Falling for the holidays

A few years ago I stood as one of the few residents in my neighbourhood who DIDN'T put up colourful Christmas lights. I didn't see the need considering how bright my house had become from the glare of the lights from my neighbours' homes on either side of my own.

Then little Bronwyn Who, who was no more than 2, looked up at me last year and asked "Where are our Christmas lights Daddy?"

By the end of the week I had not only purchased my own strands of Christmas lights but I found myself up on my roof giving my best impression of Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation. Well I thought it was my best impression but little did I know then that the best was yet to come.

This past Monday was mild so I decided to suck up some Christmas courage and head to the roof once again. I untangled my lights, made sure each and every bulb would light up and then got the ladder out and headed to the roof.

It was all going so well. In no time I had cleared the eaves of a few remaining leaves and strung up the lights in record time. I stood up admiring my handy work. I was on top of the world! Then things went south.

Picture me sitting at the edge of my roof with my legs dangling down. My feet find the rungs of my ladder and I swing around and take my first step towards earth. Now picture the ladder shaking as the bottom of it loses its footing. One second I'm on a ladder, the next it's crashing to the ground. Gawd did it make a noise. Fortunately I didn't plummet to the driveway at precisely the same time. I was too busy hanging by one arm from my eaves trough. I would probably of hanged there all afternoon if the eave hadn't broken away from the roof causing me to fall.

DOWN...

DOWN...

DOWN I went. And as I fell it never dawned on me that I had a strand of lights caught in my jacket. As each light broke away from the eaves trough it made a CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK sound.

Fortunately my ass broke my fall and I bounced up like I was on a trampoline with a strand of broken Christmas lights in my hand.

My neighbour Bud came running out and shouted, "Are you okay Ian?"

In my best Clark Griswold voice I replied, "Never better Bud, why do you ask?"

He shook his head and told me to call him if I needed help. Looking up I knew I wouldn't need help in the immediate future. What I would need though was a new strand of lights and a couple days recuperation for my bruised ego.

Merry Christmas everyone and for those who enjoy Christmas Vacation as much as I do here's an appropriate clip from the movie.

When cash was king

Last week the Bank of Canada released brand new $20 polymer bank notes to much fanfare. The bills sport a fancy design and pay respect to our war veterans depicting the Vimy Memorial in France on the back. The front depicts a picture of the Queen. The colour remains the same as the older $20 notes -- green.

 The bank notes are touted as being nearly impossible to counterfeit. On Friday night I got one from a bank machine. It immediately ended up in my 14-year-old daughter's wallet. She called it her allowance, I called it 'money for nothing' but that's a topic for another blog.

The $20 note is the third one to be upgraded, the first being the $100 note released last November followed by the $50 note released in March.

On Sunday my wife Heather dragged me out to Justice, a new kids' clothing store, to spend a few of these new bank notes. We had Christmas gifts to buy for my niece and she apparently loves Justice.

The store was buzzing with activity. Kids and parents were everywhere shopping for the brightly coloured clothes. It wreaked of 1985. I saw styles hanging on the racks that would have made Madonna, Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Cindy Lauper proud.

Heather and I got in line and waited. Twenty minutes later we were greeted by the young teen cashier. After asking us for our phone number and postal code she said, "Will you be paying for this by credit or debit?"

"Cash," Heather replied pulling out some of Canada's fancy new money. The girl looked confused.

"I can't take cash at this register, you'll have to wait for that register," she said pointing to her right.

"You've got to be kidding me. What business doesn't accept cash?" Heather said.

"I'm sorry, I can't take cash at this register," she replied.

Stunned we went to line No. 2. When we finally got to the other cashier she too asked us for our phone number and postal code.

"I'm not giving you that information," Heather said.

The teenager didn't know what to do. Apparently Heather was the first person she'd dealt with who refused to give up her personal information. These days we're so accustomed to answering those questions it seems unusual if a cashier doesn't ask them.

"This store has a lot to learn about customer service," Heather said.

"I apologize for the long wait," the girl said. She had no idea the wait was only part of the reason we were unhappy.

It was amazing how quickly our purchase was completed by not having to plug in so much personal information into Justice's computer system. The girl took our money and put it into her register, just like in the olden days, you remember those back in the 1980s?

I know money is used less and less these days as debit and credit cards have taken over. But being refused service for wanting to use cash caught me off guard. That was our first trip into Justice and given our experience it will probably be our last.

Wrong time for Christmas cheer

Given my enjoyment of everything Halloween, Nov. 1 is  a seasonal let down for me. It never slowly winds down over the course of a week like Christmas does. No, Halloween comes to an abrupt end and we're all forced to put our scary decorations away.

I always view Nov. 1 through 11 as a time of Remembrance. Giving one day to Remembrance on Nov. 11 doesn't cut it for me. Our war veterans and all those who died for Canada deserve better than a day. Eleven days of talking to my kids about our veterans, their sacrifices and everything we take for granted in our country is my way of remembering. It also helps my kids understand the importance of Remembrance.

When I hear Christmas music playing in stores prior to Remembrance Day I get annoyed. Halloween merchandise, in many cases, will still be on the shelves while Christmas songs clog up my air space. I hate that. In my mind no festive holiday music should be played in stores or on the radio until after Nov. 11.

Until this week I figured I was alone in my thoughts about this annoying music. But apparently there are more like-minded individuals out there who share my dislike of Christmas music being played so soon after Halloween. Shoppers Drug Mart has nixed the fa-la-la-la-la-las and pa-rum-pum-pum-pums until later in the month after getting feedback from customers on their Facebook page. Good on them.

There's lots of time after Nov. 11 to inundate the airwaves and our shopping malls with Christmas tunes. Personally I'd prefer not to hear anything festive until Dec. 1 but I'm a bit of a grinch.

Here's hoping other retailers follow suit and turn off the holiday cheer until mid-November.

For my own selfish reasons Nov. 1 to 11 should be a more sombre time, a time of reflection, a time of Remembrance, a time of thanks.

Love your kids

Yesterday I read an article about this blogger who penned his thoughts about how he loved his one child more than the other. He dared anyone to disagree saying as parents we all love one of our kids more than the other(s).

The guy couldn't be more wrong.

As a parent I have had ebbs and flows with my kids where we've had more in common with one another at certain times of our lives. I imagine I'm no different than millions of other parents across the world. 

Rebekah, Heather, Bronwyn and Tavish.

My eldest daughter, Rebekah, used to play with me constantly when she was little. I was the engine that powered her wagon, the guy who gave her under-doggies on the swings at the park and when her brother Tavish came along I would take her to matinee movies so Mom and her new brother could take afternoon naps. Those were precious moments in my life, ones I'll never forget.

Today though, Rebekah is 14 and wants very little to do with me except to give her money and drive her to the mall. Most of my time is now diverted to Tavish and Bronwyn who still enjoy our play times together. Does this mean I love Tavish and Bronwyn more than Rebekah? No way! The younger two just enjoy my goofiness more than their older sister. I'm sure one day they too will find me lame when they become teenagers and I can live with that because I know my lameness is a phase and eventually they'll grow out of their teens.

Another point I completely disagreed with regarding this blogger's point of view was associating his interests with those of his kids. If Child A enjoys hockey and Dad enjoys hockey but Child B prefers chess that doesn't mean you love Child A more than Child B. Do not associate your child's interests and how those interests compare with your own and equate it with love. Everybody is different and it's a good thing. If everyone was like me I think I'd lose my mind! One of me is enough.

My children are the embodiment of the love I have with my wife, Heather. You can't love love more than love so how could you love one of your kids more than the others? You can't.

Ordinarily I'd read a blog I disagreed with and shrug it off but this one disturbed me because it was so off-base. Could you imagine being one of this blogger's kids and reading what Dad wrote? Talk about devastating.

I'm all for freedom of speech so sometimes you just have to let people have their say and agree to disagree. This is one of those cases.

Now I've had my say. What do you think? Is it possible for you to love one of your kids more than the others?

CAW blowing it over a wind turbine

My family has a history with the CAW dating back generations. My wife was also once a card carrying member of the union and in 2005 we attended a family education session at the CAW Family Education Centre in Port Elgin, Ontario.

To say we believe in much of what the union stands for would be fair. It's done a lot of good for a lot of people throughout the years.

But what we saw from the CAW in Port Elgin last week gave us pause for thought. Erected in the parking lot of the CAW centre was a giant, green wind turbine. It's not that wind turbines are unheard of in Port Elgin, they're not. In fact they're scattered all over farmers' fields throughout Saugeen Shores. The winds coming off Lake Huron make it an ideal area for wind generated power.

Given the CAW's environmental policies a wind turbine fits in with the union's beliefs. However, their own wind turbine has one fatal flaw -- it's located in a highly populated neighbourhood, the closest house being 150 metres from the turbine and the CAW centre itself even closer. Even the Province's own safety conditions as set out under the Green Energy Act state turbines should be a minimum distance of 550 metres from the closest house. Why is the CAW turbine not set back further, you might be asking yourselves? Approval for this project came before the Green Energy rules were enacted.

Saugeen council has enacted its own bylaw measuring the minimum distance between homes and wind turbines at 2,500 metres citing health concerns. The CAW maintains its own studies indicate no harm can come from a wind turbine but there are countless other studies that contradict that claim. CAW President Ken Lewenza though has gone on record saying the union has spent too much money now to turn back. The wind turbine cost about $2 million and Lewenza said stopping the project mid-way would be like halting the build of a multi-million dollar house. The difference though is a house isn't required to be 550 metres from other homes and most, if not all, don't pose potential health and safety risks to its neighbours.

I believe there are cleaner ways to produce energy other than using coal fired plants and nuclear reactors. Wind turbines and solar power are good alternatives. Everything has its place though and if the residents, council, MPP and MP asked me to reconsider erecting a wind turbine or a bank of solar panels on my property I'd find another way to accomplish my energy savings. It's easier to work with your community than to spurn it.

The CAW has a social conscience and has always attempted to better the world around it. But not in this case. It's turned its back on its neighbours all for the benefit of powering its own facilities. Seems pretty selfish to me and I believe it's a decision that will come back to haunt the CAW.

The sobering question about where to sell booze

I live in a province that operates the Liquor Control Board of Ontario (LCBO). You either buy your booze from them or you don't buy booze at all.

The Ontario Convenience Stores Association presented the government with a petition of 112,500 names gathered at more than 220 locations across the province earlier this year but Premier Dalton McGuinty's response was firm -- "No booze for you!"

I understand why corner stores would want into the business of selling liquor. Every year sales at the LCBO increase. Net income last year was $1.56 billion, an 8.8 per cent increase over the previous year. If you've ever been to the liquor store on a summer weekend the place is abuzz with customers. Who wouldn't want a piece of that action?

I sympathize with convenience store owners because I remember the days when those businesses  dominated the Ontario landscape. Those were the days when pop (soda to my American friends) was sold in bottles and those bottles had to be returned for a refund, milk was sold in jugs that also had to be returned for a refund and you could buy most grocery or drug store items you needed. Big box stores were no threat because they didn't exist.

When cola manufacturers figured out they could make more money putting their products in plastic bottles that was the beginning of the end for many convenience stores. Soon nobody needed to return their bottles for refund because we could just toss them in those new things coined blue boxes. Same went for milk. Plastic took over the world and soon grocery stores began to expand and carry everything. All of a sudden the Becker's and Checker's variety stores began to close. I had a first-hand view of the carnage as I worked as a bottle boy at my local Becker's Store earning $2 an hour. That was a fortune to a kid in the early 80s.

These days I bet there aren't half as many people who use variety stores as there were in the late 70s, early 80s. There's a small store around the corner from my house I take the kids to for slushies on hot, summer days. It's never crowded but you could still purchase a lot of grocery items there if you wanted to. I don't think a lot of people do given the dust on most of the canned products on the shelves.

The addition of stalking wine, beer and liquor on the shelves would open up customer traffic in these stores and you'd probably see a lot more of them open up across the province. It's okay to sell lottery tickets and cigarettes in convenience stores, what more could it hurt if customers could buy wine or beer there as well?

It's a political issue I know and involves more than sympathy for the little guy running his small family business. But it would definitely affirm the 'convenience' aspect of these stores when it comes to shopping.

I wish we lived in simpler times

The Internet is everywhere and it's everything these days, especially if you're like me and work in the media.

At the start of this year there was an online contest at my office. Reporters and editors alike were asked to come up with ideas that would draw more people to our website, http://www.durhamregion.com. We had to submit our ideas to our online manager and if approved, bring the idea to life and see how many 'hits' it got. The idea getting the most hits on our website would win $300.

My idea was the Daily Smile. I asked readers to send in photos of themselves or members of their families that made them smile. Simple. For doing this a random Daily Smile would be selected at the end of the month and that person would get a $50 gift card.

The response to the Daily Smile was tremendous and submissions came flooding in. I won the prize and was asked to continue the project throughout the course of the year. It's only July now but I've got Daily Smiles uploaded to the end of October. It's been a lot of work for the measly $300 I got but I enjoy the interaction with the people who send me their photos. I find myself smiling a lot as I process them and the reactions from the monthly winners is awesome. People love winning prizes.

This week a reader called our newsroom to complain the Daily Smile was nothing more than a forum for pedophiles. I'm happy he didn't call me directly but rather called our news editor who listened to him ramble on about the evils of the world. I wouldn't have been the most objective person to speak to regarding the Daily Smile. The whole intent of the project was to brighten readers' days with something as simple as a silly grin. To accuse me of creating a forum for pedophiles wouldn't have gone over well. I realize you have to have a thick skin to work in media but that would have come close to crossing the line for me.

If you've viewed the Daily Smile you will notice there are a lot of photographs of kids. The majority of the submissions come from proud moms, dads and grandparents. It's not the only place on the Internet you'll find photographs of kids. Check your own Facebook pages. Chances are if you have kids you've posted pictures of them online. Why? Because you love them and you're proud of them.

I understand there are sick individuals in the world who do unthinkable things to children. As far as I'm concerned there's no place for these people in this world. Long gone are the simpler days when kids could be kids and parents didn't have to worry about them getting abducted walking home from school. But let's not fool ourselves, pedophiles have been around since the beginning of time. They didn't just appear around 1995 when the Internet was in its infancy.

The guy who called our newsroom did so out of concern for children. I get that. What he could have done though was phrase his concern a little better and not accuse my Daily Smile of being something it is not.

Minding your own #$%^% business

If you live in the Greater Toronto Area you probably saw the news yesterday about the dog left in the car. If not, this is what happened.

Two morons stopped by the Loblaws just off the Gardiner Expressway in Toronto and left a dog in their car. Hours went by before the dog was discovered in obvious distress. Once emergency workers rescued the animal and removed it from the car it panicked, got away and ran up the on-ramp and on to the highway. Things could have ended badly for the poor animal but rather than wander into traffic it collapsed in the shadow of a transport truck whose driver had pulled over to the side of the road. The upside was the dog survived. The downside was the owners were reunited with their dog later in the day when they picked it up from animal services. Stupid people should not be allowed to own animals but there's no law on the books preventing this from happening.

My wife and I met a stupid dog owner last Friday at the Oshawa Centre. Like yesterday the heat was hovering in the 34 degree Celsius range when we encountered a dog locked in a car. The window was cracked less than an inch and the dog was panting like crazy. Heather stayed with the dog while I went back to work. On my way I got her the number for the police because neither of us was sure calling 9-1-1 was the appropriate thing to do. Heather waited 10 minutes and was about to call the police when the owners of the dog returned.

By that time Heather wasn't the only person waiting by the car with the dog in it. But she was the one who let the owners know what she thought of what they'd done. And because it was Heather's favourite day, Profanity Friday, she admitted to calling the guy a 'fucking asshole' more than once.

"There's something to be said about minding your own fucking business," he said to her.

Heather was stunned and responded he should be ashamed. She also mentioned she had his licence plate number and make and model of his car. She then went back to her car and began Tweeting about the incident. The guy then approached Heather and asked her what she was doing? She said it was none of his business and if he didn't leave her alone she'd call the police.

"You just do that bitch," he said.

And so she did.

The cops told Heather she should have called 9-1-1 as soon as she came across the dog. She waited 10 minutes while the dog baked but it could have been in the car for 20 to 30 minutes prior to us arriving on the scene. The officer then asked her if she had the licence plate number of the car. She did.

"We'll make sure this incident is investigated," she was told.

There have been more than 152 incidents in the GTA so far this summer about animals being left in cars. We had an early and warm spring and the summer is shaping up to be a cooker. I hope people get the message and leave their animals at home where they're safe.

For anyone out there who believes they "should mind their own fucking business" when they come across an animal in distress in a car, I urge you to do the opposite. An animal's life may depend on it.

Rehabbing the ego not an easy thing to do

For the past 11 years I have hit the hard court with some great guys every Tuesday night. During that time I've witnessed others suffer numerous injuries - sprained ankles, jammed fingers, scrapes, bruises and even one tooth getting knocked out. But none of those things ever happened to me. I flew under the radar and avoided the carnage on the basektball court.

But last Tuesday things changed. That night I joined the ranks of the walking wounded. As I attempted to strip the ball from my friend Ryan his moving left knee connected with the side of my planted left knee pushing it in a way it wasn't meant to move. If my foot hadn't been planted on the floor at that precise moment in time the connection wouldn't have caused injury. Alas, it was where it was, the connection was made and searing, hot pain radiated from my knee, down my calf and into my foot. My gawd that hurt.

Two things disturbed me about getting injured. The first was that I was having one of those nights when I couldn't miss a shot. I was in the zone, seeing the hoop and hearing a lot of 'swish' when I put up a shot. If I'd avoided injury, Tuesday night would have been one I could have bragged about in the locker room for years to come.

The second disturbing thing about getting hurt was the reaction of many of my friends including somebody who I see as more than a friend. Her name is Heather, the woman I married. When I came hobbling into the house after basketball her first question was, "Are you all right?" When I told her I'd hurt my knee all concern left her face and in its place a look of bemusement took over as she broke into laughter. I could barely walk, was in more pain than I've experience since breaking my collar bone at 14 and she was having a good chuckle at my expense. Nice.

I went on Facebook the next day and posted this question: What would you do in this situation? You come home from basketball after hurting your knee. You're in obvious pain and your wife's first reaction? She bursts out laughing. Discuss.

Here are some of the responses:

I would have done the same thing. -- Mandi Hargrave

Oh that Heather! I'm sure she was concerned on the inside -- Dan Connolly

Old age had its moments. Sorry I would of laughed too. -- Rose Russell

Kicked you in the knee and then continued laughing! -- Angeline Mair

Did she say 'Suck it up ButterCup' to you? If she did, good on her. And the crutches are a nice touch -- Bruce Froude

I was hoping for some sympathy from my friends but none was forthcoming. Heather mentioned she saw my post that night after we'd settled in and put the kids in their respective corners (bedrooms).

"I only laughed because all you old guys continue to go out there every week and every week one of you gets hurt. It was only a matter of time that you would come home limping,"she said.

For the record, 44 is not old. There's a guy who plays with us who is 71 and he's still got game. So I said to her, "There are NBA players who go down with these very same injuries on a nightly basis."

Heather mumbled something to the effect, "You keep telling yourself that old man," and she walked away.

I would have continued our argument if it were not for one thing -- I couldn't catch her!

Rehabbing the knee will probably take less time and be easier than rehabbing my ego.

Staying afloat on an achy Sunday

Last Sunday I felt like death warmed over. I was nursing a chest cold, you know the type where coughing brings tears to your eyes it's so painful? All I wanted to do was stay in bed and die.

But something was preventing me from remaining under the covers all hopped up on cold medication. Sunday was my 5-year-old daughter's final swimming lesson. She had to go to the pool, blow bubbles, float on her back and dip her head in the water in order to earn her Sea Turtle badge. She couldn't do that without me however because her mother doesn't do pools. Heather has always been more than happy to watch from the gallery but ask her to participate in the water at the Sea Turtle level and she's gone, outta here, vanished, poof!

No matter what I said Heather remained adamant that she was not going to this final swimming lesson. It was all up to me.

Bronwyn with  her Sea Turtle badge.

So I sucked up some courage, threw back some cough syrup and went up to Legends Centre with Bronwyn. I dreaded the chills I knew I was in for after we got out of the pool. Those suck most days but when you're already shaking before submerging yourself in the water you know it's going to be bad when you get out.

Dressed for the pool, or undressed you might say considering the scant warmth a bathing suit provides, we headed to the pool deck. As we walked out into the waiting area the class before us was scrambling to get out of the water. Wet kids and parents with concerned looks on their faces brushed by me making me shake even more. What was wrong? Did somebody yell shark?

As it turned out a child in the class was feeling even worse than I was and threw up in the pool. The earlier class was cancelled and ours was over before it even started. The swimming instructor handed out the Sea Turtle badges and Bronwyn was thrilled to pass. I was happy for her because she's really tried hard over the past six weeks. But more than that I was happy for myself because I didn't have to go in the water!

Bronwyn got changed in record time and we went home to show Mom her new Sea Turtle badge. I went straight back to bed and mumbled to Heather she could present me my Father of the Year award once I felt better. I hope that day arrives sooner rather than later!

Ghost stories on a Saturday afternoon

I'm in a spooky mood today. Actually I feel like hell as I'm nursing a chest cold and I ache all over but beyond the physical I could really go for a scary movie or a frightening read.

I just finished the first draft of my novel, Forest of Fear. It's scary stuff so maybe that's why I find myself feeling this way today. Actually there isn't a day that goes by that I don't imagine something scary happening. That can't be normal, can it?

The other night my wife Heather and I took Ozzie (our beagle) for a walk. Heather wanted to walk over to the Connaught Park area of town. For those of you not familiar with my area of the world Connaught Park is surrounded with beautiful Victorian homes dating back to the early 1900s, some earlier. Heather loves to walk through the neighbourhood to marvel at the beauty of these historic homes. I, on the other hand, love to imagine the ghosts who haunt these homes. I know at least one of them is haunted because my friend lives in the neighbourhood with his wife and family.

He told me a story a few years ago about the strange things that go on in his house. When they moved in nothing was out of the ordinary. However, things started to go 'bump in the night' once renovations started on the house.

On one occasion my friend put down a spatula he was using in the kitchen when his wife called him upstairs to help her. When he returned downstairs the spatula was gone. He'd set it down on the counter, he was sure of it. He searched all through the kitchen and upstairs. The spatula seemed to have vanished into thin air. Stymied, he had to forgo his work as the spatula was vital to what he was doing.

Two nights went by and downstairs my friend was wakened by the banging of cupboard doors. But when he went to investigate the kitchen noises he found nothing amiss. On the third night the banging was severe so it woke up the whole family. When he went downstairs he stopped dead in his tracks as he entered the kitchen. There in the middle of the floor was his spatula. Every cupboard door was wide open and he swore they were closed when he shut down the house to go to bed.

On another occasion my friend's wife was alone in the house in the middle of the afternoon. While she worked away in the kitchen she thought she heard the sound of running water upstairs. But that was impossible because she was the only person home. The longer she listened the louder the sound got until she was convinced a tap was running upstairs. Climbing the oak staircase her fear was confirmed when she reached the top. There, in the bathroom at the end of the hall, was the faucet turned on full. Water and steam filled the air because it was the hot water faucet that was cranked open. Using a towel she got it turned off. After the initial shock of the event wore off she returned downstairs to pour herself a cup of tea to calm her nerves. Before the kettle had boiled the faucet upstairs sprang to life again. Fortunately my friend arrived home just as his wife was walking towards the staircase. She told him what had happened and he went upstairs and turned off the faucet. For weeks after the event my friend's wife refused to spend a lot of time alone in the house.

Those were just two of many creepy events that took place in one of those beautiful Victorian homes. My friend's family has now accepted the ghost and know her idiocyncracies. They believe she's looking out after the home and didn't take kindly to a new family changing things. They have no intentions of moving.

If that could happen in one of those homes I imagine what other ghosts must lurk in the other historic homes of the neighbourhood. That's what runs through my mind when I walk my dog. Yes, the homes are beautiful, but they have history and not all of it can be good.

Has anything spooky ever happened to you? I'd love to hear about it.

A novel approach to my bucket list

If you're like most people you have goals in life you strive to achieve. Some goals are easily accomplished, others take a lifetime to make reality. Some never come true, like my boyhood dream of playing Major League  Baseball with my best friend Dave Osborne. Neither of us made the big leagues. Hell, we never even tried! But for a few boyhood years it was our sole reason for being.

For me writing a novel has been a goal I've had since I realized writing would become my life. I am trained in journalism and every time I sit down to compose a story I get an unbelievable rush. The first time I had a news story published the positive rush that consumed my whole being was unlike any feeling I've ever experienced. I wondered how long that feeling would last or whether I'd get jaded like so many in the industry do and just stop giving a damn. It hasn't happened. To this day the rush is the same each and every time I file a story.

The longer I've spent time in journalism the more my job description has changed. Reporters become editors and once that happens you edit more than you write. Part of the reason you do this is for the money. Editors make it, reporters don't. For those reporters who stick it out for the long haul I applaud you.

To make up for my reduced writing time at work I've spent a considerable number of hours in my spare time doing creative writing, blogging and  journaling. In May 2010 I started my novel, Forest of Fear.

When I started this project I had no idea how long it would take. Writing a novel was not like writing a news story or feature. It took me a lot of time, planning and character development to get it underway. Once it got started there was constant interruptions that I would characterize as 'life'. But I persevered and a few days ago I put the final touches on my rough draft. When I took my hands off the keyboard and pulled back my chair I couldn't believe it was actually done. Seventy-five thousand words, the most I've strung together at once in my life. What a rush!

Is the project complete? Not by a long shot. It's going to take a lot of re-writing and editing before I'm happy with it. Then the hard part begins, shopping it to agents and publishers. I've only heard horror stories about the process so we'll see how it goes when I get to that point.

For now though my goal of finishing a novel is complete. Cross that one of my bucket list!

Prior to Christmas I attended the DarkLit Festival and participated in a pitch session where I was allowed to sit down with a publisher and wax poetic about my novel. Here's a synopsis of the novel I submitted. See what you think.

Forest of Fear

Derek Mitchell cannot shake his recurrent nightmares. He’s always running in a futile attempt to elude the monster he calls the Bad Man. Lately, he’s terrorized awake by the evil he witnesses as the Bad Man hunts down and murders those around him. That or the daylight chases away the Bad Man. Or does it?

When Derek’s nightmares manifest into reality and Dugood residents begin to go missing he’s convinced he’s lost his mind. His nightmares are just that, bad dreams, they’re not real. But the presence that’s haunting him is real and so far the only other witness to it is Donna Sinclair. When the Bad Man turns on Donna, Derek knows there’s only one thing to do – confront his nightmare.

As an investigative reporter Danny Mack has broken dozens of award winning stories in the Dugood Journal. When the local economy is shuttered by the economic downturn he’s forced from his city beat to the obituaries. It’s a humbling demotion for sure but one he hopes will be short-lived when he’s able to break the story about the mysterious disappearances of a number of residents. When his best friend and girlfriend go missing however, Danny can no longer be objective in his pursuit of this story. He needs help and he finds it in Derek Mitchell.

Together the two men uncover another world, a place where the living meets the dead and where all hope will be lost unless they can get back home. But the only way to do that is by escaping the Bad Man and ending the horror plaguing the town. 

Distracted by distractions

When I was growing up school homework was done in a quiet place without the distraction of the television. Those were simpler times. Today kids have any number of things to distract them apart from the television -- cellphones, mp3s, laptops, etc.

If your child has text messaging as part of his or her cellphone package it's even more difficult to focus on homework. I know this from experience because Rebekah, daughter No. 1, has had a difficult time looking up from her phone for the past six months. She's constantly communicating with her girlfriends but she rarely says anything to me or her mother unless she needs something.

The phone was a recent purchase and it was made with the understanding that if Rebekah's grades dropped even a little, we would hang up on the little hand-held device.

So you could understand our frustration as we fought with Rebekah on a nightly basis as she sat in the living room with her textbook open, playing with facebook on her laptop, while listening to music on her cellphone and text messaging.

Oh how we ranted, oh how we raged on about how things were done when we were Rebekah's age.

"I swear to God when her report card comes out and her grades have dropped that cellphone is mine, she'll never see it again," my wife Heather said.

Notice the phone? It's surgically attached to Rebekah's hands.

Report cards came out yesterday so I text messaged Rebekah with this message:

"You better pray your report card is good or else your mother will kill you. Now get home."

"Thanks for having so much faith in me," Rebekah texted back.

When I returned from work Heather was in the kitchen with a strange look on her face.

"How's her report card? "I asked fully expected a rough night ahead.

"Take a look," she said.

I opened it up and wouldn't you know it, Rebekah's grades hadn't dropped at all. In fact most of them had improved over her last report card.

How had this happened? She did it without silence, she did it without focus, she did it without concentration, effort or attention. She just did it.

Both Heather and I fully expected we'd be in full fledged fight mode with Rebekah. We were almost looking forward to telling her "We told you so."

We didn't get that opportunity.

How did she do it? She has an 84% average in Grade 8 and she's done it effortlessly. I can only imagine how well she'd do if she put the cellphone and computer away while doing her homework.

I need peace and quiet while doing homework of any type. As much as I hate to admit it Rebekah does not.

Good on her.

Footsteps to sanity

In every marriage you have to connect with your spouse regularly in order to maintain a healthy and enjoyable relationship. By 'connecting' I mean sharing something other than housework, meal planning or parenting. Some couples organize date nights while others plan weekend trips together.

My relationship with my wife Heather involves footsteps, lots of footsteps. It's how we cope, how we decompress, how we share. Together we've covered many thousands of miles together (don't ask me to convert that to kilometres!). Without these footsteps one, or both of us may have snapped ages ago. Three kids will do that to you!

Another positive to this journey of a million steps is our dog Ozzie gets to come along. He doesn't interrupt, just sniffs and sniffs and sniffs. Beagles do that because the nose knows, you know?

Putting our best feet forward and our dog.

These walking journeys were not planned, we stumbled upon them by accident when we adopted our first dog, Webster, a Corgi. We couldn't walk alone with Webster very often as the kids were still too young. When Webster died Bronwyn was a newborn. Shortly afterwards we adopted Ozzie, our Beagle. A happy (and less destructive) Beagle is a tired Beagle so we walk him as often as possible. The kids are older now so it's easier to scoot out and let our teenager babysit.

This is good for us because without our walks our demanding, high energy 5-year-old and a very demanding, self-centred 13-year-old would have made us crazy long ago! Don't get me wrong, I love my children dearly but sometimes I need to get a way from them even if it's just for 45 minutes. Every now and then our 10-year-old son Tavish accompanies us on our walks because he too needs a break from the two girls!

There, that's my one and only piece of relationship advice. It works in our household, maybe it could work in your own.

Is there anything you do that helps your relationship? Let me know.

Subtle French hints

A few years ago I removed the dusty rose curtains in the bathroom and scraped off the flowery pink wallpaper. Begone 1985!

I added a fresh coat of paint, a new mirror and two new lights and the room looked 90 per cent better. The only thing amiss was some artwork to adorn the walls. That I left to my wife Heather who has a better eye when it comes to accessories, be it household or wardrobe.

Heather didn't rush the job. Instead she took her time and started acquiring artwork that spoke to her. She even designed a few pieces herself and gradually began adding them around the bathroom. The bare walls eventually filled with decorative pictures, knick-knacks and artwork. It looked good, well worth the wait.

I do some of my best thinking in that bathroom and the other day I sat there pondering life. My eyes scanned the room and focused on everything Heather had added since I'd finished painting. Everything she'd put in the room had a French flare. Have a look at some of the decorations and see for yourself.

As I sat there thinking it dawned on me, could this be a hint? Do you think Heather wants to visit the real Paris, France? Could her sites be set on something slightly larger and definitely more European than our bathroom? Oui, oui!

I began to smile sitting there. I knew what I had to do. It may have taken me a few years but true to form the man of the house figured it out. It was up to me to make Heather's dream come true. And to do that there was only one place I could take her...

We had to board a plane...

Tickets in hand...

And take off to...

Las Vegas baby!!!

Back to the Future

When I graduated from Eastdale Collegiate and Vocational Institute in 1988 I stepped outside the school's front doors and took the first steps to my future.

Thursday night I stepped back inside those very same doors with my daughter. I wasn't there to say hello to a favourite teacher as most, if not all, would have retired by now. No, I was there because my daughter will be attending Eastdale next fall. Wow. Did I just write that last sentence? Let's try it again. My daughter will be attending Eastdale next year. Ahhhhhhh!

It's one thing to go back to your old high school and walk its halls reminiscing about your youth. The place hasn't changed much since the 80s. The lockers are the same, most of the classrooms haven't changed except for the desks and the school gymnasium looks identical except for the school colours. Eastdale used to sport brown and yellow colours. Now there's a lot of blue stripes throughout... almost reminds me of Donovan's colours if that old high school still existed.

Once I stopped gazing around at everything around me Rebekah and I made our way to the auditorium to participate in the Grade 9 Parent/Student Orientation. As I sat there listening to all the preparation today's Grade 8 students get prior to entering high school one thought flashed to the forefront of my mind -- kids these days have it so much easier than we did.

Not only have the Grade 8s already taken a tour of Eastdale but they've also been visited by students now at Eastdale who used to attend Coronation Public School, Rebekah's current institution of higher learning. In May they also must attend an all-day session at Eastdale and when they actually go to school for their first day next September they'll be the only students at the school. The Grades 10 through 12 don't attend until the following day.

I recall walking into Eastdale my first day back in 1983. It was a free-for-all, we didn't know where our classes were and I recall being overwhelmed by the crowded halls and mad scramble as everyone attempted to get where they had to be when the bell rang. Kids these days have it so easy!

At the same time though I sat there feeling a sense of relief for my daughter. Yes, it was a bit frantic entering high school in my day but did I really want my daughter feeling that much stress and anxiety on her first day? No way.

I have to give the guidance counsellors credit at Eastdale because they're making the transition from grade school to high school as seamless as possible. It makes me wonder what the guidance counsellors were doing in my day? Oh yah, I remember, NOTHING! If you attended Eastdale in the 80s or 90s let me know what your guidance counsellors were like. I'd be shocked if your experiences were different than my own.

But I digress. The kids these days should be in a better position when September 2012 rolls around. It will just be really strange having my daughter attend my old high school. Like I said before, when I closed the doors to Eastdale and moved on with my life I never expected life would eventually lead me back to those same doors!

All that was old is new again. Now only if I could still feather my hair!