BLOG NUMBER 80; MAY 17,2013; ALARMISTS OR NOT?

THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER Ross McKitrick

Ross R. McKitrick is a Professor of Economics at the University of Guelph and Senior Fellow of the Fraser Institute. He specializes in environmental economics. He has published many studies on the economic analysis of pollution policy, economic growth and air pollution trends, climate policy options, the measurement of global warming, and statistical methods in paleoclimatology. His latest book is Economic Analysis of Environmental Policy, published by University of Toronto Press (Fall 2010). He has also published numerous invited book chapters, newspaper and magazine essays, and think-tank reports. In 2003, his (coauthored) book, Taken by Storm: The Troubled Science, Policy and Politics of Global Warming, won the $10,000 Donner Prize for the best book on Canadian Public Policy. Professor McKitrick has been cited in ince media around the world as an expert on the science and policy of global warming. He has made invited academic presentations in Canada, the United States, and Europe, and has testified before the US Congress and the Canadian Parliamentary Finance and Environment Committees. In 2006, he was one of 12 experts from around the world asked to brief a panel of the US National Academy of Sciences on paleoclimate reconstruction methodology. McKITRICK CLAIMS THAT:

1. Ontario's Green energy Act will place the Province near the top of N American jurisdictions in terms of electricity costs.
2. This will seriously impair Ontario's growth and competitiveness.
3. Manufacturing is likely to decline by 29 per cent, mining by 13 per cent, and forestry by less than one per cent.
4. The Liberals have attempted to offset these declines by offering them subsidies. WHO PAYS?
5. The resulting economic stagnation will cause huge job losses
6. The Global Warming claims are B,S. 
7. THE GREEN ENERGY ACT's focus on wind generated power is a huge boondoggle. 80% of the energy generated occurs only when demand for electricity is low. The province is forced to sell off the surplus at a loss. This miscalculation has cost to date, an estimated $2 billion dollars and generates annual losses approaching $200 million.
8. The inefficiencies of wind power are well documented when compared to conventional methods.
9. Any job increase claims by the Liberal government due to the Green Energy Act are temporary in nature and offset by job losses created by its enactment.
10. Any emission reductions, that have been small in scope, could have been achieved at a fraction of the cost. 

ON CARBON EMISSIONS:  

 Ian Rutherford Plimer 

(born 12 February 1946) is an Australian geologist, professor emeritus of earth sciences at the university of Melbourne, professor of mining geology at the University of Adelaide and the director of several mineral exploration and mining companies. He has published 130 scientific papers, six books and edited the Encyclopedia of Geology.

Heaven and Earth written in 2009

Plimer writes that climate models focus too strongly on the effects of carbon dioxide, and do not give the weight he thinks is appropriate to other factors such as solar variation The book asserts that the temperature changes we have observed in the 20th century are within the "normal range of variability," that significant global warming is not happening and that there is negligible human impact on warming.

He argues that"The volcanic eruption in Iceland, since its first spewing of volcanic ash has, in just FOUR DAYS, NEGATED EVERY SINGLE EFFORT you have made in the past five years to control CO2 emissions on our planet."

"Climate has always changed. It always has and always will. Sea level has always changed. Ice sheets come and go. Life always changes. Extinctions of life are normal. Planet Earth is dynamic and evolving. Climate changes are cyclical and random. Through the eyes of a geologist, I would be really concerned if there were no change to Earth over time. In the light of large rapid natural climate changes, just how much do humans really change climate?"

"There is no problem with global warming. It stopped in 1998. The last two years of global cooling have erased nearly thirty years of temperature increase." Of course you know about this evil carbon dioxide that we are trying to suppress - it’s that vital chemical compound that every plant requires to live and grow and to synthesize into oxygen for us humans and all animal life.

COUNTER ARGUMENTS ABOUND:

Michael Ashley is professor of astrophysics at the University of NSW.

"Plimer has done an enormous disservice to science, and the dedicated scientists who are trying to understand climate and the influence of humans, by publishing this book. It is not "merely" atmospheric scientists that would have to be wrong for Plimer to be right. It would require a rewriting of biology, geology, physics, oceanography, astronomy and statistics. 

AND SO THE STORY GOES: 

I tend to agree with the 'common sense' arguments put forward by Teilhard de Chardin and by the late Father David Belyea of St Michael's College at U of T, My understanding of their teachings is that man is insignificant in the overall scheme of things  and " It is our duty as men and women to proceed as if the limits to our abilities do not exist"

Pierre Telhard de Chardin

Father David Belyea (1927-2008)

MAYBE WE SHOULD ALL JUST LEAVE:

Perhaps the scientists, a term largely overused and incorrectly given to theorists, should concentrate on finding for us a new place to inhabit.  The amount of Co2 delivered by volcanos may be in dispute. What about dinosaur farts? Did their farts contribute to their own extinction?  They were called 'sor asses' for a reason! Are the methane gasses released by the pig farms of Carolina and water leaching into the water table through fields over which farmers spread manure, eventually going to destroy the planet? Are rockets and gunpowder and bombs and grenades complicit? Would the millions of starving people in the world today be better off without automobiles or industry? Are people living in misery now any less worthy of our love than future generations. We are the HERE and NOW.

And now the lunatics in the U.S. are picketing PM Harper for his appeal to support the Keystone Pipeline. They continue to promote false conclusions that carbon emissions are threatening the future of Planet Earth. Never mind that the project will create thousands of jobs and allow for energy independence. They still promote the expensive and inefficient technologies of wind and solar. The way forward is to ensure pipelines are safe and controllable in the event of a rupture. Surely we already have, or can develop, the engineering and technology to affect this.

We must embrace visionary projects that will benefit society and balance environmental concerns with economic ones. To concentrate on only one of the parameters is folly. 

SEARCHING FOR A CAUSE?

How about  withdrawing all foreign troops from occupied countries, expanding the 'doctors without borders' concept, providing free drugs to the sick, feeding and educating the hungry, instituting free post secondary education around the globe, using the world's armies to recover from natural disasters instead of killing civilians?

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” - LEO TOLSTOY

LAURELS TO: 

PHIL KIRBY AND KAREN HUNTER FOR THEIR STANCE AGAINST WIND TURBINES IN THEIR LOCAL COMMUNITY OF PORT ELGIN.

CLIP OF THE WEEK:

BLOG NUMBER 79; MAY 10, 2013; THE YOUNG ITALIAN; CHAPTER 2

THE YOUNG ITALIAN:

CHAPTER 2:

Gerardo sold the store on Yonge Street in 1947. The family moved during the summer into a  2 story house on Hillhurst Blvd.  Our new home was located between Eglinton and Lawrence west of Avenue Road. I was approaching my eighth birthday. I am not sure why I remember birthdays, as there was no party or special attention given. It was an exciting time but I cannot recall the details of moving day.  Cristina and I were shipped to the empty house with mom and were too excited to look for moving vans or new furniture. There was a big grass covered back yard and a recreation room! We began to dream of new horizons.

Here's Blackie!
When the moving vehicles arrived at Hillhurst the only image that I remember was Blackie, ears flapping, bringing up the rear. He was as excited as we were. When dad showed up he ordered Jonny to get on his bicycle and take him back to Yonge Street. A rope was tied to the dog's collar and we watched sadly as Jonny carried out his orders. About an hour later, as we sat on the front porch, we were surprised and excited to see those flapping ears once again. This time it was Blackie in front with Jonny bringing up the rear.  This cycle was repeated two or three times until Mr Ellias finally said "Keep the dog". Jonny arrived proudly, side by side with Blackie who was home to stay.

Original house 65 years old today

After the first week, we were pleasantly surprised with the new freedom that came with the neighbourhood. Gerardo's 'Law of Strict Obedience and Control' was somewhat relaxed. We could actually play up and down the street with the other kids on the block and avoid the constant scrutiny of Tina's supervision. There were 6 friends who lived on our block. We played all day, often without lunch and after supper until the call came for bedtime. Someone always had a new game that lasted for weeks before it became stale.

Blessed Sacrament Catholic School

Our new school was Blessed Sacrament Catholic, about a 3 kilometre walk from home. The environment seemed more complicated; the boys more sophisticated, the girls less pretty. Sister Stella morphed into  a shrew of a lay teacher named Miss Krabway. Gone was the patient, caring approach of Sister. Miss Krabway had her favourites. I was not among them. I found myself in one pickle after another. I looked forward to recess and lunch breaks and my mind would wander to yesterday's activities that were so much fun. I payed little attention to the blathering Krabway and my grades began to suffer. I went from a very good student to a lazy lout. Krabway gave up on calling me out and largely ignored my existence. Bummer, I would end up having to repeat grade five under that tyrant.

Blessed Sacrament Church

As bad as Miss Krabway was, the Principal, Mother St Vincent, was worse. We used to call her 'Blimp' without any fear of damnation. She would enter the classroom each Monday for our weekly lesson on Catholic doctrine. She was a terrible speaker and I always felt badly for the kids in the front desks. Her loud emphasis on a salient point was always accompanied by the liberal spray of spittle from her mouth. She played no favourites and on occasion would wander up and down the rows of desks just in case there were others in need of her form of baptism revisited. She was particularly enamoured with the Crusades of the 11th to 13th centuries. Blimp often referred to Pope Urban II as a 'true disciple of the Lord'. We were taught the battle hymn of the holy soldiers that had a chorus beginning with "God wills it was their battle cry....". Were these Crusaders the Terrorists of yesteryear? I wonder what today's jihadists would say. I tried to find the complete version of the battle hymn but had no luck.

THE NEIGHBOURHOOD:

Ace Bailey

Across the street from 108 Hillhurst lived the former Captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, Ace Bailey. He was a wonderful man and I remember sitting on his porch listening to hockey stories or following him up and down the yard as he tended to the lawn with his old push mower. He always greeted me with a smile and a loud "Hey chief".

Ace had a daughter named Joyce. She became my best friend ever. We were inseparable. She was pretty, athletic and smart. I fell in love with her and proposed marriage several times. Joyce would always smile and say "Anthony, I am five years older than you." Bummer.

One Saturday, we were invaded by a group of boys from the block 4 streets north of ours. They were led by a scruffy kid named Jamie. He was an aggressive, loud-mouthed bully. They came, I presume, out of boredom with their own neighbourhood and constantly carried on a mocking play-by-play account of our stick ball game. Finally, Joyce would have no more of it. She got into Jamie's face and ordered him to shut his yap. Jamie pushed Joyce to the ground and called her a 'pussy'. I only remember being on top of the bully and swinging madly at his pudgy face. At the end of the encounter, Jamie and his buddies retreated up the street. We could hear the occasional "we'll be back" as they left. The gang never came back and I was rewarded with a big hug from Joyce.

Further up the street,lived a girl named Deanne. She was lots of fun, a tad portly and a good sport. She took it upon herself to convince her mother to go to Jamie's home and rat him out. Jamie later became a close friend and often came over to our block for a game of stick ball. Joyce eventually forgave him and accepted Jamie into our group but not before several apologies and take backs.  Two brothers separated by 2 years in age, lived another few houses up the street past Deanne's.  They were somewhat un-athletic and always the last 2 chosen for stick ball teams.  It was not unusual to see one or the other of them trip on a curb, smash into a parked car, or get hit on the head with a batted ball.  These two, Carl

and Simon Gould,  provided us with numerous opportunities for howls of laughter. They would always laugh along with us at the unfortunate brother. In the other direction was the home of Dickie Colletta. He was the biggest and fastest of our group and a natural athlete. No one ever laughed at Dickie. He referred to himself as 'Duke' after the Dodger great Duke Snyder. I claimed to be 'Mick' after the Yankees' Mantle. There were some other kids on the other side of Mona Drive, who would join our group from time to time. I don't remember their names. We always had enough guys for teams of 5.

Cristina convinced me that we should build a fort in the basement. It was constructed from old chairs, a refrigerator, box scored from a neighbour's garbage, some trusty orange crates along with other boxes and an old tarp. We were quite surprised at the finished product. It became a hangout for after breakfast activity and role playing. Cristina made up the roles and story line. I was a door-to-door salesman. Deanne was my wife. Joyce was a cop and Cristina the judge, Horrors (Did I mention that she was a shit-disturber!) The salesman always found himself in trouble with the law for various minor infractions. In order to receive the indulgence of the court, He was ordered by the judge to kiss Deanne. I would refuse in deference to Joyce, who always chuckled, and was required to serve time in the orange crate cell.

Gerardo had mellowed somewhat. He had changed from an ass-kicker to a threatener. He accepted our basement fort as long as we were quiet. We seldom noticed that he was gone for long periods of time each day. He always took Uncle Joe with him.  We were never told of the reason but his absence was welcomed as a respite from his wrath. If one of us did anything stupid or objectionable we were told by mom: "Waita for udad comme homa!" This never failed to correct the behaviour and the perp would always beg forgiveness and promise to never again offend.

108 Hillhurst Bvd. today

Often on our trips to visit cousins, we would leave Blackie in the garage. Dad left the door slightly up to allow for fresh air. Halfway up the block we would look out the rear window; soon enough those flapping ears came into view. Dad would be forced to stop and we happily opened the car door to let the dog in.

On one occasion dad insisted that Blackie would remain in the garage as we were going on two separate visits to relatives. This time there was no accommodation made for any fresh air. We stopped for gas on the way and upon our arrival at Uncle Val's, there was Blackie, on the front porch, tongue out and tail wagging.

One day I went out to the back yard to bring Blackie some 'remnants'. He was nowhere to be found. Gerardo, who by this time was enamoured with the dog, loaded us into the car and we searched the streets in vain. Blackie had disappeared and we never saw him again. I cried for a week.

Cristina and I always believed that if he was alive somewhere he would come home. We would rise early each day to search for him and this routine continued in vain for several days.

Uncle Giuseppe (Joe) 

In the fall of 1949 our family was blessed with the arrival of Uncle Joe, dad's brother. Joe had been in a POW camp in England for 5 years. Somehow dad sponsored him to come to Canada and he moved in with us. He spoke Italian with a British accent and some English with an Italian accent. He was an incredible person and I loved him dearly. One morning, after a wicked blizzard, I was unable to walk through the deep snow in order to get to school. I was quite happy to stay home and not have to face Krabway for a day. Mom asked Uncle Joe to help me get to school and he piggy backed me for about a block through the snow. After much pleading, Joe relented and back home we went.

I was to learn soon of the real reason Joe left his wife and 2 children back in Italy.

                                                Uncle Joe's favorite song!

QUESTION: Who is more fun than people?

QUOTE: Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down. - OPRAH WINFREY

CLIP OF THE WEEK:

BLOG NUMBER 78; MAY 3, 2013; CORN BALL HUMOUR

CORNY BUT CUTE:

1) PRICE OF GAS IN FRANCE:
 
 

A man in Paris planned to steal some paintings from the Louvre in Paris.





After much careful planning, he managed to get past security.

The thief stole the paintings, and made it safely to his van. 

However, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.





When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an obvious error; the thief replied, “Monsieur, that is the reason I stole the paintings.”


Apparently 
he had no Monet 








To buy Degas 



To make da Van Gogh. 

I had De Gaulle to post this.



I figured I had nothing Toulouse. 


OH STOP GROANING.....YOU'LL WAKE THE KIDS.

........BESIDES, IT GETS WORSE!

2) MONICA:

 3) DEAR DIARY:

Wife's Diary:
Tonight, I thought my husband was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a nice restaurant for dinner. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment on it. 

Conversation wasn't flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed, but he didn't say much.

I asked him what was wrong; He said, 'Nothing..' I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said he wasn't upset, that it had nothing to do with me, and not to worry about it. On the way home, I told him that I loved him. He smiled slightly, and kept driving. I can't explain his behavior. I don't know why he didn't say, 'I love you, too.'When we got home, I felt as if I had lost him completely, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there quietly, and watched TV. He continued to seem distant and absent. Finally, with silence all around us, I decided to go to bed. About 15 minutes later, he came to bed. But I still felt that he was distracted, and his thoughts were somewhere else. He fell asleep; I cried. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster......

The Husband's Diary:

A two-foot putt..........who the hell misses a two-foot putt?

4. GENERATIONS:

People born before 1946 are called -
TheGreatest Generation.

People born between 1946 and 1964 are called -
The Baby Boomers.



People born between 1965 and 1979 are called -
Generation X.



People born between 1980 and 2010 are called -Generation Y.



Why do we call the last group -Generation Y ?



Y should I get a job?


Y should I leave home and find my own place?


Y should I get a car when I can borrow yours?


Y should I clean my room?


Y should I wash and iron my own clothes?


Y should I buy any food?



But perhaps a cartoonist explained it most eloquently below...


5) A DAUGHTER'S LETTER:

A mother passing by her daughter's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then she saw an envelope propped up prominently on the center of the bed. It was addressed, "Mom." With the worst premonition, she opened the envelope and read the letter with trembling hands: 

Dear Mom: 

It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new boyfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Dad and you. I've been finding real passion with Didas and he is so nice--even with all his piercings, tattoos, beard, and motorcycle clothes. 

But it's not only the passion Mom, I'm pregnant and Didas said that we will be very happy. He already owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. 

He wants to have many more children with me and that's now one of my dreams too. Didas taught me that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone and we'll be growing it for us and trading it with his friends for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want. 

In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Didas can get better; he sure deserves it!! Don't worry Mom, I'm 15 years old now and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I'm sure we'll be back to visit so you can get to know your grand children. 

Your daughter, Judith 

PS: Mom, none of the above is true. I'm over at the neighbor's house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than my report card that's in my desk center drawer. I love you! Call when it is safe for me to come home.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:
"It is a curious fact that people are never so trivial as when they take themselves seriously." - Oscar Wilde

CIP OF THE WEEK:

BLOG NUMBER 77,APRIL 26, 2013: THE YOUNG ITALIAN CHAPTER 1

THE YOUNG ITALIAN

CHAPTER ONE:

Growing up in what is now mid-town Toronto, I learned in the Catholic School System, taught by by Nuns and Priests, that mankind was born with the stain of ‘Original Sin’. Harsh but true they said; that a newborn innocent baby needed to be baptized in order to remove the stain. Back in the day, it was never questioned as to what would become of a baby who was stillborn or one who died during birth.

No matter. I had not suffered such a fate. I had been baptized and sailed through the first 4 years of Elementary School at St Monica’s with the knowledge that I had been saved. 

The original Saint Monica's Catholic School

My mother, Angelina, took me to confession on Saturdays and to church every Sunday at Saint Monica’s Church.  My dad, Gerardo, stayed at home. It was obvious to me that he must have been baptized. Apparently he never sinned and was a good Catholic if not a devout one. His only weakness was that he refused to go to church.  In spite of the Catholic mandate he always insisted that missing mass was not sinful, as he worked countless hours and needed to sleep in on Sunday.  

My Saturday confession consisted of a set routine: “Bless me Father…….I had 2 or 3 unkind thoughts….I am truly sorry……”.  My sister always stayed in the box for a longer time but would never reveal to me what lengthy transgressions had been committed and confessed. Mom was generally slower as well but I chalked it up to her broken English and Sicilian dialect.

FATHER MCKEE AT WORK

The Parish Priest, Father McKee, was one of dad’s best friends. Every other Saturday Father would visit and try to get dad to go to church. They would wrestle for it and dad never lost. He was a wiry and tough man with an iron will.  Also, he always made sure the priest drank three or four glasses of wine before the ‘attendance at church discussion’ came up. 

Exposure to trouble and outside influence was curtailed. My daily weekday routine consisted of walking three blocks to school, listening to teachers and doing what I was told. Never should I fight or take anything that didn’t belong to me.  I would walk home for lunch then back to school, do some more listening and obeying and then get right home. I was one of 3 first generation Italian boys in my class. The sisters were certainly attentive to our needs. They were not trained pedagogically but they certainly knew the stories and lessons to be learned from the New Testament. They were not worldly but then again who knew? Or cared? Sister Stella was my favorite. She was gentle and sincere and had the ability to make you feel important. Her lessons were easy to follow and I became obsessive about spelling, proper grammar and arithmetic. No broken English for me! Sister prepared us for our First Communion and made us aware of the importance of accepting Jesus into our hearts.

MY FIRST COMMUNION

We were a family of 4 siblings, myself being the youngest. My sister Cristina, was older by 2 years and a natural born shit-disturber. Brother Jonny was 8 years my senior and seemed to always be in some kind of trouble. Cynthia was 10 years older and served as a second mother to me. She was kind, unselfish and beautiful.

Jonny (rear), Cristina (right)
Me (Middle)
Garage roof terrace

Cynthia above the garage

My mom and dad ran a grocery store business. The store was located on Yonge Street just north of Eglinton Ave. beside a restaurant to the south and a candy shop and movie theatre to the north.  Saturday afternoon treats included a nickel to go to a movie or spend at the candy shop along with some meat remnants from our store’s deli counter which we fed to the neighbour’s dog.

Since mom worked long hours in the store, 6 days a week, Cristina and I were saddled with a twit of a baby sitter named Tina. She was my aunt Mary's niece and her investigative and reporting skills could have qualified her for a job with CSIS. Whenever she needed relief from our antics, Tina would tie us to the foot of our respective beds and give us a piece of chocolate which she stole from the store. She did not need to restrain us with chords. All that was required was a threat to tell Gerardo of any misdeeds. 

The store today. The old Circle Theatre has been 
replaced by apartments, (left)  
as has the store's back yard

We lived in a 3-bedroom apartment above the store.  I shared a bedroom with Jonny. There was a flight of stairs leading to a dining room and kitchen on the ground level behind the store. Here Cristina and I used to sneak to the top step and listen unobserved to the raucous, late-night games of Euchre between parents and aunts and uncles. There was no TV in those days but the card games were always entertaining.

Most Sundays after church we would drive over to my Uncle Val’s home in Forest Hills where I was allowed to play in the back yard with my cousins. One of the neighbours was a crotchety old man who constantly gave us orders: "get off my fence, stop the noise, keep the ball out of my yard, stop touching my dog."

Auntie Anna had a living room with plastic covered sofas reserved for adults only. There was a flight of stairs leading to the bedroom level where cousins were not allowed to set foot. We sometimes sat on the second step to listen to the stories replete with broken English and cuss words. Kids were to be seen but not heard. When detected on our perch, the order rang out: "Get outside enna play....enna behave!" The house  had a basement recreation room where many games of sock hockey took place. It became a favourite place where one was allowed to be a kid.

Once in a while my older cousins Paul and Anthony would take me to a neighboring park where we played hit and catch baseball. It was here, under their guidance and influence, that I learned to love the game of baseball.

Playing sock hockey was a serious offence in our apartment. If we forgot and started an impromptu game, Gerardo would suddenly arrive on the scene spitting fury.  Jonny always took the first blow, while I scrambled, in vain, to avoid the ass-kicking. We always managed to laugh afterwards when dad disappeared and it was safe to do so. We never learned to play the game quietly.

The store property had a large double garage with a gravel roof, which served as a deck and play area. We shared a rough back yard with the owner of a neighbouring restaurant, Mr Ellias. It was on this garage deck that the Saturday night wrestling matches took place between Father and Gerardo. Often, at Holy Communion the next day, Father McKee would administer the host with hands scarred from the roof top gravel. Sometimes the smile on my face had nothing to do with the coming of Jesus.

To the east of the store’s back yard lived a pimply-faced kid name Frankie Keene.  Kristina and I learned to resent if not detest the lad. We would trim branches off the side yard tree to fashion bows and arrows. We used string purloined from the store to tie the bow. Our targets were a series of orange crates. They were set at various intervals over a distance of 50 yards.  We would run down the centerline between the crates and loose our arrows while the other guy counted off seconds. Points were scored on the hits with a bonus for time.  A match consisted of 5 consecutive runs after which we would be exhausted. During our recovery period, out would come Frankie with his store-bought bow and arrows that would stick in a crate when it was hit.  He never ran. He simply swaggered down the course and retrieved his arrows on the way back. It was times like these when I used up some of my unkind thoughts.

BLACKIE

Mr Ellias, ran a restaurant in the store front beside dad’s North Yonge Fruit Market. He had a small black dog, named, of course, ‘Blackie’. I loved that dog. Cristina and I would feed him remnants and often play ‘go fetch’ using one of our rudimentary arrows. He would sit and watch our Biathlon competition and never interfere. When Frankie came out he would growl and scratch dirt.  Dogs can tell!  We laughed and clapped.

While I was in grade 3 at Saint M's the school conducted a basket drive to raise funds for the parish. Our teacher, Sister Stella, implored us to search at home for 6 quart baskets. I remember telling her that my dad had lots of baskets in his garage. Sister asked if I could take a friend home at recess to collect some. My friends Tom,  Greg and I went to the garage behind the store where there were neat stacks of bundled baskets, 4 to a bundle. We gathered 2 bundles in each hand a total of 16 baskets each.  Proudly we headed back to school. Unfortunately for us, my dad chose that moment to come out on the back porch. “Hey, werra  do you go witha dos baskette?”, he shouted coming off the porch and approaching us. Tom answered back, somewhat defiantly: “These are our baskets!” Before I could say or do or think anything, the next thing I remember was my friend flying through the air from a kick in the ass, baskets flying everywhere. Tom hit the ground running and Greg and I dropped our baskets in panic and took off.  We caught up to Tom on the way back to school. He asked, “Who was that guy?” When I recovered from my embarrassment and told him it was my dad, he burst out laughing.  I joined in with great relief and we all had a good laugh going back to school. Back in class Tom told Sister the basket story, much to my chagrin.  The class roared and even Sister giggled. I could not stop worrying about the reckoning that would surely follow after school. I did not contemplate suicide but running away from home came to mind and was given due consideration.  I dreaded the thoughts of coming home to see the yard strewn with baskets. That afternoon I almost tiptoed up to the back yard.  To my great relief and surprise, the scene of the crime had been cleaned; there was no ass-kicking and dad said nothing to me.  That Saturday night, instead of the wrestling match, I observed Father who could not stop chuckling to dad while reporting on the basket-drive story. It was then I learned that my dad was the merchant buying the baskets from the school's drive. 

Aunts, cousins, mom (Angelina, centre) and dad 
(Gerardo the ass-kicker) in front of garage 
on the Yonge Street store's back yard

Me with parents at cousin's wedding
in Syracuse NY

We had a family of cousins who lived in Syracuse N.Y.  It was always exciting when they came to visit or when we would take the 4-hour drive to visit them. On one such visit to Yonge Street the group was chatting away in front of the garage. I was on the deck above and attempted to shinny up the brick retaining wall designed to prevent accidental death. The wall was almost as high as myself. I was interested in what was happening below. Unbeknownst to me, someone had placed a brick on the ledge and in my attempts to see below, I knocked it off the ledge. Fortunately it landed on top of a garbage container rather than a human head.  The same cannot be said of the rebound. The brick hit Cristina and cut her for stitches. I arrived on top of the wall just in time to peek down and see the carnage. Everyone looked and pointed at me but not for long as I retreated to the apartment and hid.

My cousin Cristie, defended me by saying that I would never do such a thing deliberately. Cristie had beautiful red hair and I was secretly and madly in love with her. To this day, Cristina claims that I dropped a brick on her head!

At the end of my grade-4 school year my life was about to change dramatically. Dad announced that he had sold the store and we were moving. I never got to say goodbye to Sister Stella.

QUOTE: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on.

-ROBERT FROST

CLIP OF THE WEEK: