LESS IS BEST

          Seems like even if a person would like to slow life down just a little bit, you know, keep those wrinkles and sags from deepening and hanging even further than your knees, your mind steady and sharp with memories still intact, life just continues marching on to its own indomitable beat, totally oblivious to our concerns and needs.  No matter how many people tell me I look young for my age and that physically I'm not in too bad of shape, I know realistically that I'm kind of an old codger and like my Uncle Joe, a quiet man with a wry grin, used to say when he was diagnosed with cancer, "I get a little nervous when I walk by a shovel" - that's me now, the way I sometimes feel when the Grim Reaper comes to mind.  In the end, cancer got him, just like it or some other malady, even old age, will eventually take its toll on me - nobody gets out of here alive - not even Harry Houdini who was an amazing escape artist.  His wife Bess said, after the tenth Harry Houdini seance attempt, "Ten years is long enough to wait for any man!" I imagine if anyone could have found a way back from the grave, it would have been good old Harry but after 124 years, I suspect he won't be back; then again, maybe he's still trying!.

Harry Houdini

          And when I think about it, that's all a person can really do - just keep on trying - make their life as fulfilling as possible and don't be afraid to take risks.  Look at old Harry - all bent over, chained and manacled, most likely about to be hung by his heels inside a locked steel safe 

and tossed into a river.  He died a fairly young man, 52 years of age, but the thing about Harry is that he died doing what he enjoyed.  I think the thing to remember about life and it's something I'm unable to get my head around because I still keep on accumulating stuff as if I'm going to take it with me when I go, but Less is Best.  A time came in my life, when as many people are today and were then, I was basically a workaholic, a million bucks was my goal; to retire in grandeur on some tropical beach or some well-manicured estate - now that was a waste of time.  When that goal was shattered by a recession, my life at the time totally out of control, chaotic to the nth degree by my immature behaviour and way too many beers, I didn't know it at the time, but it was the best thing that could have happened to me.  It's true that I've often times taken the path of least resistance, which is sometimes a fool's choice but hell, an uncharted, crooked path slows a person down, gave me a chance to stub my toes, trip and fall and smell the flowers so to speak.

          What I eventually discovered after I didn't feel guilty about not working 12-16 hours a day and trying to hoard away a small king's ransom and that Less is Best - I now had a shitload of time to do whatever I pleased - instead of working a normal 5 day week with 2 days off, I now worked 2 days with 5 days off - like everyone else, I still had bills to pay but they were a lot smaller.  I went from searching for jobs to avoiding them and it's not because I was a lazy guy - it's just that my needs were a lot smaller and easier to manage.  I retired at around age 42 - not with a million bucks but broke - creditors clinging to my ass like a flock of flies and like Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) I never went bankrupt - I settled my accounts with everyone.  

          Here it is, the middle of the week and I'm kind of living in the middle of nowhere, New Brunswick, on a semi-wilderness 50 acres, chickens pecking about, a pregnant goat searching for non existent fresh green leaves, a cat creeping around looking for juicy mice and a huge dog to protect the lot of them - another wife and two more kids but still, as much as I have, which is actually more than I really need but because I moved to a place that was more affordable, I actually feel like I'm still kinda living like Less is Best.  It's difficult to shake our self-importance but when I'm up to my armpits in chicken shit, it kind of keeps me stabilized and in place.  Since most people, especially city dwellers don't have the opportunity to muck out a hen house and a barn, in order to keep check on any inflated egos, I recommend that when they drop a steamin' 16-coiler into the toilet, they bend over, take a good look at what they deposited and then suck in its putrid aroma through their noses - gives a whole new meaning to what we are truly about and the meaning of our lives.  No matter how big a mansion we live in, how new our automobile is, how well we're dressed, how good looking we are, how much wealth we have - like it or not, we are all full of shit in the scheme of things, and even though Less is Best, that's the way I see it - cheers - eh!                         

SUNDAY MORNIN' COMIN' DOWN AND GOIN' UP

           This morning feels like a line in a Kris Kristofferson song, "Sunday mornin' comin' down".  Now don't get me wrong, not like in my younger years when I woke up on some Sunday mornings snuggled up to my brown paper bag of drunken delight and wishing the bottle wasn't empty, I just feel a touch moody this cold Sunday morning, a slight cloud of melancholia pressing down on this old head.  For the most part, I've always been a somewhat happy-go-lucky sort of guy plodding along through the ruts of my life, sometimes reaching exciting exceptional highs and other times deeply despondent lows.  The problem about feeling really high and sitting on a lofty summit with no more places to grab a hold and pull yourself even higher; the only direction remaining is downwards and usually it's a tumble.
          I wrote about "fracking" in the last two blogs because it really upset me and I thought for a millisecond that maybe there was something I could actually do to help bring this disgusting manner of extracting natural gas from the Earth but when I turn back the pages of time and discover that nothing has never really changed in our human behaviour since the first caveman wanted a better cave to live in; we seem to be cursed with the dependency of consumerism, and, at this particular time of the year, Christmas, being the highlight, the spot light, the high point, an almost out of control frenzy of purchasing gifts; merchants of every demeanor reaching out with their long arms so their greedy hands can be overflowingly filled with gold and silver, I've come to the realization there isn't really much hope of changing our ways.  No matter how many people hold their placards high, stretch their banners wide and loudly chant for positive change as they march towards the people they have voted for to help make the world a better place, at least to my point of thinking, even when some changes occur for the good and betterment; the placards and banners are soon strewn and blown away on the wind of hopelessness, the marching and the cries no longer heard; everything has soon been forgotten, hushed over and when seemingly no heads are turned, no ears are listening, whatever was pushed aside or overturned, is once again creeping out of the darkness.
          Historically, going back in time, even before Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan toppled civilizations, the way of the world has always been in a continuous turmoil; the only thing being different now, the existence of our civilization is threatened, not by a horde of soldiers but by our rebelling planet.  As we all poison, choke and stab the Earth in all manner of ways, like a huge, itchy animal, I fear nature will one day rear, shake its head and rid itself of the flea infestation - mainly the whole human race.  I guess if there is any hope to be seen rising over the horizon at that time, if the world is even remotely in some state of habitation, there may be a few people still clinging to the Earth with their cracked and broken fingers and if there are any, I hope they have more foresight and a goodness within so that perhaps they can prepare a better way of co-existing with each other and especially with nature.
          I know some of the people that read this blog think that I'm just an old fool having a rant and perhaps I am but it's my blog and I can say what I like (chuckle, chuckle).

    Actual Footstool

          Our little 50 acres of paradise here at Golden Unicorn Farm is covered with patches of snow and since it now looks as if winter is here for its duration until spring arrives, somewhat like the big black bears that occasionally prowl around on our place, hibernation, even for me, seems a likely choice.  I had the wood stove in the studio blazing happily the other day as I made some crafts for a craft fair this weekend.  I constructed and painted an actual footstool - yes - an actual footstool for wee kiddies to stand on while brushing their teeth or perhaps reach something that's just not quite reachable.  I made ten of them and for me, not being a carpenter by any stretch of the imagination, I found it to be quite challenging.  So far, at this weekend's craft fair, although I've heard a lot of good comments, I've yet to sell one - perhaps $50.00 each is too much.  Today, I shall lower the price to $45.00 and for $5.00 extra, since I'm a sign painter by trade, I'll personalize them if so wished.

Art Card

       
          At this weekend's craft fair, I'm also selling cards for $4.00 each or 3 for $10.00 depicting some of my paintings.  I decided to add another card to this collection and see how it does - yesterday I sold one and watched as a lot of people's faces lit up with big smiles as they looked at it.  The painting has long since been sold but in these hard financial times where many people cannot afford a piece of art to hang on their wall, I thought they might enjoy a little of my art and perhaps pass on their enjoyment by buying one of these cards titled "Real Women Fart Out Loud".  Hope you enjoy it too - cheers - eh!  
 
               

WHAT THE FRACK - FRACKING IS STILL ON MY MIND

          In the previous blog I wrote about fracking and it caused me to actually get quite angry, most likely because I was totally frustrated that such a diabolic procedure to extract natural gas with water is even considered, let alone allowed.  Someone commented on the blog and asked what we could do about the problem and I have to admit, I didn't have a clue.  Of course, just being one person deliberately cutting myself off from big city thinking, living way out in the boonies where bear and moose, at times, have actually walked right through our yard, I pondered about the comment until finally, a wee glimmer, a glimpse of an idea formed inside my almost empty cranium.  I'm just a nobody, one of the silent majority and an old fart to boot and what came to mind was a person who deliberately gets into people's faces and attempts to hold them accountable for their actions, that person being Michael Moore.  I sent Mr. Moore an email with a link to my blog, which has a link that portrays the toxic devastation of fracking.  Now, whether or not he will take up my torch, more like a matchstick that's about to go out, is another matter.  I'm sure a person like David Suzuki is already doing something about it, at least as much as he possibly can, since the environment is something he's very concerned about.  The only other solution that I can think of to stop fracking is for each and every one of us to write a letter or compile some sort of list that we, the people of Canada, people of the world can sign and send to Stephen Harper, our prime minister.  Since votes are a politician's main priority, if the majority of Canadians are against fracking and let it be known to him, he just might rethink his values and stand for something that just doesn't benefit him and his party, but benefits the whole world.

          I don't know about any of the people that read my blog on a regular basis but I've always just been sort of quiet guy, never really says too much or gets very upset - just an easy going, roll with the blows, take the path of least resistance guy.  I pick up my pencils, pens and brushes now and then, create some sort of artwork - can't get too excited about the subject matter; enjoy the doing more than just looking at the piece after its completed and hanging on a wall and I write this blog about where I live, what I'm up to and the occasional short fiction or nonfiction tale to entertain myself and perhaps entertain someone else.  There are those who consider me, because I do these things, to be a narcissist, egotist or a wannabe writer and artist but mostly, what I want to be is just a basically half decent person who attempts to live a lot by my own mental and physical capacities, especially since I regard life as an extremely pleasurable learning stage.  Sure, I strut around at times, thrust out my chest like Big Red, one of our roosters, but to be honest, I usually do that when I'm alone and no one can see me making a fool out of myself.  Perhaps one of the readers of this blog has a little pull,can bend a few arms, are able to make your voice heard, and if that is the case, then maybe you can make someone like Stephen Harper or some other politician take heed of the power they wield and make them think, am I really doing the right thing for humanity and the world in general and not to be so engrossed in the typical agendas of economics and business - do people have to sell their souls because they're broke and the only decent paying job they can find is destroying our planet?

          If anyone out there in cyberspace, who reads this blog from time to time has any solutions to bringing fracking to a halt, I'd like to hear from them and if I can be assistance in any way, that would be great; please let me know.  In the mean time, since it's almost Christmas, in order to earn a few bucks, my wife Sarah and I are making some crafts to sell at a First Nations Bazaar in early December.  I'll take some photos of our creations and post them in the next blog - cheers -eh!    

 

               

WHAT THE FRACK IS THIS FRACKING WORLD COMING TO?

          What the fracking 'ell is going on?  After watching a video and reading about fracking, I am almost of the firm belief that our world and everything living here will most likely be completely destroyed and it wouldn't surprise me if it were to occur during this old man's short remaining lifetime.  The Earth, instead of looking like a gorgeous, gigantic Utopian marble in the universe will soon begin looking like Jupiter, a swirling planet of toxic gases if we the people don't take a firm stand - since when is natural gas more important than water and we know what will happen to us if there isn't any drinkable water - it's death; death to every living being upon this Earth - even the cockroaches, which may hold out the longest, will eventually succumb - we have to say NO to such things, actually not just say NO but demand that these despicable actions never occur.  It's no fracking wonder the Muslims can't wait to get to the promised land and if I had their beliefs, I'd be strapping some dynamite around my ass too but instead of walking into a church, shopping mall, hotel or wherever else people of a different faith congregate, I'd be walking into the main offices of the major oil companies and telling the presidents of those companies, "Guess what the frack is going to happen when I pull this pin out of my ass - Kabooooooom!  I admit religion has been very disruptive, dangerous and overly imposing but as bad as it has been during the past centuries and even today, it has never come close to exterminating every living creature in the world.  What the frack!  If everyone believes there is a God of some description that put this whole Universe together, how do you think He is going to feel when we destroy one of his most precious creations - I'm of a very firm belief that if there is a heaven, it's actually a very small place because there are so very few people that have lived and are perhaps living today, who deserve to reside in such a wondrous creation.
          I've heard rumors that fracking is being considered here in New Brunswick and have to admit I've not given it too much thought.  Fracking is like the arrival of nuclear energy - the common person never really has any say in the manner, nuclear plants just started popping up all over the place around the world and so it is becoming with fracking.  It's kind of ironic isn't it that Japan had a huge nuclear melt down not so long ago - of all the countries in the world that tasted first hand at Hiroshima what it was like to behold the deadly devastation of a nuclear blast, that they would have allowed a nuclear plant to be built on Japanese soil. I'd have thought the population would have walked the streets with placards and banners banning such a procedure but what the frack - money and what it can buy is such an evil fracking trap - frack me - when all the resources are used up and there isn't a breath of fresh air, not a drop of fracking water to drink, not a tree left standing or a crop growing - what the frack will a dollar be worth then?
          What sort of people are our politicians and why the frack are they supporting such diabolic methods of creating energy?  It's very obvious that the only interests they hold dear are to themselves and that must be the supreme joke on them because they are just as fracking doomed as the rest of us fracking idiots who actually take the time to vote for them.  And I wonder why I haven't been that interested in voting and for years never voted - well I know why - as long as I've been old enough to vote, I've never seen a prime minister yet who has actually really done anything worthwhile other than strutting around looking important and backing all the wrong mandates - since when should business and the economy be a fracking priority - the well being of this planet and all its inhabitants should be the main agenda.
          Frack - I'm getting fracking angry and I don't know what to do about it so before I really begin to fracking blabber, I'm going to end this fracking blog - cheers - eh!

For more info regarding fracking:   http://www.globalnews.ca/pages/story.aspx?id=6442511512         

FINNEGAN - OUR NEW MOUSIE HUNTER

Finnegan - Newest Member of the Barnyard          

          Let me introduce to you, our very own felicitous, felonious, flexible, fleet-footed, feline, Finnegan, the newest member of Golden Unicorn Farm.  He's stable, able - puts mousie on the table - doesn't share mind you.  He meows and purrs, seldom, at least hardly ever slurs, except of course, only when he slurps.  He's a cat among cats; a real cool cat - not your average tom cat - not like the three that live down the road next to the dumpster; one is brown and one is white and one has a pancake stuck to its bum - no, Finnegan's got class spelled with a capital C - he prances, dances and in time will be romancin' - I'm sure a sleek, proper pussy with a slender, splendorous physique will in his ear one day, softly whisper, softly speak of promises of delight and meet him in the barn one cold night in the moody moonlight with only the wind as their witness.
          Finnegan's bloodline can be traced back to the land of green, Eire, Erin or Ireland - blarney, if he aint an Irisher through and through; why even his melodious meow, his personable purr has a charming, agreeable lilt.  His great, great, maybe 477 great grandfathers ago, Nine-Lives-Willy, a philandering feline with an incredible gift of gab, while pursuing a long-tailed, Porky Pig of a wharf rat that ran aboard an old three masted sailing schooner, its destination, Halifax, Nova Scotia circled on the chart, didn't realize where he was until a one-eyed crewman slammed the cargo hatch shut with a bang.  Aye, Nine-Lives-Willy not only survived the lengthy sea voyage, the North Atlantic heaving its watery guts across the decks for days on end, he was fat - roly-poly as Humpty-Dumpty from dining on the wharf rat and all the other rub-a-dub rodents that had snuck aboard the schooner.
          No doubt about it, Finnegan the feline is a fine specimen of a cat; expect he will do right fine here on our little farm - lots of wee rapscallion rodents scurrying about - many dainty little morsels with skinny, stiff long tails he can pick his teeth with when he's finished dining.  He's a corker, toe-to-the-line, look 'em in the eye and then pounce with a fury, furry paws with long sharp nails and a mouth full of needle-tipped teeth - a mousie killing machine if I ever did seen one.
          Finnegan is precocious and playful and very affectionate - for someone who doesn't really care for cats that much - I find it's impossible to not notice and respond in a favourable way to this little cat as he rubs himself against my legs and snuggles into my arms, purring contentedly away.  Although Jessica and Rachel would just love to give Finnegan the run of the house - it's not going to happen.  We don't need an overly pampered fat feline, a lazy Garfield, the cartoon cat, lying about on a velvet cushion by the warm wood stove hearth, forever stuffing his face with a bowl of goodies, an endless supply of fresh tuna and cold milk.  No - the mousies have been steadily moving into the barn, studio and house as if they are the favourite vacation spots for rodents during the winter - Finnegan is here to discourage their annual autumn migration.  I haven't noticed a decline in the mousie population but my wife Sarah has seen him toying with one of the unfortunate rodents before devouring it.
          Finnegan aint no prissy pussy cat, no puss in boots, no clothing of any kind - he prefers to be au naturel - what you see is what you get kind of feline.  I just happened to glance out my studio window and what do I see - it's that Finnegan cat lying down on the job - can you believe it - he's out sunning himself on log in the warm sunshine - better go grab my short leather whip, the one a retired tiger trainer gave to me right after the tiger he was training bit it off along with his arm - cheers - eh!

SNOW ARRIVED AT GOLDEN UNICORN FARM - HAS WINTER?

Life, here at Golden Unicorn Farm near the base of Green Mountain, is beginning to wind down a bit, now that winter is approaching and the days are shorter - can hardly believe it snowed about 6" the day before Halloween - in my whole life, I can't remember it snowing so early in the year.  Although, when I think about it, when I was living in Calgary, Alberta many years ago, I experienced a freak snowfall one seemingly hot day in July.  The Calgary weather was and still is a little bit strange; during the winter, one day can be bloody freezing, 40 degrees Fahrenheit below 0 one day and the next, 70 degrees Fahrenheit above due to the warm Chinooks.  The days are shorter and colder now, actually fired up the wood stove in my studio the day it snowed.  Forgetting how little firewood it takes to warm up the studio, the temperature rose so high, I had to take off my shirt and since I was kind of having a slow day, I enjoyed a cold beer, shut my eyes and imagined myself lying on a beach listening to the waves rolling over the sand.

  

First Snow Chickens Have Ever Experienced          

  Mr. Mousie Lookin' for a New Home

       
          The thing about the arrival of winter out on a farm where a lot of critters that live outside during the summer, they decide to take up residence in one's house and in our case, the studio and barn as well.  Luckily, the skunk that was hanging around the house for a few days, most likely because of the dog's presence, wandered off to find a better place to spend the winter.  Now the mice, they're a different story; dogs aren't a worry to them.  As you can see by the photo, one of the stereo speakers in my studio make ideal homes for mice.  They even have an entry door and an exit door.  Not that I have anything against mice, don't think they're dirty little scary animals but I know if left to their own means, they can really multiply and become a serious nuisance.  The one that I found living in the speaker soon left its high-rise dwelling for something a little less noisier when I turned the volume up.  Since  my warm studio, with a bountiful barn full of food for the animals and chickens a very short distance away, makes an ideal living place for mice, Sarah got a cat (Finnegan) from our friend Glenn McLean, which, by the way, is a great mouser.  I'm expecting some of the mice will be packing their bags soon and moving along, especially when Finnegan realizes that Golden Unicorn Farm is now his home.  

          I've never really been too fond of cats.  I like the idea of Finnegan living out in the barn and visiting my studio on a regular basis because he has a job to do.  Fortunately Sarah and I have the same mind set regarding Finnegan, neither of us want him living in the house.  It's odd that women, many of them being somewhat hygienic clean freaks just love cats - especially since, forever licking themselves, cats are always covered in dried spit - seems rather disgusting to me.  I once had a cat that lived in one of my sign shops; he was grey and his name was Smokey.  I have to admit that I really grew fond of Smokey, he was the only cat I knew that liked to play hide and seek and I'm not talking about hiding his food or a toy; he enjoyed playing hide and seek with me - we each took turns hiding and then looking for each other.  One day, shortly before he got ran over by a car, I hid behind a sheet of plywood that was leaning up against the wall near the door and when he came quietly padding through the doorway, I jumped out and yelled boo!  It was the first time I ever saw a cat piss itself, - he left a streak of yellow piss across the entire floor and on the window sill before leaping outside.  

          I'm not sure if some varmint has taken up residence in the wood shed but when I came out to the studio last evening when it was almost completely dark outside, I heard a scratching sound and then caught a glimpse of something leaping off the top of the wood pile and then disappearing around the corner of the building.  For a moment, I thought it may have been Finnegan because it was about the size of a small cat but it was a different colour, perhaps a dark brown or grey.  Hmm, I wonder if Finnegan will put the run on that critter or if I'll have to load up the .22, have myself a little target practice.  I've been hoping Luki, our Great Pyrenees would have deterred any small varmints from sneaking around and perhaps making off with a chicken but maybe some of them have discovered that the dog doesn't have the run of the whole farm.  I think maybe it's time I took him for a little walk about the house and yard - him and I both take a piss as we wander about and mark our territory - cheers - eh!