When I stepped out the door this morning, the cheerful chirrupping of a robin in the nearby forest could be heard. I'm not sure if it's delightful cry was to attract a mate or it was just incredibly happy to get through last night's thunder storm and torrential downpour. Regardless, at least the snow is rapidly disappearing; the bare earth beginning to take domain over the surface. Like the robin, soon to be building a nest for it's family, I am busy as well; worked all day renovating the upstair bedrooms yesterday and I've got the pains to prove it - oh this getting old - wasn't that long ago, I could have worked from when the sun first popped up in the morning until it set in the evening. Mind you, I drank a lot more beer in those days; perhaps it numbed the pain.
I have some major physical work ahead of me and yesterday's cutting boards and pounding nails was sort of a gentle rehearsal for what's to come. After being rather sedentary over the winter, mostly sitting at the computer writing short stories, the time has come to attempt getting myself into some sort of workable physical condition; the abs and pecs will never be tight again I know, but if it's possible to keep them from flopping up and down on my gut; that would be a bonus. About the only part of me that doesn't hurt this morning is my hair - just can't find a way for it to help out with the work load because if I could, I'd work every little strand real hard - make those hairs muscle-up; stand at attention - might even help with the hair loss if each of them became slightly thicker.
Any day now, I'll be taking a large barn apart and at my age, although the desire is often burning brightly, the body is somewhat burnt out. I just hope when I'm on top of the barn unfastening the metal roof, I don't lose my mind, have dementia set in, and wonder what the hell I'm doing up there. The possibility exists that I might think I'm a kid again in a park; the roof is a giant slide and I've decided to take a ride down. I'm not too concerned about ripping the ass out of my jeans on the nail heads but the drop off at the end of roof isn't exactly a short distance to the ground. The force of my bony ass hitting the ground would most likely not only break every bone in my body but it would take three men and a boy to dislodge it from the earth. My eye sight isn't too good either but then again, since age 12, without a pair of glasses, everything looks blurry. Not being able to see properly may prove to be an asset when I've climbed to the top of the roof; I'm hardly the mountain-climbing type; not too fond of heights and if I can't see the ground - this could be a good thing.
Some people have already asked, "What the hell are you doing tearing down a barn at your age?" The answer is simple - money - or rather the lack of money. Since I can't afford the materials, let alone hire someone to build a barn here at Golden Unicorn Farm, I have to consider other avenues to make this happen. Not sure if my kids know how I tore down a huge chicken barn when I was about 40 years old and since a couple of them read my blog, I'd like to assure them that I won't be taking this barn down the same way - I don't run so fast anymore!
And that's what bringing down the chicken barn was all about - running real fast!
In those days I drank a fair amount, actually, thinking back, I was drunk a lot of the time - my life was somewhat chaotic and out of control. Anyway, I'd bought this small acreage, which was once the largest chicken farm in Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. The old farm house was in good shape but the barn, about 60-75 feet long and about 25' wide, was in a sad state of repair. I gave up the idea of converting it into a large art studio since it was practically falling down and bought a chain saw. I'm not quite sure in which order I cut all the corner posts and the other posts which were holding up the structure but I do know I was real careful about cutting the centre post almost all the way through because that's what was basically holding the building up - a light wind would have blown the chicken barn flat at this point. Now, I've never won a foot race in my life, except when I was running away from someone who was determined to beat the hell out of me - fear gives a whole new reason for running fast and maybe that's how I managed to get through that old building - I was scared my beer at the other end of the barn was getting too warm under the summer sun. There was a large opening at each end of the building with a 4-5 foot drop off at one end. If you can believe this, like a certified idiot, I charged into that building like a bull looking for a matador and when I reached the centre post, I gave it a good hard butt and continued on. I could see the building swaying like it was dancing to a waltz tune and could hear it creaking and groaning as I neared the opening at the other end. Just as I leaped clear, the old chicken barn came down with a whoosh, a clatter and a bang and I was covered with billowing clouds of years of powdered chicken shit dust - it was enough to make a man thirsty and time to have a cold beer.
And on that note, I think I'll reconsider how I'll take down my friend's barn in Canterbury - looks like a good day to go for a jog - build up those old leg muscles, pump some air into my deflated lungs, maybe press a little iron for the withered biceps and then pace off that old barn - see how fast it would take me to run through it. Just kidding; just kidding - my running days are over...cheers - eh!
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