Making It Up As I Go Along #569

What's in a Name

When I was young, I often thought about and pitied those people who shared names with celebrities. For instance, I always said that if my name was Michael Jackson, I'd for sure be telling people to call me Mike. Anything to separate from the embarrassment of the famous. 

And so it came to be... There appeared a singer with a temper. Why hello Chris Brown. 

I've had a few crank calls. Teenage girls giggling as they start and unable to get through their rehearsed speel without bursting into fits of laughter. 

I've even had a couple of work calls where detectives or airport workers pause and take a moment from the business at hand to ask me how Rihanna (the beaten girlfriend) is doing.

And I'm left remembering my youth... Wondering if I should follow my Michael Jackson advice. Should I be Christopher? Or borrow from the actor and become Topher? And then I think and realize that very few people actually even call me Chris. 

I think I can count a total of eight people in my life who actually address me as Chris. And one of those eight would be my mother... While six others would all come from the one family (my uncle Bert and his girls... One of their husbands). 

Not even my father calls me Chris. I'm... Son, or My Dear Boy or, when things get silly and mushy, Dad's Man. 

I think about as many people call me Christopher as do Chris. Mostly family friends who have known me since birth or a few other uncles and aunts. I believe Melissa would be my only Ottawa friend who calls me by the long version. And I've an uncle or two that will go by the Pooh Bear stories and call me Christopher Robin, from time to time. 

Being on sports teams, over the years, my last name gets quite a lot of play. And I have lived with the sports typical adding of an "er" to things. Browner has been a popular one and, possibly the most common name I've been called since day one. The sporting world has also given me Brownie, of course... But that isn't as common. And I sometimes gain the nickname of a more famous ball playing Brown. Having some softball teammates calling me Three Fingers (after the old time baseball pitcher, Mordecai Brown). 

There have been other variations on my last name as well. Browner Von Brownser, The Brown, Brun. I've gotten each of them over the years. 

Many people will also play off he who is perhaps the most famous Brown of them all. And they will call me either Charlie or, if feeling spunky... Chuck. 

From good friend, Del, I often get called Apu. He must, in turn be called Nelson by me (this all coming from an old softball team we played on where each member of the team got a Simpson's character name. He being Nelson for his sauciness. And I being Apu for my imitation of the convienience store clerk). 

I get quite a few friends who call me both names. As in "why hello there Chris Brown". And it's somewhat surprising to me that there are lots of people at work who call me Mr. Brown. Even those ten years my senior will call me this. It must come from my sophisticated air... I suppose. 

In the movie, Back to the Future, the actor, Christopher Lloyd (Lloyd being my middle name) plays Doc Brown. And now, because of this, I'm occasionally also addressed as Doc. Though that is more of a rare greeting I probably hear only two or three times through the year. 

My sister always called me Chrissy. Sometimes lengthening it out to Chrissy Brown in a tone that is more singing to me than addressing me in conversation. I've an aunt or two who have copied Edena in that. And my nieces always used to call me Chrissy when they were not far into talking ages. They later switched to Turkey... In keeping with the long time joking and teasing that we've had. Where I began calling the oldest, Fraser, Turkey. And she would laugh and tell me that she's not a turkey... "You're the turkey!"  

So, in the end, with me now sharing my name with a famous meat head, I guess I've never seriously considered switching things up because, over the years, I've been addressed by so many different names that the switching never seemed necessary. 

I guess I'll need to get it put in my will, as to what I'm to be called at the end of my days. Otherwise, the headstone may have to be enormous. 

FRIDAY...

--- Work alone. Pretty busy day. Left me pretty tired afterwards. 

SATURDAY...

--- Quiet day in the office. 

SUNDAY...

--- Lots of snow. I'm left with a pretty boring day. Up. Breakfast... Shovel for half an hour... Afternoon nap... Softball... Nightshift at work. Get a Shwarma on the way in. 

MONDAY...

--- Take the night off work. I only had about three hours sleep prior to shift and my stomach is touchy today. So hang around the house and catch up on tv. 

TUESDAY...

--- Almost in trouble sleep wise again. Awake at 5:50 and stay awake about a half hour. But get back to sleep until 10:00. So that helps. 

--- Too cold for a walk. -17 feeling like -25. Ugh. I stay in and lounge. 

WEDNESDAY...

--- Bit of a drive in the country. Do a walk also, expecting that the temp warming by a good ten degrees over yesterday would make it nice. But I cut things short as jeans aren't good enough on their own, I'm getting cold, and only last about a half hour. 

THURSDAY...

--- Out walking for almost an hour and a half. Brought the camera with me so it was a slow pace. Got some squirrels and a few small woodpeckers. 

--- Getting fed up with my neck. A week or two ago, the right side was tight and sore. Now tonight, the left side flares. I suppose it's all from poor posture on the sofa during tv watching but I know sleeping on my stomach doesn't help. 

FRIDAY...

--- On a day I planned to clean around the house, I'm spending most of the day with a hot pack on the side of my neck. Conserving things for the shovelling of the driveway... As the snow falls all day. 

Making It Up As I Go Along #568

Two for one today...

Winter Lips
Winter lips
Splitting with a smile
Like a squatting fat man's pants

Dying Slippers
Sliding along the coldness
Wool and cotton foot huggers

Foreign wool clinging
Darned with motherly love
A grey mishmash reinforcing the blue
Holding fast those weak points of pressure

And yet more cotton fluffs out
A loss of feathery inners
More chinks in the wooly armour
A great gap opens
Slippers becoming more darned than knit
Perhaps this time now done.


THURSDAY...

--- Most angry day I think I've had at work. Was tired... Physically. Was tired of constant interruptions and nosiness. And then was hit by incompetence in relation to the glasses I got 14 months ago... Resulting in me needing to go to the optomitrist and shelling out the money I was originally told insurance would cover. I'll get back what insurance actually will cover. But it's still an unexpected, and unwanted expense. In the end, I killed a pen today... My throwing ability knows no bounds. 

--- Lasagna lunch at the cafeteria with Shannon was literally the only non-annoying thing of the day. 

FRIDAY...

--- Make it through today with all pens intact. Not going to lie... Some eye rolling did occur today at work... But I stayed in control... And didn't have to pay anyone any money. 

SATURDAY...

--- Awake around 10:00... Up around 11:00. 

SUNDAY...

--- Pre work softball. We lose 4-1. A very low score for indoor three pitch. I score our one run but only hit 1-4 in the game. Odd game all around. Good defence. 

--- Clear all night. Step away from the desk for ten minutes at 4:15 am or so... Come back to snow on the ground. Came quick. 

MONDAY...

--- Up around 11:00 but not out of bed until closer to 12:30. Watch a little tv. Shovel the driveway. Shovel Harley's driveway next door. Do a thirty minute walk.

TUESDAY...
--- Another walk today and hang about the house.  Laundry is about as exciting as it gets.

WEDNESDAY...
--- Too cold to walk.  Windchill into -20s.  

Making It Up As I Go Along #567

Schokee Winters

Ours was a stumpy dog.

Her West Highland legs only keeping her six inches above the land.  And with tangling wisps of fur down her sides, it would not be uncommon for those things of the ground to be carried along upon her underbelly.

In winter times, she would often return from the backyard with icy globs of snow hanging off of her.  Making her sides and belly like a beaded door of a hippy's apartment.

She was never much for a pause when returning from a bad weather day.  She'd fly through the door and want to scamper into the warm depths of the house.  Perhaps aiming for the carpet under the dining room table.  Maybe to run a mad lap or two, encircling the living room, dining room, front hall, and kitchen.

So she'd often have to be grabbed to a halt as she bounded into the sunroom.  And she'd wait in antsy fashion as you sat on the floor next to her, picking off the bits of icy snow as if they were burrs from fall bushes... clinging to sweaters after afternoon hikes.

There was an art to the picking.  A simple grab and tug would bring yelps of pain from her sooky mouth.  You'd, instead, have to try squeezing off the top of the snow.  Like pinching and twisting an apple off a tree.  Sometimes the snow would cling too tightly.  And you'd have to wrap your hand around each ball, bringing a quick melt to the situation, and then crumble the snow off onto the patio door mat below.

When enough was removed, you'd let her go.  And off she'd fly... a streak of white fluff with the clattering of nails upon the floor.  In later years, the flying streak would more resemble a jogging bathroom mat.  Sometimes she'd lose control when reaching the two small stairs leading from the sunroom to the kitchen, and the jog would halt right there... reset... and continue on sheepishly.

On stormy days she'd change her mind about trips outside.  Downstairs, she'd hound you to get up from in front of the TV and follow her to the door so she could do her business.  And, when the door slid open, showing the whipping snow as the winds howled across the yard... she'd stop... and sniff the cold... and sit on the mat for a minute... deciding she really doesn't need to go all that badly after all.

You'd force her out.  Tell her she needs to go.  And stand watching at the door as she'd leap and bound over the drifts, find her spot next to the shed, squat quickly... headlong into the wind so strong that her ears would blow back behind her.

In less than a minute her work would be done.  And the leaps and bounds back to the deck would have her scrambling for the door.  On those days, she'd much appreciate your consideration.  So a timed opening of the door would lift her spirits as the scramble would need no break... she'd continue on into the house... give herself a good shake... then wag her tail as she looked up at you... almost smiling.

Those times when you thought she'd need to take more time... when you'd venture to the refrigerator for a peckish look... she'd bellow to you with such a sharp yap of a bark that you'd quickly close the fridge and jog back into the sunroom.  She'd be padding down the door with one paw and, upon seeing you come, spin on the spot... doing a full 360 with excited relief as she anticipated the opening of the door.

On nice winter days, she enjoyed the outdoors.  And on days after a new, fresh powder had fallen, I couldn't help myself.  I'd scoop her into my arms and toss her out off the deck, watching as she'd splay out in mid air... before disappearing into the white with a frosty cloud lifting up into the air.

She'd then leap out from the crater her little body created.  Bounding through the snow in search of firmer footing.  And, when found, she'd turn and sneeze and pant with excitement.

Sometimes I'd shovel her lanes within the backyard.  One to her place next to the shed.  The wind always swept most of the snow away from that spot, so doing her business was easier there.  Another lane would go out towards the trees of the backyard.  I'd make a loop here and connected this area up with the side of the house under the dining room window.  This area was often sheltered from the wind and I figured it would be a nice little get away for her.

I'd cross the lanes, creating figure eights, straight aways for speed and blind corners where a little dog would not be sure of what lay just around the bend.

And once I was done, I'd go to the door, peak my head in, and call to her.  She'd come bounding up the stairs or you'd hear the thump of her leaping off a bed and along she'd come, happily wanting to see what the fuss was about.

Once outside, she'd sprint the snowy lanes of the backyard.  Wanting to see what was over here... and then heading on over there to explore that other end of the yard.  And, when she wasn't paying attention, I'd lay down in mid lane.  Hidden from her view I'd wait for her leaping exploration to come upon me.  Within minutes she'd reach me... hitting the breaks hard in the snow... stopping within inches of my face.  And with joy and excitement, she'd sometimes spin about and sprint off from where she came... kicking up snow in my face with the acceleration.  Other times... when she was getting ready for a break anyway... she's stop there next to me.  Jump slightly on the spot as she happily barked at me, and happily receive a rub on her back or under her chin from my mitted hand.

WEDNESDAY...

--- Dayshift. We learn of our new teams for January today too. I'm pretty happy with my matchup. 

--- Snowy day. Not many have been on the road in my neighbourhood when I leave. Maybe mine are the third set of tracks in the snow. And other roads are also touchy. What should be two lanes is one. And what should be three is sort of two and a half. In the end, about 25 cm falls. 

--- Shovelling after work is rough. Slept funny last night and my neck and shoulder are tight. Still, 30 min of shovelling straight from work and another ten minutes worth before bed. 

THURSDAY...

---  Still sore and stiff in the neck and shoulder. And that goes with a tight back from shovelling. I'm at work moving about like a Lego man. 

--- Cold out. Around -18 or so with wind. Still venture out to lunch with Shannon. 

FRIDAY...

--- Get some Wendy's on the way to work. And work is reasonable through the night. My back finally feels fine again and, by late evening, my neck begins to loosen. Shoulder is still half half though. 

SATURDAY...

--- When people show up to work at 4:15 on a Saturday morning... To work overtime... There is no other word to use other than loser. 

SUNDAY...

--- Lounge in the house after about four hours sleep. Go to softball in the evening. We win. I hit pretty well but have a few adventures in the outfield. Losing one ball in the doom's roof and having another hit on a line over my head. Doesn't hurt us anyway. 

--- Hate the silliness in hockey injury talks. Players never have a cold or flu. They have "flu-like symptoms". Same goes for concussions. "Concussion-like symptoms" is a concussion. Stop insulting our intelligence.

MONDAY...
--- A walk and lots of quiet time around the house.
--- Got stuff from Amazon today... not delivered via drones though.  Some good Black Friday deals were taken advantage of for Ken Burns Baseball, Deliverance on Blue Ray, and some flash drives for storage.

TUESDAY...
--- Out walking again.  Also a grocery run.