muffinandbagels

A story from my relative youth

My employer at the time, Maclaren’s, in cooperation with an American firm, had an Intra American Bank Project to build a water system for Petionville, a part of Port au Prince in Haiti. After the project was over, they needed some spare parts, which would be very complicated, if not impossible, to import legally. I had a trip to the Montego Bay project scheduled, so I was asked to go via Haiti and take the spare parts with me. For some reason I flew business class with Air Canada to Miami, and got talking to a diplomatic courier who was also going to Haiti, We travelled together on the Air France flight to Port au Prince. I had some trepidation about going through customs. When the plane landed in Port au Prince I was summoned to the exit, where a Monsieur Limousin asked for my baggage tags. He then instructed the chief customs official to find my bags and take them to his car. Rather subtle smuggling I thought, but I had not realised before that Limousin was actually the deputy chief of the Tonton Macoutes, the much feared secret police of Papa Doc Duvalier. I had been told that he would take me to my hotel, where I should invite him in for a drink. He would then have one drink and leave, refusing a second drink or dinner. Little did they know, he indeed joined me for a drink, and accepted a second and a third, He said he would not accept dinner but as I had never been to Haiti before he would pick me up after dinner. The consequence was a long night of touring the night spots in his chauffeur driven Mercedes. Anywhere we went they cleared the people from the best table, and gave it to us, with of course attendant dusky beauties. I set a record for the Company’s Haiti expense accounts, but they were delighted as they had tried to take him out before unsuccessfully. The fact I spoke French probably made the difference.

Walking around Port au Prince at night was perfectly safe for a visitor, anyone bothering us would probably be shot. On a subsequent visit I was looking for a well location outside the city on a rough trail. When I returned to the road I was stopped at a road block and taken to police station with a machine gun pointed at me, where I was locked in cell. Once I had persuaded them to make an appropriate phone call, I had Limousin’s number, I was released with many apologies. There were a lot of road blocks around the city, where there were armed guards, I accidentally drove through one one night and my passenger said keep going, they may wake up!

The best spot to me was the monastery above the city, where the monks made about 50 types of flavoured rum. Free samples were available. After all that has happened since I was there, I sometimes wonder if the beer is still made from the water in the well I picked out the site for when I was arrested.

This was my first Tuxedo, inherited from my father who bought it in 1926 for an event at the sexcentenary of his college. He kindly passed in on to me in 1955. And I wore it at the same college in 1959.

In 1961 my wife and I were moved to Australia by the Government who had hired me as a geophysicist. As a professional I was booked to travel first class on the Oriana. A three week voyage with the nobs, and dressing for dinner. By this time my father’s 1926 tux was a bit mildewed. As I was now employed I purchased a new one, paying about $40 for it.

After the voyage it received little use, apart from a few formal balls and things, and some dinners and fundraisers during my years with the MPHEC.

The only other wearing of it took place at the intermittent “Gaudys” at the college that I shared with my father.. These are dinners for graduates of a group of graduates from the same period. The frequency depending on how many years they put together. The first one I went to was for a three year collection. The one that was scheduled for tonight was for a a 6 year collection, 1955 to 1961.

I still have that 1961 purchased tux, but a little maintenance was required. At the last of these events as I rose from the dining table, seams under my arms failed noisily. A little embarrassing, but not as bad as the problem another faced, when his trousers split as he stood up. Realising that my tux is approaching its 60th year I took it to Stitchit to see if they could put my sleeves back on. I was delighted that they could indeed do that, and at a reasonable cost. I also succeeded in finding a pair of black dress shoes that I could walk in. I was prepared to go to the gaudy as a figure of elegance to impress my aging costudents.

Then COVID arrived, so tonight instead of a formal dinner and reception with champagne and fine wines and spirits. I shall have a baked potato and salad.

Some days you just can’t win.

When I published my blog this afternoon, I bewailed the fact that Air Canada’s special deal on cost free flight changes did not apply to me because I had purchased the ticket a while ago, and I had to act two weeks before the flight I wished to change. Since I wrote that I have had no less than three emails from Air Canada. The first offered me the chance to upgrade my existing reservation, an offer I declined. The second told me about a new policy that seemed to mean I could get a refund, but I could not get through to it. The third email was to tell me that the flight I was booked on had now changed its departure time, and offered me options, including cancelling the flight, When I went to that option I was offered a partial refund, or a complete credit against a future flight this year. I took that option.
It is nice to know that Air Canada reacts so positively and fast to my blogs!

Sometimes being organised can be a distinct disadvantage.

It was last November when I received the official invitation to an event for those at my College starting their degree between 1955 and 1960 . A group of men either in their 80s or close to it. Probably the last one that I would be invited to as it would normally be 5 years at least between invitations. It would also be the last opportunity to see many of those of my university contemporaries still surviving that enjoy meeting over dinner and an extended post dinner scotch hour. So I accepted the invitation and paid for a room to stay overnight in the college, and also took advantage of one of Air Canada’s offers to purchase my ticket to London. I also noted that the play, Upstart Crow, would be having a limited run in London at the time I would be there. I therefore purchased two tickets for a matinee so I could take one of my sisters in law to see it in return for the use of her spare bedroom while I recover from my overnight flight. I also planned to go and stay for a couple of days with another of my sisters in law who is now 91 and suffering from Parkinsons Disease, while I was over there.
All carefully organised.
But it is not just me
My middle daughter was scheduled to cover in a conference San Diego this week, but that was cancelled yesterday. Both oldest daughter and youngest daughter have entries for the Boston marathon, and the oldest has also been entered for the world age group Marathon championships at the London marathon, now both at risk. Youngest daughter is also meant to give a course in England in May, also probably at risk .
Now comes Covid 19, and a dilemma. Do I go, and risk being quarantined while over there or on my return, and risk catching the disease myself and giving it to others? I am after all in the most vulnerable age group, even if I try to ignore it. I gather that I could rebook my Air Canada ticket without penalty if I make the decision two weeks before my scheduled departure, which is now 8 days away, and the UK situation is still not clear and the event for over 80s has not been cancelled, yet. Actually the cost of the tickets is trivial compared to the loss of capital in the last couple of weeks. On balance I think I shall wait a while to decide.\
Now comes a new feature, an email from Oxford saying they are not sure about whether the dinner will go ahead, and the final decision will come on Friday. They too must be conscious of the vulnerability of 80 year olds. This sounds like a cancellation to me, and if it is cancelled I shall postpone my trip to the UK. As I was forced to do last year as well.

I have mailed the Upstart Crow tickets to my London sister in law so that with luck she can use them with a friend, but the way things are going they will probably close the theatre.

I am pleased to say however, that both my wife and I are healthy and not self isolating, yet!

We bought this house to live in in 1973
It had sufficient bedrooms for my wife, the kids and me.
The basement partly finished one room behind a door
Had paneling upon the walls and carpet on the floor
The laundry floor was with plywood raised a little bit
The washer and the dryer sat on top of it.
One of the sheets of plywood made a different sight
For some unknown reason, partly painted white.
In the rest of the basement, the concrete was quite bare
And so I poured some paint on it to provide a little cheer.
After 47 years had passed the paint began to peel.
I needed to replace it to improve the floors appeal.
I bought some floor paint for the job, it is a brownish red
I poured it out upon the floor and used a brush to spread.
When the concrete floors were done, some of the paint remained,
So I went into the laundry to where the floor was stained.
By using a paint roller the red was then applied
And covered up the white bits, or at least I tried.
I had now a red roller, to clean it I did think
The best way to do it, was in the laundry sink.
Alas a lack of planning made my cleaning go astray
As the paint was too waterproof and would not go away.
So now the sink itself sadly it is said
Was covered up with patches to match the floor in red.
My wife then suggested that this is not the way to be
And trusted it would be remedied, presumably by me.
I’ve tried out several strippers, of paint that is of course,
And after soaking in the paint you scrape them off by force
I’ve spent a long time scraping stripper I have used up lots
And now we have a laundry sink that’s grey with reddish spots.

There was a column in the Times last week that reported a study had established that the happiest people were aged 82. As an 82 year old, I am putting my year in review.

I’m told a recent study, and hope that this is true,
Says that you are happiest when you are 82.
A valuable conclusion I am happy to engage,
Based upon the circumstance that is my current age.
My birthday’s in September, March is nearly here
I hope I have not wasted half this clearly special year.
As I review those recent months, since 82 begun
I realise I misconstrued some things that were fun.
Those strange and achy feelings I have in both my knees
Are really for the fun of it, a kind of cosmic tease.
I’m woken up each morning by my wife who says to me
Its time to put the kettle on to make your cup of tea
I make my tea and drink it, get out of bed and then
Stagger to the bathroom for acetaminophen
I cannot take an aspirin for any of my ills
It is contraindicated by one of my other pills
If that does not relieve for me the pain my knees are in
I find the other package, and then spread on Voltaren.
I haven’t had my breakfast yet, so I still have the time
For happiness to show up and celebrate in rhyme.
Morning spreads before me, I eat my toast and jam
And hurry to remind myself how happy now I am.
I turn on my computer so I can read the mail
Hoping that this morning the wi-fi will not fail.
I down load a newspaper so I can read the news
And then print the crossword, so we can solve the clues.
And so the day progresses, does happiness await?
This early in the morning its very hard to state.

If 82 brings happiness and I am having fun

I must have been quite miserable when I was 81.
But patience, we’re but half way through and if I remember
I’ll tell you how the rest has gone, when we reach September.

I was sitting in the steam room
The heat was at its peak
When through the heat and moisture
I heard somebody speak.

How are you this afternoon?
Had a busy day?
Got your exercising done
Before you go away?

Do you enjoy retirement?
Is it something you’ve enjoyed
Or is it true as some folks say
You’d rather be employed.

I found it rather puzzling
This chatting in the fog
But still I felt impelled to
Make this a dialogue.

I wasn’t here on Tuesday
Or Saturday I said
The weather was so awful
I quit and stayed in bed

I do like the new treadmill
So I can watch the news
While pounding out the distance
In my running shoes

Do you get here often
Or only when by chance
Your personal ambitions
Include the fitness dance.

I hear the room door open
I am relieved because
He left me without saying
Who the heck he was

You may recall I wrote a rhyme
Not so long ago in time.
In which I said I’d had a brush
At fixing up the upstairs flush.
I also said in that last verse
All I did was make it worse.
My wife then offered sage advice
Do not try to fix it twice.
I don’t believe you’d be a master
More likely you’d create disaster.
She said she thought that I should go
And hire a plumber, use a pro.
So of course I thought it nice
To accept my wife’s advice.
This very day with bold defiance
One replaced the old appliance.
Task completed then my bride
Turned the handle, flushed with pride.

We’ve had an interesting time for this past week or three
The heating was not working as its supposed to be
We had to bring a plumber in to find out what was wrong
And fix it so it heated up and stayed warm all day long.
I watched the guy while working, and I was quite impressed
As he had to change some of the things, and then left the rest
Now this of course involved electric power a special kind of threat
To amateurs who, fix things that are not trained as yet.
But I had a problem of plumbing yet to do
To find the right solution to the upstairs flushing loo.
No electricity involved, not difficult to see
The problem should be solvable by amateurs like me.
Each time you flushed the thing the water kept on flowing
Long after that the tank was filled it just kept on going.
I told the plumber all the symptoms I’d seen
And asked him for suggestions as to what it might have been
He said its very likely that you need a brand new flapper
To stop the water flowing when the tanks full in the crapper.
So I bought a brand new flap valve and installed it with great care
Following instructions that the package had to share.
I flushed, the water filled the tank it, I made triumphant cry
But when I tried it out again, I found the tank was dry.
Faced with this frustration just one way now remains
To get the upstairs loo to flush, turn on and off the mains.

My wife said will you never learn at fixing you’re a bummer

It really makes a lot more sense just to phone the plumber

There have been recent allegations that I am in many ways an incompetent klutz, unable to undertake successfully the simplest of household repairs. Despite being one of the authors of these allegations, I am pleased to offer a categorical refutation based on recent successes with my trousers.

During the winter I prefer to wear cordoroy pants as they keep my legs warmer, and they are also washable, and do not show much innate grubbiness. I also use a belt, instead of suspenders to prevent the collapse of the aforesaid trousers down to my ankles.

I was very bored with having to frequently replace these belts, when the holes became enlarged and resulted in breakage, I was also annoyed by periodically having to create new holes. I was therefore delighted to see in my favourite Canadian Tire Store a new design of belt, that did not have holes, but ridges that were caught by the buckle structure, making the infinitely adjustable. Unfortunately the teeth on the buckle stop catching on the belt after a while as the end of the belt gets fatigued. This results in the buckle, and sometimes the trousers, falling off. In a stroke of genius I cut off half an inch of belt to get the grip back, it worked brilliantly. The only snag is that I will have to reduce my waist by half an inch every time the problem returns.

You may say, that the button at the top of the trouser fly would prevent the collapse of leg protection and public indecency. Unfortunately the button holding the top together is made of metal, and has worn out both the button hole and the cloth beyond it. Another disaster, calling for another stroke of genius. I bought some upholstery thread, and stitched back and forth where the end of the button hole would be, so I now have a new hole for the button. After four days it is still holding.
I am not a klutz, but a sane practical genius.

I spoke too soon, I went out in the car to go skiing, and when I arrived at my destination I discovered that I had left the boots at home. I went home, put on the boots, and tried again. I found that I had my wife’s skis, and not mine. I came home to make dinner and realised the slow cooking was because the pan was on the wrong burner. Clearly my pride led to my fall.