Chew Gum. If it says so at The Presurfer, it must be true.
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Long Branch challenges – an update at Preserved Stories
Check out the Preserved Stories blog for an update on the challenges our community has been facing with aggressive development. This post features a recent email from Jennifer Keesmaat, Chief Planner & Executive Director, City Planning Division, City of Toronto to David Godley of Long Branch. The Chief Planner clearly recognizes the issues and indicates she is taking steps to put some strategies forward for improvement – positive news for our community.
Diamond Joe vs Diamond Joe
There are two completely different tunes (that I know of) called Diamond Joe, which appear to be unrelated.
The first one is a cowboy song. I first heard it from an Ian Tyson record back in the early 80s, but it’s a tune that has been kicking around for a long time. Here’s a fine version by Ramblin’ Jack Elliott from the Newport Folk Festival in 1963.
The other is an old time tune. Here’s Bruce Molsky…
Curiously, Bob Dylan has covered both tunes. Here he is doing the latter tune in the dreary Masked and Anonymous.
I believe Mr. Weird Bob covered the cowboy tune on his 1992 Good as I Been to You album, a strangely compelling collection of tunes that includes a delightful version of Froggie went a Courtin’, among other excellent selections.
An Ankle Update
It has been just over two months since I took a tumble from the front steps and badly dislocated and fractured my right ankle, tearing a ligament along the way. I have an air cast that I wear for safety when I’m out and about, but I no longer need to have a cast on around the house. I’ve been doing regular physiotherapy and lots of home exercises and I’ve been seeing results. My range of motion has been increasing and strength improving. I still can’t do any vertical weight bearing and that is out of the question until I see my surgeon again on June 8. That means I’m still hobbling around on crutches. Let me say that I’ve had about enough of crutches, and the sore hands and arms and shoulders that accompany their constant use. Most people I’ve talked to who have broken an ankle or leg have been walking on it after 6 or 9 weeks, but then, they don’t have over a dozen screws in their legs.
Swelling has gone down – my right foot looks more like a foot than a pod now, but it is still swollen. For instance, I can’t imagine trying to jam it into a shoe at this point. Hopefully continued physio will bring the swelling right down over the next couple weeks.
The good news is that I’m finally able to start back to work today – although it is on a limited basis at first, working from home, half days to start. I wanted to start back to work much earlier, but my desire to do more sooner was premature and I suppose overly hopeful. It is difficult and frustrating to be limited in what you can accomplish. Tuffy P has been simply amazing during all this, not only providing me with all kinds of personal support but also looking after everything around the house on her own, all while working at her very challenging job every day. I’m also thankful that my employer has me covered with an excellent short-term disability plan while I recover.
I can’t help but consider how fragile we are. One misstep, one patch of black ice and everything changes for weeks. I recall thinking in that brief second as I was tumbling to the ground, “this is bad, I’m going to hit my head”, but I didn’t hit my head, and I consider myself fortunate to have come through with a bone injury which, with some fancy surgery, a handful of screws, and a considerable dose of resting time, should heal up just fine.
Most of you know that since I broke my ankle, our Newfoundland dog, Memphis, had surgery on her back right knee to deal with a ligament tear. We’ve been quite a pair, her and I, hobbling around the house. She is still limping but she is getting quite a bit stronger. Next week she starts doing 10 minute walks and when she can handle that everyday, the walks will increase incrementally. I’m looking forward to doing those walks with Memphis once I can start putting weight on my right leg. I miss walking around our lovely neighbourhood, taking the dogs over to the lake or to the leash free park to goof around with their buddies.
The thought of Memphis and I limping around the neighbourhood reminds me of a time a number of years ago when my father and his old dog Julie were both suffering from some pretty bad arthritis. He was determined to give her a good walk every day, and off the two of them would go at a super-slow pace, having an around-the-block adventure, stopping to talk with all the neighbours along the way, a sight for sore eyes.
I will have two visible souvenirs from my surgery – scars on each side of my ankle. They are both neat and healing nicely, but they are not going anywhere. The one on the inside is shorter and curved and the one on the outside is long and straight. There is a third souvenir, a handful of screws, which are hidden from view. I wonder if they will set off the metal detector at airport security?
Black Eyed Suzie
Here is the Gladson Family Band performing Black Eyed Suzie. In Old Time Music, vocals can come in at almost anytime. Sometimes only a verse or two is sung, while at other times many, many verses are sung. The brief bit of singing in this performance doesn’t come in until the 1:22 mark.
Here’s another version, from the Whitetop Mountaineers that emphasizes the singing…
Her Royal Highness
Memphis continues to get stronger. She’s still on “light duties” though. In another week or so she’ll be able to go for 10 minute walks, gradually increasing after that.
Tuffy P’s Animal Crackers
Tuffy P took this shot of Georgie this morning. He’s so full of joy!
The Red River Jig
I’ve been listening to some Metis fiddle music lately on the YouTube. Here’s the tune known as the “Metis National Anthem”. The player is Patti Kusturok AKA Patti Lamoureux, and she is playing two versions of the tune, which she refers to here as the Andy DeJarlis version and the Reg Bouvette version.
Dead Fish Days
I grew up in a family that fished and fished a lot. It seemed my father and my brother were always either heading to some spot or another or else talking about it. Getting ready for opening day was a ritual in our home, serious business. After fishing, photos of the dead fish, with our without humans, were obligatory.
My father and my brother had all kinds of spots they liked to fish. Some were close to home and others further afield. Some very special ones were given to them by a fellow named Charlie. I remember Charlie just a little. I remember he smoked a pipe and I can remember his appearance and his voice – but that’s it. Charlie liked his drink (a lot), and my father used to say he fell into all the best trout streams in Ontario. Legend had it Charlie retrofitted his car interior with a bar so he could mix cocktails on the road. Times, fortunately, have changed.
Here is my father with his young son, my big brother, affectionately known on this blog as Salvelinas Fontinalis,
The Sturgeon
and a sturgeon which my dad claimed was 57 pounds and 57 inches. He used to say, “Son, it was bigger than you and better looking.” He caught it in the Nottawasaga River at a particular spot that was known to hold these huge fish. Over the years he hooked a number of sturgeon but as far as I know this is the only one he ever actually landed. He told stories about this fish for many years. This was going back a ways. I don’t think I was even born yet. Still I had to hear all about it. Salvelinas may remember some actual details, and perhaps he’ll share them in the comments.
This next picture features me as kid with a mess of nice trout. The thing is I’m pretty sure I wasn’t responsible for these trout, and I have no idea at all where we might have been fishing.
Sometimes, the trout were more important than the people. The next famous family photo features a mess of 21 chunky brook trout. All I can tell you about this is that I believe they lay the trout down on the hood of my father’s station wagon for this picture, not realizing that the oil from the skin of the trout would stain the hood (Salvelinas….is that true or false?).
I always liked this next photo. It features my father in a field proudly holding a nice trout above his creel. 
In those days, he always carried a creel or a canvas bag to carry out his trout. There was no catch and release. It was catch and eat for dinner. He would put a handful of meadow grass in his creel which he said would help keep the trout fresh.
My father was an unrepentant bank-napping worm plonker of the highest order. He had a knack for finding and catching trout and he did his best to teach me his tricks. He always used a light test line, and he liked to fish with dew worms hooked once through the collar, with no weight on the line. “Let the worm drift naturally,” he’d say. I remember watching him catch a large brown trout from a small stream one day doing this. He would let the worm drift under a log jam, into the bomb shelter where the big trout lived. I loved those days. My childhood on trout streams embedded in me a lifelong love of nature. It was a great gift he gave me.
Ah, I’ve got the fishin’ blues…
Some Canadiana for a Wednesday morning
Time for some Canadian Old Time music. Here’s a few selections by Mac Beattie and his Ottawa Valley Melodiers. Join me in my time machine. We’re going to the Ottawa Valley in the days of the log drives.
The Log Driver’s Song
A Little Shack up the Pontiac
Here’s an Ottawa Valley Train Wreck tune…
And my fave… Saturday Night up the Gatineau
27th Street 