Everydave’s Christmas Classics Collection

My friend Max over at Power Pop Blog‘s been running reviews of some of his favorite Christmas films lately, most are classics indeed. To me, sitting around with the family, watching Christmas specials was one of the most happy of memories of my childhood winters, not far behind getting to the stocking Christmas morning. Of course, decades have passed, but those moments are still special to me, so I give you a list of my Top 10 Christmas movies or TV specials, in no particular order. To me, Christmas isn’t quite Christmas without catching these…

The Oldies:

A Christmas Carol – the 1951 B&W version if you please, with Alistair Sim playing Scrooge. The kiddo in the house likes the more recent animated one, which is actually quite good, but nothing beats Sim’s acting, Cratchitt’s cheerful optimism and the charm of the story. Plus it was the one my Mom and I watched many a Christmas Eve together.

It’s A Wonderful Life – now a classic, surprisingly it wasn’t considered much of a movie for a few decades after its 1946 release despite starring the then-hot Jimmy Stewart. Is there a better reminder of how the “butterfly effect” means our lives have impacts far and wide, or to have hope that good will prevail over greed and spite?

The Cartoons:

How The Grinch Stole Christmas – the original, the Dr. Seuss-approved version in all its animated glory. Sure the cartoons look primitive compared to the current CGI efforts but nothing beats the simplicity of the story and the innocence of little Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two, or the empathy little Max the dog provokes trying to haul that sled up the mountain.

Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer – Rankin/Bass’s claymation giant, another of those childhood traditions. Burl Ives as the snowman and the Island of Misfit Toys are as wonderful as any Christmas characters. Maybe one more people need to see to this day to be reminded being different can be quite OK

Charlie Brown Christmas – the acme for that great comic strip, a 1965 cartoon that defied convention (and apparently killed off the aluminum tree business in the doing!). There was a whole lot of psychology in that kids’ comic and animated spinoff, and how many of us relate to Charlie, feeling overwhelmed by it all and searching for meaning. Linus’ reading is still pretty much my favorite little telling of the Christmas story. And of course, a crazily-good jazz soundtrack by Vince Guaraldi recently picked by Billboard as the best Christmas album of all-time.

The Romances:

Love Actually – it was a hot, stormy afternoon when I first saw the 2003 modern classic. No matter, I loved it and found it enthralling. A fun and feel good movie, which at the time seemed revolutionary with the way it tied together so many interwoven stories dealing with love, requited and not, at Christmas time. It took me about four viewings to finally see how all the stories tied together (I think…maybe I’ll still find more this year.)

The Holiday – a 2006 film that my sweetie introduced me to a few years back; one of her Christmas traditions which I now share with her. Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet are romantically doomed, it seemed in their homes this Christmas, so they trade homes (one in California, the other rural Britain) and find love with men from the others’ lives, Winslet’s brother and a musician contracted to Diaz. Eli Wallach gives a tour de force performance near the end of his life, as an aging screenwriter brought back to “life” through Winslet’s friendship.

The New Fun Ones:

Polar Express – I still can’t get over how realistic the motion-capture animation of this one is…but since it teams movie-maker Robert Zemeckis and star Tom Hanks up again (they of course collaborated on the ’90s great Forrest Gump) why should I be surprised? A great reminder of the power of belief.

Elf – probably if I was ranking them, this one would be the one to squeak in at #10; I like it but find most people I know head-over-heels love it. Part of that stems from how generally, I’ve never been a fan of Will Farrell. But it’s impossible not to like Buddy the Elf and his over-the-top enthusiasm for everything…including of course Zooey Deschanel…he was human after all (to his surprise.) Some of the best laughs of the Christmas season…”call me an elf one more time…! – You’re an elf! He’s an angry elf!”

Christmas Story – poor Ralphie, he’ll shoot his eye out! Who can’t relate to the childhood of his, wanting just one thing that seemed out of reach at Christmas, being inundated with pink bunny suit pyjamas instead? Like the previous one, few things get me laughing harder every December than that bunny suit, the store Santa and his big boot, and of course…the leg lamp! It’s a major award after all!

Maybe a new one will be added to the list this year, who knows. But even if not, I feel like it’s a good Christmas-time if I’ve checked these ten off the list.

Anyone else have their own list?

And Just Like That…Fans Found They Didn’t Like Reality

And just like that…HBO found you can’t go home again. Reviews for their reboot of the once-vaunted Sex & The City have been brutal…but so too has been the show. Although I’m not convinced that is a bad thing.

Ahh Sex & The City. The protagonist in my novel Grace, Fully Living was obsessed by it. As were many women her age (early-30s) when I set the book, in the year 2000. It was a cable TV phenomenon. It was a cultural phenomenon. It was arguably the most sexually explicit (in dialog if not always visuals) “mainstream” show at the time, and the kicker, the women were the ones having the sex, talking about the sex, holding all the cards in the sexy relationships. No wonder it was a smash with the female half of my generation. It was office water cooler gossip gold, a ratings hit compared to other pay-cable shows of the era, it sparked a couple of spin-off movies later and gave many women new “strong” role models in so doing.

The show featured female friends. There was Samantha, the eldest and most successful, career-wise of the femme four amigos, a 40-something publicist who played the dominatrix in the bedroom and boardroom. Charlotte, the cute “girl-next-door” who happened to be born with the silver spoon in her mouth and cultivate appropriately expensive tastes. Miranda, the fiery redheaded lawyer, all-business. And the central character, Carrie, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, a smart, sassy writer with a taste for expensive shoes who wrote the fictional column that the show takes its name from. And of course there were the usual cast of supporting characters, like Stanford, the over-the-top gay bon vivant friend of the ladies; various boyfriends who largely came and went (take that any way you like it) and of course, “Big.”

Big” was the nickname for the rich businessman, on-again, off-again boyfriend (and eventually in the movies, husband) of Carrie’s. Played by Chris Noth, I assume he was to women of a certain age the eye candy equivalent of the car combined with the girls in it from ZZ Top videos for guys. Sexier than Brad Pitt, richer than Bill Gates, rugged like an 18th-Century frontiersman…and always calling Carrie for a date, or late night, long-distance phone sex.

I never was a big fan of Sex & The City. Back in the day of its first run, I never saw it anyway… I never had premium cable. But some of the women I worked with did, and talked about it endlessly. Fast forward about a decade and I find myself with a lovely lady of my age who was, of course, a big fan of the show. She has the DVDs. I hated it at first. There were several things about it. First, I must admit that while I used to think myself very liberal, I had to cringe a bit at many of the scenes and conversations. I guess if you’re a young courier delivery guy, you might fantasize about the female customer giving you a tip…orally, shall we say, and if you’re a middle aged lady you might fantasize about having the courier guy be a stud and doing that to him, but I didn’t want to see it. Plus, it seemed rather outrageously unrealistic… but then, what mainstream TV show is that not true of? Carrie was young and vivacious, and wrote a newspaper column…in a small, left-wing paper. But she had a large, wonderful midtown Manhattan apartment and a closet full of (apparently) $500 and up shoes. I know a few people who wrote for such limited-circulation, weekly publications. They were driving pizzas at night to help pay for a 500-square foot basement in the suburbs, not living the Life of Reilly. Or Life of Carrie, as it were. Samantha was a middle-aged woman, not bad looking I would say for a middle-aged woman, but no 1950s Marilyn Monroe or 1990s Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar Elle MacPherson. Samantha was bossy and rude, yet somehow had every man in every room she entered falling all over her, before somewhat “settling” for a guy who was supposed to be the hottest male model in the country. I knew some similarly nice-looking women of that age back then. Most of them were working in stores, complaining about their man and his pot belly and their kids they had to drive around in a rusty Ford – not jetting off to Paris on a whim to see a wealthy boyfriend. Not Samantha though. At least Miranda exuded some level of reality; a smart lawyer with a child who lived in a good apartment (she was a lawyer after all) but was bitchy much of the time and tired all of it. If I had to guess, I’d suggest Miranda was the least popular among the show’s female viewers. She didn’t live the total fantasy.

Over the years, I’d sometimes watch with my sweetie, and have to say that my hatred diminished to a mere “meh”-level indifference. Live and let live. No surprise though that when HBO decided to re-boot the series this year, she was very excited to see it. So too were millions of others like her. So I happily joined her in watching the two-episode premiere last week. I like it when she is happy or excited about something to watch.

Tellingly, it’s titled And Just Like That, not Sex & the City anymore, even though it still has the same characters. Well, except Samantha, who is talked about doesn’t appear. The actress, Kim Catrall, didn’t want to take part, so the writers had her move to London in a snit.

The title change perhaps represents that the characters are now all in their middle-50s and much of the sex in that city is not being had by them. In Miranda’s case, her kid is having a lot more conjugal fun than her. All three of the remaining ladies have, remarkably, stayed in the same relationships they were in at the end of the regular season…but not necessarily happily. It’s one of the many ways the new version is darker and altogether less cheery or uplifting to the female fans as the original. Charlotte has two daughters, one adopted, a young piano prodigy, the other her biological, a bit of a renegade who does what tweens do, act up and worry her parents. Miranda’s teenage son is a pot-smoking layabout who drops used condoms on her floor, prompting Carrie to suggest she should be happy the lad was being safe.

All that’s made Miranda’s hair go white; she and Charlotte (the only one looking even remotely younger than their real age) bicker over it, the latter complaining Miranda looks old and should do something about it, the former scoffing at Charlotte’s fake hair coloring. They all bicker and seem to pine for the good old days. Except perhaps Carrie, looking noticeably older herself, but seemingly at least happy with “Big”. Of course, he is a man of a certain age who’s libido isn’t quite what it once was, and has a heart problem. And, <spoiler alert> he has a massive heart attack in the first episode and dies in Carrie’s arms…a minute after she got home, found him on the floor but failed to call 911. It was about then viewers probably realized the fantasy had ended and Carrie and Company had entered real life. Episode two deals largely with Big’s funeral and the ladies’ complicated, conflicted relationships with each other… and their constant supportive cheerleader, Stanford. Unfortunately, the actor who played Stanford, Willie Garson, passed away in real life recently, leaving a veritable sword of Damacles hanging over his head every time he shows up on screen.

Then there’s the backlash the women feel as aging people in an increasingly young world. Sound familiar? It should, since it is the story of generations that has played out for centuries, time and time again, and each time the aging generation is as surprised as the previous one was that they would eventually be seen as out of touch. Carrie’s doing a podcast with a couple of raunchy young potheads who scold her for being too conservative in her commentary. Suddenly she’s the “square” not wanting so share every detail of her sex life with strangers. Suddenly being a female who likes males makes her the object of derision to people who don’t even believe that gender is a scientific concept. Miranda fares even worse, taking a university class in race relations to try and be more “woke” and alienates every one of the kids a third her age by being surprised the professor is a Black lady with braided hair and by referring to a young man as “he”, provoking horror and disgust from the class. Micro-aggressions! How did this happen, the gals wonder. We used to be the cutting-edge, cool ones.

My sweetie said she felt depressed after watching the two episodes that have aired so far. She wasn’t alone. Actress Kristen Davis (Charlotte) has lashed out at fans and the press for pointing out that the characters who are supposed to be 55 and up look, 55 and up. The Atlantic lament “the show doesn’t seem to like or respect its characters much anymore.” Fox News called it “grim and cringe-inducing.” The Guardian, “terrible.” “Grim” was also used in the New York Times description, in a story that suggested succinctly it was a “flop.”

A flop it probably is and will be, unless the creators whole point was to show that even fantasies come to an end eventually. Or else to make it clear the makers of Friends were genius in having a reunion merely by having the actors sit around and watch clips of the show back when. Because they at least realized no one needs to see Ross hiding his Viagra from Rachel or Chandler looking for his glasses so he can find his phone only to find out its one of the twins calling from jail.

My guess is soon And Just Like That viewers won’t be viewing, turning instead to reality shows like The Bachelor… to get away from on-screen reality.

The Neighbors

It was a wild time on our quiet street yesterday morning. I work from a desk in the bedroom, facing the street… a normally rather quiet suburban street. I glance out when I hear a vehicle go by, or to look at birds in the garden. The window affords a decent view of the feeder, which I filled for the first time this “winter” early yesterday after a strong cold front blew by, today a Mockingbird became the first to discover the new food source.

Most of the time not much happens on the street, which made yesterday’s incident a bit more bizarre. I happened to look out to see a black pickup, which looked familiar, going by backwards, at a good clip, with the driver’s door open. Our neighbor was running after it yelling, as the truck clipped our garbage can and carried on down the road, seemingly heading in reverse towards a couple of cars. For a moment I thought it was some crazy person aiming at other things with the truck. Or maybe a domestic fight? Joyriding juvenile thieves? I peered down the road and saw the truck stopped against the curb… and noticed debris by our car, also out front.

I went out, and was semi-relieved to see the “debris” was in fact a baseball cap and glasses, with some garbage nearby. I picked up the cap and glasses and, seeing my neighbor standing, staring, appearing befuddled on his lawn, took it over to him. “This yours?” He said yes, and thanked me. “What happened?’

Well, it turned out he was driving away in this truck – one his son uses normally – and forgot to tell his wife something. She was in their driveway or yard. So, he (apparently) started backing up to yell something at her like “close the garage door!”. He fell out of the truck. Ooops. The truck kept going in reverse, scraped our garbage bin and took out his own, strewing trash far and wide. Oops more! Then it crashed into a parked car on the road before coming to a stop. Ooops triple. “They already don’t like us,” his wife told me. “This isn’t going to help,” I replied, stating the bleeding obvious.

I checked to make sure he was ok, and decided to be neighborly and help him pick up the garbage. Police arrived, and the young cop who’s first on the scene was friendly in a downhome sort of way, taking everything in stride as he took down the statement from the neighbor. An older, more stern cop drove up later and walked around saying nothing. The police asked if he’d tried to move his truck, which he hadn’t; they told him to and it made a screeching sound when he slowly pulled it ahead. It had done some nasty damage to the parked sedan. I was relieved I didn’t see the actual impact, so when I got a chance to ask if I could scram, the cop ascertained I hadn’t seen the actual crash, thanked me and waved me off. I wished him a good day and got back to my day.

The neighbor in question is a guy about my age. We’ll call him Pickup Guy. He’s married to a woman who rarely comes outside, with a grown son, I think, who leaves his dog with them. A big brown dog that always barks up a storm when she sees me, which scared the be-jeezus out of me the first couple of times, but by now just prompts me to call the dog’s name and say “You know me!” It quiets down and wags it tail. Pickup Guy is largely retired except for a part-time delivery job, but does work in his garage, which faces our driveway. One time he knocked on the door, hoping to find my brother-in-law, but me being the only one home, asked if I could help him for a minute. I helped him move a storage shelf in his garage and chatted a bit; he showed me some old antique tools he restored. He usually has on classic rock in the garage; I like the music pouring out of it when I take garbage or recycling out to the containers. I say “Hi” when I see him in there and he asks how I’m doing. Not exactly a close friend, but a decent chap. A neighbor. I would try to help him, and I figure he’d do the same for me if I needed it.

In the last house we lived at, we had various neighbors. There was an elderly couple next door. We’ll call them the Whitehairs. My sweetie initially didn’t like The Whitehairs. She said the husband seemed a bit snooty or short-tempered. After awhile, when I was mowing the lawn or carrying in groceries, I saw them enough to get to talk to them a bit. The husband was a little taciturn, but seemed a decent man, a veteran… I wouldn’t be surprised if from WWII, but I suppose more likely Korea. His wife was an adorable little granny type. Even my sweetie became friends with her as, after I’d broken the ice, she’d talk to us both if she saw us, telling us of her youth and her family out of state and the various health concerns she and Mr. Whitehair had. They both had their share of health problems and they told us they’d be sad to see us go and to come back and visit. I wanted to do that, but alas, only a couple of months after we moved, their cars disappeared and new people and cars were there whenever I went by. I hope perhaps they found a nice retirement home or such, but fear perhaps a worse fate befell them.

Across the street, kitty corner from us, was a bickering couple a bit older than us. The husband was a George Jefferson-like little character who was prone to knocking on our door late at night, asking if he could borrow some money. Sometimes for smokes, sometimes for a prescription for his wife. Sometimes we’d help him out, sometimes we wouldn’t, sometimes we simply couldn’t because we weren’t prone to keeping much cash at home. One time he managed to carry a large flatscreen TV across the road around midnight and tried to persuade me to buy it. My love had a fit when she came out of the shower and found this 50 or 60 inch TV half inside our living room and me debating with George Jefferson, explaining that we didn’t need another TV right now and besides, I didn’t have $50 or $60 on me anyway. We made him carry it back home; he wanted me to bring it back to him (on account of his bad back) but I wasn’t wanting to be the guy carrying a 50” TV of dubious origins across a busy road at midnight! One time he asked me to help him with something with his garage (what is it with Texas guys and working in their garage?) and he showed me a bulky handgun he kept in there, explaining that was why he wasn’t afraid of break-ins. He wasn’t my favorite neighbor, but yet, he seemed harmless and always seemed to have a smile for us and a wave as we drove out.

Neighbors. I don’t think I would have ever talked to any of these people had I not lived in proximity to them. The George Jefferson guy was a different race, had an accent I found difficult to decipher when he got excited and played music that I certainly didn’t like, loud enough for us to hear across the street at times. The Whitehairs seemed stern and stand-offish at first and it was suspected they might have been the people who called the city (before I was on the scene) and reported our unduly long grass in the yard prompting a visit from a bylaw officer. Pickup Guy had a sticker in his regular truck supporting a political candidate I would never support nor have a good word for. Yet they all were good enough people, it turns out. And likewise, they probably wouldn’t have had interest in talking to a middle-aged liberal kind of alternative rock music-loving, bird-feeding guy, until I moved in.

It goes to show something. I’m not quite sure what, but I think Ralph Nader had it right years ago. He suggested “when strangers start acting like neighbor, communities are reinvigorated.” Our country might be a lot better off if we all forgot stereotypes and sat down and chatted a little with the people next door…whomever they might be. A certain book does tell us to “love thy neighbor”, after all.

Books : ‘The Midnight Library’, Worth Staying Up Late For

One of everyone’s favorite Christmas movies is It’s A Wonderful Life. Yet if movie-maker Frank Capra and leading man Jimmy Stewart weren’t already stars when it came out back in the 1940’s, they might not have thought life was so wonderful. Initially, the movie flopped. Decades later of course it was resurrected and became a holiday staple and a film that’s sold tons of DVDs and moreover, influenced many people in a positive manner. You never know.

Which is the underlying theme to the latest book I read, The Midnight Library by Matt Haig. The novel is currently sitting at #12 on the New York Times best-sellers list, and noteworthily is the oldest, the only one of the top dozen to have come out in 2020. Rightly so. The book has staying power, because it is, first and foremost a good story. Haig managed to take a tablespoon each of It’s A Wonderful Life and The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty, added in a pinch of a positive mental health info and served it up in a modern-day, social media obsessed setting. The result was tastier than one might imagine.

The Midnight Library, in capsule summary involves the life, and nearly the death, of a 35 year-old woman named Nora. She lives in a run-down British city and feels like her life is worthless, and furthermore, that she’s squandered a number of chances to have the BIG life, the IMPACT life. She could have been an Olympian. Could have been a rock star. And so on. Instead, she’s lonely and unemployed. Through magic, God or some combination of those factors and others beyond explanation, she has a chance to see how her life could have come out… and finds a way into her best possible life. That’s the short description, I’ll put a somewhat more in-depth look at it at the end for those not scared off by “spoilers.”

Although Nora at first seems almost insufferable in her morose nature and self-pity, there is a part of her that I can relate to. A part that I think all of us can. The part that wonders “what if?” She quickly goes through a wide range of personal growths to learn – to really take to heart – that what matters most isn’t what you have done…it’s what you are going to do now. To quote the band Talk Talk, “Life’s What You Make It.”

After a slightly slow start, as we get to know the depressed lass in the depressed city, the book really picks up and turns into a page-turner. As well as a philosophical contemplation deeper than many so-called “self-help” books.

The Midnight Library. Pick it up some afternoon, and you might just find yourself still reading it at midnight. I give it 4 Dewey Decimal Card Catalogs out of 5. PS – this is a book just ripe for a Hollywood take.

More detailed overview with spoilers:

Nora Seed seems like a loser. That seems harsh, but is reality too. Because Nora seemed like the girl who could have it all. One of the best swimmers in the country. Smart. Curious. A great songwriter and musician. Concerned about the environment. If not centerfold material, plenty pretty enough to turn many a man’s head. Yet we find her depressed and depressing, just fired from her mediocre job in a failing store, with a cat which meets its demise on the road, and one real close friend who lives half a world away. Her brother seems to hate her for breaking up a band they both had been in and she periodically receives texts from the seemingly fine man she dumped days before they were to get married. She’s down enough to consider killing herself, but even her suicide attempt is half-hearted at best.

What it does though, is take her to a mystical place – the Midnight Library. A sort of never-ending library, with only one other person present – the old school librarian she used to play chess with years ago. The books are books of her life. Lives, actually. Each gives her a chance to see how her life would be had she done things differently. Not only see, in fact, but walk into those lives. Suddenly she is married to the man, who runs a charming country pub with her now. Or she studied a bit harder and is now a serious environmental scientist studying melting glaciers in the Arctic. Or she stayed in the band, which has become U2-big…she’s about to step onto stage in front of tens of thousands of Brazilian fans. Or she put her all into swimming and went to the Olympics. Or maybe she’s married to the nice young man down the road who was a bit shy, but also is a hugely successful surgeon whom she has a little daughter with.

But, need we remind you, besides all the glamor and appeal, each life has its own issues and problems anew. Pubs offer pub-keepers chances to spiral up their drinking and catch the eye of many passing women. Arctic research brings you in contact with more polar bears than fine dining establishments. Being a rock star offers temptations all too enchanting, yet deadly, for many. The grass isn’t always quite as green as it seems on the other side of the fence.

It turns out there’s only one real book for Nora to find a life she’ll find worthwhile and not be full of regrets. The question is will she open it before the library closes?

Thankful Thursday XLI – Thanksgiving

Well, I missed Thankful Thursday last week, not because I lacked things to be thankful for but rather because as with many of you, its been a very busy time for me lately, with the holidays coming besides other things. So this week seems a good time to come back and be thankful for … Thanksgiving.

As a Canadian, it still seems a bit strange to me to be celebrating Thanksgiving so late in the season, so close to Christmas. But it’s a moot point, and the important thing is whether Thanksgiving for you falls in October or the end of November, the sentiment is the same. A time to hopefully slow down a bit, get together with family and take note of all the good things we have in life.

For me, it will be one of the rare days when everyone in the house and the family has a day off. I’ll be going with my sweetie and the kiddo to my step-son and his wife’s place for a turkey dinner; a bit of a collaborative affair with us doing some side-dishes, my mother-in-law adding some more and a variety of desserts from all of us. I’m not a huge fan of turkey, but I was still delighted to be able to buy one last month and freeze it; we’d heard reports they might be rare or hard to find this season. Of course, two weeks after that the store coolers were laden with them for about half what I’d paid, but we had the peace of mind of not having to go out and fret at the grocery store this week, so it was a price worth paying. Of the holiday foods here, green bean casserole is probably my favorite, and a fine southern specialty. Or so it seems to me. We ate green beans up north, and mushrooms and mushroom soup, and onions… but not all in a single tasty dish! But I’d be fine with a meal of sandwiches or pizza. It’s the feel of the day and the togetherness which makes it special, and above all the realization of all the things we have to be thankful for in our lives.

For nearly a year, I’ve been writing a bit about some of the things that make me thankful, from the big – like being in pretty good health, something we all have come to see the value of in this past year or two – to the trivial, like watching a flock of songbirds or a well-written novel to read. I could go on similarly for years, but with other projects always present and popping up, both here and in “real” life, I’m going to take this point to wrap up the project. However, I will still be posting columns here, book, movie reviews and who knows what else, plus things on my mind, whether it’s something I’m thankful for or not … and I fully encourage you to start your own list of “thankfuls”. After awhile, it becomes a lot easier to let the problems and annoyances of life wash over you when you know how much good is overshadowing them. Or at least so I find.

So, wishing all of you a very happy Thanksgiving, a good dinner, good company and a day where you become aware of at least one more thing to give thanks for.

Thankful Thursday XL – Fish Wrappers

This Thankful Thur…, err Friday, I’m thankful for newspapers, an important anachronism in this day and age.

I grew up in a house that had newspapers. We subscribed to a daily big city paper (the Toronto Star) and were in a suburb that had a couple of weekly or semi-weekly local ones delivered automatically. I might have been nerdy as a child, but I loved them. By the time I could read well, I’d always look at it; perhaps even more than my parents did a lot of the time. I got to know what was going on in the world as well as the weather and keep track of the baseball scores and stats in that era that long preceded the internet and real-time updates. And of course, being a kid after all, I looked forward to the comics every day… Peanuts was my favorite back then. The local papers were thinner and didn’t have as much of interest, but being local, they were great at informing us of minor events in town and once in awhile, you’d see people you knew in the photos.

As I grew up and went out on my own, the papers stayed a big part of my life. Much of the time I subscribed to the Star, like my parents (my dad did right up until his death, even though he was having a fair bit of difficulty seeing it well enough to read in his last year or two) and quite often I’d buy the rival Toronto Sun as well. The Star was a big, broadsheet, but was surprisingly liberal in stance; the Sun was a tabloid that was more conservative … the opposite of what most would expect. Both had their pros and cons. The Star was better for in-depth national and world news and usually had better comics (yep, still liked them as I got older though by my 20s I was a fan of things like The Far Side). The Sun was better for local news and sports. Plus its smaller size made it ideal for reading on the bus or at a coffee shop table, making it all the better to take to work. Both offered thought-provoking editorials and by reading both, I’d get two sides to the same story quite often. It helped me think better and be better-informed.

Since I relocated, newspapers aren’t as much a part of my life. For a couple of years we did subscribe to the daily in our city here. It was a disappointment compared to the ones I was used to – much thinner, with more limited national and international news, drawn almost exclusively from wire services, less actual coverage of local events – but it was still something. I’d get the big stories of the day, and at least baseball boxscores for early games the night before. But it kept getting smaller and its price went up so when we moved, we decided to forego it. And with it now costing $2 a copy at the stores, I rarely buy one on a whim.

It’s a theme repeated across the globe. It’s a downward spiral and one of the worst side-effects of the Online Age. Fewer people have time to read a whole newspaper, and most of the things they want to see in one are found online anyway. Classified ads are a dinosaur, so ad revenue drops for the newspapers, circulation drops, so they cut back to try to save money. Which in turn makes the paper less interesting… less original content, smaller staffs, fewer photos, less expensive syndicated columnists or features…and sales drop more. One by one, city newspapers across the country shut down shop.

It’s a shame, and a socially dangerous trend. One only has to see All the President’s Men or know a bit about American political history to see the importance of a widely-read newspaper with good journalists. Or more recently, Spotlight chronicling the Boston Globe‘s role in exposing child abuse and the church cover-up to try to avoid blame. At their best, they not only report the news, they find it.

The only security of all is in a free press,” Thomas Jefferson once said. So yesterday I decided it was time to do my part, and subscribe to the local one again. I’m thankful there still is one and that we live in a land where they’re free to print, and we’re free to read them.

A Steinbeckian Tale For The Tinder Age

Diary of a young-going-on-middle-aged, recently single guy looking for love – could be a little tedious to read. Diary of a young-going-on-middle-aged, recently single guy looking for love and traveling all across the country …that’s something more memorable. And so we have my most recently-read book, Leave Only Footprints, by Conor Knighton.

Knighton managed to blend two parts of latter-day Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley and one part male Bridget Jones Diary with quite compelling results. A TV news correspondent called upon sporadically by his network, he found himself dumped by his fiancee. Heartbroken, bored and tired of seeing all the places they used to go to in Phoenix, he decided to take a year off and travel. His plan – visit everyone of the national parks in the country. There are over 50, from Atlantic to Pacific, Maine to California, plus ones above the Arctic Circle in Alaska, and out in the lonely ocean in Samoa and the Virgin Islands. Cleverly, he sold his network on the idea of having him do it as a regular segment for their morning or news shows, so as to get a bit of an expense account to cover the thousands of miles by road, air and sea.

He begins the year wanting to see the first sunrise of the year before anyone else, so he visits Acadia National Park, just off the Maine coast on a frigid New Year’s morning. 364 days later he finishes up watching the sun set into the Pacific at the Point Reyes National Seashore (technically not a national park) in California. Along the way he developed a profound and newfound love of his country and its nature, as well as the people who’ve worked to preserve it. He describes all the parks he went to, and adds a little history, but the book moves along swiftly, as he had to himself, not lingering too long on any one site or sight, and introducing us to a range of interesting personnel at the parks. In an unusual but effective writing twist, he avoids making it a chronological recounting of the year, and lumps parks together by “theme.” Crater Lake and Congaree were “mysteries” as I mentioned in the previous blog. Big Bend, on the Tex-mex boundary, and American Samoa, in the middle of the ocean were “borders.” Joshua Tree and Sequoia were among the ones he labeled “trees” for obvious reason. He comes to some great insights, like how many of the people who worked hardest to set up and protect the scenic national parks came from Kansas and other similarly geographically unremarkable places. “If Dorothy had grown up in New York City rather than on the Prairie, Oz may not have looked as spectacular,” he points out. The non-linear approach worked well, keeping us a little off-balance and wondering what would be his next category.

As for love, we never really know if he found it. He used the modern apps to find dates in many cities and described one promising relationship cooked up in the fogs of Washington’s Cascades, but it never seemed to entirely take off. Then there was the nice gal who helped him when his car skidded off the road in Wyoming; he sought her out only to find she was engaged. He does a lot of self-evaluation and personal growing through the year and his recollection of his failed engagement that led to the journey. In one or two places, this side-story became a little distracting and slowing, but all in all, it helped us see him as a human on the road to somewhere… just not somewhere he had mapped out quite yet.

All in all, an interesting and at times endearing look at the United States. I give it 3.5 Smokeys out of 5.

Thankful Thursday XXXIX – Sasquatch, And Other Things We Don’t Know

This Thankful Thursday (or Saturday) I’m thankful to not be a Know-it-all…although some who’ve known me might dispute that assertion! I’m actually glad no one’s a “know-it-all”. I’m glad there are still things we, as a species, haven’t figured out yet. thankful for mystery. After all, who doesn’t love a good Agatha Christie story? I’m glad there are things that are like that for all of us, and that unlike her books, haven’t yet been wrapped up neatly with a “that solves that” answer.

I thought of that this week while reading a book about American parks. The author categorized a couple of national parks – Congaree and Crater Lake as “mystery.” Fair enough. Neither gets a lot of traffic and both have an air of mystery around them. Crater Lake is said to be the deepest lake in the U.S., but sits hidden in the mountains. It took decades to be found, even after the Oregon Territory had been settled and rumors of its existence abounded. Furthermore, there’s a huge log that floats around it sticking upright for totally unexplained reasons. Congaree is a deep, floodplain swamp, ancient cypress trees growing out of the murky water. Bugs, Water Moccasins and alligators abound, and trails are few so not surprisingly, so too are casual day-tripping sightseers. Adding to the mystery of the place are occasional reports suggesting that maybe, just maybe, two of the rarest types of birds in the Americas still live there – the fabled Ivory-billed Woodpecker and the diminutive Bachman’s Warbler. Both have always been, by most accounts rare and hard to find, preferring just the inhospitable flooded forests that Congaree offers. The tiny warbler, a bright yellow little songbird that eats bugs, hasn’t been seen for decades. The woodpecker, on the other hand, is large, showy…but wary of humans at best. It was last heard from in 2005 when some blurry video in an Arkansas swamp seemed to show one fly by, backed up by disputed eye-witness sightings there. If either still exists is debatable, but nature-lovers like myself live in hope that they are…perhaps in Congaree’s dark recesses.

They’re mysteries not too unlike the “great” American one – Sasquatch. The famed Bigfoot has been reported since Europeans began to settle the Pacific coast forests…and long before by the local Natives who had various names for it including “Sasquatch”. For over a hundred years people have wondered if they exist, and gone out searching for them, with little to show so far. A few videos which might have been faked, suggestively huge footprints in mud, weird unearthly screaming sounds in the forest. One wonders why, with the settlers love of guns, someone along the way hasn’t shot one, inethical as that might be, or hit one with a car. Likewise though, one wonders how there could be so many similar stories through the pre-internet decades of big, unknown ape-like creatures from Montana to B.C. if something we don’t yet know is out there. It’s a mystery.

UFOs, the Loch Ness Monster, what’s out on the outer limits of the universe… no one really knows yet. That’s exciting to the scientific part of me…and comforting to the spiritual part that likes to think that no matter how smart people are, we’re still dwarfed by something bigger than all of us…something that has the answers but will only share them when we’re ready. Til then, if we want to know, all we can do is load up on bugspray and head out into the forest primeval.

Thankful Thursday XXXVIII – ‘Owl’ Drink To Napa Valley Going Green

This Thankful Thursday I’m thankful for Napa Valley wines. And I’m a beer guy, not an oenophile, which is apparently a wine lover. A word I’d probably have already known if I actually loved wine. I might seldom partake in their beverages, but I’m thankful for them after seeing a story recently about how they are beginning to “go green.” More and more of the vineyards in that California valley are turning away from chemical pesticides and towards organic solutions…including owls!

Wine might be healthy for us in moderation, but creating it isn’t always healthy for the land. Growing the grapes invites a lot of nuisance animals to the area… rats and mice especially. For much of the past century, the growers relied on heavy doses of pesticides to keep the rodents in check. Needless to say, this isn’t beneficial. Besides the rodents they’re looking to control, other animals can ingest it and die, or eat the poisoned rats and in turn sicken or die themselves as the poison builds up inside them. And while one would imagine that the amounts of pesticide retained by the grapes during the production would be minimal, the risk to farm workers is real. For instance, zinc phosphides, a common type of rat poison will “increase calcium levels in the blood, leading to organ failure” according to scientists. One would think even a trace amount lingering in the wine wouldn’t be doing its enthusiasts any good and working in the fields with it day in, day out even less so.

So, I’m happy more and more grape-growers are shunning the chemicals and instead encouraging owls. Barn Owls in particular, an especially effective rodent weapon. Apparently a typical one will eat close to ten critters a night, so just a couple of pairs of nesting ones is going to significantly lessen the enjoyment of the area for rats! The vineyards are cleaner, and the growers save money. It costs far less to put up a few nestboxes for owls than to buy pounds of chemicals, needless to say. They may even reap a small financial reward as birdwatchers begin to take the vineyard tours in hopes of seeing a striking-looking owl more than tasting a fine Chardonnay. And the Barn Owls, declining in numbers across the country are finding new homes with ready supplies of food. A win-win.

Organic wine, helped along by owls. I’ll drink to that. Or should I say, “owl” drink to that!

Thankful Thursday XXXVII – Fannie Flagg & The Storytellers

This Thankful Thursday I’m thankful for storytellers. No, not the used car dealers who assure you that 2003 Mustang was only driven to church on Sunday by a little old lady, but the great ones who write the books and movies we love. Shakespeare was a story-teller. So too Dickens, and Steinbeck and Twain. Even Stephen King. And Fannie Flagg. She came to mind because I just finished reading a book by her, so I’ll rather combine two blogs here and review it.

One of the out of left-field hit movies from the ’90s was Fried Green Tomatoes, a sort of ode to both the Deep South and feminism, starring Mary Stuart Masterson and Mary Louise Parker. The story revolved around the close friendship of two young women, Idgie and Ruth during the Depression-era South, as told by an elderly relative of Idgie’s decades later. It’s an unusual sort of dramedy, mixing well elements of both humor, sometimes quite dark (ie – the disappearance of Ruth’s violent, abusive husband, which shall we say led to a “tasty” subplot) and tear-jerking drama. Most of it centred around a little diner, the Whistle Stop Cafe, run by the two friends.

Anyway, undoubedly some have wondered what ever happened to those characters; when the film ended, Idgie was still alive and looking after Ruth’s young boy, Buddy Jr., and Evelyn, the middle-aged lady hearing the stories from old Ninny was on her way to a whole career and life makeover. Well, it turns out we now know, thanks to the story’s creator, Fannie Flagg. Last year she published a sequel, The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop. It’s a good, quick read that brings us up to date on all the main characters, through a similar series of present-day events and flashbacks.

We find that Evelyn parlayed her Mary Kay sales into a major business career and she’s now a mover and shaker in Birmingham, but a bored one. She once again connects with the family of Idgie and Ruth. While the original mainly centred on those two, this one is seen largely through the scope of Buddy Jr., who’d become a successful veterinarian but is now retired and lonely back in Georgia, and his daughter, Ruthie. Together they become a new sort of family and embark on a “if you build it they will come” sort of project to bring the past into the future.

The chapters are short and fast-paced and the story interesting. Like the first one, it highlights feminism and individuality while throwing some shade on class elitism and other less lovable traits of “Dixie.” With her blend of unusual but likable characters and championing of community and small town life, Flagg is something of a Garrison Keillor of the South…a title people like Evelyn and Ruthie would take as an honor. They might not be Tolstoy or Rushdie, but they know how to tell a story that touches us and characters who stay with us.

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