Traveling Memories – Lost

I woke up brutally to his yelling from the bathroom.

“Someone broke in during the night!” he screamed, his hands flapping in the air, as if he was trying to express his distress with semaphore. Who still knows semaphore anyway, I meant to ask him, but I didn’t think that would be of any help…

“They took all your Montréal memories away!”

Montréal? That barely rang a bell, now that he mentioned it. I could see all the maple leaf and fleur de lysée flags on my bags in the corner of the room, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I had those stitched in.

“Vof vof!” The weird sound came from the bath tub. Nervously, he pulled the curtain away, revealing a dog and two sheep sitting in the tub. “Woof!” he shouted back, while the dog tilted its head to the side… “Vof Vof!” barking back again, as if it was arguing.

“No! This is no time to eat, stupid dog!” he replied at once, and I looked at him, wondering where on Earth he could have learned Icelandic. In Tibet, of course… I suddenly remembered how he had brought his Icelandic Harry Potter to practice while I was getting my sun tan/burn lying on the sandy beach along the Zhaga Qu River, only wearing my prettiest smile.

His gaze went from the Icelandic sheepdog back to me, and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. “There’s nothing Montréalish left about you!” he murmured, with a let-me-get-you-a-one-way-ticket-to-Albania-honey tone to his voice. But I was no girl to give up our traveling together over such futile details…

“Why don’t we settle that simmering in the Blue Lagoon, my dear? I hear the warm waters work miracles!”

His eyes brightened a bit, “Blue Lagoon, uh? Come on Leifar! Come along, boy!! Nope, you leave your sheep here!” and within minutes we were driving fast and furiously on the Iceland countryside roads.

“Why Leifar, my love?” His gaze left the road for a second, rolling his eyes at me, as if I was oblivious to the obvious. “Leifar… Leftover… That’s all we have now, wouldn’t you say?”

I left him to think he was right, and in no time, he was pulling out in the Blue Lagoon’s parking.

“Let’s go skinny dippin’ Baby!” he declared, in a less than enthusiastic way.

It was a given, though, since we hadn’t packed swimsuits for our Mars escapade. “Vof vof!” barked Leifar, as we left Leftover behind, hoping to heal my Tibet sunburns and loss of interest from my one and only.

Undressing by the steamy waters, I was trying to focus on how smooth my skin would feel, after a good bathing in the turquoise natural pool, when I noticed a sparkle in his eyes… Following his gaze, I looked down my ankle and noticed something that had eluded my mind, throughout the day.

The little white and blue flag, tattooed down on my leg…

“Oooh yeah Baby… Dive in! We can always visit Reykjavik’s Police Station tomorrow to get your memories back. That should be interesting…”

But things were already getting interesting, if you ask me.

This piece is the work of Cyranny. She is my first, one and only, guest contributor with her slant on my Fantasy Travel Series. You can find a lot more of her Canadian poetry, fiction, stories about her Cat – hmm -not a dog, and humor here:
PS Don’t be fooled about her love for Denmark. Everyone is allowed at least one mistake in their lives about an idea they had…..

Waiting for the Woodpeckers

I was sitting on your doorstep
trying to think
in an Canadian way,
while waiting
for the woodpeckers to come,

I imagined taking a walk
with you, or waiting to meet
your parents, using my best French,
which I don’t speak
by the way,

Imagination takes me
far away, and closer to you
but I do miss seeing
your eyes light up
when the Danish Sun
goes down,

If you are in Copenhagen
and I, in Aalborg
then the time zone we share
would make it seem
as if you were a bit closer
to me,

Just without
the Woodpeckers of Montréal

My Fastest Car

I avowed

to drive my fastest car

leaving Europe in my wake,

with “Canada, or Bust” as my motto,


The road, seemed uncertain

as I circumvented the seas, the wars and the

borders of Sovereign Nations,


As I pulled into the outskirts of Montréal

I realized, I’d forgotten

her address, being back

on my kitchen table,

in Denmark,


“Drat, and Dagnabbit”, I yelled out


I felt as if

it were all a bad dream, having  to

call my wife for the answer….


-and wondering how old, I’d be

when her laughter finally

died down?



What the Canadians Saw

What did the Canadians see, while here in Northern Denmark?

Well that is a story for the deaf, and a sight for the blind…..

To the north of Aalborg is a Viking Burial Site called Lindholm Høje.


Source: Google Maps


Source: Google Maps

There are a number of stones which date back to the Iron Age, and the time of Vikings.


Here is the description on Wikipedia


These 4 cold and dreary looking photos perfectly describe the mood at the time. It was cold, and wet, and drizzly. My iPhone 4 was about to go white, but I didn’t suspect anything at the time. The Canadians might have jinxed it, or put some sort of spell on it, because the next photo looked like this:


OK. It didn’t look like that, but it could have! If you looked closely, you might have seen one of them……but I couldn’t. I was blinded by their French Language, and their Pure Foreignness!

Then we went various places, but you wouldn’t believe me without the photos that were/could have been numerous, but weren’t all the same.

Then the sightseeing became even more exciting!

Remember, this is not bathroom humor.

Just imagine, you are up at night to answer the call of Nature, when the unthinkable happens…the seat falls down and wakes up your dear one!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Here is the same toilet that they experienced, with the Soft Closing Lid!

Here is a silent advertisement, showing the same thing.



The added feature is that the seat can be removed for easy cleaning!


They professed to never have seen the likes of such a wonder, either in Montréal or in Trois-Rivières!

Then they were dazzled by eating Russian Borscht, and Lentil Chili. Then Untried Chicken Curry with Red Lentils, finished off with Spongy Carrot Cake!

Don’t be fooled in thinking that I too did not get something out of their visit. While at the Aalborg Airport, I was allowed to park my car numerous times, in the cold and dreary, Danish Weather, and…

And when they finally arrived, the gate had been changed, but don’t worry – I managed to get a text message calling me a “Ninny…….”

Gotta Love Those Canadians…..












Nipping at the Cooking Sherry – Chapter 13

I thought, I had seen it all. I’d seen my mother happy, and I’d seen her mad. Mostly mad, but never sad and regretful. Until one night when my father was out of town at a convention for Insurance Salesmen.

Mom and I ate our dinner in almost total silence, which was unusual in itself, as she almost always was telling me to sit straight in my chair, and not slouch, and to watch my ps and qs when we were in church, and of course not to associate with the Girl next door!

Part of me wanted to know, just what she meant by “associate” which could have meant a lot of things, if you asked me. Did it mean, walking back and forth in front of her house, hoping she’s see me and come out? Or did it mean that I wasn’t to speak to her, if we casually met each other on the street? Or did it mean, that I wasn’t allowed to make myself all crazy and everything, thinking, and hoping about the next time we would be together? I guess, I would never really know until I asked, but which I wouldn’t do anyway.

After we had cleaned up and had washed the dishes, I turned on the old Boob Tube to see what was on tonight. I know how disappointed mom was when the Ed Sullivan Show of Shows announced that it was finally ending its 23 year run. She didn’t care for all of the acts that appeared, but especially when The Rolling Stones, or the Doors appeared, she began stomping her feet, and ranting about how the country was going to “Heck in a Hand Basket.” I’d never heard my mother swear like that before, and worried that she might suffer an attack of the vapors, or have to have a cold compress put upon her forehead. I wasn’t really sure what a cold compress was, and hoped that a small taste of her cooking sherry would be able to do the trick, calming her nerves and all!

There wasn’t really anything interesting on TV. Not interesting, or acceptable by my mother’s standards, anyway, which made me turn on a few lights and begin to read my latest comic’s digest. Mom disappeared into the kitchen while I read, but I lost track of time and figured, it was time for bed. The funny thing was that my mother usually would have been yelling at me at this point in time, telling me that lack of sleep would stunt my growth, just like smoking cigarettes or drinking soda pop. I decided to look into the kitchen to see just what she was doing, but was surprised at what I found.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of Cooking Sherry beside her, with my mother holding a glass filled to the brim with something I never thought I would have seen in my life! She turned to me, having a not so focused look on her face and said, “Do you know why I don’t like Canadians? Well, Do you?”

Honestly, at that point in time, I wish I had just gone off to bed, leaving well enough alone, but since I was here, then….

“No. No I don’t, but you do seem to mention them a lot. What is wrong with Canadians?”

“You see, before I met your father, I was in love with another man.”

What? How could she do that to my father. He was a good guy. OK maybe a bit too involved with his garage, but still a decent enough bread winner.

“He came from Canada”, my mother continued. “Montréal to be exact. I was much younger and he….he seemed so worldly, speaking French and living in another country. And I…. I was just a girl on vacation with her parents. I, I mean we fell in love with each other and promised to take me with him to Canada….”

“My parents didn’t know a thing about us, but had told me that it was time to move on to the next stop on our vacation. I waited outside the trailer park, waited for him to come…but he didn’t. He didn’t come. He just didn’t!”

She downed the glass in her hand, and filled it up again, as if it were one of those trick glasses you saw in the magic shops. No matter how many times you emptied it, Hocus pocus, it filled up again in no time. She looked at me and said, “I never told your father about him. I wanted to, just to make him jealous, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

All of a sudden, mom began to cry. “Why didn’t he come for me? Why? I returned home again and thought it through, frame by frame. What did I say, or do that was wrong? Was he just using me? Why didn’t he come back?”

I didn’t know what to say during my mother’s story? I felt like leaving my mother to her memories, and sneaking out to my room, there was, however, something that kept me hanging on. I really wanted to understand my mother, and my father for that matter. It seemed like my mother was never really satisfied with my father. Him not being her Canadian lover that is.

“At the end of that summer”, she continued on, “I met your father. Your not-Canadian-fixit-father, who didn’t sweep me off my feet, nor did he whisper sweet nothings in my ear, in French no less…”

My mother said that OK he might be boring, but he’ll be one to provide for your needs. Love if it were meant to be, would come later on.

My mother began to put her head down on the table, but not before she downed one last glass of sherry. “If only he told me that I was special. If only he treated me, like I was the only one. If only he said something to me in French, just like…….”

That being my cue, I finally took my leave, finally mounting the stairs to my bedroom.

As I lay in bed, I wondered, how my father was going to react when my mother told him about her wishes? I’m sure it’ll come out of left field for him, just like it did for me! I wasn’t even sure, what it was that triggered my mother’s sudden affection to Cooking Sherry? I admit to drinking my share of Dr Peppers, but not to excess, like my mother seemed to be doing tonight. I’ll try to speak to her tomorrow, and help her to make sense of things.

The next day I got up at my usual time of 8am. The kitchen was empty, and the bottle and glass was nowhere to be seen. I poked around my father’s garage, and walked outside in the sunshine, enjoying the warm rays upon my skin. At 11am my mother finally showed her face in the kitchen, but it was not one of happiness and joy.

“Oh, it’s you”, she said, as if I wasn’t supposed to be there in my own kitchen. She began moving things around, but really slowly as if it hurt her head to think about doing that. “Mom, why don’t you let me make you some breakfast and coffee?” said while being it all being a bit awkward, like talking to a stranger in my own house. My mother just turned slowly and looked at me, but with a sort of relief that I never had seen before. “Yes, my boy. That would be great. I think, I’ll just lie down a bit, until you’re ready. It’s almost like having an extra Mother’s Day.” And with that she gave me a hug, and kissed me on my forehead, and disappeared into the next room.

Suddenly there was a knock at the back door. “Hey Ninny, did your mother lock you in, or something?” My friend came into the kitchen and heard the whole story in the Readers Digest Condensed Version. “Hey, don’t let it get you down. Parents do those kind of things now and again. I think they’ve forgotten how it is to be young, and end up doing something that they’ll regret the next day. I’ll bet it’ll happen to us someday too!” She seemed so wise for her age. I really was happy that she happened on by today, helping me to make sense of it all. We worked on mom’s breakfast together, making more food than a barrel full of monkeys could eat, but hey  it seemed like a good idea at the time!

We set the table and called out to mom. She had gotten herself gussied up and didn’t look like she had slept on the kitchen table anymore, using a bottle as her pillow. She was really surprised seeing the Girl Next Door together with me, but after she was served a cup of hot coffee, along with a flower in a glass (picked from our own front yard, just minutes before) then it didn’t seem like it was so bad after all. My friend excused herself and went on her way, giving me a wink and a pat on my back, before she left. “Take good care of her Poindexter. She’s the only mother you’ve got!!”

It’s true, she was the only mother I had, and we all need a bit of taking care of from time to time. My mother didn’t say much as she ate her breakfast. I did see a smile once in a while, and got a few gently reprimands, about the mess that we made, and how many bread crumbs that were on the floor, but I could tell it was just her way of getting back in the saddle, before the big rodeo, as it were.

The only thing that I worried about is when my father came home. It seemed like my mother had a lot of regrets right now, and I’m not sure my father will have seen it, whatever that is, coming when he walks in the front door from his convention? I guess, I just might have to make breakfast for him, if he finds an uncomfortable place to sleep after speaking to my mother upon arrival.

That’s OK. I’m in practice now……


Sailing, Sailing over the Bounty Main

Check out this website:

Just about anywhere in the world you’ll be able to zoom in in maritime traffic on both the high seas, as well as on rivers.

marine traffic world

Screenshots from

On the website you’ll find a clickable map of the world. The legend on the left shows the type of ship, and by holding your mouse pointer next to the ship, you’ll be able to see its name.

skibstraffik kina

skibstraffik montrealskibstraffik danmarkskibstraffik england

I chose a few locations like Hong Kong, Montréal, Denmark and the English Channel.

If you ever wondered about how many ships were out there, sailing past each other in the dark of night, now you’ll be able to see them.

2 ships that pass in the night…that sounds familiar?

Killing time in Denmark……


Time Zones, is it just me or what?

I feel that time zones are overrated. I think that we should abolish them, so we can better communicate with each other.

“Is she, Ms Montréal, sleeping, when I write this blog?” It becomes something of a mathematical  equation. Montréal is 5 hours behind me. Stopping. Looking back. Nope. I can’t see anything, but then that issue about the world not being flat, will be taken up in another blog.

Sometimes, I have to add hours to my thought. Australia is ahead of me. I’ve tried to stack as many boxes against the house, climb up on the roof, and look ahead toward Australia…Nope, just Sweden. I know that Denmark is flat and all, but I can’t seem to see farther than the sexy neighbor’s window, without the shades being drawn, tempting me to think about other things than Canada and Australia. Now, where was I?

My own Sister is there, right where she usually is, but just 8 hours behind me. Sometimes actually – 9, but that has to do with winter-summer time, which makes all the cows crazy and milking erratic. Some might just say that milking is not the only erratic thing here? I’m beginning to see that time zones aren’t the only problem here, but they might just be related.

I, myself, am only one hour away from Greenwich Mean Time, also called UTC +1, but not always in the Winter. We, here in Europe, are on a standardized time called CET, Central European Time, but not Great Britain, which seems to make things up as it pleases them. I would suggest that we all should think like that, but there might just be confusion if we did so.

I should buy some sort of World Map, perhaps with Canada in the middle, as everything does revolve around Canada doesn’t it? If you look at maps from Europe, then North America is not in the center of the Universe, but it should be, shouldn’t it? I don’t know, perhaps we should be on the North Pole, while it still is frozen that is, to get a new perspective on things. Only not in the Winter, as it is rather dark and cold, with not hibernating Polar Bears wandering about, looking for food. They are Omnivores you know, which means that they will eat just about anything. But I digress.

As I wander back to Canada my original question was, “Is she sleeping?” The question is really moot, as she seems to keep rather strange hours anyway. My own Sister, remember her?, minus 8 hours, also likes to burn the midnight oil, and I can see that sometimes when she writes to me at 9am CET, which would make it midnight or, perhaps 1am in California, if she is really there in the first place? Being away from the people I knew back in the States, at least those who still claim to know me, doesn’t prove to me that they really are there at all.

What if my minus 8 hour Sister was really living in Montréal, that is in Canada, if you haven’t been following along! She might just be living close by Ms Montréal, and could drive up to her modest apartment, with the small cat, and knock on her door, wondering where she is!! “Hey“, the neighbors would reply in good old French, “What are you doing, disturbing Ms Montréal like that?” My sister not knowing how to speak French, wouldn’t be able to understand the question. At least I don’t think she could. What if in the time that I was being UTC+1, she had been back there in California-Quebec learning French? I’m really kept in the dark over here. And it is dark now being UTC+1 in Denmark at 19:56 which is also known as 7:56pm! Where was I?

Oh yeah, my Sister. If she was really in Montréal, which is only UTC/GMT minus 5, then they would almost be related to each other, being in the same timezone, that is. How is that possible, you might ask? Well, my sister is related to me, and I to her, but if Ms Montréal is also close to my sister, then we might be family after all. The UTC-5 + UTC+1 family from California/Quebec!

It might be a hard thing explaining to my friends. It might be easier by saying that we are -5++1 which gives -4. Where in the world is -4?

I’ve adjusted the following picture from Wikipedia: Map of World’s Time Zones


Number 1 is where Montréal is located, that’s in Canada, if you still weren’t paying attention.

Number 2 is UTC-4 with that lovely shade of Green, or Vert, if my sister is reading this.

Number 3 is Denmark, or close to it anyway, being UTC+1.

Now you can see where my Sister is holed up, at number 1, probably learning Quebec style French, and thinking of visiting me in UTC-4.

I am not sure how that will work, as I am still in UTC+1. Perhaps I should wait until Winter Time is over, thus moving me closer to UTC-4, creating a family reunion (that is French you know, reunion) somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean off the Canadian Coast!

If, however, Ms Montréal has attained her lifelong dream of visiting Denmark, leaving the comfort and warmth of UTC-5, or UTC-4, ending up in UTC+1. Where does that leave my Sister? Back in Canada, that is the multi-colored Country to the North of the USA,  wondering just who is taking care of Ms Montréal’s cat, perhaps her parents in Trois-Rivières, I don’t know, and getting cold in the freezing dark nighttime, or daytime of Eastern Canada. I need to arrange this a bit more, before we make any rash decisions. Everyone should just stay put, where ever they are at the present time, and wait until this timezone thing clears up.

If that clearing is anything like the drought in California, the cold in Canada, or the sometimes snow in Denmark then I wouldn’t hold your breath just yet.

End of Blog from UTC/GMT+1!






31 December 2015 20:53 Denmark

Well, the Queen has made her yearly speech dropping a bombshell!

Her husband has decided to drosle ned, which means that he will be more of a Pensioner from now on. At 81 years old, he might just be setting a bad example for the rest of us, who need to retire later and yet even later on, the older we get.

I’d hate to think that I’ll be discriminated against, when I turn 81. This event will be telling my employer, that my time honored status as a lifetime employee, must now be at an end. I would really feel for the guy, but I know his wife will continue to hold up her share of their common income, by continuing on as the Queen!

That announcement hasn’t stopped the festivities in Denmark. As I write, countless legal, and possibly illegal fireworks are exploding in the skies around me. I have the exciting position of watching a Danish movie classic from sometime in the 50s, which everyone, who loves a good Danish film, on an otherwise average New Year’s Eve, will be glued to the TV, watching.

The young people in the crowd have braved the nighttime temperatures in order to light their hard earned money – turned fireworks, disrupting this otherwise calm evening in Denmark.

I’d like to greet all of my blog-readers this evening, be it evening or not, and wish them a Happy You Know What. You might be somewhere, where the New Year isn’t celebrated, which would mean that I was toasting you, on your pet squirrel’s bath day, or something else in that way.

I’d also like to apologize for reminding the Weather-Gods, that Montreal needed a snowstorm! I guess, I should watch what I say next time, when mentioning Canada, and Cold in the same sentence.

Again, Happy You Know What, and say hi to your squirrel for me too.

New Year’s Eve in Denmark!

PS Be sure to be careful when you Sabler le champagne at Midnight! You wouldn’t want to spend the first day of 2016 in l’hopital, unless you really liked that kind of thing.