There's still a few clots of snow hanging around our place, reminding me that this was one of the longest winters I've ever experienced - my shoulders still ache from shovelling the massive amounts of snow that kept on filling our driveway and walkways. Spring must have been hidden under the snow because very close to our shallow well, built of large stones, in the front yard, the daffodils appear to be emerging, since the majority of the snow has disappeared. Also, I notice a lot of birds have returned, their beautiful voices singing melodically to attract a mate - there's just something about the music of birds that warms my heart - even the chickens seem to have a happier cluck and the big old Barred Rock rooster is certainly doing his best to service his harem. However, I'm a little worried that the bats won't return, I understand they're rapidly dying off due to a terrible white-nose fungus epidemic. When we moved to New Brunswick, not knowing anything about bats and discovering we had probably hundreds of them living between the double roofs of our house and garage, I went on a mission to try to get them to leave, that is, until I learned that they are actually great to have around, especially since we live where blackflies and mosquitoes are not just abundant, but have a universe of their own.
I awoke a little earlier than usual this morning, a touch of melancholy and sadness, with Chelsea on my mind - no, not a woman - a boat. When I lived at the end of the dock at Newcastle Marina in Nanaimo, BC for many years, aboard my cutter-rigged ketch Dreamer II, we shared the slip with Chelsea II, an old mission boat that used to motor up and down the BC coast bringing the word of God to small villages and people cut off from the mainstream of civilization. I don't know how many times I hand-lettered Chelsea II on the stern for my friend Nils (he always kept his boat in pristine condition, especially since he used it for charters in those days and still does) but it was something I always enjoyed doing. I have a great many good memories of what I call my boat-life and sometimes feel somewhat saddened that it came to an end - it was a wonderful era and a special interlude in my life that I'll never forget.
There are five distinct eras to my life. The first is the childhood and teen era where I basically did as I was told or didn't; definitely a learning time and building of my character. The second (20-30 age) is still a discovery era, trying to figure out what I would like to do and not do with my life - my racetrack and art school era - very wild times. The third is the steady employment and business era (30-45) - essentially buying into the All-American-Dream of becoming a millionaire - good move and a bad move - being monetarily well-off doesn't really mean being well-off. The fourth is the boating era (45-65) - turning my back on what I'm expected to be by "society's standards" - what a brilliant move that move was - the weight I tossed off my back and into the sea was the best thing I had ever done. The fifth is a restoring of many of the values I either just carelessly threw aside or inadvertently lost (65-72 and growing older) - getting back to a more basic and meaningful life. (From age 30 on to 72, there have been two marriages, six kids and I lost count of girlfriends and other kids - not enough fingers and toes to keep in order even though they've all played a significant roll in my life - some good and some not so good.) I realize there is a sixth era on the horizon (72-?) and I have no idea how it will end for me - maybe good or maybe not so good - and sure, I have regrets and that's just fine because someone who hasn't, has most likely led somewhat of a boring life and mine has been anything but boring.
Overall, as I look out my studio window at the distant ridge (somewhat bare now, since my neighbours clear-cut their property), I find there is a contentment within me. I think it may have something to do with simplicity and getting back in touch to some degree with the natural order of things and Nature itself. Rather than listen to classical, rock n' roll', country and western and any other genre of music, no matter how beautiful or toe-tapping it may be, I have always been mesmerized by the trill of a bird, the buzz of a bee, the croak of a frog, etc. - their orchestration is completely pleasing and wondrous to my ear.
The touch of melancholy, when I awoke, is still within me but I don't mind - feeling a bit sad does not mean I'm depressed - I'm quite looking forward to the day - matter of fact, it's coffee time and I'm now going to head inside, give my wife Sarah a hug and a kiss and pour a little something extra into my coffee, which I call Elephant Balls - thanks to my friend Mark who introduced it to me when my brother turned 60 years old - cheers, eh!
Oh yeah, before I forget; thanks for the response and kind reviews from those who bought my hard-cover Limited Edition book Arctic Odyssey. I still have quite a few copies still for sale and the book comes with a soft-cover edition and an approximate 45 min. video of the Northwest Passage voyage of Dove III. The price is $75.00 plus $$20.00 for shipping and handling. Makes a great gift too!
I awoke a little earlier than usual this morning, a touch of melancholy and sadness, with Chelsea on my mind - no, not a woman - a boat. When I lived at the end of the dock at Newcastle Marina in Nanaimo, BC for many years, aboard my cutter-rigged ketch Dreamer II, we shared the slip with Chelsea II, an old mission boat that used to motor up and down the BC coast bringing the word of God to small villages and people cut off from the mainstream of civilization. I don't know how many times I hand-lettered Chelsea II on the stern for my friend Nils (he always kept his boat in pristine condition, especially since he used it for charters in those days and still does) but it was something I always enjoyed doing. I have a great many good memories of what I call my boat-life and sometimes feel somewhat saddened that it came to an end - it was a wonderful era and a special interlude in my life that I'll never forget.
There are five distinct eras to my life. The first is the childhood and teen era where I basically did as I was told or didn't; definitely a learning time and building of my character. The second (20-30 age) is still a discovery era, trying to figure out what I would like to do and not do with my life - my racetrack and art school era - very wild times. The third is the steady employment and business era (30-45) - essentially buying into the All-American-Dream of becoming a millionaire - good move and a bad move - being monetarily well-off doesn't really mean being well-off. The fourth is the boating era (45-65) - turning my back on what I'm expected to be by "society's standards" - what a brilliant move that move was - the weight I tossed off my back and into the sea was the best thing I had ever done. The fifth is a restoring of many of the values I either just carelessly threw aside or inadvertently lost (65-72 and growing older) - getting back to a more basic and meaningful life. (From age 30 on to 72, there have been two marriages, six kids and I lost count of girlfriends and other kids - not enough fingers and toes to keep in order even though they've all played a significant roll in my life - some good and some not so good.) I realize there is a sixth era on the horizon (72-?) and I have no idea how it will end for me - maybe good or maybe not so good - and sure, I have regrets and that's just fine because someone who hasn't, has most likely led somewhat of a boring life and mine has been anything but boring.
Overall, as I look out my studio window at the distant ridge (somewhat bare now, since my neighbours clear-cut their property), I find there is a contentment within me. I think it may have something to do with simplicity and getting back in touch to some degree with the natural order of things and Nature itself. Rather than listen to classical, rock n' roll', country and western and any other genre of music, no matter how beautiful or toe-tapping it may be, I have always been mesmerized by the trill of a bird, the buzz of a bee, the croak of a frog, etc. - their orchestration is completely pleasing and wondrous to my ear.
The touch of melancholy, when I awoke, is still within me but I don't mind - feeling a bit sad does not mean I'm depressed - I'm quite looking forward to the day - matter of fact, it's coffee time and I'm now going to head inside, give my wife Sarah a hug and a kiss and pour a little something extra into my coffee, which I call Elephant Balls - thanks to my friend Mark who introduced it to me when my brother turned 60 years old - cheers, eh!
No comments:
Post a Comment