Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad

14 09 2007


Today is my parents 34th Wedding anniversary.

In a time of throw-away marriages, I’m so happy and proud of my parents!


I love you both!



17 06 2007

I used to work for my Dad while I was in college. When I worked there I called him by his first name, Dave.

Since then, in a bid for humourous nostolgia, I still call him Dave once in a while. To which he replies ‘Daughter’.

My Dad owns his own company with a partner, the partner is the good cop, my Dad is the bad cop. Dad collects debts for the business and usually does the firing of employees. My Dad plays this roll, not because he is a mean guy its because he allows negativity as such roll off him like water off a duck’s back. He just goes with the punches.

He’s always been a laid back sort of guy.

Now he is starting to wind down a bit, looking to sell up his part of his business to the partner (who still has kids in elementary school). Dad enjoys a few rounds of golf in the week and has taken up poker.

My dad has always been about keeping himself active and busy. Up until the last few years (after his hip replacement) my dad played competitive “old timers” hockey. He traveled with my Mom to Europe on year and another year he took all of us to Florida for a tournament.

Besides himself playing hockey, baseball & lacrosse. He also coached. He was the type of coach that 15 plus years later, you’d still call him the best and most influencial coach you ever had. And once or twice, most specifically at lacrosse, kids he coached back in Long Branch who now themselves were married and had kids would come back to him and ask him if he remembered them. He always did.

My Dad was the ‘cool’ Dad on the block. My friends, my friend’s parents, and pretty much everyone in between adored Dave. He liked to tout himself as quite a comedien. Classics which include – “How does an elephant hide in a cherry tree, he paints his toe nails red” and the ever popular “I hope this rain keeps up, so it doesn’t come down”.

My dad often gets asks to host or mc various events, his famous opener, which I learned because as I child I found it hilarious!

“Ladies and Gents, hobos and Tramps

cross eyed mosquitos and bow-leg-ed ants.

I come before you, to stand behind you

to tell you about something I know nothing about.

Of course you know next Thursday is Good Friday

There will be Mother’s meeting for Father’s only.

The admission is free, you pay at the door.

You grab a seat, and sit on the floor.

Thank you for your unkind attention,

I’d like to draw your unkind attention to the four corners of the round table”

I remember Saturday mornings with my dad. We’d get into the car and head to Max Milk to pick my dad’s lotto numbers. My brother, Sister and I all got to help pick numbers. We’d then head to the dump, we’d always find something that needed to be taken to the dump. Followed by going through the car wash. After our long morning of errands we’d head to McDonald’s for a cheeseburger HappyMeal with the newest toy.

I also remember my dad being quite an inventor and handyman, and even though as an adult I realized he was actually a DIY disaster waiting to happen. I must admit his ideas and presentation of his ideas were very impressive, perhaps the exucution was left to be desired. Of course the fact that he fixed everything with old hockey sticks and duct tape should have been the first indicator.

I remember riding on the back of my Dad’s bike. My push car that he rigged (with a hockey stick) so that he could push me without bending over. I remember catching crawfish in the creek behind our house. I remember science fair projects and making fishing rods out of widdled sticks.

I remember my Dad walking me down the aisle when I got married, telling me all the same jokes that made me laugh when I was 6. . . . .

My Dad is a good man.

Happy Father’s Day, Dave, I love you to bits.


6 06 2007

Visiting with my family over the weekend the topic of the ‘storage boxes’ came up.

Before I got married I boxed up my life into 8 Rubbermaid containers and stuck them in the garage.   I was moving across the ocean, and knew I WANTED to keep the stuff inside the boxes, but didn’t want to travel that far with the contents.

A few years past, and when we came to visit the running joke was my parents threatened to throw away the boxes.   I would get all in a tizzy about it, saying that my whole life was in those boxes.  I was already sensitive about it, as they had converted my room to a computer room which they now lovingly call “the middle room”.

It was very clear that I didn’t live there anymore.

When we moved back to Montreal and we lived in our small downtown apartment, we simply didn’t have the space to accomadate my boxed childhood.

Since buying our house my parents have been insistant and almost forceful about me taking the boxes.  I’ve hestitated.   Perhaps I’ve been trying to keep a bit of at my family home, I’m not sure.

With heavy heart, and perhaps a little joyful excitement I took two of my Rubbermaid containers back with us to Montreal.

Last night I opened them up to reveal their contents.

I ended up with the boxes that contained some of my books, my diaries, photo albums and boxes of photos.  My collection of un-opened McDonald’s beany babies and the vintage Barbie clothes I had collected.

I found the wooden box I had made in shop classes in Grade 7, filled with nic-naks from my dating relationship with Colin.

There was also a large plastic envelope with ever letter, note, card and correspondence Colin sent me in highschool.

I opened up the envelope and peered inside at the worn and yellowing lined papers with the beautiful, romantic and slightly awkward words he said to me all that time ago.

I kept every little drawing, table napkin & gum wrapper.

I truly loved Colin, and finding all these things makes me see how much I love him still. I don’t believe I tell him or show him that near enough now. . . . .

I’m looking forward to our next trip home, so I can get a few more of my Rubbermaid containers.  These memories have been making me very happy.

Do Not Feed The Animals

10 03 2007

Do Not Feed The Animals – Do not laugh at this joke.  Another Dad Special. . . my dad likes to think he is a really really funny guy.  People tell me all the time how funny he is. . . .  .is he funny?  I got this joke in my email over the weekend from dearest Dad. .  . . 

Remember, I warned you,  do not feed the animals. . .  .

do not feed

A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that her name is Patricia Whack. “Miss Whack, I’d like to get a $30,000 loan to take a holiday.” Patty looks at the frog in disbelief and asks his name. The frog says his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it’s okay, he knows the bank manager. Patty explains that he will need to secure the loan with some collateral.The frog says, “Sure. I have this,” and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, about an inch tall, bright pink and perfectly formed. Very confused, Patty explains that she’ll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office.She finds the manager and says, “There’s a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000, and he wants to use this as collateral.”She holds up the tiny pink elephant. “I mean, what in the world is this?”(you’re gonna love this)(its a real treat)(a masterpiece)(wait for it)The bank manager looks back at her and says…“It’s a knickknack, Patty Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man’s a Rolling Stone.”(You’re singing it, aren’t you?  Yeah, I know you are……..)Never take life too seriously! Come on now, you grinned, I know you did!!!

No Skippy in my Step

18 02 2007


 I went to the grocery store last night for some provisions.  I decided that I wanted English muffins with peanut butter and jam for breakfast today.

I smiled as I picked up a jar of Skppy Creamy peanut butter, it reminded me so fondly of my dad.

I remember saturday morning errands with my dad.  We’d start off with breakfast, Dad used to make this soggy french toast that we used to put our Skippy Peanut Butter on.   There was always a quarrel among my brother, sister and I when the seal of a new jar of Skippy was opened to reveal that covented trademark single peanut nested on top of the fresh mound of peanut butter in the jar.  Being the oldest I got to have first dibs more often than my siblings.

We’d pile into the car and make our first stop off at the dump to get rid of something that was taking space up at the house, then we’d be off to “Jackson’s Barn” a discount grocery store that always had the coolest candy.  From there we’d go to Mac’s Milk convienence store to pick up my Dad’s lottery ticket. For lunch we’d always go to McDonalds and get a happy meal.

I remember piling into the back of the Areostar minivan like it was just the other day.

This morning I toasted my English muffins, and sat at my kitchen table with anticipatation, I twisted the lid off my Skippy peanut butter, and to my shock there was no peanut.   I was so disapointed.

I bet if I phoned my Dad.  He would say to me he was sure there was still a jar from Jackson’s Barn cira 1988 still in the panty, and I could be his guest to have it.  My Dad rocks.