The 31st

I drove up to Ch’town with Shawn and Neil, picking up his buddy Leon along the way out in Borden past what Neil referred to as the “wooden nacho”, to go see a show that I found hard to believe was actually happening: The Sadies would be playing at, of all places, Hunter’s. I thought it was just a rumour when I first heard about the five dollar show but when it showed up in gig listings the long countdown to today began. My intention was to be in front row for the whole show—no ifs, ands or buts about it.

We had some time to kill before the show and decided to get some grub but Churchill Arms was packed which meant I wouldn’t be getting the chicken pot pie or stew I was craving. Then we got bumped from Rum Runners but they gave us 10% off Piazza Joe’s which was more than fine with me, plus I had never eaten there before. They had a bread bar with no restrictions on grilling the spread side of the bread, unlike those fascists at Pizza Delight, which is really the only way to grill the bread if you ask me. Also unlike P.D., their panzerotti equivalent is really good and didn’t make me feel gross and tired afterwards, though, their caesar salad isn't nearly as good.

After the tasty apple-something I had for dessert, the lot of us headed over to Hunter’s next door where we had watched The Sadies unloading their gear right outside the window next to us. The bouncer wouldn’t let us sit downstairs while they set up and directed us to the upstairs bar in the meantime where we missed out on the first half of trivia. No matter, The Sadies was all I was interested in.

After what seemed like forever, anticipation for the show making the wait feel that much longer, The Sadies finally took the stage and I found myself right where I wanted to be. I was literally three feet from Dallas Good and could see every little thing Travis and Sean played on the opposite end even though I ended up focusing mostly on watching Mike drum like a sunnavabitch. I would kill to be able to play even 1/16th as good as he can.

The place was packed and The Sadies blew the roof off the dump. I didn’t keep track but Shawn said it looked like their set list had at least thirty songs on it which they delivered with almost more melting twang and blazing shuffles than I could handle. These guys have never disappointed in the two shows I saw them play before, the first show no doubt being the most exciting but this definitely topped the time they opened for The Hip. Being that close to watch their performance, and having become so much more familiar with their material since that first show in Moncton made this show enjoyable on a whole other level.

After their sweet encore, I met Mike for a second and shook his hand, and asked Sean about playing bass for Atomic 7…he didn’t seem like he wanted to do much talking so I left him alone hoping I might get a chance to meet the Good Brothers before we took off. No such luck. Maybe next time, you know, the next time they come back to play a little gig at Hunter’s which is about as likely as The Neil Forbes headlining a show in Japan. You never know, it could happen. The Sadies coming back, I mean, not the Japan gig.

The 30th

D’Arcy had an evening rental of the private room at Dooly’s for free that he’d been itching to use and tonight was the night he cashed it in. Normally it’s great to have a reserved room like that where we can play pool while we listen to our own tunes but with just D’Arcy, Nathan, Shawn and me the room seemed too quiet, too empty, and a little like overkill. Kind of a waste, really, without another four or five people there to share the room and hang out. We made the best of it, though, by ordering some subs from A1 next door, kicking back for a bit and having a few games of pool before we decided we should take a break and go to trivia before things got old. We thought we might even find some people there we could invite back to join us for the rest of the evening. We didn’t in the end but Neil joined us when we headed back down to Dooly’s, replacing Nathan, and garlic fingers from Michael’s soon found their way into the room.

Mike Cameron, a buddy of D’Arcy’s, joined in on the fun and it was obvious that both he and D’Arcy could destroy Shawn, Neil and me at pool with very little effort. Even still, playing pool and eating greasy garlic fingers made for a good way to pass the evening as opposed to sitting in the living room. When the time came for the staff to boot us out we were left with the question of what to do next as it was only 1:30 in the morning. Neil went home, the four of us went out to Mike’s house in St. Eleanor’s where his basement proved to be quite the ideal spot for the bachelor type. He had his own pool table and a fridge full of just beer. An expensive private room at Dooly’s seemed like a perfect way to waste money in light of this discovery. Good thing it didn’t cost us a penny.

Shawn played some tunes on acoustic, I monkeyed around on a classic ’90s keyboard with percussion settings, D’Arcy’s sister and a couple of her gal pals showed up for a bit, and then the rest of the night, well…morning, passed as Mike and Shawn, each with acoustics, played their way through a songbook while D’Arcy, half passed out, sang along before completely passing out. It was after 5 a.m. by the time we left, which actually isn’t too much later than my usual bedtime anyway.

The 27th

I went to see Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of The Crystal Skull tonight, a movie I had been looking forward to for quite some time. Seeing Harrison Ford playing Indy again is awesome, no question there. I don’t care how old he is, once he’s donned the fedora and dusty clothes you know he’s going to be entertaining. Problem with this movie was George Lucas getting his George Lucas all over it. The plot, the adventure, the mythology: all great. The foolish, over-the-top foolishness was too much at times and reeked of Lucas’ Star Wars approach: “I can do all of this stuff now with CGI so I’m going to saturate every grain of film with as much CGI as I possibly can.” Less is more, George. Less is more.

The first films in the series felt like they were shot in the ’40s, while the new film is completely dated now by the thick slathering of CGI. Granted, quite a bit of the CGI looked great but there was a lot, in my opinion, that looked completely and ridiculously horrible. I started losing interest about mid-way through the film when the absurd jungle chase went on far longer than it should have, reaching into its stupid bag of clichés and tricks a little too often. Don’t get me started on how they get Indy out of the quicksand…

I didn’t find there were any wow revelation moments or ingenious traps either, and the ending was by far the worst part of the movie, the worst! Then, after all of the craziness subsides and they escape by the skin of their teeth, the surviving group sort of collectively said, “Phew, what a day. Well, let's get a bit of a rest, tell a couple of jokes and head home.” Um…least believable reaction ever to the most important event to be witnessed by modern human eyes!

It was definitely nice to see some new Indy material, it was entertaining, there were some great action scenes and interesting plot points but I was let down in the end, admittedly, in part, due to the fact that my expectations were too high to begin with. The intro looked promising, it had the feel of the old flicks but quickly lost it. Though, there’s probably no way they could ever make the new one truly feel like the old ones anyway. And while the following trait is common to all of the films, this one by far and even for me had (as Heather would say) too much snakes and running.

The 24th

The agenda for this Saturday evening commenced early as several peckish guests converged at a renown residence on Convent Street for what would undoubtedly be a barbecue of extolled import. Of the many distinguished invitees, two guests shone as charming beacons of definitive style and impeccable class: The Ellsworth Brothers. As one might expect, the brothers, Kyle and Jason, arrived dressed to the nines, bringing a fresh fashion perspective to a formally non-formal affair. I caught this rare, candid moment between dapper bachelor Kyle Ellsworth and the party’s gracious and eminent host, Shawn McNally, as they chatted leisurely on the back deck overlooking The Legion and a residential construction site that a fat raccoon disappeared into.

The brothers had dressed up for their night out at the theatre actually, but their “impeccable class” was waning in proportion to their alcohol intake. Saddle River was opening for Nathan at The Jubilee and there was what looked to be a considerable turnout for the show. It’s always a little different to see the boys play a big venue instead of a small hall or pub, the energy changes somewhat but they still put on a great show and keep the audience laughing between tunes with their crackin’ wise.

Nathan and uncles Dale and Tom hit the stage after the intermission to play a fantastic set, Tom got some more stage time after his Saddle River set, James joined them for a couple of songs on guitar, and Nathan played piano for the first time live on stage for “Graveyard”. After the applause for the encore, Nathan invited Saddle River back out to play a few tunes like “Cocaine Blues” and “St. James Infirmary”. A pretty damn good night of entertainment and it’s good to see people actually filling the seats at the theatre for a change.

The 20th

When I was visiting with Andy at his dummy farm we chatted about him living all by his lonesome in his new home ever since his wife had been hospitalized, and how she would no doubt never step foot in the house as she’d be living in a nursing home after her recovery. With that sad story at the back of my mind, a tiny sign mingling unremarkably amongst the rest suddenly grabbed me by the heart strings with its quiet, mournful message. It’s a real heartbreaker, that’s for sure.

The 18th

Ever since I was a little kid I’ve seen a book on my grandfather’s shelf titled Bread & Molasses, its electric blue cover emblazoned with funky, syrupy letters has the image of its bearded author, Andy MacDonald, sporting some mighty ’70s-looking duds. A couple of years ago, my grandfather lent me the book and I read Andy’s tales from his boyhood, about his unbearably strict coal miner father and the hardships his family struggled through living in Depression-era Cape Breton. While it might not sound like the happiest reading fare, it was actually quite funny, strange, and charming.

Coincidentally, I recently learned that Andy MacDonald is the very same Andy whose name has adorned a number of curious, handmade roadside signs past Port Elgin on the road to Aulac. The signs reading “Andy’s Dummys” are also something I’ve been seeing since I was a little kid, and a place I’ve told myself I have to visit someday to find out just where the hell the signs actually lead to. In my head I envisioned an impressive collection of ventriloquist dummies but I figured it would undoubtedly be nothing of the sort. On my way back from Halifax I decided that today would be the day I’d pay Andy a visit and found that his dummy farm was something altogether different than what I had imagined.

I pulled into the lane leading back into the woods but had to first slowly drive past an old boat flying a giant, tattered Nova Scotia flag and whose sides were scrawled with cryptic messages. At the bow and what appeared to be the boat’s figurehead, was a crudely made dummy dressed in filthy, ragged clothes which a sign fashioned from an old piece of siding announced to be “Commander (Big) Ralph Currie, commanded the NeverBudge through shark-infested waters of Peru, 1941”.

What the hell?

All along the lane on either side the trees were plastered with dozens of similar rustic signs with messages painted or scribbled onto wood, metal and plastic that were peculiar (to say the least), funny, downright out-to-lunch, or sometimes all three. Here’s a sampling:

“Your Somebody’s Lover Now”
"Poor Mama Hates Metric and Trudeau."
"The Biggest Squeals Come from the Biggest Hogs."
"He’d be a damn good singer if he could sing."
"Ma Joey Peed In The Cats Ear Ma I Saw Him"
"Groovy Rite On Man"
"You Still Look The Same Only Ugly Can’t Help Ya"
"Ma Hopes Pa Will Be Interred Before Fridays Bingo Bless Pa - Ma -"
"If You Care For A Tea Bring Your Own Tea Bag"
"Wooden Crest from a Wooden Cadillac. The First Made in 1611"

As I pulled up into the yard, a dilapidated barn sat directly in front of me with its broad side paneled with more of the makeshift signs. To my right, a rusty, blue bus held captive by a ring of junk and signs; next to the bus some sort of shed also decorated with Andy’s handiwork plus cutouts of a highland dancer and a bagpiper. The signs in the tress, on the barn, on the bus, on the shed, they’re all odd—that much is certain—and many bear the telltale comedic stylings of classic old man jokes:

"Jessie’s Hubby Caught Her Again Laying in the King Sized Bed with Arthur Itis??"
"Chamber Pot For Rent"
"For Sale Fresh Worm$ 300.00 a ton"
"Wealth: a Curse When The Neighbors Have It"
"Please - Cats and Drunks To Be Kept on a Leish at All Times, Sorry Joe"

Flanking the opposite side of the yard sat Andy’s house. It stood out like a sore thumb, not only because it was free from the homemade sign and dummy treatment everything else enjoyed but because it was a brand new Kent mini-home that had about as much back road country charm as a Wendy’s/Tim’s combo restaurant. It didn’t matter though, for when the slight, bearded old man in the red sweater came down the steps to greet me he made up for the charm that the house lacked.

I asked the man if he was Andy, to which he replied matter-of-factly, "Last time I checked." I knew full well it was Andy because other than looking thirty-five years older and with his hair and beard now pure white it was most definitely the same man from the cover of Bread & Molasses. He immediately invited me in which sort of took me aback because I’m not used to being invited into strangers’ homes but more so because I wouldn’t expect an elderly man to be so at ease with inviting someone into his house that he had met only fourteen seconds ago, especially in this day and age. In any case, I grabbed my battery charger from the car since my battery had just died and there was no way I was going to pass up an opportunity to snap some more photos now that I’d been given a formal welcome.

I passed by his van outfitted with vinyl graphics advertising his dummy farm and met his dog, Panda, at the door. Visitors beware: Panda is a nice dog but very protective of Andy because he snapped at me twice as I entered the house. Only after leaving did it occur to me that perhaps he named his dog just so because of the old Walter Lantz Andy Panda cartoon. Seems like an strangely logical thing to do, really.

Andy invited me to sit down and was kind enough to let me charge my battery while we chatted. Normally a situation like this, one where I find myself one-on-one in conversation with a complete stranger, would have me feeling rather uncomfortable and eager to leave but hanging out with Andy seemed very much like hanging out with my own grandfather. He was a genuine, polite, and funny gentleman who, while obviously eccentric in his own way, didn’t come across as the least bit weird or “off” despite his peculiar dummy farm.

We talked about Bread & Molasses, he told me stories about growing up in Cape Breton, and the press and attention his books and dummy farm had received over the years. I discovered he had actually written four other books, that he had been an accountant with his brother years ago in Virginia and an ice cream man locally for years, and that he had just bought the new home four months ago but his wife had yet to live in it. Sadly, she broke her hip and has been in hospital since right before the new home was brought in, she would eventually be moved to a nursing home, and Andy has been living alone in the new house ever since.

He said he moved furniture from the old house sitting directly behind the new one by himself which stunned me because he had just told me he was ninety-one years old! Andy was very much reminding of my grandfather now but unlike my grandfather who would have no doubt moved the furniture by himself because he’s stubborn, Andy moved it because he said no one in the community seemed willing to help him after his wife went into hospital. Very sad indeed, and I figured he must have been awfully lonely but it was nice to hear that he had family coming by every so often to take him to visit his wife and bring him soup and stuff.

I asked him how long he had been making the dummies and it turns out this would be his last year of maintaining the farm after thirty-odd years, as this was the first year his health had started to bother him enough to make him give it up. He showed me the last crowd of dummies he had made that were sitting in a back room full of old photos, memorabilia, signs, a rack with copies of his books, and a super awesome electric organ from the 1960s—maybe even earlier. After introducing me to the dummies, reciting their scribbled messages, telling me some more about his books, of which I bought Don’t Slip On The Soap as a gift for my grandfather, Andy sat down at the organ and started playing in a style I had never seen before. It seemed more like he was giving me a sample of what the organ sounded like instead of playing an actual song, but if he was trying to play a song I feel bad now for saying that because it’s probably not the easiest thing to do when one is ninety-plus.

Back in the living room where my battery had charged a bit, Andy was completely fine with posing for a photo with me, smoothing out his hair and adjusting his collar as the camera counted down to picture time. We then walked back outside so he could give me a bit of a tour of the dummy farm for as long as we could stand the horrible black flies.

He brought me over to the old junker of a bus that was literally crammed full of dummies, fully padded by the glut of stuffed bodies and miscellaneous bric-a-brac. There must have been a hundred dummies and even more signs filling the bus to near overflowing. All of those faces staring back at you, all of their written thoughts and messages clamouring for my attention and the total randomness of characters and creations was completely overwhelming. With Andy giving the tour, describing his work, introducing me to dummies like Brian Mulroney, and voicing what they were saying while I was trying to take everything in it was all I could do to keep my head on straight. I snapped photo after photo so I could scrutinize them later to read the all of the messages and examine the cast of characters away from the frenzy of faces, words and explanations inside the hot, cramped bus.

Don’t get me wrong, it was awesome but it was just a case of information overload for me, far too much to take in all at once. A multitude of multi-coloured dummies made from stuffed old sweaters, nylons, tattered clothing, and adorned with wigs, buttons, badges, and glossy stick-on eyes. They all quietly shouted with their hand-lettered signs whose messages were scrawled in permanent marker. Jokes, jabs, political commentary, puns, madness, witty sayings, turns of phrase, curious tales, out-of-context nonsense, random compliments, ecological descriptions, and fancified Shakespearian quotes: it was literally a bus full of crazy. Not convinced? This is what I believe the old codger said was a crab baby, though I’m guessing it’s a half human turtle...

Not only did Bill Clinton, Monica Lewinski, and Brian Mulroney show up in the cast of characters but so did everyone’s favourite dictator and war criminal, Hitler! Excuses, excuses, Adolf.

With the bus tour complete, Andy and Panda led me over to the shed where he pointed out that turtles and giant spiders were mates for life, and made it very clear as he saluted me that This Is The World of Pure Imagination, because it said so on the top of a toilet tank cover. Again, not once did I ever get a weirdo or cook vibe off this guy. Seriously.

"I like your shoes."
"Wow What a Parade."
"Not every man who sleeps with a battle axe is an indian"?

Just when I thought the Hitler dummy was weird, along came this wacko dummy and other dummies made from baby doll and mannequin heads, rubber masks, Javex bottles, and the occasional discarded gas mask. One notable idiosyncrasy on a number of the signs littering the farm other than the strange punctuation, especially misplaced question marks (or are they misplaced...?), was the frequent references to someone named Joe. Well, my guess is that this is photographic evidence of the very same Joe, who apparently takes dizzy spells.

"I beg your pardon sir?"
"We found Joe, tied him to a stake, locked his left leg. Monday morn, Joe, stake, lock, all gone. Poor Joe."
"Tact is close your mouth with ability - before some onelse wants to." - Andy

Andy introduced me to some more of his people sitting or swinging from the trees, lying drunk on the grass or hidden away amongst the mess of branches, Javex bottles, junk and other knickknacks. He pointed out a giant tractor tire with a sapling growing up through the middle and explained that in twenty years people will be asking how the he managed to get a tire around that big tree. If only I could think of something as quirky and clever as that.

The dummy farm continued well off back into the woods and had the black flies not been so bad I would have gone scouting about back there to see what type of weirdness sat quietly awaiting visitors. If the big sign at the beginning of the path was any indicator of what lay beyond the tree line then it’s a safe bet that the bus was just the tip of this bizarre iceberg:

"Andy's Dummy Resort. Your love would adore you, on this walk you'd be shocked at their mind. Don't laugh, as dummys are shy, you should see them after dark. Same as you?"

Same as me? Hmm, not sure if I can properly answer that question but I definitely wouldn’t want to be venturing back yonder after dark.

I have to say that pulling off the highway to check out Andy’s Dummies and meet the man behind it all was one of the most memorable experiences I’ve ever had. Not only did I get to meet the author of Bread & Molasses and the creator of what I think could safely be called a massive, homespun folk art installation, I was able to sit down for a chat with one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met for the better part of an hour, meet “his people”, and realize that even at ninety years of age a person can still be wonderfully imaginative, wacky and a very outstanding, charming character.

Thanks for the tour, Andy. Hope to see you again real soon.

The 17th

One of my favourite surf bands is Urban Surf Kings, a trio from Halifax who don’t play shows all that often from what I can tell by their site’s schedule, and a band I’ve wanted to see play for a long time. When you live where I live and love surf and instrumental music it’s mighty tough—nay, impossible—to catch any live shows so when USK’s guitarist emailed me after I bought their latest CD and said they’d be playing at Guitar-Fest IV in Halifax in May I promptly marked the date on my calendar and made a plan to finally go see them play.

I travelled solo to Halifax this afternoon with a six-hour playlist on my iPod full of surf, instrumental and other weirdness to keep me company and get me in the proper mindset for the show. After dropping off my stuff at Bryanna and Nadia’s new place and chasing Potato around for a bit, I met up with Ian and Holly at The Hungry Chili for some grub. We all ordered the numbing chicken that was good and spicy and just damn tasty all around, to which I added a tall, delicious glass of lychee smoothee and finished off the meal with a banana spring roll with ice cream for dessert. There’s nothing more satisfying than visiting another city to try new restaurants and new foods and having everything you order be extra tasty. Hungry Chili is now on my favourites list for when I return to Halifax.

After dinner the three of us headed over to The Seahorse Tavern to get a good seat for the show. Guitar-Fest IV was tagged as “A Night of Rock & Roll, Surf, Blues and Country” and would see a great line-up of acts that pretty well went all night from 9:30 to 2:00. The show started off with Urban Surf Kings and Brad Conrad playing some tribute tunes that were soaking with some lively lapsteel, followed by Alex from The Divorcees playing a few Willie Nelson tunes and doing a song where he changed his voice to match each of The Highwaymen fairly convincingly.

Brad Conrad returned to the stage, backed by what I believe are called The Busty Amateurs, to play a fantastic, bluesy tribute to Johnny “Guitar” Watson before Alex took to the stage again, this time with Brad backing him on guitar and a girl on keys. Ian and Holly had to leave, which was unfortunate, but I grabbed myself a better seat and hunkered down to enjoy the rest of Alex’s set.

Of course, while this was all fun and entertaining, it was basically just the lead-up to what I drove all the way there for really: to finally see play USK live, doing a spaghetti western tribute no less. Their latest album Bang Howdy Partner is a low-fi spaghetti western adventure itself so I was glad to hear some tracks from that plus a few of their other tunes, though the theme to The Good The Bad and The Ugly was conspicuously absent from the set list. It didn’t matter, Rev. Hank assaulted me with twang and I was just so happy to be out seeing a live surf band for the first time in a long time. I even won a Fender t-shirt for shouting out a Ventures album.

An added bonus capped off the show in the form of a mix of characters calling themselves The Fabulous Venturamas, consisting of Rev. Hank, Inky, Brad, and a guy who I think was named Don Cage (who looked like an animatronic version of a Blues Brother) replacing Crash Flagg on bass. They played The Ventures’ Surfin’ album note-by-note, track-by-track for the last set of the night, and they were amazing in doing so. I actually discovered I wasn’t familiar with at least half of the tunes and the ones I did know they played spot on. Inky drummed up a storm and Rev. Hank even kicked the reverb tank for that genuine Ventures-y sound, and they finished off their encore with Wipe Out, a bit of a cliché but I’m not complaining and, besides, it’s one helluva crowd pleaser.

I was kicking myself for being so stupid by not charging my digicam battery and for not bringing another SD card with me. I ended up with only a few crappy photos but managed to get a few songs from USK’s set on video thankfully, though I’d love to have the whole night on video, especially The Ventures tribute. I noticed Crash Flagg was recording bits and pieces throughout the night so perhaps some video will end up online at some point, I know I’ll be posting my videos on YouTube when I get a chance.

After the show I talked to Michael (a.k.a. Rev. Hank) about how great the show was and to Brad for a minute before I headed off for Bryanna’s place, stopping to pick up a chicken shawarma from Venus Pizza on the way. When I arrived they were playing Super Mario 3 with their friend Beth so I watched them play while I ate my shawarma and then some chocolate cake they offered me for dessert. I don’t think the night could have possibly ended any better than that.

The 12th

This is the house I lived in from exactly the beginning of grade three to exactly the beginning of grade four. They say it’s the biggest house in S’side. They say the Holman’s built it high enough to see their island in the harbour. They say it cost them $10,000 back in 1890. They say the Holman’s sold two silver foxes to pay for it.

The only thing I can figure is that either my parents were crazy for buying it or they used to have a lot of money. I’m guessing it’s the former. All I know is that it was one helluva house to grow up in at that age as it made for an immense space to play and run around in, and was also so grand and large that it made for some spooky imaginings.

I’ve been waiting twenty-one years for an opportunity to get back inside the house for a gander. Roy and his wife Melda gave me, my sister and Nathan a tour of the house as they’re the caretakers of the house for some rich Americans who spend several weeks out of the year here. I guess it’s safe to say that this place is their “cottage” of sorts, though, “summer home” is probably more appropriate. The owners filled it out with a lot of great artwork and furniture that’s much fancier than what we had so it looks quite a bit different. Other than that and some renovations throughout, the place looked mostly as I remembered it, though it seemed smaller now that I’m twice as tall.

The house has four fireplaces in it, including one in the master bedroom which also has both his and hers wash closets, plus the original archway separating the huge room was put back in by Roy. Even though the room was redone nicely and now has a fancy four poster bed in it, I was sorry to see that the sauna was taken out. It was in a side room off the master bedroom that turned out to be a lot smaller than I remembered. On the third floor, where we used to have boarders stay, the pool table was also taken out, and this cool box in the wall in back porch was sealed with styrofoam insulation. That was where the milk man used to leave the cartons and we could tell when he had been at the house by looking through the glass panel on the inside.

Other than those few changes to some of the more memorable elements of the house, I was happy to see that the hidden cupboard in the dining room wall was still there. The wainscoting had rectangular panels and I discovered that one of them had hinges and opened to reveal hidden shelves. I suppose this was a convenient way to store dishes and stuff in the room at one time but that’s where my mom used to hide the Fruit Roll-Ups and granola bars, which I would sneak out of the house and distribute among friends.

The house is a really impressive place, what with its giant winding staircase, high ceilings, beautiful old woodwork, fireplaces, three floors and even just its sheer size, but when I was a kid there were a lot of things that stand out in my mind as being a lot more memorable:

FIRST FLOOR: Kitchen/Dining Room
The kitchen had an indoor grill with a heat lamp where I stuck my Sci-Fi G.I. Joe next to the bulb for too long and the heat warped his plastic body apart. Also it had a refrigerator with an ice maker which was like magic when I was a kid.

Off of the kitchen was the dining room which had the door to the deck and the hutch where my mom kept all of her good dishes, silverware and candles. I remember thinking that the name of that piece of furniture was somehow derived from our last name, like my family were the ones who invented it or something.

FIRST FLOOR: Den/Sun Porch
My brother and I would be up early enough that the colours bars were still on TV and would wait for the station sign-on so that cartoons would finally start. There were the Rankin/Bass classics like Tales of the Wizard of Oz and The New Adventures of Pinocchio, the forever re-running episodes of Astro Boy we could never get enough of, and The Pink Panther whose United Artists intro still creeps me out to this day. It was intense, especially on dark winter mornings.

Off of the den was the sun porch with its tile floor and built-in benches all around the room, and I have some vague recollection of me and my friend Cameron pretending we had the power to freeze people in blocks of ice.

FIRST FLOOR: Entryway/Foyer
I remember opening Xmas gifts in the foyer, and among all of our booty I got this gigantic stuffed St. Bernard I named Cosmo after my grandfather’s old dog, while my brother got a Rambo action figure and army truck. I can’t remember what my sister got that year but I bet it was dumb stuff like Barbies, dresses and My Little Ponies.

I may have this story wrong but our babysitter, Lenny, was apparently freaked out by the big, dark house and made his buddy, David, go with him the ten feet from the den across the entryway hall to the downstairs bathroom so he wouldn’t have to go by himself. Granted, that house scared the shit out of me at night but that’s just pathetic.

FIRST FLOOR: Living Room/Sun Porch
This was the room we weren’t allowed to play in because of Mom’s good furniture but I’m pretty sure we played in there anyway. Off of this room was another sun porch but it wasn’t anywhere as nice as the one on the other side of the house, and the door leading into it from the outside always seemed like a perfect way for a burglar to get into the house. Many times I imagined bad guys or monsters breaking into the house through that flimsy door.

SECOND FLOOR: Staircase/Hallway
The impressive staircase leads up to a landing with a cushioned bench below the windows and a railing that still seems far too low to be safe for kids, let alone adults whose knees almost reach the top of the rail. The hallway was large near the bedrooms and bathroom, then went off down a corridor to the bedroom and second bathroom at the back. This corridor was dark, creepy and scared the absolute shit out of me. It didn’t help that my babysitter, Carol, told me about the Sherlock Holmes book she was reading one night. The Hound of The Baskervilles is a book I’ve never read but I doubt it had the giant, black, fire-breathing, rabid demon dog in it that I imagined lived at the end of the corridor at night.

SECOND FLOOR: Bathroom/Bedrooms
My parents had the massive master bedroom with the fireplace, wash closets, sauna, and door that led from the sauna room out onto the roof where my mom could sun tan; my brother and I shared a room; and my sister who must have been about four-years-old had a room all to herself. I was four years older than her and I would have been terrified sleeping in my own giant room alone in that old house (especially with the devil hound at the end of the hall) so it’s understandable that she basically never slept in her room and would sleep in the room with me and my brother. She had her own wash closet that I was sort of envious of in a way because everyone else but me and my brother had them in their rooms. Not that I wanted it to brush my teeth or wash my face in there, I was a kid and what kid wants to do that? I probably just wanted my own dedicated sink to drown my G.I. Joes in.

The bathroom had a big tub in it that I remember being claw foot but it turns out it has a weird rounded bottom on it. This was the tub my mom made me go soak in on the Xmas I got Cosmo because I was itching like mad from the chicken pox or the measles. Nothing sucks more on Xmas morning than being stuck in a bathtub while all of one’s toys are down by the Xmas tree not being played with.

At the end of the corridor was the second bathroom with the stand-up shower and another bedroom that we rented out to boarders, though, I think this one was reserved for my mom’s friend Mary-Jane. The coolest feature about this room was that it had a laundry chute in the closet. For a kid, that is pure fun gold. I seem to remember chucking stuff down there and racing downstairs to see how it ended up, though, I can’t remember where the chute emptied into. Probably in the kitchen as the washer and dryer were there in their own little alcove behind one of those clackety accordion partitions you can draw closed.

THIRD FLOOR
The third floor was where the rest of the boarders would sleep, and where the pool table sat in the common room. My mom would make meals for the boarders, and they could come and go as they pleased since there was a back stairway from the kitchen to the second floor at the end of the corridor, and another set of stairs leading up to the top floor. I remember a few of the boarders: there was a French guy named Jacques who lived with us and he would wipe his mouth a lot when he ate; there was the bread delivery guy (who used to park his trailer in the Zellers parking lot across from our house when we used to live on Gallant Street) who knew pool trick shots and taught us card tricks; and there was a guy named Brent who I think was from Tignish, talked funny (it may have been a cleft palette thing moreso than an up west accent, probably both), and he farted—a lot—and thought it was hilarious.

BASEMENT AND GARAGE
The basement was finished in one section, this is where I would play soccer and stuff with my friends, and it had the door to the cold room that baffled me by staying so cool while other rooms didn’t. It also had that musty potato smell and the door made a quiet thud type of a sound when you’d close it.

Another door led from the finished part out to the rest of the basement that had a clay floor, was dark, was where the wood was stored, and was otherwise scary as hell to a kid. Sometimes I’d go with my dad back there when they’d be tossing wood in through the window or when he’d chop wood and ask me to carry out kindling for him. Nothing beats the sound of sticks of kindling ringng off an axe and boucing around on a clay floor.

The garage held a lot of junk but the only thing that really stands out to me was the pinball machine someone was storing in there. I’m not sure why we were storing someone else’s things but I wasn’t about to question having a pinball machine I could play for free. Well, I played it for free even though I wasn’t supposed to be playing it all. I think my friend Ray stole one of the balls out of the machine, the little shit.

My other friend Jason convinced himself and maybe the rest of us that we could stand inside the garage and look at a solar eclipse in a mirror without going blind. Either he was right or I didn’t look in the mirror. Though, I seem to remember what a reflected solar eclipse looks like so perhaps that’s why I have glasses now.

We had a massive snow storm that winter and the snow drifted right up to the garage roof, allowing me and my buddies to slide all the way down from the roof, along the bank and into the yard. It also gave us a chance to jump from the peak down into the snow that hadn’t built up as much in the front. I stupidly thought or (since I was gullible) was convinced it would be a good idea if I walked with my eyes closed to the edge, not knowing when I would drop into the snow below. Well, I fell into the snow quite deep, hurt my back when I snapped face-forward into the snow, and was so stuck that I had to be pulled out leaving my boots behind.

THE YARD
The yard was huge, especially the front yard with its horseshoe driveway, and at that time had more trees and some weird, little brick construction at the bend of the driveway. I still don’t know to this day what it was for and now it’s gone. We would play squeeze, soccer, tag, and ride our bikes—the regular stuff kids do—but I remember distinctly being out there with my buddy, Ryan (now Bruce), throwing our G.I. Joes as high up in the air as we could so they would hit tree branches and come back down in all sorts of messed up positions. It’s hard to believe we probably got hours of enjoyment out of doing something like that.

For living there only one year it seemed to me at the time that we lived there for ages. I’m sure that place is the reason why I like old houses so much but I would never want one that size, if not just for keeping it clean, let alone the cost to heat the damn place. I’m really glad I was able to get a chance to go back in the house, get some photos and reminisce because that one year living there was a great year. Now, if I could only go back to being eight-years-old and playing tag in the yard instead of being thirty and paying my credit card bill.

The 11th

Not only was today Mother’s Day but it also happened to my my mom’s birthday so my dad cooked a huge dinner for her birthday/Mother’s Day/my birthday in one gigantic, combined food extravaganza fitting a triple occasion meal. As usual, they went nuts with the food so there were steaks, lobsters, roasted veggies, corn on the cob, and then ice cream cake and two kinds of pie for dessert. If there’s one thing there’s never a lack of in a Hutchinson household it’s food, and there’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to the spread provided for holidays and birthdays. Though, even I have to admit two pies seems a bit excessive next to the ice cream cake. One pie would have been sufficient but I ain’t about to complain any time soon.

The 10th

This evening proved to be an evening full of food, excitement, wagering, and ended with barn smells, all thanks to a master plan by Ruth Ann. She picked up Nathan, Shawn, Neil and me, and we all headed up to Ch’town to meet up with Kyle and Max at Cedar’s. I ordered a Lebanese coffee which was extremely strong, surprisingly sweet and had a heavy, spiced flavour that I’m still not sure if I like or not. It was worth trying in any case, just for the sake of trying something different. After the strange coffee imbibing, our orders began to arrive and my hunger (or perhaps the foreign coffee) must have overpowered my taste perception because I was a third of the way into the gigantic pita-wrapped dish before I realized something was wrong. It came as no surprise that I ended up with a falafel instead of the chicken shawarma I ordered and had been craving the whole way up there. I’m not a fan of falafels but I was so damn hungry that I ate the damn thing anyway.

With the food portion of the evening out of the way, next came the excitement and wagering portion. We all headed over to the racetrack to catch the last few races of the night and by my second wager I was up all of $4.70, all thanks to longshot Lloyd Got Lucky. Ruth Ann was trackside and waved to us to come down so I raced out of the stands so I could be in the photo with the winning horse. I should have asked how I could get a print just for the hell of it.

Some more wagering went on, money was lost, money was won. We went trackside after Ruth Ann’s dad gave me and Neil his picks for the race his horse was in, and when the picks were right on the money we each raked in a whopping nine cool bucks. Excitement was high, definitely higher than the wagers being made, so I had a tonne of fun even though my big quinella wager of the night ended up falling through.

Then, as an added bonus to top off the evening, Ruth Ann’s parents invited us all over to the barn to meet her dad’s horse, Negrito, who had apparently saved itself from a fate I wasn’t able to determine by placing fourth in its race earlier in the night. I certainly hope there wasn’t any talk of sending poor Negrito off to the ol’ glue factory. If that’s the case, the stakes for the horse were by far much higher than the $2 bet I had on him to place.

Horses are crazy huge animals, which became intimidatingly apparent when the steaming, giant beast would take a few steps toward us. The chains on either side of his bridle keeping him tethered to the walls wasn’t much of a reassurance. Seeing as the animal was nothing but pure muscle I’m fairly certain he could have ripped those chains right out of the walls and trampled any and all of us should his massive heart had desired it.

Most of us took turns carefully approaching him to pat his neck, Max even pretended to kiss Negrito right on the end of his snout so Kyle could snap a photo which proves he’s a much braver soul than I. When I had finished patting his neck and turned away for a minute I heard the horse snort behind me and the back of my head and jacket were immediately sprayed with a shower of horse snot. Refreshing it was not.

Not that I need to be gambling any more than I already do, Ruth Ann’s plan for the evening ended up being so much fun that I’m up for hitting the track again, and soon. Hopefully next time, though, I’ll see more money coming my way and less horse snot.

The 6th

Yup…thirty. Weekdays make for such lousy days for birthdays but I generally like to keep pretty low key anyway so I suppose Tuesday is just as good as any other day to mark the beginning of another trip around the sun. Tammy stopped by to give me a card, and stuffed into the envelope with it was a cool, little tin of Uncle Oinker’s Savory Bacon Mints. The smell alone was foul enough—that chemical smoky scent fake bacon bits have—so I can only imagine what they taste like. Tammy had a couple even though she said they were gross, which I find odd seeing as I generally don’t continue consuming things that taste disgusting. The flavour combination of bacon and mint seems mighty revolting if you ask me, but then again I do love bacon and I do love mint so perhaps I’m missing out on a taste sensation by keeping the lid tightly closed on this tin.

I drove out to Frosty Treat with Nathan, Kathy and Shawn, and then continued on from there out to the cat house to see the kitties. There weren’t nearly as many as last time but there was one friendly kitty who stuck around to play a bit while the others seemed wary of or just plain uninterested in human visitors. I hope the reason there were so few kitties hanging around is because they were out mousing in the woods and not because some coyotes or disease got the better of them. Perhaps I should take Hobbes out there and leave him for a day or two before I bring him back home just so he gets a sense of how bad it could be for him and how good he’s got it. It might make him think twice about pissing on the rug again.

The 5th

Iron Man was awesome. For someone like me who read Iron Man comics as a kid, and has always loved robots and mechanical/robotic stuff like Transformers and Robotech, it was so satisfying to see a real-life Iron Man suit jetting around, shooting stuff and beating up bad guys. The suit looked perfectly amazing in every way, and using an actual suit with a stunt guy instead of making everything digital really helped pull off some amazing visuals. I thought Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark completely made the movie and he elevated it beyond a typical superhero flick (ahem…Hulk, Fantastic Four, Daredevil, The Punisher, etc.). Granted, there were some cheesy lines and completely foolish scenes but those things, along with the ridiculous level of technology and turnaround time to develop the suit, just goes hand-in-hand with comics and superheroes. Now I want to dig out the few issues of Iron Man I have boxed away somewhere just for old times’ sake.

The 4th

Today was a warm and sunny Sunday, making for a really nice afternoon that saw Nathan, Kathy and me raking the yard, and picking up millions of sticks and branches. Blisters and aches aside, it was good to get outside for a change, to get a bit of exercise, and to get the shorts on again. After working all afternoon, there was no better way to replace those lost calories (and then some) than by going to Michael’s and filling up on pizza and über-greasy garlic fingers. Between the yard work, the pizza dough and cheese, I’m not sure which made more want to take a nap more.

The 2nd

The unmistakable scent of grilled meats signaled my first official barbecue of 2008, unless there was some odd winter or early spring barbecue I attended and can’t remember right now. I went over to Shawn’s for a Friday night grillfest—he with his steak and I with a couple of butterfly pork chops—which saw us using the generic “gourmet” barbecue sauce he bitches about his dad using. I didn’t care if we had to use ketchup for sauce, I wanted grilled meats dammit!

I also brought a two litre plastic bottle of Big 8 Cola with me, not because I particularly like it but simply for the novelty of buying a “mainland-style” bottle of pop since today marked the first day of the end of PEI’s can ban. Now our store shelves full of pop in glass bottles have been replaced by shelves full of pop in cans and plastic bottles, and, like a vigorously shaken can of root beer, I’m about to explode with excitement I can barely contain! Actually…that’s a bald-faced lie. I think finding a filthy dime under my car seat would actually get me more excited. Shawn said there were people in the pop aisle at the Superstore at 7:02am this morning, filling their carts with case upon case of pop that before today required ponying up the bridge toll to get to New Brunswick for a trunkload of canned pop. It’s really ridiculous all of the fuss that is being made, like the big, retarded radio station-sponsored canned pop party, and that people are flocking to the stores to buy pop in vast quantities. Sure there are sales on, sure there are a bunch of new brands and flavours, and sure it’s the end of a crippling restriction but, honestly, people are acting like prohibition just ended and liquor stores have taken down the boards to give away free shots of whiskey or something.

I don’t care to drink from plastic bottles, though it’s hard to escape it, and I’m pretty well indifferent to canned beverages so I don’t give a damn about all of this lifted can ban nonsense. I prefer drinking from a glass bottle so it’s sad to see that charming era of the local bottling company coming to an end but it will finally mean that my favourite types of pop will finally be legal to sell on PEI: Stewart’s and Jones Soda. Which, I’m happy to say, come in glass bottles anyway so something actually works out in my favour for a change.