On The Road With Denny D

It  was the day before Christmas and all through the land Having insomnia was not part of my plans So I with my laptop, think back to when To remember Christmas, way back then The wish-book was thrown on every front porch With ideas inside to light up the torch We would look through and dog-ear the pages There were toys for all and for all ages My father would clip lights onto the eaves In hope that the light bulbs would work, please But every year it was no surprise Off to hardware store for more supplies Inside the house my mother reigned supreme Hanging garland on every expose beam She sang Christmas songs and it was smooth sailing She even had garland wrapped around the stairway railing The tree was trimmed and nailed to the floor Because my dad didn't want to fight with it anymore My mother joyfully filled every open space With tinsel and bows and frilly lace My dad sat back drinking coffee with cream Pretending not to notice that the tree had a le...

Meme's house Christmas at my Grandparents house was always a fun time. Pepe' had Santa suit that he wore every year.  Why Santa came to our grandparent house in the middle of the afternoon on Christmas day, was never questioned. We were kids. It was more stuff and we liked more stuff. Speaking of stuff. We like sweet stuff too. My Meme' (aka elastic grandma) had candy everywhere. Every room had a candy dish. Every room had a kid with dirty fingers picking through a candy dish. The assortment of candy was endless. Chocolate macaroons. Yum. Hard pillow candy. White sugary mint pillow candy. Soft creamy candy. Candy canes and  life savers. Double yum. A cornucopia of cavity causing confectionery delight. We would lay on the living room rug  wearing our new Pajamas. Pajamas were a given, given the fact that we grew out of last Christmas's  PJ's. We would  color in our new coloring books and wait for the sugar to kick in. After the meal the old folks hung out in the ...

A new cinema opened up in town. Yeah! We decided to try it out. Yippy! We already had our passes prepaid. It should have been easy, peazy, show me my seatie. Nope. We were instructed to go to the concession counter.  Okay, a little different. Obviously a sales tactic. The clerk asked for our passes. We handed them to her and told her that they included a soda and popcorn. She immediately look puzzled. Was it her first day? I think it was. Someone who looked just as confused started finger punching the POS.  We stood in line and waited and waited and waited. They were having a hard time processing our orders. I paced around trying not to get frustrated, while my brother in-law and his wife (my sister) took care of business. I gave the staff a few eye rolls and OMG's, then I looked around to distract myself. That's when I noticed I was overdressed. I didn't have slippers on. I wasn't wearing Hello Kitty Pajamas. And I didn't have a blankie. There's nothing like a ...

Today I had an appointment with my doctor. I recently had a blood test and he wanted to go over the results. Nothing serious. He just wanted a little chat. Still, I was a little nervous.   While waiting in the office it occurred to me that there is never a good time to test your blood pressure. I started to write the whole scenario on a note pad one my cell. I was chuckling inside when his assistant told me it was my turn. I could feel the pressure rise. In the examination room I worked on breathing and said om over and over again trying to calm my beating heart down. I checked my pulse and I can feel it working. Slower, slower. I was ready. You may enter.  I am very competitive. I want to get the best score I can. I can fool him. I enter the altered state known as the Zen of Den. My doctor doesn't take my BP often because it's generally pretty good. I was looking for to a quick how ya doing and see ya later experience. Then I opened my mouth.  Sometimes I can talk t...

A bird in a nest trying to hop into another nest. That was the norm in the seventies. I won't say any more. Okay maybe this.  A well kept yard says a lot about a man If a man lets his grass grow, it's not because he forgot to get gas for the mower. There's also a good chance that he's let something else grow too. If you're okay with that, all the power to you.  Maybe the front yard is nice but he thought he could skip weed whacking the base of the tree. Who's going to look that close anyway?  If for some reason this guy lets you in don't look at the back yard. If it a looks like train wreck there's probably a derailed train hiding somewhere. I have seen many homes occupied by divorce men. Nothing says you're hurt, single, lazy, a slob and not looking, like a messy front yard.  One more tip.  If both the front yard and back yard are cut and trimmed to perfection he's probably gay. This  has been a bit wordy. Thanks for stopping by. Hey! Nice yard.

I was sitting having a coffee at my favorite cafe. My note app on my cell phone was open and I was thinking about what story to write about. Sometimes you don't have to think, you just have to listen. Two tables away a couple were having a highly, overly, caffinated conversation. They apparently did realize that decaf was an option.  They didn't care if the whole cafe knew they were having marital problems. Everyone in earshot knew. How could I not; they were right next to me. There I was pretending I was doing research. I was doing research allright.  You never listen to me, she said. You ignore me. The man said nothing. Then he tried to defend himself but he knew she was right. So he took a big breath and just let her rant. Eventually she stopped. Why? Exhaustion and she needed to tingle.   She got up and said sharply, I'm going to the restroom. Announced she was going to the restroom. He was still recovering from the verbal assult. Numbed by the flury of jabs, asked he...

People walking their dog wearing pajamas. Not the dog but people. Okay, the dog is strange too. l don't know why a dog needs booties and a cape. Just in case underdog has to fly over a mud puddle? Maybe it's to keep the attention on the dog and off their owners attire or lack there of.  I'll bet these same people think slippers are fashionable attire too. I don't get it.  It must be a family thing. I have seen their kids wearing slippers and pj bottoms walking into Starbucks. Hey! They can afford a fancy coffee.  Think about how much money they saved not buying real clothes. Just a thought, can you call not slip slippers, slippers?

My grandmother had an obsession with elastic bands. She had every size and color under the sun. She had her whole collection dangling from her wrist like a big rubber bangle. She must have thought that if someone needed one she'd be ready.  Is there a better conversation starter? Coming to the rescue of someone's untidy emergency.  You know what you need? Here's an elastic . Every morning she would wake up ready to collect her rubber treasures. She read the morning news not just for the obits but because it came with a free elastic band. Wow! Sometimes, she prayed for rain just so she could get a bonus plastic bag. Plastics and elastics. Well, good morning to me. Her quest continued. She must have thought, where else can I find elastic bands?  The grocery store was now an adventure.  I don't remember her being a fan of  broccoli, I think she bought it because it came with a hard to find small fat elastic band. A collectors item. She wasn't a fan of the flimsy el...

Once upon a time, a school boy gazed beyond a playground fence. There were many school girls to choose from but only one angel. The boy pointed and said to his friends, do you see that girl over there? One day she will be my wife . What the soul writes in the heart, so shall it be. A simple wish; destiny I don't know much about my fathers childhood. My mothers, I had heard of. She had to raise her siblings when her mother was ill. And her mother was often ill. I can't help but think she gave up much of her childhood, being a care-giver rather than being a kid. She was a God send; an angel. My father and mother married years later and I was one of seven who were lucky enough to be called a Child of Jacqueline and Joe. Angels don't pray for wings, they just pray. Wings are heavens gift. My mother was like a real life Cinderella. I am so grateful that the glass slipper fit and that the prince took her as his bride. Her care-giving years were not behind her. Caring was he...

We were in Vegas waiting in line at a fast food restaurant. I won't say the name but it's the one with those lovely kiosks that every tech challenged senior hate. It was morning and we needed coffee.  The guy in front of us needed a coffee too and he needed it really bad.  There was nobody at the counter, so he asked the old lady wiping the tables, if he could get one. She was clearly having a bad day and decided this guy was enemy number one. She was waiting for the right opportunity to yell at someone. Enter, caffeine deprived old guy.  She threw her towel on the table, looked over the rim of her glasses and let the poor guy have it.  You have to use to the touch screen.  Sounding a bit like a blue haired wicked witch of the west. She was not happy for a couple reasons. One, she was eighty years old and two; she was still working.  The old man looked at the screen and was just a little puzzled. He was about to lose it and yelled,  Can't I just go to ...

 Squirrels. Cute little nut burying, squirrels. We had a pet squirrel and he used to eat right out of my sisters hand. You could always count on Charlie the squirrel. He'd scurry down that maple tree to enjoy a peanut or whatever item we deemed squirrel food. A crust of a peanut butter sandwich, popcorn or chips. Charlie was fat. I'm sure his cholesterol was through the roof. Charlie didn't care, he was getting hand-fed. It was better than Nut Grub. His grub got delivered right to his mouth. The thing we didn't count on was his kids taking over the back yard. My mother had a beautiful back yard. I say had beautiful back yard, that is before the squirrels took it over. One day my mother had a meltdown. I'll just say that the squirrels finally made her squirrelly . The definition of squirrelly is: restless and unpredictable. Which is true, for squirrels and my mother. My dad seeing how they were make my mother nuts, decided that for the good of the neighborhood an...

A Bit Wordy : Sarcasm suggested .   Have you seen these kids with their pants hanging down to their ankles. They must be good gangsters because really, could they outrun the law? I could outrun Joe Boxer guy. He doesn't scare me. Okay, the gun does but Joe with the boxers hanging down his ass, not really. Hell, I could walk faster using a walker. Give that man a belt! Oh, he's got a belt, he just forgot that it goes around his waist. Did you ever notice how many times these guys adjust themselves. You wouldn't want a penis to fall out now, would you? Bong! Because that wouldn't be too offensive. It's just not styling when your penis pops out. It's like the girl who thought a tube top was a good idea. She wants to get noticed but at the same time spends the whole night trying not getting noticed as she adjusts herself or should I say the sisters. Is that guy looking at me? Better adjust. Guys are lucky. Adjusting the package is much easier. A simple spin mo...

The best bubble gum came in a two and a half by three and a half inch pack. It was powdery goodness in a thin stick. We'd rummage through the hockey cards inside, blowing bubbles while verbalizing as we shuffled. We'd shout a players name out and someone would chime in with one of two phrases; got it or need it. Every kid had a checklist. Once you had filled your set, you'd wrap an elastic band around it and put in a shoe box. I had a box like that once. I forgot about that box. My mother found that box and decided the church bazaar needed it more than me. I'm getting ahead of myself. If a kid had a card you wanted, you had to challenge him or her to a game called tops. You would usually use a double you didn't need that the other player needed and he would do the same. The skill involved holding the card between your index and middle finger while resting your thumb on top and giving it a simple flip of the wrist. The rules of the game were rather simple. You jus...

A maple tree can grow anywhere, if given a chance. A crack in the cement, a rose garden or between a pile of wood. Such was our maple. We had a wood pile on the ground in our back yard. It was pushed against the back fence and was forgotten. It consisted of bricks, timber and the discarded dreams of being a garage one day. Time goes by and sometimes, dreams do too. But not us kids, we saw the opportunity to let our imaginations go wild. I don't know if craft paper and crayons were involved but I could just see myself designing it. It was a grand wood fort. It had a roof and inside a small dwelling that was just big enough to hide in during snowball fights and hide and seek. I don't know how that little maple penetrated the walls of our fort but right smack in the middle of it, it began to grow. We didn't even notice it at first. It was fertilized by the laughter of children. It grew happily and we did too. The back yard changed a bit as we grew. The fort was torn dow...

This is a story about a groomer, a small kid and a horse named Fritz. Fritz was a gentle old standard-bred. A retired harness horse. One of many horses in residence at the Manning road farm. The barn was filled with has-beens, want-to-bes and yes, horses too. Tending to the horses were tired old men with tired old dreams, telling tired old stories, reminiscing about the good old days and the races they, or should I say, their horses won. The big white barn had massive sliding doors at each end, opened wide to reveal the splendor of the jug-heads inside and horses too. The smell of leather, straw and Absorbine Jr filled the air. That and the smell of alcohol being consumed by the horsemen. The barn floor was littered with mud, shit and straw. It was like walking through a landmine. Even if you tip toed it, there was a good chance shit was going to happen. Especially if it happened to be on the bottom of your shoe. It was a giant place and I was just a small city kid and apparently gul...

Older: We are all getting older. And getting older is no walk in the park. Wait, it sort of is. Yes, it is a walk in the park. You're walking along, all be it much slower, slouched down which, lucky for you, is close to the ground. This make smelling the roses so much easier. You're older and that's okay.  Old: Old means you have arrived. Same park but this time, you walk even slower, slouched down even further, you can 't see where you are going, you fall in a hole and instead of smelling roses you push up daises. You have arrived. You're old. Congratulations I hope this was a little bit funny.  Denny D

        I lived on Buckingham drive. The district known as Sandwich East; the east side of the city better known as Windsor Ontario. That one lane pothole street was our playground. The arena. The stadium. We were average kids with time on our hands. Instead of cell phones.  Every kid grew up dreaming of playing hockey. They imagined playing for his or her favorite team. I was just one of many. I was Dave Keon and when I played net, of course, Jacques Plante. The Toronto Maple Leaf's was (okay still are) my team. Had I known the ribbing I was going to receive my whole life, I might have changed teams. A new hockey stick was key to childhood hockey fantasy. A simple hockey stick. I didn't get one often, so when I did, I used it until it was almost used up. My younger brothers got my hand me down Sherwood's. Every kid had a hand me down Sherwood. It was what the pros used, so it was the only acceptable brand. By the time I was done with them, they were no ...

                         A cheap hockey net. Seemed like a simple request. Not too demanding. We were sick and tired of collecting a missed shots that rolled down the entire length of the block. Tired of the using bricks for goal posts. Tired of the in and out childhood disputes. Was the shot in or was it out. We wanted a hockey net. Not the flimsy skinny aluminum tubular L shaped ball of string. We wanted a real official size skinny aluminum tubular ball of string. We tried to convince my mom and dad that for the good of the neighborhood, we needed it. My parents weren't buying it. My parents money went to more important things, like food for seven kids. And our piggy banks were always empty. The money went to more important things, like penny candy and hockey cards. We could have bugged my dad and I suppose he'd eventually give in. Well, he kind of did. He did get us some empty oat bags from his brother's ba...

  I find it offensive that you're allowed to have a personal bag but they have to measure your carry on. I am thankful it's not the other way around. That old guy in front of you slowing the line while they measure his stretched out abacus sack. Inconvenient and offensive.  I put my personal bag is in my back pack and I only unzip and pull it out when I'm on the plane. If she looked close enough I'd probably get a discount. *****   The Purge Game-show. Tagline   We've got your number and it's up!  

  A Bit Wordy: Before I came out, I had questions. Questions like. Can you be be bisexual and bipolar?   Not sure who you want and if you're happy or sad about it. I'm not bipolar . OCD, Maybe. I still have questions .  Questions like. Why are straight people not part of the LGBTQ community? What about the NDSLGBTQ (Non discriminating straight, lesbian, bi, gay, trans or questioning) community? The question is obvious. Who invited the straight guy? I'm curious. When did questioning overtake curiosity? Who the f*ck am I? Wait, that's a question.  How did Q make it to the club? Did they have a pronoun meeting? All in favour of letting the guy with the questions hang out at the end? Any questions? Precisely. Hey Q, you're in or you're out, anyway, welcome to the club.  ****** Just a random thought .   Baseball.  Not just baseball but Q baseball.   Its a beautiful day at the ball park. The sun is shining. The fans are drinking mimosas, ...

  When I got to go, I want to go alone. Lets just say, it doesn't always work out that way.   I have a shy Johnny. I call it Johnny because it's no Johnson. Shy Johnny, would rather tinkle at home but sometimes he has to use the public restroom. The problem with public restrooms is that they're public. And if you saw the people using them you'd never go in. Public restrooms are like as Forest Gump would s say, a box of chocolate, you never know what your going to get . But sometimes you just got to go. This is why kids shop online. They don't have bladders yelling at them every time they walk into a Walmart. Heck, I can't even look at one book at Chapters before shy Johnny and Billy bowels start talking to me. I think just ignore it and for a little while after doing deep breathing exercises, it works. Suddenly a little voice inside says NOW! When that little voice yells NOW! you kind of have to listen. Before entering the restroom, I have to look over my shoul...

 I don't like talking about my crazy shit stuff. I've spent the better half of sixty years hiding, fearing and shaming. Gee, that sounds like a new Journey song. Na na na na na na na. Anyway and yes I know, you should never start a sentence with anyway but I'm doing it, anyway. Hey! this is all about comedy, errors are expected. Sue me! Anyway ( there, I did it ) I went to see a therapist for a couple reasons. One, to debunk my then wife's' diagnosis. To prove that I wasn't a passive aggressive ass-hole.   Moron? Maybe.  But I'm not an oxymoron, moron. I mean, can you be passive and aggressive at the same time? The second reason was obvious, to rearrange the therapists office, starting with her unused coasters. They were definitely placed haphazardly. Then it happened. She started asking questions. Imagine that, a social worker asking questions. I thought I was there as interior designer not a client. Why did your wife call you passive aggressive? At tha...