Archive | March, 2015

It’s Green and Pulsing. Where are my Glasses?

30 Mar

Glasses are meant to be worn. Sometimes people forget that. I won’t mention any names but S-S wasn’t wearing hers.

I was afternoon-meditating on the couch in the den. I was in deep meditation, very deep. Dreams of S-S whispering sweet nothings to me kept me in sweet enlightenment. But soon her sweet tones changed to something a bit more – how shall we say – shrill, strident. The tone something like,

“Barry, get your ass out here!”

Meditation over I put on my glasses.

Mr Frog

Mr Frog

It seems S-S was stuck out in the garage, without her glasses, after taking out some garbage. I saw her rooted, frantically pointing to something on the step leading back into the house, near my feet.

“What is it, what is it? It’s moving! It must be a snake! Get it! Get it!”

Ultimate cool person that I am I saw it was a mere frog, a big eyed pulsating amphibian. The poor thing was lost.

“It might be a snake. It’ll bite me. Kill it! Kill it!”

Non-nimble, humane hero that I am, I proceeded to stumble on the step, scare the bejaysus out of Mr Frog and land flat on my face at S-S’s feet. Mr Frog, happy to escape, hopped away. Any expectations of profound thanks for saving S-S were immediately dashed.

“What took you so long, I’ve been yelling for over half an hour? And where are my glasses?”

I felt a deep kinship with the frog. I tell ya It’s hard being a hero with glasses.

Hero with glasses

Hero with glasses



Another Great Moment In My Life, Not. Boats and Cars Don’t Mix

23 Mar
A New Concept in Parking

A New Concept in Parking

Have you ever seen a ten foot car on a twenty foot boat? I have and I put it there. But it wasn’t my fault. Honest!

It was a hot summer weekend in Toronto. I was alone on our sailboat, working on an art history lecture. S-S had lent our van to a relative to take a trip to Kingston. In exchange he let us use his car. Well, more of a crapbox than a car. It was a small, rusty, orange Nissan. More rust than orange.

To get some prep time alone I drove it to our club, ABYC in Toronto, and parked it on the far side of the parking lot away from all the real cars. Far, far away.

I had been working on the boat for some hours when the hot still air suddenly became a howling gale, a hot dry, dusty, city-smelly gale. Then just as suddenly it stopped. I continued working on my lecture when I heard a commotion on the dock. It became so loud I had to go and check.

Although the picture here is not the incident it shows perfectly the situation. Well, that rusty crapbox, had decided that when that gale blew across its rear that it would shift out of park, into neutral, and merrily coast the whole length of the parking lot, across a lawn, down an incline and park itself onto the bow of a friend’s boat. The two were intimately bobbing up and down in the waves, firmly fixed together, forever, it seemed, in some surf and turf conjugal rite. Eventually I had to rent a crane to undo the perverted car-boat embrace.

Final results: friend not happy (big understatement!); me making the photo headline in the next club newsletter; insurance company person giggling to herself as I explained what happened; S-S calmly stating that I should have parked the crapbox a little bit more to the right so it would have missed the boat entirely and dived straight into the water for an easier insurance claim. Life is so simple when she explains it to me.

I hate “should haves.”

Another Cringeworthy Moment. Of Friends and Funerals

16 Mar
Give me more tape! More tape!

Give me more tape! More tape!

We had good friends at the yacht club. Kind, considerate, helpful people. But the husband had a stroke and died.
His wife organized a wake to commemorate his life. The place was packed, the atmosphere pleasant.
Eventually it was time to go. As I was going out the door, in one of those exquisitely mindless, cringeworthy moments I blurt out to the new widow, “This was fun. We should do it again!”
The door hit my arse on the way out.

Musing About Cruising and Breakfast

9 Mar

Sometimes life hits you like a slap in the head.



For some reason I started thinking about sailing. Long winters can do that.

“Ready to come about,” “Helms a lee,” jibs, jennys, luff and all that nautical fluff sailed through my mind. Then the profound thought of the day hit me.

I said to S-S:

“I can remember all the nautical talk from years ago but can’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday.”

S-S replied:

“You didn’t have breakfast yesterday.”


Why Not Prescription Vacation Trips? Or Ship ‘Em Off To Mexico

3 Mar
Happy Travelling Seniors

Happy Travelling Seniors

Another thought crossed my mind recently, although with only a few neurons firing at any given time the route has occasional traffic jams.
Anyway, I think I have uncovered another blatant case of ageism! Another, you ask! Well look at my insightful July post Why Not Stat Holiday Pension Pay For Retirees? . In short, why are we retirees denied prescription snowbird travel and prescription libations?

While out of the country we are not a strain on our stretched medical system; we are not taking up hospital beds; not taking up doctors’ time; and as long as we are not in the US medical-insurance house of horrors we can get cheaper meds in such places as Mexico.
“Ah,” but you say, “Wouldn’t that be 3rd world medicine?” Think again. Many, if not most, hospitals, doctors and dentists where snowbirds stay are US trained. Our home doctors and dentists will list horror stories of people who have had the gall to have treatments done out-of-country. But medical tourism IS big business. A cost-benefit analysis would probably show that it is cost-effective to ship the old folks down south; or at least pay for us to ship ourselves. Now I am not talking about first class travel. Business class will do. Perhaps they should mandate seniors having to leave the country, thereby outsourcing our medical costs. Hopefully I have made my main point.
Now let’s go one step further. What about the liquid medical: Prescription pina coladas, medical margueritas; tonic tequila? Sedated seniors are happy seniors. Happy seniors are low cost seniors.
I tell ya, it’s hard being an inspired, creative thinker but somebody has to do it.
Don’t be shy. If you have thoughts on this profound topic, let me know via the comments box below.