The Other Theater: 2002/2003
Monday April 14, 2003: Song Kran
I started preparing for the Song Kran “water festival” that marks the Thai New Years on Friday by going out and spending 1500 Baht on water guns. I also picked up a new pair of sandals and the one item that had I wished for most last year; swimming goggles. The plan was to organize a gang of folk from the usual suspects and make an incursion into Khow San Road to hopefully hose down some filthy back-packers.
The first problem was a rumored “ban” of water guns. The second was the lack of enthusiasm from my stick in the mud associates. By Saturday afternoon I’d as much accepted that this years Song Kran would not be a repeat of last years fun.
Fortunately Q and friends rolled into town and we agreed to meet at Larry’s Dive on Sunday, suit up and go out. The ban it seemed only applied to those tube-like suction guns and the reason for the ban was to prevent people from using them to suck up and squirt dirty street water.
On Sunday Ling Lek went out with her sister, cousin and friend in the morning and I headed over to Larry’s. Q and company arrived around 1:30 pm. With Q was Elf, who because of the British inability to speak or pronounce words in the language they spawned I had always thought was named Alf. I had always pictured Alf as that weird puppet from that un-funny sitcom. Elf actually looks nothing like Alf. Also in town were two of Q’s friends from the UK; Paul and Lewis.
Food was eaten, drinks were had, and water guns were distributed then we headed out. Elf took the strange Teddy Bear back-pack water gun. A pump nozzle was attached to the bright yellow teddy bear back-pack which held six liters of water. How a child was supposed to carry that weight remains unexplained. Elf only managed to stand it for the first hour before she traded it off for a super soaker.
We walked out to Sukumvit and had a minor water fight with some of the bar girls and lady boys who work in the one tiny go-go bar near the top of Soi 22. Then we went into 7-11 and bought 8 bottles of water to load up with. The extra bottles went into my black MEC bag. We managed to get a taxi to drive us as close to Khow San Road as possible and off we went.
It was the perfect day for a water-fight, sunny and a nice warm 36 degrees. We got out of the Taxi and walked towards Khow San and the fun began almost right away. The plan was simple, walk and as a group hose down anyone who dared to squirt us. There were lots of opportunities. There were plenty of Thais who would approach us and politely smear white paste on our cheeks. There were also plenty who would aggressively come up and try to smear it all over our faces. These individuals would get hosed down. I had learned last year that the white paste often contains talcum powder which is one of the reasons I had bought swimming goggles. I had also bought a hat to prevent the water from washing the paste down from my forehead into my eyes.
Each of us had a main water gun and at least one small water pistol and in some cases an even smaller back up squirt gun. There were many venders set up selling bottled water, and when we came across a vender selling a variety of water guns I took the Bear and Q, Elf, Paul and Lewis switched to large high powered super-soakers. We kept our medium sized water guns as additional back ups. We all had at least 4 water guns at this point two of which would be large. It was a water-fighting force of incredible magnitude. No one could stand against us.
Some poor fellow or a couple of guys would decide to squirt one of us, and suddenly they would have a group of five people hosing them down with super-soakers and a teddy bear.
Oh the wonderful Teddy Bear! Six liters of water contained in a yellow plastic bear. Draw the high powered suction nozzle forward then pull it back towards you to squirt. Elf was too small to really use the thing. I don’t know how a child could have either, the pressure would be so great you need grown up strength to use it. The bear would shoot a lot of water a big distance but the best part was that it took ages to actually complete the action, which provided a continuous hose down. People even armed with super-soakers would run out of water before I would have completed my first squirt. Combine that with Q, Elf, Paul and Lewis with their super-soakers and as I have said… A water-fighting force of incredible magnitude!
Getting to Khow San Road itself was impossible and hardly desirable. There were just too many people in too small a space. We abandoned the idea and continued along the main road battling it out with others and hosing down the pick ups that would be driving by. They usually had a family or group of folk in the back would be tossing water on the crowd.
We found a parking lot to rest up in toward 4:30 pm. In the depths of my MEC bag which was no longer black, was my phone. Ling Lek had phoned several times and I handed it over to Elf to direct her in Thai to our location. Eventually she and her group showed up completely covered in white paste. We gave them some of our extra water-guns then headed back out on to the street. Eventually we parted ways.
We worked our way back up towards the direction we had come. The paste smearing was becoming increasingly aggressive and I found myself spending a lot of effort warding that off. I had a small water pistol that I would use to squirt the aggressive pasters in the eyes with as they approached. When one of us would get attacked by groups of pasters we would hose them away then hose each others faces clean so we could see. Some nasty fellow actually managed to get my goggles off and get paste under them into my eyes. He got an elbow in the chin and the Bear at close quarters.
The only serious contenders in the water-fight department though were a group of Farang we battled it out with on our way back up. It was great. They didn’t have a Bear though. They certainly had more spirit than most though.
We tuk-tukked it out, and were subjected to having water tossed at us. We had used all our water by this point so we just had to take it. When you are already that wet though it didn’t make any difference. I went back to the Redoubt showered and changed. Later Ling Lek and I met up with the others at a Thai Restaurant for food and drinks.
Today my feet are all mangled from wearing new sandals that were wet. (Anyone want some blisters?) The celebrations continue today and tomorrow.
Tuesday April 8, 2003: Masks
The fear of SARS has prompted some to wear surgical masks on the BTS. I have noticed that there are only really two groups of people who seem to do this. Tourists, and fat Thais. Especially fat Thai children. For whatever reason, their parents are unconcerned about the kids' lack of exercise or diet of junk, but they ARE terrified of SARS.
Tourists of course are afraid of everything except getting into a Tuk Tuk.
Friday March 28, 2003: Sick but Not SARS
I have had the Larry's Dive Flu, which I will add is not a food or drink related illness. It is a nasty flu-bug that has been had by many expats through out Bangkok. I thought at first by the high fever that it was the return of my little friends but the vomiting ruled that out. It was truly stomach flu.
It had started with a general weakness, then the beginnings of a fever. It lacked the drill-bit through the head pain the big M usually has in the opening sessions. I woke up in the early hours with Ling Lek wiping my fevered body down with a cool damp towel. She played Nurse Stimpy until she had to work at 11:00 am, but returned with some food and care at around dinner time.
I lay in fever and by 8:00 pm I was talking to God on the big white porcelain telephone.
Nurse Ling Lek got back to the Redoubt at 10:30 pm and brought me a take away of my favorite dish; yellow noodles with chicken in gravy… except the smell of it, the texture and everything else about it made me want to run back to the toilet. She more or less force fed me it, and got quite angry when I would refuse the next fork full of food. It was awful. I may not eat it again for awhile.
Sunday March 23, 2003: Hangover
Oh my.
Last night was Motocross' last weekend in BKK. So the usual suspects (TOD, Motocross, Q and I) assembled at Larry's Dive for an evening of foolishness. Ling Lek joined us once she was done work and by that point I was a mess.
I had 12 casers, 1 gin & tonic and a rubber dinosaur…
From that point… some how… I am not sure actually… We ended up at Ministry. Considering that there is a war on, and that Ministry is a sure fire target for nutty Islamaholics looking for some infidels to blow up… Well I must have been drunk to go there.
Motocross bought a bottle of Johnny Walker which we drank… I sort of remember Q giving him a lap dance… TOD showed up later. I danced foolishly as I am known to do, much to the amusement of my dear Ling Lek. Then suddenly the lights came on and it was all over.
Somehow from there we ended up at a place that was not unlike the bar from the first Star Wars movie…
Today I met Ling Lek and two of her friends for some cook your own Japanese food. Not what the doctor ordered.
Waking Up As Lorne
I woke up just before dawn. I found myself entwined with dark arms and legs. At the foot of the bed an oscillating fan moved cool air and the fragrance of fresh lilies over us. I could hear the sounds of strange tropical birds outside in the trees.
I tried to recall what I had been dreaming but it had already slipped like a precious stone back into the waters that divide us from the shores where my sister Maralyn waits.
If someone had told me it was the summer of 1987 I would have believed it. For the first time since leaving 1019 Bathurst three years ago I felt like me. Perhaps the scars and hurts that David bore for me had finally taken their toll on him. He was gone, and only I remained.
Dawn came and I fell back into the oceans to the rhythm of my lover’s breathing. In the distance the faithful were called to prayer.
Monday, February 24, 2003
I was walking towards the oncoming traffic when I saw a middle aged woman attempt to get on the back doors of a bus. The bus sped off and she dangled briefly then fell in slow motion downwards to the space between the curb and the wheels. I watched helplessly as she bounced under the bus, rolled with it and narrowly missed having the rear wheels pass over her body. The wheel only rolled across the lower portion of her left leg, leaving her sprawled on the pavement as traffic behind her stopped and the bus drove off to be consumed by the afternoon traffic.
By the time I got to her two locals were already pulling her off of the street. They sat her by a tree on the sidewalk. Her shoe was in her hand and she was stunned and confused. I asked the local fruit vendor to get me some ice in a small bag, and I placed it on her ankle and began looking at the foot. One local started to pull her nylon sock off, before I could stop him and once it was half way down her foot I could see the skin along the outside had been split from the pressure of the wheel. Once the sock was gone the skin pealed back to reveal the inner workings of the human foot. I pulled the skin back together and held it closed with my left hand while I kept the ice on it with the right.
We moved her to a bench in the bus shelter and thankfully a Thai woman who could speak English came along. The injured lady was beginning to go into shock so I had told the other woman to talk to her, and tell her it was going to be okay. I had her drink water from a bottle I had in my black MEC bag. Then I asked the English speaking woman to go to the shop and get a tenser bandage. When came back with it I had the Sock Removing guy wrap it as tightly as possible while I held it in place. Once the foot and ankle were wrapped I continued to hold the ice on it.
The ambulance arrived about 20 minutes after the accident. It was a tiny little clown-like affair with a blinking blue light or two and a siren that trumpeted the international sound of second rate emergency vehicles.
NEE NER NEE NER NEE NER NEE NER NEE NER...
Several attendants popped out of the ambulance dressed in pressed white uniforms, the female wearing one of those silly 1950’s style “nurse” hats. With out a back board they simply lifted the lady by arms and legs and plopped her on stretcher, then rolled her off to the ambulance. She had asked for my number so I gave her mine, and the number of a friend who speaks the language, as I don’t and she didn’t speak English.
They drove off and I walked on.
What Would Chico do??
When confronted with a bad situation, Chico the dog would growl, get up and leave. In some cases he would speed away doing a special type of run called "Fast Dog".
We can all learn a little something from Chico.
Go, man go!
The Long January
This January was a year in length. It was a painful blur, half seen by infected burning eyes. January was a long tiring walk on broken ground, through dust and smoke towards a thankless tomb.
January was impoverished in a way outside and beyond the material. It was a cheap dingy room, uninviting, and full of despair.
I fought my way through January in a rear-guard action. A retreat in a hostile place, removed from any hope.
I passed through its stained pages, reading alone and to myself aloud. Squinting through one eye in the darkness at the story of the creation of solitude.
I stumbled forward blindly in the confusion of traffic, cut off from everyone by my inability to even make out their facial features.
There were some patches of quiet along the path that lead towards today. Sanctuaries that were secret and somehow gave me comfort. The cool night air off of the river, the smell of a certain garden I would pass, and the squadrons of butterflies outside of my hovel.
The joy of these small things I kept inside to help me navigate the pointless hours stretching towards midnight. Then, when smoke had inflamed my tired eyes to an unbearable bloodshot state I would go back to my cell.
At night I hid in the very same sleep that in my boyhood had taken me far beyond the unkind words and deeds of bullies. In those sacred places I rested until January called me back with the hammering sounds of unwelcome morning.
I passed through January alone, and this is the only report I will make of what I saw there.
Tuesday February 11, 2003: Message From Home
At 2:00 am this morning Angel-Blue arrived. Gina is well and sends her love.
Stani
PS: It’s a girl
The Secret Bicycle
This is the secret bicycle. Do not take a photo of it. You will be in trouble. It is secret. Soon we will have many such bicycles, all equally ridiculous looking. With them we can ride around and talk in really high pitched voices, then drunkenly fall down while passers by pelt us with rocks and garbage.
Tiny Water Dinner Theatre Presents…
Sit down at the tiny card table, which is covered with a tiny cloth and lit by a single candle inside a white plastic bottle which has had its top hacked off. Here in the open beside the river, under the moon and stars, you will enjoy a tasty bowl of beef noodle soup, brought to you by the smiling K look-a-like soup girl and two hours of local entertainment. On tonight’s program will be our favorite: “Drunken Brawling Locals”.
Act One
Several tables ahead and right next to the food wagon, under the glow of flourescent lamps, the fun begins. Two locals, knocking back some good old Tiger Head brand beer, will suddenly start yelling at each other. The smaller of the two, dressed in a striped T-shirt, will suddenly begin flailing away madly at the other fellow, who’s sporting a white jacket. Soon the two are tangled in a dance of destruction, punching rolling and kicking each other as servers and diners look on in wonder. White Coat can’t seem to get in the decisive blow though, and no matter how much he or anyone else restrains the feisty Stripe Shirt, that little son of a gun is going to keep coming back for more! It’s rock’em sock’em refugees! White Coat doesn’t seem to have the will or the skill to keep little Stripe Shirt down…
Act Two
Everyone knows that the more people who try to restrain or intervene in a fight the more people will get involved in it. Just ask Europe about that 1914 incident! Speaking of Europe, who likes a punch-up more than a big dopey guy from England does? Nobody! Wading into a fight that is none of his business is this half-wits dream come true! Soon after being restrained, Stripe Shirt makes the error of taking a swing at the towering Brit. The result is the knockdown punch White Coat simply didn’t have the body mass to deliver. It’s the hardest old Striper has ever been hit in his life, and the sound effect alone is worth the price of dinner! Stripe is down for the count and but his close ally in Blue is not impressed with an Englishman hitting his pal…
Act Three
Everything is calm, Blue and Stripe have waddled off and Goliath has sat back down. Wait… There is more as Stripe and Blue return, Blue wielding a machete and waving it all concerned. Amazingly the Farang gets back up and walks over to him. But of course it’s the cool headed women that take care of the situation by ushering them back across the road and away from the food and tables. When a concerned tourist warns the Brit not to get involved he replies “These people are my family”… Hot Knife Joes of the world UNITE! It is the second dumbest thing anyone has said so far this year!
Act Four
The Police arrive. Not your Keystone cops either. Tiny Water has two types of Police, ones with nice hats and uniforms and no guns, and ones with ugly gas station attendant uniforms and AK-47 assault rifles. The latter have arrived, and their guns are almost as big as they are. They wander around a bit looking over the situation, and once they are certain that there is no one to shoot at they leave. Ten minutes later Stripe comes back. It looks like it is going to be Act One all over as one of the Soup Ladies tries to restrain Stripe. White Coat is by this point too drunk or tired to fight. Amazingly in the end, Stripe Shirt sits down with him for more beer…
Tonight’s entertainment cost a total of one US Dollar.
Birthdays, Rivers and Frozen Trousers
I had a very quiet birthday this year. That isn’t actually an unusual thing for me, since my Birthday falls so close to Christmas and is almost always overshadowed by New Years. So, over the years my Birthday has more often than not been a day of solitude and reflection. This year I spent it on the deck of a little ship watching the sun set on the Mekong River.
How I get from the Don River to here?
On my 17th Birthday my best friend Andrew and I set out on one of our many long explorations of the Don River that runs east of Bayview Ave and south of Finch Avenue. That section of the Don varies in depth and width from little more than a glorified stream to something wider and deeper. We had spent almost every weekend since the autumn working our way up and down the valley that the river sat in, finding and following paths, walkways and routes up into the surrounding subdivisions. By my Birthday we called the valley “ours” and fueled by our enthusiasm for all things Tolkien we had named the entire area.
On December 31st, 1980 Andrew showed up at my place and we walked down Holmes Ave towards Bayview. It was an amazing winter day with lots of snow on the ground and everything frozen. We headed down the valley and as was usual talked about music, and The Lord of the Rings, which I had just finished reading for the first time. Andrew was excited because later that evening City TV was going to show The Beatles movies “Magical Mystery Tour” and “Yellow Submarine”. I planned to record them onto video with the primitive VHS monstrosity we had at the time. We eventually worked our way south along the river then east towards subdivision called Alamosa Drive. In the other seasons getting over to Alamosa involved walking further south and crossing a railway bridge, or braving some makeshift log crossing. The other option was to go up through a place we called “Deep Forest” and on to a weedy swamp area full of burrs and thorns then eventually north to Finch Ave. During winter though the river was frozen and we could cross at will.
We had our usual route, checking on Stoner forts where the barrel-wash drinking Rockers would get stoned and served as easy targets for our pranks during the warmer seasons. Then we would incite some Doberman guard dogs that some rich folk keep on THEIR property that ran down to the edge of the river at one point. Getting the dogs to bark and snarl and run back and forth seemed endlessly amusing at the time. Having done these many things we made our plans to cross the ice and work our way up through the Alamosa Drive area.
Except I fell through the ice and suddenly found myself up to my chest in freezing water.
When you’ve just turned 17 something like that doesn’t scare you. At 17 you can only be killed by the rejection of that nameless fawn-eyed beauty that you see in the hallway at school. At 17 talking to her scares you, not falling through ice. So I wasn’t actually scared, but I was sort of angry. Andrew was on the bank urging me to crawl forward and out. That in my mind was some how undignified and I vainly tried to climb back up on the ice just to break off more. Eventually I saw the wisdom in Andrew’s suggestion. I crawled out and across the ice away from the hole I had made and was soon safely on the other bank.
Andrew suggested we start a fire. That seemed like the proper thing to do since I was soaking wet and it was below freezing. That plan was flawed by the fact that I wasn’t about to strip down and hang my clothes over the fire to dry while standing there in my wet long johns like some Nordic Wee Willie Winkie. So our only option was to head back to my place.
That sounds very simple of course except that we had at least a 45 minute walk back past the dogs, around and up and through and over and up and if we took a short cut… Suddenly home took on this mystical nature. It would be somehow warmer, as if a roaring fire burned there, and the tea would be that much better and we could eat something… My Birthday meal waited…
Now let me tell you what happens to corduroy trousers when you submerge them in ice cold water then expose them to the subzero air of late afternoon. They freeze. Even though you are walking and moving they freeze. So by the time we had made it up to one of the subdivisions off of Bayview I was walking like the Tin Woodsman. Forward, ever forward. My legs numb inside tubes of frozen corduroy. One step at a time… I believe Andrew found this more amusing than I did.
Home was warm. I changed, and was safe and there was a dinner for me. Not a party. I was never that popular. Just Andrew, Mom, Dad, Anne, Bruce, and Carmina. My dog Silver would beg for food and the Cat would plant itself by the table as if it deserved a chair.
How far away that seemed sitting on a little ship watching the sun set on the Mekong River.
National Day Of Noise
Imagine you are laying on your bed, doped to the gills because you are suffering from an eye infection. Your eyeballs are swollen and you have an ice pack on them to keep your head from exploding. There you lie… full of pills and pain… Longing for the pleasant comfort of sleep… Peaceful sleep….
BUT NOT TODAY!!! It’s the People’s Democratic Republic of Tiny Water’s OFFICIAL DAY OF NOISE!!
Gathered around, by the sounds of it directly in front of my window are ALL of the locals, armed with megaphones, gongs, jing-jinglers and what ever other instruments Doctor Seuss might have contrived in some LSD frenzy… and then they began to bang, blow, and yelp.
Add to that of course THE OFFICIAL VOICE OF OUR GLORIOUS BLOATED LEADER who’s face appears grinning from the Canadian Tire-like money the locals use as kindling. Trumpeted from loud speakers mounted on vintage Korea War era trucks he speaks to the masses. No doubt spreading the good news that the dust harvest this year surpasses the central committees wildest hopes.
“Yes Comrades, soon we shall show the rest of the world how much better off we are with absolutely nothing. It was a hard won victory 30 years ago when the Imperialist Americans were driven back across the river… But look over there at their legecy. Stable power! Food! Paved roads! Jobs and homes… Bah! Capitalist trickery. We have what we need. Coconut husks. Lost of them. So lets burn some more.!”
Now for our anthem.
Not the inspiring devotional tune that the Thai’s sing in loving reverence to their King. No… Some frightening bombastic bit of pooh written without love or passion. Written by decree and probably by committee. A song sung begrudgingly and perhaps at gunpoint.
Lying in my haze I translated the words:
We are the reluctant subjects
Inheriting dust and ash
Proclaiming our allegiance at gun point
While the Police make sure we sing
We are lucky to have this
Corruption, poverty and some dirt
Forward marxist brothers, snail like into the dusk
the smokey shroud that hangs over the sunset
burning coconut husks and some trash
Our victory means we get to be poor!
Hurray we are poor!
Our fat selfish leaders, driving in new Chevy Trucks
Manufacture drugs for export, they sell poppies, pills and guns
They live in big houses while we get nice little huts
Sing their praises loudly so they don’t send the cops after us…
Ear plugs! Somewhere I knew I had ear plugs to protect me from the Evergreen swimming pool.
ahhhh…. Here they are. Another ice pack, two more sleeping pills…
Peace….
The Quiet Christmas
In 1973 my Father became the pastor in the remote town of Windfield Alberta. The church was (and still is — the pastor now being my childhood friend Jeff Longard) located on what was in the 1960’s the Pentecostal Holiness Church’s Western conference Bible School. It was part of a large property in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, forest, and farms and only accessible by red-dirt roads that turned to a quagmire during summer rain storms. I was familiar with the place due to the many trips to the annual summer Camp Meetings. These were huge gatherings where fire and brimstone was preached and the miraculous happened under the roof of the hanger-like tabernacle. Although leaving my friends and school in BC was difficult the appeal of having that entire property to myself was appealing.
Winter came much earlier than I was used to in British Columbia. The first snow fall was on Halloween. Snow was always a rare thing on the west coast so I was quite please with the prospect of a white Christmas. I was not disappointed. The amount of snow that came down was unbelievable. Each morning leading up to the Christmas holidays was one of getting up to complete darkness, eating toast and having a tea before bundling up like one of the Apollo astronauts and leaving the airlock to the frozen surface of the outdoors to wait for the yellow school bus. If the temperature fell below -40 degrees then and only then was school cancelled, but what the perceivable difference between –38 and –40 is I can’t say… It would be so cold that the air would sparkle as the sun came up. The last day of school was one of those weird half-days, ruined in part by some organized “fun” that I was glad to see end. I remember my Parents picking me up and driving back along to our house which was still under preparation for the big day. I was very excited because I knew that Dad had said we were going to get a tree that night.
I was turning 9 so the whole Santa business was over with, but there still remained some strange magical feel to Christmas. That magic was even greater there. The woods around the property where spooky enough in the summer, but in there was another quality to them for me that December. The brightness of the moon reflecting on the snow and the ice, the silence of the place, and that feeling the area seemed to have. In the summer I’d kitted myself up in old surplus military belts and packs, dawned a metal helmet and gone off to fight the imaginary Imperial Japanese Army in the jungles of Burma. With winter the comic-book Japanese charging me with fixed bayonets shouting “iiieeeeeeee’ faded and the woods seemed to be full of Tolkien-like Elves and watchful aliens standing around warbling saucers.
That Friday night my Dad and I set off to get a tree. I had expected to climb in the car and drive to some makeshift “X-mas tree” lot that would spring up in parking lots and at gas stations around Chilliwack. Instead my Dad had me get bundled up and bring my sled. Off we went together to find a tree. The prospect of heading into the spooky woods at night wasn’t so bad with my Father there. I wasn’t afraid of any mystical creatures or aliens with him along. Even the more real threats like bears didn’t scare me since my Brother George had shot a bear that had been intent on eating him, and as Dad was certainly bigger and stronger than George I was certain he could kill it with his bare hands. So there was absolutely nothing to fear.
I remember walking a direction I had never explored on my own, a direction away from what I called “Burma”. We crossed a huge field, went through a wooded area and came out into a less densely wooded patch that might have been cleared ten years earlier and now was made up mostly of young pines. Here we stopped for a moment to look up at the stars. My Father always marveled at them.
“Look at the sky” he’d say and always follow it with a whistle.
His faith was intertwined with things like the night sky. He would look at it and talk to me about how many stars there must be. How many planets must circle them?
We walked around among the pines until we found one that looked just about right for the living room. Dad got his little hatchet out of my sled and took it down, talking to it as he did.
“You’re going to stay in our house for a little while Mr. Tree”.
The tree was laid upon my sled and off we went Dad pulling it when I had grown tired. I remember how beautiful the walk back was; the silver of the moonlight on the frozen surface of the snow, and how we saw a big white owl. I remember the crunch crunch of our boots as we stomped along.
We returned triumphantly to the smell of Mom baking her outstanding and unbeaten short-bread cookies and after shaking all the snow and ice off our tree we set it up in the living room. The box of ornaments which we used as long as I recall was brought up from the basement and the decoration began. Decorating a tree was never as much fun with out my Sister Anne, but I did my best under the circumstances. Once the tree was up, and Mom came in to watch the placing of the star on the top the gifts were put under it. These boxes had been arriving over the last week and most had come from Ontario. There was a growing pile of them marked “To Lorne” from “Uncle” or “Auntie”. I inspected them, looking for the tell-tale signs of the much wanted “toys” and the unwanted and loathed “clothes”. I would then pile them accordingly. The possible toys on the bottom to be opened last.
I of course wasn’t the only one waiting for the big day. My G.I. Joe was as well. I had received him the previous year, and although I forget his name now, I do remember him clearly. He was one of the early 12 inch tall 1970’s G.I. Joes, no longer officially a “soldier” but a member of “The Adventure Team”. He was the blond “Air Adventure” featuring “life-like” hair and a beard although he predated “Kung-Fu Grip”. Joe had been alone since we’d arrived in Alberta. Over the course of the year he had lost much of his kit, including most sadly, his boots. Those were hard times for Joe. He was stranded, alone in the harsh artic conditions of Northern Russia. The Soviets had downed his jet and were at that moment searching for him. He had to hang in though. Using his survival training he constructed an ice fortress and using a make-shift radio comprised of a spool of thread and some bits of plastic he called for help… Help was on its way but not until December 25th! He had to hold on until then… armed with only a tiny plastic Luger that came with a detachable stock and rifle extension for the barrel and with feet wrapped in make-shift survival boots made of toilet paper, he held the Reds at bay. The cold war indeed!
Christmas Eve after my parents had gone to bed I crept downstairs. My Father was an expert in covert Christmas present distribution and I was disappointed not to find anything new under the tree. I remember looking out across our front yard towards the Church, secretly hoping to see something magical. Maybe Santa, or an Angel or at least a UFO. Then I went back upstairs to my room and fell asleep.
The next morning I was not disappointed. I had asked for three things, a second G.I. Joe, a 6 wheel ATV for him, and the G.I. Joe Command Center. I was thrilled to find that with the ATV came another G.I. Joe, and with the Command Center came two more Joes! Reinforcements and plenty of kit. Uniforms and best of all several rifles including some M-16s. More than enough gear to keep the expansion of the Soviet Union well out of our back yard.
Mother always called that Christmas “The Quiet Christmas” because she hadn’t enjoyed the solitude and distance from her Grandchildren. I however consider that year one of the most amazing Christmas of all. No matter how meager or difficult any Christmas has been since, no matter how far away from home or how lonely I have been during this time of year, the memory of that Christmas has held me through. Even if I circumstances prevented me from celebrating Christmas at all, that Christmas would more than make up for it.
Merry Christmas!
