Be Italian...PLAY CROQUET!

Not too long ago I went to a really 'different' Summer party. It was a croquet party. Do I play croquet?, not daily, not monthly.. well...really not at all. It's an old English game with mallets, wooden balls and hoops. You play on the lawn and wear whatever you wore to 'the party'. BUT, toss in some Italians, booze and 'THE GOLDEN MALLET AWARD' and you're ON PAR with mud wrestling.

So, my tiny Fashionisto friend, Italian Miss, invited me to their annual event. I knew I wasn't going to pick up a mallet which is a stick of wood with a flat hammer at the bottom. I was going because I knew Italian people were a lot of fun, much like the GREEKS! They know how to have a good time.

But, when I arrived, too early (I'm one of those punctual peeps who has to be on time), Miss Italy was watching her hubby prepare a Greek Salad. It was huge..and he's not Greek, he's not even ITALIAN! Their small Papillion Dogs were sizing me up (and they're French) while I toured the small but very decorative back yard. Nope, I ain't playing CROQUET...as I looked at the Golden Mallet.

People started arriving in 2's and 3's. Half of them were of Italian background. LOUD, LAUGHING, YOU HAVE TO EAT THIS, OMG- SHUT UP!! and it ensues... the 'talking all at once' the loud and festive feast of Italian culture mixed in with French dogs and Greek food!

Then the time came: Pick out of a hat for your 'Round' of Croquet. I knew I couldn't deflect the challenge. These were Italians afterall, and you don't mess with TRADITION! So, I drew a '1', which meant tee off time for me was immediately.

There are 6 different colours and I pulled out ORANGE; I just do not like the colour orange. I tried to pawn off my colour on this gentle Italian man (who had imposing black) but he refused. I thought, "if I push this colour thing too far he'll hire one of the women to knock me out and drag me into the basement." Too many Godfather films.

So it begins. I don't really know the rules except you have to hit your wooden ball through a set order of hoops and hope to get to the end before sundown. I was a nightmare. I whacked that orange ball out of bounds more times then I could count. I might as well have been gorging on homemade foods and learning some Italian words because this was NOT MY GAME. Some took it very seriously. Verbal confrontations, a bit of sign language, reminders of the fall-out from last year's competition. PEOPLE BROKE RULES..and that rule book was close by because you DON'T MESS WITH ITALIAN CROQUET RULES! The home-made Sangria's were flowing, the coloured wooden balls were all over the lawn and I was still 'in last place'. The pressure! When I was young my Granny had a croquet set and we played around her huge back yard. I thought I was superb then. Had the 'golden croquet mallet' existed, I'm sure I would have won it on an annual basis. But, as an adult, I was crumbling fast. Women holding drinks in high heels were passing me! Angry Italian women in high heels, with pita bread in one hand and a glass of wine in the other hand...were passing me! I'm an athletic guy! I'm a jock! I should be good at this, right?

Music was on in the background and I watched my ball slide under a bush for the 17th time. Like Badminton, Lacrosse and Lawn Bowling...this was obviously not my sport...is it a sport? The last time I saw a croquet game was on one of those tight-lipped English movies where every one goes , "Pip, pip my good friend! Jolly good try I do say!" When the Italians got hold of this English game it got ugly, fast.

It's not like my lower lip was quivering or I was sweating from utter humiliation. Maybe I was trying too hard? Maybe they practice at all hours of the night? Maybe I just got a rotten colour and it's bad luck? Maybe I drank too much Sangria? Maybe I fear the loud and gregarious Italians? Whatever the case... I was not making it to ROUND 2...you could bet on that. So, when it was all over I bowed out with grace and wondered if I'd be invited, next Summer, to a Rugby Party put on by Australians. Light up the BARBY, put on the snags and bangers, drink that PLONK and GEAR UP MATE!

LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP

Telephones. Ben Franklin, Cells, Pay-phones..my ding-aling, your ding-aling..things have REALLY CHANGED!

I'm not a cell phone fan. Many reasons for this! My fingers are chunky and manly. I press one number and 3 pop up on the screen. I need a H2 Pencil tip to get a number to present itself. Furthermore... I've been embarrassed by my choice of 'phone ring'. Yes, I bought 'Stewie's infamous MOM, MOMMY, MOMMY, MAMA, MAMA,MOTHER, MOTHER, MOTHER, MUMMY ...etc...' and this went off in the bank which drew the attention of the entire line-up and the security guard.

I only bought the cell phone because we are so , SO pressured to have them at our jobs. I rarely use it and never know if it's on. I don't know how to text, don't get 90 per cent of the added features and often want to hurl it over a bridge into the rapids.

Another obvious reason I hate cell phones is 'drivers'. We have a law now that says you cannot drive and talk to your mistress on the cell phone. But, at 8 am, on a SUNDAY MORNING...some whack-job went through a red light at 50 mph and ripped the left side off my car. I just sat 'stunned' in my car. Lucky for me, I had two witnesses, both Jesus-loving boys, going to Church who cussed out the devil-cell-man about breaking the sacred laws of our Country! So, big points to Choir Boys!

I miss the old phones. Those massive things you have to hold in two hands and dial with one finger in a big hole. You get the lovely 'click, click, click' and a normal ring-a-ding-ding. If no-one is home..hey, that's life. No absurd answering machines: "HI Y'ALL, PIPPI, JIMBO the kids, OUR DOG MAXIE and the MAID ARE ALL OUT..BUT, DON'T BE DOWN..WAIT FOR MOZART MUSIC AND LEAVE A MESSAGE!!!" All is said with great gusto and 'forever your BFF love'. Or, you get the really rude ones, "NOT IN..YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO." I just hang up, but you know they have 'that call display' and you'll be haunted for a week.

Forget even trying to phone from the street anymore (unless you have the latest Cell, Blueberry or whatever came out today). Most of those 25 cent wonders are archaic. The few left are just waiting to be removed. They are simply covered in stickers and graffiti, no more 'yellow pages' and you can bet the receiver has been torn off.I think that's sad. What about the seniors in wheelchairs? They live for those phones..which they altered to 3 feet from the ground. You know Granny Smith is not going to be 'hip on the Cell', so what does she do? It's actually bias. If you're not Chinese or 16, or a CEO , you're out of luck! Sorry, you suck and you'll have to pray some fast food chain lets YOU use THEIR phone. And, that's not an easy feat.

Remember Marsha Brady on her pink bed with her legs crossed in the air talking to her boyfriend, well, her latest boyfriend. Then Mrs. Brady would yell, "MARSHA, MARSHA, MARSHA..you know the TELEPHONE RULES!! YOU LET YOUR LISPY SISTER CINDY CALL GIRL GUIDES...she's GOT TO MAKE 8 DOLLARS AND 35 CENTS TO GET TO CAMP!" We all know Marsha is pumping that middle finger at the floor, and Cindi will lisp her way to camp because 'it's a family show'. My point is, we had PHONE RULES at home. We had to respect 'time' on the phone and didn't allow calls at dinner time or during Sunday prayer (which I didn't do, but if I did..it would be a rule). Now, people have these tight little electronic things stuck to their ears and they talk out loud on the sidewalk like schizophrenics. People in line at Starbucks ROAR on their cell phones like their lives are more important than ANY OF OURS and don't forget.."I'M SUCCESSFUL AND ORDER DOUBLE LOW-FAT NO FOAM, EXTRA SHOT LATTES!"

Like books under a tree on a Summer day, I just want to be able to curl up my tootsies and have an earthy call with a grounded friend. Is that TOO MUCH TO ASK?

My dream: get rid of all the wires, cell phone, ear-plugs, extension lines, call displays and even the Mickey Mouse phone and bring back 'THE CARRIER PIGEON!!', if it worked in Medieval Times...why not now. And, you get a pet too!

What would Mr. Rockwell think?

What happened to the sprinkler? What happened to hosing each other down? What happened to the small squirt gun and the kids of New York ripping off the cap on the fire-hydrant? The Norman Rockwell days are gone. And, even though there are massive water parks in every city, I still miss the sprinkler in my back yard.

Yes, those HUGE, COLOURFUL, TWISTED concoctions where parents watch their special babes blast one another with cannon-sized guns and slide down twisted slippery-slides. It's like a fortress or a Museum of Modern Sprinklers. But, do they know the kids they're slip, sliding away with. I don't think so!

When I was Wee Willy, I could bare my ass and jump through the sprinkler in my back yard with the best of them. I had my pets around me, Mom just yards away baking chocolate chippers and a smile on my face! We did make lemon out of lemonade! Sure, it was a small sprinkler shared by five or six neighborhood kids...but we never complained. We didn't need 'bigger and better', we were making things happen. I don't know if kids make things happen these days. Everything is so instant, so available, so kiddie proof. I think it's dull. Yes, the massive red, blue and yellow spraying creatures are a sight to behold but, it's temporary fun. Children don't need everything on a silver platter or parks built for them so they can yell at their parents at 7:00 A.M.,

"I WANT TO GO TO THE WATER PARK!!"

I used to spend hours over that small sprinkler. I'd look at the rainbows it created, shiver with joy as it came my way, lower my huggies onto the line of spray-holes and squeal with utter delight! Then, Randy, Debbie, Suzie, Billy and I would line up (we always were polite and formed a line!) and cheer one another on as we made that slow motion LEAP INTO THE AIR and had lines of water spray up our tiny noses. There was no big trip to the DAIRYQUEEN or MACDONALD'S afterwards for 'more' indulgence...we just lay on the grass and let the drops fall from the sky, knowing our Moms would be churning out meatloaf at 5 pm. All the dots connected...the sprinkler..the friends...family time...and SATISFACTION. The city didn't have to build me a monstrous park or sabotage my relationship with my parents. I didn't have to be polite at a water park. Kids who got THERE FIRST, GOT THE TOY, OR THE SLIDE, OR THE WATER CANNON GUN. Sharing isn't really an option!

And we used to make these long water slides too. We added Mom's dish soap and set it up on the boulevard. We ran like the dickens and put our bodies into elastic positions then shot down that cheap piece of clear plastic like pigs in oil. Good Golly it was Great!

Even the household HOSE was a 'toy' of water world potential. Gee, I remember just putting my thumb over the top and spraying water on all my friends. Mind you, the Bully on the Block was present and chased me into my house trying to bean me with his fist. So, you have to have a few boundaries when you decide to dose your pals. We put the hose down our bathing suits, sprayed our pets and even drank from it when when we were exhausted. All, without even getting into the car or walking to a bus stop.

I wish Norman Rockwell had been the President of the United States because he would have banned giant water parks, cell phones, cheap toys, strip malls and more. We would have real family values, real memories made from scratch and real friends to share them with. Mind you...I did need this computer to share my thoughts! What would Norman think?

Jackson Pollack is Under the Bridge

I just went on a wee walk through my city. I mean 'WEE' as in 1 mile. I'm not that adventurous. To go further would involve a bike or a car. When I was walking under one of our many bridges, I was welcomed by a blaze of colour. It's not exactly Graffiti..or, is it? I thought Graffiti was just a load of nasty word and haiku's by angry people. Also, I don't include names with phone numbers in the 'Graffiti' department.

So, instead I was facing a huge slab of cement painted brightly with warped faces, odd backgrounds and a few 'words of inspiration'. Lucky for me, I had my swingin' camera! So, I decided to go further, into the darkness of a place called 'UNDER THE BRIDGE'. I was in awe of all the murals, spreading from section to section. But, there were also the homeless leaning against these 'big messages of humanity'. The messages were as hidden as the lost men and women.

There are murals all over my city. Some are not splattered paint on cement in raw homesteads. Some are actually gentle reminders of free expression done by children or familys. The nice thing about this is 'freedom of expression'. You can't even look at one mural for a minute without 'thinking' about the message behind the blast of colours. And, are these budding artists or just kids with paint and brush filling in empty spaces of time? I've seen our Hydro Electrical boxes painted, the mailboxes, sides of restaurants, construction sites and even, on a hot day... human bodies. It all started with finger painting. You know you put paint on your face as a kid. We are born messengers. We paint to share a message. 'Lord of the Flies', warrior children out of control, forming savage life by painting murals on their faces resonating in rage and confusion.

And Jackson Pollock. Angry, drunk and amazing.... taking a huge canvas tossing bottles and tins of paint or thrashing his large brush up, down and across to become celebrated and noteworthy for life. Maybe I should drink more and get angry, then head off to Benjamen Moores!

So, why aren't these kids under the bridge as celebrated as Jackson Pollock or even Vincent Van Gogh? They have visions, there 'art' is a slice of 'the times we live in' no different from great artists of the past who reflected 'their times?'. What makes an Artist an Artist? I have no idea. We all just 'know what we like' and I liked the art under the bridge.

My Uncle Buzz is an amazing painter. He uses oils on canvas and has painted many light-houses, cedar trees and native scenes. His work, in my eyes, surpassed Emily Carr. But, not having a monkey, trailer and cool background story he only gets 1,000's of dollars for his work. He started from humble beginnings using charcoal or pencils on scraps of paper. Later, he would head a well-known Advertising Agency...the real MADMEN!

I only took one Art class in college and was shamed by it. I went into being told to FEEL THE ENERGY (whatever that meant). We had this nude in the middle of the room. I blushed as I only saw a nude woman exposed in front of many strangers. But, the teacher said, 'don't look at her as a nude woman', see the curves, the shades of colour, the angles, the movement (she was still..what movement?) OH, movement of our minds! So, I did it! I thought it was pretty good too. I kept it for years in storage until a flood soaked it and turned it into a page of grey tones. I decided, after my walk, that I liked the spontaneity of art by unknowns. Just pure mind-boggling slabs of cement coated in colour with stories to be told. I wondered if my Uncle Buzz ever sat under a bridge with a can of paint. I bet he did! If I ever loose my job, I may join the budding boys under the bridge and 'share my thoughts!'

SAVE THE WHALES!! And remember: The Killer Whale is 'not' a whale it is the largest of dolphins!So, SAVE THE DOLPHINS TOO!

Daylight in the Garden of Pets

When my mother planted the mini-garden we had as children, I didn't get it. I didn't like the plants; most looked like weeds and I wondered why we were not harvesting pumpkins and zucchini? Mostly it was a place where the neighborhood cats took a well-needed dump or my dogs lifted their legs. Not a pretty part of our homestead!

I did that whole, grow a sunflower thing. I also put toothpicks in avocado pits and tried to grow those. I failed at everything I touched. But, I did find a good use for the garden. I made it my burial ground for my deceased pets. I know, it sounds really morbid but, as a child, I thought it was 'very thoughtful' and I even had caskets and funeral services.

My first 'dead pet' was my hamster, Nibbles. He had choked on a roll of toilet paper and I felt really badly that I had put his cage in the bathroom. I guess he wanted to build the best nest ever for his 'soon-to-be' wife (who I never bought) and he choked on his love fest. I couldn't flush him down the toilet or toss him to the feral cats. What's a kid supposed to do?

So, I gathered the young orphans of my block to plan a big ceremony. I got Jimmy Cox to get an empty margarine container for the casket and Lucy Briggs to bring a bouquet of dandelions. It was all set to happen while my mother was at her weekly bridge game. We gathered ...I told everyone it would be okay to cry or even scream in great pain, after all... Nibbles had died for love.

The ceremony was MORE than I expected. Each person went up to the margarine container to pay their respects and I decided to be the Minister. I said some very cool things about Heaven and Nibbles running around with all the other dead pets and probably meeting his true love on a cloud etc... it was just 'touching' all over. I loved it when Lucy tossed the dandelions on the mini-plastic casket as I placed it in Mom's garden under one of the weeds. I offered to water the garden hoping she'd stay away from my new, sacred ground! Then, about a month later I heard my mother scream, "THERE'S A ROTTING RAT IN THE GARDEN!" Jeez....that's horrible..a rat! A RAT! I hate rats.. but, then I saw her shoveling and this dirty margarine container surface. She looked at the house with her lips buried deep in her face. I was so screwed. I lied but, that lasted all of two minutes.

Then, my rabbit died. Actually it was my sister's rabbit, Mr. Postman..named after our postman who we didn't know the real name of. I liked Mr. Postman but we fed him WAY TO MUCH lettuce and , well, he had the trots all the time. I think he just drained himself to death! So, we got some Tupperware and buried him further back in the garden. I didn't want another scene! PET CEMETERY. This time we dressed up in our Sunday School clothes for the service (in the back yard) and served lemonade because I heard that you should serve treats after a funeral- saw it on a T.V. show!

This time, it lasted. Mom didn't find that one. So, after a few months we had about 2 budgies, 3 more hamsters, a guinea pig and about 4 rabbits in the garden. I think we wiped out Mom's Tupperware set and she , to this day, is still unsure where all the containers went. I also noticed the garden was dying. Hmmm? So, when we sold the place I decided to pull out the pitchfork , shovel, and hoe to see if our pets were resting in peace. That was the worst thing I ever did! I made a promise to God that day, "I WILL NEVER USE TUPPERWARE AGAIN..and GOD, I THINK THE CEREMONIES WERE SO BEAUTIFUL, I'D LIKE A REALLY GOOD JOB IN HEAVEN! THANKS..WILLY!..OH, and my SISTER HELPED TOO..SO LET HER SERVE FOOD OR BE A HOSTESS..THANKS AGAIN, WILLY!! And, now, when I look at gardens I think of pets that have made children's lives better and, I think of Tupperware Women and how wrong they are about the many uses of Tupperware! Love Willy

SHED LIGHT on your BLOG!

Once I was called a 'bright light'. That was from my Grade 2 teacher who also told me I had the best spelling of the letter 'S' in the classroom. (That is in the 'Letter Perfect Blog) which you need to read too.

So, I was a bright light with a bright future. When we moved from my nightmarish home in the Arbutus area.... I went back into it when it was up for sale. We had moved out but there was something I took. I TOOK THE BIGGEST GEM FROM THE CHANDELIER. I didn't look at this as stealing..it was a MEMENTO of something bright and shiny from my life in Hell, as I knew it. Years later I lost it.

My favorite lights growing up were, like most of us, Christmas Lights. Such joy, such festive strings of colour throughout the neighborhood. On the tree, along the mantle, over the shutters of the house. I always wanted just BLUE LIGHTS but my family went with the traditional, ONE RED- then YELLOW- then GREEN- then RED AGAIN... makes me ill. No sense of living it up! Now, they have the energy savers and you can make your home look like Santa's paradise. I also like the Beamer Lights! Remember the Beamers from the P.N.E. fair. They go across the sky like big alien ships. I always pretended it was an Alien Invasion and we'd all, well- maybe not me, be melted by the beams of light. It's my story and I get to be the HERO Now that I'm big and tall, I'm the CHOSEN ONE to change light bulbs. Friends, family, co-worker, total strangers all want me to change their bulbs. I do it because it gives me super status. But, on a low note, I have cracked my skull and bled on my low-riding chandeliers. Perhaps this is karma for taking that big crystal from our childhood home? I don't know? I just bleed a lot.

I think the new energy bulbs are really ugly. Yes, I know 'GO GREEN RA RA RA', but face it ..they are super ugly. I had a lava lamp once. I never figured it out but I was mesmerized by the blob flow. I watched it for almost an hour once. My cat knocked it off the T.V. and there was blob lamp guts all over the floor mixed in with shards of glass. The cat was trying to swipe a blob that was shaped like a rotting rat...I suppose?

Chandeliers are cool if they are REALLY MODERN 'or' ANTIQUES. I've seen some of the best with my camera going into various shops. Some look like waterfalls, others make me feel like I'm back in 1920 at a castle, where I am head Butler. I also like neon lights. I love that whole 'graffiti' look, especially the OPEN signs or ones at old barber shops. Very cool, very retro. And then there is 'natural light'. If I have a hangover, I detest natural light but, generally, I embrace it. I know enough to stay OUT OF THE LIGHT both in terms of 'near death experiences' and poor sunscreen coverage. It's dangerous to be in the light these days.

But, my favorite light was always MY NIGHT LIGHT. It made me feel safe from the Boogie Man, the creatures in the closet, the child kidnappers and the goblins in my dreams..but they were especially great when I had to go pee pee when the rest of the family were in a deep sleep. Children need 'the night light'.

! Well, that's it. Must lighten up! Shed some light on a new topic! See the light at the end of the tunnel! and.... sing an oldie, continue to be a bit 'Light in the Loafers'... and Light the way for others! Yes, a word we take for granted yet it has been with us from the moment we came into the world and that big, ugly bulb was one of the first things in the hospital room to make us scream our lungs out!