Peddling Papers

Remembrance Day has come and gone again.

My Dad’s birthday was November 11th or Remembrance Day here in Canada. Everyone here dons a red poppy pinned to their lapel to remember our fallen soldiers.

When I was a little boy, I always felt bad for Dad having a birthday on Remembrance Day – because everyone would be remembering other people and nobody would remember his birthday.

Birthdays are important when you’re a little boy.

But since Dad passed away some 22 years ago, I spend a good portion of that day simply remembering my Dad.

My Dad had some really great sayings.

When he would greet us in the morning he would ask “How’s your belly for spots?” instead of “How are you?”

When someone would offer Dad something he would smile wide and say “We take all free gifts”.

When he would find my brother and I to be a bit to rambunctious, he would tell us to “go peddle your papers” or “go play in traffic”.

But my favorite expression was used anytime that my brother and I and Dad would know that we were in trouble with our Mom.

Before Paul and I could even conger up any feasible resemblance of an excuse or alibi, Dad would simply smile at and almost with a wink he would say to us

“You lie and I’ll swear to it”.

This year I was thinking about all the technology that has evolved over the last 22 years. I was thinking about how it was too bad that Dad didn’t get to experience how personal computers would have revolutionized how he did his job as the Manager of Southern Region for Business Products Sales for the 3M Company.

He likely would have fought it.

Dad would spend hours working on the visuals – the transparencies that he laid on top of the lighted screen of the overhead projectors he sold to schools and businesses as he prepared to give presentations to very large audiences.

Of course, programs like Microsoft’s PowerPoint would have made this task a breeze – although Dad was very much a person to pay attention to detail.

Spreadsheets and word processors would have greatly helped both my Dad and my Mom – who appointed herself as Dad’s private secretary.

They were a great team.

But Dad got very sick in 1983. He was forced into an early retirement just a year or so before the very first IBM PCs came onto the market. Dad passed away in 1990 a couple years before the Internet came along in such a way that the public could access it.

Dad never saw e-mail, or instant messaging. He never saw a web page like this one. He never would have dreamed of things like Skype or Facebook or Twitter or YouTube.

Or the iPhone.

In retrospect – much of what the personal computer came to be replaced what the very business products my Dad’s teams sold.

Except Post-It notes.

Sad, Dad never saw the 3M Post-It notes. And the computer never really found a way to replace them.

And Dad never saw any of the professional social networking sites like LinkedIn.

My Dad often told the story of being hired by Blue Cross Blue Shield in Michigan – about how when asked what University he went to, he replied “Why the University of Western Ontario”. When challenged by whoever he told the story to, he would rebut, “I most certainly did go to Western, every Thursday … to sell Encyclopedia Britannica”.

And Dad would laugh.

I like to tell that story on behalf of my Dad now. But that was then – before the Internet - before Google – before being able to validate such facts nearly instantaneously online.

I don’t think my Dad would have tried to pull that kind of stunt today.

It’s funny though, because most people I know have their professional credentials on LinkedIn. Their whole resume is on their profile; their education, their certifications, their acquired skills, and their employment history.

It’s all there.

IT people are funny when it comes to listing their skills on a resume. It’s as though they list every technology they ever heard of as a skill they have acquired. There seems to be no regard as to what they will do should they get hired to work with that technology they know by name only.

And now, others can attest to your mastering the skill. They simply click on the skill link in your list of skills and select Endorse.

That person does not have to prove that they know that you know that skill. But with a mere click of a mouse such a claim becomes a verified fact.

Or as my Dad would have said, “You lie and I’ll swear to it!”

Our Boys of Summer Play On

The first half of October is a visual smorgasbord here in southwestern Ontario.

The reds, the golds, the browns …

The frost …

The end .,,

Still there are remnants of summer past left lying around … the ball diamonds still have players practicing, the decks all still have tables with umbrellas unfurled, the sun still feels warm to the skin as it reaches its daily apex.

But soon those summer artifacts will all be packed up as though raked into piles like the brilliantly covered leaves that could no longer cling to their branches.

Thank god there's still ball.

The young ladies of the Turtle Club Athletics team continue to practice outside as long as the precipitation stays away and the temperature stays warmish. Once that evacuates to make way for the undeniable oncoming of winter – the young players and their coaches will move into a gym at a French school on the other side of our little village.

The Detroit Tigers are still contending in post season baseball – having defeated the last-minute winners of the American League West – the Oakland A’s – who wear the uniform that inspired our Lady Athletics from the Turtle Club copied and turned into girlie versions of green with gold trim.

I much prefer the old Turtle Club logo. As silly as some may think a turtle could be to represent a high quality baseball team – it means the world to us with its legacy behind it.

But now they wear the same cursive styled spelling of Athletics that the dastardly Oakland Centerfielder Coco Crisp wears.

As a Tiger fan, I despise Coco Crisp.

Crisp (whose name likely violates Nestle Copyright and Trademark rights) single handedly kept the Athletics of Oakland in this series with jump catches robbing home runs and base hits that drove in tying and winning runs and base stealing’s to move into position to score and cause various accounts of trouble that base runners distract middle relief and closing pitchers with.

Crisp got into the Tiger’s players heads.

And their fans too.

But the Tigers rendered the Oakland A’s - seemingly a team of destiny – to merely another remnant, another artifact of autumns transition to winter.

Most have a favorite sport. Mine is baseball. My daughter’s is fast pitch softball. I talk about the two as though they are the same.

But ball is so unique – no other game is like it – not even Cricket.

No other sport is so North American – even though it’s played seriously and elegantly as far away as Japan.

The smell of the red-clay dirt of the infield as the leather bound and red thread stitched ball bounces through the freshly cut grass of the infield – into the thick padded leather glove – and the throwing hand reaches inside that glove to grasp the ball and hurl it across the infield to first base – mastering the balancing challenges of a bent over runner reaching, clasping, grasping, and then planting and throwing.

And the outstretched gloved hand of the first baseman straining to meet the ball in flight before the runner who hit the ball travels at their fastest sprint up the first baseline to stomp on first base.

Safe? Or Out?

The question answered throughout the course of the game.

Where is the next play to be?


Ashley-Rae (with Rally Towel

waving in my face)

and I at ALDS Game 2 vs, Oakland

 As I sat in the stands with my ten year old daughter Ashley-Rae, watching the second playoff game between my beloved Tigers and those bastardly A’s – I continually challenged her with that question – pointing to the situation on the field.

“So Ash, they got a man on second – Coco Crisp - and one out – what does Miguel Cabrera do if they hit the ball to him at third”

Ashley looked at the field as though it were a math problem and solved almost like pretending to write with chalk on a chalkboard.

“You check the runner at second to hold him then you throw it with all you got to first, and you can’t throw a big loopy throw, you gotta throw it hard so it gets there fast Daddy”, replied Ashley-Rae.

We punched fists in celebration of her correct answer. Then she adjusted the brim of her Turtle Club All Star team hat with the same greens and golds as the Athletics A’s hats – only her hat has a gold TC instead of an A.

I love that hat.

And she was wearing her Justin Verlander fan t-shirt over a sweatshirt.

My girls understand baseball.

Maybe they don’t understand everything totally yet, like the infield fly rule. But apparently even some post season National League umpires don’t exactly understand the complexities of the infield fly rule either – having cost the Atlanta Braves their post season chances in a single game wild card elimination match against St. Louis.

I hate the St. Louis Cardinals too.

Now as we move into the third week of October, and the playoff contenders dropping off at the same rate as the leaves from Windsor trees, our beloved Tigers pick up the American League Championship Series – the ALCS – against the even more dastardly – even more bastardly New York Yankees – led by my favorite short stop who I cannot stand – Derek Jeeter and their former Tiger center fielder Curtis Granderson.

Our pitching army of Verlander, Fister, and Scherzer, with a side of Sanchez will do their best to stifle the bats of the Big Apple pin-stripers. And the clout of Triple Crown winner Cabrera, 1st baseman Fielder, and a slew of other guys on this squad who can easily run into a home run now and then – they will do their best outpace the Yankee hitters through nine innings.

And whoever wins gets to play in the World Series.

And whoever loses – their boys of summer will fall into winter like the umbrella on my back deck that still needs to be furled up and put up in the rafters of the garage.

Ready for next year.

Playing Ball With The Brill Girls

We've had a busy summer so far this year.

Lots of swimming in the pool – even though I nearly blew our water pump out by running it for a day with the hose valves closed after backwashing.

I finally finished my book – although I am still in proofreading mode though – but I am extremely happy with it and anxious to get some guest readers looking at it.

But best of all – miles better than anything else this summer – has been watching Alannah and Ashley Rae play fast pitch softball for the Turtle Club this year.

Alannah had practiced year around this year as a member of the LaSalle Athletics Under 11 team. Ashley had to miss those tryouts as she had sprained her knee. So Ashley spent the off season watching Alannah – and learning from Alannah.

It really paid off this year!

The season started by the girls playing together on a house league team that I was lucky enough to help coach.

Actually the director of the league basically told me I was going to help coach – there really wasn't any room for negotiation.

And it was great! I got to stand in the dugout or out coaching first base with a pocket full of sunflower seeds – spitting shells and yelling things like "where's the next play?" and "good eye" and "Atta-girl!" and giving high fives and punching knuckles.

I had to stop calling the girls darlin' though. That was part of the left over southerner in me – and Coach Joe, who was the head coach of the team let me know in a kidding way that we can't call the girls darlin' anymore. Coach Joe coaches for a living. So I stopped.

I guess it's just another of the million zillion signs that our world is changing.

Now house league is over – and both my girls – Alannah and Ashley Rae – made the Turtle Club All Star team. And Coach Joe is coaching them – along with Coach Larry and Coach Gay – all three excellent fantastic coaches who have been practicing the girls from 9 – 11 AM most every other weekday mornings this whole summer.

So every other morning, Alannah and Ashley-Rae pack up their wagon and the pull it and each other to and from practice. The coaches tell me it's a pretty cute sight to see. I'm usually at the office wishing I could be there to watch.

I'm so jealous.

But I hear all about it. When I come home from work, and have a seat out on the back patio by the pool with a cold drink. The girls tell me all about all that happened at practice that morning , with injections of "shut up I'm telling this part" and "I wanted to tell him I did that".

My girls love ball!

And the Brill Girls are just now starting to make their mark at the Turtle Club.

"Dad, I hate it when you call us that", says Alannah when I refer to her and Ashley-Rae as the Brill Girls.

"But your Grandpa Brill would be so proud" I tell her.

Alannah hugs my neck and kisses my cheek when I tell her that.

"Oh, you always say that", she replies.

June Perfection

Not my yard!

I love the month of June.

If it were possible – my dream would be to live in a place where every day takes place in the first week of June.

The weather is still perfect. It’s not too hot – but warm enough for swimming. The gardens are still perfect and most everything is green, lush and in bloom. The lawns are still perfect. The grass is still green and not yet stressed to turn brown.

Perhaps we have misunderstood the scientists of the world – perhaps this is the purpose of global warming – to make every day of the year feel like the first week in June.

I doubt it.

But today is perfect. A wonderful morning to sit out on the back deck by the pool and look out over the gardens under the patio umbrella as the mid-seventies breeze blows across the skin.

Man the coffee tastes good on a morning like this. It’s a real shame I quit smoking.

But to be honest, had I not quit smoking, the gardens would not be quite so perfect, nor the grass be so perfectly green and trim. It seems smoking was the root cause of my procrastinating ways.

Today every muscle in my body aches. The blisters on my fingers have broken open and are sore, and the Motrin I took this morning is just now starting to melt some of the aches away as it mixes with the mocha flavored Kailua in my piping hot cup of coffee.

My faithful black lab Suzy is in her own paradise now – stretched out on the deck in the sunshine enjoying the breeze. She’s dreaming about something – likely lying on a deck in the sunshine like this in a breeze like this one.

That’s my guess anyway.

It’s one of those days where – well – you just have to come to the conclusion that all Darwinists hate – that such a day as today – with all the beautiful birds enjoying this day in our back yard – that a day like today could not simply be the result of random evolutionary chaotic coincidence.

There just has to be a divine plan.

A master designer.

There has to be an artist deity who knows just how much blue goes in the sky and how to swirl it with the white of the clouds – matching it with the greens in the grass and the leaves and the brown in the woods of the bark and the plant stems.

There must be a master aromatologist – a master of creating the most perfect aromas – as a deity – to mix the smells of lavender blossoming and cut grass blades and tree leaves that waft across in a gentle breeze – it can’t just all be Darwinistic coincidence.

The Darwinists will all comment here that such a thought is absurd.

But I bet deep in their own hearts – to experience such perfection as is today – to see such amazing beauty – more beautiful than any of the great masters could ever paint – more wonderful than any event planner could ever construct an experience – deep in the Darwinist’s heart they would find the awe that leads one to believe in a power higher than ours.

A God.

There must be.

Hoppy the squirrel just popped up on the fence that borders the back of our property. And Suzy took notice and scrambled down and across the yard – all the while Hoppy knowing Suzy’s limitations as a black lab – merely stands on the top of the wooden fence mocking her by cleaning his hands and face.

Yeah, there’s a God alright.

Or maybe I’m just a bit more sentimental today – on this beautiful June morning. Maybe I am just more emotional because of the aches in my body from all the work I did yesterday weeding and primping the gardens and trimming and feeding the grass to bring out its best shades of green.

Or perhaps it's due to that very exciting win the Detroit Tigers pulled off in the bottom of the ninth inning by a walk off pop fly hit by new rookie catcher Omir Santos to knock in the runner from third to defeat those bastardly New York Yankees to hopefully put the Detroiter’s back on track this season – perhaps that has me a bit more wistful this morning than usual.

Damn those Yankees.

Or maybe it’s just the Kailua in my coffee.

Yeah, that’s likely it.

But there is no denying this is a perfect June morning.

I am savoring every nuance of it. All the way down to how the sunlight twinkles on the top of the dancing water in the pool.

It’s all so perfect.

Until a neighbor in a nearby yard decided to start his lawn mower.

Crap.

Perhaps if I pour another cup of … coffee.