Blackberry Blues

I do not own a Smartphone and really are they that smart? I don’t think so. Phones are just components of metal, and chips and connectivity and programming. They can’t think or do or reason. How do I know?

My brother was visiting me in Victoria and we went to the movies. He had to catch a bus back to his hotel. Don’t worry I have an APP for that. Sure enough he checked his BB and found when the bus left. I led the way and saw a bus turn the corner and stop. I said, ” I think that is your bus stop”.”No I am Google mapping it, that is not it.” said Mr. BB. “Okay I said there is another bus stop”. We walked there. Mr. Black Berry said “Nope, this isn’t it”. We walked to 2 other bus stops, each verified as incorrect. I finally said, “I think it is the other way”. Believe or not Mr. Black Berry had to Google each stop, only to verify we were getting  closer. I finally said, “Put that away and follow me” We made it to the ORIGINAL bus stop in time to get him on the bus. I walked 3 kms..GOOGLE free, no BB. I sat at my desk to hear the phone ring. Yeah Mr. BB missed his bus stop and was lost in downtown Victoria and his BB was losing charge. He said, “Get on Google and tell me where I am”.

His BB died and he actually had to walk home BB free. He made it. But I knew it was possible because I am GPS BB free and I am 50 after all.


Confessions of a Swinger

It all started in the playground around that mythical age of five. Swinging. Okay, what did you think this blog was about? You climbed up on the swing. You sat at what seemed an incredible height from the ground and waited for the push.

It came. Sometimes in the form of an ‘underduck’ which must be Dutch for scare the hell out of your kid. It seemed like you were literally launched into the stratosphere and there was no use calling, “I want my mommy”. She was the one who did it to you, thinking it would be fun. Other times the push was gentle and you learned to pump your arms and legs to increase height and speed, until it seemed you reach your zenith.

As you grew and increased your skills it was time to launch. Not sure who thought that one up. Lets see we are swinging our brains out as high as we can make this go; why don’t we launch and see how far we can go. Think contusions and concussions. Think of your first trip to the emerge…all thrills earned from launching.

Swinging was also about the absolute freedom of nearly flying, of feeling air rush by you on a hot summer day and it was about the joy of the moment.  I went swinging recently. Made sure there was no one around. Don’t want to scare kids. “Mom there was a swinger at the park and he was an old man”.

I experienced the joy of the free flow of air rushing by my face. I remembered the joy of the first time of feeling that underduck. The only thing I didn’t do was launch, are you crazy?

I am fifty after all.



I am a very accomplished surfer..of the net. Click, click,, sports, research, FB, school wonder I can surf so well. I decided to add to my repertoire of surfing skills by taking lessons. Real surfing, real waves, real water.

I have been interested for a number of years in trying it. Must be all the Beach movies from the 60’s Annette Funicello..who was hot then but now I really don’t want to think about her and the word bikini. I almost tried two years ago in Los Angeles but there were very serious surfers with very hard beach bodies and some how I could get my nerve up.

This Saturday it all changes. Tofino, B.C. at Sisters surfing school..(no wisecracks) I do it. Already my twin has weighed in: too dangerous, UNDERTOWS, you are too old, you can’t swim.  I love my twin and all those reason are valid but I have determined I am fifty after all. There are lots of risks in life: driving, walking, and surfing.

If I don’t make it just know I weighed the risks and made the plunge because like I learned when i bought my drill I am fifty after all.


Be Careful what you wish for

When I was a young day dreamer I wished when I was older I would be surrounded by beautiful women. Then we had three daughters and their mother. All beautiful according to onlookers and strange young men who have appeared over the years, some disappeared.

What is the problem you ask? Surrounded by beautiful women? Well I never have to question what my wife asks me to do. I often here it in surround sound. Over the years I have resisted assimilation into the feminine Borg collective, this despite being privy to countless conversations about topics I didn’t need to know from boyfriends to bras.At times we cycled together..bicycled together. I learned to be ‘deaf and mute’ when needed.

When it came to buying a dog I insisted on a male.  So we got Charlie Brown and neutered him. We have a lot in common and you know when you are in the ‘dog house’ it is good to know who your friends are.

At fifty you see the fruit of what you wished for coming to bear. What we wish for we put our lives into seeing fulfilled, consciously or not. For the most part I am content. The girls have me trained. Charlie is still there to talk when needed. The only wish I wish I had wished was for more insight along the way; more hope, more faith and more love.

Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.


Watch your mouth

As someone who grew up eating licorice babies and watching All in the Family, (think the Simpsons) we were all influenced by our times, the media and our own experience.

It seems after 50 your life of experience is crushed by the change of culture. Cool is a temperature, not a descriptor of a good thing. Groovy is mistaken for gravy. Boink is something you do, not a sound effect. Very soon you are treading the conversational curves of life with great trepidation. And if culture doesn’t throw it back at you, your kids will.

Of course with three girls, nothing I do is groovy or cool. How many times have I heard, “Dad you are SO racist”. I didn’t know requesting black pepper was racist. And don’t say things like,” when I was little I used to play Cowboys and Indians with a, gasp, gap gun”..In Canada we should register those, they are dangerous. So instead of rephrasing every conversation like, ” when I was young I used to play Cow herders and First Nation individuals and we used weapons of little destruction” gets easier to just not tell the stories.

And now I get a pretty good idea why my grandfather sat there, with a beer and a smile on his face and didn’t dare tell any stories from his youth. At fifty you realize the wisdom of aging is not in what you say, but what you don’t.