Month: November 2019

painting cars part one

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School Days.  Episode Three Painting Cars.

When I was five years old, I had a small group of friends that I hung out with.  At that time, I was living with my parents and my grandparents on Hargrave Street. Like most kids of that era, we were always looking for cool things to do.  As the only form of technology that we had the 1950s was television and the radio, all of our group activities would have to come from our own resources. Sometimes we would learn a new game, such as hide and go seek that one of my little buddies would teach us.

One morning my little buddies and I were having a hard time coming up with something interesting to do.  In other words, we were bored. We decided to walk down the back lane to do some exploring in the hope that somebody would come up with a great idea.  Behind one apartment block was a parking lot.  It was not a modern parking lot like we would see today.  The lot was not paved, didn’t have yellow painted lines and consisted mostly of dirt, gravel and crabgrass. We could see four or five cars parked in the lot.  Cars made in the 1950s were a thing of beauty.  If anyone owns a custom model today, their automobiles are probably worth a lot of money. To the right of the parking lot was a thicket of bushes and trees.  Some people would throw their refuge and other discarded items into this area.

When I was five years old.  I already love cars.  Chrysler, Plymouth, Ford and Chevrolet made some awesome cars in those days.  I already owned a collection of miniature model cars that we called Dinky toys.  These small models were not made of plastic.  They were built from solid metal.  When I played with my toy cars, they could withstand a lot of punishment.  That must be why older folks today will often say, they don’t make them like they used to.  The actual cars that our parents drove were also built in the factory much sturdier and much more reliable than the cars we have today. The great thing about those old cars were that they didn’t all have the basic design like modern cards today.

When we watch cars drive down the street today, is often difficult to distinguish between a Honda Accord and a Ford Fusion.  Both these cars have the same basic body design despite being manufactured by different companies.  Not so with the Ford, Chrysler, Plymouth or Chevrolet from the 1950s.  These models of cars all came with their own unique design.  I was already dreaming of the day that I be old enough to own and drive my own car.

While I was almost salivating over a Ford Thunderbird in the parking lot, I noticed an open can of white paint.  Next to it was a broken off piece of board approximately the size of a 12 inch ruler.   The piece of wood had jagged edges from where it was broken off.  I picked up the wooden stick in one hand and grasped the ring handle of the white paint can. A great idea darted across my mind.  Wouldn’t the Ford Thunderbird to my left look great with a wide horizontal strip of white paint right across the side of it?

 

School Days Episode 3 Painting Cars

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School Days.  Episode Three Painting Cars.

When I was five years old, I had a small group of friends that I hung out with.  At that time, I was living with my parents and my grandparents on Hargrave Street. Like most kids of that era, we were always looking for cool things to do.  As the only form of technology that we had the 1950s was television and the radio, all of our group activities would have to come from our own resources. Sometimes we would learn a new game, such as hide and go seek that one of my little buddies would teach us.

One morning my little buddies and I were having a hard time coming up with something interesting to do.  In other words, we were bored. We decided to walk down the back lane to do some exploring in the hope that somebody would come up with a great idea.  Behind one apartment block was a parking lot.  It was not a modern parking lot like we would see today.  The lot was not paved, didn’t have yellow painted lines and consisted mostly of dirt, gravel and crabgrass. We could see four or five cars parked in the lot.  Cars made in the 1950s were a thing of beauty.  If anyone owns a custom model today, their automobiles are probably worth a lot of money. To the right of the parking lot was a thicket of bushes and trees.  Some people would throw their refuge and other discarded items into this area.

When I was five years old.  I already love cars.  Chrysler, Plymouth, Ford and Chevrolet made some awesome cars in those days.  I already owned a collection of miniature model cars that we called Dinky toys.  These small models were not made of plastic.  They were built from solid metal.  When I played with my toy cars, they could withstand a lot of punishment.  That must be why older folks today will often say, they don’t make them like they used to.  The actual cars that our parents drove were also built in the factory much sturdier and much more reliable than the cars we have today. The great thing about those old cars were that they didn’t all have the basic design like modern cards today.

When we watch cars drive down the street today, is often difficult to distinguish between a Honda Accord and a Ford Fusion.  Both these cars have the same basic body design despite being manufactured by different companies.  Not so with the Ford, Chrysler, Plymouth or Chevrolet from the 1950s.  These models of cars all came with their own unique design.  I was already dreaming of the day that I be old enough to own and drive my own car.

While I was almost salivating over a Ford Thunderbird in the parking lot, I noticed an open can of white paint.  Next to it was a broken off piece of board approximately the size of a 12 inch ruler.   The piece of wood had jagged edges from where it was broken off.  I picked up the wooden stick in one hand and grasped the ring handle of the white paint can. A great idea darted across my mind.  Wouldn’t the Ford Thunderbird to my left look great with a wide horizontal strip of white paint right across the side of it?

1111

Street Dreams Episode 22

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Episode 22

“Would you want to just hang out with me today, Harold?” Whisper asked.

“Yes, what would you like to do?”  Harold asked.

“In the afternoon I was wondering if you could drive me to this sort of headshot/coffee shop called the Grunge.  It is a really super cool place to be.  They have some really rad clothing like from the nineties.  The also have an awesome collection of CDs, cassettes and vinyl records,” Whisper said.

“Do they have any bootleg CDs, tapes or records?”  Harold asked.

 

“You mean like live concerts that weren’t officially released by artists like Led Zeppelin and Nirvana?”  Whisper asked.

“Yes, that’s what I’m interested in, “Harold answered.

“You’re in luck.  They have a few boxes of rare recordings in the back corner of the store.  They also have a little coffee bar where we can try out some exotic coffees and teas.”

 

Do they sell any books at the Grunge?”  Harold asked.

“Oh yeah, they have bookshelves stocked with lots of cool books, even some rare out-of-print books.  They even sell books by local authors.  Sometimes a busker will walk in with his guitar and play some old folk songs or some of his or her original compositions.  The Grunge has a small cozy stage area for that.  They will often pass an old cowboy boot around so people can  donate some loose change to the artist,” Whisper added.

“Well, the Grunge sounds wonderful.  I would love to go with you,” Harold said as he took a sip of his Tim Horton’s coffee.

“Are you into that kind of thing?”  Whisper asked as she chewed on a slice of raisin toast.

“I think that I would really enjoy myself in a place like that.  We used to have coffee houses like that back in the seventies. I used to know a local folksinger called Dave Barrett who used to take me to a hang out something like what you’re describing.  I still love those times.” Harold said.

 

 

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Episode 21 of Street Dreams

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Episode 21

 

Harold Payton was busy getting breakfast ready for Whisper and himself.  This meal was Harold specialty, Raisin Bran cereal, toast and coffee.  Harold had a small, cozy kitchen that was adequate for a man who lived alone.  Harold liked to get up around 5:30 AM in the mornings.  At this earlier hour he could choose from a few substitute assignments that were posted on a Aesop early in the morning.  Harold has the Aesop app installed on his computer.  He made a habit of checking the teaching assignments that were available shortly after hr began his day.  Harold no longer just accepted the first offer that was available.  In his retirement years.  he would just agree to take the assignments that interested him.  He much preferred secondary school assignments over elementary school positions.  Before breakfast he checked the jobs that were available. Harold had just completed five consecutive days teaching high school English at Transcona Collegiate. As he was feeling tired Harold decided that he would take a day off.  He set the cereal and milk on the table, took some bread out of the refrigerator and put on a fresh pot of Tim Horton’s coffee.  He heard Whisper moving around in Erica’s old bedroom.  Harold decided that he would surprise Whisper by preparing breakfast for both of them today.  He was looking forward to having someone to talk to at breakfast time.  He wished that more people knew how sad and lonely it was to live alone. Knowing that Whisper would be joining him for breakfast brightened Harold’s mood significantly.  He neatly set cereal bowls, plates and coffee cups on his orange and white kitchen table.  He called upstairs, “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, honey.  Harold caught himself.  He had just called whisper honey and started to wonder why.  The thought quickly crossed Harold’s mind and he now had his answer.  It was because Whisper was starting to fill the void left by the death of Harold’s daughter Erica.  God, he missed Erica.  The grief didn’t seem like it would ever end.  The pain was almost unbearable at times.  Whisper could be the one ray of sunshine in Harold’s otherwise tormented life.  This was way too much pressure to put upon Whisper.  She could never make up for Harold’s loss of his daughter, but she just might ease the pain a little.

 

Whisper yelled from upstairs, “Just give me a couple of minutes Harold.  I need to use the washroom and brush my teeth first.”

During the last year, Whisper had become used to waking up in strange beds and strange rooms.  She had certainly done a lot of couch surfing over the last few months.  It had become a way of life for her.  During the last seven months, Whisper began to hate this lifestyle.  She hated to admit it, but for approximately one year she had destroyed her life due to het addiction to crystal meth.

As Whisper finished taking care of her personal hygiene tasks, she could smell the aroma of the coffee that was percolating in the kitchen.  She thought that this was going to be a real treat.  She was not used to eating breakfast in the morning.  On the odd morning she would wake up hungry and find a slice or two of cold pizza in a box that someone had left in the kitchen after a party.  On most occasions, there wouldn’t be anything edible to eat.

As Whisper made her way downstairs, Harold noticed that Whisper had slept in the same clothes that she wore the day before.

“Harold, you already have breakfast on the table.  I thought you said you couldn’t cook?”  Whisper said as she seated herself at Harold’s kitchen table.

“I can’t,” Harold replied, “but I can put out some cereal, make toast and put on the coffee.  Harold was filled with joy to see Whisper sitting down in her black and silver Los Angeles Kings jersey.  This morning Whisper appeared beautiful to Harold, just as his deceased daughter Erica had once been.

“Are you going out to teach today?”  Whisper asked as she poured herself some Raisin Bran cereal into a large green bowl.

“No, I’m going to take the day off.  I just finished teaching two days back to back, so I figure I’ll work on my writing a bit today.  I also want to hear your story.”

“I do have a pretty interesting story.  Harold, if I tell you about my life could you make me the main character in one of your novels?”  Whisper asked excitedly.

 

“I would like to hear your story,” Harold responded

 

“I could tell you lots of good stories about what happened in my life. I need to warn you that my life story is awfully gross.”

 

The coffee maker had stopped percolating and Harold got out of his chair to bring the Betty Crocker coffee carafe over to the kitchen table.  Harold had already poured himself a huge glass of water.  Whisper notice that Harold had a small blue travelling bag that was full of medications.

 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I need to take my morning meds while I’m eating my breakfast.  As Harold opened  a couple of his pill bottles, Whisper thought of her deceased grandfather, Howard.  She often wondered what it would feel like to be old.  She loved her grandfather.  Howard used to spend a lot of time with Whisper.  He often read children’s books  to her.  During the year that Whisper turned seven her grandfather had taken his own life.  He hanged himself in the attic.  Whisper hoped that Harold would never do anything like that.

 

 

 

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Street Dreams Episode 20

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Episode Twenty:

On Tuesday morning, March 27, 2019, Harold Payton accepted a collect phone call from Headingly Correctional Centre.  The call came from Ricky Kramer, Harold’s stepson and Clarissa’s biological son from her first marriage to Peter Kramer.

“Hey Dad, it’s Ricky.”

“Hi, son.fantasy-42”

Although Ricky was not Harold’s biological son, he still referred to him as if he was.  Herald had two children with Clarissa.  They were both now adults.  Harold first met his stepson, Ricky, when the boy was only three years old.  Harold refused to make any distinction between his biological children and Ricky.  Harold hated the term stepson and always referred to Ricky as if he were his own child.

“Hey Dad.  How’s it going?”  Ricky asked.

“Not bad. How are you doing?”

 

“Well, about as well as may be expected,” he answered.

Harold could hear someone else talking in the background.

“Hey. pal. Make it quick.  I got to call my old lady.”

It was obviously another inmate waiting in line to use the pay phone.

Ricky replied, “Take it easy, Charlie.  You can have the phone in a minute.”

“Well make it snappy. Laura can be a real bitch if I don’t return her calls,” the older convict replied.

Look Dad, the reason I’m calling is that they’re planning to let me out a couple weeks.  They’re reducing my sentence by a few months for good behaviour.  The only problem is that I need to let them know that I have a place to stay.  Do you think I could stay at your place, Dad, at least temporarily?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why not, Ricky.”

“Are you planning on staying out of trouble.  this time?  Harold asked.

“Totally,” Ricky replied. My release date is April 22 at twelve noon.  You think you could pick me up?”

“Sure.  No problem, Rick.  I’ll see you then.”

Harold felt a lot of guilt about Ricky.  He hadn’t started to get into serious trouble until he and Clarissa separated.  Harold paced around his living room nervously.  Whisper had gone out in the afternoon to visit a friend.  Harold started thinking that he would that he must be a glutton for punishment.  In a few weeks he would have both Whisper and Ricky, two troubled young people living under the same roof with him. “I wonder how that’s going to work out?”  Harold thought to himself.

 

Winter Dreams Episode 49

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Winter Dreams Episode 49

Miles Myers was grateful for the motivational talk that Rick Miller had given him, but he still felt very nervous as he left the dressing room and walked slowly to the ice surface of the St. Vital Arena.  The two rookie forwards, Steve Hayes and Rod Langlois followed right behind him.

Miles informed Steve and Rod that he wanted to skate two laps around the rink before taking his place in the net to start taking warm-up shots.

Several fans of the Norberry Knights had already found seats in the arena.  As Norberry was the visiting team, their supporters took the bleachers on the west end of the arena.  The Maplewood Cougars were attired in their home team jerseys, a beautiful blend of gold with white trim.  The Norberry Knights wore their visitor’s uniforms that were white with silver trim.

As soon as Miles, Steve and Rod took to the ice they could feel the hatred that the Norberry Knights fans felt toward them.

One of Norberry’s fans yelled out,” Hey Myers, you sieve, what makes you think you can play goal like Rick Miller?”  Another Knights fan, a tall thin man in his early forties, put his hands together and bellowed, “You guys should concede the game right now before you embarrass yourselves.”

The Maplewood Cougars fans started to enter on the east side bleachers.  There was a sense of uneasiness among the Cougars supporters.  The fans knew that not having Rick Miller in goal tonight could be a huge factor affecting the outcome of this evening’s game.  There were also concerned about the loss of team captain, Eric Coswell as he was serving a suspension.  Eric was highly valued for his team leadership as well as for his outstanding skills as a defenceman.

The extra security staff arrived approximately one hour before game time.  Two security personnel were already checking the fans entering the arena for concealed weapons, contraband or alcohol.  One three hundred pound security guard had already stopped one fan who had a switchblade knife in his jacket pocket.  Two other security personnel caught a teenager with a flask of whiskey in the pocket of his parka.  The young man had wrapped the silver flask in a brown paper lunch bag. This was not too smart as anyone who sees somebody drinking out of a brown paper bag knows that it’s not Coca- Cola in their container.  The young man hung his head in embarrassment.  One of the older security guards who was likely well to his sixties turned towards the young female security guard and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’ll be glad when our shifts are over tonight.  I think a lot of these people are expecting to have an all out brawl like the one they had last game.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said a thirty year-old police constable with a slight tinge of grey in his black hair.  The police officer was standing by a white wall and was also keeping a close eye on the crowd.  “The first person that gets out of line and I pull out the handcuffs.  My partner and I are ready to use physical force if necessary, to keep this crowd under control.  If it gets really bad.  we can always radio in for backup.”  His partner, a fit young officer with red hair, nodded in agreement.

 

 

 

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