Memories of JJ, 2 — Solicitors

I was about twelve. Dad was watch­ing the news on CBC. There was a report about pros­ti­tu­tion, and the reporter made the point that, in Cana­da, pros­ti­tu­tion was legal, but solic­it­ing a pros­ti­tute was­n’t. I was old enough that I had a han­dle on what pros­ti­tu­tion was but I was con­fused about solic­i­ta­tion. So I asked Dad.

He explained that solici­ti­a­tion meant, in essence, a pros­ti­tute offer­ing sex for money.

Oh,” I said. After a moment I asked, “So why do they call him the Solic­i­tor Gen­er­al?”

Dad laughed hard­er than I think I’d ever seen him laugh in his life*. He nev­er did answer my question.

* One thing I inher­it­ed from Dad is the way he laughed. He would find a lot of things mild­ly fun­ny, enough for a smirk or a smile, but you knew he’d real­ly been tick­led by some­thing if he guf­fawed, loud and usu­al­ly with lit­tle warning.


My dad passed away recent­ly. I’m going to be post­ing lit­tle mem­o­ries of him for the next lit­tle while. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

Posted in JJ.

Memories of JJ, 1 — Ketchup

We went to McDon­ald’s every time we were in the city. Dad did­n’t like the food, but we kids all did. So he would sigh and pull in to the park­ing lot and we’d all cheer from the back seat.

The ketchup pack­ets had just about enough in them for an order of fries. If you real­ly squeezed it out, you could make do with a sin­gle pack­et. Two pack­ets had way too much. Waste not, want not. So I got pret­ty good at squeez­ing every last mol­e­cule of ketchup onto my fries.

On one vis­it to the Gold­en Arch­es, I rolled the ketchup pack­et, start­ing care­ful­ly from one end, mak­ing sure every last drop went onto a fry. Fin­ished, I dis­card­ed the tight­ly-wound tube on the side of the tray. Dad, who had been watch­ing me with­out my real­ly notic­ing, sighed and said, “And yet you can’t do that with the toothpaste.”

I’m in my for­ties now and I still think of this every time I’m get­ting to the end of a tooth­paste tube. (Or a ketchup packet.)


My dad passed away recent­ly. I’m going to be post­ing lit­tle mem­o­ries of him for the next lit­tle while. Don’t say I did­n’t warn you.

A day past full

The moon

I shot some pho­tos of the moon through the branch­es using my longest lens (55–250mm), and was quite pleased how they turned out.

Then I retreat­ed indoors (it’s frickin’ freez­ing out there) and wrote about 800 words in a new Prairie SF short sto­ry. First con­tact with a farmer. We’ll see where it leads.

My father’s obituary

Dad

James Gillis Johan­neson passed away Jan­u­ary 4th, 2017, in Ste. Rose du Lac. He was 70 years old.

Jim (“JJ” to his stu­dents and friends, “Jim­my Dan­ger” to his sons-in-law—ask them why!) was born in 1946 in Win­nipego­sis, MB, to George and Jeanne (née Gilliam) Johan­neson. He mar­ried There­sa Hrushowy in 1970, and they had three chil­dren: Patrick, Nico­la, and Susan.

In his late teens Jim worked up north, in Hay Riv­er, NWT. When he returned south he took teacher train­ing. He taught Indus­tri­al Arts (ie, shop) and Com­put­er Sci­ence class­es at Ste. Rose Col­le­giate Insti­tute (lat­er Ste. Rose School) for over 25 years, and then, lat­er, taught shop in Lac Bro­chet, MB. He was a well-loved teacher, the favourite of many stu­dents. He had an approach­able, down-to-earth man­ner with every­one, stu­dents and fel­low teach­ers alike.

In addi­tion to being a shop teacher, he was a car­pen­ter and all-around handy­man. If some­thing need­ed fixing—plumbing, elec­tri­cal, insu­la­tion, you name it—he could gen­er­al­ly fix it. He under­took sev­er­al major ren­o­va­tion projects at home, and also did a lot of work at his kids’ hous­es. (Ask Nico­la about the bath­room mir­ror, or Patrick about the sid­ing and deck.)

Jim served on the Man­i­to­ba Teach­ers’ Soci­ety exec­u­tive for years. He was also a ded­i­cat­ed vol­un­teer with West­man Media, cre­at­ing tons of con­tent for the local Access TV channel.

He loved to read, and the house in Ste. Rose was full of book­shelves over­flow­ing with sci­ence-fic­tion and war nov­els. He enjoyed camp­ing, and in sum­mer 1981 some of the extend­ed fam­i­ly made a month-long con­voy trip across west­ern Cana­da to White­horse, Yukon.

Jim loved kids. He would often go for walks with his chil­dren and (lat­er) grand­chil­dren, paus­ing to check the lev­el of the riv­er or teach them to skip stones at the beach.

In the last part of his life, Jim was afflict­ed with demen­tia, and he lived the last six years in the Dr. Gen­dreau Per­son­al Care Home.

Jim is sur­vived by his wife Ter­ry; their chil­dren Patrick (Kath­leen Kalberg), Nico­la (Joël Par­ent), and Susan (Jeff Walden); grand­chil­dren Julian, Isaac, Cedric, and Genevieve; broth­ers Bri­an (“Oscar” to all), George (Bren­da), and Bill (Bon­ny); and his uncle Bill and aunt Phyl­lis Johan­neson. He is pre­de­ceased by his par­ents George Sr. and Jeanne Johan­neson, and his par­ents-in-law Nicholas and Regi­na Hrushowy.

Memo­r­i­al dona­tions may be made to:

A very spe­cial “thank you” to all the ded­i­cat­ed staff work­ing at the Gen­dreau Home; thanks to you, we nev­er had to wor­ry about Jim’s well-being.

 

Jim Johanneson

Dad

This is my dad, Jim Johan­neson. “JJ” to his stu­dents, his co-work­ers, and his friends. “Jim­my Dan­ger” to his sons-in-law.

A cou­ple days ago, he left this world. I miss him but I know he’s not feel­ing any pain now.

I will sure­ly say more lat­er, but for now: Thanks, Dad.

Donations

If you’re inter­est­ed in mak­ing a memo­r­i­al dona­tion in Dad’s hon­our, here are the char­i­ties we as a fam­i­ly have selected:

If you’re inter­est­ed in send­ing flow­ers, please, spend the mon­ey on one of the above char­i­ties. If you want to leave a note of con­do­lence for us, the ones left behind, you can do so on the funer­al home­’s site.

 

A curious juxtaposition

Just fin­ished reg­is­ter­ing my new toast­er oven (or “mini oven” as the com­pa­ny would have it). On the last screen, where I’m encour­aged to set a pass­word for my new account (one more I’ll prob­a­bly nev­er sign into again), I was asked two questions:

  • Do you want to receive occa­sion­al emails from the com­pa­ny about prod­ucts and ser­vices? (No. As usual.)
  • Do you own a Nespres­so™ machine?

Uh…


Curi­ous as to why they’d be inter­est­ed in my sit­u­a­tion vis-à-vis Nespres­so™, I did a quick Google search for [company name] nespresso. Turns out that the com­pa­ny makes com­pat­i­ble land­fill-chok­ing pods for the Nespres­so™ machine.

Live and learn.

Compare & contrast

One of my all-time favourite Christ­mas car­ols is “Ça Berg­ers”. (Most of my favourite car­ols are French, since I came up in a French immer­sion school. It makes it hard to find them, liv­ing as I do in a pre­dom­i­nant­ly Eng­lish part of Man­i­to­ba. Oh well.)

Every year I look it up on YouTube. The first year, there was one ver­sion, not a great one. It sound­ed like it’d been record­ed in a high-school gym onto cas­sette, and prob­a­bly was.

This year: There are plen­ty of choic­es. Here are a cou­ple for you. (Well, for me.)

The choral version

The death metal version

(with altered lyrics, natch)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxZjA7cao3Q

Which do you prefer?