The False Ducks Blahg

      I’ve written many sad blahgs but this is one that I am not looking forward to writing. My father, George Arthur Henderson passed away January 19th, 2019. He was 81. Dad was born on May 24th, 1937. He would have been 82 this year.  I had previously written about the health issues my Father suffered after falling and breaking his hip June 1st, 2018.  You can read about that in my blahg “WHAT HAPPENED TO MR HENDERSON?”. 

     To finish the story started in that blahg, things did not get much better.  My Father was in and out of the hospital several times.  He returned home in mid-October with nursing and psw support but his health didn’t improve.  Equipment malfunctioned and he still had to have a feeding tube, a catheter, and was bed-ridden.  I’m sure he enjoyed the times he was home but internally, things were not good.  He returned to the hospital before Christmas and didn’t come home again until just before the New Year. 

     My Father had become very anemic and required blood transfusions on at least two occasions.  He had ulcers on his rear end that widened and never healed.  The week before he died I became very concerned that home wasn’t the right place for him and that it was also taking a toll on my Mother’s health.  My Mother and I had fought about him going back to the hospital and possibly going into long-term care.  It was not a pleasant time but finally she agreed and my Father went back to the hospital on January 17th with the intention that he would hopefully improve enough in the hospital with the eventuality of going into long-term care. 

     Around lunch time on the 17th I was called by the hospital and was asked to come and meet with the Doctor as she had some concerns about the care my Father was receiving.  I was prepared for an argument because we had provided good care for my Father but I clearly blamed Belleville General Hospital for what had happened to my Father from June of 2018 to January of 2019.  I was not prepared to hear what the Doctor really wanted to tell me. 

     When I met with the Doctor she showed my the large ulcers on my Father’s rear end and went over the list of health issues.  Then she asked me what was I keeping him alive for because there was no quality of life for him.  She even said if it were her own Father like this that she would let him go.  I was devastated.  I needed to take a moment to process this but she immediately asked who was the Power of Attorney for my Father.  I said it was me.  She said then I had to make the tough decision.  I didn’t hesitate.  I couldn’t allow my Father to continue to suffer.  I agreed to the recommedation to stop his feeds and all medications except something for pain.  She left the room after telling me that Dad would probably only last a few more days.  She said she was going to get another Doctor to come and talk to me. 

     After the Doctor left the room, I went over and talked to my Dad.  I asked him if he had heard what we discussed and he said yes.  I then said that if we continue on this course that he would die in a few days.  I asked him if he was ready for that.  He said yes.  Throughout all that time since his fall he never once talked about giving up.  I had asked him the hard question a few times and he always said he wanted to live.  This time he knew it was time to move on.  I bawled my eyes out. 

     Soon after, Doctor Webster came in to see me.  She had treated Dad four years earlier when he had broken his other hip but with better results.  I liked Doctor Webster.  She was very gentle and kind and she agreed with everything the other Doctor had told me.  She agreed there was no quality of life.  I told her that my Dad had basically told me he was ready to die.  I didn’t stay long after that.  I left and contacted my siblings and let them know.  I later met with my Mother and let her know.  It was one of the toughest things I had ever done. 

     I visited Dad in the hospital again the next day, Friday.  They had just given him something for pain but he was able to communicate a little with me.  I said “a glass of rye would probably be good about now.”  He said “yeah”.  He then mumbled something that sounded like “how are  you doing?”  I began to sob and tell him I wasn’t doing so well because I was losing my Dad.  I pulled back the covers to grasp his hand.  He was startled a little bit so I made a joke and said “calm down, I’m not getting in the bed with you.”  He smiled.  It was the last laugh between us.  He drifted in and out after that and there was no more communication. 

     On Saturday January 19th, my wife and I took my Mother up to say goodbye to my Father.  It was a very emotional time for us all.  Luckily my two brothers, Chris who lives in Ohio and Tim working in the Northwest Territories, had managed to make into Belleville to say goodbye to Dad.  They arrived when I was there with Mom.  Dad never spoke and he just stared off but he would raise his eyebrows whenever we spoke to him.  I think he heard us.  My other siblings also saw Dad on Saturday.  Just after 11pm, I received a call that Dad had passed away.  The Doctor was right, it had only been a couple of days.  Dad was on his final journey. 

     The next few days were very busy and very difficult.  Mom had said that Dad wanted to be cremated and she didn’t want any service.  Tim and I met with Quinte Cremation and handled everything.  We would eventually receive Dad’s ashes in a nice urn shaped like a deer.  We all agreed that Dad would have liked that.  Throughout that time I had been torn with guilt because as the Power of Attorney I had had to make that tough call to end treatment for Dad.  I had copies of the Will and Power of Attorney and it took me three days to find those copies.  When I did, I discovered there was also a Living Will that Dad had signed stating that if he ever was so ill that there was no chance of recovery or quality of life that we were to discontinue treatment and let him die.  I can tell you after reading that, a big weight was lifted.  I had honoured Dad’s wishes. 

     My Father was the last of his family.  His parents and siblings were all gone and the baby of the family was the last to go.  Here is the obituary that was posted for Dad:

George Arthur Henderson

HENDERSON, George Arthur – Of Belleville. Passed away at the Belleville General Hospital on Saturday January 19th, 2019 in his 82nd year. Son of the late Charles and Ada Henderson. Beloved husband of Sharron Nadine Henderson (Seeley). Dear father of Timothy Henderson (Rebecca Cameron) of Orleans Ontario, Todd Henderson (Tammy Thrasher) of Belleville, Scott Henderson (Jeanette) of Demorestville, Wanda Foley (Mike) of Wallbridge, Daniel Henderson (Debby) of Belleville, and Christopher Henderson (Valerie) of Hamilton, Ohio. Predeceased by his brother Claire Henderson, and by his sisters Helen Bradshaw and Muriel Grimpson. Loved by his several grandchildren and great grandchildren. In keeping with George’s wishes, cremation has taken place, and there will be no visitation or service. Donations to the charity of choice would be appreciated. Online condolences can be made at www.quintecremationservices.com

 

     I think that’s enough of all that.  Instead I want to share some photos of my Dad.  It’s tough because I don’t have many photos of my Dad.  I’m sure my Mother has some but I wanted to go with ones as they related to me.  The earliest I have in my possession is this one taken at the reception after my wedding to Jeanette on May 30th, 1987.  It’s a nice photo of both of my parents: 

 

The next photo was taken at my brother Chris’ wedding to Valerie in I believe 2004: 

Then there’s a photo of Mom and Dad at my other brother Dan’s wedding to Debbie around 2008: 

The picture below is a nice photo of Dad taken at the Celebration of Life for my Aunt Helen who passed away in 2016:

Next is a great photo of Mom and Dad with all their children on the occasion of Dad’s 80th Birthday in 2017: 
From left to right, Scott (me), Dan, Wanda, Tim, Mom, Todd, Dad, and Chris. My niece Keri is in the background in the purple dress.

The following photo I believe is one of the last photos taken of my parents together in August 2017.  This was taken on the occasion of my nephew Christopher’s wedding:

     I think that’s really all I want to post of photos.  Now onto some memories.  I have two special memories of my Dad.  When I was a kid, my Dad was a big fan of Stompin’ Tom Connors and I loved his music, too.  When Stompin’ Tom came to Belleville in the late 1960s or early 1970s, I begged my Dad to take me but I think he thought I was too young.  He took my two older brothers Tim and Todd and they weren’t even fans.  When Stompin’ Tom came again to Belleville in 1999 I got good seats and Dad and I went together.  It was a great concert and a great time. 

     My second favourite memory is of going to the movies with my Dad and my Uncle Rod (who sadly passed away last year) to see Walt Disney’s Snowball Express.  It became one my Dad’s favourite movies and I remember buying him VHS and DVD copies of this movie.  It’s still one of my favourites too.  We had a great time at the movies and it was one of the last movies my Dad saw in the movie theatre.  The last movie my parents saw together was The Exorcist from 1973.  They went with some relatives and friends.  Dad thought it was a comedy.  That was George Henderson for you. 

     Because there were no services for Dad I didn’t get to share any of these memories or to share a poem that was special to me about a poet’s Father and death.  I’ll share it now: 

 

WHEN MY FATHER WENT TO WALES

 

When my father went to Wales in ’61

for his father’s funeral

I was twelve

and knew nothing.

 

Death was real but remote,

like the origin of the world

or the Ed Sullivan Show.

But having touched my father

death became a constant

in my world. Having taken his father

my own was suddenly vulnerable

to that theft, and from then on

I guarded him with the magic

of a twelve-year-old: words,

 

things, the power of thought

unknown to him kept him free

of that other’s possession.

 

Once he came close to falling;

 

I forgot or relaxed or was distracted

and he glimpsed his father’s world.

 

Never again would I be so negligent.

 

And though he will fall, as he must,

into his father’s arms,

 

I know it will not be the magic’s fault

or mine, or anything to do with failure.

 

He will fall as we all must

into a world which was once his own,

and seeing his old man again

he will be happy, and happy

will turn to brace his arms

for me, following.

 

—Dermot McCarthy,  Canadian poet

 

I think I would have liked to have read that poem but if I’m being honest, I think my Dad would have rather I read from his favourite poems:

 

I found my thrill
On Blueberry Hill
On Blueberry Hill
When I found you

The moon stood still
On Blueberry Hill
And lingered until
My dream came true

The wind in the willow played
Love’s sweet melody
But all of those vows you made
Were never to be

Though we’re apart
You’re part of me still
For you were my thrill
On Blueberry Hill

The wind in the willow played
Love’s sweet melody
But all of those vows you made
Were only to be
Though we’re apart
You’re part of me still
For you were my thrill
On Blueberry Hill

BLUEBERRY HILL by FATS DOMINO

     All those years of listening to Stompin’ Tom Connors and country music growing up and I didn’t realize until I was into my twenties that Dad was a Fats Domino fan.  It came on the radio one time and he said that was his favourite song.  I don’t know if it remained his favourite but I’m going to play my Dad out with that song.  Rest in peace Dad, I Love You.

     Here it is 2019 and I’m doing one last blahg this evening before the newness of the first day wears off.  Today is January 1st, 2019 and I’ve changed this picture of myself using one I took with an application on my phone called Sketch Camera.  I think it looks cool.  I was just playing around with it and I think I might have been on the toilet or something because I don’t appear to have a shirt on.  That might be a theme for this blahg if you read on. 

     How do you start off a New Year? I know there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do and that’s a Polar Dip.  That’s where you go swimming in a large cold body of water on New Year’s day.  I always said I was going to do it but kept coming up with excuses and last year I was sick.  So, this had to be my year.  Seize it and freeze it.  I drove out with my daughter Abbie to North Beach on the Lake Ontario side in beautiful Prince Edward County and did the deed.  Here’s the proof:

 

     Thanks to my daughter Abbie for taking the video.  She was a little sick and didn’t think it would be a good idea to go in the water but she did stick her toe in.  She also didn’t think it was a good idea that I go in because she’d heard about other older people who had heart attacks trying the plunge.  Hey, I’m only 56!  Last year I ended up in the Emergency ward at the local hospital on Christmas Day with a throat infection.  You can read about it in my blahg “BEING SICK ON CHRISTMAS IS NO FUN…BUT HERE WE GO“.  This year I didn’t add New Year’s day to that bucket list. 

     The other thing I managed to accomplish was to finish a late Christmas story.  In a December blahg “SOME CHRISTMAS STORIES” I published a story called “Billy Built A Robot Christmas Morning.”  I also said I was working on a sequel.  Well, last night I finished it and this evening I finished the final edit.  I guess you could say it was a two year effort.  Get it?  Two years?  2018 and 2019?  Skip it.  The story’s better.  Happy New Year.

 

BILLY’S BEST WORST CHRISTMAS EVER

by

Scott Henderson

     This is the story of Billy but it’s not really his first story.  Let me be clear I’m the author and I’m the one writing this story.  I felt I needed to say that because I’m not sure if Billy is a good character or if he’s redeemable or worth redeeming.  That’s what this story will determine.

            We first met Billy in a story I wrote entitled “Billy Built A Robot Christmas Morning.”  I guess he was about nine or ten.  I never really gave it any thought.  He wasn’t really likeable although I liked the story I wrote.  But I’ve been thinking about Billy lately.  I got to wondering how he turned out.

            I was getting my hair cut not that long ago and I heard two women discussing what you get a 14 year old for Christmas.  There were comments about it being a tough age and everything is electronic and gift options were limited.  Really?  I would think a good swift kick in the pants might be a good option.  That last comment, like the good swift kick, should be aimed squarely at Billy.

            Let me be clear, I don’t dislike 14 year-olds or teenagers in that age range.  I don’t even dislike Billy.  I just think that all the stories today are about teenagers who get to save the world, as if there weren’t some more suitable older or even senior adults able to do that, or the teens are lost and struggling and you’re not really sure if they’re likeable or capable of redemption.  I just would like to know where Billy fits into all of this.  He’s going to be 14 in this story and we’ll see what happens.

            So, I’m going to give Billy one more chance.  He could be a good character but that’s up to him.  When you have nothing to lose then you have everything to gain.  I didn’t make that up.  I’m just remembering that from somewhere.  But that fits Billy.  Let’s find out.

—————

           Billy came home from school at the start of his Christmas vacation on December 22^nd to find a note pinned to the door of his home:

Billy, we’ve gone away for Christmas and we’ve taken Logan with us.  Everything you need is at Grandma at Grandpa Thompson’s.  Don’t try the door because it’s locked and we’ve armed the alarm with a new code.

Merry Christmas.

 

Mom & Dad

All Billy could think to say was “they took Logan?”  Logan was his dog.  Well, it was more the family dog.  Billy had whined long and hard about having a dog and when his parents gave in, like they always did, he got a beagle for no particular occasion.

Billy was good with Logan in the beginning and did his best to feed him and walk him and clean up after him but when that became too much for him, or more to the point Billy lost interest, Mom and Dad provided for Logan.  But still, “they took Logan?”  What was that all about?  They went away for Christmas and they took the family dog and left Billy behind?

Of course, I could tell you what that was all about.  I am the author after all.  Simply put, Mom and Dad had had enough…not with caring for Logan but with Billy not caring at all.

Billy tried the door.  It was locked.  He wondered if he should try his key.  Maybe that part about changing the alarm code wasn’t true.  He decided against that.  No, this seemed all too real but he thought he’d better look around a bit.

Billy pressed his face up against the window in the door.  He couldn’t see anything.  It wasn’t dark but his view was only of the entrance hall and there was nothing there.  He tried the living room window.  Nothing there either.  Oh, he could see the Christmas tree and all of the decorations but no sign of Mom and Dad.

“This makes no sense,” he said aloud to no one in particular.  It really didn’t make any sense as far as he was concerned.  Throughout the month of December his parents had been fools about Christmas.  The decorations and the lights came out early and the tree went up and the holiday specials annoyed Billy for the whole month.  Of course Billy had nothing to do with any of it.  He shook his head at all that holiday nonsense.  It had been too much for him and he had retreated to the sanctity of his room and his video games.

Of course, you and I can see it plainer than Billy.  His Mom and Dad had tried to make a Christmas but Billy didn’t want to be a part of it.  He wanted Christmas day and the presents and the dinner and that was it.  No wonder Mom and Dad had split with Logan.

“What about the presents and the dinner?”  Billy was getting good at talking to himself.

Mom had been baking all month and there had been cookies and squares and tarts and all kinds of things that Billy did indulge enjoy.  He didn’t help bake anything but he really liked sampling them.  He always ignored his mother’s pleas to “leave those alone” or “save some for others” or “you’ll spoil your dinner.”  It was like a game to Billy.  He never thought his mother was really upset.  That was just what mothers do or say.  The truth is that’s what Billys do or say.  And Billys never think.  But boy was he thinking now.

“Grandma and Grandpa’s?”  His utterings would have been comical to anyone walking by who heard this all coming from a 14 year old boy with his nose pressed against the living room window of a house that was armed and alarmed by owners who took their dog and left for Christmas and left their son to Grandma and Grandpa.

“Grandma and Grandpa’s?” he asked himself again.  It was a fate worse than death.  They had no internet and no cable television.  They had rabbit ears and got three channels and one of those was public broadcasting.  Public broadcasting, Billy thought, was for toddlers and old people.  He wasn’t any of those.  “Great, more Christmas specials,” he said to the window.  Billy thought that with his parents gone he’d at least dodge that bullet.  He called that wrong.

Grandma and Grandpa’s house was on the other side of town.  It was a long walk and it would not help much with Billy’s mood.  Maybe they’d be gone too.  Maybe there’d be another note pinned to the door passing him on to other relatives until he came full circle back to his own home and it would all have been a cruel joke and his parents with Logan would be there to greet him.

No such luck.  Grandma and Grandpa were home.

“Your parents dropped off what they thought you needed.  We put everything up in the spare room,” Grandma said.  “Oh, and they left this note.”

Great, another note, Billy thought.  Here’s where the gag would be revealed and they’d all have a good laugh…at his expense.  Again, no such luck.

 

Billy, listen to Grandma and Grandpa.  Their house, their rules.  We have left you no electronics.  Don’t even try your phone.  We’ve cancelled your plan.  No texts, no data, no calls.  Don’t forget to wear your boots.

Merry Christmas.

 

Mom & Dad

 

Billy reeled with the horror.  He tried his phone.  Nothing worked.  Emergency Service only.  Would 911 consider his plight an emergency?  He dashed up the stairs to the spare room.  The note didn’t lie.  There were no electronics.  No game consoles.  No hand-held game systems.  No tablet, no laptop.  But there were boots.

“I’m not wearing those,” he said to the room.  Surprisingly, the room didn’t answer.

The next day, Billy wore the boots.

It had been a rough night.  He had pressed Grandma and Grandpa for answers but they gave none.  All they would say was that he was there for Christmas and they’d see about New Year’s.  Nothing about Mom and Dad and Logan and his cancelled Christmas.  Nothing about the presents and the dinner.  Nothing about anything.  He had hid out in the room.  The blankets were wool and itched.  Oh, and it snowed.

Overnight the landscape had turned to white and Billy’s expensive running shoes were useless.  Two feet of snow and climbing.

“Doesn’t beat the seven feet of snow they had in Buffalo a few years ago,” Grandpa said as he shook Billy awake the next morning.

“What?” was all Billy could manage at seven o’clock.  His eyes were hardly open and the room was too cold.  “Why do old people always like it so cold”, he thought.  He knew better that to at least say that out loud.

“Shovelling first,” Grandpa went on, “and then Breakfast and then shopping.  Get a move on.”  Grandpa whipped off the blankets before flipping on the lights and leaving the room.

“Could this get any worse?” Billy said to the room.  The room was a good listener.  It was not much on small talk but it didn’t laugh at him for talking to himself.

Billy struggled out of the bed and into his clothes.  At least his parents had provided him with what seemed like enough clothes for a long stay.  And he put on the boots and a toque and gloves and a scarf.  All provided courtesy of his parents.  Bundled that way, no one would recognize him.  At least he had his anonymity to cling to if he wanted it…oh and he wanted it.

“This is my grandson, Billy, and he’s going to shovel your driveway.  Merry Christmas.”  Grandpa didn’t know anything about anonymity.

Not only did Billy have to shovel Grandma and Grandpa’s driveway but they insisted on introducing him to every elderly neighbor on the block and extending them the courtesy of Billy’s free labor.  Billy wasn’t one for good deeds but Grandpa kept an eye him until everything was done.  Five driveways and aching arms later, it was time for breakfast.

“Oatmeal, there’s nothing like it on a cold morning,” Grandma said as she spooned out a good sized bowl’s worth.  Billy glared at it.  There was no sugar.  The milk was skim or non-fat or something he’d rather avoid.  At least they let him have some coffee.  It was too strong.  There was no sugar.  The milk was skim or non-fat…you get the drift.

This was really shaping up to be an awful holiday for Billy.  First, no Christmas and now no sugar and some liquid that passed almost as white water.  At least he had the shopping to look forward to.  He had some money on him and maybe he could buy himself something to make it all passable.

They drove to the Bulk House.  Everything was in bulk.  Grandma and Grandpa bought fifty rolls each of paper towels and toilet paper.  Oh, but there were vegetables.  Billy had to heft a fifty pound sack of potatoes out to the car.  That didn’t include the 20 pounds of carrots or the big bag of onions.  Billy had to huddle in the back with groceries.  Grandpa said his summer tires were in the trunk.

That evening, dinner consisted of fish with, you guessed it, boiled potatoes, carrots, and onions.  The evening also consisted of watching a Christmas movie with Grandma and Grandpa.  They insisted.  It was A Christmas Carol.  Of course it would be.  This story is about redemption and what better tale happens at Christmas about redemption than Ebenezer Scrooge’s own?  I don’t mean to hit the reader over the head with this but I thought that Billy might need some poking.

The next morning, being the day before Christmas, Billy did indeed wake to some poking.  It was Grandpa again.

“Up and at ‘em, boy, it snowed another foot in the night.  You know the routine.  Shoveling first, then breakfast, then shopping.”  Grandpa jerked the covers back again before leaving the room.

“What time does he even get up?” Billy muttered.  Again, the room had no response.

Five more driveways plus Grandma and Grandpa’s.  Breakfast was fried potatoes and toast.  The margarine was cheap and hard.  It tore the toast.  Billy flavored his semi-milk with some coffee this time.  It wasn’t a welcomed change.

Shopping consisted of another trip back to the Bulk House.  This time it was just Grandpa and Billy.  They did not go inside.  Grandpa bought a Christmas tree from the man who sold them at a corner of the parking lot.  There was some haggling between Grandpa and the vendor.  Billy tried to hide among the pre-cut forest.  Apparently this was a ritual for Grandma and Grandpa.  They waited until the 24^th before buying their tree.  At least Billy didn’t have to suffer that too much.

Billy, however, did suffer.  He counted his scratches.  Guess who had to help lift it on the roof and drag it in the house and crawl underneath the tree and help balance it in the stand until Grandma declared it was perfect?  Not Grandpa, I can tell you that.

You know I hate to see anyone suffer; especially at Christmas.  I’d like to say I take no joy in seeing my boy Billy suffer but I don’t want to lie to you reader.  Billy has to suffer.  Without the suffering there’s no motivation for change.  After all, haven’t I caused him enough anguish by cancelling his Christmas and packing him off to his Grandparents and then having him break his back with a shovel only to suffer yet another fruitless trip to the Bulk House where he got nothing for himself again except the scrapes he’s now counting?  I thought the message of A Christmas Carol would have been plain enough for him.  What’s it going to take?

After the tree decorating, Grandpa delighted in beating Billy twice at Cribbage.  Billy hadn’t played in years and Grandpa made sure to collect all of the points for himself that Billy missed in error.

“Your head’s not in the game, boy,” Grandpa stated after the second defeat.  At least Billy was only skunked in the second game.  The first game had ended in a double skunk with Grandpa declaring that Billy should study harder in school because math obviously wasn’t his strong suit if he couldn’t realize what cards added up to fifteen.

Billy escaped.  After the game he wore the boots again and trudged down the block to the corner store.  Grandma had sent him there twice the day before for bread and then the watered down milk.  Not only did she forget to stalk up on these when she was at the Bulk House, she couldn’t even remember everything she needed so she wouldn’t have to send him out more than once.

This time, Billy went for himself.  He still had his money.  He bought a soda and rejoiced in the sugar.  He eyed the magazines but found he was not old enough for some and the others were nothing he’d care to read.  Your corner store doesn’t usually stock in the latest gamer magazines.

While Billy was enjoying the sweetness of the soda he thought about the lack of sugar at Grandma and Grandpa’s.  He bought some sugar cubes, a carton of good milk possibly 50 proof, and some coffee creamer.  Given the exorbitant prices at the corner store, Billy soon found his spending money well depleted.  He bought a Christmas bag with his loose change.  He’d put the sugar, milk, and creamer in that and that would be his gift to his Grandparents.

Dinner was cabbage and pork-roll.  Oh yes, and baked potatoes and more carrots.

The movie that night was “It’s A Wonderful Life.”  It had been a while since Billy had sat through it in its entirety.

Billy lay awake long into the night.  You would think that redeeming thoughts of histories of his youth or a life lived by others without him or visions of sugar plums at the very least would have been dancing in his head.  No, instead he thought of this Christmas lived without him.  Mom and Dad and Logan were probably on some beach somewhere or at some mountain resort thinking of anything but Billy.  He began to wallow in his own misery.  He piled on everything from the cancelled Christmas to the pine needles he had had to shake from his hair.  Grandpa had said that wouldn’t have happened if Billy got a haircut once in a while.

Billy finally drifted off to sleep feeling thoroughly sorry for himself and wondering what type of potato would greet him for Christmas dinner…if there was a Christmas dinner.

The room was very warm when he awoke.  No one had whisked away the covers.  He had kicked them off himself.  And it was still dark.

Billy looked about the room.  There was a glow from the street light but he could only see shadows in the room.

“Hey room, Merry Christmas,” Billy called out in the dark.  It was meant as sarcasm.

“Merry Christmas yourself Billy,” the room replied.

Billy bolted up in the bed.  He reached over and turned on the lamp beside his bed.  The light was suddenly too bright in the close darkness.  Eventually the shadows became blurs and then shadows again and then he saw it…saw him…Santa Claus

“Merry Christmas Billy,” Santa said.

Billy rubbed his eyes.  No, this couldn’t be.  He closed his eyes tight for a few seconds and then opened them again.  It was no use.  He was still there.  And it was Santa.  Billy knew this right off.  It wasn’t Grandpa or anyone else dressed up like Santa.  It was the real Santa.

Billy looked Santa over.  Red suit and real beard.  He looked just like a thousand images of Santa he had seen in print or on television or in the movies.  The image was immediately recognizable and true to his own memories of what he thought Santa looked like.  Not that Billy ever thought of Santa Claus these days.  That was kids’ stuff.

“Merry Christmas Billy”, Santa said again.

“You said that already,” Billy pointed out.  Billy didn’t mean to be flippant but what do you say to Santa when he shows up in the middle of the night at your grandparents’ house after you’d been dreaming of your thoroughly miserable Christmas.

“And would it kill you to say it back?” Santa asked.  Apparently Santa was not opposed to being flippant.

“Merry Christmas,” Billy replied, “but you can’t be…”  Billy trailed off what he was going to say.  Why couldn’t he be Santa Claus?  Nothing else that had happened to him lately made any sense.

“Oh, but I can be and I am.”  Santa looked around the room.  “What, no cookies and milk?”

“I’m not a kid you know”, Billy found himself answering.  “That stuff’s just for kids.”  Again it was the kids’ stuff guiding his thoughts.  Substitute Bah Humbug and you will understand what Billy was getting at.

“The cookies aren’t for the kids, they’re for me.  I’m for the kids.  But I’m not just for children Billy.  I came because you need me.”  Santa shook a mittened hand in Billy’s direction.

“I don’t need anything”, Billy replied in defiance.  “I’ve got everything I need.”  Billy shook his own hand back at Santa.

“No Christmas, potatoes galore, scratched up arms, and pine needles in your hair.  I guess you do have everything.”  Santa was good at stating the obvious.

Billy ran his fingers through his hair.  It was true.  There were still some pine needles clinging to his scalp.  At least he could thank Santa for that.

“You see Billy, you really don’t have anything.  Listening to me might just change that.  When you have nothing to lose then you have everything to gain.”  Santa sat down on the bed.  “I heard that somewhere and it bears repeating.”  Told you so, reader.

Billy couldn’t think of anything to say.  Santa was right…on all accounts.

“You once needed me Billy and I used to come to you every year.  You were always a delight when you were sleeping.  Still are.  I bet your parents would say that about you now.  It’s the waking times that need a little polishing.”

“Thanks a lot Santa,” Billy snapped.

“It’s only the truth.  Don’t blame the messenger,” Santa replied without buying into Billy’s anger.  “Then you grew up.  You thought you knew it all.  You didn’t want anything.  Or if you did, your parents gave it to you.  I blame them for expelling me from your life.  What do you need me for after they break the illusion?  Still, you didn’t have to buy into it all and let it run your life.”

“I thought you said I needed you?” Billy asked.  The sarcasm was creeping back in.

“You do.  You did and then you didn’t and now you do.”

Billy looked confused.

“It’s like this”, Santa continued.  “When you are little you need the magic and the wonder and I’m there for that.  When you got older you didn’t need that anymore or maybe you didn’t want it.  But boy do you need it now.”  Santa was shaking his hand at Billy again.  “You’ve lost something and it isn’t just this Christmas.  You’ve lost all your Christmases.  You gave them up.  Thought you didn’t need them.  There’s an emptiness in you that you can’t find a way to fill.  No video game’s going to give you back that.”

Billy stared at Santa.  He had cut Billy to the core; only because it was true.  Santa was right.  It wasn’t just this Christmas.  Billy had walked away from all of that the first Christmas he didn’t get everything he wanted.  The memory of not getting the Grim Reaper 4 video game came back to his mind.  That was the morning he had built the robot.  But that’s the other story.

Santa reached over to pat Billy on the arm.  Billy thought about quickly pulling his arm away but he didn’t.  Billy felt the touch.  It was real.  It was true.  Everything Santa had said was true.  There was truth in the words and Billy knew it.  The truth was the one thing that Billy would never have thought to ask for but the one thing he needed most.

“Don’t think on it too much kid”, Santa went on.  “I’ve given you a gift.  It might not have been anything you wanted but sometimes it’s the things we need that are the best gifts received.”

Santa stood up and stood beside the bed for the moment looking into Billy’s eyes.  He reached out to shut off the lamp.  Just before he did he turned back to Billy and said “and that was a nice touch about the sugar cubes, milk, and creamer.  Now go and find your own Christmas.”  The light went out, the room grew colder, and Santa was gone.

Billy lay in the bed trembling for a long time.  He wasn’t sure if it was the coldness of the room or what had just happened.  He pulled up the blankets and hunkered down.  He couldn’t be sure if what just happened really happened or if he’d been dreaming.  Soon he slept again.

In the morning Billy woke to a strange sound.  He didn’t recognize it right away.  It was like bells in the distance and it stirred him.  Church Bells?  Christmas Bells?  No, it was his phone.  The chiming signified he had a message.

Billy snatched up his phone.  It was working again.  The service was back on.  There were about a dozen texts from friends wondering where he was or what he got for Christmas or bragging about their own gifts.  And there was a text from Mom and Dad:

Billy, there’s a gift for you at the house.  We’ve disarmed the alarm and we’ve restored your phone service.

Merry Christmas.

 

Mom & Dad

 

Billy practically flew out of bed.  It was Christmas and there was a gift.  After dressing he ran down the stairs and called out to Grandma and Grandpa.  They must have gone out or were sleeping in.  He left his gift bag for them on the table.  They’d find it.

Billy didn’t care that it was cold out or that it had snowed again.  He was just glad he hadn’t been awoken by Grandpa hovering over him with a shovel.  There was a spring back in Billy’s step and the walk home didn’t seem half as long as normal.

Billy tried his key in the lock.  It opened.  No alarm went off to spoil it all.  But there was something.  Billy smelled bacon.  And there was music.  Okay, it was Christmas music but he’d take that over alarms ringing.  And then Logan was there jumping up at him.  And Mom.  And Dad.

“What?” Billy started.  But it stuck in his throat.

“Merry Christmas son.”  Dad was at his side pulling off Billy’s toque.

“Stamp that snow off your boots,” Mom said appearing in the hall with Grandma and Grandpa.

“Merry Christmas boy,” Grandpa said.  “More snow hunh?  Still, it doesn’t beat what they got in Buffalo a few years ago.”

“I know, seven feet of snow in Buffalo,” Billy replied.  Billy found himself chuckling at what he said.

“You’re just in time for breakfast,” Grandma said.  “Bacon and eggs and toast and waffles if you want them.”

“What, no hash browns or home-fried potatoes?”  Billy asked.  Billy gave off with another laugh.

“Thought you’d had your fill of potatoes?” Grandma replied.

But there were potatoes.  Mashed potatoes with dinner.  And turkey,  And stuffing.  And gravy.  And just about everything that makes Christmas dinner Christmas dinner.  And pie for desert.  Mom’s apple and Grandma’s pumpkin.  He hadn’t missed them.

Before dinner but after breakfast, there were presents.  Billy hadn’t expected anything so no matter what he got, he thoroughly welcomed the presents.  There was even the Grim Reaper 4 video game.  Dad had found it in a retro game shop.  Billy put it away.  He didn’t need it right now.

In the afternoon he beat Grandpa two straight games of Cribbage.  He loaded the dishwasher.  He even walked Logan.

That night, Billy lay in bed and thought back on the day.  He hadn’t even asked his parents what it had all been about.  Had they been there the whole time?  Should he have tried his key that day after school?  He didn’t care.  He had lost something and now he had got it back.  He had found his Christmas.

Billy didn’t really know if Santa Claus had really come to him.  It might have been too many potatoes or too many movies with Christmas spirits or angels.  He couldn’t be sure.

“Merry Christmas room.”  Billy waited for a reply.  There was none and that was okay.  Still, he wish he knew for sure.

The next year he took no chances and he hung up his stocking and left out cookies and milk.  Logan ate them all.

The End.

 

 

 

      Here it is Christmas Day 2018 and I’m posting another quick blahg. I didn’t get that Christmas story about Billy finished but then I got super busy.  My dad is back in the hospital and didn’t get home for today so that’s a little depressing.  I don’t want to focus on that so instead I’m going to up some photos of the inside of my house.

      These are photos of our big fat Christmas tree which looks like its constantly falling over.  The trunk of the tree is at the back of the tree so it looks like it’s leaning.  This is probably the last real tree we’ll get from Moore’s Christmas Tree farm outside of Bloomfield.  The guy said this was his last year because the trees are getting too big and he didn’t do any pruning.  I believe it.  The rest of the photos are of are mantle display of Santas that keeps getting bigger every year and of all of our Nutcrackers and my wife’s wooden Nativity.  Again, click on any of the pictures below to get a larger close up in a new tab.

      I said this is going to be a quick Christmas blahg and the next blahg will be sometime in 2019 which, knowing me, doesn’t necessarily mean January.  I’m going to end this blahg with a quick memory of the first time I heard a particular song on the radio around Christmas.  It was probably seven or eight years ago and I was driving and listening to Warm 101.3 FM out of Syracuse, NY.  They play Christmas all throughout the month of December and it’s a good way to get into the holiday spirit. I was aware that there was a version of “Silent Night” recorded by Frank Sinatra in 1991 and I didn’t have it.  I had never heard it before because it had been released in 1991 on an obscure CD called “The Christmas Album…A Gift of Hope”.  Well, sure enough, Warm 101.3 played it and I was amazed by the vocal.  It was the elder Sinatra backed by Frank Sinatra Jr. on piano and a choir.  A failing voice that was tender and cracked but with emotion that almost made me cry.  Give it a listen:

 

     The other version was another take with just Bill Miller on the piano.  It would not be released until 2004 when it was a bonus track on “The Frank Sinatra Christmas Collection”.  Thirteen years between releases?  Of course, Sinatra had died by then, back in 1998, but we at least had an alternate take on the last song he ever recorded.  Here’s that version of Sinatra singing “Silent Night” backed by Bill Miller: 

     I hope you enjoyed that and that both versions added to your Christmas enjoyment.  Merry Christmas once again and you’ll hear from me again in 2019.  But in the words of another great song by Sinatra, who knows “Where or When.”

 

 

 

      Well, it’s about nine days until Christmas and I’m going to try and toss in a quick blahg. Today is December 16th and my daughter Abbie’s 20th Birthday so Happy Birthday to Abbie!  I will mention her later on in this blahg but  I really want to dash this off while I’m still in my pyjamas and to post some of my Christmas stories…both real and fictional. 

     First up is my 2018 Christmas Light Display.  Last year, my wife Jeanette gave me a new inflatable Santa which is good because my giant inflatable Christmas Tree started smoking after being plugged in and then the motor died.  Every year it’s the same thing:  some of the things from last year don’t work this year.  Click on any of the pictures below to get a larger close up in a new tab. 

     The sad thing about the above Light Display is that all the snow in those pictures was from about 4 days ago and now the snow  is all melted.  Also, the large stump visible in the front yard is all that’s left of our 125 year old maple tree that had to be cut down.  It developed a large split down the trunk earlier this year and Ontario Hydro had to cut it down before it took down the power lines.  Fun fact, a limb from the tree did snap off in a wind storm over my Birthday weekend in September and took down the hydro line…twice that night.  I think the Hydro crew were cursing me or cursing the tree that night.  Below, is a picture of the front of my house in 2016 showing my light display and where the tree once proudly stood: 

     So what about those Christmas Stories?  First, I have to give a prelude or prologue to my first story in the form of a list.  The following list of movies are some lesser known Christmas movies that I like to watch around this time of year: 

1. “Remember The Night” (Barbara Stanwyck & Fred MacMurray) 1940

2. “Beyond Tomorrow”” (aka Beyond Christmas) 1940

3. It Happened On Fifth Avenue” 1947

4. “Miracle of the Bells” (Fred MacMurray, Valli, & Frank Sinatra) 1948

5. “Holiday Affair” (Robert Mitchum & Janet Leigh) 1949

6. “The Great Rupert” (Jimmy Durante) 1950 aka The Christmas Wish

7. “The Holly and the Ivy” (Ralph Richardson) 1952

8. “Room For One More” (Cary Grant & Betsy Drake) 1952

9. “Young At Heart” (Frank Sinatra & Doris Day) 1954

10. “Fitzwilly” (Dick Van Dyke & Barbara Feldon) 1967

11. “The Christmas Tree” (William Holden) 1969

12. “The Gathering” (Ed Asner & Maureen Stapleton) 1977

13. “An American Christmas Carol” (Henry Winkler) 1979

14. “The Man In The Santa Claus Suit” (Fred Astaire) 1979

15. “Ebenezer” (Jack Palance & Ricky Shcroder) 1998

16. “Nativity” (Martin Freeman) 2009

17. “Arthur Christmas” 2011

     Of the above list, only “The Christmas Tree” 1969, and “The Man In The Santa Claus Suit” 1979 have yet to have DVD releases.  “The Holly and the Ivy” 1952 has only had a DVD release in the UK but if you have a region free DVD player or a DVD player or Blu-Ray player that you have hacked to make region free, like I have, then you can order it and watch it.  Great film about a family gathering and happy dysfunction.  I’ve held onto my copies of The Christmas Tree” 1969, and “The Man In The Santa Claus Suit” 1979 because I still have a VCR and it’s the only way to watch these movies.  I have a bin of old Christmas Cartoon specials that were issued on VHS and never issued on DVD but some I have converted to digital format unless there was some copyright protection that prevented me from converting them. 

     Now, my copy of “The Christmas Tree” is one that I picked up at a Library yard sale some years ago.  You can see from the image at the right that it’s a library discard.  The thing about this movie is that it’s not a happy movie.  Here’s a quote from the back jacket:  “Learning that his son has only six months left to live after being exposed to a nuclear explosion, William Holden is determined to make them the happiest of his life.  He meets his son’s every wish including buying him a blue tractor and stealing a pair of wolves from the zoo.  The boy’s gentleness tames the savage wolves and they become his pets.”  Spoiler:  The Kid Dies In The End!  I told you it wasn’t a happy Christmas movie. 

     I like this movie.  I think William Holden does some phenomenal acting in this film and Brook Fuller who plays his son, Pascal, does a decent job.  But remember, this is not a happy film.  I showed it to my two oldest children, Emily and Noah, probably more than ten years ago and they hated it.  In fact, every year they are adamant that I never show it to them again.  I either have to watch it myself or find a new viewing partner.  This year, my daughter Abbie, who turned 20 today, had heard all the previous lamenting from her siblings but committed to watching it with me.  It took me several days to find the VHS because it wasn’t in the normal bin and I had practically given up when I finally found it hidden behind some other old VHS tapes at the bottom of a cabinet.  Abbie and I stayed up until 1:30am last night watching it.  It still holds up but now I have to add Abbie to the list of people who won’t watch it again with me. 

     “The Christmas Tree” is not available for viewing anywhere online but I did find this ten minute video on YouTube that summarizes pretty well with scenes from the movie: 

     Okay, so onto the stories.  First, I want to present a new inspirational holiday message for this Christmas.  I used to have a radio sketch comedy show from 1993 to 1995 under the title of “Dead From The Neck Up” with my friends Stephen Dafoe and Bryan Dawkins.  Dafoe and I created two characters known as Stan The Welcome Mat Man and his sidekick Teddy The Topless Dancer.  I was Stan and Dafoe was Teddy.  Stan would welcome new people to the neighbourhood but would also rail against ethnicities and other types he didn’t like.  I know he’s not politically correct but he’s evolved over the years.  Evolved being that our radio show went off the air in 1995 and there was no new Stan until 2014 and then again this year when I recorded a new message.  I’m going to present the four Stan The Welcome Mat Man Holiday Inspirational messages.  The first is from Stan in 1994 or 1995: 

Next up is Teddy’s message from around the same time: 

I revisited Stan in 2014 and recorded a new Inspirational Holiday Message:

And just yesterday, I recorded a new Stan The Welcome Mat Man Inspirational Holiday Message with a 12 Days of Christmas Theme:

     So, I know what you’re wondering is where’s the story in that?  I wrote the new message so that counts for something.  If that’s not enough, I’m going to post a couple of Christmas stories that I have written in the past.  First up is a reflection piece I wrote around 2006 called “Pinheads”: 

Pinheads

          Once upon a time, which is not how this story should start but is how all good stories used to start and as I would like this to turn out to be a good story, there were three girls.  I of course am remembering this and find fault in having not remembered it until recently seeing those three girls again long after I had matured and had children of my own.  But for all intents and purposes this story is about those three girls and that once upon a time.

          These girls were pinheads.  Well, now they’re pinheads but that long ago they were three little girls to three little boys and I was one of those boys and was eight or nine which is not really all that little.

          My brother, my cousin, and I were the boys and the girls were the same age as us respectively.  They were friends of my grandmother or that is to say they were daughters of friends of my grandmother.  At that time my cousin lived next door to my grandmother and we spent a lot of time visiting between the two houses as we were but aren’t now a close-knit family.

          Anyway the girls were friends of ours.  And their father stank.  At least I think he stank.  It might have been those overalls he always wore when he came to visit.  “Ma, it’s time to go a-visiting so I better put them overalls on and go wade about in the manure up to my waste.”  I bet that’s how it went.  All I know is he stank and as much as we liked seeing the girls we hated smelling the father.  For a long time afterwards I didn’t readily associate relationships with the opposite sex with a pleasant aroma.

          What I remember about these girls mostly other than the pungent perfume of their father was that they were very friendly.  I also remember one of ’em kissed me.  I’m sure it was the one who was my age but I might want to admit I probably said it was one of the older ones so the retelling of this event made me seem more mature.  This of course means I lied to my friends about my first encounter with a girl.  It probably was the younger of the set as I was the younger.  And I think there were more kisses than just that one.  That was probably why we liked those girls so much, because anyone who’d have kissed us boys back then couldn’t have been all bad.

          Now here’s where I skip ahead and tell you I never saw those girls again.  Oh I heard about them from time to time and I recall their father dying and the family having some financial difficulties and having to sell off the farm but I never saw them again.  Well, maybe that’s not really true.  I saw them again today and when I looked at them they were still girls except they were pinheads.

          I suppose at this point I should describe a pinhead.  I am by no means being chauvinistic or derogatory.  I’m just trying to describe them using a term I heard once in a movie.  Pinheads, is a circus freak term to describe not so tall people with pointy heads and little intelligence.  I remember reading a book once about a circus pinhead who turned out to be rather intelligent but never spoke as he really never had anything intelligent to say.  This might be a good thing as I’ve known people who have not had an intelligent thing to say but who proceeded with saying it anyhow.  These girls had become pinheads.

          It was in a department store when I saw the pinheads again.  I was killing time with my two-year-old son by amusing him with brightly coloured children’s Christmas video jackets.  I’m attuned to the pander of small children and so I didn’t immediately take notice of other cooings over those animated cases.  It might also have been that the smell that I had associated with these girls wasn’t there.  But they were there.  Oh, they were older, and their mother who was chaperoning them was older, but it was them.  I looked cautiously as it had been many years and I wondered after these many years if they’d recognize me and categorize me as I had done them as pinheads.  The recognition never dawned on them.

          I think I was upset.  Here was a lost part of my youth and what I had held as a beautiful memory was now sharply contrasted by their childlike gait and vocabulary.  I tried to deny it was them but when the mother called them by their names there was no mistaking their identity.

          I’m trying to remember if they’d always been pinheads.  They probably weren’t.  I’d like to think any girl who’d have kissed me back then knew what she was doing.  It might be that I remember this all now with a matured educated brain.  This tends to cloud the memory as I analyze everything I’ve ever done and rationalize why I was the way I was and why things were the way they were.  This means those girls may not have been all that smart back then but as a boy I didn’t notice.  Children can be blind that way.  Some say children can be cruel.  I think it can go the other way, too.  Children can overlook things like intelligence and handicaps and poverty lines when it comes to friendship or pre-pubescent kisses.

          I did not say hello to the girls.  I think maybe they would not have remembered me.  I might be uncaring in not giving them that credit; after all maybe their memory was intact.  What’s that about not judging books by covers?  That would be more than appropriate as my son and I had been judging Christmas video covers without viewing the production.

          I didn’t want to pigeon hole these girls as pinheads but I believe there was something in me that wanted to use the term as a defence.  As I said, I thought a girl who kissed me long ago had to know what she was doing and I didn’t want to admit that maybe she really didn’t know what she was doing.  It bruised my ego to think I might just have been an experience like swimming or falling or getting a haircut.  As you get older you lose that blindness of childhood for the all seeing all knowing perspective.  After all those years I was finally seeing the truth about myself.  I really could detect pinheads.  All I needed to do was look in the mirror.

The End

     I like that story.  It shows how much, like Stan, I’ve grown.  The last story, which I’ll end on is “Billy Built A Robot Christmas Morning.”  I wrote this around 2005 and the reason I’m posting this one is due to the fact that I’ve been thinking about writing a sequel Christmas story about Billy and what happened to him when he gets older.  I haven’t got it written yet but like visions of sugarplums, I’ve got snippets dancing around it my head: 

Billy Built A Robot Christmas Morning

The first thing Billy did was to build a robot.  Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  The first thing Billy did was to wake up Christmas morning, open all of his presents, and express his extreme dissatisfaction at not getting the Grim Reaper 4 video game.

“It’s too violent,” his parents said.  “You need something educational,” said his mother, “not something that’s all about killing and destroying stuff.”

So Billy built a robot.  At first it was difficult.  He didn’t grasp all of the principles of building the robot.  He didn’t understand how to connect certain elements or to build a self-contained renewable energy pack to power the robot.  And then there were the principles of motor control and incorporating a simulated brain with cognitive features allowing it to understand and carry out specified instructions.  What did Billy know about any of these things?  He was only ten.

So Billy used the Internet.  There were numerous websites explaining certain codes and how to enable certain features.  He even went to a chat room and talked for an hour with a guy in Canada who had managed to build a fleet of robots capable of recreating other robots in their own image.  “Robots who built robots,” Billy thought.  “That’s cool.”

It took quite some time for Billy to build his own Robot but when it was completed he was very pleased with himself.  This Robot would be better than any others he had researched.  It would obey only Billy and do his bidding.

So Billy set the Robot loose.  At first it fumbled around and crashed through a few walls.  It was bulky and its weight was considerable enough to cause extensive damage wherever it went.  “Cool,” Billy exclaimed.

Then Billy maneuvered the Robot down the street and had it smash a few cars.  People ran in terror when they saw the Robot.  Billy didn’t care about the people.  He could hurt them if he wanted too.  He had learned from the Internet how to bi-pass certain inhibitors that would normally prevent the Robot from causing harm or even damaging things like walls and cars.  But Billy would not allow his Robot to hurt any people.  His parents wouldn’t like that.  But eating cars and smashing buildings was cool and nobody got hurt.

Billy wasn’t sure what he should really do with his Robot.  After a while he got bored of just having the Robot walk around and destroy things.  He could try and build other robots like that guy in Canada but then what do you do with a bunch of robots other than having them destroy more stuff?

So Billy set his thoughts on world domination.  He didn’t think about his parents anymore and he hardly even thought about Grim Reaper 4.  This Robot thing was way cooler.

So time passed and Billy built more robots and appointed his first Robot as their leader.  But they all followed Billy’s commands.  At first they just all walked around destroying stuff but Billy soon commanded them to destroy only really important stuff so that the people would all be really scared of the robots.  Sometimes some people shot at the robots but Billy had learned the trick to making his robots invincible.  This just made the people angrier and they shot more stuff at the robots and there were explosions and things that made Billy more excited.

Eventually the robots destroyed all of the cities and the people followed the robots through the countryside.  Some of them still shot stuff at the robots but most just followed the robots because there was nothing else to do.

The Robot that Billy built first always walked in the front.  He was the biggest.  Billy had made some changes to him and had given him laser eyes so he could destroy buildings and stuff from a distance.  Some of the other robots looked just like the first Robot but they could do different things.  Some had saw blades for hands and others had cannons in their chests.  There was this one robot that Billy really thought was cool that had treads on the bottom of its feet so it could run through forests and destroy trees and stuff.

Eventually with all of the cities destroyed, there was nothing much left to do but to set up a post from where he could rule the world.  That was easy.  First he found a city that was all surrounded by water and he had the robots destroy all of the bridges.  Then Billy had the robots build a fortress.  That was cool.  The robots kept anybody from going in there that weren’t robots.

All of the people who were on this new island city ran around and screamed and stuff but Billy didn’t care.  He looked over this new island and thought this is probably the best spot where no one could hurt his robots.  He could hear the people all yelling and stuff but he didn’t care.

“Billy!”  Billy could hear one of the people calling his name.  Why would someone be shouting his name?

“Billy!”  Billy vaguely recognized the voice.  He hadn’t heard it in a while but he was sure it was his mother’s voice.

“Billy!”  Billy turned about looking for the source of the voice.

“Billy, shut off that robot video game.  You’ve been playing it all day.  Now shut it off and come to Christmas dinner.

The End

     Well, that’s it for now.  I don’t know if I’ll get the sequel story written or even if I’ll get another blahg written this month.  If I don’t then I’m sending you all my Christmas blessings and all the best for 2019.  Happy Holidays!

      It’s about time I wrote this blahg. Let me say that I think this blahg will practically write itself…which it probably should if it has to wait around for me.  Let me also say what I won’t talk about in this blahg.  I won’t comment on Doug Ford being elected as the new Premier of Ontario and how he and his party are rife with scandal and are attacking the working class and poor and disenfranchised of this Province.  No, I won’t talk about that.  I also won’t go on and on about my problems with my Father’s health and how he’s been home twice since October 15th and back again and how Belleville General Hospital had him on the mat with a count of 9 with us all around expecting him to lose the fight.  Didn’t happen.  He’s better and ornery and I hope to have him home again next week.  I’m not talking about that though.  This blahg is back to the music and an interesting story about a a dixieland jazz band that was but wasn’t.  I know, I flipped the title.  Read on and you’ll find out why. 

     Earlier this year, at a thrift store in Kingston, I picked up a jazz band record that looked very interesting.  It was Dixieland played by The Left Bank Bearcats on the Reo label (this is probably a Canada label and in the USA the record was issued on the Sommerset label).  I had never heard of the band but the front cover and the description on the back cover sounded interesting.  If you click on the back cover image to the right, you will get the description of the band.  Here’s the description from the back cover: 

Paris and New Orleans.  Both of these cities suggest about the same things to the traveler and the dreamer; Gayiety, food, the spice of naughtiness and music.

It’s small wonder that Parissiennes have taken to the greatest of all New Orleans commodities; Jazz.  The urban Frenchman always expresses himself in a free and uninhibited manner and yet never loses his identity as a Frenchman.  Is this not so of Dixieland?  Remain harmonious and sympathetic to the group, but never conform to preconceived pattern.  This is Jazz – This is Paris.

The romance of the Left Bank with all its color and excitement has an individual quality that sets it apart from the rest of Paris just as the French quarter in New Orleans is unlike any place in any American City.  The Left Bank Bearcats are a group of young French jazz devotees that play the various small cafes and bistros of Monmarte.  Except for Marcel Durand, the leader (and trombonist) no member of the group has ever had any formal musical training.  Jacques Cas the drummer worked four years as a deck hand aboard a French luxury liner and spent every off duty moment with the ship’s orchestra at rehearsals.

Bernard Gasté  plays piano, Robert Eluist banjo, Louis Marquant guitar.  Aron Dubois, the trumpeter, is an ardent fan of Louis Armstrong and boasts the largest personal collection of “Satchmo” recordings on the continent.  These sides were made after closing hours at Maison Diabolique.  They were recorded under the supervision of D.L. Miller.

Whether you are a student at Sobornne, a tourist, gendarme or just a darn fussy record collector, we’re certain you will enjoy the Left Bank Bearcats in Dixieland.  Cover art by Joe Krush.

    

     I can only tell you that I was very intrigued when reading the back cover of the LP.  A mysterious french band doing New Orleans style jazz?  Recorded after hours at the Maison Diabolique?  Who were these guys?  I had to know more.  First, here’s a sample of one of the songs from the LP.  I wanted to choose something that swings and wasn’t one of the traditional songs you hear on most Dixieland Jazz LPs: 

CHINATOWN, MY CHINATOWN

     Some research online brought me more information about the band.    They had recorded 3 LPs on the Sommerset label.  I had the first and was able to track down “The Left Bank Bearcats Take George M. Cohan to Dixieland”.  On the rear cover of that record was a little more about the band.  Some of the description of the band and their backgrounds and interests is lifted right from the back of the first LP and we also find out that they’re still under the direction of D.L. Miller and the cover art is once again by Joe Krush: 

Dixieland is as purely American as the Eifel Tower is French.  However, while Dixieland itself was born and developed here, the appetite for this happy music has not been confined to our shores.  As stompin’ evidence of its popularity overseas, we present this program of dixie all the way by a group of Parisian jazz devotees – The Left Bank Bearcats.  This is the second Long Play record of the Bearcats released on Somerset.  Their first release, “The Left Bank Bearcats in Dixieland” (Somerset P-1400), has racked up such an impressive sales figure that we found ourselves back in Maison Diabolique laying down more tapes after hours.

The Left Bank Bearcats are a group of young french jazz devotees that play the various small cafes and bistros Monmartre.  Except for Marcel Durand, the leader (and trombonist) no member of the group has ever had any formal musical training.  Jacques Cas the drummer worked four years as a deck hand aboard a French luxury liner and spent every off duty moment with the ships orchestra at rehearsals.

Bernard Gasté plays piano, Robert Eluist banjo, Louis Marquant guitar.  Aron Dubois, the trumpeter, is an ardent fan of Louis Armstrong and boasts the largest personal collection of “Satchmo” recordings on the continent.

This collection of George M. Cohan songs (except for one original by J. Kuhn, Jr.—“It’s George With Joe”) has been causing no end of packed performances at the Diabolique.  Cohan was most certainly one of our greatest song writers.  He was as uncomplicated a person as the wonderful songs he wrote.  He was loved by his contemporaries while alive, as much as his songs are loved after his leaving us.

We reel that tunes and performance of this calibre will be with us a long time.  After all, it is the good things that last.

Recording under direction of D. L. Miller at Maison Diabolique.  Remote audio mix G. Berliot.  Cover art Joe Krush.

 

Give a listen to the original song from this LP, “It’s George (M. That Is) With Joe”: 

     Okay, so we didn’t really learn a great deal more about the band from the cover of the second album.  In fact, we don’t learn much more either with the release of the third album “the Left Bank Bearcats in Hi-Fi!” which was also released as “the Left Bank Bearcats in ‘Stereo’ “.  Here’s what we get from the back cover:

Due to the many requests since the first two releases, we returned to the Maison Diabolique, and not only give you more of the Left Bank Bearcats Dixieland, but give it to you both in high fidelity and stereophonic sound!

For those of you that haven’t met the group until now, they are all young French jazz devotees who (with the exception of Marchel Durand) have never had formal musical training.  Monsier Durand (leader and trombonist) and his group play the various small cafes and bistros Monmarte.  Jacques Cas, former French liner deck hand on drums, Robert Eluist on banjo, Bernard Gasté on piano, Louis Marquant on guitar, “Satchmo” Armstrong fan, Aron Dubois on trumpet, and Jacques Bonner on clarinet, were the original men, and since out last recording another has joined their midst.  Jon Gautreaux was formerly a classical bass player, who, for undisclosed personal reasons left the concert halls and started sitting in on the Monmarte sessions.  Needless to say, he found the tuba more his forte and is now a regular Bearcat member.

Again these sides were made after hours and again the Left Bank Bearcats give you Dixieland “tres magnifique”.

Recording under the direction of D.L. Miller.  Cover art by Will Dressler.

 

    So, we still don’t know much more about the band but John Gautreaux has joined on tuba and Will Dressler has done the artwork.  You can click on the rear cover on the left which is in fact the rear cover of the “the Left Bank Bearcats in ‘Stereo’ ” and not the Hi-Fi version.  I haven’t tracked down that LP but I have been able to get the audio files so I’ll offer up one from that third record in the ‘Stereo’ version.  This time it’s “Good News on Bourbon St.” 

 

     At this point, I still had questions.  What happened to the band?  Why only three albums?  Where was this famous Maison Diabolique?  The answers to these questions will surprise you.  The fact is, the band wasn’t a french band at all and there was no Maison Diabolique.  It was all lies.  In researching the band, I came across two videos that explained the truth behind the Left Bank Bearcats.  The first is an interview with Al Leopold who was the real trombonist on the three albums.  On the albums he was credited as Marcel Durand.  Have a listen to his interview: 

    

     So, the mystery began to unravel.  The albums actually were recorded in Philadelphia by American musicians.  I then found a second video posted by the son of Joe Techner who played the trumpet on the albums but was credited as Aron Dubois.  Here’s that  video: 

    

     What’s really interesting is the text comment under the video posted by Joe Techner’s son.  It gives a little bit more about the whole ruse and I post it here as a quote from the Youtube page where the video is posted: 

“My father Joe Techner (pictured) was trumpet on the three Left Bank Bearcats “Dixieland” albums. Crazy solo at 1:54. The Left Bank Bearcat albums were knock-off albums probably made by Dave Miller’s Somerset label to cash-in on the Dukes of Dixieland albums that debuted in May 1957. The recordings were locally supervised by Joe Kuhn, an army musician buddy of my dad.

My dad recalled that the records were sort of “underground” since those responsible for them didn’t go through the “proper channels” to make them. As a result, according to my father, Kuhn was beat up and later died. The official cause of death was cancer of the spinal cord following a two-year illness.

Kuhn was probably beaten up for years of under-the-table recordings for Dave Miller. Miller imported recordings he supervised in Germany using readily-available cheap labor from the local musicans in post-World War II Europe. But Miller apparently didn’t have the availability of French musicians at the time. So he tried to pass the Left Bank Bearcats LPs (“recorded in Paris”) as some of these imports.

Kuhn made the recordings hastily and clandestinely. However, local Philly musicians recognized the players’ styles on the albums and the players themselves kidded about it. Those that controlled the music business came after Kuhn. Miller was elusive and was mostly abroad in Germany or England.

Most of what we know about these recordings comes from trombonist Al Leopold, who also played trombone in the band of Jan Savitt from 1937 – 1941. Leopold told both PhilaVideo and Belgian jazz discographer Walter Bruyninckx the story. Leopold got a phone call from Dave Miller producer of the Somerset label to put a band together that had to play Dixieland music but had to sound like a French amateur band! Miller put out the recording “as recorded in Paris” with fictitious French names! Aaron Dubois was Joe Techner (trumpet), Marcel Durand was Al Leopold (trombone, leader), Jack Bonner was Frank Lewis (clarinet), Bertrand Gasté was Bernie Lowe (piano), Robert Eluist was Billy La Pata (banjo, guitar), Jon Gautreaux was Joe Kuhn (bass, tuba) and Jacques Cas was Jack Cassidy (drums).

Al Leopold told me that the first album was Somerset P1400 recorded at the Reco-Art studio, 212 N. 12th St. in Philadelphia, but Al can’t remember the exact dates although he thinks they must have been made 1956-1957. The second album was Somerset SF8300 and was recorded in Swarthmore, PA. The third album was Somerset P5300, recorded in Wallingford, PA and there’s some history about this LP. Dave Miller chose as location a bar which had a room behind for all sorts of events.  The bar and the room were both connected to the toilet in between. Miller wanted to add some echo to this LP and opened the toilet door on the room side. After the first number they were listening to the balance when suddenly there was a flush of a toilet so Dave decided they should make the record without an echo!”

This “bar” was most likely Silvio “Babe” D’Ignazio’s The Towne House in Media, Pa. A picture of this tavern is on Somerset LP # 7600.

In a blog, Dave Stoddard accurately recounts how these recordings were viewed in Philly music circles, “The 1957 LPs were partly performances, partly musical jokes (hence the pseudonyms). I was aware of the records because friends of mine knew Al Leopold, and he had mentioned recording them. Once, to Leopold’s absolute delight, a jazz aficionado trying to impress him described (erroneously) having heard the Left Bank Bearcats play in Paris.”

In 1997, I contacted Al Sherman, owner of Alshire Records in Burbank, Calif. At the time, Sherman owned the Somerset catalog. I told Sherman the recordings were not made in Paris and he became irate. He knew it was a lie. At the time, I purchased copies of the Left Bank Bearcats LPs from Sherman. He mailed me USED copies with the name Dave Miller crossed out on the liner notes! The Somerset catalog is now owned by Madacy Entertainment, Montreal. I contacted Madacy but they showed no interest nor provided any information when requested. They were more interested in Dave Miller’s 1955 recordings of Bill Hailey and the Comets on his earlier Essex label.

Philadelphia Evening Bulletin March 12, 1962, page 31: JOSEPH F. KUHN, Musical Director Joseph F. Kuhn, composer, arranger and conductor, died Saturday. He was 37 and lived at 2423 Poplar road, Havertown. Mr. Kuhn was musical director for Miller International Co., and was well known for his recording work in Hollywood, the east coast and Germany. Surviving are his wife, Anna Marie, an opera singer; three sons, Kevin, David and Joseph; his mother, Mrs. F. G. Kuhn, and a sister. Requiem mass will be celebrated at 10 a.m. Thursday at St. Denis Roman Catholic Church, Oakmont.

I recently met Joe Kuhn’s son Kevin who remembered Miller well. Perhaps out of guilt, Miller treated them to boat trips down the shore. Miller died in London May 24, 1985.”

    

     Okay, is your mind blown yet?  An all-American band recording as a Paris band with fake names in a fake bar.  By the way, the Somerset LP #7600 that is referenced in the quote above is “Lee Gotch’s Ivy Barflies – To The Tables Down At Mory’s”.  A picture of it can be seen on the right.  Will the craziness never end?  From that one thrift shop find of the first Left Bank Bearcats record we get great jazz and a conspiracy to deceive the music buying public.  I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. 

     I’m going to end this blahg because nothing more I could say would change the lies into truths.  It’s unfortunate that these albums are long out of print because they’re fun.  The deception still gave us some great music.  I’ve decided to post all three albums as full downloads so get them before they disappear: 

Dixieland played by the Left Bank Bearcats

http://www.mediafire.com/file/e635jv6bb8s61r0/Dixieland.rar/file

The Left Bank Bearcats Take George M. Cohan to Dixieland

http://www.mediafire.com/file/ehz7cc9dx4xzzxv/Take_George_M._Cohan_To_Dixieland.rar/file

The Left Bank Bearcats in ‘Stereo’

http://www.mediafire.com/file/by0s9ddwdemrt2k/The_Left_Bank_Bearcats_In_Stereo.rar/file

 

     If anyone asks you where you downloaded the Left Bank Bearcats albums, deny everything.  Tell them it’s a band that wasn’t…but was.  You get the drift.

 

 

     Interesting title? I’ll get to that. Let me first update you on my father.  In my last blahg, WHAT HAPPENED TO MR. HENDERSON?, I wrote about my Father and our experiences with Belleville General Hospital (BGH) in Belleville, Ontario.  If I haven’t said how much I dislike this hospital or how really bad I believe the hospital is, let me say it now:  Belleville General Hospital Sucks!!  My Father came home on October 15th and I decided I didn’t want to fight with the hospital anymore.  On October 18th we had to send him back to the hospital because he had pneumonia.  The hospital did not put him on any anti-biotics, knowing he was going back out into the wide world, and so without the pre-thought of this simple precautionary measure, my Father got pneumonia.  The hospital tried to blame us for it saying we hadn’t given him water flushes through his feeding tube so he wouldn’t become dehydrated at that we allowed him to lie flat and not at a 45 degree angle.  Shut up BGH, we were not told about the water flushes and the home-care that they provided didn’t do the flushes.  We also always had him on a 45 degree angle even when sleeping.  So he’s back in BGH and we’re back in the ring fighting with them until he can come home again.  Sorry for the long winded sidetracked opening. 
    

So, 16 inches of trouble.  What does that even mean? Well, this has been a blahg that I have wanted to write for a few months.  Back in April, I came across a listing on Ebay for the following: 

This is a RARE Vintage 1945 Large 16” Thesaurus / Orthacoustic Vinyl Radio Broadcast Transcription Record. Made by RCA – NBC National Broadcasting Company / NBC Radio Recording Division, this 16” record is titled on both sides “Music Fights for Infantile Paralysis / Frank Sinatra with Axel Stordahl & His Orchestra – March of Dimes Campaign”. The record is Orthacoustic #ND4-MM-9649/50. The record is in very good condition with only some light surface wear & a few light scratches. It includes the original plain brown paper sleeve, that has wear mostly just in the corners.

If you click on the picture on the left you can see how big this 16 inch record is.  It’s 16 inches!  It wasn’t the size of the record that made me want to buy it but what was listed on the label on one side.  Click on the close-up picture of the label to the right.  It clearly shows three songs:  “I Dream of You”, “The Trolley Song”, and “When You’re Alone.”  It was that last song, “When You’re Alone” that launched me into buying this record. 

     Now I don’t think I need to tell you that I’m an avid Sinatra fan and collector.  I’d never heard of a song recorded by Sinatra with the title “When You’re Alone.”  There exists a song called “When You’re Alone” published in 1919 and credited to Eugene West & Otis Spencer.  I can’t find lyrics for it but here’s a video on Youtube of an instrumental version from the 78 by Paul Biese and his Novelty Orchestra:

I did quite a bit of research online and could find nothing that would link this song to Sinatra but I thought maybe the listing on the label was wrong.  I realized that Sinatra had recorded a song called “When Your Lover Has Gone” which contained the following lyrics: 

When you’re alone, who cares for starlit skies
When you’re alone, the magic moonlight dies
At break of dawn, there is no sunrise
When your lover has gone

It was quite possible that the label misidentified the song but I couldn’t be sure.  Sinatra did record “When Your Lover Has Gone” on December 19th, 1944 but again, I didn’t know if this was the same song that was on the record.  I just had to know. 

     The fact that the record was a 16 inch record didn’t deter me and at the cost of $20 and another $25 for shipping, I became the highest and I believe the only bidder.  It wasn’t until after I paid for it and it was on my way that I actually gave any thought to how I was going to play this enormous record.  My regular turntable could only play a maximum size of a regular 12 inch record.  The 16 inch record wouldn’t fit because there was no room between the the platter and the tone arm.  So I researched how I might be able play this massive record and found a video on Youtube when someone adapted a way to play a 16 inch transcription record on a regular turntable.  Check it out: 

     I found this to be a very interesting video but I didn’t have all of the components that this guy had but I thought I might be able to create something that would accomplish the same thing.  The following videos represent a log of what I went through to play the record.   Unfortunately I was holding my Ipad the wrong way around so the videos are very narrow.

     Video number 1:  The record comes:

 

Video number 2: My current stereo can’t play a 16 inch transcription record:

 

Video number 3: I talk about cannibalizing an old record player:

 

Video number 4: The tone arm is out and what’s left to do:

 

Video number 5: It Works!:

 

     Later on, I added two new 16 inch transcription records to my collection.  They are both Treasury Star Parade shows.  The first is #307 from December 17, 1943 and the second is #311 from December 27, 1943.  I received these last week and decided to show an udpated video of my setup recording #311 to my computer:

 

     All of these radio shows are extremely rare and not readily in circulation among fans.  I thought I would also share these with my readers.  First up is “Music Fights for Infantile Paralysis / Frank Sinatra with Axel Stordahl & His Orchestra – March of Dimes Campaign”.  This is from early 1945 or late 1944 because the record label says “Broadcast Between Jan. 14 – 31 Only.”  There are three five minute shows per side with a total of six shows and with one song per show.  Side one features the songs “I Dream of You”, “The Trolley Song”, and “When You’re Alone.”  Side two features “I Heard That Song Before”, “There Is No You”, and “Brahm’s Lullaby.”  I present all six shows in one full length track:

 

     Next are the two Treasury Star Parade shows.  First up is show #307 from December 17, 1943 featuring the songs “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The Town Of Berlin”, “If Loveliness Were Music”, and “I’ve Had This Feeling Before”:

 

    Next is Treasury Star Parade #311 from December 27, 1943 featuring the songs “Falling In Love With Love”, “The Music Stopped”, and “I Couldn’t Sleep A Wink Last Night”:

 

      So about now, you’re probably wondering about that alternate title to this blahg “Like Father, Like Son”.  Well, recently my son Noah posted the first in his Youtube video series about Analog Resurgence.  While I’m all about the old records and the technology to play them, Noah’s all about old cameras for filming and photography.  Check out his first full video all about Kodak Super 8 film:

 

     So I guess the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.  Is that phrase even correct for this analogy?  Maybe it should be “both records are playing at the same speed.”  I don’t know.  Just subscribe to his video channel and keep checking back for more content from him and more blahgs from me.  Maybe he’ll update more than I do.  Stop nagging already!

    Yes it’s true, it’s September of 2018 and I haven’t written a blahg since April. This blahg is going to explain what happened to me and what happened to another Mr. Henderson, my Father, George.  I am on holidays this week and I was going to change the picture on the right to one I took at the beach the beginning of this week.  I was going to do that but when I logged in today to write this new blahg, I noticed that someone had changed my picture to a very inappropriate one where a Hitler mustache had been drawn on me and a Nazi swastika emblazoning my forehead and a speech bubble with an offensive word off to the side.  I have changed my password and hope that the bastard who did that is locked out.  To this sick individual I say “there is no place for your type of hatred in this world”. 

     Now onto more important things.  I want to talk about my Father.  In a previous blahg in February of 2015 entitled My Good Life, I wrote about my Father falling in January of 2015 and breaking his right hip.  It took six weeks to get him back on his feet and get him home.  At that time they made a diagnosis that he had functional dementia which simply means he functions well in his home environment.  This makes sense because he had some bad days in the hospital when he didn’t even know who I was.  The team at Belleville General Hospital were prepared to give up on him then and it took me going in every day to encourage him to get up and work with the physiotherapists.  Eventually he got up and got going and went home.  I had that experience of seeing him coming back from the fall and fighting through the dementia and getting mobile.  That’s what drives my current experiences with Belleville General Hospital.  Read on. 

     I am not saying that everything was great over the past three years with my Father at home.  He and my mother would fight and argue but my Father was not violent.  Sure he could be stubborn but I think that’s bred in all us Hendersons…or so my wife tells me.  He got back most of his mobility and walked with the aid of a walker.  He walked all around the house, ate everything put in front of him, and smoked and drank when he could.  He didn’t go out of the house much unless I took him to appointments or took him to his my brother’s cottage.  It was a semblance of a good life.  This year Dad celebrated is 81st birthday and we expected him to continue strong.  The day after his birthday I took him to see his Doctor.  It took me three months to convince him to go and the bribery of two bottles of rye…one for going and one when he got home.  Of course the drinks were measured out over time.  Unfortunately one week after his Doctor’s appointment he slipped in his home and fell and broke his left hip.  That was June 1st.  Things have not gotten better since then and my Father is currently a prisoner in Belleville General Hospital. 

     I want to show you a picture of my Dad on the left from three years ago.  Yes, he was 78 then but you can see that he was healthy if not mobile yet.  As I said, it took 6 weeks and my own stubbornness battling his stubbornness to get him up and moving.  I give credit to the physiotherapists but the discharge planner at that time was saying my Dad would not get better and show go into a long-term care home.  I didn’t buy into that then and won’t now.  Look at the current picture of my Dad on the right.   This was taken about three weeks ago when the weather was nice and I was able to get him outside for a few minutes.  That was the last time I was able to get him out of the hospital because the hospital has not been very cooperative since then. 

     After my Father fell and broke his hip back at the beginning of June, he was admitted to Belleville General Hospital, which I will refer to as BGH hereon.  His surgery occurred within 24 hours and then he was moved to the sixth floor of BGH.  After his surgery, his health began to decline because he came down with pneumonia four times or one long bout of pneumonia that they never got under control.  I was told by the various Doctors that this is common in seniors after this type of surgery.  Sounds like they were aware this might happen but I can tell you he never took an precautionary measures.  He was always in a room with at least one other patient and there was no mask and gown procedures to prevent my Father from being exposed.  They also kept changing rooms and rarely giving him a window view unless I complained.  I don’t like to complain but BGH staff don’t do a lot of thinking when it comes to patient care; in my humble opinion. 

     My Father’s health declined so much on BGH’s watch that he had to have a feeding tube put in.  He lost muscle mass and the ability to control his limbs.  I was called into BGH when the hospital was sure my Dad wasn’t going to make it and I should prepare myself for the worse.  The worse didn’t happen and my Father has continued to beat everything thrown at him.  The major problem is that BGH’s attitude is that they believe my Father will never get any better and that he should go into long-term care.  Where have I heard that before.  They did nothing for his mental or spiritual health either and I found myself arguing with the hospital when I’d find my Father lying flat on his back or parked in a wheelchair between his bed and the wall with his head turned to stare at the wall.  Many is the time I have gone up and found no one engaging with him and him staring at the ceiling or a wall.  Communication broke down and they stopped calling to give me updates.  It was at that point a month ago when I filed a complaint with Patient Experience Specialist. 

     I don’t want to go into a lot of details but my complaints were not just about my Father’s care.  It included the attitude of Doctors and Patient Flow Coordinators who told me I had misplaced optimism and that my Father would never get any better and long-term care was the only option.  They even wanted me to sign papers for long-term care so they could charge us long-term care rates while he waiting in the hospital for a long-term care bed; something that could take more than a year.  At the same time I began working every day with my Father and talking to him, engaging him, and getting him to move his limbs.  BGH staff were content to let him languish in his bed and do nothing.  I knew that even talking with him went a long way towards his mental health and his motivation to get better.  My attitude was I don’t know if my Dad can come back from this but I also don’t know that he can’t come back from this.  That is what I told the staff in the meeting with myself and the Patient Experience Specialist.  I also told them that they made my Father the way he is now and they need to take some responsibility to help him get better.  Unfortunately I believe there’s a collusion of effort on BGH’s behalf to make the hospital look good despite my complaints and the lack of appropriate care for my Father.  They don’t treat him like the George Henderson I know him to be and refuse to work with me on my efforts to being him back to a better quality of life. 

     There was a short period where I had some hope because a couple of Doctors followed up on my suggestions.  They took him off one mood stabilizer that was causing him to be continually drowsy and doped up and put him on one that’s seen him more engaging.  They also provided a prescription for CBD oil that some believes helps patients with their dementia.  I’m still working to get that.  Having Power of Attorney for my Dad doesn’t always mean I get what is needed and when it’s needed.  Unfortunately the Doctor on his floor, now the 4th floor where I didn’t want him to go and a move on which I was not consulted, changes every week.  This past week’s Doctor is Dr. Robertson and one who told me a couple of months ago that my Father would never get any better.  I showed him the progress my Father has made to move his limbs and my Father even showed Dr. Robertson himself but Dr. Robertson dismissed it and said it wasn’t much to show for three months in the hospital.  That was very dismissive to both my Father and I.  Talk about insensitivity! 

     I should also add that I filed another complaint from two weeks ago when I was spoken to in an inappropriate manner but a nurse at BGH.  I had been visiting my Father after work and working with him to move his limbs.  I often joke around with Dad because he likes to laugh and he knows I love him and want him to get better.  I said to him “you’re useless to me lying in the bed because I want you to come home.”  Nothing hurtful was meant by it but all of a sudden a nurse comes into the room saying another staff member had witnessed being abusive to my Father.  They said I said his was useless and generally degrading to my Father.  This never happened but the nurse said they were going to file a report.  I tried to talk with her but they made no effort to want to hear the truth.  So I phoned the Patient Experience Specialist and let her know what happened.  The dressing down I received from the nurse was done in front of other BGH staff and family members of another patient in my Dad’s ward room.  I heard nothing more from the Patient Experience Specialist after she said she would look into it so I don’t expect anything to come of that complaint.  The Patient Experience Specialist also told me she was leaving that position on September 28th.  Can you guess what that means.  If you guessed nothing then you’d be right.  Nothing is in keeping with what is typical of BGH. 

     I have requested my Father be moved from BGH to Providence Care in Kingston.  They have a geriatric rehabilitation center there and I know Dad would get the care and attention he needs there.  Unfortunately BGH has stonewalled me on that.  When I spoke with Dr. Robertson yesterday he said my Father was turned down by Providence Care.  Then he called me later and said he was mistaken and that BGH had not made the referral because they thought my Father didn’t meet the requirements for Providence Care.  Then he phoned me back and said he had been mistaken again.  Frankly I stopped listening to him at that point and told him I think I should get a lawyer involved.  A Doctor that makes two mistakes in one day?  Mistakes or lies?  It certainly doesn’t instill any confidence. 

     So my Dad is in limbo.  I can’t get BGH to provide appropriate care and they are blocking his transfer out of the hospital  I used the word languishing earlier and I will use it again.  My Father is languishing in BGH and they are not working with me to help him get better.  They don’t recognize the improvements Dad has made while I’ve been working with him.  It’s a total lack of respect for my Father.  Again, it boils down to dignity.  The Doctor on his floor changes every week and I’ll just have to wait until Dr. Robertson is gone today.  I’ve contacted Providence Care myself.  I’m waiting for a call back.  I can’t go through BGH because they just won’t listen or help.  It’s up to me to fight for my Dad because no one else is doing it.  I’ll keep you posted.  Three years ago my Father proved them wrong and I have full confidence he can do it again.  If only I could get a competent hospital work with me on this.