Jim McCartney

Some of my greatest memories growing up are at 12 Mile. Our four hour drive up from Kemptville was agonizing.  No dvd players to entertain ourselves, just my father blasting Tina Turner, Archie comics that we've read hundreds of times and car sickness induced by the winding roads. Geoff and I would be in the backseat arguing over which room we'd share with what cousin when we got there.  For some reason I was 'too young' to get the attic because the "stairs were too steep". Yet, I was allowed to visit Tim, Mike and Geoff as they stayed up there for the weekend. 

 

As I write this, a sudden image of myself carefully taking Shreddies up those 85 degree stairs comes to mind.  Place the green plastic bowl(with a molding of a leaf as a handle?) up one step, climb one step, repeat.  Remember those green melmac bowls? Not sure why I vividly all of sudden remember those bowls.  I feel like they were scattered throughout the cottage(s)...one on the oversized cribbage board, a few in the breeze-way, a couple on the hexagonal picnic table and the rest in the 'old cottage' sink. But I digress...

 

The cottage was all about playing with the cousins. Paper chases, kick the can, beach volleyball and, of course, taking turns waterskiing. 

 

I'm not sure how the order was decided or why Timmy got two turns for everyone else's one...but I knew the process...take the wet life jacket off the person who's already gone, jump into the sandy shallows of the water beside the dock and fend off clam shells, Jazz and other cousins while you try to get that jacket on. 

 

Now, slide on the pair of skis. Try to ensure that there is minimal sand in the boots....wade out to the dropoff and shiver until a rope is thrown to you.

 

The sidewinder would pass around, grind into neutral, puke out a grey/blue cloud and the spotter would toss you the rope...usually ten feet away so you'd have to tread water/swim to the handle.  Your dad, the driver, would turn around to make sure I was 'on'.  That Haliburton Highland wind would flip his hair to the side.  Like Gramps, Uncle Jim would smile so big his eyes would close.  Then he'd say 'you ready, Dougie's Buggy?'.  

 

I know Uncle Jim was a very successful lawyer. I know that comes with tireless work and stressful times.  But this is the Jim I know.  I was lucky enough to always and I mean always see him in his relaxed, "life is about having fun" mode.  This perspective played greatly into naming our second son McCartney.  Yes, of course, McCartney is named after my mom.  But Macs' name is more than that and has always intended to be.  He's named after the cousins. He's named after John and he's named after your dad and his infectious smile and ability to family holiday better than anyone. 

 

I'm proud to say that McCartney lives up the name.  He's gentle, compassionate and full of life...like his great uncle Jim. Macs' favourite painting, which hangs in his room, is of himself shoveling the back deck with his dog Guffman...painted by his great uncle Jim.  

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- Doug Bowlby