Making It Up As I Go Along #434

A change upcoming in my blog writing. My shift at work is changing again. I will post again next Sunday, as normal... but after that I’ll post on the following Saturday and, from that point on, back to how it was done last year (every eight days). So in this case, after I post on Saturday, October 9, the following post will be on Sunday, October 17, then Monday, October 25... and so on.

Adventure of Storms
I was snowbound once. Stuck within my home, unable to venture out. It didn’t last long. The length of a phone call really.

I was in St. John’s then...

This is the winter of all winters. Storm after storm. Literally. Over a two week period, we had seven blizzards. And they actually came every second day. It was the most organized pattern of weather I’ve seen.

Luckily for me this winter, I am not working. So when others have to try to maneuver ever narrowing streets, walled by icy snow... I hunker down in my loft with a lit wood stove and a cozy blanket.

I awake most mornings to the sound of shovels and scrapers. The working class preparing their cars. And after they’re all gone, I venture out to quiet streets. Mounds of snow climb the row houses. There’s nowhere else to go but up our walls. By the end, I go two and a half months with my living room window darkened by snow.

Another storm comes and the forecast is ominous. A winter hurricane they call it. I’m intrigued.

The snow is heavy and the winds high. By the early afternoon, I think about stepping outside for a better feel to it all. And here’s where the problem presents itself. My doors, both front and back, are held closed by snow drifts.

Usually, if such a thing happens, it’s either the front door or the back... the snow will only pile up in these drifts where the wind blows. But on this day, there’s so much snow coming down... and so much wind swirling about... it comes from all sides.

I call my parents and talk to dad. “I’m stuck”. I say. “Snowed in”.

Dad vows to come over when the weather breaks and break the seal to the tomb that is my house.

After I hang up the phone, I give it another try. A bit more force on my end... force being my shoulder against the door and feet planting into the porch mat... gains my freedom. I open the door enough to slip out through the crack.

I climb out as a mountaineer squeezing through a crevice... leaving the warmth of civilization and entering the world of whipping white. Giant globs of snow... the result of hundreds of flakes being mashed together before ever making it to the ground... slap my face.

I stay long enough to do what needs to be done. I shovel out my front door. Forget a walkway. I don’t need to clear room to get anywhere. Just enough to be able to open the door when I want to.

I venture through the lane to my back yard. Trudging through the narrow passage with my head tucked low to the ground, keeping the snow from my eyes. And at the back, I repeat the door clearing process. Just enough to be able to open... nothing more.

The trek back to my front door sees me retracing my steps. Stomping my feet into the holes made less than a half hour before. I could be wandering the Himalayas. It would be no different.

Re-entering my front porch was as an astronaut returning to the shuttle after a space walk. Or as a deep sea explorer, returning to the submarine. My porch has become an airlock. A barrier from the harshness out there... and the life in here.

Stripping off my shell of snow swept protection, I return to the phone and call back to my parents. “I’m free”. I say. Much relief comes from the other end of the line. Perhaps relief in that their only son is not entombed alone any longer. But more likely relief that no more thought need be given to the idea of making the drive from their home to mine. In this weather, such journeys are like space travel. My parents can remain safely on Earth. The emergency on my Mars has been averted.

For the rest of the day, some ten hours or so, I return to the outdoors regularly... to turn back the snow. It becomes a routine. Every hour and a half, I could get out through my doors and remove the buildup of white. Two hours may be too much time to wait. At an hour and a half, the snow has already built up over the bottom inches of the doors... just not enough to get a stranglehold on the house.

The day is an interesting one. Being in row houses on the edge of the downtown core, my life is an urban one. I have a back yard, with large trees. But these are urban trees. Planted in straight lines, making artificial rows. Growing this way for a hundred years.

Yet even with my urban setting, a rural lifestyle is brought on by the weather. Wood stoves and fire places... nearby windows glowing with the flicker of candles... and the sounds of snowmobiles. Yes snowmobiles.

If the wind weren’t blowing so high, they could be heard from blocks away, but as things are, I only hear them when they reach my doorstep. I look out, down upon the street from my loft window, and see the bobbing light of the snowmobile, followed closely by the vehicle itself. A neighbour, making his way down the street, this urban street, on a snowmobile. He bounces over the rolling hills of street snow. And disappears down the road, into the swirling white air.

Later that night, I go out again to clean my doors. And while there, I pause a moment. I wander out into the middle of my street. The snowmobile tracks gone already, blown from existence. A few sets of footprints are all that can be seen. Snowy depressions that show signs of passers by. The prints are out here in the middle of the road. No need for pedestrians to be shy tonight. All cars are now snow mounds, blending in along side that which plows have shoved up along the sides of the road.

And there I stand in my street. Windows flickering on either side of me... candles and lanterns dancing light on drapery. And the sound of the wind above. Too strong for a howl. Winter hurricanes don’t howl. They scream. Screaming down my street. Screaming by my ears. Screaming over the houses and down the hills.

And there, twenty feet from my front door... with my car buried in white some ten feet to my left... and surrounded by people who linger and wait just on the other side of wind swept walls... there I know what it feels like atop Mount Everest. With the snow whipping your face, with fading tracks of those adventurers who passed before me. And with the winds... winds that scream about me.


MONDAY...
— Reasonable day... although it starts rough. 5:30 alarm clocks are jarring.

TUESDAY...
— Work is hard on the back today. Home getting nailed with a hurricane. One place on the island getting more than 230 mm of rain today. Crazy. St. John’s got more than 130 mm and winds up to 150 km/h... mom and dad lose a tree.
— Supper after work with Karl. He buys me the meal and gives me one of his paintings. Quite nice of him. A good time.

WEDNESDAY...
— Last outdoor softball game of 2011. It goes alright... the legs aren’t thrilled with me... but just some groans from knees and calves... nothing serious.
— Watch some hockey on TV tonight. Exhibition hockey stinks... why any fan would pay more than $10 to watch it live, I don’t rightly know. Plenty of suckers out there I guess.

THURSDAY...
— Fairly ordinary work day with grocery shopping to follow and some PVR’d TV after that.

FRIDAY...
— Mixed bag at work. I do three or four different things.
— Hockey pool draft after work. I pick 4th out of 9 teams and, even with that, love the team I got.
— Some evening TV and video game hockey.

SATURDAY...
— Baseball day on the video game front. And I join Netflix. Get a free month to try it out... watched a movie off my Playstation 3. JCVD was good. This also allows me to watch any Netflix movie or TV show on my Touch as well. So we’ll see... maybe I’ll keep it.
— The day after that hockey pool draft I liked, one of my players is injured. Bad sign.

Making It Up As I Go Along #433

Fortresses of Solitude
I’ve always enjoyed tucking away in small spaces. As a kid, a blanket or two tucked here and there made my bunk bed’s lower bunk a chamber of solitude.

The old love seat, in the living room was propped on an angle and leaving a triangular space where the corner of the room makes two sides, and the love seat back makes the third. I’d push the love seat out on one side of the wall... just enough for an eight year old to squeeze by. And just enough for a Sparky dog to be coaxed in behind him. Me and the dog sitting there, in secret... until the dog got bored. Back scratching could hold him there no more, and he click click clicks down the hardwood hall to see what else is going on.

Linen closets, both at home and in my grandmother’s house, where fine places to tuck away in. A unique quietness where the normalness of the rest of the house can be heard beyond the door. Where a line of that normalness can be viewed through the crack in the closet door. But there, on the dark side of the door, a stillness.

A crawl space in a friend’s basement. As a room for a tiny species of people. Boxes of old kitchen cutlery, worn out Christmas decorations, and old suitcases of old cloths... all as ancient relics to be explored as you crawl along the maze. While parents drank coffee in the living room, we were explorers of ancient Egyptian tombs.

Toys and a flashlight under a bed. A little fort within the house. Sometimes curiosity would get the best of the dog... and Sparky would shuffle in... clawing along the hardwood... making his way towards the light... my flashlight. It was a sad point of childhood when under the bed was outgrown. The last few ventures there being a claustrophobic journey. Unable to turn my head... needing to leave it turned to either my left or right. Such trips were short and depressing. A little world that was just for me and the dog... cut off.

With our second dog, came a travel crate. The crate was her home within our home. Sometimes, I’d crawl in with her... and being a sweet little dog, she never reacted as if I’d infringed upon her territory. Her reaction was more that of host. Smiling dog eyes, a little lick of the tongue, and she’d lay down next to me, nuzzle through her blanket, and happily produce a tennis ball from within it’s folds... giving it a squeeze or two... daring me to try and take it.

As an adult, the small spaces to tuck in to aren’t as easily available. Storage closets, which once could have been explored for the treasures that may lay within, are just storage closets. When you’re the one who put it there, the treasures are just stored items. Yet even now, after a few years of storage, items become forgotten and a cleaning of the closet produces a moment of treasure discovery. There’s that old baseball glove!

But there are still cozy spaces. The seat at the dinning room table where the kitchen counter blocks off one end, and the wall is at your back. It’s why booths are always better than tables at restaurants. Little tuck aways where people bring you food.

My kitchen nook has the potential. From the rest of the house, it could be assumed the nook doesn’t exist. An entire room that opens up beyond the refrigerator. But, for now it’s a mess of papers and small things to store... and the place where my bike sits.

Soon I’ll have to get to work in that nook. Throw out some things and buy a cabinet to hold others. So that I can put a chair over there... and have a little reading nook. A place to sit in secret. A little fortress of solitude.

MONDAY...
— Lately it’s felt like the laptop is on it’s last legs. Very slow at start up much of the time... and often getting pop ups about scripts not running and such. Need to go computer shopping soon. Five years and the laptop is near retirement.
— Groceries after work. Would have got them yesterday and even drove to the store, but it was crazy busy and I didn’t even stop the car, returning home again. Today was fine.

TUESDAY...
— Wake early with my head swimming... it doesn’t go away. Sick day from work results. Not sure if it’s sinus issues or what.
— Around the house with the TV and computer and rest. Feel better in the late afternoon but start to decrease again in the evening. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

WEDNESDAY...
— Still feeling unwell. Go to work and am draining as the morning goes... decide to do lunch and see about maybe leaving in the afternoon. But lunch peps me up and I stay. By the night, I’m feeling better... but still got a feeling where it’s like my strength reserves aren’t high... it wouldn’t take much.
— This new Survivor show... this may be bad. Old against young... Jeff calling them the Younger Tribe and the Older Tribe rather than the names given them... Jimmy Johnson, the old football coach... the medal of power. Oh boy, could be the beginning of the end of this franchise.

THURSDAY...
— Staff barbeque on the coldest day of the summer. I think it tops off at about 11 today and rains in the afternoon. I get my dogs and drink and get back inside quick.
— Feeling pretty much better now. Tired... but that’s likely more to do with day shift than being under the weather. Always tired on day shift.

FRIDAY...
— Good to get the week over with. Tired. Call home after work to chat with the parents... and then watch some TV in the evening.

SATURDAY...
— Lots of laundry and lots of video game baseball today. Make spaghetti for supper too. A relaxing day.

Making It Up As I Go Along #432

My End Shall Be a Dreadmill

Some will go with violence.
The price of war
Or being in a convenience store
When drug habit cash
Is taken
At gunpoint.

Some will go quietly.
Asleep in bed
Breathing in sync with a love
As has been for decades before
When one breath ends with a shutter
And the love goes on alone.

Some will be lightning struck.
On a golf course
With three friends
A few distant rumbles
Ignored in hopes of a birdie
KaBlam!

Some will drive into another.
Going too fast on the highway
While the rain falls at night
A deer wishes to cross
The steering wheel shall meet face
And a roadside grave follows.

I shall go by dreadmill.
The device that allows running inside
Spelt with a T and not that D
But for me it’s a dread
Causing lungs to malfunction
My corpse shall slide out the back
While the dread continues it’s revolving journey
My end met with a computer’s beep
As a fitness program ends
Prematurely.



THURSDAY...
— From working evenings to straight to bed... Friday will be an early start.

FRIDAY...
— Up at 5:00... Sarah and Bana pick me up at 5:40... Work for 6:00.
— Breakfast at work with my team and by 9:15, we’re off to golf.
— Golf is fun but the marshalls on the course are pains... hassling our team four or five times for slow play.
— Supper there and back home by six or so... tired and relaxing.

SATURDAY...
— House day. Video game baseball and hockey (bought the hockey yesterday). It’ll take some getting used to, I’m not very good, but fun to have.
— A pizza comes in to make Saturday what Saturday is supposed to be.

Making It Up As I Go Along #431

The Washed Up Boot on Sandy Cove


Dad looking out to sea at Back Western Shore (or as dad would say (Backwester shore)


Brimstone Head at Sunset

Things I learned in a Week.

Sports
Softball is a great game when people actually work together... Standing around, wishing for it to hurry up and end, ruins it for all.

There is something magical about a lit ball field at night. Softball or baseball. Seeing adults or kids running around, catching lazy fly balls, picking up one hoppers and throwing them in on a rope, or just flicking the ball around the infield at the end of a play... it’s all amplified and theatrical under the lights.

The only thing that could make me wish I was 16 again is a lit up softball field.

Movies
Guilty pleasure movies are unexplainable. How someone could prefer Drop Zone over Gone With the Wind defies all logic... but it happens. Good ol’ Drop Zone.

Alan Doyle (of Great Big Sea)... will not become a full time actor... and Robin Hood (of great Hollywood Blockbuster material) is average.

The Air Up There really is a good movie. And it’s okay for men to think George Clooney is cool.

There are moments in Chariots of Fire that still give me cold shivers.

Fogo Island
The ferry to Fogo would give tourists, going for a first time, fits.

No Ferry terminal should be placed in the middle of a gravel pit.

No recycling sign should say “Please remove all bottle caps... We do not accept crushed cans... Please wash bottles and cans before recycling”.... when they could instead say “No Stoppers... Not Squat... Fairly Clean”.

The term, Newfie, should never proudly be displayed on a t-shirt.

A washed up boot on the beach holds greater impact than a washed up sneaker. One appears as a tombstone for a lost fisherman... the other as a tossed overboard prank by American tourists.

Sunsets at Brimstone Head qualify as one of the wonders of the natural world.

There are trees on Fogo Island... but my memory of the place always happily leaves them out.

Anytime Back Western Shore is in sight, it must be visited.

Scaffolding can be as holy as any church choir.

Travel
Ottawa is a horrible city to drive in at 4:15 on a Thursday afternoon.

Long Term Parking at the start of a trip makes you feel just a little bit more alone.

Looking out an airplane window at night is still mesmerizing. Who’d ever think one could get more interest from a window to blackness than to a touch screen of multi-media choices.

Sometimes, in arrival sections of airports, mothers can walk right on by you.

Flying with only carry on baggage is incredibly freeing to the soul.

A pot of soup is always a nice thing to find at the end of a day of travel.

Sometimes mechanical malfunctions on planes bring the greatest of opportunities... an unexpected lunch with your dad... and an unexpected upgrade to luxury.

Halifax airport is best when you’re asked to remain onboard your plane.

Long Term Parking at the end of a trip makes you feel very alone.

Five days away allows you to see first hand exactly how much garbage gets jammed into your mailbox.


MONDAY...
— An old cheesy movie before work. Drop Zone, with Wesley Snipes, is on Movie Pix.
— Work is ok... not much out of the ordinary.

TUESDAY...
— Not a fun game of RCMP softball. Don’t like it to much when people quit before the game is actually over.
— Work until 12:45... Hardly seems worth being at work so late for ball when people don’t try at ball.

WEDNESDAY...
— Sleep in until 11:00. Pack and laundry before work. Supper with Annick and Janice... sort of... takes a half hour to go get the food and bring it back.... so eat while I work. Home early to prepare for days tomorrow.

THURSDAY...
--- woke at 3:50. Work from 7 to 4 makes for a long and tiring day.
--- hour to drive the 15 km to the airport. --- fly home. Basically get in, have soup, go to bed.

FRIDAY...
--- up early and on the road. Drive to the Fogo ferry terminal. Get there by 2:00. But between delays and missing a run due to crowds, don't get on the way to Fogo until around 6:00. Supper is about all we do on the island today.

SATURDAY...
--- start early. Joe Batt's, Tilting, Sandy Cove, lunch at Nicole's Restaurant, walk to a studio being built (where the wind through the scaffolding sounds as lonely music), little break at the room, hike the Lion's Den trail, shower, back to Nicole's for supper, rain and wind pick up once we get back. Just beat the rain while the wind has been a gradual increase from nothing this morning to 40 km/h tonight.

SUNDAY...
--- up early again. To the ferry and then to uncle Bert's for lunch. Back to St. John's from there. Home by 7:00 and to the Riggs family house by 8:30.

MONDAY...
--- dead most of the day. Just dragged out from the running around of the last week. Lounge around the house... Supper is turkey and the fixings with mom, dad, Wince, Brenda, Wayne, and Sylvia. Stuffed. Cards after that.
--- Del pops by, as does Dave, for an hour of catch up in the late evening/night. To bed after that.

TUESDAY...
— Up early for flight back to Ottawa. Alarm went off at 5:00. About to board plane at 6:30... and delay. Maintenance. And more delay... and more. By 7:45, they tell us it’ll be 1:30... so I get my stuff back and dad picks me up. While home, cancelled flight. Ends up ok as the phone call to Air Canada gets me on a 2:30 flight quickly. Dad and I eat lunch at the airport, and then I try it again.
— Bumped up to Business Class... Del appears to be my good luck charm... he works on the ground crew for the flight, and I get a good seat. Need to get him working all my flights... keep the good luck rolling.
— Home by 6:20. A bit off the 8:20 AM that was originally scheduled. Forget work on this day.
— Unpack and clear up stuff like computer... digital pictures... iPod Touch.