JB's Warehouse & Curio Emporium

When I hit my teens, I started imitating my father’s interest in building a healthy music library. It started with an occasional cassette, then the gift of The Beatles 1962-1966 (aka “The Red Album”). During a stop at Sam the Record Man on a grade eight trip to Toronto—a stop I insisted the group I was with make, even if it cut into others’ precious time at Yonge Street head shops—I bought my first large haul of pre-recorded music, some of which is now laughable but was influenced by peers at the time—Poison’s Open Up and Say...Ahh!  anyone? In early 1990, my father clipped an article from the Detroit News listing record stores worth investigating on future cross-border trips. Both of us, along with my sister, would rapidly expand our collections thanks to at least two stores listed in the piece. Twenty-three years on, most things associated with this article are gone. Nearly all the stores profiled. The massive tape collection I built up. My father. Yet, along wit...

Back in the mid-1960s, Dad played hockey in a recreational league in Leaside. He seemed to have enjoyed it, though I did wonder why I had never seen him strap on a pair of skates. He occasionally talked about the experience, including stories of other players who'd had a cup of coffee in the NHL. But one story stuck out. The way I remember him telling me the tale, someone in the league got their hands on a pair of skates Detroit Red Wings star Alex Delvecchio left behind at Maple Leaf Gardens. The future Hall-of-Famer's skates were passed around either Dad's team or the league and whoever was able to fit into them gave them a go. True? Hard to say. Dad was full of tall tales that proved to have a grain of truth in them. Or my memory is fractured for having paid half-attention to them rather than etching them in full detail on my brain. Not sure what the trophy that Dad is holding in this picture from early 1963 was awarded for. It might related to his lifeguard dut...

Sunday morning. As in many homes across North America, we ease into the day by reading the New York Times. Our brains slowly crank into gear as all three of us flip through our favourite sections, whether it be op-ed, arts coverage, or the style section to determine if anyone in the wedding notices isn't a lawyer or financial analyst. Wait...did I say three of us? It's true: besides Sarah and I, Haruki also reads the morning's headlines. Of all the newspapers that float through our homestead, it's the New York Times that draws his attention. He jumps up on the bed and promptly plants himself on whatever section is lying flat...even if I'm in the middle of reading it (especially if I’m in the middle of reading it). We've figured out that if we toss him a section neither of us is drawn to immediately (business or sports), he'll snuggle up to that cozy newsprint and stretch out on those column inches. And yet there are times where I'm convinced he i...

Advertisement, Toronto Life , September 1972. More about this ad on Torontoist . The Old Spaghetti Factory was a staple of my childhood. Most visits to my grandparents included at a trip down to the Esplanade to sit amid the bric-a-brac while my family ate many garlic butter-smeared pieces of bread and slurped down the headline dish. It was an ideal place for my parents to bring me and Amy: colourful, child palate-pleasing, and cheap. The recipe seems to have worked for families and tourists for the past forty years, even if patrons like the little tramp can no longer load up at a salad bar.

My grandmother, Auntie Gladys and Aunt Shirley in our dining room on Second Concession (Fryer Street), mid-1970s. Who knows what mischief lurked behind Auntie Gladys's eyes in this picture, but it looks like a typical example of her amusing everyone else. She loved baseball, enlivening any situation and, as Gavin beautifully summed up in a post he wrote after she passed away on Monday night , "she loved her hugs." *** She was always "auntie"—"aunt" was too stuffy for her joyous nature. Mom says I always ran to the door if I knew she was coming in, likely knowing there was fun ahead. Though she didn't have any children of her own, she acted as if her army of nieces and nephews were. Even when I reached university age, I called her from far-flung places to update her on my latest adventure in London or New York. *** The last time I saw Auntie Gladys was on Christmas Day. I knew it was a matter of time before she passed on and her shrunken...

For the past several years, an afternoon of apple picking has been part of my Thanksgiving weekend. As long as the weather cooperates, it's a chance to relive a favourite childhood activity, when the entire family would head to orchards around Essex or Harrow. Recent pickings have been closer the latter, usually at one of two orchards on Ferris Road. This year, Amy, Sarah and I headed to Twin Oaks, a no frills spot where the only razzle dazzle is the van where pickers purchase bags for the fresh apple goodness to come. The trees hadn't been fully picked over, leaving us with plenty of fruit to choose from and clown around with . Even the ladybugs joined in the fun, though they failed to wrestle any apples off the trees. I'm still making my way through the x-number of pounds I picked. Most have wound up in lunchtime salads, mixed with cheese, mandarin oranges and other goodies. All photos taken October 11, 2009 - JB

One of the latest additions to Mom's collection of seasonal decorations is this charming pumpkin-headed lady. I wonder what name Dad would have bestowed upon her, as he did with many of the human-like figures found around our house during holiday seasons. PS : A pile of posts this week on Torontoist, including the first edition of IFOA , 1960s beverage dispensers and a diabolical intersection in North York .

It's opening day for the Tigers and Blue Jays, who will battle it out at the Skydo...Rogers Centre tonight. Cue a baseball-themed ad as today's pick. It's safe to say that there were baseball nuts on both sides of my family. Aunt Gladys was a decent player in her youth and followed the Tigers closely for years. Dad could rattle off the names of anyone who played for the Toronto Maple Leafs AAA team in the 1950s. During my childhood, he attended two Tiger games a year—one with his fellow teachers and one with me. Our usual pattern was to take a special tunnel bus from Windsor to Tiger Stadium, grab a handful of programs and yearbooks, pray our seats weren't one of the infamous obstructed views (which other family members were the lucky winners of one year) and wolf down as much junk food as possible. This always included a thick, steaming hot dog that the grizzled sellers would slather a thick layer of mustard with a wooden stick that looked like a tongue depressor. ...

Like DVDs of motion pictures, sometimes posts I write for other web sites merit bonus features. Before browsing this entry, read "A Wartime Letter" , posted on Torontoist on Remembrance Day. The material I used for the story comes from a box sitting in Mom's basement. It appears to be material my paternal grandmother collected, mostly photos and newspaper clippings. The earliest photos are probably from the 1920s, while the newest content consists of my first regular media gig, writing the monthly highlight column for my elementary school in The Amherstburg Echo while I was in grade 8. Much of the material is World War II vintage and revolves around my great-uncle Morrey. This is the notice that appeared in The Toronto Star on August 11, 1941, when Morrey was reported missing. A similar story appeared the same day in The Evening Telegram. The loss was devastating to the family. His name lived on among several nephews, including my father, who was given Douglas a...

I'm thinking about my father today, partly because it's the anniversary of his passing, partly because I'll be attending a service for a friend's father this weekend. Keeping memories alive has come up in a conversation a number of times this week, with friends noting how reminders of loved ones are still close at hand. One example happened over Easter weekend, when Amy and I had a Mexican lunch buffet in Detroit. We went to Armando's , whose spread mixes staples of the cuisine with oddball items like a concoction of fried eggs, saltfish and tomato sauce. One of Dad's favourite items is usually available on weekends, a dish we have never asked the official name of and refer to simply as "fish soup". One of the elements Dad loved about this soup was that the content were never quite the same. Usually the broth is thin and clear, though you can see this Easter's version was the opposite. Types of fish, shrimp and vegetables varied. The only dis...

Sights from a week back home... Christmas morning in downtown Amherstburg. I assumed everyone else in town was still busy opening presents. We opened ours on Christmas Eve and Santa was in a good mood this year. I'll be watching DVDs for months, Amy will be merrily making cookies with her KitchenAid, Gavin will relax with a Simpsons throw, Charlie will be chasing toys and Mom will go on a shopping spree. To work off Mom's turkey feast, Amy and I checked out River Lights in Navy Yard Park. This was the town's first major illuminated display (usually the extent of public lighting is Christmas trees on light poles) and the organizers pulled it off. Figures were strewn through the north end of the park. Some, like the three wise man, were formed in lines... ...while other, like these see-sawing gingerbread men, were animated (even if the camera caught the moment the lights switched). Boxing Day saw Amy and I go for our annual dim sum feast at Wah Court . We may ...

Amherstburg Coast Guard station, looking towards Boblo Island, early 1970s As is usual for the holidays, I drove back to Toronto with a full trunk. Tucked among the gifts, Trader Joe's bags and ironed shirts was a box of photos that sat around the house for years. Spurred by regular visits to historical image sites such as International Metropolis along with several Flickr contacts who recently posted vintage photos from their families, I figured there might be interesting shots lurking within. While most of our family photos are housed in albums, there are a pile from the early 1970s that never earned this honour. Most of these photos were family candids, local landscapes or closeups of flowers. These photos were originally in a small box, then placed in a larger shoebox when pictures ranging from Granddad's 1950s fishing trips to Amy's university outtakes were added. But it's the core photos that grabbed my attention. Why they weren't placed in an album ...

To mark the holiday season, a shot from my first Christmas, though some may argue I was around for Xmas '74 in embryonic form. This is a typical family scene from the first quarter-century of my life - Dad and I (or Amy when she arrived on the scene) doing something that amuses Mom. I'm pointing at something, perhaps training for my childhood habit of pointing down any road I wanted to explore on family drives. We lived in this house through my early teens, with the same layout up until we moved. The Santa ornament in the foreground hung on the tree for years and still swings on Amy's tree. This tree lasted for three decades, until the colour coding on the branch wires wore off...which weren't really necessary towards the end, as knew where each limb was supposed to go. Putting up the tree began with a trip into our large, slighty musty crawl space, where the Christmas decorations were buried back behind boxes of preserves, old football yearbooks and cheap myste...

Just over a month ago, readers were introduced to the newest member of the family . Recently, Amy discovered that Kira had pulled a trick on her...and was actually a male cat. Hence a name change to Charlie. He had grown considerably since the last time I saw him and definitely much more active, speedily roaming the house. He seems to like shaking hands with his paw and licking any exposed part of the body (usually feet). The speed at which he moves caught me off guard, though it may also be due to lingering weariness around animals still stemming from my fear-of-dogs days. I think the little guy is going to win me over. All pictures taken September 2, 2007 - JB

On our way back from a family vacation to Ottawa, we stopped in Merrickville. Mom quickly discovered was full of her kind of gift and home decor stores. Among them was a Christmas store, in which Mom was like a kid in a candy shop... ...with one notable exception. I was the first to run into Santa. His bulging eyes, lifelike craftsmanship and axe-murderer demeanour caused me to jump. This picture does not do his eyes justice - a side view would review they protruded at least an inch from their sockets. Mom and Amy looked in disbelief. Other customers shared my reaction. I wondered if it was a Halloween item in disguise, for those people who want something scary for October, but secretly can't wait for those radio stations that switch to an all-Xmas format on November 1st. I definitely wouldn't want to see this Santa coming down my chimney, unless I was fully armed.

Yes, we're ramping up the cute factor on this site... There isn't a grand tradition of pets in my family. Actually, there's no tradition - my parents were never keen on the idea, Amy never clamoured for one and I was afraid of dogs for 20 years. So it came as a surprise when Amy called me late last week to provide the play-by-play on her search for a new kitten that she could hear, but not see. Seems Gavin found a kitten (soon named Kira), likely abandoned, and brought her home. Amy seems to be warming up quickly to the new addition to the family, if getting used to the idea of concepts like kitty litter. More pictures - JB, photo by AT

Canada Day weekend tends to be Christmas in July for my family, as three of us have birthdays that fall within 10 days of each other (you still have just over a week to buy any lingering presents pour moi). For the first time in a few years, music predominated the gifts I received, ranging from the recent round of Leonard Cohen reissues to the new Arcade Fire album. Amy and Gavin are good at throwing me curveballs, with this year's being a very pleasant surprise... Six episodes of golden gouda. For nearly a decade, Amy and I videotaped MuchMusic's year-end roundup of the cheesiest videos of the year, Fromage . Hosted by either faux Frenchman Charles de Camembert or Ed the Sock, these shows usually mixed well-known acts with the hopelessly obscure. The latter tended to provide the most entertainment, due to any combination of low budget, chutzpah, inept dancing, dubious musicianship or jaw-dropping novelty value. Most years also included at least one semi-slutty dance vide...

I first stumbled upon the Elora Festival's book sale last year , after having brunch in Guelph with my friend Dayna. It was a sale Dad would have loved, as it combined three of his key qualifications for going crazy at such events: large selection, low prices and geriatric volunteers. Two sales Dad and I regularly attended during my childhood stick out in my mind: * Essex County Library sales. Besides the regular sales at each branch, there was at least one or two mass sales held every year in one of the loading docks at the Essex Civic Centre. We'd arrive early and wait in line until the hordes poured into the tight space. I tended to stock up on young adult lit or 1970s NHL guides. * Brandeis book sales. Held annually at Tel-Twelve Mall in suburban Detroit as part of a national series of fundraisers for Brandeis University, these were notable for seeing how fast Mom's eyes would roll as Dad quickly filled up K-Mart shopping carts full of ludicrously cheap books. W...

1,159: PLUNK YOUR MAGIC TWANGER FROGGY! Growing up, my father was full of wacky catchphrases, mostly gained from radio or TV shows from his childhood. This must be a genetic trait, as it takes little prompting for my sister and I to run off lines from, say, SCTV or Kids in the Hall . One radio show that seemed to stick with Dad was Smilin' Ed's Gang (aka The Buster Brown Show , after its sponsor). Running from 1944 to 1953 and hosted by Smilin' Ed McConnell , it featured stories and an array of animal characters . The latter included Midnight the Cat, who always said "Nice" (or,as Dad put it, "'Niiiiice', says Midnight"), Squeaky the Mouse and, most infamously, Froggy the Gremlin , a malevolent doll with a repetitive speech pattern. What got me to thinking about this was an entry at News from ME , which included a lengthy clip from Smilin' Ed's successor on television, veteran character actor Andy Devine (Smilin' Ed moved th...

While subbing at Amherst about a month ago, Amy discovered that the old weight room by the gyms had been converted to a team room. Not just any team room... My timing with these photos was interesting, as both honorees passed away six years ago last week. Not sure when the room was named, but it's a nice tribute to both. Dad coached football and basketball for nearly two decades. Growing up, I usually tagged along, keeping score for his basketball squads from the middle of elementary school onwards. After my lacklustre football playing career (spent mostly on the can to relieve nerves before practice), I helped him as team manager. Both sports meant a lot of bustrips for us, which lead to a few memorable events: * Watching basketball players learn it's not a good idea to taunt drunken fans with cries of "go back to the tomato field!" in Leamington - they'll try to topple your bus. * "J'aime le poisson!", heard after taking in the stench in ...