frustrations to work with them. On the Friday before that meeting (the 19th) we lost almost half the workforce due to seasonal layoffs. (First year I've made the cut) In addition, many of the positions at the quarry were ended due to the reduced workload which meant those displaced employees had to 'bump' into other positions as their seniority allowed. As I've only got 5 years into the place it was inevitable that I would end up getting bumped from my usual job and that's exactly what happened. When I reported for work on Monday it was in my new position as laborer.<br />
<br />
Working as a laborer in the quarry is considered the lowest position. All new hires start there and only by posting into other positions can one advance higher. When bumped into the labor job as I was it's not necessarily permanent - when the new season starts early next year and the company ramps up production again everyone returns to their regular jobs which means I'll be back driving haul truck full time. Until then I'm in the mud. Literally. A quarry is pretty much a giant stone bowl full of mud so most people prefer working jobs that keep them dry and out of the elements. As laborer one better get used to being wet, cold and muddy all day (and probably doing actual physical work).<br />
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I'm okay with being a laborer but not everyone feels the same way. Many of my co-workers loathe having to bump into jobs they may not want or they hate being bumped out of their regular job for the couple months this kind of thing lasts each year. Emotions can run high, arguments and bellyaching are common. Screaming matches or solo petulant fits happen almost every day. Such negativity can make a day seem even longer than normal and I'd be lying if I said it was easy to maintain a positive attitude in such an environment.<br />
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Adding to the stress of all the job-switching is the ever-present threat of more layoffs. We're basically working every week under a two week notice. Each Friday we wait for the letter saying our layoff date has been pushed back another week. For some people it's not a big deal getting laid off, it may even be a desired 'holiday' for a few but for the bulk of employees still working the layoff isn't anything to laugh at. Personally, I dread the idea and I'm very grateful for the opportunity to work. I'll take every day they give me and as much overtime as I can get.<br />
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Overtime is another work-stress inducing factor. The current workforce is basically split in half, two tribes with opposing views about working overtime. Many of the most senior workers refuse to work OT. They usually say it's because we have employees already laid off and it's "not fair" to work extra hours when our "union brothers" are at home. (An argument that doesn't ring true since most of them never work OT anyway. The pressure to do so is more intense now and that's what they're upset about) I'm of the mindset that those recently let-go workers will still be laid off whether we remaining employees work OT or not. Why deny myself the opportunity to make a few extra bucks? Since I'm hardly in a position to ride out a layoff with no financial worries I'm going to take every available chance I can to make extra money because my family needs it (and <i>nobody</i> is going to make me feel guilty about that.) <br />
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All those factors seemed to fuel the collective stress levels of everyone in the quarry. People began grousing and bitching about all kinds of things... having to work a different shift... discipline - why some are called out and others aren't... this foreman - that foreman, whatever. Whoever is in the white hat today, chances are at least half a dozen people are pissed at him (and he's probably pissed at at least half that many red-hats himself)... getting laid off, not getting laid off... working overtime.... equipment needing repair, again, still. ("It's in the system".) By end of shift Monday it was apparent there was no collective positive energy among us. By Wednesday there had been near-miss incidents and a couple machine-damage incidents. (Fortunately no injuries). By Friday any pretense of civility or tolerance over a perceived slight or management injustice was out the window.<br />
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The drama had already started by the time I punched the clock at 5:10 that morning and while I avoided getting pulled into it I still had to listen to it and have that negativity wash over me. I was informed that a guy had called in so I'd be driving haul truck all day which was a pleasant surprise. Aside from early start overtime I haven't been in a truck since getting bumped into the labor pool so the news I'd be spending the last day of a stressful week in my own comfort zone, behind the wheel of a 100 Ton Caterpillar 777C Haul Truck, was music to my ears. It was chilly, raining and windy with conditions expected to worsen as the day went on. With that kind of weather I was glad for the relative comfort of the truck cab. Another reason I was happy to drive truck (and a major reason why I keep that position unless forced from it by a 'bump') is the chance for some alone time.<br />
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As a haul truck driver my job is pretty basic. I drive the truck to wherever we're hauling from, back it under a loader who loads it with 75-90 tons of rock then drive it back to the Primary Crusher and dump it in. I do that about 26-32 times a shift. Sometimes I haul other stuff and dump it other places but that's about it. Sure, it's a <i>little</i> more complicated than that and some people are better suited for it than others. It's the perfect job for me. Thanks to <i>'the gift that keeps on giving'</i> (brain damage) I function better within a structured environment. My thoughts have a slyly easy tendency to scatter and my on-demand memory recall is limited to those things I do or use all the time. The simplicity at the core of a haul truck job is the back and forth, everything else by necessity fits that rhythm (which is part of the shared pulse of the quarry in operation.) I'm comfortable behind the wheel and I'm pretty good at it too.<br />
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Another big bonus to driving truck is being removed from other employees and all the various drama and negativity they might be emitting. Aside from the radio I speak to nobody except at breaks and at the time-clock. Usually that's enough to get through the day with a positive mood and stay out of the personal drama but on Friday things were so intense that even the truck wasn't sanctuary enough. Even the radio chatter dripped with a negative vibe that was palpable enough to deepen the wet weather chills. Despite everything I might have found solace in the haul truck that day had an early morning near-miss erased my comfort zone so even the act of driving held no meditative release. It's pretty hard to relax again after nearly going head-on with an errant pick-up truck. An outside contractor driving on the wrong side of the road. Had I not stopped my truck (even empty, a bruising 235,000 lbs) it would have rolled over that pick-up like it was made of tinfoil.<br />
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By mid-morning I was on the verge of succumbing to the creeping malaise of depression lapping at the foundation of my positive attitude like some malevolent tide on an ocean of negativity. I no longer smiled, nodded or waved at any of my fellow truckers, I was ignoring the loader operators by staring at a crossword puzzle I had no interest in doing. The day appeared to be moving in slow motion, shift's end so far in the future it seemed unattainable. The collective negativity of the week pressed down on the quarry like some oppressive fog, threatening to drag me into depression's abyss. Or, to put it another way... the fuzz was rapidly wearing off the peach.<br />
<br />
Normally the sights of the quarry and surrounding area supply enough wonder to lighten any mood. There are numerous birds and animals that make the quarry their home and it's not uncommon to see deer, coyotes, raccoons and other creatures as well as numerous species of birds. Usually when I catch a glimpse of one of the quarry's natural denizens I'm excited enough to forget whatever immediate issue might be weighing heavily on my mind but on that Friday nothing showed itself, or if it did I was too close to the abyss to notice it. Even the display of fall colors on the trees surrounding the pit held no attraction to me. I knew then I was definitely falling sway to the week's negative vibes because that natural palette normally fills me with awe and gratitude that I can work in a place where such wonders can be found.<br />
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As the noon hour drew closer I began to think about everything that had brought the quarry to this moment, to this collective spiritual depression which beckoned for me to cede emotional defeat and embrace the negativity of despair, frustration, anger and sadness which grows like mold on a man's soul if left unchecked by the power of positivity and light. The thought of spending time with my co-workers during the impending lunch break knotted my stomach and filled me with dread. Even thinking about home, about my wife Tammy and our furry "kids" Isabeau & Iggy brought me no relief. Where my thoughts of them should have instilled strength and empowerment they were instead twisted by the increasing negativity of my own mood into a bitter sense of selfish want to be anywhere but at work, a feeling of resentment and anger toward the very thing that gives me the means to support them. I was beginning to hate my job.<br />
<br />
And so it was as I pulled away from the loader on what would be my last trip to the crusher before lunch that a thought crossed my mind... <i>"I wish I had my bible".</i> I don't profess to be a Christian or practitioner of any organized faith. I'm not sure I could answer the question "Do you believe in God?" because I don't know how anyone else defines God. I do believe in a higher power. I do believe we are all connected to a common collective energy. I do believe I have a soul (for lack of a better word) and that my soul is the pilot of my spiritual journey as my id is piloting my subconscious and I am the driver of my waking thoughts. So I guess... Yes, I do believe in God... but I don't believe anybody else shares my definition of God.<br />
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So why read the bible? Well, like other religious books... those of the <b>Bahá'à Faith,</b> or <b>Buddhist texts</b>, or <b>Sikhism's Adi Granth</b>, or <span class="st"><b>The Qur'an</b>, </span>the holy book of Islam<span class="st"> (and more from those and other faiths), <b>The Christian Bible</b></span> is a very powerful book full of teachings, history, guidance and lessons. Reading it brings a certain peace that helps me shed the blankets of negativity life layers on my spiritual energy. It reinvigorates me emotionally and sharpens my focus on life and the ones I love. Reading The Bible helps bring me balance (and <i>balance</i> is key.)<br />
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Before I go any further I want to make it clear. Reading The Bible (or other religious texts) isn't something I'm doing every day. When I feel the need to read... I pick up the book. For awhile I carried a bible in my lunchbox. I'd sit by myself at break-time and read it which got me through a pretty rough patch, a period where <i>the gift that keeps on giving</i> was becoming a more insistent threat knocking on emotion's door and I was run down physically. I weathered that storm, regained my balance and stopped carrying the bible to work each day which is why, on <i>that</i> Friday, when I seemed unable to maintain the spiritual energy needed to keep all the infectious negativity at bay... <i>that</i> Friday when <i>nothing</i> worked... I wished I had my bible... but of course, I knew I didn't have it and I couldn't get it so the thought came and went.<br />
<br />
So there I was, driving away from the loader and dreading the seemingly inevitable fall into an emotional funk which would do no one (especially me) any good. I wished, for only a second, that I'd brought my bible with me because it's worked for me before. If I had it lunch-break would have been a breeze. I could have picked some verse or a psalm and brought things back into balance. But I didn't have it and the reality that I'd be in close proximity to so many negative energies within a few minutes of dumping my load and parking the truck was weighing heavily on my mind as I neared the long, steeply graded incline rising from the quarry floor.<br />
<br />
My primary focus then was navigating the truck around the curve at the base of the ramp while maintaining the proper speed for the downshifting to come. At that point I basically keep it straight and sit back, letting the automatic transmission gear the truck down as it ascends the ramp. It's a slow climb, there's time enough to look around and time aplenty to let everything on your mind come crashing back heavier than ever. By the time the truck was halfway up the ramp I was almost resigned to defeat, almost ready to let the negativity enfold me, become me.<br />
<br />
<b>And that's when I saw the American Kestrel.</b><br />
<b>And everything changed... </b><br />
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For those of you who don't know, the American Kestrel is the smallest falcon in North America. Adult birds are only about 12-14 inches long. They're very pretty birds, the males have grey-blue heads with black-striped white cheek patches, spotted breasts & backs and sport long rusty-colored tails. (The one pictured is <i>not</i> the one I'm talking about here.)<br />
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It's not uncommon to see Kestrels at the quarry. They can often be spotted hunting by soaring on the thermals that rise beside the haul road ramp. It takes some rapid wingbeats and constant adjustments but they can actually use the thermals to hover in one spot. Many times in the past my mood has brightened considerably after seeing Kestrels during the slow climb up and out of the pit but I was already too far gone that Friday to pay much heed to this Kestrel. I saw him cross the road at cab-height (13ft) about 50ft in front of me but aside from recognizing that a Kestrel had flown by I paid it no further heed, neglected to track it's path with my eyes. Had I done so I would have seen it circle back to pass in front of me again. I didn't see him do a U-turn so it was with some surprise that I greeted his 2nd pass across the haul road. The fact he'd done it at the same height and same distance in front of me was also surprising but again my rapidly deteriorating mood wouldn't allow me to enjoy what I was seeing. Proof that I was precariously low spirited indeed.<br />
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Then the Kestrel crossed the road again and <i>this</i> time I had to <i>really</i> notice him because he flew right in front of my truck, maybe 10 feet ahead. When he was right in front of me<i> he turned his head and he looked directly at me!</i> It was like he hesitated for a split-second, just long enough to turn his head and look me right in the eye. Needless to say, that got my attention. I really <i>looked</i> at the Kestrel for the first time, my eyes tracking him to the right as he drifted with wings outspread toward the edge of the ramp which drops off almost vertically to the pit floor 100 ft below. He began moving his wings as he caught a thermal, small adjustments which at once halted his forward path and then kept him hovering on a plane parallel to the quarry floor.<br />
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The Kestrel continued to hover as my truck growled into a lower gear on its slow crawl up the ramp. He was perhaps 40 feet away from me, I could see every detail of his feathers. Like, I mean <i>every</i> detail of <i>every</i> feather. The bird was so sharp and so in focus it was as if I was looking through a high-powered telescope or super-binoculars. He stood out from everything else. I don't know how else to describe it. He seemed bathed in a luminescent glow, one which illuminated and sharpened every barb of every feather so I, from 40-50 feet away (wearing glasses) could clearly see the Kestrel and all of its parts in exquisite detail. It wasn't like he was 'shining' or had a visible glow or aura of light surrounding him. It was like everything else in the world, including the normally brilliant fall colors, had suddenly stopped being colorful. All the colors were still there of course but everything was cloaked in a translucent matte finish, except the Kestrel which, against that flattened background, shone like nothing I've ever seen.<br />
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I was awestruck, gazing in wonder at the Kestrel's magnificent beauty. I wasn't puzzled by the strange phenomenon which rendered the world uniformly drab while bathing the bird with light seemingly <i>in</i> his plumage as much as on it. I wasn't so awestruck I forgot I was driving a truck loaded with 90 tons of rock - part of me continued to do all the necessary things to pilot the huge vehicle toward its destination. What I didn't notice at the time seems trivial now in light of subsequent happenings but it was strange enough I <i>should </i>have noticed...<br />
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The Kestrel was hovering on an updraft, barely moving his wings to hold position just ahead and 40-50 feet to my right <i>and he stayed there!</i> The truck was moving, (albeit slowly but still) there's no way that bird should have been able to maintain that position relative to my truck without a lot more wingbeats and maneuvering. I've seen <i>lots</i> of Kestrels ride the quarry thermals and they always need to work at staying relatively stationary over one spot. When they do move from one spot to the other it's always either a tilted-wing turn into a soaring glide or it's flapping wings. This Kestrel did neither. It just stayed to the right and 40-50 feet away from the front of my truck. I didn't think about that seemingly impossible feat much then, if I even noticed it at all, my attention was solely on the amazing details of the bird's physical being, clearly visible despite my 54yr old eyes and the distance between it and me.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, this didn't last for a long time. I don't want to imply this (dare I say) impossible feat of aerial maneuvering went on for an extended period. I doubt 20 seconds passed from the moment I met the Kestrel's glance to his departure. As amazing as his ability to maintain the same relative position to a moving object without exerting any apparent physical effort... a bird maybe not breaking but definitely bending the laws of physics (as I understand them, at least)... as amazing (and in retrospect almost unbelievable) as that was... it was what happened next that was <i>really</i> amazing...In short, the Kestrel left.<br />
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That's right, he flew away. But it was the way he did it and what happened then that is at the heart of this story. The Kestrel had been hovering off the right-front side of my truck for just a few seconds that seemed longer. Not minutes longer, just time extended with no sense of how much but <i>feeling</i> longer than the few seconds it really was. During that brief span of time the bird never looked at me again, never gave a glance in my direction. The Kestrel maintained his physics-defying feat basically facing away from me but I was able to see his right side because he was angled slightly that way and he was pretty much 'eye-level' too. I wasn't looking up or down at him. (Not a bird's-eye-view one sees every day, not even avowed birdwatchers like me.)<br />
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The Kestrel appeared to be scanning the long-grass and shrubs covering the earth sides of the ramp looking very much like Kestrels do when they're hovering on the thermal updrafts. In other words, except for the lateral motion (and ascension) in sinc with my truck's movement and the incredible clarity of detail emitted by the light enveloping him and nothing else... he looked like a normal Kestrel behaving normally (notwithstanding the direct eye-to-eye contact he initiated.)<br />
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When he left the Kestrel did something I've never seen a Kestrel do... He turned one wing and suddenly he was vertical, his back toward me. Wings outspread with his long tail pointed straight down... the bird presented the shape of the cross. For a heartbeat, maybe two, the Kestrel held that position and then with a flick of his wings he arrowed down and out of sight. At the precise instant he folded his wings and started the dive two things happened... All the colors of the world came back. Whatever opaque blanket covering it during my time with the Kestrel was lifted and uncountable millions of color combinations, hues and shades again painted the world alive. At the same time the blanket of negativity was lifted from my mind and I felt peace and positive energy wash over me. Everything that had been straining my spiritual energy was condensed in force and stature to a mote of dust. In an instant... I had balance.<br />
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My very first thought was of my wife and our furry 'kids', a vision that filled me with emotional strength and resolve to banish the negativity, depression and anger from me, to again embrace the positivity that is life. My second thought, even though it never actually materialized as a thought, was gratitude. The beauty of the day, of the place I work... that I'm able to still do so at something I love... for the family I do it for. All of these feelings came to me as I delivered my load to the crusher and then parked for lunch. I exited my truck knowing no matter what happened next, no matter what form negativity wore it could not touch me, could not upset my balance. And it did not. Not that day and not since. Sure, I've been momentarily upset over something or other since then and I've personally had some days better than others but I've not again been anywhere near as close to the abyss as I was that day.<br />
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So, did God send me that Kestrel to calm the chaos within me? I'm thinking yes. The onus is on me now to understand why, to learn the lessons (because there is always a lesson.) Your answer will of course be dictated by your definition of God. I'm sure some will take the bird's 'farewell' posture where his silhouette closely resembled a cross as proof of God's hand in things. For others the physics-defying aerial ability of the falcon will add weight to the argument this was God's work. And then there is my testimony of events, an honest and true account of my feelings and state of mind before, during and immediately after my encounter with the Kestrel. Believers will see God in my words. Unbelievers will call me a liar, or delusional. "It's all in his head!" Others will simply see a story, one of millions uploaded to the internet every day.<br />
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It took some thought before I decided to write the story of what happened that day. I haven't told anyone about what I experienced with the Kestrel, not even my wife. I felt I needed to tell the story here. Maybe I'm supposed to, I don't know. All I know is that now I'm moments away from hitting the "Publish" button and posting this to whatever audience and whatever effect... it's the right thing for me to do.<br />
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It balances.<br />
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Peace,<br />
Gordo<br />
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I'm not in the habit of telling anyone what to think or do but... if you think there is someone who would benefit in some small fashion from reading my Kestrel story... someone who might enjoy it... or understand it... or maybe even need it... why not take a moment and share it with them by sending them the link.<br />
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If you'd like to learn more about Kestrels... <a href="http://www.birds.cornell.edu/Page.aspx?pid=1642&q=American%20Kestrel" target="_blank">there is lots of info here</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-1338509758544899402012-10-27T16:41:00.000-04:002012-10-27T16:48:23.318-04:00Who Was Gordon Gustav?<b>Who was Gordon Gustav?</b><br />
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It may seem a strange question to ask since at the time I write this it and every other entry in this blog is attributed to Gordon Gustav. That kind of suggests the question should be "Who IS Gordon Gustav?" but that isn't right either.<br />
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The fact of the matter is Gordon Gustav doesn't exist. He never really did.<br />
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But here's a picture of him anyway...<br />
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As you've probably guessed by now, Gordon Gustav was a pro-wrestling character, specifically a heel (badguy) manager played by me. I am NOT Gordon Gustav but I did for a brief time portray him on independent pro-wrestling events in Ontario.<br />
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The name "Gordon Gustav" was given to me by a friend of mine, <b>Jessy Jones.</b> (That too is a pro-wrestling alias.) He's a well known local independent pro-wrestler (a heel) and the self proclaimed <i>"King of Canada".</i> Jessy created a very elaborate background for his wrestling persona, one rich with details about his "life" outside the ring in a kingdom of his design called <i>"Sportopia"</i> where among other things he was the leader of a religion by the same name.<br />
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Over the years Jessy has managed many wrestlers and almost always has a stable of cohorts willing to do his bidding in and out of the ring. He named this ever-changing group <b>"The Sports Generation".</b> Like many pro-wrestlers Jessy has a lot of nicknames (probably more than most wrestlers) and for years his most used nickname was <i>"The Sport"</i> hence the Generation variation to designate members of his wrestling stable and personal entourage past & present. Jessy wanted me to become a member of The Sports Generation (the <i>Director of Foreign Affairs</i>).<br />
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At the time I was managing a few different wrestlers in different promotions under the name <b>"Gordo, the wizard of id"</b> which was also the name I was known as by readers of my website <i>Ontario Wrestling's Indy Elite</i> (OWIE), a current news/ historical record of the local indy wrestling community (which no longer exists). As the owner/senior editor of OWIE I had a relatively high profile among members and followers of indy pro-wrestling and had been careful to do most of my wrestling-character work off the beaten track, working smaller shows or performing for promotions not considered "respected" by the majority of people involved in the local scene.<br />
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I had no desire to create conflict between Gordo, the wizard of id internet journalist and Gordo, the wizard of id nasty rule-breaking pro-wrestling manager and confining my in-ring activities to the fringe made it easier to keep the two identities separate. Doing the same while working with the <i>"King of Canada" Jessy Jones </i>and his <i>Sports Generation</i> was a different matter. Jessy was well known and working with higher profile established promotions like the <b>Pure Wrestling Association</b> (<a href="http://pwacanada.com/wp/" target="_blank">PWA</a>). It would have been impossible to join the <i>Sports Generation</i> as "the wizard of id" without some inevitable conflict between that character and the character running what was considered a fair and unbiased "news" website covering the local scene. Jessy Jones solved that problem by dubbing me Gordon Gustav.<br />
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It was soon after I began appearing as Gustav that I discovered this blog site and created the <b>"Pro Wrestling Brain Salad"</b> blog with the intention of using it to deliver in-character Gordon Gustav rants. When I created my Blogger Profile it wanted a user name and it made sense (at the time) to use the Gustav name since it was as that character I intended to write. Then I wanted another blog, one not having anything to do with wrestling, this blog... <b>"Dew On The Newts".</b> As it turned out, I wasn't able to have two blogs under two names in the same Blogger profile. Nor could I create another Blogger profile (since I already had one) so it came to pass that <i>Dew On The Newts</i> was written under the name Gordon Gustav too.<br />
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That will no longer do.<br />
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I haven't written anything in the blog I created for Gordon Gustav in a long time. I don't even have <i>Pro Wrestling Brain Salad</i> bookmarked among my favorites. I know it still exists because I see links to it on my profile when I log in. I've been a lot more active in this blog and that's why Gordon Gustav has to go. This blog is about real life, not some make-believe pro-wrestling universe. It's real, it's honest and it's me.<br />
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And I am NOT Gordon Gustav.<br />
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I have a real name and I'm willing to have it stand behind everything I write in this blog. Because this is real. This is me being me. <i>Dew On The Newts</i> isn't rants or opinions from some pro-wrestling character. It isn't written by Gordon Gustav. He doesn't exist, he never did.<br />
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I'll be changing my Blogger profile to reflect my own name. I'm not sure if that will change the credited authorship of all the posts I've made under the name Gordon Gustav (hence my comment at the start: "at the time I write this...") I don't really care. What I do care about is standing behind whatever I write about... whatever opinions I express... whatever judgments I make. I don't need to hide behind a <i>nom de plume</i> be it Gordon Gustav or anything else. I never did.<br />
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<b>Gordo Laidlaw.</b><br />
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By the way... the photo of Gordon Gustav was taken by <a href="http://www.facebook.com/Tabercil?ref=ts&fref=ts" target="_blank">Tabercil Whom</a> (Another alias?)<br />
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And speaking of keeping things real...<br />
Check out <a href="http://www.echoesofthering.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">A Hero's Call</a>. It's written by my friend Osiris (Actually, his name is Jon.)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-78675449952727236322012-10-03T16:30:00.000-04:002012-10-03T16:30:25.371-04:00Now What?Life doesn't have a rewind button.<br />
There are no do-overs.<br />
What is done cannot be undone.<br />
The Past corrodes the Now. <br />
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You can rewrite the past only with memory - an exercise not unlike covering rust with water-based paint; it may look for now like it's shiny and new but eventually rust wins. You can continue to tell yourself otherwise but that's like carrying ice in a mesh bag in the hope you'll always have water.<br />
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The past is not certain. (All memory is fallible.)<br />
Now is not what you believe it to be.<br />
You never really know anyone.<br />
There is but one certainty: the future is uncertain.<br />
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The uncertainty of my future mocks my efforts to understand things past.<br />
Like a man unknowingly fallen I don't know why everything is sideways.<br />
And I wonder, was it always thus? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-74102626516919837812012-09-30T18:37:00.000-04:002012-09-30T18:37:35.396-04:00Crawford Lake Conservation Area<b>A Review of Our Latest Adventure - a postmodern horror story</b><br />
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After a week of afternoon shifts made tough because of a wicked throat and chest cold I picked up on the Grand River Dinner Cruise (an experience detailed in the previous blog entry) I was looking forward to spending the last Saturday of September exploring new areas of Southern Ontario with my wife Tammy and our chihuahua Isabeau. I was still not completely over being sick but thanks to the magic of Buckley's Cough Syrup and cherry-flavored throat lozenges my illness that morning was more a minor inconvenience than the near life-altering experience it had been. Tammy was also fighting a virus-induced fatigue/general malaise and we probably should have been planning some relaxing at-home activities instead of the "3 parks in 1 day" excursion we had in mind but darn it, the weather was sunny with patchy cloud instead of the predicted 99% chance of hazy skies and rain showers and the fall colors are ramping up their breathtakingly beautiful displays. How could we pass up the opportunity to take advantage of the good weather and relatively warm temperatures, even if we were still 'slightly under the weather' ourselves?<br />
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We arose Saturday morning and began preparations to undertake our chosen adventure... exploring 3 different local conservation areas in one afternoon, none of which we have ever been to before. After ensuring we had water for both us and Isabeau, extra clothing, fully-charged camera batteries (plus additional lenses & gear) and pretty much everything else we might need for a wilderness hike (except food - duh!) we headed out from Hamilton in high spirits. Our plan was to avoid major freeways, utilizing country routes on our circular trip which would include stops (and hopefully awesome adventures) first at <i>Crawford Lake</i>, then <i>Halton Hills</i> and lastly <i>Rattlesnake Point</i>. That was the plan anyway. As it turned out, we would only hit 1 of our 3 planned stops... <b><i> </i></b><br />
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<b><i>Crawford Lake Conservation Area</i></b></div>
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The official Crawford Lake map/tourist guide given to visitors at the front gate describes the park as <i>"a natural environment park that is managed by Conservation Halton. The 468 hectare park includes unique geological features</i>,<i> extensive forests, a rare meromictic lake and 15th century reconstructed Iroquoian village</i>.<i> The conservation area has significant natural habitat with a wide diversity of flora and fauna and approximately 19 km of nature trails". </i></div>
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We had no idea Crawford Lake offered anything more than a gravel parking lot and some trails into the bush, a scenario we've seen at pretty much every Southern Ontario conservation area we've explored thus far. Some may have paved parking lots and some<i> </i>may have washrooms/outhouses but for the most part we've always just parked the car in some deserted-except-for-other-adventurers gravel lot and headed off on our choice of trails. Pay parking, if that's a requirement, is usually just a coin-operated cobwebby machine that won't accept the new 2013 twonies and loonies. I knew from my initial scout of the day's planned adventure which included inquiries at the gate of Rattlesnake Point that it and the other parks we planned on seeing were paid admission. I also learned then that admission at one of the six area parks under Conservation Halton's authority was good for all six on the same day, our planned 3 park adventure could be done for the price of one.</div>
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So it was no surprise being required to pay the adult admittance fee of $7.50 ea. to gain access to Crawford Lake Conservation Area. What was surprising was discovering the park offered far more to visitors than a place to park the car and some trails. We drove past a large wood-pole stockade fence which surrounds the reconstructed 15th century Iroquoian village and created our own parking spot at the end of a row in a very crowded lot. Like the one just inside the gate, and the one further down the road, the parking lot was packed with cars. People were moving in all directions. Not only was there the Iroquoian village attraction, a bustling interpretive center (complete with craft and park-related learning exercises and challenges for kids), an expansive picnic and playground area and numerous natural-info signs and displays beckoned curious and adventuresome park-goers alike. Even if there weren't any hiking options available, Crawford Lake certainly delivers a wide range of options for the relatively modest cost of entry...</div>
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But of course there are trails and they are the lure which draws us like moths to a flame, the call of yet unseen natural wonders and a promise - the serene riches of sensory enchantment only a forest can provide are but steps away...</div>
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In the info-packed Crawford Lake complimentary area guide the "aprox. 19 km of natures trials" are prominently marked on the map and easy to locate as the central access point is right outside Visitors Centre.A wide paved trail leads into the forest where a number of options become available. Most but not all trails are wheelchair accessible and range in length from the 1.4 km trail which loops the park's namesake lake to the 3.6 km Pine Ridge Trail which takes users on a cross-country circle route through the various landforms and ecological systems of the greater Crawford Lake Conservation Area. The guide lists 7 different trail options including ones that don't bring hikers back to where they started like portions of the Bruce Trail which intersect the park. (A 700+ km trail that seems to splay itself across the greater Niagara Escarpment area like a space-dropped pile of raked-gravel spaghetti.)</div>
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Since we still at that point intended to hit 2 other parks that day we elected to take the trail that looped around Crawford Lake, partly because it was the shortest (and thus the quickest) and partly because the lure of autumn foliage reflected in the water of the lake spoke to both our spiritual needs and our photo-artistic wants. A short winding walk through a forest almost too beautiful to describe in words we arrived at the spot the graveled path intersected with an elevated wooden boardwalk and we got our first look at Crawford Lake. The actual area from which one could view or photograph the lake was small, a break in the lakeshore trees and foliage maybe 50 ft across but it afforded some breathtaking views of the lake. After a couple of minutes there we elected to continue our journey via the wood boardwalk instead of the gravel path which appeared to circle the lake from a route deeper into the woods.</div>
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The boardwalk is relatively well maintained, there were only a couple spots where the railing's structural integrity looked compromised due to decay/rot or obvious purposeful breakage. It made for an easy stroll through forest which would have been extremely difficult and treacherous to walk through without benefit of a trail of some sorts. The ground was uneven, littered with moss-covered rocks & stones, crisscrossed with crevasses and labyrinths of fallen dead trees. In some areas trees grew from bare rock, their roots stretching and digging into the slightest of cracks and fissures. Sun rays dappled and danced across some sections while other areas saw hardly any light penetrate to the forest floor where deep green mosses created beds for ferns to root among the rocks and fungi of various types flourished on the myriad felled trees in various states of decay.</div>
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The waters of Crawford Lake can be glimpsed from the boardwalk at various times during the journey and all along the boardwalk are observation areas where people can rest on offered benches or partake in the various "clues" and "questions" on the displayed information boards, exercises promoted by or relative to the learning crafts and games suggested in the Visitors Centre. Many of the families and groups enjoying the park were avidly involved in that activity and from conversations I overheard at the various 'stops' along the boardwalk it seems kids and their parents can learn about the history of the lake, the Iroquoian Natives who once lived here, the local environment's natural flora & fauna and a whole lot more. </div>
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Crawford Lake's elevated boardwalk and offered interactive exercises are an impressive example of providing an environmental and local history learning experience by immersing visitors into that environment without encroaching upon it. Even if, like us, you choose to forsake the fun & games of the offered learning enabled quizzes, mysteries and other child oriented exercises and opt for the Crawford Lake Trail elevated boardwalk to just to marvel at the plethora of natural wonders and beautiful sights it offers this relatively short hike is definitely worth the time. </div>
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I can't speak to the other trails because we only did the initial forest access trail and the boardwalk around Crawford Lake but if the rest are anything like those they promise to be amazing journeys as well. We didn't check out the reconstructed native village or anything else Crawford Lake Conservation Area had to offer so I can offer no opinions about them but I'll hazard a guess and say the other attractions are probably just as fun and enriching for families and others looking for an easy-access nature adventure.</div>
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So I know some readers might be thinking<b> <i>"Wait a minute, isn't this supposed to be a horror story?"</i></b> and it is. I just wanted to describe the park without a lot of personal emotion before I went off on a bit of a rant about why our experience there wasn't the slam-dunk whiz-bang of a good time one might expect it to be given our professed love for time spent outdoors amid the splendors of nature.(of which <i>Crawford Lake</i> has many.) I mean, after all, it isn't the park's fault we had a less than enjoyable time within its boundaries, an experience so mentally and emotionally exhausting that we cancelled the rest of our plans and drove straight home instead of exploring <i>Halton Hills</i> and <i>Rattlesnake Point</i> as we'd originally intended. </div>
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What put a damper on our Crawford Lake experience, the thing that made if a test of endurance more than enjoyment was the behaviors and actions of other park users. We don't begrudge anyone going out and having a good time, nor do we normally get bothered by the sights and sounds of children and their families getting excited while discovering the joys of outdoor nature experiences. We may prefer to enjoy our outdoor adventures in relative solitude but we don't get upset when we share that experience with others seeking their own communion with that same piece of nature.</div>
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The park was crowded and that could hardly be unexpected. It was an unexpectedly beautiful and mild fall day, a Saturday at that. It's September, the famed colors of Southern Ontario's autumn foliage are a big deal to locals and tourists. Crawford Lake is within an hours drive of hundreds of thousands of GTA inhabitants... Why wouldn't it be crowded on a day like that? It was crowded, filled with families and large groups of people out enjoying the afternoon. The elevated boardwalk and its interactive learning activities was a magnet for many of those families and groups looking to make their outdoor time an experience of combined fun and learning... <i>and we have no problem with that.</i></div>
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What we don't like, what we can't abide and can barely tolerate is rudeness... thoughtless inconsideration and arrogant indulgence regardless of and indifferent to the effect their selfish actions have on others around them (including the environment.) THAT kind of stuff can put a damper on almost everything and there was tons of it on display at Crawford Lake that day. It never ceases to amaze me how stupidly annoying people can be.</div>
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Why do some people think it's okay for their kids to run around screaming and shrieking at the top of their lungs irregardless of their proximity to others? Why is it okay for your kids to invade the personal space of others, often at your encouragement? What makes those parents think everyone else feels it's perfectly okay that their kids clamor and play around them? Whatever happened to time and space appropriate behavior? What happened to teaching kids to respect the rights of others? What happened to following the simple rules like "stay on the path"... why is it okay to allow your kids to run amok through the natural areas everyone is there to enjoy, to rip up and trample the foliage?</div>
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THAT is the type of behavior exhibited by a majority of park users that made our Crawford Lake experience more akin to a horror story than a pleasant hike in the outdoors. THAT was the stuff of the horror story that slowly grew in our thoughts, a story were we broke free of our self-imposed bonds of tolerance and restraint to ran amok with machetes cutting a swath through these self-centered jerks like Jason Vorhees slaughtering teenage councilors at Camp Crystal Lake. Instead of fully enjoying the outdoors (which was impossible in those circumstances) we found ourselves harboring thoughts of violence and murder. Such was the state of mind induced during our walk around Crawford Lake.</div>
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To be fair, it wasn't everyone that acted like jerks that day. There were other families in the park who were endeavoring to balance their kids excitement and activity levels with the rights of other park users to enjoy the space. I saw more than one frustrated parent trying to explain to their own kids why some things weren't right to do, a difficulty compounded by the obvious fact other kids in the park were under no such restrictive behavioral boundaries.</div>
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It wasn't just unruly, unsupervised kids and their parents that were the issue. There were also huge numbers of adults whose behavior encroached upon the enjoyment of other park-goers... like the people who felt the need to yell every word even though they were inches apart... or the large group who decided to rest across the only staircase when numerous other options were available for those wanting to stop thus forcing those who wanted to keep walking only one option, navigate the sprawled bodies and bags of their party... or the young couple who decided to climb out of the boardwalk and eat their lunch on a rock dead center in the middle of a rare unobstructed photo-op of the lake, one which people were queuing up and sharing prior to them expropriating it for their own private picnic. </div>
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And another thing... just because our dog Isabeau is small and cute doesn't mean she wants to meet every screaming child that comes her way. I swear some parents think it's amusing to see their toddler wobble in circles around us as Isabeau tries to avoid them. What am I supposed to do, kick the kid away? Yell at the kid? (Hey asshat! It's YOUR kid, why don't you keep it away from MY dog? Isabeau's not doing anything, she's not making noise. Our dog is quietly accompanying us... on a leash! Maybe that's something you should consider to control your miserable little spawn since you're obviously teaching it NOTHING about respecting the rights and space of others!). </div>
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Some people even direct their kids to Isabeau... Mothers will yell <i>"Look at the cute small dog!"</i> and then stand there laughing (or even taking pictures), thrilling to the sight of their toddlers trying to pet her while she endeavors to avoid them and we try and run gentle interference while saying stuff like <i>"She's kind of shy"</i> when really we'd like to scream <i>"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM OUR DOG!"</i>. Seriously, some people seem to treat us and Isabeau like we're some kind of interactive park exhibit, like we're not really live people... people (& a dog) with just as much right to be left alone as anyone.</div>
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I could go on and on but you get the point. People are so freaking rude and self-centered nowadays that almost anywhere strangers congregate becomes an exercise in frustration. As beautiful as Crawford Lake was the experience was lacking in enjoyment for us. Since the odds were great that the other 2 parks we'd planned to visit would have similar crowds we just called it a day and went home. Next time we'll pick a school day and hopefully avoid most of the negatives we encountered on this trip. It is a beautiful park full of natural wonder... too bad that on this day it was so full of ugly human nature too.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-31594292475236232362012-09-24T01:28:00.000-04:002012-09-24T01:28:33.992-04:00Grand River Dinner Cruise - a review of events<b>The first day of fall</b> doesn't get any special attention from most of the world. There are some people who take celebratory notice to mark the arrival of the Autumnal Equinox but for most people September 22, 2012 wasn't a big deal. Across the world it was business as usual...<br />
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<b>Angry Muslims protested,</b> sometimes violently, in numerous countries around the globe, inflamed over a poorly made independent film in which the prophet Muhammad is ridiculed. Chances are 90% of the protesters haven't even seen the movie but it appears 100% of them blame the United States for its existence.<br />
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<b>Asian political powerhouses China and Japan</b> are rattling sabres over some innocuous guano-covered rocks in the East China Sea. Doomsayers are predicting escalating tensions could lead to war because (for reasons unclear to me but evidently crystal-clear to the Chinese and Japanese) those remote little islets ("islets" because they're too small to be called islands) are somehow vital to national security and the future of their respective nations.<br />
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<b>In other first day of fall news...</b> some idiot in New York was arrested for trespassing after jumping from an elevated train into a Bronx Zoo enclosure where a 400 pound tiger named Bachuta used him as a chew toy. <br />
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Meanwhile in Southern Ontario, Canada... 2012's Autumnal Equinox saw bright skies with patchy clouds and brisk winds accompany my wife Tammy and I as we embarked with a party of 40 or so others on a <b>Grand River Dinner Cruise...</b><br />
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<b>It was actually a "lunch" cruise,</b> the company (<a href="http://www.grandrivercruises.ca/" target="_blank">Grand River Cruises</a>) offers 2 cruise options (lunch and dinner, both featuring pretty much the same menu) and our group was on the 12:30pm departure luncheon cruise which offered a meal and refreshments during a 3 hour trip on the Grand River in one of four boats - long, squat, barge-like vessels that have a one-room enclosed central dining area encircled by a narrow exterior walkway lined with benches and deck chairs.<br />
<br />
<i>Embarking on a dinner cruise wasn't something Tammy and I ever envisioned ourselves doing. </i>We're not really into dining out and the whole 'cruise' idea seemed a tad too ritzy for us. We ended up on this river experience thanks to a coworker of mine at the quarry who arranged and booked the cruise. His name is Eric and this is apparently something he's arranged before. Other coworkers expressed good reviews of the dinner cruises with Dave from my crew mentioning often about how "good" the food was. Eric posted notice of the proposed date and spread the word amongst the guys on all 3 shifts with those interested signing their names to the notice. The cost worked out to just under 40 bucks a head and Eric took care of
all the details, booking and paying for the Sept 22nd cruise then
collecting the money from everyone, ensuring they had instructions on
where and when to attend.<br />
<br />
I talked it over with Tammy and we decided to join Eric and the others on the cruise. My Mom was out to visit us the week before and gifted me with $100 when I saw her off at the airport so the 80 bucks to get us on the boat was covered. The cruise promised a 3 course meal of bread & salad, a main course roast beef dinner and desert which sounded fine to us but it was the chance to view the banks of the Grand River from the vantage point a boat provided which most peaked our interest. The chance of seeing birds and perhaps other wildlife during a 3 hr trip through the beauty of the Southern Ontario countryside was for us the cruise's biggest draw.<br />
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Besides me, Eric, Dave and another guy named Steve (all from my shift) and our spouses, I had no idea which guys from the quarry had signed up for the cruise. All I knew was "about 40" people were going to be sharing the boat. I don't socialize with my coworkers, I'm not friends with any of them away from the quarry. There's no sinister reason behind that, I don't harbor dislike toward any of my coworkers. In fact, in the 5 years I've worked at the quarry I've grown quite fond of a number of them. I just never 'hang out' with the people I work with.<br />
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<b>Grand River Cruises is located on Big Creek</b>, a tributary of the Grand River which meets Ontario's biggest Canadian Heritage river near the city of Caledonia. It was an easy 35 minute drive from our place in Hamilton, a journey filled with rolling vistas of farmland, livestock and wooded green areas which did much to ease our nervous anticipation about the upcoming adventure. While not an 'official' company function it was an outing arranged, paid for and participated in by people from work, people from work and their spouses and/or other guests. As everyone knows, those type of functions can sometimes get interesting and there's always the possibility of problems or issues arising when the work and real life characters of coworkers mingle. Not that I was expecting trouble but I couldn't discount the potential for it considering the diversity of personalities and existing on-the-job issues between many of my coworkers.<br />
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<b>Just prior to arrival</b> at our destination a Red-Tailed Hawk soared slowly across the highway in front of us and we took that as a positive omen of the day to come. We actually drove past Grand River Cruises without seeing it... I piloted our Hyundai Accent across some railroad tracks on the crest of a hill a tad faster than the speed recommended on the sign conveniently posted by the Highway Engineering Dept. The ensuing bump/possible-airtime hilarity caused us to go past the place totally unaware it was there and there was some momentary confusion when we reached the road's end at a T intersection without finding what we were looking for.<br />
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<b>After backtracking without incident</b> we parked, grabbed our jackets & cameras and joined a group of coworkers I recognized. It was an eclectic group, a cross-section of people from the 2 production shifts accompanied by people identified or assumed to be wives. There were also a number of people complete strangers to me. They turned out to be extended family or friends to some of the guys. (It never occurred to me that I could invite others to join Tammy & I on the cruise.)<br />
<br />
I knew all the actual quarry workers of course and enjoy a pretty good work relationship with all of them and none of them were those few whose company is sometimes unbearable to keep. I was mildly surprised to see one guy I haven't seen in awhile... Clayton was production supervisor when he got fired early this year. Prior to that position he worked as a shift foreman and before that he was a "Red Hat", one of the boys for years and has a lot of friends still in the union workforce at the quarry so him attending this cruise wasn't unusual. It was for him a chance to see a lot of guys from the quarry in one place without the company being anywhere in sight. He looked real good, better than he's looked in the 5 years I've known him. Clayton said getting fired was "the best thing they ever did for me" and I was happy to hear he was doing well.<br />
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<b>There was one other guy from work </b>who took part in the cruise and I admit I had mixed thoughts about first the potential he might be attending and then the undeniable reality that he was when he and his companions arrived after most of the party had already boarded. He and I became embroiled in a personal conflict of sorts at work last week, a situation he initiated and one which I felt was intended to attack my personal and professional integrity (just as much, I'm sure, as he felt about his reasons for doing so). The situation, which both the company and union were completely aware of, entangled in it as much as I was, was rectified to what I believe is mutual satisfaction and a future course of working understanding was discussed.<br />
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<i>It should be over</i> but I couldn't help but be a little apprehensive at the thought of spending 3-4 hours on a relatively small boat with a guy who less than a week before had in my opinion thrown me under the proverbial bus. As it turned out we pretty much never saw each other during the cruise. Aside from saying "Excuse us. Thank you." while squeezing by on the Grand River Belle's narrow exterior observation deck I never spoke or otherwise interacted with him during the entire voyage. I readily admit I have zero interest in speaking with the man aside from what's required at work to do the job and maintain a harmonious work environment, if I don't have to talk to him I won't (but at the same time I won't be unnecessarily rude to him or anyone he's with.) I won't seek or initiate any contact or conversation with him but that doesn't mean I will deliberately avoid or snub any he might initiate toward me. (Not that I expect he will.)<br />
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Actually, that's all stuff that should probably be in its own blog entry. I'd intended to keep this to a straightforward review of Grand River Cruises Luncheon Cruise and somehow digressed to talking about my various relationships with the people I work with. My apologies. Without further ado, here then is my story (and review) of Grand River Cruises Luncheon Cruise undertaken the first day of fall, Sept 22nd, 2012...<br />
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<b>The weather was nice,</b> sunny with lots of patchy clouds. Stiff breezes of varying strength kept the temperature in the slightly chilly to 'damn that's cold' range for most of the day but it was certainly better than what had been forecast. For over a week forecasters called for Saturday to have a 99% chance of rain all day. That predicted rainfall actually hit late Friday with heavy downpours blanketing Southern Ontario for most of the night. The revised forecast just before we left our place called for exactly what we had for our entire luncheon cruise adventure, sun & cloud with gusting winds. In other words, it was a beautiful autumn day<br />
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Members of our group slowly began moving from the parking lot to the dock area where Grand River Cruises 4 boats were tethered. Captain Bob welcomed us to our boat, "Grand River Belle", where seating was decided by personal choice and speed of arrival. The interior of the boat was essentially a rectangle with tables lining the longer sidewalls, each with 6 chairs. The rear of the boat had a couple unisex washrooms and an area where the crew presumably plated the precooked dinner fare. Captain Bob sat alone at the wheel in the front of the cabin and acted as tour guide and historian throughout the cruise.<br />
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Tammy and I grabbed 2 window seats at a table midships while the rest of the group elected to sit in various groups and positions elsewhere. We were joined by Faisal and his wife and just prior to departure an elderly couple unknown to the 4 of us sat in the last 2 seats making us a complete table of 6. Captain Bob advised us we were waiting on Eric to confirm all parties were aboard and servers would be taking beverage orders after we set off on our 3 hour round trip on the Grand River. Eric arrived with his party and confirmed all were aboard and accounted for so Captain Bob called the order to cast off and we began our first ever dinner cruise. After some neat maneuvering Capt. Bob got the Belle turned around and we began a slow trip down Big Creek before entering the much larger Grand River where we headed downriver.<br />
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<b>The servers began taking beverage orders -</b> 3 young women seemingly working the boat at random. Ours was quick enough getting to our table after the announcement of service but that's about the only good thing I can relate about her performance. She was amicable enough, welcomed us all to the voyage with a cheery smile and seemed delighted when the elderly couple at the end of the table ordered beers. Her demeanor turned to shock and a look of scornful incredibility when the rest of us declined an alcoholic beverage and asked for coffees instead. She even questioned our beverage choice, like she couldn't believe someone <i>wouldn't </i>want a beer or other alcoholic drink. She brought our coffees and we never saw her again during the rest of the cruise. A different girl brought our requested sugar & cream and later our refills.<br />
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On their website and elsewhere Grand River Cruises does a pretty good job hyping the service on their luncheon and dinner cruises so I doubt they officially condone the judgmental rudeness we received from the first of their servers. They also hype the availability of alcoholic refreshments on their cruises but surely they and their employees recognize not everyone chooses to drink and those that don't shouldn't be made to feel awkward for making that choice.<br />
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<b>The first course arrived</b> soon after Captain Bob piloted the Belle from the close confines of Big Creek to the wider expanse of the Grand River channel. A loaf of bread, with a knife and cutting board, arrived first. I cut a slice and elected to forgo the little packaged butter that was offered. (there was no other choice except salad dressing) I had no issue with that, I'm a fan of 'naked' bread but this was very dry and while soft the crust was very crumbly. It wasn't good enough that I went back for another slice. Tammy didn't have any but the other 4 at our table seemed to have no issues consuming most of the small loaf. In retrospect I regret not eating more of the bread because despite being dry and sorta stale it was better by far than the salad that followed it.<br />
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A small bowl of watery head lettuce with a smattering of shredded carrots, thinly sliced celery and some soggy purple foliage. Choices of dressing were limited to Kraft's French, Thousand Island or Rancher's Choice', all in small individual serving packs which were on the table when we boarded the boat. I elected to go with the Ranch but it did little to make my salad taste any less swamp-like. The lettuce which comprised the bulk of the salad was crunchy and juicy but that didn't make it palatable. I didn't finish it and neither did others at the table.<br />
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<b>During the break </b>before they began serving the main course Tammy & I joined a number of others outdoors on the Belle's exterior observation deck. I smoked a cigarette and enjoyed the riverbank views we cruised slowly past. To our right (South) the land belongs to the Six Nations and showed little evidence of habitation save the occasional dirt road. On the left it was a lot more inhabited. We passed trailer parks with riverside occupants that ran the gamut from ultramodern showroom model quality units with all the attendant add-ons and playthings including a floatplane moored out front, to sketchy looking trailer-treefort hybrids surrounded by beaten down cars and brush-covered piles of rusty tractor parts, proudly flying the Stars & Bars of the former Confederate States of America under a battered but still proud Maple Leaf. I even spotted a giant chicken at one place, probably 12 to 15 feet tall. Another place had a castle on a hill. Sights only visible from the river, invisible to traffic on the road paralleling the Grand's path.<br />
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<b>Captain Bob announced the Main Course was imminent</b> and we returned inside to our seats. Despite the unpleasantness of the first course I was still hopeful Grand River Cruises could pull off a winner with the main course, their signature roast beef dinner complete with mashed potatoes, vegetables and gravy. Seriously, it's pretty hard to mess that up, right? Sad to say, the meal was far from grand in any respect. Portion size was small. Part of my thin slice of beef was ice cold. The gravy was hot but it was more <i>au jus</i> than it was gravy, oily-brown in color, thin and runny. The vegetables, green & yellow beans with baby carrots, were okay. I had a couple sketchy beans but that's not uncommon anywhere and the baby carrots were cooked perfectly and quite delicious. The mashed potatoes on the other hand... Wow! They came loaded with salt. I probably ate more salt in that one serving of potatoes than I have in everything else I've eaten this month. I wasn't the only one who thought the spuds were overly salty but to be fair, I did ask a couple beer drinkers if they found them salty and neither said they'd noticed although they both headed straight for refills after dinner. I was thirsty too but stayed with coffee. I don't know if those salty potatoes were the result of a culinary accident or sinister ploy to increase beverage sales but whatever the case they killed the meal for me.<br />
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<b>Tammy & I went outside after the main course. We didn't return</b> for desert which was apparently some sort of cake. I had no interest in trying the final course after the disappointing first 2 offerings. The quality of the food was a big letdown, far below our expectations (which were actually quite modest. We weren't expecting something spectacular, just generous portions of good tasting food.) The service was fine except for the one blip at the start of drink service and Captain Bob was excellent - he even took us on an extended voyage by cruising past Big Creek on our return trip allowing us a look at the upstream version of the cruise - but the actual luncheon meal put a damper on our Grand River Cruise experience.<br />
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<b>The scenery during the trip is awesome!</b> The leaves are beginning to change color and there are numerous photo opportunities presented by things on the riverbanks. Be it fallen trees or giant truck tires used as a levee to rustic scenes of docks, boats and portable toilets, the Grand River provides plenty of things to look at during the 3-4 hours a dinner cruise takes.<br />
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<b>As far as birdwatching goes</b>, the cruise supplied little action but what we did see was very cool. A number of Belted Kingfishers were spotted as well as a Blue Jay and a few Turkey Vultures. I managed a few blurry shots of a kingfisher and scored a long-distance shot of a Great Blue Heron perched in a tree but the definite highlight was the following picture of a Green Heron in flight.<br />
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<b>Overall I have mixed feelings about the Grand River Dinner Cruise.</b> If you think the ambiance of the dining experience - cruising in a boat on the Grand River for 3 hours- is worth 40 bucks a head then don't let the mediocrity of the food dissuade you from checking out <a href="http://www.grandrivercruises.ca/" target="_blank">Grand River Dinner Cruises</a>. However if receiving a decent meal is a necessity then I personally cannot recommend you spend the 40 bucks on a Grand River Dinner Cruise. That being said, I can't discount the possibility of again taking part in a dinner cruise. I truly enjoyed the lazy boat trip on the river and even for just that $40 isn't an outrageous price. We had a lot of fun and its safe to say many of our cruise-mates we're having a blast. (The boat ran out of Coors Light) As a once a year adventure I think it's worth the money and who knows, maybe next time the meal will taste great. Even if it doesn't the chances are the Grand River itself will provide an experience that makes up for it.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-90287069775340278592012-09-17T11:42:00.000-04:002012-09-17T11:43:10.025-04:00Post-Break Random Thoughts<b>I was on vacation last week </b>so I didn't spend much time on the internet. During that time off I was able to visit with my Mom who I haven't seen in a couple years. It was a great visit and got me thinking again about the family dynamic. The evolution of the human family unit is something that has fascinated me for some time. I expect a future blog entry will explore it in more detail - my thoughts and observations about the importance of the family unit to Mankind's ability to coexist peacefully in large numbers and how the breakdown of that family unit is largely responsible for the greater breakdown of society.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #20124d;">+++++++++++++</span></b> <br />
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Finally had a chance to see the 'movie' <b>"Innocence of Muslims"</b> this morning. The independent film was posted on YouTube and within days followers of Islam were attacking American embassies across the Middle East and Africa. A number of people were killed in those attacks, including the American ambassador to Libya. Given the history of extremist reaction to anything deemed blasphemous it really shouldn't come as a surprise the film gave certain Muslims reason to vent their hatred for anything western (read: American.)<br />
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What is surprising is the number of people in the western world who still don't get why so many Muslims are upset enough to riot. A common sentiment expressed by western media pundits and regular folks in the street is <i>"In this day and age how can anyone get upset enough over a video that they would riot in the street and condemn people to death?"</i> To me the answer seems simple... The people rioting and attacking American embassies and outposts don't live in <i>this</i> day and age.<br />
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This too is something I've been thinking about for some time - not the "Innocence of Muslims" film and subsequent events exactly, but the disparities between the Middle Eastern/African Muslim world and that of the western hemisphere. I expect I'll blog about my thoughts and observations concerning that in the not too distant future also. I have my own opinions about things and I'm not afraid to share them... unlike a lot of moderate Muslims residing in Canada and the U.S. who almost always remain silent when the more hardcore extremists of their religion get to acting up.<br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><b>+++++++++++++</b> </span><br />
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There are a number of things I've been thinking about lately, many of which I plan on writing about in future editions of "Dew On The Newts". Not because I think MY opinions are important enough that people need to hear them. (Far from it.)<br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><b>+++++++++++++</b></span><br />
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The world is a big place but maybe not big enough for all of us.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-19877780440230406562012-09-09T10:09:00.003-04:002012-09-09T10:09:43.602-04:00Birds of a Different Feather Sticking TogetherMy wife and I enjoy birdwatching. For us it is what the birds do that is
exciting, how they live their lives. We enjoy watching the actions of
paired birds nesting and raising young. We marvel at the group dynamics
within birds of the same kind and how different species interact. It's
been a shared passion for almost 20 years now but only recently did
knowing exactly what birds we were watching became important.
Identifying the birds we saw became an exciting new part of our
birdwatching experience. (One made easier and more enjoyable by the good
folks at <a href="http://www.whatbird.com/" target="_blank">Whatbird.com</a>)<br />
<br />
The reason I mention any of this is to illustrate that I may not know
the difference between a Green Heron and Least Bittern but I didn't just
wander into the wetland yesterday. I've been doing this for awhile,
almost a lifetime in fact, long before I met and married a woman with
similar interest in our feathered friends. I've seen a lot of bird
behaviors, a lot of bird relationships and a lot of interaction between
birds of differing species over the years.<br />
<br />
On Thursday, September 6th, 2012, my wife and I witnessed inter-species
behavior unlike anything either of us have seen before. It was as
baffling as it was enthralling, made even more so by us knowing the
species of only one type of bird involved - a Mallard. The other was a
mystery to us at the time but thanks to Whatbird users confirming my own
research I now know was a Hooded Merganser. Not that knowing the
mystery bird's identity made the behaviors we witnessed any less
amazing.<br />
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Female Hooded Merganser:<br />
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<b>Here is the story of what we saw...</b><br />
<br />
While walking a path in a Hamilton Ontario waterfront park near a
marina on the shore of Lake Ontario my wife and I came across a large
group of Mallard ducks sitting on a rocky stretch of beach in the shade
of some large willow trees. Numerous mallards and other birds live
year-round at the park so seeing a group of mallards isn't uncommon. It
was noteworthy that so many birds were peacefully coexisting in this
group. Usually they keep to much smaller groups - from two to a dozen
birds.<br />
<br />
There were maybe 50-60 mallards in this group, calmly sitting on the
beach or drifting lazily in the shallow water nearby, water turning
various shades of green due to high algae levels. Seeing mallards in
these and greater numbers is a common sight later in the fall but this
seemed early for these normally quite quarrelsome birds to be hanging
out together. We decided to hang out ourselves and observe the scene...
partly because we were curious. Was it some instinctive per-migratory
flock building (even if they were early and most were probably
'year-rounders' anyway) or perhaps the duty of moulting is better in the
company of others? Did the algae bloom have anything to do with it?<br />
<br />
We never did reach a conclusion about why so many mallards were together
in this one spot because a more compelling mystery was revealed when
the ducks became aware of our small dog accompanying us and a number of
them casually stepped into the water. It was then we noticed one of the
mallards wasn't a mallard at all - it was a female Hooded Merganser. At
the time we didn't know what it was but we knew it definitely wasn't a
mallard. We saw it before we actually saw it as the next picture proves.
I took the shot just prior to my wife and I simultaneously spotting the
"mystery bird" (Hooded Merganser) as it entered the water.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebxpOm-pbSOUXfPM-7eO3qJcl364rONGPMaGFaiVd9mz_tVfw65rzSvf2rpPCKOU-wHC9b0yny6vE_ehT4n2p_PbG92XrT_G5w4pkx3jU3QdiNPvnr_9uAv8mPOCNVACe3M5OhNo11Yo4/s1600/birds-Mallards-HoodedMerganser-120906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebxpOm-pbSOUXfPM-7eO3qJcl364rONGPMaGFaiVd9mz_tVfw65rzSvf2rpPCKOU-wHC9b0yny6vE_ehT4n2p_PbG92XrT_G5w4pkx3jU3QdiNPvnr_9uAv8mPOCNVACe3M5OhNo11Yo4/s320/birds-Mallards-HoodedMerganser-120906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
We'd seen the sketchy looking Canada Geese in the background of course
but it wasn't until I loaded the photos into the computer at home that
we realized our little mystery bird had been sitting amid the ducks all
along.<br />
<br />
We watched and within seconds it became apparent the little bird was
completely at ease among the mallards which were obviously not of its
kind and considerably larger in size. Even more compelling was the
smaller bird's attachment to one particular mallard among the many. It
was a male, a drake. Like lots of waterfowl around the lakefront he was
sporting rather drab plumage lacking the trademark green head of its
kind. The mallard seemed not at all concerned at being closely tailed by
the smaller bird. In fact, the two seemed so at ease and connected in
their movements they appeared almost to be a couple.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflycc9fHSwa5hMBq7FPGSsZ_pocGqsfjj6EWn-7b3I0RezIjPZRubBEoU_-aXIEAsHxf3GDh_YjROFIF8Kr5hEBe3u7cnwLpPd9M6yrA7SACItMmuLcYutLGVA6TLqeIfKdMuYfNR3ZL9/s1600/birds-Mallard-male-HoodedMerganser-female-120906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflycc9fHSwa5hMBq7FPGSsZ_pocGqsfjj6EWn-7b3I0RezIjPZRubBEoU_-aXIEAsHxf3GDh_YjROFIF8Kr5hEBe3u7cnwLpPd9M6yrA7SACItMmuLcYutLGVA6TLqeIfKdMuYfNR3ZL9/s320/birds-Mallard-male-HoodedMerganser-female-120906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
We suspected the mystery bird to be female, a guess based mostly on the
uniform overall drabness of its plumage and the 99.9% sure knowledge the
mallard was male. We didn't think it was possible they were connected
with the ultimate goal of raising young but it wasn't beyond the realm
of believable acceptability to consider the possibility they thought
that way. Maybe it was some kind of mutually beneficial partnership, an
alliance of chance or a benign inter-species companionship ignited by
some random genetic trigger. Whatever the reason, it was obvious the
mallard and its little companion were a functioning unit of two amid the
numbers and personal dynamics of the rest of the mallard flock.<br />
<br />
The mallard cruised slowly through the water dabbling his bill into the
surface blooms and algae foam and its little companion did the same
despite possessing a bill that looked anything but suitable to the task.
It was thin and dagger-like, it looked serrated, certainly not the
broad, finely molded scoop the mallard had. The mystery bird's bill
looked more predatory than the bill of the mallard, one more akin to a
diet of animal manner than plant stuff.<br />
<br />
It was one thing of many that made this pairing so compelling to watch.
The possibility that the mallard might somehow have adopted the mystery
bird came to mind. There were instances, like the clumsy dabbling, which
suggested the mystery bird was learning survival behaviors from the
larger mallard but doubts arose just as quickly... The mallard was a
male. Wouldn't an adoption, however unlikely, at least need the
cooperation of a female mallard? and where was she?<br />
<br />
Then there were behaviors which showed the mystery bird was anything but
some weak adopted stepchild, the most obvious of which was captured in
this final photo...<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCtVpXz9iy52BOMEVjqQzFHw0XZRSBlA4rIHC_tX0pEy2_tUvT1GHwMkLJCqd_sq4zxJsmOdpc3zRBbuM1w3sT9IbawItAcHkY3jfUvfD_l8CedtnrIEEF8X19G7IhRZy5nzibawjrbYo/s1600/birds-HoodedMerganser-threatens-Mallards-120906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCtVpXz9iy52BOMEVjqQzFHw0XZRSBlA4rIHC_tX0pEy2_tUvT1GHwMkLJCqd_sq4zxJsmOdpc3zRBbuM1w3sT9IbawItAcHkY3jfUvfD_l8CedtnrIEEF8X19G7IhRZy5nzibawjrbYo/s320/birds-HoodedMerganser-threatens-Mallards-120906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When other mallards came too close to "its" mallard the little mystery
bird went on the offensive with aggressive displays and posturing.
Without fail the mallards yielded to the smaller bird which was
surprising given their proven record for eagerly initiating or accepting
challenges to engage in physical combat. As seemingly aggressive and
possessive of its mallard that the mystery bird was, the mallard was the
leader of the pair. Those aggressive exchanges with other birds ended
with the paired mallard calmly moving from the disturbance and the
smaller bird following, once again a silent mimic of its larger
companion.<br />
<br />
I've never seen anything quite like it. I know many species of birds and
other creatures can and do join in inter-species companionship and in
some cases have hybrid offspring but it's not something one witnesses
every day. I've never seen a mallard display such a close and obvious
companionship with anything but another mallard.<br />
<br />
After arriving home I loaded the pictures from our day at the park into
my computer and began researching the identity of the mystery bird which
led me to the Hooded Merganser, a guess confirmed by Whatbird users. If
anything, learning the mallard's companion was a merganser only raised
more questions. During subsequent research I've learned mallards have
earned quite a reputation for cross-breeding with other species. In some
parts of the world native duck species are in danger of extinction as
hybrids will inevitably erase the rest if bird population numbers reach a
rapidly nearing critical pivot point. I found a number of species
listed as confirmed mallard crossbreeders but no mention of mergansers
hooded or otherwise. Nothing I found indicated hooded mergansers
crossbreed with any species and it seems unlikely they'd do so with
mallards or similar ducks given the difference in diet and feeding
methods. Mergansers are diving feeders whose diet is primarily animal
material whereas mallards feed largely on plant material by dipping and
dabbling.<br />
<br />
Even discounting breeding as the reason for this mallard / hooded
merganser partnership it's still a compelling companionship. How did
these two birds come to be a pair? Why did it happen? The answers to
those and other questions remain unanswered, maybe forever but that's
part of the fun of birdwatching. Their are wonders aplenty supplied by
our feathered friends and the lives they lead, it's impossible to know
all the answers (and besides, where's the fun in that?) Knowing we were
witness to something rare and wondrous is enough.<br />
<br />
Some may scorn at the birdwatching hobbyist and consider it an exercise
in wasted time and boredom but in that ignorance they are denying
themselves so much. The wonder, excitement and personal fulfillment
found in birdwatching is endless and good for the soul.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #274e13;"><i>If you want to know more about Hooded Mergansers and Mallards check out the links below...</i></span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://identify.whatbird.com/obj/390/overview/Hooded_Merganser.aspx" target="_blank">Hooded Merganser Whatbird Profile</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hooded_Merganser" target="_blank">Hooded Merganser on Wikipedia</a><br />
<a href="http://identify.whatbird.com/obj/87/_/Mallard.aspx" target="_blank">Mallard Duck Whatbird Profile</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mallard" target="_blank">Mallard Duck on Wikipedia</a><br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-82194218359048664772012-09-03T12:13:00.000-04:002012-09-03T12:13:48.722-04:00Jesus Christ As Blasphemous ProfanityI got to thinking about profanity the other day, the ways, whys and whens people choose to curse. In the course of my thoughts about profanity I realized that Jesus Christ was pretty much the only religious figure whose name was regularly used as a curse. I wonder why that is?<br />
<br />
I assume anyone able to read this blog already has a pretty good idea who Jesus Christ was but to summarize anyway...<br />
<br />
Jesus is a pivotal figure in the Christian religion and influential to the entire world as well (We all use the same calendar, right? It starts - Year 1 - at Christ's birth 2012 years prior to me writing this blog entry) Christian's believe Jesus was born as the Son of God. Conceived of immaculate conception (his mother was the Virgin Mary) Jesus grew into a prophet of God and eventually powerful enough that the people in charge of things during those times decided he had to die. Jesus was arrested, tried and convicted to death by crucifixion, a particularly nasty method of dispatch that involves a large cross. Followers of the Christian faith believe Jesus died on the cross as a sacrifice to all Mankind's sins. Throughout the many denominations and subsets of the Christian religion symbolism and ritual evoking the name and image of Jesus Christ can still be found today.<br />
<br />
Jesus Christ is a very important dude to a lot of people<br />
And recognized as such by many others who aren't Christians. People of other faiths and even people of no faith know that Jesus Christ is someone important and holy to Christians (just as pretty much everyone knows that Allah's last prophet <span class="st">Muhammad</span> is someone important and holy to followers of Islam)<br />
<br />
So it strikes me as odd that Jesus Christ's name somehow became a profane curse, a swear word used casually by numerous people (even some Christians). It just seems weird. It's not like other religious figures of importance get their names used by countless thousands of people every day as swear words...<br />
<br />
Except maybe God, as in "God damn it!" which is more a demand that God damn something of your choosing. It's not exactly a prayer but it's not exactly a curse either. I'll let the deep thinkers figure that one out.<br />
<br />
Getting back to Jesus...<br />
I don't know when his name was first used as a curse and I don't know why. It seems weird that his name became a profanity still in use today. I mean, he died over 2000 years ago. He was a criminal of his time but was Jesus really that bad a dude his name becomes a curse word? An entire religion is based around his life, death and resurrection. Millions of people around the world have embraced Christ as their savior. How and why did his name end up as a modern day profanity (however mild) to so many?<br />
<br />
And why are so many Christians seemingly okay with the name of Jesus Christ their savior being used as a casual profanity? Honestly, it seems like some Christians get more upset if someone takes a poke at the Catholic Pope than they do about the name of Christ being blasphemed in a curse. Not for nothing but followers of Islam get right upset if someone denigrates the name of Allah or his last prophet Muhammad. People have been killed for profaning the prophet of Islam. Seriously. I'm not suggesting Christians should start condemning to death everyone who usurps the name of Christ the Savior for their own use as a curse. I just find it odd that so many seem okay with it.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because "Jesus Christ", when used as an expletive, is actually a very mild one as curse words go. The more I thought
about it the more I realized people use "Jesus Christ" as a curse of
frustration, exasperated annoyance with someone or something often very
familiar to the person vocalizing Christ's name as a profanity. Even
parents who would never use curse words rhyming with "sock", "ditch", "truck"
or "stunt" anywhere near the ears of young children will use "Jesus Christ" as a swear word around their kids. (Sometimes even directly at their kids.)<br />
<br />
As curses go, "Jesus Christ" is a relatively gentle one. but that still doesn't explain why it became a profanity in the first place. Why pick the Christian's Jesus Christ as a name to profane? Why pick any religious figure at all? Surely there are more deserving individuals throughout history whose names would be more worthy for use as an expletive?<br />
<br />
For example...<br />
<br />
Why this:<br />
<i>"Jesus Christ, what a mess! Who's gonna clean this up?"</i><br />
And not this:<br />
<i>"Adolf Hitler, what a mess! Who's gonna clean this up?"</i><br />
Doesn't Adolf as a curse make more sense than Jesus? Hitler was a bad dude. Pretty much everyone agrees on that. Why isn't his name a curse? How could anyone choose Jesus Christ over Adolf Hitler for use as a profanity? I don't get it.<br />
<br />
Here's another example...<br />
<br />
Why this:<br />
<i>"You did what? Jesus Christ! What were you thinking?"</i><br />
And not this:<br />
<i>"You did what? Mel Gibson! What were you thinking?"</i><br />
Using the name of Christ is bound to offend some Christians (even if they don't overtly demonstrate that it does.) I don't think using my suggestion would offend anyone, would it?<br />
<br />
I don't pretend to have any answers. I have no idea why the name of Jesus Christ became a relatively common profanity... one I've used myself on numerous occasions. I haven't suddenly become offended by it nor have I recently "found God" (or religion). I just got to thinking about things and Jesus showed up in the middle of my thoughts on cursing.<br />
<br />
It just seems weird that there among the descriptive references to body parts (and their functions), sex, scatological humor and other swear word and curse expression mainstays, one finds Jesus Christ... a divine symbol of religion, God's love, salvation and rebirth.<br />
<br />
Whether devout Christian or not, whether believer or atheist, doesn't it seem strange that "Jesus Christ" somehow morphed into a common curse, albeit a mild one?<br />
<br />
I think so. The more I think about it the more it doesn't make sense. All considerations about my personal beliefs and faith aside... using "Jesus Christ" as an expletive just doesn't make sense so I'm going to try and not use it as such anymore. I'm not saying you should or shouldn't make the same decision. Cursing, like religion, is a matter of personal choice.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading.<br />
Take care of yourself.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-2024328039962151002012-08-30T13:33:00.000-04:002012-08-30T13:47:23.371-04:00A Needless AnnoyanceWe humans have used our brains and opposable thumbs to build the environments we live in and the various tools and toys we use to make our lives easier and more entertaining. Humans have designed and built machines that help prolong our lives, machines that process, store and cook our food, machines that transport us from place to place over land, sea and air (even space for a select few), machines that allow us to communicate. We even have machines that think for us. Many human inventions were designed to allow humans the time to relax while the machines did the work. And of course, there are machines designed to amuse us during our new found free time.<br />
<br />
When one considers the incredible variety and number of the machines humans have built over the past couple of thousand years and how many machines we use every day (often without a thought about the wonder of such a thing existing at all) it becomes obvious that machines are as much a part of the human experience as war. (and they have machines for that too.)<br />
<br />
But I have to wonder... are all these machines really necessary?<br />
<br />
<b>Do we, as a species, really need the leafblower?</b><br />
<br />
Of all the needless and annoying machines in the world I think leafblowers are probably the worst. What exactly are they for anyway? To blow leaves around? Who thought building an oversized airgun was the way to make yardwork easier? How did that idea even come up? Was some design engineer raking his lawn one day and decided his time was too precious to waste scraping leaves into a pile with a handheld tool, he needed a machine to do the work for him? Or maybe he was just lazy, raking leaves by hand was just too hard.<br />
<br />
Whatever the reason, the leafblower was invented and quickly put into use in neighborhoods across the urbanized world. If only there were some way to put that particular mechanical monster back into the box because it ranks as the most needless and annoying machine ever created. At least on my list.<br />
<br />
Thinks about what leafblowers replaced... rakes and brooms. (Brooms because people discovered the machines could blow dust from sidewalks and driveways while waiting for leaves to fall from the tree) Rakes and brooms. Tools designed to be powered by the human body using them. Learning the various techniques of their use is easily mastered and they're an efficient tool for the task they were designed to facilitate.<br />
<br />
Best of all... rakes and brooms are QUIET! The neighbors next door or down the street are unlikely to care about the gentle rhythmic swish of a rake or broom in use, if they even notice at all. Neither of those tools are likely to raise enough dust to impact a neighbor's hanging laundry or freshly washed car. Sure it may take a little time and some physical effort to rake a lawn or sweep a driveway but it's quality time. Time spent with your body and mind using a tool which enables you to do the task while thinking about whatever you want. (Something people seem to run from these days - quiet reflective moments alone with one's thoughts. It seems more and more people demand non-stop input no matter from what source or how dreck-filled it might be, as long as it distracts them from actually thinking.)<br />
<br />
Leafblowers on the other hand are <b>LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS!</b> Not only do the neighbors next door know you're out there blowing leaves and/or dust, so do the people down the street... and the people in the next block... the whole darn neighborhood knows because the annoying noise leafblowers emit smothers the environment with its intensity and volume. All issues about leafblower users carelessly blowing crap onto the neighbor's yard, into the street, against someone's car, at passing pedestrians etc... all those issues aside, the noise annoyance factor alone is enough to warrant smashing every single one of those things to useless little bits.<br />
<br />
I'm surprised nobody has started a campaign to ban the darn things. Seems like ban-happy zealots are everywhere these days, everything from plastic bags to smoking outdoors is under attack so why not leafblowers? Why is it ok for one person to blast a whole neighborhood with noise... useless noise... unnecessary noise just because they're too lazy or "too busy" to rake their leaves or sweep their sidewalk?<br />
<br />
If I walked around my yard at 8:00 Sunday morning (or any day at dinnertime) screaming my best impression of engine noises as loud as I could someone would probably call the cops (or yell at me to shut-up) yet someone can walk around their yard making even more noise (and raising more dust) and nobody does anything to stop it because he's using a leafblower? Where's the sense in that?<br />
<br />
And I'm not buying any arguments that carrying a leafblower around is any easier on one's back than raking or sweeping is. If your back is so bad you can't use a rake or broom it sure as heck isn't good enough to strap a leafblower on instead. If your back or physical limitations are such that raking or sweeping is impossible then hire some neighborhood kid to to the job for you. (I shake my head at the addled seniors who buy a leafblower and then hire someone to use it for them.)<br />
<br />
Nope, there's no argument that legitimizes the use of leafblowers.<br />
<br />
Here's another thing...<br />
<br />
<b>LEAFBLOWERS ARE BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT!</b><br />
<br />
They run on gas, no? So that means they're spewing exhaust toxins into the atmosphere at the same time they're polluting our ears. Is the ecological trade-off worth it? It's okay if leafblowers pollute the air, contribute to the continued use of fossil fuels and add to global warming because they make doing yardwork easier? Seriously?<br />
<br />
Leafblowers suck.<br />
That's the truth of it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-90512512611441960012012-08-26T19:54:00.000-04:002012-08-26T19:54:40.018-04:00"A Hero's Call" - An Endorsement.Before I get to adding blog entries created under my newly recognized urge to write I'd like to take a moment to talk about a different blog worth checking out...<br />
<br />
Remember me mentioning the gazillions of blog and other things uploaded to the web each day by its millions of users, and how random it might be that anyone would stumble upon one specific blog? It's a crowded place, the internet is. It's easy to miss some excellent stuff amid the plethora of choices. (Most of them bland, narcissistic, paranoid, anarchistic, boring, judgmental or derivative of a billion others posted last week)<br />
<br />
<b>"A Hero's Call"</b> is a blog you don't want to miss. It's written by Jon McCausland, the co-founder of what once was Canada's greatest independent pro wrestling company... <a href="http://uwahardcorewrestling.com/" target="_blank">UWA Hardcore Wrestling</a> <br />
<br />
Now, before you go running away in a panic at the mention of pro wrestling... relax. While "A Hero's Call" does chronicle the creation and rise of UWA Hardcore Wrestling, at its core is the story of a young man's climb to maturity, the struggle to attain a childhood dream in the face of discovered realities about himself and the family and cultural environment around him. "A Hero's Call" is more a story about the human spirit than it is about pro wrestling. I seriously recommend you check it out. It's a heck of a read. Find it through the link below.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.echoesofthering.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">A Hero's Call</a><br />
<br />
For pro wrestling fans and fans of real-life as entertainment Jon's blog is a piece of a much larger project, a vision that will take pro wrestling to never before seen levels of entertainment and fan inter-action. <b>"Echoes of the Ring" </b>will provide fans a pro wrestling entertainment experience as real as life itself because its core strength is the real life drama and passion of the UWA stars. Inserted within and around those stories are multiple layers and characters adding their energy to the fullness and diversity of the "Echoes of the Ring" experience.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/EchoesoftheRing" target="_blank">Echoes of the Ring teaser videos and more can be found here</a><br />
<br />
Take a few moments to introduce yourself to "Echoes of the Ring".<br />
Read Jon's blog... It's my first stop when I log onto the internet. (and he's on a brief hiatus to recharge - a great time for your to catch up from the beginning.)<br />
<br />
I'll be kicking off Dew On The Newts new direction soon but in the meantime and in-between time, check out <a href="http://www.echoesofthering.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">A Hero's Call</a> and through it "Echoes of the Ring". There are some exciting things on the horizon... entertainment that matters... entertainment with soul.<br />
<br />
Peace<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-27149988050160475392012-08-24T13:54:00.000-04:002012-08-24T13:54:05.352-04:00Changing ArrangingIn the time since my last post I've been doing a lot of thinking about writing. I wasn't sure what direction I wanted to go with this blog. I'm still not sure if I have that question answered yet but it doesn't really matter in the face of something else I discovered...<br />
<br />
I had very little time to put toward the task. If I didn't have the time to write, what difference did knowing what I intended to write about make?<br />
<br />
Putting aside all the internal arguments about whether anything I might write was of any real importance or had any entertainment or other value that made the time it took someone to read it worthwhile I had to first ponder the question of whether the urge to write was strong enough in me to find the time to make it possible to do so.<br />
<br />
Turns out it is. <br />
<br />
That wasn't an easy decision. In order for me to write I need the time to do so. Since I can't add extra time to a day that writing time must inevitably be taken from something else, some other part of my life must be put aside each time I sit and write this blog, for as long as it takes each entry to be created.<br />
<br />
So, I will be continuing this blog.<br />
<br />
As to what exactly I will write about I can't yet say. I have a lot of options (and even more opinions.) My life has been interesting, full of wildly divergent experiences. My interests in things go far beyond my already stated passions for photography, birdwatching and pro wrestling. Like most people, I have strongly felt beliefs about humans and their behavior, the universe and our place in it. All of it is potential material for future editions of this blog.<br />
<br />
I promise nothing except this: I will try to avoid being a negative-spewing jerk using my blog to spread sarcastic, bitter personal judgments across the web. There's enough of those people already. That's not to say I won't write things which some may find offensive, distasteful or ludicrous.<br />
<br />
And of course... I do this knowing each entry to this blog joins millions (maybe billions) of other things loaded to the internet on any given day. Odds are "Dew On The Newts" won't be noticed by many people however, it is my hope that those who do stop by find it time well wasted. If not, oh well. It is my urge to write. Whether there's a reader ultimately doesn't matter (but it would be nice.)<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-11248299205413827362012-06-02T21:50:00.000-04:002012-06-02T22:10:21.150-04:00On The Balcony and The Birds.I spend a lot of time outdoors but not always does that outdoor time involve adventures away from home. Much of the time, those outdoor moments come right at home, on the balcony. More and more in the past 6 months.<br />
<br />
I have discovered that much of what I need cannot be found indoors.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As "homes" go, ours has proven to be an ok place. It's a one bedroom unit in a 11 story apartment building situated about midway between downtown's newly renovated City Hall and the base of "the escarpment", a vertical geographic feature which divides this Southern Ontario city of just over half a million souls. We (myself, my wife Tammy and our chihuahua Isabeau) can walk to either City Hall or the escarpment in about 10 minutes, more if Isabeau decides to stop and sniff more than usual.<br />
<br />
Our apartment is on the 7th floor and looks west. Our Balcony is about 20 feet long and is accessed through a sliding glass door at one end of what we call "the living room". (because it has the TV set and is the place where we entertain company because it's the only space in our apartment big enough for any extra people to fit alongside us.)<br />
<br />
The view from the balcony stretches off to the west but a large chunk of it in the middle is made up of the middle floors of another apartment building on the land beside us. It is one of almost 20 other apartment buildings visible from our balcony. That sounds bad but it really isn't. those other apartment buildings, aside from the behemoth across the alley, blend into the overall scenic view, interesting islands amid what is essentially a forest of trees overseeing block after block of old red-bricked houses.<br />
<br />
Trees for as far as the eye can see. Not bad for a downtown apartment in a city of half a million people. Not bad at all. With those tree come an amazing variety of birds. I see lots of birds from our balcony. There are the city regulars of course, the pigeon, starling, robins and various gulls that one would expect in a welcoming city habitat of trees, parks and gardens.<br />
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Birds love the trees, parks and gardens but our neighborhood also boasts brush & bramble thicket filled gullies, untamed back alleys, railroad lines, overgrown derelict buildings and vacant lots... and of course, the towering city-wide and miles beyond natural wonder that is the Niagara Escarpment. Because of all these bird-friendly environments in our neighborhood (and much of the rest of the "old" part of the city) there are numerous bird species to be seen from our balcony.<br />
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Red-winged Blackbirds, Blue Jays, Mocking Birds, Red-tailed Hawks, Cormorants, Peregrine Falcons, Cardinals, Mourning Doves, Chickadees, Great Blue Herons, Goldfinches, Yellow Warblers, Cowbirds, Canadian Geese, House Sparrows... and then numerous sparrow and finch species as yet not specifically identified and numerous other mystery birds have all been sighted from our balcony.<br />
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I love watching the birds from our balcony. I'd rather be out there watching those amazing creatures go about their lives than inside on the couch watching TV or sitting at the computer.<br />
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From my own perch, a 4 ft wide, 20 ft long slab of concrete 7 stories above the ground watching the birds...<br />
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I can sense the edges of the patterns<br />
that bind all things together<br />
that make sense of being<br />
that lead to balance.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2255220988128446862.post-26954936329753518232012-05-15T21:37:00.001-04:002012-05-15T21:37:48.932-04:00The Truth is Out There (There being Outside)When I posted my last blog entry on May 8th I thought it would be easy to post a new entry every couple of days. I have free time now that I no longer spend hours each day working on a website and there are certainly lots of interesting things going on in the world and my place in it to inspire a more frequent output. I have lots of opinions and I'm not shy about sharing them, nor do I sidestep asking difficult questions of that world, the people in it and of myself.<br />
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Heck, I might even write something worth reading some day... if, that is, I get around to actually writing something.<br />
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I've thought about writing since my last entry of May 8th, lots of times. I just haven't until now, actually sat down to write anything. In fact, I've hardly been at the computer, let alone online, for the last few weeks.<br />
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I've been at work of course but all of my free time, the time I could be writing a blog that maybe, just maybe someone other than my Mother will read, the time I could be on Facebook doing... well, nothing usually, or the time I could be working on re-sizing past photo albums... ALL that free time I have spent doing something else.<br />
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I've been outside.<br />
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Outside, both in the literal sense of being outdoors and the ethereal sense of being outside MY bubble - thoughts, feelings and choices that are borne of an instinctual need to be the center of one's own universe - and instead offering that time to my family... my wife (who I fall in love with again every day) and our dog (the world's cutest Long-haired Chihuahua)<br />
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Oh, and I suppose the cat too.<br />
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Anyway, THAT kind of time, time spent with and about family... as much as possible in the great outdoors...<br />
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That kind of time trumps anything the internet can offer (or TV, movies, video games etc).<br />
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So, that's why I've been derelict (again) in posting entries in this blog but seriously, with all the gazillions and gazillions of things added to the internet every day I'd be kidding myself thinking anybody would stumble across it by accident and read it this far but if you did....<br />
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Here's the good part...<br />
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Going outside instead of online is a good thing. Get offline, get up and get outside.<br />
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Seriously. It's Spring. Wondrous things are occurring everywhere. I will write of some of the things I have seen and what I've discovered in these new lightened days which illuminate the path to whatever future awaits me, in this life and beyond.<br />
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So stop by once in awhile and see if there's anything new. And it should be once in awhile. Hopefully you're spending most of your free time outdoors, with loved ones and family, with God because if one did get the chance to look back at life at the moment of its ending it would be those times remembered for their richness and regretted for being discarded in favor of other less gratifying to the soul that provided a truth too late discovered.<br />
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The truth is out there.<br />
Outside.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10325036283642321374noreply@blogger.com0