Working Title

My sixth Jack Beer mystery, is taking shape. I might call it ‘A Stoner’s Fix.’ Here’s the opening:

Dear Maryanne. 

What the hell… am I writing to my sister here or am I starting a diary? I won’t be describing what I ate for breakfast or the bargirl I met last night (she was hot). Not into drivel.

Long and short, I need to talk to a real person. And I pick you, because there’s no one else. It’s about memories, Sis. Especially ‘bad memories.’ And it’s going to take more than one letter… though I’m not clear how they’ll help? Can’t change the past and I know where I went wrong. Am I ‘grasping at straws?’ Yes, I am. It’s also called ‘desperation.’ I just need to crawl out of the gutter… stop being self-destructive. I want to drive the demons out.

Frankie.

Love Small Town Newspapers

What big city paper will feature your kids in a ‘skater of the week’ blurb? Does the LFP publish lawn bowling results? A picture of the new fire truck? Does the Toronto Star offer a weekly history tale (thanks David Yates).

Then there’s the goofy stuff. I recall from the Wiarton Echo: “Overheard over a shared plate of fries: Diner one - Man, that’s a big French Fry. Diner two: Yes. It must have come from a really big potato.”

How about the Eagle Valley News police report out of Sicamous, BC. Tidbit 1. Black car with Montana plates see following too close. Number 2. Report of missing parent, later found at a friend’s place.

What the Hell Are You Doing Here?

Ever have flashbacks? A recent exchange with an old friend prompted this one. It’s 1966 and I’m in grade 11, working at the local grocery store fifteen hours a week. (Starting at 80 cents an hour. After three months I was moved up to a dollar.) I loved that job. Kept me in gas. Gave me more than enough for a Friday and Saturday night date both.

Sometimes, if the store got busy on one of my off nights, Linus, my boss, would call me. But he hardly ever called on a Monday night… until he did. “Weirdly busy Rick. Can you clock in?”

I show up at 6 PM and the store is almost empty. I punch the time clock anyway and head to the front to pack groceries for customers. Except there are none. Anita is on the till.  “What the hell are you doing here?” she says at the same time Linus appears. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Me: You called me.

Linus: Nope.

Me: Uh huh.

Me: Nope. Punch out.

Me: Do I get paid for the hour?

Linus: Nope.

One of those ‘once in a blue moon, twilight-zone-type, occurrences,’ is my conclusion. Until it happens the next week. Linus calls. I go in. Linus says, go home. Then it happens again. Linus is losing patience. I’m wondering why the heck Linus is doing this to me.

Until one night following our shift, I’m walking out with my friend and he says, “Want to hear my Linus voice imitation?”

(Sadly, Pat passed away since I wrote this ditty. I’m truly thankful to have been able to call Pat my friend. And it’s wonderful that he left us with so many memories.)

Has my Wife Joined a Cult?

Jane is away playing the ukulele tonight. Last time I followed her to one of her secret meetings. While hiding, I started this painting. But they caught me and taking umbrage, two of them chased me away. (There’s definitely something going on… maybe I’ll speculate in a short story. )

Remembrance Day

As Nov 11 approaches I remember my Dad. He was among the first to sign up and go overseas. And though he died too soon, he still inspires me in many ways. As a writer I borrow from his past, his sense of humour and his goofy anecdotes. Handsome guy too, eh?

Terry Fox and my daughter's fund-raising.

In February I said I earmarked $700 plus from book sales to my daughter’s Terry Fox Team. Jane and I rounded the figure up to $1000. In six years she and her supporters have raised over $45,000 for cancer research. She plans to pass the $50,000 mark this September. She’ll make it -she is very determined and so are her family, friends and colleagues. That’s her, in one of the poses for the cover of The Devil’s Elbow.

The Great War

Life wasn’t easy during the Great War. My Grandad, Frederick Cornelius Hundey, joined the Canadian Expeditionary Force. He and Grandma Daisy had three children at the time of his deployment, my Aunt Nancy, my dad, aged one and a half, and Robert, four months old. He sailed to England on the SS Justica on May 5, 1917. (That ship was later torpedoed and sunk by a German Uboat.) In August of that year, hardship struck. Baby Robert died, a tragedy that had to have been traumatic for Grandma and Grandad both. In October, Grandad was shipped to France where he served until the spring of 1918. He was then assigned as a batman to a senior officer. At the same time, he contracted the Spanish flu but recovered. In September of 1918, still at the front, Grandad suffered a concussion and was hospitalized, having crashed his motorcycle into a convoy lorry. This was during the critical Hundred Days offensive led by Canadian forces under Arthur Currie. Grandad returned to London Ontario in May of 1919 where he and Grandma tried to pick up the pieces.   

The Squirrel, the Fox and Grandpa’s Shorts with Fifty Pockets

Squirrels are pesky. They eat Grandma’s bird seed and they bite off Grandpa’s tulips. But that’s not the worst of it. You see, I was in the garden when it all started. From out of its hiding place, a demon squirrel darted out and ran up my leg, likely mistaking me for a horse chestnut tree (I was standing near one) and into my shorts.

A fox came along and stuck his nose into the whole business…. which led to a goofy short story.

Creepy Places

It must be 7 years ago now while shunpiking in PEI, Jane and I happened upon this tourist home. A converted nunnery, it was three stories high with all kinds of nooks and crannies. Of course we had to stay there. Returning after dinner, we discovered we were the only guests. Then we find out that the home’s manager went home for the night. So, we wandered the abandoned halls and stairways, expecting Jack Nicholson to stick his head out a door. I love these cool, creepy places.

Come on Vaccine

Rummaging around, I found my little water colour from a couple years back. It is meant to show the 1909 steel truss bridge at the Devil’s Elbow. Quick, rough renderings of my emerging book scenes keep the ideas flowing - supposedly. Anyhow, it’s fun to show my paintings to the grands, a couple of whom have passed Grandpa, artistic-wise. They already run faster.

While I hope the vaccines soon find the arms of the frail, the immune compromised and our essential workers, I also hope the vaccine is not far away for the rest of us. Another part of the fun of writing comes from visiting libraries and book clubs. And the Devil’s Elbow bridge reminds me that maybe this spring, I can get back to that. Come on vaccine!