iFrom magazine

I call it the Fleetwood Tennis Centre   annual meeting syndrome but it could be any company gathering or social club. The chairman of the committee  stands up and says how  wonderful everything is going. Some one else on the committee states that so and so contributed to the  smooth running of   the organisation. We then learn  that  the place is a marvel of success and  used as a  model  in new  regions of the  province. Some one else is noted as a key contributor and they shyly acknowledge the clapping. Membership is up and the  finances are explained with handouts  signed  by  a double C.A. No one understands a word about the finances except the delayed increase in fees approved by  in absentia  by the quorum  With in five minutes everyone on the committee has been applauded  plus  four ex members  who were instrumental in having  the place built. Of course, the only thing missing is a few hallelujahs and many amen Brother plus a good Baptist “Trust And Obey,” or then   “Amazing Gra

  Have you seen them? Decked out in white robes, whirling around and around. What do you think about them? I first saw them in Istanbul and tried to come up with something positive to say about them. What a waste of time whirling like that. The positive observations I came up with they don’t fall over when they stop. A couple of whirls out of me and I will be prone to topple. I know there is a history and a hint of religion associated with them and I don’t wish to be disrespectful but all that whirling in groups. When they have some Sting or Led Zepplin like Arab music, it is not too bad. I am fine with just the music. The other Monday I went for a swim as I usually do on Mondays. The fast and medium 25 meter lanes were full with swimmers going up and down. All obvious to the world around. I went to the slow lane and swam twenty eight lengths. Up and down without stopping. The other swimmers and I were in our own world. There was some music echoing in the pool and I distinguished the F

     Off Marine Drive there use to be an old bicycle store that was called Modern Fix It.  They sold and repaired bicycles plus fixed lawn mowers. There was a boss man that stood at the till in his grey lab coat. I never saw him without the grey lab coat which was clean and usually contained two pairs of glasses in the top pocket. I think he slept in this lab coat and will be probably be buried in it. He had thin hair which he brushed to cover the balding. The store door opened with a Miss Maples like shop bell ring and he would glance at you but not glare at you. After explaining the problem with the lawn mower, he would instruct me in a few words to take it around the back of the store. Often two technicians would be working there and usually one would be seated on a stool engrossed with a motor or greasy parts laid out like a meal. He wore blue overalls. There was no mistaking the looks. These were glares which silently said “What are you doing here? Why do you want us to fix things

Woody was doomed before he arrived. It didn’t matter what he looked like or said. I would not like the way he dressed, the length of his hair, his job if he had one. No Woody was doomed from the beginning. I would not like the car he drove, the sports teams he supported or where he was born. I would not like the music to which he listened and I am sure he didn’t read books and if he did I couldn’t believe anyone would waste time reading those ones. He was not well travelled and if he been any where he hadn’t learnt much. He had no hobbies of consequence and the more I thought about it there was not much to Woody. I couldn’t imagine anyone spending time with a Woody. Yes, Woody was doomed before he appeared. Woody was a friend of Leona: Woody was arriving with Leona on the 1:08pm BC Ferry from Swartz Bay, Vancouver Island. I was cycling down to Fulford Harbour here on Salt Spring Island to meet Leona and her friend, Woody. I would guide them back to the cabin on St Mary Lake where I was