The first snow squall. Written or embellished by: Dennis Deschamps a song for Family and friend Christmas 2025 On the first snow squall the town folks did say Watch how you’re driving stay out of my way The roads and streets were an icy sheet On a cold winters’ night of rain, snow and sleet Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall A storm is coming it’s starting to fall They looked up and saw a car Stuck in the ditch he didn’t get too far And up the road at a green light Someone is texting stopping traffic in spite Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall A warning is one thing But it didn’t turn out so well Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall On the second snow squall it was the same as yesterday People still bitching, get out of my way The streets were littered with ice, snow and debris With abandon cars from a demolition derby Snow squall, snow squall, snow squall, snow squall A warning is one thing But it didn’t turn out so well
Posts
There's always a story to tell and people to tell it. Every story takes time to tell. There are generally two speeds to story telling: Fast and slow. An example of slow can be found in church. The priest reading the gospel decides to separate every sentence with the invention of new comas. All good books including the bible are not published until it have been edited. Editing includes the proper punctuation. Sounds easy enough. Do you follow? And you could follow and read along with the priest but you'll never see those extra comas. Why? Because they are not there! Jesus didn't put it in, so why is this guy doing it! The priest was like Captain Kirk. The bridge is the pulpit. "And Jesus said, (pause)to his disciples (pause again)I will make (surprise, keep pausing)you fishers of men" Wow, he got up to four words. When the verbal waltz was over I heard two words. To be truthful, I heard two words and felt an elbow. The elbow was my mother and so were the words. W...
We bought a van and we did so for one reason: camping. Our first test would be at Jeremy's Bay Campground. Kejimkujik National park had many sites to choose from usually but because people were spending their hard earned money in Canada (boycotting America) we only had a few spots available. The van had stow n go seats so it gave us enough room for a couple roll out mattresses. Setting up camp was pretty simple a dinning tent a couple of chairs and a fire. Luckily for us we were there a week before the fire ban. Things were great until it was time to sleep. There was a crying kid a few sites away who was always in trouble for something. His crying continued into the wee hours of the morning. I finally locked the doors and fell asleep. Then it was tinkle time. As I opened the door the ani-theft alarm started to blare and I couldn't turn the darn thing off. After a few minutes of frustration and yes, cussing, I got it to stop not before waking up the entire camp. I try t...
High school was in the rear view mirror of life. I was looking toward the future. There where a few bugs splattered to the windshield but I could see enough to get down the road. The journey was a painfully one, mentally and physically but I learned to grow while growing. That's the way it usually works. I had grown a foot in a little over a year. Puberty was delayed and the embarrassment of being a hairless adult made it hard for me to be intimate with anyone. I didn't know what urges where until the hormones kicked in. Still I loathed my hairless body. Today I am a sixty-six year old walking sasquatch. Be careful what you wish for, I guess. Having no desire to fornicate, I decided to investigate a celibate life. Every catholic family had at least one child destined for secular or religious life. That child was me. My spiritual advisor and local priest Father Janise, help me with my spiritual journey. A journey that took me to Saint Peter's Seminary in Lon...
I'm finishing up some edits on my first book. "Life on the lane" might be a working title. The story about small boy who finally grows up and the potholed one lane where it all started. Now that I have grown up I have more stories to tell and more roads to talk about. I want to thank you all for liking my blog posts. You are my inspiration. I plan to share a new story weekly and some sidebars along the way including pictures from my travels, my morning meditation thoughts and maybe song or two. Thanks for traveling... #OnTheRoadWithDennyD
It was my last medical visit to London. Like most doctors’ offices it was a wait and see moment. This time was different. I was escorted to the examination room, and I waited some more but after a short while, a beautiful blonde entered the doctor's office. I assumed she was a nurse. She just introduced herself and she took my BP. She walked out and I waited for the doctor to arrive. I was hoping she would not return. I knew the checking me out process that happened every three months was about to happen again. It was embarrassing enough just being with my doctor. Suddenly, the door opened and in though it came my doctor but he had someone with him: the same blonde. He told me she was an intern. That she would over seeing the examination. She was over seeing all right, and I was not overly pleased. I was glad she already took my BP because it would most assuredly be up now. I prayed I wouldn't have to go through embarrassment of baring all. I looked over at the table of doom...
I spent a week in a London Ontario Children's hospital. Victoria Memorial Children's hospital as it was known at the time. We finally were getting to the bottom of my stalled growth. I was the oldest kid on the floor. I was eighteen at the time. My predicament paled in comparison to the other kids on the floor. My room had four beds. Beside me was a boy dealing with leukemia and another who had to roll down the hallway like a crab, he had some kind of spin issue. I was just there to get tested. For what, we would have to wait and see. I spent the early hours of the day being carted off to various tests. In the early evenings I would spend my time helping the kids do crafts and after, I flirted with various nurses. There was one nurse I like the most. Unfortunately, she was a one floor down. What was I to do? I soon discovered a tube at the nurse’s station. I had seen it in action, and I was impressed. I had an a-ha moment. "If I sent a note down would my honey receive it...
I finished high school in January and had to wait until June for my diploma. I had some time to kill and a bucket list of things I wanted to get done. Number one; a driver's license. I could have gotten a license when I was sixteen. Maybe I just needed to let it grow on me while I was growing. The time off made it easier to get the deed done. After passing my beginners I was looking for a driver's school. Spence's driver school was my choice. I can't remember how many weeks it was, but I do remember learning to drive. Mr. Spence was a very nice, patient and kind man. I seem to recall that he drove an AMC Pacer or as we called it a greenhouse on wheels. He'd parked it across the street while we hopped into my mother's seventy-three, three toned (tan, brown and rust) Ford Maverick. It had a 302 engine and was rear wheel drive. It was a small car with too much power and spinning out on snow covered road was easy to do. My instructor said, "if you can le...
My high school was having a rodent raffle. Gerbils to be exact. My friend and I decided to buy tickets. The school PA speaker crackled to life in our home room. The PA didn't always work. It did one day when I did my Howard Cosell impression in the cafeteria/Auditorium. Two students were play-fighting, and I called the fight just like Howard. The mic was a prop. So I thought. Little did I know the bout was being broadcast live in every room and hallway. I was a hit. People walked up to me and said how good my impression was. Now, back to the rodents.The speaker chimed in. The winner of the gerbils is Dennis Deschamps. I jumped from my seat and headed down to the office to pick up my prize. Two gerbils. I was told they were the same sex, so I didn't need to worry about babies. Apparently, this was news to them. My mother, as you will remember, wasn't keen on anything with tails. Our family dog was the only exception. One time, we found a garter snake and brought it into the...
Sundown at Kejimkujik National Park It was supposed to be a simple canoeing experience. That's how it started. We had spent a day in the pool at Saint Clair College learning to drown-proof. Apparently, it's a thing. Everyone had to fall out of a canoe and pretend they were lost at sea or on the lake. The good news. If you survived, they gave you a life vest. Drowning-proofing requires breathing, rolling into a ball, and floating. Wilson!!! Breath, tread, ball and float. Eventually, we all pass the test. Now, we were ready for the real test. One of our teachers lived on Pike Creek. Well, not on the creek. In a house. The school had parked our supplies of canoes and flotation devices in the driveway. We were paired up, each geared up and ready to hit the water. That's when things got interesting. I was paired with a teacher who was taller and much heavier than I. He was in the back. His job was steering. I had learned to steer while in the college pool. The sweep stroke...
One class I wasn't a big fan of was Home Ec. I had already learned most of what I needed to know from my mother and my sisters. Mr. Long, our teacher and chef, is dressed in white, from his paper chef's hat down to his shoes. He has two prominent features: a Fu Manchu moustache and a wandering eye. For that reason (not knowing which one to look into), I never engaged in conversation. Today's lesson is breakfast preparation. Some kids are across the hall, setting up the teacher lounge for breakfast. Every place setting is decorated meticulously. There is a huge coffee urn gurgling in the corner. Teachers are hovering, waiting for their morning elixir. I am in the kitchen learning how to paint lightly browned Texas toast with butter. Every slice has a round circle of yellow that never seems to reach the edges, stacked on a plate. I never understood why they gave us a paintbrush instead of a knife. I found this unacceptable. I have never spread my favourite spreadables t...
We have a rose of Sharon bush in front of our living room window. Every year it attracts humingbirds. Now the blooms are bursting with color. I patiently waited for this little guy to return. Expectation and joy brings colors to life. The fluttering of wings, the souls delight. To savor the nectar of a the new day. That is just the hummingbirds way.
One pane of glass. One red, white and blue basketball. And one frustrating day in the window repair business. My father was very good at repairing windows. He had plenty of practice. Our backyard was our arena, our stadium and the scene of many sporting errors. Who done it? It all started on our one-lane road. Every homeowner could hear the crack of the bat and then the smash of a ball. Where it came from, no one knew. We split, leaving the bat suspended just above the dust cloud. Not a kid in sight. Who done it was an unsolved mystery. All they could see was the weapon, the bat, the ball and the glass now littering the living room floor. Opps Things were different in our backyard. A wayward slapshot way upstairs. Crash. A change-up and a foul tip. Smash. Today's error: a basketball. A hook shot, nothing but air and glass. Bang. Shortly after the initial impact we heard something else, my father cuss "Friggin Kids" It was the only f word my dad was all...
The other morning I sat in quiet contemplation which I do most mornings. I was sitting on the couch enjoying my morning coffee. I could heard the chirp of a young bird. When I looked outside to pinpoint where noise came from, I saw a young Robin in our rose Sharon tree. The tree this year is larger than usual and provides just enough cover to protect my young friend. Luckily, this tree is right infront of the picture window in our living room. So from the vantage point from the couch I can easily see him. I find the words living and room interesting. A place to stretch out our wings and live. Everyone needs room to live. The rose of Sharon was a living room for my little feathered friend and I could see he wasn't strong enough to fly. Thoughtful segways: When legs are strong enough, hold on When wings are strong enough, let go. A bird will learn to fly but he must first learn to flutter, if not, he will never learn to land. Soar when you can, rest w...
I would like to say that my mother loved to cook. I‘d like to say that. But I can’t. She didn’t. And I can’t blame her. When you have seven hungry kids and a husband to feed, you cook based on necessity rather than joy. She had the book. The pages were dog-eared like our Sears wish list catalogue. She wasn’t buying it, and we had to eat whatever she made. I remember one day that went wrong. The story is called…. The shoe and the spud My dad was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. My mother thought that if liver was good enough for him, it was good enough for us kids . It is supper time, and I could smell the butter seared chopped onions and milk-drowned floured liver as it hung like a cloud above Buckingham Drive. We could all smell it. It was game over in more ways than one. If we had had clothespins for our noses, we could have kept playing. As I walked toward culinary doom, I could get a hint of a better dinner offering that lingered despite the overabundance ...
It's morning my father is either still sleeping or working. My mother never slept much so seeing her on the couch is no surprise. My father's restless feet were so bad that he could have been paid overtime for working in his sleep. My mother had to resort to the couch. The couch is covered in quilts and throw pillows, provides very little comfort at all. No one sleeps well on burlap. She is awake and I can tell she is praying. She smiles and nods lovingly. Beside her is a flowery ceramic coffee cup. The cup has a word on it. That word is Meme' Grandmother. The coffee brand is called eight o'clock. I know this because I have to go to the A&P, grind it and bag it whenever she runs out. And because our house is the coffee shop for all wayward travelers, running out happens quite often. Surprisingly, the coffee tastes okay. A steamy cup One day, she was gifted a Mr. Coffee machine. It was probably a gift from my father and after forgiving him f...
Road Trips: Auntie Aldoo's in Cottom Ontario. On the road with Denny D Roads: Starting point. Essex, Ontario, east down old number 3, to Cottom. Cottom Ontario is a fifteen-minute drive from home. We dropped the top on the bug to soak up some sun for our short drive. We arrive at a place I had discovered a few weeks back. Auntie Aldoo's Kitchen is Cottom's best-kept secret. It is not a secret anymore. There is a cute patio in front. This is where we are sitting today. My partner and I are enjoying a spinach quiche and a cup of coffee. I had to take a couple of bites before taking the picture. Yum. The combination of egg, cheese, spinach and flaky crust is delightful. The coffee is just as delicious. Here's the kicker. One of the girls wasn't happy with the two macarons she had baked earlier gave them to us on the house. She didn't need to twist our arms much. Thank you so much. I will just say #OMG_Yummy. Sorry, no picture. I devoured ...
On the road with Denny D Camping: June 15th- 17th, 2025 Roads: highway 46 east to Kent Rd. 3 to Blenheim highway 3 to Delhi north on 4 to highway 24 North towards Brantford. Right on Robinson Rd. to the end and left at the bend on Jennings Rd. Welcome to Brant Conservation Area. Day one We arrive around 3 pm and set up camp. Maple126 is a great site. Lots of space and plenty of shade. We have a simple supper: sushi and spring rolls. Enjoy a couple of beverages and snacks while playing Mexican train dominoes. Night one My job is fire starter. It has been a great first day, and I am determined to make it a great first night. The wood is not the best, but I get it going. I am holding a long tree branch, also known as a fire poker. This stick has travelled across Canada, and if it could talk, it would have some tall tales to tell. We call it a story stick. It is passed around the campfire, and each person who holds it must tell a story. My brother-in-law te...