Ron Buffie

There have been many interesting changes on Dowling Avenue East since I moved here in 1994. Wwith the exception of my next-door neighbours I rarely saw others on my block, as they tended to come and go via their back garages, and I rarely saw adults out for a stroll or cycling. In those early years there were many families with young children and at Halloween I had so many tiny visitors I would run out of treats. I had angels, lady bugs, bunnies, witches, skeletons, pirates, and a variety of ghoulish visitors. It was a joy to see these kids having so much fun. Over the next decade my young Halloween visitors dropped off and I had a surplus of treats to gorge on. The families with small children had either moved away or the kids had grown too old for tricking and treating .Today, some neighbours and I spend more time in our front yards watching a more varied, and active array of neighbours passing by. It’s encouraging to see so many people walking, cycling or sitting on the front porch, enjoying the activity on the block. I often see older couples, walking hand in hand or cycling together, something I had rarely seen in my first years on Dowling. There’s been a resurgence of young kids livening up the block with sidewalk art, hopscotch, cycling, rollerblading, skateboarding, skipping, or tugging a wagon with younger siblings enjoying the ride and of course tricking or treating. There are many more people walking dogs, too — the elderly with small yippers and yappers, and then younger people with large exotic breeds which I had never seen before, including great Danes, Irish wolfhounds, and St. Bernards. Most dog owners are conscientious about cleaning up behind their pooches. The changing neighbourhood has changed our culinary habits as new ethnic restaurants have opened, and stores carry a wider variety of interesting and savoury foods. Getting out, chatting with neighbours, strolling, cycling, or sitting back watching and enjoying the activities on our street will no doubt lead to a better understanding and appreciation of one another. Hopefully this is a citywide and country-wide trend, confirming that interacting with humans can be much more gratifying than TV or electronic devices.   Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

There have been many interesting changes on Dowling Avenue East since I moved here in 1994. 

With the exception of my next-door neighbours I rarely saw others on my block, as they tended to come and go via their back garages, and I rarely saw adults out for a stroll or cycling. 

In those early years there were many families with young children and at Halloween I had so many tiny visitors I would run out of treats. I had angels, lady bugs, bunnies, witches, skeletons, pirates, and a variety of ghoulish visitors. It was a joy to see these kids having so much fun. 

Over coffee recently, some good friends and I were discussing a typical day in retirement. When I explained I often get up early, read the paper, do the crossword, then sometimes go back to bed for another hour or so, they were taken aback. They’re too hard-working and organized and believe they have too much to do to spend their time frivolously in bed.   When I think of all those years of hating to get up to go to school on cold winter mornings, or my days as an adult of rising at 6 a.m. - in the dark at 30 below - and then having to wait for transit to get to work, I don’t feel a bit guilty sleeping in. I hated getting up on those cold mornings and promised myself that when I could, I would indulge myself by sleeping in until I was good and ready to get up. That time is now and I’m taking full advantage of it by spending as much time as I like luxuriating in bed under a soft down quilt.     Too many of us over the years have programmed ourselves into behaviour contrary to our best interests and when, after years of work, we’d like to indulge in some well deserved sleeping in, we can’t. What a tragedy that, after all those years of work, some of us cannot reap “our just rewards” - such as sleeping in on a cold winter morning. Over the years, many men and women develop the “it has to be done now” mentality,” which drives them. I’d like to suggest that many things don’t have to be “done now.”You don’t have to be a supermom or pop and, unless it’s an emergency, many chores can wait. By being kinder to yourself now you’ll reap the rewards later in life. I recently heard a sad comment about a retiree who didn’t know what to do with himself in retirement.“He’s too old to work and never learned how to play.”Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

Over coffee recently, some good friends and I were discussing a typical day in retirement. When I explained I often get up early, read the paper, do the crossword, then sometimes go back to bed for another hour or so, they were taken aback. They’re too hard-working and organized and believe they have too much to do to spend their time frivolously in bed. 

  When I think of all those years of hating to get up to go to school on cold winter mornings, or my days as an adult of rising at 6 a.m. - in the dark at 30 below - and then having to wait for transit to get to work, I don’t feel a bit guilty sleeping in. 

I hated getting up on those cold mornings and promised myself that when I could, I would indulge myself by sleeping in until I was good and ready to get up. That time is now and I’m taking full advantage of it by spending as much time as I like luxuriating in bed under a soft down quilt.   

In an attempt to delay dotage from sneaking up on me I’ve been working out at the City of Winnipeg’s Peguis Trail Fitness Centre, in the basement of Chief Peguis Junior High School at 1400 Rothesay St. I started working out  years ago when fitness centres appeared in Winnipeg and have belonged to a number of them over the years. For the first several years, the gyms I attended were men-only, but some later became co-ed in efforts to increase membership. The first few years of mixed spas were interesting, in that it appeared to be a fashion competition for some people. The fashion parade has eased up since then and most folks are most interested in working out these days.When I regularly roller-bladed around Birds Hill Park, I often saw a petite woman  running in the opposite direction on the other side of the road. We never had the opportunity to talk; just waved at each other as we went in opposite directions. However, when I started working out at Chief Peguis I began to see her doing laps on the indoor track. We started talking and I learned her name is Ada. Ada has run over 20 marathons and, while she ran, her husband, Martin, could be observed deeply absorbed in a western novel by Louis L’Amour, pursuing rustlers on a stationary bike. I often run into the pair at Kildonan Place shopping mall and over coffee we have long, interesting conversations. Unfortunately, Ada has been having hip problems and recently had a hip replacement. I thought it may have slowed her down a bit, but I now see her back at the gym, pedalling vigorously on a stationary bike while Martin catches up with the rustlers. It’s good to see.Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

In an attempt to delay dotage from sneaking up on me I’ve been working out at the City of Winnipeg’s Peguis Trail Fitness Centre, in the basement of Chief Peguis Junior High School at 1400 Rothesay St. 

I started working out  years ago when fitness centres appeared in Winnipeg and have belonged to a number of them over the years. 

For the first several years, the gyms I attended were men-only, but some later became co-ed in efforts to increase membership. The first few years of mixed spas were interesting, in that it appeared to be a fashion competition for some people. The fashion parade has eased up since then and most folks are most interested in working out these days.

A recent telephone conversation with an out-of-town school chum set me off on a stream of consciousness, wafting me on a magic carpet to simpler and more enjoyable times. Times when the whole world was spread out to explore and enjoy. Back to my youth of fishing, skating, skiing, swimming, and learning about Mother Nature in and around Sturgeon Creek. North of the creek, when the snow had just melted, lay a huge body of water which, though drying in summer, saturated the earth with enough moisture and  pressure to force out cool, pure springs along the creek all year. I recall hiking that frozen prairie in winter and the satisfaction of learning to follow and stick to the wind hardened drifts, avoiding the softer snow in between. Sprinkled across the prairie were small bluffs of trees providing cover for jack rabbits, prairie chickens and the occasional deer. Hiking through the soft snow in those bluffs on a couple of occasions I would have the wits scared out of me by a prairie chicken exploding out of the snow under my feet. We called them prairie chickens but they probably were ruffed grouse as, even in those relatively pristine days, prairie chickens were becoming scarce.   Without much effort I can squeeze a good deal of satisfaction writing about experiences of past and present. Some of which I may get the satisfaction of seeing in print. Occasionally I get feedback from a reader telling me they enjoyed a recent article which makes it that much sweeter.      COVID-19 and minor health issues have curtailed my activities somewhat. However, I still work out  on a regular basis and I’m looking forward to winter to see if I have a few kilometres of cross country skiing left in me. No doubt I’m entering the home stretch and looking back, I realize how graciously fortune has smiled upon me. I have a comfortable home, a few good friends, a reasonable income, unbridled curiosity to see, care, and understand what’s happening, a garage full of unfinished diamond willow walking sticks to work on ( some of which will be donated to charitable organizations for fund raising ), a fridge and pantry full of good food, several hundred books to be read or re-read, and a thousand stories and memories to relive and write.What more do I need ?  Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

A recent telephone conversation with an out-of-town school chum set me off on a stream of consciousness, wafting me on a magic carpet to simpler and more enjoyable times. 

Times when the whole world was spread out to explore and enjoy. Back to my youth of fishing, skating, skiing, swimming, and learning about Mother Nature in and around Sturgeon Creek. 

North of the creek, when the snow had just melted, lay a huge body of water which, though drying in summer, saturated the earth with enough moisture and  pressure to force out cool, pure springs along the creek all year. 

Several years ago I was a member of a men’s fitness centre on Regent Avenue. Some older members never worked out in the gym but made good use of the sauna.

After a workout I would sometimes joined them in the sauna and was privy to some interesting conversations, mostly based on money.

If someone mentioned they had recently bought a new car they were asked, how much they paid. When they were revealed how much, they were always told, “you’re crazy, I could have got it for you for $2,000 less.”

The cost of plumbing, a paint job, auto repair... anything was fair game. When someone mentioned the price paid there was always someone who could have got it for much less. It appears these men were paranoid over paying too much and being considered a “scemo” – an Italian word for fool – or easily duped, particularly on money matters.  

In Manitoba our most common commercially caught fish are walleye (pickerel), whitefish, and northern pike (jackfish). Many stores stock fresh pickerel as high as $4.99 per 100 grams, sometimes the more economical frozen whole whitefish, but never fresh or frozen jackfish. The stores also stock foreign fish such as tilapia, basa, milkfish, and a variety of farmed fish which I have tried and found lacking the texture, quality, and flavour of jackfish. As well some foreign fish are farmed, reputedly under questionable sanitary conditions, and I have found that they have much higher moisture content making cooking difficult and their lower prices questionable.  Growing up near Sturgeon Creek, I honed my fishing skills there with makeshift fishing tackle, bringing about a lasting source of pleasure.  I recall catching jackfish,  suckers, bullheads, silver bass, and rarely, pickerel. But jackfish were the most plentiful, and from the cold spring fed creek were great eating. I took great pride in bringing home enough to feed the family. The rules being I had to clean and fillet them. Seasoned, dipped in egg, then in fine bread crumbs and fried, provided many tasty and nourishing meals. As the years went by I obtained more sophisticated tackle and was able to fish more productive waters where I caught jackfish, trout, salmon, pickerel, bass, freshwater drum, perch, whitefish, goldeye, burbot, and catfish. While the most desired fish were trout or pickerel I and many others equally enjoyed jackfish when caught in cold unpolluted water. Historically jackfish played an important part in helping many early prairie setttlers feed their families.   Our commercial fishermen have to sell their catch to the freshwater fish marketing board where it is processed and resold. As jackfish are considerably less expensive than pickerel I wonder, “where have all our jackfish have gone?” I know fresh jackfish is in demand for gefilte fish and other recipes, and there’s probably a huge market in  heavily populated communities in places like New York. Maybe so, but how can our government justify selling “all of our jackfish “to other countries, and then foist questionable foreign, and probably not as healthy substitutes upon us, depriving us of an important, tasty, nourishing, and inexpensive resource?     We’re constantly advised to buy locally but in the case of jackfish there’s nothing to buy.  How come?  Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

In Manitoba our most common commercially caught fish are walleye (pickerel), whitefish, and northern pike (jackfish). Many stores stock fresh pickerel as high as $4.99 per 100 grams, sometimes the more economical frozen whole whitefish, but never fresh or frozen jackfish. The stores also stock foreign fish such as tilapia, basa, milkfish, and a variety of farmed fish which I have tried and found lacking the texture, quality, and flavour of jackfish. As well some foreign fish are farmed, reputedly under questionable sanitary conditions, and I have found that they have much higher moisture content making cooking difficult and their lower prices questionable.

Growing up near Sturgeon Creek, I honed my fishing skills there with makeshift fishing tackle, bringing about a lasting source of pleasure. I recall catching jackfish,  suckers, bullheads, silver bass, and rarely, pickerel. But jackfish were the most plentiful, and from the cold spring fed creek were great eating. I took great pride in bringing home enough to feed the family. The rules being I had to clean and fillet them. Seasoned, dipped in egg, then in fine bread crumbs and fried, provided many tasty and nourishing meals. As the years went by I obtained more sophisticated tackle and was able to fish more productive waters where I caught jackfish, trout, salmon, pickerel, bass, freshwater drum, perch, whitefish, goldeye, burbot, and catfish. While the most desired fish were trout or pickerel I and many others equally enjoyed jackfish when caught in cold unpolluted water. Historically jackfish played an important part in helping many early prairie setttlers feed their families. 

Our commercial fishermen have to sell their catch to the freshwater fish marketing board where it is processed and resold. As jackfish are considerably less expensive than pickerel I wonder, “where have all our jackfish have gone?” I know fresh jackfish is in demand for gefilte fish and other recipes, and there’s probably a huge market in  heavily populated communities in places like New York. Maybe so, but how can our government justify selling “all of our jackfish “to other countries, and then foist questionable foreign, and probably not as healthy substitutes upon us, depriving us of an important, tasty, nourishing, and inexpensive resource?   

Rooting around in my garage, looking for a tool, I discovered a dust covered jar labelled “July 23 2008.” I don’t recall placing it there but I must have done it in one of my more rational moments. The jar contained a dozen keys I had been saving for many years but which didn’t fit any locks I knew. As I hadn’t needed for them for all this time, into the recycling bin they went, and good riddance to them. Over the years I have become a hoarder, reluctant to discard something, just in case I may one day need it, which has led to accumulating a confusing conglomeration of odds and ends. Recalling a bad experience with a leaking hot water tank and the ensuing flood, I purchased a tray to go under my current tank to contain leaks. When I tried to install it I found the work required the services of a qualified plumber / gas fitter and stored it in my shed to have it installed when I needed a new tank. A few years later, my tank developed a leak necessitating replacement. It wasn’t until well after the new tank was installed that I found the tray. This time I stored it behind the tank and almost 10 years later I again had a leaky tank, necessitating installation of a new one, and finally had the tray installed. From time of purchase to installation took 14 years. Over the years I have collected and saved many books of interest. Upon re-reading them, I found that some are no longer of interest and, if I’ve saved a book for reference purposes I can usually find the information on the internet. Along with the books, I have records I haven’t listened to for years. I have pens, pencils, memo pads, file folders, and address labels enough to last a few lifetimes. In my pantry I have spices and condiments long past their best-before date. I also have clothes, pots and pans and dishes that I never use, and albums full of mysterious photos. Learning a lesson from the keys, I’m going to regularly  stockpile and date superfluous items. Those not used within a reasonable time I’ll toss into the garbage, the recycling bin, or donate to a thrift store.Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

Rooting around in my garage, looking for a tool, I discovered a dust covered jar labelled “July 23 2008.” 

I don’t recall placing it there but I must have done it in one of my more rational moments. The jar contained a dozen keys I had been saving for many years but which didn’t fit any locks I knew. As I hadn’t needed for them for all this time, into the recycling bin they went, and good riddance to them. Over the years I have become a hoarder, reluctant to discard something, just in case I may one day need it, which has led to accumulating a confusing conglomeration of odds and ends. 

Recalling a bad experience with a leaking hot water tank and the ensuing flood, I purchased a tray to go under my current tank to contain leaks. When I tried to install it I found the work required the services of a qualified plumber / gas fitter and stored it in my shed to have it installed when I needed a new tank. A few years later, my tank developed a leak necessitating replacement. It wasn’t until well after the new tank was installed that I found the tray. 

In my early years of employment working for CN Rail I spent a good deal of time travelling by train. I worked the western region from Armstrong, Ont. to the west coast. As this led to many lengthy trips, I usually took along a few good books and cast an eagle eye around the coach to see if there were any girls I could  charm. Most of the time the girls, if any, ignored me, and I would read or look out the window at our magnificent country.What I didn’t want was to  listen to a lengthy discourse from an old geezer who needed an audience. I had been trapped in the past and knew how difficult it could be to escape. I knew that once these types transfixed you with their hypnotic eyes, you were like a moth pinned to a display board — doomed to a lengthy dissertation on the good old days, the war, or trips of the past. I grew  adept at sensing whether I was being singled out for a lengthy monologue and was usually able to tactfully escape. As I grew older and went into other fields of work, my old habits of avoiding conversational traps with old-timers carried on, even though I knew I was somewhat rude and might be missing something of significance.Now that I’m retired and housebound due to the coronavirus I can see how important communication is. As we grow older there is a limited number of people who understand us. Consequently, we have to try to strike up conversations with whomever is available, whenever we have the opportunity. More importantly, we need that interaction to reassure ourselves we’re still a factor in society. Having worked with large numbers of people for many years I need people to talk to and interact with. Now when I run into a likely prospect, like the old-timers of my past, I crave the stimulation of a good conversation. If the person I meet is retired like myself they often welcome an opportunity to gab. However, many are still working and I see their eyes glaze over as they desperately glance around looking for an escape route, much as I used to.      Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

In my early years of employment working for CN Rail I spent a good deal of time travelling by train. 

I worked the western region from Armstrong, Ont. to the west coast. As this led to many lengthy trips, I usually took along a few good books and cast an eagle eye around the coach to see if there were any girls I could  charm. Most of the time the girls, if any, ignored me, and I would read or look out the window at our magnificent country.

What I didn’t want was to  listen to a lengthy discourse from an old geezer who needed an audience. I had been trapped in the past and knew how difficult it could be to escape. 

I look forward to Saturday’s Winnipeg Free Press, which often contains interesting and informative articles.Of great interest is the obituary section, which I have been reading for many years. Earlier in life there was only the occasional obit of someone I knew but that  has changed. As the years went by I would read more frequently of the passing of someone I knew. Though saddened by compatriots passing I felt somewhat secure in learning they were often quite a bit older than I. As time continued to pass I would start to find one or two people I knew in each week’s obit section, which soon increased to as many as five or six per issue. Somewhere on this path I reached the tipping point where many of the deceased were about the same age as I was. Then I started reading about people younger than me then even younger, and then much younger. Presently I find only an occasional obit of someone I know, a trend which will probably continue as there are fewer compatriots left.I find that the obituaries of greatest interest are those which the deceased has personally written before leaving us. Looking back, they frequently offer an interesting slant on life, often related with a tinge of humor. Obits often tell us the sad story of bright young girls and boys in large families in rural communities having to leave school early due to lack of finances. With limited education, the girls had to take menial housekeeping jobs, or go to the city to labour in garment factories or sling hash in greasy spoon restaurants. Boys could find work for neighbouring farmers, on the railway, or go mining, fishing, cutting pulp, or hop freights seeking work in larger cities. These obituaries describe tales of perseverance and struggle to succeed, and many did, improving their jobs, marrying and raising families. Reading the obit of highly successful businessmen we sometimes find they worked their way up from the most inauspicious beginnings, bearing in mind that in those years it wasn’t necessary to have a university degree to get ahead.  A sad feature in today’s obits is the frequency of young people in their late teens or early 20s passing away. Though not spelled out in detail, it often appears the deceased have had lived troubled lives. I hope this is a passing trend.Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

I look forward to Saturday’s Winnipeg Free Press, which often contains interesting and informative articles.

Of great interest is the obituary section, which I have been reading for many years. Earlier in life there was only the occasional obit of someone I knew but that  has changed. As the years went by I would read more frequently of the passing of someone I knew. 

Though saddened by compatriots passing I felt somewhat secure in learning they were often quite a bit older than I. As time continued to pass I would start to find one or two people I knew in each week’s obit section, which soon increased to as many as five or six per issue. 

In the late ’40s and early ’50s, those who struggled through the Great Depression and wartime shortages began to experience an improved degree of affluence. Some recently retired men could now indulge in new woodworking tools, which were put to use creating lawn ornaments. It was relatively easy to get started — with a jig saw, a palm sander, plywood, some stencils and paint, the muse was awakened.Stopping wasn’t as easy as starting and creators soon had workshops full of Elmer Fudds, Bugs Bunnies, Goofies, and Tweety Birds looking for homes. Soon they were populating the lawns of friends, relatives, and other unsuspecting victims who found it difficult to explain they found those painstakingly crafted lawn decorations a tad tacky. I haven’t seen a Fudd, Bugs, Goofy or a Tweety reposing on a lawn for a long time, which makes me wonder what retired gents are doing today. Though there are many seniors’ programs available, the seniors I know are too individualistic to participate. Some spend a good deal of time hanging out in malls, gabbing,  taking selfies, or showing victims pictures on their phones. (It used to be considered tacky, boring friends with photos of your latest trip, your new granddaughter or pet dog but those who have enthusiastically adopted our new technology seem to feel exempt from those transgressions.) A group of old-timers I know has been meeting for years for coffee at Kildonan Place mall. As their ranks are shrinking they feel slighted if you don’t join them to listen to their versions of worldly events. These consist of mostly long-winded accounts of Trump’s latest transgressions, boring accounts of stamp collections and rehashes of long-passed controversial sporting events. If you join them and want to voice an opinion you have to jump in when there’s a lull in the conversation, and then talk non-stop, without taking a breath, to get your point across before being interrupted.Me? Except for a cell phone which I don’t want or need, I’m guilty of much of the above. As well as pecking away on my keyboard, putting together missives such as this, which hopefully won’t motivate old geezers back into their workshops to create a new generation of icons such as Snoopy, Charlie Brown, Garfield, Beetle Bailey, Otto, or even more comic — current politicians.Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

In the late ’40s and early ’50s, those who struggled through the Great Depression and wartime shortages began to experience an improved degree of affluence. Some recently retired men could now indulge in new woodworking tools, which were put to use creating lawn ornaments. 

It was relatively easy to get started — with a jig saw, a palm sander, plywood, some stencils and paint, the muse was awakened.

Stopping wasn’t as easy as starting and creators soon had workshops full of Elmer Fudds, Bugs Bunnies, Goofies, and Tweety Birds looking for homes. Soon they were populating the lawns of friends, relatives, and other unsuspecting victims who found it difficult to explain they found those painstakingly crafted lawn decorations a tad tacky. 

Driving down Kildare Avenue, I sometime pass a young woman trucking along so purposefully  and seriously, I can’t help chuckling. Her head’s thrown back, her chest’s thrown forward and her arms are bent at the elbows, which she’s pumping back and forth keeping pace with her steps. What’s funny about that you may ask ? Well watching her reminds me of a famous Satchel Paige saying. “Walk softly and jingle your juices.” By that he meant stay loose and relaxed and you’ll be doing your body a favor. Satchel knew whereof he spoke. He was one of baseball’s most talented and long-lasting pitchers and played professionally from 1926 to 1966, starting in the old Negro Leagues and finally making it to the big leagues in the late 1940s, after Jackie Robinson broke the colour barrier with the Brooklyn Dodgers. Paige pitched in more games for more teams than any other player in history. Many believed him to be the best ball player of all time. He was well-known for quotes such as, “Don’t look back, someone may be catching up with you;” and “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were? Most quotes were of the same nature — stay loose, have fun, and don’t take yourself too seriously.Back to our young lady walker who deserves credit for determination and effort. Did her walking tips came from a self-help book ? She looks like a robot, is much too stiff and her walk seems unnatural, burning up too much energy. Too many of us rely on advice from self-help book. I question the value of these books. There could be good information in them but that shouldn’t take more than a few pages. The rest is filler to justify the cost of the book. If you want to walk just go out and do it and you’ll develop a style that suits your needs Many older, retired people have taken up mall walking, some using walking sticks, proceeding much like our young lady, making it more difficult and less fun. Forget about style, just keep walking, do a lot of walking, preferably outside if you can, where you can stop for a visit with your neighbours, enjoy the sun, nature, and neighbourhood children playing. Like Satch said, relax. Your body will tell you what’s best and you may even forget how old you are..  Ron Buffie is a community correspondent for Transcona. Email him at ronbuffie@shaw.ca

Driving down Kildare Avenue, I sometime pass a young woman trucking along so purposefully and seriously, I can’t help chuckling. 

Her head’s thrown back, her chest’s thrown forward and her arms are bent at the elbows, which she’s pumping back and forth keeping pace with her steps. 

What’s funny about that you may ask? Well watching her reminds me of a famous Satchel Paige saying.