A 30-part nostalgia odyssey, told in old family snapshots.

Foto Flashback #1: Sweet Baby Jay

There I am on my mother’s lap, I’d say 1974. I’m the third of 3 kids and mom introduced me to people as her “baby” until very, very recently. My poor parents probably assumed the last kid would be the easiest but that was not to be.

This is the house I was born into, at 19 Hardy Crescent. That’s in the Pearl of the Great Canadian Prairie – Saskatoon, Saskatchewan! I have early memories of biting cold and big, sunny skies.

Mom says I reminded her of Winston Churchill when I was a baby. I’m not exactly showing my “cute” face here so I can’t argue with her. And I assume that’s my sister’s elbow on the right, more on her later.

My chubby little hands are clutching one of mom’s sewing patterns. Seemed she was always making something – dresses, curtains, quilts, you name it. And look at her angelic face! My god, she’s a sweetie. What a wonderful woman I get to have as a mom.

Foto Flashback #2: Bowler Drummer Killer Boy

Behold the young sportsman! That Fisher-Price bowling set got a lot of use back then. The burgundy turtleneck was also in heavy rotation. My brother had a matching one. Mom’s fashion sense strikes again!

On the left you see the trusty TV (I wanna say Sylvania?) with rabbit ears, for Sesame Street and Mr Dressup viewing. Above it the orange acrylic ribbon globe lamp that some of you might also find familiar. We kept that lamp for many years and you’ll see it again in this series. Same goes for the velour easy chair on the right, also in orange, which must have been the hot colour at the time.

The cushions of that chair, and the sofa, acted as a drum kit when my sister and I would air band along with ABBA records. She would be on the tennis racket guitar, while I thwacked the cushions with mom’s knitting needles. Worked great. Nice solid thwack. I guess if you’re actually thwacking couch cushions it’s no longer an air band but you get what I mean.

Bottom right you can see the dog, Jan. I don’t remember her that well but I did play an instrumental role in her death. One day, I’m doing whatever a 4 year-old does at home in 1977 when I see what looks like a limo on our block. I’m curious, so I open the front door to get a better look and Jan runs out on the street, gets hit, and dies. To this day, my sister (half) jokingly calls me a killer.

Foto Flashback #3: California Soul

That’s me at Anaheim Stadium watching the Angels play the Texas Rangers, from a family vacation in the summer of ‘78.

We didn’t have lots of money to throw around so if we were going somewhere, we were driving. I loved road trips, and still do, but it’s a loooong drive from Saskatoon to LA. Lots of activity books, backseat squabbles, and AM radio. Must’ve heard Rhinestone Cowboy and Copacabana a few hundred times on that trip.

We spent a week in a house in Palm Springs. The house had a pool, but it was so hot out that to get to it you had to run on tiptoe across the concrete deck to avoid burning the hell out of your feet. I couldn’t really swim yet and one afternoon I fell into the deep end. My hero brother Greg (seen here seated next to me) saved me from drowning. I’m happy to be alive, so thanks again brother!

We hit Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm, and SeaWorld on that trip. I was in theme park heaven. Being from landlocked and glamour-free Saskatchewan, I totally fell for the whole Southern California vibe. Impossibly tall palm trees, sunshine, the endless Pacific, and Hollywood; I mean, that’s where they filmed The Price Is Right! The place had me completely hooked.

I ended up living in Los Angeles for a few years as an adult and it still had a certain hold over me. I’m a sucker for those palm trees.

Foto Flashback #4: Mother Popcorn

Mid-80s beanpole me (I miss rugby shirts) with Uncle Bryan and Aunt Joanne (and little cousin Linnea!) at their cottage near Sault Ste Marie, Ontario. Bryan is one of my mom’s brothers and he’s a great dude plus a hell of a musician. And you can tell by looking at Joanne that she’s sweet and quick to laugh. We’d fish on Lake Huron, play games, and just hang out. Warm-hearted, lovely people. Visiting with them was real fun.

We’re setting up the new air popper, and that’s all well and good if you must use one. But a long time ago my mom taught me how to make popcorn the real way. In a pot, with oil, on the stovetop like God intended. With butter. So much butter.

I stilI make it at home all too often. A giant buttery, salty bowl of popcorn that I share with NO ONE. It’s not nice and it’s not pretty, but it’s the real me.

Foto Flashback #5: Dad In A Series Of Offices

I have early memories of mom and us kids leaving church on Sundays and visiting dad at his office. There was a pipe rack on his desk and I loved handling and sniffing the pipes. I also liked playing with his rolodex. Was I a simple child? Sure sounds that way.

He would show up early, stay late, and work Sundays to get the job done, and it paid off. Here was a guy from a tiny, nowhere town (Kamsack, Sask.), with a high school education, who went out into the world and made something of himself, eventually rising to the top of his profession.

If you wanted something done right, Big Al Wrubell was your man. He would simply pit his work ethic against any hurdle in life and go from there. No matter the situation, he would commit to the task. And did he always make us read the whole manual before setting up even the simplest device? What do you think?

Dad was reassuringly even-keeled, knew how to talk to people, and looked good in a suit. Nothing fancy, but he was always sharp. I used to shine his shoes for $2 a pair and they had to look RIGHT. He even wore a three-piece denim suit and cowboy hat to the office during the Calgary Stampede every summer. See what I mean? Committed to the task.

There was much more to my dad (I’ll get to that another time), but looking at these mundane photos of him simply sitting at a desk gets me all misty. That guy worked his ass off for years so I could have a decent life. I miss him.

Foto Flashback #6: The New Era Living Room

In ‘81 dad got a better job so we moved to Calgary, settling into this solid middle-class suburban house at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Orange chair and globe lamp are still with us but a very 80s oatmeal-coloured sectional was about to take over. The Bob Ross-esque painting above the fireplace is probably the same age as me and, unlike me, still lives at my parents’ house.

Our new TV weighed more than a hatchback, and you can see coils of cable on the floor next to it. That cord connected our first remote control to the TV. Big as a brick, with rows of chunky, numbered buttons you clicked to choose channels…from anywhere in the room! Soon there would be an Intellivision game console connected to that TV. Yes, the future was now.

Those built-in bookshelves housed a mix of spy thrillers, historical epics (James Clavell anyone?), political biographies, and Canadiana (Pierre Berton for the win!), many from the Book Of The Month Club. There was a good, fat dictionary and a solid set of encyclopedias that I would plagiarize for school projects or leaf through out of curiosity. When I asked mom about a word or a fact she would have me look it up. She was well-read and had a wonderful vocabulary but wanted me to find out on my own.

And look at those National Geographics! We had a subscription and it was the most exciting day of the month when the new one arrived in the mail, even more exciting when it had a wall map inside. I had a couple sports and Lamborghini posters in my bedroom but the most space was occupied by these maps. I would pore over them, fascinated by the strange place names, imagining what the people there were doing.

There’s a lot of wood in this room and one of my weekly chores was dusting all the wood surfaces in the house. I won’t say I never complained or dragged my feet but I was a pretty good little duster in my day. Chores were important, and Mom made sure I knew how to keep a clean house. She did well because I’ve always liked to keep things tidy at home. Annoyingly so, according to some.

Foto Flashback #7: Mom

She’s the whole package, so I’ll try to be brief but it’s not easy. Sweet and stylish and goofy and possessed of a positivity that inspires. She’s a tremendous pickleball player and a backgammon shark. Lois Wrubell is the mom you get when you were very good in a past life.

She’s classy without being snooty, and radiates warmth. This made her a top notch host for dinners or parties, and our home was always alive and welcoming thanks to her savoir faire. And you could tell she took momming seriously. We had good manners, were presentable and well-behaved, which was a feat because as a group we could be, um, precocious. No, let’s say expert boundary testers. No wait, let’s say annoying freaks.

When we moved to Calgary she reentered the workforce after a 14-year break. It was daunting but she took it on and became an indispensable office ace in no time. This despite being called away several times because I was “having trouble adjusting” to my new school.

Mom is fun and a doer. Always crafting or decorating and we would bake and garden together, watch old movies or just hang out. And if I am at all smart, it’s 100% because of her. With weekly trips to the library she encouraged my imagination, instilled a curiosity about the world, and gave me a love of reading that continues unabated. She valued proper grammar and speech but was playful with language and had a lively mind. Still does.

Her mother took off when mom was very young, and her father wasn’t around that much. She was raised by her aunt for a while, and then by her stepmom, but it was not a nice scene at home. So, how did my mom figure out how to be so good at it? Was it all from observation? Or was she born a pure, natural being of decency and light? That’s my guess.

I think Gene agrees. He’s mom’s new husband, and a fine man (seen in the last photo). Dad was very ill for years before he passed and mom took care of him. It was so hard for her, physically, mentally, emotionally, but she gave everything she could until the end. And now, she gets to enjoy the rest of her life with all the love and comfort she deserves. And she deserves a lot.

Foto Flashback #8: Freedom!

It’s Christmas morning, 1988. I am six weeks away from turning 16, and something seismic has just happened. I received not just my own phone, but my own PHONE LINE!

I lived far away from most of my friends and didn’t have a driver’s license yet so this phone was a massive boon for my social life and a step towards independence. And that’s all you care about when you’re six weeks away from turning 16.

Now, if you desired scintillating conversation with me, you called 271-5672 and the only person you’d get would be me. No family members would answer and ask you awkward or embarrassing questions before passing the phone. No one would pick up from somewhere else in the house and start dialling before realizing there was a call in progress. No one would pester me to end the call, and no one could keep me from talking, anytime, for as long as I wanted. Girls could call me directly!*

*they mostly didn’t

And I have a theory about how this gift illustrates an advantage to being the youngest. By the time I came along my parents were already tired out by the first two kids, their power to resist eroded. Couple that with my willful nature/incessant nagging and I was able to acquire unprecedented privileges. I believe it’s a way of balancing out how much I got picked on by my siblings.

So, I got my own phone line, and I think you can tell by the look on my brother’s face just how impressed he is by my triumphant, carefree joy.

Well, if that was a problem, he could just dial 271-5672, and we could talk about it as long as we wanted!

Foto Flashback #9: My Brother, Whom I Worshipped

Remember the show Family Ties? Well, my brother was Alex P. Keaton. Greg was intense, businesslike, and very, very funny. He was a little too small for his age, and a lot too smart for his age. He skipped 1st grade and probably looked and felt out of place at school. But Greg is charming, determined, and has made a habit of outworking expectations. It’s what made him a pretty decent athlete, and a talented public speaker who would enter and win competitions.

So, Greg was a very good son and brother, and we were all proud of him.

But I frickin’ worshipped him. Look at how I’m looking at him in that photo. It’s like I’m sitting at the feet of a guru. I idolize him and you can tell.

Greg is 6 years older than me, so as a kid most of the cool stuff I learned about I learned from him. He introduced me to Prince (my #1 guy), and the mixtapes he made with his buddy, Steve Bandola, were New Wave masterpieces that I devoured. He showed me how to throw and catch and shoot a wrist shot. He was naturally hilarious, and would sneak me out of bed to watch Letterman. If I’m funny it’s because of Greg (and Dave).

He would let me hang around, take me out for Slurpees or a movie, and even let me use his stuff. He also tormented me physically, psychologically, and athletically, but that’s part of the job and it apparently did nothing to dim my adoration.

I saw it as a special occasion, a privilege even, when he would let me sleep on the floor of his bedroom. Yes, like a dog. I just liked being his disciple. And he must’ve enjoyed it too because after mom tried to put a stop to this practice he would concoct ridiculous schemes to smuggle me into his room.

He’s gone on to marry extremely well and is a wonderful father. He’s a pillar of the community and in his career as a sportscaster is now a well-loved celebrity in Utah. Greg was, and is, a super cool guy.

And I’m 48 years old now, but if he asked me to sleep on his floor again I just might do it.

Foto Flashback #10: My Favourite Toy

From the start, the turntable was my thing. I loved flipping through albums, absorbing details of the cover designs before selecting one. The click-clack of the gears lifting the tone arm as it moved into place, the hypnotically spinning vinyl, the pop and crackle of the needle drop, then the pure magic of music! I couldn’t get enough.

And sure, there was the odd Hagood Hardy or Nana Mouskouri but we had a nice little collection. I mean, at 5-years-old I was listening to:

Stevie Wonder – Music Of My Mind. from the opening note he became my favourite.

Ray Charles – Greatest Hits. Just loved the sound of his voice. (Ray, Stevie, Jose Feliciano, did I think most musicians were blind?)

Beatles – Revolver. Happy, melancholy, syrupy, trippy, perfect. The cover art freaked me out.

Hendrix – Are You Experienced? Fuzzed out, raunchy, super fun. Can’t picture my parents buying it, let alone listening to it.

Steely Dan – Aja. Peg forever!

K-Tel – Canadian Mint. A highwater mark for CanCon.

Billy Joel – The Stranger. At heart I was a jaded Manhattan piano bar night owl. Who knew?

KISS – Alive! I wanted to rock’n’roll all night and party every day. We all did!

Lots of ABBA – Play Waterloo at my funeral if you want.

And there was a double LP of the Apollo 11 mission control recordings, called Man On The Moon. The foldout cover and booklet had NASA photos of the Saturn V rocket and spooky lunar surface. I would get lost in the images as I listened to Houston and the astronauts talk me through their daring mission. Sometimes I’d don my snowsuit and hockey helmet, then pretend I was Buzz Aldrin as I performed a slow motion lunar walk around the front room. It was thrilling.

And I remember the first piece of music I bought with my own money. The 7” single of “What A Fool Believes”, by the Doobie Brothers. I was so excited to get home and play it on the turntable you see here. I lost that record years ago, but the song remains in heavy rotation to this day. All sentimentality aside, it’s a killer tune. Michael McDonald at the height of his considerable powers! In fact I think I’ll go listen to it right now.