Sunday, December 19, 2010

Shopping



When he goes shopping, it all seems so easy.  He wants a "couple of sweaters, and a couple of shirts, a pair of gloves, and some socks."  We wander around the store, he goes into the fitting room, and most everything looks good.  We wade through a bunch of gloves, and decide he needs a smaller size, so we find a leather pair in the women's department, and he's thrilled.  "These are the best pair of gloves I've had for ages".  No wonder.  They cost a bundle.
And he's done. We go for lunch.



The next day, I go to look in the ladies wear store in our small town.  It's just re-located to a brand new space, and added shoes to it's stock. I have a good time browsing, and chatting off and on with the sales girls.  "I haven't bought anything for ages, and I'm out of practice".  It's true.  I end up buying a scarf.
When I get home, he wants to know what I bought.  "Just a scarf?"
"Well, when I'm dressed for cold weather, it's such a nuisance trying stuff on."  I change the subject. But I do come home with a plan - of sorts.  I'll start with the boots, and work up. There, that feels better.
I've been trying to get something other than golf clothes.  But the thought of the panty hose always stopped me - those horrible saran-wrap itchy heat-producing tortures. It's one of the first questions I ask when I go back to the store.  The sweet young thing says - "look, try these on and tell me what you think".  They seem to be ribbed and somewhat bulky.  But when I get them hoisted up and onto my waist, I like them right away.  And in all the time of trying stuff on, I never once feel like I'm wearing panty hose. Before I know it, I have a pair of short boots that seem to fit quite fine -  and a sort of draped kind of tunic top. I look quite snappy!  The sweet young thing thinks I look good too.  So I wear the outfit to a party, and get compliments! What a surprise!
Women seem more inclined to wear whatever they feel like wearing, and the fashion mavens be damned.  I love seeing what all the stars wear when they go out for an evening and the cameras find them.  Have you ever watched a slide show of movie stars after some big event like the Academy Awards? Wow!  They can look pretty bad when they put their minds to it!

"Gated community"



"Imagine living in a place where the weather never changes. I've visited places like that. They may be warm and balmy and sun-filled and all that, but it would be like living in a gated community where everyone wears yellow and is happy all the time."
I stole this quote from an article I read this morning.  Her name is Mrs. Sundberg, and she writes a column about living a busy life with family and friends.  Lots of wry comments about being human.   
A friend said to me once "there are very few places in North America where the weather is pleasant most of the time".  He's right.  When you think of it, Arizona, California, Texas - the places we think of as kind of "warmish" - they all have their dark sides.
But I suppose that makes the case for the "4 seasons".  Canadians are good at living with the 4 seasons, I think.  Especially when we're young.  When we become seniors, the bloom goes off a bit.  Because in Canada, winter is too long.  There's always more of winter than the other three.
But back to my quote.  The part of the quote that struck a chord with me was the "gated community" part.  
I have been in places that felt exactly that way to me - as if I were living in a gated community.  Or a video.  As if the street contained a cast of characters, and I just happened to become part of it.  I'm trying to remember that movie with Jim Carey - where he starred in a TV show and the TV show was actually his life.  
There's always something missing.  I have a vague feeling of unreality.  As if the day were being "programmed" somehow.  As if we had all been collected up together and given some sort of script.  There's no noise and conflict of business and industry, screeching brakes, the messy buzz of commerce.  No feeling of just being part of regular life out there.  Getting kids to school, rushing to the Mall,  stopping for milk on the way home after work. 
"Why would you miss that?" you might ask.  You're right.  It's strange, isn't it?  I don't even like noise, and busy-ness.  But I discovered that when it seemed to be missing, I was - unsettled.  Go figure.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

A little girl at Christmas


There's something about little girls.  
This one has black hair, and eyes with built-in eyeliner. Her hair is longer than when I last saw her, and it looks good.
She's wearing a new coat.  Black and a bit puffy.  She's like a fashion ad in Vogue.
This place is a sort of Christmas house in the woods.  Thousands of Xmas lights all through the forest, and a tea room and play room and music room in the house.  They have tea and coffee and scones and sweets.  The little girl sits in a highchair and eats and eats.  Her Mom always seems to travel with food for her.  Watermelon and cheese, crackers and raisins.  This Mom can talk to three people at once, including the little girl, and still keep her happy with these little niblets of food.  "Watermelon is her favorite - oh - and strawberries - she always eats them until they're pretty well gone".
Her Dad and Mom give her a lot of words, too.  She never gets tired of this.  She repeats every one of the words, and is very happy doing this.  She needs constant diversions -  things to look at and talk about and run into and fall out of. 
There's music coming from down the hall.  Her Mom lifts her up and looks for the music makers.  We get a seat  right in the front row.  A small group of players doing Christmas folk tunes from long ago.  recorder types of horns, and small stringed contraptions, and a singer.  They're wearing funny looking hats.  And suddenly, the little girl becomes still. Is it because we're so close?  She doesn't look around a lot - perhaps it's the sounds of the horns and this tiny violin - she sits quietly.  For 20 whole minutes, she's still. 
"You're kidding", says her Dad when we return.  

Thursday, November 25, 2010

I'm outta here!


I just came back from the supermarket. Why is it that of all the loud music from which to choose, these places always choose the female vocalist  - the one who screams all her songs?  Wouldn't you think they would want their customer to concentrate on the merchandise?  To look everything over with no distractions?  In fact, to wander over to the next aisle and do it all again?  Isn't that what their store is all about?  Shopping?  Instead of this, half way through my list, I'm rushing to get out.  I don't realize I'm doing this - I just want out of there!
I was in a high end lingerie store last week.  Here the music was slightly sultry, somewhat lazy, instrumental jazz-type stuff.  The environment was "labelled" immediately.  Completely relaxed, I smiled at the salesgirl, asked her how she was, told her I wanted to browse around, and did so in complete enjoyment.
If music is going to be played, it should identify the store right away, it should say "this is the kind of store we have, this is what we feel about our store, this is reflective of what we want your shopping experience to be." Instead of this - we seem to have a pile of dirty CD's on a counter somewhere, covered in coffee stains, in the wrong cases, and the first person who thinks of it starts the player and turns it up real loud.  In small towns, sometimes the local radio will be playing in the store, and somehow, this is a more pleasant experience.  It's neat that the storekeeper is promoting the town.  More than likely also, they are listening for their own commercial.
I heard a column about "noise" yesterday.  The expert said that noise in all its forms is an increasing part of our environment.  It's invasive, it's loud, and it's affecting all of us in varying degrees, none of them good. Young people are losing their hearing without realizing it.  Our concentration is compromised whether it's in traffic, working in the office, even functioning in a house where several TV's might be turned up real loud.
I have not been quiet about this.  I have asked in various stores about the music.  I have grumbled to the check-out girl, and she usually says "you know what, I never even hear it anymore".  Fair enough.  The onus is on the store owner.
If stores are going to play music - find people who know this stuff.  People who can walk into the store and get a feel for what would work - what would make the customer happy. It's a sub-conscious thing.  All the customer knows is that he's having a good time in the store.   Are there people who do this?  I hope there are.  Because playing the janitor's favorite CD collection just doesn't cut it.

Monday, November 22, 2010

the raccoon problem



We've had a bit of a raccoon problem lately.
They come in the middle of the night and raid our bird-feeder.  We have a small one next to a fence.  They can access the top of the fence from the yard next door.  And they sashay along until they get next to the feeder. Then the hard part starts. They have to reach way down and across to grab the feeder.   Then, holding on to the feeder as best they can, they try to bring it toward them and hug it. They keep almost falling off the fence while clutching the round feeder.
I have my window open a bit at night and can hear this rustling and tinkering.  So one night I get up, go downstairs and open the patio door - shout, wave a newspaper and try to sound angry without waking the neighbors, but it doesn't deter them much.  They run away and come right back.  I decide to simply watch them.  There are two of them doing the fence work, and another one scrounging for seeds on the ground under the feeder.
They can literally scale the fence wall with their hands and feet. Their paws are astonishing.  It's no wonder they can open locks, and get inside places.  You can see their paws and fingers manipulating everything they touch.  The twosome work pretty well together trying to turn the feeder, open it, get it upside down.  There has been only one time that they've managed to get the feeder off it's hook,
emptied, and left on the ground.  I did not see this, just found it the next morning.  The most interesting observation I would make is this: they try to work quietly. While constantly trying to reach out and grab the feeder, it would squeak the odd time, and for that split second their heads would turn towards the door.  They knew that making noise meant trouble for them.
Lately, I've become short of seeds, so to protect what I've got, I've taken to removing the feeder at night.
We are not early risers and this morning the birds are famished.  As soon as they see the feeder going up on its hook again, they are there.  And right now as I sit here in my upstairs window lookout, they are fighting for the best positions.  It's snowing hard off and on, with mounds of snow on the tree branches and fence posts, but they seem very adaptable, and able to perch on the snowdrifts without any problem.
I have had pale yellow birthday carnations with me for 2 weeks. Mostly outside, where I'm convinced cut flowers could last a month normally.  But now, they are frozen solid sitting under the patio table.
I'm paging my bird book - determined to find the new interloper - the bossy red-breasted intruder that is causing all the fuss.
The snow stops and starts, stops and starts.  It seems quiet in the neighborhood - for a Monday.

Friday, November 19, 2010

How the heck did they get that shot!


I was watching a TV show last night about the migration of birds.  It was incredible to hear how far many of these birds will fly every year.  And how mysterious it is for us humans to ponder the drive, the push, the in-bred impetus that puts them up in the air one day for this long long journey to a place that they seem pre-programmed to be.
Seems to be enough for riveting drama, eh?  But the other part of this program that I found almost more riveting was the footage.
The camera work was quite simply, incredible.  We were so close to the geese, swans, storks, ducks,  that we could see their tail feathers being the perfect "rudders" and adjusting their flight patterns every so slightly.  We were so close that we could see their eyes blink, their awkward feet splaying out endearingly, we could almost hear them breathing.  In many cases the angle of the shot would include the earth beneath, and their destinations take them over some gorgeous scenes.
We have become so inured to seeing stuff like this that I suppose most people would just take such images for granted.  Most people would never stop to think - hey, whose taking this footage?  What human being is so close to this bird with what camera?  And how come this bird is not zooming quickly away from the human being and the camera?  Did the participants in this "shoot" have a production meeting?  "Okay, now fly in a pattern like this and whatever you do, don't look at the camera!"
It didn't take me long to devote my full attention to this production.  We saw birds flying at night, flying through snow, through fog, we saw them flying right past the Statue of Liberty.
Yes, the awesome journeys are mind-boggling enough.  But let's also clap our hands for the human species in this drama.  Let's remember that this movie extravaganza was brought to us by a human being in a plane, with a camera, in all kinds of weather, in all kinds of countries - surely this is also it's own kind of extreme accomplishment.
What does this say about our knowledge base in the year 2010.  What are we learning here.  We're knowing things that no other generation has ever seen or known.  It's no wonder that young people today are way smarter than their parents, and certainly their grandparents ever were at their age.
My first comment is always - "How the heck did they get that shot!"

Sunday, November 14, 2010

the window guy


We got our windows cleaned today.  A delightful and completely painless experience.
A jaunty young man arrives at the door at 10 o'clock.  "I start on the inside, while my shoes are still clean.  (he laughs)  "Oh no, you don't have to move a thing.  Stay downstairs here and finish your coffee, watch the football game.  I'll look after everything".
Merv likes the sound turned up so we don't hear much and in 20 minutes he's done.
He goes to do the outside of the windows and I run upstairs to check. The windows are clean and clear.  (Lord, I didn't think they were that dirty!)  There's no sign of any kind of disruption.  Items on dressers are simply moved from the back to the centres.  Blinds raised.  The huge bathroom mirrors have never looked better.  How did this little guy do all this with so little hassle, so little planning, so little back and forthing.  He uses a small squeegee thing, and moves quickly and has a cloth as I recall, but I never even saw those until he started the outside work.  That's how quickly he arrived, went upstairs seemingly empty handed, and came down with the job done.
Same with the outside.  He's up and down ladders, back and forth, back and forth, and he's done.  Moves ladder, repeat.  Moves ladder, repeat.  No scraping noise of the ladder.  Just no sense that a job is being done, you know what I mean?  Just so sort of - well - quiet.
He and Merv had chatted downstairs a bit earlier.  Sounds as if he does a lot of large cleaning jobs, not just windows, and that he had a fair amount of staff at one time, but discovered it was inefficient, and bothersome. "I can do twice as much with half as much hassle completely on my own."
In an hour and 15 minutes, he's done. $75 dollars cash in his pocket and our name and number so he can call again in the spring.
Windows sparkling clean both in and out in an hour and a quarter!  No muss, no mess.  Lower the blinds again, and that's it.  Now that is money well spent.
He has a houseful of kids, and needs to bring in money, for sure.  His wife just got him a set of drums for his birthday, and you could tell he was completely thrilled by this.
So our little house feels bright and even the view outside looks as if it's been given a go-over!  It was another one of those things in life where you didn't know the job needed to be done until it was
and then - Wow!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

War


I was remembering all the November 11th observations that have passed through my life.
I remember being a little Girl Guide and wearing my uniform on November 11th.  Everyone in our little town would gather at our Cenotaph beside the Anglican Church.  I remember the cold.  It seemed that Remembrance Day was always cold and often gray.  And there would us teeth-chattering little girls with our uniforms mostly covered up with beat-up jackets and boots.  We'd be in a group more or less, along with the Scouts, and church groups and Legion groups, and Moms and Dads.  We tried not to jump up and down to stay warm, and we thought the marching, and speeches, and tributes would never end.  It seemed such a solemn thing to see the town leaders approaching the Cenotaph with the wreaths - and trying to salute like a soldier, and getting it wrong, or the wreath falling over after it was propped up, and then turning the wrong way to leave, and us little girls would giggle.
As the years went by, it seemed I was there supporting other groups - the church youth group, or a school group - one time I even became part of a twosome taking a wreath up there!
There's something about war and the human spirit.  There's something about a young man going off to a far away country to fight for freedom, or victory, or honor.  These deaths are always remembered.  In a special and unique memory.  They are always pondered quietly and seriously -
In Canada, we feel specially solemn.  Our soldiers have always been the best.  The most committed.  It's beyond belief how our young men went to battle on strange land and lost their lives for freedom.
"Lest we forget".  These awesome three words that say so much.  "Lest we forget".

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Rolling Stones


I missed out on the "Rolling Stones".
I knew they were around, but I never really went out of my way to pay much attention to them at the time.  They seemed so noisy.  Little did we know back in 1970 that they would become icons.
Keith Richards has written a book about his life with the Rolling Stones, and it's getting very good reviews.

"You can't imagine that this book could be any better than it is...Keith holds nothing back. It's funny, gossipy, profane and moving and by the time you finish it you feel like you're friends with Keith Richards." (Will Dana, Rolling Stone )
"Entertaining...a slurry romp through the life of a man who knew every pleasure, denied himself nothing, and never paid the price." (David Remnick, The New Yorker )


Surely the most amazing thing about them is their longevity.  Is there really any other music group that has toured as much, written so much music, been in the news so much?  They have truly "lived large" to the Nth degree, held nothing back, refused to be cowed or put into a category.  Fearless.
The Beatles and the Rolling Stones started the same year.  Isn't that awesome?  Could 2 more famous musical groups be more different?  If you go back and watch them let's say in 1970 - they are very very different.  The Beatles with their sedate sort of banjo type presentation of that time, and the Rolling Stones who loved to put on a show big time.  Mick Jagger right from the start was one of the most confident human beings we have ever seen on a stage. An eclectic and absorbing, and inventive musical force.
It must be awesome to be so famous that almost everyone in the world knows about you.  I heard a piece on radio the other day about "famousness".  Famous people have no freedom to just put on their jeans and go for a walk, park at the Mall and go shopping.  Famous people can't go to their favorite park and throw a frisbee with the dog.  They pay a price for notoriety.

I went to Wiki and learned a lot:.
In the early 1950s Keith Richards and Mick Jagger were boyhood friends and classmates at primary school in England, and then their families moved apart.  In 1960 Richards was at a train station - on his way to class at College. Jagger was on his way to class at the London School of Economics. (can you imagine a Mick Jaggers at the London School of Economics?)  And they met at the train station !!!.  And Jaggers invited Richards to the first rehearsal of this as-yet-unnamed band . The band became the "Rolling Stones" when a band member phoned Jazz News to place an advertisement. When asked what the band's name was, he glanced at a Muddy Waters LP lying on the floor. One of the tracks was "Rollin' Stone".  
So we've learned something else about them.  Keith Richards is a writer kind of guy.  Mick Jaggers will likely never be interested in writing his memoirs.  I would love to be a spot on the wall, and hear his comments as he leafs his way through Keith's book.
Final thought.  I wonder if the others grumbled the odd time about Mich Jaggers getting all the attention on the stage.
Entertainers.  What would we do without them.







Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Walkin' the dog


Drama on the Boardwalk today.
A small woman is taking her dog for a walk and the dog is absolutely huge!  He looks to be young and somewhat high strung.
I'm walking behind them.  I see an elderly lady walking slowly toward us.  She is wearing a pull-over-the-head touque that has ears.  And a pair of bright red gloves.
As the elder lady approaches the dog, she stops to ask the owner a question.  The dog is immediately upset and starts barking and moving around a lot.  The owner tries to settle him down.  He's having none of it, and continues to move about a lot, especially in the direction of the questioner.  This animal is as high as the owner's waist ! While trying to answer the lady's question, she is also instructing the dog to sit! to lie! to be still!  Finally, she gets him into a lying down mode, and this works well for a minute, but he's still aroused.  I figure I better keep moving.  The last thing I hear is the dog owner saying that she thinks her dog is afraid of the red gloves.
I turn to look back more than once. The poor girl seems to be in a kneeling condition most of the time, trying to control the dog.  Pretty well everyone is now watching this.  Even after 5 minutes, when I look around again, the dog owner still seems to be having a bad time, and the elderly lady is still standing there!  Talking!
When I get to end of the boardwalk, and turn to go back, I see the dog owner walking far away across the field with the enormous dog now appearing to be perfectly happy.  I'm glad her ordeal is over.  I wonder whether it really is her dog after all, or if she were walking it for a friend.
As I approach the other end of the boardwalk and finish my walk, I see the questioner ahead, walking slowly.  I decide to ask her how her adventure went.  I realized immediately that she can't hear very well.  "Did the dog settle down?" I ask her several times before she hears.  "It was the hat, I think" she said.  "She said it was the gloves".
I felt sorry for the dog, and the owner.  He was too young to be out there, and too big for her to handle.  I thought the questioner was a bit to blame, as well.  If she had quickly walked away, the poor dog owner may have been able to settle things down.
So much for dog control.
    

Monday, November 1, 2010

A good cuppa -


I was talking to a girlfriend awhile ago about trying to make a good cup of coffee.
We both complained about poor taste, bitterness, and inconsistency - never really knowing whether the coffee was going to turn out good that morning or not.
A couple of months ago, without any previous thoughts on the subject, I found myself filling my kettle with cold water and setting the burner on high.  I took my coffee maker carafe  and just spooned the coffee right into the bottom of it.  When the water came to a boil, I poured it into the carafe!  "Well now," I thought, "this should be good for a laugh".  I stared with some nervousness at the carafe sitting on the counter - half filled with what looked like dark brown sludge.  Using a sieve, I poured the sludge into 2 coffee mugs.  There was as lot of coffee grounds in the sieve.  I felt really stupid .  But guess what? The coffee tasted completely awesome!  I watched Merv's face, and sure enough,  "Boy, what did you do with the coffee?  It tastes delicious!"
Needless to say, I kept doing this every morning.  I kept the carafe, but threw out the rest of the coffee maker.  I started experimenting. Stirred the coffee a bit, stirred it a lot, let it sit for 5 minutes before serving, let it sit longer. The only change was that sometimes I would have less coffee grounds in the sieve.  Other than that the coffee remained completely perfect in taste.  Never wavered.  Merv and I started having little snits about "you took too much coffee!".  There was never any coffee left over.  (We have always used our microwave to "re-hot" our coffee so this remained the same.)
On our travels one time, we stayed at a bed and breakfast with a kitchen!  Whatever you liked for breakfast was already in the frig. We loved this arrangement, and got to use a "french press" coffee maker there.  I thought back to this and decided that this was close to what I was doing in my kitchen.  I was making coffee by pouring hot water into coffee grounds.  Last weekend we bought a french press coffee maker - a "Bodum".  Looks exactly like the picture above.  Not sure if it is big enough.  It bills itself as an 8-cup pot, but I think it translates into about 4 cups of coffee.  It makes the same cup of coffee as mine. Tastes exactly the same.  I look forward to it with complete confidence every morning.
A perfect way to start the day.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

I know a little bit about a lot of things . . . .

It started with a John Updike short story.  John is a very famous American writer who died last year.  He wrote many things for the New Yorker magazine - one category being short stories.
I was thinking of him today, and went to the New Yorker web site.  I came upon an audio file of a  reader doing one of Updike's short stories.  The download said it would take 32 minutes.  I suppose 32 minutes could be considered short by many of us - but perhaps long as well.
The story sounded good - a lot of rather long words not usually heard in ordinary conversation - which kind of surprised me.  But, this is John Updike - right?  I mean, he's revered.  He's done many many kinds of writing - all of them to rave reviews.  So what do I know.
After a few minutes, I got an idea for this blog - and left the audio just like that!  It didn't hold me at all!
Another illustration.  A web site I like - "Speaking of Faith" - about all kinds of faith passions that people have, some of them spiritual, all of them deep.  The moderator of the web site is a fascinating and very clever lady.  She writes a short 'overview' of her guest, their subject matter and what the message is.  The rest of the links to this guest's appearance on the web site are quite long inserts and require good attention.
I never seem to be able to read or listen to these longer items.  I used to be able to.  And I think I can still do this, but I have to be in the right mood or situation.
I've read various things lately that internet browsing, Facebook, Twitter - Blogs - all of them being "short" kinds of items  -   this kind of contemplation has slowly cut down the time we seem to be able to concentrate on a topic.  We waver, we go wobbly, we skip over to check e-mail, thinking we'll return to the article, but we don't.
I have always said that I want to "know a little bit about a lot of things" but not a lot about them.  And that's true.  But does that make me a perfect candidate for the attention span problem?  Or does anybody fall into it?
I think it's a little bit of both.  Long before the internet, I was a "magazine" reader - a newspaper reader - never read a lot of books, or read them half way and quit.  So when I became fascinated by the computer, I was the ideal candidate for it.  Skipping here there and everywhere suited me very well.
But I think there is some merit in the theory - that computers have "shortened" our attention span - that we've become "twittered" and "facebooked" and "blogged" into needing more and more "headlines" and less and less of what comes after.
What do you think?

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The Boardwalk

                                                                                                                       
             


They landed in town in July.  Spent the summer playing a lot of golf. Finally bought a little townhouse on a street close to the downtown and 7 minutes from the ocean beach.  She loved to walk along the beach.  For dedicated walkers, there was an asphalt sidewalk, but it wasn't very long and when it ended, gravel.
When the cold and rains came in the fall, they headed south.
Back again in the spring, she was thrilled to find a huge new boardwalk along the ocean!  It went from the old walkway, past the playground and in front of the town's big hotel.  They'd eaten at the hotel and the food was good, but often they were the only ones there. "Whoever owns that place must have deep pockets" they said to their neighbors one day. "The oceanside suites might be sold, but a lot of it looks empty to us."  And the little mall built on the street side was empty too.
The boardwalk was an instant hit with the locals.  Serious walkers would be there every day with smiles and nods in the passing.  Moms walked babies.  Wheelchairs glided along smoothly. Canes, walkers. And dogs everywhere!  Seemed everyone walked a dog!  And picked up after them. In fact, the whole beach was remarkably clean - a testament to how important it was to them.
When summer finally arrived, and the sun shone more warmly, the change was dramatic.  The big hotel filled up, the outdoor patio buzzed with families, seniors and everything in between.  "Wow, there was a lineup tonight!  People were waiting for outside tables" she reported from her walk."And you should hear the tourists talk - I passed three groups and heard three different languages - no, I don't know what they were!" When it got seriously warm, there were people on the hotel decks, on the lawns outside their rooms, on the boardwalk.  One Sunday a disc jockey played everything from Diana Krall to Johnny Cash.  It was very loud, and they hoped it wasn't going to become a habit.
One weekend there were three weddings!  Right on the beach - a little bower, white lawn chairs. Guests looking out of place in "dress-up" outfits.  Ever seen a woman trying to cross a stretch of ocean beach wearing high heels?
Kites.  Not little kids and kites.  These were macho looking men doing "fighter plane" dives and twists - a manipulator in each hand. At the Kite Festival they can't find a place to park for blocks.
The town also seems to be the volleyball capital of oceanside. Weekends with 20 volleyball courts going non-stop.  Knowing nothing about the sport, they can't tell whether they were good or not. Seemed like there was more girl/boy watching than volleyball.
At any ocean beach - high tide or low, sunshine or not, people seem drawn to the water and sand.  Sand castles, sea shells, splashing, beach balls, and kids running every which way in sheer delight.
For her, it was the majesty of the ocean itself.  No matter how many times she turned that corner, she could feel it's power.  They often talked about it.  He's a pilot.  He tells her that the question is often discussed amongst fliers and boaters.  Which is the most forgiving? The ocean or the sky?  In storms and bad weather - which is the most vulnerable - the plane or the boat?
He is still quite ill, but today they hold hands and walk a bit along the boardwalk. Then sit in the sun feeling soothed by the blue blue sea.  

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Waffles?

"I'm in a renewal phase" he says. "Made some changes and just fine-tuning them."  He's very thin.  Says he weighs 125 pounds.  At least he was small to begin with.  His walk is faltering.  But again, he's always had a bad ankle and never been a walker.  His speech is a bit tentative.  She finds herself intervening in his phone calls.  "He's just having a nap.  Oh here he is.  Now don't talk for too long."  "New dentures?" said the dentist.  "It's just that there's no bone here - there's no place for the bottom teeth to sit".  The dentures had not been taken out of his mouth for all his time in the hospital, and sores have developed. They hurt.  But he's hungry.  "It's a trade-off.  I have to eat.  So I suffer."  Sitting is uncomfortable.  She jokes to her girlfriend.  "I swear he has no butt at all!  We've simply got to fatten him up".  She's right.  No matter how padded or cushioned the seat, he squirms and twists, trying to find some way to sit more comfortably.
So there's grumbling, and impatience.  "Don't be impatient" says the home care nurse, "you are doing everything correctly. So let things develop as they will.  You'll be surprised at how quickly you will forget this part of your life".  He's not impressed with this take on things.
She's astonished at what he eats. Waffles! He hates waffles and now he loves them.  Fruit!  He's never shown the slightest interest in fruit. Pasta.  "Are we having that pasta 'alfredo' that we had last night?  I really love that stuff".  Strange, very strange.  But here's the kicker. Coffee, scotch, beer, and red wine?  NO interest.  This worries her the most of all.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

two boiled eggs



"What I'd like is 2 boiled eggs with 2 slices of dry toast, one plain and one with peanut butter" - pause - "oh, well, I guess I don't need the one with peanut butter." (I wished I hadn't asked)
Hmmm.  Seems to me the last time I boiled 2 eggs was in the winter of 1963.
And this guy isn't in the mood for mistakes.  So far my list includes "not enough salt"  "too cold"  "too hot"  "too dry" and "completely tasteless" so I am nervous.
I don't even have a pot.  We only have one small pot and it's in the frig with leftover stew.
With the lightening thinking for which I have become known, I reach for my heavy duty"$250" fry pan and put some water in it.
Get well-chilled eggs out of frig, and hold them in my hands thinking "please warm up quickly".
Get the lid of my hardly-ever-used-because-it's-too-big "Le Creuset" pot and put it on the fry pan.  Fits perfectly! The gods are trying to help me.
Patient clears his throat, and asks "How's it goin'?"
"Just fine", I shout, noting that his hearing aids are parked on the table beside him.  I see a "how to do the perfect chip shot" just starting on the Golf Channel.
I decide I better not stress the gods, so I set my timer to 4 minutes exactly.  Very gently and with words of encouragement, I slowly lower each egg into the boiling water.  To my great glee, they hold firm and quietly genuflecting, I lower the lid.
I put a little butter in the coffee mug I have chosen for this delicacy, have the pepper and salt at the ready.  Put in the toast.
As soon as the buzzer sounds I have that first baby outta there.  Clumsily open it up to find a perfectly boiled egg!!!!  I am a happy cat!  Quickly empty it into the mug. Not missing a beat, like any trained athlete, I clamp the other egg, behead it and it also is perfect.  If you're making notes here as I'm sure you are - these are size medium eggs. (they are still there - way at the back in cartons that look like the ones they meant to throw out).
With triumph, I present breakfast to the sick one, and watch quietly as he eats every spoonful.
He will usually make noises of approval if he likes the taste of the first couple of bites, but all is quiet.  Still filled with the thrill of my perfectly boiled eggs, this doesn't bother me one bit.
Ignoring the cluttered counter top, I start the coffee, put my waffle in the toaster and slice my banana.
The perfect chip shot is over, the commercial is starting.
Just as I start my breakfast, he says "What are we having for lunch?"

Monday, July 5, 2010

Bird Bath















The robin is the cleanest.
Always first at the bird bath
On the edge, he checks everything - 
traffic, cleanliness, desire.
birds are quick, very quick.
tentative flicks become whooshes
water flying everywhere more and more whooshes
Now the head dip followed by the whoosh 
Two more times for good measure - 
Then up to the fence.  Shakes off the last drops.
Gone.  
A little bird appears.  Nervous.  In then out.  In then out.
Tries a little whoosh.  Another.
No style at all.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

in sickness as in health -


In sickness as in health, he's my "high-maintenance" boy.
Always with his long list of "to-do's", checking, checking, checking.
As if life were a training course, as if there were going to be a test.
Leaving a room, leaving a town, leaving a country, it didn't matter.
Checking the doors, checking the phone bill, checking the will and testament.
And so to this.  Knows where this hose leads, where that cord has to go.
Which one is the epidural, which the catheter, which the bag, which the food.
How to get the hoses through the sleeve of the robe, the power cord wound and clipped.
All for the 7 minute walk down the hall, dodging patients just arriving from surgery,
the young cleaning guy who gives me my crossword puzzle answer -
It's "Dan" - oh yah, he was with the Miami Dolphins - a great QuarterBack,
Our "be right back" evening nurse, the meal cart piled high with inedibles.
I know he's already checking his "to-do" list for re-entry -
to the hospital bed that never sleeps.

Monday, June 21, 2010


Hospitals are not interested in the internet.  When you enter them, you leave the world of computers behind.  You don't see them in any of the wards.  Patients have to leave their computers at home.
Television?  Yes, you ask for a bed with a TV, then the TV lady comes around, and you sign on the dotted line.  (what year is this?  Hello!)  
But computers? No.
It makes you realize where you sit on the "computer reliance" scale.
If you are at a certain number on that scale, it really hits home -  about your need for the internet. The web sites, the blogs, the Globe and Mail, the New York Times, American Public Radio web sites, and your son's radio station where you can listen to him on the air whenever you want, no matter where you are. Touching base with your grandchildren on Facebook every day, reading their posts, looking at their pictures.  Watching your youngest grandchild learning how to walk.  The email.  All your family and friends - Your brother's heart problems, the important updates - I mean this is your life, right?  This is really what your life has become. If we can't get the internet, we're out . You can't 'go back' after having your personal world and the rest of the world at your fingertips with the click of a key.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

nice nothing


I get a real "high" from a good crossword puzzle.
We're driving in the car to the mall.  "nice nothing" I say to Merv.  "Anything come to mind?  I think it starts with an 'r'".
"Rice?  Nice Rice?  Mind you, I don't even like rice.  And what do they mean by the nothing thing" he says.
After major Rectal Cancer Surgery, he's lying in his hospital bed and I try again.
"You know, it seems to be an 'ri' - what do you think?" Silence.
His favorite nurse "Sam" comes in to change his dressing.  It's like a video.  We see the stoma and the incision and the staples - she cleans it and measures the stoma to make sure she has the right size for the opening, and I'm so impressed with her prowess.  Merv is all smiles.  He's always talking about Sam.  "Where did you train?" he asks.  "Did you ever want to be an operating nurse?"
"Not really.  Not enough responsibility.  Here on this busy ward, I have to do everything.  I love all the rushing about."
As she's picking up her stuff to leave,  I say "Do you know anything about astrology?  Would Leo be something to do with August?
"Oh, yah! That's mine. I was born in August.   And you were talking earlier about that fish?  That's "Nemo" for sure."
"Isn't she just something else!" Merv says?
We were having a desk delivered a couple of weeks ago.  I was stuck with an animal who was the cousin of some animal I'd never heard of. The delivery guy says "You got any letters?  Ends in er?  That would be 'badger' - for sure.  I happen to know that for sure".
Can you believe it?  He was dead right.  And he was so good-looking, this kid.
Anyway, back to nice nothing.
 I look at the 'down' word.  Hmmmmm.  Looks like it has to be another vowel after 'i' !  That's doesn't sound right.
And yet ! ! !   And yet ! ! !
"nice nothing"
"That's it!  I've got it!  It's NEECE!  As in France!  Nice, France.  They want the french word for 'nothing'.  rien!  That's it - rien
What could be more fun than coming up with this word?
I'm thrilled.  Talking a bit loudly.  I know that the other guys in the room don't have the faintest idea what I'm talking about.  I don't care.
Later on, I'm cleaning Merv's dentures and I come out of the little bathroom.  The 90 year old guy says "How come you knew that french word ?"
"I don't know. It just came to me. Like lightening.  It just came to me".

Friday, June 11, 2010

The sailors are in Victoria!


The city of Victoria is busy.
Traffic is heavy.  And nervy.  A little old lady suddenly swerves over 2 lanes to get where she wants to go.  And we're right behind her.  Merv swears.
"She's just a little old lady. Don't swear at her!"
"You're a little old lady, too!" he laughs.  (I admire her hutzpah.)
If you ask the GPS in your car to give you a list of golf courses 'close by' you have 20 choices within 5K.  But try to find a golf shop.  We find one Nevada Bob's.  Then we find a Golf Town in Langford which is just outside of Victoria.  I get a jacket and pair of pants on sale.
Victoria is one of Canada's favorite cities.  The ocean, the wharfs, the Empress Hotel, the Parliament Buildings all in such a dramatic setting.
The spring plants are bursting with flowers and fresh green sprouts.  The green vines on the Empress Hotel are really getting deep and solid.  Merv loves the look.
We re-visited a golf course to check out the back nine.  We knew from being here in the summer last year that they were working on this.  We golf with a great couple.  He's a "navy" type.  Was based in Esquimalt and they're for the weekend.  It's such a great golf course! - sweeping fairways and water falls and dramatic views on the tee boxes.  And not a house in sight.  We'll come back again and again to this awesome beauty.  Price be damned.  Highland Green.
The town is filling with sailors just like Harvey, our golf partner.  A huge international Naval gathering to celebrate the 100th year of the Naval Base at Esquimalt, B.C..  Every day there are more and more sailors.  Three were in our elevator this morning.  On our way home we find out there's a huge fireworks show on tonight.  Oh well, we hope it goes well.  We'll be back in Victoria another time.  And another time after that.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Oh, say can you see . . . . .

Americans are delightfully "showy" people. They sing and dance and speak into microphones at the drop of a hat. Their Memorial Day celebrations illustrate this to a T. This is the day they remember their fallen - no matter what battle or how long ago. We watched last night and enjoyed it. Filled with emotion the audience often wiped away their tears, and we also wiped away our tears - crying for soldiers everywhere in the world.
They had the young wife - 19 years old, husband killed in Afghanistan. Then move to an older woman whose husband died in Vietnam more than 50 years ago. Their stories are heartbreaking. At the end, they approach each other and hug.
In true American fashion, stars of famous TV shows are the hosts. But these guys have been carefully chosen. Not smooth. Not light. Not pedantic. Just right.
The Airforce, the Navy, the Army, the Marines - each come out dramatically with their own marching song. We sing along with the audience just as if we'd been singing them all our lives! I'm sure they come from Hollywood war movies!
Towards the end, 2 actors depict soldiers. It's a story about how "Charlie" was always looking out for his whole platoon, putting his own life at risk over and over again to keep his buddies from certain death. He is hit by an enemy bullet at the end and dies. Veterans in the audience are crying. It's very emotional. The actors approach this group afterwards, and there are hugs and handshakes and shoulder squeezes.
No one does this like Americans. No one can lift this stuff off the page, out of the records, out of the "armistice" word, and make it hurt, make it okay to cry, make us feel somehow "better" after - more human. Maybe it's schmaltzy, maybe it's theatre, maybe it's strutting, but it's what Americans are about. A perfect example of why the people of this country 'cheerlead' their nation - get their "blowhard" label - make us choose a table on the other side of the restaurant. But don't sneer too loudly. This country will fight to the death over and over again for "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness". And I ask you - what other country on the face of the planet has the hutzpah to use "the pursuit of happiness" as one of their 'declarations'.
Canada takes the United States of America for granted. Just because it's the country everyone loves to hate doesn't mean we should. In Canada, we stand for "peace, order, and good government" - ah yes, bring on more "order". Bring on more "good government". They are such "uplifting" goals, aren't they? Come on! Where is the passion? Where is the fire? Where is the spirit? Okay, okay, I agree that our neighbors could use less of it. But by golly folks, we can sure use more of it.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Tongue lashing


The annual summer Sports Day in our town
Three schools determined to win the cup.
Furtive looks at the score board. We hardly ever won.
Races were my favorite - though small - I could run real fast.
One year in the broad jump competition I landed somehow wrong,
and bit my tongue. It split apart, blood filling my mouth.
I tried to hide it. But everyone came running.
Kids gagged when I spit the blood out.
Teachers looked stricken and reached for handkerchiefs.
What could anyone do? Put a band aid on it?
I was sent home.
My tongue swelled and I talked real funny.
For a week, I'd stick out my tongue to show the ugly cut.
Then nobody cared anymore. It took 5 years for the scar to go away.

Games People Play




Crossword Puzzles.
The Globe and Mail has a great Saturday crossword puzzle on the computer, but you have to pay for it. So I usually head for our little corner store first thing Saturday and buy the Saturday G&B. Sometimes they're sold out, and sometimes they have 20 of them. They charge 50 cents less than the service station across the street. The puzzle is carefully cut out to the right size, clamped to my clipboard and with a real pencil (eraser on the end, for sure) I happily muddle away with this for the rest of the week be it in the bathroom, bedroom or car. But this is the only crossword I do on paper. Computer crossword puzzles are just as much fun. Skill levels are "master" and "regular". With "master" you're on your own. With "regular" your mistakes are colored, so you know immediately that you have to find another word. I usually choose "master" - just to add a handicap. The fun part comes at the end. I switch from master to regular and see how many colored letters appear. If there's only 2 or 3 colored letters, I'm happy. "For an old lady - not bad at all!" I say out loud to my invisible audience as they applaud.

Bridge.
I play it for real once a year when my sisters and I get together for our annual visit - two of them play bridge all the time at various ladies bridge clubs, so they're really good. My younger sister is like me - plays just this one time a year. But we hold our own, enjoy our glass of wine, laugh and have a good time. On the computer, I play with funny looking avatar partners and turn off the sound so I don't have to listen to their silly comments. They never make mistakes, though, so I try to keep out of trouble. The odd time, I'll bid 6 spades and if I pull it off, I'm ecstatic. As far as adding to your skill at a game, I would say computer bridge is at the top.

Mind Games.
The New York Times has mind games: - Improve the health and function of your brain", it says, "with the right mental workouts." Having concentration problems playing piano, I think "Ah Ha!" - this will fix me up. No change so far, but these little workouts really do force you to pay attention. I have just discovered these, so how often I'm back there remains to be seen. My gut feeling is that I will like this.

Jigsaw Puzzles
Got a Frank Lloyd Wright puzzle for Xmas. Glass art design. Frank wintered in Phoenix for years. Last month while we were there, we visited his home and were told that his glass wall is part of the hotel lobby just down the street. It takes up a whole wall! Fascinating to see the real thing after looking at the picture on the box. Spread out on a table upstairs, it's already being put together. Good solid puzzle with very bright colors. Difficulty? I'd say about medium. Something interesting. I can listen to podcasts on my computer and work on the jigsaw with equal concentration. They are obviously in completely differing parts of the brain. The brain waves never cross each other's paths. I have decided to have a jigsaw puzzle on the go always. Very satisfying.

Scrabble.
The only frustrating thing is that the computer has access to an astounding dictionary. They can beat you with a word you're never seen before. But this works both ways. I can't tell you how often I have tried the most unlikely word, and like a miracle, the computer tells you it is a word! Sometimes I even get big points for my weird looking word. I tell the story to anyone who will listen. My granddaughter is an amazing Scrabble player. She posts her high scores on Facebook, and I'm going to start doing that too.

When I'm sleeping badly, I reach for my computer. Immediately, my frustration and discomfort disappear. I get busy with a game and within the hour, I'm back to sleep.






Monday, May 17, 2010

Hole #1

We've only belonged to one golf course.  Part of a small town community, the Innisfail Golf course had been "bequeathed" to the town by a long ago doctor who loved the game.  Legend has it that sheep grazed on the 2nd, 9th and 15th fairways - the golfers just playing through them, and probably hitting the odd one here and there, I'm sure.
A horse drawn mower sits on display - says on it that the machine was used in 1925 to cut the grass on the fairways. The course goes back to that date, and is run by the town of Innisfail.  The benefactor stipulated that it was not to be considered a "for profit" venture,  all monies were to go back into it's upkeep. As a result, it's considered one of the best courses in Central Alberta. Calgarians in particular often make the trip to play 18 holes whenever they get the chance.  We would play with guys that were attending some conference or other, and their round of golf was the very best thing about their visit.
5 years ago, the course expanded to 27 holes and as part of the official opening, the old tee signs were auctioned off.  Merv bid on the Hole number 1 sign and ended up getting it for $300.  From a post on our farm in Alberta, we carried it into our new life.  Pictured on our little townhouse patio fence, you can see that it's still enjoying the recognition it should.  "Well now" visitors say "where did you get that neat sign?"

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Two Young Girls at the Piano


My favorite Renoir painting is "Two Young Girls at the Piano". It's part of my Internet album from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I've never replaced it since I started the album many years ago. A neat thing about the web site is that you can enlarge the paintings and peer closely at a pleat in a dress, or a special looking slipper or the red tulips in field.
One day I had an "Ah Ha!" moment. I would do my own version of "Two Young Girls at the Piano"!
I just happened to have the 2 young girls and I just happened to have the piano.
The young girls were my granddaughters. Robyn in the pink shirt. And Amy at the keyboard. These two also happen to be real musicians. Amy is an accomplished pianist, and Robyn an accomplished bassoonist! So you can see why this whole scenario seemed like a picture just waiting to happen. They were younger then, and still willing to go along with another one of Grandma's weird ideas. I emailed them the picture, explained the plan and they sent "It's good for me, Grandma. It'll be fun".
We were planning a baseball weekend, and both families were expected, so I decided it was now or never. When the baseball was done and before they disappeared for one of their talk and talk and talk sessions, I said "okay girls - take your places. Let's get the show on the road!"
I had printed the Renoir so they could literally study it and position themselves as closely to the original as possible. We took several takes and tried different chairs, different objects on the piano. We stared and stared at the attempts, and everyone had their own ideas as to how to improve the picture. When I left the scene, they continued fooling around at the piano for an hour before heading to a corner where the bothersome boys wouldn't find them.
I made Robyn and Amy photo books, and I included the shot you see here.
In 1892 Renoir billed his painting as an "intimate and engaging scene of bourgeois domestic life." And you know what? I'm completely okay with that.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Georgia

Georgia O'Keefe
Many years ago, I started my own little "museum" - works of art that I liked.  This was one of them.
Through the miracle of the internet, I was able to look through the massive collections at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and pick 50 works of art. I've had this collection for 20 years, and I still visit it occasionally - throw out some stuff and put in other stuff.
Photography has always been a favorite.  This photograph was taken by Georgia O'Keefe's husband, Alfred Steiglitz, a 'pioneer' photographer.  They must have been quite the pair, because she was an artist, and did some pretty weird stuff that everyone oh'd and ah'd about.
But those hands!  Look at those beautiful hands.  Here's what she said about this picture that her husband took:
"My hands had always been admired since I was a little girl.  But I never thought much about it.  He wanted head and hands and arms in many different positions.  Steiglitz  had a very sharp eye about what he wanted to say with the camera.  When I look over the photographs that he took of me - some of them more than 60 years ago I wonder who that person is . It is as if in one life, I have lived many lives."
They loved New Mexico and lived in Santa Fe for many years.
She died in 1986 at the age of 98.


Monday, May 3, 2010

1975
"I always hated this picture" he says "I had such a bad cold that day".
It was a brand new house with one of those sunken living rooms that were so popular back then.  We were well established in our new community, had been living in the old part of town for a couple of years, renting a house, and had finally decided to take the plunge and buy a fancy house in an upscale neighborhood.
The photographer gave us a deal.  
It was a real effort to get the kids all home at the same time and in some sort of looking good mode.   We hated that dog.  He was completely spaced out.  Ran wildly all over and drove us nuts. We eventually got rid of it.  I still remember the lady driving away with him in her car.  I felt sorry for her.
We ended up hanging the picture in the dining room.
We didn't live in the house for long before we knew we'd made a huge mistake.  The shower in an upstairs bathroom spewed water down the walls. Weird smells in the closets.  Carpet coming loose all over the place. The owner belonged to some sort of sect where you were always supposed to have a year's supply of food.  He left a full freezer in the basement.  Does anyone else have a story like this?  I doubt it.   
We were lucky that the economy was good and we made money on the re-sale.  After that, we refused to look at any house that was "custom built".

Sunday, May 2, 2010

"Wiley Willie"



We meet on the 12th hole.  I am looking for my ball, notice this movement to my left and there he is.  He scares the daylights out of me!  And he's just a little bird.
I freeze.  He doesn't move.  His eyes say "What the hell are you doing here?"
I look for Merv - wanting him to see this. Too far away. And the party behind us has driven and are heading down the fairway.  I have to get moving.
I take 2 steps forward.  He doesn't move.
I rummage in my pocket for the camera.  Try another step forward.  He still doesn't move!  This is some brave wee owl.  And look at him.  He looks fierce!  Positively fierce.  He's defending his home to the death and he's not going anywhere.
I finally spot my ball - and luckily not in his way.  I have to get going, so I shoot quickly, and look back.  He's gone.



Monday, April 26, 2010

Mrs. Johnson

The one I remember the most 
was my piano teacher Mrs. Johnson.  
She taught grade six at our school.
My piano lesson on Saturday morning
seemed her most favorite thing
as if she'd waited for it all week long
that was how special she was.
Music was her first love and it became ours  
because of her.  Essie Johnson.
Every kid wanted to be first in line
when she called us to order.

When they ask "your favorite teacher"
as the confirmation identity question,
on computer stuff?
I always use her. 

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Before and after

BEFORE

"Look at that mess next door!"

I was standing upstairs looking out my bedroom window.  It was a war zone.  When we bought our place here, there was a big billboard next door advertising a fancy new development.  Now, some months since, it has occurred to us that the billboard is gone and there is no construction.  Just a big empty lot filled with construction debris.  We hear that the company is in trouble.
At the street end, a huge trailer with bloody red graffiti.  And at the window where we stand, piles and piles of lumber, roles of construction mats coming apart. The graphic yellow of a dirty "detour" sign.  The ugly orange of drainage pipes.  A dirty board with BEER in red ink.  A mess.
Merv takes pictures and goes to City Hall.  He knows there's a by-law about littering. The girl at City Hall looks at the pictures. "You have to look at that?  I think you can count on something happening".
She's right.
In a week, a company truck arrives.  He paces about looking things over.  Then another truck arrives.
A huge arm picks up piles of lumber and carefully places them in the first truck.  Merv is thrilled with this.  "It's all digital. He's telling the arm what to do with that little box!  Hey, they'll be finished in no time".
He's forgotten about "island time".  People who tell you about "island time" do it with a knowing smile.  Sure enough, after one load, they're gone for the day.
Next day a whole new cast.  For an hour, three young men form organized piles of wood with energy and enthusiasm. Then they too disappear.  In the afternoon the company truck arrives again with a different group of workers.  These guys just pick up stuff with their bare hands and throw it into the truck. No fancy black box and dramatic lifting arm.  There's a lot of smoking and sharing of cigarettes.  We're not sure they should be driving.
Third day.  Company truck again with older guy in company T-shirt.  They re-locate a big pale blue barrel (obviously a heavy one) against the neighbor's fence right across from our window. They pile
miscellaneous lumber close to the barrel. We know they have washed their hands of these items.  The barrel bothers us most.
Half an hour later, a big big Home Hardware truck with one of the big loader arms!  We rush with our coffee to stand at the window and watch.  It's a good show. The last of the big heavy blocs of lumber are loaded and tied down.  Halfway through this process, another huge truck. "Island Towing".  He's here to get the huge trailer with the red graffiti.  Slowly and with dignity, the trailer slides upwards, upwards on to the truck bed.  It's belted in 4 places, and before we know it, it's gone.  The job is done.

AFTER
Epilogue.  There's still small debris.  But it's better.  A lot better.
Our realtor is impressed.  The owner of the townhouse development is impressed.  He shakes Merv's hand and invites him immediately into the strata committee.
Merv is still grumbling.  "I'm going back to City Hall.  That blue barrel has to go".