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!