Dreams of Summertime

Summer. You elusive creature. Newfoundlanders are used to summer not really starting in earnest until mid-July — especially over the last few years. Last June was called “June-uary” for Pete’s sake, because of the cold temperatures and the three full weeks of uninterrupted rain and fog.

As surprisingly-early chunks of pack ice drift past the St. John’s narows, it makes me wonder what kind of summer is in store for us this year. Our winter started off very snowy and white, but then turned to rain. It feels and looks like we’re neither past winter nor into spring yet, despite the solstice’s passing.

Around these parts, July, August and September are really our summer weather months. I’m already planning weekend excursions and floating ideas of ways to really maximize the times ahead with warmer weather. July and August are the festival months, when so much is happening in Newfoundland, especially here on the Avalon Peninsula.

September is, however, my favourite month – on the cusp of summer and autumn, and my favourite time to lay out a blanket by a cliff and read in the last rays of sunshine before 6 more months of miserable weather takes hold.

In the meantime, between now and when summer properly begins, I’m posting this photo to remind me of how summer will taste. Doesn’t that look appealing?

What flavours and scents remind you of summertime?

Three Months

Sitting bundled in a blanket, nursing a cold, I’m feeling a bit miserable about being stuck in bed during precious weekend hours. There’s so much I could be getting done – errands to run, house to clean, taxes to file, friends to visit. But instead I’m forced to rest. I guess the body needs it.

Ho-hum. I’m starting to go stir crazy.

Then I remind myself that in three months’ time, I’ll be with friends in London and Cardiff, and that brightens me up considerably.

I’ve been to London six times before. Sometimes it’s just a quick couple of days, other times a couple of weeks.

Things is, you can never get tired of that incredible city. By rail or discount airline you can get so many places quickly and cheaply from London.

And since it’s only a 5 hour flight direct from St. John’s (when the direct flights are available that is), it’s the first stop along my way when travelling onward to Europe.

I’m looking forward to seeing some old friends and a few news ones too, from my last trip. After a jolly five-day jaunt in Londontown and the English countryside, I’ll be heading on to Wales where I’ll be meeting one of my best buds for four short but action-packed days together.

I really cannot wait.

Take that, cold!

FACES: A Calvert Picnic

This wonderful heritage photo was taken circa 1902 at a community picnic at Stone Island, Caplin Bay (now known as Calvert), Newfoundland.

I’m not sure of its origin or photo credit, but it’s been kicking around our family photo files for a while.

Three of my grandparents were from Calvert, a pretty little outport community populated by Irish Newfoundlanders, just across the bay from my hometown, Ferryland.

My paternal great-grandmother, Mary Ellen Sullivan, is pictured third from the right, in the back row. She was a lovely looking woman and in other photos of her, she had a great deal of presence.

My great-grandfather Matthew Whelan is also pictured. He’s the fourth man from the right in the middle row. I really enjoy seeing the folks in their fancy dress on what seems to be a summer afternoon back in simpler times.

Looking at the faces, I can still see familiar traces of today’s people from Calvert and surrounding areas. I often wonder what their stories were and what their lives were like. We know it wasn’t an easy life for these hard-working, hearty Irish stock. It would have been a very special occasion indeed to have dressed like this and have a photograph taken.

I’d love to know more about this picture I found a copy of it online here, which seems to have been contributed by a K. Reddigan, but no other details. If you also have a penchant for heritage photos, let me know your thoughts in the comments section below. Thanks!

VIDEO: Hold Your Horses

I came across this video quite by chance tonight and thought I’d share it with you. This was a perfect summer day when my dear friend Lauraand I went on a weekend road trip. We set up our tent in Maberly, watched fishermen clean cod on the wharf, explored root cellars in Elliston and spent time in beautiful Bonavista.

While there, we were driving away from The Dungeons, a natural attraction site in Bonavista. We took a gravel road through fields overlooking the sea in the evening’s golden light. It was there we encountered a traffic jam — by horses no less!

Very sweet encounter with a half dozen goregous, friendly beasts. One of the many reasons I love Newfoundland.

I get a kick out of the commentary, my friend almost having her shirt eaten and the adorable ending (well, before the car behind us honked at us and I say, “Oh give it up!”).

Just click the screenshot to view it.  Hope you enjoy!

Laura has sinced moved across the world to Singapore with her husband, little boy and furry family. I miss her dearly, but am happy we captured this memorable moment on film!

Out of Gas

It happens to me at least once a year. I think I have enough gas to get somewhere, and push my little car when the yellow “fill tank” warning is on. Sputtering, the car dies. Out of gas.

Usually it makes for a funny adventure in the end, so I don’t get worked up about it or too embarassed. This time, it happened en route to the gas station. So close, but yet so far!

In bitter cold, standing on the roadside, 38 cars passed me on a busy, well-travelled downtown street. 37 of them sped past, with impatience and some came close to clipping my car, despite the emergency flashers. Three men walked along the sidewalk next to me and didn’t offer help or even make eye contact.

I was shocked. Isn’t this supposed to be Canada’s friendliest city where people are happy to help someone in need? I called a couple of friends, but no luck. I took a photo of my car and tweeted that I was broke down. I had immediate response from several people who kindly offered help.

My little car and even littler gas can. I tweeted this photo and got more (and faster) response online than in person, standing on the street hoping for help. Interesting.

 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, our little seaside captial city is starting to act and think like a big city – in good ways and bad.

Of the 38 vehicles and 3 pedestrians that passed me, only one person stopped to ask if I was okay and if I needed help. This genuinely kind woman was about my age and driving the same model car as mine, only a different colour.

I thanked her and told her I’d finally reached a friend who was on her way to help me. She was very helpful and showed sincere concern.  I appreciated that kindness, and wondered why it was not as forthcoming like it used to be around here.

As the sole good samaritan drove off, I stood on the curb, freezing in the -15° C wind. My friend was en route and would be here soon. Why stand around outside? It’s never a good idea to sit in a car that’s broken down in traffic and run the risk of being rear-ended by approaching vehicles.

As my fingers, toes, nose and ears all threatened to cry icicle tears, I thought to myself, “What’s happened to this place? Whatever happened to helping someone? Surely seeing a lone female standing outside her stalled car with hazzard lights flashing should make someone stop and ask if assistance was needed. And who would give someone in that situation a loud, angry honk? How could three separate, grown men pass her by on the sidewalk and not say a word?”

I was both disheartened and a little amused by the situation.

That being said, the one person who did stop was so kind and helpful that she made up for the 40 others who passed by and said, “Not my problem,” or “Out of my way!”  I didn’t get her name, but her actions warmed my heart on a frigidly cold evening. Thank you, kind lady.

Once my friend arrived, I gave her a big hug and then handed her my mini gas can to fill up at the nearst station. After 15 minutes and another slew of cars who drove past without blinking, she returned with a grin, holding up the gas can like it was an Olympic torch. We both laughed and I flexed by stiff, icy fingers and started pouring the gas into the tank — just enough to get me to the station to fill up.

I asked her as I carefully poured the gas in, “Did you meet a cute guy at the gas station? I was thinking if you did it would make a great story for how you met the man of your dreams at a gas station of all places.” You never know when karmic matchmaking may happen!

She grinned and pulled her hat down around her tighter. Then she paused. “Well, there was one guy. He looked like he should have been in a German rock opera show, big jet black glam rock hair, tons of black eyeliner. Not my type, but he sure stood out.”

We both laughed, and I sloshed gas over my hands accidentally. Cold fingers soaked up the petrol and then I felt the bite of freezing skin. I thanked my pal and told her I’d return the favour any day, any hour.

I slowly drove off to fill my little car up so she wouldn’t be thirsty anymore. I filled up the tank, dancing in place in the bitter cold, then went inside to pay for the gas. I’d already forgotten what my friend had told me.

“56.79″ said a voice, which made me look up.  My eyes widened with surprise and I struggled to keep from gaping. “It’s him!” I almost burst out with a delighted laugh.

There really was a goth David Bowie behind the cash. Awesome blown out hair, black nail polish, expertly smudged eyeliner, costume jewellery and black silk shirt. She’d described him perfectly. And he really did have some star power going on. I love it when people aren’t afraid to show their true colours. Kudos to him!

I smiled widely at Gas Station Bowie as he handed me my receipt and thanked him before heading back out into the cold, reeking of gas.

Have you ever run out of gas? Leave me a comment below and share your story!

Irish Blessings

(C) irishcentral.com

To bring in St. Patrick’s Day, here are some traditional Irish blessings, curses and quotes that may come in handy over a few pints this week.

I’ll let you decide which are blessings and which are curses. See how many you can work into conversation in the coming days!

• “Top o’ the morning to you!”  Response:”And the rest of the day to yourself!”

• “Take the world nice and easy and the world will take you the same”
• May those who love us love us. And those that don’t love us, may God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles, So we’ll know them by their limping.
• A drink precedes a story.
• May you be afflicted with the itch and have no nails to scratch with.
• Put silk on a goat, and it’s still a goat.
• Never scald your lips with another man’s porridge.
• ‘Tis better to spend money like there’s no tomorrow than to spend tonight like there’s no money!
• May the devil cut the head off you and make a days work of your neck!
• The light heart lives long.

——

*from the blog archives

FACES: International Women’s Day

Today is International Women’s Day and I wanted to make a quick posting to recognize all of the wonderful, strong and inspiring women in my life.

I had an appreciation party for my favourite female friends a while ago. It was a really special night full of storytelling, laughter and recognition. I wanted them all to know how important they are to me, each in their own way.

Here’s a photograph from that evening. I’m proud to know such beautiful, wonderful women. Who’s on your list of women you appreciate and admire this International Women’s Day?

Celebrating the wonderful women in my world. L-R Trish, Erin, Leisha, Fiona, Cheryl, Gay, Laurita, Edna, Natasha, Laura and Rachael. Many more ladies should be in this picture, but this is a good collection!

That was random.

Many times I’ve thought to write down snippets of random, bizarre encounters I find myself in. Like this one:

I was browsing through HomeSense late one afternoon when a robust woman in her 50s came rushing up the aisle I was in.  She was huffing loudly, “Now where did I put that book?”  After a few seconds of chattering to herself, she turned to me.  I was the only customer now left in the stationery and hardcover book section (my favourite spot to poke about).

“I’m trying to find this book on Michael Jackson. I asked them to put it on hold for me, but you know how these places are.  So now I’m hoping to God it’s not been put back on the shelf and bought by someone else. I have to have it. Have you seen it?”

I shook my head slightly and continued poking through oriental-inspired stationery kits and reams of stickers.

“You see, Michael and I had the same choreographer, the same trainer,” she burst out, grinning and coming closer. I cautiously gave her a quick once-over – she was a very round middle-aged lady with big hair and a tight black leotard-like bodysuit, sparkly black flats and floppy lavendar slouch socks. She was also half wound up in a massive patterned scarf.  I tried to stop my eyebrows from going up, and half-smiled.

She leaned closer, as if sharing an a insider’s secret. “Yes, the same dance teacher. You know, he worked with Michael in the 80s until he got fired and came to Canada.  And now he’s my teacher, has been for years and years. And let me tell you, the workout he puts you through is completely gruelling – whew!”

My eyebrows climbed a little further up on my face as she launched headfirst into a rapid, breathy story before I could so much as blink.  She waved her scarf-draped arms excitedly, twisted from side to side and pointed her stockinged toes outwards as if she was about to start dancing right then and there.

If I wasn’t so surprised by this scarily enthusiastic stranger all up in my personal space, I might have been tempted to ask her is she could moonwalk.

The lady was smiling with wide, glassy eyes and hair bouncing with every grand gesture. I wondered, half concerned, half dazed, if perhaps this lasy had gone off her meds.

But she was still talking rapidly and in gleeful tones:

“Apparently Michael’s father wanted him (the choreographer) run out of town because he knew too much about all the drugs he was feeding him since he was a kid – well, you know how dysfunctional the family was…”

I didn’t know whether to cringe or smirk every time she said “Michael” as if it were the name “God”.  She swiftly slapped on a layer of shiny lip gloss and smacked her jowly mouth.

Not wanting to be impolite, but wanting to get out of there, I interrupted her. “I think that’s it right there,” pointing to a black and white hardcover book with a glistening sequined glove on the cover that was poking out from behind a few notes pads on the shelf in front of her.

As she cried out, “There it is!!” and grabbed for it, I quietly turned the corner at the end of the aisle and whistled silently, tilting my head considering her proclamations.

Rounding the corner almost on my heels, she continued, “Now, see, Michael was a total perfectionist. His craft was everything to him. And if you’re a dancer, you’ll understand…”

I blinked, underwhelmed, and reached down to run my fingers over cellophane-wrapped journals, pausing on a beautiful Dorset Inuit art calendar. Okay, this was getting awkward, I told myself. Smile, nod, just keep moving away. There’s obviously something not quite right with this one.

Suddenly, she was staring at me impatiently, obviously waiting for some response.  I’d tuned her out and lost my footing in her Michael Jackson saga. “Oh,”  I mustered, finally, and for good measure, threw in a nod. I didn’t want to encourage her, but I was also mildly entertained.

She launched right in then, with more high-speed fan babble, giggling indulgently as she shared her intimate “connection” to “MJ”. This was getting a bit much. I reached stealthily into my pocket and hit my phone alarm button, which is a convincingly ringtone-y sound, and excused myself to answer my faux phone call. I gave her a small goodbye nod and turned away.

Michael Jackson’s biggest fan frowned. She had just lost her audience.

Pretending to take the call, I walked away and wondered if this person was for real. Did she really believe she was part of the inner circle of her idol’s world, touched by having a teacher who claimed to have taught him? Was it true and she was just so thrilled to share it?  Or was she just a bored housewife off her meds? Was she an aspiring actress, practicing a character? Were there candid cameras around?

I didn’t have any answers. The woman seemed happy in her disillusionment. I think she was just a lonely lady and fanatical fan – and that was okay too. Whatever makes people happy, I shrugged to myself, still smiling at the bizarre encounter.

Proof she was a dancer was never given. I really should have asked for a moonwalk.

As I rounded another aisle of home decor, the thought occurred to me that there are millions of random little encounters like this happening around the world right now, to all sorts of people. Some silly, some puzzling, some heartbreakingly sad. What matters is that we just live in a way true to ourselves.

I looked down when I realized I had something in my hands. Something I’d blindly picked off the shelf at random during my encounter with “Madame MJ”. The small hardcover book had a little set of googly eyes inserted in the top, for you to create your own hand puppet.

Hmmm. I read the title. “Better Living through Ventriloquism: “How to say what you shouldn’t AND get what you want“. The googly eyes practically winked at me.

It was silly and random, just like the encounter in the book aisle.  So I bought it and left the store with a grin.

Junk in the Trunk

Disclaimer: If you were hoping tonight’s blog entry would be about ghetto booties, you’ll get your reward at the very end, so keep reading.

My little hatchback car has carried a lot of gear in the 5 years I’ve owned her. From lost and injured dogs to a band’s musical instruments, gangs of friends and roadtrip gear, my teeny tiny car gets the job done.

Sometimes a little too well, though, I thought as I looked into the trunk space this evening.

I decided to give it a quick cleaning out and discovered a variety of random things that I just found in the “boot” as my UK, European and Aussie friends would say.

Hence, a listing of random junk in my trunk.

• a load of re-usable grocery/shopping bags
• roll of duct tape (everybody needs this!)
• pet first aid kit
• glitter streamers strewn around from the “birthday party on wheels” day with our friend Adrian
• a bent fork
• a rad Scotland flag rain poncho
• 4 umbrellas (all but 1 broken)
• 2 pairs of gloves
• 5 hats (I have a hat addiction: winter caps, straw hat, baseball cap, cowboy hat, etc)
• human First Aid Kit from my friend Gatesy who got extras on some safety workshop she went on (thanks!)
• broken branches and wood chips (from scavenging dead wood along the roadside en route to bonfires)
• lens cap for my Canon
• Happy Meal creepy baby toy
• a small bursted-from-freezing container of touch-up car paint
• driftwood, shells and beachrocks
• picnic blanket
• small empty gas can (I’ve been known to run out of gas a time or two, pushing the “low fuel” light limits)
• 1 Energizer battery
• bag of roadside safety stuff (no idea where that came from or when, but glad I have it)
• case of old music cds (that I should really go through and see what’s still listening-worthy)
• collapsible bucket
• Crocs kneeler (I think made for gardeners, parents, kids, etc but I use it for when I’m on photo assignment and need to get down on the ground. Super padded and comfy)
• a bag of recyclable plastic bottles
• leg off a piece of furniture
• broken badminton racket
• frisbee
• Worst Case Survival handbook (full of humourous yet practical quizzes)
• bits and bobs of a mummers’ costume

Before I finish up for the night, as promised, here’s a bizarrely random picture that came up when I googled the words “car trunk”. Take a good look at all that’s going on in this shot. Yowzas.

What’s the most random thing you’ve found in your trunk? I’d love to know!

A Real Trooper

You may have heard the shocking story of an injured cat who pulled himself up into a residential driveway in western Newfoundland after being hit by a car. Shivering, broken and bleeding, he huddled there, alone, unable to move another inch. More than 24 hours pass. Some notice him. Eventually, help is called for.

Still alive, the poor creature was found frozen to the ground, face down with legs splayed apart at impossible angles. He was embedded in ice and required buckets of warm water poured repeatedly over him to free him. His rescuers, volunteers of SCAPA, then rushed him to a vet clinic.

He had survived being hit by a car. He survived being left to literally freeze to death. Now, Trooper, as he’s been named by those who saved him, is still fighting.

Flown to PEI for specialized veterinary care, Trooper is facing amputation of a leg. Not from whatever first injured him, but from being left to hypothermia and frostbite. This could have been avoided if help had been called sooner.

How any human being could, in good conscience, knowingly overlook any creature, human or animal, in crisis is beyond me. I’ve seen a lot of disheartening things in the last 7 years as an animal rescue volunteer. But I’ve also seen the good that can happen when people who care pull together to make up for those who don’t.

This is that kind of moment. Right now, Trooper and his rescuer, Gwenn Samms of SCAPA, are appealing for donations of any size to help Trooper continue his fight. Even with 3 legs, he can live a happy, full life as a beloved pet. His story has moved people from the Avalon Peninsula to Australia. Will you be one of them? I’ll be donating and I hope you will consider it too.

Click here for Trooper’s Facebook Page where you can find out ways to donate and spread the word to help this brave survivor get the surgery he needs. He has shown more courage than most humans ever could.

He may have been thrown away by previous owners. He may have been hit by a car trying to survive out there in the world. He may have found himself frozen to someone’s driveway while waiting for humans to make a call for help. But you can help him have the warm, loving ending his story deserves.

If you see an animal that is injured, don’t wait before reporting it. If you see neglect or abuse happening, says something to authorities, anonymously even. Our compassion and humanity should be extended to all living creatures.

My Nan would say “animals were put on Earth to judge mans by”. And my Nan was a wise woman. Let’s be judged by our actions. Let’s help Trooper and the others like him out there.

Thanks for reading, and caring.

Jennifer