Welcome back to school...sigh

I recently read a story about how to prepare your child for going back to school. It was full of all sorts of interesting and helpful suggestions, tips and advice for helping your child make the transition from the care-free days of summer to the regimented routine of a public school system.

When I was a child, the only thing we did to prepare for going back to school was go shopping for books, paper, pencils, erasers, (wine for mom and dad to celebrate our return to school) and even some new clothes – which, of course, you could not wear on the first day because it was not considered 'cool' to look your best.

Instead, you wore the same ratty jeans you had on at the last day of school from the previous year. Like a fine wine (the kind parents use to celebrate back to school) you had to let the new clothes sit and 'age' for a while.

At least a week, then you could wear a new shirt. A few days later you would venture out in your new jeans and then your new shoes. Eventually you would head out with all of the new clothing on at the same time, but by now school had been in session for at least a couple weeks so you were not branded a geek for wearing new clothes on the first day.

And if memory serves, there was a whole bunch of other reasons you were branded a geek. Or so I have been told anyway.

Anyway, the article recommended all sorts of things to help the youngsters get back into the school groove before school even starts.

They suggest you start preparing your children two weeks before the big day by doing things like establishing a routine, explain expectations, hold those expectations to a realistic level, talk to your child about school etc.

All good advice indeed. When I was a kid heading back to the seventh level of hell, er, I mean school, the only prep we had was seeing those horrid back-to-school commercials on TV.

They would start a couple weeks before the nine months of torture would resume and had the never-failing result of ruining the last vestiges of summer you had yet to enjoy.

Who could enjoy late August when you knew your care-free days were numbered? Not I.

As for my parent's role in preparing me for school, if I recall it went something like this: School starts next week.

The end.

That was about it. A quick reminder I was about to lose my freedom to the dungeon masters of the public education system for another year.

There was no advice on how to get used to going back to school, there were no pep talks, no cushioning the blow – just one day you are enjoying summer, the next you are chained to a desk learning that most evil form of math - algebra.

The first day of school we would find our name on a list taped to the side of the school that let us know what kind of a school year we were in for.

The list told us what our homeroom was and what courses we were taking and when. Groaning and gnashing of teeth was heard throughout the day as people saw their short-term future printed before them in black and white.

You would then run around to all your friends to see if you shared any classes with them which either led to rejoicing or more of that gnashing I was telling you about.

But it only took a few days to get back into the routine and in the back of my mind was always the reassurance that summer vacation was less than 300 days away.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh    

I guess I'm dumber than a dog

I was walking the dog the other day and came to the conclusion he is not the brightest penny in the purse, because every time I take him for a walk he almost hangs himself he pulls on the leash so hard.
I am sure many dog people out there are mumbling something about how to train the beast so he does not do that, and it is on my 'to do' list, right above teaching the cat to use the toilet.
Pretty much every time I take him out, the mutt cranks up his 17 pounds of raw animal power and does his best to drag me down the street.
Murphy the Wonder Hound pulls so hard he begins to choke himself. He will gack and sputter and make this nasty hacking noise, but he will not stop pulling - that is until he finds a pile of doggy doo-doo which he simply must investigate.
Watching the dog form of inspection once again makes me glad to be a human. How much fun could it be to put your face millimetres away from a big pile of doo-doo and breath heavily through your nose? For us human types I doubt it would be any fun at all, but dogs seem to enjoy it and Murph the Surf really loves it and does not miss an opportunity to enjoy such an event.
I have often contemplated what he is thinking while investigating a pile o' crap (which is yet another indicator as to how sad and pathetic my life really is.)
"I wonder if I know this guy. It kind of smells like a lab, no, wait, it might be a shepherd. Hmmm, Alpo, good choice of dog food."
He will then tire of inspecting the subject and move on, once again pulling so hard he coughs like a life-long smoker trying to climb a set of stairs.
While watching him pull on the leash and make all sorts of weird noises, I wonder just how smart does he have to be to realize it is his own actions that are causing him pain.
I had the exact same thought while paintballing the other day.
Paintball is a game where you run through the woods with air-powered markers (aka guns) and hunt your friends for sport and enjoyment.
I was stealthily hiding my 250-pound frame behind a few trees, waiting for the enemy horde to appear only to be struck down in a hail of little yellow and blue balls when I heard the pop of a paintball marker behind me, followed by the splat of a paintball as it hit the tree beside me.
Not a good thing.
I knew my sworn enemy - which is whoever happened to be on the opposing team that day - had flanked me and I was about to have a close encounter of the painful kind.
And I was right.
Before I could react, there were a few more splats against the tree followed by the most painful hit I have ever experienced in three seasons of shoot 'em up.
My valiant and noble adversary had managed to hit me in the back of the head, right where the neck and skull join.
Can you say "That friggin' hurt?" 
I could, but because there are several words I no longer say aloud, I had to keep my thoughts from becoming spoken, which was easier said than done.
When the ball hit I saw a lovely collection of spots and stars. I briefly dropped to one knee before retreating to the re-spawning area where I took a couple of seconds to gather my thoughts (and to wait for the stars to go away) before rejoining the battle.
During that time, I remember thinking about my dog who was so dumb he pulls on his leash to the point of causing himself pain.
"You dumb dog, all you have to do is not pull so hard and it won't hurt."
With the replacing of a handful of words, that sentence can be applied to yours truly.
"You dumb ass, all you have to do is stop playing paintball and you won't get hurt."
I then began to wonder who the dumb beast really was. At least Murphy didn't have to pay money to do something that hurts.

Copyright 2015 Darren Handschuh

So long 2014, can't say I will miss you

Dear Mother Nature: it would appear you were not listening very well.
Myself and many other people requested snow before Christmas so we would not just have to dream about a white one.
There is something wrong with having a green Christmas.
I can recall childhood Christmases full of the white stuff so we could go tobogganing and make snow forts or our own version of Frosty before running into the house to warm up our frozen feet by the fire while sipping a mug of hot chocolate.
We should not be taking the dog for a walk while wearing running shoes and a jacket.
However, two days after the last present was opened, Ma Nature and her cohort, Old Man Winter, got together and plopped a bunch of the white stuff on us – when it is no longer needed.
Snow is a Christmas thing and once Christmas if finished, I personally no longer have a need for the frozen rain that piles up on the driveway, sidewalk and car.
I especially do not need it on the car where it makes seeing out the windshield most challenging and causes me to be late for work (OK, that last part isn't too bad actually.)
The problem is, we are still looking at many more weeks of winter before things start to heat up and the glorious days of spring thaw the land and warms my heart.
But no snow for Christmas day seems a rather fitting way to close 2014, a year fraught with challenges, heartache and some very dark days.
My children lost their beloved grandma – my mother-in-law - last year. While at times we  had a stormy relationship, there was always love, so her passing was a tough one for me, but much tougher for my wife and our children.
At times the little old lady drove me crazy, but I am sure there are times I drove her crazy. Such was our relationship.
Christmas was tainted by the constant feeling something was missing throughout the entire festive season.
The year that is no more also had its fair share of challenging mental health days. Some very dark days were endured in 2014, days of immense difficulty.
The first half of 2014 was, simply put, no fun at all. Living with mental health issues can be a nasty business and there were many days during the early part of the year that were nearly more than one could bear.
But as always, you soldier on, you grind it out as best you can knowing this too shall pass. And for the most part it did. The darkness did return in spurts throughout the year, but compared to the constant barrage of the early 2014, it was a blip in a relatively tranquil sea.
But I shall not miss 2014, nor recall it as a banner year in my life.
It wasn't all bad and 2014 held moments of great joy and victory, but to be honest, I am kind of glad is it over.
I do not put much stock in the changing of the calendar.
Typically the arrival of a new year feels a lot like the old one, but I am hoping for and am optimistic 2015 will be a better year.
And why not? Why let the hard days of 2014 carry on and plague a new year that everyone says is a chance for a fresh start?
There is no reason to think 2015 will bring with it the same bitter fruits of 2014. And if it does, well, then all I, or any of us can do for that matter, is keep on keeping on.
Take the hard days one at a time knowing eventually the dawn will break, the birds will sing and life will get better.
I have no grand wishes or resolutions for 2015, just the hope of better days. And right now, that is good enough for me.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh

Suicide Hill made for snow much fun

There is a terrific tobogganing hill a couple hundred metres from where I live.
There are several grades from a leisurely slide down the hill to a rocket-like decent for the brave and foolhardy.
The best part is, the run off area is a football field.
My children spent many an hour sliding down and climbing up that hill as did numerous other kids from around the neighbourhood.
There were even a few of us older kids out there once in a while, reliving our youth by taking a blast of frozen ice particles to the face.
I never had an actual toboggan when I was a young lad, but I have ridden on one a few and the snow just pours over the top of the wooden contraption and hits you in the face, tearing off the first layer of skin and rendering you temporarily blind.
Of course, the more the hill is used the less powder there is. Eventually, the snow packs down and the slope ices up until it is basically a downhill skating rink, allowing participants to break the sound barrier before they reach the bottom of the hill.
As a young lad, we would all gather at 'Suicide Hill' to do our sledding.
What else would a group of youngsters name a tobogganing hill? Gentle Slope of Fun? Slide of Silliness?
No, it had to be something dangerous, something that evoked the death-defying acts we were performing.
Actually, it was not the safest sledding hill in the country. There were two runs: a short fast one, and a long slower one.
The short fast one went down a fairly steep slope into a run off area. Doesn't sound too bad except for the barbed wire fence at the end of the run. If you had too much speed, you actually had to jump off your mount to slow down or you would hit the fence – as had been done by many people on many occasions.
The other run was much slower and if you did it right you would slide across a driveway, through a cross road and down another road that was even longer than the actual hill you started out on. The full length of this run could only done when there was a fresh, unplowed snowfall blanketing the blacktop because sliding on bare asphalt is a bad idea any time of the year.
Aside from the risk of being run over, it was a lot of fun. Kids rarely factor danger into their activities, so we hardly ever thought about being clobbered by a car.
Our focus was on racing down the mountain and seeing who could slide the farthest, the fastest.
No one was ever seriously hurt, but one intrepid slider did crash into the side of a car, much the displeasure of the car owner who was more worried about a dent in his automobile than the head of the child that caused the dent.
That hill is now a housing development, so never again will a child have to dodge a Dodge or find a way to stop before sailing through a barbed wire fence.
And perhaps that is a good thing.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh

It's just a bruise, it's no big deal - isn't it?

Being married to nurse has its good points and its bad.
The good is you are living with a highly trained medical personnel you can run to for advice and healing.
More than once our living room looked more like an emergency room as my son and his skateboarding friends all lined up to have their injuries tended to.
One day, there was four of them patiently waiting to have their wounds tended to.
Skinned knees, elbows, scrapes, bruises and a variety of other injuries were treated by my wife who has been a registered nurse for 26 years.
She has worked in the real emergency room of a hospital in a small town we lived in for a while, she has cared for seniors, palliative patients and for a few years she specialized in wound care.
This is where she would look after people who just had an operation or injury and got to perform such lovely tasks as draining a wound, which is actually more disgusting than it sounds.
I learned many years ago not to ask her what she did that day because the answers are not conducive to keeping your dinner down.
Tales of seeping blood, puss-filled sores (my personal favourite) and a whole raft of maladies are discussed by her and her nursing comrades with the aplomb of someone chatting about the weather.
To them, it is just another day at the office. Meanwhile I am huddled in the corner of the room with my hands over my ears trying to think of puppy dogs and sunny days to get the horrid nursing tales out of my mind.
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
But when you are injured, it is great to have an expert on wound care living under the same roof – most of the time anyway.
The other day I bruised my leg doing martial arts. As the most senior member of the club (in age, not belt ranking) it can be a challenge to keep up with the young pups as they bounce around the training area with the kind of energy and agility only youth allows.
On this particular day I took a knee to the thigh, creating a rather large, purple bruise.
In the club I train at, a bruise or a black eye is referred to as a souvenier and I have had many souveniers over the years.
Anyway, the young pup I was training with accidentally landed on my leg causing a bruise I casually mentioned to my wife.
ÒYou should keep an eye on that. It could cause a blood clot.”
ÒHuh?”
ÒIt is a hematoma, and if your leg starts to turn red and swell up, you better get to a doctor. There was this one patient I had with a bruise on his leg, got a blood clot and died.”
It took less than a minute to go from me telling her I had a bruise on my leg to her telling me I could get a deadly blood clot.
Up until that point I just thought it was a little boo-boo. No big deal.
Now I have to worry about a blood clot making its way to my heart or brain and sending on a one way trip toward the bright light.
I am really quite confident the bruise is just an minor 'owie' and nothing to be concerned about. It is not the first boo-boo I have had in my lifetime.
But when you are married to a medical professional, they tend to look at the worst-case scenario so they are prepared for any scenario.
The downside to being married to a nurse is sometimes she really freaks me out with all the possible medical disasters that could happen. The upside is, she knows about all the  possible medical disasters that could happen.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh