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Iwant you to know thatgenerally I am at homewith my club. In fact,
that is why I refer to it as“the home of homes.”
However, I have becometired of the fatuous remarksI hear around the place. Theother day as I was about tobring a silver yum-yum tomy cracked lips I heard a
mem as he passed me say,“If Mother keeps drooling,it is assisted living no mat-ter what she says.”
I put the martini downsadly and stared at thebaroque ceiling. I think hismother deserves betterthan this cruel cut, espe-cially a public one.
For the record, there arenow a few mems plantedhere who have thrown self-consciousness aside andproudly wear drool cupsattached to soft collars. Onechap goes so far as to showup each week with a differ-ent coloured cup and thenlooks hard at fellow memsas if daring them to saysomething.
Far too often I also hearmems making commentsabout their wives. Now mostthinking chaps really do not
want to be made aware ofthe inner workings of oth-ers' marriages as it is enoughfor us to deal with our own— things such as “Since mywife stopped shaving, it isnot unlike being married tomy brother-in-law.” Theseare secrets that must bekept behind the high wall ofmarriage; besides, it putsone off lunch.
As I am speaking mymind this Sunday morning,I feel the country shouldreconsider the noose as away of stopping graffiti.Normally I am quite proudof the way Canada has doneaway with the deathpenalty, but waking up aftera Saturday of back-break-ing painting the front yardfence to see an insult uponsaid fence makes one yearnfor the old trap door. My
particular outrage read“Kill the rich.”
First of all, we are notrich, not by today's stan-dards, we simply have anice house and savingsfrom various jobs over theyears. The hard cheese forme is two doors down nestsDavid Derivative, a bankerwho redefines slippery andhas made millions.
Why pick on me and nothim? Not very Christian, Iagree, but it is frustratingthat the idiot street artistcould not even deface thecorrect house. Bah.
I recall that we at one timehad a problem with graffitiat the club, especially thesouth wall on HumboltStreet. I think the scrawledmessage was along the linesof “Eat the fatties,” lackingin originality but still.
The poor club had torepaint more than a fewtimes, which began to playhavoc with the exchequer.However, over the horizonat a fair trot came our sav-ior, Mrs. Hynde-Quarters.Her unusual solution was topaint the wall in questionwith vaseline, whichbrought more than a fewguffaws, but the perpetra-tors were stared down byher friend, the vast-bosomedMrs. ffrangington-Davis.
Several reputable paint-ing companies refused tohave anything to do with thejob as they felt it wouldsomehow demean theircraft. So the stupefied winesteward and a barman werepress-ganged and handedlong brushes with the preg-nant waitress holding theladder.
Nothing much happenedfor a week if one discountsa few outraged crows, untilthe night of the club “sing-along.” Just as theBrigadier started the fourthverse of Paddy’s Donkey inhis shaky baritone, some-thing shot by the window,followed by another some-thing. A third phantomcaught his belt on the win-dow latch and was left look-ing at us and we at him.
A dismissed waiter andtwo friends were taken intocustody but slipped fromtheir cuffs because of thepetroleum jelly and are nowrumoured to dwell in an up-Island cave. We have had nofurther trouble with graffitiat the club, just my fence.Shame on [email protected] twitter @TheYYJMajor
M O N I T O RTIMES COLONIST | timescolonist.com D11SUNDAY, AUGUST 12, 2012
MAJOR’S CORNERMaj. (retired) Nigel Smythe-Brown
Graffiti phantoms slip up at ‘home of homes’
Ithink it was W.R.Spencer who said aman needed threethings to count him-self truly blessed – a
good wife, good childrenand good friends. Havingshared all three, I standamong those thrice blessed.
Good fortune had moreto do with my well blessedlife than any personal efforton my part. I took eachblessing granted with grate-ful thanks and much joy.And I still do.
I know I’m one of thelucky ones as I look downwhat has been a long roadof life and see a traffic lightblinking amber warningthat I’m approaching amajor intersection. Havingrun into similar warningsignals in my close to 89years “on the road,” I’mwondering if this latestamber will turn to green asI draw closer, or if it’s goingto flash a sudden red andend my journey.
My thoughts are notgloomy. The road alreadytravelled has been a greatone. A bit bumpy at times;one or two major potholeswhen loved companions orold friends could no longerwalk with me. But by andlarge a wondrous journey —and one which continueswondrous — and joyful.
I remain truly blessed. Ihave a small enchanted gar-den I can sit in and smellthe flowers while watchingbirds, drink, flutter andsplash in a bird bath thatwelcomes them with freshwater every evening. Once
in a while as dusk creeps in,a raccoon family padssilently and barely visiblebeneath the bushes, presu-mably heading for an OakBay beach and a lick of salt.
Each morning this pastspring and early summer, Ihave patrolled the frontgarden and driveway andcursed, less than cheerfullyI confess, the latest depre-dations of a small but vora-cious family of deer. Onenight they consumed all ourcarefully nurtured tulips,another every potted pansyand then, I assume fordessert, every rosebud as itemerged.
But even as I muttered
curses on all fawns andtheir mothers I understoodhow blessed I was to live ina city where deer wanderedthe night streets – and werefar less dangerous than thefootpads lurking in the sidestreets of other cities. And Iconfess to being amused asI noted deer have no colourpreferences for tulips, butdark blue was the preferreddining hue for pansies. Anddaffodils were leftuntouched and geraniumsonly nibbled by spottedfawns who didn’t know anybetter.
I realize how blessed Icontinue to be when I take awalk along the waterfront
from tiny San CarlosAvenue to the Oak BayMarina and back. Not amarathon hike but, withwell-spaced benches, not abad stroll for octogenarians.
Benches become moreimportant as time goes by.Willows Beach is great forthat. A steady walk fromone end of the promenadeto the other with a mid-afternoon pot of tea and aside order of fries – or evena scone if you’re diet con-scious – at the Kinsmen’sTea Room.
I hope the Kinsmen knowtheir efforts are missedwhen they shut up shop forthe winter when hot choco-
late or a mug of tea or cof-fee would mark the perfectend to a windblown walk.
Another favourite, well-blessed walk is from any-where along Dallas Road tothe breakwater where theOgden Point Café servesthe best soup in town. Wetime that walk for between11 a.m. and noon with a$5 cup of chowder or thesoup of the day for lunch.It’s a blessing.
Then there’s Beacon HillPark, a year-round delight,rain or shine. At risk ofbeing burned in effigy, I stillthink that great park wouldbe enhanced with a tearoom similar to Willows. An
enhanced blessing for sure.My pace is much slower
than it was, but it is still apace – and I’m thankful formy reasonably good healthand my ability to still appre-ciate the blessings of mygood fortune.
And to be still able torecite to myself a couple oflines from Tennyson as Icontinue to stroll – as slowlyas possible – to a final exit:“So many worlds, so muchto do, so little done, suchthings to be.”
And I hope to be able tokeep walking until I’vecrossed another item or twooff my bucket list beforethe light turns red.
LYLE STAFFORD, TIMES COLONISTFrom the Oak Bay Marina, the sunset affords a magnificent view of Mount Baker in Washington state. The walk from San Carlos Avenue to themarina is not a bad stroll for octogenarians, with its well-spaced benches that become more important as time goes by.
As I approach 89, I count my blessings and look ahead
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