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A recent post on Facebook from my friend Penney:

“I would like a few minutes alone with whatever sick freak of a toy manufacturer came up with the idea of noisy toys with no OFF SWITCH! What, did they cut a secret deal with Duracel? I’m so tired of hearing these things go off when I clean the kids’ rooms.”

Seeing that I’m having trouble coming up with things to write about I figured this would make a great theme for a blog post.  What other rat bastard’s are out there?

How about…

The idiot’s who made the decision to keep manufacturing one-ply toilet paper after two-ply hit the market?  Rat Bastard!

The guy who invented the alarm clock?

The guy who came up with perforations on packaging to make it easier to open packages?  For the most part I think the perforations are re-enforced.

The person who came up with the idea of daylight savings?

The guy who came up with that stupid baby on board sign?  Do you honestly believe I am going to change my driving habits because you have a baby on board?  A co-worker once told me that she has one so that other drivers will understand if she suddenly slows down because she has to attend to the baby in the back seat!  Excuse me people but if that is your thinking then might I suggest that having a baby in your car does not entitle you to become a moving hazard.  Pull off the road and deal with the child, or how about this, let the kid cry!  It won’t kill anybody.

Joggers who jog on the street? Do people honestly think that is healthy? Pounding your knees, feet and hips on that pavement?  Breathing in those fresh car fumes? How about the ones who jog in 90 degree heat, or when it is 10 below zero? And a note to those who jog three and four abreast so they are halfway into the road, my car trumps your bones.   

The person who is undoubtedly going to come up with something better than blue-ray? I don’t want to buy a new piece of equipment and I don’t want to buy my movies…again.

Those that win big in the lottery only to end up in debt three years later?  For crying out loud just give me the money.

I’m sure this list will grow as time goes by.  Feel free to add your own in the comment section.

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Twenty minutes from our home sits Way Fruit Farm which has been owned by the same family for six generations. As the name suggests they grow fruit, but they are so much more. They carry vegetables and meat from local growers and farmers plus ciders and baked goods. They also have a sandwich shop and a gift type store that is always fun to peruse filled with teas, coffees, farmhouse furniture and crafts by local artisans.

In the fall they set up wagon rides for the kids, a trebuchet for the annual pumpkin toss. During the different growing seasons you can either go into the field and for a few cents less a bushel you can pick your own fruit or you can spend the extra few cents and purchase the stuff already picked. Can you guess which I choose?

So why, might you ask, am I sharing all this information with you? I know what you are thinking. An earlier post of mine managed to snag me a free meal at Denny’s because of the wonderful stuff I said about them, and perhaps now I am going to try for free fruit. While that would be nice and we really do like Way Fruit Farm this post is about to take a turn for the worse.

The good folks at the Farm happen to have a Facebook page. Who doesn’t? The other day I came across the following post from our friendly farmers:

Way Fruit Farm: “Apple Tree trimming Demo: Sat., March 26, 10:30am. Free! Bring your own hand trimmers to practice on our trees. Meet in lobby @ farm store and head to orchard across the road. Dress for cold & mud as both are a possibility. Bring anyone else not interested in trimming too! Our café is open for breakfast & lunch. Browse craft & home decor area, newly decorated for spring! Kids enjoy “Corn Bin” play area.”

Now you may be thinking, ‘that sounds like it could be fun’ and you may be right. I, however am a little more cynical I didn’t read fun into the above post, here is what I imagine went down in the Way household the other morning:

Way Fruit Farm Employee:

“Man! Time to prune and trim up those cursed apple trees, wouldn’t be bad if there were just a handful but there are so many. Up at the crack of dawn and not coming in from the fields till it is too dark to see, it is going to take weeks to prune the blasted trees.’

Reluctantly the faithful employee bends down to put on his old boots, he sighs as he pulls tightly on the laces and then it strikes him, strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

‘I know, we can teach other people how to trim apple trees, not only that we can have them bring their own equipment, not only that we can have them practice trim our trees cutting the time it usually would take in half.’

He grins to himself and knows his employers the Way’s will simply love the idea. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, it is going to be a great day after all. Then another though strikes him. This thought strikes him so hard he has to sit and laugh.

‘And then when it is time for the harvest, we can let them pick their own apples and charge them for the pleasure!”

As my friend Murray Sawchuck likes to say, “livin’ the dream…livin’ the dream.

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I’m not a fan of bowling.  When I was just a wee boy my friend had a bowling birthday party.  I cannot remember if it was Brahm or Robert, what I do remember is that two prizes were awarded, one for the best score and one for the worst.  I did win a prize that day.  

The last time I was bowling was in Vancouver with my friends Tony and Penney and the reasons why I don’t like bowling came flooding back.  In no particular order:

1)      I don’t like having to rent shoes, especially clown shoes to play a sport. 

2)      I worry my fingers are going to get stuck in the ball.

3)      Just like I can’t stop worrying about the person who wore the clown shoes before me, I can’t stop worrying about the person’s fingers that were in the ball before me.

4)       When I get to the foul line I find that either my foot placement is wrong or I’m not ready to release the ball. 

5)      The scores are automatically calculated and appear on the wall where everyone can see.  I really do not need to have to pay to be humiliated.  My crappy scores are private thank you very much.

6)      Bowling, like most sports goes against my basic credo:  Sitting is better than standing, lying down is better than sitting.

7)      Did I mention the clown shoes?

One summer in the late 1990’s in Vancouver Tony called me up and asks if I want to go rollerblading with him and his wife Penney.

Me:  I’ve never been on roller blades, have you?

Tony: No.

Me: Has Penney

Tony: No

Me: Sure

Tony: How about we meet at your place in about half an hour.

I learned a life lesson that day.  Being able to stop is almost, if not even more important than learning how to go.  Now I work in a warehouse and that lesson still holds true, before you pick up a box you had better know where you are going to put it down.  In short, you always need an exit strategy.

We got to Stanley Park, found a place to rent the blades and once again I had to deal with renting ‘shoes’ it took all my strength but I managed to ignore the imaginary legionares disease crawling up my legs.  in very short order we were able to stand and move forward providing we stayed on level ground. The issue of stopping would soon rear its ugly head.

There was a ‘medic/security/park employee standing at the top of a short, steep, sudden downward slope.  As other rollerblader’s approached this spot he would ask them if they needed help getting down this ‘obstacle’.  I really wanted to say yes.  But nobody else took him up on his offer.  Penney who became our leader declined his help as did Tony, like a sheep to the slaughter I followed the crowd.  We all made it and agreed a short break was in order.

Well rested and back on our wheels we pressed on.  We came to another steep downward slope, not as bad as the previous one but it kept going for some time before it leveled out. I tried to warn Tony not to stop by rolling onto the grass as was his habit.  I knew at speed that the ‘sudden grass stop’ could be a bone breaker.  Penney went first, in seconds she was flying and seemed to be having a good time.  I jumped next I wasn’t having such a great time, I am not an adrenaline junky I didn’t like my lack of control and for the life of me I didn’t know how I was going to stop if I needed too.  Tony was right on my heels.  We were moving pretty quick, Penney was almost at the bottom of the slope, I turned my head to check on Tony, he was heading for the grass, I heard his yelp the last I saw of Tony were the wheels of his roller blades partially hidden by a bush. 

Despite my concern for him I started to laugh.   Through the tears of my hysterical laughter I saw Penney sitting on the grass waiting for us. Finally I was moving slowly enough I could use the ‘sudden grass stop’ method.  I ended up beside Penney, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop.  To my defense the laughter was not all about Tony most of it was tension release, flying Tony was just the trigger.

“Where is my husband?” Penney asked.  All I could do was point to the bush.  Penny while clearly worried also started to laugh, only she was laughing because I was hysterical, she was looking at the direction I was pointing but didn’t see Tony.  “Brian, where is Tony” at which point Tony crawled out from behind the bush and started to remove his roller blades which of course started another wave of laughter from both Penney and myself. 

To this day I can still hear the noise Tony made as he flew into the bushes, I can still see Penney as a blurry form in front of me as I found here through my tears of laughter.  And since that day I have not participated in an activity where I’ve had to rent shoes.

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One would think that having Crohn’s disease I would not have so many issues with bathrooms.  I envy people who can just walk into a public bathroom do their business and move on.  I’ve talked with other Crohn’s sufferers and they don’t seem to care too much about bathrooms.  Sure they can tell you where each public bathroom is in a 50 mile radius of where they live but at the end of the day they all say the same thing, ‘when you gotta go, you gotta go’ and let us not forget, ‘better out than in’.

Me?  I have rules!  The door must have a working lock.  Preferably the room must be clean.  There should be nobody else in there when I enter, and yes I wait in the safety of the stall till the room is clear before I leave.  It is a real bonus if it is one of those rare bathrooms where only one person can use it at a time.  If the bathroom doesn’t pass my inspection, I live with the pain.

Many moons ago I was in a restaurant with my brother.  He went to the bathroom a few moments passed and some guy came out rather hurriedly cradling his arm.  Sure enough when my brother got back to the table he told me he was sitting there when a hand came in under the stall, naturally he gave the hand a good kick.  I would have done the same.

In Vancouver they have a wonderful bathroom, (sarcasm) the nearest I can figure is that they had to make it wheelchair accessible, they did this by making a really large door in the stall.  So big that when you opened the door it hit the toilet seat, in order to use the toilet you had to squeeze between the wall and the toilet, then straddle the toilet and only then could you close the door, to leave the stall you had to do everything in reverse and believe me it is more complicated than it sounds.  Wheelchair accessible my arse.

I’ll end this post with a suggestion to those who maintain public toilets.  If you think you are going to save money by finding the thinnest, roughest one ply paper that can possibly be made you will fail.  I am on a personal mission to use at least 8 times as much toilet paper and then when I’m satisfied and the toilet is flushed I’ll pull a few more squares off the roll and toss them in the trash just to make a point.  So go ahead purchase that cheapo toilet paper but its going to cost you in the end.

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We have six, that’s right, count ‘em, six cats.  Did you know that they get viruses just like people?  Not only that they catch it from one another. 

It started with our 15 year old cat Brianna, or Beezer as I like to call her.  Beezer has always been an inflammatory kitty meaning her body doesn’t seem to like her very much.  She suffers from inflammations it happens on her lips, chin and even her legs once swelled up and I am sure that her insides do the same.  She has a habit of eating and throwing up which is something I never get used too but I have learned to accept.  Beezer also has some sort of allergy problem which makes her itchy, in her later years she has managed to pluck off quite a bit of her fur making her a bald Beezer.

One morning Beezer decided to stop eating.  Yet she still ‘wommited’.  She continued to refuse to eat and still continued to ralph.  We were looking at a 15 year old orange, thinning, bald Beezer.  It was time to make an appointment with the vet. 

At the same time we came to the conclusion that Gumdrop had a urinary tract infection.  She is prone to them.  Lucky for us she started peeing in the shower.  And by shower I mean she positioned her little parts over the drain and peed directly into the drain, more than once!  Usually when a cat doesn’t use the litter box they are trying to tell you something is wrong.  Gumdrop however is hard to read and she really does love to sit in our shower.

While we were going to the vet anyway we made it a double appointment two appointments = twice the fun at twice the price. 

Did I mention that a few days before my wife found some rice at the base of Floyd’s tail?  Only it wasn’t rice it was a segment of a tape worm.  So Floyd was already being medicated for that but at least we now know who ate the mouse.  A few weeks ago we found a mouse kidney in our shower.  It could have been a liver but in the grand scheme of things does it matter?  I know what you are thinking, we have a high traffic shower!

Sunday evening another cat, fifteen year old ‘goat guts’ Deirdre stopped eating.  When Deirdre stops eating I know that the earth is off its axis.  She also started upchucking.  Gumdrop at this point was looking good and using the litter box again.  Perhaps she is just lazy and was in the shower already when she needed to pee.  So we replaced Gumdrop with ‘goat guts’ Deirdre.   Beezer however was starting to eat again and was looking a little better but we don’t take any chances with Beezer. 

Our vet confirmed that we had a virus. Seeing as Beezer is on the mend we did nothing.  Ole’ goat guts got a shot to help prevent further retching.  Despite the meds she still continued to hurl.

After we got home from the vets Gumdrop started to go downhill.  We have never seen Gumdrop  blow chunks.  She seriously doesn’t like it.  She pukes then runs around the room like she is possessed.  If she didn’t look like fretful porcupine it would be rather funny, okay it is funny but you have to feel bad for her.

I also learned this week that it is hard to sleep when your cats are sick.  Not just because we are worried but because our cats sleep with us, sometimes in the bed so we have to keep one ear open to listen for the sound of a cat starting to heave.   So far we have only had to change the sheets once at a rather ungodly hour.

Thankfully Brianna seems to be over it.  Deirdre while not a happy camper is starting to move in a more positive direction.  Gumdrop too seemed to take a more positive turn this morning.  Perhaps tonight sleep will come.

Of course there is still Katie, Trouble and Floyd to go.

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Misty: The Update

After I posted my last blog, ‘Misty’ my father sent me an email with some details I had not known about or forgotten.

“We were not in the import and export business. We were produce wholesalers to restaurants, hotels, steamships etc. (Not to grocery stores)”.

 “I got Misty in a deal I made to buy 100 cases of Tomatoes and the supplier would give me a dog. I had no idea when I said OK what kind of a dog it was, not that it would have made a difference”.

Misty did pull all of you around in a sleigh at the country house. She loved that place. I can still see her romping around in the snow.

In my previous post I told the story of how Misty parted the newspapers and pooped on the floor, what I didn’t know was why.  The following from my father explains all.  Again for those of you thinking about becoming a husky owner you may want to think twice.

 “…the first night we had her and put all that paper down. Once it was all down, we worked on blocking the stairs going up. If you remember, it was an open staircase and we found some pieces of wood and used some suitcases to block all possible ways for her to get out of the basement. When we finished and went upstairs, Misty was waiting for us in our bedroom. To this day I can’t figure out how she got by us and how those little legs took her up that staircase. Anyway we brought her back downstairs and to thank us she spread the paper and pooped on the floor.”

 I do remember that my father did not put an ad in the newspaper for Misty, but was unclear on the details of who eventually wound up with her:

 “… We never did put an ad in the paper to sell her. We wanted her to have a home where we knew the people personally and that they would take proper care of her. We tried for quite a while but had no takers. Finally the purchasing agent of the Queen Elizabeth hotel, who was a friend of ours and a golfing buddy had just gotten married. I thought it would be nice if they had a beautiful dog. He was hesitant but his wife jumped at it and that was that. Misty was going to have a good home. I know she was happy because they used come by once in a while with her and she always got really excited to see us, but there was never a problem of her leaving with them. We were sad but happy that she was well taken care of”

I am glad to know that Misty was well loved and taken care of.  In the end it is all I can ask and all that I hoped for.

Thank you dad.

My Eldest sister, My Brother, Misty, Me

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Sequoia

In the early days, those that came before the magic store my father was in the fruits and vegetable business.  It was an import export business he inherited from his father.

We had an attached garage.  I was in the basement (where eventually the magic shop would go) and I heard the garage door go up.  Just as I got to the end of the short hallway my father came through the door with a husky puppy in his arms.  I believe my father got Misty from a farmer with whom he did business.

I am probably not the one to tell this story, I was very young at the time and I don’t remember everything as clearly as others might.  But alas it has been hinted, more than once, that I should write about Misty, so here we are.

1971:  for those of you taking your socks off trying to do the math, I was six.

Misty was a typical looking black and white husky.  She had one blue eye and one brown.  Like most huskies, Misty was trouble.   My folks started off trying to paper train her.  They covered the entire basement floor in newspaper and put the puppy in the basement.   Misty found a spot where the corners of the newspaper overlapped, she spread them apart and pooped directly on the floor.  That alone should be a lesson to anyone thinking about getting a husky, they are really smart and will try anything to undermine what you want them to do. 

My mother tells the story of the time Misty was getting a treat and as my mother tried to take the treat back Misty growled and bared her puppy teeth.  While cute at the time my mother realized that in a year or so that may not be so cute.  I don’t know how my mother corrected the behavior, but she (Misty, not my mother) never growled at me.

Every day I would walk Misty while waiting for the carpool to take me to school.  By walk I mean I would stand outside on the lawn with the dog and when the car came my mother would take the leash.  For those of you who are un-aware huskies are really strong dogs and it just so happens they really like to pull.  One day the car arrived to take me to school and Misty simply jumped into the car dragging me along chaos insued.  One adult in the driver’s seat a few kids in the back and a rambunctious husky puppy jumping all over everything.  The next day it was decided that it would be best not to have the dog out when the carpool arrived.  That  decision was in vain as the next day the car never arrived.   For years after I thought Misty was a magic dog, no Misty, no carpool.  If only it were that simple!

Back in the early 70’s we used to get snow!  And I mean snow.  That year it was so deep we had trouble opening the door, we had to shove Misty out of a second story window so she could go out for her walk.

We also rented a county house.  Misty used to help us dig our snow forts.  And I have a very vague memory of Misty pulling us around on a sled. 

Years later, in elementary school a teacher asked us to write about our earliest memory.  I remember lots of stuff, I just am horrible with dates and when it comes to my early memories I never know what happened exactly when.  But I remember writing that my earliest memory was when my father brought Misty home.  Even then I knew that was not my earliest memory but it is one of my favorites.   The same teacher asked us to write about our favorite memory.  I wrote the exact same thing.   My favorite memory is when my father brought Misty home.  That same teacher asked us to write about our saddest memory.  I wrote, “my saddest day was when Misty left our home”

It turns out my eldest sister was allergic to fur and feathers.  The allergy was so severe the only option was to give Misty up.  My father says he put two advertisements in the paper one for the dog one for my sister, the dog got the first response.  We are reasonably sure he was joking about the advertisements. Reasonably!

One thing was certain.  Everyone loved Misty.  The kids on the block, even the other dogs on the block, Princess, a samoyed that lived down the street was one of her best dog friends.  I’m pretty sure the girl down the block who used to babysit only did so because of Misty.

When Misty finally found a new home I used to have horrible dreams, in this particular recurring dream Misty was simply hiding somewhere, playing a game.  I’d wake up in the middle of the night and look under my bed I’d sneak out of my room and it was only when I got to the living room did the reality of it sink back in.  Misty was no longer there.   In another dream my friend down the block had found her and was holding her for me.  Boy was I disappointed when I woke up.  Later that day my friend was outside on our walkway, (we all used to gather there and play CHAMP, a game with a ball).  I couldn’t get past my dream even though I knew it was a dream.  He must have thought I was nuts when I asked him if he had Misty.  But I had to ask. 

My mother took it the hardest.  My mother was the one who looked after Misty the most.  You can barely mention Misty’s name without my bringing my mother close to tears.  Lucky for us Sequoia doesn’t resemble Misty and doesn’t bring out that reaction. 

Maya, Sequoia’s only dog friend is a black and white husky.  Not too long ago my folks were in town and we had a few friends over including Maya and her family.  Sure enough there was a tear or two shed when Maya walked up onto the lawn.

Years later, whenever the conversation of pets surfaced my mother would say no, because she is the one that ends up looking after them not us.  So no, we could not have pets.  Years later we learned the truth.  My mother would not let us look after Misty, she knew we had to give her up and she didn’t want us to get any more attached then we already were.  My mother was trying to spare us what she eventually had to endure, because that is what mothers do.

When my wife and I first decided to keep Sequoia I knew I had to call home and tell my folks.

Me; “Hello mom, we rescued a husky and decided to keep her”

Long pause

Mom: “They die you know”

As I watch Sequoia getting older, and I see her slowing down, I hear those words, I hear them every time I see Sequoia struggling to leap into the car, or ever so slowly get down from the couch, yes there are times we have to give them up, yes they get older, yes they die, and no, it is not fair!

Brian and Misty, 1971

 

 

Brother, Father, Misty, Me,

 

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So what does Steven Tyler, nacho’s and Denny’s have in common? 

The first time I visited State College Pa my wife (who was not my wife at the time) and I went to an Aerosmith concert.   After the concert we found ourselves driving around State College at 2am looking for Nacho’s.  Finally we had to admit defeat.  You just can’t find Nacho’s in State College at 2am, at least not then.  We ended up eating a hamburger at Denny’s. 

Tonight Fourteen years later, (holy crap 14 years) my wife (the aforementioned girlfriend) and I went to Denny’s and had a hamburger.  I was telling my wife that I am fighting a case of writers bloggers block.   She said, “Well, you can write about how 14 years ago we went to an Aerosmith concert and then went to eat at Denny’s, and tonight we ate at Denny’s and are going home and watching Steven Tyler on American Idol!”

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Yes I am stealing the title of one of my sister’s blog, but only because the two are related, we are brother and sister, and the blog post is sort of related as well.  In fact to really understand this entry I encourage you to read hers so go ahead click on the following link, no worries it will open in a separate window and when you are done reading her post I will meet you back here and all will make sense so, Please Shut the Door On Your Way Out.

Ah, there you are, so nice of you to come back.

Just before we go to bed I take Sequoia out for her final walk of the evening.  She does her business, spends a few minutes checking things out and head back inside.  I get her dinner together set her up in her room and my wife and I go to bed.

Many a nights, about 15 minutes after we get under the covers Sequoia starts to howl.  When we decided to keep Sequoia my wife and I both made her promises and we tend to stick to those promises. One of mine was that if she really needs something after lights out all she needs to do is howl loud enough for me to hear and I’ll come and make sure she is okay.

For the most part the only time she called out was during thunder storms.  Then a few months ago when we were in the process of switching her meds she was not reacting well and all she wanted to do was drink water. Every night when I got into bed she would howl.  I would drag my arse out of bed and take her out, again she would do her business and we would head back in the house and call it a night.  Some nights I had to get up a few times and still in the morning I would have to clean her floor.

Now Sequoia is doing much better, but she still calls out at night.  Not all the time, but when it starts it goes on every night for weeks.  I figured it became part of the routine from when she was sick.  Sequoia happens to thrive on her routine. 

I was talking to the owner of Wiscoy who is very knowledgeable and she mentioned that she had a dog who, as the dog got older demanded more attention, Wanda (the owner of Wiscoy) thinks that maybe, just maybe as the dog got older she needed to know that Wanda was still there looking out for her.  Now this may be anthromorphising but there is a ring of truth to it, we also have an older cat who seems to be more snuggly than ever before.

I noticed that when I took Sequoia out she didn’t always pee.  Sequoia, more often then not would wander onto the grass, smell the ground head back to the house and make a bee line for her bed and that would be that.  Now if she calls I don’t even take her outside.  I just let her wander around the living room for a few minutes then all on her own she will wander into her room and curl up in her bed. It is almost like she just wants to make sure the world still exists outside her door and once satisfied that it does and we are still in it she is fine. 

And that is alright by me.

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A few pictures I thought I would post.  And yes that is Sequoia sitting on the porch eating an icycle. Sequoia fast asleep, toes up.  That is Deirdre sleeping on her nose.  And of course good ole’ home sweet home.

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