Month: September 2014

Claustrophobic? Not me!

I have this fear of small, confined places. Most people simply accept this as part of a phobia that they were either born with, or developed over time. I know exactly where my fear of confined places comes from.

Back when I was a kid, we used to camp a lot. Every weekend during summer vacation, my parents would pack up mostly everything we had, our trusty canvas tent, and my little brother, and head for the hills.

One weekend we camped at a local park. The park featured a beautiful beach and very well groomed campsites. Dad set up the tent and my brother and I went on to the beach. The entire weekend was going great, and eventually, Sunday came. Sunday was the day in which we always headed home. God knows we couldn’t miss church (notice the pun).

Of course, being kids, we couldn’t just go home. We were hungry, we forgot something at the beach, we didn’t say good-bye to our friends, and naturally, I had to go to the bathroom. Poor mom and dad, possibly dizzy from all the complaints, I doubt they heard me tell them that I had to use the bathroom!

So off I went. You know parks, especially back in the 70’s in Newfoundland. Bathrooms didn’t exist in parks back then. OUTHOUSES did!  A wooden building covering a hole in the ground.

I was bursting to use the bathroom. Couldn’t hold it a second longer. I spotted the old outhouse hiding behind a spruce tree and went in. The stink hit me almost immediately. To make matters worst, the door swung shut behind me, the latch on the outside clicked down. I didn’t know the extent until I finished doing my duty.

The latch clicked down. I was locked in an outhouse. A very stinky outhouse that was built over a shithole in the ground. the only ventilation was a tiny hole above the door and the hole beneath the toilet seat. There was no flush handle, you simply crapped in the hole and ran for your life. Only I couldn’t run. I was barred in!

I had to pick the only outhouse that was hidden by a large tree. This little cabin of torture was completely hidden to anyone who either didn’t know it was there or like me, needed to crap so badly that it seemed to appear out of nowhere.

What to do, What to do! I tried running my shoulder into the door, you know, the way they do it on Cop shows on TV! My skinny shoulders were no match for the rugged old spruce boards that adorned the outhouse. Holding my breath probably didn’t help. But the stink. Crap from the hundreds  thousands (I don’t know how many people crapped there, but it was all there beneath the seat next to me).

I cried out but to no avail. In hell, nobody can hear you scream. I prayed, but again nothing! Where was my dad? Shouldn’t he be worried? I never brought a watch, so no telling how long I was in the outhouse. It felt like an eternity. I couldn’t even put toilet paper over my nose. I used most of the roll to cover the toilet seat and the rest I dropped in the hole by accident. I almost died from the smell.

What seemed like an eternity later, I could hear hollers in the distance. It was my dad, he came looking for me. There were a few other outhouses around the park, and I think he tried every one. That was, of course after he checked the entire beach and every campsite in the park. Finally, he found the one in which I was trapped.

By the time dad made it to the hell hole I was barred in, My lungs were sore from me holding my breath. When he clicked open the latch, the door opened and I fell out. I bawled my eyes out while my dad scolded me for not telling him where I was going. But I did. He just didn’t hear me with all the other crap I was going on with. Of course a kid doesn’t understand that.

On the ride home, I found it difficult to sit in the car. I held my head out the window like a retriever, opening my mouth and catching every breath of fresh air (and flies) that I could.

Ever since that day, I cannot stand it in closed spaces. They say that the only way to overcome your fears is to confront them, but there is no way that I plan to enter another outhouse and have the door closed on me! I rather die.

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things in the fridge

Yesterday was garbage day, and like any other Thursday, I had to clean out the fridge before taking the garbage to the curb. Since this is the first full week of school for our kid, the wife went and bought all sorts of new stuff for the little guy’s lunch. Of course the one big mistake she made was bringing him shopping. You know that he wanted everything that came in nifty packaging, especially if it tied in with a popular movie or tv show.

So now the fridge is filled with all the things he HAD to have, tried, and didn’t like. Packages of yogurt that I knew he wouldn’t like, but since The Amazing Spiderman adorns the packaging, it would taste different than other yogurt, everyone knows that. Wrong. Eight packages in the original package, six left. He actually tried the first one and threw it out, and then for some reason figured that two days later the stuff would improve and tried it again. He should have listened to his Spider Senses.

The package of green turkey roll is definitely heading for the trash. Those new blister packs are a pain once they are opened, but as I have often suggested (you have to suggest things to 12 year old’s those days apparently), put the thing in a Tupperware container once you open them. Nobody listens. Another $7 wasted.

“The orange juice has lumps in it!” was his reaction when I asked why a practically full container of orange juice (Low Pulp) was left without the cover on it and now has gone bad. They weren’t lumps, just pulp.

He doesn’t like pulp…figured they were pieces of wood or something. Oh the Teens are coming up….good-bye hair.

The apples are all gone, save for one in the bin. He is all brown, especially where the bite was taken out. Guess that one is gone too. I don’t need the CSI team to discover who took the bite out of that one. My son again. “Had to find a sweet one” he says.

Speaking of Tupperware, there is one in the very back of the fridge. Upon opening it and nearly hitting the floor from the stink, I discovered that it was once a half can of beans and wieners, another of my son’s quick snacks he brings for school lunches. He must be a big hit with the ladies….This one must have missed last week’s refrigerator scan, because it appears that hair is growing from a few of the beans. Maybe it missed a few fridge scans. Maybe I could send the stuff to my Uncle Harold…he has started losing his hair as of late. Maybe a few of those hairy beans would do the trick!

Once all the spoiled and outdated things were out of the fridge, the thing was almost empty. My wife offered to take son and buy groceries this evening. NOOOOoooo!

Tomorrow I have to attack the deep freeze! Stay tuned

 

 

 

It’s all in the wording

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/newfoundland-labrador/moose-hits-rcmp-cruiser-near-deer-lake-1.2762035

Its funny how things work out sometimes. The above story fully explains my assumption. “Moose hits RCMP cruiser near Deer Lake”. If it was anyone other than a law enforcement officer in the collision, the article would have been titled “Driver hits moose”, but when a member of the RCMP hits a moose, it’s the moose who actually hit them.

I can see it now. The driver of the squad car sitting innocently in his car (probably scoffing down on a donut from Tim’s) on the side of the road when suddenly a moose appears out of nowhere, going at least 111 km/h and BANG! the moose hits the poor cop car dead on. The moose is pronounced dead at the scene (if he wasn’t he would have been charged with dangerous running or running without a moose license)

The article goes on to explain that the moose did in fact hit the car (their story). The officer was taken to the hospital to treat his injuries. The moose carcass was later removed. No word on whether emergency first aid was performed on the large deer.

I just bet the moose was high on sweet grass at the time and didn’t see the poor cop car. GEEZE Give me a break!

My Fab Five

This is my fab five. Hey, if  cell phone providers get to have fab fives, why can’t I? Here are my favorite five posts in no particular order. Give em a read and let me know what you think.

  1. While working away in the city, I got lonesome for home. This inspired me to write about my life before the busy streets and honking horns, and back to a simpler time. The story was entitled A Pot of Tea. When I wrote this story, I wanted to bring the reader deep into the woods with me. I worked especially hard to bring the reader all the sounds and smells of the outdoors. I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. By the way, I think it just may have brought a tear to my dad’s eye when he read it.
  2. In an attempt to write a nice Christmas story for my son, I came up with this jewel. The entire story came to me on my way to work one day. When I arrived, I jumped to the keypad and wrote the story from beginning to end in one sitting. I tried to include a bit of my own heritage in the story. My ancestors were French-Indians who were also known as the Mi’Kmaq. The title characters were Mi’Kmaq as well. The story is titled Footprints in the Snow.
  3. They say that part of the charm of a true Newfoundlander is the ability to laugh at ourselves. Some people around here make it all too easy. I wrote a collection of funny stories that happened to me over the years. In an attempt to draw more readers, I sneakily used the title ‘Boobs’. I bet everyone who showed up thought I was talking about…You Know…!
  4. For some weird reason, the story I wrote about Marbles drew the most attention from readers. I am not sure whether it was the picture of marbles that drew readers, curiosity of the game of marbles, or fluke. Whatever the reason,I appreciated the attention. Give it a read.
  5. Maybe I read too many Stephen King novels. Whatever the case, this little nugget came to me while I was asleep. Maybe it was a nightmare. I write my best stuff while sleeping, and that night I had a baloney and mustard sandwich before bed. The story is called The Dark Shadow on Donnely Lane. Hope it doesn’t keep you up at night.

Well that’s it for now.  Leave comments, they are all appreciated.

Running through the buttercups

Back before all the houses

and all the new people

there was a large open field

where we used to run

and play

She would arrive barefoot

my shoes would soon go

and we would run through the buttercups

once I got stung

by a bumblebee

it’s nothing, you see

she said

for what I thought was pain

was nothing compared to what she had seen

and felt

in her short life

she was five

and I was six

and we ran though the buttercups

until our feet were yellow

my mom would laugh

and help me clean my feet

she would be punished

as if it were a crime

I wouldn’t see her for days

but when she came back

we would run through the buttercups