Author Archives: Lee Dunn

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

Puppy needs help

Warning:  Do not read while you’re having breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

When we were kids, my old Mom used to keep a craft corner, where she would make all kinds of wondrous items for Dad to sell in his travels.  Her little shop was downstairs, and she normally kept the door to the basement closed.

One of the supplies needed to make her projects was a copious amount of elastic bands, which she purchased by the box and kept on her workbench.

At the time, we had a puppy who was just finding his sea legs.  Exuberantly, he would explore the whole house from top to bottom, if allowed.

It happened that one day we went out to the market for a bit.  Either we had forgotten to close that basement door, or did not close it tightly enough.  Anyway, you can probably see where this is going…..

Everything was fine when we got home.  The next morning, when we went to take Peanuts out for his walk, he seemed unusually lethargic.  He had a pee, but that was it.  We brought him back in, thinking he was just a little out of sorts or may be coming down with something, but we kept an eye on him.

That afternoon, after an absence of a day or two from her shop, Mom went downstairs and turned on the light, to find that her work area appeared to have been ransacked.  Among the items on the floor was a half used carton of elastics, its contents strewn about here and there.  Of course we knew who the culprit was.

We did not know until the next day what the reason was for Peanuts’ malady.  We had wondered, the previous night, why he had seemed to improve quite a bit, and was happier.  We found out.  The first thing Mom noticed when she went down to her shop was the smell.  The first thing she saw was long brown lumps on the floor with elastic bands sticking out of them.

In case you’re concerned, Peanuts made a full recovery without having to go to the hospital.

If I had had a camera or cellphone back in that day, I would have taken a couple of shots to show to the Unbelievers.

via Daily Prompt: Elastic

You were meant to know the night

So as to regard the infinite Universe.
For the softening of things, the greater peace and quietness.

The appearance and sounds of the creatures of the dark.

The spiritual renewal that can come with dreams.

The darkness of the soul that needs be known for us to experience Joy.

The mystery, the majesty, the melancholy.

A time for sweet and soft Love behind the shades.

The coolness

The settling of sleep on tired eyes.

The protection and rest given to the wild creatures of the world.

The unseen terrors that creep and lurk for some, longing for its end,

So as to love the Day.

Accoutrements of sleep 

Every night

Washes the air mask that keeps him breathing

Puts hot cloths on his sore eyes

Does the Physio stretches for his sore back

Takes the pills for heart, insomnia, reflux, and depression

Installs his earplugs to shut out the nightly noises

Snaps the night guard onto his teeth to stop the grinding

Tapes his mouth shut so the airflow from the machine will not escape

A little cream around the nose to prevent itching

On with the mask, out with the lights, Sweet Dreams.  ZZZZZZZZ

The hard boiled egg

Good day everyone.

The wife likes egg salad, but prefers someone else to make it. I think it’s because of the very fiddly part of the procedure, which is the peeling of the little suckers.

Experience gained from gutting avocados in order to make guacamole has led me to apply the same method to the dreaded hard boiled egg.

I found a dozen or so that she had cooked and refrigerated, then went to work on them.  Fetched a sharp knife and a teaspoon, then cut each egg in half and gently scooped out the contents into a large plastic bowl with a flat bottom, being careful not to include any shells.  In less than five minutes, I had them all “peeled” and, using a potato masher, ground them up to just the right consistency for a chunky egg salad.

Added some scallions, mayo, a little salt and pepper, and, most importantly, two or three tablespoons of the juice from sweet pickles.

Yum, and happy peeling!

The working life (early career)

In my 67th year, I have just applied for another job.  Serendipity has resulted in things coming full circle for me, as you will see in a later installment.

My career began at the age of 14 or 15, when I got a part time job in a bakery, learning the art of making bagels.  I had to fish the partially cooked dough circles out of a steaming hot water bath, lay them on long boards, brush them with egg, finish them off with poppy seeds, and slide them into the oven.  Many burns (many times) until I learned what the hell I was doing.  My first paycheque was $10.85, and my Dad made a copy of it and had it framed.

Onto another part time job as a grocery clerk, bagging and doing carryouts for the customers.  Took a couple of bus rides to get there, and then I got fired because I was too slow and dropped too many bottles of pop.

Then, there was a job at a Woolco’s warehouse.  It was so far away that my Dad had to drive me there.  I don’t think I lasted more than a week or two, then quit because of homesickness.

Between this time and the end of high school in 1968, I helped out sporadically with my parents’ business.

Upon graduation, it was time to get a little more serious, and I landed a full time position with the Borough of North York works department.  The many and varied duties that were assigned to me included Sanitation Engineer (garbage man) and maintenance of town properties.  One particular week, our crew was working on clearing out a ravine through which a river ran.  It was choked with junk of all kinds, and the hillsides had become a dumping ground.  I had made friends with a fellow by the name of Andy, and we were usually assigned as a pair.  We were working on the slope, picking up refuse and tossing or rolling it down to the bottom to be incinerated in a large bonfire later.  I picked up a heavy wooden headboard, and, after checking if all was clear below, gave it a heave.  It started rolling rapidly end over end down the steep slope when, out from behind a tree stump stepped my buddy.  It got him square in the head and knocked him down.  You can imagine my horror.  I ran down the hill to get him, and he sat up, none the worse for wear except for a good bump and cut on his scalp line.  We got him attended to, and I was astonished and grateful that he did not hold a grudge against me for the incident.  A few days later, Karma came around and got me.  The two of us were carrying a large stump over to the fire, when Andy tripped and dropped his end, resulting in my end coming up and hitting me square in the mouth.  Several teeth were loosened and went through my lip, and to this day I can’t grow a proper moustache over the scar.

Next:  Bad Boy and beyond (Working Life installment 2)

 

 

 

 

The Cat’s in the cradle

I like dogs….and they like just about everyone, or so I think.

We have cats, though.  Through 40 years of married life, we’ve never had a dog.  Put it down to laziness, our work schedules, or the likelihood that the animal would be cooped up in the house most of the time.  I feel that we have done ourselves and the dog a favour by opting for the kitties.

Yes, dogs are known for giving unconditional love, and, many times, that’s what you need.  Reminds me of a quote from somewhere that went “I hope one day to actually be the person that my dog thinks I am.”  (sorry, I don’t know the author).

Cats are known as creatures that are more independent, aloof, and self-sufficient. You can go away for the weekend, leave some extra food out, and have peace of mind knowing that they will not tear the house apart and can largely take care of themselves.  Of course, versus dogs, the kitties will not usually come running and display sloppy affection when you come in the door.  In fact, they may look as if they didn’t miss you very much at all.

Why have such an animal?  Well….they do have ways of showing their love, and not just when you open that bag of treats.  We presently have three of these creatures, being as the fourth one passed away a year ago.  Independent personalities for sure.  The old guy that passed last summer was my constant companion.  Followed me wherever I went, always wanted to be picked up and scratched, and was a sucker for somersaults on the bed.  If you didn’t spend enough time with him, he would sit there, stare at you, and yap.

One of the others can, I swear, tell time.  Every night at about 9:30, it stands by the cupboard where the treats are kept and starts yipping.  God forbid if you leave the kitchen, because it will follow you and hound you until the bag gets opened.  This same one has a morning routine where it comes over to me while I am having breakfast and sits right there until it gets a ten minute head scratch.  Then bites you to signal “that’s enough.”

One (and only one) comes when you call it.  Runs across the room and jumps up on your lap.

There’s a story that’s been on the news and the internet for a while, and I kind of hope it’s just someone’s fancy, that cats (and dogs) are used as therapy animals in hospitals and homes for the aged.  The part that bothers me a little is that the cats, when left to roam in these facilities, will gravitate towards the person who is close to death.  In that case, my number must be up, because I’ve got ’em stuck to me all the time.

Thirty odd years ago, when our first child was born, we had a single kitty that we had had for quite a while.  When we brought our son home,  the cat showed a curiosity towards him.  As he was just a newborn, we got a little apprehensive and watched it closely.  When our back was turned, we were shocked and surprised when it crawled into the bed with him.

Wife yelled out “The cat’s in the cradle!”, whereupon we made the difficult decision to deport him to her parents’ place.  It spent the rest of its career there.

Ever notice?

  • At the grocery store.  The stealthy way food is being packaged so that you get smaller and smaller quantities for the same price?
  • Because of our demand for year-round produce, the stuff is being picked and shipped in such an unripe state that we seldom even know what the real thing should taste like.
  • The way automakers market their cars now, with more and more distracting “safety” gadgets.  I think it says something about us that we would rely on things like self braking cars with seats that vibrate when you’re about to stray from your lane.  Wake up and take control!
  • That we consume so many chemicals in our food that the latest marketing ploy is to state that your product is “free of this” or “free of that” (pick your poison)?
  • The comedy of prescription drug ads which extol the product’s virtues, then tell you quickly and quietly a list of horrendous side effects that would make any thinking person have serious doubts.
  • The planned obsolescence of things like cellphones and computers so that we need to buy the next bigger and better model?  I’ve had the same phone for six years, just use it for the odd call or text, bought the rubber Otter Box for it, dropped it at least a dozen times without damage, and got my bill down to $25 a month.
  • How we spend a good chunk of our life’s savings on keeping our cars new and stylish, when, looking back (as I do now that I’m older), we could have spent that money on something far more important?
  • That so many of us sit and watch these repetitive reality shows where people are constantly being judged, have to race the clock, seemingly cry on cue so that we can get our vicarious emotional satisfaction?
  • That there are more and more dangerous and crazy people on our roads?
  • That many of those in authority put public safety at risk because of budgetary concerns?  (I live in a small town where repeated requests for improvements to a dangerous crosswalk were not acted upon until the morning after the Mayor’s mother was run over.)

Rant finished for now.  In the words of Jefferson Airplane:

Don’t you want somebody to love?

Don’t you need somebody to love?

Wouldn’t you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love.

The Glasses

A couple of years back, when I needed new glasses, I decided to buy them on one of those Two for One deals, from an optical place that was part of a supermarket chain.

The price was good, they were a reasonably current style, and, best of all, the girl there told me they would be repaired or replaced “for any reason” within the first year after purchase.  I thought I would be smart and pay a little extra for the Crizal lenses that are supposed to be super scratch resistant.

Bonus:  she was a pretty attractive and pleasant person as well.

I have to say here that I am really hard on glasses.  I seldom, if ever, keep them in their case, and usually either slip them into my pocket or leave them on the car seat to be sat upon.

Incident number one involved the complete destruction of one pair by leaving them on the stairs and having my wife step on them.  She said sorry, but of course it was not her fault.  Off I went to the point of purchase, and they determined that a replacement was in order.  They were as good as their word, and, within a week, I had a new pair at no charge.

The second mishap was the loss of another pair.  I had been on a fairly long drive down to the city, and I knew I had the glasses with me when I left.  Got back home, no glasses.  Started to panic, and mentally retraced all of my steps that morning, which included a stop at McDonald’s for lunch.  I remembered eating lunch in the car, putting all of the garbage into one bag, and disposing of it in their bin.  Like a thunderbolt, it hit me that I had likely left the glasses on the seat and had shoveled them into the bag with all the garbage.  An hour later, I was back at the scene of the crime.  Went to the counter and explained to one of the ladies that I was going to look through their garbage, and for her not to be alarmed.

She turned out to be another very pleasant and helpful person, saying “no, don’t do that.  I will put on some gloves and empty it for you”.  So she did, and, sure enough, they were there, with salt, vinegar, and ketchup on them.  I was so grateful and embarrassed that I just wanted to take them and leave, but she took them inside and cleaned them up for me.

Forward to a few months later, when I was leaving a friend’s place after a band practice.  Was loading my equipment back into my car, and set my glasses down on the trunk lid in order to open the back door.  You know what happened next.

Did the half hour drive home, and couldn’t find them.  Thunderbolt number 2.  Phoned my friend to see if the glasses were in their driveway, but no.  Drove all the way back, and scanned the roadsides as I neared their place.  Providence was with me, and I spotted them on the highway.  All bent, with one lens hopelessly gouged.

Back to the attractive girl at the optical place, who was beginning to get familiar with me.  Free pair number 2.

One of the really funny parts about getting old is that you can’t remember what you did five minutes ago.  At least two or three times a week, I am wandering around the house trying to find the stupid things.  The most memorable of these occasions was when my wife said “what are you looking for?”.  When I said “my glasses”, she laughed.  They were on my head.

 

 

 

 

Buying a car

Our “New” (new to us) car. First long trip was to A campground where we first met. Kind of a funny story behind it.
I was looking for quite a while to replace our aging Mazda, and wanted something with low mileage that might last me until I am done driving, so finally found this Buick with 49K on it for a good price, on a private deal.

Turned out it was down in Don Mills, but I went to have a look anyway.You know the old saying attributed to used car salesmen? Goes something like “it belonged to an old lady who only drove it on Sundays”.  Well, this one happened to be partially true.  


It was a very elderly couple who couldn’t drive any more. They were in their 80’s, and were taking WheelTrans. The car had sat in their underground for a time.  
Anyway, I got there and met Sonya and Henry, very nice folks. After a cup of tea, I asked to go for a test drive. They couldn’t find the keys. Sonya was blaming Henry for misplacing them, and then she started looking for the spare set she had “put in a box somewhere”.
I was left alone for about ten minutes, and Sonya came out with tears in her eyes because she couldn’t find them. Henry said “let’s go down and look at the car anyway”, so I humoured him. The car looked brand new, except for a few scratches he pointed out, saying that his wife had “hit the pillars” a couple of times. He said she was a pretty bad driver and shouldn’t have bought such a big car.
So, I told them that if they could find the keys and get the car certified by the end of the week that I would come back to give it a test drive. Trip number Two to Don Mills came later on in the week, after they had given me daily phone updates on their progress.
Henry said they had to get keys made, and it cost them $300. So, the two of us go down to the underground garage, and Henry says “I’ll drive it out”. I said OK, and got into the passenger side.  
HENRY HITS THE POLE ON THE WAY OUT, BREAKS THE MIRROR, AND SCRAPES DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CAR.
I thought he was going to cry, and I sure felt sorry for him.
He said “do you still want to drive it?” and I said I would, as long as it was going to be fixed. We then took it out the highway for a bit, and he said “We will drop it off at Buick, and they’ll drive us back to my place”.  
So, I go into the service desk with him, and he tells the guy what happened, and could they fix it etc. The guy says they will send it to their body shop, it will take a few days, and so on, and could he please have insurance details. Henry says “No no, not through insurance”. The guy says “are you sure? This is not going to be cheap”. Henry says “can’t help it”.
It turned out later that he had had his license pulled and was not supposed to be driving, and his wife “was going to kill him” if she found out.
Trip #3 to Don Mills came about a week later, after Henry called me and the car was ready. I drove all the way down after work, and decided to stop into Buick on the way to have a look at it.
The guy said “it’s not done yet. It’s still at the body shop over on Warden Avenue”.
To shorten this already lengthy story, I was down there from 11:00 to 5:30 wating on the car, during which time I was taken out for lunch, went to the bank to get a draft, and then to the licensing office with the two of them to get the transfer done.
There must have been 30 to 40 people in line when we got there, and Sonya said “I should’ve brought my walker, that usually works”. Then she spotted the girl who was running the Information desk, and wheedled her way to the front of the line.
So, the transaction looked to be complete, until the girl said to Sonya, “you’re only missing one thing, the E-test” Sonya said “What E test? It’s almost a new car”., whereupon we were informed that in any transfer of a used vehicle, it is mandatory.  
My heart was in my shoes by this point.
The girl behind the counter smiled and said “don’t worry, you are the owner now, and here is a temporary permit good for ten days, so you will have that time to get the E test done”.
Back we go to Buick, waited another hour until the car showed up, then Henry paid his collision bill, we changed the plates, and I took them home.


Trip #4 to Don Mills was to pick up my old car, which I had to leave in the Buick dealer’s parking lot until I could come down with an extra driver (my son) to get it.
To sweeten the deal a little, my sweet daughter bought me a birthday gift, which is a nifty car detailing package to be done this weekend.
Woo Hoo!