Walking on Water and other Savage feats.

We got Sandy when my wife and I were just married. Like everything at the time, we went about things the wrong way. She was an impromptu purchase from a sketchy pet store. She was scared, and shy and I’m sure she was dropped over and over again by the school kids who visited the pet store on their lunch breaks.

I recall telling my wife that “I wasn’t leaving the pet store without this dog.” When we brought her home, we were worried. She was listless and weak. We nursed her back to health with love and bacon. We bought countless books on Labrador Retrievers and puppy training and each one of them told us we had done everything wrong. We bought the the sickest, most withdrawn dog from a questionable store on an impulse.

In no time at all, the scrawny dog grew. Before we knew it, my wife and I weren’t a couple anymore, we were a family. 

The World continued to spin, as it does when you don’t pay much attention. We grew a little older and our family got a little bigger. Soon the Savages (as we were affectionally called by those who knew us) were storming through life. First steps were soon followed by walking on water- the learning curve is pretty steep in our family. 

Walking on water, a Savage tradition.

Sandy was always there. She was certainly there more than I was. As my kids were learning to walk and talk, I was learning how to fly. It was hard for all of us, especially for my wife as she gave up her dream so I could pursue mine. I’m not entirely sure how we struggled through it together but we did. I didn’t notice it much at the time, but the World continued to spin, and we all got a little older.

We moved to a beautiful home on a quiet street with a big back yard close to the ocean. My wife started teaching music again, the kids grew, Sandy walked the beach and I had my dream job. No one noticed much, but the World continued to spin.

I was away chasing bad guys when I heard the news. 

We struggled with Sandy’s loss as we have done with challenges before, as a family. As we mourned, the World continued to spin.

We got Ben from a great breeder in Annapolis Royal. His parents were Rhodes Scholars and beauty pageant winners. He is confident, well mannered and speaks four languages. 

World is still spinning, and the Savages can feel it now.

Dream Come true a week too late

On a sunny June afternoon in northern Newfoundland, a tourist from Ontario curiously pondered aloud, “What’s going on here?”

Standing in front of her was a small crowd of strangers, waving, shouting, laughing and crying at a gray helicopter that was trying its best to make as much noise as it could.

The assembled group was in St. Anthony, Nfld., on the eastern part of the far northwestern tip of the island. Precariously located between the cliffs and ocean here, a lonely lighthouse has stood as a guardian to sailors for many decades. And on that special day in June, the Canadian flag at the lighthouse station stood at half-mast.

An elderly woman amidst the gathering turned to the tourist, wiped a tear from her eye, and spoke softly to her, straining to be heard over the background roar of rotor blades. Listening intently, the tourist from Ontario learned she was witnessing a dream come true — albeit a day too late.

When the thundering aircraft shook and rattled the cliffs one final time before it sped off, the tourist from Ontario wiped tears from her own eyes. At that moment, in the helicopter itself, I handed the controls to my co-pilot and did the same.

My maternal grandfather, Baxter Pynn, was the lighthouse keeper in St. Anthony for 35 years. I spent the first year of my life living in that lighthouse and spent many summers thereafter clambering over the rocks and staring out at the ocean. 

When I was a kid, my father told me a story of when he did a flyby of the lighthouse in the old Canadair CP-107 (CL-28) Argus maritime/anti-submarine patrol bomber. He told it countless times, as did my grandfather, because it had meant so much to both of them. 

It all made an impression on me, too, and I often dreamt of flying low and loud over those cliffs. Sadly, my only chance to do so occurred a day after my grandfather passed away. 

It had been a difficult week leading up to that day. On the Monday, my father’s mother, my Nan, Uldine Bowers, passed away after a very short illness. Our last words to each other were on the phone. It wasn’t how I wanted to say goodbye, so I didn’t. I told her I loved her, and she said the same. She died in the hospital in Grand Falls-Windsor, Nfld., and was buried next to her husband.

Then, on the Friday, my mother’s father, Baxter Pynn, my Pop, passed. He was like every man — imperfect and flawed, but there was greatness in him, too; a greatness that yearned for opportunities to come out. He was a hero, but he wouldn’t tell you that. In the years to come, I will hope to even better understand who he was. For now, all that mattered is that he was my Pop, and that I loved him dearly.

As luck would have it, my squadron had a crew-training, cross-country exercise already scheduled for that weekend, and would be passing nearby the three spots where I had wanted to be. So, all I needed was special permission to make some slight detours. When I briefed my crew, I told them what had happened and my intentions. This trip would be a celebration of my Nan and Pop’s lives and a display of how they had shaped mine. 

My father’s family was assembled at my Nan’s cabin in Bobby’s Cove (about 100 miles southeast of St. Anthony, as the crow flies). It wasn’t until I looked for it on the map that I realized it was right next to a place called Paradise. It didn’t surprise me, however. And, there, gathered on the beach, stood my extended family: uncles and aunts, and too many cousins to remember. They waved and laughed and cried as I made as much noise as I could. I’m not sure what Nan would say, but I’m sure Pop Bowers would have been smiling.

When I arrived in St. Anthony, all my family from my mother’s side were waiting for us at the lighthouse. There, too, was the aforementioned tourist from Ontario.

After my farewell pass of the lighthouse, I had one last stop to make. My Pop was lying in state at the Anglican church in Raleigh, some 15 miles away from the lighthouse. 

I landed the aircraft at the old Canadian Coast Guard helicopter pad, which just happens to be located next to the town’s graveyard. And, then I did what any self-respecting Newfoundlander would do in such a circumstance: I got out and hugged my Nan (Pynn)... and got a feed of moose to take back home.

Thank You Mr. Sexsmith

A couple of months ago I wrote about a flight to Newfoundland I made. I put some of the photos of that trip to music, and with the help of Ron Sexsmith I would like to share it with you.

I do not have a sex tape

It isn’t easy being a wine snob in Eastern Passage. It is made more difficult due to my absolute ignorance of wine and winology. But I have never let my ignorance preclude me from forming an opinion. I could have titled this site as the Eastern Passage Middle East Expert, or Easily Pleasing Women from Eastern Passage, but neither of these titles are as inebriating. 

This is the spirit of Eastern Passage Snobbery. (Notice anti-mosquito candle.)

My knowledge of wine is pretty limited. I do have several winos passed out at the base of my family tree, but they don’t say much and they smell like urine. It wasn’t until recently did I discover that there are two flavors of wine, white and red. I like red wine, and I have learned that I get better looking with each glass. 

I m also an expert of frozen girl drinks

When people hear about my blog they instantly think I am an expert. A couple of months ago I did a radio interview about this blog. The host spent 8 minutes probing my knowledge. It was the aural equivalent of arriving at a stop light and watching the person in the next lane pick his nose for an elusive booger, only to come up empty.

The first sip is always the best. That is why I take many drinks.

I have made attempts to explain that I am a wine idiot, but I have learned people are desperate for snobbery savants. I am like Kim Kardashian, and Paris Hilton, though I do not have a sex tape.

I can not remember where this drink was taken- probably for the best.

I have now reluctantly accepted the fact that I am the wine resource for my close circle of friends. It is a tremendous responsibility and I view it as such. I have added bookmarks to my browser and follow vineyards’ tweets. I smell wine before I drink it. I scrutinize the label on the back of the bottle searching for gold italicized font- a true measure of a wine’s quality.

Drank after a close call with a mountain.

I recently tweeted to my 17 ‘followers’ asking if anyone was interested in a re-deux of a Eastern Passage Wine Snobbery Snob In. To my surprise, I received an invite from a local restaurant to have the ‘event’ at their place. I politely reminded them that I didn’t have a sex tape and I was an idiot. 

Chasing fast boats in the Caribbean is thirsty work.

Borrowed Black is alive and well.

The sun is about to set on another summer vacation. These are a couple of things that I’ve learned.

Vikings smell like booze and skin cream. Now that I think of it, they kind of smell like co-pilots.

Icebergs can fit in a child's hand.

And they taste like water.

Borrowed Black is alive and well. 

Getting the whole family in a picture is difficult- but not impossible.

Flowers are nice- if you like that sort of thing.

Kids don't need toys. Dead sea animals will suffice.

Some stairways do go to heaven.

Bear traps turn kids into Polar Bears.

Being a Dad is pretty cool.

Courage, stronger than a hurricane.

Two courageous guys.

I see courage pretty regularly. When it is your job to fly over the cold North Atlantic in a fifty year old helicopter, courage becomes part of the scenery. One of the great things about my job is I get to associate myself with some pretty courageous people. In fact, the people who fly with me are some of the most courageous people I know.

Courage is not about dodging bullets or running into burning buildings. It is about doing the right thing regardless. Winston Churchill, during the lowest times of the Battle of Briton said, “A true measure of a man is what he does when he is tired.” He probably also mumbled something about booze and cigars, but no one paid any attention to that.

Two courageous kids.

Feats of courage happen everyday. My kids are learning about courage. They tell the truth regardless of the consequences, and they take responsibility for their actions. When the time comes in the future, people will look to them because of the skills they are learning now. Those traits are hard to find in adults- maybe it is because we are so tired and we want things to be easy. 

I have talked about courage in a previous post. My Grandfather Pynn was rewarded for his actions on a stormy fall day in Northern Newfoundland. Growing up, that event was the how I defined heroism. It had all the classical elements- danger, death, and more importantly recognition. It wasn’t until very recently did my concept of courage change.

Alzheimer's disease is a coward. It usually strikes the elderly, silently and over time. It steals from everyone. It robs the victim of their memories and loved ones of their family. The disease as far as I’m concerned can go fuck itself.

My family has had to watch the effect of this awful disease on someone we love dearly. Over the past four years we have struggled with the disease, the patient and the aftermath. There is nothing easy about Alzheimer’s and it leaves everyone tired.

Our loved one last Christmas.

We have tried to get medical care for our loved one for years. We have dealt with doctors, and nurses, social workers, and government bureaucrats. It has been complicated by the fact that we were so far away and it is easier for them to say ‘no’ over the phone. Applications have been made and submitted and then resubmitted. Our loved one has been assessed and reassessed, placed on waiting lists and then forgotten. We have requested, asked, demanded, swore, shouted, complied, submitted, pleaded, and begged to have care for our loved one. 

If I was a spiteful person, I would wish that the health care professionals and administrators that ‘worked’ this file receive the same level of care in their time of need. Thankfully I am not, and I wouldn’t wish that stress and heartache on their loved ones.

This ordeal wasn’t like pushing a boulder up a hill. It was like pushing a bolder up a hill during a hurricane. It shouldn’t have to be so hard, but it was. 

My wife and kids facing a hurricane in Eastern Passage.

It was.

My wife’s courage is stronger than a hurricane. 

Finally, our loved one has been admitted to long term care and she can be afforded the dignity that everyone deserves. It was accomplished entirely from my wife’s courage. I always knew she was courageous- she is married to me.

Red Currant Wine- Anne was a kindred spirit

Anne and Diana in Avenlea. I think I prefer Megan Follows.

At first I didn’t believe that I had much in common with Anne Shirley. She was a precocious red headed orphan raised on a 19 century farm in rural Prince Edward Island. I am a sarcastic grey haired man on the verge of a midlife crisis living in Eastern Passage. But a recent trip back to the island has caused me to pause and consider that I may be more like her than I’d like to admit.

I spent a few years living in PEI as a child. Like everyone I’m sure, my memories of that time of my life are fragmented but for some reason were important enough for me to keep them. I can still recall the bitter disappointment of loosing my Hammerhead Star Wars action figure in the school sandbox. 

During the morning singing of O’Canada, I once proclaimed my undying love to some pony tail beauty in Kindergarden. She pretended she couldn’t hear, but I know she did. 

It is the small details we remember growing up that stay with us. I’ve lost many important things in my life since Kindergarden, but it is the loss of that 3 dollar toy that has stayed with me. I have also proclaimed my love to many pony tailed beauties in my time, but I remember her because it was then I learned that relationships are more complicated than proclamations.

My kids aren’t much older now than I was then. I often quietly wonder what will be their touchstone moments that will last with them through the years to come. 

My Daughter demonstrated that she is a natural leader. She is going to change the world someday. People look to her because she is good and true and honest and sincere- and she isn’t afraid. Who else can so aptly lead a bunch of strangers on a chicken rescue? Those skills will change the world someday.

My Son learned that it is okay to be different. It is hard living in someone else’s shadow, especially when you are shy. I’m sure Charlie Sloan has a hard time living in Avonlea. He lives in a world confined by genteel responsibilities and proper behavior and all he wants to do is chase pigs and put frogs down girls shirts. My Son found a kindred spirit.

I learned that I am not much different than Anne of Green Gables.

"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?"
- Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

“Look at that sea, girls--all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds."
- Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables