**Vancouver Canucks vs Ottawa Senators

Scotiabank Place, Kanata, ON**

Nov. 11, 2010

**

**

Vancouver 6 – Ottawa 2

Hats off to the Sens organization for knowing how to stage a pre-game tribute without having it take forever (MLSE take note. You’ve adopted our tradition of passing around a huge Canadian flag, even adding a Leafs flag as a bit of one-upmanship. Our concise, to the point, pre-game ceremonies are also worth imitating).

Thursday being Remembrance Day, it was great to bring out a few WWII veterans to receive their well-earned tribute. This great opening ceremony included the sight of close to 20,000 people in this huge arena, humbly lowering their heads in hushed tribute as they offered up two moments of silence.

The silence in what is usually a quite noisy arena was appropriately moving.

This ceremony didn’t take long but it was quite effective.

And then a funny thing happened. We’re used to sitting in the 100 Level (the lowest level), but usually in the ends, rarely along the side, as we were Thursday night.

So there we were, standing and singing the national album, as usual, and some dooffus behind us whacks us in the back of the head with the edge of his Sens flag. Annoyed, we turn around to give him heck. (Yes, we assumed it was a guy.)

Imagine our surprise in discovering it’s NOT someone’s personal Sens flag. In fact it’s the City’s HUGE Canada flag and we just happen to be on the lower edge of it as it moves from Section to Section. Once we realize what it is, we gladly join in, stretching our arms high and proudly helping pass this flag overhead.

I should also note that later in the game, during a TV time-out, there was another tribute made, via the scoreboard. I missed the intro, but when I looked up and saw the picture, name and years of service for the soldier being honoured, I quickly joined everyone else in applauding. Within seconds, without urging, we were all on our feet, still clapping.

I looked around and all the players AND all the on-ice officials (refs and linesmen) were also applauding. Felt good, on this day.

**Game On For All Kinds Of Fans

**

Well the Sedin Twins sure didn’t waste any time showing us there stuff. Good thing I remembered to inform my wife Mariette that their jersey numbers were 33 (Henrik) and 22 (Daniel) just as the game was starting and just before their opening goal — scored within something like 22 seconds of the opening face off. 🙁

I think there were probably more Canucks fans in the building for tonight’s sell out (19,000+) than Leaf fans when Toronto comes to town.

There was also a wide variety of Canuck sweaters, featuring just about every logo and colour scheme the team ever employed. There was a gentleman in front of me, who’d brought his mom to the game, who kind of fooled me with his red sweater. It was obvious from his cheering he was a Vancouver fan but as I said to Mariette: “When did the Canucks ever wear red?”

Mystery solved after the first goal when he turned around to celebrate, revealing that he was wearing a Team Canada sweater from the Vancouver Olympics. (I left mine at home in favour of my red Sens #4 Phillips jersey.)

He joked that he was in disguise so he wouldn’t be harassed but I figured it was a pretty thin disguise if for someone jumping all over the place and screaming like a wild man when the Canucks scored. (My kind of fan.)

He also had the habit of joining other Canuck fans in screaming “Louuuuuu!” every time an Ottawa shot bounced of goalie Roberto Luongo’s chest. (Far too often for our beloved Sens to have any chance of winning this high-speed contest.)

For his first game back from injury, Sens goaltender Pascal Leclair didn’t seem to play that poorly. It just seemed that at certain times when Vancouver jumped into overdrive, the boys in front of Leclair just couldn’t prevent the Canucks from scoring.

Take Henrik Sedin in the near corner in Ottawa’s end. Without looking, a behind-the-back pass along the back boards to his brother Daniel in the other corner, who immediately dishes it out front, where a one timer hits the back of the net almost before we can track where the puck went when Henrik seemed to just dump it somewhere.

Hard to blame Leclair (or any goaltender) on that kind of superb, instinctive, blindingly fast play.

Other times Leclair made some fine stops, even if he wasn’t always sure where the puck went.

I did ask the “Louuu”-chanter in front of me what we were supposed to shout when Leclair made a save — “Luhhhhhhh!”?

**Quebec City and Toronto Check In

**

Next to me on my right was a young gentleman who, at the start of the game, I thought was going to do a rapid-fire, play-by-play, en francaise, into his cell phone. Fortunately the call didn’t last long and he switched to using his phone to snap a couple of post-goal photos — of the players getting ready for the face-off at centre ice and of the scored-upon goaltender standing alone in his net. Me, I just silently scratched my head as I watched him.

Fortunately he put the phone away and we got to chat. Since he and the other young gentleman with him were conversing in French, I asked if they were Montreal Canadiens fans. “No,” he said with a big smile, “Nordiques!” I happily let him know that we are all in favour of Quebec City getting its NHL franchise back.

Mariette was on my left. On her left were two gentlemen from Toronto.

They weren’t wearing hockey jerseys, but readily admitted where they were from once asked. “You’re not going to shout ‘Go Leafs, Go!” are you?” I asked. The one beside Mariette chuckled. “No,” he said, Not tonight.”

Even if they hadn’t told us they were from Toronto, we would have guessed when they were late for the start of the second period — casually making their way to their seats some eight minutes into the action.

I don’t believe they’ve ever sat in the Platinum, or even Gold, seats at the Air Canada Centre in Toronto. They were too surprised and excited when they first arrived at their seats at Scotiabank Place — across the aisle from the blue-line end of the Sens bench and 11 rows up. They almost couldn’t believe how close to the ice they were.

I gather it’s almost an impossibility for the average Leafs fan to get such seats at the ACC in Toronto. This reminded me of when we went to a Blue Jays home game in August when they hosted the New York Yankees. There were plenty of Yankee fans all around us where we sat, 15 rows up, just past third base, including a whole family to my right. I got chatting with the mom and she confirmed that they come to Toronto to see their Yankees because they can’t get seats this close to the game, and at anywhere near this price ($71 ea) at Yankee Stadium.

Anyway, the Toronto lads next to us admitted they learnt this Toronto style of being fashionably late in returning to the high-priced seats from watching Leafs home games on TV.

They never made it back to their seats for the third period.

Joshing With The Canucksters

Beyond them were more Canucks fans. Some even wearing team jerseys. In fact I saw a whole variety of Canucks jerseys with every logo and colour scheme the team ever tried. Remember those yellow jerseys with what looked like a skate slashing across the front?

Several rows up behind us and across the aisle were two or three rows of Canucks fans all in one place, wearing an assortment of jerseys. There was one muscular young man sitting on the aisle with a Canuck jersey with the name “Bertruzzi” written across the back of the shoulders.

I couldn’t help, in passing, stopping in feigned confusion. Scratching my beard and putting a puzzled look on my face, I said: “Bertruzzi? Bertruzzi? What team does he play for?” Having made it clear, by overacting, that I was just having a bit of fun, he gave me a sheepish look and said, “Detroit.” We both chuckled. Which was certainly better than him getting up and punching me in the head as I walked away. (Ouch. Couldn’t resist saying that here, and NOT to his face.)

Unfortunately this large cluster of Canuck fans weren’t very good singers. When the score got out of hand in the third period, the truly mangled the “Hey, Hey, Goodbye” song. And I had to cringe and hope there were no Habs fans anywhere close when these guys couldn’t get anywhere close to the proper tempo for the “Ole” chant.

And when the score got to be 5-1 for the Canucks and they started chanting “Pizz-a! Pizz-a!” we knew it was time to get out of there.

A One-sided Score, Tired Driver And Early Exit

Actually Mariette was tired from a hard day at work and it was well past her bedtime, so I agreed to leave early late in the third period. Also, the handicapped lot where we park fills up with idling taxi cabs as the end of the game nears and it can be nice to get out and exit before the chaos of cabs, cars and the occasional ambulance and Para-Transpo van, or two, make things difficult.

On the way up the stairs, I had to say a friendly goodnight to the Canuck crowd. “You guys can’t sing worth beans,” I leaned in and said. “But your team earned its win and I hope you all had a great time.” That comment, and a big thumbs up all around, made our exit a little easier. Except they again began croaking out “Hey, Hey, Goodbye” as we completed our climb to the exit, cringing along with the Ottawa fans sitting behind these terrible troubadours.

By the way, they DIDN’T really chant “Pizz-a! Pizz-a!” That’s what Senators fans chant when Ottawa scores five goals because if the team scores a sixth goal, those at the game can cash in their ticket stubs the next day at a Pizza Pizza outlet for a free slice of pizza. When it does happen, I’m pretty sure the majority of the crowd never cashes in on this giveaway. But they still like the feeling of earning a free pizza — if they took the trouble to go claim it.

Friendly rivalry, kibbitzing, shouting out faux trash talk and just having a good time, win or lose, that’s all part of really enjoying a live hockey game.

Ottawa Looked Good Even If It Was A Blowout

Despite the eventual score, Thursday night was the fastest and hardest I’ve seen the Sens play all year.

It was just that Vancouver was better.

Though Ottawa often spent more time in the Vancouver end than the Canucks did in our end, the Canucks did an excellent job of blocking the passing and shooting lanes, while still letting Luongo see just about every shot.

On offence, Vancouver had the skill and the cohesion, even at high speed, to bury their occasional scoring chances.

Ottawa didn’t. Too many shots from afar and not enough scrambling in front of the net for even a so-called dirty goal.

And yet it wasn’t a depressing game. Surely if Ottawa had played at this tempo against many of the teams they’ve already played, they’d have absolutely whumped them all.

Vancouver IS a superior team. They were well rested and at times seemed to attack like fast and furious ferrets. To their credit, the Sens stayed with them, and outshot them, for much of the game.

They just didn’t have the finesse, or luck, to bury their scoring chances.

“HENRIK, YOUR BROTHER IS UGLY!”

One of the main reasons to go to this game, our first Sens home game of the year, was to see such a skilled team in action, especially the amazing Sedin twins. (I did get a huge laugh in our section when, stealing from a sign I saw on a televised Canucks game, I shouted: “HENRIK, YOUR BROTHER IS UGLY!”)

Mariette doesn’t know a lot of the players on opposing teams, especially those from the west who play in Ottawa every few years. But she (as I did) got great pleasure witnessing Henrik and Daniel weave their amazing magic.

Last year we made a point of seeing the Blackhawks live during one of their rare visits to Scotiabank Place. As predicted, it meant that I, and especially Mariette, could identify with the Chicago players that much more as they later went on their amazing run to the Stanley Cup.

This year, if, as many expect, Vancouver ends up as the western finalist in the Stanley Cup, again we will be able to relate more to the players, having seen them live, close up, and in action, rather tremendous action.

Hmmm. The Senators go on the road now. Their next home game is Nov. 22 against the Los Angeles Kings. Oh dear. Don’t they have some stars and aren’t they in contention to rival Vancouver?

They certainly don’t come to town often. We’ll just have to see.

[Recent exchange on Facebook]

SUE: Why were you back in hospital Bill?

BILL: Sue. After my last blog entry — Tales From Heart Land — I decided to try to stop boring people (and myself?) with details of my health issues and medical misadventures.

So, while I can provide more details in private, let me just say here that things suddenly went seriously out of whack and it looked like I might finally be experiencing the serious system failure (kidneys) of which the possibility (probability?) hangs over my head like whatchamacallit’s famous sword.

I was already somewhat out of control at home when my doctor got my latest lab results. He called me in, informed me that a key number had suddenly shot through the roof and sent me directly to hospital to be admitted on an emergency basis.

By the time I got there my usually reliable blood pressure was sooo low, a doctor later confessed they were making bets as to whether I’d even make it in through the Emergency door. I BARELY did.

After two nights and two days in an Emergency treatment room [in a curtained-off cubicle] with about a dozen others, a [private hospital] room finally became available and about two days later I was well enough to go home.

I have to say that even after recovering from two heart attacks in ICU, this recent stay was THE MOST HELLISH time I’ve ever spent in hospital.

Some days I’m tempted to write at least a lengthy blog item — Echoes From Hallucinatory Hallways — if not a whole book, on just those couple of weeks. But the kidneys are hanging in there, my infection has been cured, I’ve been re-hydrated and though weak as hell, I AM improving.

Ooops. Forget about getting the details in private. The storyteller in me has me spilling most of the details here after all. Well, at least I can say that you, my friend, asked. (warm smile) BTW, would love to have coffee with you anywhere anytime. {{{Sue}}}

p.s. One of the worst experiences at home was collapsing (a second time) WITHOUT passing out in the process. I would have preferred blankness rather than being sort of aware of everything but totally helpless as I collapsed and even manged to bump the back of my head on the way down.

As I say, it was NOT a fun experience and you can perhaps see why I was so happy to be able to walk out of the hospital on my own two feet, and feeling MUCH better.

What do you do when your body starts beeping?

[Advance note: Feel free to add even a short Comment to let me know you were here. And if anyone makes it all the way through, let me know that as well. (g)]

A while back, on a dreary, overcast afternoon, I was sitting on the couch wondering what to do next.

I’d finished my breakfast (brunch? late lunch?) and finished reading that day’s newspaper.

Unlike the previous two days, the sun was NOT shining so bright it made watching TV difficult. But I’d had enough TV and I lacked the energy for puttering (writing, playing, posting?) on the computer.

Though I’ve been spending too much time in bed, a nap was starting to sound the best.

Then I heard a truck backing up outside. You know, that “beep-beeep, beep-beeep” signal they have to use to warn people who might be in the way? I figured someone was getting some new furniture and I was just nosey enough to wonder who.

As the truck got nearer, I expected it to slide into view where the curtains were opened. When the “beep-beeep, beep-beeep” got strong enough to suggest the truck was right out front, I was surprised I still couldn’t see it. So I stood and kind of leaned forward to one side to peer around the edge of the curtain. Still no truck but even with my poor hearing, the signal seemed pretty loud and steady.

As I sat back down it dawned on me. The signal was so loud because it was COMING FROM ME!

Flash back to Christmas Eve seven years ago. I’d had my second heart attack, one that was totally different from the first.

Update before flashback

Oops. Forget the flashback. I just finished writing most of it, and it goes on forever explaining my heart attacks and defibrillator/pacemaker implant and, well much of my cardiac-related history. I decided if anyone is interested, they can read all the fascinating, first-hand, background stuff, after I post the current update. (g)

Due to technical issues detailed later on here, I tested the battery in my implant every week by running a painted magnet, the sized of a small donut, over the bulge in my chest. If this triggered a 30-second tone — which it always did — this meant the battery was still good.

This “beep-beeep, beep-beeep” didn’t sound the least like the test tone. So I grabbed my magnet and tested and the tone I got was no longer steady. It was alternating. More like a “bee-beep, bee-beep” which was new, but still different than that “beep-beeep” thing, which had fortunately stopped just after I finally realized it was coming from me.

So I called the Pacemaker Clinic at the Heart Institute but by then it was too late in the day and they were closed.

Now my last regular visit to the clinic had been less than two weeks prior to this. At that time I had noted that while it could be a product of my faulty hearing, the test tone had sounded a bit fainter and had seemed to cut out and then resume after a handful of seconds.

Surgery on the horizon

They tested and things were fine but they decided that I should probably get it replaced this summer. So they’d have me back in two months instead of three and at that time they would start the paperwork to set up day-surgery to replace the implant.

They assured me that even if the battery started going the very next day, I was guaranteed it would keep functioning for three full months, well past the two-month timetable for me to return.

So, frankly, I didn’t panic when I figured out this new beeping thing.

It came back the next day around the same time — close to 5 p.m. — but then didn’t come back any more.

By then I was distracted by the arrival of another medical problem — the return of the dreaded sciatica — which wasn’t as bad as the worst-case which triggered a back operation way back when. But it was painful, on top of my usual, chronic, um, discomfort and it did leave me partially immobilized.

But several days later when the sciatica finally STARTED to fade a bit, I was back to thinking about my implant.

This time I called the Clinic during work hours and got an appointment for the next day.

Turns out the “beep-beeep” thing was a signal that the battery had dipped below a certain charge level. Oddly enough, after sounding this warning, it went back up, which is why the beeping stopped.

Keeps going and going …

Anyway, they decided why bother to wait. These implants are supposed to be good for five to seven years and I passed the seven year mark last December. So we did the paperwork to set in motion a call, which I eventually received, to set up a date for minor surgery to replace the unit. (To replace the battery, they have to replace the whole unit.)

Barring complications, it would be a 30-minute job under local anesthetic. Open the pocket they made in my chest wall — not that far under the skin, so the thing does bulge out a bit. Unscrew the leads — which are two wires, each going to a particular chamber inside my heart. Remove the implant and replace it with a new one. Reattach the leads and close me back up again.

Right now the leads look good under external testing. But if there are any complications with the leads, then they’ll put me out and do whatever extra they have to do.

Fortunately I don’t take any blood thinners, which can make things more difficult. Also, they turned off (down?) the pacemaking function of my implant at the Clinic to see what my pulse is on its own. To see if I have a high enough pulse for when I am on the table or whether they’ll have to attach me to a temporary, external pacemaker.

At around 36 and 37 bps, they figure that I will be fine, especially as I’ll just be resting on the operating table.

If everything goes well, which I expect it will — I’m about 90⁺ per cent confident, just enough to prevent overconfidence — it’s simply a matter of go in early in the morning and home later in the afternoon.

Then it’s take it easy — yeah, something I’m good at — be careful with that shoulder and manage the dressing as the site heals.

Though they remind one that surgery is surgery and nothing comes with a 100% guarantee, I’m not that nervous. In fact I probably leave that 10% or less for nervousness just to keep from possibly jinxing myself (tongue-firmly-in-cheek) from being overconfident. (g)

So why even write about it? Well I don’t expect or want people to be concerned, but they might be curious about what it’s like, having a heart condition, defib/pacemaker implant, and all that stuff. You know me, I like to share.

And with that in mind, here at last is the flashback and, as promised, all that history of how I got to this point.

The first heart attack

The first one hit while I was playing ball hockey with friends on a rather warm spring day. When the chest pain persisted, I decided to drop my hockey stick from one hand and my cigarette from the other, and head over to sit a spell in the car, sideways, with the door open.

After a bit my pal Steve called over, “Bill, if you want to go home, I’ll drop of the nets and stuff after the game.”

I thought that a good idea, except, by now my arms were so numb I didn’t think I could drive. And my chest was so sore I was afraid I’d lose my breath if I tried to shout back, or call anyone over.

When I didn’t do anything in response, Steve came over. One look and he pretty well guessed what was happening. “Just drive me home,” I croaked.

Which he did, trying to do a five-minute drive in two minutes or less. As we bounced over the railway tracks on Greenbank Road, I begged him to slow down. “Christ Steve,” I whispered. “Slow down or you’re gonna kill me before I even get to the hospital.”

“Should you be swearing when you may be dying?” he asked.

Well, he didn’t say that. I just made that line up right now. But he SHOULD have said something like that, and probably would have if he hadn’t gone almost as white as, and a little more freaked out than, his passenger.

Steve-o, my real-life hero

What he did do was slow down a bit and get me home safely. So, right now, I give public and heartfelt thanks to my former colleague, good friend, smoking-, drinking-, video-producing partner, Steve Proulx for keeping it together in what must have been a scary moment.

My dear wife Mariette the nurse says she took one look at my pale, sweaty face as I got out of the car and shuffled up the laneway and KNEW I was having a heart attack.

When I insisted I wasn’t going to the hospital in my holey, tattered, ball-hockey jeans, she knew enough not to argue and had my lie on the couch while she grabbed me some more presentable trousers and quickly arranged for someone to look after the kids.

When we got to the Emergency Department, they were a little annoyed that we hadn’t called and waited for an Ambulance. Hell, once I had the pants I wanted, I was too impatient for that. (g)

No waiting

Anyway, there was no waiting. They took me right in and a host of medical types started hovering all around me doing Lord all knows what. But there were TWO things I most remember.

First, they gave me morphine for the pain BUT it didn’t seem to work. That is, it didn’t make the pain go away. When I asked about it, I was told that contrary to what I assumed — make it to the hospital, quick shot, no more pain — the pain could last from an hour to 24 hours. Yikes! (Fortunately it eased soon enough.)

The second thing was the sight of the paddles. Everything was happening half in a dream and half in super reality. I was too fascinated to be really scared. Until someone wheeled over the crash cart and I caught sight of the paddles. You know. Rub ‘em together. Someone says “CLEAR!” And ZAP! the patient bucks under the sudden jolt of electricity. I was gratefully relieved when they didn’t have to use them.

In fact things turned out fairly well when after a slightly scary stay in ICU, no further medical procedures were required. Oh, I went through all the post-heart-attack rehab and stuff. And did everything a heart patient has to do, forever more. But it seemed that while a small segment of my heart’s outer wall died during the heart attack, my heart, on its own, created a web of tiny arteries to detour around that spot so no further medical intervention was needed. Not like with the second heart attack.

The paddles — round 2

My next heart attack years later was much different. I wasn’t doing anything at the time and there was no chest pain. But I did feel fluttery as my heart seemed to be racing more and more.

So again we headed to the Emergency where again we were taken in right away. This time, though, things were markedly different.

For one thing, looking into the eyes of the doctor and nurses gathered around me for reassurance, I saw real apprehension. THAT made me nervous.

They moved real quick and the doctor gave me a quick explanation as they brought in the paddles. He informed me my heart was racing out of control. Nowadays I like to think of it doing some wild, innovative but impromptu drum solo. But it obviously wasn’t a laughing matter then.

I also learned something else new. I’m used to seeing doctors in movies and TV shows use the paddles to try and restart a person’s heart. I thought that was what they were for.

After informing me my heart was racing out of control, the doctor explained they had to, in the next few moments, put me out and administer the paddles to STOP my heart. The thought being that when it, hopefully, restarted, it would restart with a proper rhythm. In other words, the paddles were to reboot my heart. And they’d do it again and again, with ever higher charges, till my heart responded properly.

So that was it. Minutes after arrival I was out cold and when I next opened my eyes there was obvious happiness and relief in the eyes of those around me. Turned out they only had to use the paddles once on a small charge and my good old, long-suffering heart responded beautifully.

Christmas Eve, 2002

Which, if you’re still with me, brings me to Christmas Eve, 2002. Turned out that before I could go home, following ICU and all that, I had to get my own set of paddles. But they couldn’t be the regular kind of defibrillator. I mean one can hardly apply them to oneself. How would you hold on to them as your body bucked from the charge?

No, the answer lay within. Fortunately, we now have defibrillators that can now be implanted inside the patient’s chest wall. Not only that, but more fortunately — having seen samples of early, much larger and cruder prototypes and such — they’re now the size of a flat-faced pocket watch.  (Sorry, I thought and thought and that’s the closest thing I could come up with. “A fat cookie” just didn’t sound right.) LOL

Even better, they come with a pacemaking function as well.

Trouble was it was Christmas Eve and they had a full schedule of implants to do and I was likely to have to wait a few days there in the Heart Institute (part of the Ottawa Hospital). But the staff went above and beyond the call of duty and at the end of the day, managed to squeeze me in. I’ll be forever grateful to that young Aussie doctor in Canada to learn all about doing these implants. He must have done a helluva job because mine has served me well long past its due date.

Which brings me back, at long last, to the “beep-beeeping.”

Shocking developments

But first I should probably note that it didn’t take long to learn that the defibrillator worked. There was only one problem. I HATED how it felt when it worked. For two reasons — that there is NO warning and once it does go off, for every second afterwards, you dread it’s going to go off again.

The first time was like a punch to the chest, that drove me to one knee. The pain was fleeting but the shock effect was debilitating. I wasn’t doing anything when it went off and I had no idea when it might go off again.

You can’t believe how hard it is to get over that dread. There is no warning. There is no little man inside to yell “Clear!” You don’t have to be doing anything at the time to trigger the sudden internal shock.

I had a couple of other minor “events” but the telling one came one day when I was sitting in the, um, library. Flash! Zap! It was like an explosion inside lasting less than a second, but oh what an aftermath. Oh what a shock. My arms and legs were instantly and involuntarily flung wide apart. The book in my hand — fortunately a paperback — went flying across the bathroom and bounced off the mirror.

I sagged, afraid to move in case it triggered another one.

That thick layer of dread

I eventually got up and went to inform Mariette, telling her in no uncertain terms that I could NOT take it anymore. One call and we were off to the Heart Institute. On the way, I sat hunched in the passenger seat, wrapped in my winter coat and an equally thick layer of dread. Zap! It hit again. Milder this time, but almost enough to make me cry.

I think there was one more milder Zap before we made it to the hospital.

The upshot was that I was placed on beta-blockers to prevent my heart from racing and my pulse from rising to the point that it triggers the defibrillator.

What a relief. I haven’t been zapped since.

It wasn’t long after that that we got word there was an Alert on the model and batch number of the defibrillator/pacemaker implant I and many others had received. It seemed there had been a couple of cases in the U.S. of the batteries suddenly and prematurely losing much of their charge. No patients suffered in any way, but it was enough for them to send out a warning and propose certain procedures.

So we were called in and given a choice — have a new implant, which wasn’t recommended (for good reasons I won’t go into here), or receive a paint-covered magnet the size of a small donut with which to test one’s implant on a regular basis.

Most, if not all, of us opted for the latter, briefly testing daily and quickly switching to weekly. We also had regular check-ups at the clinic at the Heart Institute ever three months instead of every six months. (In the end, no one else with this particular brand/batch number (whatever) ever had a problem with their implant, including yours truly.)

Each time I visited, they’d connect leads to my wrists and ankles and hang a mouse-like thing over my implant and download three months worth of data. (The funny thing is this is about the only time these days that I see anyone still use 3.5-inch floppy disks. I think they are required by the hardware.)

I always got an “Excellent.” They’d have the doctor double check the results and we’d make any changes we thought appropriate.

So after seven years and an extra three months, this implant, as the saying goes, doesn’t owe me anything. It’s been a tried and true friend on guard inside me and I hope the new one works just as well.

So now I’m ready. Got my new socks, new underwear — ruling out any chance of showing up with fresh-burgeoning holes in either. Got my slippers, housecoat, non-scented body wash for before hand, book (and Nintendo DS) to keep me occupied while waiting. And now I’ve notified family and friends — in case they get wind of “an operation?” —  and I’m all set.

See you guys when I’m back on my feet. Love you all!

[Reminder: Feel free to add even a short Comment to let me know you were here. And if anyone makes it all the way through this, let me know that as well. (g)]

And other weekend sports highlights

My son, who convinced me to start this blog, used to chide me when I’d post long Comments on Facebook. “Put them on your blog,” he’d say. “That’s what it’s for.”

Of course the problem was often I didn’t mean to write a long Comment, it just turned out that way. (Of course there are many who would note that “Provick could never write short,” which in journalism wasn’t really a compliment.)

Recently I was preparing another Comment in a discussion of soccer (known as football, outside North America) and while writing it in my head, it kept growing and growing. So I decided that this time I WOULD post it here, and key to it in Facebook.

Of course the darn thing grew so long in my head, it became intimidating and I had to wait until I had some energy to try getting it typed out. I don’t know how long I’ll last. (Do I hear foolish voices in the background saying “Why not just keep it short and to the point?” Now I ask you, where’s the fun in that?) LOL

But I’ve been super stimulated, having just come from the midst of a raucous crowd, over 20,000 strong, at a Leafs-Senators game. Yes, it turned out that THIS, in the end, was the Tuesday in question for that game. But that’s enough of that, for reasons obvious to Sens and Leaf fans. (sigh) (g)

Any way, here goes. Let’s start with the conversation in question.

[From Facebook]

** **Bill Provick: Re. football (soccer) and the UEFA Cup. I used to prefer Fake Madrid to Real Madrid [editor’s note: a joke] but now that Real [pronounced “Ree-al] Madrid has one of my favourite players, Rinaldo, I was sort of cheering for them here. Guess if they don’t score in the last few minutes to go 2-1, they’re out.

Bettina Goodwin: Isn’t Rinaldo the cry baby? I may have the wrong guy but I thought he was the whiner. My favourite player is Modric who plays for Tottenham (Peter’s favourite team).

Bill Provick: I don’t get to see Rinaldo nearly enough, for my liking. But I don’t recalls seeing him whine, or hearing about him being a whiner. Of course I’m used to some of the best players in hockey — Gretzky, Crosby, etc. — being labelled whiners. It’s usually done out of envy and/or due to the fact they are also students of the game and know enough to question situations and rulings. As for Tottenham, sorry, never heard of them. Which division do they play in? (wg)

Bill Provick: Another of my favourites is former Calgary boy Owen Hargreaves who plays for Man U. Wait a minute. Calgary. Cowboys. Chaps. Spurs. Hot spurs. Oh THAT Tottenham. (Cue the music) “My name is Luka …” (wg)

Bettina Goodwin: Hey, I’m on repeating what was told to me by Peter and Allison, and Allison actually liked Rinaldo. As for Tottenham, they have managed to go from a mediocre team the last few years to a team that has done pretty well this year. They were usually bottom of the rankings but this year they are actually winning games. In fact they are winning a game right now against Blackburn. 🙂

[And now …]

It’s a good thing you didn’t tell me the score. Discovering that Sportsnet had picked it up from Sentata (which we don’t subscribe to) to air Saturday night as its Game of the Week, I recorded it on our PVR.

(For those unfamiliar with a PVR (Personal Video Recorder), they come from your cable company and allow you to record up to two programs at the same time on a hard disk, replacing one’s VCR, though you can record from a PVR to a VCR. Oddly enough, though there is no tape in a PVR, we still say things like “Did you tape that show?” or “Did you set that show to tape at 9 p.m.?”)

So while I the game recorded, I hadn’t watched it yet when I saw your post about them being in the process of winning against the (Blackburn) Rovers from Lancashire. Which made it a little weird when I finally did get to watch. The Rovers seemed to have the better of the play early on and each time they attacked on goal, I got keyed up expecting a possible score. Only to have to remind myself that if the (Tottenham) Hot Spurs were winning when you posted, it was unlikely that the Rovers scored first.

Also, if I heard right, the Spurs were striving to remain in the top four of the Premier League. (According to the March 16 standings, Tottenham is indeed in fourth place and Blackburn is 12th, out of 20 teams.) So they are indeed doing well this year.

Racing through the previously recorded

But before I got to the soccer/football game, I had a few other things to watch first.

I managed to sleep in Sunday — despite some nasty health complications that I, for once, WON’T go into/bore people with. (g) Of course my darling wife, Mariette, with no prompting from me, taped recorded the opening race of the new Formula 1 season, the Bahrain Grand Prix in arid Manama, Bahrain.

Despite some new rules to add some excitement, it was still a bit of the dreaded “conga line” for which F1 has become known. One interesting change meant here’s no longer any refuelling in the pits allowed during the race, so pit stops are incredibly fast. Like a mere three seconds to change all four tires and they’re right back out.

I liked watching pole sitter Sebastian Vettel put the pettel to the mettel, but just when second-place Fernando Alonso, in his first race for Ferrari, seemed about to catch and challenge Vettel, driving for Red Bull, Vettel dropped back a few positions from what was reported as a cracked exhaust system. What I found interesting was that the Red Bull team had apparently designed a new exhaust system that vented out the back of the car. (Meaning anyone following too close had to be careful their car didn’t overheat in Vettel’s scorching slipstream.)

Apparently, to keep competitors from noticing the change during pre-season practice sessions, team Red Bull put decals on the car whose graphics simulated regular exhaust vents in the regular spot on the car.

The race was also Michael Schumacher’s return to F1 after a three-year retirement. He now drives for Mercedes.

The other significant return was Felipe Massa in the other Ferrari. Massa was seriously injured last July and had to be replaced for the rest of the season.During qualifying for the Hungarian Grand Prix, a part fell off Rubens Barrichello’s car on a high-speed part of the track and struck Massa in the helmet. He was airlifted to hospital in “life-threatening but stable” condition. Fortunately he improved rapidly in hospital, though he eventually had to have a titanium plate placed in his head to strengthen it for racing.

He showed no signs of any problems Sunday in a successful return to F1, finishing second to teammate Alonso. (Lewis Hamilton finished third and Vettel finished just off the podium in fourth.)

Straw power

The most interesting thing about the race I found out later while reading the Ottawa Citizen which informed me that part of the fuel used in the victorious Ferraris comes from Ottawa. And you know how I love noting local connections.

The paper told how a farm south of Ottawa, Double Diamond Farms, collects straw from surrounding farmers and ships it to a biofuel manufacturer, Iogen Corp., of Ottawa. Iogen uses the straw to produce “cellulosic ethanol” which it supplies to Royal Dutch Shell, which adds it to the gasoline it sells Ferrari. Shell has the contract to supply all of fuel this F1 season to Ferrari for its F1 cars.

F1 rules say biocomponents must make up 5.75%, by weight, of the gasoline. And Iogen is apparently the only one in the world making such large amounts — “We’re talking about several thousand litres of fuel here — of cellulosic ethanol.

What’s really neat is that this form of ethanol doesn’t divert any crops from the food chain. The straw is what’s left over when the grain has been harvested for food. Also, Iogen burns other components of the straw fibre to produce electricity to run the plant. Burning part of the star provides 80 to 90 per cent of the power required to run the plant.

Who would have thunk it? Those blistering fast Ferraris running — and winning races — on Ottawa Valley straw. Coool!

Women drivers

Mariette also recorded for me the first race of the new Izod Indy Car season, the Sao Paulo Indy in Brazil.

This street course race was, as usual, much more competitive than the F1 race.

One of the funniest moments had nothing to do with cars and racing. The announcer, cutting to commercial, made a Freudian slip (pun intended) when cutting to commercial. He reminded viewers they were watching this Indy car race from “Sao Paulo, Brassiere … uh … Brazil.” I even rewound and played it for Mariette when she came by the living room. (g)

The slip may have been due to the number of women in the race — four, twice the usual number. The two established female drivers were Milka Duno and Danica Patrick. You may have heard that last name, even if you only know her as the Go-Daddy Girl. Danica finished well back in 15th spot, and for once it wasn’t all Danica, Danica, Danica, as it has been in the past and is quickly becoming in NASCAR’s Nationwide Series.

The two rookies were Simona De Silvestro and Ana Beatriz.

Silvestro actually lead the race for a while, before having to drop back, then drop out, with technical problems. She finished 16th. Duno finished 19th. And Beatriz was the top woman, finishing in 13th place.

The race was punctuated with a brief rain storm right in the middle of all the action. Those drivers who switched to rain tires early enough did alright, while those still on slicks tended to spin out all over the track.

The race was stopped, just about as the rain stopped, so crews could remove the standing water (puddles) from the track.

Unfortunately Canadian driver Alex Tagliani, after running up near the front, crashed before rain became a factor. Coming down a straight stretch and just before a sharp right-handed turn, he was smashed into from behind by Dan Wheldon. Tagliani’s car was hurled against the wall before sliding into Tony Kanaan’s distinctive 7/11 car, pushing both of them down the run-off lane.

Kanaan managed to keep his car firing and returned to the race, finishing 10th. Tagliani’s damage was too severe, and he was out, finishing second-last at 23.

Up and over — Mario “tops” Marco

Mariette missed recording the start of the race but I saw the replay of the scary accident that sent Marco Andretti out. It was your typical first-lap, first-corner multi-car pileup but Marco got the worst scare when when the car of Mario Moraes went right over Marco and his car. Apparently at one point one of Moraes’s tires was in Marco’s cockpit, but he was OK. (See http://www.indycar.com/news/show/55-izod-indycar-series/34773-quick-response-creates-exciting-racing/ for video.)

In the end, Australian Will Power finished 1st for Team Penske, American Ryan Hunter-Reay was 2nd for Andretti Autosport and Brazilian Victor Meira finished 3rd, driving for A. J. Foyt Enterprises. My personal favourite, Scotsman Dario Franchitti finished 6th, for Target Chip Ganassi Racing, after having started from the pole.

If you’re wondering about the name Dario, Franchitti WAS born in Scotland — and has the accent to prove it — but of Italian descent. Unfortunately I didn’t see any shots of his wife, American actress Ashley Judd, pit-side, which is usually a highlight for me. (wg)

Blades of fury at Paralympics

After auto racing came Sledge Hockey at the Paralympics in Vancouver. Now THERE is an intense sport.

Sledge Hockey is played by players who lack use of their legs. They sit strapped to streamlined sleighs resting on two sets of parallel skate blades — one up front, one at back under the player’s butt, with a gap between front and back pairs. The players use two smaller and MUCH shorter hockey sticks, one in each hand. The butt end of the sticks have spikes to dig into the ice as players use the sticks to propel themselves about — a bit like using ski poles. The blades of the sticks are used to control (or try to control) the puck and to shoot.

Oh, and this is DEFINITELY a contact sport. Checking, otherwise known as slamming full force into each other, is not only allowed but encouraged.

In the part of the Canada vs. Sweden game I got to watch, Canada built up a 10-1 score. However, there was NO sign of shame, humiliation or even let down on the Swedish players. In fact so fierce was the game, if you didn’t know the score, you’d assume it was a highly competitive, CLOSE game.

We will ROCK you!

While on the subject of the Paralympics, I should note that on Saturday I watched parts of the Opening Ceremonies that Mariette had also recorded. I have to tell you, the parts I saw were quite dynamic. Since they were mostly musical in nature, I can only compare them to similar segments of the Closing Ceremonies of the recent Winter Games. These performances were FAR more dynamic.

I didn’t catch his name but the one-legged rock singer from Montreal, who made a dramatic entrance racing all around the stadium floor on a three-wheeled motorcycle before mounting the rising platform in the middle, was absolutely terrific.

It didn’t matter that his arms were deformed and he had to use special canes/crutches — I like to call them walking sticks — to get around. So assured was he that in mere moments you didn’t see these handicaps, you just saw this amazing guy belting out a song that rocked the whole stadium.

I LOVE when that happens. I love when someone merely works with what they have, totally ignoring their handicaps, making them invisible to us because they act like they don’t see them. Only one leg? All the better to do spins and show off these leather pants.

This one guy was so electrifying that he made Nickleback, at the Closing Ceremonies of the 2010 Winter Olympics, seem totally, well again, pardon the pun, but the best word is lame.

There was another guy, I think from Toronto, who apparently lacked the use of his two legs and also used special walking sticks. And boy could he move on those babies. Which was good, because he’s a hip hop dancer. Not just that, but an exceptional one.

Also performing on the central raised platform, he was surrounded by able-bodied dancers combining hip hop and break dancing and I’m not sure what all else. This guy had no trouble keeping up with them. He was easily the star of the show NOT because of the obvious handicaps he had to overcome but simply because he was THAT good at his chosen means of artistic impression.

Both these guys truly rocked the place and the huge crowd, with simply couldn’t sit still, loved them. As did we.

I can’t underline enough that it WASN’T their handicaps that made them and their performances special. It was their obvious talent and exciting performances that made them truly special.

Hey, didn’t I just see you 25 years ago?

I think it was somewhere around then, after the Sledge Hockey, that we took a break for dinner. Thankfully this week Mariette took over cooking duties while I was slightly out of commission.

A funny thing happened as we were trying to finish up our plates. A red mini-van pulled up out front. The doorbell rang. Mariette answered and after a few words, I think they were in French, ushered in a friend we hadn’t seen in 25 years.

I know it was 25 years ago because Robert and I were Beaver leaders together when our sons were 5, then 6, then 7 years old. Our oldest just turned 32 last month, so 32 minus 7 gave me 25. (g) (Beavers are one level below Cub Scouts.)

Robert and his wife still live in Barrhaven and he said he was out and about and thought he’d check to see if we were still at this address. Which we obviously were.

So we got caught up, on families and work and such. And I’m afraid since I don’t get to talk a lot — except to the cats — I tended to rattle on at times. They were the same old views I’ve expressed on government, big business, the economy, the importance of jobs, jobs, jobs for a stable society, and yadda yadda yadda.

Hey, I was on autopilot most of the time. And why not? I’ve probably bored people to tears over the years repeating all these stories and opinions but hey, Robert hadn’t heard me say any of this. LOL

So we had a nice, lonnnng chat and agreed to try and keep in touch now.

TV on demand, via PC

Now back to our underlying theme today — if you’re still with me — catching up on sporting events and programs via the power of PVRs.

Unfortunately, earlier in the week, I’d accidentally erased our recording of last week’s episode of The Amazing Race. At first Mariette never watched this show, thinking it was MY kind of reality series — like Survivor which she has always refused to watch a moment of — and not her kind — like So You Think You Can Dance (American and Canadian versions) and Ty ‘I like to shout’ Pennington’s Extreme Makeover (which I secretly dub the Sears infomercial. wg).

Anyway, a few seasons back I convinced her to give it a try and now it’s not only must-see TV for both of us, but we record it and love to watch it together.

(I also convinced her to try The Mole, which she ended up liking, but alas it was post-Anderson Cooper and didn’t return the following season.)

Now the American networks we get, via cable, make a big thing of offering episodes of their top shows online. Canadians soon discover you can visit those sites but NOT view the shows if you live outside America.

Fortunately Canadian networks, who carry many of the same shows, have made similar strides to make episodes available after their air dates. Some, like CTV and Global, even carry episodes as part of the cable company’s On Demand service.

Unfortunately we couldn’t find The Amazing Race under CTV On Demand, where it should be as CTV carries it and makes other shows available.

So after our visitor, we quickly watched the previous week’s episode of The Amazing Race on CTV’s website on my computer. Hurray for my wide-screen monitor and premium quality video card. (g) While watching on the computer, the new episode was recording on the PVR and we easily moved from the computer in the dining room back to the widescreen TV in the living room to watch that episode. (Jeff and Jordan from Big Brother, another show Mariette WON’T watch, are starting to get on my nerves and I think now I won’t mind if they are eliminated.)

Hurry! Hurry HARRRRD!!!

Now did I get to watch the soccer/football match? Not yet. As you’ve probably surmised by the subhead above, next came curling — the final game in the national men’s championship, known simply as The Brier.

Some sporting events lend themselves to skimming via a judicious use of the Fast Forward button. I can even get a good rhythm going in football games where I just watch the QB come to the line of scrimmage and run the play. At the end of the play, as players are picking themselves up off the field, it’s FF again to the QB once more coming out of the huddle.

Even hockey can be condensed, though not as much. Looks like that’ll be icing? FF before the puck crosses the blue line and don’t stop till the linesman about to drop the puck for the ensuing face off.

If I haven’t put together my own series of small highlight segments during a game, Mariette will often FF while keeping an eye on the score at the top of the screen, stopping and briefly re-winding to watch when a change signals a goal has been scored. This lets her watch a game, and one or two of HER shows I never bother to watch, before going to work in the morning.

Baseball does NOT lend itself to fast forwarding. I mean the leisurely pace with the possibility of something interesting popping up unexpectedly is a big part of the game’s charm.

While Mariette’s FF-till-the-score-changes method can be adopted for soccer/football as well, this game also doesn’t lend itself well to FF — except during those fake injury mini-dramas that often involve players writhing on the field in obvious agony for seemingly forever, until the trainer applies the “magic water” and they are miraculously healed.

(Funny thing, I NEVER dove in hockey, and I could NEVER fake an injury in soccer. I don’t know if it made me a lesser soccer player, but my first (second and third) inclination was to play on, especially if hurt. Might be a Canadian thing, I guess.)

“Sweep. Sweep!” … CRASH! … FF

While the cat and mouse aspect of curling means its sometimes leisurely pace can be something to savour, it DOES lend itself to a judicious use of FF. Like skip the sometimes seemingly endless strategy conversations and just FF to the rock coming out of the shooter’s hand and don’t FF again until all rocks come to rest. OK, Mariette’s a little gung ho on the latter. If she’s pretty sure she knows where it’ll end up and it’s not a key shot, she’ll be back on the FF button before the rock(s) stop.

Anyway, we hurried, but not too hard, during this championship game, cheering for the Glen Howard rink representing Ontario which had made it through the week-long round robin play, and their one playoff game, undefeated. We knew Glen — who used to play Third for his brother Russ before Russ moved to the Maritimes — was quite disappointed when he narrowly lost out to Alberta’s Kevin Martin rink in the Olympic trials. (Martin’s rink went on to win Gold for Canada at the Olympics.)

We were all disappointed when Glen and the boys lost to Alberta’s Kevin Koe (pronounced Koo-ee) on the very last shot of the extra end. Glen didn’t have last rock but his rock was shot rock with a bit of a bite out of the button (the centre dot). Koe not only had to draw to the button, but have his rock take a bigger bite than Glen’s. That’s what he did and suddenly Glen and the boys were bridesmaids again.

“Now where is my napkin?”

Now where was I? Oh yes, Tottenham Hot Spurs vs. Blackburn Rovers. At last. (OK, I feel a little bit guilty of making you wait this long.) (g)

Now where is my napkin with my notes on the game? LOL

OK. At first had a little trouble finding Tottenham midfielder Luka Modric (pronounced Mod-rich). It didn’t seem he was getting any touches on the ball because I didn’t here his name mentioned. When he was finally identified as No. 14 for the Spurs, I still didn’t think he got many touches. He did make two nice passes in the first half, but neither lead to anything.

I confess I became more focused on the dramatic attacks on left wing by Gareth Bale of the Spurs. And the spirited defending of Michel Salgado of the Rovers. It might have been the long hair and lack of height that reminded me a bit of me when I played men’s soccer here, before my first heart attack.

(There were mostly British guys on the team I was on, so, oddly enough, with my broomball background, I was able to adapt to their style of play. From them I learned expressions like “hard lines” and a few others I can’t seem to recall at this very moment. There were Canadians of other ancestry on the other teams and I quickly learned their different styles. For instance there was this fairly older veteran player from Argentina who would rather play keep away from two or three players than pass to ANY of his teammates.) LOL

I wasn’t impressed when on a Spurs corner, Salgado DIDN’T take two steps forward off the line to mark a Tottenham player who ended up slamming home the deflection from the corner kick, to give the Spurs their first goal.

Some of the players that caught my eye out there were Morten Gamst Pedersen and Christopher Samba for the Rovers and Roman Pavlyuchenko and Jermain Defoe for the Spurs.

What? No nil-nil draw? LOL

In the second half I was a bit surprised when Mordic actually broke into a bit of a run with the ball. Not only that, he then sent a beautiful long pass down field to Defoe who passed to I forget who in the centre for a nice goal for Tottenham.

I confess that since it was rather late in a long day of TV watching, I then FF until the score changed, thanks to a beautiful header by Samba to score for Blackburn on a corner kick. That one I slo-mo’d the broadcaster’s slo-mo (slow motion) to study and savour. Boy did his eyes light up as he leaped so high above everyone else to head the ball into the net. And I agree with the announcer. What was the goaltender doing trying to push through a handful of players in an ill-advised, ill-fated attempt to get at the ball? And I also agree that had he stood back on his line, it may well have been a fairly easy save.

But that’s the beauty of soccer/football and most sports. You never know what’s going to happen in the heat of battle. A bounce here, a bounce there and the game can change on a dime.

Speaking of bounces, I think good old Pav for Tottenham got a lucky bounce when the ball ended up coming back to him AFTER he’d flubbed an easy shot a mere yard or two from a mostly open net. I think he was lucky to get a chance to slam home a second pass for the third goal.

All in all, I thought it a pretty good game. And hat’s off to Peter, despite all my kidding, Tottenham is indeed a pretty fine team this year and I wish them continued success.

And I’m left with one final question, the same one that haunted me all game: What the heck is with that PINK (and white) ball? LOL

[Un-proofed version. (It’s late.) Notification of typos and any other errors welcome. Comments of ANY kind also welcome.]

Recently, I posted the following comment on my Facebook page:

A new father quoted the lyrics to John Lennon’s song Beautiful Boy here (on Facebook). Which reminded me of the night Lennon was shot dead in New York and the newspaper I worked for (The Ottawa Citizen) asked me to write a reaction piece. So after tucking my beautiful boys into bed, I sat down and wrote from the heart.

Many, many year later, doing an online search for my name, I discovered that someone was kind enough to get permission and post it on the Web. I didn’t want to put a damper on the new father’s joy, so I decided to post the link here.

My son 32-year-old son Travis then posted the following comment:

“Did they run the piece the next day? I’m just trying to see if I can find it.

My reply:

Travis. The piece ran on Friday, Dec. 12, most likely in The Citizen’s weekly entertainment tabloid, tgif. (You might remember tgif, you appeared there a number of times, including a famous cover shot [Thank you, John Major] taken at La Ronde amusement park in Montreal.)

Lennon was shot that Monday night (Dec. 8). I was next door playing video games with Lloyd, while listening to Monday Night Football,  which is how I first heard the news from legendary sports broadcaster Howard Cossell.

I was stunned speechless.

I think I wrote the piece the next night and they ran it in tgif on Friday. [tgif was included in the Friday paper, hence its name] I wrote a weekly album-review column, Revolutions, which appeared in tgif, and wrote articles, including cover stories, for them.

I was still somewhat chocked up when I tucked you, and Tyler, in that night, before sitting down to write. I don’t think I ever wrote anything else in such an emotional state.

The paper loved it. People remembered it for a long, long time. And I was happy that it came out as well as it did, considering much of it was written in stream of thought, AND feeling. I didn’t go back and rework it, or polish it up, because I wanted to retain the spontaneity of emotion.

Any clippings, and a few copies of tgif, [I’ve kept] are buried somewhere down in the basement. I don’t think I have a lot saved, so it’s nice to see this piece preserved so far on the Internet. (And yes, I long ago saved a copy from the Internet.

Love, Dad (who has always worried over his own beautiful boys and prayed the Lord to keep them safe.)

Here is what I wrote back then:

LENNON DREAMED FOR US ALL

By Bill Provick, Ottawa Citizen Staff Writer

Published on Friday, December 12, 1980

Introduction

The music of the Beatles rocked the world, and the murder of head Beatle John Lennon shocked it. Today TGIF music columnist Bill Provick, who grew up as part of the Beatles generation, attempts to explain the impact of Lennon’s life and sudden death.

[Article]

John Lennon dreamed of “life in peace” for everyone in Imagine and he was right when he added he was not the only one.

While his fellow Beatles filled us with pleasure, it was always Lennon that filled us with ideas.

For me, Lennon lived in and through his music. All the publicity about his changing lifestyle was just so much background. It was the images, the emotions, the humor and the pain he shared with us that earn him such a special place in our minds and hearts.

The others accepted their roles: Paul McCartney as the gifted composer / arranger / performer; George Harrison the slightly bitter, inhibited lesser-light whose belated bid for artistic credibility drowned in his religious propaganda, and Ringo Starr as the anti-star, the gifted amateur who endeared through his off-beat charm.

Individuality maintained

But through it all, and under intense pressure, Lennon insisted on being himself. Right or wrong, he dared to speak his mind and forced us not just to listen, but to think.

When Beatlemania threatened to turn them all into golden idols, he fought back. He publicaly stated that the Beatles were bigger than Jesus Christ. He didn’t believe they were, or even should be, but he wanted to shock some sense into his near-hysterical public following.

A mere pop band was being deified and perhaps he sensed that crucifixion usually followed. And he was always crucified in the media, but, as always, he stuck to his convictions.

You tended to hate him or love him, but he made you react.

** Enduring personal respect**

The others had immense popularity spiced with artistic respect but it was Lennon who inspired the enduring personal respect that sparked such intense loyalty.

We didn’t always agree with him, and even he had to revise some of his stances, but it was all part of his human nature — the very humanness that set his music apart from everyone else. Only Bob Dylan has come as close to turning messages into memorable music.

Lennon was tortured. He grew up without a dad, lost his mom early, and was raised by his aunt. It was little wonder he soon became a rebel in need of a cause.

Anthems to live by

His causes were always admirable if not practical. He gave us anthems to live by: “All you need is love,” “Give peace a chance,” “Whatever gets you through the night.”

Like many, I saw myself in the musical mirrors Lennon provided. He was the Beatle who dared to look at the darker side of love — primarily the fear of rejection that lurks like a landmine in any romance.

Unlike most of the other musicians providing soundtracks for our lives, Lennon shared his ups and downs. He touched numerous responsive chords within us, often magically articulating our very own thoughts, hopes and fears.

This personal, long-distance bonding of psyches made Lennon’s music transcend mere entertainment.

I never knew him but I knew what he brought to my life. Just being able to speak our troubles out loud often helps; hearing them reflected in our music provided a near-magical solace.

Lennon was a close personal friend who was always as close as the nearest turntable.

** Rock’s rarefied lifestyle**

Lennon was caught in the rarefied lifestyle of a rock superstar but he didn’t let it eat him alive as it had done others. He even strove to remain the working-class here, with partial success.

And he taught us valuable lessons — including the fact that fame and fortune don’t insulate people from their personal demons. In Lennon’s case, those demons were frequently loneliness tied to jealousy.

No matter what, we were all still vulnerable. We could still be scared and scarred by life.

“Hatred and jealousy, gonna be the death of me

I guess I knew it right from the start

Sing out about love and peace

Don’t wanna see the red raw meat

The green-eyed goddamn straight from your heart”

— John Lennon, “Scared”

And like so many of us in the post-peace-and-love ’70s, he was more than a little tired. He suspended his musical career and, again like many of us, turned his attention to raising a family of his own.

Again, I could relate to it.

I suffered through the teen-age trauma of first loves with the Beatles. And understood how one could get moony and dewy-eyed over McCartney crooning silly love lines to Michelle.

At the same time I could relate even better to Lennon’s flair for looking at the darker sides of the clouds. I could understand how traditional insecurity can turn a person into a emotional bully.

“Well I’d rather see you dead little girl

Than to be with another man

You better keep your head little girl

Or I won’t know where I am

Better hide your head in sand little girl

Catch you with another man

That’s the end…”

— Lennon-McCartney, “Run For Your Life”

And now, more than 15 years later, Lennon re-entered my life in a more active manner, and I found I could still relate to his new music. Double Fantasy — including his beautiful song to his young son:

“Close your eyes / have no fear

The monsters’s gone / he’s on the run

And your daddy’s here

Beautiful boy

Beautiful, beautiful boy … ”

— Lennon, “Beautiful Boy”

But the monster wasn’t gone.

He waited on the streets of New York City.

And as I tuck my boy into bed, I feel the fear and I feel the loss.

And I can’t stop feeling what this man taught me — never stop imagining, never stop dreaming.

And the music plays on, still transcending its own medium, and giving life — and now death — a little more meaning.

It’s a dream worth keeping.

“So long ago .

Was it in a dream? Was it just a dream?

It seem so very real, it seemed so real to me

Took a walk down the street

Thru the heat whispered trees

I thought I could hear

Somebody call out my name

As it started to rain

Two spirits dancing so strange…”

— Lennon, “#9 Dream”

— Bill Provick

The Ottawa Citizen

E-published with permission.

Well, typing that title is the first time I’ve used 2010 to indicate the current year. Probably underlines the fact I haven’t posted here since New Year’s Day.

Sometimes I think I should just do what I’m doing now, just sit down and write whatever comes up. Even if I’m here at the moment because I’m stalling again on attacking a sink full of dishes. The worst part is, they’ve been waiting there for me for a couple of days now. I won’t tell you how many times I’ve drained the grown-cold water and ran some new hot water.

It’s been that kind of week. I don’t want to go into details. It’s unfortunately an all-too-frequent occurrence — an unpleasant side effect of the pills I take daily, the painkillers in particular. We had hoped some new pills recommended by my pharmacist, instead of the off-the-shelf stuff recommended by my doctor, would help and for a time they did. But eventually …

I think the lack of exercise is a contributing factor. It’s getting to be a bit of a vicious circle. One (me, at least it seems) needs a certain level of energy AND physical comfort to engage in exercise. Without it, one keeps hoping and trying to get to that level so they can start at least a minimum routine. But if you’re forced to bed by other factors, that means even less exercise than the normal standing and walking of an average day. Which puts the minimum energy and comfort that much further out of reach.

Oh I know the answer is to just go ahead and do SOME exercise, ANY kind of exercise and worry about the after affects later. But if the after affects put you back in bed, you end up back at square one.

Which allows the ever-threatening blanket of even mild depression to quietly roll in like a persistent storm front.

So why am I telling YOU all this?

To make you feel sorry for me? Hell no. And please don’t ever. I don’t care how miserable things can get for me, there are always people suffering worse and doing so with much more grace than I can ever seem to muster.

To perhaps reassure you in the reminder that you are not alone? Perhaps. To a certain extent, at least. It’s often been my motivation in being so open about myself, including my weaknesses and shortcomings, as well as tribulations faced. It can be different for everybody, different sources, different manifestations, but I do believe that every life includes a fair amount of the — to be blunt — shitty. So yes, in that way, this may comfort.

But I think this time, at least, it may have even more to do with just getting it off my chest and perhaps out of my head.

—–

Well, just got off the phone with my son Travis who is heading out for a week with friends down in Nicaragua. And Mariette just got in from work. And I no longer have the energy or desire to continue the above.

I could throw this post into the Draft bin, but there’s enough unfinished stuff there already. So I guess I’ll hit Publish for the same reason I started this — just for the helluvit. 🙂

WHITE-KNUCKLE BOXING DAY

I love a white Christmas. I love when the snow doesn’t come too early — like in November, or even October. I also love it when it comes early enough to avoid any last-minute worrying about a green Christmas — green as in no snow.

I love it best when we get those huge white fluffy snowflakes drifting down on Christmas Eve, though to hope for that every year might be a touch greedy.

I know abundant snow on the ground can be hard on motorists and pedestrians alike. But if it’s polite enough to wait until December to fall — the 21st being THE best date for snow before Christmas — then I welcome it with open arms and gloved hands.

(The first snowfalls, that almost never stays, I greet with open mouth, extended tongue and head tilted back to face the sky. It’s a personal tradition I’ve had since childhood. One I think a few others may share.)

So I welcome timely snow, almost no matter how deep. After all, if we’re going to live this far north (Ottawa, Canada), we might as well enjoy one of the benefits of our local environment — that mood-enhancing blanket of white that makes turns the outdoors into more of a winter wonderland. At night, coloured lights that sparkle in the crisp, cold air, cast glowing bands of colour across a softened canvas.

Oddly enough, at the same time, a blanket of snow outside can make the indoors seem a touch more warm and cosy. Especially if one doesn’t have to go outside too often. Better yet, almost never.

Around here snow gets plowed from roads and streets and most importantly at this time of year, shopping mall parking lots. So after the initial disruption, it often ends up easy enough to get around.

Sure there’s the shovelling and snow-blowing of walkways and driveways, but usually there’s a welcome respite before the next snowfall — or until the city plow returns to dump a small wall of heavy snow across the end of your just-cleared driveway.

Comfy and cosy

Still, whether it’s upon returning from work, Christmas shopping, or moving tons of white stuff from the driveway, it’s always nice to come inside when there’s snow outside. There’s often a certain extra layer of relaxation to be gained from sitting back, warm socks on feet, warm mug in hand and warm heart settling down from the sudden exertion, while gazing out at the quiet, peaceful, comforting view of unmarked snow.

This is pretty much what we had this year. For which we felt much gratitude.

What I hate is rain. It can turn things dark and dirty, revealing stuff we were grateful to not have to see again till spring. One year, several decades ago, while travelling from home to home for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day visits with family and friends, we actually had to deal with flooded intersections. But that was highly unusual, to say nothing of slightly surreal.

Freezing rain is probably more common than rain. Surprisingly enough, it’s more of a love-hate thing.

If it comes in the night and isn’t too severe and is dealt with in time to not pose severe hazard to motorist and pedestrian alike, it can be quite enchanting in terms of providing a sparkling, crystal coating on everything, especially trees and branches.

If however, as it did this year on Boxing Day, it results in a nuisance ice storm, knocking out power, threatening trees, downing branches and making driving quite hazardous, it’s obviously far less welcome.

Thus it was that we woke on Boxing Day (the day after Christmas Day in Canada and England) facing treacherous walking and driving conditions on a day we were scheduled to visit family on the far side of the city.

Strap-on safety

Fortunately, things were manageable if one took appropriate measures. Wear boots with a decent grip. In Mariette’s case, she got to add the strap-on Icers she received from Santa (via Lee Valley Tools). Basically they are thickish rubber soles, sporting screw-head-style studs, that are strapped to the bottom of one’s boots.

As son Travis, who was visiting for Christmas as usual, and I slowly inched our way to the car, I couldn’t help mentally chastising myself for not having bought a pair for myself. And Travis. And maybe Tyler and Miche. And why not … ?

Well, maybe next year. We may have bought mostly small, neat and/or practical stuff in doing seemingly 80% to 90% of our Christmas shopping in one night, in our first ever, long-anticipated visit to the internationally famous Lee Valley Tools, but it’s amazing how quickly these things can add up, money wise.

(I’m just glad our first visit there coincided with Christmas shopping. As I told Mariette: “Imagine if we’d gone and spent this much, or close to it, merely visiting the place for the first time. At least this way everything does double duty as Christmas gifts.” And yes, the stuff there is so neat we probably would have still bought extras of things we liked, to give to people we like.)

But as I say, getting ,more pairs of Icers are for another time. For this year, Travis and I merely moved slow and steady. One trick is to slide your boot along the slick ice, rather than lifting your feet. The trouble with lifting your foot is that it’s more likely to slip when you step back down, and experience has shown that such sudden falls can be quite painful.

Of course it’s not enough to just get to the vehicle, one has to then circle it, banging and cracking and removing the ice that covers everything. Windows AND lights, front and back, are most important.

Cross-checking car doors

At least it was fairly mild compared to the time many years ago when we, and our neighbours, were all out there banging brooms and hockey sticks against our vehicles that were covered with ice so thick that a thump with closed hand or trusty elbow had no hope of even cracking this dangerous heavy coating.

Come to think of it, that might have been THE Great Ice Storm 11 years ago that had people, from here to Montréal, and back, without power for weeks. We were fortunate. I think we lost power for only a day or so.

In fact in our part of town, we got off fairly lucky, all around. Though we did almost lose our orphaned white birch in the backyard. (More about that in EMERGENCY RESCUE, FOR A TREE.)

Eventually we were set and Mariette backed the car out of the driveway with great care, with Travis and I keeping a sharp eye up and down the street for the sudden appearance of any other motorist, who might be hard put to stop in time.

We slowly crawled down the street, testing traction. Mariette, being a good driver, knew to try stopping BEFORE getting to the first stop sign. On ice or even just snow, it is always amazing how many drivers wait to the last second, only to find themselves embarrassingly — and dangerously — sliding right through the intersection when there’s virtually no traction to be found.

Moving with caution we were soon enough on the multi-lane Hwy. 416, where we saw our first car in the ditch. It’s never a good sign when the car in the ditch is turned completely around and facing back in the direction from whence it came.

There were few moving cars in sight, but enough had already passed by to help melt the ice, to a still-slick but fairly thin covering of icy slush.

By the time we got to the 417, known as the Queensway as it passes from east to west through the city, increased traffic — still far short of normal — had removed more of the icy slush, though a dangerous amount remained between lanes.

I may have exaggerated in using the term “white-knuckle,” but we were on high alert as we cautiously made our way to the east end of town to our breakfast appointment.

Slip-sliding away

Once safely parked, we still faced further hazards just getting to the restaurant. It was out of the car, gingerly. Get your balance and step cautiously up onto a sidewalk that was not only wide and covered with sheer ice, but also sloping toward the street.

Mariette offered me her arm but I politely declined. Not only did I need the room to do my slide-this-foot, slide-that-foot sort of crab-walk across the sidewalk, but if I did slip and fall, I didn’t want to be dragging her down with me.

Down with a sidestep off the curb into an ice/slushy incoming lane. Across the slippery gap slowly, hoping no car suddenly turns in. Up and over a narrow divider. Slowly across the icy/slushy outgoing lane — again hoping no traffic would appear. Finally, back up onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

The ice was patchier there but why was this walk also so wide — AND sloping DOWN toward the street?

Were we glad to eventually get inside the restaurant to the welcoming smile of our other son, Tyler, and his 16-month-old daughter, Rachel? You bet!

Unfortunately our daughter-in-law Miche had to stay home having been felled by a nasty bug. (Cold? Flu? Combo? I never did find out the specifics but when we did get to see her later in the morning, it was obvious she was indeed suffering.)

After a fine Gabriel’s breakfast and a lot of fun with Rachel — once she got over her initial make-strange-reach-for-“Dada” welcome — we cautiously travelled on to Tyler and Miche’s house.

Tyler said he almost slid into the snowbank before turning into his driveway, but we, coming from the other way, never noticed.

We had a lovely Boxing Day, exchanging and opening gifts and playing with Rachel. (See THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD.)

In the late afternoon, as planned, Mariette and I and Travis drove to an east-end cinema to see the movie Avatar in IMAX 3-D and quite enjoyed it. (See AVATAR: HOW COULD SOMETHING SO TRITE BE SO AWESOME?.)

Safely home again

Originally we were to return Travis to Tyler’s so he could spend the night and the next day with them and they could drive him to the airport for his flight back to Toronto the following evening. But Travis, not wanting to impose with Miche feeling so poorly, had brought his luggage with us to the theatre. A quick call to check Miche’s condition after the movie confirmed what we expected — now was not a good time for him to stay over and need a ride to the airport.

This being Boxing Day, by the time we’d driven to the movie, traffic had increased considerably, with Boxing Day shoppers getting some belated courage, and road conditions improved measurably, with more tires and more friction to melt away the freezing rain. Avatar is a longish movie, so by the time we drove home in the early evening dark, traffic had thinned again considerably.

Still, Mariette continued to drive with appropriate caution and though it again took longer to get to our destination, we arrived safely.

We navigated the driveway with care and were quite happy to be home once more.

The weather may have been miserable and the driving conditions hazardous, but with proper Canadian caution, we didn’t have to sacrifice a day with family that we’d been so looking forward to with such delight.

Everything was well and good. Until I woke up before dawn and discovered my poor birch tree had not fared as well. Which brought back memories of a fierce fight to save it from the ice, 11 years ago. (See EMERGENCY RESCUE, FOR A TREE.)

Freezing rain. God’s way of saying you’d better drive, and walk, slowwwly.

I know. I know. I’ve been warned for years, as have we all. Still, a moment of inattention is all it takes. Fortunately the computer virus I recently acquired was more bloody nuisance than anything destructive.

Still, I’ll tell my story here as yet another reminder to all.

Monday, three days after Christmas, was finally a day for sleeping in and reading/napping whenever the urge struck. For the first time in weeks I had only one task on tap. Even then it was something I wanted to do, rather than having to do.

Sometime during the day I wanted to sit down and write some stuff on my blog. Already I had stuff about the Boxing Day ice storm bouncing around in my head. I was looking forward to writing some of it down, not only to clear my head, so to speak, but to also finally get some new stuff on the blog. (Check out White Christmas, White-Knuckle Boxing Day when it gets here.)

But first I took a detour to Facebook to touch bases and get up to date there. In the process I noticed a post from a friend and former colleague, whom I haven’t spoken to in some time. (That post, which had no Comment option, now that I think of it, has since disappeared, for reasons about to become obvious.)

Facebook user fee?

The post urged me to join a group that was vowing to NOT pay for using Facebook. Purportedly, the company planned to start charging a user fee some time in June.

Having been through occasions when a social Web site switched to a paid subscription protocol, I’ve been curious to see if Facebook ever dared taking a similar stance. Personally, I don’t think they will. But it must be a tremendous temptation. Even if in the process they lost huge masses of users who refused to pay, imagine how many would remain, ready to cough up hard-earned coin just to avoid losing what for some borders on addiction.

But I digress, as usual.

So I clicked on the link which took me to a group site where I could join in this anti-fee movement. I was more curious than committed, so when I saw a URL said to lead to a site that explained everything, I clicked on it.

When nothing happened, I looked closer and realized it was merely the address and not an active link. So I swept and copied the address, opened a new tab, and pasted in the address.

BIG mistake

Oh oh. Should NOT have done that.

My full-screen Mozilla Firefox browser window, with a handful of tabs opened, switched to a single, smaller window. A disjointed cacophony of sound and voices erupted from the speakers. A jumble of text and images jumped around the window flashing off and on.

The window itself jumped all around the screen, disappearing and reappearing, seemingly at random.

It was somewhat disconcerting and most annoying.

While the noise occasionally included sound bites from a podcast I’d listened to earlier in the day, there was one female voice that dominated, repeating over and over again  a rather stupid announcement: “Hey guys, I’m watching porn on my computer.”

Embarrassing, I assume, if one caught this virus on a company machine in an office. Simply dumb and annoying when it was only the cats and I in the room at the time.

And then there was one truly disgusting photo that kept popping up. Not sexually pornographic but obscene in a way that leaves me unwilling to describe it. I realize, of course, that if I don’t, I raise curiosity and open things to possibly the worst speculation.

It didn’t stay long enough for me to study in terms of determining the context and I was reluctant to look at it anyways.

But I guess as a warning to others who might stumble upon this mess, it seemed to be an image of a bloody infant, but not one that was merely newborn.

I felt assaulted

I know it was all designed to be upsetting but that didn’t stop it from working. I not only felt annoyed, I felt assaulted.

I even became a little frantic to get it off my screen in case it was further polluting and infecting other files.

With it jumping around so much, it was impossible to click on Close. So I called up Task Manager to shut down Firefox, figuring that just closing the window might not be enough.

I ran a system-wide scan using my free copy of the anti-virus software AVG. When the scan eventually finished, it reported no problems.

Unhappy with my old standby, Norton, I installed the free version of AVG a year or so ago on the advice of my oldest son, a professional computer expert who said that as far as he could see, at the time, this was the best free anti-virus program.

It worked fine and I was quite happy with it and used it on both my desktop and my laptop.

However, a few months back when I went to get another update, I got this message about having to buy the program if I wanted further updates. Given that other purchased programs subsequently charge a subscription fee for updates, I didn’t find that particularly unreasonable. (I confess I may have misread things in terms of purchase becoming mandatory, but when I declined the offer to purchase, I certainly didn’t get a way to download any updates.)

I eventually told my son and he said he’d check around to see if there was something better.

Meanwhile, of late, I’d get these confusing pop-up messages informing me that something (the free AVG program itself?) was reporting that the auto-protection was turned off. I’d go turn it back on and still the message would pop up from time to time.

Paying the price

So faced with this highly irritating virus, and feeling my computer was suddenly vulnerable, I decided to log on via Internet Explorer, which I rarely use, and purchase a full copy of AVG. I was so fed up with security problems that I even opted for the money-saving two-year subscription. I downloaded and installed the program and will also receive a copy on CD, which I will keep as a back-up. (I know I could always go and download again but what if some virus screwed up my ability to log on with any browser software?)

This time when I ran a scan, AVG recognized the “threats” and got rid of them. However, when I ran Firefox again, its files, of course, were still corrupted and infected. And when I let the viral display run a bit longer before shutting Firefox down, the virus kept adding a fictional newsgroup with an inflammatory racist name to my Mozilla Thunderbird e-mail program. It also set up an offensive e-mail that apparently I could send to friends with just one careless click.

So I un-installed this infected copy of Firefox — without losing my personal preferences and setups — and used IE to download another free copy, which worked fine, with no signs of that extremely rude virus, and all my tabs and bookmarks and settings.

I know. I’m lucky I didn’t encounter something actually destructive. And lucky I didn’t lose a bunch of stuff on my computer.

I should NEVER have pasted in that unknown URL, especially when I was unsure about the continued effectiveness of my “free” anti-virus software.

I don’t have copies of the “free” and paid versions of AVG to do a direct comparison, but I have the feeling that I get more with the bought version. That’s usually the way.

Anyway, it’s an investment in peace of mind, especially now that I’m more easily distracted and open to occasionally doing things without thinking them through.

As for all those friends who, after the fact, 🙂 recommended other anti-virus programs, including a “free” version of Avast, your advice is a little late. But I DO thank you anyway for your concern and desire to help.

And hope you never have a similarly infuriating experience.

Signed,

**The Old Dog **(who got caught by a nasty trick that isn’t even new)

Moments ago, I was standing at the kitchen sink running water for a sink-load of dishes left over from last night. As is my habit, I glanced out the window. I noticed that the light dusting of snow overnight had not melted completely away. Enough remained to work its magic.

And suddenly, like the warmth of a hot drink on a cold day, a lovely feeling seeped through my body from head to toe.

Christmas.

I was filled with the gentle joy of Christmas. Not to sound too Scrooge-like, it was a commanding sense of Christmases past and the Christmas to come.

It just felt so utterly like Christmas.

It felt wonderful.

I confess I was a bit surprised and a bit caught off guard. For one thing, it’s rather early, in my book, for feeling that way. Our football season ended just last night with a truly incredible Grey Cup game.

Also, that old-fashioned wholly natural Christmas spirit has seemed to grow more and more elusive.

For years now we haven’t been making a big deal about Christmas. We rarely get a real tree any more, going with a two-foot artificial job with built-in fibre-optic lights. Each year we put up fewer and fewer decorations — and still take till spring to get the last of them tossed back down into the basement.

We even buy fewer gifts. And see fewer people.

A quieter Christmas

That’s not to say we don’t have lovely Christmases any more. We do. They’re just quieter and, by design, much less taxing.

Just not quite so Christmasy as when we used to make a bigger production of the annual holiday.

Still, a highlight each year is the return of our oldest son Travis from Toronto where he’s lived and worked for years now, ever since graduating from the University of Waterloo.

We see more of our youngest son Tyler throughout the year as he and his wife Miche live here in town, even if at the opposite side of the city. Still, visiting them at Christmas is another highlight. And it will be even more special this year because, at almost a year and a half, our granddaughter Rachel is even more aware of her world and thus more aware this year of Christmas.

Still, as nice as our laid-back Christmases are, I can’t say I actively look forward to them. Mostly, I guess, because they are a reminder of the limitations I live with. These days energy — mental and emotional as well as physical — is an even rarer commodity for me, something that not only has to be rationed but the sheer lack of energy can make the simplest things a chore.

If we go out, or do something that is strenuous for me, I always have to pay with downtime. With recovery time. With time in bed. Missing things.

So at Christmas we do a lot of sitting quietly together, often reading or simply relaxing, enjoying each other’s company, in conversation or silence. Actually, I think it helps make Christmas more of a relaxing time for Travis and Mariette. They certainly don’t seem to complain.

But for me, the choice is not optional. That’s why it reminds me of my limitations.

The danger of fatigue

I can easily exhaust myself with the simplest of stripped-back preparations — from basic housecleaning to minimal decorating. (Thank goodness Mariette takes care of the food shopping and such.)

And when I am overtired, everything hurts more, which can grate on my nerves even worse than usual, too often sparking an emotional outburst I often regret. Even if my observations are valid, expressing them in an even slightly overwrought manner can create needless tension. (Obviously I wouldn’t call this paragraph an inside joke, more of an inside apology for Thanksgiving, which for us was in October. Those to whom the apology is aimed, well, you know who you are.) 😕

As everyone has probably guessed by now, I am not a stoic. I’m not one who can maintain a smiling brave face and never let on that I am suffering inside. I’m not one of those people sometimes considered heroic for maintaining such a brave front. “He was such a saint. You’d never know he had a problem or how much he was hurting inside.”

I have managed to ignore the pain as much as possible, though I’m sure it’s still obvious when I’m having bad days. But I noticed something last night. I was rocking back and forth a bit as I sat on the couch watching TV. I don’t always realize what I am doing but rocking and/or rubbing my legs are what I do when the chronic (24/7) leg pain is worse than usual.

Mariette mentioned that it looked like I had to go to the bathroom.

“Why do you say that?” I said.

“Because you’re rocking back and forth.”

“Oh. That’s because my legs are bothering me.”

Now she used to know that. But I think I’ve been so quiet, most of the time, about the leg pain, that she’d forgotten.

Of course being quiet about the leg pain was probably buried under my complaining about all my OTHER aches and pains. 😆

Warts and all

I think what happens is that, as one friend informed me, I am far more contemplative than most people. Which is why I am so open about everything, warts (complaining, crankiness, emotional outbursts) and all, when rambling like this.

And with not enough to distract me most days, I have had to work at not obsessing about my health problems and how they’ve negatively affected my quality of life. I don’t always succeed, but I think I’m doing much better now. Though perhaps that statement might seem odd given how I’ve ended up rambling on here about that very subject.

At the chronic pain clinic, now so many years ago, we were taught not to act out our pain. To not be afraid of misleading people with a smile.

That’s a surprisingly hard thing to do. One thing I found I had in common with fellow sufferers of chronic pain was this fear of giving people the impression everything is fine, only to have them surprised and/or confused when the pain breaks through, or wears one down, to the point they can’t pretend to be happy and feeling fine.

From experience, we find that this can cause its own set of problems.

“Why are you acting this way? You seemed fine.”

“Why can’t you (go here, do this, work at that)? You seem fine to me.”

We’re afraid people will get the wrong impression and expect too much leading to inevitable disappointment, annoyance, even anger.

The depth of discomfort

I do try to smile as much as I can — though I’m sure I could do much better at it. And my “complaining” or “pained expressions” often don’t come close to revealing the true depth of discomfort. (I long ago learned that “discomfort” is a medical term for PAIN, as in “You may feel a little discomfort …”)

But this whole idea of being honest and not misleading people is why I have compromised and add the “all things considered” when I say I’m fine. Because despite the constant pain, the trouble sleeping, the depression, the sometimes keen discomfort of constipation, the guilt about not doing more (including keeping up with my blog), the fear about my faltering heart, etc. etc., amazingly enough, I AM basically fine.

Which is why I consider all this openness about my medical problems more a matter of sharing than bellyaching. 🙂

But enough of that. I realize now that while I seem to have gotten way off topic, I really haven’t.

It’s like the artist who notes that without darkness, there is no light.

Without realizing all that works night and day against me being simply comfortable, let alone feeling good, one cannot understand how truly wonderful was this sudden influx of Christmas joy.

I’m actually looking forward to Christmas. And I know it will be an even better if it’s a white Christmas.

And I’m going to try real hard to worry less about things not done. Try real hard to get as much sleep and rest as possible. And try real hard to be less grouchy.

So Trav, I think it’s safe to come home again. 😉

And to all who are kind enough to be reading this, even though technically it’s not even December yet, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, and a light dusting of snow.

(And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, best wishes for whatever you do celebrate at this time of year. And if you don’t live in the snowbelt, sorry about that and I hope you have nice weather.)

Oh how I love snow. Just a little can be like magic dust, so frail but so powerful. I am so grateful to be smiling a genuine smile of such pleasure.

First, a flashback to Gaspé

A while back I set up one of my favourite photos of the iconic Percé Rock as the wallpaper on my desktop PC. It was to get me in the mood for, and remind me of, an then upcoming train trip to Gaspé, Quebec.

The town of Gaspé is on the tip of Quebec’s Gaspé peninsula, which separates the Bay of Chaleur, between Quebec and New Brunswick, and the St. Lawrence River, where it opens up into the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

When the kids were younger and we were spending a couple of weeks each summer at a seaside cottage in Prince Edward Island, we’d always save the last week for touring some maritime area before heading home. One year we finally drove around the Gaspé Peninsula and it was beautiful.

We spent a night in the town of Percé and it was magical, especially the carriage ride around town with all the trees decked in white Christmas lights and patios and backyards all around with people partying in a gentle, happy manner. (No open drunkiness or rowdiness.)

Unfortunately, on the train trip we didn’t get anywhere near the rock. Just a distant view from the tip of the bay just above the rock in the map/picture above. Though I was eagerly looking forward to another look at this magnificent rock, I should have realized the very steep inclines leading in and out of the town of Percé would obviously affect the train route.

The train stuck to the forests on a ridge west of the town rather than going right through the town. Thus the only view from a distance. Oddly enough, it didn’t matter. The distant view was enough to remind me of the rock’s grandeur. Also, we’d already determined that we’d have to come back and next time, like our new-found friends on the train, we’d stay over a few days, rent a car, and tour the area, including the short trip down from the town of Gaspé to Percé.

Then we’ll get all the closeups we want of the rock and the surrounding area. This time the waves — which on our first visit were a beautiful aquamarine with white frothy tops — may not be too large for the tour boat to dock at Bonaventure Island, which is a bird preserve literally covered with sea birds. Another great reason to go back.

Getting to the point — at last

OK. Time to end this digression — as wonderful as the memories are — and get back to answering the question posed in the title of this submission.

Recently I went to the official site of our hometown NHL hockey team, the Ottawa Senators, to look up some information. While there, I decided to check out their 2009 offerings of wallpaper. There were two, and I did download both. I even saved them to my Senators subfolder in the Sports subfolder of the Wallpaper subfolder in my Pictures folder. (Am I anal, or just well organized?) 🙂

It turned out I didn’t particularly like either one of them.

One featured some text — “A FORCE UNITED” — beneath a logo with a splash of colour with sharp, ragged edges as if scraped (mutilated?) by hundreds of skate blades. Pardon the pun, but I expect the designers considered this graphic pretty edgy. For an old coot like me, despite its simplicity, it was far too busy for my liking. And to be looking at every day.

The second one featured another splash of colour with the Centurion face graphic peeking around the edge of two stacks of calendars — for the six and a half months of the 2008-2009 regular season — with all the scheduled home and away games marked on the calendars.

The big problem is that even at 1600×1200 resolution, the calendars are needlessly hard to read.

So scrap those two.

An old favourite

And then, while in that folder, I noticed a wallpaper photo from last year featuring my favourite Sens player, and captain of the team, the highly talented and equally hard-working Daniel Alfredsson — aka Alfie.

I figured why not. The team really struggled last season and lost their opening game at Madison Square Gardens against the New York Rangers last Saturday to start this season. So maybe I should throw Alfie back up as my wallpaper as a sign of support, and hopefully a good luck sign.

So up he went. And last night guess who scored the winning goal — on a penalty shot — against our arch rivals, the Maple Leafs, right in their home rink. Looks like Leaf fans may have to go back to booing Alfie each time he touches the puck.

On the play, Alfie was filling in for injured new Sens forward Milan Michaleck, who has been high-sticked in the face on a drive to the Toronto net. With Michaleck holding his bloody mouth while being lead to the dressing room — he returned and played well later — Alfie stepped in to take the penalty shot.

It was slightly ironic that on the shot, Alfie easily beat fellow Swede, the huge rookie goaltender known as The Monster (for his size, not his demeanour). The Monster, whose real name is Jonus Gustavsson, played well despite the loss. Certainly better than the so-called No. 1 goalie for Toronto, the ever-so-leaky Vesa Toskala.

My hero

Special mention should go to low-paid, well-motivated grinder Shean Donovan, who was inserted into the lineup for this game, no doubt to provide Ottawa with more grit and determination around the opposing net. It paid off with Ottawa’s first goal.

But the real hero for the night, because as usual he lead by example all night, but especially for scoring such a pretty winning goal, was of course Alfie.

I think I’d better leave my current wallpaper up for a while. 😀

Daniel Alfredsson, No. 11, and captain of the Ottawa Senators

(If you’d like a wallpaper-sized copy of the above photo, send me an e-mail at bill@provick.ca)