SNOW, HOT COFFEE AND BIKINI-CLAD BABES

          I dragged my scrawny butt off to bed around 11pm last night and as luck would have it, like other similar nights, my big old brown eyes didn't start squinting into my own personal dreamworld until around 2am.  And then of course, one of the maladies of being my age, especially if one drinks some water or a few cold beers before bedtime, I had to cross my legs occasionally to keep from firing off a stream of water of my own as I slowly made my way down a flight of stairs in the dark and into the bathroom a couple of times.  At least the return trip to the bedroom isn't as bad, just have to be careful I don't bang into anything or stumble and fall; a tumble down the stairs would most likely do this old man in.  Due to the lack of sleep, I woke up on the late side of 7:30am and was about to shut my eyes since it's Sunday; I try not to do a whole lot of work on this day; it's my healing day, give my aching joints and saggy muscles a break.  But then I heard the howling wind and I remembered last night's weather forecast; we were in for a dump of snow today.  And yup, when I put on my spectacles and peered out the window, I could see a lot of snow swirling around outside.  I didn't waste any time in getting up because if I miss the snowplow coming by, besides the snow that is already piling up in the driveway, it piles a whole lot more on top and it's usually compacted pretty solid, which makes clearing the snow away a lot more difficult.

          I was looking forward to a relaxing and delightful mug of coffee fortified with my wife's own concoction of Bailey's this morning, but I just didn't have time.  The wind was howling like a strangled Banshee and I could see it was fierce; snow generally falls in a vertical direction, but this morning, it was right horizontal, except where in spots where it was swirling like an out of control tornado.  The snowdrifts and where I've shoveled the walkways is so high, our yard looks like a miniature Himalayas; wouldn't surprise me one little bit if a Yeti didn't pop out and start grilling me about our Bigfoot.  They have a lot of common; their feet are so big, our Bigfoot uses them to stamp out forest fires and the Yeti uses his like a pair of skis to zip down Mt. Everest.  

          I'm not sure about any other people who reside in my vicinity, but I tellya, winter could just plumb come to a drastic end for me; just up and stop.  I'd like to wake up tomorrow morning and instead of peering out the Jack Frost bedroom window at a huge dump of snow, I'd like to see a load of pink cherry blossoms, an abundance of yellow dandelions and green, green grass, greener than a Yankee dollar bill.  I want to see friendly blue skies and feel the hot sun on my naked back; enjoy a cold glass of beer in the luxurious shade of our spreading willow tree and perhaps give these old brown eyes a special treat of seeing a smiling bikini-clad young woman coming to buy a giant ice cream cone from my wife.  A guy can dream can't he?  They say once you stop dreaming and looking ahead you might as well be dead and I have no intentions of doing that yet.  However, on the downside of that remark, looking out the window and watching the snow accumulate as I write this blog, I can see if the snow keeps a falling like it is, it could well be the cause of my undoing; have me a big jammer, fall down and flick around like a dying fish until I just became another lump of white snow out in the driveway  And then of course on the brighter side, the one I'm leaning towards; as soon as I get my behind out the door and start clearing away the snow once again, the sooner I can get back inside the warm house and pour myself another mug of hot coffee, only this time I'll be making sure there is more than a good slug of my wife's special brew heaped in - cheers, eh!.   

STORMY WEATHER - DYIN' AND LIVIN' - MAKE THE BEST OUT OF IT

          Quite possibly the worst approaching winter storm we've had so far is going to hit with a fury and wouldn't you know it; when I got up this morning to pile in some more logs, the danged thing fell apart.  And, since I'm waiting for the stove to cool off so it's possible to take a better look, see if I can fix it, thought I'd take the time and write a few words - I see I haven't written a blog for awhile now. Although the sun is shining, it's -20 outside and as I wait for the stove to cool, I can already feel the cold seeping through the cracks - like a good shot of hemlock - I can already feel my feet and legs getting cold.

          I've been home alone now for about a week and still have over a week to go before Sarah returns from Lethbridge, Alta.  She's visiting her mom and dad and there's a good possibility that it will be the last time she will see her dad alive again - yup - he's basically on death's doorstep, ready to say his last sayonara, adios, adieu before that old scythe-wielder knocks on his door for the last time.  The way he is, at the moment, feels pretty close to home (no pun intended) because he's only a couple of years older than me.  Can you believe I'm only one year older than Sarah's mom?  Yeah, I'm a cradle-robber, at least that's what I've been told but hey, Sarah's pushing almost 50 - long way from the cradle aint it?  But getting back to dying, doesn't matter who they are or what their age is, death always puts us in touch with our own mortality.  Like it or not, we're all gamblers in life's big crap game; especially when death roll the dice pretty close to home base; we thank our stars that we're still looking down at the flowers than up at the ones placed on top of our casket.  Dang, since I haven't exactly lived my life in a shy manner, to tell the truth, I guess I never really expected to grow old; to live this long.  But geesh, here I am; a wrinkled up old geesher that even a gallon of black hair dye and a hot iron couldn't make me younger again.  Oh yeah, all that fake stuff can probably make me look younger but hell, my old rundown body would still say otherwise; aches and pains, stiff joints and out of breath on a short downhill walk, like it or not, still tells the truth about my age - lookin' young doesn't make me young.

          There are some folks who don't like computers and everything they entail but to me, rather than just being a social media, where every 2 minutes I post what I'm doing with a "selfie" photo, as if people actually give a shit about me that much, I find it is quite a good learning tool - lot of good information out there.  However, that being said, the internet is still a good way of locating someone; a good friend of mine that I'd lost touch with when we moved to NB just sent an email to my art website - a very pleasant surprise.  Although he's 20 years younger, it was good to hear from him since the ruts that his motorcycle has traveled and encountered are much the same as mine.  Yeah, the wide and straight easy-going roads have never been for us or if they were, we just din't drive them very often; there's a lot more excitement leaning into a hard curve at a high speed, the foot peg scraping along the pavement creating a shower of sparks.  But don't get me wrong, it's still great to be alive even if I'm old and somewhat crotchety and revvin' up the rocking chair doesn't make it go any faster and I sure don't lean into it either or I'd find myself trying to pick myself up off the floor if I was still able to.  Yeah, fast bikes, fast women, cold beers, a roll of the dice, a turn of the card, I wouldn't say doesn't interest me, it's just that I'm unable to play that game anymore - let's say I've just outgrown it - the good young days of summer have gone forever.  Oops, almost forgot, I may be old but I aint half dead yet - still got me a good woman and it's time for a cold beer but not before I hopefully put the old wood stove back together - cheers, eh!        

SELF-PUBLISHED A BOOK - THE CONFESSION AND 5 OTHER SHORT STORIES

          February flew away for another year and March is just marchin' along - time just doesn't sit still for a moment; won't be long before April is upon us.  Seems like the snow and coldness has let up a bit the past while, which is just fine for this old man's arthritic bones.  As much as I'd been looking forward to working on the bathroom renos the past week, I spent some time self-publishing a book of short stories - bloody hell but it costs a goodly amount to do such a thing, even when a person does all the work themselves.  Also, my wife Sarah self-published a book of poetry as well; can hardly wait to see the results and read it.  

          During my first winter living here and not being used to so much snow and freezing weather, I wrote 27 short stories, 5 of which are in this new book.  I had a lot of fun writing these stories; really let my imagination flow.  Besides the two illustrations in the book, I had fun doing the covers, trying to depict the meanings of the other individual stories  I was hoping to keep the price down to around 10 bucks but as it turned out with printing, shipping and taxes, looks like I have to sell it for 15 bucks.  But hey, what can a person buy for 20 bucks or less these days unless you're a devout Dollar Store shopper - 20 bucks worth of gas barely gets a car out of the driveway.

          If I can break a bit even selling this book, perhaps I'll consider putting another book of short stories together and I've got scads of poetry and also several children's stories that I wrote.  It would be great to find a publisher instead of having to do all the work myself, even though I don't mind doing all the mechanical stuff for putting a book together - editing is certainly time consuming.  Since I've got a couple of speaking engagements coming up this summer in regards to a sailing trip and a book (Arctic Odyssey) that I wrote about the voyage, I just may put another short story book together, just might be able to sell a few to a captured and hopefully captivated audience.

          It's getting close to supper time and I'm going to make sushi; the wife and I having an evening alone together - Jessica has gone for a sleepover for a couple of days with a two of her friends.  I do believe we're going to watch The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (foreign film with subtitles) since we really enjoyed reading the book  There are two sequels to this book and I'm very much looking forward to reading them as well.  Should be a great evening and tomorrow I believe we are going for supper at First Settler's Lodge in Maine - the food is sumptuously delicious.  Well, the rice should be cool now and since I've looked after the chickens for the day, I do believe I'll head into the house and make us some sushi; pour myself a cold beer too - cheers, eh!   

THE MEANING OF LIFE

          It's odd how things turn out.  It wasn't that long ago that my wife Sarah, her two girls and I moved from the bustling, small city, Nanaimo (pop. approx. 100,000) on Vancouver Island to Fosterville, New Brunswick (pop. approx. 50 in the winter).  I'm not sure if we were worn out from the pressures of city-life, especially the costs of just daily living but we found moving to the edge of a semi-wilderness area quite refreshing, as if we had stepped out of a heavy coat of armour.  At first, we may have been suffering from "culture-shock" but as we embraced this quieter and more subdued lifestyle, we were happy to have done so.  Moving from the city to the country, especially when I had been raised and eventually earned a very successful living as a "big-city-boy", one would think that I'd have remained in the city.  However, having a taste of country living and spending 10 years on a racetrack working with thoroughbreds during my younger years, my heart always leaned towards a more quiet lifestyle.
          I can remember, shortly after getting married in Lethbridge and moving to Calgary, walking downtown surrounded by bustling traffic and towering buildings, actually looking up and at them and yelling, "It's so good to be home!"  And, for me at that time in my life, it was a good place to be since I was full of "big-city" ambitions, obsessed like so many others of becoming a millionaire.  It took a lot of hard smacks, knock-down-crawl-around events to finally realize the dreams I had chosen, although attainable, really hadn't been worth the effort.  There's a price to pay for everything - like the old hippy adage, "Ass, gas or grass; nobody rides for free!" As the years went by, on pieces of paper, cold as a corpse's shroud, I became a millionaire by the age of 41, but being out of control from reaching the heady-heights, suffering from a plaguing ego-vertigo, I toppled like a house built from a deck of cards.  Believe it or not, basically looking at my life at that point after losing everything, was the best thing that could have happened.
          Like many disillusioned young men, after their dreams have been broken into countless shards and never being able to put all the pieces back together again, especially when their soul is battered and bruised, I went in search for the "meaning of life".  I'm 72 now, over 30 years of searching and I have yet to discover the full meaning.  However, that being said, I did discover many things that were not the "meaning of life" - gobs of money and richly possessions being two of them.  And as odd as it may seem, I'm not so sure if the hard lessons I received and my journey of searching for the meaning of my existence has been achieved - I may not have much money now but I live in a huge house with two other people, have a separate studio, garage, barn and hen house on 50 acres of land, a truck and a car are in the driveway, a wheeler parked out back as well as a dinghy from my sailing life and the possessions keep accumulating.  The hole in the ground is beckoning but there's no room of any of those things that I've accumulated, it's just a large enough space to hold this old, worn out body, a place for it to rot and eventually become part of the earth.  Ashes to ashes and dust to dust - perhaps that's enough and perhaps the true "meaning of life".
          Sarah and I went to Fredericton a few days back.  It's about the same size of Nanaimo, maybe a little larger.  Since she is going to visit her mom and dad in Lethbridge and her daughter Rachel in Vancouver for a couple of weeks, we went shopping for some clothes for the occasion.  After returning to the car and heading down the highway, we both looked at each other and mentioned how weird we had felt walking up and down the aisles in the different stores looking at all the clothing for sale - it was as if we had stepped into another world and it didn't feel genuine or real - we were glad to be going home to where we could count the cars going by in a day on two hands.  I realize this lifestyle isn't for everyone, actually hardly anyone, otherwise cities wouldn't be overflowing with millions of people but for me, I like the feel of gentle snowflakes on my face when I look up at the black sky overhead and see the countless shining stars, the feel of a biting, bitter wind as it turns my nose blue with the cold and then the warmth of a wood fire as I throw another log on - a house filled with the scent of baking and the feel of my wife sitting beside me - comfort and love - perhaps other true "meanings of life" the genuine and real "meaning of life" - cheers, eh!      

THE SNOW GOD - MR. WHITEY

          There was a time that many people, and some still do, believed there was more than one god and if that's the case then a god for winter must have existed.  And, if such a god still exists, I would think it's most likely a he-god rather than a she-god because winter isn't exactly a fair-weather season - nothing cuddly and warm about winter unless, like myself, you've got a very fluffy and soft woman to cuddle up to on those freezing cold days when the temperature drops so low, you have to add some more minus numbers to the bottom of the thermometer.  A lot of gods of yesteryear had unpronounceable names and since the god of winter most likely hangs out in the arctic and antarctic regions of the world, especially the northern hemisphere, which is actually populated, I expect unless you can roll a lot of letters off your tongue and make a lot of clicking noises at the same time while doing so, like me, you just won't be able to pronounce his name.  So, since that's the case, I've given the winter-god that hangs about New Brunswick a name that's easy to pronounce: I call him Mr. Whitey.  And yesterday, Mr. Whitey must have had a very bad day (most likely never received any Valentine cards) or he was having a very bad hair day because our barnyard was covered with loads of white, fluffy dandruff - it took me about 8 hours of steady plowing and shoveling to keep two roof-tops, driveway and walkways clear of the stuff.  

          Mr. Whitey has apparently taken today off, which is a good thing; gives my old achy bones and muscles a chance to recuperate.  Funny thing about yesterday's snowfall, the snowflakes, although not one was identical - they were all heart-shaped - I guess it being valentine's day and all.  The snow was up over my knees, approximately 2' deep and if that wasn't bad enough, it was wet and heavy, getting heavier as the day went by, most likely because I was getting weaker - old men like me need our naps.  The sun is shining now but like the eye of a hurricane, the lull before the storm, Mr. Whitey is returning tomorrow - geesh, he must still be PO'ed because the snowfall is expected to be about another foot deep.  

          Perhaps, instead of being angry yesterday, Mr. Whitey was wooing a prospective she-god, because the snow he sprinkled everywhere, like fairy dust, is so beautiful; the landscape everywhere sparkles like glittering diamonds; colours of the prism continually enchanting one's eyes.  However, the snowflakes, like authentic jewels, although they tantalizingly shimmer and shine in the light, there's still a coldness, a stigma attached to their beauty.  Maybe Mr. Whitey, like a single rose, if he had lavished one enormous snowflake on the she-god of his lecherous eye, it may have made a better impression - seduction by the unusual, not the quantity often sways the heart.   Also, if he created a huge single snowflake and deposited it in an unpopulated area, it would have saved me and a lot of others heaping loads of hard work - rather unthoughtful of him I would say.

          I moved from Vancouver Island to the base of Green Mountain, New Brunswick about 4 years ago and if I still lived there, I would soon be counting spring blossoms instead of standing almost waist deep in snow.  But you know, as nice as all that sounds, if I still resided in Nanaimo, I wouldn't be able to take the time to count blossoms, I'd be waist deep in debt.  I'm not looking forward to this evening's snowfall but I do relish my lifestyle now and, Mr. Whitey will soon be seduced by spring's charms and just melt into her arms - cheers, eh!

          

                       

MY VIEWS ON EDUCATION

          Well, today is my dad's birthday and if he were still alive, he would be 111 years old.  He died Christmas day, 1969 - and as long as he's been gone and as old as I am now, I still miss my dad.  I realize everyone who's had a decent father thinks their father was just the best old man there ever was and my feelings fall along that line as well.
          I don't particularly want to discuss my life with my dad but I thought it might be worth while writing about his education in comparison to mine and to my kids and their kids.  He didn't have much education - Grade 9 as a recall, and from what he knew, I wouldn't be surprised if his education was equivalent to my Grade 12.  And sadly, from what I've seen of our recent education system, education or the lack of education is definitely sliding down hill - wouldn't be the least surprised if my grade 9 or lower is equal to the graduation classes of today.  My daughter has a little boy who will be starting school in a couple of years and I told her, if she could afford it, to send him to private school.  There was a time when the private school and the public school's education standard wasn't so different but I have a feeling, there is a large gap between the two now.  And, when a person thinks about the costs, parents today, I do believe spend more cash out of their pockets for just a basic education and I mean basic - they aren't even taught how to write anymore.  It appears to me, that upon graduation, kids today, just in order to get the equivalent of my education, now have to take a couple of years of college, which usually requires student loans and it aint cheap.  Isn't that just wonderful - for a rather basic education, the kids are now in debt to the government - a loan that never goes away until it's paid.  As soon as they begin working, the government is taking a chunk of their paycheck for the loan - it's right up there with credit cards - it's called usury.  But hey, I don't think anyone is surprised; isn't the government, banks and corporations all in the same business - it's pretty certain they don't give a rat's ass about the people who pay their fat wages?
          When I went to school, granted it's a long time ago now, and times have certainly changed but my parents weren't being asked for more money out of their pockets by the schools we attended.  Also, when I attended art school for four years, the cost, which was paid by myself or my parents wasn't unreasonable - neither of us owed a cent for that education when I graduated.  When I finally found a job, the government wasn't grabbing any of my wages; well maybe some of it; I had to pay taxes.
          I feel sorry for the kids of today as far as the education system goes - they're not even taught by highly educated teachers.  Also, the time they're taught at school, what with all the Pro D days (I think they're called), Christmas Break, Easter Break, Spring Break and any other Break the unions can work out for the teachers; the kids don't even sit at a desk as much as we used to when I was their age.  And from what I understand, education doesn't have much to do with the marking system either; it seems as long as a kid shows up for school, he or she is automatically passed.  Any place with no standards or very little standards are going to produce mediocrity on a huge level - I wouldn't be too surprised if the future population of our country is heading towards that of a third world country.  I find it rather strange that the arts programs are being reduced quite rapidly, especially since a civilization is often regarded by their culture - of course culture, which is mostly developed by the artistic variety and free-thinkers - \the ones who are outspoken and make definite changes in a society - Big Brother is their enemy.
          Now, I know I've written a dialogue on the education system and I'm hardly an authority on that subject but I don't think a person has to be highly educated to see that it's not working properly - when you think a country's future is based on upcoming generations - education would be a number one priority.  In my view, I think education should be free to students that show good academic and hands-on traits - and I don't mean for making a better economy so the fat cats can just get fatter but for making the world a better and healthy place to live - a world of respect, dignity, honesty - a future to look forward to - cheers, eh!
       
                 

NEW LOOK FOR AN OLD GUY

          I thought I'd change the look of my blog a wee bit; not sure if it's an improvement or not, especially with the photo, which was taken by a friend of mine, Gary Stairs last winter.  I don't think I've aged too much since then and even if I have, there isn't a dang thing I can do about it - although maybe if I ironed my face and had a dye job, it just might improve my appearance.  I suppose I could have posted a much younger photo of myself, back in the day when the hair on my head wasn't grey but then anyone I actually know today who reads this blog, probably wouldn't recognize me. This winter is just as blasted cold as the preceding winters I've spent in New Brunswick at the foot of Green Mountain in Fosterville and since I'm not what anyone would call a fashion statement, I'm wearing the same clothes now that I'm wearing in last year's photo - a fur hat with the ear flaps up and a heavy-duty Cowichan sweater - warmth is what this old man is all about these days and especially since 72 winters have taken their toll - my hot blood just aint so hot anymore - some of the arteries most likely dammed up with fatty substances of every description.  However, with my daily medication being a cold Moose Head Pale Ale, I try to keep the blood thinned so it keeps flowing - the further extremities still receiving the least of whatever heat my old heart generates.

          There's nothing worse than getting cornered by a man as old as I am because us old men can just rattle your ear off about how it was in the past - a lot of years have gone by that I can jabber about, so look out - and I guess if you've read this far, it's too late - you've been captured.  However, I do believe your keyboard has an escape key and a delete key, not to mention the little x in the top right hand corner of this page, so hey, if you're not liking what you've read thus far, just send this rambling old man's blog into the bottomless abyss of cyberspace.  

          I've no idea if anyone read the last comment and only comment I received regarding the last post, The Giant Snail.  The commenter wrote that I seem to have a fixation or fetish about a person's ass and of course, especially since I receive so few comments regarding my blogs; I replied to his comment - I think it's only polite to write something back, especially since they took the time to write some "constructive criticism" about this old man's ramblings.  I remember, a long way back when I was just a young, aspiring artist attending art school, when one of my sketches was used as a full page advertisement in regards to a ballet concert starring Rudolf Nureyev that was being held in Vancouver, BC at the theatre.  A reader took offence to my artwork and wrote into the paper about how bad my sketch was - it's funny - at the time I felt a little offended but after some thought and consideration, I was actually glad because to me, it showed that someone actually noticed my artistic endeavour - it was right up there with the time someone stole one of my sketches off the wall during an art school exhibition.  Like the comment I received, I know it's not a compliment, but at least I know someone actually took the time to read this old man's ramblings and I appreciate that.  Although, yes, the snail that I wrote about was certainly disgusting, I realize my vocabulary at times coming right out of the gutter but then I've been there too and if it's that offensive, well then just hit the little x at the top of the page - that's what I do when I lose interest in what I'm seeing or reading.  What I mean is, I'm just going to keep on writing whatever I please and use any old descriptive words that pop into this old  man's brain because I know that as many people who find my rantings offensive, there are just as many or maybe more who actually get a kick out of what I write - actually put a smile on their faces - and in these times when our fragile world is reeling on the edge of chaos, the population is growing at a hideous rate, the environment is collapsing - in other words our asses are almost grass - if I can spread a grin across someone's face, make happy dimples appear, even get a good guffaw - then that's what I'm all about - cheers, eh!