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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2016-07-07, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, JULY 7, 2016. PAGE 5. Other Views Times have changed, untied we stand Jn 1668, a platoon of mounted Croatian cowboys thundered into France. They were actually mercenaries working for the king of Austria, so what they were doing in France was a bit of a mystery. They didn't attack or invade anything. What they mostly did was drink prodigiously, flirt with les femmes and ride their horses up and down les rues. When the Croatians finally galloped away the French didn't remember a whole lot about them, aside from the fact that they were decidedly dashing, good tippers...Oh, yes — and they wore these long weird scarves knotted about their necks. The French dubbed the scarves cravats after the Croats who popularized them. Thus the necktie, that most accursed of male fashion accoutrements, was born. Men had worn things around their necks before -- but always for a reason. Roman legionnaires wrapped water -soaked scarves about their gullets in order to cool off and I'm betting your typical Cro-Magnon man - about -cave was not averse to draping an expired weasel or wombat around his neck to ward off the chill, but the Croatian necktie marks the first time men chose to wear decorative neckwear just for the hell of it. Neckwear that was goofy -looking, potentially lethal, decidedly uncomfortable and performed no useful function whatsoever. French males, with their penchant for foppery, gobbled it up, and in no time, style -conscious males were lashing scraps of cloth around their throats in increasingly bizarre configurations. Soon the fad had leapt the channel to England, where eventually ham-fisted teenage boys would be expected as a matter of course to master the Windsor, the Half -Windsor, the Cavendish, the Ascot, the Four -in -Hand and the aptly named Pratt. And then there's the bowtie. The late Pierre Berton favoured bow ties — as does otherwise sane and sentient Michael Enright, host of CBC Radio's Sunday Morning. God knows why. I have never been able to look at a grown man wearing a bowtie without suppressing a giggle. Bow ties deserve to be accessorized with vinyl pocket protectors and beanies with propellers. But why single out bow ties for derision? All neckties are abidingly stupid. Looks like men have finally figured that out. Only six per cent of male working stiffs now throttle themselves with a necktie each working day. Also of note: the Men's Dress Furnishings Association of North America, which represents necktie manufacturers across the continent, has announced that it is disbanding. Cancelled due to lack of interest. Oh! I just thought of another celebrity who favours bow ties: Donald Duck. The Defence rests. Petrified, terrified and scared silly While I've made no effort to hide the fact that being a father scares me, it didn't really set in until approximately 10 p.m. on Sunday evening. That may sound overly specific, however I can explain why I'm able to pin -point the moment that being a father stopped being some foreign, scary concept to me and became an all -too -real terrifying concept with such accuracy. To be clear, I say terrifying not at all like I would say that war or a scary movie is terrifying but like fair rides can be terrifying. It's going to be scary, but it's going to be the kind of scary that you look forward to, that you anticipate with happiness. It's like going to some amusement park and patiently waiting while you are pulled to the first drop in a roller coaster; sure, it's going to make your stomach do flip-flops and probably result in some nausea, but it's fun and you're actually somewhat sad when the ride is over. I know I've written before about how I think I'll be able to handle this and, in truth, that hasn't changed I think I'll be able to handle it because I have to. That hasn't changed, but, as with any life -changing event, as the reality creeps closer, the change seems more daunting. So, back to 10 p.m. on Sunday evening, or where that particular story began, Friday morning. While some people spent Canada Day enjoying the great outdoors that our nation offers, I enjoyed working with my father to finish painting my wife's former office. I say my wife's former office because, honestly, up until Sunday night, that's what it was. It was this room that had been her office and that name never changed. We called it the office even when it was a storage room, a room with a leaky ceiling and a room covered in drywall dust. The nickname of "the office", just kind of stuck. It was also a name that I could say without having to come face to face with the fact that I'm going to have to be responsible for another person's well-being. Now, however, it's a nursery. I'll be honest — I've said that word a few times when describing the fixing of the ceiling, the replacing of the drywall and the eventual painting of the room, however, the words were just that, words. They had no meaning to them until Sunday night at 10 p.m. Denny Scott IligieL Denny's Den After Ashleigh got home from work on Sunday, the painting, cleaning and repair jobs were finished so there was nothing left to do but move and put together the furniture which, up until that point, had all been hidden away behind cardboard boxes. Up until last night, those boxes were just large cardboard intrusions on my life. The bed was a tall, skinny box that I had to be careful of every time I walked past it while the dresser was a large box on which I kept bashing my toe. Other things, like the stroller, the swing, the high chair and even the bassinet, which sits in our bedroom awaiting its first use, flew under my radar. They were there, but they were akin to clutter that I knew I would have to move once the nursery was complete. In essence — I was surrounded by the reality that my life was about to change but, somehow, looked right past it. Not seeing those things for what they are, however, was about to change. I grabbed a knife, a pair of scissors, some screwdrivers and, under the direction of my white -hard-hat wearing wife, started to assemble and unpack the crib, the dresser, the swings and chairs and the blanket rack. It wasn't an overly -taxing job. Like most furniture, it was a matter of using the provided hex keys to tighten up bolts that all go into pre- drilled holes. The most laborious part was likely having to hand -screw the anti -tipping device on the dresser into the wall. Within a matter of two hours, the crib was set up, the dresser was filled with clothes and various diaper necessities, the toys and various baby apparatuses were spaced throughout the room and, as a final touch, the curtains were put back on the wall. We shut off the light, closed the door (after all, I want the baby to be the first to sleep in the new crib, not the cats) and went about getting the rest of the house cleaned up. We cut up the cardboard, bagged up the styrofoam packing materials and cleaned up the house (a bit, there is still a lot more to do to un -clutter the house, specifically on my behalf, because of the change in priorities). Then, we called it a day. This was approximately 9 p.m. I fell asleep shortly after while trying to read a book. About an hour later Ashleigh roused me from my sleep and I went to let the dog out before trying to escape back into dreamland. I walked through the house and let Mikayla out, then ushered her back into the living room for the night when I decided to take one last look at the room, at approximately 10 p.m. That was when these objects that have been at my house for months, in some cases, began to actually take form. There wasn't an assortment of cardboard boxes throughout the room — there was a nursery there. The crib had toys placed on it, the dresser had a changing station on top of it and blankets were draped carefully over the blanket rack. I wasn't looking into an office or a storage room or a place with a leaky ceiling, I was looking into the place where my child will lay his or her head down and sleep someday (not someday soon, I'm told that sleep isn't in a newborn's plans). It took my breath away. Whenever anyone asked me about the pending changing of my life over the past few months, I've said the same thing: I'm terrified — and I wasn't lying. I'm not exactly a shining example of responsibility. I work to deadline, as most journalists do. I put off medical, dental and vision care appointments far longer than I ever should. I misplace my keys, cell phone and wallet at least four times a week. While I have recently started trying to eat more healthily, I have been known to consider half a bag of chips a good meal replacement. In short, I often have trouble taking care of my own needs and wants and in the very near future I'm going to be responsible for another life. A life that can't take care of itself for quite awhile. However, seeing that room (and from dealing with my friends and even watching my younger siblings growing up) has changed the answer to how I'm doing with the change. Now, I'm still terrified, but in more of a nervous way — I'm at the top of that first hill on the roller coaster and just waiting the first drop. I'm terrified, but I know it will be great. Shawn 111 Loughlin Shawn's Sense A culinary county Nothing gives you a true appreciation for the bounty of Huron County (which is a rhyming term I'm pretty sure I stole from a future Brussels Fall Fair theme) than having a full plate of food slid in front of you at a community supper. What's accomplished at these meals goes beyond the county's food bounty as well. The classic country supper really shows off all that the county has to offer: community, fellowship, good times and, of course, great food. My mom was up for a visit last weekend and I was able to feed her two nights in a row without having to life a finger (unless, I guess, you count having to grab for my car keys). First we took in the Canada Day fish fry at the Brussels Legion (taking a break from hours four and five of the Toronto Blue Jays' marathon Canada Day game) and the next day we were in Belgrave for roast beef courtesy of the Kinsman and those behind the East Wawanosh 150th celebration slated for next year. I said it was too bad there wasn't a breakfast for us to attend on Sunday, only to find out after the fact that the Central Huron Fire Department in Clinton was hosting its annual breakfast. So there was an opportunity missed. Back to my point — there is a special aspect to these events and a homecooked meal is only part of it. Jess and I saw many people we knew from one corner of our lives or another. We were able to catch up with many of them, whether it be a quick chat as we passed by one another, or a longer conversation if we happened to sit at the same table while we ate. These community suppers are a real who's who of the area and I think that has to be most of the appeal. As a Huron County resident, you're guaranteed to encounter smiling, friendly faces at these suppers, which is perfect, because no one likes eating alone. Of course, the experience was a little different for my mom. She didn't know too many people, but we introduced her to everybody and everyone I knew at either event was kind enough to lie and tell her how great of a guy I am (I knew I could count on you all). It's a different world in Huron County. I've been hearing people say that for almost 10 years now and I've always known it to be true. But as the years go on, my understanding of that statement has evolved. It's never become more or less true, it's just changed and been true in different ways. It's a great lifestyle we're lucky enough to lead here and the food is only the beginning — although, I can't say enough good things about it. Whether it's local markets, farmers' markets, farmgate stores or a table with a margarine jar for your change, we are certainly lucky to have the bounty we have here in Huron County. We know who brings us our food, we know who prepares it for us and very often we know who we'll be sitting with when we enjoy the finished product. Not everyone is that lucky, and perhaps we take it for granted sometimes. Huron County has a fan in my mom. She loves the people, she loves the community and she loves the atmosphere — and she certainly loves the food. It's a testament to this area and its people that they can win over someone so quickly and so completely and all it took was some fish, some roast beef and a few scoops of coleslaw.