Getting Too Real

GETTING TOO REAL
by : Matthew Terry

My mom passed away six weeks ago. That part has always been real. I believe that that has actually happened. Don't get me wrong, I've said the words "I can't believe she's gone." , but that's just what people say. She's gone, I know that.

The furniture that I grew up with is gone. I know that that is true. My brother and I split everything relatively easily. We had the "You want this?"/"You want that." conversation. We're lucky we get along on a good level, otherwise this could be harder than it already has been. The dining set, the hope chest, the credenza, the wall unit and such have been there for as long as I can remember. The house around it changed, but they were always there. It sounds silly, I'm sure, but seeing those things go was a little tough. But, neither of us had any need or room for any of it, so it needed to be done.

We're driving my mom's car. I know that it's my name on the owndership. I know that it's my garage that it's sitting inside of. I know that it was me that put the money into the safety and car bombing (yes, I wrote car bombing) of the car (Mom was a heavy smoker so they needed to "bomb" the car.) But when I drive it, and when my wife drives it too, I'm sure, it's my mom's car. I know it's legally and literally not her car anymore, but it's my mother's car.

The house has made it too real. Up to this point it has been "What do we ask for it?", "What's out bottom line price?", "Should we pay someone to take over forty years of cigarette smoke out of the house?" Which we did. We didn't need to bomb the house, but it may have been a realistic option. All easy stuff. Things that I had very little trouble analyzing and deciding. Now, there has been interest in the house. Now, someone wants answers about how old the roof is, things about the furnace, the age of the hot water heater. Someone wants my childhood home. The last bastion of my childhood in Osgoode, Ontario is close to no longer being in the Terry family.

I want to keep my childhood home. I have all along. I can't. Financially, I think I could manage it. Geographically, not so much. I live in Welland. My wife is born, bred and apparently rooted in Welland. I can't live in Osgoode and I can't afford to move the house here. This may sound grandious, but it's reality inside my head. I'm trying to think of options that allow me to keep the house. I know I won't keep the house. It's better if I don't keep the house. It's better if I let the house go. It's better if someone takes the baton from here.

I told my brother I would much rather a young couple starting out would be my prefered choice for a buyer, rather than someone who simply wants to flip the house and make a dime off of it.

Fingers crossed.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Definition Of Courage

Definition Of Courage
by Matthew Terry

the ability to do something that frightens one.

"she called on all her courage to face the ordeal"

strength in the face of pain or grief.

"he fought his illness with great courage"





It's all subjective. It's all a matter of opinion. You can say that a hockey player suffering a cardiac episode, then getting up and wanting to get back into the game is courageous. But definitively, to me, that's wrong. To be courageous is to face a fear. To be courageous is to attempt to conqueur with the knowledge that odds are not in your favour. This man was felled by his heart. He was revived. He was brought back to conciousness. Then he demanded to be allowed back into the game. Despite his fear of dieing on the spot he wanted nothing more then to ... play hockey. Participate in a game that meant very little in the standings of the league. Participate in a game that by the time he "courageously" demanded to return to, was long since postponed by the league. What fear did he face head on? What mountain did he demand to conquer?

Do you remember the jock in school? The guy who was on all the teams. The guy that seemingly could do anything. The guy that when he won the annual awards, you said "Of course he did." That guy was the freaking man. You wanted to be him. You wanted to be looked at like him. You wanted to be revered like him. At least for an hour of a day, if not the full twenty-four hours. Now, picture him telling you "I think I want to be a woman." Doesn't even need to be school. Take the guy that excels in the beer league. Baseball in the summer, hockey in the winter and golf when he can find the time. We all have one. Even if you are one, you hang out with your same ilk. One night, he looks at you and says "I think I'm really a woman." How scared is someone to say that? How scary is it to admit that? How scary is it, knowing that it's not going away. Day after day after day after day ... it's there.

Good on the hockey player who's heart stopped. Day by day he has gotten better and better. The man that is now a woman? His heart stops every morning. Her heart stops when she walks out the front door. Their heart stops every time they look someone in the eye.

How Could I Forget About Max?

     Last week I crafted a blog about the dogs that have enlightened my life.  My wife however asked me why I did not include a very special and beautiful huskie dog that we only knew for a very short amount of time.  Allow me to introduce everyone to Max.

     It was New Year's Eve several years ago.  We had a group of friends and family over to the house to celebrate the changing of the calendar.  After partying, cheering and partying a little bit longer, we were out front saying goodbye to the last of our guests.  As we were standing there, an absolutely beautiful creature approached us.  As I'm sure you can guess, it was the afore mentioned husky dog, Max.  Max had a beautiful coat, was very well groomed and was obviously very well taken care of.  He also had something else.  A leash.  A leash that did not have a human counterpart at the other end.  I began hoping that there was not someone passed out in snowbank or ditch close by.

     We figured that this beautiful animal must belong to someone, so checked his tags.  They said that he lived in Brantford, Ontario, Canada.  A good two hour drive from where we stood.  Without any other leads to his owner, I called the number on the tag.  Worst case scenario I will contact someone who knows Max and can contact the person who should have Max.  I got an answering machine and left my name and phone number, and of course, the fact that I had their dog.

     I came up with the plan, without any assistance from alcohol, that I would take Max for a walk and maybe he would instinctively take me back from where he came.  Sounds odd I know, but the other option was to hold onto Max overnight.  I pictured Max at around four n the morning letting out a "You guys are great and all, but I wanna go home.  Aaaaaaa Ewwwww!!!"  So, off for a walk we went.  Just as we started our trek, a police car flew around the corner.  It briefly stopped, but then sped past us.

     Now Max was no help at all.  I don't really blame him, he wasn't from the area after all.  As we aimlessly walked around, I heard a really faint call for "Maaaax."  It was faint and I asked my wife if she heard it too.  She agreed that someone was saying something.  We then heard "Maaaaax." a little louder.  As we turned around, we saw a woman running towards us, again calling out "Maaaax."  Obviously, we had found someone who knew out four legged friend.  Before the lady got to us, the police officer stopped by us and asked if we had found the dog.  We said we had and he drove off.

 

     The lady reached us and could not thank us enough for finding him.  She asked I we lived in the area.  At this point, we were standing directly in front of our house and pointed it out.  After a couple more minutes of thanks, she again asked if we lived close by.  Again, we pointed out that we lived in the house right in front of us.  After a couple more minutes, she asked if we had far to get home.  Obviously, it was a good new year.

     A couple weeks later there was a knock on our door.  The lady at the door asked if I was Matthew, which of course I was.  She said she wanted to thank me for everything I did for Max.  I drew a blank.  My wife works in a daycare and my only thought was it was a parent of one of her kids.  My wife walked over and I repeated that she wanted to thank us for everything we did for Max.  My wife, who is the smartest person I know on Earth, knew what the lady was talking about, but could tell I didn't.  After reminding me about out New Year's friend, I clued in.  The lady gave us a Tim Horton's card to say thank you.

   Even after several days, I find myself still thinking of that poor dog that got dropped in the Welland Canal with his legs hog tied and two bullet wounds in his head.  Last I heard, not one single lead had been given to the proper authorities.  I write these stories of past pooches in my life as a dedication to a dog who left in a completely wrong way.

     Just so we're not leaving each other on a sour note.  The story as I understand it was that there was a New Years party.  Someone thought it would be a good idea to take Max for a walk.  Some time later, that person returned to the party, without Max.  When asked where the dog was, this person simply responded with "I don't know."  This caused the owners to start banging on doors around the neighbourhood looking for the dog.  Keep in mind that this is around one-thirty, two o'clock in the morning.  Hence, the reason neighbours were annoyed.  Annoyed enough to call the police.

     By the way, The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

A Man And His Dogs

Follow me on TWITTER @UrSpitngImg

     I know, I know, I'm trying to get away from the negativity.  But when something so negative consumes you, you become negative yourself.  Rather than wait until Monday when my passion, and frankly disgust, dissipates, I'm going to address this today.

http://www.niagarafallsreview.ca/2015/04/30/dog-hog-tied-shot-and-dumped-in-wellands-recreational-canal

     The Reader's Digest version of the above article is that someone, or a group of people, hog tied a dog and then shot her in the head with a small caliber weapon.  Obviously to most people, this is disgusting.  Most people I say, because obviously there is at least one person that thinks this is without issue.  I can go on and on and on about how disgusted this makes me feel, but I won't.  Everyone else already is and will be over the next little while.  Instead, I choose to honor the memory of a dog that, to my knowledge, I have never encountered.  I would like to introduce you to the dogs that have enlightened my life.

    I cannot start anywhere else other than Sam.  Sam was my childhood dog.  She was a schnauzer that my family, by some means, inherited.  Sam fell in love with both my brother and I and was very protective of us both.  My mom tells the story that at night Sam would walk into my room, then my brother's, then would sleep right between our two doors once she knew we were safe in bed.  My mom jokes that she could never lose me because all she needed to do was drive around town and wherever Sam was sitting on the front step, she knew that I must be inside.  Sam used to run alongside my bike when I rode around town.  Over time and as she got older, she couldn't keep up and would walk home when her body couldn't take her any further.  One day I rode to the store to pick up a wrestling magazine and as I sat and read it in front of the store, Sam began moaning.  She had made it all the way to the store this time.  By the time I was able to find help, Sam was gone.  That was over twenty years ago but it still makes me cry while I write this.

     I had two dogs in my early twenties.  I have absolutely no recollection of what the first dog's name was.  My girlfriend and I were given the dog because someone didn't want their dog.  A few months later we were all outside, the dog was tied up by a rope.  After some time we looked around and realized the dog was nowhere to be found.  He had somehow escaped the rope.  We looked and looked and looked for the dog with no luck whatsoever.  As my girlfriend was out looking, I took the initiative of calling the Humane Society.  As it turned out, they indeed had our dog and told me that it would cost some sum of money to get him back.  When I informed my girlfriend that they had the dog and we would need to pay this money, she decided that the dog was not worth it.  I was of the opinion that he was.  I lost.

     My second early twenties dog was Hershey.  My girlfriend decided that we should get a dog for her two kids.  We went to a flea market to look at a poodle which was advertised as a puppy, but upon review was nowhere close to puppy status.  While she went off to argue with the vendor if "reserving" the dog meant we were "taking" the dog, her son and I looked at other litters.  I started playing around with a group of puppies, when the little guy asked what kind of dogs they were.  I told him they were schnauzers and that I had had one as a kid.  Instantly he wanted one of them and ultimately we did get one, which was the afore mentioned, Hershey.  Now we got this dog because the kids begged to have one.  There was nothing more, according to them, that they wanted.  The dog, according to them, would be taken care of by them without any help from their mother or myself.  However, over time, according to them, they did not have time to feed, bathe, walk or even interact with the dog.  So, with my girlfriend not being a dog person, Hershey became my dog.  Which I was fine with truth be told.  Couple years later, the girlfriend and I went through a rather difficult breakup.  I insisted that I take Hershey with me because she had no use for the dog and the children had lost interest a long time before.  She responded by saying that the dog belonged to the kids and that there was no way I could have the dog.  I told her that if she ever changed her mind and wanted the dog gone, to get a hold of me.  ( See where this is going? )  Three months later I stopped by to pick up some items I had forgotten.  Things were okay with her and I.  We sat and chatted, I hung out with the kids.  It wasn't a terrible visit.  Until I asked where the dog was.  I was told that she gave the dog away about two weeks after I walked out the door.  I asked why she never told me she was getting rid of the dog.  She told me with a laugh "What do you expect, I was mad at you at the time."  I walked out the door again and never walked back through.

     I'm trying my best to think of a justifiable reason why this dog ended up in the canal.  I'm having a very hard time coming up with any type of answer.  The only thing that keeps crossing my mind is that there must have been another option.  Put an ad in the paper.  Bring the dog to the Humane Society.  If the dog was ill, take them to the vet and humanely have them put down.  I would prefer that they bring the dog to my store and allow me or someone else to do something.  I'll even take cats.  Contrary to what my wife says, I am not a cat person.  But no animal deserves to leave this world in such a way.  Sorry if I went backwards on the happy scale.  Monday will be better, I promise.

     Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

That One Person In Australia

     The past couple days I have taken in some concern that I am not in a "good place".  Apparently, my last couple BLOGS have not been very happy ones.  Frankly, I thought the one with Alan Carter ( @ACarterglobal ) was pretty funny, but others saw it as being down on myself and the things I've done.  Then yesterday, I wrote about how I get down when everyone doesn't like me.  So, it would seem I need to prove to my friends, family, someone in the United Kingdom and one person in Australia, that I'm doing just fine.

     So, allow me to address that one person in Australia.  Well, at least who I think that one person is.  I tend to believe that the one person is Aaron Berry.  Who is Aaron Berry you may ask?  Aaron Berry went to St. Leonard's Catholic School with me.  I think it was for only one year, maybe two.  But for someone who had such a small sample period, I seem to remember a lot about Aaron.

     Aaron came from Australia to Canada.  I don't remember if it was a student exchange, or maybe his parents were transferred here for business.  I was somewhere in the range of eight to, maybe, eleven years old, so the circumstances were not priority to me.  Regardless, I do remember him coming from Australia.  I remember him explaining to the class how long it took for his family to go from there to here.  However, I do not remember how long it took them, but I do remember a chorus of "Woa's" that the time brought from everyone.

     I remember Aaron being able to spell Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.  The word from Mary Poppins.  I know I couldn't spell the damn thing at the time.  Heck, I couldn't spell it now.  I had to find it on Google, then copy and paste it into here.  That in itself makes it impressive when twenty-five years later, I can't do what he did.  Think of how impressed the class was when he wrote it on the blackboard and the teacher told him that he was right.  I remember someone saying that no one could write a bigger word.  To which I retorted that anyone could if they wrote the same word with only bigger lettering.  I still think that's funny.  But, no one did then.

     I remember Aaron was close friends with Chris Hilliard.  I don't really have anything funny or insightful to write about their friendship, but I may never get the chance to tell this story again, so here goes.  I had a huge crush on Rochelle O'Hearn (sp?).  Chris Hilliard had a crush on Rochelle O'Hearn (sp?).  Chris Hilliard was 100% more popular, 100% more athlete and 100% more likely to impress Rochelle then I was.  However, on a school skiing trip we had to take a skiing class before they would allow us on the bigger hills.  If you failed, you were relegated to the bunny hill.  Chris passed with flying colors.  I failed in a blaze of glory.  Guess who else failed.  Rochelle O'Hearn (sp?).  So Matthew got to ski with Rochelle on the bunny hill all day long.  Nothing ever came of Rochelle and I and I don't believe anything came of Chris and her either.  But for one day, fluke as it may have been, I got one instance over the popular kid.

     Oh yea, Aaron.  I may or may not remember correctly, but I think his girlfriend for a time was Kelly O'Brien.  Or maybe Kelly O'Brien had a crush on him.  Then again, maybe someone else had a crush on him and twenty-five years of filing away memories inexplicably put Kelly O'Brien in that role.  No matter.  I do remember that the general consensus was that Aaron Berry was "cute".  I didn't think he was that cute myself.  But that's born out of not being able to judge the attractiveness of a fellow boy at such a young age.  I hope it was not a case that I was void of the masculine security I enjoy now.  In fact, thanks to FACEBOOK, I can report that Aaron Berry is indeed a very attractive man today.  Very well conditioned with a very handsome look to him.  So, if that translates to him being an attractive elementary student, then so be it.

     Then, before I knew it, Aaron was gone.  Him and his family returned to Australia.  The circumstances of which I do not remember, but again, were probably not priority at the time.  I think a lot about my past.  About the people I went to school with and grew up alongside.  The smallest things set my memory in motion.  Today, it was a small shading on a map that indicated that one single person from Australia reads my BLOG.  With no other explanation, I would assume it is Aaron.  If it is, then I appreciate my old friend taking the time to check it out.  If it happens to not be him.  Apparently, I'm starting to get over in the Land Down Under.  It puzzles me who that one person in the UK is, though.

    The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip ofof your ear.

- Matthew Terry

Sometimes, It Just Does Not Work Out

     I keep telling myself that everyone does not need to like me.  I don't need to be friends, or even on good terms with every single individual in my life.  I've always had that problem.  I don't enjoy being disliked.  I assume no one enjoys it, but I really let it get to me if someone doesn't at least think that I'm a good person.  But it is hard sometimes.  It's been hard lately.

     One time, my wife, a few friends and I went to Varadero, Cuba.  We decided to take one of those Catamaran excursions.  While out on the boat, my friend and I met a family from Quebec.  The more and more we talked with this family, the more and more it seemed apparent that they much preferred the company of my friend.  Their conversations flowed, where our seemed labored.  They shared laughs where we shared awkward stares.  They related to each other while we seemed to remain strangers.  Several days later, I ran into that family at a flea market downtown.  We smiled, we said hello, they asked where my friend was, I told them he wasn't with me and things basically ended there.  I would like to believe that I didn't say or do anything to put these people off.  Sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would.

     Pretty recently, a co-worker of mine, became engaged to be married.  I say "co-worker" because I feel odd saying that we are friends.  I thought we were friends.  Maybe we are friends.  Just not good friends, maybe.  I thought we were good friends.  Good enough to be invited to his wedding.  Which I was not.  He's been having some ordeals with people RSVP'ing to the wedding the past several weeks. Taking into account that I don't have an RSVP card to RSVP with, must mean that he is not expecting any type of response if I will be attending or not.  I am 100% sure that it is not a matter of not wanting me at his wedding.  Him and I are friendly and are on great terms.  Sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would.

     There are times where you just expect things to be happy and good, but they just are not.  When someone marries into your family, I think there is an expectation for you to be friends.  It almost seems foreign when you and that other person just don't mesh.  I realize that sometimes I come across as abrasive.  It is a trait that many people can take the wrong way, especially in a social media setting where tone is absent.  However, when you and a person have known one and other for more than twenty years, those misunderstandings simply become examples of being incompatible.  The two of you are just not meant to be friends.  I am who I am and they are who they are and eventually you realize that the two of you just don't mix.  And that is more than okay.  Especially when you only see or speak to that person once in a calendar year.  It's not a matter of disliking or wishing bad things on that person.  Sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would.

     The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

Not Trying To Make Fun Of The Man, But ...

     Have you seen Alan Carter ( @ACarterglobal )?  Alan Carter is a political analyst.  At least I think he is.  That is not a knock on his ability to do his job, I'm just not sure what his job title is exactly.  Alan Carter seems quite intelligent, very well read, very well educated and is also very engaging and entertaining.  I can honestly not devise a negative thing to say about the man.  All that being said, and in no way trying to make fun of Alan Carter, what's the deal with his equilibrium?  Why is it that every time I see this man on my television/monitor, it looks like he's about to fall off his chair?

     Is it an inner ear thing?  Some type of vertigo?  I would never make fun of someone's medical difficulty, I assure you.  Several years ago I had something called  Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo (BPPV) .  Basically, I took a blow to the head and a piece of bone or other material broke away and caused my inner ears to not be equal.  Every time I would tilt my head upwards, especially when I laid down for sleep, I would see the room spinning and would need to squint my eyes really tight until the "roller coaster" came to a complete stop.  Which is how I ride regular roller coasters actually.   Thankfully, over time, my body naturally dissolved the intruding object and I no longer need to squint my eyes.

     I have a family member who has suffered from alcohol abuse.  I would never make light of someone who needs a good belt first thing in the morning to level off and get started.  Although, if this is the case, I strongly disagree with Alan Carter displaying himself on our TV screens in an altered state.  Years ago, when I was finishing up high school, friends and I would sometimes go across the street to the fair grounds and drink a couple beers during lunch.  On one of these occasions, my lunch hour was followed by what was referred to as "SPARE PERIOD".  Which now gave me an extra hour to consume a couple more beers before returning to class.  As I'm sure you can imagine, I returned to class in no condition to be educated.  My teacher, who was not an idiot, saw that I was altered, but did allow me to wait it out as long as I was not a disruption.  She later told me that there were several times she thought I was going to topple completely out of my desk.

     Alan Carter's head seems to be pretty proportionate to the rest of him.  Although, most of the time I see him from the waist up and maybe he doesn't have exceptional core muscles.  I know for a fact that I have a very large pumpkin (Ode To Paul).  My beautiful and caring wife said just this morning, when I playfully used her stomach as a pillow, that my head felt like a giant bowling ball.  Put that into perspective.  Not just a bowling ball, but a GIANT bowling ball.  Think of how heavy a bowling ball is and super-size it.  It's a wonder that I don't have more back and neck problems then I already have.  Although, I am thinking that thirty-seven years has gotten me used to dealing with it.  Hence why I myself don't just fall over uncontrollably.

     I'm not trying to make fun of Alan Carter.  If you take a quick look back, I really am not making fun of him.  My confession is that I have only seen Alan Carter three times, and although he genuinely does seem to be a little off balance, I attribute it to him being a very animated orator and not having any medical, medicinal or proportionate issues.  In fact, I make quite the fool of myself.  Which is completely well and good.  The old saying is that if you cannot laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?  Well, Alan Carter actually.  He really is that entertaining.

     Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

-Matthew Terry