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Fwd: PARKDALE C.I. FLASHBACK: HE’S DEAD, SIR! MURDERED! SHOT TO DEATH TODAY! (FROM ALAN SKEOCH)

HERE are a few flashback memories…most centred  on Parkdale C.  I. …   Wrote tis a couple of years ago for no particular reason.  … 

alan

“He’s dead, sir!  Shot!  Murdered!”
by  Alan Skeoch,  Jan. 29,2014
 

“Sir! Sir!  Someone just shot the President!  Someone shot Kennedy in Texas…might be dead!”

A student burst into my portable classroom at Parkdale Collegiate with this horrific news.  First year I taught.  It may have been Conrad Blonski.  That assassination was etched into long term storage of people across the world.  Now, more than half a century later I can remember the moment so clearly.  November 22, 1963. A warm, sunny, late fall afternoon. Beautiful day.
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MARY FIXPARK…DEVASTATED MAY 2018 WINDSTORM

TANGLED FOREST:  WHAT 100 MILE PER HOUR WINDS  HAVE DONE   MAY 2018


alan skeoch
may 2018

Marjorie Skeoch is dwarfed by the corpse of this giant tree uprooted in Mary Fix Park by the windstorm of May 2018

TANGLED  FOREST

Gazing with trepidation from our front porch I watched our hundred  year old trees sway and twist as  if dancing to some windy melody.  Would they snap?  Our house in Mississauga is
located  on the last holdout of the Mississauga First Nations  people.  As  a  result the lots  are long and  densely forested because the slash  and  burn farmers did  not have a chance
to level  every living thing.  This sudden storm in May 2018 changed things.

Unseen at the back  of our lot a century old spruce tree was  completely uprooted.  Its corpse fell  across  Mary Fix Creek and nearly took a  slice out of a neighbours house.   The hole
left behind by the roots was  deep enough for me to seem swallowed up.  A grave.

Lucky  Mary Fix is  long gone.  She would  be horrified by the way the wind created havoc in her park.  Mary Fix park is a wilderness park left to the City of Mississauga by Mary when she died on May 2, 1972.
She wanted to be sure her bit of wilderness was saved forever.   And up until May 2018 that seemed to assured.  The forest is the closest to Shangri-La I have experienced.  A year ago I sat absolutely still
on a rotting birch log while a doe and her  fawn sidled past me.  And this  spring and  winter we have a trio of coyotes hiding somewhere in the forest along with the RABBITS  and squirrels that the
coyotes regards as fine food along with the odd  cat that wanders too far from home.

(Mary Fix was born in 1896 in a French/Irish family.  She fought for the right for women vote when she was 16.  In 1918 the became the first woman lawyer in Ottawa.  In 1931 she married a musician named Albert Alphonse Fix 
and they built their house in Toronto Township.  That house stands on the edge of Mary Fix Park…south east quadrant of the junction of Hurontario Road and  the Queen Elizabeth Way.  Being a  female lawyer
was  tough sledding for Mary.  Alphonse died  in 1945 and Mary opened the Cloverleaf Dress Shop.  She expected a  modest life.  Then politics  intervened.  The chaos of  development after World  War II threatened
to disrupt the beauty of Toronto Township, now Mississauga, so she decided to do  something about it and became an elected official determined to bring order to the thirst for monetary gain by unregulated development.
She was  a  founding member of  the  Historical  Society, a helper in setting aside the quaint and fascinating Bradley House Museum,  a member of the Library Board…and  was also determined
to save the trees  in her  neighbourhood.)

Well,  Mary’s beautiful trees…towering white pines, spruce, black cherry, birch…have become a tangled mess.   So clogged with downed trees  that her forest is almost impassable.  It took 
Marjorie and Woody, our Labrador. nearly an hour to cover a stretch of the forest that took five minutes before the storm.  And  there is danger as some of the towering trees  are hanging like 
dark guillotines high above the heads of any urban explorer.  The only good  thing about the storm damage is that Mary Fix Park is no longer passable…it has  become a place that wild animals
must treasure.  

They probably watched us tumbling over windfalls and carefully moving below those wooded Guillotines.

Now do  not get your underwear in too much of a twist.  There are lots of tall trees still standing in Mary Fix Park…and  a  host of  saplings ready  to shoot skyward.  The forest will survive.

alan skeoch
may  2018

P.S.  ONE of the worst results of the storm is sudden decision by neighbours to cut down the towering trees that surround their houses.  Trees that survived those massive winds but cannot 
survive fear.



Mary Fix forest BEFORE THE WINDSTORM OF MAY 2018



MARY FIX FOREST…AFTER THE WINDSTORM

OUR LOT WAS HIT HARD BUT MUCH OF THE LOT REMAINED UNTOUCHED.  THIS DUMP RAKE, CIRCA 1880, WAS  MOVED  HERE FROM THE CRAIGIE FARM.


IT IS A POLICY OF THE MISSISSAUGA FORESTRY PEOPLE TO LEAVE FALLEN TREES ON THE GROUND SO THAT THE NATURAL FORCES  CAN TAKE COMMAND . THESE OLD  LOGS
PROVIDE SUSTENANCE FOR A HOSE SMALL UNSEEN CREATURES.   THAT POLICY WILL PROBABLY BE AMENDED SOMEWHAT FOR THE DEVASTATION IS SO WIDESPREAD THAT MARY
FIX PARK IS NOW IMPENETRABLE.


WHY OUR HUGE SILVER MAPLE SURVIVED WHILE OTHER YOUNGER TREES DID  NOT IS A MYSTERY

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Fwd: WELCOME TO PORT CREDIT: LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL: WHAT WE HAVE HERE IS A LOVE IN….PORT CREDIT



Begin forwarded message:


From: SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: WELCOME TO PORT CREDIT: LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL: WHAT WE HAVE HERE IS A LOVE IN….PORT CREDIT
Date: May 9, 2018 at 10:50:29 AM EDT
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>


LET THE GOOD  TIMES ROLL

alan skeoch
May 2018
(speech May 9, Clarke Hall, extolling virtues of Port Credit)


What he have here today is a LOVE IN.  At least I hope that is what’d will happen.  There is going to be plenty of time for problems…and there
are lots of problems facing Port Credit in future months and years.   Our population will swell … some low estimates say 10,000…and one high
estimate is 58,000 new residents will arrive along the whole Mississauga lakefront.     People are coming.  This is not Fort apache…not the Alamo…not L’Anse aux Meadows.  We are not circling the wagons.
We are saying welcome.  We want newcomers to love our community as  we do.


So, Today we are extolling the virtues of Port Credit.  Doing so in the hope…no, in the belief, that our new residents will share and protect our community.

What is worth protecting…what do do we love about our home … our village by the Lake.

“How much do I love thee,
Let me count the ways”
    (borrowed  from poet Robert Browning)


1) First and foremost is our river…the Credit river…the curving spine that winds through our city and terminates here in Port Credit.
A few years ago I  wrote a book extolling the virtues  of the Credit River.  WHERE THE RIVER SPEAKS   But let me be brief
-love watching the fisher people on its banks
-love watching the rowers and paddlers…young people honing olympic  skills
-love seeing the power boats in harbour
-love the fishing derbies
-love the fact that not far out in the Lake…200 feet down…there are schools of salmon as there have always been
-love seeing the great snapping turtles emerging to lay their eggs from our railway bridge to the QEW bridge
-love the wildlife…beaver, muskrats,  deer, foxes, coyotes, mink, — just above above the railway bridge…a highway of  wetland for living things
-love seeing those sleek Go Trains rocketing over our upside down railway bridge
-love the fact we have a large public park along the banks of the river
-love that our library is in that park
-love that we have huge public celebrations annually on the banks of the river
-even love the fact that our last vestige of commercial fishing days lies hidden behind a derelict house on the west bank
-love the fact our public ice arena is  close by the river

-love the times when an early freeze up makes our river a mile long skating rink.


2) Love Our Waterfront on Lake Ontario…much of which is publicly accessible
-love the sunrise vista on a summer day
-love the angry waves on a winter day with slabs of ice smashing the shoreline
-love seeing the flights of water birds zipping along in flocks and alone…
-love the occasional discovery of fossils in our tiny shingle beaches…speaks to a time deep in the past when we were at the bottom of a vast inland sea
-love the wind surfers, the stand up paddlers, the sailors,  the sleek cigarette boats; the porcupine looking fishing trawlers
-love to reminisce about those days long gone when different boats  were on the water…
    -Love to think about Lorne Joyce aboard his father’s fishing boat heading for those islands in the middle of Lake Ontario…and returned  ice encrusted with a load of whitefish.
    -Love the bootleggers who  hid their crates of booze in gunny sacks near the old  lighthouse in Prohibition days
    -Love to imagine that broken down schooner, the Lillian, with its crew levering great slabs of shale as building foundations for Toronto
-love the wreck of the Ridgetown resting immobile where river and  lake meet.


3)  Love our First Nation connection…Barely visible though it be
-Love to imagine the banks of our river, at the river mouth where for hundreds of years indigenous people gathered…set up tents…gossiped…procreated
-Love to be  reminded that  Port Credit was native land longer than it has been our land.
      -some time ago I wrote a book titled YOUR HOME ON NATIVE LAND that extolled those First Nation years…tragic and betrayed years in many ways
      -Love  their values especially the concept of ‘sharing”…Canada’s native people had deep trouble understanding the difference between owning and sharing
      -Fences in those early years of European settlement were hard for them to understand…as was greed.  


(PAUSE: …Consider these two words:

                GREED?  Everyone say “My, my,  my, my, mine, me, me, me”…that should open up our minds a bit.)
                SHARE?  Now everyone say “We, we, we, we, our, our, our, our, share, share, share.”)


4) Love Our Village…the commercial community…the shops, restaurants…even the place where men smoke big cigars  in easy chairs.


-I asked three young 15 year old boys what they loved best about Port Credit … they said three things immediately
   – “The winding trails…room for bicycles…and the stores’…they didn’t mention the girls but next day  I saw them

     socializing with three females….love Port Credit as a meeting place.


John, Jackson, Sean , three Grade Ten boys living in Port Credit…interviewed

   -Love the fact that 3 fifteen year old boys loved the village…the streetscape.
  -Love the people mixing together on our sidewalks…all ages…all origins…a vertical community

    -Love to eat and drink in Port Credit…from a dollar cup of coffee to a $400 dinner for eight…and  everything in between.

  -Love The Farmers Market
  -Love the churches of all denominations…distinctive architecture that breaks the straight line severity of the apartment buildings.
  -Love the designated  Heritage village on the west bank
  -Love the night life when neon replaces the sun and  people relax on street benches or inside our bars.

    -Love the music of those summer nights


    The are the men and the horse that paved Lakeshore Road.  No more muddy streets. 


5) -Love our public parks
  -In many ways  we are a community still surrounded by fields on all sides and in our centre
  -the Adamson estate on the east
  -the rhododendron park on the west
  -Love Confederation park in the centre

    -Love our huge lakefront park on the west bank

   -Love our long cement spit where people stroll on the east bank

  

6) Love our Festivals
-Love Busker Days…salespeople  of a different sort.
-Love Paint the Town Red parade where thousands gather dressed  in Canadian  flags
-Love the Waterfront festival where fake Blues  Brothers entertain in the midst of blues, jazz, folk, rock bands of all hues
-Love the Fishing Derby even though I never fish.

7) Love our connection to Jane Jacobs…a livable village with a ferment of human activity…on foot…ON FOOT!
-Love our Wide sidewalks with lots of room for diversity as Jane would  admire…perhaps even where restaurants seem  to usurp the public space.
-Love People watching…Humanity  of nosiness…certainly so in Port Credit at all times of day
-Love the architecture that stresses Windows on the Street… facilitates people watching…


   WELCOME TO ALL:


Young men outside the Port Credit Post Office around  1925.   

“What are these men and boys staring at?”
“The radial street car has just arrived  from Toronto.”
“So?”
“So there are young women on the street car.”
“So””
“It is  a  long step from the street car to the road.:
“So?”
“So when they stop down they show a bit of their legs and stockings.”
“So?”
“So, mixing of the sexes has long been a part of our village

-Love the fact that Port Credit has been a welcoming village for a long time.

 And if you are a newcomer to Port Credit, we say welcome…like the Mississauga First Nation people…we  want to share
our community with you…and we hope and pray the concept of sharing has equal place with the concept of owning.

alan skeoch
May 2018

Detail:  An excellent research paper was done by Frarm Sloker … developers …back in 2006 …draws a  profile of
our population a decade ago when Port Credit was converting from a formerly small industrial village into’a high
end residential community.


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FARMING TUJRNED UPSIDE DONW OR NEARLY SO

FARMING TURNED UPSIDE DOWN OR NEARLY SO

Sorry to say this but a number of Ontario farms have fallen into this kind neglect as speculators buy

up the land in expectation of future growth and huge profits.  No one lives  on the farm anymore.

And there is  another factor at work.  Farms get rented out to people who really do not give
a damn about farming.  they can’t even if they wanted to. for great swaths of Ontario farm land
is now owned or managed by corporate agriculturalists who are interested only in cash cropping.
So the barns fall down and, in this case, a Ford half ton truck gets posted up on its side so
some mechanically minded  person can  get at its entrails.

alan skeoch
May 2018

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SO, WHO BELIEVES IN GHOSTS? (FARM ABANDONED ON COLLINGWOOD ROAD)

“SO, WHO BELIEVES IN GHOSTS?”


alan skeoch
May 2018

The house and barn were abandoned  a long time ago.  People just walked away leaving everything behind…furniture, farm equipment, last mail delivery.  
I bet some of you noticed the place on the road to Collingwood…west side between Duntroon and Collingwood.   Nearly all gone now.  Buildings sat there forlorn for
two decades  or longer. Then a couple of years  ago The house was
demolished but the barn still stands with the ghostly wreck of the giant threshing machine still standing on the threshing floor visible to passersby on the Collingwood  road
since
many of the barn siding has been blown off by the winds of time.

Robert Root and I visited the site…with permission…sort of permission that is to say.

“Hey, Rooter, let’s ask the farm across the sideroad if we can go in to take some pictures.”
“Are they the owners?”
“Don’t rightly know.”

“Could Rooter and I take some pics of that’d abandoned farm?”
“We are not the owners.”
“We won’t touch a thing.”
“Suppose that is your business…not mine…go ahead.”
“Why has the place been abandoned…looks like it was once grand…”
“Dispute over the will…No one quite sure who owns  what so no one can touch nothin’…or so we’ve been told.”
“Us?  Promise not to touch a thing.  Rooter is a Baptist…honest as the driven snow.”
“Not my business.”

So  Rooter and I walked through the tall grass to the house and then out to the barn.  No sign of life but lots
of evidence of a life that was once lived here.  Books, letters, newspaper collection…phone book.   

“Hey Rooter, look here.  There’s even a section of the house for the hired man…at the back…separate.”
“Could be a hired  woman,  Alan.”
“Reckon?”
“Barn is full of things…Thresher, fanning mill, single horse plough, root pulper….”
“And the water pump still works…want a sip…a little brown.”

And that was an hour that both Rooter and I will never forget.  Sad. Tragic.  Like a love affair gone bad.

“Did you see any  goats, Alan?”
“Nope. did you?”
“Nope…supposed to be ghost here, you know.”

WE MISSED THE GHOST…HE WAS OUT BACK WITH THE HARNESS…GETTING READY TO HARNESS  UP HORSES…THE GHOST WAS THERE. (scroll down)

alan skeoch

May 2018
















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“MY OWNER COES NOT BELIEVE IN CARS OR TRUCKS.” (DAY I MET A TALKING HORSE)

“MY OWNER DOES NOT BELIEVE IN CARS OR TRUCKS?”


ALAN SKEOCH
May 2018
(picture taken years ago at a winter farm auction)

“Hey Bud?”
“You mean me?”
“Yes, you with the big coat…scarf and boots and brush cut.”
“I didn’t know horses  could talk.”
“We don’t like people to know we can talk.”
“So?”
“So, could you slip over to the Women’s Institute food booth and get me a hot chocolate?”
“I thought horses ate oats and drank water.”
“On a  day like this  I need a hot chocolate.”
“Are you sure?”
“Listen Bud, the water is frozen and the oats are as hard as rocks…I want hot chocolate?”
“Show me the money!”

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IRISH COUNTRY ROAD …IN 2014

IRISH COUNTRY ROAD


When Gabriela, the kids and Marjorie and I toured Southern Ireland a year or so ago, the roads  were empty as the tourist season had not begun.
This quaint and starkly beautiful road get jammed  in the summer but for us it was a lonely adventure.  I think it is located down in the Southwest
corner of Ireland…perhaps the Dingle.  No matter, places like this are easy to find.   Just imagine subsisting on potatoes on those tiny fields and then
suddenly discovering the plants had shrivelled up and died.   That happened in the 1840’s.   Remnants of bad times are easy to find.  But the
local pubs wash away the grief…or maybe just hide it deeper.

When I worked  a few miles from here in  1960 sites such as tis were not uncommon around Bunmahon, County Waterford.  No doubt long  gone now for Ireland
underwent a wave of investment that made a lot of changes.  But not so many that the flavours of the past were all consumed…for this picture was tanned in 2014 I think.

See if you can find  one lone cow.

alan skeoch
May 2018

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“WASN.T THAT A PARTY?” MISSISSAUGA ARTS PRE=MARTY PARTY

“WASN’T THAT A PARTY?”


alan skeoch
April 30, 2018

Jeannette Chau nominated  me for a Marty Award.   Super flattering thing to do, especially since we had really seen each other for around 40 years…way back when I was a teacher of history
at Parkdale Collegiate Institute and she was a student.   Imagine that.  Please forgive  if this photo essay seems a trifle vain.  The whole affair made us, Marjorie and me, feel good.  So we are sharing.

What are the Marty Awards, you ask?  Sounds sort of weird, I know, but very simply put the Marty awards  are given to nominated citizens of Mississauga in all the fields of “arts”…music, drama, dance, literature, art, etc.

We  have lived in Mississauga since 1968 and we have watched the city grow into one of the largest cities in Canada. BUT we have never really captured the diversity of Mississauga until the evening of April 30.

“Alan,  can you come to the reception we have for Finalists at the Live Restaurant, it will be fun?”

So Marjorie and I went to the Living Arts Centre on April 30.  What a party.  As diverse as Mississauga.  Bubbling with enthusiasm , perhaps “joyeux de vivre” (sp?) captures the event best/

NO!  The best way  to describe the event was done by the Irish Rovers and Ricky Nelson.  Remember?

Rovers Irish – Wasn’t That A Party Lyrics

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Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party     
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Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party

Someone took a grapefruit
Wore it like a hat
I saw someone under my kitchen table
Talking to my old tom cat
They were talking about hockey
The cat was talking back
Long about then every-thing went black
Wasn’t that a party

I’m sure it’s just my memory
Playing tricks on me
But I think I saw my buddy
Cutting down my neighbour’s tree

Could’ve been the whiskey
Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party

Billy, Joe and Tommy
Well they went a little far
They were sittin’ in my back yard, blowing on a sireen
From somebody’s police car

So you see, Your Honour
It was all in fun
The little bitty track meet down on main street
Was just to see if the cops could run
Well they run us in to see you
In an alcoholic haze
I sure can use those thirty days
To re-cover from the party

Could’ve been the whiskey
Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party
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Rovers Irish – Wasn’t That A Party Lyrics
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Rovers Irish – Wasn’t That A Party Lyrics

www.lyricsfreak.com/i/txtstripes_large.gif); min-height: 598px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 30px;”>Could’ve been the whiskey
Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party

Someone took a grapefruit
Wore it like a hat
I saw someone under my kitchen table
Talking to my old tom cat
They were talking about hockey
The cat was talking back
Long about then every-thing went black
Wasn’t that a party

I’m sure it’s just my memory
Playing tricks on me
But I think I saw my buddy
Cutting down my neighbour’s tree

Could’ve been the whiskey
Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party

Billy, Joe and Tommy
Well they went a little far
They were sittin’ in my back yard, blowing on a sireen
From somebody’s police car

So you see, Your Honour
It was all in fun
The little bitty track meet down on main street
Was just to see if the cops could run
Well they run us in to see you
In an alcoholic haze
I sure can use those thirty days
To re-cover from the party

Could’ve been the whiskey
Might’ve been the gin
Could’ve been the three or four six-packs,
I don’t know, but look at the mess I’m in
My head is like a football
I think I’m going to die
Tell me, me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party

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“CRASH” THE WOOD DUCK RETURNS TO SMASH MORE DISHES




WOOD DUCK RETURNS TO SMASH MORE DISHES

“Alan, I found her!”
“I searched all yesterday and couldn’t find her…where did you catch her?”
“She was  wedged in between the big black flat back cupboard and the wall…I heard a faint rustle….had to move dishes and get down on hands and knees but
there she was waiting for help.”
“Second time around this  year…why does she like our chimney so much?”
“Looking for an old tree trunk for a  nest…”
“We saw the male out on the pond with her the other day…why is he never caught?”
“Females are nesters…males are just pesters.”
“Well, Let’s name her CRASH because she seems to love breaking  dishes.”
-She got two of the beer steins and a big blue vase and  glasses.”
“How can we stop her?”
“Maybe just give up and turn the house over to her for the next few weeks”

alan skeoch
Marjorie skeoch
April 2018





On Apr 20, 2018, at 10:31 PM, SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com> wrote:


ICE STORM APRIL 16, 2018:  STUCK WITH A DUCK


alan  skeoch
April 17, 2018

THERE have been better days…. April 16 was a bad day.  The decision to go to the  farm was an error in judgment I suppose.  But then again, if
I had not gone then maybe the LITTLE DUCK WOULD BE DEAD and the house would be wrecked.

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“Alan, are sure the road  is OK?”

“Well Woody, I think we have a problem.   Snow  with a crust of ice on top that is thick enough 
for us  to walk  on.  Too thick, Woody, Can we get the truck n there.  Two wheel drive but still
have the snow tires.”

“Take a chance, Alan…turn in fast…cut a trail through the crust.”

“Not going to make it, Woody…we are stuck…spinning tires…snow and ice up under the truck.”

“What to do?  Call Andrew, he might be somewhere nearby.”

“Good idea.   Ring Ring ring…,”Andy, Woody and I are in a bit of trouble….got the truck 
stuck in the lane…ice storm is bad…Can you come up ro help?”

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“Give me an hour or so…take Woody into the house and I’ll get you out.  You should have known better than to try 
to ride on top of the ice….regular thing with you.”

“Not all my fault…Woody said  to take a run at it.”

“Fine advisor, Dad…see you in an hour.”

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“And it’s getting dark…sleet and ice coming down now.  Road is as slick as a salesman’s blather, Woody.  LOOK AT the old barn…belonged to 
J..S. Woodsworth years ago.  Really bleak looking today.”

“Stop talking.  Open the door…neighbour phoned Marjorie  to say the power has been off all week  end.  I Just hope
the propane is firing away….”

“Quite pretty, isn’t it Woody…the ice coating everything.”
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“Look at the bird house, Alan…loaded with ice.”

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“Open the  door…my feet are frozen, Alan.”

“There…we are now about to get warm….OH NO!  WE HAVE HAD A BREAK IN!!  BROKEN GLASS ALL OVER.”


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“WHY WOULD a robber break  all this glass?”

“Not a robber, Alan, I hear something moving in the bathroom…maybe a raccoon…or coyote….”

“Quiet , Woody, I Hear it too…close the doors…I’ll get a towel.”


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“It’s a DUCK, Alan…must have come down the chimney in the ice storm…thought it was a hollow log.”

“Woody, I am going too catch her if I can.  Hope her wings are not broken…There she  is…FLOP FLOP…Got her  covered.”

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“She seems to be glad we came along Woody.”

“Real heroes!”

“Set her down on the verandah…see if she is going to be OK”

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“What kind of duck is she?”

“Smaller than a Mallard…look at that odd  crest on the back of herded….like a Merganzer maybe…small duck…maybe a Wood duck…Damn, Damn, 
Damn…she  looks like  the same  dick we had last year.”

“Likes smashing glasses and dishes…entertainment until her mate arrives.”

“There she goes…flying…not staying around to help clean up.”

“Check the window…see if Andy is here yet.”

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Bleak out there, Alan, I am going to curl up on my bed while you clean up the glass.”

“Wish Marjorie was  here…”

“Why?”

“She would do the clean up better than me.”

“Andy is here, Alan.”

“Good…I bet he give me another lecture. “

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“Get in your truck, Dad, and put it in reverse…gently…my truck is on solid ice…need all the help we can get.”

“Glad to see you, Andy.”

“Never a dull moment, Dad…you seem to find pickles even in winer time.  How is that torn Achilles tendon doing?.”

“Just fine…”

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“Great…we are now out, Woody…road is sheer ice though…can’t fool around.”

“Did  you tell Andy about the duck, Alan?”

“Not yet…I am  going send him a picture…sort of  a thank you.”

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“Where are you going, Andy…on foot?”

“Now  I have to get my truck in here with the trailer…”

“Need  help?”

“No!”

“I left a duck to give you a hand Andy”

“A what?”

“A LITTLE BROWN FEMALE DUCK…”

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“Sometimes I think my dad is nuts….Did he say Duck or something else?”

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