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!    

THE GIANT SNAIL

          It's just amazing; the tripe, nonsensical, unmeaningful, and should be forgotten crap that rolls around inside this old man's head; stuff that should never come to the forefront, should be left far behind like a lingering fart that just slides out of the great toothless orifice and clings to my butt like a Spandex body suit.  And then again, some things just never leave the mind and so it is as I look back in time to my very early teenage years when boys will be boys and girls, well girls, they were still just aliens; they lived in an entirely different dimension.  It's a time when I was a paperboy delivering the Vancouver Sun, swam in a lake that turned me green (luckily, not toxic waste green) clouds were still magical and my friends were carefree; one such friend, being Danny T. - a cohort of many joint mischievous deeds.
          Danny and I, since our first meeting at the paper-shack, where we bagged our Vancouver Sun newspapers before heading out to our various routes to deliver them; just hit it off; we were almost like brothers.  But make no mistake about it, Danny was a troublemaker, he had already stolen his first car at age 13 and smashed it up.  Basically a straight-A student, a policeman for a father, you'd think he'd become a prominent person when he grew up but I guess that doesn't mean anything because when I met him years later while I was going to art school, he had just been released from prison for robbery; what appeared to be his chosen career and it would not be the last time he went to prison.  But this isn't what I want to write about, I want to stay with that time when we were still boys and the best of friends.
          Sleep-overs were as rare as first kisses in those days but somehow or another I managed to stay overnight at his house.  He shared his bedroom with his younger brother Ronnie and that evening, after we were all told to quiet down several times and get to sleep, he showed me his special tin can that he kept on the floor beside his bed.  Now what's so special about a tin can; well nothing really; it was the contents.  Every night and like tonight, Danny dragged up all the phlegm and snot out of his lungs and nose and hucked  it into his big tin can.  When he showed me the contents, I have to admit I was in awe; I'd never seen anything quite so vile and yet it was wondrous at the same time.  How many times he had hucked a gooey mouthful of guck into that big old tin can that seems to just collect in all of us, I have no idea but it was almost up to the brim; it looked like a giant snail.  And in the morning when we woke up, the sun just cresting the neighbours' houses, Danny set his giant snail free!
          Danny and his brother's bedroom was located above the living room overlooking a small veranda that covered the front porch.  I have no idea the length of time that had passed since Danny first hucked into his big old tin can but when he tipped it upside down outside on the window sill, like a snail, it was not in a hurry to leave.  However, after banging the tin several time, the yellowish-grey glob began to ooze its way out of the tin can.  Like drool, creeping out of the side of someone's mouth, it just seemed to hover suspended in mid air until gravity finally took hold and it plopped on the veranda, which was covered in shingles.  Slowly and slowly, ever so slowly, it oozed its way down the slope of the veranda from shingle to shingle until it reached the edge of the roof.  The contents of the tin can were close to being empty by now, so not until Danny scooped the remaining gob of congested snot and phlegm out of the tin can with his finger and added it to the edge of the widow sill, did the gob of goo collected at the edge of the roof finally start its long descent to the ground below.
          Not wanting to miss the conclusion of this exciting event, barely able to contain our laughter and not wake up his mom and dad, we hightailed it down the stairs and out the front door as fast as we could.  One would think, the gigantic snot ball would have separated at this point and just dripped to the ground, but like a snail trail, the goo still held together.  We looked at each other in amazement when the disgusting blob eventually touched the ground unbroken - Spiderman had nothing on Danny's gooey gob - he could have probably swung from the top of the tallest building to the street below with that strange concoction that could have put a witch's brew to shame.
          It's been at least 30 years since I last met Danny walking along a downtown street in Nanaimo, BC - he was on the run then, not from the police or a prison escape but from some real bad people.  From what he told me, he'd spent much of his life behind bars, mostly for violent robberies.  He also told m, his brother had been found at his home in the basement by his young daughter; he'd been killed by a shot gun blast at very close range.  I don't know if what happened to his brother had anything to do with Danny; it didn't sound like it but he did mention seeking revenge.
          Danny would be as old as I am now and I sometimes wonder whatever became of him - the last time I heard from him, it was by telephone and that he was living up island with a woman.  I don't know if he had settled down by then or if he was hiding out from the law or bad guys but it's the last I ever heard from my boyhood friend and like his giant snot-ball, I guess the memories of our good times will always cling to me - cheers, eh!      
         

LENNY'S HAREM

Chicken Coop

          Yesterday was a sunny, balmy day, almost took off my shirt to catch a few rays, grab a wee bit of a tan, so I let the chickens out while I cleaned their coop, which was really a disgusting mess I have to admit.  However, when the temperature drops below zero for long periods of time, everything freezes, including chicken shit and boy, do those girls crap a lot.  When I opened the door to the coop, to make my job a little easier to clean it out, all the pretty girls just came sashaying through the doorway and strutted their stuff - talk about doing the Can-Can, the old Bardrock rooster was some excited, almost went out of his mind, I tell you, didn't know which one to jump first but then being the horny little guy he is, he simply chose the one closest and then worked his way around - my goodness, could be a lot of wee chicks peepin' about the barnyard come this spring.  It's been awhile since I let them out; the temperatures have been so low, they'd have froze their feathers off.  When they got the hang of the ice and slippery snow, the cluckers were all doing fancy pirouettes and circle eights all over the barnyard; they were just plain having a fine old time - I never heard such happy cluckin'.  Duncan, our dog decided he was being left out and tried to join in but I had to discourage him with a wee bit of a scoldin'; I didn't want those chickens scattered all over the place, could have been a bit of a problem getting them back in the coop once the sun started dipping below the horizon and besides; you'd think they were on vacation by the small amount of eggs they're layin' and I didn't need him unnecessarily upsetting them.  I'm not sure how many of the fine- feathered hens there are, close to 70 I expect, and at only about a dozen eggs a day, they really aren't producing much, just barely paying for their feed.    

        All my pretty girls really enjoyed the clean coop too; a lot of them just stretched out on the floor and gave themselves a dust bath.  I know they prefer flappin' about in a dusty hole in the ground but since that doesn't exist at the moment, they did the best they could with the dry wood chips and sawdust.  I find it a touch odd, that with all those nesting boxes and the girls aren't laying so many eggs these days, I'll be danged; there are sometimes up to three hens in one box trying to lay an egg when all of the other boxes are empty - don't make a lick of sense to me.  I realize they're a gregarious bunch of feathered females but when they're trying to squeeze three of them into a laying box; isn't there a saying that "three's a crowd"?

          Some say that chickens are raptors and originated during the dinosaur era and I can believe it.  One thing about a chicken, they're certainly survivors and better equipped than any other creature I know of.  Can you think of anything else that can lay an egg a day and then dine on that egg - I expect, should the world remain on its present path and things start dying off rapidly, including the human race, why I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see that chickens are at the head of the survival list and on that note - think I'll head on in to the house and have me a plate of scrambled eggs - nothin' better than farm-fresh eggs - cheers, eh!        

CHICKENS, DUNCAN AND FRIENDS

          We've been having a regular heat-wave the past few days - the rain of course making for hazardous driving and walking conditions - why hell, while maneuvering slowly down the icy walkway, my feet suddenly shot out from under me and I found myself flat on my back; thought for a moment that I may have sprained my wrist or broke it, I laid there for a moment or two, just to make sure that the remainder of my other extremities were still in working condition.  I see the chicken coop has finally thawed out and it's as slick as a gob of snot; almost toppled in there too when I was trying to sidestep the flock of cluckers - now that could have been more than just a nasty fall - ewwwwww.  Since the sun is shining and the temperature is still above zero, I'll be scoopin' out the chicken poop today; may even let the chickens out to make my job a little easier; too bad all there is in the barnyard is snow and ice to scratch around, so they might just huddle around.

          Duncan, our dog, doesn't seem to mind when the temperature drops so low, the hairs in your nose freeze and crinkle every time you suck in some air but when it rains, he prefers to lie about in my studio and watch the flames in the woodstove dance to the beat of the crackling fire; he's not too fond of the rain.  It's odd, but I've seen photos of dogs posted on Facebook that are curled up in the snow by the doorstep and I imagine some of them depict cruelty to pets, but I've often seen Duncan curled up in the snow and when I call him in to warm his bones by the woodstove, he just looks at me and stays where he's at; he is definitely an outdoor dog, well maybe until it's dark out and then I don't even have to coax him into the studio, he just runs in and curls up in his nice comfy bed.

          I'd like to mention that living out here in the boonies, so to speak, although the sea is not even a close distance away, our neighbours are much like the dock-people I knew, back when I was living on my sailboat.  Our friend Clayton Clarke, who lives about 1/2 mile away and is about 78 years old has come to our rescue on more than one occasion in the winter.  Last year, when the temperature dropped well below zero, he was down under our crawlspace, laying on his back, soldering the copper pipes back together where they had frozen and burst.  I'm talkin' about a man that's recently had a couple of heart attacks and suffers from emphysema; that man is always puffing on a cigarette.  And this winter, when our diesel truck has a tantrum because it's -30C with a windchill of about -50C and refused to budge an inch in the State of Maine on New Year's Day; as soon as the weather warms up and the rain is coming down like a rainforest deluge, he grabs his super battery booster and we head over there.  Apparently my wife and his wife watched us pull this heavy charger up an icy driveway that was slicker than a hooker's panties coming off, and were amazed that neither of us fell down, which of course at our age could have been disastrous.  The fall itself may not have been so bad but picture this, two old farts laying flat on their arses sliding down this slippery driveway so fast and still gathering speed, their cheeks are slappin' their faces so hard, damn near knocks them out, and a highway at the bottom with a logging truck carrying a full load of trees screamin' down the hill from Danforth; why hell, we would have been turned into freshly made pablum; just a red stain on the highway. 

          Well gotta go, the wife just informed me to come into the house and have a nice cup of hot coffee and listen to the Neil Young show, which is against the development of the Alberta oil sands.  It's people like him that hopefully more people will listen to and follow his example to halt this sort of procedure.  Have a good one - cheers, eh!          

OLD-MAN-RAMBLING

          It's been over a month since I sat my bony butt down and wrote a blog.  It's not that I don't have much to say, because what old man doesn't have a lot to say?  Man, you never want to be cornered somewhere by an old man, they'll just go on and on about the good old days when they did this and they did that; things were wonderful then, not like they are now.  At least with me, when I put some thoughts down here on the blog, it's not a big deal; just one click of the mouse and it's good-bye, adios, see you later - delete, delete, delete, if a person doesn't like what I've written.  And it's odd too, when writing a blog, because often when I write about serious stuff that should concern everyone, the readership dramatically drops.  Now I don't blame anyone for not reading the serious stuff, pollution, toxic waste, radiation leakage, etc., etc., etc. because I have to agree, it's down right depressive; it's enough to make my sphincter slam shut for a number of days and just turn me into a cranky old coot.   

          I was talking to my wife this morning, "Sarah", I said as I warmed my thick-stockinged feet by the hot wood stove and sipped on a hot cup of goldenrod tea I picked myself while the tiny yellow flowers were still in bloom, "I can't believe it.  What I'm lookin' at is the end of my life.  This is it for me, Fosterville, of all places.  It's highly unlikely that I will ever live in another place."  

        Now don't get me wrong, I live in a great place; it's just at this age and the present conditions; I'm most likely going to die right here on this property, perhaps sitting in the old rocking-chair by the wood stove or face down on the keyboard - sure as hell hope it's not face down in the chicken coop.  There was a time (now this is old-man-rambling) you may want to hit the delete button now, it's just dang hard to see a future for me, other than getting older and older and dying.  Cripes a'mighty, there was a time when I was able to leap a bar stool in a single bound and didn't give a crap where I laid my head down, and now, taking a nap in a comfortable place can actually be a highlight in this old man's day.  But what I mean about a future, most people are looking forward towards a raise, a better position or a great career move, marriage, kids, a home, yadda,-yadda-yadda; whatever.  I mean I've had a lot of that in my life and still do to a certain degree but those ambitions of years ago eventually just hitched their asses to an old man's bod, where the energy level is hitting minus degrees on the thermometer of life; if I didn't wear semi-tight jeans, my sagging ass would be bouncing off the calves of my legs with every step I took.  

          A lot of people in my generation made the mistake or planning for their retirement; to me, that's like planning for your death; what future is there in that?  That's like when an insurance agent, years ago, was trying to convince me to buy a large policy and said it was like an investment.  Now what is all this crap about an investment in dying - hell, I'll be dead forever when the time comes to cash in; don't think there will be any Walmarts, love-boat cruises, or just laying about sipping on pina coladas or at least, I sure as hell hope not.  I could never imagine working at the same job, for the same company, for the same boss, for just a pay-cheque, possible bonuses, vacation time, you know, all the little carrots they hang in front of a person's nose as the wrinkles start appearing, muscles start sagging, you know, when women's tits bounce off their knees and men's noses continually drip, mortgages keep getting larger, education keeps getting more expensive etc., etc., so the little carrot they keep dangling in front of your nose, is never really reachable.  Nah, that was never for me.  Of course, even though I think I could say, I retired around the age of 42 - now that's not to say, I stopped working totally; I mean I've never drawn welfare and only once did I collect EI for a year or was it 2 - that's the thing about being an old man, the memory isn't as sharp as it once was.  And now, at 72, I feel I've been working physically harder than I ever did during my younger years - mind you - could be because I ache a lot now, my joints are stiff and the majority of my strength has gathered on a mudslide heading towards a 6' hole in the ground.

          I know, I know, I'm ranting now, I'm sounding like the old man I am.  And if you've already hit the delete key, well that's no problem - I mostly just yammer away to hear myself talk; keeps me in touch with my being and makes me realize I'm not dead yet.  It wouldn't surprise me if the last words I hear are my own if I live long enough, "Will somebody please change this damnable diaper, I've just shit myself!" - cheers, eh! 

MOODY WINTER WALKS WITH DUNCAN AND WINTER CHORES

 

          Several days ago, during the evening, the snow began falling and when I awoke in the early morning, the last remnants of autumn had completely disappeared beneath the wintry shroud.  Although the wind was quite chilling, I bundled up before heading out towards the lake with our dog Duncan like I usually do; he really enjoys the walks, especially if he comes across some squirrels to chase up a tree.  Since I knew the walk in the fresh snow would be unmarked by vehicles or other people walking down the road leading to the lake, I grabbed my camera as I headed out the door.  Besides Duncan's footprints, coyote, fox, rabbit and squirrel tracks could be seen crisscrossing the road as I casually walked along listening to the creaking trees and the occasional song of a chickadee.  Because of the lighting, the photos I took almost look like they are black and white but if you look closely, you will see a hint of colour. 

          When I reach Mike and Judy Saunders' cottage on the lake, I always do a loop around their house to make sure everything is still in good order before continuing on home.  They have returned to Victoria, BC for the winter and so far everything looks very well contained for the harsh weather ahead.  Duncan and I will continue to keep an eye on their place until the snow is too deep to handle my weight (may have to invest in a pair of snowshoes).  The walk can be a bit treacherous at times because before the snow fell, I stepped on a small patch of black ice during my walk and did a remarkable display of doing the splits.

          The partial view of the frozen lake from the Saunders' place can be seen and although it is covered in snow, the ice is not yet thick enough to safely walk on but once the temperatures plummet for a lengthy time, which won't be long coming now, the ice-fishermen will show up with their augers and little buildings.  I've yet to experience ice-fishing or any other type of fishing on the lake for that matter but I'm hoping that will change in the not too distant future.  

          Winter is certainly a brooding and moody time of the year but I have to admit, I do enjoy its arrival; not so many chores. However, speaking of chores, after a wee bit of discussion with my wife Sarah, we decided to expand the bathroom into one of the upstairs bedrooms (needed a larger space for the free-standing tub I purchased).  As you can see, I'm great at ripping things apart and now that the tub has arrived, I'm beginning to wonder if expanding the bathroom is a good idea.  Of course it's too late for that now and I'm hoping, like when I'm looking at a blank canvas before I start painting, the finished product will all turn out fine.  Hardly a professional carpenter; I call myself an ad-lib carpenter - let the magic begin - cheers, eh!