Tag Archives: memories

A hot dog and a story

“The shortest distance between two people is a story.” ~ Patti Digh

It was 1993. I had recently moved to Vancouver and I was looking for a job. I replied to this ad in the paper about selling sporting goods. The interview was a joke and I walked out on it. A group sales pitch to sell knives to your family and friends. I might share that experience another time but this is a story about meeting a Vietnam war veteran before the interview.

I arrived downtown almost an hour early for the interview, and 1/2 a block from the entrance of the building that I was heading to was a hotdog vender. I love ‘street dogs’ and decided to get one with all the toppings, hot peppers, sauerkraut, fried onions, and Dijon mustard. There was a water fountain or statue nearby and I sat down on the edge about 6 feet away from an elderly gentleman who was also eating a hotdog.

Now, almost 30 years ago, I don’t remember how the conversation started, but I ended up halving the distance between us so that we could chat more easily. This man was mostly bald with white-grey wisps of short hair near his ears, very pink in complexion, and overweight with a belly that looked more square than round. He had a cane, that sat next to his legs, which were showing between his white, pulled up socks and his tan coloured shorts. His shirt was just a extra large, plain white T-shirt with without a logo.

After some small talk he told me he was a war vet, and he shared that he saw things no one should ever have to see. Then he shared one of these stories.

He was in a sandbag bunker on the outside of a government building they were guarding and a young boy with a backpack was slowly approaching them. The boy couldn’t have been older than 12. His Sargent pointed to the boy and said, ‘Shoot him’.

He looked at his Sargent, puzzled, and the Sargent repeated his command louder, “Shoot him!”

He was still fairly new to this post and Sargent and was hesitant to shoot a kid. His delay angered the Sargent, who took out his side arm and pointed it at his head, “Follow my orders and shoot him or I’ll shoot you!”

And so he shot the kid… And the kid, still about 50-60 feet away, blew up. “I couldn’t believe what I saw, it didn’t seem real.”

Apparently, kids were being used as suicide bombers in the area and the Sargent saw something that made him suspicious.

He only lasted another few months at that post then he was hit with shrapnel from a missile. He showed me the back part of his calf, with an 5-inch scar that deformed the muscle, and he said it went up the back of his leg, but he didn’t stand up to show me. Then he said, “Another big piece got me here”, and he lifted his T-shirt to show me a huge scar that dented his brick shaped belly.

“When they hit you, all you feel is the burn, and you can smell your skin burning, the metal is so hot.”

In the 25 minutes I sat with him, I just listened. He had a lot to share, and he kept the theme going of, “The things I saw there, nobody should ever have to see.”

I didn’t want to leave, but I had an interview to go to. Had I known the interview was going to be such a joke, I would have sat and listened to this war vet tell stories all day. But when I left the interview the man was gone. Like me he just sat down to eat his hotdog, and to talk to a stranger he’d never see again.

Shovelling Snow

I remember I time when I didn’t know what snow was. Sure, I’d seen it on TV, but it didn’t make any sense. I grew up on a tropical island and a party-sized block of ice was the largest concept I had for something cold that didn’t sit inside of a fridge or freezer.

My first snowfall (except for a spattering of sleet) was a cartoonishly slow snowfall of giant flakes that made me question how real the world was.

That was Grade 5. By Grade 9 I was absolutely done with snow and knew I was not going to live in Toronto the rest of my life. When I came to Vancouver as a water polo coach in ’93, I knew that I was going to move here, and leave Toronto and the snow behind.

Well, I didn’t quite leave it behind, and this morning I was shovelling my driveway (for the third day in a row) before 6am. But it was quite enjoyable. I had my headphones in, listening to a book, the only other sound being my shovel against the driveway. At one point my mind drifted to what I was actually doing:

Snow falls and gets in the way of our daily living. We take shovels and move it aside. It then melts away, with no indication that it was ever there. Snow falls…

I’m reminded of this silly gif of a man shovelling water and tossing back into the same puddle.

I’m also reminded of how we are at the whim of nature. This year in BC we’ve had forest fires and torrential rains that have completely affected our lives with road closures and damaged homes, even loss of life. The raw power of the natural forces around us is incredible.

And, in this part of the world, we have snow. White fluffy stuff that falls and gets in our way. Sometimes, like the fires and floods, it can wreak havoc, other times it is a mild inconvenience… and we scurry around moving it out of the way with shovels, then we watch it melt away.

The surprise discovery

We were 16 or 17 years old and avid fisherman. Living in North York, a suburb north of Toronto, we didn’t get out fishing too often, but we tried to go as often as we could. I remember skipping school one day and taking the bus to a river to fish. I caught a beautiful brown trout, and wanted to take it home, but had to release it because I couldn’t come home from school with a fish.

We loved to catch bass and we were good at it. My friend Dino had a cottage on a lake called Bass Lake in Orillia, and when we would go there we’d catch 20-30 bass in a weekend, and we knew that was more than any of the other fishermen on the lake.

Either Dino or my other fishing friend, Gus, discovered Mussleman Lake just a 30-35 drive from our houses, and we had a new favourite spot to go to, close to home. We would bass fish in the shallows of this small, but deep lake every weekend that we could get there. Sometimes we’d just wade through the water for hours, waist deep with our shoes on. Other time’s we’d rent an aluminum row boat to paddle around the lake. And we caught a lot of bass!

I remember once, Gus had a big one on his line and just before he could get it, it snapped his line. A while later I caught a nice 4-pounder and we kept that one for dinner. Back home, I was cleaning the fish in my back yard and we found 2 crawfish and Gus’s lure in the belly of my fish.

We went back to Mussleman Lake a lot. And we caught a lot of bass. There was one day when we were in a rented aluminum boat and we had paddled to the upwind-side of the lake, to look for calmer water, since the wind was making the shallows choppy and the conditions were not favourable for bass. After unsuccessfully fishing the calmer, but still choppy, side for a while we thought maybe the fish had gone deeper to avoid the rougher water. We decided to use the wind to our advantage and troll across the middle of the lake. We each cast our lures behind the boat and Dino rowed slowly, with the wind helping to speed us up, keeping our lines taught, as they followed behind the boat.

Then Dino’s line snagged something. He stopped rowing and started pulling his line in. But it was really stuck. As he reeled in, our boat slowly went backwards, pulling us towards the snag. “I think it’s a log.” Dino said, before saying, “Actually, I think it’s a fish.” Then, “No, it’s a log.”

Then the log dislodged and started coming to the surface. “It’s coming up, careful not to snap you line,” I said. At this point Gus and I had reeled our lines in and were standing near the middle of this little boat. Dino was in the back, rod curved from the tension of dragging this big log from the depths of the lake. It was almost at the surface when it moved sideways. Then a fat, approximately 4-foot long pike surfaced with a huge splash of its tail.

This scared Gus, and he stepped back flailing his arms. He knocked me over and a box of cookies saved me from getting stitches. I fell backwards and my head landed on the cookies, crushing them against the hard aluminum bench. The fish splashed and flailed a couple more times and broke Dino’s line. We were shocked. We had no idea there were pike in this small lake, and certainly no idea that there were any fish that big to be caught.

The game had changed. No longer did we head to this lake to fish for bass in the shallows. We went to Canadian Tire and bought ourselves higher poundage fishing line, longer metal leaders to prevent the pike’s sharp teeth from cutting our line, and lures that sank deeper that the ones we used for bass in the shallows.

And then, after many trips of only ever catching bass at this lake, we started catching pike. A lot of pike. There were some unsuccessful days, but they usually ended with us in the shallows catching a bass or two. I find it so interesting that it took this little trip across the windy lake for us to learn what to look for. But once we knew what to look for, well that’s all we needed to find them… seek and ye shall find.

Another trip around the sun

Today I turn 54. I’m starting my 55th rotation around sun on this tiny blue rock. While I have been taking good care of myself and feel great, I also realize that there are things that time does to your body that are irreversible… like my hairline. 🤣

On a more serious note, it amazes me that I am now older than my parents were when I left home and headed to BC. They were in their late 40’s when I left. That means the vast majority of my memories of being in my family home are memories of parents who were spring chickens compared to me now.

How did I get here? Time passes so quickly. Five years ago retirement seemed a lifetime away, now it’s actually something my wife and I are planning for. 10 years ago ago I had 2 kids that weren’t even teenagers yet, and in a few months my youngest will be 20 and once again I won’t have any teenagers.

I feel blessed for having the life I’ve had, and I look forward to a lot more (hopefully healthy and happy) years ahead. I just marvel in the fact that so many years have gone by so quickly, and time seems to be speeding up.

I don’t usually think much about birthdays. The one birthday that made me sad we my 36th. A couple days after that birthday I had to fill out a form and the checkbox for my age went from ages 36-54. That put me in the dumps. I felt all depressed that I was now lumped in with the 50-year olds. Now that I’m at the tail end of that category, I simply look forward to what comes next.

Hairline be damned, it is going to recede and turn more grey no matter what. But I’m hopping on my exercise bike this morning, I’m going to shoot some arrows, and I’m going to have a wonderful family dinner. It’s a good day to appreciate the gift of life, and to use the time I have well, as I rocket towards this spot on the earth’s orbit again in another year.

Old locks

While packing things away for our renovation, I came across a my collection of old locks that I purchased at different markets in China. These locks are simple when it comes to operation, but complex in design and artistry.

My favourite of these are the combination locks:

The last of these I can’t get open despite having the combination.

My wife loved going to all the open markets when we visited a new city, and spending a few hours shopping at them really bored me. That is, until I found one of these locks and started looking for more. Suddenly I had a reason to go and it didn’t bore me quite as much.

While the locks are all unique, I honestly have not looked into them too closely and they could range in age from over 500 years old to less than 50 years old, but my guess is they are not worth that much in the condition they are in. And, I probably paid too much for them anyway. Still, I didn’t buy them for their inherent value, I bought them for the adventure of looking for them and finding them.

These locks may not have a lot of financial value, but for a couple years living in China they unlocked the secret to being a happier shopper when my wife would drag me to yet another open market on our vacation adventures.

Mixed tapes

A couple days ago I shared how we had to wait for songs to come on the radio to record them. Today this 7 year old memory came up on Facebook:

Oh, the hours put into making the perfect mix. The frustration of making a great mix, but realizing too late that one song should have been left off. The too long gaps between songs, which were actually better than the too short gaps with a song getting truncated (which at least happened less frequently, unless you were recording from the radio and had to cut off when the DJ started talking).

The challenge of getting the volume of songs consistent. The stretching of songs near the start and end of the tape. The tangles, pulled out and then retracted with a pencil.

But above all, the time it took to make a good mixed tape… that’s a thing of the past that carries a lot of nostalgia, and would be hard to meaningfully share with someone who never had to do it.

I had to wait

A couple days ago I heard a song I liked being played and I opened Shazam. This handy app told me the name and artist of the song, and shared a link to iTunes. It was in my library in under 2 minutes. Growing up, this was a different story.

I’d hear a song I liked on the radio and maybe they’d re-announce the title and artist at the end of the song. If not I’d just have to hear it again before finding out more. If it became popular and I really liked it, I’d have a cassette recorder next to the radio and hit the Play and Record buttons together simultaneously to record the song to listen to it later… often trying to time when the DJ would stop talking over the intro, so I didn’t get his voice, but maximized the amount of the song I got.

I would only buy the song if I heard and liked enough of all the songs from the album to justify buying the whole thing. I remember having an entire side of a cassette with either Freeze Frame or Tainted Love ‘on repeat’ because I kept recording either one as I heard them on the radio.

And there was no YouTube. If I wanted to see a music video, I had to watch MTV, with 3+ minute long commercial breaks, hoping they would show the video I wanted to see.

We don’t often think about the conveniences we have today compared to our childhood. Conveniences that are now expectations for kids, but would have been pure luxury or us.

Family recordings on 8 millimetre film, that was played on a projector. Waiting for a roll of film to be developed, after waiting for weeks or months for the roll of film to be finished and ready for processing. Missing your favourite show and hearing everyone talk about the episode that you wouldn’t see until reruns started being played 13 weeks later.

We had to wait. That waiting doesn’t happen anymore.

We live in a time warp

When you are 10, 5 years is half a lifetime. 10 years is half your life at 20, and 20 years is half your life at 40.

By the time you hit 40, your first 20 years are a distant memory, and you remember choice moments, but you don’t remember those years like when you were younger. The distance in time causes you to lose your ability to hold on to old memories. You can’t hold an ever accumulating amount of memories, and so some fade away. So time stretches the past into a distance too far to see everything.

Meanwhile, 1 year at 10 used to be 1/10 of your life. A year at 20 is 1/20th of your life and a year at 40 is 1/40th of your life. Each year, the lengths of a year as compared to the rest of your life diminishes. So time also shrinks the future while it stretches the past. We live in a time warp, and time goes by faster every day.

Sometimes it’s good to reflect on this, if only just to appreciate the fleeting moments in a day, and know that unless we appreciate the time we have, we can only appreciate the memories that we know will fade away.

Fall colours

I just came back from a walk with my daughter. We passed this tree and I had to stop and take a photo:

Growing up in the Caribbean, I have to say that the explosion of fall colours was as captivating as experiencing snow for the first time. We moved to Toronto (North York) and the main highway downtown is the Don Valley Parkway, which follows the Don River lowlands and is surrounded by trees. This time of year the drive is breathtaking.

Seeing this tree brought back memories of seeing fall leaves for the first time and thinking that there was no way these colours were from real trees. It’s amazing that so many vibrant colours can stem from the death of leaves. Fall is here, enjoy the weather, and beautiful scenery, because winter is coming.