FOR AN OPINION ABOUT THE PROPOSAL TO FINALIZE AN AMALGAMATION BETWEEN BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST MINOR HOCKEY ASSOCIATIONS, YOU CAN READ AN OLD SPORTS WRITER'S TAKE ON A LONG OVER-DUE UNION OF TWO HISTORIC LEAGUES……WHICH SHOULD BE GOOD FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED……ESPECIALLY THE YOUNG HOCKEYISTS. YOU CAN CLICK ON MY BRACEBRIDGE BLOG SITE, AT http://thenatureofmuskoka.blogspot.com/

CHRISTMAS IN GRAVENHURST -

A BED FOR THE DEAD - A DINOSAUR BONE - A FEW STRANGE CHARMS, AND I DON'T HAVE A COFFIN YET

WHAT CHRISTMAS FARE IS THIS? WELL, MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIE, OTHER THAN "A CHRISTMAS CAROL," IS "THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS," AND SUZANNE STILL ISN'T USED TO THE LIMITS OF MY COLLECTION. I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR A MEDICAL SKELETON FOR YEARS, ALTHOUGH THEY DON'T POP UP MUCH AT FLEA MARKETS AND SECOND HAND SHOPS. I'VE GOT A CHUNK OF DINOSAUR BONE SOMEWHERE IN MY ARCHIVES, THAT WE BOUGHT AT A YARD SALE IN BALA.

OUR BOYS KNOW THAT PLEASING MY COLLECTING INTERESTS IS A LONG-SHOT AT BEST, BECAUSE I'M WEIRD THAT WAY. HOW WEIRD IS WEIRD? IF YOU'RE A NEWCOMER TO THESE BLOGS, YOU PROBABLY HAVEN'T HEARD THE ONE ABOUT……THE GIFT OF AN ANTIQUE BED RIGHT OUT OF SCROOGE'S BEDROOM….ALMOST. FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN READING MY ENTRIES, CONSIDER THIS AN UPDATE. IT HAPPENED LIKE THIS……..

AS AN ANTIQUE DEALER FOR MOST OF MY ADULT LIFE NOW, AND A COLLECTOR SINCE CHILDHOOD, I AM DRAWN TO FASCINATING ITEMS, PARTICULARLY THOSE WITH PROVENANCE. SOME ARE NORMAL, RUN-OF-THE-MILL ANTIQUES, THAT SERVE A UTILITY PURPOSE…..A TABLE, DRESSER, HALL STAND OR, AS I'M PRESENTLY RESTORING, A REALLY NEAT, BUT LARGE, PINE, MAPLE SUGAR MOLD. THERE ARE OTHER TIMES, WHEN I'M STRUCK BY A GOOD STORY. NOT A STORY YOU WOULD USE TO ENHANCE THE VALUE OF A PIECE. A STORY THAT YOU TELL, IN EXPECTATION OF A SHREIK OR A HAND SLAPPED OVER THE EYES. AT AN ESTATE SALE, SEVERAL YEARS AGO, I PURCHASED A BEAUTIFUL, LATE 1800'S SPINDLE BED, WITH JUST SUCH A PROVENANCE. IT HAD BEEN USED BY A TORONTO MINISTER, IN HIS OWN HOUSE, AS A BED FOR THE NEWLY DECEASED, FOR A GOOD OLD FASHIONED "PARLOR-VIEWING." FOR THOSE FOLKS WHO DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF MONEY, OR WANTED A MORE HOMEY TYPE ENVIRONS…..BUT NOT THEIR OWN BEDSTEAD, THEY OPTED INSTEAD TO USE THIS PARTICULAR SPINDLE BED FOR THE VISITATION PART OF THE FUNERAL PROTOCOL. GUESTS TO THE HOUSE, WHERE WE BOUGHT IT, WOULD NOT SLEEP IN THIS BED…..AS ANYTHING WAS BETTER THAN THE BAD KARMA IT REPRESENTED. I KIDDED WITH THE MANAGER OF THE ESTATE, THAT "IF IT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE DEAD, BY GOLLY, IT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR MY WIFE." I WAITED FOR THE LAUGH THAT NEVER, EVER CAME. AS A WRITER OF ACTUAL GHOST STORIES, I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE GREAT TO DOCUMENT THE BED, IN CASE I COULD CAPTURE SOME ACTUALITY. IF NOTHING HAPPENED, NO HAUNTING OF THIS OR THAT, THEN, WELL, IT WAS STILL A SOLID ANTIQUE BED FOR A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP. ON MY MUSKOKA AND ALGONQUIN BLOG SITE, I KEPT A SEMI-JOURNAL OF ITS FIRST COUPLE OF MONTHS IN OUR HOUSE. DARN IT ALL. NO LEVITATION. NO MOANS IN THE NIGHT. I BOUGHT A DEATH-BED DUD!

As married antique dealers the world over, hear regularly, "You bought what?" "You're not bringing that thing in here." Suzanne however, is a very good sport. She's not superstitious at all, but if my mother was alive, and heard of this, she would have the conniption of conniptions. I remember once, as a kid, a bird getting in the house, and she went nuts about the fact one of us was going to die. Heck she didn't worry about the bird knocking over the vases and ornaments, just the fact, that at any moment, the grim reaper was going to rap at the apartment door. A bird in the house isn't good luck. The bird did about fifty dollars worth of damage, and nobody died. I think it may also have been the longest stretch in town history, when no one we knew passed on. So the point is, while Suzanne isn't keen on my buying habits, out on the hustings, she knows me well enough to respect two things…..we will be able to sell it for a profit, and it will be a distinguished piece of furniture…..or a great exhibition piece. And as I write a column on the paranormal (and a blog site), and do believe in ghosts (both of us are semi ghost sleuths), she knows full well, we have a number of pieces here with a little extra attached. So the bed was moved in to Birch Hollow, and has been her bed for almost two years now, and she hasn't had night tremors, floating bed syndrome, voices of the dearly departed, or felt the presence of a soul other than me, rustling about in the wee hours. I'm a "tosser and a turner." So I can claim to have put my wife on a death bed, and be telling the truth. She's got a good sense of humor, but seldom if ever laughs. She just grins a lot. Then I remind her that she may be related to one of the mob that killed the famous Black Donnellys, of Lucan, Ontario. "It's never been proven," she retorts, with a snarl.

The only reason I bring this up, is that Christmas is the time of year when I ask family members to buy me something memorable. Like a board from Noah's Ark. A shrunken head. I've wanted one of these since I was a kid. Doesn't every kid want a shrunken head for Christmas. What about real x-ray glasses, like the ones they used to advertise in comic books, next to the sea monkeys. I couldn't afford them, as a kid, so I got a pair of really odd-ball glasses, and told the girls at school I could see their underwear. Jesus, did I get hammered for that one. One girl almost knocked those glasses through my skull. I was picking glass shards out of my hairline for a month.

I'm not sure they'll find a glass-top antique coffin for me, (I found one but the guy wouldn't sell it) or a vintage embalming machine (I sold one a few years back at a yard sale…..now I want another one). I love playing show and tell to friends, and it ensures we never, ever get invited to parties. "Say, what do you think of my stuffed Reddy Fox…..how about the piranha…..the weasel, really? Rob has a stuffed squirrel we call Seymour. That was last year's Christmas gift. Keep in mind, we don't buy new stuffed squirrels. This was a poor little bastard from the thirties, who probably died of old age.

My mother and father, God rest their souls, just gave up on my rather strange collecting interests, and began buying me imported beer for Christmas. Hey, I'm good with that. Cheers! Merry Christmas.