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Oh… Canada.

I feel there is something very wrong with people that would split up families and send their kids to so-called residential schools. When I learned about it I was ashamed to be a Canadian.

Silkpurseproductions's Blog

There’s a lot of hoopla going on in Canada right now. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy good hoopla especially about this country I know and love. I am a proud Canadian. Born and bred. I have always been grateful that I was fortunate enough to be born in Canada. Everyone loves Canadians. By reputation we are friendly, polite, clean and relatively quiet. The kind of neighbour everybody wants. We do, however, stand on our moral high ground and make judgements about other more despicable countries. Unfortunately, just like every other neighbour we have our share of dirty little secrets behind closed doors.

So back to the hoopla…Canada is celebrating its 150th birthday and I confess that I have mixed feelings about it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. In 1967 Canada celebrated its Centennial year. It was one of the best years of my life. I have nothing…

View original post 1,099 more words

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I was talking to my buddy this afternoon when I was alerted to an incoming call. I put Patrick on hold and pushed the “Answer” button. It was Charlie Sheen! Holy crap! He was as clear as a bell. I knew it was really him. And he knew my daughter and had met Ker and her husband at a ball game in Kelowna, B.C. Before I knew it I was answering his questions! I was talking to Charlie Sheen!!! My oldest daughter Keri-Lynn had not phoned me on Father’s Day and Charlie was helping her out. It was perfect and I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

It took me a minute to realise that it was a recorded message. But I loved it! The smooth quality of the delivery and the fact that it came as a phone call absolutely astounded me. Much better than the “free” cards to kids from Santa Claus at Christmas, Charlie left me grinning from ear to ear.  Apparently, it cost $3.99 – a small price to pay for the thrill I experienced. When I called Ker and told her how I was completely sucked in, she roared with laughter. That was also worth the small price of admission.

She said that she didn’t know which celebrity to choose from but when she came across Charlie, she pounced. She must have known I loved Two and a Half Men.  It was absolutely brilliant!

With all the problems Charlie has been having lately, it might be tough to find it on the web. These days, I’m probably the only one that appreciates the joke. I guess you had to be there.

I’M ALRIGHT!!!

I guess some of you have been wondering if I’m still alive. It’s been nine months since my last blog. If you follow Michelle at Silk Purse Productions you know I’m around…or…you may think I’m dead and Michelle is cashing my pension checks, making up stories about me, or us, as she goes. No. I’m cashing the pension checks. But she is making up stories.

2014-04-06 15.00.37

I do not check the mail box every time I pass it! That would be ridiculous. I limit my peeks into the mail box to 15 each day. And I’m looking for flyers, not mail. My checks are deposited directly into my bank account and the bills arrive on line. But flyers, mmm, ♥♥flyers♥♥…often include money off coupons from fast food restaurants and can come anytime. (I am, if you remember, a junk food aficionado.) And I love to peruse flyers, just to see what I want but can’t afford. I even read cereal boxes − I can often afford cereal. But you know what ticks me off? There’s not a french fry truck in the Durham region that sends out money-off coupons!

Seriously, my head has been in another place these last nine or so months. I think I’m just not liking being 18 but stuck in a 66-year-old body. But we’re nearing the end. I’ll be 67 in August. And I have a question − at what age will they start calling me senile instead of eccentric? (Friends labeled me as eccentric when I was in my 30’s. Family just referred to me as crazy.)

I’ve been doing a lot of reading, including the four 700+ page text books it took to pass the exams and get an Ontario real estate sales rep’s license; Carrie Rubin’s Seneca Scourge, which I enjoyed immenselyand dozens of other mysteries, action thrillers and fantasy fiction tales about wizards, dragons and such. My one wish? That I could have read the text books on my Kindle. It’s a whole lot lighter than they were.

Anyway, the thoroughbred horse racing season has just begun, so there is light. I’ve begged asked Michelle not to plant poison ivy in the mail box. No answer yet. And I will get back to writing on a regular basis.

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Clothing Optional

Take me home to Maui. I can’t stand it here anymore. Frost warnings? Hail? May 13th? WTF!

It’s been a few years since I was in Hawaii and then only for two weeks. Michelle and I went for a holiday to celebrate our 50th  and 60th birthdays and never came back. You can figure out which birthday was who’s. I won’t say I didn’t want to come back because that’s what all of us snowbirds say when it comes time to leave the sun. But Maui had a profound effect on me. From the moment we stepped off the plane it was like being enveloped in a cloak of relaxation.  You know, like Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak, but for an old guy, way better.  For two weeks there was NO stress, GREAT coffee and the sound of waves on the beach.

Hawaii Day 1

View from our 8th floor studio suite.

Maui is where I sat near a Sharon Stone look-a-like (in a white, so sheer it was nearly see-through) outfit, with a huge pipe and drum band playing for our entertainment.  It was, after all, Saint Patrick’s Day and we were at Mulligan’s Pub. This is what people are thinking when they say, “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick’s Day – Who’s that behind the pipers in the white outfit?

We lazed on our lanai, real Kona coffee in our mugs, and watched the whales and dolphins as they too played for us. That in itself was worth the price of admission. Of course we shopped and Michelle bought me tons of tee-shirts. We ate out and visited almost every beach on the island.

Big Beach

The location of Michelle’s “almost drowning”. Big Beach.

That was for Michelle, a water baby if there ever was one. When she almost drowned six feet off shore because the savage undertow kept sweeping her legs out from under her, I roared with pleasure. Even Michelle was putting on a show for me.

For her birthday, we ate dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. The fabulous waitress entertained us as we stuffed our faces, Michelle with her steak and mushrooms and me with my steak and shoestring French fries and lots of ketchup, some of which slipped onto my butterflied and well-done filet mignon.

For several days I bought coleslaw and baked beans from a fellow who had retired from the Navy and opened a small kitchen adjoining a Tex-Mex bar. He made the best slaw and baked beans, but laughed until he nearly gagged as he watched me mix the two into one bowl. It was awesome. So was the food.

Due to my finicky eating habits, we did not partake in a Luau, but took in several shows (magical and musical) and a catamaran day trip to Lanai (another beach stop for Michelle). We also hit every burger joint we could find. I was one happy camper. And yes, we drove the road to Hana with its 42 miles, 54 bridges and 600 hairpin turns. We certainly put that Mustang convertible through its paces, giving it a breather when we stopped at a roadside stand for fresh papaya and banana bread. Near the end of the “road” we visited a black sand beach

Black Sand Beach

Didn’t swim at Black Sand Beach but “the girls” did. “

where we met a couple of Vancouver girls who were talking about “Wreck Beach”, a clothing optional Eden located in Pacific Spirit Regional Park just west of the city. Naturally, my deaf old ears got their second wind and I forced myself to join their conversation. It was enlightening, to say the least. As far as the picture goes, I really had to search for one of the opposite sex. It seems that mostly guys habitate Wreck Beach. (I had to take Michelle off the job because she was taking way too much time checking out the guys on the beach)

Wreck Beach

Wreck Beach

I could go on and on about Maui. My daughters love it there, although Keri-Lynn, my oldest, prefers Kauai and its even more relaxed way of life. What surprises me the most, however, is the response I get when I suggest to people on my “Preferred Friends List” that instead of spending another winter in Phoenix or Florida, that they give Hawaii a try, they hem and haw. “Yeah, well, maybe next year.”

I’m telling you now that Maui is my Never Never Land. I will get back there if I have to track down Tinker Bell and steal her pixie dust. And I guarantee I won’t want to come back.

Tinker Bell

Press Here. My ticket out of here.

Google Image

It needs but a thought. Not even a deed. Just a notion and karma will take it to the bank. It waits, gathering interest over the years. Then, one day, without warning…smack! The little shit whacks you upside the head. That’s just for thinking it!

For actually doing it, you get promoted. That’s correct, a promotion, And it comes with a raise! Better still, it’s more like you get…elevated.  We’re talking the proverbial pointed boot right square up the ass and believe me, that’s good for at least three feet north-west. In my case, Karma always waits for me to hit bottom before sneaking into town to cash my check. It takes a second and a half. In and out. I feel the whack and realize that once again, I’ve been boinked and left holding the bag. Karma’s big bite marks never go away, either. In my case they last years. And years. Like tattoos. I’ll die with them.

kicker

From: San Francisco Chronicle

The worst, though, is when karma wants to make a bold statement and looks for payback in a huge way. I’ll be tying my shoe laces when it  materializes and goes for a 52 yard field goal against the wind!  Over the years Mr. K and I have teamed up for quite a few three-pointers and several really long punts when it’s really pissed at me.  Often, I hit the crossbar then bounce between the posts for the score. Karma doesn’t miss.

Karma is not punishment or retribution but simply an extended expression or consequence of natural acts,” according to Wikipedia. It is a universal principle of cause and effect. Notice the word “extended.”  But, we are now getting into belief systems and that is a much larger subject suitable only for books, never mind a blog post. Still, to bleed into the story just a tiny part of my own world view, I think to myself, what a wonderful…  (where did that come from?) I am the deliverer of my karma.  Furthermore, in my opinion, all karma is negative. At least mine sure is.

But not all karma lasts forever. There are some consequences that are quick and to the point. That would pertain to “instant karma“, but not quite like the instant karma of John Lennon’s famous song.

I like to think of instant karma as practice. Like when I was a pre-teen and sassed my mother. I learned not to linger in the kitchen. Too many times she caught up to me and kicked my butt. Hard. Then, she wouldn’t talk to me for days, but still woke me up at 7:26 a.m. to listen to Earl Nightingale impart his words of wisdom on the radio. He’s the one who said something to the effect that “if you think it, it will happen.” But you see, karma doesn’t make it happen. You do. Karma simply waits for you to do all the hard work then shows up and takes a jack hammer to your dream. Instant karma, on the other hand, lets you get used to its big sibling’s bite. It readies you for when you think or do something really evil, or just contrary to the rules on the rock, most notably (if you’re not a murderer or adulterer) the second commandment which can− if you are really high on yourself, perhaps even narcissistic − involve pride. Vanity is also one of the seven deadly sins. It’s certainly been a major player in my game. Well, actually they all have.

10 Commandments

7 deadly sins pride I used to think I was sooo tall.

Ha! Did you think I was really going to tell you what I thought? What I did?

You first.

I Love Ketchup!

Hi! My name is He Who. I’m a junk food addict and I love ketchup! I like it more than anyone else in the world and almost as much as I love fresh cut french fries. I’m telling you this because of a blog I read called Life on a Silva Platter which extols the virtues of mayonnaise and I think  ketchup deserves at least as much.

I’m the guy who orders ketchup with a filet mignon at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. And at Shula’s in Manhattan. Of course, I ask for my steak to be butterflied and well-done, with fries on the side. I especially like the shoestrings you get at Ruth’s Chris. I always ask for a second order to take home. Where I use my own ketchup.

Shoestring Fries

I won’t eat just any ketchup, either. It has to be Heinz.  But let me tell you about Ruth’s Chris. I had been to R’s C in Fort Lauderdale and loved it. So, while trying to impress Michelle early in our relationship, I took her to their location in downtown Toronto. This visit didn’t seem to go as well, but I don’t think it was the restaurant’s fault. For some reason, M tried to make herself disappear when I ordered a burnt steak and ketchup — lots of ketchup. The waiter brought me two full bowls of the best which were mysteriously empty half-way through dinner. I asked for more. Surprisingly, the waiter was far more obliging than my date. It took quite a while before Michelle would go out with me again. Heck, I hadn’t even flinched when she ordered her meat raw rare with sides of mushrooms and asparagus. GAK. Since then we’ve eaten at several more Ruth’s Chris locations including the one in Maui.

Ruth's Chris Lahaina, Maui

You can imagine that I use ketchup on most of the food I eat, like fried eggs, potatoes, cabbage rolls, spaghetti and meatballs, blueberry pie, fish and chips and Chinese fried rice. A friend once told me that Chinese food was a medium for the wonderful sauces that accompany it. I feel the same way about ketchup. The food is the medium. As an aside, can you believe that I hadn’t tried ketchup on Kraft Dinner until just last year? MMMmmmm.

There are some things I won’t enhance with a touch of ketchup, like apple pie, french toast, pancakes, porridge, pizza, pea soup or grilled cheese sandwiches. Now I know for a fact that some of you use ketchup on your grilled cheese sandwiches and french toast, but not me. That would be too much of a good thing. Ha Ha. I remember Pops using salt and pepper on his french toast. “It has eggs in it,” he said. “Don’t you salt and pepper your eggs?” Yes I do, and then comes the ketchup! But I prefer jam, syrup or cinnamon and sugar on my french toast. I do, however, like to clean the plate by soaking up the residue from fried eggs and ketchup with my regular rye toast. Weird?

But it’s a good thing I love ketchup. If I don’t get back to work soon, I’ll be living on ketchup sandwiches. And Michelle will starve. She doesn’t like ketchup.

Do you use ketchup? On who what?

Heinz Ketchup

Gargantuan Eyes

I originally wrote this poem in the 80’s. I felt a rework was in order and wanted to publish it to celebrate the Academy Awards which will be handed out tonight…because films aren’t simply for entertainment.

Gargantuan Eyes

Gargantuan Eyes

Music…Poetry…Film…Prose…

Through their essence, by their essence, they are complete.

Alone, each narrows, contracts and envelopes me.

With tunnel vision I feel their power and consume their infinite potential as my own.

They cast off my cover. They force me to climb outside my Self.

Each note, each line, each scene, every word — distinct — but invisibly bound in purpose.

And so, they enrapture me. They amplify my life.

These are eyes of gargantuan scope.

Music lights halls dark with blindness.

Poetry sounds drums in deaf ears.

Colors on canvas carve highways through mountains,

Prose and Screen unlock doors to unknown worlds.

I swallow them whole.

Each is self-existent.

I wear their pasts like a cloak, their futures a mask.

I savor their essence and drink in their lies.

They renew my life for a short time.

But steadily I grow.

Stretching. Distilling. Transcending. Fulfilling.

In dialectic ascension I’m full, running empty.

These gargantuan eyes are my risks, my dreams.

The keys to my jail.

Paul Turney
February 24, 2013

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