Stressing the big stuff

For much of the last week, I’ve had my eyes cast eastward to the mid-Atlantic. In about 10 days, I’m supposed to lead a tour of veterans and other travellers to Holland to take in an event there. It’s been 65 years since the liberation of the Netherlands. The Dutch have a big party planned and we’re invited.

Problem is, smoke and ash from that unpronounceable volcano in Iceland have thrown up a barrier – literally and figuratively. Air travel may not be possible come May 1 when we’re supposed to fly to Amsterdam. I have not been a happy camper.

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Dot.coms bearing gifts

There’s a story I learned back at school. It tells the tale of an extraordinary deception. Two civilizations, the story goes, were at war – one inside a fortified area, the other outside it. The siege between the two had gone for years, without a victor. Then, those outside the walls withdrew, leaving behind a relic of war – a wooden horse. Rejoicing at their apparent victory, the people inside the walls, pulled the relic into their midst. That night, spies hidden inside the wooden horse crept out, opened the gates and allowed the outside army inside the walls.

“Trust not their presents,” the Trojan priest Laocoon had cried. “Is surely designed by fraud.” But his countrymen had ignored him. And victory belonged to the Greek outsiders.

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Publish or perish

It must have been an extraordinary moment. A 40-year-old inventor in the 15th century city of Mainz, Germany, had experimented with metal alloys, molds, a pressing machine and oil-based ink. He took handmade paper, placed it in his press and moved the letters of the alphabet into position to print a 42-line piece of writing. He repeated the process 30 times to create a book. The book was a short Bible. The inventor was Johann Gutenberg. And the invention was history’s first mass printing of the world’s first published book.

“Incomparably the greatest event in the history of the world,” Mark Twain wrote 400 years later.

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Aunts and uncles that are not

T&J_RENTABUG-1It happened during my first great adventure as a writer. It was in the spring of 1973. Jayne and I packed up an orange VW bug with all our travel and camping gear and headed west on a 20,000-kilometre odyssey. We were beginning our summer-long journey to gather research and personal accounts for my first book of popular history. Two friends – brothers Hal and Jim Sorrenti – suggested when we arrived in Winnipeg that we drop in on a relative.

“Be sure to stop and see our Auntie Marg,” they said. “She’ll help you out.”

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Growing into quality time

There used to be a public service announcement on TV. The first scenario showed an adult hurrying his child into the car. The parent then raced away to a local arena. There, in a moment of false sincerity, Dad smiled, opened the door, nudged his son out the door, waved goodbye and zoomed away. The voice-over announcer scolded the parent. Then, in the second positive scenario, Dad helps his son gather his hockey gear, parks the car at the arena and joins others in the stands watching his son play.

“Don’t just drop your son at the rink,” the voice-over announcer says. “Take your son to the rink.”

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Lines of duty

When I got my cup of coffee at a downtown café the other day, I got in line right behind a police officer. Like me, he was going through his pockets in search of enough change for his java. I was about to say that I was sorry about the two officers who’d died on duty in Ontario this past week. But before I could say anything a woman in the café approached him.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Sure,” the officer said.

“Is there any way I can report a guy who’s been stalking me in his car?”

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Oh, O Canada

CAN_USA_MEN_GOLDTEAM_10_sThe 21st Winter Olympics wrapped up Sunday night. The closing ceremony began with a moment that could only have happened in Canada. Uniquely able to poke fun at themselves, Canadian organizers allowed speed skater Catriona Le May Doan to light that fourth cauldron – the one that malfunctioned during the opening ceremony. Then, thousands of spectators and athletes opened their mouths and let patriotism come out.

O Canada

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Rooting for the home team

I remember it as if it were yesterday. It’s one of those ‘where were you when…’ moments. I sat with co-workers in the audio-visual department at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon. We huddled around a 17-inch TV screen. The signal was coming from halfway around the world. But we felt as if we were right there, because Foster Hewitt made the call:

“Henderson has scored for Canada!” he shouted.

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Twitter this!

Hands up, if you believed the statement that President Barack Obama is a radical Muslim who would not recite the U.S. Pledge of Allegiance. Or more recently, and closer to home, the story that began circulating last Thursday, that Canadian folk music icon Gordon Lightfoot is dead. When the legendary singer-songwriter heard about his so-called demise he contacted the Toronto media outlet CP24.

“I haven’t gotten that much airplay of my songs in weeks,” he told them.

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A true inheritance

WHIT_SINGINGIt’s a turn of phrase. It’s the way my hair continues to disappear atop my head. Sometimes it’s the stance I take on certain issues or my philosophy of life. Other times it’s just similar mannerisms that people notice. But those who knew us both often comment about the way I’m very much like my dad.

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” people say.

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