Not Just a Curler

This past Saturday I went to Canada for the memorial service of my curling friend Brian Woodcock. He was literally one day older than me, but promised to never pull rank.

We tend to put people into compartments, little spots in our own minds which categorize them. Brian curled, so in my mind he was a curler.

I met his wife and mother and a few extended family members. So, he had a family. He had friends too beyond curling with whom I spoke. Then I find out he was active in his Church through the St. Vincent DePaul Society. And he worked as an outreach volunteer for the Windsor, Ontario homeless. And he played euchre at a senior center most Saturdays as a type of fellowship with the aging. Pretty soon he was no longer locked in that compartment where I had put him. He was a man who led a full life, who was much more than just a curler. He was a unique and good human being.

Be at peace, Brian, my friend. Be at peace.

A fresh coat of paint

I'll never get this story quite right. But it is, in my mind, a neat little story, so I'll try.

It was either me Mother's grandmother or great grandmother, I just don't recall exactly. So we'll assume her great grandmother, and I'll refer to her as great great Grams as that's what she'd then be to me.

Great-Great-Grams lived in a small house behind one of me other great great relatives. Family legend says she lived to be 108, though I really don't know about that. One day she decided that her house, maybe three rooms in size, needed to be painted. Only she didn't have the money to pay for it. Neither did anybody else, the time being the Depression with cash particularly scarce in the South those years. Yet she really wanted the house painted.

The solution? Friends and relatives went through their homes and barns and garages and came up with a pint of paint left in a can here, a quart there, maybe most of a gallon in another can and so forth. They mixed it all in a large bucket, furnished a few paint brushes from their various collections, and painted Great-Great-Grams house a nice grey-lavender kind of color. She loved it, her newly painted little home, and everyone involved felt a certain pride of neighborliness and kinship.

So that's the story. I haven't told it well, but it was worth trying to tell anyway.

A strange border crossing

A couple of weeks ago I met an old curling friend for golf. After a short discussion we decided to play in Canada. I crossed over the border one Sunday, we played 18 holes, went to a pub and grub for a couple pints and some, well, grub, decided to hit the links again soon, and parted ways.
It was next, in my return to these United States, that the story became in my mind kinda weird.
I stopped at the guard booth and dutifully handed the attendant my enhanced license. "Citizenship?" he asked brusquely.
You just swiped my license, so you know the answer to that, I thought brusquely myself. But I obediently answered, "U.S."
"Purposely of your trip?"
"I was golfing with a Canadian curling friend."
The man turned to look at me and asked, I thought rather harshly, "What have you got against golf in the United States?"
"N, nothing," I heard myself stammer. "We just decided to golf in Canada."
He began staring me down, and I have to admit I was starting to feel intimidated, "Why would you decide that?"
"Well, no big reason. It seemed cheaper for me cross the border and pay in Canadian dollars, that's all."
"So what's your problem with US dollars?" continued the interrogation.
I wasn't sure how to answer that, as I love US dollars as much as anybody. So much so that I get paid in them. I responded meekly, "It just seemed cheaper."
The guard harrumphed, and turned to look at his monitor. "And how did you meet this 'curling friend'?" I swear you could see the quote marks in the air.
I really wasn't sure how to answer that; from his tone it didn't appear as though there was a right answer. "Uh, well, curling?" It even sounded to me like I responded with the lilt of a question. That's not gonna help here, I thought with no small fear.
He asked, "Do you have your clubs with you?"
"Yes. In the back of my van." I stupidly indicated where the back of my van was with a twist of my head. I told you I was golfing; why wouldn't I bring my clubs home?
"What kind are they?" he demanded.
I answered incredulously, "Clevelands." Where's he going with this?
The guard turned again to me, handed me back my license, smiled broadly and said in the happiest tone, "Good choice. Have a nice day!"
I don't know about you, but it struck me a rather bizarre return interview.

Border Troubles

We live next to a neighbor who cannot be seen as anything less than the greatest friend and ally that a nation such as the United States can have. Canada as a nation and Canadians as a people have been very good to us for the better part of our joint history. We trade more between the two of us than with anyone else. Yet how do we treat our friends in return?

By making them wait unduly long in coming over to say hello, and maybe spend a few bucks while here.

This is an issue which is generally not seen or understood by most of the US. But there is a very real question of courtesy and common sense at stake, both with regard to individuals and businesses. It simply makes sense that we expedite travel between our countries. It is time that we seriously considered a complete opening of the longest border in the world.

Why shouldn't US and Canadian citizens pass freely between each other? We are surely as close as any given European Union country, and likely as not more friendly than a good number of them. Such an idea would free up resources on both sides for better use (we surely have more grief coming from our southern border) while allowing an easier flow of goods, both personal and commercial. An initiative such as this would surely aid free trade, particularly between major crossings such as we have here in Detroit. More than that, it would serve as a powerful sign that we trust each other in the manner which close friends ought.

The terrorism question will certainly come in up in any discussion about this problem. Yet how many suspected terrorists have been caught moving between or border? Or do we, and we should admit this only shamefully if it is true, believe that we don't really trust that Canada's other points of entry are not secure enough for the both of us? All that we really accomplish in thickening the border looking for sneaky evildoers is cause unwarranted trouble for ourselves and our neighbours.

That's hardly a welcome signal. If we are to be at all true to our deepest principles, then we need to show our Canadian brethren that we understand friendship and invite it. At some point, we simply must quit worrying about cloak and dagger threats and live up to our highest callings. Anything less than that and we are but quivering beneath the sheets.

Open the International Border. Let's begin living up to our principles rather than down to the despotism of the world's lowest thugs.

Vacation

I have just returned from my family's annual journey to Michigan's glorious north country, the Upper Peninsula.

It was one of our best trips. Many of the friends we have made up there are there at the same time each year, including several this time around who had not made the trip in years. We actually had a party at our home in dear little Hessel. We're aren't sure that the previous owners of the home, my wife's aunt and uncle, would have approved of merrymaking at their place of residence. But I should rather think it doesn't matter to them at this point, and we didn't break anything. I don't think.

A few of us fished, we saw the local sights such as they are, we went to a fireworks display at St. Ignace and ate the all you can eat fish dinners at the Main Street Cafe in Pickford. There was the usual nearly over the top gathering at the Islander Bar in downtown Hessel (Thanks, Jerry!), but we behaved. I think.

We had a few beers, we talked, we reminisced freely if not wholly accurately. For those of us with kids, it was a bit sad that so many of them have grown up and could not be with us, but time, as it does, marches on. The memories are almost as good as their actual presence. I rather believe that memories are perhaps the greatest gift we have in this old world, but that's a bit of an aside right here.

The entire group has coordinated efforts and will all be there at the same time next year. It will be too long in coming, but at least we know the time is waiting somewhere below the horizon. John and Barb, John and Kim, John and Marie (I would say that's a lot of Johns but it seems inappropriate), Matt and Kara and Kelly, Jerry and Helen, and Moe and Eunice, great seeing you. July 2010 can't come quickly enough.