A NOTE ABOUT YESTERDAY'S BLOG - REGARDING ALL THINGS ENCHANTING
WHENEVER I WRITE ABOUT FOLK LORE, LEGEND, AND THE CULTURAL SUPERSTITIONS IMBEDDED IN OUR REGION, ROOTED FIRST, BY THE PEOPLES OF THE FIRST NATION, ON THE CONTINENT, AND WHAT CAME WITH EUROPEAN SETTLERS TO MUSKOKA, AS FAR BACK AS THE 1850'S, I ALWAYS LOSE A PORTION OF MY READERSHIP. I CAN UNDERSTAND THIS, BECAUSE THERE ARE READERS WHO LIKE FACTUAL HISTORICAL REPORTING, VERSUS WHAT IS SOMEWHAT ABSTRACT AND LESS TANGIBLE AS A PART OF OUR CHRONOLOGY. LEGEND AND LORE DOESN'T FIT IN A TIME LINE, AS NEATLY AS THE CONSTRUCTION DATE OF A BRIDGE, A CHURCH, OR A COMMUNITY HALL. I CAN'T WRITE ABOUT LOCAL HERITAGE, WITHOUT ADHERENCE TO THE FRAMEWORK OF THE CHRONOLOGY OF SETTLEMENT INFLUENCES, RIGHT TO THE PRESENT. BUT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO HAVE A SKELETON WITHOUT THE FLESH OF SOCIAL / CULTURAL HISTORY. WHILE I DO GO ON AND ON ABOUT CULTURAL HERITAGE, IT'S LARGELY BECAUSE MANY OF MY COLLEAGUES DON'T; WHICH HAS AT THE VERY LEAST, GIVEN ME SOME WIGGLE-ROOM TO EXPLORE, AND OPINE AT WILL, WITHOUT FEAR OF AN HISTORIAN'S MUTINY. I KNOW IF I GET TOO FAR FETCHED WITH MY THEORIES, THERE WILL BE A TEXT OR CALL FROM A COLLEAGUE, ASKING ME TO EXPLAIN MY THEORY IN GREATER DETAIL.
WHILE TO SOME, THE FACT THAT I WRITE A GREAT DEAL ABOUT THE PARANORMAL, SUPERNATURAL, AND ALL THINGS IN BETWEEN, BELOW AND ABOVE, ISN'T REALLY A STRETCH WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO THE FASCINATION TODAY, WITH THINGS THAT ARE NOT EASILY EXPLAINED. CONSIDER TELEVISION SHOWS TODAY, SUCH AS "GRIMM," AND "ONCE UPON A TIME," AND THE POPULARITY OF PROGRAMS ABOUT SUPERHEROES, AND SUPER SPYING COMPUTERS, THAT MONITOR OUR EVERY MOVE ON EARTH, THAT PROVE MY POINT ABOUT THE ELECTRIC INTEREST EXCEPTIONAL SITUATIONS. IF IT WASN'T IN VOGUE, NETWORKS WOULDN'T BE INVESTING SO HEAVILY IN THESE FANTASY RELATED PROGRAMS. NOW AS MY MOTHER USED TO TELL ME, BEFORE I VIEWED SHOWS LIKE "THE OUTER LIMITS," AND "THE TWILIGHT ZONE," "THEY'RE JUST TELEVISION PROGRAMS TEDDY, AND NOT REAL." THAT DIDN'T HELP MUCH AT BEDTIME. BOTH SHOWS KEPT ME AWAKE, A LOT!
THE POINT IS, IT'S LOGICAL TO BE INVESTIGATIVE ABOUT THINGS THAT HAPPEN, WE CAN'T RATIONALIZE OR EXPLAIN EASILY. THERE ARE THOSE WHO ABSOLUTELY REFUSE TO BELIEVE IN GHOSTS, YET I'VE HAD THESE SAME STOIC INDIVIDUALS, TELLING ME ABOUT SEEING THE IMAGE OF THEIR PARENT, SITTING ON THE END OF THEIR BED, OR STANDING IN THE DOORWAY OF A BEDROOM, SHORTLY AFTER DEMISE. MY OWN MOTHER OUTRIGHTLY AND AGGRESSIVELY REFUSED TO BELIEVE IN GHOSTS, BUT SHE SAW BOTH HER FATHER AND MOTHER, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THEIR DEATHS, NUMEROUS YEARS APART. I DIDN'T DARE POINT OUT THE CONTRADICTION, OF CLAIMING TO HAVE SEEN THEM, WAVERING AS A MIST, IN HER ROOM, AS IF BRINGING A MESSAGE, AND THE FACT SHE DIDN'T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS. I'VE HEARD THIS MANY TIMES, FROM ASTUTE INDIVIDUALS, WHO DIDN'T APPRECIATED THAT YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS; SEE A GHOST, BUT NOT BELIEVING IN THEM. I JUST GIVE UP ARGUING WITH THEM. CALL IT A MANIFESTATION OF RECALL, THAT LIKE A FILM FROM A PROJECTOR, PUTS A MEMORY INTO A VISIBLE RECREATION OF SOMEONE WE KNOW. HAVE YOU GOT A BETTER EXPLANATION. IT STILL CAUSES MANY FOLKS CHAGRIN, TO BE PUT IN THIS SITUATION, OF ADMITTING THEY SAW A GHOST. IT'S BETTER THAN IT WAS, WHEN I FIRST STARTED WRITING ABOUT THE PARANORMAL THIRTY YEARS AGO. ADD ON, SEEING A FLYING SAUCER. THIRTY YEARS AGO, ADMITTING THAT YOU WITNESSED AN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT WOULD LABEL YOU A "CRACK-POT". IT HAPPENED JUST LIKE THIS IN MUSKOKA, IN THE 1970'S, TO AN INDIVIDUAL WHO WAS, ACCORDING TO OTHER WITNESSES (WHO NEVER WENT PUBLIC) SPOT-ON WITH HIS OBSERVATIONS. HE WAS A CREDIBLE WITNESS BUT THEY MADE FUN OF HIM ANYWAY. THERE ARE CRITICS WHO REMIND ME CONSTANTLY THAT GHOSTS AREN'T REAL, AND I SUGGEST THEY SEND A LETTER TO ALL THE AUTHORS IN THIS COUNTRY, WHO HAVE WRITTEN NON-FICTIONS ACC0UNTS, OF GHOST AND UFO ENCOUNTERS ALL ACROSS THIS COUNTRY. I EVEN READ THAT THE AUTHORS OF A GHOST BOOK, ABOUT THE MUSKOKA PARANORMAL, ARE LOOKING FOR EVEN MORE STORIES FROM A SECOND COLLECTION. FIRST OF ALL, THERE MUST BE MONEY IN IT, BECAUSE THE BOOKS WILL BE FOR SALE. THE AUTHORS REFERRED TO THEIR FIRST BOOK, OF MUSKOKA GHOSTS, AS A BEST SELLER. NOW THIS IS DIFFERENT IN CANADA THAN THE UNITED STATES, BUT STILL, IT DOES SHOW A SIGNIFICANT INTEREST IN FINDING OUT MORE ABOUT GHOSTS; AND I'M SURE, THESE FOLKS ARE INTERESTED IN PARALLEL SIGHTINGS, TO WHAT THEY HAVE EXPERIENCED.
WHEN I WRITE ABOUT ENCHANTMENTS IN OUR REGION, IT ISN'T SO OUT OF THE ORDINARY, OR FAR FETCHED, AS YOU MIGHT THINK ON INITIAL RECKONING. IT IS A BROADENING AREA OF INTEREST THESE DAYS. I WANT MUSKOKA'S SUPERNATURAL, PARANORMAL, LEGENDS AND LORE, TO BE PRESERVED AS PART OF THE COMPLETE CHRONOLOGY OF WHAT HAS GONE ON HERE FOR ALL THESE YEARS; SPIRITUAL INTERVENTIONS INCLUDED.
JUST THOUGHT I'D MENTION THIS, AS I EAGERLY AWAIT TONIGHT'S AIR OF MY FAVORITE SHOW, "GRIMM," A SORT OF BRUSHING-AGAINST, OF GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES OF OLD. IT'S ABOUT THE "BEAST WITHIN;" THE ABILITY OF THOSE POSSESSED, TO CHANGE INTO WOLVES, SHEEP, AND VARIOUS OTHER FORMS OF MYSTICAL CREATURE LIFE. WHAT'S INSPIRING ALL THIS FASCINATION WITH THE SUPERNATURAL AND PARANORMAL? WHO KNOWS, BUT IT'S FUN TO GO ALONG FOR THE RIDE.
MUSIC IN MY LIFE - A JOY AND BURDEN ROLLED INTO ONE - I'M PLEASED TO BE A PART OF THE ENTERTAINMENT SCENE -
BUT WORRIED I HAVE TOO MUCH TO LEARN JUST TO BREAK EVEN
I'VE NEVER BEEN A FAST LEARNER. AT SCHOOL OR IN SPORTS. I LEARNED HOW TO DEAL WITH AN AGGRESSIVE PITCHER, WITH SERIOUS CONTROL ISSUES, WHEN I PLAYED FASTBALL, IN BRACEBRIDGE, AS A YOUNGSTER. AFTER MY MOTHER THOUGHT THE BRUISES ON MY LEGS AND ARMS WERE THE RESULT OF BULLIES BEATING THE CRAP OUT OF ME, MY DAD, LOOKING THE WELTS OVER, SAID, "NAW, HE'S JUST STANDING TO CLOSE TO THE PLATE, TO GET OUT OF THE WAY OF AN INSIDE CURVE BALL." I WAS HOWEVER, QUICKER TO LEARN BY IMMERSION, VERSUS TEXTBOOK AND CLASSROOM INSTRUCTION. I LEARNED TO TAKE A BOXING OPPONENT'S RIGHT HOOK ON THE CHIN, BY STANDING IN THE RING, VERSUS READING ABOUT WHAT HAVOC A WELL PLACED PUNCH COULD CAUSE, ON A GLASS CHIN. (ONE THAT BREAKS EASILY) I LEARNED BY EXPERIENCE, WHAT A HOCKEY HELMET IS REALLY GOOD FOR IN A GOAL CREASE SCRUM, WHEN AN OPPOSITION FORWARD RIPPED HIS OFF, AND STARTED SMASHING ME WITH IT, WHEN A MAJOR BRAWL BROKE OUT DURING A PLAYOFF GAME.
THE ONLY DIFFERENCE WITH A MILD CAREER SHIFT TODAY, IS MY STUBBORN (DON'T TOUCH THAT) DEMEANOUR, AND THE FACT I'M A VERY THIN, SIX-ODD MONTHS AWAY, FROM TURNING THE RIPE (TO A LITTLE MOLDY) AGE OF SIXTY. I CAN'T EVEN SAY IT WITHOUT A TITCH OF NERVOUSNESS, ABOUT ENTERING THE SENIOR HALF OF LIFE; WHEN I'M NOT QUITE FINISHED WITH MY MID-LIFE CRAZY PERIOD. I HAVEN'T BOUGHT A CORVETTE YET, OR STARTED ANY SIGNIFICANT COMB-OVERS, OR HAIR TRANSPLANTS, AND AS FOR COLORING MY HAIR, BACK TO THE LUSTEROUS BROWN OF MY LATE TEENS, SO FAR, IT HASN'T SEEMED ALL THAT IMPORTANT. I'VE GOT A CHICK. AND ACCORDING TO THE MIRROR, I STILL HAVE MY STUNNINGLY GOOD LOOKS. I FIGURE THAT IF I START THE TRANSITION, TO NEW SUBJECT MATTER FOR MY FUTURE BLOGS, IT WILL GIVE ME SIX MONTHS TO ADJUST, SO I DON'T START HEARING CRITIQUES, AFTER SIXTY, (AND NOT BEING ABLE TO BLOW OUT THE CANDLES ON THE CAKE) THAT I COULDN'T MEASURE UP TO THE DEMANDS OF THE CONTEMPORARY MUSIC SCENE, BECAUSE I HAVE AN OLD-FART MENTALITY OF STATUS QUO. BY TIME I HIT SIXTY, IN THE SUMMER OF 2015, I HOPE TO BE UP TO SPEED, AS THEY SAY, ABOUT MUSIC HISTORY AND THE MODERNIST WAY OF ENTERTAINING THE MASSES; WITH THOSE WILD ARRAY OF CURIOUS AND ANTIQUATED INSTRUMENTS, AND STYLES OF PLAY. ALL THE GENRES NEED TO BE UNDERSTOOD, IN ORDER TO WRITE ABOUT IT ACCURATELY, AND THOUGHTFULLY. THE ONLY SERIOUS MENTORING I'VE HAD, TO THIS POINT, OTHER THAN FROM SONS ROBERT AND ANDREW, DAILY HERE IN THE SHOP, IS COURTESY BILL CONNOLLY, MAGGIE SMITH, TOM COURTENAY, PAULINE COLLINS AND MICHAEL GAMBON, STARS OF THE MOVIE, "QUARTET," NOW MY FAVORITE MOVIE, BEATING OUT "THE WIZARD OF OZ." IT'S ABOUT RETIRED OPERA SINGERS, LIVING IN A LARGE COUNTRY ESTATE, IN ENGLAND, AND PUTTING ON ANNUAL FUNDRAISING CONCERTS TO FUND THE FACILITY, AND THEIR ONGOING RESIDENCY. A BRILLIANT MUSIC-THEMED MOVIE THAT NEVER ONCE MENTIONS, HAVING BEEN A LITTLE WILD AND WOOLY AT "WOODSTOCK," AS A MUSICAL ANECDOTE. I FIGURE THAT WRITING ABOUT SUCH THINGS AS MUSIC, OLD AND NEW, AND THE RECORDS AND INSTRUMENTS THAT HAVE HERALDED THE MODERN MUSIC SCENE, WILL FIT RIGHT INTO MY SEMI-RETIREMENT POSITION, HUNKERED DOWN IN THIS STUDIO CHAIR; TWENTY FEET BY THE WAY, FROM A DANGEROUS LOOKING SET OF DRUMS, THAT WHEN WHACKED BY A DRUMMER WITH SERIOUS INTENT, MAKE THE HUNG PICTURES SLAP AGAINST THE WALL AS IF THEY WERE CARDBOARD; THEN THERE IS AN ARRAY OF ELECTRIC GUITARS, AND POWERFUL AMPS, THAT COULD ROCK ME INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION, ON THE WHIM OF ALL THOSE MUSIC-MASTERS WHO REGULARLY PLAY HERE. THIS IS NOT A GENTLE IMMERSION FOR AN OLDTIMER. IT MIGHT EVEN BE A TAD BRUTAL, BUT AS I LIKE MUSIC AND FIND MUSICIANS RATHER INTERESTING FOLKS, I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS YEAR'S TRANSITIONS; CONSIDERABLY SO, FOR MY SONS AND THEIR MATES, THINKING ABOUT THEIR UPCOMING GIGS. SUZANNE IS ALREADY HIP TO THE CONTEMPORARY MUSIC SCENE, WELL AHEAD OF ME, WHO HAS OBVIOUSLY HUNG OUT SO LONG IN REGIONAL HISTORY, I'VE BECOME A SORT OF RELIC, SUITABLE FOR EXHIBIT; TOO SET IN MY WAYS TO BREAK ANY NEW HERITAGE TRAILS, OR DEBUNK WHAT SHOULD BE DEBUNKED OF OLD AND COMPLACENT THOUGHT. I NEED SOME EXCITEMENT, AND THEY TELL ME, MUSIC IS WHERE IT'S HAPPENING THESE DAYS.
I'M NOT SURE ABOUT THIS, BUT I CAN ATTEST, FROM EXPERIENCE IN OUR SHOP AND STUDIO, DURING THE PAST TWO YEARS, THAT IT IS A WILDER SIDE OF LIFE THAN I'M USED TO, POKING AROUND AS AN HISTORIAN. I'M IMBEDDED HERE, AND JUST ABOUT EVERY DAY, I MEET ANOTHER TRAVELLING MUSICIAN PASSING THROUGH, OR PLAYING IN OUR REGION OF THE PROVINCE. WE HAVE A LITTLE CHAT, AND TALK ABOUT MUSIC AND THE INDIE SCENE, AND WHAT THEIR HOPES AND DREAMS ARE FOR THE FUTURE. I BENEFIT A LOT FROM THEIR ENERGY. NEXT TO THEM, I DON'T FEEL QUITE AS MUCH "A-WELL-GONE-DRY," THAT'S FOR SURE. I CAN, YOU SEE, BENEFIT FROM A LITTLE ELECTRICAL SURGE FROM TIME TO TIME, JUST TO STIR MY EMOTIONS AND, SURE, AMBITIONS. I'M AS NERVOUS ABOUT CHANGE AS EVER, BUT AT LEAST THIS TIME, I WON'T BE EXPECTED TO BLOCK SLAPSHOTS, OR HAVE TO INTERPRET HOCKEY SCORE SHEETS.
I AM ENTERING A NEW PHASE OF A PROFESSION I THOUGHT I KNEW WELL. WHEN I STARTED MY FIRST FULL TIME WRITING GIG, WORKING FOR A SMALL WEEKLY NEWSPAPER KNOWN AS "THE MUSKOKA LAKES-GEORGIAN BAY BEACON," I WAS FRESH OUT OF UNIVERSITY WITH A DEGREE IN CANADIAN HISTORY. I ALSO HAD INSTRUCTION IN CREATIVE WRITING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO TRAIN ME FOR A CAREER AS A NEWS AND FEATURE REPORTER FOR THE COMMUNITY PRESS. I WAS IN GREAT NEED OF A JOB, SO I TOOK WHAT WAS OFFERED, AND FIGURED IT WOULD BE THE SAME, AS WHEN MY HOCKEY COACH DECIDED ONE GAME, THAT INSTEAD OF ME BEING A RIGHT WINGER, I WOULD MAKE A HELL OF A GOALIE. THE TRUTH WAS, MY SKATING WASN'T THAT GREAT, SO I COULD GET AWAY WITH MINIMAL SKATE-WORK, GUARDING THE NET, AND THE SHORT STRIDES, BACK AND FORTH IN MY CREASE, WOULD ACTUALLY HELP ME BECOME A MORE POWERFUL SKATER. IT WORKED. I BECAME A DECENT, SEMI-RELIABLE GOALTENDER, FOR THE REST OF MY PLAYING DAYS. NO REAL REGRETS, EXCEPT THE PAIN I GET IN MY HANDS AND KNEES, WHERE I GOT WHACKED WITH PUCKS AND STICKS, ON A THOUSAND DIFFERENT OCCASIONS. AS FOR BECOMING A REPORTER, AFTER BEING TUTORED AS A BUDDING CANADIAN POET, AUTHOR OF FICTION, AND CASUAL HISTORIAN, IN UNIVERSITY, IT WAS ABOUT THE SAME WEIGHT OF TRANSITION, AS EXPERIENCED IN HOCKEY. AS I FOUND OUT IN NET, THE FIRST TEN GAMES BACKING UP MY TEAM, WERE BRUTAL ON THE BODY AND ON THE SCOREBOARD. THEN IT STARTED TO SINK IN, WHAT THE PADS, GLOVES AND STICK WERE FOR, AND THE NUMBER OF PUCKS HITTING THE MESH BEHIND ME, WAS CUT IN HALF BY THE SECOND PART OF THE SEASON. IT WAS GOOD I HAD THIS PARALLEL SITUATION TO INSPIRE ME, THAT AFTER THE FIRST TEN OR SO ISSUES OF THE BEACON, I WOULD MAKE FAR FEWER MISTAKES, AND MISQUOTE LESS OFTEN, MAKING MY BOSS FEEL HE HAD MADE A WISE MOVE, MENTORING ME TO PURSUE NON-FICTION INSTEAD. THE TRANSITION WAS A ROCKY ONE, AND I WAS PRETTY WORRIED ABOUT MAKING THE NEWSPAPER LOOK BAD, BY NOT DOING A GOOD JOB IN WHAT EVER AREA I WAS SPLICED, TO FILL AN EDITORIAL SHORTFALL. INCLUDING, OF ALL THINGS, WRITING OBITUARIES FOR FOLKS I NEVER MET. I REMEMBER BEING HANDED A WAD OF CRUMPLED-UP, WATER STAINED, POORLY WRITTEN-OUT, HOCKEY SCORESHEETS, FROM THE COACHES OF MACTIER MINOR HOCKEY, AND NEARLY FREAKING OUT AT MY DESK BY THE EXPECTATION, I COULD WRITE SENSIBLE SPORTS STORIES FOR THAT ISSUE, FROM THE HEN SCRATCHING ON THE THIN, ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO READ, YELLOW FORMS. IT TOOK WEEKS TO DECIPHER THE WRITING AND UNDERSTAND HOW THE SHEETS WERE SET UP, BUT IT WAS ON THE JOB TRAINING THAT PAID ENORMOUS BENEFITS DOWN THE ROAD. WHICH BRINGS ME TO THIS POINT. I'M EXPERIENCING ANOTHER MAJOR TRANSITION. I THINK THIS ONE WILL EITHER CRUSH ME INTO BECOME A WATERCOLOR ARTIST, OR BE THE BEST SHIFT IN FOCUS I'VE EVER HAD.
IT ALL HAPPENED AT CHRISTMAS, WHEN THE BOYS WERE QUITE YOUNG. WE HAD ENOUGH MONEY THAT YEAR, TO MAKE PURCHASES IN ONE OF TWO AREAS OF INTEREST FOR OUR SONS' CHRISTMAS GIFTS. THE MOST LOGICAL, WAS TO PURCHASE FULL HOCKEY EQUIPMENT FOR ANDREW AND ROBERT, AT THE LOCAL SPORTING GOODS SHOP. WE WERE WORKING WITH THE CROZIER FOUNDATION AT THE TIME, AND ROGER HAD BEEN QUITE INTERESTED IN HELPING THE BOYS GET STARTED IN MINOR HOCKEY. THEY WERE REGULARLY INVITED TO PLAY WITH THE REST OF THE YOUNGSTERS DURING THE SUMMERS OF THE CROZIER SKATING AND HOCKEY CAMPS, AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA. THEY JUST DIDN'T HAVE PASSION TO PLAY ANYTHING MORE ORGANIZED THAN THE USUAL GAME OF NIGHTLY ROAD HOCKEY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. MY SECOND OPTION THAT CHRISTMAS, WAS TO DROP INTO "PRECISION MUSIC" IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND BUY EACH LAD AN ACOUSTIC GUITAR. I WENT INTO THE SHOP TO EXPLORE THE POSSIBILITIES, AND WOUND UP INSIDE A HALF HOUR, MAKING THE PURCHASE OF THREE GUITARS, THE THIRD BEING ONE FOR SUZANNE, WHO WAS ALREADY EXPERIENCED ON THE AUTO-HARP. IT WAS THIS CHRISTMAS SEASON GIFT-GIVING THAT SET THE DIRECTION FOR THE FUTURE. LOOKING BACK TODAY, IT SEEMS LIKE ANCIENT HISTORY. BUT THE VINTAGE MUSIC BUSINESS THEY HAVE TODAY, IS DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO THE ECONOMY GUITARS I PURCHASED AT PRECISION MUSIC, PROBABLY FIFTEEN YEARS AGO NOW.
AT THAT TIME, I BOUGHT ROBERT AN ACOUSTIC GUITAR KNOWN AS A "SIERRA," ANDREW GOT A "SAMICK," AND SUZANNE RECEIVED A "YAMAHA." NOW THERE IS A SEA OF GUITARS OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES, INTERMINGLED WITH VIOLINS, MANDOLINS, AUTOHARPS, ORGANS AND DRUMS. YOU KNOW, MAYBE THE LADS WOULD HAVE BEEN PLAYING IN THE NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE NOW, MAKING A LIVING IN PROFESSIONAL SPORT. OR MAYBE THEY WOULD HAVE JUST PLAYED A LOT OF MINOR LEAGUE HOCKEY, AND THEN JOINED A RECREATIONAL, FOR-FUN TEAM LIKE THE RINK RATS, FROM MY HOCKEY BIOGRAPHY; AND THEN HAD DAY JOBS TO BALANCE THE BOOKS. NOW THEY ARE PROFESSIONAL MUSICIANS, ON STAGE, AND RUN A PRETTY SUCCESSFUL VINTAGE GUITAR BUSINESS HERE IN GRAVENHURST. READS ALOT LIKE I'M BRAGGING. SURE, THE OLD MAN IS PLEASED AS PUNCH, BUT A LITTLE NERVOUS ABOUT WHAT'S COMING DOWN THE PIKE, THAT I HAVE STAYED AWAY FROM FOR MOST OF MY MEDIA DAYS. BEING IMMERSED IN THE MUSIC PROFESSION AS A MEDIA REPRESENTATIVE.
LAST WEEK, THE BOYS HAD THEIR FIRST PUBLIC GIG WITH THE NEWLY REFURBISHED COUNTRY GROUP, "GRANT TINGEY AND THE HIRED GUN," WITH WELL KNOWN DRUMMER, JOHNNY FAY, OF THE ICONIC CANADIAN ROCK BAND, "THE TRAGICALLY HIP." THE GROUP, FEATURING GRANT'S SON BLAKE, AND BOTH ANDREW AND ROBERT, PLAYED AT A GASTROPUB IN BRACEBRIDGE, KNOWN AS THE GRIFIEN. IT WAS A FULL HOUSE, AND BY THE BOYS' ACCOUNT WAS A GREAT LAUNCH OF THE GROUP'S EXPANDED REPERTOIRE, WITH NEW MEMBERS, READY TO MEET THE PUBLIC AT MANY MORE VENUES COMING UP IN 2015. A NEWS ARTICLE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF THIS WEEK'S GRAVENHURST BANNER, HAS BROUGHT A LOT OF INQUIRIES HERE AT THE SHOP. ESPECIALLY FROM THE EVER-CURIOUS MEDIA, AND IT'S BECOME CLEAR, THAT OLD POP, NEEDS A CRASH COURSE IN CONTEMPORARY MUSIC, TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE SCENE THAT FOSTERS ALL THESE EXCITING CONCERTS HAPPENING AROUND ME. I FEEL EXACTLY THE SAME AS WHEN THE COACH LOOKED DOWN ON ME, AND SAID, EVER SO CALMLY, "CURRIE, LET'S FACE IT KID, YOU ARE NOT A FORWARD; SO YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO BE A GOALIE, IF YOU WANT TO STAY ON THIS TEAM." IT WAS PRETTY MUCH THE SAME SPIEL GIVEN BY THE PUBLISHER OF THE BEACON, WHEN HE SUGGESTED, "YOU HAVE TO BE ABLE TO WRITE ABOUT EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING OF INTEREST TO READERS, EVEN THE GAME REPORTS FROM MINOR HOCKEY, TO STAY EMPLOYED HERE." FAIR ENOUGH.
I HAVE REALLY COME TO APPRECIATE MY COMFORTABLE SEAT HERE, IN THE STUDIO SECTION OF THEIR SHOP, SO I WILL HAVE TO IMMERSE MYSELF IN THE SAME FASHION, AS EARLIER IN MY LIFE, IN ORDER TO STAY RELEVANT TO THE NEEDS OF THE DAY. THE REQUIREMENT IS BECOMING EXTREME, WHICH IS GOOD FOR THEM, BUT WE'RE JUST A LITTLE LESS PREPARED THAN WE SHOULD BE, FOR A MEDIA INTRUSION; REPORTERS WANTING MORE INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR NEWLY RE-LAUNCHED COUNTRY GROUP, WITH GRANT TINGEY AND JOHNNY FAY. WE SHOULD BE TICKLED WITH THE PUBLICITY, BUT THERE IS A DOWN SIDE, OF NOT MANAGING IT PROPORTIONALLY; NOT GREEDILY. I AM ASTONISHED, ALMOST EVERY WEEK, BY HOW MUCH REACH OUR INVOLVEMENT IN THE MUSIC SCENE, IS STRETCHING IN CANADA, PRIMARILY BECAUSE OF ANDREW AND ROBERT'S INVOLVEMENT IN THEIR POPULAR "CHURCH CONCERTS," AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, HERE IN GRAVENHURST. WHICH HAVE REALLY TAKEN OFF IN THE PAST THREE MONTHS OF REGULAR SHOWS.
THE ONLY ADVERSE NEWS, IS THAT BY OSMOSIS, I AM THE FAMILY MEMBER, AND BUSINESS LAY-ABOUT, WHO HAS MOST EXPERIENCE IN MEDIA AND PUBLIC RELATIONS, QUALIFYING ME FOR THE JOB NO ONE ELSE WANTS. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO HONE MY SKILLS IN THIS AREA, FOR THE PAST YEAR, BUT I KEEP FEELING I HAVE TO ADD AN APOLOGY, EVERY TIME I PEN A REVIEW; BECAUSE I'M STILL IN A REALLY LONG LEARNING CURVE. I WISH IT WAS A CASE OF A TEN GAME, OR TEN ISSUE ADJUSTMENT PERIOD, LIKE HOCKEY AND REPORTING, TO ATTAIN A LEVEL OF ACCEPTABLE OUTPUT, RESPONSIVE TO THE READERS WHO KNOW A LITTLE SOMETHING MORE, ABOUT WHAT MAKES THE MUSIC SCENE SUCH A DYNAMIC, FULFILLING AND EXCITING AREA OF THE CULTURAL SCENE. I'M A LONG WAY OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE. I'VE ALWAYS LOVED MUSIC, AND I'VE BEEN IN A TOURING BAND THAT PLAYED AT SOME BIG VENUES, WHILE ON TOUR IN ENGLAND, BUT MY EXPERTISE ABOUT MUSIC QUALITY, STRUCTURE, AND GENRE, SUCKS FRANKLY. IT'S OKAY TO BE A LITTLE LACKING IN THIS AREA OF MUSIC HISTORY, AND THEORY, IF I'M ONLY WRITING STANDARD, BRIEF, TO THE POINT PRESS RELEASES. BET YOU DON'T THINK I CAN WRITE BRIEFLY ABOUT ANYTHING. WELL SIR, I USED TO WRITE FOR RADIO, BACK WHEN I HAD A WEEKLY FEATURE SPOT, ON THE FORMER CHAY FM IN BARRIE, BACK IN THE 1990'S. IT WAS A FIVE MINUTE "HERITAGE CORNER" KIND OF BROADCAST, BUT I DID LEARN HOW TO KEEP THE COPY BRIEF, AND USE A SUCCESSION OF WORDS THAT WOULDN'T TRIP ME UP DURING THE NARRATIVE. LIKE NOT HAVING TO SAY "RED BROADLOOM RUG" QUICKLY. I HAVE WRITTEN PRESS RELEASES FOR THE CROZIER FOUNDATION, WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM, AND FOR DOZENS OF OUR BOYS EARLY VARIETY CONCERTS AT THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE. THE PROBLEM. AS A MEDIA LIAISON, IS THAT I'M AS RUSTY AS THE BACK-UP NETMINDER, WHO HASN'T BEEN IN A GAME SINCE THE 1970'S, AND IS ASKED TO FILL IN DURING A PLAYOFF GAME, FOR THE STANLEY CUP. HEY, ONCE YOU LEARN THIS STUFF, YOU NEVER FORGET, RIGHT? WELL, YOU CAN FORGET, AND I HAVE, SO THIS IS GOING TO BE A HUGE CHALLENGE FOR THE NEW YEAR, AS GRANT TINGEY AND THE LADS, PLAY AT MORE REGIONAL AND PROVINCIAL VENUES, WHICH HAVE ALREADY COME CALLING IN THE PAST WEEK SINCE THEIR GIG AT THE GRIFFIUN. NOW IT'S THE CASE OF GOING BACK TO BOOT CAMP, AND LEARNING HOW TO BE A SUCCINCT, NO-FRILLS, EFFECTIVE-WITH-ONLY-A-FEW-WORDS, MEDIA REPRESENTATIVE. WHEN THE BOYS EXPECT ME TO STEP UP, TO FILL THE POSITION, THEY KNOW THEY'RE GETTING A BARGAIN; YEARS OF FIELD EXPERIENCE, IN STRESSFUL SITUATIONS, (NOT QUITE "WEST WING" TOUGH, BUT CLOSE). BEST OF ALL, I WORK FOR FOOD AND BEVERAGE HERE AT THE STUIDO. I'M THE "YOGI BEAR" OF CURRIE'S MUSIC, LIVING OFF "FOUND" PICNIC BASKETS, AND THE OCCASIONAL KINDNESSES BESTOWED BY MUSICIAN STRANGERS (AND SOMETIMES, STRANGE MUSICIANS).
THIS IS A GIG I'M GOING TO ENJOY. IT'S GOING TO BE AN EXTENSION OF MID-LIFE CRAZY, AND I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO SOME NEW AND EXCITING CHALLENGES I HAVE MISSED, OR AVOIDED FOR ALL THESE YEARS.
I'LL CLOSE WITH THIS TRUE STORY. I WAS HAVING A GREAT TIME, ONE SLIGHTLY BLURRED EVENING, OF MY YOUTH, UNWINDING FROM A WEEK OF REPORTING, AT MILFORD BAY'S WELL KNOWN "INN AT THE BAY." I WASN'T DRIVING THAT NIGHT, SO I WAS AT THE BRINK OF FEELING NO PAIN, OR EVEN SENSING I OWNED TWO LEGS, SITTING AT A CROWDED TABLE WITH MY WRITING COLLEAGUE, BRANT SCOTT. HE WAS IN DEEP CONVERSATION WITH THIS GUY, AND I THOUGHT, WHAT THE HELL, I'LL JOIN IN. MY DATE HAD FOUND ANOTHER GUY ANYWAY. IT WAS MY FIRST SERIOUS MUSIC SCENE TUTORIAL. I WAS, BY HAPPENSTANCE OF BUDDING-IN, GETTING THIS AMAZING STORY ABOUT THE ROCK BANDS, OF MY ERA, FROM THESE TWO GUYS BESIDE ME. IT WENT ON FOR A LONG TIME, AND MAN OH MAN, IT WAS GREAT. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A MUSIC LOVER BUT HAVE NEVER HAD MUCH BACKROOM DISCUSSION, ABOUT WHAT IT TAKES, TO MAKE A SONG BIG ON THE CHARTS. I WAS HEARING A LOT OF INTERESTING FIRST-HAND STORIES, AND BRANT WAS TALKING TO THIS GUY LIKE THEY WERE BEST FRIENDS. WHEN THE GAB SESSION BROKE UP, AND WE WERE ON OUR WAY HOME, I ASKED HIM ABOUT THE GUY HE HAD BEEN TALKING WITH, WHO KNEW SO MUCH ABOUT CANADA'S ROCK 'N ROLL BANDS. BRANT HAD ACTUALLY COME TO KNOW THE BAND WHEN THEY PLAYED AT BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL SEVERAL TIMES IN THE EARLY 1970'S. "OH, THAT GUY; YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T RECOGNIZE HIM. HE PLAYS WITH "CROWBAR"; YOU KNOW, THE SONG 'OH, WHAT A FEELING'." THERE YOU GO. I GOT MY TOES WET. I ONCE, A LONG TIME AGO, IN AN OUT OF THE WAY TAVERN, A LITTLE TIPSY, DRANK WITH A GUY FROM LEGENDARY BAND, "CROWBAR". WHAT A RUSH!
SINCE, I'VE DRANK COFFEE WITH HUNDREDS OF MUSICIANS, BUT I'LL ALWAYS HAVE A LITTLE "CROWBAR" ANECDOTE TO THROW OUT, WHEN THEY TEST MY KNOWLEDGE OF CANADIAN MUSIC HISTORY.
I'VE ALSO BEEN STAGE-SIDE TO SEE KIM MITCHELL, SHOOTER, GREASEBALL BOOGIE BAND, EDWARD BEAR, APRIL WINE, FOOT IN COLD WATER, LIGHTHOUSE AND MAJOR HOOPLES BOARDING HOUSE. I WENT TO A BACHMAN-TURNER OVERDRIVE CONCERT, AT EXHIBITION STADIUM IN TORONTO, AND STARED AT HONKING BIG SPEAKERS, AND ONLY SAW THE PERFORMERS WHEN THEY EXITED INTO A WAITING LIMOUSINE AT THE SIDE OF THE STAGE. OH, AND YES, I HAD PRESS CLEARANCE TO GET UP-CLOSE-AND-PERSONAL TO TEENAGE HEAD. THEY WERE GREAT, IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING. AND I'VE BOTH WATCHED, AND HAD A BEER WITH THE GOOD BROTHERS, WHEN THEY HAVE BEEN IN GRAVENHURST TO PERFORM. NOT A WILD AMOUNT OF MUSIC EXPERIENCE, BUT I'M WILLING TO WORK HARD TO UPGRADE. HOPE YOU WILL JOIN ME FOR SOME INTERESTING BLOGS IN THE NEW YEAR, ABOUT, WHAT ELSE? ANTIQUES, COLLECTABLES, NOSTALGIA AND MUSIC. TALK ABOUT LIVING ON THE WILD SIDE. WHAT'S OLD IS NEW AGAIN, EVEN ME!
A HAUNTED ATTIC AND A WRITER IN RESIDENCE AND AN ANTIQUE SHOP
The year I graduated from York University, in Toronto, with a freshly inked degree in Canadian history, I arrived back in my then hometown, of Bracebridge, and commenced getting involved in everything I could. Community events and initiatives that had even the slightest heritage fringe, must have needed my help. Or so I thought. I guess you could say I was "pumped" to get involved.
It was the spring of 1977. Within weeks of settling in, we had launched plans for a family antique business, which involved a move to the mainstream. I begged some column space from a local publisher, and got my very first byline on a weekly column entitled simply, "Antiques and Collectibles." Before the end of the year I had held an inaugural meeting of a proposed Bracebridge Historical Society, in the attic of the wonderful old McGibbon house, we had just moved to, in order to operate Old Mill Antiques. The Historical Society's objective, when officially launched, would be to save Woodchester Villa, an octagonal home, built by Henry Bird of the well known Bird's Woollen Mill on the Muskoka River. It wouldn't be until 1978 that the Historical Society was officially recognized but it had its seed in the attic of Dr. Peter McGibbon's former Manitoba Street home.
I was overflowing with ambition, some of it misspent. I somehow believed that the rolled up diploma, now tucked into a dresser drawer, entitled me to fire off in all directions, and be successful no matter where I hurled myself. It didn't proceed quite as I'd hoped, but 1977 was a good turn-around year, particularly as a writer in this splendid, early 1900's residence. The best part of the new digs, was that I was able to turn the large attic portion, in the three story house, into a great place to write. With a huge window at the front, affording a panorama of Manitoba Street's, maple-line Memorial Park, I could watch a lot of comings and goings at all times of day and night, over the four seasons. As a fledgling writer, there was always something to make notes about, or expand from observation, into another short story. It was a luxurious, inspiring location that most writer's would have killed for, especially the solitude. Street noise was always muffled, it seemed, even if the window was open.
We had a three room shop that first year, an apartment in the back, and access via the back stair, to the attic room, which stretched from the back of the main house to the front, as the south wing, along the main street, had only two stories. I would work in the store, or in the basement refinishing through the day, and following dinner, I'd spend the rest of the night, and well into the morning, working at the attic window, where I set up my desk and typewriter. For several years, I wrote like a man possessed, and I dabbled in poetry, play composition, short stories, non-fiction, and of course my weekly columns for the local press. Sometimes I'd wake up with a start, head hung down over the typewriter, where I'd fallen asleep mid-sentence. It was a non-threatening, comfortable, subtly inspiring studio set-up, and I wanted to tap into it for everything and anything it could, as inspiration, to motivate a budding but unaccomplished author.
Even as a kid, I've always been keenly sensitive to my environs, and whether I'm writing, or just lounging, the aura of the room or the abode generally, factors deeply into my psyche. It will show up in my writing in any number of ways. It has taken four places of lodging, since, to have found my perfect writing place again, after leaving the McGibbon house, when my wife and I got married. Even though Birch Hollow, for me today, is a great and nurturing place to write, it is nothing like what I'd benefitted from in that main street attic.
As I've been aware of house-vibes, every place our family has ever called home, during the past 56 years, I instantly knew the McGibbon house had a positive aura, from the moment I stepped foot inside the main foyer, on that first look-see with the property manager. Working in the attic, I always had the feeling there was a resident spirit, or more, moving about the house, on the back staircase, and occasionally around me in the attic. I'd suddenly feel a strange draft of cold air, and hear footsteps coming up to the landing-door, when everyone else in the house was sound asleep. I sometimes felt as if a watcher was looking over my shoulder while I worked. Admittedly, I had moments when I felt mildly uncomfortable, but a lot of that came from Hollywood depictions, of ghosts and hauntings, such as the move "The Changling." But the positives of the place far outweighed the occasional sensation of spirits wafting around me. I got used to their presence.
Until one late night encounter, that is! I had worked late to finish a newspaper column. As I did every night, I began at the desk, turning off quite a number of sources of light, two floor lamps and two overhead fixtures, before I'd reach the attic door that was kept closed when I was working. Once the last overhead light was turned off, the only light to guide me down the back stairs, was the hall light on the next floor. When I'd get to that landing, I'd flick off the switch, close the door, and count on the illumination of the ground floor kitchen lamp, to get me down the last flight of stairs. On this occasion, when I had turned off the landing light, and taken a few steps out onto the platform of the second floor, I had an experience never to be forgotten. I had walked into a brilliant, white, cold, scented vapor in the otherwise dark staircase.
For several seconds, I was consumed by this cloud, and could see nothing else but the brilliant light all around me, and the chill-air like one would experience walking into a freezer on a hot summer day. It wasn't a frightening experience at all, but unsettling by its sudden arrival in that location of dimly-lit house. It passed as if it was moving up the stairs, as smoke, and I just happened to get in the way. But there was no doubt in my mind, once it had passed, that I had just enjoyed a one-on-one experience with an apparition. I got down to the bottom of the stairs, sat down on the last step, and tried to recall the sequence of events. Could there be any other explanation to the encounter, than to admit to myself, "I'd just seen a ghost?"
As I sat there, I felt a similar cold draft of air, slide down the back staircase, and it was so strong, it actually ruffled my hair. Seeing as this was mid-winter, and the furnace was directly below where I was sitting, and hot air rises, it seemed as if I'd had a second encounter in only a few moments, with the same passing spirit. I wasn't scared but I was definitely alerted to the potential of paranormal energy, flitting about Dr. McGibbon's former residence.
Several days after this adventure on the back stairs, while I was working in the shop, a group of people came in for a look around. I immediately noticed that they were formally dressed, predominantly in black, and seeing as we were neighbors of the local funeral home, I assumed they were visiting the recently deceased. When I heard them talking amongst themselves, about where they remember a family member sitting, in one of the rooms we had turned into store-space, I felt strangely compelled to listen more closely to the conversation. They had obviously lost a family member who had lived, for some time in the past, in the McGibbon house. They weren't of the McGibbon family, but came much later in the building's history. When I asked them a few questions, because I'm a "Nosey Parker," as my mother used to call me, one of the relatives said that a family member had died on the night I had witnessed a specter, climbing up the back stairway. Then the hair on the back of my neck, really did rise in salute, to the ways of the hereafter. By golly, I think I walked through a ghost, or possibly the ghost walked through me. If you've heard about a spirit taking leave of the places it dwelled in mortal form, during life, then it isn't so much of a stretch, to think that this sighting was just a final re-tracing of the good old days, for one last time.
I didn't say a word about my paranormal introduction, to their newly deceased relative. It wasn't the appropriate occasion, to blurt out something like, "oh, yes, I met your relative on the last go-around of the old haunt," and, back in the 1970's, it was still at a time when folks assumed you were a nutter, if you dared to admit even a slight, half-belief in ghosts. So it was our secret, the ghost and I, until much later when it was shared with Canadian Ghost Sleuth, John Robert Colombo, and it got a mention in one of his well known publications.
It made working in the attic much more interesting and event-filled after this.
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