'Twas the Morning of Christmas (Or "I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas")

Warning: Some lyrics may offend.

'Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The shovels all hung by the door with foresight,
In dread that a blizzard would strike overnight.

The daughters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of gnocchi break-danced in their heads.
With mamma in Brantford, and I back at home,
I'd just settled my brain I'd be shovelin' alone.

When out on the road there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a nutter,
Tore open the curtains and threw up the shutter.

The dawn on the breast of the 2-foot-deep snow
Gave an ominous pallor to the landscape below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a great big-ass snow plow, that was coming quite near.

With a cold, callous driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be a dick.
More rapid than eagles his giant truck came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called me by name!

"Now, David! You loser," he taunted with glee,
"You think you're so fit! Though you're past 53!
To the end of the driveway, and the top of your height,
I'll dump you a snowbank" he promised with spite.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up 13-feet the street-ice was piled,
By the driver now grinning a pitiless smile.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
Grumbling in anger, at the unthinking jerk.
And proceeded to shovel for hours on end,
While bending my back in ways it don't bend.

'Til at last I was done, as my daughters awoke.
And they scowled as I told them 'bout the snow-plowing bloke.
And how I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Enjoy Christmas for now, 'cause I'll be back 'round tonight!"

A Compilation of Cute and Innocent Childhood Mis-beliefs

Let me start by answering what some of you asked me..."What prompted you to ask us on Facebook to contribute our 'cute and innocent childhood mis-beliefs'?"

My middle daughter and I were in Niagara-on-the-Lake last weekend when I mentioned to her that her older sister and I had intentionally planted a mis-belief with her when she was about 10. We thought it would be funny to tell her that "hake" is the food word for human flesh (like "pork" is the food word for pig). The idea was that years later, she'd be out on a date and see hake on the menu and casually mention this to whomever she was with (ideally, some guy I already didn't like who was on a first date with her, who would think she was an idiot and/or a liar and never see her again).

Funny thing is that when I mentioned this to her last weekend, she was surprised to learn that this wasn't true (or she was pulling my leg, which is likely).

That got us talking about these misbeliefs and how some of them carry into adulthood until you embarrassingly discover that you've been wrong all your life. So I thought I'd ask my Facebook friends for their examples.

Before I get to what you sent me, if you think it's mean that I planted the hake misbelief on purpose with my (then) little one, you'll probably think it's horrible that I always wanted to plant a much worse one: Like teeth, you also get "adult eyes" when you grow up and that you know they're coming in and will shortly push out your "baby eyes" when you get a headache. It's probably for the best that I never did tell the girls that. My middle daughter in particular, who used to yank out her teeth once she found out the Tooth Fairy paid you for them, might have tried to cash in.

So on with your contributions, anonymized and organized, answering the question... 

What's your cute and innocent childhood mis-belief?

**Spoiler Alert - you may still believe some of these things**

Food

My brothers told me that if you eat the bologna straight from the package, you'll get cancer. Putting the bologna between two slices of bread was fine. Looking back, I'm not sure which to disbelieve.

Chewing gum grows in your tummy! 

I thought we had a fire burning in our stomach like a furnace and every time you eat it was fuel for the fire. 

Technology

I thought there were people inside the TV set. 

I used to believe there was a time with no colour! Was sure everything in the "old days" was only in black and white (like old movies) and that colour must've been invented later on. 

I thought that Bill Gates invented literal windows. 

Sports

Hockey sweater numbers. The lower the number, the better the player. 

I was very disillusioned when I realized that professional hockey players were in it for the money.

Health

Early in our marriage, after suffering thru many instances of accidentally coming into contact with my icy toes, my husband asked ‘why don’t you wear socks to bed, since your toes get so cold?!’ I replied ‘you’re not supposed to cover your feet at night, so your toes can breathe.’ 

Don’t go out with wet hair - you will catch a cold. (This one is from my wife -- and I'm not sure if she was messing with me when she submitted it. I.e. I don't know that she doesn't believe it, and I don't even know that it's not true.)

If you stepped on a sidewalk crack you would break your mother’s back. (I still have a slight phobia of cracks in concrete). 

When I heard my grandmother had a stroke I thought my brother hit her with a hockey stick. 

I was just uncertain enough about whether putting hand lotion on your face would make you grow little hands there, to prevent me from trying it.

I used to think that even glancing at the sun would make you go blind. 

Sexuality

I knew sperm swam from the penis into the vagina to make babies. I also knew from home and television that married couples slept in one bed. I knew sperm looked cute like fish. I thought couples would watch sperm swim across the bed sheets from the father to the mother.

I was told by my older sibling, who believed this too, that girls had periods and boys had ejaculations. 

I believe that the song afternoon delight was about ice cream. (If you're wondering why this is categorized under "sexuality", you just discovered another childhood mis-belief!)

Around the House

I was convinced the noises I heard at night were UFOs.

I used to think that plants pee right after you water them.  

Geography

I thought when my grandmother went to Florida, she went to HerAmi. And when I was corrected, I was utterly confused - "Why would she go to YourAmi?" (the person who was speaking), "Didn't she have one of her own? And how does one get to one's Ami in Florida, anyway??" because it had a beach and seashells so it must be awesome.

And... a Few of David's Childhood Mis-Beliefs

I used to think that "Seasons in the Sun" was actually written by a death-row inmate. I'm pretty sure one of my sisters told me that.

I was led to believe by my mom that ice cream was a healthy alternative to cake for dessert. This belief persisted until I was married. Now my wife has taught me that dessert doesn't require healthy alternatives.

I was led to believe by my mom that patterned polyester was a stylish alternative to denim. My sisters disabused me of this notion when I was still wearing polyester as a teen.  

 

A bleary eyed daddy writes to his baby on her 25th birthday

Before the rest of the world wanted you and loved you and made demands on you,
There was just me and you (and a few others) who got every precious portion of your time.

Before your dreams took you 5-hours-by-plane and 3-timezones away,
There was just you and me and no distance between us.

You were sparkly and beautiful and an unceasing delight. My own personal sun beam.
I could never get enough of your face or your wildly distinct personality.

Selfless from the day you were born.
Bold and stubborn and curious and always pulling away to climb something.
Deeply caring about what others needed.
Born to be a big sister.

Before the rest of the world caught a glimpse of who you were,
I knew who you were.

I knew your dreams would take you far. I knew you'd follow them.
I knew you'd jump from a plane someday.
And that you'd conquer whatever the world threw at you.
And that you'd cry when things didn't go your way, and then they would.
And that you'd have friends - the best kind of friends - who need you in their life.
And that you'd always make people laugh and I'd always make you laugh.
And that you'd always be sparkly and beautiful.

When you first left for school, I missed you like crazy.
I had forgotten what it was to miss someone, and you reminded me.
And you were only two-hours away by car. A ride I'd make whenever you said you needed me.
And then you went further, too far away for me to come running when you need me.
But just ask and I will.

I'm not used to you being so far, and I still hope you'll live close again someday.
But I get it, you've got things to do for now. And I'm so proud that you're doing them.

Today, you're 25 and I'm not there to hug you and admire you and congratulate you in person.
But I am there, with you - like I always have been and always will be.
Proud and sad and happy and missing you.

From your dad and biggest fan, who loves you very, very, very much - happy birthday.

Quick Thoughts about My Baby Sister

Just some quick thoughts this morning - on the occasion of the birthday of my youngest sister - because I really have to get working...

1. My sister - let's call her J. - is the first Senior ever in the history of the world who runs the risk of being carded. 
2. J is the biggest Toronto sports fan ever, but only if you measure bigness in terms of the gap between normal demeanour, and the demeanour during and after losses. (The worse they do, demeanour she gets).
3. J and I grew up eating from only the four food groups (peanut butter and jam, hamburgers and hot dogs, chicken, and dessert). I grew up. (To be fair, I think she eats salad too now).
4. When J and I were little, we were the two most innocent, straight-laced, naive, optimistic young souls, who believed only in the goodness of the world. Then a woman (for whom I will use a pseudonym), Mrs. Purlander, showed up and showed us otherwise.
5. J got her driver's license in her 40's and her Masters in her 50's. Maybe she'll learn how to go through a meal without spilling her drink in her 60's?
6. J cared so much about me that when she felt she was getting too old to supervise me anymore, she decided it best to marry my Camp Counsellor so he could help.
7. Most of the times she's two years older than me, but for two-and-a-half months every year, she's three years older. It's during these precious 7 or 8 weeks that I usually like to gloat about her advanced age and my relative youth. This year - and for the next 2+ - there are many places that recognize her as a "Senior" but exclude me from that group. Looking forward to that.
8. J is my very oldest friend in the world (and by oldest, I mean longest-standing - she's only top 5 in terms of oldest oldest). She sets the bar high in terms of aging gracefully, staying young on the surface and even younger at heart, and being 100% genuinely the same person she's always been. No artifice. No "airs" (but 3 heirs). No b.s. J is J and always will be.

Happy J-day!

Love your baby brother.

David and Family at Home with Nature

As most of you know, we moved this year. 

The biggest difference between the old house and the new house is that we now have a bigger backyard surrounded by mature trees and bushes, a beautifully landscaped (by someone else) garden, and a screened-in back porch where we can enjoy the wonders of nature.

For the first time in forever, my wife and I can sit outside in the morning (sometimes) enjoying coffee/tea in the fresh air, toil together in the garden (even more sometimes), and sit in the back having a robust, outdoor meal without an onslaught of flies, bees, and mosquitoes. 

Out little oasis...or so I thought.

The problem is that with all these back-to-nature highlights come back-to-nature animals. Which isn't so much a problem in itself, except that it turns out that I married Elmer Fudd. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Foxes

A forgettable Jodie Foster movie from 1980, and a mid-spring appetizer for our summer of critters.

One morning shortly after we moved in, my wife texted me some photos of a gorgeous fox family that had made our home their home. They had a den in the back shrubbery, birthed a youngster, taught it to hunt and eventually moved on.

My wife took it all in stride, had an animal removal company over to analyze the situation, found out they were mostly harmless (and would move on) and then basically accepted them as co-inhabitants.

They were beautiful, kept a respectful distance, and except for the small risk of them eating our ex-Neighbours' dog who occasionally visited, were mostly harmless.

Wow. Nature is so cool.

Mice

The old owners had a few traps near where they kept the garbage, so we basically suspected there must be some mice about. Every now and then, one of the foxes would show up with a little mouse snack-pack in its jaws, so they were definitely earning their keep.

And after the foxes moved on, we didn't really see any...except one, living a meagre existence inside the walls of an outdoor shed (more about that shed later). And he only showed his face when the flood waters occasionally arose in the area of the shed.

But the wife wanted him gone, and so I bought a few traps (the kind that hide all the killing stuff inside), loaded them with cheese, and they've been sitting there un-sprung ever since. No sign of little Mickey, and no problem for David so far.

But then came the...

Squirrels and Chipmunks

Who can hate squirrels and chipmunks? Right? They're so cute and fluffy. They sing wonderful little ditties in high-pitched voices. They scurry and scrounge and dart this way and that. They have big round eyes and tiny little faces.

Well, they also like climbing our screens. And (according to Elmer) they want to climb the screens so they can nest inside our outside ceiling and chew on wires, take infectious little craps, make infectious little babies crawling with germs, and do all manner of ill deeds.

One day, I came home and all the screens were up (meaning no bug-free meals). Why? Because the f***ing chipmunks had been discovered ascending the screens and disappearing into the top. The animal removal guy (him again) said they'd destroy our porch 'fer sher' (he actually said it that way) if we didn't do something - and for a start, raising the screens was the something.

The 8-year-old became Elmer's alarm system, screaming an alert whenever one of these cute little critters showed their cute little face. Then Elmer would come charging from wherever she happened to be in the house, broom in hand, waving it madly at the by-then absent critter.

She spoke of buying one of those tiny spy cams and mounting it at the top of the screen to see what they were up to in the ceiling. We bought a plastic owl to scare them off (which didn't work and probably made us the laughing stock of the critter kingdom). And we spent weeks alternating between screens-up and screens-down.

For all you animal advocates out there, you'll be happy to know that Elmer never got herself a little shotgun, though I'm pretty sure I missed the chance for the best anniversary gift ever if I had bought her something of that ilk.

They're still doing it. Our screens still go up whenever we see one. And even as recently as yesterday, the middle child gloriously and mockingly ran after a cute little squirrel with a deeply disturbing bellow and lots of hand-waving (by the middle child, not the squirrel) and we all laughed about it. Except Elmer, who appreciated the support.

Raccoons

Ever heard of a raccoon latrine? Look it up...it's a thing. And we have one.

Remember my post about a late-night encounter with a threesome of raccoons on the roof of our little outdoor shed? And they guff they gave me when I asked them to go? Turns out they weren't just there hanging out one night. No, no, no. They were there pooping to their little hearts' delight.

At the time of this writing, I am quite intimately familiar with their poops. I could describe them to you in great detail, but I won't. I will just tell you that we tried several things to deter them (including the owl) and nothing worked (For example, the owl ended up on the ground, with the threat "DONT F WIT ROCKY" carved in its face by tiny claws).

We bought these spiky plastic strips (that appeared on Dragon's Den) and I crawled onto the roof and screwed them down in a zig-zaggy pattern thinking "who would want to poop while standing on a spiky plastic strip?" We got a single little "F You" poop between strips on the first night, then a symphony of poops on the next few nights -- a veritable chorus of disdain -- each poop carefully placed in the two-inch gaps between zig-saggy spiky plastic strips.

So just this weekend, I put up chicken wire, moved the spiky plastic strips to the top of the adjoining fence, and so far - one night now - no poops.

Too soon to declare victory? I THINK NOT.

Dead Bird

One showed up a few mornings ago, out on the deck in peaceful respite, lying on its side. We tried to pay the 8-year-old to don rubber gloves, pick it up and dispose of it. She accepted the assignment, then got cold feet just before executing the plan. So Daddy had to step up and save the day. I did, with astonishing calm and remarkable courage. 

Then, I went inside to eat some Swiss Chalet.

---

So far, Elmer has basically done no harm to nature but has given a few animals a good laugh. She hates raccoons and squirrels and chipmunks with a passion that I find strangely alluring. 

Me, on the other hand...I put down two mousetraps and picked up one dead bird. By my reckonin' (as the animal removal guy would say) that makes me the true hero of the summer.

But Elmer -- you keep hunting. Your time will come.

Reflections on a DC Vacation

Four-fifths of my little family went to DC for a short vacation last week (the eldest is on a long-term vacation called "School in Vancouver" and couldn't join us).

Besides having a really great time, eating amazing food, surviving a minor Airbnb mis-step (don't ask), dining with a cherished local camp friend and her husband, exploring some wonderful museums, and spending tons of high quality moments as a (four-fifths) family -- I found myself genuinely moved by several experiences on the visit. That's what I want to dig into here.

Let me start with the punchline: The world needs more America.

That is to say, the world needs the strong and united America that was idealized by its Founding Parents. It may never have existed except as the dream of some truly visionary people a few hundred years ago, but boy does the world need what they were preaching and what's there, carved in stone, on their monuments...

Jefferson: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." 

Lincoln: "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal..."  

Lincoln: "With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan – to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations."

Standing at Lincoln's knee and reading his words was profoundly moving; especially so after a very long walk on a hot day passing war memorials, homeless people, families with frisbees, the Capitol Building and Washington Monument at our backs - thirsty, tired, and at the top of a grand stone stairway; it was like all of that was a ritual cleansing to prepare us for the reminder of what the US is supposed to be about, and we deeply felt it. (And we're Canadian, for God's sake.)

Likewise for the Jefferson Memorial - the grandeur of the monument and the simple clarity of the words "...all men are created equal..."

What happened? How can people revere these individuals and what they stood for and be so deaf to their messages?

John Adams was 'making sense' centuries ago on these questions:

"The essence of a free government consists in an effectual control of rivalries" and "Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide."

But why?

My wife and middle-daughter went to the Holocaust Museum; the younger one and I went to the Spy Museum instead (which by the way, was the best museum I've ever been in for kids). The ponderous silence of the usually garrulous duo spoke volumes when we met up afterwards: How? Why? And how can the world not have learned?

Between these overpowering moments, we saw live music, ate amazingly un-American meals (that is to say light and elegant), played games, shopped and walked the city. And then my wife and baby went home, leaving me and the middle one alone together for two more days in the city.

That's when we took in the art galleries. And boy, did I underestimate the impact of that. (Highly regretful that we didn't bring the 8-year-old there because of my childhood perception that art is boring - which is not to say that Art, my father, is anything of the sort).

Layered on top of those reminders of the American Dream, the stark reality of homeless people and the privileged sharing the same parks and spaces, and the monuments to recent and long-ago war-to-end-all-wars wars - the art packed a punch that was completely unexpected: Modern art and artists delivering their messages about war, peace, love, and everything in between - and in a few cases inviting the observer into the delivery of messages (the wishing tree, the "My Mommy is Beautiful" wall); and all the artists who came before, who lived in very different times and saw the world with very different eyes - whether soldiers in the trenches or painters in the employ of a royal court - delivering their messages loud and clear from long ago... it all made sense in the context of the week's experience.

These people - the artists and the Presidents - they stood for something and stood up for something. They faced people who told them not to do what they were doing, and they did it anyways. They had the courage to believe in something and act accordingly. They changed the rules. They lived and died and are remembered because of what they left behind. And all the little things that dragged them down in their day-to-day are long forgotten. Why does it bug me so much when I'm cut off in traffic?

So I leave Washington intending to be a better, more focused person at work and at home.

And I leave wondering how the country with such an evocative and expressive capital city, and such a deep and obvious love of its history, its Founders' ideals, art, music, food... how that country can be so far astray today, in a world that needs it so badly to get back on track?

Why can't that country stop treating its political system as if it's Friday Night Texas high school football and you must cheer for one team and despise the other? Why can't they find it within themselves to fight together, instead of against each other, for their ideals?

As one lady said to my 22-year-old (on a DC Ducks tour no less), paraphrased: "It's up to your generation. You have the power and the means to fix it. You just have to do it."

But that's passing the buck a little (or a lot). We all have the power and the means. These are our times. The mandate of building a better world is in our hands. The accountability for doing what's right lies with us right now, and not our ancestors or the generations to come.

The world isn't a reality tv show we're all watching. We're the authors, we're the producers, we're the artists, we're the leaders, ... and we should find the will to act accordingly.

Thank you, DC (of all places!), for the reminder.

Mental Purge

Every now and then, I just have to purge things from my brain. This is one of those times.

Begin purge...

During the dark ages, there were probably a lot of sleepless knights. 

Would we still think ill of hyenas if they were called "chipmunks" or "bunnies"? 

I miss the sound of a couple of pennies jingling in my pocket, but that's just my two-cents' worth. 

I forgive everyone who has ever farted in my presence - what's past is past. 

I wonder if flies have a saying: "What happens on flypaper stays on flypaper". 

In food, tasteless is the same as bland, but in words and deeds, tasteless and bland are very different things. 

One can't own the sky, but Ione Skye (when you're purging, you can say anything). 

I'm still angry about the time that guy got Pringles crumbs all over my shoulder. 

What's the right way to rub someone? 

I'm 52, which is exactly how many cards there are in a deck (if I were playing with a full one). 

I wouldn't be caught dead as a zombie or a vampire. 

Why are you coming to my mall to shop for trend-forward clothing, shoes, handbags, accessories and more? Your Guess is as good as mine.

...End Purge 

If You Make a Noise Outside Your Middle Daughter's Bedroom

 With apologies to Numeroff and Bond...and based on a true story...

I Found a Time Machine Yesterday

I found a time machine yesterday.

I hopped inside and set the dial as far back as it would go,
which was only as far as the day I was born,
And where I went first.

I saw my mother and father and three sisters rejoicing at the birth of a boy.
(At last a boy!) A family of six, with four kids under 8.
What were they thinking?

I set the dial ahead to 1969, when I was just starting school,
And our first year in Toronto (North York really).
The first times I myself remember, always happy and carefree.

Next I went to 1977, my first summer away at camp.
Amazing times, blissfully happy times of enormous growth,
With more friends than I could count and a new taste of freedom.

On to the day at university when I met my wife.
No, not that day exactly - the one where we walked for hours in the snow holding hands.
So happy to have found someone, and so ignorant that I had found someone.

Which pushed me on to my wedding day in 1989.
What took so long, and why did we marry so young?
Everyone around us happy, none more than us.

To a blizzard in 1992 and the birth of our first daughter.
I thought I knew joy before, but nothing next to this.
She stole my heart with her first breath.

To New Years 1995 and the wee hours of the morning;
The birth of our second and an exponential leap in happiness.
All the pieces in place for the rest of my life.

Until we changed our mind in 2008 (a moment I peeked in on),
And told the girls (another blissfully happy visit),
And had our third in 2009.

I lingered at that moment, with all of us in the delivery room
(two hiding behind the bathroom door),
As much joy in that moment as all the others combined.

And then I set the dial as far ahead as it would take me,
Which was only to yesterday, when I found the time machine.
It won't let me see into my future until I get there myself.

As I think back today, I see that I'd only stopped at the happy times,
The shiny and irresistible happy times,
Not bothering with those that weren't,

And now, with no time machine to carry me ahead,
There will be times of joy, but no power to stop there,
And there will be times that aren't, with no power to skip them.

Advancing in time, one second at-a-time,
Every moment mine to experience once, whether I want to or not,
And to relive forever, if I choose.

In the time machine I found yesterday.

Chronicles of the Elevator

Growing up, my Dad's vast library included many, many amazing reads. One of my favourites was "Chronicles - News of the Past", which (from the description on Amazon):

RETELLS THE ANCIENT, HALLOWED STORY OF THE BIBLE AS IF IT WERE HAPPENING TODAY - OR, TO PUT IT ANOTHER WAY, AS IF THE ANCIENTS HAD BEEN IN POSSESSION OF ALL THE FACILITIES AND KNOW-HOW CONNECTED WITH THE PRODUCTION OF A MODERN NEWSPAPER!


As I rode the elevator up to work this morning, I read a news item on Captivate Elevator Media (their mission: "to elevate the workday for 10+ million professionals by providing valuable, entertaining information through lobby and elevator media screens in premier office buildings that connects them to their world outside the office.") The news item was about Hard Rock unveiling their $375 million plans for Taj Mahal. Given that at first glance I thought it was talking about the Taj Majal (as opposed to the casino), it made me realize how truncated news-at-a-glance-that-fits-a-tiny-screen can easily omit important details.

Which brings me to today's whimsical exploration of ancient, hallowed stories from the Bible as told in elevator news. Here goes...

Creation:

God Creates Earth in six Days

From formless and desolate to fully ready for humankind in six days. Human beings, male and female, left in charge. God is pleased and is now resting.

Exodus:

Israelites hastily leave Egypt for Promised Land

Moses leads his people to freedom and parts Red Sea to escape pursuing Egyptians. They are expecting a long walk and carrying little more than flatbreads.

Noah:

Noah and Family Escape Flood in Largest Ship Ever Built

"Crazy Noah" vindicated as massive floods destroy civilization. The 300x50x30 cubit vessel sails off with Noah, his family, and many animals safely on-board. Overcrowded stalls force unicorns and dragons to stay behind

David and Goliath:

Brave Boy Overcomes Odds to Defeat Giant 

David 'rocks' Goliath to secure unexpected victory against long odds. Slingshot sales soar.

Jonah:

Whale Eats Prophet, Then Pukes 

Jonah the Prophet, cast overboard by superstitious crew mates and swallowed by a large whale, is found alive and well, covered in whale bile. The whale is later caught and slaughtered, its meat sold without prophet.

UNCLE! (That's in reference to the TV universe).

(Warning: May contain spoilers for shows that were broadcast in the '70s)

When I was a kid, I was really good with TV. The Toronto Star would come on Saturday, I'd go straight to StarWeek (the little TV guide supplement) and I'd plan my week's viewing. Which of my favourite shows had new episodes, and which were in reruns? What was going to happen in the new episodes?

The Angels take jobs in the corporate world when they are hired by the president of a big company to find out who is killing off his executives.

Hawkeye, Houlihan, and Klinger go to an aid station at the front. Working closely together under heavy fire and unsanitary medical conditions, the three return to camp with new found respect for one another.

Richie, Potsie, and Ralph stage a beauty contest at Arnold's in order to meet girls. They plan to enter a plant into the contest who won't accept the prizes when chosen as the winner. Richie is uneasy about this but reconsiders when a cheerleader he's interested in enters. 

My family used to turn to me to tell them what was on each night, what time and on what channel (there were only 5 or 6, so you'd think they'd have been able to figure it out themselves...) So did my friends. I was the man when it came to TV. (According to my sisters, this was perhaps the only time when I was the man, but I've brooded about that in other posts.)

In the Fall, sometime around Labour Day, the TV Guide Fall Preview would run descriptions of all of the new shows for the upcoming season (as would StarWeek, of course). You could read various (print) sources to find predictions about which shows would make it and which, sadly, would not. I would set aside a whole day when it was Fall Preview time, study up, form my own opinions about what to watch and what to skip, mark my calendar accordingly, then sleep easy that I'd be ready for the year.

Take 1973, for example:

The Bob Newhart Show, The Waltons, The Streets of San Francisco, Kung Fu, Maude, and M*A*S*H were debuting that year, as were Anna and the King, Bridget Loves Bernie, The Little People, The New Bill Cosby Show, and Hec Ramsey.

I don't remember what choices I made that year, but I do know that I watched The Waltons and M*A*S*H from episode one. Probably Bill Cosby too, since by then I had already been voraciously consuming his stand-up comedy on my Dad's LPs.

Point is, I could plan ahead, I could make my choices, I could set a schedule, and I could be in control of it all

Aside: My parents had some role in my TV viewing too, but mainly because my Dad would steal the set away from us to play Atari and mercilessly whip newcomers - who came as guests but left as vanquished foes - at 'Combat', a tank game. 

Second aside: I know I've got my dates all jumbled up - Combat wasn't until 1977 so he wasn't stealing the set away from me in 1973. But who cares about accuracy when you're reminiscing and digressing from the real point you're trying to make.

Then things got better. VCRs came around and you could tape things and then rent things. Then DVDs arrived and you could rent even more things. Then more channels arrived. Then more channels arrived. Then more channels arrived. Then PVRs. Then Streaming. Then Netflix.

Until about 3 years ago (give or take) I still felt in control. I still chose my shows. I still consumed them in a fairly orderly fashion.

But that was 3 years ago. Today, I give up. I cry 'uncle'. UNCLE!

There's too much. I'm drowning. Fear the Walking Dead came back from its break and I didn't know about it until 3 weeks later (when I got around to looking at my PVR's recordings). Better Call Saul came back and I didn't get around to it until Episode 6. I see Orange is the New Black coming back with new episodes before I've gotten around to the last batch. House of Cards is back and I'm too busy trying to remember what 6 other shows I'm halfway through consuming to watch it (plus House of Cards seems quaint and old-fashioned, taking place as it does at a time when lying and cheating in Washington was frowned upon).

The PVR is filling up with shows. There's something new on Netflix daily. My wife and I have lost track of what shows we watch together and what shows we watch apart. And the youngsters (under 50) are telling me that I should be streaming all my content instead of using old-fashioned devices like TVs and PVRs at all. AAAAAAAAAAH!

TV, which used to be condemned as isolating, was in retrospect something that brought us all together. It used to be seen by some as a threat to the established patterns of life, when in retrospect it gave life a weekly cadence. It gave us seasons that were every bit as real as the four that Mother Nature gave us. I knew what I was going to be doing Wednesday night, and Thursday night, and Monday night. I knew I could take Friday and Saturday off and not miss anything. I knew that over the winter holidays and the summer break, I'd be doing something other than watching TV.

Now, it's always on always available and always good. I'M ALWAYS MISSING SOMETHING. AND NOT MISSING IT AT THE SAME F*&%$!#ING TIME.

I give up. No more. I'm going to watch sports and The Donald Trump Show and that's it. (And Walking Dead. And Fear the Walking Dead. And Better Call Saul. And Silicon Valley. And Game of Thrones when it's back. And new episodes of a handful of other things when they get dumped to Netflix. And a few other things like The Leftovers).

Other than that, I'm spending the rest of my time reading books and enjoying my family.

So there.

Perplexting with My Wife

This weekend, somebody showed my wife how to increase the font size on her iPhone. Eureka! She can read her own texts now. This means that her texts may be subject to proof-reading going forward, so I thought it would be a good time to look back at a few perlexting moments from the past year or so (drawing mainly from my personal interactions with her)...

Wait a minute. Did I just coin a term for this? My wife and I don't 'sext", we 'perplext'!

 

 

The Ten Ages of Blame

From cradle to grave, we all participate in the blame game; sometimes as the blamer and sometimes as the target. It really is a lifelong pursuit and an important thematic component of the human experience. So let's have a look together at the Ten Ages of Blame:

1. From conception to babyhood

Welcome to the world, kiddo! And welcome to the starting line of the blame game.

Despite your blissful placenta-soaked unawareness, don't kid yourself...you're already a key target. Mom's awake all night because of you. Mom and Dad are wound tight, fighting over the smallest things, crying for no apparent reason, and steadily building some deep resentment for each other - and you haven't even seen their haggard, sagging, sleep-deprived faces yet.

You're standing on her spleen, kicking her guts at the worst times, demanding crazy foods and food combinations at all hours of the night, and driving a constant and urgent need to urinate at the worst possible times. Or at least that's what Mom is saying about you.

And when you're finally born, you're crying all night long, you're throwing food all over the place, you're spitting up on their shoulders, you're pooping without discrimination, and you're SOOOOO CUTE that they love you anyways. But don't be naive - everything good in their life is because of you, but so is everything that's bad. Mom and Dad are virtually insane and it's mostly, entirely your fault.

In the blame game, you are a defenceless loser.

The World: 1

You: 0

2. Toddling about

You're walking! You're training for toilet-pooping! You're sleeping through the night (sometimes)! You're saying a few poignant words. And you're learning all about temper tantrums and how to throw them.

That broken vase (that Dad knocked over while you were playing)? Your fault.
That burnt dinner (left on the stove while Mom got lost in a conversation with her sister)? Your fault.
Skipping dinner with the Hendersons (whom Mom and Dad can't bear to see right now)? Your fault.
That smell in the garage (when Dad forgot to take out the garbage last week)? Your fault.
Mom's broken dreams? Dad's chronic headaches? Certainly your fault.

Still basically defenceless, you continue to fall behind in the blame game.

The World: 2

You: 0

3. Pre-teen childhood

It's time for you to step up to bat and start taking your swings in the blame game. You're not so good at it yet, though, so your accusations often go wildly awry. From the classic "dog ate my homework" (which is a little weird given that you don't have one) to the lesser-known "That must have been someone who looks just like me that the teacher saw stealing Jimmy's lunch" - you're not quite landing any punches yet.

And at the same time, you're kind of awkward, a little annoying (okay, a lot annoying) and nobody finds you as cute as you used to be. So whenever anything goes wrong the fingers generally point in your direction. And half the time, rightly so.

But keep practicing, so you're ready for what's coming next.

The World: 3

You: 0

4. Turbulent teenage times

Ah, the teenage years. You've been honing your craft for a few years now, but something's been missing... ANGER! HORMONES! INSECURITY! EMOTION! COMPLETE-AND-UTTER-DISREGARD-FOR-RATIONAL-THOUGHT! Now you've got those things in spades.

Suddenly you find yourself able to blame Mom and/or Dad for EVERYTHING. Better yet, you can do so without worrying about making sense, having proof, or even being specific about what you're blaming them for.

Why are you failing math? BECAUSE YOU DON'T LET ME HAVE A TUTOR!
Why is your tutor saying that you're not paying attention? BECAUSE YOU GOT ME SO MAD WHEN YOU DIDN'T LET ME GO TO THE PARTY AND I COULDN'T CONCENTRATE!
Why are you yelling at me? BECAUSE YOU NEVER LISTEN.

Because you only communicate in capital letters now, you can knock over a vase with everyone watching and they won't dare accuse you of doing it. At last, you are dominating the game!

The World: 3

You: 1

5. Young and single

A glorious time in your life. You're at school and/or you're broke. You're working your first job. Dating. Breaking up. Dating again. Living in your parents' basement. Nothing's tying you down.

Mom and Dad no longer seem to be the same idiots they've been for the last 8 years. They're finally growing up. Your siblings - if you have any - are cool. It just feels so good to finally be an adult.

But there's the money thing...not enough of it to pay for all the stuff you're used to. Buying used clothes, living off of tuna and mac and cheese, taking the little sugar packets from the restaurant, riding the bus. That's your reality.

Whose fault is that? Who can you blame? The world, of course: The economy. The politicians. The University. God - or the lack thereof. If only the universe and all it contains could somehow recognize your value and the importance of those shoes you just saw in the shop window.

At least nobody's blaming you for anything. (Unless you're Italian, in which case Mom blames you for not working harder in math in high school).

The World: 3

You: 2

6. In a serious relationship

LOVE! You're in love! For possibly the first time.

You're a new person because you've found a partner who makes you better. At least most of the time. When anything goes wrong - ANYTHING - you blame yourself. How could I be so insensitive? I'm such a jerk! Why can't I commit? What's wrong with me?

You graciously concede the blame game now, to protect that precious ember of love.

The World: 4

You: 2

7. Just married

Honeymoon. New jobs. A new love seat. Shared possessions. A pet. Getting to know what it's like to truly share your life with someone else.

And your first real argument. Yelling, screaming, crying... Then a second one. Then making up. Then another argument.

Your parents getting in the way. Your in-laws getting in the way. Pushing buttons and causing fights.

But you're a team. Sure, your partner needs some time to learn how to be part of 'Team You', and yes, you blame them for all of their little mistakes (not squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom, not cooking as well as mom, buying ugly lamps, paying a bill late...) But the blame is quiet and to yourself and with a sincere belief that they'll get better.

A winning phase of the blame game, but a quiet win.

The World: 4

You: 3

8. Early parenthood

Pregnancy is a nightmare. Lots of anger and fear and exhaustion and stress and uncontrollable emotions to go around. But it's also temporary. And you both understand the real source of all the trouble. You don't want to blame an unborn human being, but it's better than blaming someone with a very, very short fuse.

Then, the baby comes.

So cute. "When I first held her in my arms, I finally understood what it means to love something unconditionally. To be willing to lay down my life for another being. I was undone by her first smile..."

But the house is a shambles. Your life is in ruins. No sleep. Constant noise. Even more hormones.

Let's be frank, it's all the baby's fault. And who's going to disagree with that?

The World: 4

You: 4

9. Turbulent teenage parent-times

Everything is your suddenly-insane teenage child's fault. EVERYTHING. You know that. Your partner knows that. The neighbours know that.

And you'll tell your kid that later. For now, you keep the blaming quiet and after-hours.

But the blame directed your way is not quiet and it's 24x7. And it's broadcast for all the world to see. Hunker down and wait it out...you can't win right now.

The World: 5

You: 4

10. Emptying nest and beyond

Finally it's time to take stock and really think about where blame lies for wherever you've landed in life. You can finally think again. You're a little older and wiser and so is your partner.

You're now comfortable in your own skin. You know your strengths and your weaknesses. All the sharp edges have been blunted. You understand who you are and why you are that way.

Likewise with your partner. Fewer surprises, a genuine partnership, stable, resilient, clearly stationed by your side for ever.

And now, at last, you're finally equipped to see the blame game for what it was...just a game. It doesn't really matter in the end what mistakes you've made or continue to make, or what mistakes your partner made or continues to make, ...what's the point in blaming? Better to learn from mistakes and be better for them.

Yes, your partner is still at fault for just about everything. But that's okay, it's just who they are and you can't teach old dogs... And while it's not really fair to give out points in the blame game, if you did, they'd clearly be in your favour.

The World: 5

You: 5

And so, it all works out in the end - you take some blows, you deliver some blows, and everybody goes home happy. No winners and no losers. Everybody gets a participation medal.

If you're not satisfied with that, don't blame the players, blame the game.

Lessons about Caring, Taught by My Sisters

I spend lots of Blog air-time talking about my three daughters, and only occasionally mention that I also have three older sisters. Today, it's all about the sisters without a word about my (wonderful, smart, beautiful, amazing, hard-working, kind-hearted, funny and talented) daughters.

Why? The specific trigger is an important event for the youngest of my three sisters - her Masters graduation ceremony is streaming "Live from New York!" this afternoon, and I am very, very proud of her. And of course, they're my sisters and they helped shape who I am. So why not give them one Blog post of their own?

My sisters...

I won't say that everything I know about caring for people I learned from my three sisters, but I will say that they taught me lots on that subject - by word and by deed.

While I could bore you to tears with details about their individual qualities, many lessons they taught me (on all subjects but math), and all sorts of stories from childhood, I will instead give you a glimpse into each one of them using three vignettes about caring, each featuring one sister. (As usual, names have been withheld to protect the innocent.)

Sister #1: The Eldest

My eldest sister wrote the book on caring. Anyone who knows her, knows that. If absolutely anyone in her sphere (her own children, her nieces or nephews, her parents, her siblings, her friends, her students - I'm sure - or even her casual acquaintances) throws off a scent of being in pain or in trouble, sad, frustrated, upset or scared... my eldest sister is the first to the rescue. Mention that "today I'm feeling blue" on Facebook, she will be your first respondent.

She taught me that caring is a full-time responsibility and an unlimited resource...

I remember at some point in my childhood something was bothering me and keeping me awake at night. I couldn't tell you if I was sad or worried or angry and I certainly couldn't tell you what it was that was troubling me, but what I do remember clearly was getting out of bed, trotting downstairs, and finding my eldest sister busy with something else, but immediately available to me. She asked me what was wrong and all I remember is spending a healthy chunk of time sitting with her on our piano bench, talking it through, and feeling better. It's telling that I remember the caring but no other details about what was going on.

When someone cries out, no matter what else you're doing, caring is your immediate and top priority.

Sister #2: The Middle

(Warning, language may offend)

My middle sister is the one who was always wildly independent and larger-than-life, travelling and living in exotic places, finding adventure in the every day, eating fancy food and telling us all about it ('fancy', at the time, meant rapini and mortadella), and always ready to challenge me on what I was learning about the world. It elevated me whenever she was around asking questions about my life and offering (at-the-time) frightening advice about things to try, ways to behave, girls, and everything else that no one would talk to me about. 

She taught me that caring isn't always about coddling, it's also about challenging and questioning and building a little backbone...

I remember she had a bird. She loved that bird with the unbridled passion that she brought to everything in her life. She cared for it deeply, and that included teaching it to get out of it's cage and explore. One day, it found a little respite under the couch. My middle sister needed it to get out from under the couch, so in her sweetest most dulcet tones, she said: "Please come out from under the couch little bird...", lying flat on the floor and reaching out with a helping-hand. Soon, her tone shifted a bit, still in a soft voice still lying on her side with hand extended: "Come on out of there stupid fucking bird... it's time to go back in your cage!" Then it was, "GET THE FUCK OUT FROM UNDER THE COUCH RIGHT FUCKING NOW YOU ASSHOLE BEFORE I...!%$#@!&$%#@". 

If you care for someone, encourage them to explore and give them room to learn for themselves, challenge them, push them out of their comfort zone, then stand-by, ready to guide them back home, when they need a little help.

(Mini-epilogue: The bird later died when we moved into a new house and my Mom left soapy water in the sink which the bird mistook for a landing pad. Might not have been the same bird, but you can read about that adventure in my 'Ode to Zero').

Sister #3: The Youngest

My youngest sister was closest to me in age, and my best and dearest friend throughout my childhood. We played together all the time, we ate the same food (which was basically, nothing), we watched the same television, we listened to the same music, we sold stuff to each other, we had the same friends, we more-or-less went to the same schools, and we had many of the same interests - as long as they were her interests (Barbie, for example). She demonstrated her caring for me by teaching me to do things (for her) by myself. Doing her math homework, asking Mom and Dad for things, buying candy for her at the store, and so on. 

She taught me that caring for someone means encouraging them do things for themselves so they can learn, even if it means depriving yourself of that learning opportunity...

I remember on bath-night, my youngest sister always gave me the opportunity to fill her bathtub so that I could get better and better at it when I had to fill my own. She'd offer encouraging words like "You know exactly how much Mr. Bubble to put in", "You always make it the best temperature", and "Stop complaining, or I'll tell Mom that you sold me your old deck of cards and it was missing a 3." Ask any of my daughters today who - as a child - they'd have preferred to fill the tub for them. They have their Aunt, my youngest sister, to thank for that.

caring...

...is a full-time responsibility and an unlimited resource... 

...isn't always about coddling, it's also about challenging and questioning and building a little backbone... 

...means encouraging people to do things for themselves so they can learn, even if it means depriving yourself of that learning opportunity.

I don't tell my sisters that I love them often enough, nor do I let them know how much I've gained as a person because they are my sisters, ... but I do and I have.

And to my youngest sister on her big day, I am so proud of you for taking time out of your life and bravely going back to school at your advanced age to get your Masters. We are all thinking of you and very, very excited for you.

...David 

Packing Maslow

Remember Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?

From simplypsychology.org:

"Maslow's (1943, 1954) hierarchy of needs is a motivational theory in psychology comprising a five tier model of human needs, often depicted as hierarchical levels within a pyramid. Maslow stated that people are motivated to achieve certain needs and that some needs take precedence over others. Our most basic need is for physical survival, and this will be the first thing that motivates our behaviour. Once that level is fulfilled the next level up is what motivates us, and so on."

I didn't remember it either, at least while we were packing for our move into the new house.

Only after the fact did I realize that we should have been "Packing Maslow", a different approach to filling and sorting moving boxes according to what you'll need most desperately at the other end.
(I expect similar thinking applies when packing for a vacation or business trip, but I'll leave that to my devoted readers to think through for themselves.)

So without further fanfare, here is what I mean by...

Packing Maslow

How do we ordinarily pack for a move? First, we make ourselves very, very busy and leave most of the heavy-lifting to our significant other. Having done so, what the significant other does is move room-by-room, dutifully filling boxes with items, more-or-less in the physical sequence of their position in the room. As a result, boxes end up with labels like: 'Kitchen: glasses and stuff' and 'Basement: books'.

(The 'more-or-less' is because no block of physical space in the old house has homogeneous items that precisely fill a box, and so the leftover space in each box is filled with other items that are nearby, or possibly not nearby.)

In more sophisticated packing situations (like at the beginning of the packing period, when intentions are still good and tedium and fatigue have not yet set in) rather than being labelled based on where things were, boxes might have labels reflecting where they should be. For example: 'Kitchen: glasses and stuff' and 'Basement: books'.

Then, when the movers come, they carefully look at the label on each box and randomly place the boxes according to a formula that, translated from mathematical symbols, looks something like this:

PLACE-TO-PUT-BOX = MIN-DISTANCE-AND-EFFORT (MARKED-DESTINATION-ON-BOX; ANY-OPEN-SPACE) / SCRUTINY-BEING-APPLIED-AT-THE-MOMENT-BY-CUSTOMER

As a result, on that first night in the new house, everything can be anywhere, and the evening's conversation is predominantly made up of conversations like:

"Honey, where is my underwear?"

"In the box marked: 'Bedroom Closet: David's Middle Drawer' "

"But my underwear were in the top drawer. And I can't find any boxes marked 'Bedroom Closet'."

"Oh. Well I know there were some in the last load of laundry that I did."

"And where is that?"

"Try the box marked: 'Laundry Room: Stuff in the Dryer'".

"Do you know where that box is?"

"I think I saw it in the kitchen."

Very simply, 'Packing Maslow' applies Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Boxes are arranged and labeled based on these needs:

1. Physiological needs (food, water, warmth and rest).

The essentials for days (and nights) 1-3 are in boxes labeled 'Physiological needs'. These boxes COME WITH YOU IN YOUR CAR. They contain: some dishes, glasses, cutlery, and napkins (so you can eat the take-out in your new house without using plastic); pyjamas, bed linens, blanket, pillow, and basic toiletry and bedside essentials (toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, soap, alarm clock, book and reading glasses) so you can be warm and get some sleep; and three changes of clothes that meet the needs of your next three days' schedule (might include underwear, socks, dress pants, loungewear, moisture-wicking-sweatwear for when - and if - you're helping to unpack). 

DON'T FORGET SHOES. It's amazing how shoes become a physiological need when you're up first thing in the morning to catch the train and you suddenly realize your dress shoes haven't appeared yet - mine were in the spare room in the basement in a box marked 'Front Closet: David's Shoes', which also happened to be the last room I thought of checking on morning #1 in the dark with my iPhone flashlight because who the hell knows where light switches are.

And if you have children, you need to do the same for each of them. Here, the challenge is thinking through their physiological needs, because they aren't necessarily the same as yours. For example: Bearsy didn't make my list, but the 8-year-old couldn't go to sleep without him.

2. Safety needs (security, safety)

Once you've reached basic survival in the new house, you can start to think about security and safety. Tripping over boxes in each room isn't safe. Leaving boxes containing your valuables at the front-door with labels like 'Anywhere but the front-door: Valuables' isn't secure. Can you lock the front door and reliably open it? Do you know your new address in case you accidentally drive to the old house and need to tell your GPS where the new one is?

Not only should you pack a box of essential security / safety needs and label it 'Safety needs', you should also now spend a few moments in each room thinking about what's safe and what's not safe; what's secure and what's not secure. (E.g. should we take that 5-box-high stack of 'Basement: Books' and move it from the family room, where it hovers over the couch? Or at least unstack it?)

3. Belongingness and love needs (intimate relationships, friends)

I'm going to pretend for a minute that TV and Internet are not physiological needs, and that it's only when you get to belongingness and love that these essential items come into play. Pack a set of boxes labeled 'Belongingness and love' and make sure they contain:

• Wireless hub and all the related wiring.
• TV remotes, DVD connectors, and all the related wiring.
• Telephones, and all the related wiring.
• Etc.

The actual TV(s), DVD player(s), and other large 'belongingness and love' appliances, won't be in boxes and should be easy to find - so the key is to know where the stuff is that goes with those items to make them work. 

Other belongingness and love needs? Can't think of any, but if you have some, throw them in as well. 

4. Esteem needs (prestige and feeling of accomplishment)

When going through a move, the esteem needs are met when you've reached stability in the new house. There's prestige and a feeling of accomplishment in a job well done. 

For that reason, your next area of focus should be cheering on your significant other as she unpacks all the remaining boxes. Make her feel a sense of accomplishment each time she empties a box. Get up off the couch every now and then and give her a 'thank you' peck on the cheek. Heck, buy her a coffee.

Even better, choose an easy box and unpack it yourself! For example, I unpacked the box labelled: 'Bedroom Closet: David's Middle Drawer' without asking for help (once she found it for me). Talk about a feeling of accomplishment.

Other esteem needs, like all your half-marathon medals (participation medals, that is) while important, don't need to be unpacked until she's ready. They can be in boxes labeled 'Esteem needs' and stay there until after the TV and internet are up and running.

5. Self-Actualization (achieving one's full potential, including creative activities)

You only reach this point once things are so stable that you've returned to life-as-usual. It's okay if you get there before your significant other - everybody has different self-actualization timetables.

As you should now understand, I've finally arrived at that point - able to write a blog post about my harrowing move.

Sure, the tap water smells funny, we can't find anything in the kitchen, weeds are taking hold in the garden, we don't have a table to eat at, the 8-year-old is sleeping on the floor, and there are bunch of boxes in the spare room in the basement that contain things that seemed important when we packed but so far haven't asserted their importance now that we're in...

...the important thing is that 4 of us sat down on the couch in front of the TV together last night for the first time and we lost ourselves in 'The Secret Lives of Pets'. What could be more self-actualizing than that?

Great job significant other! You're almost there...

Dear Future Owners of this House

Dear future owners of this house,

Welcome to our house. It might be yours now, but it was once and will always be ours as well.

We were the first occupants of the house. We chose the floors and the walls and the kitchen. We chose the finishings. We ran speaker wire (what's that?) and ethernet cable (what's that?) in the walls and never used them. We designed and finished the basement.  We paved the driveway and the porch. We planted the lawn and did our best to take care of it. That big tree in front? That was planted as a sapling just after we moved in.

We lived here from 2000 to 2017, and I am writing this letter with less than two weeks left for us in this house.

In 2000, when we moved in, we were a family of four (father, mother and two daughters - 5 and 7). We added a third daughter in 2009 and thus leave as a family of five.

Until this house, none of us had ever lived in one house for longer than five years, so I guess we grew kind of attached to the place.

When we moved in, we were moving from the only house the two older girls had ever known into this big, brand new empty shell. And they weren't happy. There was mud everywhere. A bunch of things were still being finished. We weren't near our ex-neighbours anymore. There wasn't a finished basement for them to play in. Our bedrooms weren't right on top of each other. It was different. It was scary. They (we) loved our old house.

The 7-year-old got the bedroom over the garage. The 5-year-old got the bedroom next to that. Given the luck of the draw, it turned out that the older one got the haunted bedroom. Throughout her years in that bedroom, she'd be visited regularly by a well-dressed spectral gentleman who would hang out in her room during the night.  Nice guy, but he'd cause a shrill, middle-of-the-night scream on a fairly regular basis. Our youngest one has spent the last 8 years sleeping in that bedroom and never met him, so I don't expect you will either.

It wasn't long before the two older girls were sleeping in the same bed many nights (in the not-haunted bedroom). And that was fine because it made tucking them in and kissing them goodnight that much more efficient.

They grew up in this house. They learned to ride their bikes in front of it. Every amazing TV moment we shared was in this house. They went from primary school through high school and then off to University here. We ate amazing meals. Had lots and lots and lots of family and friends over. It hosted birthday parties and get-togethers and all sorts of memorable times.

It was right here in this house that the girls greeted our youngest daughter, their sister, and fell in love with her. They helped her learn to walk. They watched mommy (and occasionally daddy) change her diaper. Right there - in the dining room - is where the baby shot a perfectly aimed stream of urine at her mommy's face. And over there - that's where she used to ride the plasma car. Her first steps were in the family room.

In the den, over there near the corner, that's where I lay on the floor with the youngest one on the day her second sister went off to University (the first one had already gone a couple of years earlier). We lay there reading a brand new Toy Story 3 picture book (you know, the one where the kid goes off to College?) One of us had a good cry there - check the hardwood, I bet it's still a little warped.

Over here in the garage, that's where we hosted 16 years worth of amazing Halloween exhibits. It was a witch's dining room a few times, a pumpkin patch, a dungeon, a monster day care, a demon-infested child's bedroom, ... This house was THE house on Halloween. Year after year after year after year our driveway was always full of neighbours chatting, kids trick-or-treating, dogs jumping out of their skin as a spider lunged at them. And dads too.

If you go to the backyard, you might see a little stone sundial that one of the two older girls gave me on Father's Day one year. We plunked it down in the little garden back there and for whatever reason it never moved from the spot. With everything else changing in our lives, that sundial was just always in the same place, tracing out the circles of time.

See the fence on the left? I built that. Me and two neighbours. I'm not a handyman by any means, but we did nice work on it. And had a ball. I hope it's still standing.

I could go on and on and on, but I'll leave you with this: You can rest assured that you're in good hands in this house. It's a happy place. It was owned by happy people and filled with tons of love.

The growth chart on the closet door frame in the bedroom over the garage...that's from our youngest. She's probably off living an amazing life somewhere at the time you're reading this, and those pencil marks might be the only sign that she was ever here, that any of us were... but you should know that each mark represents a moment in time where a mother stood with her beloved daughter and marvelled at how she was growing up.

We all grew up in this house and years from now, if you let us in, we can show you all the other marks of our growth in this place. But the pencil marks on the cupboard frame in that bedroom might be the only messy, human, physical evidence that we were there. If you don't mind, please leave them there so we've always got something of us in that place.

We're moving on now. No regrets. Great times ahead.

We leave this house remembering it as a great house and a great 17 years. I hope the place brings you as much joy as it did for all five of us.

Best,

The original owners of this house

The Grump in the Park

The Grump in the park sat and looked all around.
He looked at the sky and he looked at the ground.
He looked to the left and he looked to the right.
Yes, he sat in that park from the morning 'til night.

And - oh - what he saw gave him scratches and itches,
And a deepening sadness (despite his vast riches).
For all the Grumps just like him were no longer about,
In their place scurried others (and this was bad, without doubt).

All the Grumps he had known were nowhere to be seen,
But the others, instead, filled the park where they'd been.
They were blue, red, and yellow; they sang and they danced.
There were oodles of them, everywhere that he glanced.

Said the Grump, "This is wrong! This is terribly wrong!
Who let them all in? This ridiculous throng?
I will stand for the Grumps and make everything right!
I will stand for them now, all the time, day and night!"

And there on the bench, where he once had just sat,
The Grump climbed right up and he took off his hat,
And he called to the Grumps who were hidden from view,
And he asked them to join in what he knew they must do.

"We'll get rid of the others! With me leading you all!
We'll toss them right out! And then we'll build a wall!
And they'll never come back to this park that is ours!
All I ask is your faith so you'll grant me these powers!"

And the Grumps came when they heard, they came back to the park,
Some came right away, and some waited 'til dark.
When at last they were there, all the Grumps he could find,
Their love and support for him blew his small mind.

So the King of the Grumps (as he now wished to be known),
Sat down on the bench (which he now called his 'throne'),
And drew up a plan that told the Grumps what to do:
"First we round up the Others, red, yellow and blue.."

"...then we take them away, outside of this place,
Using force if we must (and I hope that's the case)."
So the Grumps joined together and did what he said,
And got rid of the Others, blue, yellow and red.

'Til the park was all clear, each Other now gone.
Only Grumps filled the sidewalks and the green grassy lawn.
And they whooped and they yelled with an unbridled joy.
For they had the park back, every Grump, girl and boy.

And it was great for them all...for one day, maybe two.
'Til they got a bit bored without much left to do.
"I must get them invested in new, stronger opinions,"
Thought the King, "lest they leave me alone, with no minions".

So the next thing he said was directed at 'us',
"Some of us here are starting to stir up a fuss!
It's the ones with pink hair that are causing the trouble,
Let's send them away next, right now, on the double!"

So out went the Grumps whose hair was too pink,
They were carried away (despite making a stink).
Then the ones with no pants were directed to leave.
Then the ones that liked dogs and those with beige on their sleeve.

And the Grumps with the mumps and the measles and flu,
And the Grumps who smelled too much like antelope stew,
Away they were dragged, one group after another.
'Til the only two left were the King and his brother.

"Well that's that, I guess," said the triumphant King,
"It's just you and me now, we've got the whole thing!"
"Yeah, but why must I still share this park with you, Bro?"
Asked the King's younger sib, before making him go.

So now stands the Grump just outside of the wall.
Humbly asking himself "What has led to my fall?"
And the answer comes clear to his sad, tortured mind.
"I'm alone now because I am one of a kind."

"And someone so special, who is truly unique,
Needs no-one around when he chooses to speak.
For I'm with the right group now, alone, as I choose."
And away from the park walked the Grump and his views.