My grandmother on my father side, stayed at our house for a weekend. Her job was to take care of my other grand mother. We were busy teenagers and we were angels. Okay maybe not. But staying home is something we didn't do much, especially, with the added supervision. Had we been home, we would have seen what happened at the scene of the crime. My mother had chest freezer filled with a side of beef. There was a bunch of mouths to feed and apparently my grandmother thought that included her. They were only going away for a couple days. What could happen? They would soon find out. What's in the bag? They came home after the weekend away and it was time for my father to drive McGregor meme' home. He wondered why her suitcase felt heavier than the other day but thought nothing of it. My mom hated deciding what to make for supper but felt confident because she knew she had many options waiting in the chest freezer. There was only one problem. The freezer was cleared out.  ...

When I was a kid, I kept wondering when it would happen. After a little help from science things started taking off. A word of warning: Be careful what you wish for. I hit puberty late and it kind of just won't go away.  I have been a Peter Sellers fan my whole life. Peter Sellers was a hairy man. I have seen guys wearing hair sweaters in the pool; It wasn't a good look. Then one day I looked into the mirror and saw something. It was a Jekyll and Hyde moment. Well, I wanted to hide but I couldn’t. I was morphing into Inspector Clouseau, right before my eyes.  Yes, I know, that you know, that I know, I am a sasquatch. There was a time when I hid my hairless body. Now I run around like a five-foot nine-inch ape looking for a tree to hide behind. A hairy chest I would have been okay with. Everyone loved Bert Reynolds, but I didn't ask for my shoulders and back to get jealous.  It's a cruel joke. I hit my sixties with sixty percent of my body covered in hair.  The ...

It was our first camping trip to Elora Gorge conservation area. It would be one that we'd never forget.  Drivers in a storm My girlfriend and others waited for our arrival. We almost didn't make it. The two and half hour drive should have been easy enough. The weather decided that easy, was not an option. The rain followed us from our home in Windsor Ontario. The time we made up speeding down highway was lost driving the rural roads outside Elora Ontario. We were lost. We dodged lighting bolts that seemed to crash beside us. We were losing hope until we spotted a church. Looking for a sign The muddy parking lot was packed with vehicles. We liked our chances, so we decided to walk inside and ask for directions. The irony was uncanny; Two lost souls, looking for hope. Inside we could hear a what  could  only  be described as a cult speaking in tongues; that's what it sounded like. We had survived the frightful storm but feared something bigger: The ...

You may never catch a falling star but if you're lucky enough you can catch one flying by. It was a cool summer night. I was laying on the ground looking up at the splendors of heaven above. I'm weird that way -looking up while standing up, is a pain in the neck. My stepson came by and asked "whatcha doing?"  "I'm looking for a star" The sky was filled with stars so it was no surprise, he looked at me a little strange. He didn't have to say a word. I knew what he was thinking. "Should be easy enough to do"  I explained that once in a while you can see one streak across the sky. "They call them falling stars" He looked up for a while but his attention faded and was getting ready to leave. "You're going to miss it" I said. "Miss what?" he said. "That one special star" I said. "I know a secret" Suddenly, he was interested. "A secret? What kind of secret?" There was a p...

A Cup of Caring We notice what we notice, and too often, we focus on not noticing. The painful things we ignore or suppress. We hide pain and forget joy. Pain, like joy, is all around us. I search for joy. I am not saying that I don't see pain; I do. But most pain is out of our control. Joy is always in our control; We just need to see it. I saw it this morning. I was early for our Tuesday morning coffee club. While I waited for friends to arrive, I had time to write, think, and get a glimpse of pure joy.   There in front of me is a young man who is a caregiver to an old man who is noticeably mentally challenged. Every Tuesday they sit at the same booth by the window. I had seen them there before but today would be different. I was seeing them for the first time with my heart, instead of just my eyes. The old man is drinking coffee and eating a muffin. The young man looks at his cell phone between lulls in conversation.  They both take turns looking out the w...

I do not walk in shadows but beside shadows cast by those who have left room for me to do so. There is no proof of their existence (present day) but their light, I carry with me. My face is warmed by the glow of the sun but also warmed from within, with memories and together we cast the shadows. By the grace of God, illuminated by the sun. My pics: Seacliffe Park. Leamington, On, Canada. 

            Wednesday May 27/2026 Todays golf game wasn't the best but the company like always was good. It was a hot afternoon but now freshly showered, I am enjoying a cool evening breeze on my front porch. The sun is hidden from the view only to stretch shadows across lush green grass. In front of me is a huge red maple. Leaves are rustling and are turned up looking for moisture.  The Robin's nest that was visible just a week ago is now barricaded in a splendor of red and green. I can hear birds chirping. Sparrows and Robbins compete for my attention. I like to presume that is the case. In the far distance I can hear a red winged black bird.  The other day a hummingbird stopped by and hovered above our Rose of Sharon. I wondered if it was the same one from last year. I have waited for his return. And the return of my morning routine of writing and looking out my window seeing my little winged friend dancing from one blossom to the n...

It was a night of bar hopping. I had a few fuzzy navels in me and a little liquid courage. I had been trying to get the courage to ask this girl out all night, I will name her Becky. My attempt at being macho had backfired. She knew who I was and I knew I wasn't fooling anyone. I could have used a better pick up line. There was a guy she liked who wasn't wearing five pleated le Chatueu pants and a short collared Alexander Julian button down shirt. No, he was rugged and void of anything that could called  style. He was a white tee shirt and jeans grease ball.  "Hey Becky! Why don't you get rid of Tony Danza so we make some music together!" This was not my best pick up line. I was never good at pick up lines. To be totally truthful I have always been intimidated by pretty people. It didn’t matter if they were male or female. In my mind I was an average guy with an above average phobia of pretty people. Tony Danza was not real Tony Danza, he just looked like him. And...

  The Do, Do Dodo I was sitting at my usual table at the café. I had my blog page open on my cell phone to collect thoughts. Thoughts always turn into stories, and I wanted to be ready when the juices flowed. What would be the flavor of the day? I am not referring to coffee here but in case you needed to know; large drip, two creams. The flavor I am looking for is a story. I often have a thought that wakes me up in the morning. A quick short sentence or a daily mantra. Sometimes I must write about another crazy dream I had the night before. Today I was looking at a blinking cursor. I had nothing. Eventually, a young couple walked in with a small child in a stroller. They looked up at the menu for awhile and were ready to order. The girl told the barista that she’d like to “do” a macchiato. The guy said he’d do a drip. I suddenly knew what the flavor of the day ways going to be, it wasn’t a flavor, more like a rant. This wasn’t the first time I heard beverages orde...

I am a late blooming baby boomer. That just means I didn't get busy until I almost couldn't get busy.  What a weird name. Baby boomers. What if one day we died of natural causes: Exploding. Just random people walking down street. Exploding. Zombies you can outrun but that overweight bald guy walking beside you. A ticking time bomb.  Nothing but booming boomers everywhere. No mask is going to save you. Better pack a slicker. The hell with the weather, you got bigger unnatural, natural disasters waiting for you. And walking down the street is no walk in the park.   Hey look! there's my old pal George. You shake George's hand and boom , he explodes. The only thing left of George is in your hand, his hand. Texting while driving suddenly doesn't seem like a big deal. Waiting at a red light, is a bigger deal. Especially, if the windows are down. The punk with the boom box that's sounds like he's trapped someone in his trunk is tolerable. That old lad...

  Lawn maintenance is for the birds   I didn't want to do it, but it was my turn to cut the grass. It was a cold day, and the threat of rain forced me to kick myself in the butt. Our property is huge and weirdly shaped, and I never know exactly where to start. It is like most daunting jobs; I got to get it out of the way and let momentum kick in. I feel the same way when I go for my outdoor walks. The first lap I'm feeling stiff and uninspired. The second lap is better but now I have caught the attention of overprotective red wing black birds. I pretend not to notice but I can hear them as they swoop down just above my head and yell at me with that annoying call. I convince myself, "only four laps to go" Lap three yellow jackets decide they want to have fun too. Now I have birds and bees swarming me. I walk to help me with my stress and  it's not working!!!  In fact, I'm about to freak out ! I just want to exercise damn it! Leave me alone!!! I would lik...

My father had a hobby. I could have called him a hoser -he liked hockey and the odd beer- but he was over-educated for the slang, so I'll call him the man with a hose.  The hose-man of Buckingham Drive had an obsession: Washing cement. Dirt and pebbles had no place to hide. And every little tree trying to grow between the cracks stood no chance against the hose-man.  Have hose will spray His routine started with a car wash, next he watered flowers, the lawn, and then he finished with tree plucking, cement washing. It could have been ninety-five degrees, but there he was wearing his faded blue foundry coveralls, courtesy of Ford Motor Company. Underneath he wore a Pepe’ Joe standard issued white (fruit of the loom) tee shirt. The boxers I won't mention. Somethings you just don't talk about more than once. I went into detail in my post about laundry day at Wassi Lodge. To complete the attire; slip-on black safety boots. There was only one thing missing: A be...

Our friends painted-wood-porch was our shelter from the storm.  Most storms came from the west, and we could see them approaching from our porch. Our front porch was cement and had wrought iron railings, so it was a no-brainer; safety was across the street. The old wood porch was painted gray, and it was on an angle just enough to allow water to roll off like little waterfalls. We would wait for the flash of light and block our ears, but we felt the thunder in our bones. Between the flash of light and the rumble we counted Mississippi's, trying to guess how far away the lighting was; of course, when it crashes beside you, there's no need to tell time: Time stands still when you're shitting your pants. We watched many summer storms from that porch. But eventually, all storms end.  We waited for clear skies, so we could play in the puddles. A rainbow's promise was God's way of saying “Okay boys make a splash” and we did. Camp fun and games Some storms took us by...

Be real. I'd love to see life as gentle ripples but the truth is, (I don't want to admit it) I know sometimes I make waves. Instead of skipping stones; I throw boulders. I have stood on the shoreline of my life. The reflection looking up is an unrecognizable face. Im looking down trying to find ways to smooth out the surface but the waves are crashing in. My feet are sinking in the wet sand. I stand naked before God and ask, Who am I? The answer comes in a whisper: I am like all God's children: I am chosen. I am alive. I am here. I am blessed. I am called to love and to be an example of God's love. I am human and therefore, not perfect. But I will try to aleast be kind to others and to find a way to be kind to myself. I don't wish to be understood but to be given a chance to be me. I don't wish to be judged but I know that escaping judgment is a waste of my energy. Instead I will have courage against hate, encouraged by love.  I have come to the wate...

                         A cedarstrip canoe floats on the tea stained waterway known as Wistawasing aka wassi lake. Two brothers paddle effortlessly toward the island across the way. The morning sun is hovering just above the horizon, illuminating a path on a mirror-smooth lake. The only conversation is that of paddles entering and leaving the surface. We are both lost in thought or maybe a silent prayer.  I think of that lake often and when I think of him. We were young, alive and had all the time in the world. We didn't know how little time we had. Who would be first or who would be last was always decided on the races we run, not life and death.  I go back to the lake, to a huge rock on the shore. The place where I received lectures every time I saw my brother. I was older than he, I should have been giving them instead of receiving them. Old doesn't mean wise. He asked me the same question “What...

A note to friend in Christ. I believe the house of God has many windows and many doors. Sometimes we walk in, sometimes we walk out. Sometimes we just walk away. But the windows are always open just enough to let a little light in. Sometimes we need to tip-toe and look inside once again. I looked in and there you were. I was surfing the net, to be truthful doom scrolling. Luckily, for me I saw Father James Martin SJ,  on Stephen Colbert. A spark ignited in me to share the following story. My partner is a practicing Catholic and he goes to church every Saturday night. I am more of an east meets west kind of guy. Imagine Jesus and Buddha at a bar.  I'm the bartender and I don't know who to serve first.  I have only been out since my sixtieth birthday. It was during the time of the pandemic. I was divorced and laid off. I could have easily spiraled out of control. The good news; I lost a job I hated, and I had time to write, think, walk and pray. I eventually sta...

"Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of God" Ralph Waldo Emerson Sometimes wake up and immediately write about another strange dream I had. I have a spiral notebook tucked into a magazine rack next to the couch for just such an occasion.  I often wake up in the early hours of the morning. Instead of trying to fall back to sleep, I sit lotus style with a comforter wrapped around me. I breath in and out and invite the spirit to move me. I only invite those who God has appointed to me to be present. Good spirits are welcome.  I wait for words. It usually doesn't take long. Often the content comes from another place. I call this the Emerson effect.  I just listen and to write when the spirit speaks to me. In that moment, I am not the author, just the holder of the pen.  There is slso the funny side of life. And this can pop out nowhere. There is plenty of room on the page for that as well.  The kettle is whistling. I will be back.  Today the toc (te...