Baby Plus Bath Water

Here on Cortes, the month of November has been turbulent. It usually is. We've been punk-slapped by the weather a few times, taking internet service, the ferries and electricity from us a each time. Intra-island travel has been interrupted by fallen trees, too.

Mother Nature's ruckus might also serve as a metaphor for the turmoil between and among island residents, plus, a faceless multinational corporation versus Cortesians of many stripes.

Example number one pits our esteemed recycling program against miscreants who left a huge mess at the entry to the center. At the gate there are retired deep freezers used by people who bring bagged trash after hours. That's a thoughtful, people-centered solution to that problem. Protects flora and fauna, too. No one enjoys cleaning up messes made by people with no regard for the common good, even people whose job it is to clean up the messes upon which we have agreed will be cleaned up for the common good. That makes sense, too. Their disquiet is justified.

Some of the refuse was identifiable. The woman who runs the operation wished to post their names on Tideline in her post entitle Black Thursday. That request was denied, also, understandable as all questions a reasonable person might ask about the event had not been asked yet, never mind answered. That was lost on the Recycling brain trust and those names were posted on the Facebook page kept by the center.  A citizen whose name had been posted objected and made a good case why his name should never have suffered public vilification. It was a persuasive argument. Since his response, as best as I can determine the names have been removed. I see nowhere an acknowledgement from anyone the pillorying him in public was a mistake. I am hopeful that wrong was righted, at least in private.

In the original Black Thursday post was this.
"The freezers have been removed because of these few careless unthinking idiots everyone pays. Shame on you from everyone who used this option properly. "


I would question the wisdom of that decision. As far as I can tell that myopic edict stands as it has not been retracted either on Tideline or on the center's Facebook page. There's no logic in this solution. There never is when innocent people are treated the same as the not-so-innocent. Allow me to add my voice to that choir seeking return of the freezers. The quality of the idea is not diminished by the "careless unthinking idiots."


An obsevation: the photos posted on Facebook gave me the impression that the individuals responsible for the heinous act were breaking up housekeeping: coat hangers, TVs and other things.  Anyone else draw that conclusion?


More tomorrow...

Lay Low in Shanghai

Those four people, if in fact they are people, in China who'd been following this blog have disappeared as conspicuously as they popped up; arrived all at once and left all at once. Why were they here? Why did they leave. Did they click on any ads? They are capitalists, now, right? Of a sort?
Perhaps I need to pique their interest again. I'll toss out a puzzle with Chinese overtones. Here you go...

HOW LONG IS A CHINESE NAME

If you have an answer, post it as a comment. I don't know why I ask you babies to do that. No one is ever brave enough to take that challenge. let's try reverse-psychology. Post your answer as a no comment

Good news: the Estonian reader has returned. Gotta love the Baltic Republics.

A Symphony Comprises its Notes; the Notes Compose the Symphony... and Michael Brandman is Deaf

Keep clicking the ads for me, eh? Please. I'd love to have more of you sign up as followers, too.


From the Salem Evening News (MA, USA) Police blotter


Ongoing theft is suspected by a woman who told police at 11:24 a.m. that her "night cream is being used up faster than it should be."


By the end of the week, a woman on Pope Street runs out of her medication, leading her to believe that someone is breaking into her apartment and stealing the pills, a few at a time, according to the log at 10:45 p.m. Police are investigating.


Those 2 women should save some money and hire both the same lawyer and the same psychiatrist


A woman claimed innocence at 2:45 a.m. after the landlord complained that she was deliberately disturbing the peace. She told officers she only woke when she heard them knock. But as officers walked down three flights of stairs, they heard her "jumping up and down in her apartment to disturb her landlord/neighbor on floor 2," according to the log. Police went back, telling her to stop.




Breanna Cornell, 23, of 539 Cabot St., Beverly, was arrested at the police station at 5:26 a.m. by Officer Joseph DiBernardo on a charge of malicious destruction of property. Taken into protective custody earlier, Cornell allegedly attacked a toilet, causing it to overflow and creating major damage.


Those 2 women, too.

Perhaps my favorite writer of fiction in the last 40 years was Robert B. Parker. He is not to be confused with the other Robert Parker, the oenophile, although he has not been without influence, either. RBP was responsible for more than 50 books in his lifetime; he vacated this mortal coil while seated at his writing table, last year. 


Parker is best known for his Spenser series of detective novels set in greater Boston. And well he should be. He also wrote a book with his wife recounting her breast cancer diagnosis. He's done cowboy novels, a how-to-guide on weight training, young-adult fiction and two other crime novel series. One of them has been made into a collection of made-for-TV-movies starring Tom Selleck. Jesse Stone is the character's name. He is the police chief in the fictionalized version of my home town. It appears that Parker's family and others in the free-food line did not want Jesse Stone to die with his creator. Commissioned to write the first posthumous Jesse Stone story was one Michael Brandman. From Amazon.ca, here is what qualified Brandman to pick up Parker's shield.


"Michael Brandman is an award-winning producer of more than thirty motion pictures; he collaborated with Robert B. Parker on more than a dozen of them, giving him a the ability to carry on the “Jesse Stone” series."


Other than the effective use of a semi-colon, that credential gave me the willies. "What, Michelangelo is dead? But there's another chapel to be painted. I know, we'll get Larry, his brother Darrell and his other brother Darrell. We'll put Mickey's name above theirs."


The book is what you might expect. Brandman, or his editor, whom he briefly slobbers over on his acknowledgments, hits the simple high notes of Parker's style often. But the subtleties, the conflict both external and internal, knowing his way around his environs (Boston's north side and the Old Harbor?) seem out of his reach. That's TV, though isn't it? The dialogue, for which Parker was revered, smells as if it were traced and not written. Every problem known to man in the 21st century is faced and solved. The ending is silly. The anti-climax is there because somebody said it should be. Brandman's limited investment ends with the violent denouement, two chapters before the story is euthanized. 


In the cluster of consumer reviews on Amazon a reader states that the writing


"feels like a high school junior read some of Parker's novels and thought he'd take a crack for a school project..."


That's grade 11, for those of you here in Canada. As a person who has taught high school English I feel that's a generous description.


I am sorry that Joan, Daniel, and David Parker chose Brandman, though his name says it all: the brand lives on, but the package is empty. Unless the real function of the book is a cynical screenplay-in-waiting...


Here's some irony for you. In my two novels I have made a conscious effort, struggled is more accurate, not to sound like Bob Parker. I am afraid that in those stories there are times when I sound more like Parker than Brandman ever does. Perhaps he needs to find his own ceiling to paint. I'll wager he won't.

Top Ten Reasons This House Is Better than BC Place

#10) We have chickens in our parking lot

#9) This house was not built to attract a Major League Baseball team it stood no chance of getting

#8) The 1/2 billion $$ roof at BC place leaks over the 35 yard line. If this house's roof leaked it would be over the 35 meter/metre line

#7) Fewer riots

#6) Higher proportion of bathrooms to people. Lower proportion of pee to floor

#5) There's no one like Diane and Ray living across the street from BC Place

#4) BC Place gets $8 for tepid, mass-produced beer from its guests. We get $6

Straws, 2 bucks.

#3) Ferries from here to there are more than $100. Ferries from there to here... no, never mind that

#2) Freshly-picked mushrooms means something completely different

And the  #1 reason this house is better than BC Place... Green is the colour, football is the game

You'll never convince me that this version of the logo isn't upside-down. Stand on your head; you'll see.

Where are Our Electrons?

Byproducts of the intense storm that graced us Thursday night and the accompanying power outage that ensued: I got to read Bob Edwards' book with a flashlight in one sitting...

...and the hedges that border the driveway have used all  the moisture to support a growth spurt. Lili has been in that vehicle since Thursday evening. I bring Shag and Mox to the windshield to wave hello every 3 or 4 hours. It's the least I can do.

More Ins and Outs

Come on good people. Your turn. Please feel free to add your own to the list using the comment button at the bottom.

I always wanted to travel in Decisive, but I talked myself out of it.
Being a tourist in Firm appealed to me, but I got sick.
I hope to travel in Fatuate, but my cholesterol was too high.
My wife absolutely refused to hike in Fantile. What a baby.
I want to tour in Souciant. I hear it has a real flare.
I don't want to stay in Bred, my father's hometown. I'm afraid of who I'll run into.

Ins and Outs

This comes to me from my friend, cowboy poet and brother-in-ink, Gord of the Prairies.

I encourage you to add your own via the comment link. I have.

Places I have and have not been


I have been in many places, but I've never been in Cahoots. Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone.

I've also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognizes you there.

I have, however, been in Sane. They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several trips there, thanks to my friends, family and work.

I would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump, and I'm not too much on physical activity anymore.

I have also been in Doubt. That is a sad place to go, and I try not to visit there too often.

I've been in Flexible, but only when it was very important to stand firm.

Sometimes I'm in Capable, and I go there more often as I'm getting older.

One of my favorite places to be is in Suspense! It really gets the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart! At my age I need all the stimuli I can get!

And, sometimes I think I am in Vincible but life shows me I am not!

I hear it's dangerous in Vertibrate. I don't have the spine to go. I think I traveled in Ebriate, once. I really can't recall.

Waving Asians

Will the four people in China who read this blog, please stand up and wave? If I go up to the roof I can probably see you.

 I said Chinese...

Nope, not you...

I give up. Anyway, welcome.

Gratitude

To those of you who are clicking on the ads, thanks. The blog has generated more than $6 in the past 3 days.
Keep clicking. That's what Don Draper would want

It was a Dark and Stormy Night... and other insights

At 7:30PM (19:30 for the sailors and Marines) Monday we lost electricity, not an uncommon event in this most uncommon of places. I trudged into the exaggerated elements with Shaggy and Mox to close the coop door as the chickens cooed and grumbled. 
The ferry had already tied up in port, an homage to the forces of nature, the depth and chill of the Salish Sea and common sense. Through the evening and the ensuing night we huddled, reading around candles, put on layers of unfashionable attire, left the fridge alone, reassured the dogs, and stoked the wood stove perhaps more often than it was necessary. Large drops of fresh rain and accumulated water from the evergreen fronds thwapped against the seaward windows at times so loud and so frequent that it became one long sound. The dense overcast eliminated any chance of other-worldly illumination, but we could hear the trees wrestling with the wind; a sharp crack signalling the some of those tussles were won by the swiftly-moving air. Mother nature culls her forest.
For Lili and me it was our darkest dark since our descent into a Saskatchewan potash mine a number of years ago. A kilometer below the surface, Land Cruisered to a circular shaft not yet being exploited, we turned off our helmet lamps. Nothing. My senses struggled to find reference points. If it weren't for the audible and quick breathing of some of our colleagues, and perhaps ourselves, there would have been nothing for sight, sound, smell, touch to record, save for the blackness. Imagine a darkness so profound and humbling that our driver joked about Japanese tourists trying to photograph it. I thought about Ray Charles ad Helen Keller. That tangible void of light and motion was present above the surface this past Monday night. 
We decided to forego the generator. Having current and reasserting ourselves would have been nice, but the noise would have been an audible scar in this tableau. In these conditions, when you know you are quite safe despite the inconvenience, there's little inspiring in the sound of a machine.

Hello darkness my old friend...

Come the morning we were still without power even as the sun dominated the skyscape and the evergreens rested, silent and stock still. With a black, "GTE automatic electric" paint-spattered 
rotary-dial telephone, Lili, actually dialing, set in motion the protocol alerting the island there would be no school today. Leisa and Bruce, true stewards of things Cortes, had already started the process. There was little to do except cook breakfast in the wood stove, and she did.

...I've come to talk to you again

More for the Ain't-English-Beautiful and For God's Sake, Save Your Fetid Breath segments:


I, personally... is redundant.
These ones, or those ones... are redundant. 
Also, too... is not only redundant it is Palinesque in its stupidity at the start of a sentence.
These (or those) types things... is a sloppy construction that often replaces the more coherent "these things" or "things such as these."


When Kate and Mitch were here last week, the four of us had an interesting discussion about writing. Mitch is finding his voice as a writer and is interested in avoiding the language pitfalls that result in either in obfuscation or appearing uneducated. Neither Mitch nor his sister had ever learned case or number agreement, among other English fundamentals. We also spoke of professionals whose lives and reputations rest on their being precise, meticulous and efficient- engineers, for example - whose language skills are anything but. Here's an example.


This from a glaciologist at Natural Resources Canada speaking today (11/23) about the unprecedented sea ice loss in the Arctic.
"We kind of have to conclude that there's a strong chance that there's a human influence embedded in that signal."
"KIND OF" changes the very nature of his communication. We either conclude or we do not.


Teaching colleagues take note: this stuff matters. Perhaps, now more than ever, kids need to be called on their language skills. Every year, their English class(s) should make them more articulate, not less, in both the spoken and written form. Love the language.








Let's lighten it up, OK? From the police log, Salem Evening News




A man, who was reported to be intoxicated and causing a disturbance on Cabot Street, was actually not drunk and instead just had a cast on his leg as he waited for a cab at 11:13 p.m


"I HAVE A CAST ON MY LEG! I SAID I HAVE A CAST ON MY LEG!!"






Police responded to a report that on West Shore Drive, someone had "cut down trees, made stairs, built a shed and has electricity running to it" at 11 a.m.


That's a busy morning.






A Northshore Road resident told police at 12:54 p.m. that someone had likely broken into her apartment because "some knickknacks and other items have been stolen."


More criminal activity caused by the booming knickknacks black market.

Youse Can't Push Us Around Na More, Mr. Obammer

Newfoundland Declares War On The U.S.A. Thanks John Hanlon, of the Bradford Massachusetts Hanlons.

The map is for our friends south of the 49th. Look how big we are up here...

 

                           

President Barack Obama was in the Oval Office when his telephone rang.
"Hallo, President Obama " a heavily accented voice said. "This is Archie, up ere at the Harp Seal Pub in Badger's Cove , Newfoundland , Canada , eh? I am callin' to tells ya dat we are officially declaring war on ya!"
"Well Archie," Barack replied, "This is indeed important news !
How big is your army ?"
"Right now," said Archie, after a moments calculation "there is myself, me cousin Harold , me next-door-neighbor Mick, and the whole dart team from the pub. That makes eight!"
Barack paused. "I must tell you Archie that I have one million men in my army waiting to move on my command."
"Wow," said Archie. "I'll have at call ya back!"
Sure enough, the next day, Archie called again. " Mr. Obama , the war is still on! We have managed to acquire some infantry equipment!"
"And what equipment would that be Archie?" Barack asked.
"Well sir, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Harry 's farm tractor."
President Obama sighed. "I must tell you Archie, that I have 16,000 tanks and 14,000 armored personnel carriers. Also I've increased my army to one and a half million since we last spoke."
"Lord above", said Archie, "I'll be getting back to ya."
Sure enough, Archie rang again the next day.. " President Obama , the war is still on! We have managed to git ourselves airborne! We up an' modified Harrigan's ultra-light wit a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Legion have joined us as well!"
Barack was silent for a minute then cleared his throat. "I must tell you Archie that I have 10,000 bombers and 20,000 fighter planes. My military complex is surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I've increased my army to TWO MILLION!"  
"Jumpins," said Archie, "l'll have at call youse back."
Sure enough, Archie called again the next day. " President Obama ! I am sorry to have to tell you dat we have had to call off dis 'ere war."
"I'm sorry to hear that" said Barack . "Why the sudden change of heart?"
Well, sir," said Archie, "we've all sat ourselves down and had a long chat over a bunch of pints, and come to realize dat dere's no way we can feed two million prisoners.."   

Mick (right, with feathered hat) and Archie (left, forgot his feather) meet General Petraeus to discuss the inevitable US surrender

Welcome to Lili's Half Moon Pizzeria

Let's be blunt. Pizza in Canada is as bad as poutine must be in Italy. No, wait, if they knew what it was and could fathom why people might eat it, I'd bet poutine in Naples would be fabulous. In Canada, it's common for pie-makers to do the counterintuitive: putting the toppings on the bottom. We'll, not the bottom, but below the cheese. Listen you iconoclasts sans clue, those ingredients are not called toppings by accident. The pizza purveyors here should call their toppings bottomings not only because thaty are usually positioned that way, but that's what they taste like.
Also, never ever forget that Boston Pizza is neither Boston... nor pizza. The difference between pizza from the chains and real, good pizza is similar to the difference between flattened gum off the street and a fresh stick of Black Jack.

Below comes from a Pizza 73 menu, typical of western CA chains. You might also be struck by how expensive it is.

Meat Supreme Pizza pepperoni, salami, Italian sausage, ground beef and bacon

$17.50

$24.50

$29.95

If you've never had pizza pie in Italy or a North American city that has an Italian neighborhood, your bucket list is not complete. New York, Philadelphia, Montreal, San Francisco, Toronto, Boston all have dozens of pizzerias worth writing home about. If you're an aficionado of deep-dish, add Chicago to the list.  A little closer to Cortes there's a great one in Victoria called Prima Strada. Seattle has Serious Pie, among others. But there's a new contender for pie supremacy on the block and it's right here on Cortes Island. Welcome to the Lili's Half Moon Pizzeria. Problem is, you'll never get a table.
We have craved pizza for a very long time. Tonight we decided to answer that call. Victoria is hours and boat rides away, so we decided to gather some information* and try our luck right here, the garden spot of Desolation Sound. You, my friend, should have been here; but of course you couldn't.
We fired up the wood stove - that's right, the woodstove. There's a grate in the backyard that we figure wolves used to grill their venison in simpler times. It went in the stove over the mostly-smoldering wood. Our old pizza stone was rescued from semi-retirement and rested on the grate. The stove made them very, very, very hot. In fact, the stone was shortly ablaze. Lili couldn't have been more gleeful. Residue of bad home-made pizza, about 10 years' worth, was incinerated like so many Spanish heretics. If asbestos and the resultant mesothelioma weren't a brand new revenue source for sticky lawyers, we might have wrapped ourselves in it.
Lili found a pizza dough recipe, more an homage to pizza-process and technique, on the webernet and whipped up a ball. It had to cure in the fridge in hunks about the size of  Kaiser rolls, something neither of us would have considered. I made the sauce and created the cheese, meat, veggie and herb and herb proportions. Skip the Italicized - get it? Italicized? - stuff if you're not interested in recipes.
The sauce: more or less equal amounts of dried oregano, dried basil, dried thyme, chopped garlic and crushed anise seeds infused into EVO in a sauce pan. Low heat, 10 minutes or until the garlic softens. A can of organic tomato sauce is introduced - "Helloooo pan" - and stirred thoroughly. Increase heat to medium. Cut up a few whole canned plum tomatoes and add juice and all to increase acidity. Simmer for a while.
Cheese mixture" Shredded Buffalo Mozzerella, Parmagiano Regiano, Pecorino Romano in about 4-2-1 ratio. Dios mio, keep the cheddar in the cheese drawer.
Meats: Genoa Salami, Prociutto or her illegitimate cousin Wesphalian Ham and some fresh chopped-parsley for a finishing garnish.
After curing the dough, Lili rolled it out into oblong-shapes, thin, with turned-up edges. I would have said rink-shaped until last week before Mitch set me straight on what a rink is.
I'm not going to bore you with the dusting process and the transfer process. Suffice it to say that there was a layer of flour on the floor that would have presented a danger to those less-surefooted than Lili and I. The dough received a quick dose of EVO, sauce, the cheese mix, roasted red peppers and Genoa salami. Into the stove it went and within 3 minutes it was done. Letting it cool was as fruitless an endeavor as it is at Regina's or Serious Pie. We each have that hanging roof o' mouth thread-o-flesh behind our front teeth that accompanies terrific pizza. And terrific it was.
Where did we get the name Lili's half Moon Pizzeria? We moved the pizza stone when it was really hot and probably should have waited for it to cool. Each half fits in the wood stove better now, anyway.

Tools of the trade shown in soft focus to emphasize how dreamy the pie was

Useless bits of information that might amuse
         - Buffalo Mozzarella comes from the milk of water buffalo in Italy, bison here in Canada
         - A lot of acidity (chopped plum tomatoes) in the sauce balances the inevitable caramelizing or charring of the bottom of the dough.
         - A sprinkling of cornmeal goes between the pizza and the cooking surface.
         - Cedar planks, usually associated with salmon, make excellent pie paddles
         - Researchers at the MicroNanophysics Research Laboratory at Monash University in Melbourne,   Victoria, Australia, have developed a model of pizza tossing based on observations of professional chefs tossing dough. 
I went to the wrong school.


*http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/001199.html
         

One If By Land, Two IF By Sea

What do you do when slumber evades you? Although here on Cortes I have not suffered from that malady but once or twice. I get up quietly; Lili needs her beauty rest. Wait, that didn't come out right, but I'm too busy now to fix it. I'll go turn on the TV hoping to find a movie so horrid that it puts me back in the arms of Morpheus. You know, one filmed in Brandon Manitoba whose skyline stands in for New York City? One where there are no actors whom you recognize but still are so self-important that they all need three names: Willum Farnsworth MacSnit or Erin Shelagh Weinstein.  You know those films; the "who decided this piece of merde needed to be made?" variety of cinema often brought to you by Corus Entertainment and with your tax dollars in support.
The strategy is a good one. It rarely fails and I am never burdened with concerns about how, or if, the movie's going to end. I recommend it wholeheartedly, especially to the grey matter-impaired individuals who ran amok on the island here a couple of nights ago.
Allow me to quote coverage of this story from my friends at Tideline. The story's excerpted parts are Italicized. The bold type is what I imagine passing through the head of the alleged criminal(s). I've commented a time or two, as well.

Hey, Moe... woop,woop, woop

          "At approximately 3:30 in the morning of November 16, 2011 the Quadra Island RCMP Detachment received a report that a Quadra Island resident's truck had just been stolen from their (sic) driveway. The truck was immediately recovered in the parking lot of the Heriot Bay Inn."


(Moe Yawns and stretches) It's approximately three-thirty AM and can't sleep. I'll pick up Curley and see if he notices anything different about my ride. Maybe we'll grab the ferry to Cortes, but first we'll check out the monthly cocktail specials at the Heriot Bay Inn. Wait, what? The ferry ain't running? That's OK...


           " Shortly after the truck was recovered, a second truck was being reported stolen from a residence on Cortes Island."


"... because I can drive on water.  But I bet I'll need new truck by the time I get to Cortes."


          "Cortes Island residents had been alerted to the stolen truck and soon located the truck being driven to the Whaletown Government dock. At the dock, the suspects believed to have stolen the Cortes Island truck and who were believed to have committed the break and enters were observed by witnesses to steal a forty foot ex-fishing vessel from a mooring buoy and flee Whaletown Harbour. The stolen vessel was followed by witnesses across Sutil Channel. 


Still in their trucks? 
"Break and enters" can't be right, can it?


"How did we get to be the lead truck in the Cortes Day parade? We got to find us an 50 ft.ex-fishing vessel, though I'll take a 40footer if i have to, preferably one with plenty of room for these cigarettes, PowerAde, and organic tomatoes. 


 A cloaking device would be nice,too, even if it is now the world's slowest chase.


         " The stolen vessel was subsequently tracked by police helicopter and the Canadian Coast Guard vessel Cape Palmerston to the Heriot Bay Inn docks where two adult males were immediately arrested by police."... "The two male suspects appeared before a Justice and were remanded to appear in Campbell River Provincial Court on November 21, 2011. The pair, 21 and 26 years old from Campbell River are currently charged with theft of vessel, dangerous operation of a vessel, and mischief."


Mischief ?


With the Coast Guard vessel, all the boats (and trucks?) in pursuit, and the bevy of Heriot Bay locals watching from the Adirondack chairs in front of the HBI, it may have been the largest gathering of English-speaking sea captains since Dunkirk.

Dunkirk or Heriot Bay? Can't tell, can you?

"All in all, a pretty crappy morning.  We'd a made it if the ferry was running. I wonder what's for breakfast at the hoosegow. Mommy..."


There's no truth to the rumours that our boatjackers fought off a band of noisy Somali pirates off Shark Spit or that helpful dolphins assisted the RCMP. It is also untrue that while half the population of Mansons Landing was engaged in a low-speed chase through the hills and vales of our island, their houses were burglarized. Only irresponsible people start rumours.


For the record, had our alleged felons used my strategy, they would have found these choices available to them on the movie channels at 3:30AM.  Toe Fungus: a Locker Room Love Story starring Bentley Easton Stick and The Not-So-Perfect Storm with Anita Vaster Bode.


Oh, by the way, the Silver Medal for Stupidity goes to the dopes who set up a camp on the Lambert's Beach on Read Island and after dark would break into houses they could see (and walk safely to) through the trees. It seems that they were surprised when apprehended by RCMP while counting their loot around their campfire. Thank goodness it wasn't the same guys who stole 2 trucks, a boat that got them to Cortes, a small power boat/dingy and a 40 ft. ex-fishing vessel so they could stuff their pockets with Cortes and Squirrel Cove Markets' change, because that would be embarrassing. Besides, both of those fine establishments deserve to be treated better than that.

We were nevah there...

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Give it up, sucka...

Offered: The Lesson of Penn State

 I don’t know how many of you are fans of USAmerican college (university) football. Even with a few British Columbia schools playing US opponents, I would think the sample not that large. Fans in the US would indulge me, I know. Therefore, allow me to recap briefly the tragedy that engulfs Penn State University.  Mind you, new and critical details emerge daily; new characters appear, stories change, inexplicable events occur.

In 2002 a graduate student, one Michael McQueary, with connections to Penn State’s vaunted football program witnessed a long-time assistant coach, Jerry Sandusky, engaging in inappropriate acts with a boy that McQueary estimated to be 10 years-old. McQueary told his father what he saw. His father suggested he alert the head coach, living legend, Joe Paterno.  In turn, “Joe Pa” brought the allegation in some form to his boss, the athletic director. The stories of all those involved begin to crawl down their own unseemly paths from that point. The athletic director in league with a university administrator kept a lid on the story for years, even as other “concerns” about Sandusky’s troubled-youth foundation called “Second Mile” – yes, you read that correctly – bubbled up through the fetid ooze. No one, even though there’s no question a crime has been committed whatever its degree, calls law enforcement.

In the past week Paterno, 45 years the head coach, and the President of Penn State have been dismissed by the university’s trustees. McQueary, now the wide receivers coach (draw your own conclusions) at PSU, appears to be in protective custody after a number of death threats came his way. Misguided undergrads staged an alcohol-fueled protest in support of the fired coach in the downtown of State College, the town the university dominates. Some former players are sending money to Sandusky to help with what they perceive to be the million dollars he’ll spend defending himself against the charges that will result from McQueary’s and others’ grand jury testimony. The fans of PSU’s visiting opponent today, Nebraska, have been warned not to wear their team’s colors to the game. That game is being played as I type. Many in the media are exhorting PSU to shut down their football program to show concern for the victims.

OK, here’s why I brought this mess to your attention. I was caught up in a similar situation in 1994. One of my students shared with me that her math teacher and she had a “relationship” the year before in another school. I did what Paterno did. I went up the chain-of-command with the information thinking I had done my due diligence. In fact, I had not. As the witness of discovery in an alleged felony, I was supposed to have called the cops. I had a guardian angel. A woman I had known for years, a detective on the local PD, got wind of the story and called me. She asked when I was going to call her. She explained what my legal, (moral and ethical too, in retrospect) responsibilities were. Then she said, “Let’s consider this call you calling me.”

It may have been that Paterno and McQueary (and his father) put the needs of PSU’s football program before the needs of sexually-abused boys whose numbers are now nearing double digits. It may be they thought as I had thought back in ‘94 before the cop set me straight. That concern with Sandusky’s extra-curricular activities at PSU continued to mount even after the events witnessed and reported by McQueary lends credibility to the former. Lawyers and public relations people will get in the way of any halting steps the truth might take. We probably will never know all we need to know to make informed decisions. And shortly the next scandal will have supplanted Paterno’s Agony, anyway.

All of us who play a role, formal or informal, in the lives of children need to know this. If you are the witness of discovery in what appears to be abuse you must, must contact law enforcement. It is not our job to investigate the allegations. Nor, is it our bosses' job to do so, whether they are inclined to do so or not. 

For the record, my boss didn’t call the cops either. He called the principal of the other school. His reaction was to circle the wagons. It took nearly a year to adjudicate the matter and get the abuser out of the teaching profession.

He's a Lumberjack and He's OK

I'm not sure if he's a lumberjacques, but he's certainly OK. Louis-Laurent is his name and, among other things, cutting wood it is his game. I found him on Tideline where he'd placed an ad (advert for all the spies) seeking jobs. I knew he was the right guy for what I wanted done, because, you see I do not trust wood. Never have. And right in his ad Louis-Laurent offered the following services. "Cut, split and stalk your firewood." Have you ever surveyed someone else's firewood and said to yourself, "Jeez, those logs on top look just like mine..."?

Hey, buddy... what you got there?

Anyway, as I said to him, "...an occasional visit will suffice. If you see anything suspicious, let me know." He cut and split wood that was laying around in the yard, wood Lili had rescued from the forest, and wood he pulled from the wild tract adjacent to the tame. Then, at no extra charge will stalk it.

If it weren't for the spear stuck in his back, you'd never know he was there.

His fee was more than fair, too. How can you beat that?
Louis as yet does not live on Cortes full-time. There's more call for wood-stalking in Nanaimo at present it appears, but he is about to take a leap of faith and settle here in January. Better yet, he is moving to be with his sweetie. That's right you cynics, skeptics and naysayers, bon homme Louis is coming to Cortes because of romance and shared expenses. Would we were all as pure in our motivation.
If you wish to avail yourself of these services, and I recommend him without reservation, here you go.
wwp.louis@gmail.com or 250 327 7098

Locotarians or Localtarians

This weekend Lili and I made a huge stride in our attempt to increase our consciousness of what we eat and where it was produced. Yesterday we had eggs for breakfast laid by the flock we tend. This fruit of the womb, as one can plainly see below, has benefited from the chickens' diverse diet (popcorn and a pancake the other day) and afternoons pecking anything that moves or has ever moved on the property and occasionally other people's property. They range from one edge of the yard to the other. In fact, they have created a way station for themselves heretofore known as St. Ovum's Auxilliary Birthing Center for Chickens Too Lazy to Walk up the Hill. They pulled straw out of a bin under the deck's overhang and popped a few breakfast - though they are hardly just for breakfast anymore - orbs out right there in the straw bed they had made for themselves. It was fortunate Lili, a biped, discovered them before the neighborhood quadrupeds did.
Having availed ourselves of Conrad Dombrowski's skills and passion for all thing mushroom and four-wheel drive on Saturday, we had a feast of fungus that evening. Wow. Simple, fresh, delicious with an element of risk. "How ya feelin'?" "OK, I think...you?" "Pretty good, so far but we gotta get us a book." Yeah, a book."
Yesterday we harvested and ate oysters all dressed up with Cortes Co-op produce. What's better than fresh, raw oysters? Maybe Games 6 of the 1975 and 2011 World Series, but not much else.Now, I know some of you are wagging your fingers at us saying, " Now wait a minute. You had hot sauce, horse radish and Worcestershire (Wuhstashiah, from Worcester, Massachusetts) on your oysters, olive oil on your mushrooms, and thick-cut hickory-smoked bacon with your eggs. Those certainly did not come from Cortes." Well, yes and no. They do if they are all in the same bag of groceries stolen out of that Subaru up the street. Right?

And you thought "eggs as big as your head" was an Island myth

Conrad auctioning off a mushroom and a man

Lili, stalking supper

Myconologists have perfect teeth

Grocery liberator and his blog

Cha-ching

If you are seeing this entreaty, please click on the ads that appear on the page. Please? I'll have to send Ray 'round to talk some sense into you if you don't.
M

Nothing Is As It Seems

I am gratified by the number of page visits this blog receives these days. Gratified and, to be honest, surprised. If anyone knows who the eleven people in Russia and the one in Poland are reading it, I'd love to know, too. If you are one of those people leave a comment or email me. Having followers behind the former Iron Curtain  lends more credibility to my espionage theory, though, doesn't it?
Get this. Ray, former MI5 I am sure, called Thursday evening and asked Lili this question. "I have rung you up to see if you eat muffins." Well, what the hell else does one do with muffins? It would have been an innocent question from most people, but not from Ray. We, and by we of course I mean I, became convinced he called the wrong people when no muffins were forthcoming. Three days later, Lili called him and his bluff  - well, he called us but that weakens the theory - and said in her very best cloak and dagger voice, "Where are my muffins?" Ray, it seems, always has delicious muffins laying around in case he isn't wearing his glasses when he dials the phone. Ten minutes later he showed up with some of them. We fed one to the dogs in case there were neuro-paralyzers in the recipe now that he and his confederates know I am on to them.

On Her Majesty's Secret Muffin Service

Shaggy and Moxie seem fine.