Bill and I had been friends since 7th grade. Best buddies. We were now starting high school. BUT… a new school had been built, and guess what? I was literally 20 feet inside the north boundary. So we were going to different schools, despite the fact that he lived approximately 25 houses north of me, on the same block. At least our friends are evenly divided, I thought. Bill would be going to school with Victor, John, Joy, Laurie, Leslie, Keith, Neil, Jim and Irene. I would be going with Ron, Paul, Dave, my namesake (and by the way, many called me Junior in those days, we had seven David’s on our block alone, and I was the youngest)… oh yes… and Linda, Debbie, Wendy, Gord and Richard.

Bill softened the blow, when he said to me… “There’s always weekends, and after school. We can still listen to Herb Alpert records.”

That was consoling too. We both had every record the Tijuana Brass ever recorded, and we were junkies… but he was getting “hip” and recently started to listen to Gary Puckett and the Union Gap.  “Young Girl” and “Woman, Woman”. Ickkk.

It came to mind that we were entering a new chapter in our lives. The last spring before high school. I looked my bedroom window. My room was at the end of the hall at the rear of our modest bungalow. We were highly elevated and I looked out over the Humber River valley. It had stopped raining, a pretty heavy downpour. The sun’s rays were intense despite the mistiness. Suddenly, like a spotlight had been aimed through a giant prism, the biggest rainbow I had ever seen arched before me. I turned away and looked back again. Yes… it was real.

I immediately called Bill. “Have you seen it, Bill?”

“Ya, my Mom just yelled at me to come take a look. Holy crap.”

“There’s a message in this Bill. It’s asking us to find out what’s at the end. If it’s a pot of gold, we’re rich, if it’s something else… uh… well… we have to find out.”

Bill always thought I was a bit of a nut-bar, but he seemed to go along with me, most of the time. And sometimes I would say to him, “Think how boring your life would be if your best buddy wasn’t half screwy.”

“I don’t know about half,” he would reply.

So we discussed our excursion. “What should I wear?” he asked.

“Oh, I figure a raincoat at least. Rubber boots I guess. Maybe sunglasses. Not positive really.”

An hour later Bill arrived, resplendent with an oversized yellow raincoat, his Dad’s size 11 and a half boots and a red plastic fire-engine hat, a relic from the past.

You look pretty silly Bill, I said. Bill laughed. “You should talk!” He was right, I had on an old blue canvas overcoat, a paisley rain hat, and running shoes wrapped in plastic bags.

I surged ahead, leading the way. I had no idea how to get there, other than to walk directly towards the rainbow’s end that seemed to disappear into the horizon.

I said to Bill, “Maybe it ends somewhere in the valley. It must be down there somewhere.” Bill nodded.

We followed the shore of the winding river and turned a sharp bend. A small man, dressed in green, with a bright red beard stopped us.

“Wir dya think yer headin’ you dodgy muppets.”

We both stood very still, nervous, and unsure what to say. 

Bill spoke. “Nowhere really, sir. Just thought, maybe, we could check out the rainbow.”

“Are ya serious? Well lit me tell ya lock-hard. Yer not goin’.”

“OK.” I said quickly, ready to turn around.But before we did he seemed to change complexion. He asked us why we wanted to go on the rainbow. I explained that we had seen it, and thought it was a special message to us. I eloquently said, surprising myself, “I felt that it was a spiritual calling, and a colourful beacon to our future.” 

The gentleman, who must have been a leprechaun, his pipe and striped socks being the most convincing characteristics, was overwhelmed.

“By gum… yir almost a hatchet. Yer can go… but don’t touch anythin’. If yer do, I’ll have to reef ya.”

“We won’t, we won’t!” I made it very clear."

The walk was amazingly easy. We were going uphill, but it seemed we were self-propelled, by a magic motor, deadly silent I might add. It was strange too; we had no sense of time. It seemed like we got to the top of the rainbow in minutes, but considering the size of it, it must have been days. And we weren’t even hungry.

Bill then made a suggestion. I wish I had have thought of it. “I wonder if we can slide the rest of the way?”

“Gee, that would be fun. Dangerous maybe.”

“I’m game. If you’re game.”

I couldn’t resist the challenge, but wasn’t exactly sure where to put my… bum. It was not a very clearly marked path.

Well, there was no need to even push off. ZOOM. Like two boys on a rainbow!

We flew off the end, just like we used to in the playground. We then looked around, and found ourselves in the ravine, in the exact spot where we had met the leprechaun.

“Well, so much for that,” I said with disappointment.

“Well, at least it got us home safe and sound.”

“Ya, I guess,” I said.

Then, before us, a blinding white light crystallized into what looked like an angel.

“I am Iris, the Goddess of the Rainbow.”

Bill and I looked at each other.

“We must be dreaming,” I said.

“No, you are not dreaming.” said Iris.

“You are home, but on the flip side.”

“What... the flip side? Sounds like we’re talking records.”

Iris chuckled. “Uh… not exactly. When you take a ride on the rainbow you end up on the flip side. The mirror image. Everything will look the same… and seem the same. But it is not.”

Bill jumped in, “Not? What do you mean it’s not?”

You will know in time. I assure you. A message will come soon.

I asked, “Can’t you just tell us.”

“No, I am forbidden. The message has been put in someone else’s hands. Someone from your world. Your new world.” 

A week later Bill and I decided to rent a move, Red River if I recall. We ordered chicken balls from the Moon Palace. Bill smothered his with red sauce. Not sweet and sour sauce… the real RED stuff, with grenadine and ketchup.  I preferred not... thank you very much.

“Let’s see what our fortune is.” Bill said.

I'll read mine first. “You now have the power to rid all worlds of war.”

“Mmm, heavy,” said Bill.

“What does yours say?” I then asked.

“Holy crap,” said Bill. “Exactly the same thing.”

“Oh my God, it’s the message Bill. THE MESSAGE. I think we’d better call Wonder Woman.”

DeaBeePea 6-28-17

I wrote this for the OLD MOVIE page...

Editorial...opinion only


I have seen hundreds and hundreds of interviews with actors and about actors. And almost every time...someone makes a comment about vulnerability. As if an actor is great because their "vulnerability" shows through. Well, the fact is that every human being is vulnerable. If we weren't we would not be human beings. And if an actor does not show vulnerability, they would have to be pretty bad actors. Of course, we love to try to explain great acting...but the fact that we can never quite put our finger on it, is what makes it most fascinating. Suffice to say, good writers are skilled at showing us the story, not telling us, so it might be said that good actors do the same, they show us a feeling, idea, or response, that

allows us to relate to our own experiences, and then we translate that to a reaction. This allows us to form a "relationship" with the character...some sort of empathy. We often see actors, in particular Clark Gable, in the films of the thirties, play a character who is totally in control, victim to no one, afraid of nothing, and calm under fire. This was the writing, not the acting. And film was usually an evolution from a tough hero, to a vulnerable hero. Clark Gable was a great actor, but not because he showed vulnerability. All good actors can do that. Gable had the ability to characterize in a way to play with our imagine, and to create interplay with a view of ourselves, our dreams and our illusions. 

So the next time someone refers to vulnerability, regard it as a failed attempt to answer the mystery of great acting.

DBP 10-28-14

Molasses Melodrama

This is what I am. Not only that… as far as individuality is concerned, forget it. I am tightly wrapped, and yes my colours are orange and black. I am also buried alive amongst hundreds of my friends, or should I say race. I am, in particular the only one wrapped in a costume with two witches, two pumpkins and a spooky house. But no one notices this distinction. There are no goblins or ghosts on what I hear people calling “my wrapper”.
I feel myself being tumbled into a box but I find it hard to see where I am. I guess I am in the bottom of the pile. But I can hear anything. No one out there is aware of the fact that the ginger added to my molasses base provides me high auditory propensity.
If I don’t already know the story of my life… I hear it day after day, but October 31 is the culmination. Made at the Kerr factory, wrapped in that stupid waxed paper then dumped into a bag. Not only that, I was Jumbo Packed. The ultimate insult.
I heard much conversation. Mrs. Doohickie and her mother.
“When I was a kid, that’s all we got… those kisses. A basket full of them. Other than Mrs. Crawford of course, she had us in for taffy apples. When she passed away, Halloween died. I think I was only 10.”
“After that it was just mystery kisses.”
“Mystery kisses?” asked Mrs. Doohickie.
“Yep. That’s what we started to call them. When never knew what was in them, and we never knew where they came from. And there were so many of them. At Christmas time I would find one stuck in the chesterfield. And there would be a few in the junk drawer in the kitchen. For some reason I always ate ‘em. Hated ‘em, but I ate ’em.”
“Ickk… they must been awful especially when they were so old.”
“Well, they were always awful. So it didn’t matter. But yes, they got awfully hard.”
“But you know what was so unusual about them?”
For some reason Mrs. Doohickie was intrigued. She had no idea why.
“When you got the fresh at Halloween, some were soft and gooey and sweet. Others were hard and bitter. We called them ‘hardies’. Never could figure that out. But what was most interesting some were called ‘non-unwrappables’”
“Yep. You tried to unwrap the damn things and half the wrapper was right down the centre of the candy. So I always got impatient and ripped it off as best I could and threw it in my mouth. I ate a lot of waxed paper in my day!”

“I read in the paper the other day that the molasses kiss is the worst Halloween candy ever devised by human hands."
Well, this conversation was starting to bore me. The next thing I wondered, was whether or not I’d be sitting alongside Skittles, Smarties, Sour Patch Kids and peanut butter cups. That might be the last straw. If that was the case, I might end up in Mrs.Doohickies junk drawer. Or even worse, in her mother’s, with mothballs. What a way to die!”
I soon heard shouts of “Trick or treat.”
… the excited chatter of kids and their hosts playing the “guess who you are” game.
Looking at the rather plump Joey Rutherford, Mrs. Doohickie kindly said… “I love that big red tie and that Wonder Mop combed over your head. It’s so cute… what kind of clown are you?”
“Trump” the boy said almost ashamedly.
Knowing that his parents voted Republican, she wasn’t sure what political statement was being made, so she refrained from commenting further.
It seemed like every minute I felt a hand in the box, as if searching for a winning draw ticket. My turn was yet to come.
After her hand left the box, all I would hear is “Here you go,” followed by “… “And here’s something special for you.”
“WOW, thanks Mrs. Doohickie, that’s awesome.”
I guess I was not that special, or would I ever be.
Then what sounded like a young girl, with a kind of saucy voice… came to the door saying… “Hello, how are you and how is Mr. Doohickie. OH… your Mother… so good to see you again as well. Hope you are enjoying Halloween as much as I am.”
“We are fine Betsy. So glad you came as Margaret again this year. This might be the last year though dear, I think you are starting to outgrow your dress.”
“Margaret?” asked Mrs. Doohickie’s mother.
“Oh Mother, you remember Dennis the Menace!”
“Oh, of course, that Margaret. How could I forget…? I should have known by the freckles.”
“You are absolutely correct, but I am too old for Halloween anyways. Time for new horizons.”
“And by the way, I’m not really much into candy. Do you have anything else?”
“Uh, not really… uh… I can go to the kitchen and get you an orange.”
“That would be perfectly wonderful. Thank you so much.”
Mrs. Doohickie got back and handed her the orange. Then she dipped her hand into the kisses box. She picked only one. And it was ME!
Here you go Betsy, you must have one candy to take with you.
“OK… thank you Mrs. Doohickie. I think I will have it right now.”
Mrs. Doohickie's mother interjected. If it’s a non-unwrappable or a hardy, let me know. I’ll give you another one.
Betsy unwrapped it placed it in her mouth and swirled it around for a moment. No, it’s perfect. Actually, it’s the best candy I have ever had.
I sighed. The perfect way to go.

DeaBeePea 10-27-17

Sackville News

After the death of her uncle, Miss Martha Smith, 28, of Upper Sackville, received word yesterday that she has attained proprietorship of his restaurant "Flippin' Jack" which is located on 101 Silver Birch Dr. in Lower Sackville. Jack R. Montrose passed away two weeks ago at the age of 73. He was the popular owner of "Flippin' Jack" which was a rustic pancake house, with a wonderful assortment of flapjacks and crepes and truck driver breakfasts.He was respected for his community service and will be missed by everyone in Lower Sackville and his patrons. Miss Smith was interviewed earlier today.

"I was very surprised at this appointment, that was dictated from his will. I did enjoy working part-time at the restaurant, and he made sure that I was trained in all areas as well, from cooking to managing. Initially, I had reservations about this great responsibility, but I then realized that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. However, with all due respect to my uncle, who I dearly loved, I have decided to update the restaurant and change its decor quite extensively. Business was slowing. He had his faithful regulars, but at times, business was very slow. The first change I am going to make is...

FINISH THIS IN about 4 paragraphs 250-320 words. Think about what you would do if you had the chance to start up a restaurant. If you want to be REALLY studious... look at demographics.


Population 15,409

Private Dwellings 8,515

76.4% single detached homes

15% University educated

Married Couples 72%

Average Family Income 51,451

Largest occupation sector...trades, transport, equipment operation

Mean age 47.2... largest group 50-54


Eurpean second generation 12.5%

11.7% Eastern Europe

7.1% Western Europe

3.2% Central Europe

17.8% Great Britain

4.1% Other

Visible minorities 16.9%

West Asian 11%

South Asian 11%

Latin American 9%

Chinese 23%

Korean 6%

Black 40%


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