NEW YEARS IN GRAVENHURST -

AN OLD YEAR, NEW YEAR, AN ANNIVERSARY, I DID WHAT HE SAID WAS IMPOSSIBLE…..HAVE I GOT 35 MORE TO GIVE: CERTAINLY!!!!!!

JUST AFTER SUNRISE THIS MORNING, THERE WAS EVIDENCE A TRAVELLER HAD BEEN THIS WAY BEFORE ME. WITH THE NEW FALLEN SNOW, THESE FOOTPRINTS DOWN THE PATH TOWARD THE BOG, WOULD HAVE BEEN FILLED IN, SHORTLY AFTER BEING IMPRINTED. THAT'S HOW HEAVY THE SNOW HAS FALLEN THIS MORNING. THERE IS NO EXIT FOOTPRINTS, TO SHOW THE HIKER MAY HAVE ALREADY DOUBLED-BACK, AS THE TRAIL ENDS ABRUPTLY, JUST BY THE LOOK-OUT AT BOG LEVEL. CURIOUSLY THE FOOTPRINTS TRAILED OFF OVER THE FROZEN LOWLAND, AND I COULD MAKE-OUT THE TINY LINE AS IT HIT THE SPRAWLING BRANCHES OF THE BORDER CEDARS. IT IS A PRECARIOUS WALK, AS THE GROUND IS ONLY HARDENED, WITH THE RECENT COLD, ON THE GRASS MOUNDS, SET LIKE STEPPING STONES OVER THE MARSH. CUTTING THROUGH THE LOWLAND ARE A MYRIAD OF SNAKING CREEKS THAT, EVEN WHEN THE SNOW ISN'T ON THE GROUND, YOU CAN'T SEE CLEARLY BECAUSE OF THE MATTED GROWTH OF MANY YEARS. IT IS POSSIBLE TO EXIT AT THE WEST END OF THE ACREAGE, BUT THAT TAKES CONSIDERABLE EFFORT BREAKING THROUGH THE THICK BRUSH. I HAVE DONE THIS, AT GREAT PERIL, AND THE MUD WAS UP TO MY KNEES, AND BOOTS FULL OF BOG WATER.

IT IS AN AMAZING SCENE OUT HERE, AS IT HAS BEEN FOR MOST OF THE PAST WEEK. LISTENING TO THE WIND OFF THE LAKE, AND THE SNOW FALLING DOWN IN HUGE SPIRALS, ONTO THE SMALLER SHRUBS, MIXING WITH THE CONSTANT WASH OF THE CREEKS AND THEIR CATARACTS. WINTER AT LAST. BOSKO AND I STAND ON THE HIGH SIDE OF THIS BOWL OF LANDSCAPE. CONTENTLY LISTENING TO THE PLEASANT DIN, PLUS THE SOUNDS OF CHILDREN LAUGHING, ON A NEARBY SLEDDING HILL. A WIND-BURST SENDS A BIG DROP OF SNOW ONTO BOSKO'S HEAD…..AND FOR A MOMENT, HE'S NOT SURE WHAT COMES NEXT. AH, THERE IT IS. A FULL BODY SHAKE. HE'S BACK!

THE CHALLENGE - THE BIOGRAPHY - I YAM WHAT I YAM AND THAT'S ALL THAT I YAM

There are moments, and only a few of them every day, when I will suddenly stop work, lean back in the chair, tip the tea cup to see if I've got any left, and then, as if startled by a ghost, ponder silently, "What the hell am I doing here?" I haven't got dementia, and I pretty much know where I am…..it's just one of those self imposed pin-pricks to the skin, to see if you're still alive after all these years. It's like this. Why am I so contented?" "Why does this view from here to there, seem so satisfying?" You see, I was taught, as a young writer-in-training, that being a gonzo-reporter, covering war zones, battle-fields, killing fields, the overthrowing of governments, natural disasters, and assorted other precarious adventures, was the way to spark creative enterprise…..and lead a fully charged writer's existence.

A long-time writer friend, once said to me, after a night of gonzo-reporter drinking, "Currie, you stupid bastard; you'll never make it as a writer living in Muskoka." So I drew back, and punched him right in the face. Then I hit him again with a left hook, that toppled him against the wall. What's important to note here, is the heavy drinking part I'm not proud of, and secondly, the fact my mate wasn't particularly injured by my punches. So he started boxing, and by golly, the sucker hit me four or five times all over my beautiful face. When we stopped whaling on each other, Scott asked me why I hit him. "You said you were sleeping with my wife!" I answered. "Jesus, get your ears check," he answered. "I said you'll never make it as writer living in Muskoka." "Oh," I responded, sheepishly, wiping blood off the tip of my nose. We were both hockey players, so we were kind of used to dust-ups…..just not drunken ones. That's why we always told ourselves, on the brink of entering the bar, "No jugs of beer." Being in the print business, locally, had its fringe benefits. Folks were always buying us beer. Jugs of beer. I guess we were the closest thing to celebrities they got in the hotel. But it almost killed us, and I was starting to get a boxer's cauliflower ear.

Scott had been my best man, which really made me mad….you know, the wife thing. He was a talented writer, and a good friend…..until the drink took over sensibility. He was a world traveller, an adventurer, one who didn't shy away from anything that may have given him a front-pager, or a shot at the daily press. We were growing apart, you see, and he had his eyes set on the world. I had mine set on the region. He hit me on the back of the head, as we headed off home, re-iterating what a goof I was, for wasting writing talents stuck in the hometown rut. I knew what he meant. I'd had other writers lament the same way. It was the reason it was hard to get good writers to stick around, with the challenge-limits of our weekly newspaper. Scott was mad, that a capable writer, who could have done so much more in life, to enhance his career, would opt instead for a hinterland retreat. He believed, mistakenly, that I was being cowardly, when in fact, my decision was as heartfelt as asking Suzanne to be my wife. I understood the limitations. I realized the degree of difficulty, to become a best selling author, from the tiny cabin tucked into Birch Hollow. The last time he visited here, I appeared too domesticated and settled, and he hit me one last time on the back of my peak cap, and well, we shook hands, he went off to conquer the world, and I went on a walk with Suzanne in the woodlands.

His compelling argument, over the years, made me ponder seriously, if I should join up for this quest for the holy grail, or just retire gently with the satisfaction, I'd done what I wanted….written what I enjoyed working on, and felt it was more important to be attached to some place, than constantly on the move…..working globally, hot spot to hot spot. I wouldn't be any good dodging gun-fire. I'd get picked off the first hour. I'm a big bald target.

Each time I have one of these moments, I know that being contented here, in this cradle of Muskoka, this wondrous comfort zone of hometown, and good neighborhood, is by far the best choice for the writing I wished to pursue. It's not that I'm out of the news business entirely, as I'm an avid viewer of about three news hours every day. I just don't want to be in those zones. I have a low tolerance for pain and suffering. Even a cat scratch hurts like hell.

Sometimes I do wonder, a little longer, what it may have been like, to have been a roving reporter / writer, chasing stories-lines all over God's earth. Yet in only a moment, I can be rescued from this temptation, by just looking out this window over The Bog, knowing full well I made the right decision way back then, and no place on earth, could have inspired me more than this amazing snow-clad vista.

MY 35TH YEAR IN WRITING - BUT DON'T TELL MY FAMILY - THEY'VE SUFFERED ENOUGH

ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, I WILL CELEBRATE RATHER HUMBLY, QUIETLY, AND WITHOUT A SINGLE "POPPED" BALLOON, MY 35TH YEAR AS A WRITER. MY FAMILY DOESN'T KNOW THIS, OR THAT I AM WRITING THIS BIT OF BIOGRAPHICAL "WHO CARES?" I'D RATHER THEY DIDN'T KNOW, BECAUSE IT'S BEEN TOUGH ON THEM, MUCH MORE THAN ON ME.

LIVING WITH A WRITER, YOU SEE, IS FULL OF CONSEQUENCE. SO IT'S NOT SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE, AS SUCH; RATHER I JUST FELT IT NECESSARY, IN CASE MY FRIEND SCOTT IS READING THIS OVERSEAS, TO KNOW THAT I WAS TRUE TO MY WORD. IT'S ALSO TRUE THAT I HAVEN'T AUTHORED A BEST SELLING NOVEL, ON THE SHELF OF LOCAL BOOK STORES, AND MY NAME DOESN'T APPEAR UNDER THE DOUBLED BANKED HEADLINES IN THE DAILY PRESS. BUT THEN, I HAVEN'T SEEN HIS NAME ASSIGNED A BEST SELLER EITHER.

MY FAMILY HAS SURVIVED THE WRITER'S WILD MOOD SWINGS, WRITING STALEMATES THAT INITIATE TANTRUMS, THE BEATING OF THE TYPEWRITER MOMENTS, AND THE "WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME" JAGS, THAT NEVER HAVE ANY RESOLUTION…..JUST ME FALLING TO SLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF SELF-LOATHING, AWAKENING, FORGETTING WHAT WAS PISSING ME OFF, AND RETURNING ONCE AGAIN TO THE TYPEWRITER TO COMPOSE A FEW MORE PAGES.

GADS, WHY WOULD ANY ONE WANT TO CELEBRATE THAT! THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF SELF-DOUBT, OVER-INDULGENCES, TOO MUCH BOOZE (WHEN I WAS DRINKING), AND A SHORTAGE OF MUSES…..BECAUSE I SCARED THEM ALL AWAY. WRITING HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY SEDUCTRESS, AND SUZANNE HAS OFTEN ACCUSED ME OF HAVING AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART, WITH MY OLD UNDERWOOD TYPEWRITER. SHE'S ACCUSED ME, AT TIMES OF TURMOIL, OF TURNING TO IT FOR SOLACE, INSTEAD OF HER SOFT, GENTLE EMBRACE. IT'S A FAIR COMMENT. WRITING IS A WAY OF VENTING ALL KINDS OF STUFF, AND IT'S ACTUALLY SAVED OUR MARRIAGE…..BECAUSE WHAT I CURSE AT IT……I DON'T CURSE AT ANY ONE ELSE.

AT THE SPARK OF MIDNIGHT, IN THE CANDLE ON OUR HARVEST TABLE, I WILL HOIST A GLASS OF BUBBLY WITH MY WIFE, AND LADS, WISHING FOR ALL THE BEST FOR A BRAND NEW YEAR. I WILL, OVER THE COURSE OF THE NIGHT, THINK BACK OVER 35 YEARS, TO THE FIRST TYPEWRITER, A SPERRY-RAND, OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT, I BELIEVE, THAT HELPED ME LAUNCH A CAREER THAT MIGHT EVEN MAKE IT HALF A CENTURY…..IF SUZANNE HELPS ME WATCH MY DIET…..AND CONTINUES TO HIDE THE BOOZE.

I'VE WRITTEN SIX BOOKS. ALL HAVE SOLD-OUT NOW. I DIDN'T MAKE A DIME, BUT BY GOLLY, I HAD A LOT OF FUN. I'VE DONE RESEARCH FOR THE PROVINCE, THE BOARD OF EDUCATION, BOTH RESULTING IN SMALL BOOKS BEING PUBLISHED, AND I'VE WORKED AS A REPORTER, EDITOR, FEATURE EDITOR, AND ASSOCIATE EDITOR OF MOST PUBLICATIONS IN THIS REGION….AT ONE TIME OR ANOTHER, THAT MAY HAVE ENDED BADLY. WHY THE HELL NOT? WHO NEEDS BRIDGES ANYWAY?

I STARTED OUT AS A REPORTER WITH THE MUSKOKA LAKES-GEORGIAN BAY BEACON, IN MACTIER, BECAME ITS NEWS EDITOR EVENTUALLY, WENT ON TO BECOME NEWS EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND THE MUSKOKA ADVANCE, AND ASSOCIATE EDITOR OF THE MUSKOKA SUN, NEWS EDITOR OF THE GRAVENHURST BANNER, AND ASSISTANT EDITOR OF THE MUSKOKAN. I WAS A LONG-TIME COLUMNIST FOR MUSKOKA TODAY, AND HAVE WRITTEN FOR THE WAYBACK TIMES, AN ANTIQUE MONTHLY. I CURRENTLY AUTHOR "CURRIE'S CORNER" IN THE WONDERFUL NEW "GREAT NORTH ARROW," NORTH OF HUNTSVILLE, SOUTH OF NORTH BAY, AND "CURIOUS: THE TOURIST GUIDE," BOTH TERRIFIC PUBLISHERS TO WORK WITH. I'VE HAD MY WRITING TRANSLATED AND PUBLISHED IN AN ICELANDIC MAGAZINE, AND I'VE PARTICIPATED IN PARANORMAL STORIES FOR JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO'S WELL KNOWN BOOKS, AND BARBARA SMITH'S GHOST STORIES OF ONTARIO.

IF I WAS A SUITCASE FOLKS, I'D HAVE A LOT OF STICKERS ALL OVER MY BODY, FOR PROJECTS I'VE WORKED ON. JUST NOT FOR THE MILES I'VE TRAVELLED. ONCE I ARRIVED HERE, AFTER GRADUATING UNIVERSITY, I WAS HAPPY TO STAY AND SEEK MY FORTUNE AS A LOCAL WRITER. OKAY, SO I'M STILL LOOKING FOR MY FORTUNE. IF HOWEVER, A FORTUNE CAN BE MEASURED BY CONTENTMENT, THEN I AM A TRULY WEALTHY MAN……WITH A VERY UNDERSTANDING FAMILY.

SUZANNE SAID TO ME ONE DAY, A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO, WHY THE VAN LOOKED SO WEIGHTED-DOWN. SHE WAS RUNNING A YARD SALE AT THE TIME, AND I MUMBLED ON PURPOSE, AND SUGGESTED IT WAS JUST SOME RECYCLING TO TAKE TO THE LANDFILL SITE. WHAT SHE DIDN'T KNOW, WAS THAT IT WAS LOADED TO THE CEILING WITH MY PUBLISHED COLUMNS. BUNDLES AND BUNDLES OF PAPERS, DATING BACK TO THE DAYS OF THE BEACON. I HAD NO BACK-UP. NONE OF THE COLUMNS HAD BEEN CLIPPED. I WAS LITERALLY THROWING OUT MY ENTIRE NEWSPAPER HISTORY. WHEN SHE FOUND OUT, SHE WOULDN'T TALK TO ME FOR TWO DAYS. EVERY TIME SHE'D TRY, ALL THAT WOULD COME OUT WAS "WHY?" WELL, WHEN SHE CALMED DOWN, I INFORMED HER, THAT I DIDN'T CONSIDER THE WORK, IN THOSE YEARS, TO HAVE BEEN MY BEST EFFORT. LIKE THE ARTIST WHO DESTROYS THE STUDIES AND SKETCHES, SO THAT THEY NEVER MAKE THEIR WAY TO A GALLERY FOR SALE, I WAS FEELING VERY MORTAL, AND I KNEW MY WORK TODAY WAS SO MUCH BETTER AND MORE DIVERSE THAN WHAT APPEARED IN SMUDGED INK ON ALL THOSE PAGES……THAT MAY HAVE BEEN RECYCLED FOR THE BETTER……EVEN AS TOILET PAPER.

I TURNED OVER A NEW LEAF, YOU SEE, AND MAYBE I DID TAKE MY FRIEND'S ADVICE TO HEART AFTER ALL THESE YEARS. WHAT I WANTED TO DO, WAS TO PROVE EVEN MORE SUBSTANTIALLY THAN BEFORE, HOW STAYING HERE IN GRAVENHURST, IN THE CRADLE OF MUSKOKA, HAS BEEN THE WIND IN THE OLD SAILS FOR ALL THESE YEARS, AND I WOULDN'T CHANGE A THING. IT MIGHT MEAN WRITING SOME SORT PULITZER CALIBRE STUFF IN THE NEW YEAR, OR GOD FORBID A NOVEL. POINT IS, AND I TOOK A COUPLE OF POPS OFF THE CHIN FOR ADMITTING THIS (AND A FEW TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD), BUT I MADE THE RIGHT DECISION, AS A WRITER, TO STAY WHERE THE INSPIRATION WAS……I DIDN'T HAVE TO SEARCH FAR, TO FIND A BOTTOMLESS WELL.

SUZANNE AND THE BOYS KNOW I'VE BEEN A WRITER FOR A LONG, LONG TIME. TRUTH IS, THEY HAVEN'T READ MORE THAN ONE PERCENT OF WHAT I'VE WRITTEN AND THAT HAS BEEN PUBLISHED OVER THE DECADES. THEY CAN BE FORGIVEN. I'M NOT SURE I CAN BE, FOR MY TIRADES AND MOOD SWINGS, AND ARTISTIC TANTRUMS. THEY'VE BEEN VERY KIND INDEED, AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE. WITH THESE BLOGS, OF WHICH I HAVE FIVE, I'VE BEEN GLOBE-TROTTING, LET ME TELL YOU. I'VE GOT READERS IN THE STRANGEST PLACES ON EARTH, AND MY CIRCULATION, WITH PRINT INCLUDED, IS HIGHER THAN EVER BEFORE. I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING GOOD MILEAGE WHEN "CURIOUS; THE TOURIST GUIDE" WENT ON-LINE, SEVERAL YEARS AGO, BUT THE BLOGS HAVE CERTAINLY PUT THE WORLD AT THE TIPS OF THE CALLOUSED FINGERS, TAPPING AT THIS KEYBOARD.

IT WAS SON ROBERT WHO HOOKED ME UP, AND SENT ME ON THAT WORLD ADVENTURE I'D SHORTCHANGED MYSELF…..OR SO SCOTT USED TO TELL ME…… BEING JUST A FAMILY MAN, WITH A HOUSE, A FENCE, SOME CATS AND DOMESTIC CHORES AT A SEMI URBAN BUNGALOW, IN A NEAT LITTLE PLACE WE CALL BIRCH HOLLOW…….IN AN EVEN NEATER TOWN, KNOWN AS GRAVENHURST.

THIRTY-FIVE YEARS. I'M GOING TO OPEN A BEER (NOT A JUG), AFTER MIDNIGHT, AND TOAST AN ODYSSEY I WILL NEVER FORGET…..NOT FOR THE BULLETS DODGED, OR THE CONFLICT AVOIDED, BUT THE REALITY I KEPT SENSIBLE PROPORTION, AND WROTE ABOUT WHAT I KNEW BEST……AND RESPECTED THE MOST. MUSKOKA.

MY MOST MEMORABLE MOMENT IN 35 YEARS ATTACHED TO A TYPEWRITER? IT WAS THE AFTERNOON LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR OF ONTARIO, JOHN BLACK AIRD, PHONED ME TO OFFER CONGRATULATIONS ON A STORY I'D WRITTEN FOR THE MUSKOKA SUN, ON CAMP OUCHIGEAS, ON LAKE ROSSEAU. HE WAS A BIG SUPPORTER OF THE SUMMER CAMP PROGRAM FOR CHILDREN WITH SERIOUS ILLNESS. I HAD A LOVELY CHAT, AND HE SAID SOMETHING LIKE, I HOPE THEY'RE PAYING YOU WELL (AT THE PAPER), TO WHICH I ANSWERED…."WELL SIR, NOT REALLY." IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN THE PUBLISHED CALLED ME INTO HIS OFFICE, TO LET ME KNOW HE TALKED TO THE HON. MR. AIRD, AND INDEED, HE SUGGESTED MY JOURNALISM DESERVED A RAISE. THE PUBLISHER LAUGHED. I NEVER GOT THAT RAISE. STILL ONE OF MY NEWSPAPER HIGHLIGHTS.

THANKS FOR READING THIS BLOG. THERE'S SO MUCH MORE TO COME.

HAPPY NEW YEARS, EVERYONE!!!!

FOOTNOTES ONE AND TWO:

SUZANNE HAS ALREADY KNIT THE FIRST SIX INCHES OF THE FIRST SKOKIE SCARF, FOR THE WINTER CARNIVAL CELEBRATION. IT IS ONE OF THREE OR A DOZEN SHE IS PREPARING FOR THE EVENTUAL VIDEO FOR "PRESSURE POINT'S" UPCOMING WINTER CARNIVAL SONG…….CURRENTLY BEING WORKED ON IN THE STUDIO OF ANDREW CURRIE'S MUSIC, ON MUSKOKA ROAD. I'M NOT SURE IF SCARF PRODUCTION IS AHEAD OF SONG WRITING, BUT HOPEFULLY WE'LL FINISH SUCCESSFULLY FOR ALL CONCERNED. I'VE NEVER BEEN SO CONFIDENT OF MUSICIANS AND KNITTER…..AND SKOKIE TO BE OF SUCH ENDLESS WINTER-TIME INSPIRATION.

JUST A QUICK UPDATE. THE RED PIANO IS STILL SNOW-COVERED, IN ITS PATHETIC STATE OF ABANDONMENT, ON THE VACANT LOT ON MUSKOKA ROAD, DEEP[ IN THE BIA AREA. WOULDN'T IT BE GREAT IF IT WAS GIVEN A PROPER BURIAL. RIGHT NOW, IT'S A MONUMENT TO A FAILED LOCAL INITIATIVE, AND NEEDS TO BE DEALT WITH, BY THOSE WHO DECIDED ON A BUSKER'S VENUE, PAINTED THE PIANO, AND SET IT ON THE STREET. IT IS NOW AN EYESORE. FOR THE CAUSE OF BUSINESS IMPROVEMENT, HERE'S SOMETHING THAT REALLY NEEDS TO BE IMPROVED. SO, IF I WAS MAYOR……MY NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION, WOULD BE TO START OFF 2012, WITHOUT THE RED PIANO IN FULL VIEW…….OF ALL THE PEOPLE VISITING OUR MAIN STREET.