Tip Toeing along on the edge

The news lit up like the night sky on Victoria Day with PM Carney ordering the negotiating team home from Washington, a disappointing yet emphatic response to the US's last-minute changes made to the proposal from Trump's team that were unconscionable, unjustified, and unreasonable, according to Carney. Mark Wiseman, Canada’s ambassador to the US, was quoted by the National Post saying it wasn’t just a single issue that prompted talks to collapse late Friday, but a variety of things. As reported by the National Post, Wiseman used the metaphor of a handshake deal to buy a house, only for the would-be buyer to learn that appliances weren’t included, the furnace had no warranty, and neither the garage nor the yard were on the same property.

Dean Blundell is credited as the mind that created the below in blue italics.

According to a Google search, Dean Blundell works as an online political and social commentator, operating his digital media brand Crier Media (formerly DeanBlundell.com) and publishing commentary on X. After his long career as a shock jock morning host on Toronto's 102.1 the Edge and a subsequent stint on Sportsnet 590 The Fan, he shifted away from traditional radio to digital content creation. Though he previously ran a large digital podcast network, he scaled back those operations due to online monetization challenges, focusing instead on independent digital commentary and digital media.

The find-out portion begins now! So where does this go? 

Let me tell you where it goes, and why I think Trump folds before the leaves change.

Expect a fury of announcements this week. Start with what Carney has already announced, on the record. Dollar-for-dollar retaliation on Trump’s $28 billion, coming September 8, targeted at steel, dairy, appliances, agricultural equipment, pulp and paper, and electronics. Focused, surgical, aimed at red-state supply chains, with more support for Canadian workers layered on top of the $25 billion already deployed.

That’s the announced part. 

Now the part I believe is coming, and why the math forces it. For eighteen months, Carney has resisted the export tax. Reporters have asked him about it since the Trudeau days, when Ottawa first war-gamed export levies on oil, uranium and potash. As recently as late July, standing in Alberta, he waved it off: “I don’t see the value of it.” Reliable supplier. People trust us. All of that.

But listen to what he said next, because Carney never wastes a sentence: “There’s other things we can do if we need it.” And then listen to what he said Saturday, after they came for our sovereignty: “Canada fuels American growth. I don’t think they want us to stop sending any of that.” And in his address to the country: “Canada has what the world wants. And we will not allow any nation to determine our future.”

The reliable-supplier doctrine was built for a trade dispute. This stopped being a trade dispute the moment American negotiators demanded control over our language laws and our trade relationships. You don’t owe reliability to a counterparty who just tried to paper-annex you. Every constraint that kept the energy weapon in its holster died at midnight Friday. The premiers are already screaming for it. Ford listed the arsenal out loud: oil and gas, critical minerals, electricity, potash, uranium. The only person who was holding it back was Carney, and the Americans just spent two weeks teaching him why he shouldn’t.

Now flip the board and look at Trump’s side of it, because this is where it gets genuinely dark for the White House.

He is running a 50% tariff war against his largest energy supplier during an oil shock. Hormuz has been functionally closed to commercial traffic for five months. The Strategic Petroleum Reserve is sitting at 293 million barrels, the lowest since Reagan’s first term, drained at record pace and pumping at 61% of design capacity. There is no cavalry. The Gulf isn’t coming. OPEC isn’t coming. The only country on Earth with millions of barrels a day of spare heavy crude, pipelined directly into US refineries that were literally built to run on it, is the one he just tried to annex with a term sheet.

Midwest refineries cannot substitute Canadian heavy crude. That’s not politics, that’s chemistry. An export levy on Canadian oil doesn’t hurt Alberta; American refiners eat it and pass it straight to the pump in Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania. Ten weeks before a midterm. Same story with uranium for their reactors, potash for their farms, and the electricity keeping the lights on across the northern border states.

And behind all of it, the thing I’ve been writing about since April 2025: the bond market. The 30-year at levels not seen since 2007. Bessent’s emergency buybacks erased by the market in 48 hours. Japan, China and the UK all selling at once. Foreign central banks dumping $230 billion since February. A president who, asked about Treasury yields, threatened to use the military on his own creditors. And Canada sitting quietly on $460 billion of that debt, fifth-largest holder on the planet, having added over $100 billion to the position since I started telling you this was the play.

Carney’s Checkmate: How Canada’s Quiet Bond Play Forced Trump to Drop Tariffs

Trump needs Canadian oil to keep the pump price down. He needs Canadian creditors to hold his bonds. He needs a deal to hold his midterm. Canada needs none of those things this week. That asymmetry is the entire story, and it’s why I think he caves, publicly, dressed up as some “beautiful new framework” he’ll claim was his idea, before September 8 makes the front page of every swing-state paper.

He walked into this thinking he was shaking down a branch plant. He was actually picking a fight with his gas station, his grocer, his power company and his banker, all of whom turned out to be the same guy, and that guy ran two central banks.

Understand what almost happened Friday night. A foreign government attempted to acquire, by contract, control over Canada’s trade relationships, cultural protections, official languages policy, auto industry, and provincial procurement, with a unilateral-enforcement whip attached, and they tried to do it in the dark, at midnight, on a deadline they manufactured.

The 51st state thing was never a joke. It was a mission statement. Friday was the paperwork.

It failed because one guy read the document. Now comes the invoice, and it gets paid in September tariffs, in energy leverage, and in Ottawa, no longer having any reason to hold back, and in a bond market that just watched the United States try to defraud its fifth-largest creditor at a signing table.

I told you about the bonds eighteen months ago. I told you about the snapback yesterday. I’m telling you now: Trump just started a sovereignty fight with the one country that can raise his gas prices, his food prices, his electricity bill and his borrowing costs simultaneously, and the man deciding how hard to squeeze spent his whole life learning exactly where the arteries are.

Elbows up. Find out.

Granted, Blundell is not the only voice shouting advice about turning off the energy and farming taps, as it were, but everyone that I have chatted with about this is very cautious, citing it's a "use it once" type of action. I'm the same as so many I have discussed Trump with in that I don't understand why we even continue attempting to negotiate since he's proven time and again that he'll say something today and then change it before dawn on the next day. That's not negotiating, at least as far as I see.

The one thing that Trump cannot change is the amount of US Treasury Bills that the planet holds and the economic fallout if those bills are ever called. The beginning of that has already occurred when Japan announced its intention to sell off 1.1-1.2 trillion of it's T-Bills to prop up a bottoming out Yen. Just recently I read that Trump has directed the Treasury department to sell more short-term T-bills and use that money to deal with the long-term T-bills that are being cashed ... not sure if I understand this strategy but it sounds like there's some nail-biting going over the amount of debt they have.

We live in interesting times folks, and no one I know has a working crystal ball.

The only thing that pundits in Canada agree upon is that we should all be prepared for some short term pain before any long term gain.

It's been a tough stretch

It's been a really tough stretch of late, with yet another of my friends crossing over, having lost a battle with a significant health concern. What makes this situation particularly difficult is one, he was a really great friend for a really long time and two, he was as fit a 70+ year old that you could ever meet. Being in my 60's now, I still feel that there are plenty of great years ahead that might be filled with more weddings, more grand children, or family milestones of the like, but my sense of mortality has been shaken to the core over the past 18 months as a number of friends, former colleagues, and former team mates have succumbed to a wide variety of maladies. 

Doug Eves was one of the nicest people I think that I have ever known. Quick with a genuine smile, a razor sharp wit, and a warm welcoming demeanour, he attracted people like moths to a porch's bright light on a dark summer evening. He always had time for you, be it for advice, for consoling, or simply a chat, and he was always present, like you were the most important thing in the world right then. Travelling a similar path for such a long time, we shared so many great moments that our friendship developed that magic when we could pick up right where we left off, despite it being a while since we last chatted, especially after he retired from teaching in the mid 2000's. Inevitably, our encounters would take place on the lakefront trails when he was jogging or walking his dog. See, that's the thing, Doug was an activity junkie, maintaining his high school physique throughout his adult life, and it really shook me that he might suffer an early death.

The quality of our relationship made the news of his passing really difficult to receive.

I first met Doug Eves as a student. Yep, he was a relatively new teacher at my beloved Barrie Central, and I was a high school jock without a care in the world. I didn't have Doug as a teacher, but I was blessed to be on the receiving end of his wisdom as a grade nine wanna-be hooper where he and Al Stevenson were coaches. He was a quiet sort, so imagine my surprise when coach Eves walked from the wings in the infamous Teacher Assembly and crooned out a reasonable rendition of Duke of Earl with the Huddle-rock band. I never asked him why he stopped coaching guys and focussed on girls after our time together, and I hope I wasn't one of the reasons, but Barrie's infamous snow days gifted us a bunch of afternoons to play with and against each other, I time I look back on with a huge warm fuzzy!

When I was hired by the SCDSB for an elementary position at Maple Grove PS, I became reacquainted with Doug the parent as his children Megan and Daniel were standout hoopsters and I was coaching or refereeing. While I was on a first name basis with Megan, we had limited interactions outside of the basketball court, but his youngest Daniel was a different story since we faced each other first in the Elementary Simcoe County championships, and then GBSSA Championships once I made the jump to secondary. Dan was a major component of those extremely talented teams, HIS victories I might add, and you always remember those that got you. Doug and I fostered an adult friendship that seemed to grow steadily with each passing year.

When I made the leap from Maple Grove to Central, Doug was a well established teacher celeb and for the first time, our friendship became professional in nature, even coaching together a handful of times, but it deepened when I joined the lunch time trotters for the daily jog around the bay. All manner of topics were broached during those slogs, and while I gasped out the occasional retort between gulps of much needed air, Ol' Dougie glided along like a gazelle with nary a care, hardly raising a sweat or his breathing alongside me. Another of our Central traditions was to play "Lunch Bucket" with a bunch of other teachers once in a while, and I vividly recall a 60+ Dougie gliding his way around the court, nailing those "Russian Spot" J's like it was his job. 

Super nice, super fit, super athletic, super smart ... if you didn't like Doug, there was something amiss.

After I retired, I qualified for the bi-weekly "Mayor's Meeting" of Old Fart Central teachers, regularly held at one of Barrie's finest establishments, a time to kibitz and guffaw about life, old shenanigans, and our joint passions. I'm definitely of the opinion that Doug's passing hit me so hard because much of our shared moments traversed so many eras in my life. Our group had already lost a few members when it became obvious that Doug was struggling with something causing some communication challenges. Sadly, it wasn't long after that when he and his family needed more help, and our visits became less frequent, though just as fulfilling for both of us. That's Doug in the white sitting beside me in the photo at the right.

Tragically, I was all set to make the trek into Barrie to visit Doug again with long time buddy Ron, also a dear friend of his, when we received a message that Doug had passed early that morning. Even though my previous visits were warning enough that his condition was worsening, the end is like a slap in the face, especially when it's a great friend who was so healthy and vibrant for so long. Like the song, "Only the good die young", but at 73 Doug was supposed to have far more time with Diane, his own children, and his grandchildren. 

If you wish, this is the link to his obituary CLICK 

Dougie, you'll always be close to my heart, and that amazing smile will live on forever in my mind. Those of us you left behind will cherish our moments forever. Enjoy the pain free jogging that Heaven offers.

Heart broken yet grateful

It was a bit of an emotional roller coaster this past week, with my heart breaking over the passing of an old university chum then filled to the brim by the generosity of our in-laws. I feel like I have written far too often of late about the emptiness of losing those who occupy a special place in my heart, but then time spent with loved ones, especially grand children, does its best patch job, all lessons in this game of Life.

The week started out on a low note with a message from one of my old football team mates that another of our brothers had been taken far before his time, the victim of an irreversible health complication. Greg Baun and I played on some pretty amazing Gaels teams in the early 80's, conditions that were emotional fertilizer for germinating close ties with tremendous staying power. Greg, the son of Maple Leafs legend Bobby Baun, inherited his family's outstanding athleticism making him a potent force on the gridiron as a punishing fullback, perfect for the option scheme that racked up total offense stats much to the detriment of our OQIFC opponents. As impressive as that may sound, it was Greg's off-the-pitch qualities that were even more impressive, not the least of which was his affability. The brilliance of his 1000w smile entered the room well before his face appeared, quickly followed up with a snappy remark, a good natured jib, or a glowing compliment, traits that endeared him to many of those who were proud to call him a buddy.

An often overlooked quality of Greg's was his gritty perseverance, a trait that not only served his athletic successes, but perhaps more importantly, impacted his business interests even more wholly. Whatever it was that was the focus at the moment, Greg poured himself entirely into the quest, successes racking up consistently. 

Tony, Ross, and Bauner

One of the traditions I am eternally grateful for is the passion of so many of my FB chums for staying in touch, the highlight of which would invariably be our reunions every few years, but another developed more recently, the brainchild of our team guru Ross 'ODO' O'Doherty, when those that could gathered every Christmas to share a meal, a beverage, and countless stories. It was during many of those holiday events that my friendship with Greg had its embers stoked as we shared more of ourselves, especially the more recent family developments. True to form, those conversations were accompanied by that glowing 'Bauner' smile.

My beliefs allow me the confidence that you'll somehow be aware of how much we will all miss you Greg, and the power of our collective love will, in its way, make whatever the next place you're in brighter and blissful. 

As low as that felt, the mood quickly improved with an invitation to join our Maddi+Chris+Wynnie at Chris' parent's cottage in the Haliburton area, a Shangri La I've shared thoughts about before. Tony and Cheryl Cove are a special type of generous, sharing the life they've built with open arms and a huge smile. Their place up north is both impressive and homey, situated on Eagle Lake with a full frontage of sandy beach, nestled in the thick forest that dominates that part of the world. We've been invited to enjoy before, and this time was no different, despite the lack of cooperation from Mother Nature, but the company was stellar, the conversation was plentiful, and the feelings of appreciation palpable. Not to be outdone, the offered fare was delicious and decadent, my belly's ballooning size at the end of the night signalling a caloric Olympic record. 

Of course, the highlight of the trip was our Energizer Bunny Wynnie's playful antics, entertaining 6 sets of adoring eyes sparkling with a love that spilled over the rim, and 4 sexagenarians rolling around on the floor, mimicking the babbling of a busy little soul. Having just passed her 1st birthday earlier in July, Wynnie almost skipped the awkward walking stage, opting instead for running as her developing powers mental powers left us bewildered and pleased. Even when her year one MMR vaccinations left her with an uncomfortable low grade fever, she babbled and danced herself content, much to the delight of the willing audience.

Were that not enough, the trip was punctuated with a group trip to visit my MIL Pearl in Haliburton with Maddi, Chris, and Miss Wynnie in tow, a Great Grandmother's first chance to see Wynnie at her frenetic explorations. With the significant distance from their home to Haliburton, Pearl doesn't get a lot of opportunities for visits, but the Cove cottage is a short drive away, and she couldn't have smiled any wider. Nap time signalled the end of the visit, kisses were offered, hugs were given, and we enjoyed a brief but tasty lunch with Pearl prior to pointing the RAV toward the Beach. 

I still found my thoughts wandering back to some 'Bauner' memories on the drive home, but thanks to the injection of Cove generosity, a lengthy visit with our little cherub, and the satisfaction that Pearl was healthy and well, the memories generated happy feelings of remembrance, not the sting of loss. 

Another week of retirement comes and goes, and it's still pretty darned wonderful.

RIP Greg

What is your deepest fear?

I love a good movie! We have Prime and Netflix so between the two, we must have access to 3000 or more movies, but the struggle is REAL in finding something that we both feel is worth the investment of a 5 minute preview. In some cases, the trailers help, but less than half of the movies that tweak our curiosity have trailers, so it's the age old roll o' the dice on some. Unfortunately for us, our batting average is not far off what the Blue Jays are these days, and that's disappointingly low ... in both cases.

Easily one of my favourite movies is Coach Carter, and at the risk of throwing a spoiler out into CyberSpace, it is well worth the time, even if you're not a huge basketball lover. The story centers around a real person, Coach Ken Carter, who returns to his alma mater after much personal success, as head coach for the varsity boys team, and along the way, changes the bulk of the team's lives through his unusually strict and demanding style. My favourite moment surrounds one of the more needy players, Timo Cruz, reciting a powerful quote in response to being challenged by Coach Carter, "What is your deepest fear?" The quote is originally from the book, A return to love, by Ms Marianne Williamson, 

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

The first time I watched the movie, I was as impressed by these words as most, but the deeper meaning escaped my understanding at the time, and only re-watching delivered the impact the screen writer intended. I had to rewind a couple of times to make sure I grasped its full message. I don't mind admitting that while it did not change my life in some Eureka moment, its urging did bring a sense of peace to me as I continued to pursue excellence nearing the end my career, and I do feel that I became a better coach because of it. By embracing successes with pride, despite what naysayers commented, I consciously urged my players to do the same that they would brighten their own darkness in a wholesome sense of accomplishment.

I was doom-scrolling recently and stumbled upon a little video with Lawrence Fishburne from the movie, Akeelah and the Bee, that was focused on this same quote, again meant to enlighten a young mind. I immediately recognized the quote from Coach Carter, and had to look into it a little deeper. Of course a message this powerful would be applicable in all manner of situations.

Somewhere along the way, as society developed the ability to share information more widely, we allowed the anxieties of other's insecurities to rob light from our successes to abate their fears of failure in an effort to diminish our celebrations of achievement. The goal was to taint success with warnings of negative emotions like arrogance or hubris, like we were directly responsible for their envy. In today's social media driven world, the visceral reactions to people's good fortune or skill is hard wired through negative feedback loops that play out on a daily basis, the immediate impact of negative self-talk visibly evident through non-verbal demonstrations. 

I personally endeavour to celebrate the successes of those around me in an effort to allow their light to shine like a beacon, and while I fall prey to rare occasions where those old negative thoughts arise, it's far easier than one might think to learn this new mindset, allowing the darkness of inadequacy to be abated, brightening our mood, our thoughts, and our expressions.

Give it a try ... what have you got to lose?

Go North young man!

Piggy baking on my last piece's theme of ruminating, I attempted to fill my already over capacity heart with even more positivism thanks largely to the overwhelming generosity of my amazing friend Ron Andrews. Most of you will already know that we spent multiple decades together, coaching our hearts out, but I might not have told you that he and his wife Cathy make room at their Shangri La on Muskoka's Kushog Lake for an annual "boy's night"of rowdy, robust, raucous, and radiant celebration of former Barrie Central teachers to fan the flames of our friendship.

This annual trek north began 18 years ago when Ron had the stroke of brilliance to share a night of celebration with his fellow Central rugby coaches, a gathering he said was a thank you in his role as HPE leader, but we all knew it had more to do with how much he loves a good party. We were reminded by Dale Burleigh that his wife was expecting their daughter way back then and she turns 18 in the near future, confirming the length of our tenure. As the year's rolled by, the invitations were extended to others, many who were coaches, but also those whose friendship was more enhanced, capping out at 21 (I think) a few years ago. Life gets in the way as we all age and some of our crew were forced to decline the standing invitation due to family commitments, health complications, or simple busyness. 

I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the toasts made to those that deeply desired to join but couldn't arrange the trek this year, their absence both impactful and significant ... here's to Jay, Craig, and Rob. Incredibly, just when we thought the night couldn't possibly get better, a FaceTime proved the proverbial icing on the cake!

The night is a BYOB ... bring your own booze-berth-BBQ-buffoonery ... affair that threatens the sinking of Ron's tinny as he transports the hoard across the waters of Kushog from the marina thanks to the coolers of BBQ items, choice of bevies, and buckets of ice to keep things fresh. Ron and Cathy have carved an virtual Nirvana from the Canadian Shield complete with all that one could wish for at a cottage, with the perfect mix of higher end finishes. The night always begins on his amazing lakeside deck where the bevies flow fast and furious, the potluck nibbles quenching all hunger, and the laughs full on belly busters. Being of like minds, and possessing refined senses of humour, the Santa-like booms of full decibel HOHOHO's can likely be heard far down the lake. The night outlasts the light, pushing the party toward the cottage's BBQ, all manner of caveman meals flame broiled with veggies either not seen, or waved ceremoniously over the meal in an vain attempt at nutrition, and we escape the bush's buggy onslaught thanks to wonders of Ron's engineering. 

Most of the stories are based in experiences from the Central years, retelling that is ripe with anticipation and acknowledgement, but these's always a new offering or three that leaves the group breathless in exasperation, like Burleigh's moving adventures ... inside joke. The over indulgence of said consumables eventually succumbs to the inevitable slumber, any plausible surface serving as a bed, and the short lived silence is broken by the snorts and rumbles of a male body well taxed. The whole affair culminates in a sumptuous breakfast effort designed to take the edge off the previous night's excess.

Considering the average age of our lot, combined with the recent sadness of passing Central colleagues, we annually pledge our continuing participation to each other, the cathartic uplifting of our souls worth the punishment to our organs, but widest smiles this round were reserved for Ron's proclamation, 

"Mark it in your calendars in perpetuity boys!"

Hear Hear!

Ruminating

I feel that I've arrived at that point in life where seemingly minor things or events prompt a cascade of thoughts about a variety of topics, not the least of which is Life's Journeys and how I'm filled with gratitude and appreciation. 

This beautiful little cherub is my grand daughter Wynnie, the first born of our daughter Maddi and her Boo Chris, and she very well may be the happiest child that I have ever interacted with. That's not to say that her mama wasn't happy or adorable or beautiful, but the combination of Maddi and Chris' gene pool has manifested an active, smiley, giggly, charismatic wee princess that melts your heart inside of 2 minutes each and every time. She is not without her frustrating elements, however, but they pale in comparison to the rest of her personality, and we see so much of her mom in her facial expressions, mannerisms, and behaviours, transporting us back in time to those first years of parenthood. It's actually uncanny how much she looks like our Maddi, but then you realize that all of the positive qualities from Chris are also mixed in there, much to the benefit of the grandparents.

On a recent trip for a snuggle and some giggles, Joyce and Maddi dug out some of the dresses that we had used those 32 years ago, and watching Wynnie stand there all proud and pleased with herself, a cascade of snippets came flooding out of my Hippocampus, and I don't mind admitting that it struck an emotional chord in my old wrinkled heart. 

The saying goes that our grandchildren are extensions of our children, and the love we feel for them is simply an extension of the love we've always had for our kids. We're not loving more, we're loving again through a different lens, at a different time in life, offering the joy of parenting without the daily stress, discipline, or financial pressure. This dynamic, backed by science and psychology, stems from several key factors of brain chemistry like psychological "redo", a second chance to nurture or perhaps right some parenting wrongs, or the notion of a generativity drive, an innate need to leave a legacy, and pouring themselves into the next generation brings a deep sense of purpose and fulfillment. (source: Goggle AI).

The spill over effect is on full blast, and the trip down Memory Lane sometimes overshoots, conjuring an unexpected source of yesteryear, moments recycled from times we are emotionally connected to through events that shaped who we became. I wrote a piece about one of my former football coach's passing (CLICK), and although I couldn't make it to the COL in Kingston, some of my buds from those years shared pics of the day, transporting me backwards to those years, complete with that early 80's style. 

As the wide assortment of activities reached a crescendo, it occurred to me that all of the memories were positively lit, likely a direct result of my grey mater tainting them with the upside, not unlike being a grandparent, bringing this whole piece full circle! I have shared thoughts with buds from those years about how different it all could have been had smart phones and social media been actively in play, and we agree that our outcomes would most certainly included more angst, possibly even a meeting with the Po Po. We didn't behave like choir boys but thanks to a wise choice of parental timing by our own folks, capturing those events was only accomplished by our retinas, even in their altered state, well before the advent of the Interwebs.

Circling back to Wynnie, I was a proud Papa this week, showing pics of her off to some of my oldest friends at our annual rekindling of the Sunnidale Mafia. Fully admitting that using a moniker like that may result in some blowback, I'll remain steadfast in the moniker because those 5 gentlemen were integral in shaping my personality growing up on Barrie's Sunnidale Road, attending Central together, sharing the thrills and spills of high school athletics, skiing at Snow Valley, and collectively engaging in the "normal" shenanigans of the late 1970's. 

Left to right, Lance Hamilton, myself, Jeff Ough, Craig Myles, and Greg Brucker are pictured at the right. Mark Fornaserio couldn't make the first meeting, and being official Old Farts, we didn't think to whip out a smart phone and get an updated version this year. We let life to get in the way for decades before Lance poked the bear hard enough for us to push all of the other stuff aside and make the concerted effort to revisit those wonderful moments over a meal and libations. Our stories were shared, our updates explained, our opinions professed, and our laughs bubbled over as we dominated the space in the restaurant for 4 hours, our server being both patient and accommodating ... we tipped her accordingly. 

As I've written many times before, but this past week proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Life is most assuredly Good!

Losing friends sucks!

The old adage that trouble always comes in threes was never more on point than this past week ... well, two of the three were troubling news, the third simply sad. Two great Central friends and one neighbour from my adopted home made the transition to whatever comes next, leaving me with that too familiar emptiness of a loss that cannot be filled. This won't be a lot of words, but I feel compelled to share what each gifted me through their friendship, and how their departure will affect the next weeks to come.

Tod Wright was the custodial lead hand for many of my years on staff at Central, taking over after Don Meriweather (SP?) retired, and although we had already formed a good friendship, his promotion coupled with my outside-the-lines use of Central's facilities meant that we were in pretty regular contact, sharing many conversations. An avid sports enthusiast, Tod was always there for Central's athletes, both as a fan and arranging things to their benefit. He always had a great big grin for me, and was openly warm in sharing some of his passions outside of the job. After Central was closed, we didn't see each other very often, but we stayed in touch via Social Media with messages of support and congratulations arriving in the in-box regularly. Case in point, his was one of the first congratulatory messages I received once the news about my induction to the Barrie Sports Hall of Fame went public. I don't know any details about what happened but if the rest of his life was a positive and warm as our interactions, there will be a large number of people feeling just the way I did when I learned about his passing at such a young age.

RIP Tod ... you were quality people and in my books that counts for a lot!

Regular readers of these posts will already know that Joyce and I relocated to Wasaga Beach, coming up on four years now. We are in a condo, a grouping of three identically constructed buildings in a quiet section of WB's northeast end. Living in a condo community, we established friendships with some of our neighbours, but one of the special ones was with a 95 year old Myra Peddie who was on the same floor at the other end of our building. A feisty and active wee Scottish lass, she always had time for a conversation about almost any subject, and as we became more familiar, she felt comfortable with asking for some help with things that a lady in her 90's might need. This past winter, following a trip out west to visit her daughter, she returned home displaying a little less pep in her step, and inquiries about the change revealed that her health was failing and there was very little that the medical system could do. Being devoutly proud, she decided that she would not burden her family and friends with her bad luck, making the decision to opt for an assisted dignified departure, 100% on her terms. While Joyce and I plus many of our other neighbours are most definitely sad, we admire her strength and conviction. 

RIP Myra ... the pain and burden is finally gone and we love that for you!

Fresh off a weekend event where dozens of fantastic Barrie Central memories were dredged from deep within my Hippocampus, I learned through our group connections that one of my dear colleagues Kelly had lost her health fight, leaving behind literally hundreds of friends, family, and loved ones with a profound sense of confusion, sadness, and loss. I personally feel like I've known Kelly for decades, meeting first when I was hired at Central, transitioning through all of the unbelievableness we shared both in good times and bad, including jointly coping with moving to North following Central's closure. We always had time for a hug, a smile, a story, and a visit, but lost regular connections once we both retired and refocused on family. Still, we met often at retirement parties for our younger colleagues or on the court where I was refereeing her children's games, rekindling the flames of friendship quickly, the mark of a strong relationship. I knew that some health complications had made life more difficult in the past few years, but I am embarrassed to admit that I was not aware of the seriousness, obviously a large part of her passing. 

The last years of her career, she transitioned away from the classroom into guidance where she counselled 1000's of students on potential next steps following secondary, appreciated for her bluntness when it was warranted. When the word begins to circulate through alumni, there will be a dark cloud cast widely as many struggle with her loss.

For me, Kelly will always be a sassy, Uber smart, high energy, focussed Tasmanian Devil who loved working with kids. As a friend, she was selfless to a fault, always ready to take the quarrel whenever required, her sassy sense of humour often leaving the crowd in stitches. Her passing really is a mortality check, a slap in the face, considering that she was only a couple of years younger than me, and I feel deeply that her family has lost such a genuine soul.

RIP Kelly ... Heaven just got a really good one, and those of us left behind will certainly miss you!

Man, growing older is not for wimps!