Swany

James Lee Swanson

I can see clearly now

One of the swarm of Swanys who have infested the northern hemisphere since we learned to tell our right brains from our left behinds.

jim@jimswanson.ca

  • Born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, 1947. Minnesota is  the land of ten thousand lakes.
  • Graduated from Robbinsdale High School, 1965. One of 700 baby boomers, our teams were reknowned as the Mighty Robins.
  • Studied chemistry at the Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago, 1965–68. Chicago is the windy city, caused by an preponderance of pizza and hot dogs in the diet.
  • Veteran of the United States Army, 1969–1972. Wounded with a cut to the bone during my tour of duty, by a surgeon at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Partially disabled (no more than most) recipient of the Cold War Commendation, which if I can dig it up will wear upon contracting a fatal case of Legionnaires’ disease.
  • Married the ravishing Abigail E Goshorn of Baie D’Urfé, Québec, in Denver, Colorado, forty-four-and-counting years ago.
  • Since then lived in
    • Brainerd, Minnesota (the erstwhile home of Paul Bunyan and Babe his blue ox)
    • Prince George, British Columbia (the home of Mister PeeGee, a giant stick creature)
    • McBride, British Columbia on the upper reaches of the Fraser River
    • Banff, Alberta near the headwaters of the South Saskatchewan
  • Citizen of the Dominion of Canada since 1978. Respectfully disavowing and renouncing my citizenship in the United States of America, in former times an enemy in war of my adopted country (more recently an ally).  Swearing allegiance in all matters of international dispute to the councils of Her Majesty the Queen of Canada, and Her successors as might be annointed.
  • Father of two adult offspring, whence five grandchildren (one deceased).
  • Card-carrying retiree of the Banff Centre, having whiled away many a day as a web developer.
  • Worked at the Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies as a darkroom technician, desktop publisher, and database developer.
  • The editor of a rural weekly newspaper in McBride; a self-unemployed gypo carpenter, except for seasonal stints at Mount Robson Park; service in my mother country during the glorious years of Cold War; air reduction generalist specializing in nitrogen, helium, and laughing gas; kept warm during the lean years by burning rejection letters.
  • Renaissance pseudo-scholar nipped in the bud — little latin and no greek.
  • So-styled writer.

That’s me in a nutshell.

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