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!