---

whew !!!

IN THIS ISSUE

• Shirley Hargreaves writes about another night in Rio
• Geoff Goodship remembers the time it rained money in Port Moody
• Jay finds a solution to the problem of locking keys in the car
• Jack Peaker sends a story of two troublesome boys
• Tom Kyle has grown a flower with many names
• Sharon Graham believes it is unwise to tick off nurses
• Bruce Galway forwards a story about some wealthy Texans
• Miriam Ockenden sends a program for the seriously-addicted
• Bruce Galway, Jack Peaker, and Carol Hansen suggest websites

Shirley Hargreaves recalls another evening´s entertainment during her

VISIT TO SOUTH AMERICA

The Samba Show in Rio de Janeira was a presentation of Carnival in miniature form on stage instead of on the streets. So we got a taste of the excitement, colour, music and dance that would equal a drop in the ocean of the real event.

It is hard to imagine the impact of an event such as this in the context and magnitude of the yearly celebration. I was on the edge of my seat throughout the whole performance. The pre-show performer was a young woman who demonstrated her skill with a soccer ball. She kept the ball moving for half an hour, using hands, elbows, shoulders, and knees, to mention a few of many maneuvers. Finally she produced fifty bounces in a row off her forehead.

An orchestra seated above and to the right of the stage provided loud and lively music. Lighting effects changed colours, directed or distracted attention and reflected off the glittering costumes and make-up. Many of the outfits were authentic carnival costumes made with hundreds of feathers, yards of fine fabrics, and decorated with thousands of sequins and beads. Groups of two to ten dancers appeared, according to how many costumes the stage could accommodate.

The dancers presented their bodies very sensually. They obviously enjoyed exhibiting their sexuality. One could not ignore the suggestiveness of their dress and actions, but it was not sleazy. They pranced about with pride and joy. I noticed that both sexes wore tights under their g-strings! Breasts were also firmly, if briefly, supported.

That aspect aside, the skillful moves were smooth and flawlessly executed in unison. The perfection of their bodies was a feast for the eyes. Between each specialty act a troupe of colourful dancers presented a different routine. A solo dancer portrayed Carmen Miranda; with a basket of food on her head she danced to the songs of the fifties. A white-suited dancer mimed the Latin "wolf" attempting to pick up a woman.

In colonial days the slaves were punished for fighting. The slaves felt this was unfair, so they disguised the fighting with music and dance, called capoeira. While two slaves fought, another played the berimbo, or belly ball. It is bow-shaped instrument with a metal wire attached to a gourd at the bottom. By holding the instrument in a special position on his stomach, the musician amplified the sound. The slaves would leap and kick at each other in time to the music. If the master came, they would continue without touching each other.

We watched a demonstration of capoeira that moved faster than the eye could follow. One of the stage drummers was a huge black man who simply kept the beat but drew attention to himself by his exaggerated facial expressions. Another drummer played his drum by stroking the inside of the skin, producing a very soft, melodic sound. Another performer carried eight ropes that had apple-sized balls attached their ends. By using hands, elbows, neck, and other parts of his body, he kept them all in rotation. Gradually he timed them until he produced an intricate rhythmic pattern that was fascinating.

Geoff Goodship grew up in Port Moody, a small town just east of Vancouver, and remembers this event well.

THE DAY IT RAINED MONEY

This is a true Port Moody story. I can no longer remember the date but I think it would be in the late 40s. As best I remember, the population at that time would be about 2900.

In those days Port Moodyąs railway station was west of the corner of Clark and Queen, perhaps 200 yards from the level crossing. The mill dominated the waterfront, just as its payroll dominated the town´s economy. The CPR tracks followed the curve of the inlet as far as the mill, then began a slow climb to Coquitlam about eight miles east.

All mail to and from Port Moody arrived on the CPR. My father was postmaster at the time. Dad delivered the mail the half block from the post office on Clark (now a book store) to the train station in his old Willis. Some of the trains stopped to pick up or drop off passengers and freight. Those that didnąt stop picked up outgoing mail with a catchpost system. Incoming mail was put in a heavy canvas mailbag and pushed out the mail car of the moving train.

One day the mail clerk and the engineer lost sync. I guess the engineer had his mind on the hill he was about to climb, and the need for a little extra speed to offset a longer-than-usual load. Perhaps he had forgotten the tasks of the clerk in the mail car half way down the train. The mail clerk opened the sliding door of the mail car and put the outgoing mail at his feet. The canvas mailbag was ready to nudge out the door at just the right moment. It required a little finesse to be sure that his foot did not become entangled in the loop of rope that closed the mailbag and also to put the bag somewhere close but not too close to the postmaster. He also needed care to avoid being beaned by the catchpost arm as it swung the incoming mail into the mail car. My father later claimed that the posted speed of 15 miles per hour was closer to 35 miles per hour. The train was also a little late, so perhaps the engineer was also trying to make up some time. In any case, the mail clerk was a little late timing his all-important kick. The result was that the mailbag missed my Dad but hit the catchpost, then bounced back under the accelerating train.

All this happened a few minutes before noon. At 12 all but a handful of hungry workers would pour out of the mill, crossing the tracks on their way to their one-hour lunch break. I think there were about 600 workers at the mill at that time, and their payroll for two weeks was in the mailbag that went under the train. In those days, money was shipped to the Royal Bank via the CPR to the post office in what was known as a jelly pad. The actual bills were encased in such a way that once opened could not be resealed. The largest bill was a twenty.

At that time, Port Moody owned only one city truck. That old Rio with its crew of three was on its way to the mill to pick up some timbers that morning. Just as the Rio arrived at the crossing at Kyle Street, the bell sounded and the black-and-white-striped crossing arm swung down, blocking their way. The Rio with the trio was obliged to wait for the 11:40.

Now imagine that you had raked a huge pile of leaves onto the railway track. The train hits the leaves going 35 miles an hour. Just then a crowd of 600 leaf eaters arrive on the scene.

My father said that the green cloud that rose up behind the train was at least 50 feet high and considerably wider: a green cloud of bills. It literally rained money. The train had disappeared out of sight up the track well before the first bill fluttered to the ground. Dad grabbed a couple of empty mailsacks from the back of the Willis, stepped out on the track, and began to scoop up the fluttering storm. Fortunately, there was no wind other than that created by the train.

Once the train cleared the crossing, the trio in the Rio couldnąt believe their eyes. Before they could recover sufficiently to get out of the truck, Dad, who had been on Moody Council for some years, co-opted all three members, their shovels, rakes, buckets, and the Rio.

It was another story at noon when 600 millworkers spewed out to cross the tracks heading to homes, stores and lunch counters on Clark Street. Some of the men lived further up the tracks, so didnąt take the crossing but walked east along the tracks to their homes. Bills were stuffed into hard hats, overalls, lunch pails, jackets. For the next hour, workers shuffled from the railway tracks to the post office with handfuls of green. They plopped them on the counter and went back for more. I remember seeing my Mom sitting at a table in the back of the post office separating bills into piles by denomination. (I still have that table.)

A creek ran parallel to the tracks before crossing under them in a culvert to empty into the inlet. Some of the bills settled in the creek and were later recovered on the tidal flats. Perhaps a hundred bills settled high up in the bush and willow trees between the track, Clark, and the beach. The majority were scattered along the eight miles of track between Port Moody and Coquitlam. The train was stopped and searched in Coquitlam. Several bills were recovered from the undercarriage. The last bill was found under a tie a mile east of Coquitlam.

That evening Dad, a bank inspector and a CPR detective finished the final count. Bank records indicated there were more than fifteen thousand individual bills in that jelly pad. Five tens and two twenties were never recovered. Initially my Dad was held responsible for the loss, as the CPR had indeed delivered the mail and the bank did not get its money. Later this was reversed. A few days later, a small and insignificant column appeared in the Vancouver Sun. If I remember correctly, the last line mentioned the good citizens of Port Moody were an honest lot. I wonder what would happen today?

Following that incident, the bank began to use an armored truck to deliver money to the bank for it was felt that if the bad guys knew the payroll was arriving on the train, it was just too easy to take it from the hands of the Port Moody postmaster.

Jay inherited my little ´92 Geo Metro when I switched to a newer car, and he uses it for shopping and short trips around his home in Mission. Here is

THE LATEST TALE OF THE GEO

I went shopping late last night and locked the keys in the Geo. I´d forgotten to hide a key on the car, and so had to go back in the store to phone for a locksmith. I found a 24-hour locksmith in the yellow pages, and after talking to him for a bit, I was told that it would cost $200!

I asked how come so much and was told that it was almost midnite.

So I decided to call a cab and get my groceries home that way, and then I realized that all my keys were locked in the car. So I waited for the cab driver and told him that I didn´t want a ride, but I would pay him to let me use a tire iron to get into the car.

The cabbie opened his trunk and handed me some pruning sheers. He was on the cell phone at the time to his dispatcher (I guess) and wasn´t too helpful. I went back to the car and decided the best way to attack the problem was to pry open one of the rear windows.

(I wonder what a cabbie does with pruning sheers?)

I was having only moderate success with the pry job when the cab driver, after finishing his call, came back with some weird sort of hook. To shorten this story somewhat, between us we popped the catch on the rear window on the driver´s side ... surprisingly easy, as it turned out. I had just bought a broom, so I used the handle to push open the lock button.

I asked the cabbie how much and he said that it usually cost $15 for a jump, so I gave him $20.

I got the car home and for about 45 minutes worked on getting the back window sorta fixed. I decided I didn´t want to fix it too well as I might want to use this approach sometime in the future. What really surprised me was how easy it was to pop the window. I found too that I didn´t need a broom to push the lock switch as I could get enough of my body into the car to open the lock.

Needless to say, I will be hiding a key on the car in the very near future....

I thought later that I should have called a towing company as they will open car doors for a lot less that $200 - probably around $50.

I think I´m in the wrong trade ... I should be a midnight locksmith.

Jack Peaker forwards this story of two boys who are

IN TROUBLE AGAIN

Two little boys, ages eight and 10, were excessively mischievous. They were always getting into trouble and their parents knew all about it. If any mischief occurred in their town, the two boys were probably involved.

The boys´ mother heard that a preacher in town had been successful in disciplining children, so she asked if he would speak with her boys.

The preacher agreed, but he asked to see them individually. So the mother sent the eight-year-old first, in the morning, with the older boy to see the preacher in the afternoon.

The preacher, a huge man with a booming voice, sat the younger boy down and asked him sternly, "Do you know where God is, son?"

The boy´s mouth dropped open, but he made no response, sitting there wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open.

So the preacher repeated the question in an even sterner tone, "Where is God?"

Again, the boy made no attempt to answer. The preacher raised his voice even more and shook his finger in the boy´s face and bellowed, "Where is God?"

The boy screamed and bolted from the room, ran directly home and dove into his closet, slamming the door behind him. When his older brother found him in the closet, he asked, "What happened?"

The younger brother, gasping for breath, replied, "We are in BIG trouble this time. GOD is missing, and they think we did it!"

Tom Kyle, who hosts a website at http://www.mts.net/~oldguy/, is happy with

A WEE BIT OF PASSION

Jacqui and I were pleased this year to find we could grow a passion flower. The flowers last only two days after bloooming, and then produce the passion fruit. Not bad for Manitoba.

"Passion" does not refer to love, but to the Passion of Christ on the cross. In the 15th and 16th centuries, Spanish Christian missionaries discovered this flower and adopted its unique physical structures as symbols of Crucifixion.

For example, the 72 radial filaments (or corona) represent the Crown of Thorns; the ten petals and sepals represent the ten faithful apostles; the top three stigma represent the three nails, and the lower five anthers represent the five wounds.

The flower has been given names related to this symbolism throughout Europe since that time. In Spain, it is known as Espina de Cristo (Christ´s Thorn). In Germany it was once known as Muttergottes-Schuzchen (Mother-of-God´s Star).

In Japan, they are known as clock-faced flowers. In North America they are also called the Maypop, the water lemon, and the wild apricot (after its fruit). Native Americans in the Tennessee area called it ocoee, which the Ocoee river and valley are named for.

Ed. Note: To see a picture of the passion flower, go to Jay´s website and click on the link in Tom´s story.

Sharon Graham offers this advice:

NEVER TICK OFF A NURSE

A bigshot attorney who spent a couple of days in the hospital was a royal pain to the nurses. He bossed them around just like he did his office staff. None of the hospital staff wanted to have anything to do with him. The head nurse was the only one who would stand up to him.

She entered his room and announced, "I have to take your temperature."

After complaining a while, he finally settled down, crossed his arms, and opened his mouth.

"No, I´m sorry," said the nurse. "For this reading, I can´t use an oral thermometer."

This started another round of complaining, but eventually he rolled over and bared his behind. After feeling the nurse insert the thermometer, he heard her announce, "I have to get something. Now you stay JUST LIKE THAT until I get back!"

She left the door to his room open on her way out.

He cursed under his breath as he heard people walking past his door, laughing. After a half hour, the man´s doctor came into the room.

"What´s going on here?" asked the doctor.

Angrily, the man answers, "What´s the matter, Doc? Haven´t you ever seen someone having their temperature taken?"

After a pause, the doctor confesses, "Not with a carnation."

Bruce Galway claims there is something about

TEXANS - GOTTA LOVE ´EM (with some exceptions)

Two Texans are sitting on a plane from Dallas and an old Jewish Texan is sitting between them. The first Texan says, "My name is Roger. I own 250,000 acres, have 1,000 head of cattle, and they call my place The Jolly Roger."

The second Texan says, "My name is John. I own 350,000 acres. I have 5,000 head of cattle, and they call my place Big Johns."

They both look down at the Jewish man who says, "My name is Irving. I own only 300 acres, and no cattle."

Roger looks down at him and says, "Three hundred acres? What do you call it?"

"Downtown Dallas," said Irving.

Miriam Ockenden forwards these timely suggestions:

TWELVE-STEP INTERNET RECOVERY PROGRAM

1) I will have a cup of coffee in the morning and read my newspaper like I used to, before the Internet.

2) I will eat breakfast with a knife and fork and not with one hand typing.

3) I will get dressed before noon.

4) I will make an attempt to clean the house, wash clothes, and plan dinner before even thinking of the Internet.

5) I will sit down and write a letter to those unfortunate few friends and family that are Internet-deprived.

6) I will call someone on the phone whom I cannot contact via the Internet.

7) I will read a book ... if I still remember how.

8) I will listen to those around me and their needs and stop telling them to turn the TV down so I can hear the music on the Internet.

9) I will not be tempted during TV commercials to check for e-mail.

10) I will try and get out of the house at least once a week, if it is necessary or not.

11) I will remember that my bank is not forgiving if I forget to balance my checkbook because I was too busy on the Internet.

12) Last, but not least, I will remember that I must go to bed sometime ... and the Internet will always be there tomorrow!

WEBSITES TO EXPLORE

Bruce Galway suggests this site: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RB-wUgnyGv0

Carol Hansen sends this one: http://www.snopes.com/photos/natural/firerainbow.asp

Jack Peaker forwards these urls:

Travel: http://www.passingthroughindia.com/

Health: http://www.checkupfromtheneckup.ca/

Talks: http://www.ted.com/tedtalks/index.cfm?flashEnabled=1

Games: http://www.joytube.com/

Miriam Ockenden says this site is interesting:

http://www.microsoft.com/canada/windowsvista/default.aspx

While there is a chance of the world getting through its troubles, I hold that a reasonable man has to behave as though he were sure of it. If at the end your cheerfulness is not justified, at any rate you will have been cheerful.