The False Ducks Blahg

   Well, it happened again.  Another milestone snuck up on me.  No, it’s not my birthday.  It’s also not my wife’s birthday which is this Saturday and yes, before anyone asks, I’m already prepared for that.  The milestone I’m talking about is my 100th blahg.  If you checked out my first blahg of this year, THE FALSE DUCKS VIDEO BLAHG #4: OH, DIDN’T I RAMBLE, I mentioned that it was possible to complete the 100th blahg sometime in September if I doubled down and started writing two blahgs a month.  I did that but I still came out ahead.  I guess I didn’t count correctly back in January.  Don’t worry, I know how to count and I’m not stupid enough to count out the corresponding number of candles for my wife’s birthday cake and then put them on there.  I want to stay happily married. 

   The first blahg that I wrote was THE BLAHG & THE MOST HAPPY SOUND, which I published on October 2nd, in 2011.  I reached the 50 blahg mark on December 12th, 2015.  Here’s what I said back then about reaching the 50 blahg mark:  

Fifty blahgs in 4 years?  I’m sure that’s not a record to boast about.  I remember when I started this blahg that I had high ambitions.  I deluded myself into thinking I could write two blahgs a week.  I then amended that goal to write 50 blahgs before I turned 50.  I turned 50 in September of 2012.  I guess I missed that goal as well.  To tell the truth, I’m just glad that I’m still writing; even if I don’t know if anyone is reading. 

I know for a fact that someone is reading because in the past few months I’ve been contacted about two different blahgs.  I don’t want to talk about those because there’s a big project in the works and I’m hoping to be a part of it.  More, hopefully, on that later. 

   So, 100 hunh?  What do I write about to commemorate that triple digit accomplishment?  When I wrote the 50th blahg, it was long enough that I had to split it into two blahgs:  THIS IS 50, PART ONE.  and THIS IS 50, PART TWO, I reviewed a number of topics I had covered in the first 49 and then added a few.  It took me just over four years to reach the 50 mark and it’s taken just over five and a half years to get to 100.  That’s almost ten years cumulatively to get to this point.  If anyone is asking, I guess I’ve strove for quality and not quantity.  I think this blahg should be another retrospective of this second set of 50 blahgs.  Of course, I’ll leave off number 51 because that was THIS IS 50, PART TWO and was a summary of the previous 49 or 50.  So let’s see how I do encapsulating the past blahgs in so many words. 

 

51.  This is 50, Part Two.    I said I wasn’t going to look back on that one but I did add a few extra topics to round that one out.  One of those was “Donald Trump”.  Little did we know that five and half years later we would finally be rid of him.  Let’s hope, like Covid 19, we don’t see a second wave of him.  If there is a big new wave then hopefully he’s standing in front of it. 

 

52.  The Balancing Act.  I had started a new job and was trying to balance a work and home life.  I wasn’t doing so well.  I was letting my wife pick up my slack.  I hope I’ve done better since then.  Ask me again after her Birthday.  At least I wrote a new poem for it, “the balancing act”:

the balancing act

take a boy in a tree
legs akimbo
aware of sky and ground
trying to be somewhere in the middle
years pass
boy becomes older
bigger
maybe taller
maybe just bigger around the middle
maybe married
maybe children
maybe job
trying to stay balanced
on his limb
his own limbs flying
flying objects in the air
trying not to let anyone or anything
come crashing down

there’s no prize to keep your eyes on
you can’t look away
or everything falls away
maybe steal a glance here or there
at other boys in the tree
more likely other girls
but don’t let anyone catch you looking
certainly not the wife
sometimes you get a glimpse
of another part of the tree
the branch not taken
and you wonder

and in that instance
you drop something
your guard
your focus
and you shift
direction maybe
weight to another foot
and you pick up someone else’s load
maybe that parent
who climbed up after you
and now there’s things on your shoulders
more to bear
bear down
stay centered

some boys jump
walk way
from the jumble around the trunk
see the brass ring
maybe a selfish one
a way down
hide among the bushes
and be someone else
another boy

can’t be that way
this boy’s staked a spot
defend it
cherish it
wave off birds
other intruders
other boys
those other girls glimpsed from a distance

the balls are still in the air
plates spinning
head erect
eyes forward
no longer balancing
part of the tree
maybe the tree
rooted
beckoning to the other boys
catching their kites
so they have to come nearer
see this boy’s foliage

reaching out

calling out

climb up
climb up

stay awhile

 

53.  It’s Never Too Late.  I finally got the Micronauts Rocket Tubes I always wanted.  That was in early 2016.  I haven’t pulled them out since.  I guess I didn’t want it all the much.  Still, there’s the Canadian version from Sears that had the gliders.  I’d really like that.  Maybe it’s still not too late. 

 

54.  If I’d Be A Superman.  I’ve always had a fascination with Superman.  That blahg was not inspired by the film “Batman V. Superman, Dawn of Justice” which came out around the same time as that blahg.  Nor is this blahg inspired by “Justice League – The Zack Snyder Cut.”  Earlier this year I watched the 2015 documentary, “The Death of “Superman Lives”: What Happened?”  Fascinating story of what might have happened if Nicholas Cage and Tim Burton had got together to make a Superman film.  Unlike my last blahg, it’s far too late for that project. 

 

55.  A Class Act.  That blahg was primarily about my experience with the band “I Fight Dragons” and trying to purchase some of their music for my daughter Abbie.  Their lead singer Brian emailed me personally and made the transaction happen in time for Abbie’s birthday.  Later this year, “I Fight Dragons” will release a new album “Side Quest: B-Sides And Rarities.”   You can bet I’ll get that for my daughter’s birthday unless she buys it first.  She’s still waiting for them to do a concert in Toronto but she’s still waiting on that.  It might happen.  It’s never too late.  Sorry, I just had to put that in. 

 

56.  R.I.P. Jerry Lewis 2017.  Jerry Lewis also had a blahg in the first 50, I SHINED JERRY LEWIS’ SHOE.  This second blahg was another homage to a great comedian.  We are lucky that a few more of his films have been released since his passing in 2017.  In 2013, Jerry Lewis starred in the film “Max Rose”.  It has yet to be released on DVD in North America.  Here’s a trailer:  

Come on people, RELEASE “MAX ROSE”! 

 

57.  Bridge City Again, Pirates, And Happy Birthday To Canada!  It was Canada’s 150th Birthday in 2017 but the focus of that blahg was more about the music; specifically The Bridge City Dixieland Jazz Band and the Pat Riccio Quartet.  Neither of those bands played together but it would have been truly thrilling if they had.  Tom Caldwell, son of Bob Caldwell, the leader of The Bridge City Dixieland Jazz Band had read one of my blahgs where I had mentioned the band and he reached out to let me know how much Bob had enjoyed knowing there was someone still listening to the band.  Bridge City only put out one album with 10 tracks but Tom Caldwell sent me a homemade CD of 21 tracks from the Band.  Here’s one of those extra tracks, “Hindustan”: 

Another portion of that blahg was dedicated to the Pat Riccio Quartet and I posted a YouTube video of them performing in the 1960s.  It deserves to be reposted: 

 

58.  Happy Birthday To Me, 2017.  I had an accident around my 55th Birthday.  I had been riding my daughter’s scooter and wiped out.  I don’t want to dwell on that.  The last half of that blahg presented some tracks from a newly acquired copy of the album “The Pat Riccio Quartet Featuring Teddy Wilson” put out by Canadian Talent Library.  Someone has posted the entire album on YouTube.  You have to give this one a listen:

By the way, my Birthday is next month on September 23rd.  I think I’ll avoid any scooter rides. 

 

59.  Celebrating Paul Quarrington.  A great writer and a great musician who died too soon.  He is missed.  Back to YouTube for another tribute.  I sing this song sometimes when I talk about my old body.  It’s “This Old Body” by Paul Quarrington:

 

60.  Being Sick On Christmas Is No Fun.  True story.  I was incredibly sick on Christmas Day 2017.  I had to break my previous 55 year record of not going to the hospital on Christmas Day.  Lots of meds and days of rest took away the worst sore throat I ever had.  I lost Christmas that year.  Last year we had to scale back Christmas due to Covid 19 and my daughter Emily and her husband Charlie couldn’t be with us.  I’m hoping everyone will be home for Christmas this year.  I think I’ll have to double down on the Fireworks for this year. 

 

61.  Goodbye 2017, The Year That Tried To Kill Me.  It didn’t.  There was that scooter accident and being sick on Christmas.  There was also a strange back pain that sent me to a chiropractor.  I’ve had worse since then.  Did I mention that I fell and hurt my neck two weekends ago and was in the hospital overnight?  I guess that story’s for another blahg.

 

62.  A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Election.  That was about the spring 2018 provincial election.  Little did I know that Doug Ford would be elected Premier.  When pigs fly or a cold day in July.  Put on your parkas and watch the skies.  Next year we vote him out. 

 

63.  Have You Read Any Good Books Lately?  Yes, I have.  I won’t review the books again that I reviewed back then.  Instead, I’ll mention two that I recently read, “The Bigger They Come” and “The Knife Slipped” by Erle Stanley Gardner writing as A.A. Fair.  Gardner is famous for creating and writing about Perry Mason.  Cool and Lam is a fictional American private detective firm run by Bertha Cool with Donald Lam as her main operative.  Gardner published 29 books in the series from 1939 to 1970.  I first became interested in the Cool and Lam series due to my interest in Frank Sinatra.  The second book in the series “Turn On the Heat” was adapted for the June 23, 1946, broadcast of Hour of Mystery with Frank Sinatra as the first actor to portray Donald Lam.  Unfortunately that broadcast does not appear to circulate.  I always thought about reading the book from the series, “Turn On The Heat”, that the broadcast was based on.  That meant starting with the first book, which you can see to the left, “The Bigger They Come.”  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  It’s the late 1930s into the 1940s gritty detective novel. 

   I was then going to turn my attention to “Turn On The Heat” which was the second published book in the series.  I discovered, however, that this wasn’t the second book written in the series because Gardner had written “The Knife Slipped” after “The Bigger They Come.”  Here’s what Wikipedia says about it:  “Originally written to be the second book in the Cool and Lam series but rejected by Gardner’s publisher, The Knife Slipped was found among Gardner’s papers and published for the first time in 2016.”  ‎ Hard Case Crime published “The Knife Slipped” and after reading it, and enjoying it even more than “The Bigger They Come”, I was drawn back in again to that gritty thirties Los Angeles noir.  Hard Case Crime also republished “Turn On The Heat” and that’s the copy I have to read next.  I took a bit of a break after reading the first two because I already know the basic plot of “Turn On The Heat.”  In 1958 there was a pilot filmed for a “Cool and Lam” TV series and the plot of the pilot was taken from “Turn On The Heat.”  I’ve watched the pilot but I’ll get around to reading the book.  Below is that pilot for what could have been a fascinating series.  I still think Cool and Lam would be a good TV or movie series. 

 

64. What Happened To Mr. Henderson?  Pass.  That was the start of my Dad’s health problems and a battle with Belleville General Hospital  Dad died as a result of their negligence.  To the left, is a picture of my Father in 2015 when he had better care from that hospital.

 

65.  “16 Inches Of Trouble” Or “Like Father Like Son”.  This was one I enjoyed writing.  It was about purchasing a 16 inch transcription record of Frank Sinatra and learning how to eventually play it and record it.  You should read the whole blahg, “16 INCHES OF TROUBLE” OR “LIKE FATHER LIKE SON”, because it explains everything step by step.  If you just want the introduction and then the finished solution, check out the two videos below.

In the last part of the blahg, the “Like Son” refers to my son Noah and his fascination and continued career in producing videos about analog film technology through Super 8mm, 35mm photo, and Polaroid instant film and into other forgotten film technologies.  You can check out his YouTube channel here at https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCL9A6v7YSOOVXwCpao6Bszg.  You can also find links to sponsor him at Patreon.  I make a cameo or two. 

 

66.  The Jazz Band That Wasn’t…But Was!  This is also another of my post 50 blahgs that I really like.  It’s all about The Left Bank Bearcats who were a  mysterious french band doing New Orleans style jazz recorded after hours at the Maison Diabolique in Paris.  The truth was the albums actually were recorded in Philadelphia by American musicians.  The three albums were Dixieland played by the Left Bank Bearcats, The Left Bank Bearcats Take George M. Cohan to Dixieland, and The Left Bank Bearcats in ‘Stereo’ (or The Left Bank Bearcats in “Hi-Fi” depending on what edition you had).  I had found Dixieland played by the Left Bank Bearcats at a thrift store and that’s what started me into researching the band.  It’s a fascinating story and in the blahg, THE JAZZ BAND THAT WASN’T…BUT WAS! you can find more information and links to download all three albums.  Here’s the first song from that first album, “Monsieur Redwing” and it’s a swinger:

 

67. Some Christmas Stories.  If you can’t figure out what that blahg is about by the title then maybe I shouldn’t tell you.  Okay, twist my arm, I’ll tell you.  For the past number of years I’ve written a new Christmas story.  From that blahg, and from my Christmas collection “Proof For Believing”, here’s “Billy Built A Robot Christmas Morning.”  I wrote this around 2005 and the reason I posted it in the  Some Christmas Stories blahg was because I was thinking about writing a sequel Christmas story about Billy and what happened to him when he got older.  I did write that sequel but I’ll get to that later.

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

 

68.  Another Christmas Memory.  This one was dedicated to the first time I heard Frank Sinatra’s 1991 version of “Silent Night”.  It was probably ten  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:

   There was another version recorded on the same day in 1991 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:

Two Christmas songs on a hot day in August of 2021? Only here folks! 

 

69. Welcome 2019…I’m Ready For You!  I wasn’t.  I had been lamenting some of my struggles in 2018 and was looking forward to 2019 being a better year.  I did the Polar Dip for the first time that year.  Unfortunately my Dad died two weeks later.  I wasn’t ready for that at all.  The only good thing to say about this blahg, was that I finished the sequel to “Billy Built A Robot Christmas Morning” and the sequel had its debut in this blahg:

BILLY’S BEST WORST CHRISTMAS EVER

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 on 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 spirts 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.

 

70. The Passing Of George Arthur Henderson.   Hard Pass.  I don’t want to talk about it.  Here’s a picture of my Father in the years before he died, I’ll just remember his life.

 

71.  Me And My Grief.  I still don’t want to talk about it.  It took me over a month to write another blahg and two months before I processed my grief by writing a poem about it.

when my father died

when my father died
sorrow eluded me

the anger at an unexpected
yet accepted passing
two day decline
to death
shadowed
by the chaos
of this life
and to do
forcing the stack
higher
pushed to the side
hoping for each thing
to be swallowed
as natural compost

when my father died
there were no services
no prolonged goodbye
no chance at words
an anagram perhaps
of a life summed up
rearranged to a sign post
that way onward for him
or this way for the living

when my father died
I carried on
tackled some things
tossed others to the tower
tried facing forwards
sometimes a sideways glance
to the pile
checking that it was still there
all the things that still bound me
to my father

weeks passed
after he passed
and the pile shifted
fell
trapping me beneath
grief appearing
finally
again unexpected
yet accepted
all consuming
a sad song
purposefully on repeat
all things
that were just things
collapsing over me

grief and I became close
buried together
hating and fighting
biting and scratching
hating mostly
everything and everyone
selfishness and pain
my true friends
nothing else

then someone sat with me
learned of
his death
my struggles
heard the spewing
took it all in
listened
to the stories
and all the grief
given out
in gasping breaths
until it had been shared
and the rubble was just
rubble
flotsam
easier to pick through
sort into importance
or not

when my father died
I had no time
no
made no time
to break
to grieve
to fashion truths
into a grave marker
or a trail marker

when my father died
I accepted
what needed to be done
the list
at once unsurmountable
but somehow
manageable
until that last thing done
releases him from me
and all I have
is memories
and my grief
that guides me
from here to there
this place to that place
where he has gone
and sends his beacon

 

72. P.M.R.  Polymyalgia Rheumatica.  Look it up.  It’s nasty at any age.  I was on Prednisone for two years before weaning off at the end of June this year.  I took the initials and made puns.  If I had to sum it up, I’d say the Pain’s Mostly Receded but I’m always afraid it Possibly Might Return.  If it does call for me again I’ll go into hiding and Post My Regrets.  P.M.R. sucks.  ‘Nuff said.

 

73.  Emily’s Wedding.  A Hell Of A Tether.  I was floundering around with my grief and my pain and had forgotten that Emily was getting married.  I managed, with the Prednisone, to get my pain under control and with the help of a Grief Counselor I addressed my grief.  She suggested I find something to tether myself to and the goal of walking Emily down the aisle became that tether.  If you want to see/hear a funny and moving speech from a Father who wrote nothing down, then check this out: 

 

74.  Polymyalgia Redux And More Polly Tics.  Enough about the Polymyalgia and how it came back in the fall of 2019 with a vengeance.  The other part of that blahg was dedicated to the fall 2019 Federal election.  Now we’re going to have yet another Federal election next month.  Andrew Scheer of the Conservatives is gone but Erin O’toole is leading that party now.  I don’t trust him.  The Liberals under Justin Trudeau are going to try to change their minority to a majority.  Is it the right time to hold an election?  There is still that pandemic and some people don’t want to go to the polls.  Politicians Might Rally and some Politicians Might Reel.  We’ll soon find out. 

 

75.  Who I Am.  That’s a good question and a good place to leave off with Part 1 of This Is 100.  Who I Am isn’t really a question but rather a declaration.  I’m a son, a husband, a Father, a Father-In Law, a friend, a writer, a pain sufferer, a griever, a music fan, and a hundred or thousand or million other things rolled into this old body.  I tried to encapsulate everything in that one blahg.  I think I fell short.  I also posted a 2000 video by the singer Jessica Andrews with the title “Who I AM”. 

Who I am is defined and undefined.  The truth is, however, like this blahg, “This Is 100”, I am a work in progress.  Stay tuned.

 

 

Tags: FRANK SINATRA, Jerry Lewis, Left Bank Bearcats, Pat Riccio Quartet, Scott Henderson, Scott Henderson. False Ducks, The Bridge City Dixieland Jazz Band

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