The Funeral Tie

Just got the news from French. He got his old job back: teaching high-school. He'll be back at HHS this September. His resume and experience is just what they needed. French is teaching one section of guitar, media, metal-shop, gym and two English classes.

He said: "I'm the filler inner".

French had been bowling with the superintendent. They became good buds. Their team was called the "Tap-Benders". French is now back in the board.

Since he was last in the classroom he's sleeved his left arm in tattoos. He never wears long sleeves so that'll create some controversy with the PTA.

He has a solution. French keeps an old tie in his garage. We came back from a friend's funeral back in 2007 and he got out of the car and he took it off and hung it on a nail before going inside. Over the last three years it has got a little beat up and cob-webby. He calls it his "funeral tie'. French never wore it teaching before.

French rubbed it down with a swiffer and said: "this touch of class will make up for my tats".

Garth Brooks Friends

Pancake often calls Bruce Fish our Garth Brooks friend: "I've got friends in low places....". This is a reference , or rib, to his job at the dump. I think it is excellent to "know someone" at the dump.

I went to the dump after a few days at the cottage and a new guy was working. Bruce Fish was at home with Rose (she had just given birth). This new guy wanted to know where my dump tags were; after closely inspecting my garbage bags. With a big grin on his face he said: "The rule is one tag per bag - and each tag is a buck - and you have to buy them in units of ten - and you have to be a property owner in the county to buy them - and the stickers need to be clearly affixed to each bag". Son of a bitch.

Bruce Fish never checked for tags with me; good deal. This substitute dump dude was in his glory. A true bureaucrat of the dump. I went in to town and bought some tags. The dump was closed when I got back.

I went back a few weeks later with dump tags. Bruce Fish was insulted that I had bought the tags. I hung them on the fridge and there they'll stay.

Art Explosion

Had a great holiday weekend with the lads and the Fams - swimming and fishing at the cottage.

Seems like some of the guys have got art on their minds. Bruce Fish is tinkering away, as always, on his projects. Sweaty calls himself "the Artist of the Grill". Funny - he only cooks back bacon. We have this ancient Ranchero BBQ - rusty, beat-up and full of hot and cold spots. Sweaty kept the bacon grilling regardless.

And French spent the whole holiday weekend taking photos through beer bottles. I've posted one of the shots that French took as the header.

Pancake and I spent most of the time pulling sunfish off hooks down on the dock. He made this observation: "Fifteen years ago we came up here, got drunk and passed out...things have changed".

Rose looked up from her Bible and said: "Its nice".

The Fishing Hole

As kids: French, Pancake, Sweaty and few other lads would always be on the hunt for the perfect fishing hole. We lived on a road where there was a power dam at the far end. We'd bike down and fish all Saturday. It was a true fishing hole. We'd be pulling out pike, bass, crappies galore, and some fat catfish too. It was easy and fun...but now it is illegal to fish there; no fishing near dams!

We needed a new spot.

Bruce Fish will never go out with us. He always thinks that it is too ironic for a guy called Fish to fish. Rose Fish come out in the boat; she likes it, but clutches her (Ziploc bagged) Bible tight.

We fished all day - no hole. Barely a bite.

Pancake's dad laughed at us and said: "you need to fish where the fish are. Come on I'll show yah".

We canoed out to the shady side of a bay. He told us to cast out towards shore. We hit bass. It was excellent to fight those feisty small mouths and those big fat large mouths. French started to string up some Perch with Sweaty. We all caught the max and headed back for a big butter and garlic fish fry. Sweaty and Pancake are both pros in this field.

French looked at Pancake's dad and just shook his head.







 

The Dumpbot

The road up to the cottage is twisty - as you get over the crest of one curve you can see Bruce Fish's dump. Cars all slow down to see his latest display. This week he had five empty frames set up on easels. Behind each frame he had placed various items from the dump. Each "picture" or sculpture was created from some rare items from the dump. One was a robot made out of various electronics. It was amazing.

I head over to the dump most days while I'm staying at the lake. I try to time it so that Rose is there too. She bikes up with his lunch everyday.

When I drove up I noticed that the robot was gone from the day before. I thought "damn kids". I asked Bruce Fish about his missing art. He said: " It ain't missing bub, some old lad from Toronto bought it for $1000". He had jokingly said that he couldn't let it go for less than a grand. The "old lad" had handed him a stack of bills and said "deal".

We had some lunch. Sweet Rose had brought me a sandwich.  Rose kept her distance as we drank a cold lager.  When we were done drinking, she had us sit down and read us a chapter of Proverbs.  She then biked on back home.   Bruce Fish and I go started on making another robot.

Of Pots and Worship Bands

I spent last week hosting/directing  97 boys at Camp IAWAH (Proverbs 3:6). Some of these boys came with so many troubles. One boy loved that there was "so much food". Other boys kept their dukes up because that was their paradigm. Another lad, of 11 years, was so stressed that he habitually twisted and pulled his hair right out of his head. We are all broken, but it is hard to see such angst in children. God bless 'em all.

French was there too. I saw him in the very back of the kitchen hovering over the steaming pot sink. Tough work in a heat wave. He'd drink litres of water out of an old yogurt container then hammers away at the pots again. I didn't even know he'd volunteered for the week.

French would take one "break" each day. French would pick up his guitar and play in the worship band. They'd play 5-6 songs, then he'd put his soaking apron back on and head back to the pot sink.

I didn't get to talk to him too much, but it was encouraging to see his hard work and hear his rock steady guitar playing each day.

Beer Pancakes

Last night I missed Graven at Zaphods. Tragically they were shoved to the 8:45 slot, rather than the anticipated 10:15. The Dox, Gavin and Fisheye Lens revelled regardless. Billy "two fists" Henry poured many a beer to ward of the gloom. Beaus beer was as delightful as always.

On to Canada Day: I heard a rumble and some banging pots all too early this morning. My wife sent me down to see what was up. Was it the kids? Was it some inbreaker?

It was French. He had a 2-4 on the counter and he was pouring one of the pints into a big bowl of flour. Both of my kids were involved; they were covered in flour, eggs, and beer. He handed me a cold beer and said: "happy Canada day buddy - I'm making beer pancakes".

They were glorious.