Cars & winters in Canada

Something that may be helpful if you own a car and live in Canada (or the northern regions of the U.S.A.) is to know what the automaker suggests as the optimum starting procedures. I know, I know, first, the fancier new ones merely require you to put your foot on the break pedal and press the "Start" button; however, a second option for us plebs with cars that require an ignition key and the twisting thereof, may need different associated procedures.
My current Dodge, is best if you keep your foot off all pedals, and as I twist the ignition key to initiate  the ignition process, I press the accelerator pedal twice.
My 1978 Ford, preferred it if you pressed the accelerator to the floor before turning the ignition key on and holding it down until the firing process kicked in.
If you do not know what is best for your car, might I suggest  you open the Owner's Handbook and see what it says. (!) One upon a time, it used to tell you handy tips like that. Or, you could ask "Siri" or "Alex"  or perhaps simply your "Car Guy" ---  who of course, may very easily be a "Car Gal".

Bah humbug

Most of my life I have been accused of being a bah-humbug person. Not a Scrooge, mean-spirited character, merely one who did not "get into the spirit of the season" I was definitely a bit like that when it came to discussions or fighting crowds in a Mall or down Oxford Street; However, I never minded buying gifts nor wrapping them and love the look of a lit up Christmas tree. I just get sick of hearing 'Santa's Coming to Town' sung everyday, 20 times a day, from November 1st on the radio TV or even the Supermarket!!
I have great memories of childhood Christmases, and prefer Christmas Carols to the pop songs of the season. (Although, 'Grandma Got Run Over  by a Reindeer' is a classic.) Somewhere in my twenties, when I thought science and religion were opposite sides of a universal coin, I thought going to church at Christmas meant I was being a hypocrite.
Then, I realized that going to a Christmas service and singing those carols were a ritual sharing of a  celebration with my family. One that we all would remember for decades. Especially, as I am much older now and many of those family members are not sitting in the pew beside me, the happy memories remain.
So forgive me wincing at the radio's choice of music, but let me smile inwardly when 'Hark, the Herald Angels Sing' comes on and I shed an inward tear for my beloved family.

Blade Runner

I saw Blade Runner on my own in 1982; paid extra because it was a Cinema with Dolby Stereo Sound, and in Scarborough, Ontario, that was the regular practice. Similar to paying a premium for IMAX now.
I have loved Science Fiction since my childhood. I was lucky enough to have people give me Astounding Stories and Fantasy magazines back then. They were small, thin paper editions similar to the Soap Opera Digest and Astrology ones that line the shelves of Supermarket Checkouts nowadays.
In my early days in Toronto, I walked up and down Yonge Street checking out the huge number of second hand books stores that were there, before Urban Re-vitalization took over. I am well aware that the bulk of the customers were flipping through the nude magazines, which were not shrink-wrapped in plastic in those days; However, there were shelves and shelves of old classics, Sci-Fi and cowboy paperbacks. I acquired F. Scott Fitzgerald stories, Evelyn Waugh, loads of Penguin Paperbacks with their unique orange spines and all the new science fiction releases, but second-hand. I read all of Philip K. Dick's material. "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" was a favourite of mine.
It is the basis for Blade Runner. So, naturally, I fell in love with the 1982 film which one could recognize as a definitive new look at a dystopian future. No sweet Star Trek aliens or Universal brotherhood and Peace in the Galaxy. All the "Off-World" stuff was just alluded to, the plot centred on happenings on Earth. It was intelligent and visually stunning.
So is Blade Runner 2049. I like how the story has evolved, and the way it builds on the previous story.  Too many sequels merely tell the same story merely ten years later, or whatever...
If you enjoyed the original, you should like this. I doubt that anyone wanting to see it because they are a Ryan Gosling fan will like it though. It is long, darkly photographed and imagined darkly. Again.
I will see it again though when iit comes to Netflix in January 2018.

Messing about with clocks

Growing up in London, the bi-annual meddling with clocks had little or no effect on me. Spring or Autumn, I was going to be late for school or college or work... my body just plugged on, ignoring the world's routines and rituals.
Then I emigrated to Canada.
That first year in Toronto, I usually spent Sunday afternoons sharing lunch with the couple that had emigrated along with me. As well as a lot more time during the week with them, too.
However, that first year, 1970, "clocks going backwards weekend" saw me spending that Sunday alone.
I lived on St.George Street, and a couple of blocks from my apartment building was the subway. After a dreary morning, I decided to take the subway downtown and walk around. I got off at Toronto City Hall and walked around Nathan Phillips Square. I thought I would people-watch. In those days, there was no kiosk to buy a coffee or hot chocolate; I cannot recall if the wading pool had become an ice rink yet. What I do remember is, that the piazza/plaza/public space was unusually empty. I stood beside the entrance to City Hall and looked towards the Simpson's Tower and two towers of the Toronto Dominion Centre and wondered what I was doing there. (The third TD tower had not been built yet, nor had the Sheraton Hotel which is nowadays directly opposite City Hall.) The darkness and gloom at 5 p.m. made me really sad. I thought about the family and friends I left behind. I wondered if they were in our usual Sunday haunts; the pub. It was not winter-cold yet, but a chill went through me.
I stayed for about 15 minutes, then took the subway home. I had no TV nor record player, just a transistor radio and a Sony Stereo Cassette player, but I only has about 4 tapes!
I had a cup of tea, put on the radio and read a book. I read hundreds of books that year. In October 1970, I was not sure that I would be staying and building a life in Canada, and that first Sunday that the clocks went back, I really felt like I wanted to return to England soon. I had planned to stay for at least 3 years. I thought that North American work experience would be a good addition to my (then) meager Resume.
However, a Christmas in Florida and a road trip across this continent changed everything within 12 months.

Dior's New Look

70 years ago this past February, Christian Dior brought out his "New Look". It put Paris and fashion back on the world's front page of newspapers. It signaled the end of war time austerity.
PBS' current Masterpiece series 'The Collection' is a veiled look at those heady days but they have used a fictitious Fashion House, with Nazi collaborator undertones for its story. Having lived through those times, and having a mother who loved fashion and told me stories about the impact of The New Look, it is interesting to me; However, I find this Masterpiece production below their usual fine standard. Watch it to see what Mary Quant was rebelling against in the 1950's with her mini skirts and "Mod" look which truly caught on in the sixties with the Beatles music and fashion melding together in pop culture sensibilities.

Quote from DW.com:
Sociologists and historians who've analyzed the first post-World War II years agree. The long hems and petticoats made of yards of fabric were a sign of the end of the governmental restrictions on materials, while the comeback of corsets signalized the return of women from offices, hospitals, and munitions factories back to homes.

men and women

Let's start with an unusual example. Forty years ago, I was in a  Urban Geography lecture, the lecturer was actually also my friend and mentor. The class began discussing an issue concerning The Toronto Islands. When the islands were acquired by the city for recreational purposes, there were residents on it who were permitted to stay. The homes were to be acquired later as they became vacant. That never happened. Many owners, moved out but rented the houses to people who were warned that it could not be a permanent situation. Now decades later, the City wanted the houses to use the land for "The people of Toronto" It was the Seventies, so, naturally, there were marches protests, etc "Save the Island Homes."
I actually felt that they SHOULD be evicted. The renters knew exactly what the deal was; why complain now. I wanted the greater good to prevail and said so in the class discussion.
The lecturer said, "Yes, Michael, but sometimes we need to re-assess our position. It is OK to change our minds. Having people living on the Islands is a good thing for the whole city. Haven't you ever changed your mind?"
Well... he was exactly right. I was annoyed at people who knew what they were getting into claiming "It's my home, leave me alone." They should have known better. However, having citizens in the heart of city is a good thing for everyone. I should change my mind.
Well, back in those days, just like so many other young men, I called women "girls" thought it OK to "check them out" and went up to women I did not know and ask "would you like to go for a coffee?" (For what it is worth, my success rate was dismal. That should have told me something  about my approach, rather than about my looks.)
Anyway, the times have changed, so should we men. It is not OK to view women in that fashion. Everyone is NOT dating material. I do believe I changed my attitude all those decades back, because I was fortunate enough to mix with women who were intelligent and modern and let me know how they wanted to be treated. I lived my life accordingly.
It is entirely possible. However, it is not just women who should be calling out men about their behaviour, we men  need to call out our friends who treat women this way, too. Society has changed, we men must do so, too.

Kids on the bus

A Canadian father is mounting a legal challenge after child safety officials told him his children aged 7-11 could no longer take the bus alone.

CBC headline

What is the modern world coming to.

When our family arrived in London in 1953, I was 9. By January 1954, we were living in our own home. On arrival, we shared a 3 bedroom house with friends who had 3 children also. Four adults, 5 children, one small bathroom and a small kitchen.
Imagine the joy of our own 3 bedroom home with a garden.
However, my parents decided to let me continue attending the Elementary school I had begun in July 1953;It was in another school district, but the people in charge agreed to let me stay on.
It was not only in another district, it was two bus rides away. I made both bus journeys un-escorted; Well, usually. If we got our acts together, my 13 year old sister, who also attended a school in that district, took the first bus journey with me. However, the second bus journey as well as the return home journeys, I did on my own. Each leg of the bus journey cost one penny. No such thing as transfers back then.
Often, on the second leg of the return journey, the bus conductress would say to me: "Keep it sweetie, buy yourself a lolly." That is what I usually did. Right where I got off was the newsagent/confectionery shop and I would go in and buy a 'penny lolly!' I would then walk around the corner to our house and let myself in with my own key.
I never had any problems; never got lost, never lost my key nor was I ever accosted by strangers.
My memories are sweet and of a happy, quite safe, world.

Here are the buses I took. First the route 52 to Burnt Oak, then the 251 to the Watling Estate where my school was located. It was called Woodcroft Primary School. It has a web page now!!