Wildcats and Turtles and Disharmonous Harmony

Here we sit at the middle of January, and all that is green is buried in white.

The skies filled with those big grey and purple clouds that hang low packed with snow.

Sometimes it falls. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes I shovel it. Sometimes I wait for next week’s thaw to clear the laneway for me. 

But summer ball is right around the corner.

Yes, it’s a very wide corner still but it’s there on the horizon’s horizon.

This season will be very exciting as both Alannah and Ashley-Rae are playing at even higher levels, both playing on traveling rep teams here in the Windsor area.

But this year they play on different teams under different clubs. Alannah will be playing for a bantam team of girls born in 2001. She is playing for the Wildcats.

Ashley-Rae will be playing for the Squirt team of girls born in 2002. She will still be playing for the Athletics of the Turtle Club, on the same team that Alannah played on last year but is now too old.

While the Wildcats and Turtle Club share a mutual need for diplomatic mutual gain, the fact is these two clubs don’t like each other. And one of her coaches this year coached another team from yet another club Alannah played against last year.

And that club didn’t like the Turtle Club either.

None of these clubs like each other – but years of competition mean that many of these coaches and players have spent time in more than just one of the clubs.

It’s likely very common from community to community, rivalries like these. They are great as long as they don’t get personal.

So far so good.

But it is extremely interesting to me, the observer I seem to have retired to. Seeing both sides, seeing both styles both so completely different despite their undeniable similarity. Like two competing churches each searching for the more perfect doctrine. Both reading from the same book and interpreting the same things differently.

It’s fun.

Ashley-Rae’s team has three of my players from my Gold ’99 team from last summer. Now I’m just a dad but I’m proud of each one of them. Now they join forces with the girls that Alannah left behind.

The other girls from Alannah’s team that moved on because their age moved them up to Bantam now play on the same Wildcat Alannah does. Great kids. Great parents. So I am not so alone now straddling the Wildcat – Turtle Club line. Although the Athletics team parents seem like extended family to me.

The best of the best.

So I am looking forward to watching both teams.

They have both been practicing since the summers end. In different elementary schools in the same way, doing different things looking for the same results.

Both managers are also excellent. One a wily old veteran of the coaching circle – the other a young woman who’s extensive and impressive player career and coaching experience has now culminated to her first  managing position.

I'm very happy that both girls have such great leadership to play for.

Yet so similarly different.

Just like Wildcats and Turtles.

First Tee Jitters

Well, it finally happened.

It’s near the middle of June. It had to happen sometime.

But yesterday it finally happened.

I played my first round of golf.

No practice. No driving range. No putting on the living room carpet.

I just showed up to play golf.

In a tournament.

No, not a fun best ball drive around in a cart drinking beer with your buddies tournament.

This was a tournament for our local zone. Playing with a partner, our combined scores would have to be good enough to qualify and advance to the district tournament in July. And from there, the regional, and from there the provincial. Qualify there, and you go on to the national tournament.

I’ve known about playing in this tournament now since March.

But there is little time for golf now, with being so busy at work, and my new responsibilities to our local Legion branch. And of course there’s the girls softball schedules and all star try outs. That leaves me very little time for golf.

Or much else, really.

When I arrived at the local course in Windsor to register, I met my partner for the first time. Larry looked the part of an avid golfer, black pants and red shirt, weather beaten golf hat and worn glove. Looking at Larry I knew I had the advantage of a good player for a partner.

The combined scoring format meant Larry was counting on me to pull my share of the load. I felt ashamed as I introduced myself to Larry. But as we shook hands, Larry confided to me that this was his first round of the year too. He stopped on his way to the course to hit a bucket at the range to try to get his swing back.

I didn’t even do that. And I told him so.

I explained how unprepared I was to Larry. Larry simply smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it”.

We paired up with another pair to make our foursome, a couple of seniors from another branch in our zone. These guys –further advanced in their years – were both retired – and both played every other day.

Oh dear.

We were the first foursome off the tee – the starting foursome. This of course means the whole tournament would be standing there watching us – judging us – as we teed off. A group of forty or so ambitious golfers would be standing there watching me take my first swing of a golf club since last September.

What was I thinking?

Our foursome was called to the tee, and as I was I was putting on last year’s old golf glove, Ian of the other pair said to the crowd “Show us the way there Fred”.

Now I’m scared.

I pulled a brand new ball out of my pocket with a tee, and as I bent down to put the tee in the ground with the ball on top of it, I felt my knees shake. I moved the writing on the ball so that the words “Titleist” pointed down the line I was aiming to the left side of the fairway.

I was sure to slice the first drive of the year. That is if I even hit the ball. I might just dribble it off the tee box to the white tees just ahead of me. And this crowd would all laugh at me.

I stood up and took one practice swing as I stood behind my ball looking down the fairway to my target. I could hear the mumblings in the crowd – small talk amongst themselves – as I approached the ball – taking one final swing with my left arm only to get a feel for the weight of my driver.

The mumblings in the crowd stopped as I addressed my ball, slightly behind my left foot and gave the club a final waggle.

The silence was deafening. But the thoughts in my head were so loud I thought everyone in the crowd would hear them.

“you can do this … nice and easy swing … don’t lift your head … bring that right hand over … “

There was no wind. The air was still. The crowd was silent.

I drew back the club and it felt good. My club head was in the right place. I came down through the ball pulling hard with the left arm and bringing the right hand over exactly as I struck the ball, I watched the tee do a couple of flips in the air as I followed through.

Then I looked up as I followed through – in that pose one takes after hitting a drive. It felt great. But the sky was grey – and my ball was white – and I couldn’t find it in the sky.

But it felt great. Where was it?

Then I heard the crowd behind me. I heard “Nice shot”, and “it’s drawing nice” and “he got all of that one” … but I still didn’t know where it was.

As I picked up my tee, and turned to join the crowd so that a player from the other pairing could hit his tee shot, I saw smiles in the crowd and nods of approval from the other golfers. “Nice shot” said Larry as I stood beside him.

I leaned over and in a whisper I said “I lost it in the sky. I have no idea where it went”.

You’re about 280 down there – just past the one fifty marker – in the first cut off the fairway”, and he offered his fist for me to punch with mine.

When Larry hit his, he blasted it down the middle – and the ball took a bad bounce and ended up in the first cut on the right side. We were side by side on opposite sides of the fairway. Ian and Dave – the other pairing in our foursome - were side by side in the middle of the fairway – Ian playing a big slice – and Dave hitting straight as an arrow. But both were some fifty yards behind us.

As we got into our cart to drive away, both Larry and I breathed a sigh of relief in unison, and we both laughed.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it”, said Larry.

“I was trembling the whole damned time”, I confessed.

“Yeah, I know – I saw your knees shaking”, replied Larry. “Mine were too, but I’m wearing pants”.

We qualified to go on to the District tournament in July. But we didn’t shoot great. I had a nine on one hole, but I put together a string of pars and a birdie to offset it later in the round. Larry played bogey golf with the odd double. We only beat the other pair by one stroke. They qualified as well.

Later, drinking beers after the round, I confessed my terror on that first tee box to all at the table.

“You didn’t look scared to me” said Ian.

I saw your knees shaking”, said Dave.

But I’ll be playing and practicing before we go play District in July.

And I might just wear black pants like Larry instead of shorts – no matter how hot it is.

I don’t want them seeing my knees shaking at District.

Closing School Libraries Spells Illiteracy

They are closing the library in my daughters’ elementary school.

They are closing all the libraries in all the schools under the Windsor Essex Catholic District School Board. All Elementary and Secondary schools will no longer have a library.

Schools without libraries?

I can’t fathom that.

I can’t tolerate that!

I can’t tolerate the thought of my daughter’s in grade 3 and 4 not being able to go into the school library this year and checking out books like Charlotte’s Web, or The Mouse and The Motorcycle. Books like Where the Red Fern Grows, and Old Yeller.

These are just a couple of titles that come to my memory from when I was their age – reading amazing and exciting stories that made me want to read more and more and more.

But that will be gone.

I remember at a very young age walking through the bookshelves of my schools library looking for great books – and the excitement I felt when I found a really good one.

One that really stands out in my mind is a book I don’t even remember the title of. It was about a boy who would have been my age who tried out for the neighborhood baseball team – and how hard he practiced fielding ground balls with his Dad and hitting with his best friend – and how excited he was when he got his uniform after he made the team.

That book inspired me to love baseball even more.

Because that’s what books do, they inspire young minds – opening their brains up to ideas and opportunities – and experiences.

But that won’t be readily available to little kids in our local Catholic schools.

They plan to put some books in class rooms – pretty much deciding what the kids will read.

Who wants to read what you’re told to read?

I remember in high school, getting my hands on a copy of Catcher In The Rye. I read that book in the back seat of our family car as we travelled on a family vacation.

They will also be pulling out all those great books that teenagers use for research for various projects. In place of the libraries will be a common area for digital media devices – like computers.

Okay, we are in the 21st century now. And computers are definitely a powerful source for research. But we are nowhere near the point yet where computers and DVD players can even remotely adequately replace a card catalog to help kids find information based on the Dewy Decimal System.

Wikipedia is not yet a source of truly undeniably reliable record. And for as much as I love what Google has added to the Internet – I am not so blind as to know that Google searches also return information you probably don’t want your child to see.

How is this possible?

Why are they cutting out the libraries from these schools? Why do you think? This is not an exercise in advancing learning facilities to a new academic level of excellence – all though those that are pushing this change through will describe it as so.

It’s money. Or the lack of it.

Enrollment in Catholic schools in our county is down.

So instead of cutting other things – like sports teams – or better yet – take a very hard look at your administrative costs - instead, they chose what appears to be a big expense – on paper – a quick and easy choice looking at the list of options sorted by cost – libraries sit at the top of the heap.

I love sports, but I would never suggest them be more important than school libraries. And I am not proposing firing people of value.

Certainly not people as valuable as school librarians.

This is stupid.

It doesn’t take a genius to know the Catholic Church has been hurt in recent decades. Some of their decisions have just been … well … either arrogantly or blindly derived. As a result the number of parishioners continues to fall. But this time is not the time to go into all that. That’s also been in the headlines enough.

It just makes logical sense that a decline in members of the Catholic Church also results in a decline in the Catholic school student enrolments. And to me it does not make sense to reduce the quality of education that children will get in your schools by taking the libraries out.

If you were new to a community – and you had the option of two schools – which of those two would you likely choose for your kids best interest? A school with a library?

“Duh” – as my little girls so commonly say to me.

It would certainly be a pretty strong factor. It might even deter you from moving to the community.

If you happen to live in Windsor or in Essex County – and this issue is important to you – I strongly encourage you to visit the Save our Libraries Holy Cross Catholic Elementary LaSalle Ontario Canada on facebook to learn more about what you can do.

As well, I encourage you to sign the online petition.

I encourage you strongly to do something.

If you live in Windsor Essex and your kids don’t attend a Catholic school – I urge you still to do something, because these kids are the next generation of your community too. And I can’t imagine that a decision to remove libraries from schools is going to help make your community stronger.

Windsor and Essex County has had enough economic struggles that we are just now starting to recover from.

This kind of academic stupidity isn’t going to help.

We have some new decisions to make in our house.

A Lunch With Great Friends

Today I am having lunch with old friends.

People I worked on a contract with for seven years.

I was the "new" guy, as the rest had worked on this contract for fourteen years total.

This lunch is occurring because one of the team members moved to British Columbia when the contract ended. He was chasing his dream of living out west. But a family matter brings him back to Windsor for a week.

I received his email last week through facebook.

The very reason I ever started using facebook was so that I could keep in touch with this fellow. For that period we worked together we became very good friends. His wife actually sold us the house we live in today.

So I created a facebook account, and so did he. We agreed to do this during a night on the town in Toronto while both there on business for different reasons. Pat created one to.

So Pat was my very first contact on facebook. But I never ever talked to him on there.

Within the course of a couple of days, my friends list on facebook grew to a huge number of people I have known in all parts of the continent that I have lived. High school friends I had thought about and tried to contact using more primitive means but failed suddenly showed up on facebook.

Poof. Instant contact.

But no Pat.

If you were to look at my friends list, you would see a long list of pictures of smiling faces. All but Pat. His was still the grey silhouette – only his name beside it, with no activity.

As time passed on, and things changed, Pat's profile remained empty. And I was talking to friends from Lawrenceville, Minneapolis, Baton Rouge, London , Toronto, and Ottawa. My list continued to expand with friends from Dublin Ireland and the U.K.

But still no Pat.

Last week – I received an email. It said that Pat had added me as a friend on facebook.

I logged into facebook later that evening. There was a picture of Pat with his lovely wife and two children.

"Who the hell was that other guy?", I wondered.

So I wrote a note to the grey faced silhouette also named Pat.

A reply came back. "Wow, I had no idea I even had this account!". Indeed it was Pat.

In the days of that contract, we had a long standing tradition Fridays to that our team would go out together for lunch. There was a little Irish pub down the road from the office called Murphy's. We would go and sit and have great conversation while having a pint. The food was pretty mediocre, but we didn't really go to Murphy's for the food.

We went for each other's company.

Today we will all meet up again for lunch. But Murphy's is only an empty shell on a street corner. Instead we will meet up at an old roadhouse tavern on the outskirts of town, similar in atmosphere to Murphy's – but not Murphy's.

Pat will be there, and so will the few of us remaining at the company after the contract. And Roseanne will be there as well – who I used to tease by showing her pickle jars – asking her if we could keep her brain full of adjudication rules in there – because we would never learn all that she knew about that process.

And Crazy Roy will be there. I call him Crazy Roy out of respect, because the man is indeed a genious in my book – but slightly past the edge of eccentricity. I learned an awful lot from Crazy Roy, who was famous for his long grey beard and hair pulled back into a pony tail. Truly one of the most unique individuals I have ever met.

It will be good to be there with them all again. To sit and listen to them chat. To hear about what they are working on.

To feel that warmth of lost camaraderie.

A lot of workplace teams have lunch together on Fridays, or they get together for drinks on a chosen night – like paystub Thursdays. These are great experiences that build stronger teams – more committed to each other – more passion developing for what they do together.

But this team was the most passionate team I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of.

Perhaps at lunch I will suggest to those of the team not on facebook to join. And I will explain to them that we could create a group in facebook , and call it Murphy's. And we could find a time when we could all meet inside there and chat – the page decorated like the old Irish pub, maybe even post a picture of the old menu.

And maybe they would come. And chat.

But it wouldn't be the same. Not like sitting there at the old round table – elbows wet from the sweat of the pint glass as we laugh and talk about what's going on.

But it would never be the same.

Social networking has its place. It has its function. But it will never replace the camaraderie of really good friends sitting at a table – having a pint and a bite and the chatter and the laughs.

So today I will cherish this lunch. Because you can never be sure that you can all be together like that again.

Yet Another Foot Of Snow

Well, we made it halfway through January.

So far, so good.

In Windsor it just keeps snowing. And the temperature has been sub-zero Fahrenheit for the last week.

I pulled an icicle off the Christmas lights on the garage (coincidentally the lights are shaped like icicles too), and the icicle was reaching down to the ground cave-like, like a stalagmite in a Kentucky tourist attraction.

This isn't Windsor weather?

We don't get snow?

We certainly don't get a foot at a time and have it stay around waiting for the next foot-at-a-time snow fall.

Something is wrong with this Global Warming theory.

Because it's freaking cold!

At work we have a smoking shed. All of us contemptible smokers stand in this shed together. By Ontario law, our little shed cannot be totally enclosed. So to ensure our shed meets this law, our company high-priests determined that both the walls at each end – the front and the back – be removed.

So what is left resembles a carport for a motorcycle. And not even big enough for a real bike like a Harley-Davidson. They should just put a bicycle rack at the far end to justify the structure.

It's a wind tunnel to test one's ability to withstand the most miserable weather conditions.

This is a law I have never personally seen and doubt really exists – but instead is a concoction of those anti-smoking fascists right left winged do-gooders who insists we must live healthier lifestyles that do not offend their personal sense of right and wrong.

The point is that it is very cold in our smoking shed. We all huddle together as we smoke to block the wind and to keep warm. A couple of romances have sprung from this practice, or so I have been told.

During one of our huddling exercises, as we looked at the ever increasing level of snow on the ground, we started talking about sledding. Sleds and toboggans. Amazingly the do-gooders I mentioned earlier have not yet banned sledding or tobogganing.

I started to reminisce about my brief childhood life in Apple Valley Minnesota.

I was about eleven or twelve then. We lived on the top of a large hill in a brand new subdivision. And directly across the street, the developers had put in a park. That park had a bicycle path that started right across from my house, went down a steep slope and leveled slightly to run down between the houses and into a little woodland area where the path became very curvy.

In the summer it was mildly fun to ride our bikes on this path.

But in the winter – as the snow hardened and slicked down – it became the perfect raceway for those sleds that have metal runner and you steer with your feet. I think mine was called a "Red Flyer". You could really get a good three minute run off this path – and go like stink.

But we didn't steer with our feet on our sleds. We laid down on our bellies and used our hands. And it seemed like we went ten times faster.

We had no helmets, only wool caps or tuques. We had no padding other than our snowmobile suites. In Minnesota – like Northern Ontario – cool people wear snowmobile suites.

You would start in the middle of the street, and you would run as fast as you could towards the start of the path – holding your sled up in front of you.

You can only run so fast in snowmobile boots.

When you got to the start of the path, you would start your dive – moving the sled under you as you came to the ground – landing on it with head at the front and hands on the steering handles.

The odd kid would miss, landing on his chin. They usually went home when that happened.

When you got down into the woodland stretch of the trail, you had to quickly weave around the trees. That was the fun part. But I don't ever remember any of us getting hurt by slamming into a tree. We were wearing tuques and snowmobile suites, remember?

That was probably the only part I remember liking about Minnesota winters.

The snow in Apple Valley wouldn't melt away until mid-May.

I wish I could show this kind of fun to my little girls. But I haven't seen a Red Flyer sled for many years. They are probably made out of plastic now. In China.

But all of Essex County is very flat. We would have to drive two hours up the 401 to London to actually find a hill we could really sled down.

As I was regaling my huddled smoking buddies with this tale, they looked at me. Only those not born and raised in Windsor knew what I was talking about.

Because Windsor has always been flat. And Windsor rarely gets snow.

Perhaps the world environmentalists are correct that our world is changing.

But it is confusing to see the icebergs melting in the Arctic Circle in the summertime, and stalagmite-style icicles growing down my garage in minus twenty degree temperatures in the Winter.

Right now - at minus twelve degrees Celsius – I am tempted to take two aerosol cans of Pam non-stick cooking spray – the butter tasting kind - and point them up to the ozone. And spray them until they are empty.

And all the while I would yell "Come on Global Warming!!".

Because it's freaking cold outside.

Catching Economic Pneumonia

The American Automobile Industry is in serious trouble.

Chrysler and GM are both faced with potential bankruptcy situations. The American federal government is struggling with finding a way to bail them out – hesitant to throw money at a problem where money won't likely solve the plight but instead only post-pone it.

The outlook at this moment is very gloomy for the Motor City of Detroit. This is a town that has already seen itself erode away to a mere shadow of its former metropolis status – with no signs of healing as city political scandals and racial tensions continue to undermine any chance of recovery.

What many American's may not know is that there is also a great deal of the Automobile Manufacturing done on the other side of the Detroit River – in my hometown of Windsor, Ontario. Since the dawn of the industrial revolution brought on by Henry Ford's invention of the mass assembly line, Windsor has hosted major manufacturing facilities for the Big Three – as well as all the supporting services such as tool and dye shops for parts manufacturing.

The vast majority of employment in Windsor is directly related to the manufacturing of American automobiles.

Over the last three years, we have seen plant shut downs and companies going out of business as the Big Three continue to crumble under pressures of low car sales, high gas prices, and the cost of a unionized labor force.

The Canadian federal government is also looking at ways to assist the Canadian Big Three entities. But much like the Americans, they realize that simply throwing money at these problems will not resolve the crisis at hand.

Over the past three years strides have been made in the quality of the Big Three products, as well as the fuel consumption. And the Unions have made some concessions to ease the burden on the Big Three. But in both Detroit and Windsor, the public outcry is a finger pointed right at "foreign" automotive manufacturers.

Right up the 401 from Windsor in Woodstock is the Cami Automotive assembly plant – jointly operated by GM and Suzuki. Up the highway further is the Toyota manufacturing plant in Cambridge. Each is supported by the same parts manufacturers, trucking firms, and suppliers used by the Big Three. As well, there a numerous plants across the United States manufacturing the "foreign" automobiles.

Yet Ford sends their parts to be assembled for many of their models in Mexico.

Quite clearly, the collapse of the Big Three is larger than just North America. The scope of impact of such a collapse would be felt in absolutely every sector of every economy in every country on the planet.

Yet as one drives through Detroit – you see all kinds of signs, billboards and bumper stickers urging their population to "Buy American". And oddly enough, Windsor – a Canadian city - has bumper stickers quoting "Want to lose your job? Keep buying foreign cars!".

I don't think those Canadian Auto Workers realize their American Auto Workers think of them as foreigners taking American Jobs away.

And I can only wonder what the bumper stickers in Mexico say.

If I were a betting man – which I am not – I would bet on the Big Three declaring bankruptcy. I would bet on the Big Three status to be in receivership by the end of 2009. And I would bet that the Big Three would find themselves being completely restructured – and in the end – find themselves to be much more capable of doing business in this new global economy.

Sometimes when something is really broken badly, it has to be completely taken apart, the damaged parts replaced or redesigned, and then put back together again.

And that is what I see about to happen to General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler.

And the World economy will catch a bad cold, but heal.

The North American economy will catch pneumonia but it will survive.

But Detroit and Windsor will disappear as we know them today.

It’s About Time

Thank God that's over.

I have just come in from the garage. That's where my radio is. The radio I listen to the ball games on.

I tried using the stereo in the family room. But everyone else is watching TV or playing music on the computer. So my little portable stereo sits in the garage until the weather warms up enough to spend my evenings on the back deck. That's where the ball game sounds best. On the back deck – preferably with the sizzle of the BBQ in the back ground and the splash of kids in the pool.

But it's only the second week of April.

Tonight I spent the night in the garage, listening to the second Detroit Tiger game of three against the Boston Red Sox – at Boston. At old Fenway park. Green Monster and all.

It's a formidable venue to play in. And the Red Sox – defending World Series champs – are a formidable foe in the best of circumstances.

But these weren't the best of circumstances.

The Tigers lost their first seven games of the year.

Yes, the same Detroit Tigers that were picked by countless authorities to win their division, win the American League, and by Sports Illustrated to win the World Series this year. They even put them on the cover. Don't you think that Sports Illustrated would know that when they make a prediction and put it on their cover, they put a curse of immeasurable proportions on the team or person they predict on?

I'm positive that's what happened.

Ok, I don't believe in magic. And I don't really believe in curses.

But I am superstitious.

Some of the games that we lost were ugly. Huge scores by the opposition. Silence from the bats of our all-star lineup. Errors by gold glove winners. And pitching that would serve better in men's softball beer leagues. Sunday against Chicago, the White Sox were actually laughing at us from the visiting dugout.

And you know what? We deserved to get laughed at.

The whole city of Detroit was in a panic. I was no exception.

But those with saner heads kept saying "be patient".

"Because it's only the second week of April".

Patience was nowhere to be found. Other pundits were pulling out historical statistics:

"No team has ever won the World Series after losing the first four games".

"No team has ever made the playoffs after losing the first seven games."

But the optimists were saying "It's a long season of 162 games. It doesn't matter where in that period you slump".

But our patience had been exhausted. And we thought these boys would never win.

Until tonight.

Finally, in the eighth game of the season, the team that will win the 2008 World Series finally won their first game. A 7 - 2 victory. At Fenway. Against the Red Sox.

Atta-boys.

And they did it in really great fashion. Strong pitching from Jeremy Bonderman, a guy the city was ready to give up on. He pitched hard for six innings only giving up two runs.

Good defensive play highlighted by five double plays.

Great at bats, highlighted by a two run homer by Marcus Thames fourth and a solo shot by Carlos Guillen in the ninth just to make sure.

Pudge finally got his 2,500 career hit.

The bullpen, the Achilles heel of the Tigers, stepped up and held the Red Sox scoreless through the final 3 innings. But it was a scary bottom of the ninth as Tiger's closer Todd Jones walked the bases loaded after being one strike away from ending the game. Had Youkilis gotten on base, the tying run would have come to the plate. Manny Ramirez no less.

But Jones got Youkilis to pop up to shallow right. And the game was over.

You could feel the air pressure rise as this entire region breathed a very deep sigh of relief. I think my ears popped.

So there are now 154 games left to be played. And the rest of the season will be full of national media statements reminding us that no team has ever made the playoffs, let alone winning the World Series, after losing their first seven games. And I am certain that Sports illustrated cover will also be mentioned again and again.

And I will spend the summer, on the back deck, listening to the national media pundits belittle our chances on my portable stereo.

And I will simply muse to myself "It was only the second week of baseball!"

Thank God that's over. It's about time.

A Revolutionary Green Commuter’s Pod

Seven years ago, in October of 2000, I found myself driving 120 miles to work in the morning, and 120 mile home at night. I did this from October through December.

Darlene and I had just taken our first home together, in a little town called Amherstburg. We lived in the historic downtown area of Amherstburg, historic because it was the main Canadian battle ground of the war of 1812.

But I still worked for a software shop just north of London - 120 miles away.

Everyday, as I got on the 401, the main expressway that travels from Windsor to Quebec City, I would usually find myself driving beside the passenger train – the Via Rail train that I have ridden so many times since – as it had also just left the Windsor train station.

Driving home at night, I would most often look over and see that same Via Rail passenger train returning to Windsor. And every day, for the next three months, I would play with this idea:

What if I could just pull my car (at that time it was a Mercury Mystique) right up onto that train?

I would imagine that I would just pull right up onto the train, onto a special automobile ferry car on the train, and I would lock myself down and just ride the train, in my car, to London. Once we got to London, I would simply pull off the train, and drive up to the office.

Wouldn't that be sweet?

But remember, I had three months to play with this idea. I don't know if you have ever made the drive from Windsor to London on the 401, but most of that drive is very flat, and very boring.

"Wouldn't it be great" I would think each trip, ".. if as I pulled on to the train, I could plug my car into the train".

"But why plug in? – what would you get?"

"Why, I would get all kinds of stuff?" I would answer myself. "The train would be like a moving service centre".

And then I would explain to myself again how I had worked this all out.

You see, at first, it would be great to simply pull your conventional highway vehicle up onto a train and piggy back to another city without the hassle of driving. Or the danger of driving. The 401 can be very dangerous, especially in the winter.

The 401 is the busiest commercial trucking corridor in Canada. And Canada (believe it or not my American friends) is the United States largest trading partner. The number of large semi rigs on the 401 usually outnumbers standard automobiles.

And that is why the 401 is dangerous. Trucks have schedules. Trucks have drivers who are tired. Trucks have drivers who are trying to optimize their efficiency for the maximum profit of a trip.

So as the timeline of the "Auto-Ferry" would evolve (I'm sure we can come up with a better name than "auto-ferry"), it would begin with people simply pulling their cars up onto the train, and riding to the destination station, sitting in the car, listening to the radio. Maybe you could pack a lunch, or hit a fast food place. When you arrived, pulled off the train, and simply drove to your final destination.

But wait? They serve meals on the train. In first class they serve very nice meals on the train. Maybe there could be a first class Auto-ferry car – where I could order a very nice meal? Maybe even a glass of wine or a beer if I am going to be on the train for a couple of hours? That would be nice.

What if I could also watch a movie? I could bring a portable DVD player? Or my car may already have one? Or maybe I could rent one from the auto-ferry? And while I am at it, I could hook into their wireless Internet conncetion?

Hey, there are a lot of services that a person could pick up on? What if I bought a commuter car – specifically for this kind of travel?

What do you mean?

An electric car. An electric car or minivan. A pod if you will – built to fit the train car. That you could drive in and around town once you got there. I could pull it up onto a auto-ferry train car and simply plug it right into the train for services? I could plug it in to:

• Recharge my "pod"
  
• Have Satellite TV or Radio to watch in my "pod"
  
• Have a high speed internet connection in my "pod".
  

You could use a touch screen in the dashboard of your pod to order a meal - or even get a tune-up - while your traveling.

Hmmm?

When I ride the train now, I ride for business. A majority of the automobile traffic on the 401 is business commuters. Lets play with the "Business Trip" scenario.

I live in Toronto, and I do business in Ottawa, Montreal, and Quebec City. Because I am in sales, I have a mini van that I drive to carry product and promotional material with me. Now the Auto-Ferry Pod has become an attractive option. The company replaces my gas guzzling mini-van with a mini-van pod. The advantages are that my travel is more productive and less expensive. Here is how:

Instead of driving and limiting my productive time to simply making phone calls, I can pull my auto-ferry mini-van pod onto the train and connect. From that point forward, I am at the office. I spin my drivers seat around and now am sitting at my desk. My laptop plugs into the jacks in my pod – at my desk - for power and internet connection. I VPN (Virtual Private Network) into the office. I have access to all my files on line, email, chat, even video-conference if need be. I have both a printer and fax machine in my mini-pod. And maybe even a coffee pot.

While I am travelling, I can be as productive as I would be in the office – because actually I am in the office. It is my office that is going to Quebec City.

I even have an overnight cot in my mini-pod. I can lay on my cot and watch TV – satellite TV – as I spend my evening on the train. Or listen to music, or even goof around on the Internet – writing my blog and checking my stats.

I like this idea. I do know that my hometown Windsor really could use an idea like this one right now.

Windsor is the "Detroit" of Canada. Neither Windsor or Detroit are doing very well right now as the big-three automakers are floundering, being overtaken handily by the Japanese Toyota and Honda.

Windsor and Detroit need a "revolutionary idea". And this is a good one. The fact that Windsor is at one end of the busiest commerce lane in Canada, perhaps North America, may prove to be a tremendous catalyst for this idea. And as the product of the auto-ferry and the pods to travel the route catches on, other routes will spring up – using old Am-Track lines in the US – and the Trans-Canada railway in Canada.

Imagine if you upgrade these rail systems to the high-speed railways of Europe and Japan. Imagine if you exported the Mini-pod overseas.

Imagine how much greener it would be.

Imagine how much more independent this means of mass transport would be.

Imagine how economically inspiring this industry would be.

Imagine?

Not A Winter Person

As I stand in my kitchen and look out our big front window, I see that all the roof tops are frosted with a light white dusting of snow.

Yesterday we had our first snowfall of the year, but unlike the rest of Canada, none of it stayed.

It all melted as it hit the ground. I guess some stuck to the roof tops.

That is the only thing that Windsor has in common with Victoria British Columbia. We generally have – by Canadian standards – a mild winter.

If I have not made this next point clear yet, please let me do so now.

I am not a winter person.

I can’t skate.
I can’t ski.
Ice fishing is not an interest that I pursue.

I just don’t like cold weather.

I was pretty much raised in the southern US. On our first Christmas in Atlanta, all the guys in the neighborhood got together and played a game of basketball in a buddy’s driveway.

Shirts vs. Skins. On Christmas Day.

I love hockey, I just never had the opportunity to play.
I would really love to ski, but I never really had the chance to try.

I am still not interested in drilling a hole in the ice and waiting for a bite.

Tomorrow I will hang the Christmas lights. I couldn’t do it last week when it was in the mid 50s. That’s 12 degrees Celsius for you metric freaks.

We will also put up our Christmas Tree in front of our big new window in our living room. It will look great.

But you know we won’t have all the decorations that we need. I will have to go to Canadian Tire and get some more. And as I go to put them in the trunk, there will not be enough room. My golf clubs are still in there.

And I don’t really want to take them out. I might still have a chance to play.

I only used them five or six times last summer. When the weather was nice.

Did I mention I’m not a winter person?

Enhancing the Common Good

I work for a non-profit health benefits company in Canada.

The only non-profit health benefits company in Canada.

Many have written to me to ask me “what does that mean?”

So I thought I might take this opportunity to explain. At least I will attempt to the very best of my understanding. I will keep it simple, because I understand that there is very little that is interesting about providing health benefits.

The company I work for is Green Shield Canada. We provide pre-paid health benefits to groups and individuals all across Canada.

Pre-paid benefits means that you have an “account” of coverage for all aspects of your health care that you or the company you work for are willing to provide for you.

Some companies pay up front for what they expect you will need for glasses or for physical therapy. Some pre-pay for manufacturer name brand pharmaceuticals. Others may deem that they do not need to provide coverage for glasses or generic brand pharmaceuticals are sufficient.

As a company, we adjudicate those claims made by those we cover.

To adjudicate means:

“to settle or determine (an issue or dispute) judicially.“

- source: Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 06 Oct. 2007.

To do this, our staff determines the validity of each claim based on the rules agreed to by the company you work for – the company or group that has pre-paid for your benefits.

We have built some very sophisticated computer systems to help accomplish this. In most cases, our computer systems adjudicate your claim when you are still standing in the pharmacy, or at the dentist or doctors office, settling your account with them.

As a non-profit company, we do not make profits. We have surplus. Surplus – like profit – is the monies above our costs to perform the service. Some of those surplus we re-invest in our company – to enhance our computer systems or to enhance our ability to perform our works.

The remainder of our surplus is re-distributed back into the communities that we serve. This is what we call our “Social Surplus”. And this is quite a substantial amount of monies.

Every year we receive formal requests from all kinds of organizations, charities and non-profit groups that exist to help those in need. A very special committee reviews each request, and if appropriate – funds are provided.

One of our biggest social-surplus partners is the United Way. Another is Easter Seals.

There is no one at Green Shield Canada getting rich off our business. But that is not to say that we do not make a proper living.

You see, this endeavor requires skilled persons. And very few in this world have the luxury of being so financially independent that they can donate their entire work lives to our efforts. Our salaries are constantly reviewed that they are competitive in the communities we reside in. Otherwise all our best people would leave to work elsewhere.

This does not make them insincere in their contributions to Green Shield Canada. It is merely a reality that people have to provide for themselves and their families to the best of their abilities before anyone can expect them to have a charitable nature.

Green Shield Canada was founded by a group of Windsor pharmacists in 1957 – led by William Wilkerson. It was created to help resolve the problem for those families that had to decide between providing food and shelter rather than medicine for their families.

In his typical style – all surplus generated would go back into the community. Mr. Wilkerson truly was a man of a special ambition. His memory is the very foundation that our current mission is based on.

Over the next ten years, Mr. Wilkerson was also very instrumental in the development of the child-proof medicine bottle cap. It was originally called the “palm-n-push”. While it has caused most of us frustration from time to time, the original intent was to eliminate the needless deaths of children who were swallowing their parents medications thinking the little pills were candy.

When Green Shield Canada won the contract to build and maintain the computer systems that adjudicate and administrate drug claims paid for by the Ontario Provincial Government for senior citizens and socially assisted persons; we added yet another monumental break-through. We implemented a means to check drug-to-drug interactions – so that when a senior received a prescription at the pharmacy – while that claim is being adjudicated by our computer system – we would be able to check that prescriptions against all other prescriptions they had recently received to make sure they did not combine to result in a poisonous or fatal manner.

Since all seniors and Socially Assisted persons in Ontario have their prescriptions entered through our system, this check against all other prescribed medicines they have taken is indeed more complete than anywhere else in the world.

There is no telling how many lives have been saved by this simple logic algorithm.

When I first returned to Windsor seven years ago, to marry my wife Darlene, to start our family, and to begin my career anew with Green Shield, the thing that amazed me most was the reaction people in Windsor had when they learned who I worked for.

“And who do you work for, Mr. Brill?” – would say the bank manager.

“Green Shield Canada”, I would reply.

“Ooh, very good”, would be the reply.

The response always had a sentiment of being impressed. And that is the impression that Green Shield Canada holds in Windsor. Often it’s followed by the question “are there any openings there…?”

For all those that I work with at Green Shield Canada, there is not one person I can think of that is insincere in fulfilling our roles. There is no one that I know of that is only there to earn a paycheck.

There is – as any place else – the occasion to complain about your job, your boss – or even the company. But those complaints are generally frustrations that we all face on a daily basis as we wrestle our way through life. The same as one complains about a rainy cold December and the aspect of another green Christmas in Windsor.

To let you know, I have no professional motivation in writing this entry. This space is my own, and it has been a great joy to me to write my various tales and accounts of my life. To my knowledge, there is no one at Green Shield Canada that actually reads my blog.

In truth, the place I work has over the last seven years had a significant and important influence on me; both professionally and personally. It has made me a more socially conscious person – a more charitable person. It has made me a better person I believe.

And you can’t really understand a lot of what I write unless you understand the significant components that influence my life.

And Green Shield Canada has most certainly influenced the person I have become.

if you would like to know more about Green Shield Canada, visit our website at

http://www.greenshield.ca