EXTRACTING TEETH AND PORCUPINE QUILLS - NO FUN

          Last Wednesday was sort of a painful day for me, and in the early morning, very painful for our dog Duncan.  I had two upper teeth extracted and the remainder cleaned and the dog had a rear leg and paw shot full of porcupine quills.  I of course moaned a wee bit afterwards since the upper partial plate doesn't quite fit correctly, so eating is somewhat difficult when I can't chew properly.  At first, I attributed the pain to the swelling around the injured area but since that is no longer the case, it looks as if I will have to make another appointment to get the plate readjusted or slightly reshaped.  Hopefully, although I would like to make the appointment on a much earlier day, since it is a long way into Woodstock from our home and we go to town on Fridays to the Farm Market; that would be satisfactory (the price of fuel these days tends to make a person think twice about traveling any distance).  My visit to the dentist was somewhat when I had to say goodbye to my teeth; we've been on a rather intimate basis for over 50 years and especially since I only have 5 remaining living upstairs, which still makes the partial plate a possibility.  And I still have a problem with a couple of wobbly teeth in the front lower portion of my mouth; appears as if I will have to say good-bye to one of them or maybe both, come next visit in 3 months time.  I'm a little concerned about them because I have 2 speaking engagements coming up regarding my Limited Edition book Arctic Odyssey and I'll have a rather large gap, unless I can get a snug-fitting partial plate that won't float around in my mouth.  Hmm, I wonder if I'll have an accurate spitting range with the gap; just might come in handy should there be any hecklers in the audience.  But enough about this old man and his old broken down falling out teeth; let me tell you about Duncan; it's a lot more interesting.

My Pal Duncan

          Lately, because of a lot of aches and pains and then having my teeth hauled out, I haven't been sleeping too well.  So about 2am on Wednesday, I'm awakened after just falling into a sound sleep by loud yelping noises just outside our upstairs bedroom window and my wife saying, I think there's something wrong with Duncan.  Since the weather is a lot warmer these days, I've been letting Duncan stay outside rather inside my studio and I'm hoping his yowling is more complaining because he's outside and wants inside the studio but I sense there is a much bigger problem with him and of course, since he didn't yelp when he got stunk up by a skunk; the only other time when I finally discovered him trapped in a trapper's snare, I knew it was serious.  And rightfully so, I expected a confrontation with a porcupine or a hungry bear.  

Approx. 40 Porcupine Quills Extracted from Duncan

          Since Duncan is a very playful, fun-loving and friendly dog, I expect he found the slow porcupine a great animal to play with.  He was probably running circles around it, perhaps even leaping over it in merriment because instead of having a snout full of quills, they were imbedded in his hind leg.  I pulled out 40 of the blasted things with a pair of pliers until the pain was so unbearable, he began snapping at me.  Realizing, that I could still see a least a dozen more quills and there were probably others stuck within his long dark hair that weren't visible, I decided he would just have to suffer it out for the remainder of the night until we could get him to a vet.  

          Like extracting my teeth, extracting the last remaining quills from Duncan's back paw and knee was painless because he had been mercifully put into dog dreamland.  The vet pulled about another 20 quills out of Duncan and several were completely embedded out of sight, deep in the flesh that I never would have been able to get out with a pair of pliers.  As we were about to leave the vet's office with our still unconscious dog, after paying almost 300 bucks for services rendered, the vet mentioned that we shouldn't be surprised if a few more quills started working their way out.  This morning Duncan is his happy, happy self once again and is running, albeit with a slight limp, but running just the same.  Do I think that Duncan has learned his lesson after his painful frolic with the porcupine, the answer is no,  Knowing Duncan, he most likely thinks that his unplayful companion was probably just cranky and the next one will be a whole lot more fun - cheers, eh!

CLOUDY SKIES, SLY LIES AND ELEPHANT BALLS

          People I haven't seen too much over the winter are like spring flowers beginning to pop up all around; their smiles as warm as the first breath of summer.  They ask what I've been doing over the winter; have I been doing any painting to which I reply, "Nothing creative, just the walls and cupboards in the upstairs bathroom/bedroom renovations."  For the balance of this year, I'm planning and hoping to finish off the major construction jobs such as the upstairs and the new extension on Sarah's little coffee shop; I just aint getting any younger and the old joints and muscles appear to be complaining more than usual.  And then, after that, hopefully next winter, I'll pick up the artsy-fartsy brushes and splash a little paint around - attempt to do something a little more creative - maybe even publish a book or two or at least write some more stories that seem to continually spin a yarn inside my head.  I hate to say it, but my old body is in a downright rebellious state; just keeps on complaining and complaining and I'm getting rather tired of it.  

          So here I sit this slightly breezy May morning, looking out my studio window at the nearby ridge where soon the greyness of winter will turn to green; at least our stand of forest hides the hideous large clear-cut portion, a giant scar across Green Mountain (I expect its name could change in the not too distant future since most of the trees have been axed).  I try to look at the bright side of life with a goodly portion of positive thinking in my stride but after hearing what our no-brain Premier Aldred who just cut a deal with Irving, giving them the go ahead to level the forests until they deem it's not profitable anymore, which will be when the last tree standing has fallen, it's difficult not to be cynical.  I generally don't complain too much or get overly upset but the events that are taking place across our country to help perhaps the dumbest government I've ever experienced since I began voting over 50 years ago to cover their blatant ineptness and total disregard and respect for the people and the creatures abiding here, an abomination of our planet, it's difficult to have a bright and bushy-tailed demeanor and attitude for our future, especially the younger generations'.

          We still have a 12 year old daughter at home and the education, in comparison to what I experienced when I was her age, is downright disgraceful - she's at least 3 to 4 years behind.  I sometimes wonder, since China is the huge manufacturer of asinine crap for slave wages and conditions if the corporations here in the west have a conspiracy against education, so that the younger generations will only have enough brains to sit at a long assembly line for 6 days a week for 16 hours a day for a mere pittance of a wage.  It appears to me that the world began a huge digression at the time of the Industrial Revolution, and never before in history, has it been more rapidly descending.  The planet is running out of resources, which has been largely used for destruction and the mind-set hasn't changed.  The armies continually keep blowing everything up and the infantile junk that's lined up on shelves built to the ceilings in dollar-stores is a huge source of our diminishing resources - it's as if our planet is becoming a gargantuan junk yard, where soon the whole of civilization will be living like rats and gnawing on each other's bones for sustenance.

          It's impossible to blame one individual or a handful of individuals for the state of our world; we are all, every last one of us to blame, including myself.  I've wasted forest products, metal objects and have purchased useless ornamentations and when I drove during my younger and careless years, took meaningless rides on my motorcycle just for the shear pleasure of feeling the wind flowing through my hair and the excitement of the speed and now, I'm paying like the rest of us for our own pleasurable indulgences; we're down to squeezing fuel out of sand.  And all this crap we've (the more so called well-off individuals) have bought into at a certain age, that we've actually earned the right to a large pension that affords us to jump on jets, gigantic cruise ships to sit our fat asses down at some resort pool, with unlimited margaritas to knockback and be waited on hand and foot by people who are most likely living in hovels with a family to feed - how ludicrous is that?  

          Well, it's Sunday morning; the sky is cloudy and I wouldn't be surprised if it rains soon but I hear many birds singing in the forest and even though they no doubt know the weather better than I, their cheery melodic notes tell me that there's nothing we can do about it but enjoy the fact that the rain slakes not just our own thirst but every other living thing's thirst.  And speaking of thirst, at least my own, I do believe it's time for me to head inside the house and have a hot cup of coffee with my wife; a good shot of "elephant balls" tossed in to give it that added flavour and medicinal benefit will be much appreciated as well - cheers, eh!  

A TOUCH OF MELANCHOLY

          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!

ARCTIC ODYSSEY - THE LIMITED EDITION IS NOW FOR SALE

          Hello fun-seekers and blog-readers - welcome to my blog, just in case you are a newcomer.  Life here at the base of Green Mountain in sunny Fosterville, NB is exceptional - must be because only remnants of one of the longest winters I've experienced since moving here has finally ended.  Yeah, winter has finally packed it's giant sized suitcases filled with snow and headed off to where the snow doesn't melt, wherever that is, since due to climate changes the world over, even Antarctica and the North Pole appear to be losing a substantial amount of ice. 

          During the winter, I finally published a book, the way I wanted it to look; a book I had written about 20 years ago.  It's called Arctic Odyssey and it's about my voyage with skipper, Winston Bushnell and mate, George Hone through the Northwest Passage aboard Dove III, perhaps the smallest sailboat to ever do so in a single season from west to east.  It was first published by an American publishing company, Fine Edge Productions, in Anacortes, WA.  Since I've owned the total rights to my book for quite awhile now, I decided to re-publish it myself, the way in which I was hoping Fine Edge would have produced it the first time.  When I presented my hand-lettered manuscript and pen and ink sketches to them, the beginnings of a great coffee-table book, they decided in their wisdom to produce the book in a more inexpensive manner.  However, despite the book not looking the way I expected, I still liked their rendition of Arctic Odyssey and was pleased that they had published it - a first book is always very special.  But for 20 years, I've had this original manuscript sitting in a drawer and have kept looking at it over and over again, until very recently, I decided to turn Arctic Odyssey into a Limited Edition (only 250 copies available).
       
           The Limited Edition copy of Arctic Odyssey (8.5x11" hard bound cover, 186 pages) comes in a sturdy box to help preserve its condition, which includes a soft bound (6x9") Arctic Odyssey book and a 45 min. DVD of our sailing voyage.  The first page in the book has a Certificate of Authenticity, which I have signed and numbered.  There are also 10 artist's proofs, which brings the total of the Limited Edition to 260 copies.  The two black and white pages shown here are a good example of what the book looks like inside.  The book contains approximately 80 sketches and maps which I drew to illustrate our voyage.  The price of this Limited Edition, historical adventure book is $75.00 plus $20.00 handling and shipping fees.  This historical adventure book is sure to become a collectible item over the years and would make a great gift for the avid sailor or adventurer at heart.  For additional info on purchasing a copy, please go to goldenunicornpublishing.com/book or you can order a copy from me by PayPal, cheque, cash or bank transfer - my address is 115 Forest City Rd., Fosterville, NB  E6H 2A1 or email me lenwsherman@gmail.com  Thank you so much everyone for expressing so much interest in my book!

REVIEWS: 

Hi Len! I was JUST about to write to you. YES, the package arrived yesterday...thank you! It's absolutely beautiful and we opened it together with my girlfriend like it was Christmas Eve. Eric Saczuk
           
WOW!!   What a great package Len.  It all came out really nice good footage  Best of luck selling thru your stock.   What memories!   George Hone
          

I HAVE A CONFESSION TO READ

          I't's blog time...it's blog time...it's time to write a blog...time - musical little ditty that just came to mind.  Doesn't look like anything when you read it but when I wrote it, I was singin' those words, stompin' my feet and bangin' on the keyboard to an old rag-time beat that was just a thumpin' through my mind.  I'm settled down now, just little old normal me sittin' here, gazin' out my window at the meltin' snow - did I say meltin' snow?  Yup, looks like, and I'm hopin' that good old winter has finally blown its last blast of freezin' wind this way.  Went to the Farmers' Market in Woodstock yesterday and I could scarce believe me eyes, all along the curvy and bone-joltin' (frost-heave paradise) country road, an abundance of red-breasted robins could be seen - true harbingers of approachin' spring.  That in itself is on the comical side, since spring officially arrived three weeks ago in most places.  Here it is, dang near the middle of April and we've still got about 3' feet of snow in the yard.  If there's any daffodils under the snow, I'd be mighty surprised.  For those of you in the more temperate regions, you know the places I mean, where the inhabitants have nothing better to do than count blossoms, I'd like you to know that our snow flakes far out numbered your blossoms - so there - and hey, they are just as beautiful in their own way!

          Writing a blog, I would imagine is very egotistical but I wouldn't know, my head has become so enlarged I can't see my body any longer - just the tip of my toes sticking out past my chin can be seen by these big old brown eyes.  I've had all kind of remarks like your blogs "always put a smile on my face", "sometimes they're interesting" to "what kind of disgusting tripe is this?" - the thing to remember about me writing anything at all and actually having a few books published, is the fact that I had the worst English marks during my highschool years - one of my teachers was actually so frustrated with me that he crushed a hunk of chalk on my back and cracked me across the ass with a wooden yardstick in front of the whole class.  So what do I know about dangling participles today - absolutely nothing and as long as they're not dangling in my way, I'm okay with that.  Needless to say I flunked English and because of that, I never graduated, which was fine with me because I quit school just before prom - being the shortest guy in Grade 12 and covered with pimples wouldn't have made for any decent photos anyway and the poor girl who would have been forced to be my date for the evening would have cried so hard she most likely would have ruined her expensive gown. 

   And speaking of books being published - Golden Unicorn Publishing - http://www.goldenunicornpublishing.com/book-store.html just published one of my books titled: The Confession and Other Short Stories.  When my first book Arctic Odyssey was published by Fine Edge Productions, the publisher Don Douglass told me to sell my book shamelessly.  Needless to say, I never took his advice - the book was so over-priced when it hit the book stores, it was a downright bloody shame to ask strangers, let alone my family and friends to purchase one, although I did do that - had a wine and cheese book signing - wasn't so bad after everyone was three sheets to the wind and would have bought anything just to keep the party going.
          The short stories I wrote, probably like many other imaginative authors write, is often based on personal events that actually occurred during our lives and The Confession is such a story.  While reading this highly interesting, sometimes violent and occasionally a love story (pushing the selling aspect of the book) to my wife Sarah after we went to bed one evening, I would sometimes ask her if the part I had just read was true or not.  By the end of the story, she was most likely wondering what sort of man I was and if it had been a good idea marrying me 7 years ago.  Yeah, there's a lot of truth in that story but then again, there is also a whole lot of bullshit in it too - but regardless - I feel it's a good tale and most people will enjoy the read.  The other five stories are of course completely fictional, straight out of this old guy's imaginative cranium; stories that I wrote, along with 23 others, 3 years ago, during my first long winter in Fosterville, New Brunswick - bloody winters just never seem to end.  If you've read this far, I must have your attention so...guess what...I'm going to try and sell you my new book - what a bargain!  Only 15 bucks + a small shipping charge if you don't live in Fosterville - and there's not much chance of that.  Yep, only $15. and you can receive this wonderful book (Makes a Great Gift Too!) along with my autograph, or not, the choice is yours.  To buy this book, what could be considered a BESTSELLER in Fosterville since the population is only around 50 people in the winter, you can either click on the Golden Unicorn Publishing link (above) or send an email to lenwsherman@gmail.com  I take cash, cheques, PayPal and sometimes even trade.  How was this for shameless selling Don Douglass - it must make you proud that I've finally taken your advice?                              

          Time to go in the house now; the coffee should be ready and if nothing else, it's time to let some of the air out of my inflated ego - what can I say, at this age, I seem to pass a lot more more wind - cheers, eh!

WINTER CAN END NOW - PLEASE!!!!!!

           It's been feeling a little bit like spring lately but I keep wondering why the snow keeps falling.  The snow and ice finally slid off the roof over our front door; even with the extended snow-rake, because of the way the snow is funneled on to this roof by three other roofs, makes it impossible to pull it off.  Next winter, I'll have to figure something else out because not only is the snow and ice very heavy, it is also very dangerous.  I was standing pretty close to the doorway when it all finally slid off but I wasn't too worried because I was very aware of what was eventually going to happen.  I didn't waste any time going in and out of the house before that; even slammed the door behind me on quite a few occasions in hope of jarring it loose.  The snow is still attached to the roof and I'm hoping, because of its extreme weight, the snow and ice drove itself deep enough into the snow bank so it's not going to shift once it completely detaches from the roof, because if it does, I think it will come right through the window.  

          This winter, since we moved from sunny Vancouver Island four years ago, has been the worst for snow.  I should have a build like Schwarzenegger from shoveling all the cussed white stuff but all I've got to show for it is aching muscles and a very sore back and shoulders.  Although today is sunny and warm, I wouldn't be surprised if, like last night, it snows again.  On average, I would say that the snow in our yard, where it hasn't been piled up, is approximately 4-5' deep and in places, where it's frozen quite solid, I'm able to walk on the top.  However, saying that, when the snow was fresh, it wasn't unusual to step into a soft spot and be up to my waste in the stuff.  And, when that occurs, it's quite difficult to claw myself out.  At one point, I was pretty much exhausted from shoveling and pushing myself through the snow that I just laid down and watched the snowflakes drift down on me.  Duncan, our dog, must have thought I was dying because he laid down beside me and put his head on my chest and of course that's when Sarah looked out the window.  She looked very worried when she stood in the open doorway and asked if I was OK; she thought I'd had a heart attack.  As strange as it may seem, I don't think that would be a bad way to go - have a jammer while shoveling snow - but not have some mini-stroke that paralyzed me, so I'm not able to do anything properly again.  But enough about all the negative things that can go wrong - I still enjoy seeing the snow arrive and will be looking forward to its return next winter; there's just something so beautiful and serene about a fresh snowfall, especially if one is inside where it's warm and cozy - and oh yeah - a hot bubbly drink with a generous splash of alcohol tossed into it, gives it all an added pleasure - cheers, eh!   

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!.