On Boker Tov, this week, we introduced a new segment to our show, The Writer's Corner. It seemed only fitting that we should have one of Canada's funnier writers, Gordon Kirkland. He hails from Toronto and London and now, BC, and regales a large newspaper audiences with his weekly article about life according to Gord.
I first met Gord in San Diego, at a writer's conference. Gord believes in 'pay it forward.' He spends countless hours travelling across North America giving back by teaching writer wannabes like me how to be funny when we write, or how to write in dialect, or how to cope with adversity that comes your way by using humour. Gord is an 'incomplete paraplegic.' Only you don't really notice it. He weilds his six foot six frame around on arm crutches, but Gord has made it such a part of him that it is unremarkable to see. But he does write about it. I've copied one of his articles for you to see the great man in action.
SNOW ISN'T FIT FOR MAN NOR BEAST
In 1996, I wrote a column about the problems we face in the Northwest when we have to deal with snow. In the twenty three years I've lived on the coast, I've only had to deal with a few snowstorms. As a result, snow scares the bejeezus out of me as much as it does the people who have spent their entire lives out here.
That particular column was called Disaster Strikes Vancouver - Many Left Without Cappucino. For many of the residents of this area, a disruption in the supply of cffeinated beverages is one of the worst things that could happen to them.
We've just come through one of those periods of snowy weather. For much of the last ten days, most of the region has been all but shut down by a horrific dump of snow.
We got nearly four inches.
The greater Vancouver area is home to approximately two million residents. There are about twenty snowplows to serve the entire area. I think that one or two people might actually own a snow shovel, but they are just people who moved here and forgot to leave it behind when they packed up their belongings.
I've a special reason for disliking the snow. When it arrives, I am, for all intents and purposes, placed under house arrest. My crutches seem to develop a mind of their own on icy sidewalks. My wheelchair is just as useless, although it might be better if I could find a little set of chains to go on the tires.
I spoke to a police officer in Seattle during a snowstorm a few years ago. He said that there are three kinds of drivers in the snow. There are the people with old or economy cars who drive with extra caution because they don't want to run into a luxury car or a truck. There are the people with luxury vehicles who drive with extra caution because they don't want to be hit by someone in an economy car. Then there are the people with SUVs who think that their vehicle can do anything in the snow, rain, mud, or sleet.
"Take a look as you go along the highway," he said. "Eight out of ten of the vehicles parked upside-down in the median will be SUVs."
It's not just the human population that suffers when snow comes to the Pacific Northwest. Animals seem less able to deal with it than their relatives in other parts of the country.
Tara, my assistance dog, is supposed to keep me standing up on my crutches. When she sees snow on the sidewalk she gives me a look that clearly means, "All bets are off, Gord."
Because of the snow, I had to drive her to her favourite spot to take care of business one day last week. For some reason, this dog likes to poop on a hill, and seemingly the steeper the better. Like many other dogs, she has a habit of kicking with her back legs after she has completed the job at hand (or in this case I guess it would be better to say 'at paw.')
She learned a valuable lesson that day: it is not wise to kick your back legs out behind you when you are standing on a snowy hill in a squatting position. As soon as her back legs were off the ground, her front legs lost their footing and she careened downwards without even a modicum of control.
If dogs could blush, she would have been crimson.
Tara is a dog with a long memory. She was stung by a wasp two years ago and still won't walk past the window at the post office where it happened. I'm a bit concerned about what this latest calamity that has befallen her will do to her psyche.
Just this morning, when I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk, she gave me a pensive look that seemed to say, "Y'know, Gord, I bet if you got me a magazine I could learn to sit on the toilet, the way you do."
Yeah, sure. Like she could hold a magazine.
