I grew up in the Eighties when the kids wore bright pastel colors, listened to music that had a happy vibe, and the girls wore outfits with shoulder pads as the de facto fashion statement. Our hair was tall and our walk was light. We didn’t have to worry about texting, messaging, blogging, skyping, tweeting, facebooking or pinning. We led simple lives and had simple dreams. I didn’t have Freedom Friday to write about this.
The Police
If we wanted to talk with anyone, we’d call them on the phone, land lines no less. If we wanted to have a more substantial conversation, we’d meet for coffee, sometimes until two or three in the morning. Our yes was yes and our no was no. Our principles meant something.
There was also an unwritten rule: take a penny, leave a penny. If you worked in a gas station in Canada, you already know what I mean. A little tray sat on the counter next to the register, sometimes empty, sometimes filled. If you needed a penny, you simply take one from the tray. If you had one or two to dump, place them in the tray. Some gas stations still have them to this day.
Our Christmases were easy to digest. There were no iPods, iPads, tablets, Kindles or Kobos. We’d received books, cassettes, CDs for gifts. The most we’d splurge on was the Sony Walkman. Tops.
Buying books cost a small fortune at the time. Luckily, I worked in a library giving me the ability to read newly released books for free.
We purchased our music on cassette tapes. If we really liked the album, we’d purchase it as a special edition chrome or metal tape. Many of my friends made a fuss over the quality of normal and chrome bias tapes. I could never hear the difference. Besides, LPs sounded better.
We wore baggy pants at the thighs with belt buckles that nearly covered our belly buttons. Our shoes were practical, designed to slip off easily.
Everything was expensive. For a student, it took so much to save for anything, but when we finally purchased it, we appreciated it more. At least the movies were cheap. Four people could go to a matinee for under twenty dollars. Unbelievable, isn’t it?
I suppose the best part about the Eighties was knowing we had our whole life ahead of us. Not much different from what it is today for those growing up.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
If you lived through the Eighties, what is your favorite part?
Last week, my family and I took a much-needed vacation to Ottawa, Canada, the nation’s capital. This should not come as a surprise to my regular readers given how I’ve posted of our many adventures enjoying our love for travel. If you want to read some of those posts I’d written for my Freedom Friday series, you’ll get a taste of Nova Scotia, Niagara Falls, and our recent weekend getaway.
Parliament Hill, Ottawa, Canada
From our town, an hour north of Toronto, to Ottawa, it took four-and-a-half hours driving without stopping. Once we arrived, we checked out our very cool suite. I’m not sure if all hotels are as fancy as the one we chose in the downtown core, but our suite looked incredible. The elegance thrilled us with the handcrafted beds and embroidered blankets, marbled bathroom, and the useful kitchenette. We’d gone for a package deal, having added a set of tours to boot of the nation’s historical museums. We certainly didn’t have to wait to see the benefits of that decision.
Salmon sushi dinner in Ottawa
First off, let’s get one thing out of the way. It’s about the restaurants. Since food is a big part of our travel experience, we try to eat as much variety as we can. Apart from our kid’s ingesting their staple chicken fingers and French fries, my wife and I will dive into sushi, Greek food, and salads. There’s nothing quite like the taste of maki or souvlaki on a hot day in July. What I noticed about Ottawa’s restaurants however, is how upscale they are in elegance and design. I’m sure it has something to do with the affluence of a high percentage of the region’s population. Well, most are lawyers, senators and politicians. So yeah, the restaurants ought to service those folks in those professions. And the eateries’ decor will reflect that clientele. Nonetheless, no matter what the bistros and cafés look like, the food is delicious.
Ottawa’s also a culturally rich area filled with museums centered on Canada’s history. We took advantage of that history by hitting Parliament Hill as our first stop. Since our hotel was ten minutes away, we walked all the way. The heat was intense but the journey worth it. Seeing the hill for the first time was somewhat overwhelming. Its Gothic Revival architecture reflects an era when style and grace had epitomized the people’s preference for sophistication. The Peace Tower itself looks no different from Big Ben in London, England. It even plays chimes throughout the morning. I caught Somewhere Over the Rainbow in the midst of it all.
Centre Block, Parliament HillPeace Tower, Ottawa, CanadaCentre Block Archway
Our tour consisted of the House of Commons, the Senate, the Library of Parliament, and the Peace Tower, which are all part of the Centre Block. The most fascinating story is that of the great fire of 1916 that had devoured most of the Centre Block except for the Library of Parliament. A quick-thinking library clerk by the name of Michael MacCormac had shut the library’s iron doors preventing the spread of the fire, which would have consumed priceless books and paintings accumulated over a period of five decades. This small action taken by the clerk impressed me to remember his name and will possibly remain in my memory for a long time. I won’t forget his diligence as it has inspired me to keep pressing forward without relent in all my industry.
Besides enjoying sleeping in (lots of sleeping in), we took a trip to Canada Aviation and Space Museum. Seriously, Ottawa’s the center of museum country. To my family and I, who are avid museum aficionados, this was our territory. The museum houses a collection of some of the most impressive aircrafts that’d flown in the world. This says a lot given I’ve also been to the National Air and Space Museum of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington.
Rather than tell you more of what we did during the week, I figure I’d let the photos tell the story instead. Therefore, below are highlights of our Canada Aviation and Space Museum trip.
HangarRCN 387 – HelicopterFighter JetCAF Rocket
One more museum trip I thought you’d like to have a gander at is that of the Canadian Museum of Civilization in Gatineau, Quebec. We crossed province lines to the most visited museum in Canada to see what the big deal was. Wow! Big deal is right. The place is massive. It surpassed all my expectations. Not wanting to spoil it by my overdone descriptions, the highlight was our tour of an area in the museum featuring our country’s history. In the following photos, you’ll notice the twilight/sunset feel created by the exhibit’s indoor lighting.
Museum Totem PolesGlass ShopIndoor DisplayFurniture ShopIndoor SetAiding a Man’s Last Moments (dummys)Winter WindowThe View of Parliament Hill in Ottawa from Gatineau, Quebec
I had written a complete elaborate ending to this post, but decided to scrap it. You didn’t want to hear about the dark, foreboding storm we drove through on our way home. Of how it was two-thirty in the afternoon and the black clouds made it seem like ten at night. Of how I had my windshield wipers on max and I was screaming, “Bring it on” while my wife prayed for protection as buckets and buckets of water dumped on the road, stopping traffic to the side. You didn’t want to hear about that, did you?
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
Have you gone on vacation yet? Where did you go? What did you do? What do you like most about your vacation?
For those who don’t know, I cut my own hair. You can read my entire journey to hair follicle grooming in my post My Dark Secret. Suffice it to say I’ve had mishaps but none so challenging as last week’s clipper misfire. You can stop holding your breath. This Freedom Friday post will not have pictures of the dastardly deed.
Burnt Toast
How did it happen? In all honesty, I had good intentions. Cutting my hair for over a year, I guess I became too cocky. I only wanted to trim the top. Allow me to rephrase—I ONLY WANTED TO TRIM THE TOP!!!!!!!
That’s as much information as you’re going to get from me regarding this educational melee of sorts. The best way to describe the feeling I felt, when it dawned on me that I’d made a mess of things, is to compare the incident with others I’d experienced.
What you are about to read below is true. I did not embellish it in any way, and I certainly did not make any of this up. Each episode is my own and mine alone.
A Bad Haircut’s Like…
…smashing your thumb with a ball-peen hammer while attempting to hang that picture of the wonderful vacation you had last summer, and realizing you had dropped said hammer on the beautiful hardwood floor creating a dent you will never forgive yourself making.
…turning on the computer to the sound of whirring and sparking then smelling smoke as it fills the whole room, and knowing something’s not right since the splash screen is nowhere on the monitor.
Raccoon (Photo by: Cliff Nietvelt Photography)
…seeing your nine-year-old son open the shed door to freeze in his tracks, watching the color drain from his face, and knowing there’s something terribly wrong when he closes the door ever so slowly but then tells us we have raccoons living in our shed.
…meeting someone at a party with tousled, matted hair thinking they had just woken up and gotten out of bed without practicing proper hygiene, and realizing that’s as good as they will get because that’s how they look all the time.
…driving on the highway late at night with no cell phone and the car stalls forcing you to steer to the curb, walk to the nearest service station, call for a tow, and wonder if they’d yet caught that serial killer preying on the homeless.
…standing in conversation with someone going on about how their impacted molars collect food particles causing inflammation and swelling, all the while you’re trying to swallow your delightfully tasting hors d’oeuvres.
…following the instructions on the GPS when prompted with a twenty-minute timesavings option then realizing halfway you’re in the middle of redneck country with no form of communication for miles.
I have a lot more, yet that would take days to unravel and I don’t have days to entertain y’all with my silly stories of mayhem with haircutting clippers.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
Do you cut your own hair? Have you ever made a haircutting mistake that’s taken you days to fix? What other experiences can you think of that would compare with my haircutting nightmare?
It’s raining here. I’m not sure what the weather will be like in a few weeks, but it’s been raining quite often this summer. I’m almost certain it’ll probably rain again when this publishes for my Freedom Friday post.
Storm clouds over our home (June 14, 2005)
Rain makes me nostalgic. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think about the bad stuff that’s happened in the past. I think about how things used to be, what my life was like at particular points in time. I think everyone goes through these self-reflective moods where we ponder on the wins and losses, the births and deaths, the joy and pain. In some respect, there’s that temptation to want to go back to those times to do things over in an effort to fix that of which we made a mess.
I understand that. I do. I think it’s a natural process in our makeup as humans that as we age, the inevitable reality reveals itself that we’re only on this earth for a certain time and we should make the most of what we’re given.
Maybe that last part didn’t make much sense. I don’t know. Maybe I’m talking gibberish again.
When I look back, I measure my life’s journey by the movies I’ve watched, the music I’ve listened to, and the people I’ve met. Whenever I think of having watched Titanic in the theater in 1998, I remember how I had long hair, a bit of an attitude, and I wasn’t about to let anyone tell me what I will do, should do, or have to do. At the same time, I remember this magical time when a spotlight shined on Celtic music. Since my wife is from Nova Scotia, I felt rather proud too that it was Ireland’s time.
Storm brewing over our neighborhood (June 14, 2005)
The little things also are what get me. I’ll be standing in line at the grocery store and an Eighties song would play in the background shooting me back to my teens when I had my whole life ahead of me with no cares in the world except maybe not having a date for Friday night and the homework assignment due on Monday.
What else was there? I’m certain it was not that acne blowout three minutes before going on stage for my student council acceptance speech.
During these summer months, I have a very strange ritual. It’s a strange ritual because I don’t think anyone else does this. Maybe they do, but I haven’t found anyone who does. If you’re one of those people, let me know. We can be strange together. When it rains, I walk outside in my bare feet and shorts, sit under the front canopy to my house and stretch my legs. I allow the water to pour on my feet. The more powerful the storm, the happier I get. And if lightening should crack in the sky, I’m in my element, grinning from ear to ear.
Didn’t I say it was a strange ritual? I’m not sure why something like a storm would bring such happiness. Maybe it goes with the nostalgia I feel in the rain.
Or maybe, I’m strange. Either way, I’m learning something new every day.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
Do you ever get nostalgic? What is it that you think about?
Since everyone’s still in a holiday mood, us Canadians having celebrated Canada Day on the first, and Americans Independence Day on the fourth, I thought I’d go easy on everyone. How about if I use Freedom Friday to show you some of my favorite moments?
I’ve been taking digital photographs for over nine years. I have 14,306 photos. Most of them shot in the early years. Some may ask how I keep them organized. Easy, I have an application that catalogs all of my memories in neat stacks of craziness. Believe me, just because I have over 14,000 photos doesn’t mean I’m a genius photographer. I may have deleted twice that amount in an effort to keep the very best. So, yes, over 28,000 photos may have bit the dust in cyberspace somewhere between my camera and the digital garbage heap called the delete key.
Below are some of my treasured memories of Canada Day with stories attached. I hope you enjoy them!
Major Surgery
July 1, 2004—Here is my youngest son after having blown his knee (gotta love mommy tending after him). Uh, not the first time. During the course of several years, my beloved, accident-prone progeny had a few close calls with broken limbs, a finger trapped in a dust mop (long story), a second shy from being electrocuted, and several stitches sewn on his still-growing cheek. In this photo, he fell, scraping his knee. Honestly, it’s the tamest of injuries he’s experienced in his young life.
Main Street
July 1, 2008—I find it amazing to look at these old photos knowing I shot them, and have them as a record of a time once spent. This particularly is the best portrayal of how we celebrate Canada Day. My family and I park the car near the town library and walk to Main Street. This is where it all happens. If you look up Main, not only is our clock tower visible, but you’ll also see a river of red. Our flags are red and white, but during this holiday, everyone wears red. If you’ve ever heard of the term “red coats”, we were the red coats.
Canada Flag
July 1, 2009—I’m a proud Canadian. Really, I am. I love saying “eh” after my sentences, having a beaver on my nickel, and calling our dollar coin loonie and two-dollar coin toonie. There’s something to say about our culture when our packaging is bilingual, and a whole province speaks French. Others may call us Canadians Looney Tunes, but in some circles, we definitely know how to stand out. Check out the hand-painted Canada Flag in our town’s park and lake setting.
Canon Firing Prep.
July 1, 2011—Moving equipment into position, folks dressed in full wartime regalia prepare for the town’s annual canon blast. It’s a one-of-a-kind event featured in local newspapers and magazines in our region. I gotta tell ya, it’s something to experience. When standing there fifteen feet from the blast, it’s like feeling a massive burst run through the chest that pushes the innards backward until there’s nothing left. It’s that powerful. I tend to plug my ears, and wait until I feel the shockwave hit. What an exhilarating feeling.
Fireworks
July 1, 2012—Of course what would Canada Day be without fireworks? There’s something amazing about the bright lights and awesome sound of explosions in the air. Amid the haze of mosquitoes, we usually park at the train station lot, a few minutes from our home in farm country to enjoy the show. Since I live in a small town, an hour north of Toronto, we usually recognize everyone there. We’re a tight-knit community and the fireworks makes for a nice cap to the evening’s festivities.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
If you were fortunate enough to celebrate a day off this week, what did you enjoy most about it?
It’s two in the morning. What am I still doing up? In a couple of hours, I have to start my day. If I don’t get to sleep, I will have been up a full twenty-four hours. The kettle, I unplugged it, didn’t I? I’m sure I did. Did I turn off the stove? I did. I’m sure of it. I can’t seem to get that song out of my head. Think about something else. Don’t think! Sleep!
Insomnia
This is Freedom Friday. This is how I escaped the abyss.
One day blends into the next. There is no difference. Today’s a semblance of good day. I don’t look like a character out of a Tim Burton movie—spiked hair, sunken eyes and pale skin. I can get things done. The birds chirping aren’t a bother either. Why do birds chirp? Why don’t dogs chirp?
Two years ago, I averaged two hours sleep a night.
My reflection in the window of the department store scares me. I run. I glance over my shoulder but no one is there. Everyone looks the same. Why are they laughing at me? Who is that? Is he the one following me? I sit on a bench staring. My thoughts continue to race. Tonight, will be a good night. I will sleep.
Johnny Depp as Edward Scissorhands
The doctor asks if I am suffering from stress. I ask, doesn’t everyone? I’m in perfect physical condition. Then why can’t I sleep? Perhaps a prescription? No, no drugs.
Where are my car keys? What did I do with my keys? I lost my keys. Why can’t I remember where I put them? Here they are. I hate my chores. I don’t want to take out the garbage. I don’t want to mow the lawn. And I do not want to have a smile on my face when all I feel is emptiness. I just want to lie down in a dark room, close my eyes and fall into a coma for a month.
She asks, is everything all right? I say, yes.
I must have tossed on my pillow a dozen times. I can’t get comfortable. What is wrong with this bed? Lie still. Breathe slowly. Now close your eyes. I can’t. Damned clock. Stop telling me how much time I have left before I’m supposed to wake up!
A year later, I had to put a stop to it.
She asks, is everything all right? I say, no, I can’t sleep again. What’s wrong? I just—can’t sleep. Pray. What? Pray about it.
I pray, asking for release.
The lamb smells good. I broiled it in a marinade of garlic, olive oil, lemon juice and oregano. I thought it would go well with the sautéed red and green peppers, and onions. That salad is to die for, too. Fresh cucumbers and onions give it a pleasurable crunch. I can’t wait to try my new Merlot I made a month ago. I’ve been saving it for tonight’s special meal. Everything smells so good.
I relax downstairs by the fireplace watching Edward Scissorhands, one of my favorite Tim Burton movies. I allow my mind to wander on the day. How sweet the birds sounded chirping this morning. How funny I looked passing that department store window this afternoon. How the car purred heading home. Although the lawn didn’t need mowing, I had taken out the trash. My smile grows. I so much enjoy watching this film.
The bedroom door clicks behind me. I pull the shades and dim the nightstand light. I turn the alarm clock to face the wall. After slipping into a T-shirt and brushing my teeth, I sit and read. Shakespeare sure has a way of making a story unfold. My eyes begin to droop. It’s time.
I pray.
The bed feels comfortable. I turn off the light and close my eyes.
Silence. Darkness.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
Today is the day. Today is World War Z day. If you don’t know by now, this weekend will either make or break the zombie genre with the film’s take at the box office. I haven’t been this excited for a film premier since the first Transformers came out. When I think about it, I’ve had some interesting movie going experiences in my life. I might as well share them with you for my Freedom Friday series.
Jurassic Park
Jurassic Park—I wrote about Dr. Ellie Sattler for my Women Who Wow Wednesday this week, and I think it fitting if you knew what it took to see this movie in the theater. Mind you, 1993 was not that long ago, and we were pretty modern back then. We had the big 70mm screens with THX certified sound systems. Toronto, especially, had a handful of awesome theaters this size to fit capacity crowds. It was at this time my wife and I wanted to see it. Well, I wanted to see it bad and she tagged along, although ultimately she enjoyed it too.
Opening weekend, we decided on the theater we wanted to go, you know, big screen, big sound, and it sold out. Also, during those days, there was no such thing as advanced ticket buying, at least not for that theater. Second week, sold out again. Unbelievable. Everyone was talking about this movie and I couldn’t even get in to see it. Third week, you got it, sold out. And when I say sold out, I mean all shows for that day, gone. Forth week, I decided to be aggressive and went in on my lunch hour to see if I could get tickets for a late evening show. The woman said she couldn’t do it. No advance sales. I pleaded with her almost to the point of getting on my knees. Nope, couldn’t do it. I was about to leave sporting downtrodden shoulders. Well, I guess I was tenacious enough. She gave in. Two tickets for the five o’clock showing. I took them without so much as a quibble. A question gnawed at my brain. I asked her what the big deal was with the movie. She simply said, “Once you see it, you’ll have your answer.”
The Dark Knight’s Joker
The Dark Knight—When Heath Ledger passed away five years ago last January, an aura of solemnity and secrecy surrounded the final preparations of this film’s release. In the months following, seeing the first images of The Joker on the posters and trailers made the film’s anticipated premier eerie. I know I had all I could do but wonder what happened. My wife had made it clear, she did not want any part of it. I understood. It was somewhat creepy seeing Ledger on the big screen knowing he wasn’t with us anymore.
Opening weekend, I hopped into my car, headed to the theater, parked and headed inside. Our town’s theater is one of those big twelve-theater complexes with the latest and greatest technology. We currently have this UltraAVX addition with reserved seating, giant wall-to-wall screen, immersive sound, digital projection, rocker chairs, you know, the works. Five years ago, although we had the big screen, it was hard getting in to see these juggernaut movies. So, unless I got there real early, and bought a ticket in advance, I would have to rely on God’s good graces to finding a seat in the theater. It didn’t help that I arrived late. Anyway, I end up at the ticket booth, and I asked for a seat for the seven o’clock showing of The Dark Knight. I remember this because I still have the stub. The woman looked at me, looked at her computer screen and said, “Honey, there are only two seats available. You’ll be lucky if you find one right at the very front.” I told her I’d take my chances.
By this time, I’m having all this stuff go through my head of being stuck in the front, which will later result in a neck injury ‘cause I wanted to see a popular movie I didn’t adequately plan for. Whatever happens, I thought, I’ll take it like a man. I walk in. Packed. Oh, gosh, now what? The ticket agent said there were two seats available. I begin my search in the front rows, to the evil stares of those who got there early. I know, I know. I should I have gotten here earlier. Relax already. I’ll be out of your way in a minute. I then scan the entire theater from the side. I can’t believe I can’t find the seats. I felt like an idiot. The trailers were about to start and I can hear the thoughts of the audience saying, goof, standing in the aisle, you’re outta luck.
The first trailer started and there, right in the center of the audience, right in the middle of the theater, the seat appeared. Is that free? Really? I walk to the aisle where the seat rested and motioned to those next to it if it was really free. I don’t quite remember how I did it. All I remember is a lady nodding at me. I made my way through the crowded aisle and took my seat. If the woman next to me didn’t know better, my grin from one ear to ear almost freakishly made me look like The Joker. And there I sat, the best seat in the house, smack-dab in the heart of the theater watching The Joker get into the van, and that eerie single note hanging there, introducing the film.
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen—Still with me? I’ll make this story short. I had wanted to see this movie for a while in the theater, but didn’t feel like paying full price for it. Yeah, I caught some of the reviews indicating it lacked a little something the original had. So the most I’d pay is for a matinee performance, which I did catch. The funny part about this story is what happened during the movie while it played. As a preamble to this recounting, the skies were dark and it was just right for a good ol’ fashioned thunderstorm.
Well, here I sat in the theater enjoying the movie when all of a sudden, in between the explosions on the screen, a massive rumbling rattled all of us from our seats. That did not come from the screen. Then another rumbling accompanied by a crack from up high startled us. We were only a few, but during some of the screen’s massive explosions, a low murmur went through the audience. Right then, the film stopped and the auxiliary emergency lights turned on. Another earthquake-like tremor echoed just above my ears. We all looked at each other. The rain started. It pounded hard on the roof. We heard the whole thing as if it were THX audio. The whole thing lasted fifteen minutes, but it was entertaining talking with the folks in the theater while all this chaos happened outside. It felt like a camaraderie had come of the event.
Once the storm settled, the emergency lights turned off, and the movie whirred back into existence.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale October 22.
Have you had any weird things happen to you when you were in the theater?
Looking to God 