New Year Socks

New Year, new day. new socks. It’s been a good year so far. There’s nothing like putting on a pair of brand new socks first thing in the morning. The smooth feel along the bottom of your foot, the way your heel slides right into the heel cup and none of that pesky sock fluff piling up between your toes right away.

This may all sound pretty funny coming from a guy who goes barefoot in the middle of the winter. I put this down to my early hockey years. I spent so many weekends and evenings at the rink as a kid, putting skates on at -20 degrees (Fahrenheit or Celsius, take your pick) that I learned quickly how to keep my feet warm almost anywhere.

Tourist Tales

I have been a tourist. There, I’ve said it. I admit to doing and saying things in other countries that I would never do here at home. Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking about things like saying “How much does that mountain weigh?” or stepping off a curb in England looking the wrong way for traffic. I know I’m not the only one, either. I’m sure we’ve (meaning you, too) have all done silly things when we’ve traveled.

Take my buddy, Murray. Please. (Sorry, that was too easy...)

Bathroom Blues

We recently rearranged the house, swapping bedrooms between siblings. The boys are now both downstairs (now named the “man cave”, more due to the aromas than the residents) and my daughter has taken over the second upstairs bedroom.

With this so-called minor move, along with all the grunting and groaning whilst moving the furniture, my daughter also moved her bathroom and grooming tools to the upstairs bathroom. This also produced some epic grunting and groaning, mostly from me.

Falling in New Zealand

As I sit here thinking of islands and island life, another memory has just surfaced from my time in New Zealand. Really, it honestly surfaced. Here’s what happened.

Murray, Cliff and I were on the north island, inland a bit from a town called Waitangi. The folks in the hostel said there was a great hike that led to a nice waterfall and lagoon that we could swim in. Still trusting the Kiwi sense of time and distance, we asked them for directions. They said once we got to the stone church, it was about forty-five minutes through the forest to the falls. And the church was supposedly only ten minutes away.

Old-style Neighbourhood

I grew up in an unusual neighbourhood. Everyone knew everyone else and yet, they still enjoyed getting together with each other. Out of about twenty homes on the street, I could go into at least nine of them and raid the fridge for milk and cookies anytime I wanted. They wouldn’t even call the police! Imagine having nine complete households to hang out in! It was great.

Having all those good neighbours also meant that there was nine households that needed garbage taken out or the poop scoop done, eighteen adults that could call me over from the park to help them with chores, nine sets of parents keeping an eye on me. If I misbehaved at the park, by the time I made my way home (six houses away), my Mom would be waiting for me at the front door, already up-to-date with my misdemeanour. I keep telling the Government to use moms for intelligence gathering – they always know everything!