Posted on December 26, 2013 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Santa brought me this neat little box. Sort of like a jewelry box. A place to store the family jewels?  Get your minds out of the gutter.

If you look up the word “exhaustion” in the dictionary, it will probably be accompanied by a picture of a mother of small children, taken around 7:00 p.m. Christmas Day. I am always amazed at the emotional capital, physical capital, and yes, even financial capital that is expended during the Christmas season. And let’s face it men, women shoulder 99% of the heavy lifting at Christmas. I tip my hat to all of them because they embody the Christmas miracle.

This was my first Facebook Christmas. There is a lot of questionable stuff posted on FB but at this time of the year, it feels like you’re celebrating with an entire community of family, neighbors, close friends and people you’ve lost touch with who have re-emerged from the mists of time. The common thread is that everyone appears to appreciate their good fortune.

All this Christmas talk has not diminished my story writing. As a matter of fact, I’m on quite a roll. One of them has to do with New Year’s Eve. Quick. When I say, New Year’s Eve, what is the first thing you think of? I guess it depends how old you are. If you are young, it probably means going to a big bash and kissing everything in sight at midnight. This story takes us through the different phases of New Year’s Eve until we are older and relegated to watching re-runs of the Royal Canadian Air Farce. The story is called “The Longest Day” and will be published first in The Highland Heart on Jan 3rd. and will be on my website the next day.

Three other stories just fell into my lap… as most of the stories do. One of them is about women’s purses and yes, gals, I even know what a Michique purse is! Once in a blue moon, I am asked to retrieve something from my wife’s purse. This is where the story begins and ends. Coming soon: “Holding The Purse Strings.”

The next story happened innocently enough. I was wrapping my wife’s Christmas present. Sorry. Just kidding. Don’t shop and don’t wrap. Rap I tried once. I was doing laundry while Betty was away and we had a text conversation about which bedding went on which of our six beds. I have printed the exchange verbatim. Before you read this one, please go to Youtube and look for the Abbott and Costello classic ” Who’s on First.” While it’s a sports story, there are some scary similarities. Watch for “Laundry Quandry.”

I was getting my Christmas trim the other day  ( no snickering ) when I overheard one of the barbers talking about “Hair Miles.” A rewards program in a barber shop. I could hardly wait to get home to write this one. It’s simply called “Hair Miles.”

And finally, I wrote about a story  about an iconic Antigonish business that has survived fire and flood, competition from big box stores and on line shopping and just keeps on ticking. I know that you know who I am talking about. The story is called ” Where Everyone Knows Your Name.”

Happy Boxing Day and if you didn’t believe my story about the famous Boxing Day Street Hockey Game, stop by Hillcrest Street sometime after 1:30 today. You might even get a free beer.

Posted on December 23, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

The debate rages on.  Where is the birth place of hockey?  Many places around Canada lay claim to this title, the most common one being our own Windsor, Nova Scotia.  They say that the precursor to the modern game started around 1810.  The ancient form of the game, played on a pond in the outdoors, bears no resemblance to what is played now in arenas around the globe.

Every wannabe hockey star has, in all likelihood, played another form of the game: street hockey.  And I am here to tell you that there is no disputing this fact: The longest continuous annual street hockey game is played on Boxing Day in the small town of Antigonish, Nova Scotia.

I know I am skating on thin ice with this claim but if you are in doubt, don’t take my word for it.  Ask my mother.

Until recently, she lived in the same house on Hillcrest Street for well over a half a century.  And it is on the street, directly in front of her house, that a street hockey game has been held on Boxing Day every year since the mid ‘60’s.

For a number of years, it fell to me to organize the event, calling friends and family with a reminder to come at 1:00.  No excuses.  Whether suffering the excesses of Christmas Day, a bout of the flu or inclement weather, not showing up was a mark of shame.  As the years went by, it was apparent that reminders weren’t necessary.  Akin to the movie Field of Dreams “… If you build it they will come”.   Like ghosts stepping out of the mist, players young and old make their way to the shrine – the manhole cover in front of 39 Hillcrest Street.

My mother’s unfinished basement was the repository for all sporting equipment, car parts and other priceless memorabilia.  Travelling down to the cellar was like a trip into ancient history.  Over the years the collection of splintered and broken hockey sticks grew like fungus.  And there were piles of them. Dozens and dozens, actually.  CCM’s, Hespelers, Koho’s, and my personal favorite from a bygone era, Victoriaville.  The collection even included a few splintered goalie sticks.

And tennis balls.  There was a time that we used a hard, orange plastic ball for street hockey.  After repeated blows of that sphere to the male scrotum, hardened by sub-zero temperatures (the ball, that is!), we discovered a kinder and gentler puck substitute; the tennis ball.

And speaking of goalies, there was a time when we were so keen that we had two fully- equipped goaltenders manning the pipes for this big game.  There were also times that we used humans as goal posts when we couldn’t get a second net.

My mother was the protectoress of the net.  It resided in her basement for decades.  It was not uncommon for young children in the neighborhood to come knocking on her door to ask, “Mrs. MacDonald.  Can we borrow your net?”  How many women in their eighties get that request?

Hillcrest Street is a dead end street which is just about nirvana for street hockey players.  At the very end of the street lived the Mayor, Collie Herman.  Normally there wouldn’t be a lot of traffic on the street on Boxing Day, but there is a nursing home just across the way from my mother’s , attracting a steady stream of visitors during the Christmas season.  On more than one occasion, after uttering the word “car” for the umpteenth time, we petitioned the Mayor to close the street to vehicular traffic for two hours on December 26^th.  No such luck.

When the snow banks were high, full body checking was evident.  And on those days when we didn’t have a white Christmas, that didn’t change.  Rum-fuelled street hockey knows no bounds.  No one ever got seriously hurt, although during one memorable game, one of the participants decided to take a ride on the hood of a slow moving vehicle.  When the driver inadvertently hit the brakes, he did a header onto hard pavement.

Over the years, the games have been reduced in length and intensity.  We spend more time on Mom’s veranda having a beer than we do on the road, getting caught up on the news from the past year.

Luckily we have built a great farm team system and I fully expect to see people raising their sticks high in the air long after I am gone.

The best thing about street hockey is that no one keeps score.  Everyone is a winner on Boxing Day.

 

 

Posted on December 23, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Most of us are incredibly lucky. At least , that’s how I see it. By accident of birth, we live in a part of the world that is safe. We rarely get the severe storms that certain parts of the world seem to endure on a regular basis. We are not beset by war and the turmoil that we witness daily throughout the world. And most of us were born with good health. But not all.

I want to share my vision , if you will take a few moments from this busy time of the year to read this.

While most of what I am doing with my writing is pure, unadulterated fun, I do have a dream that has a more serious tone.

And it has to do with feeding the hungry.

There are a lot of people in our community who are not as fortunate as us. By accident of birth, once again, they have grown up in very different circumstances.  For whatever reason, many people are hungry on a daily basis. And I would like to help in a small way to assist these people.

Through the sale of my book, public speaking engagements and as a columnist, my goal is to be able to provide a hot meal for those who need it, on a weekly basis. I am aware that a local church group already does this and I am told that they serve anywhere between 40-70 people every week. At last count, there were seven days in the week and I believe the need is there every day of the week.

This is going to take time. Being a marathon runner, I understand incrementalism. You don’t just get up one day and go out and run a marathon. You have to start small and build up over time. And you have to stick with it. I don’t expect my vision to come to fruition overnight. But with your help, I believe we can do this.

How can you help? Traffic!  I need to get more people reading my material so asking your friends and family to go to my website is the first step.  I still haven’t quite figured out Twitter yet ( my New Year’s resolution! ), but I am on Facebook and LinkedIn too.

I will keep you posted in the months to come. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Have a wonderful Christmas and if you are like me, take a moment to ponder your good fortune and be grateful.