STORMS, INSECTS AND A NUDE

          It's Sunday, supposedly by Biblical terminology, the day of rest.  The way I'm feeling this morning, especially after working pretty hard for an old guy, the last six days, I'm all in favour for taking the day off, kinda just sit around after the barnyard chores are tended to; chickens need to be fed and watered, same as the dog, cat and the goat, which of course, also needs to be milked.  Apparently, according to the good book, those are the only chores that are allowed to be done.  I often hike up Green Monday on a Sunday morning after the chores are tended to, and as much as I feel like visiting my friend George Probst, I just know the black flies, the mosquitoes and the little bastardly no-see-ums will just be a swarming all around me, thinking I'm their Sunday meal.  Which brings to mind, since our lawn needed a good mowing a few days ago, I got out the old electric mower and began cutting the grass during a heavy mist.  Then much to my chagrin, above the clanging and hum of the mower, I detected thunder rumbling in the distance and a heavier drizzle began to fall.  And, before too long, large drops of rain began to pummel down like the beginning of Noah's deluge.  Now, most folk would have high-tailed to a dry place, but me, I just looked up at the flashing lightning, listened to the roaring thunder and licked the rain from my lips, smiled and thought, aint no damned pesky flying insects gonna sting the crap and suck the blood out of me in this downpour.  Not sure if I was just a fool to have been mowing the lawn under those inclement conditions and I have to admit it was a bit worrying as I mowed the grass under the tall trees; lightning has a discriminate way of searching out tall objects; could have got myself lit up like an electric bulb on a dark night.

5 Stages of 4'x8' Hand-Lettered Sign

          Besides dodging blood-suckin' black flies and other man-eatin' flying insects, I locked myself away in my almost air-tight little studio and made a few bucks manufacturing signs.  I hand-lettered a sign for Laura in Canterbury that will soon be on the northern wall of her store.  During these times of one of the few people on the globe, trying to avoid to leave my big oily, greasy befouled footprint behind when I'm gone, I'm attempting to return to some of the old ways of lettering signs; mainly with the use of brushes, paints and a wee bit of paint-thinner; really cuts down on the wastage.  Hell, when I do computer-generated vinyl letters, I toss out as much vinyl as I use for the letters, if not more.  At least with paint, even if I spill a bit of it on myself, which occasionally happens, probably 90% of the paint is used.  Also, there's a lot more satisfaction in deftly swishing, twisting and dabbing a brushing to create letters than just sitting at a keyboard, then just pushing some buttons and letting some machine take over.  I may be an old-fashioned son-of-a- bitch at times but to my way of thinking, sometimes the old ways are often times a better way to go - falling in love with machines is like turning our backs on nature and we can all see where that's heading now - to hell in a hand basket or whatever that saying is.

Laura's Finished Sign

         Just before Sarah and I motored off to the Farmer's Market in Woodstock on Friday, I took a photo of the sign as it sat on the ass end of our truck "Buddy".  Now I don't know about you or whoever else reads this sign but I think I might be a touch hesitant about eating the food that was prepared in that cafe - almost seems that after a person has ate their fill, they might be a bit more than plugged, especially if they need plumbing supplies to relieve their indigestion - Laura and I actually had a pretty good laugh over it; that gal certainly does have a good sense of humour.  I lettered 11 other signs but they're rather generic; nothing as fancy as the General Store sign.  But since there were 8 identical signs, I have to admit the lick and stick computer- generated vinyl signs were somewhat more satisfyingly executed - boring comes to mind when I have to hand-paint 8 signs that all have the same message.  Almost forgot to mention that I actually hand-lettered another sign too.  It was on a plastic bug deflector for one of those new boxy looking cube vans, which said The "Cubicle" - silver letters to match the colour of the van.  Money wise, here on Golden Unicorn Farm, it was a good week, even sold a wee painting, depicting a nude torso of a woman.  Hardly ever sell a nude painting; they're not for everyone but I sure as hell like painting them - there's just something beautiful and natural about a nude woman and it's timeless too when they shuck their duds and strut their stuff - cheers, eh!

MY FIRST CARVED SIGN

Carved Cedar Signs 8"x24"

          I've always admired carved wooden signs but have never tried to do one professionally; if the trees are still standing from my boyhood days, there's a possibility that my initials and the girl I was in love with, which I carved into them at the time, may still be seen.  Other than that, occasionally whittling at a piece of wood while sitting around a camp-fire, I've never really carved anything.  My friend George Probst, who is a master craftsman, has carved many beautiful designs, especially into the furniture that he's built.  When I asked him to show me the techniques of carving, he was more than happy to do so.  Not being too confident that I could actually carve a sign properly that I'd designed for a fellow, George happily took the commission and did a wonderful job; it's so perfect, one would almost think it was done by a machine, other than a couple of simple carving tools, which incidentally, George had manufactured.  After he showed me how to carve the letter "B" on the bottom sign and I was to practise with the other letters, I decided, since we have a large dog, even though it's highly unlikely he would ever hurt anyone, I carved BEWARE of DOG.  For a first attempt, I am quite happy with the results and now am looking forward to advertise that I can carve signs and if it's too difficult, I'm sure George will take over the job.  I was going to paint the letters white but after staining the cedar boards, I've decided to leave the natural wood showing, especially since the grain is so beautiful.  However, realizing that before too long, being outside in the sun and rain every day, the bare wood will eventually turn grey, I'm going to give the letters 2 or 3 coats of UV protected varathane.

          One of the things that I really enjoyed while carving the sign, it's somewhat similar to what I'm feeling when I'm lettering a sign with a brush, is relaxation.  Automation and computerization has pretty much taken over the sign business today and since it's more like a hobby now, I've happily gone back to the old ways, when talent was more of a value.  I still use the computer, don't get me wrong; it's a wonderful tool.  However, for complete satisfaction for a job well done, I much prefer to use my own given talents and material wise, there is far less waste.  It would be great to get a couple of sign jobs for this coming winter because I think it would be great fun to spend a lot of time with George in his workshop listening to his stories and philosophies while whittling away on a piece of wood.  Somehow, even when I was a younger man, something appealed to me whenever I saw an old man carving and now that I am, I can see why it was so appealing - relaxing is certainly a wonderful way to pass time now - cheers, eh!             

THE MEANING OF LIFE

          Have you ever wondered about "The Meaning of Life".  Juan Ponce de Leon sailed with Christopher Columbus on his second voyage to the New World (something I didn't know about, besides several other billion things) where he remained in Hispaniola and became governor of nearby Puerto Rico (Boriquien) in 1508.  He heard of a magical water source (Fountain of Youth) that was located in Florida, which he thought was an island.  Poor old Juan, I guess he didn't find the Fountain of Youth because he and his men were attacked by Indians and he died in Cuba from his wounds.  I suppose if one were to find and drink the water from the Fountain of Youth, one wouldn't worry about searching for the "meaning of life" or if they did, they would have one hellova long time to discover it.  I've never really concerned myself too much about growing old, trying to look younger and act younger even though quite a few people have told me if I died my hair, I would look a lot younger - to me, I'd still be just an old man with young looking hair - hardly worth the effort of continually dying it.  However, I did go searching for "the meaning of life", well, just my own life.
          For the first 40 odd years of my life, I just trundled about, going with the flow, banging through them with little or no concern of where I was headed.  Unfortunately, when I didn't really have a goal, other than planning on retiring with a million bucks jammed into my wallet (which I almost did until I lost it all) I hurt a lot of people - not intentionally, but hurt them just the same.  With my tail between my legs, I retreated from society and a lot of what it stood for as I tried to get my thoughts and feelings together.  With a lot of time on my hands then, I went searching for "the meaning of my life" - where I'd gone so very wrong and where I wanted to head to from that day forward.  But you know, I discovered we all have our own personal ruts and some of them are just so damn deep, it's almost impossible to get out of them and change our direction, at least that's what I found out about myself.
          30 years have gone by, since I went in search of  "the meaning of my life" but I did discover some things that had some very good value and of course others that had little value.  I discovered having gobs of bucks wasn't the answer because I've managed to survive thus far on a fairly meagre yearly income over the years - but fortunately, I'm quite talented - and oh yeah - talent is not "the meaning of life" for me either - it's a gift and something I've worked hard at, which sometimes I give away or earn a few bucks - depends on the job and sometimes who it's for.  I've been lucky -  I've loved and been loved in return and that could be a good portion of "the meaning of my life" - I know it certainly helps a person get through the day - coffee's just an addiction, a cop-out for not beginning the day properly - oh yeah, stimulates of any kind are not "the meaning of my life" - if anything, they've almost ended my life on occasion.
          But what is the "Meaning of Life?"   I'm a religious man in my own sense - not the church-going variety who don't question anything, but certainly an appreciator of this wondrous world and the entire Universe.  Searching for "the meaning of my life", I doubt will take me to a heaven for an eternity of bliss and meeting all those that were a big part of my life while I was alive - and hell - well hell, that just scares the hell out of me if such a place actually exists.  As hard as I've searched for "the meaning of my life", I have to admit there doesn't seem to be any real purpose - I don't feel that I'm any more important than a vein on the leaf of a gigantic tree but I do realize that the tree needs me and I need the tree.  I remember a long time ago when I was working as an artist animating films, a woman artist in the same department told me that she thought I was highly intelligent until she heard me speak - being a talented artist and having brains are two different categories - however, that did teach me a lesson - listen well and try to converse intelligently  - still not "the meaning of my life" though.
          I guess if there is "meaning to my life", which might be equally of value to other people, I would have to say, whatever good resides within - pass it on - teach others but not be egotistical about it.  I'm not sure, rather doubtful actually, that I'll ever find the "Meaning of Life" but that doesn't matter, I still enjoy learning new things and searching for "the meaning of my life" and I have to say, it's certainly wonderful when I discover something that adds real meaning to it - cheers, eh!
          I've had some real soul-searching times during my life, smacks that have knocked me flat on my back, some of which were my own mistakes and others unprepared for, which I'm certain many other people have experienced as well.  I'd be interested in reading about other people's search for the "Meaning of Life" who read this blog because I doubt very much there is just one reason for the "Meaning of Life" and I'm still searching - please feel free to leave a comment at the end of this blog.   
         
         
                   

IT'S TIME TO UNITE

          I expect most people who read this blog have heard about the Alberta tar sands or oil sands.  I for one believe the damage being done isn't just a provincial issue but an international issue - every country in the world, no matter how small, should be rejecting this venture and we, the Canadian people, should be ashamed of ourselves for letting this abominable and inhuman act occur.  I firmly believe it is in this planet's and every living creature's interest that it comes to a screeching halt, even if it means slamming on the brakes so hard, it causes a major oil crisis.   I live in the small province of New Brunswick, Canada and I find it incredibly unbelievable that our premier, David Alward, who I understand is or was a farmer (someone who should respect the land) is in favour of fracking (extracting oil from shale).  The ongoing destruction of Alberta, the daily ritual of turning the province into a toxic wasteland should be a severe lesson to him and his followers - a good not to do lesson.  To think, I actually voted for this man, now disgusts me!  He is quoted as saying in an interview, "I would love to see more young people in New Brunswick or more New Brunswickers in general being able to work here ... instead of having to go to other parts of Canada."   This is not a man of vision but a government big-business lackey - being concerned about employment when it means the destruction of our little province - he should be asking himself instead, where will the "young people" go when the entire province has become a toxic wasteland?  The despicable oil sands projects that have already and still are occurring in Alberta, now cover an area larger than New Brunswick.  I was wondering, for doing such a good job as premier, if David Alward was to be given a farm near the centre of the oil sands or perhaps all our government leaders were awarded mansions on the outskirts of the oil sands, if he and the others would live there?  What they may need is first hand experience trying to live under the same conditions that they have forced the people and wildlife in that area to reside.  If that were to happen, I do believe the Canadian people and the international community as a whole would see some drastic changes being made in regards to fracking and other means of extracting oil.
          I'm 70 years old now and up to not so long ago, I expected my kids to outlive me by many years but when I look around, it wouldn't surprise me in the least when I grab hold of that "sweet chariot commin' for to carry me home" if my whole family were sitting alongside of me, and that's a very sad thought.  I posted this film  http://youtu.be/84zIj_EdQdM that I watched a little while ago on Facebook and asked all my friends there to share it and I'm really hoping that you will watch it too and pass it on to your friends.  I firmly believe that if the entire population in the world were to join hands, forget most of our squabbles, we could make a change and become compassionate and accountable human beings, a real but peaceful force to reckon with.  When you think about it, the general population far outnumbers our politicians, religious leaders, scientists and wealthy people - we have a voice - we have a roar - it's time to unite - cheers, eh!            

THE OLD MASTER SIGN PAINTER

          Before a lot of things occurred in my life, when I was what most people would call normal - you know - had a job (actually my own business) a family and had dreams of when I would retire.  At the time, professionally, I was a commercial artist and a self-taught sign painter.  Well, when the recession hit during the early 80's and I basically lost everything - the money being the least important, I had what some people might call an epiphany - I sort of backed away from society; bought myself a sail boat and retired - hell - a person doesn't need money to retire; they just have to learn to live a lot more basically.  Since having a great deal of money, material things and being a part of society didn't hold any fascination for me any longer and a lot of my responsibilities seemed to have disappeared, except perhaps the exception of helping to support my kids, life to some degree became a whole lot easier.  Instead of working 7 days a week - 12-14 hours a day, I now worked about 2 days.  After I got over the guilt of not being a hard working man any more and went in search of the meaning of life, at least the meaning of my own life (have yet to discover it) everything became much easier.  But it's odd, being somewhat talented, I was always able to earn a few bucks lettering signs, what a person might call my "bread and butter".

Lettering a 2'x3' Sign

          I've lettered several signs by hand since we've moved to New Brunswick, which I almost forgot how much I enjoyed using a brush again - the old fashioned way, instead of computer generated letters, which I do as well.  I have to say, dipping a brush in some paint and watching it stroke and twirl in my hand as it formed the letters were a lot more satisfying than just typing away and letting a computerized machine cut out the letters - "lick and stick" makes money a lot more easier and perhaps more efficiently, but the wastage is extreme in comparison to the good old way.  Another thing that's odd, is the fact that I didn't letter the word "Cemetery" correctly (been since rectified) the first "e" has a much shorter tail on it. The funny thing about the "e" is that if I hadn't fixed it, the customer probably wouldn't have noticed the error.  I wonder how many people who have read this blog noticed the mistake?

          Now that I'm getting up there in years, I occasionally wonder what will be the last sign I'll letter - the Skiff Lake Cemetery sign almost seems appropriate if I should suddenly pop off.  When I pick up a brush and begin lettering a sign, it's amazing how relaxed I have often felt - almost therapeutic to some degree.  People are often amazed that I do it freehand; don't even use a mall stick like a lot of other sign painters; never could get the hang of it.  The first sign I lettered was on a horse trailer at the race track in Vancouver, BC - a job that took me a whole day and now, I could most likely do it in about 2 hours - takes time to learn to handle a brush successfully and build up speed.  I remember years ago, when I was just a very young man sitting on a Greyhound Bus somewhere in the interior of BC, waiting for some passengers to climb on, looking out the window and watching an old man sitting on a wooden box lettering a sign inside a garage.  I can remember thinking how enjoyable and relaxing it seemed, not realizing then, that one day, I would become that old man - cheers, eh!

ARTHRITIS CURE

          I have no idea how many people who read this blog suffer from arthritis but for those of you who do, have I got a cure for you.  Now, does this remedy actually work; I can't really say since I've yet to test it out?  However, that being said, a friend of mine, Mike Saunders, who has a summer home down on the lake, only a 15 minute walk from us, dropped into my art studio the other day.  And like most old guys, unlike when we were young, most always talked about the opposite sex (sex being foremost on our minds) we chatted about our physical ailments and medications.  When I mentioned I had five compressed discs in my lower back and they were arthritic, really causing me a whole lot of pain and discomfort, he mentioned his hands were becoming the same way.  Now Mike, from my observations, is a very sensible man and I hold great store in his cure for arthritis.  Well, cure, may be overstating it a wee bit or the drug store shelves would be loaded with little bottles of the ingredients, plus who knows what else mixed into the concoction to perhaps make a man more virile and a woman more fertile.  I almost always spurn the prescriptions my doctors have asked me to fill over the years, as a matter of fact, I can honestly say that I am medication-free.  The reason I've seldom had my prescriptions filled, besides the fact that I couldn't afford it, is that when I read all the side effects that might be caused from taking their magical potions, I didn't feel like trading off a headache for a stomach ache, a bout of constipation or who knows what else.  Don't get me wrong though, I have taken things for medicinal purposes only when I have suffered from excruciating pain - marijuana seems to work fine - the pain may not go away but I forget all about it.  When I'm stressed out, wound tight as drum - alcohol seems appropriate - like pot, I forget all about my problems.  Actually, a good nap, where you drop off into the deep abyss of forgetfulness, has also helped a great deal for dealing with overwhelming situations.  So, before I get carried too far away for the arthritic remedy Mike professed, I'll just write down the prescription and for those of you who feel that they should pay me for this, all forms of money are accepted - except pennies - I hear they've become useless.
       
          The Remedy or the Recipe for Arthritic Pain Relief:


          Although several versions of this remedy for those of you who are suffering from arthritis can be found on the Internet, the one that Mike told me about  is as follows - not sure if it is an old folk remedy or perhaps a confirmed alcoholics remedy.
          
          1)  Purchase a box of raisins (the golden variety, not ordinary black rasins) and a bottle of your favourite Gin
          2)  Place golden raisins in a shallow container
          3)  Cover the raisins with gin
          4)  Let raisins soak up the gin for a few weeks until no more liquid can be seen
          5)  Although many variations of how many raisins should be eaten during each day 9 is the number most seen


          To me, this recipe to cure or perhaps alleviate a substantial amount of my arthritic pain seems like a win-win situation - I like raisins and I like gin.  And, the way I see it, if this particular mixture of raisnins and gin doesn't show any signs of working at 9 raisins a day, then I do believe I'll just eat a handful of raisins a day and if I've eaten enough, the gin should help me forget all about my pain - cheers, eh!

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!