BARN RAZING

Glenn's Little Old Barn

          Glenn McLean's little old barn has withstood wind storms hard enough to blow off Superman's cape, torrential rains, not quite enough of a deluge to start considering building an ark, summer heat, hot enough to fry a hungryman's breakfast on the metal roof and snow so deep, a ladder wasn't needed to reach the top of the roof.  However, over the past 50 years, like anything else in this world, it's grown old and weary and as it leans into the wind at a somewhat precarious angle, like an ancient soldier unable to stand at attention any longer, Glenn graciously gave it to me when he heard I was looking for materials to build a new barn at Golden Unicorn Farm.

          Glenn's barn has been a home and shelter for many animals over the years.  It's housed pink, curly-tailed pigs, udder-bulging cows and kinky, wooly-sheep that gives a whole new meaning to a Jamaican's dread-locks.  And then of course, there's the uninvited critters that move in to share the warmth, dryness, protection and the food within the barn - like cats, rats, mice, squirrels and birds, to name a few.  Three cats still used the barn for their home and once the door was opened, Glenn's chickens decided to move in as well, clucking their approval at the abundance of loose hay and straw available to make soft, comfortable nests to lay their eggs.  I guess the rooster took a dislike to me when I entered the barn, causing his harem of chicks to scatter out of my way because when I went back outside, he attacked the back of my left leg.  As I stood hovering like a giant over the pesky little rooster, he ruffled up his feathers and tried to dig his spurs into my leg once again.  At first, I thought the little pesky-critter was comical but when he continued to strike me as I walked away, I finally had to turn around and give him a wee boot.  I didn't hurt the little guy, except maybe his pride - obviously he was never told that in pretty much any confrontation, whether it's right or wrong, "might is right".

          On Monday morning, April 18th, with help from a neighbour, Garry Clark, who lives at the top of Green Mountain, we began dismantling Glenn's old dilapidated barn, sheets of steel corrugated-metal, decomposing duroids, rough-hewn boards, oily tar paper and rusty nails - enough to fill the muzzle of a large cannon and drop every sword-weilding, lance-toting cavalryman and horse in the Charge of the Light Brigade with a single blast.  Using crow-bars, hammers and a nail-puller, we could feel the old barn shudder, sway and tremble like an old man trying to kick up his heels at a rock concert as we worked our way down from the top of the roof.  On the third morning, with only the sides, rafters and small inside stalls remaining intact, winter once again came storming through the forests and across the open fields turning everything white and icy.

Garry Clark Dismantling Glen's Barn

          The storm had been predicted - 17 centimeters of snow expected.  When the first flakes of the storm began flurrying about the old barn and us, Garry and I retreated to his black half-ton truck (vinyl flame-job adorning its sides and "Fireball" lettered on the hood) for a bite of lunch and a hot cup of tea.  We were hoping the snow would let up but as the landscape began turning white with each gust of icy wind, decided it was best we call it a day.  Fortunately, only a few centimeters of snow fell before it turned to icy-rain and the weatherman predicts Friday, April 21, to be sunny and warm, hopefully enough time to melt whatever has gathered upon and inside Glenn's old barn; time for Garry and I to resume the final dismantling and cart away a trailer full of good lumber and other little goodies Glenn said I could have.

          On returning home, I discovered about a dozen small cedar logs lying in the yard.  Apparently, a friend of mine who lives at the edge of North Lake, Gary Stairs had dropped them off.  When he returned a little later in the day and we were enjoying a cold beer in the warmth of my studio, he told me he was going to supply me with enough cedar posts to fence off a large area around the new barn and garden.  Like Glenn McLean; what a great guy.  Also, when I mentioned Sarah thought we should have an old time barn raising like the Amish he said, "You can count me in." 

          Hopefully, weather permitting, Glenn's little old barn will be completely razed and anything that is useable will be lying in the yard at Golden Unicorn Farm by the end of the weekend waiting to be built into a brand new barn. A barn raising like the days of old should be a fun time for all to get together - work hard for awhile - then sit back, have a few cold beers and fill our bellies with good nutritious food.

THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BLUES

The Green Mountain blues almost sounds like the title of a song.  I can almost picture Willie Nelson, pigtail poking out from under his polka dot bandana that's wrapped around his brow as he sits on a tall wooden stool with a guitar in his hands singing, "I get the blues now and then, especially when, when I think of Green, Green Mountain.  Yonder she lies, beneath the blue skies, as blue, as blue, as blue as my baby's blue eyes."  But Green Mountain isn't a song; it's the place where me and my family and some of our friends live.  The mountain itself is a small place, and yet, it's heart, the size of the Rocky Mountains is so big, if you lay your ear to the ground, you can hear it thumping away as it stretches to reach the blue sky.  We've only lived here a short time but we've felt happiness and sorrow when someone we know will no longer walk or ever get to walk upon Green Mountain.

Our farm house, which is situated at the base of Green Mountain is very old and quite a few generations of people have lived within it. When the frost is upon the ground and the silence is almost unbearable, you can hear the grass trying to grow.  At night, in the darkest hour, if you stretch out on the floor in the corner of a room, it's possible to hear the voices of yesteryear; their jubilations and sadness whispering quietly in your ears.  I feel both sad and happy to hear their voices; to feel their long ago pains, their elations, their dreams, their accomplishments and their failures.  Regret for living on Green Mountain does not exist, although each in turn, as they passed from this world into the next, looked over thier shoulder one last time with fondness to see the forest, the meadows and the old house on the hill fade from their view.  Inevitably, like those who have lived before me, my turn will come and hopefully, whoever takes the time will hear my voice, which holds no regrets, within the corners of this old farm house at the base of Green Mountain.

From the first generation of people who cleared the land and built this old farm house, to the others that have placed their signatures to its frame and surrounding landscape; I hope that when I leave this place at the base of Green Mountain that my labours will be appreciated and enjoyed by my followers; the same as I'm reaping the benefits of those before me.  My family and I have found a sense of freedom here. Although the remains of fences can be seen rusting, twisted and entangled within the forest and I too shall build some fences to keep some animals in and other animals out, plenty of space for the moose, deer, bear and other critters that live on the mountail will still remain.  Like our domestic animals, we cherish their presence and the enrichness they bring to our lives.  Although the world has visible and invisible borders criss-crossing everywhere and all sorts of regulations and view points have been applied unmercilessly, I feel the animals, which live on the mountain,  have as much right to live here as we do.

My family and I left a bustling and growing city; the rules, regulations and fences were endless.  If I would have waved or smiled at a stranger in passing, I most likely would have been considered to be very odd, someone to avoid but here on Green Mountain, to do such a thing is to be expected and the reverse may ensue if a wave or a smile is not returned.  Unfortunately, although we are quite a distance from any large cities, we still can't escape that part of the population, which has embraced the lower chambers of life.  Because of their lowly substance habits, which are needed as badly as the air they breathe; their lying, cheating and robbing extends even to the surrounding area of Green Mountain.  It's not that I haven't wallowed within those lower chambers during parts of my life as well but I was fortunate because while I was advancing toward the epitome of that mire, having touched for a short time the wholesome values of an almost forgotten era, I managed to pull myself together.  I may not live in a log house high on a hill overlooking my grandfolk's farm in Woodpecker, BC but this place on Green Mountain feels very familiar; the forest, meadows, lakes and streams abounding with wild animals is very much the same.

I guess if I'm feeling the Green Mountain Blues, it's not because of what I left behind, it's because I took so long in reaching this destination.  I'm an old man now and the dreams which rattle around and echo within the chambers of my mind are usually those of younger men with more ambition, physical strength and vigor.  But perhaps one of the main reasons of longevity or the meaning of life is not to give in; one should work hard at attaining those dreams even if it kills them - it's the not trying, the holding back, thinking the impossible isn't possible, the building past regrets that makes a person truly old and die before their time.  My heart is in tune with Green Mountain and although the mountain's heart will beat a millenium longer than mine, I'll be happy to have been allowed to share a very tiny segment of its life.

HOW TO OR HOW NOT TO TEAR DOWN A BARN

When I stepped out the door this morning, the cheerful chirrupping of a robin in the nearby forest could be heard.  I'm not sure if it's delightful cry was to attract a mate or it was just incredibly happy to get through last night's thunder storm and torrential downpour. Regardless, at least the snow is rapidly disappearing; the bare earth beginning to take domain over the surface.  Like the robin, soon to be building a nest for it's family, I am busy as well; worked all day renovating the upstair bedrooms yesterday and I've got the pains to prove it - oh this getting old - wasn't that long ago, I could have worked from when the sun first popped up in the morning until it set in the evening.  Mind you, I drank a lot more beer in those days; perhaps it numbed the pain.

I have some major physical work ahead of me and yesterday's cutting boards and pounding nails was sort of a gentle rehearsal for what's to come.  After being rather sedentary over the winter, mostly sitting at the computer writing short stories, the time has come to attempt getting myself into some sort of workable physical condition; the abs and pecs will never be tight again I know, but if it's possible to keep them from flopping up and down on my gut; that would be a bonus.  About the only part of me that doesn't hurt this morning is my hair - just can't find a way for it to help out with the work load because if I could, I'd work every little strand real hard - make those hairs muscle-up; stand at attention - might even help with the hair loss if each of them became slightly thicker.

Any day now, I'll be taking a large barn apart and at my age, although the desire is often burning brightly, the body is somewhat burnt out.  I just hope when I'm on top of the barn unfastening the metal roof, I don't lose my mind, have dementia set in, and wonder what the hell I'm doing up there.  The possibility exists that I might think I'm a kid again in a park; the roof is a giant slide and I've decided to take a ride down.  I'm not too concerned about ripping the ass out of my jeans on the nail heads but the drop off at the end of roof isn't exactly a short distance to the ground.  The force of my bony ass hitting the ground would most likely not only break every bone in my body but it would take three men and a boy to dislodge it from the earth.  My eye sight isn't too good either but then again, since age 12, without a pair of glasses, everything looks blurry.  Not being able to see properly may prove to be an asset when I've climbed to the top of the roof; I'm hardly the mountain-climbing type; not too fond of heights and if I can't see the ground - this could be a good thing.

Some people have already asked, "What the hell are you doing tearing down a barn at your age?"  The answer is simple - money - or rather the lack of money.  Since I can't afford the materials, let alone hire someone to build a barn here at Golden Unicorn Farm, I have to consider other avenues to make this happen.  Not sure if my kids know how I tore down a huge chicken barn when I was about 40 years old and since a couple of them read my blog, I'd like to assure them that I won't be taking this barn down the same way - I don't run so fast anymore!

And that's what bringing down the chicken barn was all about - running real fast!

In those days I drank a fair amount, actually, thinking back, I was drunk a lot of the time - my life was somewhat chaotic and out of control.  Anyway, I'd bought this small acreage, which was once the largest chicken farm in Nanaimo on Vancouver Island.  The old farm house was in good shape but the barn,  about 60-75 feet long and about 25' wide, was in a sad state of repair.  I gave up the idea of converting it into a large art studio since it was practically falling down and bought a chain saw.  I'm not quite sure in which order I cut all the corner posts and the other posts which were holding up the structure but I do know I was real careful about cutting the centre post almost all the way through because that's what was basically holding the building up - a light wind would have blown the chicken barn flat at this point.  Now, I've never won a foot race in my life, except when I was running away from someone who was determined to beat the hell out of me - fear gives a whole new reason for running fast and maybe that's how I managed to get through that old building - I was scared my beer at the other end of the barn was getting too warm under the summer sun.  There was a large opening at each end of the building with a 4-5 foot drop off at one end.  If you can believe this, like a certified idiot, I charged into that building like a bull looking for a matador and when I reached the centre post, I gave it a good hard butt and continued on.  I could see the building swaying like it was dancing to a waltz tune and could hear it creaking and groaning as I neared the opening at the other end.  Just as I leaped clear, the old chicken barn came down with a whoosh, a clatter and a bang and I was covered with billowing clouds of years of powdered chicken shit dust - it was enough to make a man thirsty and time to have a cold beer.

And on that note, I think I'll reconsider how I'll take down my friend's barn in Canterbury - looks like a good day to go for a jog - build up those old leg muscles, pump some air into my deflated lungs, maybe press a little iron for the withered biceps and then pace off that old barn - see how fast it would take me to run through it.  Just kidding; just kidding - my running days are over...cheers - eh!

MUSINGS OF A SIMPLE MIND

Like stiff branches that creak and groan when freezing winds blow a wintery gale, my bones do likewise.  The sap has begun flowing, nourishing pregnant buds that will soon give birth to leaves, is unlike my old blood that crawls through my ancient veins.  Winter is melting into spring and unlike the winter days of my life, once ended, will return.

Although my younger strength and vitality has waned and the image in a mirror ascertains that I am indeed old, still my mind dreams the dreams of younger men.  I may not be able to bound over tall bar stools any longer, entice beautiful young maidens to my bed chambers or work like there's no tomorrow any longer but my mind still soars with eagles to lofty places only dreamers can attain.  My goals, unless my mortal plug is suddenly pulled unexpectedly, are attainable because I've made certain that they are within the grasp of this old man's reach.  Actually, when I think back to younger times, many of my goals, which seemed silly, frustrating and inane to others, I kept within my natural powers so they could be attained - that's not to say the goals were worthwhile and never failed later on becomes some weren't and some did.  For monetary riches lost, some men deliberately casting their lives away for less, although knocked to my knees with punches of momentary depression, I picked myself up, brushed my self off and continued on - when is money ever worth more than life?

Some of the goals and dreams I have today are ones of days gone by; they are goals and dreams that I never let go of and most likely never will.  Placed on a backburner to simmer within my mind, every now and then a boiling hot droplet bubbles over, reminding me that perhaps the time is drawing near to put a certain past goal or dream into motion.  When I was but a young lad visiting my grandfolks who lived at the edge of the powerfully flowing Fraser River near the small community of Woodpecker, BC, I told my grandmother one day when we were on a high hill overlooking their two-story log house they had built with their own two hands, "When I get older, I'm going to build my house right here."  My grandmother of course laughed but I could tell by the twinkle of her deep blue eyes that she wasn't laughing at me like I was just a silly city boy, because she herself and my grandfather had once had the same dream many years before and they had traveled far and worked intensely hard to attain their dream.

Our planet Earth is literally withering and slowly dying right before my eyes because of the epitome of human egotistical foolishness.  When I look across our 50 acres of mostly wildnerness, I can't help but wonder if it will die the same time that I do.  There was a time when the odds were rediculously against the Earth and the human race expiring at the same time, but now, it's something many people the world around are considering.  Catastrophic floods, tsunamis and earthquakes could be definite signs that the Earth is attempting to rid itself of the greedy parasitical pests that are clinging to its topsides with their sharp finger nails, still trying to grab as much as they can before they can't hold on any longer.  What gets me is, no matter how much wealth a person can grab and hold onto as tightly as possible, when we die, we can't take anything with us.  Perhaps that's our reasoning, realizing almost from the instance we come into this world that we are doomed and we do whatever seems necessary to us to try and cheat death; stay alive at all costs; if we are to die, what difference does it make if we take the Earth with us.

Our holy men; doesn't matter which denomination you've been born or indoctrinated into, have led us to believe there is a better place than Earth that we go to once we die.  How many of us truly believe, if there is a God, Allah or Whoever, that if we are His children, would He have situated us in such a horrible place?  Do we not attempt to bring our children up in the correct enviornment?  Even a gardener when he plants a seed, makes sure that it is covered with the richest soil, there no lack of moisture and the sun warms its heart; so why would God put us on a place that wouldn't comfortably sustain us; not just us but everything else that lives here? The only conclusions I can come up with, is if there isn't a God, then we deserve to die, but if there is a God, the Earth is a testing ground to see how we behave and looking at the results so far, if I were Him; very few people would be getting to this so called better kingdom.

Like the Universe, the spiritual stuff is way beyond my perception as well.  What gets me is how some goofus dressed in a white robe and another goofus peering through a telescope get off telling us there is a heaven and that the Universe was created by a "Big Bang"; I mean who the hell are these people; where are they getting their special information from?  I can't discount or disprove any of their theories any more than they can prove their beliefs - and yet, we're expected to go along with their bullshit.

I've led several different lives during my lifetime thus far; been married twice; have six kids - have no idea how many animals, birds, fish and other creatures that have been a part of my own little domain but I do know that I, like so many others have been led down the garden path on many occasions.  I mean, I'm not very bright and I'm quite weak, which makes me susceptible to many other's schemes, dreams and beliefs, especially when a great deal of them have been driven into my head by people that I looked up to since I was an infant.  We all need help to get us through the day, someone to love and cherish, be loved and cherished in return; bodily nourishment and shelter from the undaunting weather.  No one is owed a living or has the right to take anything just because they are here; our one and only true gift ever given to us was the first breath of life when we entered this world; and what a gift it was to many of us!  For me, I don't have a problem leaving this world as empty-handed as I was when I entered.  I don't care how talented, intelligent I've became or how much wealth I accumulated over the years; I would be happy to depart with nothing, as though I didn't leave so much as a feint foot print behind but that's not going to happen.  The true meaning of a man or perhaps the true meaning of life (which I have actually attempted searching for) may be, to truly leave this world without leaving even a footstep behind; nothing for my offspring to acquire, nothing for lawyers and such to grovel over - but absolutely nothing - nothing at all left behind; except whatever resources I had taught to whoever was following in my footsteps to help them continue on with their lives.

Although there is snow on the ground and a bit of a chill in the air; it almost feels like summer outside.  It's Sunday today, but I won't be going to church.  Instead, I've walked around a very small portion of our 50 acres here at the base of Green Mountain - been measuring off a barnyard for the arrival of a dog, two goats and 50 chickens and plotting out the garden area.  Whether a tsunami, earthquake, tornado or some other natural or man-made catastrophy wipes it away or not; I am planning for the future despite my age.  While alive, I still have to eat, piss, shit, have sex and be sheltered just like any other creature that resides on this planet and since it's a most beautiful day; we have friends arriving for dinner; I best get started - cheers - eh!            

ON GOLDEN UNICORN FARM

Here near the base of Green Mountain, now that the sun and the temperature are rising earlier over the ridge, the landscape is shedding its winter cloak once again.  I've noticed the arrival of several spieces of birds over the past few weeks and just before the last snowfall, hopefully winter's last, I saw a flock of robins, one of nature's harbingers of spring, cheerfully chirrupping admist the remaining clots of snow in a farmer's field.  Although I have a labor intensive spring ahead of me, ripping down a neighbour's barn and then using the lumber to build a small goat shed, chicken coop for 50 chickens, a fence, not to mention planting a large garden here on Golden Unicorn Farm, I'm ready for a renaissance, if you will, a new beginning for this old sailorman.

The last snowfall, which dumped a foot of snow in what seemed an inch per minute caught us by surprise as Sarah and I returned from the Woodstock Farmer's Market via Houlton, Maine, last Friday afternoon.  Old Buddy, our big-assed 3/4 ton diesel truck, without the aid of its 4-wheel drive (broken) did its best to get us home; the depth of the snow almost too much.  We went off the road, much to Buddy's dismay, while turning off the US highway and were pulled out of the ditch by a passing motorist.  On almost every hill, before reaching the US/Canada border, I had to get out and push on the back corner of the truck to keep it from sliding into the deep ditches; I'd swear old Buddy was part crab as it climbed the hills almost sideways.  This has been our first year in Fosterville, New Brunswick and from what I've heard, the snowfall has been one of the heaviest within the last 20 years.  Besides the harsh winter conditions making it difficult for Buddy to get around, the forest creatures, many of which are seen quite often on the wild portion of our land or even strolling through our yard, has taken a heavy toll.   Apparently the deer population has been hit very hard; 40% having succumbed to the brutality of winter.  Before deer season arrives this year, I'll be putting up some no hunting signs around the property - don't want the hunters blasting the deer or our livestock, the goats and the unicorns grazing in the field.

I probably shouldn't have mentioned the unicorns; now we'll most likely start getting us a passle of camera-toting tourists here at Golden Unicorn Farm.  I used to think they were just mythical creatures from a long past era, but by gosh, last summer when I was wandering through our goldenrod in the top field; if I didn't come across one!  I always thought they were large animals but this one didn't stand much higher than the top of the goldenrod.  For a moment, like we'd both been gob-slapped, we stood gaping at one another and then, what sounded like a horse's nicker, it suddenly reared up, spun around, and trotted off into the forest, glancing over its shoulder a few times, most likely making certain I wasn't following.  After it had disappeared into the verdant forest, I had to give my head a shake to see if I'd been asleep and dreaming - but no - I was wide awake!  I would have understood, if the animal had been a deer with a misshaped antler, but it's glistening golden coat wasn't even the same color.  I haven't seen the unicorn since and there's a possibiltiy it's been one of winter's fatalities.  However, I've got a good feeling that when the goldenrod is glowing under the coming warm summer sun; the unicorn will return.

The sun is shining brightly this morning and I can already hear the snow melting; telling me to get off this computer and begin my day.  Tomorrow morning, Sarah and I will climb into old Buddy and head off to the Farmer's Market to hopefully sell a load of her Green Mountain-fresh, good-tasting bakery goods.  The drive and the market place make a nice break; made some new friends there, who, like us, are trying to sell their farm goods and crafts.  Yup, I feel a renaissance on the horizon for this old sailorman - looking forward to feeling the warm earth in my hands, smelling the fresh air and hearing the livestock.

Cheers - eh!

  

    

THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN - Last Episode

"Your name has been staring directly at me since the moment I first laid eyes on you.  Greed is what that villainous spellbinder counted on.  He believed anyone trying to guess your name would only be interested in how much your spectacles are worth since they're very valuable.  If perchance they managed to capture you, as soon as they tired of putting you on display like some sort of freak and charging money for people to see a real live mermaid, they'd do whatever was necessary to remove your glasses.  It’s true, you're wearing the magician's clue on your face and it's cleverly disguised amongst the gold, silver, diamonds and other precious gems.  The two big red jewels imbedded in the tips of your spectacles are the clue!  Hold me tightly my beauty, I want to feel you transform into a whole woman, feel your joy and your completeness when I tell you your name."

Holding each other in their arms, the sailorman watched as the two big red rubies fastened at the tips of the spectacles began brightly glowing when he whispered into the mermaids ear, "Your name is Ruby." 

It wasn't necessary for the sailorman or the mermaid to look down, to know that instead of a large fish tail, she once again had legs.  As much as she was enjoying lying on the deck with her boatman she said, “I’ve got to stand, it seems like an eternity since I stood.” 

            The sailorman was speechless when he looked at her standing in the fading sunlight; she was utterly beautiful and utterly complete, a woman in every way.  Stepping towards her, he lifted the glasses from her face and as he held them in his hand, the blood red rubies glittering their enchantment, he looked into her eyes and said, “You won’t be needing these anymore Priscilla.”  And having said that, pitched them into the sea.

THE MERMAID AND THE BOATMAN - Part 6

WIN a $25.00 VISA Card by guessing the name that the magician gave the mermaid.  Only people subscribing to my Newsletter or "followers" are allowed to enter.  Only one guess per person allowed.   Email your guess to dreaminsailorman@hotmail.com  Should there be more than one correct answer, the winner's names  will be put into a hat and the first name drawn is the winner.  Family members are allowed to guess a name too but they are not elegible to win the prize - sorry.
The evening was passing by very quickly, yet the mermaid and the boatman had hardly said a word.  The sailorman felt her eyes more than saw her looking at him and he knew what was coming before she even uttered the words, “I suppose the time has arrived once again.  You told me last night that you had already decided on another name.  Have you changed your mind about that one, or chosen another name?”

The mermaid felt the boatman grow tense as he said, “No.  It’s the same name.  I wasn't able to think of a better one.”

“Well, what is it?” she anxiously prodded. 

Seeing no way out of not telling her the name he'd chosen, he reluctantly answered, “According to ancient Germanic legend, there once lived a very beautiful mermaid.  She had a sweet, alluring voice, which often caused  sailors to run their ships up on the rocks attempting to reach her.  Her name was Lorelei and that's my choice tonight.  My sweet mermaid, is your name Lorelei?” 

As she shook her head in the moonlight and whispered, “No,” the sailorman noticed the two beautiful red gems on the tips of her gaudy spectacles slightly flickering once again.

Disheartened by his choice, since the woman he loved still remained half a fish, the sailorman implored, “Please don’t ask me to guess again.  I don’t care what your name is or what you look like.  So you're half fish; so what – I love you regardless!  It hasn’t made a difference so far – I can live with it – why can’t you?”

Waiting for his emotional outburst to subside, still holding his hands tightly, the mermaid quietly replied, “I've waited for you longer than you have been alive my boatman.  You're my only chance to be a whole woman.  I love you even though I am half fish, but I long to love you like a whole woman; my entire being, body, mind and soul.  You do understand don’t you?  Although I've been somewhat happy with my seagoing friends, the dolphins, whales and fishes, I'm often times overwhelmed with loneliness, something I'm sure you can understand.  So cheer up, smile and think positive – tomorrow night – tell me the right name.  You're not going to let an old magician get the best of you, are you?”

“You ask a lot from me, but I guess that’s a big part about being in love.  Everything isn't always fun and good times; it's getting through the difficult times that life throws at a person that makes a relationship between two people stronger,” replied the sad sailorman.

Although the next morning was bright and sunshiny, the sailorman was as blue as the sky.  He went through his morning ritual, enjoying a cup of hot jasmine tea before taking Misty to the island.  His actions seemed almost hypnotic, as if he had no control of the day and it’s eventual outcome.  For once in his life, he dreaded the approach of nightfall, the responsibility he had to face and perhaps the most overwhelming loss to ever befall him. As he sat in the sailboat's cockpit sipping his tea, Misty curled alongside him like the first curious day he met the mermaid, the mermaid suddenly appeared and playfully splashed them with her large tail.  When her smiling face appeared from below the surface of the sea, he was glad that she could not see the tears intermingled with the saltwater streaming down his face.  The last thing he wanted was to have a sad day with her; he wanted to fill it with happiness and continue the good memories of their time together.

Stripping the clothes from his body, the sailorman dove off the bow, slicing the water with barely a ripple.  When he emerged from beneath the sea, he was face to face with the mermaid.  Taking her in his arms, they kissed; their feelings joyous and uninhibited.  She was his woman and he was her man.  No matter what the outcome of the evening's guess would bring, the feelings they shared was something no one could take away from them, not even that dastardly spell-caster.

The sailorman and his mermaid laughed and played together in the sea, frolicking like two kids.  They held each other close at times, floating up and down with the waves, licking the salty water from each other’s face, splashing, blowing bubbles and kissing beneath the happy sun.  It was a beautiful day and they had decided nothing was going to destroy their happiness. 

Clambering aboard the sailboat, they lay on the deck, exhausted from their playfulness.  Touching one another with their fingertips, hugging and kissing as if there was no tomorrow.  What was in the past has gone forever - in the future – who knows, but now, now is life itself; each thought, each breath, each blink of the eye is what really matters.  Nothing lasts forever, take the moment, steal the moment, grab it anyway you can is what was passing through their minds as they held each other close, each becoming the other until they were one. 

Cupping the mermaid’s chin in his hands, the sailorman looked into her eyes and smiled, saying, “I've never experinced such happiness in my entire life until this very moment.”  He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, taking in every little hair, the slight flare of her nostrils, thin brown eyebrows, soft pink lips, playful freckles speckled across her nose and those eyes, the colours forever changing with the light.  The light!  It was as if a light had been switched on inside his head.

The mermaid sensing his excitement, exclaimed, “Is it time to…”

Before she could finish her sentence, the sailorman pressed his finger lightly against her lips.  “Shh!" he exclaimed.  "Yes, it’s time, time for me to tell you your name.  That sorcerer, wizard, destroyer of dreams, envious of other’s loving schemes; what does he know about real power; he’s only a trickster, a magician, a sideshow operator, a ruse with a bag full of cheap tricks, probably a figment of his own imagination.  You and I are real; we feel, we love, we have compassion and honesty; we shed real tears.

The last episode of THE MERMAID AND THE MAGICIAN will be posted on Monday.  You have until then to email me your answer to the magician's name he gave the mermaid.  Remember,  only people who have joined the Newsletter or a "follower" are eligible to win the prize!