There’s wet globby snow that melts as soon as you pick it up. There’s packing snow, perfect for snowballs. There is light powdery snow that won’t clump together. On one particular winter day in the early 80s, we had hard brick-like snow that allowed us to build an awesome snowfort.
Together with my sister, Bob Schipper and I ventured out one weekend morning with the intent to turn this snow into an igloo. An igloo of sorts. We didn’t have the snow or skill to do the roof properly, so we cheated a little. My sister had a “Mr. Turtle Pool” — a green plastic pool about four or five feet wide. Flipped upside down, that would make a perfect roof for our igloo.
Side note: I keep thinking about how good our parents were to us. We had everything we needed. Turtle pools, bikes, video games, and most of all, freedom. Freedom to make a mess of their yard and build this igloo right in the middle of the front lawn.
Snowpants on! Boots, gloves, scarves, hats, and we were ready. We had kiddie shovels at the ready. The three of us started in the morning, and kept going for what seemed like the whole day. Kids lose track of time, and moments become frozen. We didn’t wear watches, and I rarely knew what time it was. We just went out and didn’t come back in until we were bored.
Bob and I began collecting large brick-shaped clumps of snow, and assembling them in a circle – the rough outline of our igloo. Then we began stacking them, and packing the gaps with more snow. The snow was not easy to work with that day, and we frequently had to rebuild what we had started, but eventually, layer by layer, our igloo began taking shape. We left a gap for the door and tested our construction to make sure there was room for three. Time for a break. We had a little shelf on one of the inner walls, perfect to hold a couple soda pop cans or drink boxes. Up and up we built. Good snow was in short supply as we got higher and higher, and we eventually capped it off with the turtle pool.
We were so proud of our little igloo! We called mom and dad outside to look. Unfortunately, they didn’t take any pictures. It wasn’t like today.
The three of us huddled inside the igloo and relaxed after a day of hard work! Soon it would be dark and we would have to go inside, but there was always tomorrow! In the meantime, we sipped our drinks and enjoyed our fort. We’d pretend there was a roaring storm outside and we were taking shelter from the elements.
The best kind of fun was the kind we made on our own. We let our creativity flow, we burned our energy up, and we let our imaginations take us wherever it could. Winter offered opportunities different from summers. You could build a fort in the summer. That was the exclusive property of the cold months. It enabled us to use a different side of our creativity. Later on, Bob studied architecture. Take from that what you will.
RECORD STORE TALES #1104: We Don’t Need No, No No No, Parental Guidance Here
In our house, we always had the utmost support. It didn’t matter if my parents liked the music. Like it or not, they provided it in spades.
My dad fully enabled my early John Williams addiction. I had a good collection of Star Wars and Indiana Jones music. The only way for me to listen to them was on the big family stereo in the living room. My parents had a good pair of headphones, so noise wasn’t an issue. There I would lay, my Star Wars toys scattered about, as I read the liner notes to The Empire Strikes Back, LP spinning at 33 1/3 rpm on the turntable behind me.
Nothing lasts forever but the certainty of change, and in 1984 change was afoot. Star Wars could not last forever without films to sustain it, and the Kenner action figures were scraping the bottom of the barrel for Ewoks, and other creatures with mere seconds of screen time. It was, for all intents and purposes for this child, over.
My exposure to music up to that point had been pretty mainstream. There was an earlier dalliance with AC/DC’s “Big Balls” and some “Mr. Roboto” by Styx earlier, but otherwise I only knew John Williams and whatever MuchMusic was playing those days. Billy Ocean’s “Loverboy” was a big one. (The rock connection there was production by Robert John “Mutt” Lange.) I had Michael Jackson and Culture Club cassettes, but neither were played beyond the big singles. I loathed slow songs. I spotted John Fogerty’s “The Old Man Down the Road” and thought it was pretty cool. My biggest dip into heavy metal to date was Quiet Riot, but that day in 1984 changed the course of my life.
Suddenly the vacuum was filled by Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, W.A.S.P., Motley Crue, Helix, Lee Aaron, Triumph, and Kiss. Especially Kiss.
So what did my parents do? They bought me some of my first music cassettes. Powerslave, Walkin’ the Razor’s Edge, Asylum, Condition Critical, and all those seminal albums that shaped my first year as a real music fanatic. Just as I was obsessed with Star Wars and collecting, now I had a new focus and I was on it like a laser. My earliest purchases in the field of rock music were magazines: Faces, and Hit Parader. I had a Faces Kiss special, catching me up on all the essential facts into 1985. (Interestingly, the Faces special talked of the next studio album, which was to be followed by Alive III, they said.) I taped all the music videos off the Pepsi Power Hour like a maniac, soaking up everything I could that wasn’t too scary. (Venom were scary. So was Motorhead.)
My parents relinquished control of the VCR to me during the Pepsi Power Hour broadcast time. 5:00 PM, one day a week and then later on, two days a week. This was seemingly set in stone. The basement gradually became a music den for me, and Bob Schipper would join me as often as possible as we watched all the latest music I had captured on magnetic tape. Bob would offer his opinions, pro and con. We didn’t always agree. He loved Skid Row, and I was more into Badlands. He was early on to D-A-D, but didn’t really get what I loved about Savatage.
Whatever demons and dragons were on the covers of the albums I wanted, my parents would buy them for me. Whether Ozzy was dressed as a priest on the sleeve, or if a guy in a metal mask was being held in a psych ward, they bought the albums. They never said no. They never blinked at titles such as Live After Death or Screaming For Vengeance. I remember my mom once asked me if it was true that AC/DC stood for “Anti-Christ/Devil-Child”. I kind of laughed. She let it go. I think my mom knew how silly all those stories about “satanism in music” really were. It always seemed so far-fetched, and far removed from the songs I was enjoying in the basement with Bob.
His parents were pretty much the same, except he was older and had to buy his own tapes. They didn’t mind the shirtless Vince Neil poster on his wall. Me, I just wondered if he really had a crossbow launcher on his right gauntlet.
A lot of these rock stars looked like wrestlers or apocalyptic warriors from Mad Max. All these influences poured together in a potpourri of hard rock and heavy metal bands, marketed through the TV and magazines that I was consuming, to appeal to my age group. I was the target demographic, and it was working. There’s nothing particularly “evil” about that. That’s the world of capitalism that I was born into, and that record label executives hitched their wagons to. I suppose my mom had probably endured something similar when she was a young Beatles and Elvis fan. Her younger brother, my Uncle Don Don, had Led Zeppelin records. I was just listening to the next generation of rock down the line.
My parents’ support reached its zenith in 2021, when they bought me the Judas Priest box set, 50 Heavy Metal Years of Music. Easily the biggest music gift I ever received, it just proved how far they’d go to enable my musical habits. They don’t understand it, but they support it. That’s a pretty amazing thing, isn’t it?
Sometimes it’s fun to make a big deal out of something that doesn’t matter.
Let’s figure it out. What should the first song of 2024 be? I just woke up, I have not played any music yet in the new year. This is the kind of thing that music nerds make a big deal out of. The first song of the year! As if it sets the tone for the next 366 days (leap year!), let’s pretend that the first song played in 2024 is somehow really, really important.
How we do make such a decision? Let’s narrow it down step by step.
1. Let’s start easy. Should we play the song currently stuck in my head from yesterday? That would be “Past Life” by the Arkells with the Cold War Kids. Thematically it works. It’s all about moving forward instead of backwards, which works well with the whole “new year” thing. “I’ve been running from a past life, I wanna live this life instead!” Uplifting, and also I get that “scratch that itch” feeling of playing a song stuck in my head.
2. However, 2024 is the 40th frickin’ anniversary of a very significant year in my life. 1984: the year I committed to music as “my thing”, specifically heavy metal. The exact date was December 26 1984, Boxing Day. Perhaps I should play something from that year to commemorate this occasion. “I Wanna Be Somebody” by W.A.S.P., “Run to the Hills” by Iron Maiden, “Rock You” by Helix, or “Heaven’s On Fire” by Kiss would be appropriate.
3. Or, we look ahead. There are albums to come in 2024, and we have heard some of the new music already. Judas Priest have released two singles from the forthcoming Invincible Shield. That would be a great way to start the year right — by looking forward.
4. …Buuuut I’d be starting the year by playing a song to which I have no emotional attachment yet, if I played the new Priest. That doesn’t seem like the right note to kick off a new year. Also, do I really want to start the year with a song about a “Panic Attack”?
5. Kiss is my favourite band. I first got into Kiss during that mythical year of 1984. And, the debut album Kiss came out 50 years ago, in 1974.
6. I prefer to listen to albums over songs. 1974’s Kiss gives me an excuse to play a whole album. Playing that debut would be a way to honour both my roots in 1984, and the album’s 50th in 2024.
7. …However, I didn’t know that album in 1984. I was just getting into rock, and I only knew two Kiss songs at that point: “Heaven’s On Fire” (1984) and “Rock and Roll all Nite” (1975).
8. Just a side note: this is the longest I’ve sat at my desk writing with no music playing!
9. The way I see it now, we can go one of two ways. 1984’s “Heaven’s On Fire”, which commemorates its 40th anniversary, and my discovery of heavy metal music the same year. Or, 1974’s Kiss. 50 years of Kiss is a big deal, and they were one of the first five bands I ever liked back in ’84. I prefer playing full albums, and overall I have more nostalgia for it.
10. Flip a coin. Heads: “Heaven’s On Fire”. Tails: Kiss 1974.
Uncle Paul’s absence was felt this past weekend, as we gathered with Aunt Maria to celebrate Christmas. It was an emptier space, but a warm one full of light and happy tears.
One of our Christmas traditions in past years was pizza. In the olden days, Aunt Maria would bring a pair of big, square homemade pizzas to feed us for a busy Christmas lunch. This time the pizza was round, and provided by Dominos, but that didn’t dull the experience. It was delightful just to be having pizza together.
I have a lot of pizza memories with Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria. The date would have been June 29, 2009. The day I helped them move into their new home. I remember the date, because unexpectedly and coincidentally, Michael Jackson died that day! We all had pizza on their awesome back patio after moving about 20 boxes of Christmas ornaments! Happy day, and so pizza is always an appropriate meal to share.
We went down into the basement to look at my uncle’s incredible collection of model and die-cast cars. Hundreds and hundreds of cars, some boxed, some on loving display. Some looked recently dusted, others not. A dust mitt lay on a shelf, its job interrupted and unfinished. I spotted two ancient vehicles from the 1950s, that were once passed down to me, and then passed back to my uncle: a blue Meccano car-carrier, and an orange Meccano crane. They were well loved and handled by me, but restored and displayed by my uncle. It was bittersweet, but the memories were all good ones.
At the end of the night, with pizza consumed and hugs exchanged, Aunt Maria presented one final gift from Uncle Paul. She brought out four of his favourite hats that he wore all the time. My dad, my sister, and Jen and I all selected a hat. You can see that some of them had a lot of sun, some were newer, and others were well loved. I selected a black hat with a red Mopar logo and wore it the whole way home.
RECORD STORE TALES #1101: In The Mix – An Uncle Paul Story
At the dawn of the new millenium, technology was on the move! I now had a CD burner on the family PC, and had just discovered this new thing called “Limewire“! I was just starting to download all sorts of rare music, from out-of-print songs to live performances. I had burned my first mix CD and was just starting to dip my toes into this new world, when Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria came over to visit one Sunday afternoon.
I was eager to show Uncle Paul what I could now do with a computer and an internet connection. Making a custom CD was such a revelation back then. It seems mundane now, but it truly was new and exciting in the year 2000. For Uncle Paul, the wheels in his head started turning.
“Can you make me a CD?” he asked. “With anything I want on it?”
“I can try!” I responded. “What songs do you want? Make a list…”
He only wanted two songs. I wish I could remember what they were. I know they were both car songs. That’s all I can remember. Two classic car songs from the golden age of rock and roll.
I searched for the two songs on Limewire, found decent copies, and began downloading.
“You still have about 70 minutes of blank space on this CD, what do you want to fill it up with?” I asked him. I hated wasting valuable blank CD real estate. Once you burned a CD, that was it. You couldn’t go back and add to it.
“Can you repeat each song, twice?” he asked.
“Sure can. But you’ll still have over an hour of blank space on the CD.”
“That’s OK,” he said. “I just want each song, twice. That’s all I need.”
“Really? I can repeat them as many times as you want until the CD is full. If you want me to,” I said, trying to convince him.
“Twice each is fine. Can you do that?” That’s all he wanted!
One the songs were downloaded, I started up the burning software. Track 1…song 1. Track 2…song 1 again! Track 3, song 2, and track 4, song 2. That was it. It burned in no time, and we tested it.
“Thank you Michael! This is exactly what I wanted.”
You’re welcome Uncle Paul. A simple request that provided all the entertainment he needed. A happy man, and a happy nephew to have done this one small thing for him, that he appreciated far more than it warranted. He was a good uncle.
Welcome to Homework From My Therapist! I have a new therapist; she’s nice, and fresh ideas are always helpful as I make the transition from Summer to Fall to Winter. She asked me about happy winter stories; I said I had several. She suggested I write them down somewhere I could easily find them, any time I needed a pick-me-up in the winter. Of course, for me, that means the easiest location is right here. I am putting on my Empire Strikes Back soundtrack as I type, and I am in the zone. Let’s do this!
Join me won’t you, for this walk through the winter snow of 1981?
RECORD STORE TALES #1100: Happy Winter Stories Vol. 1 – The Empire Strikes Back
Even as a child I never liked winter, always looking forward to the warmth and freedom of the summer sun. The winter of 1981, however, offered a new opportunity. The Empire Strikes Back was the latest thing. We were collecting all the toys, all the figures, everything we could. With winter here, we now had the opportunity to dress up as the characters for outside role play!
The snow was deep on our tiny frames that winter. You truly could imagine you were on the ice planet of Hoth, if not for all the trees. Winter trips to the cottage offered the more bleak landscape of a completely frozen lake as far as the eye could see, but we didn’t dress in our Star Wars outfits when we made those winter visits. That was a home activity for the winter weekends!
My sister dressed as Luke Skywalker. I let her use my glow-in-the-dark “laser sword” for that purpose. I wanted to be Han.
My dad had made us wooden guns and pistols by cutting shapes out of playwood offcuts and painting rough details. Perfect for a Solo blaster! I used my dad’s real leather holster, which even at its tightest was always so loose. Every good Canadian kid has a pair of snow pants; mine were blue or brown. I grabbed a pair of goggles from a snorkel set. To top it off came my pride and joy: a blue winter coat, with a big furry hood…just like Han Solo’s. I’d strap on my laser pistol on top of that and trudge out into snow for an hour or two.
Other kids from the neighbourhood would drop in and play other roles. Someone would have to roar like Chewbacca as I pretended to trade blasts with an Imperial probe droid.
When it was time to board the Millenium Falcon, we’d jump into my dad’s car in the garage. He didn’t like that part too much, as we fiddled with buttons in a vain attempt to get the Falcon into hyperspace.
When it came time to come in and get warm, we always had the original John Williams soundtrack to keep us entertained with our Kenner action figures. Even so, the importance of the role play can’t be left out of the story. It allowed the kids to go out, run around, burn off energy, and be social with other kids as we all re-enacted our favourite Star Wars movies. We couldn’t just go and pop a video tape into our VCRs. Few of us had a VCR yet.
The Empire Strikes Back was the newest of the Star Wars movies, and was completely new and exciting to all of us, boys and girls alike. We’d all seen it. It was a family thing. Anyone could jump in and play the role of Chewie, 3P0, Princess Leia, or Darth Vader. But I was Han Solo. That was a constant, as non-negotiable as a deal with Jabba the Hutt himself.
We did it all over again in 1982, and 1983. I think I may have commandeered my mom’s ski goggles at that point, refining my costume.
After Return of the Jedi came out in May of ’83, my focused changed to Luke Skywalker. Not only was he suddenly badass instead of this whiny disrespectful little shit, but he looked really cool in his new black outfit. Our role play changed to summer, and I donned a black glove while reclaiming the glow-in-the-dark laser sword as my own. My sister could be Han Solo this time, but that meant she had to pretend to be blind before I saved her!
Star Wars died down pretty quickly after 1983, and as kids we moved on to other interests as well. It must be remembered, the length of time we lived with Empire as “current” Star Wars movie. It came out in spring of 1980, so we were playing Empire and getting Empire toys for Christmas for 1980, ’81, and 1982! For me, that was age 8 to age 10, the most important span of years in a kid’s childhood! For my sister, it was ages 4 to 7, almost as important! That chunk of our lives coincided with a cool “sweet spot” of Star Wars. Not only did we get the best movie of the series, with some of the best toys and figures of the line, but also got three years of yearning anticipation and fear! Was Darth Vader really Luke’s father? How would they save Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt? What was Jabba the Hutt? We had to use our imaginations and we imagined every scenario we could in our games.
Those were good times in some cold, wet winters. Let’s not forget them, nor the warmth of a hot chocolate after we kicked the snow off our boots and hung our snow pants up to dry. That would have been a good winter Saturday in 1981.
#1099: “Can you play it a little louder?” – An Uncle Paul Story (aka “Big Bad Bill Is Sweet William Now”)
In the late 80s, I was starting to fill in my Van Halen collection thanks to the generosity of family, and the Columbia House Music Club. Diver Down turned out to be a favourite because of the cover songs: this was an album that parents and family would let me play in the car, because they knew the songs and they were not too too heavy!
Any time I found a Van Halen song that I thought the older generation would swing to, I would proclaim: “I found another one!”
“Why is the band called Van Halen when the singer is named David Lee Roth?” my mom asked.
“Because there are two Van Halens in the band and only one Lee Roth,” I answered simply.
“Van Halen? Sounds like some kind of tropical disease,” deadpanned my dad once upon a time.
But my family and especially my uncle liked enough of the songs:
“Pretty Woman”
“Dancing in the Streets”
“Happy Trails”
“Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)”
They really, really liked “Big Bad Bill”. Especially the sweet, smooth clarinet melodies of Jan Van Halen. The tone! So full. I don’t think they ever heard the clarinet played with the speed of Jan Van Halen before. Diver Down was my pathway to having my music played in the car stereo. Uncle really liked the upbeat sounds of these Van Halen covers. Everybody seemed to like Roth. I couldn’t get them into Hagar, even with ballads like “Give To Live”. Uncle wasn’t into ballads. (I should have tried “I Can’t Drive 55”.) He always wanted something with a good tempo. I have more stories about this, but today’s is about the mighty VH.
“Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)” was the one song everyone universally agreed on. It was so different from anything in the mainstream. It had a vintage country shuffle born from the 1920s, and of course that clarinet. David Lee Roth hammed up the vocals, at his Vaudeville best, and Uncle Paul ate it up. And then he said the magic words: “Can you play it a little louder?” The one phrase that no adult ever uttered: “Can you play it a little louder?” Uncle Paul was the only one.
What kid wouldn’t dive for the volume knob when an adult asked them to?
“If it’s too loud, you’re too old,” goes the saying. Uncle Paul was never too old.
We loved Uncle Paul. It was he that bridged the two generations. He was an adult, but he was welcome to hang with the kids. He was part of both groups. Not very families has a member who fills that role. We did — and I am so happy we had that. Our childhoods were so much richer for it.
Miss you Uncle Paul.
From Wikipedia:
“Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)” is a song with music by Milton Ager and lyrics by Jack Yellen, written in 1924. The song became a vocal hit for Margaret Young accompanied by Rube Bloom, and an instrumental hit for the Don Clark Orchestra.
The song has also been recorded by Ernest Hare (1924), Billy Murray (1924), Clementine Smith (1924), Emmett Miller (1929), Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra (1940), Peggy Lee (1962), Merle Haggard (1973), Ry Cooder (1978), Leon Redbone (1978), Van Halen (1982) and others[4] and has been a popular song in barbershop quartet and chorus competitions.
The lyrics describe a man “in the town of Louisville…” who was once a fearsome and rough character known for getting into fights, who, after getting married, becomes a peaceable person who devotes his time to domestic activities such as washing dishes and mopping the floor. He was “Stronger than Samson I declare, til the brown skinned woman, bobbed his hair.”
RECORD STORE TALES #1098: TodayI Feel Very Special – An Uncle Paul Story
Today we lay my Uncle Paul to rest. I learned something about him yesterday that I never really realized before.
Sunday was the visitation. These are always a storm of mixed feelings. You’re sad, you’re exhausted, and there are dozens of people to meet. It was wonderful to hear so many people say loving things about my dear uncle. He was clearly well liked by his friends and colleagues. There were a lot of happy memories shared, introductions made, and friends to catch up with.
I was happy to see two of my best friends in the world after long absences: the legendary Bob Schipper and the beloved Peter Cavan with his sister Joanne. I have not seen any of them since, well, the last funerals. We are all a little older now, and time has taken its toll, but the faces were the same. It is good to know that my uncle had such an impact on my friends that they would drive to Stratford to honour a man they were not related to. That’s just how my uncle was. I heard lots of the same words today, over and over: kind, thoughtful, attentive, caring, warm.
The thing that I did not expect to learn was a story repeated twice by two different co-workers of his. They both said that he spoke of my sister and I fondly, all the time. All the time, as if we were his own kids.
I knew that he considered us like his own, but I didn’t know how he spoke of us so often. He had pictures of us in his office along with other family photos. He must have said some pretty amazing things because the two co-workers we met specially wanted to tell us this about him. I really did not know.
He always took interest in what we were doing and wanted to know what games we were playing and what music we were listening to. He liked fast songs about cars. I know I played “Slick Black Cadillac” by Quiet Riot for him when I was just a grade school kid. I hope he liked it.
Thank you Uncle Paul. We say goodbye today but the stories will live on forever.
RECORD STORE TALES #1097: Why We Always Liked Christmas Eve Best – An Uncle Paul Story
Christmas was always a big deal in our family. It was a multi-stage affair: many dinners and many gifts at several residences. In my earliest years, the Christmas festivities would begin in Guelph, Ontario.
The Ladano clan originated in Amalfi, and then Sicily. When they came to Canada in the early years of the 1900s, they settled in the largely Italian town of Guelph. This is where my grandfather lived, and we would make our way to his house in the snowy afternoon of December 24. We journeyed from Kitchener, and my Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria came from Stratford. The first round of gifts would be given. A lot of “dinky cars”, Hotwheels and Matchbox. Eventually we would fall asleep, and at the end of the night, we’d be loaded in the car for the drive home. We would probably have slept in the car too, if not for my dad’s shenanigans from the driver’s seat. He always had us on the lookout for “Rudolph”. We had to beat Santa home to the house! “Rudolph” was in fact a red light atop a radio tower, but look for him we did. Radio stations would egg us on with “Santa sightings” on their radar. We’d always make it home before Santa arrived.
After my grandfather died, Christmas Eve changed. My uncle and aunt would arrive mid-day at our house from Stratford. This is where my strongest memories begin.
My sister and I would already be on holidays and we could not — COULD NOT! — wait for Christmas Eve! Whatever old Atari games we had were boring compared to what we thought was coming. Killing time was the name of the game. We watched whatever Christmas specials were on, good and bad. It seemed like an eternity, and it felt like those days crawled by like months. Then, finally, December 24 would come, and Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria would too! And they always brought the best gifts. No clothes from them. Only fun. Candy, puzzles, games, books, and toys only! We had to be showered and dressed, because they’d be here any minute!
We’d stare out the front window at every car. Nope, not them. Nope, not them. Wait! That’s them!! Their car would slowly turn through the snow into the driveway. Then they’d get out and start unloading the gifts! “Look at the size of that one!” I’d cry. “I hope that’s for me!” My mom would interject. “It’s not for you, now go down and help!” And so we’d race down the stairs and hug them and carry the bags and bags of gifts upstairs. They also brought food and treats. My aunt’s home-made pizza would be lunch for the following day.
There was one year that was so snowy, we didn’t know if Christmas Eve would have to be cancelled or not. It seemed unimaginable! The snow that night was some of the deepest I had ever seen. Uncle and Aunt had never missed a Christmas Eve before! No blizzards ever stopped them. One year, they came by train, but they never missed.
Once Uncle and Aunt arrived, it felt like Christmas had really started. Then and only then. Before that moment, there was tension and anticipation. My mom had so much to do in the kitchen before they got there! “If you’re not going to help then stay out of the way!” she would scold. We’d run to join my dad in the living room, waiting patiently watching old black & white Christmas specials. But then Uncle and Aunt would pull into that driveway wearing their warm sweaters, and Christmas would really begin.
After we got our first Schnauzer, the doggie would go crazy when they appeared in our driveway. The dog would bark and bark and bark from the front window, and then race down the stairs to greet them first. Of course, this happy was greeting was conditional upon treats, which were ready in pocket. The dog would wind around our legs as we tried to carry gifts up the stairs.
Uncle and Aunt’s gifts were always opened on Christmas Eve, just like they were back in the old days in Guelph. And they got us the best gifts.
My uncle would always tell us, “be patient!” but we couldn’t wait to rip into their gifts. As the 80s wore on, the nature of the gifts evolved. At first they were Star Wars guys and Atari games. Soon after, GI Joes and Transformers. This gave way to music. Cassettes first, and then CD, with some VHS tapes mixed in for good measure. There were never socks. No button-up shirts, no mittens, no slacks. They never bought us clothes, and they were proud of it! Stratford has some interesting toy stores, so we often received unique 3D puzzles and brain twisters. Stratford also has the best candy stores, and we would often get special treats too. They were so generous to us.
After a few gifts were relieved of their wrapping paper, my dad and uncle would go for a drive — an annual tradition. They would go check out the new cars for sale at the local dearlerships and admire the vehicles, imagining which they would buy next. The rest of us thought this was the most boring Christmas tradition ever! For a few years in the mid-80s, my sister had a paper route. For those years, the tradition was that my dad, uncle and I would pile into a car and help her deliver the papers door to door. One year the snow was so deep, it felt like we were blazing new trails through the Antarctic glaciers.
Dinner was always a fun affair. My uncle had a few beers by then, and was even more playful than usual. My sister and I would fight over who got to sit next to him. (My mom came up with assigned seating at one point, probably because of us.) He was always curious about our gifts. If it was music, he wanted to have a listen to a song or two. If it was a toy, he wanted to watch us put it together, or see how it worked. We received so many cassettes from them during the tape era! I can’t remember the exact tape, but I remember one store sold a cassette to my aunt with the big clunky security case attached. Let me tell you people, it took two grown men, one teenager, and two pairs of scissors to get that rubbery plastic shell off my Judas Priest. (It wasn’t Judas Priest, but I like the way that sentence sounds.) There was also a store in Stratford that could get unusual special orders, and my aunt often secured rare musical gifts that I couldn’t find in town.
The early 80s were particularly frantic. The years of Star Wars and Atari. So many games! Haunted House was responsible for one pretty fun Christmas Eves. During the Atari era, my sister and I would disappear into the basement for long stretches of time playing all our new games. Then we’d wake him up early Christmas morning, because they slept on the fold-out bed right in front of the TV!
Uncle Paul didn’t know or care a thing about Star Wars or Star Trek. He was a car guy. He gave his own names to our toys. “Tauntaun” became Toto. The nine-armed FX-7 medical droid was the “coffee maker”. We loved this about him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know an R2 unit from a protocol droid. He didn’t care that we didn’t know our cars. Sometimes, we would just quietly sit next to each other without saying a word while we let others do all the talking. Then he might nudge me in the side and laugh. Those were good Christmas Eves.
Christmas Eve hasn’t been the same since my uncle fell sick. We’re older too, and a Star Wars figure doesn’t elicit the same tear-the-box-open kind of excitement. Plus, who can afford Star Wars figures these days? And don’t get me started on GI Joe. I know there are a multitude of reasons why Christmas Eve isn’t what it once was, but I can’t help but feel that a huge part of that is Uncle Paul. Their arrival on December 24 was the official commencement of festivities. Without him, everything seemed so much more…adult.
Over the years, my sister and I would invite friends, boyfriends, and girlfriends to join us on Christmas Eve. No matter who was joining us that night, there was one universal constant: everyone loved Uncle Paul. He was kind, attentive and most of all, he was fun. He was always the most fun of everyone. Even if he was just sitting quietly next to my dad, every so often you’d hear his distinctive laugh and know they just shared an inside joke.
That’s just Christmas Eve. Our Christmas was a long affair, involving a special Christmas Day, and a visit to Stratford on the 27th every year. But those are tales for another day, and as I remember my Uncle Paul, one memory triggers a cascade more. Of these, the many Christmas Eve memories are the strongest. And that’s why we always loved Christmas Eve best of all.
RECORD STORE TALES #1095: Mental Health Plan: Gutterballs! (Jen Kicks Mike’s Butt at Bowling – with video)
Part of my mental health plan this winter is getting out more. Movies, dinners, that sort of thing. Jen loves bowling, so she took me out bowling for the first time in many years. Five pin bowling is her jam. Her lanes at Towne Bowl just closed, but Victoria Bowl isn’t far. We rolled in to roll, right at noon.
Now, it’s no secret I’ve been having problems with my right arm. You’ve seen it on Grab A Stack of Rock all wrapped up in braces and Tensor bandages. There’s some serious pain going on there and sometimes even working on a mouse all day can leave me in agony. So, this was a big test for me. Can I bowl for an hour? Is this a viable option for spending time in the winter?
The answer to both questions is yes (sorta), and yes. Sorta, because though I could bowl for an hour, I got noticeably worse after about 30 minutes and Jen proceeded to kick my entire ass.
Jen had the best score of her bowling career to date. I started strong, but pulled one of my worst scores on my last game.
We had a lot of fun. Because we were so early in the day, we had a whole side of the place to ourselves. We were at ease and because there was nobody else around, I filmed a bit of it. I’m always at my happiest when I can be creative, and I was able to bring that side of it into the game.
My elbow is paying for it now, and my right hand and wrist are a bit rough, but that’s how you build up strength and get past this stuff. Next time I’ll stretch first, though – that was a mistake. My thighs….
But we did it, and we had a great time doing it. Mission accomplished.
Kicking winter’s ass one pin at a time. Let it begin.
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