Author: Jim Hagarty

I never used to cry. I think I went a whole decade or two in my earlier life without shedding so much as a tear. Now, some days, I’m a blubbering idiot.

The other day, reflecting on my upbringing on a farm, I wrote a poem about cattle and I bawled louder than a calf lookin’ for its mama all the way through the writing of it and for an hour after. I’m tearing up right now just remembering it.

The slightest thing can set me off.

But it’s the strangest thing. There doesn’t seem to be much sadness associated with the tearbursts that come over me like a sudden rainfall in spring. Maybe a bit. But it seems like the waterworks are associated more with gratitude than with regret.

I have been an incredibly fortunate man and have lived what seems to me to be five lifetimes in one. I am not sure what my goals were at 20, but I surely never imagined a life as good as the one I have been given. I used the word “given” on purpose. The Universe has been kind to me.

I spent a lot of years, I think, not feeling much. Hunkered down in the chase after all the things that are supposed to matter to a man in mid-life. Success, recognition, financial stability, accumulation of possessions, accumulation of experiences like the kind that travelling the world can bestow. Too busy living life to be absorbed with much reflection.

But now I remember moments. I remember people. I remember favourite pets and favourite trees and favourite places on Earth that have brought me joy.

And sometimes when I do, a tear or twenty escape their normally locked-tight holding cell. These days, there seems no need to keep the door locked on my feelings.

That is the thing I am most grateful for. Because mixed in between the tears is laughter, laughter like I have never known before.

Tears and Laughter originate from the same sacred holy ground called Perspective. Whatever advantages young people have in life, and they have many, Perspective seems to be the prize waiting near the finish line.

Perspective is what causes old folks to declare …

I wouldn’t change a thing.

©2016 Jim Hagarty

I left the windows down in my car last night and it rained sometime before dawn. So, I had to get a blanket to put on the seat and the windshield was all fogged over so I wound up the windows, turned the heat onto blast and headed out at 6 a.m. for a coffee.

Already a little grumpy, my mood took a further nosedive when I realized I was sharing the cabin of my car with a flying creature of some description which began buzzing my bare legs and the back of my neck as I putted on down the main street.

I finally got a semi-look at the intruder. It appeared to be a moth if a moth can be almost the size of a small hawk. Yet it was too small to be a bat.

Oh my God! I have a car that is even too old for the classic car shows so I had to reach all the way over and manually wind down the passenger side window, then the driver’s side, all while piloting my bucket of bolts to Coffee Land.

The moth took the opportunity to escape the crazy man it had so recently met. I am not a moth psychologist – they are known in the business as mothologists – but something tells me my unwelcome visitor was happy to be free.

And nothing against moths, but I was pleased to see it go.

Meanwhile, my coffee was needed and well worth the trouble by the time I got to drink it.

©2016 Jim Hagarty

I had a birthday in January and since then, I’ve been bemoaning the fact that I am 69 years old.

Where the heck has the time gone? This just can’t be.

I was out with some friends Wednesday night, and repeated my complaint to them. “I can’t believe I am 69,” I said, or something to that effect. As my friends are all older than 69, they were not full of much sympathy and couldn’t see what the big deal could be.

But to me, if just seems crazy that I could be 69.

Last night, I took this problem to bed with me and was tossing and turning over the dilemma of somehow now being 69, when I got out my mental calculator, a device not in much use anymore since the advent of all the mechanical and digital ones at my fingertips. I took this year, 2019, and subtracted the year of my birth, 1951, and came up with 68.

I almost flew right out of bed at the realization that I am actually one year younger than I thought I was. What an amazing relief.

But it left me wondering what other delusions I might be operating under. I have a feeling there might be a few.

©2019 Jim Hagarty

Most people don’t know when they will draw their final breath and what will have happened to have caused them to do that.

Like most people, I too don’t know the when, but I suspect my date with the Grim Reaper will be soon.

I am pretty sure, however, that I know what it is that will bring about my end.

I used to always think that the last thing I would see on this earth would be a frying-pan size black bear’s paw covering my face. While that still is a possibility, especially considering the fact our family insists on holidaying every August in Bear Country up in northern Canada because none of us wants to die of natural causes, in light of recent events, I have recalculated.

I now believe that my executioners will be two different vile creatures.

I wrote about a four-foot-tall wild turkey that landed in my backyard recently and that spent a half hour inspecting every square inch of that part of our property. An Internet search revealed that these guys are aggressive and not afraid of humans. And they have sharp talons.

Then, a few days later, while walking our little doggie, I saw a massive airplane-like shadow on the ground around us and knew that imprint could have only been made by a wild turkey, though I couldn’t catch sight of him.

Since then, a family member has seen two of them on the wing around our place and counted eight of them in the trees in a park near our home. They are so heavy, they are breaking some of the branches they land on.

And two days ago, I found a feather on our front lawn, which, and I did the comparison, is the same length as a barbecue spatula. Naturally, I took this as an ominous sign that one of those guys is coming for me, much the same thoughts I might have if I found a horse’s head in my bed.

So someday soon, I am going be in my backyard sunning myself when a turkey will descend on me, knock me to the ground and peck the hell out of my face, neck and throat. It will then fly away cackling and as I lie there under my maple tree, counting down my breaths from ten to zero, I will gaze up into the tree to see a bee’s nest I hadn’t seen before and won’t be the least bit surprised when I am suddenly swarmed by a dozen murder hornets. These evil bastards don’t normally attack humans but will do so if they are disturbed and, of course, that awful killer wild turkey woke them up with all its maniacal gobbling.

So, think of me for a moment as my doom approaches and if you feel the need to shed a little tear, that’s okay.

I’m feeling kind of sorry for myself at the moment too.

©2020 Jim Hagarty

My almost total absence of sense of direction is a standing joke in my house. It is a wonder I can get from the bedroom to the bathroom in the middle of the night without getting lost.

If I don’t have an able navigator in the car beside me on a trip, the destination I have in mind is only a pipe dream.

However, I outdid myself a couple of weeks ago when I managed to get lost behind my own house. One street over from our home and almost directly behind us is an ice-cream palace. We go through the drivethrough there from time to time and have for years. We access it by way of a laneway off the street which runs behind the building and out the other side. Simple.

But this day I pulled into this laneway to get quite a shock. There, blocking my entrance, was a new garden shed, right in the middle of the path. There was absolutely no way to get around it with a car.

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “Looks like they’ve cut off the drivethrough.”

My son had a better explanation. “Dad, you’re in the wrong driveway.” Well, waduhuno? I was. I had entered the driveway into the laundromat, instead of the ice-cream hangout.

In my defence, I have lived in this neighbourhood for only 26 years and am still getting to know my way around. Nevertheless, I am crossing “tour guide” off my possible career moves list.

©2012 Jim Hagarty

My father-in-law was a very good pastor, artist and woodworker. We inherited seven or eight of his big, heavy woodshop machines and have had them in the shed for the past year. A few months ago, it became clear to me that they would be better situated in our finished and heated garage where we can make a proper workshop.

Since then, I have fretted and worried about how this transfer of machines would be accomplished. I knew I needed help but foresaw a number of problems with the project. Broken windows, scratched doors, injured helpers, damaged machinery. Where would we get a dolly we would need to carry the heavier pieces?

I wonder, if I could put all that anxiety together, whether or not it would take up two hours or three or four. Maybe.

Tonight, my son and a bunch of his 17-year-old friends happened to be over at our place for burgers and pop. Afterwards, I asked them if they could help me move the machines, thinking they might get three or four of the lighter ones moved. Sure, they said. And they did.

All the machines were moved, settled, done in 10 minutes. Then they hopped in the van and drove off. Nothing broken or scratched, no pulled muscles, no dolly needed. They just got together and got it done, as though they were doing the dishes after supper.

A few minutes later, I took the dog for a walk and I noticed that old familiar tension behind my eyes and wistful tears sitting there. Oh, to be 17 again. To not look ahead and behind. To not think there are things you can’t do. To live every day as an adventure with your pals. To be forever in the moment.

What happens to us to take that away? Do we get too cynical, or too bored or too tired?

Last year I took a van load of those guys to Port Huron, Michigan, for the day. It was the most fun I have had in years, just listening to the banter, the joking, the expressions of joy and anticipation of good things to come. The talk of cars and girls and music. The finer things in life.

©2013 Jim Hagarty

It was decided the grackles were unwelcome and had to leave our property. They were eating us into poverty (four dollars per day in suet cakes alone), they were crapping on everything – cars, lawnchairs, picnic table, laundry on the line, they were aggressive when the food supply was low and would bang on our windows to smarten us up, and they chased away the birds we used to have and would like to see again.

So, as I often do these days, I enrolled in a short course at the University of YouTube and after only one video, I knew what I had to do. The guy in the video is probably the smartest man on Earth. He said, brilliantly, that if you want to stop attracting nuisance birds, quit feeding them. What a concept. I wish I could hire that guy as my life coach. I bet he knows other stuff too.

The next morning, I put out no bird feed at all and before long, all the feeders were empty. The grackles were getting anxious in the same way I do when there are only crumbs left in my potato chip bag and all the stores are closed.

I watched with delight as the hours passed and the grackle population dwindled. Good riddance!

About that time, I was sitting in a lawnchair under a maple tree when I heard a hell of a racket on a branch above me. Without even looking, I knew what it was. It was a baby grackle wanting its mama to feed it.

“Fat chance,” said Mama. “That old miser Jim has taken away all our food.” Those are the very words she used.

“So now I hate mamas and babies,” I thought. Just then, she led her little one out of the tree and down to our water hole where she taught the yungun to drink.

I watched the pathetic scene for a few more minutes until I could stand no more.

The Hagarty Conservatory for Grackles will open for business on Monday morning. There will be teeshirts for sale with a picture of an unsmiling me with grackle poop on my head (it has happened.)

Everyone is welcome but whatever you do …

FEED THE BIRDS!!!!

©2023 Jim Hagarty

You might not know it to look at me, but I am a rebel. I have been all my life. I do not like authority. I hate people telling me what to do.

So when I was caught for speeding about 15 years ago, I was some sort of mad. I paid the fine, whatever amount it was, and made a promise that this was never going to happen to me again.

Around the same time, I returned to my car in a parking lot to see a ticket for letting my meter run out. I do remember paying a $15 fine for that. Again with a promise to never go through that again. Not one more single penny will I ever pay in fines to the city I was born in.

I have made three solemn vows in my life. My wedding vows, my speeding vows and my parking vows. So far, all three are holding up pretty well.

And this is the ultimate rebellion. To refuse to get caught breaking the law by being determined to never break the law. Yes, a few other drivers want to run me off the road when I travel 80 kmh in an 80 kmh zone. But they just don’t appreciate or even know how a true rebel works. They probably think a real rebel drives 120 in an 80 zone or takes a parking ticket out from under his wiper and puts in on the car beside him, assuming that person will pay the fine without even examining the ticket.

To be a scofflaw is easy. Any frivolous man can do that. But inside the chest of a real rebel beats a heart that is committed to obeying the rules. To defeat the system by co-operating with every bit of it.

I just smile now when I drive by a peace officer who is pointing his radar gun at my car and at the officious official marauding the parking lots looking for expired meters.

I am a rebel’s rebel and these poor souls don’t even know the extent of my revenge.

©2021 Jim Hagarty

I’m always a little embarrassed at the dollar store checkout when I set down my half dozen chocolate bars on the counter. I make my standard joke about my doctor having diagnosed me with a severe chocolate deficiency, worst case he’s ever seen. The kid thinks I’m serious and doesn’t laugh.

But my days of feeling guilty about my addiction are over. In fact, in light of new information, I will now feel guilty if I don’t indulge in the yummy stuff.

A new study says eating two chocolate bars a day can lower heart disease and stroke risk. These findings came from a 12-year study of 25,000 men and women in Norfolk, England, the happiest town on Earth. Also, 300 dentists have practices there.

Last year, an American study found chocolate can fight obesity and weight gain. And the brains of chocolate eaters are healthier.

But best of all, scientists at the University of Calgary found that chocolate improves the memories of snails. This is great because eating chocolate will help my pets Pokey, Speedy and Stop Sign, remember to put away their snail toys at night. Unless they’ve just been pretending to forget all this time. Snails can be sneaky like that. I just hope they didn’t fool the researchers.

©2015 Jim Hagarty

So, Mom jumps in the little blue Chevy and heads for the grocery store. A few minutes later, Dad crawls into the much bigger van and goes to the store too, having thought of a few things that he needs. He doesn’t know which store Mom has gone to.

Keeping track of Mom’s whereabouts can keep Dad busy some days.

His shopping done, Dad comes out of the store to discover that his van is missing. Most likely stolen. His laptop was inside, so he is unhappy.

He wanders the store parking lot, desperately searching for the van. No luck. However, he notices a little blue Chevy sitting there and checks the licence plate.

“We’ll I’ll be,” he says. “That’s our car.”

As it did for the man who stayed up all night to watch the sun rise, it finally dawns on him. Mom left the store, saw the van, jumped in and rode away, thinking that was the vehicle she drove to the store.

Married life might not always be a laugh a minute, but it is very rarely dull.

©2012 Jim Hagarty