OLD FEET AND OLD RUBBERS - TRUE FRIENDS

My Feet and My Boots

          What is the main thing that my feet and my boots have in common?  They are both old and worn out.  I purchased the pair of green rubber boots in 1995 when my feet were almost 54 years old and I've trod many, many, miles in them since then.  I was living on my 42' ketch, Dreamer II in Nanaimo, BC at the time of the purchase and they were bought with the sole purpose of my being the third member on an upcoming sailing adventure through the Northwest Passage with my two friends Winston Bushnell (skipper/owner/builder of Dove III) and George Hone (first mate).  Inside the boots can be found an insole and insulation, which is good for -20F and I can vouch for that.  I hate to part with these old green rubber boots; they are like good friends and have kept my feet warm and dry for many years.  While battling storms across the Bering Sea from Dutch Harbour in the Aleutian Islands to Nome, Alaska and first encountering the treacherous ice near Shishmaref Island located near Big and Little Diomede Islands in the Bering Strait, the boots kept my feet dry and warm.  Carefully hiking across many miles of ice floes, through icy water and over the frozen tundra, my old feet relied on these old rubber boots and they never let me down; well, except maybe once and that was when we sailed into the tiny harbour at Pangnirtung, which is located on the south eastern shores of Baffin Island.  The Inuit were in the process of digging out the harbour with a crane and when I went ashore, I soon found myself almost knee-deep in mud.  Have you ever tried to pull your boots and feet out with your hands while trying to turn around and retrace your footsteps?  Needless to say, Winston, George and many of the Inuit that were standing on the shore watching me trying to make it to dry ground got a real laugh when I toppled over and sat on my ass in the deep mud; it was a sticky, messy affair.  I guess one of the Inuit thought I was drunk because when I finally managed to reach firm ground he said to me with a wry grin on his face, "Would you like to trade some spirits for fish?"  It was hard to trudge away from Dove III, truly our little haven for 5.5 months and see her forlornly propped up on the shore at Pangnirtung, snowflakes whirling around her decks in the wind; tears welled up in my eyes, she was like my old rubber boots, another loyal friend.

          Since sailing the Northwest Passage, I wore these old rubber boots during the winters; more for keeping my feet dry than warm, since the temperatures on the west coast of BC seldom drop very much below 0 degrees.  The thick soles, although quite worn, are still water proof but the creases in the rubbers finally became holes and I have to be careful where I step now; make sure the puddles and streams are not very deep.  In the winter, even when the snow is knee-deep here at the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville, NB on Golden Unicorn Farm and the temperature has dropped even further than -20F, these old, green rubber boots have kept my feet warm and dry.  I wear them mostly for walking through chicken shit these days; chickens have absolutely no consideration; they just drop their little loads wherever and everywhere they please.  I have to be especially careful about the dog's land-mines while walking through the pasture, just might get some of that smelly stuff oozing through the holes in my boots.  

          At the moment, while these words hit the monitor, my fingers typing furiously away, my 70 year old feet are wearing these old boots.  I'm planning to retire them very soon and buy myself an identical pair if I can find them in a store.  Even after I'm sporting my brand new, green rubber boots, I'll still look at these old rubber boots fondly; I'll let someone else throw them into the garbage when I'm gone - cheers, eh!   

          

OH MY ACHY BACK

          This being old and getting older with each breath I take is certainly deflating whatever masculine prowess I still have remaining in this old body.  I can hardly believe that just a few years back, I was in pretty good physical shape and hardly ever took a deep breath, no matter how physically active I was.  Since my lower back has definitely become a problem and is never going to get better, what with five compacted disks and arthritis continually devouring my spinal column, each little nip hurting more and more, I'm now definitely forced to take it somewhat easy.  Hell, ever since about a week ago when the old back bone started pinching my sciatica nerve, making the upper part of my left leg numb, I can't believe how much my weak back is forcing me to slow down.  This morning, after what I thought was an appropriate enough time to take it easy, give my back a chance to heal, I attempted to lay the floor in the baby-barn.  But hell, there I was down on my hands and knees, barely started stapling the vapour barrier down, when I felt a burning sensation in my left hip.  However, desperately wanting to get something done to show that I'm at least making a little progress, ignoring the pain, I pressed on until after screwing down three 4'x8' sheets of plywood to the floor, I was forced to give up - just didn't want to risk the chance of really harming my back any more than it already is.
          Life here on Golden Unicorn Farm is still great despite my old back - wouldn't matter where the hell I was; it's not like I can leave the pain behind.  I'm enjoying it here at the base of Green Mountain with the chickens scurrying around, scratching here and scratching there and the goat forever complaining and trying to eat the dog's food whenever old Luki turns his back or runs along the fence line chasing a passing car.  I notice a couple of small songbirds have taken over a swallow's nest in the woodshed and I see the trees are budding now - soon be sprouting brand new leaves and blossoms.
          A friend of mine, Gary Stairs is bringing me an established grape vine in a few days, which I'm really looking forward to planting - mmmmmmm - grapes taste so good and I love to make grape wine - not much of a wine-drinker but I'm sure Sarah will enjoy it.  (Me, I'm kind of a beer-drinker, always have been and I guess I always will be.)  I don't know if the grape vine will produce any grapes this year; kind of depends on how much it gets traumatized being replanted.  Of course, living out in the country, even if the vine should produce a good crop of grapes, I understand raccoons and birds could be a problem; especially those masked-coons - they'll devour all the grapes in just one evening.  I'm hoping, even though the spot I've chosen to plant the grape vine is somewhat exposed, that the scent and barking of the dog will deter any grape-eating critters from hanging around here - haven't seen one yet.  I understand coons can be hell on the chickens too if they get into the chicken coop; kill every dang one of them.
          The sun has been trying to shine, despite the clouds that are scudding along; the wind is somewhat fierce and a touch cold too.  It's that time of year where the temperatures can climb quite high and drop just as low - go from sweating to shivering in a matter of minutes.  However, even though we had a slight skiff of snow over the weekend, spring has finally arrived.  I've swatted a few mosquitoes over the last couple of days but I have a feeling they were just scouts for the horde that will soon be attacking us and also harbingers of the black flies; boy, are they nasty!
          Even just sitting doesn't seem to alleviate my back discomfort for very long, can feel a bit of pain creeping down my left leg and my skinny butt is beginning to feel a little numb too.  Time to give up writing this blog and find something else to do, like collect the eggs and make sure all our farm critters have enough to eat and some fresh water.  Might even make a wee attempt at working on the baby-barn before supper - it seems my back actually feels better if I'm somewhat mobile.  Yup, I do believe it's time to stop whining and get on with the remainder of the day - cheers, eh!       

PORTRAITS OF LIFE'S PLEASURES AND TREASURES

         

New Table Saw and Newly Insulated Floor

          April is winding down as tight as a wet screw and believe me, I can feel that tightness in my back.  Since I've been fairly busy working around Golden Unicorn Farm, cleaning out the chicken coop, hauling wheelbarrows full of manure down to the garden area, stacking cedar logs in a pile, sawing boards and pounding them into place on the baby-barn, even cut a load of stringers to size and laid in the floor insulation, I guess I was suspecting my back to give out, which it begrudgingly did.  So on that note, I'm not very mobile today, which is too bad, because I feel as healthy as a horse and feel I have a lot of energy and drive to turn the baby-barn into my new studio.  Just sitting here at the computer hurts a great deal, so any real physical activities, other than feeding the animals and milking the goat, are on a standstill for the moment - gotta give my back a wee chance to straighten out and heal; my left leg from the hip to the knee is currently numb - "Aint this being old grand", I tells myself over and over, but try as I may to get some of my younger years' vitality back into place, even to a lesser degree, seems to be a task beyond my rapidly fading capabilities.

Portrait of My Grandson, Charlie - 4th Birthday

          I enjoy painting portraits and painting my grandson was no exception.  All decked out in his motorcycle garb, he's most likely dreaming about the day he grows up and straddles a Harley Davidson of his own.  He reminds me a bit about myself; I drove a murdercycle for 30 years - can you believe I never learned how to drive a car - motorcycles have always been my passion.  Charlie's birthday was on April 1st, April Fool's Day, but he's nobody's fool.  Since he lives in Vanderhoof, BC and I had to mail the painting, I was unable to post his portrait on the Internet until now - not much of a surprise gift if everyone sees it on this blog or Facebook.  Not sure what Charlie thinks about the portrait, most likely sooner have a toy motorcycle to play with but his mom and dad really liked it - so that's a good thing.

          Painting portraits has always been challenging for me because there always seems to be a point, where the likeness can be lost and getting it back can oft time prove fruitless.  As I built up the delicate washes on Charlie's face, I can remember reaching a point in the painting that I knew, if I didn't lay the subtle colours on properly, his portrait would most likely have to be started over.  Photographs of young kid's faces are often times very smooth and the eyebrows so light that details are lost and have to be imagined.  As strange as it seems, a person might think that a black leather jacket would be easy to paint but it's not - black may be the predominate colour but unless other colours are used, the painting of the jacket can't be properly executed - so painting Charlie did prove to be somewhat difficult.

My Daughter Brandi 

           Portraits make great keepsakes.  Photographs tucked away in photo albums seldom get looked at and now with everyone snapping countless digital photos of their friends and loved ones and then downloading them to the Internet or burning them on a disk, making it possible for those photos to easily disappear from your computer by a simple mistake - something as easy as hitting the wrong key.  The portrait of Brandi was painted many years ago, shortly after she began going to school.  Since kids from a very early age onward enjoy using crayons, coloured pencils, felt pens and paint, they usually spend quite a bit of their time creating their own little images, and Brandi wasn't the exception in that regard.  But what does a person do with all their creations after they've been attached to the fridge with a magnet?  Although most of Brandi's pieces of art were lost or thrown out, I decided to keep some of her art and make a collage of it.  Although I never really finished the painting of her, I'm still quite satisfied with the results of our joint efforts and still to this day get a chuckle when I read what she said about school.  Brandi is now in her 30's and has grown up to be a beautiful woman with a child of her own and much of her personality is still the same as when I painted her long ago - to me, she will always be a work of art in the making.

          I don't know how many of the people who read this blog have ever thought about having a portrait of themselves, a loved one or friend, even have a special pet painted.  I don't know about you, but a painted portrait is seldom put in a drawer or a box of mementos; it's usually found hanging on a wall and even though we age, just can't help getting older (I know the lb. of make-up I apply daily to hide my wrinkles isn't working for me) one never tires from looking at that portrait.  One of the last portraits I was commissioned to paint was of a woman, about my own age, who was dying, from cancer.  She gave me a photograph of her when she was much younger and very beautiful - it was a gift to her mother so she could remember her as she once looked and not some older woman, her body now ravaged and emaciated by cancer.  

          It's odd, my wife Sarah and I went to a graveside gathering a couple of days ago and as we strolled hand in hand through the cemetery, reading some of the monuments, me being 25 years older than her, we discussed the eventuality of one of us dying and what our wishes were.  When we lived on the west coast, my plan was to be cremated but here on the east coast it looks as if cremation is a lot more expensive than being buried, so we chatted about that.  I've never been too concerned with what will become of my body once I'm dead, but I did notice there was a touch of comfort as I looked at the people gathered around the casket containing someone they loved and which would soon be lowered into the ground; their presence gone forever but not forgotten.  The thoughts of both of us sharing the same plot seemed like a good idea, not just because of the cost but I have to admit, there was somewhat of a good feeling upon seeing some of graves held not just the man and wife but also some of their kids.  I realize dead is dead but knowing that love has been so strong through a husband and wife's journey together, to see it actually carved in stone, gave me an odd sensation, a feeling of even more love for my wife.  We still haven't decided anything as of yet and most likely if Sarah outlives me by many years, she will probably remarry and that's fine - just knowing, while I'm still alive, that she would like to be buried beside me when her time comes makes me feel quite wonderful and if her body winds up some place else, I'll know that while I'm still breathing air, she still truly loves me at this moment in her life.  I've painted a couple of portraits of my Sarah and I have to say, even though one of them is not completed, they put a smile on my face and warmth in my heart.  It's kind of nice to know that after I've gone, departed from this world, that when she looks at them, she will hopefully have the same feeling as I, the one who painted her with loving brush strokes.

          Yeah, to me, portraits are something special to be cherished throughout the years, even after the person depicted has left this Earth.  Somewhere through my life journey, which admittedly has been very chaotic at times, I lost all my photographs and some other personal things regarding my life at home with my mom and dad and sisters.  I'd started a double portrait of my grandfolks with their log home in the background but since this photo was one of the many that departed for places unknown, it will never be completed.  To me it really doesn't matter because I can pull them up in my memory's eye any time I choose.  But I have to say, I do miss those photos because as I hard as I try to visualize some of my family, like their voices, they've almost completely disappeared.  If it hadn't been for my sisters, Connie and Fern, who gave me a huge photo album they scrapbooked for my 70th birthday, I would not have any photos of those days.  For Connie, who died of cancer while putting the album together, that some of her last thoughts were of me, makes this album very special.  

          I never intended to write so much personal stuff about portraits; it was supposed to be a simple blog, almost an advertisement of sorts to see if anyone would like me to paint a portrait for them.  There; I've said it; I paint portraits and as much as I would like to do them for free, like everyone else, I need to earn a little money.  So, if I haven't put anyone off with my blog and they're perhaps interested in commissioning me to paint a portrait for them - just leave a comment on the blog, get in touch on Facebook or send me an email and we can discuss prices, sizes and whatever else needs knowing - cheers, eh! 

MAUREEN CAIRNS; I STILL HAVEN'T GROWN UP!

          As one travels down the twisty, hilly, bumpy road of life, have you ever wondered when you came to a crossroad if you made the right decision and what direction your life may have taken if you'd turned either right or left instead of just carrying on?  I don't know about you, but I've often wondered about some of the decisions I made that I know for a fact would have had a tremendously different effect on my life.  It's a little too late to beat myself up (besides I bruise easily) about some of the disastrous decisions I made and it's way too late to shift my old body into reverse and back down the road I've already travelled.  However, there is one decision I made that sometimes toys with my curiosity and it took place when I was a young man of 21 years.  Back then, age 21 denoted that I became a man, regardless of how immature I may have been, and thinking back to that early year, yeah, I was really still very immature - why hell, I'd hardly started shaving!  Over the years, I've often thought that the most important decision a person can make is the mate they've chosen to hopefully and successfully spend their life with, have kids with, share dreams and desires, you know, that special someone to depend on and have them depend on you.
          When I was 21, I worked on a racetrack, was in my 3rd year of art school and I drank a lot for a skinny little guy with no bum that weighed 125 lbs. soaking wet - dang, I often got drunk twice a day - my second home besides my tack room at the racetrack was the Legion near the corner of Hastings and Renfrew in Vancouver, BC.  I liked the Legion; a place where just guys hung out, threw darts, played shuffle-board, cursed and smoked while the waiter loaded the small round tables with an endless supply of beer  - only 20cents for a large glass - No Women Allowed!  Many a time I heard a disgruntled girlfriend or wife banging on the Legion door, demanding to be let in so they could see, no, more likely to grab their boyfriend or husband by their tender ear lobe and drag their sorry-ass home.  I had wild friends and wild times then; what was the mad rush to settle down?  However, although being with the guys, drinking, gambling and carousing was a fun time, women at that age was a constant priority on my mind and I had a girl friend; very straight-laced, level-headed, affectionate and very nice - her name and the person at the crossroad of that time in my life was Maureen Cairns.  Did I also mention she was quite good looking and could fill a pair of Wrangler jeans more than wonderfully; her heart-shaped ass made more than my heart throb?
          Maureen was about the same age as me and was the first woman I loved as a legal man, even though I had to show my birth certificate to get into the Legion - looked like a teenager with dabs of toilet paper stuck to my face - razor cuts from trying to shave the fuzz off.  I drove a motorcycle then, and thinking back, I sometimes wonder why I'd survived while some of my friends had been killed while driving drunk - in those days, the cops didn't do much if they pulled you over, just confiscated the beer and said you shouldn't be driving.  Oops, I'm getting side-tracked but perhaps that's the reason she refused to ride on the back of my bike - nope - she never did plant her nice heart-shaped ass on the back seat of my bike.
           Now, back then, I was kind of an artsy guy but never really a hippy - turned down the drugs - especially LSD, which had been offered on quite a few occasions - some of my friends thought I would do some amazing art but until you've seen an ambulance pull up and drag off one of your friends that's taken a permanent mind-expanding trip - alcohol seemed the best way to go.  However, like I said, Maureen was very straight-laced, hardly even took a drink.  We'd been going together for about a year; it was pretty serious; often had dinner with her mom, two sisters and brother, even slept on their couch at times.  I can remember looking through some catalogues at engagement rings and through jewelry store windows with her checking out the diamond rings too.  Well come Christmas, I imagine her hopes were set on an engagement ring and me, being the immature man that I was, and don't forget an artsy-man too, I bought myself a brand new 35mm Pentax camera and her, a cheap silver bracelet with a little dangly heart - sure didn't look as good or feel as good as her heart-shaped ass.  Needless to say, that's my conundrum and what this blog is about - here I was standing at a crossroad with a good woman at my side - I'd bought me great camera that I just sold a few years ago for about 10 bucks and she said, "Come and see me when you grow up!"
          Well, the jury is still out on that one - doesn't look, even at 70 years of age. that I'm ever going to entirely "grow up" - maybe it's a good thing or maybe it's not such a good thing - I don't know but here I am, living at the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville, NB with a great wife that  I love very much - she's quite a bit younger and I have a feeling if I really acted my age, was to "grow up", she most likely wouldn't love me the same way.  Now, I have no idea what became of Maureen Cairns; last time I saw her, I was stocking shelves at K-Mart just before I got fired and headed to Lethbridge, Alberta where I married my first wife Doreen not too long afterwards.  She was a good wife and I loved her dearly (still do and always will) but that was another crossroad and I sometimes think about that decision too.  It's not like life comes with a book of instructions but damn - it sure does come with a whole lot of questions - sometimes we answer them correctly and sometimes we don't.  I doubt very much that anyone reading this blog knows Maureen or that she reads it, but if she or anyone else does that knows her, I'd really like to hear about her and how she lived her life - she was very grown up and I was very immature - cheers, eh!

SPRING TIME DREAMS AND LIVING

          The sun just rising over the ridge is simply dazzling this morning; its golden shafts slanting through the nearby budding forest and across the meadows are warming the frozen earth.  The trilling of birds in search of mates can be heard along with the cacophonous clucking of our chickens; brooding is first on their minds; an exciting time of the year.  Although the air still felt tingly, chilly upon my face and bare hands as I fed the dog and the chickens and milked the goat, despite the snowfall a few days ago, I would have to say that spring has finally arrived.  Not only did I hear the joyful sounds of returning wild birds, I also noticed while putting the garbage can away, some brave flowers beginning to burst through the earth.  All this rebirth is making me extremely jealous; no rebirth for this old man.  Although I don't feel like I'm just putting in time until my time runs out, I'm forced, like it or not, to realize that I've reached the winter of my years and the springtime of my youth has forever vanished.
          I have a lot on my plate, many projects to accomplish this year, before the first flakes of winter snow arrive.  And as I sit here writing this blog and listening to a chicken laying an egg, the dog barking at a passing truck, I am thinking about the things I have to do today: 1) Paint another picture to send off in the mail this coming Friday (one has to earn a buck)  2) Muck out the chicken coop and the goat's stall (they will be happy)  3) Nail on the baby-barn's exterior wall (my new studio will make me happy).  Not sure if I will get all of those chores completed today but I know, regardless of my aches and pains, I will accomplish most of them, unless of course some friends drop by for a visit and waylay my plans.
          A friend of mine recently told me "all my chores and another family is what keeps me young".  When I said that even my dreams seem to be disappearing, I was told, "If you don't have any more dreams, then that's when you're going to die."  I don't know about staying young but I do believe there's a lot of truth in not having any dreams, nothing to wake up to in the morning to get a person excited, at least put a glimmer of a glint in their eye.  Being a small time farmer here at Golden Unicorn Farm, where like a kid, I still believe in unicorns and lots of other fanciful things, I've probably given myself enough projects and dreams to last me till the end of my life and beyond.  I can remember just the other day as I sat in the kitchen by the wood stove enjoying a hot cup of coffee with my wife Sarah, I said, "I wonder which one of these rooms I'll die in; I guess if it's in the house, it will most likely be in the bathroom while taking a dump; I think a lot of people die that way."  That's where and how my father died; had a jammer on the great white porcelain bowl with his pants down around his ankles.  Now some people may find that disgusting and demeaning but it's not really - sometimes having an anal orgasm if one has been plugged up for a seriously long time, can feel almost as wonderful as a sexual orgasm.  And besides, from what I understand, often when one dies, the cadaver relieves itself anyway - so dropping a smelly, steaming, 16-coiler into the toilet bowl while taking one's final dying breath is actually very thoughtful and polite - nothing to clean up afterward, just flush it down the drain.
          The sun has been temporarily blocked by a passing cloud and since I can almost see my breath in my cold studio while writing this blog, I believe I'll end it now and take myself into the house for a hot cup of java before resuming the rest of the chores that need doing today.  Ah, taking a deep breath and letting it free, feels good, simply grand; yup, I'm still alive - may not be that good on a dance floor any more or work as hard as I used to but damn, I'm far from being useless - time for me to get on with the remainder of the day - cheers, eh!
                        

EASTER TIME AND TIME TO GIVE THANKS - NOT FOR WHAT WE RECEIVE BUT TO THE MAN THAT'S RESPONSIBLE - JESUS CHRIST

          It's a beautiful morning and I'm itchin' to get started on finishing the baby-barn; my future art studio, where hopefully, come next winter when the icy cold wind starts blowin' and the snow is fallin, I'll be as snug as a bug and be able to concentrate on some of my artistic endeavours that sometimes go whirlin' round and round inside my addled head.  However, after checking out the material resources, I found that I'm more than a little bit short - this could well be another how to build a somewhat major project with very little money.  The baby-barn needs windows, doors, a floor, loft and the exterior and interior walls need finishing, not to mention the high ceiling and the insulation.  I can hear my wallet and bank account weeping  and the credit card is going boo-hoo as well or is it laughing; I think the bank likes it when we're all strung out by our thread-bare britches and distressed about how are we going to pay our bills, especially with all that interest just adding up.
          I put my brand new Sears' Craftsman table saw together yesterday but since I'm somewhat of a putsch when it comes to putting something together, except jigsaw puzzles, I'm still, as yet, haven't even plugged the electrical cord in, never mind push the big red start button.  The table saw was neatly packed in a big box and came with a great looking instruction book with a lot of highlighted "not to do" instructions as well.  At least I thought everything looked clear in the instruction book until I started putting the saw together.  Turned out that all the parts, nuts and bolts and other accessories were listed ABCD etc. but when it came to installing them correctly, the diagram schematics, instead of letters, used numbers.  However, as per usual, I managed to put it together with a lot of things, hopefully not essential parts, left over.  I didn't bother with the laser system, not that it looked too complicated but I just didn't think I would really use it - one less thing to break down.  Having had a touch of bad luck with the last table saw I had, I bought a 5 year all inclusive warranty on it, so no matter what happens to the table saw, Sears will either repair or replace it.
          Here on Golden Unicorn Farm, where the deer and the unicorns play and quite often can be heard a discouraging word and the skies can be cloudy all day, and as I look out  my window at our 50 acres with only a few mounds of snow remaining in the shady areas, I can't help but think how fortunate I am to be living here surrounded by peace and quiet, especially when many people in other parts of the world don't have a real home, no food, very little water and their lives are a constant struggle from morning to night, 24/7.  It's Easter and I couldn't help thinking about Jesus Christ yesterday, wearing not much more than a crown of thorns, as He painfully lugged His heavy cross  to Calvary, where He was crucified.  I have a lot of problems regarding the churches' views on God and Jesus but regardless of any religious connotations that I may have been educated with over the years, I believe Christ was a wonderful person with very creditable opinions and excellent values - I don't have a problem remembering or looking up to such a man - He definitely makes a great mentor.
          Sarah and the girls decorated Easter eggs last night and she may have started a new trend - I wouldn't be surprised if it's the first time eggs were painted and decorated without their shells - yup that's right, you read it correctly - they decorated the eggs without their shells.  As unlikely as it may seem, the eggs are still edible since they were decorated with organic colours - fruit juice and such.  However, as much as I like eating eggs, I think I'll pass on them if any are offered.  It seems funny, after that last paragraph I wrote about Jesus Christ, that more value and emphasis is put on an Easter bunny - kind of like Christmas isn't it; where the emphasis is put on a fat, jolly man dressed in a red suit?  We can thank the media hype and our greedy merchants for that reasoning - getting lots of gifts and stuffing our faces seems to be the attitude of the multitude and my hand's up, I'm as guilty as the next person.
          Well, it's a beautiful day, time to get off my skinny butt and mosey on out to the barnyard, maybe collect some eggs and measure up the baby-barn, get an idea what it will cost for some of the materials that I won't be able to scrounge.  And to anyone that has read this far - have a good Easter and it really wouldn't hurt to give thanks to Jesus, because He's really responsible for this day; not some furry little rabbit that we think gives us luck if we use one of its legs for a key chain - cheers, eh!
      
         

THE BABY-BARN IS LEVEL AND THERE'S AN ART AUCTION HAPPENING

Baby Barn After Being Levelled

          Dang!  Just as I finished feeding the dog and cat, letting out the chickens and then sitting in the barn milking the goat, I looked out the door and what did I see; snow beginning to fall.  Thought I'd seen the last of the white stuff until next winter but no, it's slowly floating down like big feathers after a pillow fight.  

         I started working on my new studio yesterday, managed to rip out the loft in the baby-barn, where even a midget would have had to duck, the ceiling was so low.  I was still in the progress of pulling nails with a crowbar and hammer, when a couple of friends of mine, Lyndon Canam and Clayton Farrel showed up on their 4-wheelers with some tools to level out the building.  They had 2 heavy duty jacks, an extra long crowbar and a mighty sharp chain saw for the job; plus my trusty 20 lb. sledge hammer, rusty shovel, Stanley level and stack of cement blocks also came in handy.  Talk about a neighbourly community; here I thought I'd be borrowing a couple of jacks and then doing the job myself, which believe you me, it would most likely have taken a novice like me a month of Sundays to get that little baby-barn in place.  However, the way Lyndon and Clayton tackled the job, it was easy to see that levelling out the baby-barn was not the first building they had ever levelled - no sirree - they had the skids that were used to drag the building down from Bill Leeman's place disconnected and drug out from underneath it in a short time.  Lyndon's a big strong man, stands 6'2" and it wouldn't have surprised me in the least if he had just grabbed a corner of the building and lifted it up, while Clayton and I shoved the cement blocks and shims underneath.  If someone had of stopped by to watch the process, the way my two friends were going at the job and me just a standing there most of the time, they would have thought I was their supervisor and nothing could have been further from the truth.  When it was over and the boys (not exactly boys - I think Clayton is about the same age as me and Lyndon, even though he's cordially younger, aint no spring chicken either) I sat inside the baby-barn having a wee break.  Lyndon, especially since he had worked up a bit of a sweat lifting cement blocks and pounding away with the 20 lb. sledge hammer, and I, savoured a couple of my cold home-made brews.  I didn't offer them any money for their help because I was certain they just wanted to do me a favour and help out.  However, I asked Sarah if she could bake them something, which she did - a batch of fresh hot-cross buns and cookies - plus she gave them some fresh eggs as well - seemed the least we could do after all their help.  Yep, moving to Fosterville, getting close to 2 or is it 3 years now, was one of the best things Sarah and I could have done - the people here are real friendly and helpful (as I cup my hand alongside my mouth and quietly say) even if they do know everyone's business - and sometimes that's a good thing - person gets into trouble, needs a helping hand - someone is sure to show up and help out.
          Yesterday was nice and warm but even though I was sweating off and on, as soon as I stopped working, I could feel the cold creeping in.  Yep, winter hasn't left our doorstep yet and even though I'm the neighbourly type, I'd kind of like to give it a good kick in the behind and move it along - I feels winter has overstayed its welcome.

Midnight Rider

           There is an auction for this painting being held on my Facebook page but there has been a little confusion so I'll be excepting bids here on the blog too - then copy paste from either there or here or here to there.  So far, a bid for $25.00 has been bid for Midnight Rider by Darla Davis.  The bidding ends April 7, 2012 at midnight New Brunswick time.  So, clearing my throat, I exclaim in a loud voice, "$25.00 has been bid by the long leggy blonde in the front row, now, who'll give me 30, 30, 35, 40 dollar bill for this one of a kind, truly original Len Sherman piece of art? It's 12"x16" in size on a quarter inch thick board and painted with acrylics.  Keep in mind there is a $20.00 shipping charge for anyone who lives a long way from Fosterville, and believe me ladies and gentlemen - just about anywhere is a long way from Fosterville, New Brunswick - cheers, eh!"

MYSELF TO BLAME

          I went to the Fosterville Community Hall Jamboree yesterday afternoon; it was a good time.  Many of the women living in the area put on a great spread of food - buffet style - baked beans being the main stay and desserts that just plain made your mouth water.  The two hours of musical entertainment was top-notch; the mood congenial, humorous and definitely wholesome - a little bit of dancing but not a drop of alcohol to be seen - who says people can't have a good time just being themselves, acting normal.  Unfortunately for me I guess, I'm kind of a quiet guy; don't mingle well - hardly what some might call a schmoozer - so while most people were visiting over dinner and afterwards, Sarah and Jessica having to prepare the Community Hall at the end of the event for a 4-H Senior's Dinner for today, I quietly slipped out the front door and trod on down the road towards home.
          Besides the band called Side Effects, we listened to the music of a gentle man, by the name of Jack McAffee, a New Brunswick Hall of Fame honorary.  Besides strumming and picking his guitar in a cordial manner, Jack also wrote many of the songs he sang for us - the man certainly does have an overdose of talent.  One of the songs he wrote was inspired by the words on a fridge magnet and I gather he must live quite a distance from Fosterville because he mentioned "the drive was a long and bumpy road".  Funny, his words sort of stuck with me, but since I don't sing well or play a musical instrument, instead of a song, a poem began forming in my mind.  It's been a long time since I've written any poems and I guess if I was to put all the ones I've written over the years together, I'd probably have a small book of poetry.  Now lots of people don't like to read poetry and I've heard  it called very egotistical but whether it is or not, sometimes words like brush strokes on a canvas start forming an image inside this old cranium and like a magician, I just have to release the magic.  I have no idea if the poem is good or bad but maybe someone reading this blog will relate to it as I do - I mean most people's lives go down or up a "long and bumpy road".    

Myself to Blame

The road has been a long and bumpy ride

Sometimes alone or with someone by my side

Some curves and twists too much to handle

Without a prayer book or a candle

I oft times veered off course, then crashed in flames

With just myself, myself to blame

Yeah, the road has been hard and long

Searchin’ for a place to belong

I’ve travelled here, I’ve travelled there

Guess I’ve travelled most everywhere

Sometimes cautiously and with care

But most times I simply took a dare

And that’s when I veered off course, crashed in flames

With just myself, myself to blame

I’ve experienced valley lows and mountain sighs

Meadow moon glows and cliff-hanger cries

And never knowin’ what’s commin’ round the bend

Riding the bumpy curves and twists to the end

I guess is what it’s all about to me my friend

But that’s okay, that’s alright

As long as I’m continuing towards the light

Sometimes veering off course and crashing in flames
Aint so bad, with just myself, myself to blame

                                             
          For those of you who have read this far, I hope you enjoyed my little poem.  There have been times over the years during my life when I was of course influenced by people, which made me take a bad turn and stray from the road but I can't really blame them for the outcomes; I made the choices.  Comes right down to it, we're all accountable or at least we should be for the actions of our own deeds.  I sometimes have blamed others, tried to shift the load on my shoulders onto someone else but even when I've done that, I've realized I've only been lying to myself.  But I don't deny it; I've got a little coward existing, hiding out within the rib bones near to my heart that sometimes pops his big ugly yellow head out and puts words into my mouth that makes me ashamed of what I said and how I reacted; some of those words still stick in my craw, enough to make me choke, turn crimson red and sputter when I think about it.

          Since Sarah is the hostess of the 4-H dinner for seniors very shortly, she baked a bunch of muffins smeared with colourful sweet icing and is probably, as these words hit the monitor, preparing the remainder of the dinner at the Community Hall - either soup - although I expect baked beans will be the main stay once again.  I expect like yesterday, after stuffing myself with baked beans and other tasty morsels, my rear end will once again become a musical instrument - albeit - I doubt very much that the Side Effects or Jack would want me harmonizing with them - cheers, eh!