Tag Archives: adventure

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Fibbing Friday #314

Last week, Pensitivity101 said, Don’t quote me on that…………… film quotes last week, but who else could have said them?

1. I have a head for business and a bod for sin.

I keep the head at the office and I’m getting strange looks from my jealous coworkers. Can’t wait to show them my bod at the housewarming this weekend!

2. Wax on, wax off.

Hilga, the Ogress manageress of The Brazilian Mani-Pedi Salon

3. I’ll have what she’s having.

Happy wife, happy life!  (She micromanages the rest of my life anyway.)  Besides, I’ll sneak out for a big helping of all-dressed chili fries when she’s out next time.

4. Please sir, I want some more.

Of that rummy that was getting served last week  😮

5. You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!

This is how a substantial part of the U.S. people live apparently, at least enough to put The Joker into the big office… again.

6. I have got to get me one of these!

Donald Trump, when he found out that Richard Nixon got a blanket pardon from Gerald Ford.

7. Stupid is as stupid does.

RFK Jr. a supposedly intelligent, well-educated scion of the once-proud Kennedy family.  He was appointed by The Greatest American Zero as the Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services, but doesn’t believe in basic biology, like the efficacy of vaccinations.  If clan matriarch, Grandma Rose Kennedy isn’t rolling over in her grave, she’s rolling her eyes at this disappointing buffoon.

8. No-one puts Baby in a corner.

Except Baby herself!  If she wants to sit in the corner to feel safe and comfortable, let her be.

9. Adventure is out there!

Tripping, tumbling and falling all over itself in the great wide world.  Stay safe out there kids; there is a whole lot of crazy, happening in strange places!

10. I’m having an old friend for dinner.

Gordon Ramsay – The fib is, with a mouth like his, he HAS no friends.

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That’s One For The Books

I’m becoming more and more addicted to YouTube shorts, which leaves me less and less time to read books.  Here are the ones I managed to get through last year.


1493 – Charles C. Mann
A successor to his 1491 book, showing the massive socio-territorial changes wrought by European colonization of the Western Hemisphere, from Santa’s workshop, down to Patagonia.


Burner – Mark Greaney
Men’s action/adventure novel, good for passing some of the reduced spare time I have.

Dead Letter – Warren Murphy
I dug this book out of a storage box to reread.  Murphy is half of the writing team that produced the very successful Destroyer series.  This is #3 of a short series of three books about a smart, observant, laid-back investigator, based in Las Vegas.  It could have been the archetype for The Rockford Files.  I purchased numbers 1 and 2 on Kindle.


False Positive – Andrew Grant
When Andrew Grant is not busy, doing most of the writing for his brother, Lee Grant (Child), about Jack Reacher, he publishes the occasional book about a similar character.


Flash Point – Don Bentley
The actual, full title is TOM CLANCY Flash Point.  Bentley is one of several writers keeping the series – and the cash flow – alive.  The story arc has moved on to the next generation.


In Too Deep – Lee Child
Credited as Andrew Child, Lee’s brother presents another tale of Jack Reacher out-thinking, out-meaning, and out-punching a bunch of bad guys – predictable, but still mesmerizing.


Magic Claims – Ilona Andrews
Twenty years ago, I’d have had a hard time believing that I’d get hooked on a series with shape=shifters, vampires, magic, and Russian witches.  She includes so much personal, social, and interpersonal details, the stories are surprisingly believable.  She claims that this is the last book in her “Magic” series. I still have three books in a similar, magic, “Innkeeper” series to go through.


Midnight Black – Mark Greaney
Another author who feeds the Tom Clancy franchise, Greaney also sometimes publishes the odd diverting, generic Action/Adventure novel – lots of brains, lots of high-quality weapons – saving America, or the world, from…. (Take your pick – Russians, Muslims, terrorists, Lex Luthor???)


Moa Lisa Overdrive – William Gibson
Book review post is here.


Red Winter – Mark Cameron
Another “Tom Clancy” action novel.  The man has published more books since he died, than he did while he was alive.  These books are not just (all) mindless, time-killing babble, as I accuse the wife’s ‘Nurse Jane’ romances.  They often include interesting and educational, social, historical, and geographical details.


The 6:20 Man – David Baldacci
An established author, who is new to me.  His special-ops-trained protagonist, studying to be an accountant, opens lots of story-arc possibilities.


The Antitheist’s Dictionary – Opher Goodwin
One of only two books I read last year to improve my mind – and I shouldn’t say that too loud.  It’s a list of (mostly Christian) religious words and phrases, what they seem to mean to believers and debaters vs. what they mean to skeptics.


The Atlas Maneuver – Steve Berry
Murder, terrorism, covert world-wide social and political power, and unimaginable wealth, all through the manipulation of Bitcoin.


The Chaos Agent – Mark Greaney
Same Old – Same New.  In all literature, there are only 7 basic stories.  Writers like this keep them fresh and interesting by twisting and adding details.


The Cradle Of Ice – James Rollins
Rollins used to write men’s action books, like the above.  Possibly because of saturation in the genre, he has branched off into Sci-Fi/Fantasy about a non-rotating world, where the sun-facing side roasts, the back side freezes, and all life exists on the narrow, central band.


The Devil’s Elixir – Raymond Khoury
The distilled sap of an Amazon plant can produce extended/eternal life??!  I’d enlist a bunch of friends, strap on some guns, and go looking – wouldn’t you?


The Last Kingdom – Steve Berry
The Kingdom of Bavaria might wind up owning Hawaii??!  That’s enough alternate history to cause a lot of international intrigue.


The Omega Factor – Steve Berry
I don’t know how these writers are blessed –or cursed – with such deep and broad imaginations.  My longest short story was only 1500 words.


The Survivor – Gregg Hurwitz
Somebody is after the wrong guy – and he has to get smart, fast, and lucky – or die.


The Tower – Gregg Hurwitz
The maximum security wing of a seaside prison is an 8-story tower, composed only of round, stainless steel bars.  Of course, the insane serial killer escapes the escape-proof facility, and it takes the almost-as-insane tracker to find and stop him.  There’s a lot of deep Freudian psychology dished out.


To Die For – David Baldacci
The agent-turned-Accountant has graduated, and is back with the CIA.  He’s using his gun and his brain more than his bookkeeping skills.  Perhaps next book.


Till The End Of Time – Allen Appel
Time travel into the past by mental effort, with no guarantee of duration of visit, or return time.  Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.  Still, it gives the author a chance to describe history.  Try as hard as he might, the protagonist finds that he cannot change the outcome of the Battle of Little Bighorn.


Weapons Grade – Don Bentley
In yet another ‘Tom Clancy’-estate inspired novel, the author has the next generation foil a plot to produce H-bomb fuel.


Zero Hour – Don Bentley
Bentley has Tom Clancy’s ‘kids’ – even though they’re well into their 30s – foil a plot where a Chinese faction is aiding North Korea to develop a missile capable of reaching America’s Pacific coast.  How “Today’s Headlines!”  Having a heroine in an action team, with no left hand, is an interesting twist.

That’s all the books I carried on the Reading Railroad.  CU again soon.

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Roses Are Read – So Are These Books

A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down the pants….

Some books that are good for the mind, some books that are good for the soul, and some books that are good for just passing time.  I read ‘em all last year.

1491
A description of indigenous societies and empires in North and South America before the white man arrived.  Aside from the lack of iron and steel, many of them were as complex and technological as anything in the Old World.

A Harvest of Short Stories
A 1960 Ontario English textbook, complete with notes and questions, and the names of three girls who had owned it.  16 short stories, mostly Canadian and British, including a couple of O. Henry ironies, and Poe’s A Cask of Amontillado.  I didn’t have to download a free PDF.  Two Sherlock Holmes, including The Speckled Band, where I found three errors.  You can’t train a snake.  They do not drink milk, and they are deaf, and will not respond to a whistle.  The notes found one more, where Holmes refers to Watson’s pistol by a company which only ever produced ammunition.

A History of the World In 10 ½ Chapters
Not what it claims to be.  A collection of short stories intended to make fun of blind religion, especially Christianity.

Count Zero
Book number two of a trilogy about surfing the internet, but written 40 years ago, when most of us didn’t know the internet existed.

Dead Moon
A premise that large areas of the moon are used as cemeteries.  Seemed energy-inefficient to me.  Along comes a space rock which re-animates the dead, with no explanation of how, or why.  Still, escapist fun.

Even
Lee Grant’s (Jack Reacher) younger brother writing in the same genre.  Heavy on the thinking and planning, but not averse to a little required violence.
Genellan – First Victory
Again, the second of three sci-fi books about three, then four, then five alien races, including us, who band together to defeat another powerful one, intent on controlling the galaxy.  Think Star Trek Federation versus The Borg.


Gilgamesh
A book written before you were born:  This one was written before almost anyone was born – 5000 years ago.  Book review to follow.

Kingdom of Bones
An excuse to while away some time in retirement.  This one shows a place in darkest Africa where Gaia-energy caused animal life and intelligence to develop.

No Plan B
While ‘Lee Child’ is busy developing the Jack Reacher TV series, (They’re filming the third season in Toronto, where the lead actor, from Minnesota, complains about the cold weather) it falls to his younger brother (see Even above) to keep pumping them out.

One Minute Out
Another Gray Man time-passer.  In the first novel. he got so beat-up and shot-up that I didn’t see how he, or the series, could survive.  This is the ninth, and they both seem to be feeling their age.

Rasputin’s Shadow
Many people are still fascinated by Rasputin.  Even a hundred years later, he’s a good MacGuffin to hang a modern action/suspense novel on.

Relentless
This is number 8 in The Gray Man series.  Same as above – only slightly different.

Run
Same basic plot as Even, above.  An innocent bystander gets screwed over, and works like Hell to get his life back.  Good for a week of casual reading.

Sapiens
A description and illustration of how humans climbed down from the hominid evolution tree.  We – the race  – may have made a great mistake in inventing farming and technology to feed an ever-increasing population.  Hunter/gatherers spend only 18/20 hours a week feeding themselves, with much less stress.

Shatter War
Number two of a trilogy about how areas of Earth are jumbled from different time periods, ranging from ice age, to 200 years in our future.  With a canvas that broad and blank, anything is possible.  From a husband/wife team like the Childs.  He determines the plotline and story arc, and she provides the development prose.

Sierra Six
This is number seven in The Gray Man series.  I’m presenting my titles in alphabetical order, but that inverts the published order.  This book is out of plotline order.  It’s a flashback story to explain how it all started.

Target Acquired
Ghost writers help the ghost of Tom Clancy-past to keep pumping out these Jack Ryan Junior, second-generation novels.

The Kaiser’s Web
If Raymond Khoury can hang a tale on Rasputin, then Steve Berry can hang one on the German Kaiser.  Everything old is new again.

The Kill Clause
A police detective, whose young daughter is raped and murdered, is offered a spot on a vigilante squad to bring justice to those who escape on technicalities.

The Last Orphan
A Jason Bourne-type agent is finally showing some signs of being human.  I am hoping for more books in the new direction.

The Program
The above vigilante policeman, (temporarily) off the force, rescues a rich man’s daughter from a Scientology-type cult.

The Runaway
A missing,16-year-old, female agent trainee, and the possibility of a relationship with a lady DA and her young son, help scrub a few letters off behind his assumed name –  ADD, ADHD, OCD, PTSD.  He may become part of civilized society, even while he’s still knocking off bad guys.

The Span of Empire
Similar to the Genellan book, again, there are more and more interstellar races, joining together to resist the galactic bully, who would ‘cleanse’ them all out of existence.

There Is A God
Lies!  Damned lies, and more desperate Christian Apologetics lies.

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Happy Birthday John E.

A funny thing happened on my way to the Post Office.  It wasn’t there.  😳

I sent John Erickson, who litters decorates my blogposts with witty comments, a birthday present.  His actual birthday is still over four months away, but I was using the Canadian, metric calendar, and got my conversions mixed up.  I sent BrainRants a birthday present some years ago, and there were very few repercussions, so I thought I’d risk it again.  Since it was by surface mail, TSA didn’t get involved.

The daughter’s bestie likes to buy the occasional commemorative coin from the Canadian Mint.  She claims that she only intended to buy one, but wound up with two coins medallions, celebrating the life of Queen Elizabeth II.  Since she knew that I was interested in coins, she gave one to the daughter to pass on to me.

While I am ‘interested in coins,’ I am interested in mostly foreign coins.  Even though this is a magnificent artifact, it is neither foreign, nor a coin.  It has no face value.  It is a medallion.  If I kept it, it would only languish in a box.  I thought of John E.  Despite being an American, marooned in the wilds of Ohio, he is a greater – finer, Anglophile, Royalist, and Elizabethan than I ever could be.  When Elizabeth died, he wailed so loudly that, “My Queen has died!!” that I thought he was talking about his wife.  I decided to send it to him as a surprise present.  I put it in a bubble-pack mailer, added a cover letter, and headed for the post office.

In Southern Ontario, Canada Post has a sorting and shipping depot in every large urban area.  All of the other Postal Services, they have abdicated to branches of the most populous pharmacy chain, as well as some selected convenience stores.  Certain clerks are supposed to be trained to Canada Post levels, on Canada Post protocols and procedures.  I have a pharmacy nearby, but I was headed for the Wal-Mart out on the Golden Mile, so I went to the drug-store next to it.

Some of the stores are mirror images of each other.  I marched in to the left-rear corner.  Hmmm, cosmetics.  I grumpily stomped over to the right-rear corner.  Grrr!!, vitamins.   Where in Hell is the postal outlet???  A clerk told me that they are the only branch which does not host one, and she had no idea why not.  The one by my house is nearer but, “If you’re going to the XXX Plaza, on the other side of town, there’s a store over there with a postal outlet.”

By coincidence, we were headed for that plaza, to reap savings on grocery sale prices.  This damned inflation is eating better than I am.  While the wife grocery-shopped, I walked over to the pharmacy and stood in line – and stood in line – AND STOOD IN LINE!!  That part of Postal Service, they have mastered.  The woman in front of me had a mailer identical to mine.  She finally stepped forward, handed it to the ‘Postal’ clerk, asked that he check that it was ready to go, and to please apply sufficient postage.  It was judged okay.  $2.08 later, she was on her way.  I stepped up, handed the same clerk the same mailer, and asked for the same thing – check that it was ready to ship and apply postage.  $2.08 later my little package was on its way.

I excitedly waited for an email from John, that the parcel had arrived….  Two weeks later, I went to the community mailbox to pick up my own mail, and there was my mailer back again.  It had a Canada Post sticker over my address label, with three little boxes – all checked.  Insufficient postage – Incorrect label – This service not available in this country  W.T.F!!?

The next day, I went to a convenience store.  It’s a bit farther than the pharmacy.  The people who run the store, and the Postal Outlet, are recent immigrants, but I’ve used them before, and feel confident.  I handed the clerk the package and asked what was wrong with it, and how could I correct any problems.

Three check marks – three lies!!  I had sufficient postage, but I was also expected to pay for a Customs Declaration of value.  My address label was correct, but I was expected to add the Customs label, because…. The country that didn’t provide the service was the USA.  “You’ll have to send this as a small parcel.”  “What the Hell is in your hand, if it’s not a small parcel??”  “Well, it needs the Customs sticker added to it.  How much is it worth??”  I received it as a present.  I don’t know!?

I guessed at $29.95 Cdn, hoping that John would not have to pay duty on it when he received it.  If he did, I should have guessed $9.95.  How much for the Customs sticker?  $10.00, do you want it traced??  I didn’t trace it the first time.  How much to trace?  “Only another $5.00.”  Screw that!  If it don’t arrive, I just won’t tell John I tried.

When I got home, and told the wife what had happened, she innocently said, “Well, we could have driven it down.”  Are you saying that we might go on a trip?  Further adventures may ensue.  😀

Four days later, I got an excited, grateful email from John.  Apparently, I done so good that he and his wife were willing to consider another short visit.  😎

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A Medial Examination Of Socio-Economic Disparities

I just got back from a stay at a $500/night hotel, and Boy, is my wallet tired!  I was definitely out of my cultural and financial depth.  Even the serving staff looked down on us.

The wife was told to report to a Toronto hospital at 6:15 AM for her surgery.  It was either start driving from home at 4 AM, or find a nearby hotel/motel.  Since the surgery could possibly reveal cancer, this might be her/our last hurrah.  This was her little adventure, so she wanted to do the booking.  (Shoulda looked over her shoulder)

She called Trivago, to book a three-day stay at a nearer, less-expensive hotel, but they could only provide two nights.  With that “Two-Day” thought in mind, the clerk offered her a $1000+, 5-star booking.  The wife saw- arrive on the 14th, stay the 15th, check out the 16th, “That’s three days, right?”  It wasn’t till I couldn’t get back into the room on the third day, that I found that I had to pony up another $500, toot de sweet, or not be allowed to recover our belongings or rest my weary head.  And then, the snotty little night manager had the nerve to complain that the digits on my credit card didn’t match the digits on the wife’s card when she made the original reservation, and demanded photo ID.

For that rate, I thought that some of the amenities would be included, but I guess they feel that, if you can afford it, you can just keep on paying.  They charged $32/day to park in their underground garage.  The ‘not-in-downtown’ hospital charged $15.50 daily max.  The best bargain was the $2/can for vending machine Pepsi.  The hospital charged their captive audience $2.50/can, and some of the machines did not accept cash – bills or coins.  Tap the app, or go thirsty.

The first night, we ate in the basement restaurant.  Judicious ordering kept the total down to $90, including tip, for two people.  We would spend that at a Kelsey’s or The Pickle Barrel.  I didn’t want the little $13 glass of white wine, or the $19 whiskey cocktail.  We each got a glass of ice water.  I asked if they had soft drinks.  I ordered Pepsi, and the wife got iced tea.  The waiter brought two more stemmed goblets full of ice, and a can of Pepsi, and a can of Nestea.

Later, in the room, the wife commented that, “Those drinks were expensive,  $5.00!”  I replied, “That’s not bad – $2.50 apiece.  That’s what the vending machines at the hospital charge.”  “No, no, they were $5/apiece!”  And we had to crack and pour them ourselves.  😛

If you didn’t want to crawl out of bed, and join the hoi polloi, you could phone in an order for breakfast from the grill, and have it delivered to your room.  Again, I could not justify an $18 omelet, or a $10 bowl of oatmeal.  The literature said that there was a breakfast buffet where we’d eaten supper.  We both assumed that it was complementary.  I got off the elevator to see a sign which read, “Breakfast Buffet – $30.  Hot chocolate and a fruit Danish from the hospital cafeteria cost a lot less than that.

When I (finally) checked out, the room clerk wanted to know how I had enjoyed my stay.  I had to be very circumspect and non-committal.  Educational and enlightening.  I’ve been treated better, and provided with a free, Continental breakfast at places that charge $125/night.  Even with a huge Lottery win, I can’t imagine ever going back.  I stayed there my brother’s “twice” – the first time, and the last time.  I’m just gonna stomp the dust off my shit-kicker boots, and drive on up the street to the Days Inn.

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How Close To Death Were You?

The Quora website offers a bunch of interesting questions – and some fascinating answers.

Almost every one of us has had at least one time in their life when they narrowly escaped Death, unless they were raised like The Boy in the Bubble, or as a marshmallow, in a bag with other marshmallows – and even marshmallows are constantly under threat of being made into Rice Krispy Squares.

One would think that any brush with Death would be overt, obvious, noticeable, and memorable!  The big truck that ran the red light, and whistled by, inches from your car’s nose, instead of into your door, is unforgettable.  Certainly the time that my own cousin pushed me into eight feet of water before I could swim, as a joke, and then had to dive in and drag me out, has not been forgotten.  The time my brother put a hole in a wall, a foot from my head, with a shotgun, is still fresh in my memory.

The time that I was perhaps the closest to dying horrifically, while interesting, was so quiet and restrained that it was a long time after, before I realized just how close it had been.

When I first came to this burgh from my hometown for employment, half a century ago, I was only one of many.  Some of us quickly got jobs, and acquired cars.   Many of us didn’t.  If I wanted to go home for a weekend, I had a list of people that I could call.  One Sunday night, I got a ride back with two cousins, one who owned and drove an old car.

There were to be six of us in this sedan.  Already running late, the last was to be picked up in the next town to the south.  The East/West highway from there to our North/South route curved northward, around a bend in the river.  The other highway then curved back West, before turning south.  If we took a county road across the narrow bottom of a triangle, we could save five miles of driving, and five minutes of time.

Soon, we were humming along at 70/75 MPH.  Halfway across, there was an old cast-iron bridge over a narrow river tributary.  The Highway Department had decided that it needed replacing with a modern, concrete span.  They had bulldozed a gravel access road beside it, down the bank and across a pontoon bridge.

Our pilot  driver never even slowed down. He just cranked the steering wheel, and down we went.  Six passengers, each with some sort of luggage, this old vehicle was wallowing on its springs.

KA-THWUMP!

Up onto this floating monstrosity we went.  Before seatbelts, six heads made dents in the overhead roof-liner.  Annnndd….

KA-THWUMP!

Off we plunged.  And six sore tailbones were driven somewhere up near our shoulder blades!

A half a mile up the road, our chauffeur realized that he could watch the gas gauge unwind.  Something that we had smacked into, had punched a hole in our fuel tank, and we were spewing gasoline on the road behind us.  (Cue the exploding airplane scene from Diehard 2)

We were extremely lucky that whatever had poked the hole, had not also stuck a spark.  Even now, a hot exhaust pipe, or a cigarette, casually tossed from a passing car, could turn us into a hurtling mass of S’mores.  We continued at high speed back to his parents’ home, and got there with drops of fuel left.  He managed to borrow a car for a week, and we were all so glad that we would get back – late, but back – to the big city that night, that it was long after before I realized just how close our call had been.

Comment on your own adventure, or use this story as a prompt to write your own death-defying tale.  I’m going to put my asbestos underwear on, and check the fire extinguisher.  See you in a couple of days.  😳

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Blue Sky One-Liners

Some people are like clouds….
….When they go away, it’s a beautiful day.

Some people try to turn back their odometers….
….Not me!  I want people to know why I look this way.

More wine….
….Less whine.

Cows eat grass….
….Therefore a steak is plant-based meat.

Hamburger helper only works….
….if the hamburger is willing to admit it needs help.

For a woman, romance is roses on a piano….
….For a man, it’s tulips on an organ.

I live for two reasons….
….1 I was born.  2 I ain’t dead yet.

My wife asked me if I could clear the kitchen table….
….I needed a running start, but I made it.

I tried to Google “Directionally challenged”….
….but I couldn’t find it.

Some say ‘Life Is Short’….
….but I’ve been alive for as long as I can remember.

More than four cups of coffee….
….and you can talk to electricity.

Sprinters don’t eat anything before a race….
….They fast.

How to twerk….
….Step 1: Reconsider

I’m unsure which way to turn….
….to get treatment for my dyslexia.

I named my dog ‘Ten Miles’….
….so that I can tell people I walk ten miles every day.

I used to live hand to mouth….
….but cutlery changed my life.

I can’t even be bothered….
….to be apathetic these days.

Don’t give up your dreams….
….Keep sleeping.

If you think adventure is dangerous….
….try routine; it’s lethal.

Laughter is the best medicine….
….unless you have diarrhea.

My wallet is like an onion….
….when I open it, it makes me cry.

Relish today….
….Ketchup tomorrow.

If you’re not good at haggling….
….you’ll end up paying the price.

Just so that everyone’s clear….
….I’m going to put on my glasses

Writing my name in cursive….
….is my signature move.

😀

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’22 A To Z Challenge – Y

The Beatles sang Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!

But The Rolling Stones sang

GET YOUR YA-YA’S OUT

Originally a Rolling Stones live album, (get yer ya ya’s out) the term usually means “to get your extra energy out” or “to blow off some steam“. One can do this many ways; it really depends on what type of person you are.

To indulge/vent an urge that society does not approve of — this can be fighting, partying, drinking, having sex, smoking pot… whatever. It implies that there are other times when you’re a “respectable citizen” and repress the urge — full-time party-animals are not getting their ya-ya’s out because they always act that way.

For the less adventurous of you, there’s always the 2002 movie, Divine Secrets Of The Ya-Ya Sisterhood.

I’m almost to the end of this alphabet challenge.  Do you think that I’m happy?
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!

Do you think that I’m damn fool enough to start another cycle in a couple of weeks??
You bet your YA-YA’S!

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A Christmas Rescue

Published without the authorized permission of the Waterloo Region Record – but with the best of intentions.  Credit Record staff – Robert Williams

The snow is piling up, burying our car deeper and deeper into the snowbank.

Deb Dooling-Westover pulls out her crackers, cream cheese, and roasted red pepper jelly, and offers some to her husband, Mark Westover.  In the back seat, a hitchhiker takes a few for himself.  He’s on his way to Listowel for his daughter’s first Christmas, with a bagful of toys and a few spare clothes, but his taxi ha long turned around and left him on Line 86, just outside Wallenstein.  The back seat of the Westovers’ car is his only chance at warmth for the night.

The car is not moving.  The snowbank has made sure of that, and the trio are settling in for a long, cold night.  Snowplows can’t get to them, and there’s no way in or out of this country road. The Westovers – Deb, 63, and Mark, 71 – and their hitchhiker – a young man of about 30, are trapped.

They’re talking, but their eyes dart nervously at the fuel gauge, that’s slowly ticking lower.  The snow is piling up the windows, and they’re equally worried that someone may come piling in behind them.  It’s Christmas Eve, and a winter storm bringing heavy snow and wind gusts of 100 km/h has shut down much of the Province on one of the busiest travel days of the year.

On this rural road, 30 kilometres north of Kitchener, it feels as if nothing and nobody is around you.  It’s a vast rural area. Dotted with Mennonite farms and sprawling fields.  The Westovers are on their way from Ayr, to spend Christmas with friends in Wingham.

They spent the morning checking the weather, to make sure that the roads were still open when they left, just before noon.  The farther they drove, the worse the conditions got.  Eventually, on a long stretch of farmland between Wallenstein and Macton, there is no going any further.

There are a few other cars stuck in this area.  As the winds pick up and blow the snow in blankets across the farm fields and over the road, it gets harder to make them out.  Each car is an island, and the snow is gobbling them up.

After a few hours sitting inside the car, Deb looks out of the snow-covered window and rubs her eyes to make sure she’s not hallucinating.  A man with a pair of snowshoes has emerged from the snowbank.  He knocks on the side of the car, and she opens it up to him.

“Do you have food and water?” he asks.
“Well, we don’t have a lot of food, but we have some water and Diet Coke in the cooler.” she tells him.  “My car is behind my husband’s.  I only have a quarter tank of gas.”

The Westovers had filled their two cars with presents, and they were hoping to do some work on Deb’s fuel tank, once they got to their friends’ house.  She had been following Mark the whole drive, but both of their cars were now stuck in the huge snowdrift.
“Don’t worry.” he says. “I have lots of gas.  I’ll come back for you later.”

An hour goes by.  It’s dark now.  With the wind-chill, it feels like -27 C.  The snow continues to fall, and the wind is howling.  A roar starts up behind them, and Deb jumps out of the car to see approaching blue and red lights.  Their man in the snowshoes has returned, this time with a tractor.

He gets Deb back into her car, pulls it out, and then pulls out Mark and the hitchhiker.  By this point he has already pulled out some of the other cars as well.  Once they’re all safely back on the road, he asks the occupants of all the cars – about six in total – to follow him about a kilometer down the road, and up a long driveway, where they all stop at a farmhouse.

The group walks into the house to find the man’s wife peeling carrots in the kitchen, with two young boys bouncing around the house.  They are a modern Mennonite family, and the farmhouse is equipped with power, heating, and a functioning telephone.

“I’ve never spent any time with a Mennonite family, or been inside a (Mennonite) house before.” Deb said later.  “And I have to tell you, these are the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.”  Deb joins the woman in the kitchen, helping to peel carrots.  Then she watches as she puts potatoes through a food processor, throws them into boiling water, and mixes them with cream and butter to make mashed potatoes.  Then she begins cooking summer sausage, as more people start piling into the farmhouse – there’s about a dozen of them now.

The family has some table extensions, and by the time dinner is served, it’s a feast for nearly 16 people, each with a spot around the ‘harvest table.’  They say a silent prayer, and dinner begins.
“I was literally crying.” says Deb.  “It was the most unbelievable thing I had ever seen in my life.  There we were, thinking that we were going to freeze to death.  We really thought we were going to die.  And now we were all seated around this table, warm, and having dinner at this farmhouse.”

Around the table, the different groups recount their stories.  Each talk about watching the weather advisories, checking to make sure the roads were open, and eventually finding themselves stuck in the snowdrift with no way out.  But something still doesn’t add up.  How did this man know to come and get them?

One of the women at the table speaks up.  While she was waiting in her car, she noticed a name on a nearby mailbox.  She called her son in Listowel, and he started calling every number in the area with that last name.  Eventually he got through to their rescuer, who threw on his snowshoes and headed into the storm to see if he could find them.

Not wanting any unnecessary attention, the family has asked to keep their name private.  “I don’t want any honors or glory.” the man told The Record.  “It’s just the Lord’s glory and we did our Christian duty.”  After dinner is over, the family leads Deb and Mark to a spare bedroom to hunker down for the night.  It’s cold in the room, but thick blankets keep them warm.  The rest of the travellers are spread out around the house, sleeping on makeshift beds and couches.

In the morning, Deb runs out to the car to grab some peameal bacon she had purchased on Christmas morning.  Many of the others do the same, bringing in what food they can contribute to the feast.  Like the night before, they cook up a big meal, each sitting around the table to enjoy a Christmas breakfast.  When the meal is finished, they clean up together, and start getting back in their cars, each bound to family and friends.

None of them know each other.  After they say their goodbyes and wish each other luck for the journeys ahead, all they’re left with is a handful of first names and memories of faces, warmth and a reminder of good people when tragedy strikes.

The Westovers’ Wingham friend said that they did their final checks, but I guess they were just in for an adventure.  They eventually reached their final destination.  The gifts that they had piled in their cars made it to the friends and family they had planned to see.  As they sat around the Christmas dinner table, they told the story of a snowy country road, and a man on snowshoes who appeared out of nowhere, and took them to safety in a farmhouse with his family.

Deb said, “I have to tell you, it was the most beautiful Christmas ever.”

😀  😀

by

’20 A to Z Challenge – R

Now that we have another generation on its way, we have to consider  three words

Rambunctious

difficult to control or handle; wildly boisterous
turbulently active and noisy:
informal boisterous; unruly

Raucous

harsh; strident; grating:
rowdy; disorderly:
(of voices, cries, etc) harshly or hoarsely loud

Roister

to act in a swaggering, boisterous, or uproarious manner.
to engage in noisy merrymaking; revel
to brag, bluster, or swagger

Boy or girl, we don’t plan to sheath the child in Amazon bubble wrap.  The kid will be allowed to be a kid.  We’re just facing the reality that a male child will be slightly more statistically likely to get into some kind of physical trouble than a girl.

It’s not that I, or the son, or the Grandson, weren’t inquisitive, active and adventurous.  We’ve each been warned by police in our youth, but, intelligence, planning and luck kept us all out of Emergency wards…. mostly.

I was 40 before I skidded a bicycle on wet grass in a park, and broke – well, cracked – a bone, a rib, by driving a bony elbow into my side.  My first suture came at 21, when I had a tooth removed.  We can’t really add a fourth ‘R’ word – Rowdy – to the Grandson’s ER visit, when a neighbor kid pushed him and a lawn chair over, and he landed on an aluminum tent peg hidden in long grass.

The son was born with a disproportionately large head, to stuff all those IQ points into.  It affected his center of balance as he grew, sometimes causing him to fall over as he learned to walk and run.  He always tipped his head back, and met the ground with the point of his chin.  By the time he was 6, he had accumulated 23 stitches.  He sports a big, bushy beard now, but hidden in the middle, is a dime-sized bald spot of scar tissue.

I imagine that the Grandson will be laying in a supply of SpongeBob-Squarepants bandages, and some Super Glue ™, something that is common now for treating small cuts and gashes, but did not exist when I, and the son, were boys being boys.

Ahhhh, the luxury of being able to sit back and observe the oncoming mayhem from two generations away.  Do you have any police/doctor stories about you or your kids that are safe to share??  😕