SNOWING AND HIKING THE CAMINO DE SANTIAGO

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

          The Farmer's Almanac says it's not supposed to snow in January, so what I'm wondering about, with only one more day left in December, and the way it's been snowing the past little while; is December trying to make up for January's lack of snow?  The snow wouldn't be so bad if the wind would stop blowing; the depth is slightly over my knees but the snow drifts can be up to my arm pits in places.  I must have cleared out the pathways three times so far today and the snowplow that goes by our house a few times during the day sure leaves a deep, compressed snow barrier in front of our driveway.  Since it was Sunday, I'd been considering taking the day off, just sort of lazing around but that's not the way it went.  Not only did I clear the snow, I mucked out the barn and the chicken coop.  The barn wasn't too bad but the chicken coop turned out to be a real chore.  I thought our coop would have been big enough for 100 chickens but after mucking it out today, I'm beginning to think it could be twice the size.  While the weather was good and the chickens were going outside every day, the coop stayed relatively clean.  However, now that the snow has arrived and I keep them inside, you would not believe how much poop 100 chickens can drop.

          The snow stopped falling a little while ago but it's still windy.  However, now that the chores are done and it's beginning to get dark, as I sit here at the keyboard, I'm beginning to feel all the aches surfacing, especially in my hands and back.  May have to knock back another cold beer or two to numb the pain when I finally get into the house.  I don't know why, but there are some shivers doing a little tap dance up and down my backbone.  The studio is nice and warm, so I must have got chilled a little more than I thought.

          Hard to believe that tomorrow is New Year's Eve; the past year seemed to go by so quickly.  I mean here I am, 71 years old and moving slower than I've ever moved, and yet, the year just went zipping on by.  Perhaps next year, I should take a little more time to stop and smell the roses and stop being so busy.  But then at this age, as soon as I start a project, more than rushing the jobs, I just want to get them completed just in case I don't last long enough to get them finished.  Now that I'm in the elderly part of my life, the sunset getting shorter, it's not like before when I was younger; it was easier to put things off.  Now, I don't dare put things off too long.  I can remember thinking when I was in my 50's that a lot of time was still remaining to paint and write and I did do a little of that but no where's near as much as I thought I'd accomplish.  

          I watched the Bucket List starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman a while back and perhaps that's what I should start compiling, some of the things I'd like to do before I kick the bucket.  Sarah and I just watched a movie, The Way starring Martin Sheen as an aging father.  His son had decided to walk the Camino de Santiago, which is located mainly in Spain.  When he died early into his pilgrimage, his father continued his son's dream.  Sarah says she would like to do the trek and although it isn't a difficult hike, the length is approx. 500 miles.  She figures we should do it when she turns 50 and I turn 75; a sort of celebration of our life together.  Hmm, as much as I enjoy hiking, or at least I used to; hiked the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island twice, maybe being 75 is really pushing it; something to think about that's for sure.  However, most people who walk the Camino de Santiago have a reason for doing so, mostly religious, spiritual or hoping to make a change in their life.  For me, it could quite possibly be the last hike I ever do - I wonder how much it would cost to get cremated or buried in Spain?  Cheers, eh!

CHRISTMAS 2012 - A SPECIAL DAY

Christmas Day - Me, Sarah and Her 2 Girls Rachel and Jessica

          Well, Christmas has come and gone for another year.  Over the years, it's mainly been a happy time with the family and friends.  However, Christmas day, since 1969, has always been touched with a bit of sadness because that's the day my dad died.  I don't get all boo-hooey and teary-eyed but I can't help reflecting upon that day, so many years ago.

          This was our 3rd Christmas at the base of Green Mountain in Fosterville and I can't help but think how fortunate we are to be living in such a place, even if the weather forecast today is for 18" of snow and cold blowy winds.  We all received many gifts, lots of goodies to munch on and a traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings.  Sarah and I start Christmas day knocking back a couple of special coffees - perhaps a bit more Bailey's than coffee but that's what makes it so special.  And my Sarah, she's such a special woman to me; she seems to be singing carols the whole day; my, how that woman makes me smile; she has such a good heart.  

          Most of the gifts I received for Christmas were very practical; actually, when I think about it, even the case of Moosehead Pale Ale was practical.  I'd had three cases of beer in my studio when I became sick a little while back and didn't get out there to start up the fire.  -18C is undeniably cold and all my beer froze - now that was a boo-hooey time, when I poured all the beer into a snow bank and then it was quite laughable because anyone who came for a visit thought I'd peed in the snow.  Since a friend of mine, Gary Stairs is a beer conisseur, much like myself, he gave me 4 bottles of ale imported from Scotland.  So far, I've sampled the gooseberry ale and although it has a nice flavour, it seemed to be lacking the bite of a good dark beer, which is my preference.  I've been hoping to share the beer with Gary but if he doesn't drop in for a visit soon, I'm afraid he may miss out.

          Jessica is 11 years old and she still believes in Santa Claus, which I think is a good thing.  He may be just a big bag of Ho, Ho, Ho but as old as I am, I can still remember when I believed in the big, chubby man with a twinkle in his eyes.  And, like Jessica, I always left a wee snack for him on Christmas eve before I went to bed and also wrote him a note.  I can remember being very excited about St. Nick's arrival with a sled full of toys pulled by 8 tiny reindeer, the most famous being Rudolph with his big red nose (probably drank a few beers too many).  I'm not sure if I even slept because me and my sisters always got up very early on Christmas day.  

          Besides my dad passing away on Christmas day, one Christmas, when I was just a little boy around Jessica's age, still stands out in my memory.  I never thought we were on the poor side but I guess we were, because come Christmas eve and my sisters and I had gone to bed, we still never had a Christmas tree.  In the previous years, at least a week before Christmas, we always had a tree and it was always fun to decorate.  I can remember how discouraged we felt that night; if there wasn't a tree; where would Santa put the presents and would he even show up?  In the morning, I can't express how excited my sisters and I felt when we walked into the living room and saw the decorated tree all lit up.  I learned years later that my dad wasn't able to afford a tree and living in Vancouver, a large city, one just couldn't go out and chop one down.  He'd waited until all the people who sold Christmas trees had finally went home and then he  picked one up that had been left behind.  The thing about Christmas to me is not about getting and giving; it's the whole package; the good feelings, the merriment and the memories that follow - the special times I've had with special people that I can no long share those times with.has great meaning to me.  I know that Jesus was born that day, but I've never been a religious person.  Now don't get me wrong, I've always believed He was a very special person and I always give thanks for His special day - cheers, eh!  

IN MEMORY OF MY BEST FRIEND JACK

          Most people have friends and usually as the years pass by, one special friend seems to have lingered and been with them during the thick and thin of wading up to their armpits through life.  Well I have one special friend too and his name is Jack.  He's nothing much to look at, not what a person would call handsome or sore on the eyes, just kind of a middle of the road sort and he's been there too; in the middle of the road that is; not a good place to be when the traffic is coming straight at you.  I wouldn't say Jack was courageous, daring or brave during those intense instances, when life was just a shiny fender, a steel-chrome bumper away; no, like me, he was reckless and out of control just grinning and defying that old scythe slashing harbinger of death.  Whether I was with a group of friends or all alone and feeling blue, Jack always seemed to be there; he was like a dependable crutch; someone I could lean on and tell my troubles too.  Very agreeable fellow that Jack; he was always on my side whether I was right or wrong.
          Jack and I met when I was a young man, a time when the whole world was my special oyster just waiting to be shucked.  It was a time when I thought I could do anything and be anyone I wanted to.  They were carefree times and Jack was there, only an arm's length away, when I used and discarded women as easily as throwing away worn out tires; because of my superficial arrogance and indiscriminate thought for their feelings, I never realized or knew if one of them may have been the right woman for me.  Many were a feast for the eyes, to touch, caress and stretch across my big brass bed.  But Jack didn't care, so why should I.  And jobs, jobs were the same as women; when I became bored with them or didn't take them seriously, and why should I have cared; I was too good for a just any job anyway; my dreams and aspirations lifted me to staggering heights where I plummeted to the ground and flicked around like a dying fish until Jack lifted me up, dusted me off, slapped me on the back and said, "Who needs them - women and jobs are like buses - you miss one; another one will soon come along."
          The years passed by, hard lines formed on my face and my receding hair was flecked with silver; I hated the mirror; it never lied - but who needed mirrors when my trusted friend Jack was still beside me, encouraging me to press on and have a good time, except the parties weren't like they used to be, they seemed more hazy and foggy; the next mornings, instead of waking up to a beautiful woman lying beside me, when my eyes adjusted, there was grinning Jack saying, "Cheer up.  It's a new day.  You don't feel like going to work, so let's go have some fun."
          I have to say smiling Jack always made me laugh, except when I was crying and as I approached middle age, I seemed to be doing more crying than laughing.  And it was then, during my growing paunch, sagging jowls and puffy B-cup chest that I began to lose confidence in Jack.  It was hard to turn my back on Jack after all the good times we had; my hands slightly shook and my lips quivered, when I told him he had to go.  Closing the door on Jack was one of the most difficult things I had ever done, but I felt it was something that needed doing or one of the times I spiraled out of control, hit the floor, not even Jack would have been able to lift me back up.  As the days slowly passed, I missed my friend Jack: I craved his company and on more than one occasion, I came extremely close to letting him back into my life.  It was a very difficult time for me, because when I said good-bye to Jack, I also said good-bye to some of my other cronies.
          Being on my own was difficult until I found a job, unbelievably, one that I actually enjoyed.  A woman also came into my life.  The day we married, I noticed Jack lolling about with the guests, beckoning me to join him; his flashing smile encouraging and magnetizing but instead of embracing our long-time friendship, I reached for my new wife's hand and embraced her body close to mine, sweeping her out onto the dance-floor, where we gaily danced and laughed the night away.
          Many years have gone by since that magical day and sometimes since my wife has died, the children have moved away, the job has ended, I think how easy it would be to invite my friend Jack back into my life.  In a heart beat, I know that he would be happy, no, overjoyed to return.  But with a friend like Jack, Jack Daniel; I know that I would sooner spend the remainder of my days alone and in control of my destiny.  Cheers, eh!

SNOW DAYS

          I cropped, manipulated and spliced together 3 photos after our last dump of snow, which was very wet and heavy.  Although they can't be seen, I shoveled out three walkways from the house to the studio, garage and woodshed.  It was pretty easy shoveling even though the snow depth was over the top of my gumboots.  I also mucked out the chicken coop the same day and fluffed up a fresh bed of straw.  I wasn't sure if I should have worked myself that hard since I had just finished being laid up for a few days by some sort of pesky bug.  However, other than feeling a bit tired, still not much of an appetite, my achy-breaky body seemed to be alright.  I had no sooner finished my chores, leaned the shovel up against the wall under the studio veranda and was looking forward to a nice hot soak in the tub with a good pocket book, when the power went out.  Usually, the power comes back on before too many hours go by but 27 hours later, around supper time, Kapow - the lights lit up, the fridge and freezer began humming and the water pump began chugging away.  The day before, Sarah cooked dinner on the wood stove and we ate by candlelight, which wasn't exactly romantic but very pleasant just the same.  Today is Friday and usually on Fridays, Sarah and I go to the Woodstock Farmer's Market, mostly to sell her baking and canning wares, but because of the power outage, she was unable to get anything done; so while I sit here relaxing and writing this Blog, she is in the house busily working away, mixing baking ingredients, kneading dough and getting everything ready to throw into the oven.  Tomorrow, my friend Lyndon Canam and I will be driving into Woodstock to drop off some of her orders and pick up any money she may have earned through the week at the Farmer's Market and do a little last minute Christmas shopping.

          Freya the goat doesn't much like the snow and cold weather; mostly stays inside the barn and munches hay - she is such a glutton, not only wolfs down her own food but figures the chickens, cat and dog food should be hers as well.  Unlike Freya, Luki, our Great Pyrenees dog, loves the cold weather and snow; I'll often see him during the day, stretched out in the snow fast asleep.  However, that being said, after the sun dips down behind the tree line and darkness descends, he can usually be found inside the small barn snuggled into the straw.  Which reminds me, I should probably clean out their barn today and lay in some golden sweet smelling straw.  I'm not sure when it's supposed to snow again and even though the temperature is on the mild side, none of the white flaky stuff will be disappearing soon, which is alright with me.
          Yesterday, since I was beginning to feel like my old self again, I popped the top off a cold beer.  Much to my disdain, when the temperature hit -18C and I was sick, the wood stove in the studio went out and 2 full cases of Moosehead Pale Ale froze.  It tasted like skunk water and it almost brought tears streaming down my cheeks when I started pouring it into the nearest snow bank outside the door.  Now for those who don't know, beer and piss are about the same shade of yellow in the snow so when Jessica and Sarah came out to see me, they thought that I'd been hanging Mr. Happy out taking a leak - it's not that I don't do that sort of thing out here on the 50 acres of semi-wilderness, or running around in just my Fruit of the Loom, but I immediately set them straight on that score.
          I bought the girls gifts for Christmas this year, which is something I don't normally do, Sarah just says their gifts are from both of us and tomorrow I will be on a quest to buy something for my wife.  She's been complaining about how sore her back is lately and I was considering a good, very large sized bra (she's delightfully top heavy if you know what I mean, wink-wink) which brings to mind what my father said  to a saleslady so many years ago when he was shopping for some lingerie for my mother, "I want to buy the sexiest pair of panties in the store!"  I've decided against that and have a few things on my mind.  Unfortunately, I can't say what I'm thinking about since she often reads my ramblings.  At least she's low maintenance, so I'm quite sure that whatever I come up with, she will be satisfied.  I know what she bought me, because yesterday, when we were shopping, I told her I was going to check out some warm winter gloves and she said not to because Santa might bring them.  When I said, I doubt that, 2 women who were standing near us piped up, "If she says not to go look at the gloves - she means not to look at the gloves."  Women - who can figure them - cheers, eh!

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

          The fire is crackling in the wood stove, the wind is moaning outside the door and the snow flakes are fluttering uncontrollably against the window pane but as I look towards the top of Green Mountain that is anything but green at the moment, I'm feeling very warm, cozy and relaxed in the studio - think I'll pop the cap off a cold bottle of Moosehead Pale Ale - looking forward to one after not feeling so well.  Mmm - sure tastes good!  Now to get on with the Blog; let my mind drift with the drifting snow and lift with the lifting wind     and let my finger tips dance away on the keyboard to the melody that's beginning to form within my mind.
          The old house we bought, which is 100 years old plus, one expects to hear bumps, creaks and groans in the night when everything is quiet and still.  Now, I've been spooked more than once or twice from what I've heard and saw within the walls of this old house and wouldn't be the least bit surprised if a ghost or two were on the loose and having a great old time scaring the hell out of me.  However, as much as I've felt the wee hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and pretty much all the rest of my bodily hair snap to attention like a regiment of soldiers as wekk, if there are indeed a ghost or two dwelling in this old house, I don't feel like they are evil or dangerous.  I've never heard tell of ghosts leaving any footprints and it's not very likely the prints I saw in the snow outside belonged to a ghost but most definitely, something or someone came creeping around our house and most likely in the wee hours of the night, when everything is quiet and still.  I doubt that the footprints were made by a ghost because I can't imagine they would weigh much more than a breath of air and these footprints broke through the icy crust of snow, 4" deep - anyone getting spooked yet?
          Now, I sometimes take a stroll around the house to see if the clear plastic, vapor barrier, which we use for banking up the snow has peeled off from the wind, but these, even though the footprint size was basically the same as mine, were not my prints.  I wouldn't have stopped and looked through the living room window nor the dining room window for a period of time.  I can see where the footprints halted at one doorway and it's hard to tell at the other two doors because the entrance ways have been pretty much cleared of ice and snow.  And, come to think of it, my studio door was ajar, when after being sick for a few days, I went there to start a fire in the wood stove.  Nothing appears to be taken, so maybe it was a ghost wearing big old gumboots that came creeping and a peeping around the house.
          Living out in the boonies, where our closest neighbour lives about a 1/4 of a mile away and calling 911 for any immediate action is out of the question, I've decided to be a little more careful and keep my eye out for the Dark Stalker wearing size 8 gumboots or larger. I can't be too careful because I'm an old man with 2 girls and a wife to watch out for.  I'll have to be a little more wary when I hear Luki barking during the night; if only he didn't bark at every little noise in the dark.  Since I have a few people living nearby who read this Blog, I'd like you all, whenever you go by, to keep an eye open for any strangers or maybe you know that's doing something they shouldn't be doing on our property, please let me know and I'll confront them - thanks - cheers, eh!

SIGNS, POOPY COOPS AND A CONCERNED FRIEND

          It's been a wee while since I wrote anything here and the reasons are because I had some signs to make and when I finished those jobs, after dropping them off at the Farmer's Market to my customers last Friday, I became kind of sick - a strange sickness where I was shivering under a bunch of blankets for no real reason and then beginning to sweat.  A friend told me that I may have gotten pneumonia and then another, the flu - but the strange thing is that I never really lost my appetite that much.  I still consumed breakfast, lunch and supper, albeit not as much as I normally eat but it was still an adequate amount of food and I never did feel like heaving it back up - very strange.  Although a great many of my joints ached, my stomach ached during the night, I never really had a headache or felt any nausea - hmm - anyone have any idea what could have been wrong with me.  I'm not totally alright yet but feel a whole lot better and seem to be improving..

          Since I may have left a few people in a bit of a lurch about how the Lawrence sign turned out, I thought I should post a couple of photographs of it.  The first one contains a rough sketch of their cottage and a drop shadow.  After I painted the illustration and its border using 1Shot lettering paints and a small chisel-edged acrylic brush, I then used a 1/4" squirrel haired lettering brush to paint the outside border and edges to complete the job. The customer was very pleased with the result and said if anyone asked about who had don it, she'd be sure to put my name forward.

          When I used to be in business, I found my best form of advertising was a satisfied customer.  However, now that I'm no longer really in the sign business, it's become more of a hobby, it still feels good to know that people are satisfied with the results of my signs, especially since I don't get paid anywhere near what I used to - there is such a difference in pricing than when I lived on Vancouver Island. I still have some small magnetic signs containing only one word to do for a fellow in the state of Maine - traded him for seven bales of hay for our goat - now how's that for a deal - have always enjoyed the bartering system because it often makes everything affordable to both the seller and the buyer - sort of a win/win situation.  I've enjoyed painting and sketching a few live nude female women over the past years using that same system - I couldn't afford the price of a model and they couldn't afford to pay for a painting.  

          Feels good not to be sort of semi-alert or partly comatose today and not just laying around on the couch watching mundane B-movies or mindless sitcoms where the characters seem to more or less make sarcastic jokes about each other because that's all we seem to access on Netflix.  I'd pretty much watched most of the better programs before.  However, having said that about my health and laying about like a couch-potatoe, doing this morning chores and then the evening chores, I've once again broken into a sweat - hoping the chills don't start occurring too - time to end this Blog.  

         But before I do, I'd like to mention that a young friend of mine, Justin, showed up this morning to clean out the chicken coop for me, which is incredibly cruddy at the moment, because I became sick the day before I was going to clean it out.  However, since the chicken poop was frozen to the floor and every where else it seemed to collect and it would haven taken a jack-hammer or a hand grenade to break it loose, we sat down for the better part of the morning over a hot cup of coffee and discussed a lot of things that doesn't seem to interest a lot of people these days - the sort of stuff that I'm criticized for being a sort of doom and gloom guy.  I have to admit it was refreshing to hear from someone that young who was concerned about the environment and upset that everything has a dollar value attached to it.  In times of a crisis or a natural disaster, a man like him might be a good person to know.  So few people from my generation forward (most likely including me as well) are lacking considerably in the ability to survive a real crisis - let's hope the power never fails, oil never becomes non-existent or if they do, there is still plenty of fresh water to drink and food to grow for at least those remaining that still remember how to tend to things and not just go to the local grocery store with their plastic cards - cheers, eh!

HAND LETTERING, MUSIC AND JUST PLAIN RELAXING

       

18"x12"  Sign for a Cottage by the Lake

           I'm just sitting here at the computer upstairs in my studio loft waiting for paint to dry or at least get tacky, so I can continue on with a sign I'm lettering that has a small pictorial at the top.  The view from the window is relaxing and yet disturbing, since our next door neighbours clear-cut their 50 acres.  During the summer and autumn months, when our trees were fully clothed with beautiful leaves, they blocked the destruction but now that the leaves have fallen, lie stiff and crunchy beneath the snow, I can see large bare areas on the ridge.  I'm sipping a cold beer, Moosehead Pale Ale, and its golden amber tingles my taste buds.  I'm also listening to some cool, soothing tunes by the likes of Whitney Houston, Diana Krall, Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley and Leonard Cohen.  Although the weather outside is probably on the low minus side of zero, I'm so warm, I've opened the window wide and have unbuttoned my shirt to my naval.  Now that's a scary sight!  However, for me life doesn't get much better than at the moment.  Hmm, my wife Sarah is supposed to be home early this afternoon from her part time job at Glenn McLean's, since his wife Edna is not doing very well these days - I wonder if maybe I can interest her in a little afternoon delight just to top off the day.  The kids are in school; a cool beverage; the stimulating type, smooth music, a decadent munchy or two and hey, who knows what might happen - the boudoir could become a cave of exciting romance?
          The CD has ended and it's suddenly become quite quiet.  Except for a piece of ice sliding down the metal roof or the crackle of the fire in the wood stove, everything is very still.  Unlike when I was living in the city not that long ago, the sound of traffic doesn't exist.  Out here where we live, when three or four cars go by in short order; we call that traffic.  Well wet paint or not, I'm going to head on down the stairs, mix another colour and cut around the lettering - besides my beer is gone down brilliantly and before losing its golden glow, I'd like to pick up the brush again and watch the paint flow.

  Same Sign

          Well, now I've completely taken my shirt off because of the over abundance of warmth, down right sweaty at the moment - thinks this calls for another cold beer.  I don't know how many people are interested in signs and since the computer generates letter perfect signs, I regretfully tend to lean that way.  However, "Lawrence's" is a hand painted lettering job.  I'm using a 1/2" lettering brush and 1 Shot enamel lettering paints.  I mixed chrome yellow and white together with just a dab of burgundy to create a sort of Tim Horton's creamy colour for the letters and mixed fire red and black to make a reddish brown for the background.  I'll have to wait for the paint to dry now before continuing on - will most likely finish the job tomorrow - needs to be ready for Friday.

          As much as I'd like to continue on just wiling my time away writing and relaxing to the sounds of Whitney Houston, who at the moment is singing the main song she sang in "The Body Guard" starring alongside Kevin Costner.  Such a beautiful woman with such a beautiful voice; so sad she got all hung up on drungs and died not so long ago.  Yeah, I gotta go; Sarah's daughter Rachel sat on the toilet the other day and broke the oak seat.  Now from the sounds of that remark a person might think she weighed just short of a baby hippopotamus but just the opposite is true.  She's very slender; a strong wind might blow her away if she didn't grab onto something to hold.  But since I've turned into somewhat of a Mr. Fix It since moving to NB, I'm going to mend it and put up a coat rack as soon as I post this Blog.  Plus, I've got to water the animals, tote some bags of chicken feed to the barn and haul in some wood to keep the studio warm.  So get your butt into gear Lenny - get off this dang computer and get your chores done - cheers, eh!

REALITY AND FINALITY

Me Taking a Break from My Chores

          Some of you who read this Blog on a regular basis may recognize my rubber boots that, when new, have aided my feet in covering hundreds of miles of tundra in the far, far north, to recently, wading through stinky, smelly chicken crap, at times almost up to my knees, my faded jeans (and if you could see the rear, my skinny bare ass would be in view) and my work shirt plumb wore out from renovating a baby-barn, chicken coop, animal barn, digging ditches and just plain a hundred other individual chores that need doing here at Golden Unicorn Farm.  I'm more than a little ashamed of my appearance (almost skinny enough to blow away on a light puff of wind or a goat's fart), that's the reason I'm hiding my face under my wife's (Sarah's) garden hat.  A person would think, if you notice the sign behind my poor old worn out body that with hundreds of eggs and home made baking, I would be the size of the Goodyear blimp or an anchor on a luxury liner, but since moving to this farm, I've literally worked my once buns of steel into tiny ball-bearings.  (Now don't go feeling sorry for me, I'm awfully good at doing that all by my little old self.)

          Although at times it's cold enough to make me shiver, the earth is frozen, we've received a little snow and the only time I feel any warmth is when I fart in my pants, to my way of thinking, winter has yet to arrive.    A good friend of mine, Glenn McLean, an old timer in these parts, must be expecting an over abundance of those winter butterflies (flakes of snow) because a short while ago, he gave me a snow blower.  Not sure if it's a premonition of a snow-filled winter but regardless, it was really good of him to do that because when winter surely arrives, I will have a lot snow to remove; making paths to the wood shed, studio, garage, road and clearing a space for two vehicles with a shovel can be somewhat arduous and the way I look in that photograph at the top of Blog, not sure if my emaciated body is capable of handling that sort of work on a continual basis.  Also, I have a long path to clear down to the lower 40 acres, will have to pack some bales of hay down there for our illusive unicorns.  I'm not sure how many are in the herd because I usually see only one or two at a time.  I expect there are quite a few because there is a lot of unicorn poop at the base of our apple tree.  I suppose you're wondering how I can differentiate horse poop from unicorn poop; it's the colour and the odor!   Unicorn poop, and I have to say I'm more than a little amazed when I come across it; looks like mounds of miniature rainbows sparkling in the grass and smells like freshly baked ginger bread - now how magical is that?

          I woke up to the snow falling heavily this morning.  Although it was still dark outside when I went to feed and water the animals and chickens, I was overcome with a presence of peacefulness, the closeness of winter ending all but the basics of my farm chores.  There's a sense of cleanliness about the escarpment being covered with a carpet of snow, as if all our black secrets and sins are somehow being, I'd like to say forgiven, but more like just shoved under the carpet; out of sight; out of mind.  A person might think that I would be happy this morning, knowing that soon, I can just paint and write or do whatever else my wee imaginative mind can create but nothing could be further from the truth.  The tar sands in Alberta have had me wondering for quite a long time as to its size and destruction and last night when I watched a documentary called Petropolis, although there was very little conversation, the aerial view impact of what I now deem as the "Asshole of the World" (have no idea where the heart is or if one even exists) I could not believe what I was seeing; it was beyond what I had ever comprehended.  

          I was born while WWII was in full swing and later on when I had a mind of my own, I was proud to be a Canadian.  However, after watching this documentary, I was pissed off with myself that I had voted for Harper (Canada's prime minister) not because I thought he was the best man for the job but because the other parties had joined together in what I deemed to split Canada apart, just so they could get into power.  I can't say I felt any better when my wife reminded me that in actual fact, I hadn't voted for Harper or the other two opposing parties; I had voted for the Green Party.  After watching Petropolis, I have to say, whatever feelings I had at being proud to be a Canadian within me, ceased to exist; I was so dismayed with myself, I not only felt ashamed to be a Canadian but ashamed to even be a part of the human race.  What is occurring at the Alberta tar sands is now being promoted here in New Brunswick as well.  I feel deeply that what has been allowed to happen in Alberta is immoral and downright evil, without any reasoning of good for mankind or for that matter this entire planet; the absurdity is beyond my comprehension and imagination and believe me when I say, I have an imaginative mind.  I have lost all respect for the people who allowed and participated in the abominable and absurd fracking of the Alberta tar sands and also for the dim-witted subservients who have flocked there in order to fill their jeans with the almighty fucking dollar.  I hate discussing this subject because the majority of people, including I suspect my own family, consider me the bearer of doom and gloom, whereas I like to think of myself as reality and finality - cheers, eh!

HERE'S LENNY - WRITING INTERLUDE IS NOW OVER

     Newly Renovated Baby-Barn

          Almost five months has passed since I wrote the last Blog, and no, I didn't quit writing because someone highlighted the "boring" button at the bottom of the page, because believe me, some of the stuff I write regarding my daily living routine, like a great many other people in the world, is agreeably downright boring.  Nor did I stop writing because I had writer's "block", was ill, depressed, having a romantic affair, nor did I die, which some people who read these ramblings had feared and asked about, after all, I am 71 years old now, where life is definitely a crap shoot - however, on that note, I'm still rollin' 7's and 11's no snake-eyes or double boxcars yet!  Nope, the main reason my Blog suddenly went silent was because I was so freakin' busy renovating the baby-barn that I'd bought last winter and had skidded down to our 50 acres located at the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville, NB.
          I suppose I could have wrote a wee Blog, showing photos of the work in progress during the summer and autumn but I refrained, just wanted to get the job done and out of the way before the winter snow and ice arrived.  At the moment, instead of snow and ice, it's pouring outside - the heavy rain drops sounding rather delightful as they do a tap dance on the metal roof, not even an arm's length overhead.  Yup, my new studio is as comfortable and as cosy as a shoe box to a wee kitten.  As you can see from the photo, I've yet to complete the exterior of the building - that's a spring time job.  At the corner of the building in the photo is a dark line, which is an 18" deep trench by approx. 40' that I dug through crushed gravel so the electrician, Larry Lawrence could hook up the electrical power from the house.  Let me tell you, that was one hell of a back-breaking job for this old guy - 7 hours steady digging, my back so sore and slightly bent over, I was more than a little glad to limp on into the house, set me down in a chair while Sarah (my wife) poured me the stiffest gin and grapefruit juice I ever knocked back, a quick bite to eat, then another equally stiff drink, then off to the bathtub where I eased myself into the hottest water my body could take.  I was in complete and utter bliss; woke up three hours later to my pocket book floating in the water.

Baby-Barn Interior - downstairs and the loft.  Hopefully to be my studio of creativity - lots of painting and writing through the cold winter months.

   

          I have to be honest about how I'm feeling at the moment, concerning writing this Blog; truthfully, although it's had over 8,000 hits, not too many people have signed up for the Newsletter or have become a special friend that's posted on the side of the Blog.  I've pondered about continuing writing the Blog for the past couple of weeks, procrastination riding heavy on my shoulders and then thought, what the hey - I enjoy writing and these ramblings of mine help keep me thinking and being a touch creative - I guess a person could say, this Blog is more for me than those that read it, although having said that, I really do enjoy and appreciate hearing any comments (positive or negative) that a reader sends either by email, Facebook or right here.  

          Although my summer months were filled with mostly physical jobs and I whined and complained about how old and sore I was, should have been doing this sort of thing when I was younger, I have to admit that at this age, I'm still in pretty good shape for an old guy; eat and drink pretty much anything, physically active, mind is still clear and believe it or not, still have a pretty steady sex-life - who am I to complain - a lot of my friends and some of my close relatives that were younger than me are now lookin' up at the flowers instead of down.  I'm thankful for a lot of the little things in life - a beautiful leaf, sunrise, cloud, even a woman, still takes my breath away.  The rain on my back, the crunch of snow underfoot, a cold breeze and a warm hearth and heart to return to makes me yell inside, "It's so good to be alive!"  And on that note, to anyone who is still reading this Blog, (I just popped the top off a cold beer, even if it is 10:00am) - cheers, eh!

NEWFOUNDLAND SCREECH - YEE-HA!

          It's a beautiful morning; birds are singing; chickens are cackling - a person would almost think it was spring time and of course in this case, at the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville; it just might be.  We seem to get 2 months spring, 2 months summer, 2 months autumn and then, dang it all anyway, 6 months winter.  And the hell of it is, during those first four months of rather enjoyable weather, the skeeters, black flies and noseeums are so blasted thick, a tender morsel like meself just doesn't care to go outdoors, which of course, regrettably, I just have to do.  After my wife and I clambered into bed last night; she, beat from baking, scooping ice cream and jawing with the customers in her little country bistro; me, beat from working on the baby-barn in the heat and were about to shut our eyes, the heavens opened up with such a thunderous down pour, it was difficult to drift off to the world of dreams and occasional nightmares.  The sun is just a sparkling away and I know I should be outside working on the baby-barn but before I feel the sweat trickling down my back and filling my jeans, think I'll just have a little down-time and let my fingers do a wee tap dance on the keyboard for awhile.
          I've been thinking about my big bro Larry lately and some of the times we've had together over the years.  Since quite a few of my readers seem to live on the friendly isle of Newfoundland (which I've never been - that and PEI being the only 2 provinces I haven't trod upon and Labrador - even been to the Yukon, NW Territories and Nunavut), thought I'd write about the time I was living in Calgary; so this blog is for you.
          I was a young man then, just a slight tippy-toe over 30, when Larry pulled into my place leading a caravan, which consisted of three vans full of happy hippy-types on a cross-Canada tour.  Well, Larry has always had a way of showing up with some new bottle of booze that he just loves to share and on this hot summer day, the bottle of choice was Newfoundland Screech and I believe it was either 80 or 90 proof.
          Yee-ha! - talk about a slap your ribs, rattle your tonsils, burn your throat, explode in your guts bottle of hooch that was.  Now, I don't know how one is supposed to imbibe a bottle of that type of high-octane booze but in my opinion, there should have been a lable pasted to it saying, "Drink at Your Own Risk".  The way we were knocking it back was straight and by the cap full, a Newfie snoot-full-shooter, no less.  And of course, just to add a little excitement to our little gathering of bearded-men and our female partners, we set the cap afire - blazing shooters that almost made your eyes roll up into your head every time you knocked one back.  Things went well for a short time, until a long-haired hippy with a full black beard that my brother had picked up along the way was so drunk, he was unable to stand or talk in a meaningful fashion any longer, sort of slowly sipped at the blazing cap and set his moustache and beard on fire.  I don't know if my brother knocked him cold as he smacked away at his head, trying to put out the fire or if he just passed out; one shot of Newfoundland Screech too many, but he just sort of slid down on the floor and flicked about like a dead snake for a few moments before he began sleeping it off.
          I guess we must have had the tunes blazing away as well because sometime during the night, my business workshop being the place of untold entertainment and lies, two constable showed up and wanted to know what we were up to.  Luckily, we had just disposed of the hot knives; in those days, LSD, weed and hash being mind-altering stimulants, seeing we weren't really causing any harm and I was the owner of the building, they just asked us to turn down the music before they left.  Other than the hippy setting his face on fire, I just don't seem to be able to recollect any more of that evening; I imagine the countless caps of Newfoundland Screech is the reasoning for my lack of memory.  However, I do remember it was a fun filled evening and I almost wished I could have accompanied my big bro on his cross-Canada trip because I'm sure it would have been a blast, which he later told me, they had a great time, although. because his hippy hitch-hiker with half his beard burnt off didn't contribute anything to the trip, other than eating their grub and helping himself to their delightful treats, he dropped him off somewhere along the highway, so he could find someone else to mooch off.
          On my wedding day, Larry showed up with a bottle of Absinthe but that's another story - cheers, eh!                 
         

DAVID SUZUKI'S - THE LEGACY - CONCLUSION

          I can hear the monotonous drone of heavy machinery just down the road at our neighbour's place.  It is being used to load the logging trucks that have been continually hauling away the trees that were cut down last winter, much of the land near the top of Green Mountain clear-cut.  When the contractor has been led to believe he is managing the forests properly by the legal practising standards at hand, it was a hopeless conversation of trying to convince him otherwise.  I long to hear the birds in the morning, not the motors of destruction.
          For those of you that have been reading my recent blogs regarding David Suzuki's, The Legacy, you might be interested to know that the readership has steadily declined since my first entry and this both saddens and frightens me.  This could be telling me that they aren't overly unconcerned about the dilemma we are currently facing - does someone have to break into their house with a loaded gun before they pay attention to the threat against their life.  I look at the world as being our home and the threat of losing our lives in numbers not heard of before is just as real.
          David Suzuki still see hope for our species and the planet but I'm having a difficult time comprehending his optimism.  He states:  "What kind of world would we like to have in a generation?
          "How about one in which the air is clean and children no longer have epidemic levels of asthma?  I can imagine a world that is covered in forests that can be logged forever because it is being done properly according to principles of ecosystem based management in which nature and ecology set the rules.
          I can imagine a future in which cities are exquisitely adapted to climate, the surrounding landscape and wildlife, and the natural rhythms of the season, in which every building captures all the sunlight and water falling from the heavens, where food is grown on rooftops, where roads are permeable and allow water to percolate back into the the earth instead of running through gutters and sewers, where a yard becomes a natural landscape and not a monoculture of grass, and where butterflies flit through gardens in every schoolyard.  I can picture a city where cars are rarely needed because all of the action and fun are going on in the streets of the neighbourhoods where we live, work and play."
          I too have had this very vision but as he goes on to say, "Everyone I've discussed it with is in agreement, that would be wonderful.  Economists tell us that we can't realign our economic system to incorporate the kinds of values that people like me hold, that "it's not realistic" to look to a radically different future, that the economy is the bottom line to which everyone and everything must capitulate."
          Mr. Suzuki goes on to say, "I will die before my grandchildren become mature adults and have their own children, but I am filled with hope to imagine their future rich in opportunity, beauty, wonder, and companionship with the rest of Creation.  All it takes is the imagination to dream it and the will to make the dream reality.
          And therein lies the problem I believe, only a handful of people are visionaries and have the aptitudes to develop their dreams - most of the masses are sheep with no imagination - only mindless followers in a mindless world.
          And that concludes this series on David Suzuki's, The Legacy - cheers, eh!

DAVID SUZUKI'S LEGACY - PART 3

          Dang!  This being old, although in comparison to an old coot past his 90th year, in comparison, he'd most likely still tell me I'm a spring chicken.  But hey, the way my hip has been bugging the bejeezus outta me the past few days and after mucking out the barn, scraping chicken crap out of the coop, then 2 hours pushing a lawn mower, I'm feeling anything but like a spring chicken this morning - even a cannibal wouldn't like gnawing on these old bones, bet the meat is tougher than a chunk of rawhide that's been laying out under the hot sun in the Mojave Desert for a year.  Now, I could just go on and on about every little ache and pain I have, and old guys like me can go on jawing for a long time just like a politician and never really have anything important to say - but hey - I've been passing on some of David Suzuki's ramblings from his book, The Legacy; interjected of course with some of my own ramblings, which I consider to be important, maybe not as important as Mr. Suzuki's but still along the same thinking path.
          Something Mr. Suzuki wrote, even though I had to re-read his words three times (mathematics not being a strong point) really grabbed me by my short and curlies and got me more than a little bit worried once again.  He writes:  "Imagine a test tube full of bacterial food.  One bacterium is added to the test tube and begins to grow and divide every minute.  (The bacterium represents us and the test tube, the planet.)  At time zero, there is one cell; at one minute, there are two, two minutes, four, three minutes, eight; and so on.  That's expotential growth.  At sixty minutes, the test tube is full of bacteria and there is no food left.
          When is the test tube half, or 50 percent, full?  At fifty-nine minutes, of course; yet one minute later, the test tube will be completely filled.  At fifty-eight minutes, it's 25 percent full; at fifty-seven minutes, it's 12.5 percent full.  At fifty-five minutes, the test tube is only 3 percent full.  If at that moment, one of the bacteria points out they have a population problem, others would jeer.  "What have you been smoking?  Ninety-seven percent of the test tube is empty, and we've been around for fifty-five minutes!"  Yet they would be five minutes from filling it."
          Now, I'm not the brightest guy on the block, like I said, math not being one of my stronger points, but I don't have to get hit over the head to realize that if the human population keeps reproducing at its current rate, the 8 billion residents so far on the planet, before long reaching 16 billion, with our maniacal, suicidal manner of harvesting the forests that produce our air, there's a good chance we'll all just suffocate.  And what about the water; take a good look at what's going on in Alberta, soon to become the toxic wasteland capital of North America, due to the intolerable, inexcusable manner of extracting oil from the tar sands.  Hey, we can't eat, drink or breathe oil - so what is our most important commodities - come on people - doesn't take a scientist, a businessman or a politician to figure that scenario out - CLEAN AIR, PURE WATER, RICH SOIL.
          Like the test tube for the bacteria, our home, planet Earth, is finite and fixed - what we have here is all that we have - even if another planet exists somewhere out amongst the countless stars that we could survive on, we cannot travel fast enough through space to reach it.  At the moment, the way things are going and I blame my generation the most for our failures, none of us will be leaving a legacy for our children or their children's children, because we are using everything up right now and at a suicidal rate.  Never in the history of the human race has extreme ecological reasoning been needed - ECONOMY IS NOT THE ANSWER.  If we choose economy over ecology, we, the human species, I believe is doomed and the end will neither be swift nor pleasant.
            It's a glorious day and I feel privileged to actually be allowed to step into the sunshine without too many problems lying heavy on my shoulders.  I love this Earth and everything about it - it's my home and I feel sad to see it being treated in such a senseless manner - what are jobs and money if the world, our home is unfit for habitation.  And on that cheery note - I bid thee cheers, eh!  To be continued...
         

DAVID SUZUKI'S LEGACY CONTINUES

          Looks like another great summer day, shaping up to be a hot one.  Clayton Clark bush-hogged the cleared portion of the 50 acres yesterday; the grass was waist high and the squaw bush was beginning to take over.  I'm not sure if I'll ever use the cleared pasture land but for now, I might as well keep it tamed just in case we choose to get a couple cows or a horse one day.  Seems like it's time to cut the lawn again and clean out the chicken coop and goat stall; sort of never ending chores on a wee farm.
          As stated in the previous blog, this is a continuation of The Legacy, a book I read by David Suzuki, an internationally renowned geneticist and environmentalist.  The world has come to a critical crossroads and a serious crisis prevails.  Suzuki states:  "In 1992, 1,700 senior scientists from 71 countries, including 104 Nobel Prize winners (more than half of all the laureates at the time), signed a document called "World Scientists' Warning to Humanity."  They proclaimed, "Human beings and the natural world are on a collision course.  Human activities inflict harsh and often irreversible damage on the environment and on critical resources.  No more than one or a few decades remain before the chance to avert the threats we now confront will be lost and the prospects for humanity immeasurably diminished."  I find these words extremely chilling and it makes me afraid of what lies ahead in the not too distant future if we don't drastically mend our ways immediately.  And what I find extremely alarming is that the media, politicians and corporations don't seem to give a damn since they've placed a dollar value on everything.  Instead of ecology, which should be the basis and the most important ingredient in the pot, the gravy to their way of thinking is the economy - shame on them.
          Our very existence depends on clean air, water and healthy forests if we, as a supposedly intelligent species are to survive.  John Fowles (writer) wrote:  It is not Christ that is crucified now, it is the tree itself, and on the bitter gallows of human greed and stupidity.  Only suicidal morons, in a world already choking with death, would destroy the best natural air conditioner creation affords.  Trees, I think, because they appear to be countless are being logged improperly; clear-cutting and especially without planting new and a similar variety of trees in their place is not taking place; the practise completely asinine.  We need the forests; besides giving homes to countless other species living within them, they purify our air and produce oxygen, inhibit erosion and help maintain the fresh water as well.  Large expanses of greenbelts are needed, without them we will die.  So much of our becoming more and more fragile existence depends on pollination and the bee populations are dwindling at an alarming rate.  So much depends upon our natural habitat for our survival and for the life of me, it's beyond my comprehension, why leaders like Steven Harper turn their backs on conservation and allow the poisonous practices of big business to have their way - doesn't he have a family and care about their survival?
          Instead of bull-headedly bucking Nature and attempting to wrestle her to our understanding as to how the world should be, we should be in sync and realize that the resources she has are far more important than the crap we manufacture for our own pleasures.  Like every living creature on this planet, we need healthy nourishment - instead of behaving like we've been lead to believe for generations that money is our basic necessity and the more we have the better off we will be, what good is it if we don't have our health and watch our children die because we've allowed the water and air to be poisoned, the land and forests devastated?  Wouldn't it be far better if our legacy to them, instead of a big fancy mansion and a bag full of cash, we left them a better world to live in?
          I have to admit, and probably like many others who have similar thoughts to men like David Suzuki and others, I neither fully practise nor teach my children the values I sometimes write about.  Of course some of the reasoning behind why I don't discuss these issues with Sarah's kids is because how do you get something across to a teenage girl that applies about a pound of make-up to her face while continually texting and a pre-teen who believes the world revolves around the likes of Justin Bieber; the media and the Internet have far more power than parents and isn't that a bloody shame?  I've also noticed when topics such as the one I'm writing about now, when they're brought up in conversation, I'm often looked upon as a cynic, a Mr. Doom and Gloom.  In my own little world, this wee bubble that I co-exist in with family, neighbours and friends, I don't have much hope in anything changing to preserve and nourish the immediate surrounding area and if in only a space of a few square miles on this planet, if it is not tended to in a responsible manner by us, what are the chances for the remainder of  the planet?
          To be continued - Cheers, eh!
         

DAVID SUZUKI -THE LEGACY - A MUST READ

          It's a great summer day; birds chirruping, rooster crowing and not a cloud in the sky - if only I didn't hear that continual eeeeeeeeeeee-sound buzzing around my ears - the mosquitoes are still here in abundance.  I've tried a couple of bug sprays, even swathed my skin down with Bounce, the stuff people use when they're clothes are in the dryer.  Nothing seems to work for very long.  Oh well, can't let the pesky little insects slow me down; still have a whole lot of work to get accomplished before the snow begins to fly; summer is so dang short!
          I've been reading David Suzuki's book, The Legacy; actually read it three times.  Although I'm not a scientist like he is and rubbed shoulders with many people who really understand the conundrum of the Earth's delicate biosphere, I was both pleased that his views are quite similar to mine and horror struck with the realization that unless we humans make some immediate drastic changes, we as a species will disappear; go the way of the dinosoar.  I may not because of my age, but the immediate generations after me stand a very good chance watching their children and their children's children die; the Earth's condition is that critical.  I believe this book should be mandatory reading for everyone and immediately taught in schools worldwide.  Mr. Suzuki sees the possibility of a "sustainable future" but only if drastic changes in our lifestyles occur immediately.  I wish I had his optimism for the future, but sadly, I don't.
          I could be writing about my pastoral existence here at the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville, New Brunswick but when I look out across our wee bit of paradise, I almost begin to weep at my own stupidity, ignorance and my bull-headed egotism during a major portion of my lifetime thus far, when I envision the total devastation, which may occur and I helped occur, before not too many years have gone by.  As David Suzuki states: "We have become a force of nature; a super species."  At one time hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes and tsunamis were considered forces of God but now, we have the capabilities to influence these natural disasters; the human footprint upon the Earth can easily be seen from outer space; it's become that massive and in a very short period of time.  Unfortunately, we have grasped technology and suckle its creations to our breasts like new born babes; turning our backs on Nature.
          The human population is rapidly growing, doubling at an outrageous rate; there are more of us than all the other combined mammals currently living on this planet.  It's odd, the majority of wild animals are on the endangered list, threatened with complete extinction and we can't see with their disappearance that we will soon become like the passenger pigeons of not so long ago; extinct as well and brought on by our own hands; are we visionaries blinded by our creations or suicidal maniacs?
          Imagine: "The biosphere is the layer of air, water, and land where all species live.  It is extremely thin.  If Earth were shrunk to the size of a basketball, the layer of topsoil on which our food is grown would be a single atom thick.  And on that thin organic mix, humanity's survival rests."  Earth, air and water are necessary for our existence and what are we doing with our super-thin layer of existence; destroying it with mind-boggling total disregard for Nature.  We talk about pigs being filthy animals but in that regard, I think we have them beat all to hell; they only mess up their pens, whereas we are messing up the whole pasture.  And not just the pasture, we are polluting everything including poisoning the air and the water.
           Not too many people read this blog and as far as that goes, I've been wondering how many of us actually read any more at all?  I don't normally ask for this blog to be shared by others but I feel something as important and critical as the meaning David Suzuki is attempting to get across to the masses and my little bit of writing about his views is very important if the human race wants to continue for many generations to come, so if you are just as concerned as I am, please share; it just takes a couple of clicks of the mouse.  Also, if you get the chance, pick up a copy of Mr. Suzuki's THE LEGACY - an elder's vision for our sustainable future - foreward by Margaret Atwood  I have no idea how the readers of this blog feel towards Nature but there have been times when I've been so completely overcome, awestruck by its beauty and power that I've actually wept and especially when I see how most of us have turned their backs on basically our mother of creation and sustenance - cheers, eh!  To be continued -
               

LUKI'S ESCAPE AND ESCAPADE

          I'm not quite sure why I'm sitting here sipping a hot cup of java and writing a blog on the computer when I have so many things that need doing.  I'd like to be working on the baby-barn's conversion into an art studio today but until I get a suitable window and the stairway to the loft built, which George Probst is thankfully helping me with, plus buy some more materials; it's on hold.  I could be working on expanding the chicken coop but I'm holding off on that one until I see how much materials  are remaining, when the baby-barn renovations have been completed.  Yeah, those are two of my major jobs and I won't go into the other tasks - guess that's what I get for moving out in the boonies on 50 acres of semi-wilderness land - a beautiful piece of property I might add.  Despite the hard work, the aches and pains, I really like this bit of paradise at the base of Green Mountain that my wife Sarah and I chose after looking at so many other places in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.
          I cut the lawn yesterday, using an old electric lawn mower, which is usually about a 2 hour non-stop job.  It was a hot day; I sweat so hard, my shirt was like a second skin; the mosquitoes simply stabbed their long, needle-sharp proboscises right through it and filled up on my high-octane blood.  But I didn't care, being the stubborn old macho bastard, even at almost age 71, I sometimes consider myself to be, I swatted  a few of the kamikaze flying fiends to a squash and burn death.  However, being a hot and sunny day and not feeling the need to work so hard, after about 3/4 of the way mowing, I decided to have an ice cold beer that I'd put in the freezer just for that occasion.  So, what could be nicer than sitting in the shade sipping an ice cold beer on a hot day and what could possibly go wrong - it's highly unlikely, although outer space just beyond our fragile biosphere is cluttered with junk, a piece of it would enter our atmosphere and fall on the house or on my head.  No, I was in my own little world enjoying myself when I happened to glance over at the barnyard and watched, to my utter amazement, our Great Pyrenees dog Luki (about the same size as me) squeeze through the fence that a chicken barely fits through.  When I called to him, he just ambled over, wagging his tail and I thought to myself, I don't think he'll go anywhere, just wander around taking a pee here and there, marking his territory, which is probably a good thing since some of the forest animals at times think we're on their menu, but I was wrong.  When I resumed cutting the lawn, I could see him nosing around here and there, his big tale wagging because he was so happy to get out of the pasture, so I just concentrated on the job at hand.  Well, with only about 10 minutes remaining to cut the lawn, already looking forward to relaxing and enjoying a second bottle of ice cold beer, a woman drove into our driveway and told me Luki was on the road, almost at the top of Green Mountain.  And sure enough, a white dog, the size of a polar bear's cub was not hard to pick out.  The first time I called to him, almost yelling my beer-filled guts out, he just kept on ambling up the steep hill.  I was about to give up and just wait for my wife to come home in the truck so we could go fetch him, but thought, no, I'll try one more time.  Cupping my hands around my mouth and yelling as loud as I could, I was amazed to see him turn around and actually start running towards me at a fast pace.  Instead of getting angry at him when he arrived, what was the point; he wouldn't have understood my reasoning; thinking he wouldn't go any where again, I just sat and petted him for a short while.  I guess thinking the grass wasn't any greener on the other side of Green Mountain, he decided to check out the road in the other direction and started heading down it; ignoring my frantic calls to return.  I immediately sent Sarah's youngest daughter Jessica after him on her bicycle, while I grabbed a long piece of rope and another bicycle.  When I caught up to them, three vehicles were stopped on the road; luckily one of them was Sarah's and she was holding onto Luki.  Even before finishing mowing the lawn, needless to say, I remedied the hole from which Luki made his escape; I just hope he doesn't figure out that the mesh around the pasture is the same width.
          At the moment, it's raining - probably just a wee shower.  I'd like to believe it's this cloudy weather that's making me feel a wee touch melancholy but sometimes, like now, at this late in life stage, I wonder why I'm doing what I'm doing.  Frustration could be the answer or maybe because I'm quite old, much of my get-up-and-go has fled to parts unknown, I sometimes wonder if I've done and am doing the right thing.  In so many ways I feel incompetent and as hard as I may, trying to discourage some of the thoughts that occasionally run rampant through the semi-empty corridors of my mind, like a pot of water, they begin to boil and overflow.  Perhaps it's the middle of the week blues I'm experiencing and if that's the case, time to give my skinny ass a good kick and get on with the remainder of the day - cheers, eh!     
                       

TO HAVE OR NOT TO HAVE - LESS IS MUCH BETTER

          Not too many years have rushed by since the life expectancy of a man living in Canada was approximately 72-74 years of age and now it's almost 80.  Living until age 80 sounds pretty good unless of course you're like me, pushing age 71 or higher - not even 10 years remaining before the weeds and the worms are having a feast at my benefit.  Needless to say, I get a little bit nervous every time I walk by a shovel; although death is eminent; a certainty; I'm one of these old coots that will most likely go to their graves kicking and screaming. "I don't want to die!".  Like many people my age or older, we've witnessed some spectacular events over the years, some of them good and some of them bad; down right nasty actually; a lot of things the younger generations now take for granted or don't concern themselves with our mistakes.  Although the US and our country have a bountiful assortment of millionaires and multi-millionaires, very few of them began with nothing, never actually had to earn that kind of moolah - most of really wealthy people that have an over abundance of the almighty dollar have had it passed down to them through the generations; from one sugar daddy to the next.  Besides, a million smackeroos isn't really that much money nowadays - how could it be when game shows give it away for prizes; average and many below average talented celebrities are paid this kind of money.  (I get a kick out of listening to some radio host talking to a so called great musician or singer that the music charts show they've sold a million albums - geesh, not even 10% of the population listens to them enough to care to purchase their endeavours.)   So the way I see it; life is just one big crap shoot - right from the moment we pop out of our mommy's bellies screaming and demanding that our needs be fed - too bad most of us never shut the fuck up - we need way more for our existence and because of it, our world and every living thing that abides here suffers because of this excessive greedy nature.  Slogans like "You deserve the very best" - what a crock of BS - none of us deserve to be outrageously spoiled.  Sorry John; as much as I enjoy a John Travolta movie; can you imagine how much fuel he has used for his own personal needs, how much air and water he has polluted by flying around in his 747 - talk about an obscene amount of energy that is totally wasted because of one man's needs and there is countless more just like him.
          It's easy for me to pick on wealthy individuals but hey - although I'm just a small fish in a sea of greedy humans, I can't excuse myself from being a part of that group - I'm quite sure my carbon foot print is the size of a Sasquatch's, that is if such a great big hairy creature actually exists.  When I look around at all the stuff I own and I can hardly believe I keep accumulating more, especially at this age when my life expectancy is seriously getting shorter by the second - I mean what the hell am I going to do with it - it's not like I can take this shit with me and I'm sure my kids, except for some very personal items, won't want any of it - they'd have to expand their living area just to store this crap.  That was one of the things I liked about living on a sail boat - there just wasn't any room for anything except the basic needs for survival - kind of kept my priorities on an even keel so to speak
          Even here, living at the base of Green Mountain on 50 acres of semi-wilderness land - we, a family of four, still want more than what we actually need for our existence.  It's so easy to get caught up in a net, our little hands and feet poking through tiny holes clutching things that are actually holding us back from escaping and leading a more fulfilling life.  The only reason, perhaps the biggest reason the world is in such a precarious state is because we are obsessively manipulating, controlling and obscenely greedy human beings.  We have deliberately turned our backs on nature, actually falsely believing that we can bend the world to our objectives; our will; when just the opposite is true.  Beside the junk we buy, look at the crap we purchase to nourish our bodies and minds - it's no frickin' wonder the majority of us are total dip-shits, more than half stupid and ignorant, could give a flying leap into a cess pool of man-made toxic waste , actually care about the state of the world - we're so uncaring about ourselves - how could we possibly care for our surroundings.  I could go on and on but it's time I got off this addictive computer and actually do something progressive, like pull out a chair, sit in the barnyard and watch the chickens do their thing - absolutely no wastage - I just might learn something from those wee feathered raptors that have evolved and fared better than us humans over the aeons, and besides, my time here on Earth has almost come to an end - cheers, eh!                

MOSQUITOES, THE LONE WOLF AND BUDDY

          The sun is finally shining and hopefully we won't be bombarded with another downpour, which happened yesterday, complete with loud bursts of thunder and flashes of lightning right above our house; I believe the racket and light show that occurred aroused our ghost, who could be heard dancing spiritedly away in the attic.  The warmth and the sunlight feels good, even though the damp humidity makes one feel as though they've taken up residence in a greenhouse.  I noticed the mosquitoes as large as hummingbirds, which are gathered around the muddy puddles, ponds and lakes dressed in their finest bathing attire and wearing sunglasses are still overly friendly - as soon as I come near them, thinking I must be a tender, juicy steak to be washed back with a glass of red blood, they flock to me like squadrons of kamikaze zeros, hell-bent on destruction.  My arms have been flapping so hard at times trying to swat them out of the air, I'm sure, with just a little more effort, I probably could have flew away to a place that mosquitoes don't exist.

Lone Wolf  - Unfinished 11"x14" Painting           

          Our 3/4 ton diesel truck "Buddy" decided to break down yesterday after we left the Woodstock Farmer's Market; because of the clicking sounds emitting from the engine, whenever the ignition key was turned on, even though I know almost absolutely nothing about engines, my money (quite literally) is on the starter having a huge hissy-fit while complaining, "Enough is enough!  I aint gonna start no more!"  

           Just getting Buddy towed to a mechanic in Canterbury was $125.00, so I can't imagine how much the repair bill will be; almost every time beforehand when the truck broke down, we were looking at a grand - a thousand little shiny loonies pirouetting out of our pockets and into someone else's piggy bank  Unfortunately, since I was unable to pick up some more building materials for my baby-barn project, I may not get much further on it this coming week.  However, if that's the case, perhaps I can finish the "Lone Wolf" painting and perhaps a few more - would be great to have some new paintings for our Arts Festival, which will be happening here on August 19th.  (Incidentally, we're still looking for a few more artisans to sign up and reserve their spaces - should be just as good a time as last year.)
          One thing about the hordes of mosquitoes and Buddy breaking down, the time should be well-spent indoors; a time for healing some of my aches and pains.  Haven't been sleeping that good either, so the rest should be good as well for this old guy, who sometimes still thinks he's got the energy of a young man and often over does it - drives meself beyond me limits.  Like the mosquitoes basking around all the mud puddles, ponds and lakes located near the base of Green Mountain, me thinks I'll break out me paints and brushes, pop the lid off a cold one, kick me legs out and enjoy its golden amber flavour as I paint away - cheers, eh! 

THOUGHTS OF A DOODLER-DABBLER

          It's been almost two years since we moved to New Brunswick from BC to a nice home on 50 acres that we can afford and sadly, I'm beginning to have serious doubts as to why I came.  I think I imagined things would be quite a bit different from living in a small city and as far as country living goes, it is so.  Unlike city life, the lifestyle here in Fosterville is a lot more laid back, the neighbours definitely more friendly and helpful; quite similar to a camaraderie that I experienced and enjoyed immensely while living on my sail boat for 25 years in Nanaimo and several other places.  As old as I am, I mean being almost 71, suffering from well-deserved aches and pains because of not looking after myself in my younger years, is definitely a deterrent but as odd as it may seem, I am up for that challenge; I've never turned my back on hard work and having a goal is still important to me; searching for a comfortable retirement home or taking a vacation when the weather becomes inclement is not the least bit appealing.  I've always been a high-energy sort of person, often, when most people become tired and packing it in; I'm just beginning.  And in some ways, I'm still the same although admittedly, I'm slower now; my strength and stamina somewhat waned.  So, why do I have serious doubts about living here at the base of Green Mountain in the semi-wilderness?  I'm not totally sure and even if I am, this is not the place to actually gripe about it.
          Dreamer II, my sail boat, almost seemed like an island  but instead of being stationary, I could move it to a new location whenever I desired.  Now that  I am definitely land-locked and firmly anchored to 50 acres, instead of the sail boat, I have become the island or perhaps a castaway like Robinson Crusoe.  And, like Robby boy, instead of a man Friday, I have a woman Friday and I suppose realistically, since she has two daughters, I could say I have a Little Friday and a Littler Friday as well.  But even with all these people in my life, I guess what I find somewhat strange and I suspect Mr. Robinson may have found this as well on his small island regarding his man Friday, although he had company, he most likely felt quite lonely.  I may have to reread Daniel Defoe's novel Robinson Crusoe; I wouldn't be surprised if we have quite a lot in common.  
          I've been accused of not letting people into my head or allowing them to get close to me and to some extent, it's quite likely true.  I remember a house party I once attended, sitting somewhat alone and sipping a cold beer, a good looking blonde woman sat down next to me and pointed her finger in my face, demanding, "You look like an interesting man; I want to get into your head.  Talk to me!"  Since I wasn't in a very cheerful or perhaps sociable mood that evening and looking back, it must have been terribly rude of me, I simply stood up and replied, "Nobody gets into my head." and walked away.  Just thinking back to the house party has reminded me about another woman, who for some reason or another took a distinct dislike to me.  I was working with a couple of friends near a small town in Saskatchewan called Bengough in the middle of winter, when at -35, with a wind chill of -70 degrees, we were forced to spend some time at our hotel in the beer parlour.  While I was shooting pool and had an unlikely winning streak, a big, fat, obese, loud-mouthed woman sitting near the pool table got on my case.  Finally, trying my best to ignore her, she blurted out, "Why don't you kiss my big fat ass!"  An opportunity like that I just couldn't let go; I just couldn't keep my mouth shut.  I never in all my life saw a fat lady move so fast or me either for that fact after I said, "Lady, no matter where I kissed you, it wouldn't matter because you're all ass!"  I could hear people roaring with laughter, whether at me for what I said or because they had never seen a woman as fat as her come rushing at a skinny guy, namely me as I hot-footed out the bar room door with her close on my heels.  We scooted into the hotel lobby and beyond.  She was like a snorting, raging bull, except the only red I could see was her fat bulging face as I scampered down the hallway towards the hotel room my friends and I had reserved for a few days.  Losing her around a corner, I quickly let myself in and locked the door.  Although it was difficult to suppress the laughter building up inside me, I knew that if she heard me, she most likely would have busted into the room and crushed me to death with her fat billowing body, so I contained myself until my friends arrived. 
          The rain has been more than substantial the past week or so, the Sahara Desert, if it were to receive this much rain would most likely be the land of orchards and vineyards instead of a vast wasteland.  It's odd isn't it; we put so much value in oil, which has been polluting our planet - just think - if our so called scientists, politicians and businessmen had put as much money, thoughtfulness and effort into the reclamation of land and using the existing fresh water supplies - how much better our world would be - and fuck - there would even be a profit in it - cheers, eh!  

ON THE EDGE - WE MAY BE LIVING CLOSER TO IT THAN WE THINK

On the Edge

          It's a rainy Sunday; the downpour so heavy, denizens of the deep could quite possibly be packing their scaly bags and considering moving to our 50 acres at the base of Green Mountain.  Actually, since the Arctic ice is melting so rapidly, it wouldn't surprise me if sea life were to become a probability a lot further inland before too long; many small islands and atolls already having disappeared with the rising of the oceans.  I quite often go visit my friends George and Margaret Probst on Sundays, but because of the pouring rain I decided against it.  So, it was a nice surprise that George came here for a short visit; I really enjoy our conversations, even though I do most of the listening; even at this late age in life, I am still open to learning something new.  We have like thoughts on many of the issues that are threatening the well-being of our planet and our lives; many of which we are labelled cynical and are considered negative thinking - I prefer to think of our views as realistic.

          Many people think that Vincent Van Gough cut off his ear because he was jilted by a woman of the night, a red-light-siren or because he was angry with a fellow artist by the name of Paul Gauguin.  In a fit of rage, unable to find his friend and perhaps stab him to death, he cut off his own ear instead; or so the story goes.  I painted this self-portrait of old Vinny boy and since he had yet to cut off his ear; I cut it off for him; much less painful and no blood either; he must of bled like a stuck pig and most likely squealed like one as well.  While looking at the painting hanging in my studio, George and I decided that he hadn't cut his ear off for either of those two reasons.  No, like many of us, we have an ear for only listening to good things and an ear for listening to bad things, so Vincent, very troubled man in his own right, decided to sever the ear that could only hear bad things.  Although most of the population have two good ears, both George and I firmly believe that the majority of us only listen to the good things and that the unholy mess, being created and which already been created, will be miraculously cleaned up and put into order by our brilliant scientists or some religious god - perhaps the god of garbage; he may have a brilliant recycling scheme for the good of mankind.  

          One of the most important resources, if not the most important resource the Earth has to offer is water and can you believe our illustrious leaders are happily and purposely creating gigantic pools of toxic water for  the god of economy.  It's not that long ago that water was considered very valuable and there was an unwritten law, that nobody messed around with it - anyone caught poisoning water was pretty much done away with; often times without even a trial - just hung the sons-bitches from the nearest tree.  Why is it that our prime minister, like many other leaders, are allowed to get away with promoting the extraction of precious ores and fossil fuels with no regard for destroying valuable water resources?  Is it we, the general populace that's incompetent or is it our leaders?  Why are governments allowed to promote big business instead of doing what is morally right for our planet and its inhabitants?  Unfortunately, I have a lot of questions but I don't have any answers.  Perhaps one of the things we human beings is cursed with is knowing that we die, many of us actually believing that when it happens, we are privileged to go to some marvellous Eden in the sky; an eternal Shang-La.  For those of you who believe this; ask yourself this question; why would any god in their right mind allow such self-indulging, self-righteous, self-destructing people to inhabit another kingdom, after they've destroyed the one in the whole frickin' Universe that appears to be habitable.  To me, if such a place does actually exist; it's most likely very small and for those who have truly led an outstanding selfless life.

          I admit I'm not a very smart man but even as dumb as I am, it's not difficult for me to see the signs that something is drastically and seriously wrong with our planet; our Earth; our home and that my life, my kid's lives, their children's lives are in dire straits; our very existence is jeopardized, threatened to the point where we might all die together even though none of us are residing in close proximity - now how sad is that?  Studies have shown that the average Canadian and American are using up 6 times more of the resources that we need for our existence; we are consuming far too much; buying useless crap made from unsustainable resources.  Even if we were to cut back to only 2 times the amount; it would not be enough.  In simple terminology, if the inhabitants of the Earth want to survive, we have to cut back even less than the full 6 times.

          Alas, I have no solutions; only gripes and no idea what I would do to alleviate the problems if I were one of the world's leaders; except perhaps, to make certain that my actions were for the good of all living creatures and not for powerful business ventures - what good are jobs if they are destructive to the planet and kill its creatures; not just humans but everything that has a right to live here.  And then again, like Van Gough, I could cut off the ear that only hears good things or failing that, I suppose I could don a pair or rose-coloured glasses - cheers, eh!