POSTING #105

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Some Holiday Highlights

In Postings 102 and 103 I took you along with us on our drives to and from Florida. Here are some stories about other things that happened during our holiday.

Apparently Not as Old as I Look

As I mentioned in Posting #102, we found that all the restaurants were closed on Christmas Eve in Columbus, Ohio so we had to fall back on our emergency supply of canned baked beans.

I thought it might be good to have some beer to wash down the beans---in my experience beans can use a lot of washing down.

A local service station had a food section with a selection of beers  (the convenience of it, no need to find "The Beer Store"---are any Ontario politicians listening?)

I took a largish can of German beer to the cashier.

"ID", she said.

"What?", I asked.

"I need to see some photo ID."

"You can't be serious."

"I can't sell beer without ID."

I handed over my driver's license. She made sure I was over 21, and returned the license.

"That will be $4.70".

I handed over the money and she gave me my beer.

It all reminded me of a column by Bill Smiley.

(For those of you who don't recognize the name here is an excerpt from an Albertan weekly newspaper, the Stettler Independent in February 1961: "Canada’s favourite humorist, Bill Smiley, whose column appears each week in this newspaper, has won the distinction of being syndicated in more papers than any other Canadian columnist. He is being read in 111 newspapers throughout the country.")

When Bill was about my age (somewhere north of three score years and ten), he wrote a column about problems he was having reconciling his chronological and psychological ages.

He said he felt 18, and thought he looked 19.

I understand that.

I feel 18---most days---and think I look, perhaps not 19, maybe 29.

Anyway, it was kind of satisfying to know that in Ohio I had to be 'carded'.

The Most Doggone Thing

We were stopped at a light on the Tamiami Trail, a busy multi-lane road---which we learned gets its name from the fact that it links Tampa and Miami---somewhere south of  our rented condo in Bonita Springs.

Two lanes over from us was a man on a motorcycle with a dog belted to the pillion seat behind him. The terrier-sized dog was wearing goggles and a cream-coloured helmet that was about the size of half a coconut shell.

As the light turned green, we set off, staying level with the motorcycle so we could study the dog.

He, or she, was obviously enjoying the ride, leaning out from side to side to look around the driver to see what was coming. When the biker leaned to the right to exit from Tamiami, the dog leaned to the right as well.

It was interesting that although the dog had a helmet, the biker was just wearing a bandana, tied tightly around his head.

We were impressed  with the biker for protecting his pet with a helmet but couldn't help wondering why he didn't think his own head deserved the same protection.

A very unscientific survey that we conducted later suggested that more than half of Florida's bikers do wear helmets, but that still leaves a lot who don't.

By the way, some Google research tells me that in biker circles the pillion is sometimes referred to, vulgarly, as the 'bitch seat' or 'bitch pad'. I suppose with a dog occupying the pillion  seat there is a 50/50 chance that the slang terms are accurate and therefore not vulgar.

I have also learned that bikers sometimes refer to the bandana as a 'doo-rag'.

It always amazes me how much information is packed into each Posting of this Letter from Virgil blog.

What an education the blog provides---it's better than reading the New York Times!

Tale of Two Trucks

On another occasion, we were again stopped at a light on Tamiami---it is a wide road with a fascinating jumble of stores and restaurants but it does have a lot of stop lights.

We were behind a pick-up truck that had a poster covering the back window of the cab, one of those see-through-from-the-inside signs. The poster had a picture of a baby with blond hair and blue eyes and the slogan, "Every foetus is a baby."

On the tail-gate there was another anti-abortion sticker, "If you are pregnant, you have a baby", along with a sticker that claimed that the driver had a "Terrorist Hunting License". There were also some decals of 'pretend' bullet holes.

The driver kept revving his engine and the special mufflers responded with a throaty roar as though the driver was impatient to be off to 'get hisself'  an abortionist, terrorist, or some other -ist (perhaps a monogamist, who knows!). When the light turned green, he tore off, mufflers raging and rubber smoking.

Later that same day, we pulled into a space in the parking lot of the renowned Naples Botanical Garden, to attend an open-air jazz concert. Beside us was another pick-up, of about the same size as the first truck. This pick-up had only two stickers, one that said, "I believe in evolution, not God", and the other that proclaimed "Hate is not a family value".

Two trucks, two takes on life!

Proud Hockey Parent

While visiting an information centre in Southern Florida, we met a volunteer who when she heard we were from Canada told us that her son had once played for an NHL team in eastern Canada. 

She then told a story about her son that I would like to tell but I will change some of the details to protect her privacy.

The son who had been playing with an NHL team in the southern US was suddenly told that he had been traded to a Canadian team and that he had only two days to report to his new team.

He called his parents, who lived at that time in New England, and told them about the trade and asked if they could help him. He had no winter clothes with him and wondered if they could drive him and some clothes to Canada.

He flew to his home, and helped his parents load warm clothing into the family van. They set off for the border with the mother and father taking turns driving so their son could sleep in the back---he had to play the next night with his new team.

The parents were worried about whether they would have trouble with Canadian Customs but once they had explained the situation, the officer waved them through.

After several seasons in Canada, the son was traded again, this time to another team in the southern US.

Looking back on the experience, the woman chuckled, "I know every word of your national anthem---I used to sing along with the Canadians".

The son has retired from the NHL and is now involved with other ex-players in some business ventures.

I said that she must be proud of her son.

"We are but you know", she continued. "playing in the NHL is not all glamour."

I thought of all the times the parents must have taken their son to cold rinks in the early morning as he worked his way up from Peewee (and before!) to the NHL

I am sure that being the parent of an NHL player is not all glamour, either.

I think she enjoyed telling the stories about her son, and we enjoyed hearing them.

They gave us some rare insights into what goes on behind the scenes in a hockey career.

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See you on March 13th for Posting #106 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.