By Jim Hagarty
My wife picked up this interesting piece of driftwood somewhere one day and it’s been kicking around the house for years. It is unusual in that it is a two-headed creation. The head at the top of driftwood resembles a horse, the one at the bottom, a cow.
By Jim Hagarty
One day, the children of a star hockey player will sit around wondering what to do with all of their father’s trophies and medals, now that he’s gone.
The same sort of predicament is apt to befall the offspring of a man who spent a good part of his free time fashioning things out of wood. My father-in-law was such a man, and when he died a few years ago, so enormous was the collection of wooden things he left behind that his four children came near to distraction trying to decide what to do with them all.
To detail a partial list of the items Alex carved, whittled, turned, glued, stained and varnished, there were beds, lamps, coat racks, speaker boxes, microwave tables, coffee tables, endtables, recipe boxes and picture frames in numerous enough quantities to outfit an art gallery. There were turntable devices for holding seasonings and condiments on dining room tables. Other ingenious contraptions, using the same mechanism, served to hold board games and allowed the users to simply rotate the games in their direction, rather than craning their necks into impossible positions. We called these turntables “lazy susans”.
My father-in-law left behind so many hand-carved clocks it was a wonder he could have been so productive without the benefit of several workers toiling three shifts a day in a factory in his back yard. He made wooden letter openers, with decorative handles, egg cups, salad bowls, and Christmas decorations. He turned out tiny wooden pickle forks, jewellery boxes, tapedeck cases and special cabinets to house old record turntables. Along with one huge and incredibly detailed doll house for his granddaughters.
This industrious man also crafted stereo stands, shelves aplenty and bookcases so numerous he could have opened his own small library. There seemed to be no human need that he couldn’t fill with something turned out on his lathe in the basement. He left behind at least one stand-up paper towel holder, a low-to-the-floor rack for putting shoes on and footstools of various designs and colours.
And unless my memory fails me, we have not yet even rounded third base. Candle holders came off the assembly line at Alexander’s Fabricating Inc. in such numbers a cathedral could have been easily outfitted. There were salt and pepper shakers, spice racks and framed “puzzle boards” to contain all the pieces being assembled by his four puzzle-crazed kids. There were record and tape cases and even a small wooden box painted blue to hold a boy’s toy cars. And though that boy is now almost fifty, it is still doing its job and is brought out even today when my kids visit the craftsman’s former home.
As lengthy as it is, the foregoing list pales to insignificance when stacked up against the dozens of tiny figurines Alex carefully whittled out of various woods. His specialty was flowers and his output so prodigious I imagine there was not a home within twenty miles of his that did not, at some point, have one of his pieces displayed somewhere.
A man of the cloth and a woodworker, my father-in-law loved God and wood and I’m not sure in what order he rated them, though I am certain he was forever grateful to the former for having created the latter. It was not unusual, in his later years, to find him, pipe in mouth, at his kitchen table, whittling tools in hand and wood shavings covering table, lap, chair, floor, and lazy black cat sleeping at his feet, as classical music played softly on his stereo which sat, appropriately enough, on one of his many stands.
In those autumn years, with the duties of minister behind him, he spent many weekends at woodshows and craft fairs and was a regular customer at the local, historic sawmill near his home which never let him leave without a couple of leftover pieces of rare and fine wood tucked under his arm. In his retirement, he was an easy man to buy gifts for: a large slab of cherry wood or pine, all wrapped up and festooned with a bow, did the trick every time. The downside of that generosity, however, often showed up a few months later in the form of a few more household items the giver hadn’t known she needed.
One day, near the end of his life, my father-in-law, more father to me now than in-law, left his home for good and took up residence in a veteran’s hospital in a nearby city. Over the next two years, as his health steadily failed, he played cards with the other old veterans, watched ball games on TV and waited for the end.
And, oh yes, he wandered down to the woodshop and turned out beautiful wooden train sets for his grandchildren. I think of him often, now, especially when I see my young kids pulling their varnished wooden choo-choo through the kitchen.
There is almost no part of our home and my office today that doesn’t hold something created by my father-in-law. Not one piece he made, I am sure, would win any awards, though all of it is more art than craft. On some days, with the bug of envy biting us, we think of these many items as mini albatrosses that prevent us from acquiring some really “fine” pieces. At other, more peace-filled times, we realize how, in such a grand way, our modest spaces have been outfitted, by two big hands that always strived for perfection and never once achieved it but which left us with a legacy of lumber and love in the process.
And which, alas, our children will someday sort through with some anxiety and say, “What are we going to do with all this old stuff?”
My guess is, the answer will come to them, as it has gradually come to us. We cherish it and its maker.
And move on.
From the camera of my son, Chris. JH
By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker
We once had a very strange bird
That spoke, but only one word.
His phone calls were short
One word, then a snort.
He became a great writer, I heard.
By Jim Hagarty
In my city, we have to pay a fee to have our garbage picked up. Almost $3.00 per bag or can. This was brought in 20 years ago to encourage people to recycle and it has worked.
But, of course, people who used to set out their trash for free are offended by this and so exercise a bit of civil disobedience in what is, oh so worthy a cause. They put their garbage in the trunks of their cars, drive around the city, and fill up all the city trash cans that are set out on streets and in parks for residents and tourists. Some folks in some very nice cars have been seen doing this.
Others drive around looking for the great big open green steel bins that are located at every industrial site. In goes the garbage. No charge.
And still others drive the countryside outside of the city and toss their refuse in the ditches and woods that abound in the area. There is one particular bush that grows very close to the road on both sides, not too far from town. In the bush can be found old furniture, garbage bags and other waste from the caring folks in the city.
So someone decided it was time for a sign. Garbage Watch in Effect. Except there is nobody watching. There is no video camera. And there are no farm buildings for miles. Who is this person or group of people who are hiding out and watching 24 hours a day for people from the city throwing trash in the bush? Are they being paid to do this?
It’s a little ridiculous but I have to tell you, standing there taking pictures of the sign, I really did feel that someone was watching.
Creepy.
By Jim Hagarty
2016
Some people in the U.S. are alarmed at the called for a $15 minimum wage although it has actually been brought in in a few places and the earth hasn’t opened up and swallowed anyone. The truth is, if the minimum wage had kept pace with everything else over the years, it would be well into the $20 range.
Consider these facts.
In 1968, the minimum wage was $1.60. That’s $10.71 in 2013 dollars.
In 1976, the minimum wage was $2.30. That’s $9.42 in 2013 dollars.
In 1983, the minimum wage was $3.35. That’s $7.84 in 2013 dollars.
In 1991, the minimum wage was $4.25. That’s $7.27 in 2013 dollars.
In 1997, the minimum wage was $5.55. That’s $7.47 in 2013 dollars.
In 2012, the minimum wage was $7.25. That’s $7.36 in 2013 dollars.
In 2014, the minimum wage was $7.25. That’s $7.22 in 2013 dollars.
In 2015, the minimum wage was $7.25. That’s $7.03 in 2013 dollars.
The minimum wage has gone down by $3.68 or 34% since 1968.
I don’t have the figures in front of me, but the other side of the equation is the rapid rise in the wealth created for those at the top over the same period. Off the top of my head, where the CEO in the ’60s might have made 25 times the amount earned by the lowest wage earner he employed, that figure now can be as high as several hundred times as much. In effect, those should be called maximum wages and no one complains about them.
Politicians and business people are shocked at the anger being expressed by voters these days. But should they be? With some politicians scheming to destroy the meager safety nets that are in place, they seem intent on lighting the fuse.
(From 1996)
By Jim Hagarty
Pop singer Kim Stockwood’s on to a real good thing. The jerk.
No, I don’t mean she’s a jerk (although who isn’t these days, in somebody’s eyes?) I mean, she’s discovered the marketability of the concept of the jerk and even the value of the very word itself.
While the rest of us are being rude as drunken pirates to each other all day long in stores, schools and on the highways and dishing out all this misery absolutely free of charge, the chart-topping recording “artist” has decided to be up front with her feelings and her language and is riding her bluntness, honesty and yes, rudeness, all the way to the rock ‘n’ roll bank.
In her latest hit song, Stockwood gets down to basics with this chorus: “You jerk! You jerk! You are such a jerk! There are other words, but they just don’t work.” She then goes on to advise others who run into people who do them wrong to forgo all the niceties and diplomacies of the language and deliver the same verbal roughing up. And to make sure the annoying one doesn’t miss any part of the message with the first two declarations, the third one oughta do it: “You are SUCH a jerk!”
To those who might cringe at what this latest direction in pop songwriting might mean for the future of polite discourse and harmonious relations between humans, all I can say is, get in the ’90s. Somebody PO’d old Kim there and she has a right to make some art and money fighting back.
Ah, but you ask, whatever happened to the poetry of the pop artists of the past who predicted Your Cheatin’ Heart would tell on you, who admitted they were Crazy for feeling so lonely and who pined for Yesterday when love was such an easy game to play? Weren’t those writers much better at tugging at our heartstrings and making us feel sorry for them at the same time? Didn’t their words make us melancholy and grieve for the eternal spiritual torment of human love, won and lost?
The short answer is, no. The long answer is, not at all. Subtlety and nuance are archaic concepts in this all-hang-out age. The Willie Nelsons and Buddy Hollys and Paul McCartneys of the past were simply sugar-coatin’ dreamers who could have just as easily satisfied their creative potentials writing greeting card verse or Christmas songs as penning songs about emotional pain and suffering. No, those guys had it all wrong. Instead of writing that I’m So Lonesome I could cry, Hank Williams should have sang, a la Kim Stockwood: I’m So Lonesome, you crummy piece of dryer lint, I could bulldoze your house down. Instead of writing that he was Crazy for feeling so blue, Willie Nelson should have whined, I’m Crazy for ever thinking you were anything but a low-down smelly piece of cattle refuse. And the Beatles should have sang, rather than Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away: Yesterday, I didn’t know that you were SUCH a vile and swollen-red bunyon on the dirt-encrusted foot of life.
Some uncharitable critics of Ms. Stockwood have suggested the refrain of the song which was eventually recorded differed markedly from earlier versions she had written, such as: “You jerk. You jerk. You are such a jerk. There are other words, but they wouldn’t hurt” and “You jerk. You jerk. You are such a jerk. I could write better songs but I’d have to work.”
Personally, I think the song is great. In fact, I can’t get it out of my head these days. Where I use to walk down the street singing You Are My Sunshine or Love Me Tender or And I Love You So, I now sing You jerk. You jerk. You are SUCH a jerk. It makes me feel so happy to wander along muscially kicking butt all day.
Nevertheless, too much of a good thing is just too much and if the jerk song really catches on, look for a whole busload of Kim Stockwood imitators to flood the airwaves with similar versions of the same number, such as “How can you sleep, when you’re SUCH a creep?” and “It’s hard to take that you’re SUCH a snake.”
But a musical bridge has been crossed and burned and with the success of You Jerk, can we ever go back to The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face? I, for one, hope not because this brave new world is just so much more frank and interesting.
Isn’t it?
Of all the forms of artistic expression in the last 20 years, pop music has been about the last to discover the value of “in your face.” Sure, there have been charming little musical ditties like Love Stinks , She Got the Gold Mine, I Got the Shaft, You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Houndog and You’re So Vain, but they were more clever than crude. Somehow, the impression is strong that Stockwood really means the words she’s singing.
And, as there are many worse things to call a person than a jerk, can we expect some of those more severe acid-tongued word pictures to start poisoning the airwaves soon as well?
Let me see. What sort of rhymes with ditch?
From the camera of my son, Chris. JH
By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker
I have one favourite ant.
I’d like to find it, but can’t.
It went down a hole,
At least I was told.
The information I have is so scant.
By Jim Hagarty
Cars in their heyday relied heavily on ornamentation. A plain car could be dressed up and made look almost fancy with the addition of a few baubles, bangles and beads. Extremely important was the car’s emblem or logo. In this case, it’s a fancy “K” for Kaiser. Such a car from 1953 was on display at a car show in my town this week. I remembered being enthralled by the beauty of the logo and how finely it was made. Often, the logo was also set in a glass like substance in the middle of the steering wheel as well as other places inside the car. And, of course, there were gaudy hood ornaments like the spear-like thing which also appeared on the Kaiser.
