The Thaw Contiunes, Phone Calls Still Annoying

THE VIEW FROM HERE, AND THE DAYS OF THAW

MUSKOKA AS WALDEN

IT AGAIN PROMISES TO BE A MILD DAY IN JANUARY. PART OF THE EXTENDED JANUARY THAW, THIS NEW YEAR, AND THE CONTINUATION OF A WINTER KNOWN MORE FOR ITS HIGHS THAN LOWS. AT TIMES IT FEELS A LITTLE BIT LIKE AN ENGLISH MORNING, WITH MIST BLOWING THROUGH THE BOG, AS IF A COUNTRYSIDE MOOR. IT IS BEAUTIFUL IN ITS MODESTY, AND WHILE NOT HAVING THE USUAL BRISKNESS, AND SWIRL OF ARCTIC WIND, AND SNOW, IT IS ONE OF THE MORE ACCESSIBLE WINTERS……AND I CAN WANDER THROUGH THE WOODS WITHOUT TOO MUCH DIFFICULTY. NO NEED FOR SNOWSHOES OR SKIS TO NAVIGATE THE PATHWAYS. I PONDER WHAT THE MUSKOKA GROUNDHOG WILL SEE ON THE MORNING OF FEBRUARY 2ND. SIX WEEKS OF NON-WINTER WILL BE NICE TO MANY MUSKOKANS…..NOT SO, FOR THE MANY SNOWMOBILERS AND SKIERS, WHO HAVE BEEN THWARTED THIS SEASON BY LITTLE SNOW AND TOO MUCH MELT. THEY ARE IMPORTANT CONTRIBUTORS TO OUR LOCAL ECONOMY. WE NEED THEM.

WHAT TIME WOULD HAVE BEEN INVESTED BY NECESSITY, NORMALLY AT THIS TIME OF YEAR, SHOVELLING SNOW, HAS BEEN SPENT WANDERING THROUGH THE BOG, OR STANDING ABOUT THE YARD, ADMIRING THE WILDLIFE THAT MAKES BIRCH HOLLOW A STOP-OVER ON THEIR TRAVELS. OF COURSE, I'VE HAD MUCH MORE TIME TO PUNCH THE KEYS ON THIS KEYBOARD, AS THIS IS HOW MY WIFE DESCRIBES MY TYPING. SHE CLAIMS THAT IF SHE CAN HEAR ME FROM THE KITCHEN ABOVE MY OFFICE, I'M HITTING THE KEYS MUCH TOO HARD. SHE TELLS ME ABOUT "THE SOFT TOUCH," AND THAT THE DAYS OF THE OLD UNDERWOOD ARE GONE FOREVER NOW. I THINK SHE MAY WISH ME TO ATTEND SENSITIVITY TRAINING FOR OLD TYPISTS. "IF THE DOOR TO THE KITCHEN IS CLOSED, AND I STILL HEAR YOU TYPING ON THAT KEYBOARD, WELL, THAT'S JUST WRONG." OLD HABITS. I USED TO HIT THE UNDERWOOD KEYS SO HARD THEY'D SHRED THE RIBBON AND CUT THROUGH THE PAPER. SUZANNE POINTED OUT, THAT I WAS ACTUALLY IMPRINTING ONTO THE RUBBER MATTING ON THE PAPER ROLLER. SO I WAS! IS THERE SOME TYPE OF COMPETITION I COULD ENTER, TO PRESENT THIS CAPABILITY TO THE WORLD?

ACTUALLY, FOR A TIME WHEN I RAN OUT OF RIBBONS FOR MY OLD TYPEWRITERS, I BEGAN HANDWRITING MY FEATURE COLUMNS FOR THE LOCAL PRESS. SHE TOOK ME ASIDE ONE DAY, AND SAID "THIS HAS GOT TO STOP." "NO DEAR, SHE'S ONLY A FRIEND," I REPLIED, NOT KNOWING WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE I WAS IN, BUT ATTEMPTING TO COVER WHAT I THOUGHT WAS THE MOST LIKELY. "WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT," SHE COUNTERED. "WHAT ARE YOU REFERRING TO?" I RETALIATED. "YOU'RE WRITING SO HARD, YOU'RE IMPRINTING RIGHT THROUGH THE PAPER ONTO MY TABLE," SHE SAID, DRAWING MY ATTENTION TO AN ACTUAL COLUMN WRITTEN ONTO THE PINE BOARDS OF THE HARVEST TABLE. "NO WAY," I SAID. "FEEL IT," SHE DEMANDED. SURE ENOUGH, IT WASN'T JUST VISIBLE, AS WITH A BIT OF INK. IT WAS A CURRIE ENGRAVING. "WHY DO YOU FEEL THE NEED TO PRESS DOWN SO HARD WHEN YOU WRITE," SHE ASKED. "I DON'T KNOW…..IT JUST HAPPENS," I SPUTTERED, STILL RUBBING THE SCRIPT IN PINE.

WELL, IN FACT, I DO KNOW WHY THIS HAS, AND TO SOME DEGREE, CONTINUES TODAY. IT BEGAN WHEN I WAS WORKING AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE. IT IS UNDOUBTEDLY THE COMBINATION OF TWO DISTINCT REALITIES THAT I FACED AS EDITOR. I FELT THE PRESSURE OF THE JOB, AND I LOVED TO WRITE……AND THAT KIND OF LED TO A STRANGE OUTPOURING OF INTENSITY ONTO THE OLD KEYBOARD. THAT, AND I REMEMBER A TRIP TO THE TORONTO STAR NEWSROOM, AS A YOUNG JOURNALISM STUDENT, AND HEARING ABOUT 40 TYPEWRITERS BEING USED AT THE SAME TIME. WHAT A PLEASANT DIN TO A WRITER, TO HEAR ALL THIS TYPEWRITER ACTION.

So inadvertently, I took out my anger and frustration with my bosses at the paper, and blended it with the enthusiasm I had for being paid to write. What an amazing amalgamation that was, and I used to have secretaries at the paper, ask how my keyboard didn't catch fire in the middle of my work. It did smell like something was burning, but I always wrote that off to the trace smoke from my ears, just prior to that always potential spontaneous combustion I'd warned my bosses about. But it was musical in its own way, and the faster I went, and the harder I hit those keys, the better I seemed to write. It's like I was hammering home a point, I suppose. Just being harshly emphatic, and prejudicially judgmental, smoked those keys, let me tell you. I'd come off a writing jag and be sweating, and feeling as if I'd just run a 10 K. At home, with a couple of pints of ale, geez, it sounded like the percussion section of an orchestra. So I've been doing this for a long, long time. Suzanne, being the ever frugal home economist warns me that beating the pulp out of the keyboard, will cost us the price of a new one. Being just slightly less cheap than her, the cost factor does influence me, as this little sucker was expensive. I like it. I just don't want to replace it.

Any way, I've been spending a lot more time down in my archives so far this winter, thanks to the fact I haven't been forced to spend hours clearing away snow here at Birch Hollow. What a wonderful opportunity I've thusly been afforded, by my dear Mother Nature.

Oh, just now I've hung up on the 10th unsolicited phone call this week. And we're on the "no call" list, that by the way isn't all that effective at blocking what it is supposed to……calls telling me I've won a boat cruise. Naw, I don't think so. And I don't ski, so I won't need the gift packages I'm being offered. My credit is fine, so I won't need their services…..and the list of advantages I'm being offered at no obvious charge…..goes on and on and on. If Suzanne was to tell me, this morning, that my work at the computer has come to sound as if a snare drum is being played on a fast march somewhere, I will explain……"This is a needed exercise, for me to live in a house, with a phone, and a network of sales-pitchers from all over the globe." Forgive my trespasses, oh pleasantly appointed keyboard! I don't mean to hurt you in my expression of frustration, as I usually act in a more joyful manner upon your delicate keys.

I'm going for a walk now. No cell phone allowed. Just an old dog and great expectations.

Good thing Thoreau didn't have a phone out there at Walden Pond.