Places I remember living

Cultis Lake

We start at kindergarten, or so. I have hazy memories of previous places, but here is the first place I actually remember well enough that I found that same house decades later. I'm not sure it's there now. Cultis Lake has turned into jet boat heaven. The biggest thing I ever put in the lake was some wind up pontoon airplanes. During my childhood we sometimes went out to a beach at the lake when visiting grandparents. My cousin and I once spent part of an afternoon diving off a dock into the very deep water, trying to find the bottom. Not.

East Mall

The plane flight from BC to Toronto was lovely. My brother and I thought it was an amusement ride arranged for us. One side of the plane had sunshine, and the other was pitch black. Lots of people barfed. Airports have sure changed. This flight ended at Terminal 1, which is no longer there. You got off the plane (it was a DC-8, high tech then) walked down the stairs to the tarmac, outside, and there was a bin for umbrellas.

The apartment at East Mall is still there, though the surrounding area has changed a bit. There used to be a creek at the bottom of a big ditch One day there was a small bridge over it and I ran down the hill to jump on the bridge as I had done many times before. Except that someone turned it upside down, and there were a bunch of nails poking up. Ouch. This is the first medical issue I recall, though getting my front teeth removed at the dentist happened about the same time. I somehow ripped much of my thumbnail off once, and the doctor had to finish the job. He dipped my thumb into something that hurt even more than the original incident.

The house that burned down

This was out in the country about an hour's drive north, south and a bit west of Orangeville. This was a small old farmhouse. I loved exploring the barn, and it's a wonder we didn't kill ourselves. We had 75 acres of land which included a small bush, a pond, and lots of fields. I first drove a tractor there, and that's how we found out I was terribly short sighted with one eye so lazy it was essentially not used. At least it was a tricycle destroyed, and not a car or the house.

Getting glasses was a blinding flash of illumination to me, and I mean that literally. Now I could read, and I loved it. There was a Grade 3 reader with a yellow cover, filled with science fiction, fantasy, and real life stories. There was an Arthur C Clarke, and one about the real nuclear submarine the Nautilis. I became a voracious reader. I learned who the Jetson's were.

The major medical adventure here was stepping on a wasp's nest, and getting stung half to death. There was a fast trip into town and getting hustled into the doctor's office.

I was going into grade 5, on vacation at our Grandparent's when we were told about the house burning down. I saw it later before it was bulldozed. Nothing but a hole in the ground with the chimney my dad built left standing.

Grandma and Grandad's

We spent part of that school year in Chilliwack. My cousin Ron in 6th grade, me in 5th, and my brother in 4th. We walked to school together, but for some reason I don't remember any of my other cousins with us. Ron's two sisters would have been grade 7 and grade 3. Maybe they went to a different school. We tormented the soccer coach because he referred to people by their last name, and there were 3 of us Cartmell's.

That house is still there, though another of my cousin's owns it now. At one time my family owned 4 houses in a row along there. There is now an extra one that didn't use to be there. Back in the day it was active dairy farm, when milk was put into large metal jugs, and left on a wooden stand by the road, to be collected by truck. My uncle owns the original house, looking much upgraded on Google earth. It used to be that plaster with the glass chips blasted into it.

I loved living in BC, the stint in grade 5 and summer vacations. I helped with hay and tried not to get in the way of farm machinery. As long as we showed up for lunch and supper, we could do what we wanted. Once, much later, I was ferrying my granny around Chilliwack for a variety of errands on the occasion of my Grandpas death. We were going into a bank for her to shuffle money around, and I introduced myself to the bank official as her grandson. Her attention was arrested. "What is your name again? Are you related to the local Cartmell's?" I told her, and it turns out her and my dad had dated in high school. Granny did a slow burn as she reminisced.

The house with the pool

We moved back to Ontario as dad built the house on the hill. It wasn't complete yet, but either our grandparents were sick of us, or they wanted us back in our regular school. Our neighbour across the road lent us (rented? I don't know) their house for a while. He had a big family, and there were lots of bedrooms. For some reason my brother and I shared. Technically, we were still going to the wrong school, as it was across the county line. My first ever crush was a girl from this family, we shared the exact same birthday. I have often wondered where life has taken her.

The house on the hill

This house is still here. It was recently sold, and my mom and brother toured it. They said it seemed a lot smaller than they remembered. It was a big house to me, with stunning views. I had seen the plans for it, though they didn't mean much to me. I liked the elevation drawings. I instantly realized this was a representation of the house, and how it would look. Turns out they built a wall wrong, and my bedroom ended up a fraction smaller than planned. This was just enough that my bed prevented the door closing. That room is a laundry room now, I'm told.

There was another really small room too, the kitchen. Unworkably small, taking the term galley kitchen to new depths. I watched the first moon landing in that house. We had huge Christmas trees because there was a place for a circular stairway that never got installed. I once saw a cat more than 10 feet off the floor in the tree.

The house in Orangeville

I don't know what prompted the move here. My brother and I shared a big bedroom throughout part of grade 8 and all high school for me. We got cars, and in the winter I struggled with a cantankerous snowblower. It's a wonder I didn't lose any body parts in it, and if I'd been wearing a ring I would have lost a finger to a snowmobile clutch. I got into my first fight, though it was more of a scuffle. The other boy was pissed at me for something, but he was much smaller, and I didn't want to pound on him.

Not much later, when I started drinking in the local bar, (way underage) my size was a good thing. Just standing up ended some truculent discussions, even though I was a skinny drink of water. High school was not a fun time for me. I'd never liked school at the best of times, and much of this was a brutal experience. Drafting and English were about the only classes I liked. Somewhere I have the litany of shame that passes for a high school transcript. I was incredulous when I was nearly 30, and the University I wanted to go to as an adult student, wanted to see it.

The apartment in Streetsville

I wasn't there long. I lived in apartment 508, and drove a Pontiac LeMans license NOP 632. I parked on the top level of the parkade, and it made my year when I terrified my dad driving into it one day. I knew exactly where that pillar was, and he didn't.

Vic and I met working nearby on a light manufacturing assembly line. I suppose it's the first real job I had, and it sandwiched flunking out of Air Traffic Control school. From there I learned I have a trick memory. I swotted up airport names, mnemonics, numbered routes, and it stood me in good stead when I memorized the Nova Gas Transmission lines in no time flat. Pity I didn't grasp meteorology, but then maybe I'd have ended up a burned out drunk stress case.

I met some of my cousins that lived nearby. One of them started at the plant I worked in, and she made a big impact on the guys there. I was really popular for a while, once people realized I was her cousin, and could introduce them.

Living in Streetsville was fun. It was the first time I'd lived on my own, and could keep my own hours. I played hockey with work buddies, went for a beer after work sometimes. Back then it was still a nice little town, but now it's been absorbed into Mississauga. I discovered Pink FLoyd. I saw Supertramp in concert. I got half way through Being There before I realized it was funny and nearly peed myself laughing. Me and one other person got it, and nobody else. I learned I had to trim the mustache regularly or it was very difficult to eat a big sandwich. Don't ask.

The shared apartment in Calgary

Vic moved to Calgary, and convinced me to go halves on a two bedroom place, and I got a job at the same place he worked. The job was fixing forklift and truck tires. To this day there is a patch of bald skin on my right wrist where it got shaved daily by tire beads. I came THAT close to getting killed by an exploding tire. I have always regretted that they decided at the last minute I couldn't go along as a swamper on a big convoy to Tuktoyaktuk.

I drove out with the car full of everything I owned, and totally completely loved the trip. LOVED IT! Ontario was boring, but I loved the prairies. The wide open sky was calling me home. I sang along to cheesy music on scratchy cassette tapes and drove forever. I discovered Pense, Saskatchewan.

The apartment was 806, quite new. I met up with the SCA and science fiction fandom. One of the guys I first met lived in apartment 608, and I thought the computer generated list was wrong. This was back when a computer generated name and address list was hot stuff. I met my first really serious girlfriend in that building. Her family didn't like me and we broke it off about the time we were thinking of renting a house together.

Since then the building has gone condo at exorbitant prices. I was really involved with the SCA for a long time, and science fiction for less time. It was a surprise to run into some of those same people again at the When Words Collide writer's conference.

The basement dungeon

The less said the better. It was an illegal basement suite at a time when the vacancy rate was a negative number. I learned you can't fill a water bed with cold water and sleep on it that night. Or the next one. I had the best nightmares ever there, when I had all 4 of my wisdom teeth removed. Good drugs.

The flooded apartment

Once I could get a real place I settled in, until the heating system broke and soaked the rugs. I lost some furniture and a few books. It had smelled musty before, and was worse after. About then I started working shiftwork for the city. To get my bedroom dark I carefully taped tinfoil to the windows. Later, I heard they had to replace the windows because the stick from duct tape doesn't come out of glass very easily after it's been baked in the sun.

Linda was horrified at the state of my fridge and cupboards. I think that's why she took pity on me and decided I was a lifetime project. I had no say in the matter. She executed a classic BDD maneuver.

The townhouse

Linda wouldn't stay at the flooded apartment, barely even to visit, so I started spending more time at her place. She had a really nice apartment, but there wasn't room for the two of us. We somehow ended up in a townhouse just down the street, and stayed there a year or so. Sebastian the best cat ever came into our lives, along with a succession of other cats who are just as much the best cat ever. Moving is fun when you can't get the car into third gear.

The current house

During our relationship we were looking at all the wealthy (looking) people in Calgary. They were buying big houses, big cars, boats, RV's, all the toys. Then the market crashed in the wake of the NEP, and we found out all those people had been borrowing the money. Houses got cheap. We discovered we could afford (just barely) to have one built. We did. For a while we had no money at all after paying the bills, but that gradually changed.

The house is more than 30 years old now, looking better than ever. We still look good too, or so we think. I periodically muse about moving around a lot as a kid, then spending most of my life in one place. I never would have guessed that would happen.

The real true meaning of all the cat videos

A few days ago, here, I put in a teaser about the real reason for the explosion of cat videos on the internet.

A couple preliminary points:

• The ancient Egyptians treated cats as gods. They have never forgotten.
• During the middle ages cats were often blamed for bringing the plague, and were sometimes cruelly killed. They have never forgiven.

One thing is certain, they are like Cylons; they aren't what they seem to be, and they have a plan. They've been watching us for many generations, awaiting their moment. Soon.

The first step was to control the rat and mouse populations near farm buildings. The more astute farmers rewarded them. They've been playing us ever since. Now many of them do nothing more than purr in exchanged for food and vet care. Some of the more enterprising of them take on lap warming duties, if it doesn't interfere with their naps.

We only think that the US military created the internet. Bah! It's a notoriously secretive organization. The idea of them creating a mechanism to share information, and then letting other people use it is ludicrous. No, there is something more.

What else happened about then? Human birth rates in North America dropped, and people started taking better care of their pets. Used to be that the only animal around humans that would get attention from a vet was draft horses. Maybe cows or lambs with birthing problems. Now vets can do more for their cat and dog clients, on shorter notice, than human doctors can or will do. One of the staff in our vet's office a while ago was bemoaning the difficulty of getting a family doctor to replace one that treated her badly. "If anyone here treated a pet as badly as he treated me, they'd be fired on the spot!" she said. Now some people consider their cats as their "fur children", rather than breeding their own human children.

So, cats are getting better care and living longer. It wasn't so long ago that a cat that made a decade was doing well. Most of them now get well into their second decade, and I've heard of cats more than 20 years old. This just gives them more time to observe and think. They are watching us, taking notes. Influencing us.

Considering their furry features are not especially mobile, one seldom has much doubt how a cat feels. They have a way of making their wishes plain. The noise and being underfoot is the least of it. All this time they are experimenting on us, learning to insert thoughts directly into our brains. Cats have always had a place in books and films, but that was just a starter. The cats wanted more, and pushed the idea of the internet into our brains. A medium better suited to cat requirements.

One of the tools is cat videos. This is subliminal advertising at it's finest. When I was young, it was widely assumed to be nearly impossible to teach a cat to do tricks. There was much discussion if the cat wouldn't, or couldn't. There is a big difference between those two.

Now it seems like every cat in the world is a video star. How did that happen? Think about the calm, dignified, aloof demeanor, then compare it to when the camera is on. There is a reason. They only pretend they don't know the camera is on. They are distracting us, amusing us, entertaining us while they prepare the ground to take over. They are figuring out which of the staff are best to keep around.

Many people wonder if there are aliens out there. I think that question is late. They might still be out there, but they planted their spies a long time ago, and are waiting. Little furry spies, ones who are considered cute and entertaining. Spies that, as they nap, are using all that energy to send information back to the great cat mother-ship. There other cats collate, cross check, and enter it all into databases. They send ideas back for the local cats to try, to see how the humans react.

All those "UFO's?" Many of them are delusions, or Venus, or perfectly explainable  in various ways. But some of them are the cats coming down to check in person, and disseminate detailed instructions. Maybe new technology. These are just the tiny ships, with a few cats on them. Somewhere, there is the great mothership. Perhaps one of what we think is an asteroid is it. Or maybe a base on the moon, just on the edge of what our telescopes can see. Or one of the moons around Jupiter, or part of Saturn's rings. Somewhere. Waiting.

I also think it ties in with the environmentalism movement. Cats want warm dry places to live, so they pushed humans to invent modern homes. The problem is the side effects. Pollution from creating plastics and refining metals. So they've been pushing the idea that we need to be neater about our waste products. Bury it away properly, and not leave it out in the open where it can poison anyone that comes along. Sound familiar?

Once upon a time I held a full grown great horned owl on my fist. It was a wildlife protection agency raising funds. This bird was surprisingly heavy. It looked at me, and it was completely clear to both of us that it could eat any part of me it wanted, if only it hadn't just eaten and wasn't hungry. I've caught my cats looking at me like that. They are predators, you know. Is it a coincidence that humans have been getting fatter and less active? Watching cat videos on the internet, among other things. I'm sure they are waiting for a tipping point, till we are the right balance between so big and fat and unhealthy we aren't good sport or eating anymore, and still able to fend them off.

I know it's coming, and am trying to get in good with them so I become cat staff, rather than cat plaything. I, for one, will welcome our new overlords. Yes, I'm sure they will do a better job of running things. They could hardly do worse.

Wetsuit butt shot

Never let it be said that I only post flattering shots of me and other people. Nope. In triathlon there are very few flattering photos. Somewhere on the IMYYC70.3 page there is a photo of of people in wetsuits. I was joking they found the only photo of a woman who's butt looks good in a wetsuit.

Today I was out to Auburn Bay, site of the Calgary 70.3 swim next Sunday, for a practice swim. Here's some shots for your delight and edification. I was told my butt looks good in wetsuit.

The promised butt shot. Does it?

Maybe I should make this my LinkedIn shot.

This is about as a good a photo as possible of me in a wetsuit.

The water wasn't cold at all, and reasonably clear, as these things go. No algae or seaweed. We swim clockwise around a heart shaped lake. I was mainly looking for sighting landmarks. Lots of big expensive looking houses to look at along the way.

I just started swimming nice and easy. It felt a little bit clunky at first. Then I settled in. Just as I got to the north end of the lake I belched so much I wondered if there were solid chunks bouncing off of wetsuit. Then I felt myself go into a higher gear and swim felt awesome from then on. Swam straight, though there isn't much for sighting. I hope they put big buoys in.

Part of the swim was to tweak my stroke, looking to keep my elbows up and out a bit, and getting a good pull. My wave starts just after the pros, and just before the 30 to 44 age group men. I'm not going to catch any pros, and I'd like to stay ahead of the kids. If any pass me, you can be assured I will latch onto their feet and draft like mad!

On the way home we were devastated to learn that Olson's High Country bison no longer has an outlet in the Calgary Farmer's market. Devastated! Now we have to find another source of bison. The struggles we have.

We had some guests over yesterday, and this is what they walked into.

Unusually Curtis was not on hand to greet the guests, though he livened up a little later. Even though his eyes are open, they weren't tracking anything. He was sound asleep letting out wheezy little grunts.

Sleeping in

You might be asking yourself, why ever did he go with such a weenie blog title? The answer is that sleeping in is an extremely rare thing with me, thus worthy of a blog title.

Normally, If I'm still asleep by 6:30, that's pretty amazing. Today, Linda got up at some uncivilized hour, and I snoozed, partly awake, partly asleep, enjoying the relaxation. My back didn't hurt. I didn't have to go to the bathroom. The cats weren't complaining at the door. It was quiet. I could enjoy just floating, enjoying my thoughts. It's a wonderful state of mind.

I sometimes think about states of mind. Times when you are ostensibly doing something, but part of you is aware of you doing it, watching it almost as if a stranger was doing it. Wondering if you are doing the activity, or if the activity is doing you. I kind of like these meta states of mind, flipping back and forth, thinking or doing something, and then suddenly you are thinking about the thinking or doing. So far I haven't managed the third level, thinking about thinking about the thinking or doing. Or maybe I have and I got lost along the way.

There are lots of times I find myself thinking about a situation, wondering why I'm on the outside looking in, in a situation where I've done something I think is perfectly logical and reasonable, and everybody else is wondering if I'm from Mars. So there's a joke. Two mothers are watching a marching band parade. Little Johnny's mom says to the other mom, "Look, there's my son. He's the only one marching in time."

That's me. Marching in time to the music only I can hear. I would imagine it's been very frustrating to some of the people around me. Oh well.

Why is my swim bag so heavy?

Last night I bottled the Aglianico. It's a deep rich ruby red, a little tart and oaky now, but the fruit is right up in your face. Once it matures it's going to be awesome! Needless to say I had supervision. Stealth supervision.

My swim bag has been getting heavier and heavier. When I changed fins from the blue ones to the black ones, I noticed the weight increase. But since then I've been wondering if it's me getting more feeble. How much stuff can be in one swim bag?

Now I know. My bag lived in Michelle's car today after our swim. Our lovely swim! I did some tune up and coached. Michelle had a breakthrough! Yay her!

I'd recently read a blog from socalrunnergal, "what's in my run bag", via my buddy SUAR. As I was taking the damp gear out, I decided to take it all out to photo and itemize. Shocking. Just shocking. Here's the deceptive bag, looking all innocent.

Here is the heap of stuff. I never would have imagined.

From upper left going roughly clockwise:

• Merrel mesh tote bag. I got it as swag at one of my first races, it's been used lots. Incredibly useful. I have two of them, but the other is downstairs.
• The current pair of goggles and nose clips.
• Not one, not two, but three, count'em three pairs of back up goggles.
• One pair of backup nose clips. There's another pair around somewhere. 
• Blue mesh bag that hasn't found a use yet. 
• High tech rubber band for trying to keep Michelle's legs on the reservation during kick drills. In real life they were used to fasten snowshoes together. Really.
• Black shorty fins.
• Best body wash ever.
• Hand paddles.
• A spare Scotiabank bag. I think this is from the half marathon last year.
• Flip flops. All recycled materials, bought at Tri-It.
• A little Talisman shoe pouch as swag.
• Two locks.
• Shampoo and cream rinse, for when I had hair.
• Razor.
• Comb.
• Last year's and the year before's Talisman renewal paperwork. Soggy.
• A Monthly timesheet for January, that I email in to get paid. I did.
• A key fob.
• A luggage tag with obsolete contact information.
• A couple ear plugs, last used early 2008 on a twin prop flight to High Level.
• A pen, I don't know if it works. I tried later, it does. Amazing.
• A car key, never used. At least we still own that car.
• $2.40 in change.
• The current swim suit, with the shark teeth motif.
• Back up swim suit, and it gets used on short notice periodically
• Cheque book and pen. Not that I write a lot of checks, 178 since early 2001.
• Waiver forms for the race next weekend. Not soggy, carefully taken out and put somewhere handy.
• Kleenex package.
• Toothbrush. I wouldn't dream of using it on my teeth now.
• Washcloth.
• Underneath it all my orange towel.

And this is what didn't go back in after. Much of it went into the garbage.

First bit of decluttering done! What next?

Winner winner, chicken dinner!

Well, cookies anyway.

My buddy Janet (only one Janet) delurked long enough to pick out that I'm blogging every day now. Good eye! This is the grand experiment, to see how long I can blog daily. I figure that any or all of several things could happen,:

• Massive writers block that prevents me from doing even a Tweet. I'm in big trouble if also affects SQL.
• An attack of life happens such that I can't blog.
• I know about an impending attack of life, and plan for it with a scheduled blog, and Blogger betrays me and doesn't post.
• There is a massive reader revolt complaining about the lack of quality writing, such as it is.
• Readers begging me to stop.
• Curtis the literary cat takes over the blog and readership goes through the roof.
• The cats take over, and forcibly prevent me from blogging in favour of chin scritching, grooming, and feeding of the uber-mammals.
• Closely related to the above, we suddenly understand the reason for all those internet cat videos. Stay tuned, I have a theory.
• Or I get on a roll and keep pumping them out, day after day, to wild reader adulation. (Hey, we all have our fantasies!)

I know how to send things to Janet, so I'll try to bake up some of my semi-famous chocolate mint chip cookies, and send them off. Or she could come here, then she would get both cookies AND wine, and even a swim coaching session thrown in. It's safe now that Stampede is over.

In other news, for yesterdays blog, I got the mostly lovely comment. "I'm sensing just a tough of taper madness setting in." What's so delicious about is that Janice is a writer, and there is every possibility this is what she intended to write, with all all the subtle interplays of meaning. She's also a runner, and thus knows about taper madness. I love to collect good blog titles, and A tough of taper madness is a good one.

In garden news, the Lamb's Ears are blooming. So are more lilies.

No taper, just madness

Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed. I got into the office shortly after 7. Well before 8 am I was swearing under my breath. Things got hazy with the blue air. I closed my office door to keep from offending my nearby colleagues. And the ones further down the hall in two directions.

Eventually, I gave up. I had already spent much too long on the task. The last straw was it refusing to do something it did yesterday. It would have been quicker to find someone with the security rights to do what I wanted done. Well, the people that want it done, some of whom have the rights, but are very busy. They didn't want to take 10 minutes to fix it in the user interface, so I spent several rage inducing hours at it and failed. I don't get paid enough for that. I came perilously close to walking out of the office for the day. I contemplated forever. There are other jobs in this town, and I don't need to find one tomorrow. Or even next week.

Meanwhile, I'm still preparing for another load, one I can't complete till the rage-inducing one is done. It turns out that assets with a particular status, once given a PM and Job Plan, will in fact generate work orders. I'm glad I found out the easy way before the people in the field and down the hall found out the hard way. So either I generate a whole new load sheet, or find a way of taking the right ones off of it, leaving gaps in the numbers. I await further developments.

Stuck into that was a request to turn a letter B into a letter C for some things meeting a particular criteria. I think it's a dumb task, but at least it was easily done. I had fears. About the same time I looked at some of the work orders that have been generated, and wanted to cover my eyes. At least my name isn't attached to them.

Every time I look at this database it gets more and more complicated. The name "Rube Goldberg" is coming to mind more forcibly every day. One last thing on this topic. The person writing those work orders spelled it "Seperator". The end is nigh.

Then Costco after work. The parking lot wasn't bad, but there were a lot of people in my way. They had people on every aisle cap flogging nameless substances purporting to be edible. I got a nose full of one of them and nearly threw up on the spot.

As soon as we got stuff put away I went to lie down in a quiet spot to recover my tranquility. So far so good.