Posted on August 28, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with one comment

A field of dreams

“Take me out to the ball game,

Take me out with the crowd,

Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks,

I don’t care if I never get back.”

Take Me Out to The Ball Game – Jack Norworth

Summer is in its rapid decline and September lurks. You can feel it in the air. The days are getting shorter and the “Back to School” sales are in full force. In a few days’ time, the midway will roll into town, and we’ll be batting away flies and wasps at the cotton candy stand at the Eastern Nova Scotia Exhibition.

Speaking of batting.

I’m a sports junkie. I played many sports in my youth and still follow golf, hockey, baseball and football on television. I will watch just about any sport on TV if I happen to be bored… even darts. Cricket still baffles me. I’m warming up to soccer (football in most parts of the civilized world!).

I rarely attend live sporting events anymore. Sitting on hard grandstands doesn’t hold much appeal. My 73-year-old body doth protest when I sit in one spot too long.

Last week, I saw a post on Facebook announcing the 2024 U13 Eastern Canadian Softball Championships to be held here in my hometown. What an opportunity to re-live my youth so I wandered over to Dr.J.H. Gillis Regional school to catch a few innings… and to rekindle my youth.

As I made my way through “Liquor Lane”, a convenient path on campus for university students to get their groceries and beer, I started to have flashbacks. The path on which I was walking was once the field at the bottom of Bishop’s Bowl. Unless you’re ancient and a local, this won’t evoke a response.

I grew up just a few short steps from the university. In a wide-open field on the edge of campus (which has been transformed into a massive parking lot), I spent countless hours of my youth playing ball. On a street where families of 6-8 children was the norm, it didn’t take long to round up a couple of teams. We used old scraps of wood for bases. We scraped up enough money from collecting beer bottles and pop bottles and selling them to Pete Poirier to buy cheap gloves. No uniforms. No coaches. No umpires. Very often, the stitching on the baseball would come loose.

We played our hearts out. We were Mickey Mantle dreaming of swatting mammoth home runs or Sandy Koufax striking out the side. When we became bored of our own company, we challenged other streets in Antigonish. A quick call to Highland Drive or Brookland Street was all it took to arrange a friendly (?) pickup game. Bragging rights have always been an integral part of sports. Unorganized sports are some of my fondest memories.

A bat. A ball. A glove. Simpler times.

On a trip to San Francisco in the spring of 1974, I got to see the Oakland A’s play a double header. They were fresh off their second consecutive World Series championship. Their legendary lineup included the likes of Reggie Jackson, Catfish Hunter, Rollie Fingers and Vida Blue. My back was much stronger back then and beer sales removed any discomfort that might have appeared after sitting for 5 hours in a ballpark.

Back when the Montreal Expos were Canada’s darlings, a few of us took a road trip to see a couple of home games in Montreal. We didn’t have enough money for a hotel and spent the first night of our travels sleeping on picnic tables in a park somewhere in northern Quebec. If I did this today, I would certainly be in traction for weeks! The Olympic Stadium, affectionately known as “The Big Owe”, after serious cost overruns, was not the best place to watch baseball but we still got to watch our heroes, the “boys of summer” do their thing.

I walked over to the Regional fields to catch a bit of the action. One of the local teams was playing. I watched a few innings and as the game was drawing to a close, it started to rain. I got wet but it was a warm rain. The visiting team prevailed but I saw lots of good softball and good sportsmanship.

As rain dripped off my hat, I dreamed of being young again.

“Let me root, root, root for the home team,

If they don’t win it’s a shame,

For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out,

At the old ball game.”

Have a great weekend.

 

 

Posted on August 21, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

The Happy Wanderer

 

“Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”

With a Little Help From My Friends – The Beatles

The sweet smell of success.

The Olympic Games concluded a few weeks ago. The Games are quite the spectacle. The opening ceremonies were bizarre to say the least, at least to this old timer. I gave up watching after about 90 minutes. Apparently, the ceremonies lasted well over 4 hours and would have eaten into precious sleep time had I decided to endure the entire event.

I am not a swimmer but for some strange reason, swimming at the Olympics is one of my favourite sports. Like many other Canadians, I was proud of the accomplishments of Summer McIntosh. She dominated her events and captured three gold medals and one silver. Beyond her physical prowess, I was equally impressed with both her poise and humility during her post race interviews.

Despite the fact that events like swimming, running, and shot put are individual pursuits, anyone who wins a medal is quick to point out the team aspect. Nobody gets on the podium without coaches, mentors, family and friends.

Despite her enormous success, do you think that Taylor Swift would be where she is today without her band, management, roadies and countless others? Ditto for J.K. Rowling who relies on editors and publishers and a phalanx of others to take her to the heights that she has reached.

But these are the elites. Elite athletes, elite musicians. Elite writers.

What about your average Joe?

Anybody who claims that they are a self-made man is delusional. Nobody who walks this earth can get far without lots of support from their loved ones.

How do we measure success? Far too often we view successful people as those who accumulate wealth and prestige. In a lot of cases, these people have trampled on others on their way to the top. Hardly role models that we want to emulate. These people are self-serving and power hungry.

Succeeding at any endeavor requires grit and determination. Digging deep when it counts the most is often the difference between success and failure. Common folk, like most of us, rely on family and friends to help us along the way. I’m not talking about gold medals here. Success is an adult who finally has the courage to get their GED. Success is a single parent who raises children. I would submit that a single parent spends as much time and energy on raising their children as any world class athlete who has aspirations of the podium. Success is starting a small business and working 75 hours a week for years before making a profit.

When the light begins to fade and your journey on this earth is on its last lap, most people won’t talk about their wealth, fame or achievements. They know full well that their greatest success was raising children to be good stewards of this planet.

They won’t receive gold medals at the finish line. Just the pure satisfaction of having done their best.

Golden memories.

With a little help from their friends.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. To celebrate my 73^rd birthday, I walked around the Mini Trail, aka “The Cape”. The walk covered 78 kilometers over three days. “With a little help from my friends”, I had people walk with me, drive me to and from home each day and celebrate with me when the walk ended. Thanks to everyone who helped me and thanks to all who sent birthday greetings. In the words of Paul Simon, I’m “still crazy after all these years.”!

 

Posted on August 7, 2024 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

“We all scream for ice cream.”

 

“I found out long ago,

 (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh),

It’s a long way down the Holiday Road,

(Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)”

Holiday Road – Lindsey Buckingham (From National Lampoon’s Vacation)

In a few weeks’ time, somewhere across this vast land in a school classroom, a well-meaning teacher will ask their students to write a time-honored essay. “What did you do on your summer vacation?” This will be one of the earliest experiences of students reminiscing. For some of us it is akin to a drug addiction that we just can’t shake.

I am often asked where I get my ideas for stories. As long as there are 8 billion people living on this planet, I’m not worried about running out of storylines. Coming up with an idea is not that difficult. Backfilling it with loads of manure is a whole different matter. How is it possible to write 800 words about the proper way to launder your wife’s bras? I have done the laundering and written the story so I can attest that it can be done!

Once I come up with the idea, the backfill normally comes when I’m walking. I brainstorm ideas and the moment I get home, I jot down “bullets” in my trusty Hilroy scribbler.  Unfortunately, every so often, inspiration comes in the middle of the night. Because of my age, I sojourn to the bathroom at least once a night. Normally, I go right back to sleep. Normally. But if a fleeting thought enters my head, I’m screwed.

Last week after my trip to the loo, I settled back into bed. Despite the recent spate of hot weather, I leave my bedroom window open at night. The main reason is not for the fresh air. I want the window to be open so that I can wake up to the sound of birds singing in the trees surrounding my apartment building. On this night, the humidity gripped me like a grandmother’s hug. Try as I may, I couldn’t get back to sleep. August had just arrived a few hours earlier. I started to think about the things that I had done so far this summer.

My essay (which I’m preparing for my teacher in advance!) is called “You Know It’s Summer in Nova Scotia When…

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you shower and discover that your bathtub has the remnants of Pomquet or Queensland Beach on the bottom. Of course, this sand, moments earlier, was lodged between your toes.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you grab a beach chair and sit on the sidewalk on Main Street to watch the Highland Games parade. The Clydesdales and the pipe bands are most impressive.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you go to a lobster boil at someone’s summer home. If you love lobster and cook them in sea water the day they are caught, then you have glimpsed paradise.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you enjoy a cold beer at a restaurant patio. If that beer happens to be Alexander Keith’s, then a tour of the Alexander Keith’s original brewery in Halifax is mandatory.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can watch live professional theatre at Festival Antigonish or enjoy a brilliant local production called The Ships of 1801.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can attend the world-famous International Tattoo in Halifax. A must see whether you’re a local or a come from away. If you’re driving from Antigonish (The Highland Heart of Nova Scotia) to Halifax, you will pass Riverside International Speedway. On several weekends during the summer, 10,000 hearty souls from all over the Maritimes and beyond congregate to watch car races at this 1/3 mile, high banked asphalt short track. I took my 85-year-old mother there once. She was disappointed that there weren’t more crashes!

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you drive (or walk) the Cabot Trail. I can assure you (having done both), that the 300km trip is much easier in a car but not nearly as much fun as on foot when you get to experience the legendary hospitality of Cape Bretoners. The stretch from Cape Smokey to Neil’s Harbour is one of my most favourite pieces of real estate in the world.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you attend a Thursday ceilidh (pronounced kay lee) at the Antigonish Heritage Museum. You can hear some fiddle tunes and enjoy a singalong. They’ll even give you a cuppa tea and some homemade oatcakes at intermission.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can travel to Seawind Landing in Charlos Cove and enjoy first class accommodations and fine food along with entertainment. On your drive through Guysborough County, you can stop at Hart’s of Boylston General Store and grab some food and unique gifts. You can even purchase cowboy boots!

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you attend reunions. These can be large family affairs or high school class gatherings. Lots of laughs and nostalgia flow as freely as the beer.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can attend a wedding and a funeral on the same day. A dear friend of the family passed away a few weeks ago. Around the same time, one of my brothers became a grandfather for the first time. The circle of life.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you can go dancing at the Shore Club in Hubbards. This family owned business featuring lobster suppers and live entertainment, has been serving up surf and songs for 88 years. I was there a few weeks ago and was treated to amazing music by the Mellotones. If you like the music of Chicago, Stevie Wonder, James Brown, you’ll love these guys. Lots of horns.

You know it’s summer in N.S. when a rained-out lobster boil at the beach turns into a 3-hour kitchen party at my apartment. Three sisters from B.C. were here for “The Games”. When rain thwarted the lobster boil, we pivoted quickly and moved the party to my apartment. You definitely know it’s summer in N.S. when you feed your guests Wheel Pizza. Singalongs are not common on the west coast. Our friends got a real eye opener especially when my 90-year-old neighbour invited us upstairs to her place where she played the piano and sang songs in Gaelic. It doesn’t get more authentic than this.

Did I mention ice cream?

You know it’s summer in N.S. when you make regular trips to the local ice cream stand to cool off.

And this was just July.

We’re just scratching the surface.

Come and play in Canada’s Ocean Playground.

And eat lots of ice cream.

Sweet dreams (if you can get back to sleep!).

Have a great weekend.