The Recycled Fodder Blog

Tennis Pool

2005-11-30T20:15:00.000-06:00

Island_Tennispool_446x336
Originally uploaded by Natashia.

Liz thought about the kids splashing around having a great time in the wading pools all summer on the Island.

Tennis Pool was one of several pools she could remember only because of her history as an "Island Rat".

In the 80s there were lots of pools for the kids.

She wondered if anyone could remember where they were? She knew the kids would remember. This is how she remembered them from her old work schedule:

Farm Pool,

West Pool,

East Pool,

Long Pool (the reflecting pools),

Octagonal Pool,

and CKEY Pool.

Tennis Pool was her favorite, but Jenny always wanted to switch spots with her since she liked it too.

Poor Jenny. She always felt sorry for her - her hair lip. So she tried to be nice to her. But on this particular day she was not inclined to give away her favorite post to anyone.

The Martins were moored on the seawall at Hanlan's and they always brought her something good to eat. She had grown fond of their kids, who had spent hours with her at the wading pool summer after summer. She thought it notable that she was able to watch them grow up as the years went by.

But what she really liked was being invited back to their yacht after work. She had never known anyone who owned a yacht, and the Martins were so down to earth. She knew she had lucked out to get to meet these people and become a favorite "babysitter" for their kids.

Bob was a cop in Kitchener and Marlene worked in real estate. They seemed to have a perfect life. Except, Marlene always seemed worried about Bob. Yes, she was a devoted wife but it seemed a bit much with the constant questions: "How are you feeling?" "Is there anything I can get you?" "Do you need any help?"

Liz wondered if there was something wrong, but the whole family looked the picture of health and happiness. What could it possibly be? However, her concerns were quickly forgotton when dinner was served. Marlene set down the casserole on the picnic table and everyone dug in, talked, drank and laughed. It was just another beautiful dusk at the Island.

Tax Cuts = Buried Treasures

2005-11-30T19:30:00.000-06:00

Island_farmpool_448x336
Originally uploaded by Natashia.

Toronto Star
NEWS, Monday, March 9, 1998

Budget bulls lock horns over cuts

AS TORONTO politicians fend off the outrage over proposed tax increases caused by the provincially managed property tax reassessments, the city's budget committee has been clawing away at its own massive $6 billion budget.

. . . edited for brevity . . .

Starting Monday at Metro Hall, the snarly budget team will battle a city staff that is already shell-shocked by the bulldog tactics of budget chief Tom Jakobek.

"Rude" and "abusive" are two of the words used to describe Jakobek, and to a lesser degree, the six-member team, as they forced city staff last week to justify spending decisions during informal briefing sessions.

"This was like nothing any of us have ever experienced," said one staff person, more used to the genteel approach employed by the former Metro councillors. There was shouting, tension, "too much micro-managing" and bullying of staff, the staffer said of last week's encounter.

"Thank God we did," is Jakobek's response. "The budget is in rough shape. If we have to micro-manage? Well, at the end of the day, when someone's swimming pool or wading pool closes, who will they blame? Me."

**********

Summer, 2005

Sarah thought about the strange mounds of earth found in various places on the Island.

She and Liz had taken the ferry to Hanlan’s Point and walked almost as far as the tennis courts. They stopped just a short walk from the entrance to the nude beach and ruminated in silence. It was about 35 degrees Celsius.

"You know, only people like you and me know what that metal grating is for" she remembered Liz's remark.

It was the drainage chamber for the wading pool that was buried there under the mound of earth, of course.

They had stood in silence as if they were attending a grave. In a distant memory, they both still heard the children splashing and laughing.

************

So *did* they blame Joke-o-bek she wondered? So much for the effects of bulldog tactics. Too bad he didn’t scoop that parking lot cash to re-open the wading pools, she thought.

The Toronto Islands Residential Community Trust Purchaser's List Lottery

2005-11-17T19:26:00.000-06:00

"The Toronto Islands Residential Community Trust" she repeated out loud for no one to hear.

What a mouthful.

She signed the application form thinking of the future.

It was an application for the lottery to be on the Purchaser's List.

The lottery to get on the Purchaser's List only happened every few years.

"The Purchaser's List" she said aloud.

She could barely imagine being on the Purchaser's List. It was just too incredible. After all these years, could she could have a chance to buy a lease and house on the Island?

This was just an application to be the last person on a list of 500 people who also wanted to purchase a lease and house on the Island. What were the chances? But just the mere thought of being on the list was enough for now.

For the second time this week, she signed her cheques for the processing and application fees and thought about the future - about what might happen. About whether or not she would fit into the community. After all, she had been an employee there - never a resident. Would they look down on her? Would she make friends? What about the old-timers and the residents who had known her when she was an employee? Would they accept her as a "resident". Maybe no one would even notice her.

No, they all had to know everyone's business - no chance of being anonymous there.

Of course, that suited her just fine. She had never wanted to be anonymous.

She reminisced about a day in the past when she had looked into the future, never imagining how incredible it would be.

The future she imagined then, was now the distant past.

The whole concept was very topsy-turvy, and she started to wonder about things related to space/time continuums, time loops, and where she belonged in the alternate universe.

(Whoah, enough silly girl. Re-runs of Star Trek episodes in your mind do not explain life!)

She found it a fascinating hobby to imagine the future, then look back years later to see how thoroughly impossible it was to know what was going to happen.

This gave her an even greater imagination regarding her current future. She could imagine seemingly impossible events. But were they really impossible? Or perhaps she couldn't possibly imagine what was about to unfold in life, say around the year 2015 . . .

TorontoIslands

October 16th, 1990

2005-10-17T17:52:00.000-06:00

12:00 a.m.
SHE: Can ya get a bucket, I'm gonna throw up

HE: here you go

SHE: uerrggggh, achhhck, oh shit

HE: don't worry, I'll clean it, just sit over here

SHE: actually I'm glad I did that, it feels better

HE: Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are when you're barfing?

SHE: Anyone ever tell you you're weird?

12:30 a.m.
SHE: 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .5 . . .6. . .7 . . .8 . . .9 . . .10

HE: ahh that's incredible the way your arm is moving out to the count. Is that pushing the pain away?

SHE: (nodding) uuuuuung . . . 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . . . . . .

1:45 a.m.
ANESTHETIST: Curl up as much as possible, that makes the space between your vertebrae larger so I can get the needle in easier. You tall women are lucky you know. It's much easier to get in the space.

SHE: Oh, I feel so lucky. How long will this t . . . @#$! Are you done?

2:30 a.m.
SHE: I can't believe this, I can't feel a thing! Wanna play cards or something? I can't believe there are women who want to do natural childbirth. This is a bloody miracle drug!

HE: So, your good to go? Yer looking pretty hot right now. Ya think that door has a lock on it?

SHE: Well, at least I couldn't get pregnant right now.

HE: That's right - built in birth control here!

SHE: yer a goof, ya know that?

6:30 a.m.
NURSE: ok, you are fully dilated and the epidural is wearing off. You can start pushing.

10:00 a.m.
SHE: 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 6 . . . 7 . . . 8 . . . 9 . . . 10 . . .

12:00 p.m.
SHE: 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 6 . . . 7 . . . 8 . . . 9 . . . 10 . . . aaaruunnnn, I'm getting tired

12:30 p.m.
DR: (enters for the first time, completely oblivious to the timing of the pushing and counting). Ok here comes another contraction, let's count:

1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

SHE & HE: (laughing) Are you crazy? We can't push that long all the way to 10!!!!

2:40 p.m.
HE: Wish you could see this - lots of black hair showing!!

DR: (Holding massive butcher knife, like he is working the abatoire tonight) alright, we need to do the episiotomy. You're not squeamish are you?

HE: Are you kidding? I'd be on the floor passed out by now if I was.

DR: Ok then, here we go.

SHE: Tell me when you're about to do it ok?

HE: It's done

SHE: What???? I didn't feel it at all!

DR: Your nerve endings are stretched out so much around the opening that there is no sensation.

SHE: I don't believe it.

3:00 p.m.
DR: Ok, you're just about there, come on . . . the head is out

HE: Come on baby, one more

SHE: RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

NURSE: That's it - it's a girl.

3:30 p.m.

HE: I still say you should have let me video tape this.

****************************************************

OCTOBER 16th, 2005

SHE: Hope you had a great birthday baby.

YOUNG SHE: That was the BEST birthday weekend ever. Thanks Mummy, I love you.

SHE: I love you too honey. I am so glad you are happy.

******************************************************

External vs Internal Environment

2005-08-30T19:08:00.000-06:00

She had had some of the worst managers and some of the best managers in her professional life, as well as many in-betweens. Bossman once said to her “Sweetie, you are management – you can’t afford to have moods”.

That was one of the best pieces of advice she had ever received. She continued to use it in both her professional and personal life for many years, slipping only occasionally.

He often reinforced it with an adage, which she heard repeatedly. It became a mantra. It was like a ghost speaking to her.

"Never let your external environment influence your internal environment”

"Sorry, we're liquidating the company"

2005-06-16T13:34:00.000-06:00

Sorry, no story today.

(The following to be read in a Valley Girl voice):

Hey guys. Ya know what happened? It’s like . . . like . . . soooo NOT-bitchin’

It’s just like one of those things that really bugs you, ya knouww?

Like, it’s just so . . . hhhha . . . ruuude.

I mean, maybe it’s just because I’m, like, on the rag or something right now, but it really bugs me when, like, the owners of your company can’t get along, and they, like, LIQUIDATE THE COMPANY.

You know, wow – did I see that coming? Like, uh-uhhhhhhhhhhh!

Like, they could have warned me when I decided to relocate 100 km to be closer to work, or something. But did they - no way!

Oh yeah, and let’s keep it a secret so no one will go out and get another job, right. Yah, right! That's just peachy, now that I passed up that job for 20Gs more than I make. And now it's, you know, GONE.

You know, I hope it's not a problem for anyone, but I’m – just like - just soooooo ticked off right now.

Sarah's Day

2005-06-09T10:39:00.000-06:00

Sunset from the ferry
Originally uploaded by Natashia.

She drove along past the boats moored at Hanlan’s Point this morning trying to keep herself awake. It was a peaceful scene. Some of the boaters were already up fixing their breakfast, some of them scrubbing or painting. Sarah and her partner were the first ones out of the yard today with a train. Thankfully, there were no passengers yet. She hoped it would stay quiet for a while longer so she would have the chance to really come alive and embrace the day. She continued driving almost in a trance, thinking about last night.

She had been out late with the crew partying at Fire Pit #1. It had been a beautiful August night. Steve had brought over a huge load of wood for them – far more than most picnickers would have received. They had set up the bon fire so high that the flames towered over them at their highest point. It was so hot that they all had to stand back several feet. Bossman and Frank had arranged to have the libations delivered, of course. No respectable Parkie party could proceed dry. But it wouldn’t have mattered - there was plenty of food, laughter and fun. Alcohol, although a regular staple here, was a bonus tonight - not a necessity.

Someone cracked the bat after an easy pitch and ran like the blazes, while his friends yelled – “don’t spill the beer!” There was usually a drink or two placed at strategic points, like first or second base. Other members of the crew gathered in groups near the food or fire, and told stories about passengers on the trains that day that either made them crazy or made them laugh. With the backdrop of an orange sunset and the skyline in silhouette, it was an idyllic scene. Sarah snapped images with her new camera.

Dusk was upon them soon and some of the cops who were now off duty came over to join in. Never to be outdone by the Parkies they, of course, brought more beer. Sarah kept snapping in the background hoping no one would notice that many of the shots would feature Seth. Once they were developed she would take most these pictures of him out of the pack so that no one would notice how many she had taken. She anticipated the moments when she would be able to linger over each image, alone and uninterrupted.

Seth was a cop in the marine unit and she had spent many afternoons chatting with him when things were slow. She had many a witty remark to make and the laughter came easily between them. She had never felt so smart, or so beautiful than when he came to visit her. She was not one to fall in love easily, but as the summer wore on, and they discussed everything from gardening to apprehending a suspect, she felt the gradual slide into the deliciousness of it all. She often caught herself looking for the Metro Police boat cruising the harbour or lagoons. If she spotted it, her heart would race and she would chastise herself for becoming involved. Did he know the effect he was having on her with his boyish good looks and police uniform? She wasn’t sure, but he was more attentive than any of the other cops on the Island. Or was that her imagination?

Snapping back to attention in the drivers seat of her train, Sarah noticed the police boat mooring up ahead! Here we go again she thought, the adrenaline starting to pump. Off in the distance, she could see the beautiful black uniform and a tall figure expertly tying up the boat. Two more uniforms stepped out onto parkland with long legs and wide shoulders. Was he among them? She slowed the train down a bit, craning her neck, trying to see around trees and shrubs.

At the last second, she saw the huge bole of an oak tree directly in front of her windshield and CRASH! Suddenly, all was the sound of breaking glass, steam, and her partner’s voice from the back of the train yelling to her. She remembered being conscious as she was thrown to the ground. She remembered thinking that this ninety-foot train with its three trailing units and sound system must cost over $100,000. But nothing else entered her head until the haze cleared and she realized that someone was carrying her on a stretcher and taking her somewhere. She felt like she was floating. She sensed a flashing light and a truck pulling up nearby. She caught a glimpse of her supervisor, Lasha, in the distance with a gaping jaw and eyes straining in her direction. Someone was yelling. When she was to able to understand where she was, she finally turned her head and looked directly into Seth’s eyes. He put an ice-pack on her forehead and said “what are you trying to do, kill yourself? Don’t worry, we’re taking you city side – I get to take you to the hospital, Beautiful”.

The Sherriff's Day

2005-06-07T22:26:00.000-06:00

Regatta Course
Originally uploaded by Natashia.

The sun was well over the yardarm, and the early shift on the Island was just about finished for the day. The chatter about the day’s events had begun amongst them.

“Hey – d’ja hear what happened to The Sheriff yesterday?” asked Bossman.

“What?” they all seemed to enquire at once.

Lasha was curious – it sounded like a good story coming up. Around her, on the dock near the lagoon sat Steve, The Sherriff, Stephano, Bossman, and Frank. As usual, she was the only woman. She was used to that by now.

She loved this time of day. The heat of the day had mostly passed. It was a couple of hours before sundown in July. The shadows created interesting illusions in the water. The weeping willow branches swept the surface of the lagoon as though caressing it. They had all been out in the park all day, and though she would pass by her colleagues and exchange messages on the radio, they all worked independently, responsible for their own park operations. They were together, but separate. And in July, they were extremely busy.

So except for brief exchanges, she usually didn’t get a chance to really talk to everyone until the end of the day. It was about 6 o'clock when one by one, everyone gradually filtered into the yard, hidden from the public. This was where everyone unloaded their complaints, re-hashed the stories of the day, had a couple of cold ones, and asked questions. Above all else, they bonded. Bossman, being the ultimate people-manager, had engineered this ritual over the years.

“Tell ‘em Sheriff!” commanded the Boss in his best John Wayne voice.

“Ok, ok, I had a little incident yesterday.”

The usual chatter subsided and all attention turned to The Sheriff.

“I came into the office just before going home and the phone rang. I wouldn’t have got it but I thought it might be the wife. Boy was I wrong, but it was interesting.”

“Who was it?” someone asked.

“Someone who'd been here for the day. Seems this bird didn’t like what she saw on Olympic – you know where we set up for the kid’s show with the clowns and all? She was there and saw an employee standing there for about an hour and wanted to squawk about the tax payer’s money being wasted. You know the drill.”

He put on one of his imitation raspy-old-lady voices and recited the typical public complaint that so many of them knew. They all nodded and smirked as he rattled off the familiar statements:

‘I saw one of your staff standing around today doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING on Olympic Island for ages when he should have been working. I know for a FACT that they’re only supposed to take a half hour for lunch but he was lazing around watching that show for hours. I pay my taxes you know and you civil servants are supposed to be SERVING us, not goofing off. Where the heck was his supervisor? I see it all the time, these ne’er-do-wells you have as excuses for . . .

“Sorry ma’am, excuse me . . . may I . . .”

“They’re just a bunch of lazy SOBs feeding at the public trough - he should be fired – he probably comes in late and gets into . . .

“Yes ma’am . . . . uh . . . ma’am, can I ask a question?”

“WHAT?”

“What time did you see this man standing there?”

“About one o’clock, why?”

“Well ma’am, it might help me to figure out which of my staff was there at the time. What did this man look like?”

“He was tall, about six foot, two, with dark rimmed glasses, medium build. Oh, and he was wearing a white shirt with the city logo – you know. Do you know who he is?”

At this point The Sheriff felt a boulder drop into the pit of his stomach. Only management employees wore white shirts in the Parks system.

“Uh, yes Ma’am, uh, yes . . . that was me.”

“WHAAAAT? You ought be ashamed of yourself, you good for nuthin’ . . . whadd’ya got to say fur yerselllllff? I’m comin’ down there and give ya . . .”

By now, the Sherriff could tell that this “patron of the Island” was about three sheets to the wind. Nevertheless, she deserved respect like the rest of them. And that’s how he treated her.

“Uhh, Ma’am?”

“Whaaadya godda say fer yerself, ya lazy so and so . . .”

“Well, Ma’am, can I explain for a minute?”

Go on , ya #$@! . . .

“Well, you see, my Boss asked me to watch that show today. We have to make sure that anything in the public view is suitable for children. So I had to watch the entire show to make sure it was alright.”

Oh . . . uh . . . whaaasss yer name big guy? Yer kinda good lookin’ ya know? Ya think ya could all come over and see me – I’m by me-self fer the time bein’ . . . .

“Well thank you for calling Ma’am, it’s been nice chatting with you.”

They all roared in laughter. More beers were popped open and passed around. They sat back reflecting and savouring the moment before the next story began.

Shit Hawks

2005-06-02T10:41:00.000-06:00

Toronto Islands from the air
Originally uploaded by Natashia.

"Slow down!" she shrieked.

They raced along the Lakeshore in his pickup headed for a flock of seagulls.

"What the hell are ya doing?" she screamed, holding onto the armrest and checking that the door was locked in case she flew out if he turned suddenly.

"Hoooold on", he bellowed for effect, and stepped on the gas further.

With only a split second left the batch of hungry scavengers gave up their repast and scrambled out of the way leaving feathers, scraps, and crumbs flying through the air after them.

"Waaahoooo!" he cried as he slammed on the brakes. His back wheels skidded a bit to the right and planted themselves firmly on the edge of the sandy beach near the service road.

"You're out of your mind, you screwball" she complained.

But when she saw him grinning at her, she melted a bit inside and began to chuckle. Where else in the world would they be able to get away with these kind of antics but on the Island. Once again, she marvelled at her good fortune thinking, wow! they actually pay me to work here.

It was September, after Labour Day. It was warm and sunny, and the place seemed deserted. At this time of year, most of the park visitors were gone. They were either back at school or at work. Or if they were Seniors, most of them were gone to Europe to take advantage of low airfares. A lot of the temporary workers had been laid off so when the opportunity arose, it was easy to go a little crazy.

He knew there was no one within a couple of kilometres, so he leaned over and tried to kiss her. But she stopped him thinking he needed a stern talking-to.

"Wait a minute you! You could have a bunch of dead birds to pick up off the road right now you nutcase!"

"Well, take a look behind you, do you see any blood & guts?" he replied.

"Hey, they're starving! Why'd ya have to go and disturb them when they found a few little scraps?" She smacked him on the shoulder.

"Whaaaat, since when did you start caring about shit hawks anyway?"

"How'd you like it if every time you sat down to a nice meal someone drove their truck right over your dining room table?"

"Just don't spill the beer and it's okay with me. I'll eat anything as long as it has ketchup on it. But check it out - they don't seem too fazed about it."

She glanced over her shoulder and found it no surprise that they were already flocking back to fight over the last few scraps. Even the bits with tire tracks in them. She sighed and smiled at him. God knew she had no love of seagulls. They were dirty, squawking pigs that dominated and bullied the smaller birds. However, she had had to pick up her share of dead, dying or starving seagulls as part of her duties here, and didn't care to inflate the numbers of ex-birds by running them down.

She continued, "Well they're cleaning up the park for us - why don't you leave them alone".

"Ha, maybe we should hire them huh? They might be better than some of our own staff. At least they don't take breaks or come to work drunk!"

"Can you train birds to mow the grass too?" she quipped.

"No, but you can train me to mow your lawn, baby." He leaned in again for the kiss, and this time she let him.

She gazed at him, wondering how she could have gotten into this situation with him.

She knew the birds had not been in any real danger. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He did it only for her reaction.

He loved it when she screamed and called him a nutcase.

Recycled Fodder

2005-06-01T11:22:00.000-06:00

I was just thinking . . .

I've been looking for a way to feed my blog novel at

Three Witty Women

I wanted somewhere to put my thoughts before actually writing them in the style and order required by publishers of novels that sell. So why not start another blog. Here I can write my vignettes and musings in any order, not worrying about style. Then I can steal from it as I please and enhance it for use in my blog novel.

I love cut & paste functions. I've increased my efficiency in the workplace by 30% by cutting and pasting. Prove it you say? Ok, send me a SASE with a processing payment of $14.99 Cdn and I will send you the time/efficiency study I conducted in May of 2003 when I should have been using my time more efficiently to actually do the work I should have been doing.

Anyway, back to my original idea for this post: "Feed" was the word that stuck in my mind when I thought about how to write content for my blog novel. I word-associated in the way my rambling mind does, and thought:

feed => cattle-feed => fodder.

Then my negative talk kicked in saying how pretentious and self-centered I was to think I might actually be a paid writer someday. So the word-association game lead to bull#!@%!

bull#!@% => Recycled Fodder

And that is how "The Recycled Fodder Blog" was born.