Dry Blood

A stunner. I found this in the garden of a Thai restaurant we love.

I’ve mentioned before that the original intent of this blog was to describe my travels; ocean voyages, desert treks, new discoveries and all the amazing people along the way. It just hasn’t worked out due to an incredible inability to raise funds. There was a time when it seemed that money just happened. I don’t know how things have changed other than not being able to work at a regular job but there’s still lots of money around, it just seems to be in soft pink little mitts that have never even had a callus. I can hear a good friend who often rages about all “The non-producers.” He’s right! Working smart? What’s that?

The Morden Mine head rig. The concrete was recently repaired. It will stand as a monument to the greed which developed this area.
Another industry. Don’t throw any rocks! The instinctive engineering skills of wasps and bees is amazing, just don’t get too close. In fact, buzz off!
Buzz on! Load up and then back to the hive. Blackberry blooms will continue for several weeks, and interesting survival strategy.
Carpenter Ants. The sawdust is the giveaway. If you listen carefully, you can hear their tiny power tools.
An alien this way comes.

I’m not complaining (Well just a little) just explaining, and I continue to poke into the mundane and daily humdrums to find things to write about. There are some amazing treasures which we walk right by. Isn’t it funny how memories can be triggered by something totally innocuous? I was sitting at this desk while my wife watched a favourite BBC production. One character’s line was simply “Pass the pepper please.” I’ve always liked peppery food. Suddenly I recalled how as a small boy my parents and other adults at a dinner table would often caution me, “Not too much pepper, it’ll make your blood dry up!” Where the hell did that one come from? I’ve done my research and find no origin of that myth. I clearly remember hearing it often. Surely there must be other food notions that we endured. Do you have any?

I’ve spent  years wondering why I never saw Kenny. I thought he must be a little dog. So i finally asked.
HERE’S Kenny!

The other eating terror I recall was about swimming after eating. My mother believed that if, after eating, a person entered water too soon, they would endure crippling stomach cramps and drown. When my parents moved to town a point of order was to enroll me for swimming lessons at the local pool. I can recall the acrid taste and smell of chlorine, the biting cold of the water, the incessant whistles of those goddamned lifeguards. In a few horrible lessons I was taught all the many ways to drown (although there was no mention about when not to eat.) I held a deep terror of swimming for the next twenty years. That kept me alive by keeping me out of the water although I did become an avid canoeist! Only when taking scuba lessons did I realize how much weight one needed to strap to their body to actually sink. We’re naturally buoyant! If you’re tense, you’ll sink. Just relax. Putting on a good layer of fat helps too!

My little dog Arye is a very intense creature. If there is something she does not like, it is not going to happen. She’ll remember and a repeat attempt at coercing her into anything usually fails. Recently I tried clipping her toe nails. I managed two before her frantic struggles and screams ended the ordeal. She is a wonderful dramatic actor and this was a stellar performance. Later that day, the clippers ended up on the floor where Arye was seen inspecting them thoroughly. She then picked them up and trotted off to hide them under a bed. Clever wee bitch! I can’t imagine what I need to do about those little claws without having to anaesthetize her. I’ve come to dearly love both my wee inherited dogs. I insist they both be dogs, none of that fuu-fuu-la-la business for me, but it seems that big dog solutions don’t always work. I’m open to suggestions about this ten-pound beast.

The ten pound terrorist.
Country road review.  FOCUS!
What the girls were watching. Perhaps they were pondering the age-old question about why the chicken crossed the road.
Warm and fuzzy. What’s better for the soul than two cute wee dogs on a pile of warm laundry?

I have always been bemused by the roof-top cargo boxes which many folks attach to their car roofs. I see a sarcophagus shape and makes jokes about why people want to haul a dead relative around. Recently I saw a brief story about an English couple returning home from France and finding that someone was trying to smuggle themselves in a rooftop luggage box. These folks tied the box lid with a rope and called the police. My sympathies, of course, are with the illegal immigrant. There were other videos of the same practice and now whenever I see another roof box hurtling along, I see more immigrants.

Flotsam. How did this end up at the high water line? I think it’s part of the drive system of an old gillnet drum, but how the hell did it arrive here?
Maple Street detail.
Maple Street long view. I love this moment in time on a Chemainus street by the sea.

Two nights ago Jill and I went to our favourite local Thai restaurant in Chemainus, It is superb in all ways, the food and service are always perfect. It is in an old house with a lovely verandah for outdoor dining, a grand place to have a summer supper. Another couple came to the next table. They proceeded to loudly analysis the menu for the next twenty minutes. “Well if you have a twelve then I’ll try the nineteen.” Finally the proprietor was able to take their order. The conversation evolved. “ I sure hope it’s a good vegetable roll, haven’t had a good vegetable roll in a long time!” A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste and I so wanted to say something loudly about a roll in the garden. Down boy, down! Their chat had moved on to discussing friends. “She sure is kinda purty though she’s a bit wide for her length.” Uhuh. I went and photographed flowers in the garden while waiting for our food. Lord knows what folks say about things I tend to spout and how I behave.

And so there… another blog about not very much at all. Just like the six o’clock news!

I’m not saying I want it, but I sure do admire it. The view is great. It must belong to some humble writer-type. I can imagine sitting with a pot of coffee watching the sun rise over the Gulf Islands.
What I can afford. Arye wonders where her room is. Every summer young engineers erect some very dangerous-looking driftwood structures.

In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”

Theodore Roosevelt

Author: Fred Bailey

Fred is a slightly-past middle age sailor / writer / photographer with plenty of eclectic hands-on skills and experiences. Some would describe him as the old hippy who doesn't know the war is over. He is certainly reluctant to grow up and readily admits to being the eternal dreamer. He has written several books including two novels, 'The Keeper' and 'Storm Ecstasy,' as well as 'The Water Rushing By', 'Sins Of The Fathers', 'The Magic Stick', as well as an extensive inventory of poetry, essays, short stories, anecdotes and photographs. His first passion is the ocean, sailboats, voyaging and all those people who are similarly drawn to the sea. He lives aboard 'Seafire' the boat he is refitting to go voyaging, exploring new horizons both inner and outer. This blog is about that voyage and the preparations for it. In spite of the odds against it, the plan is to sail away this fall and lay a course southward. If you follow this blog your interest may provide some of the energy that helps fuel the journey. Namaste Contact him at svpaxboat@gmail.com

4 thoughts on “Dry Blood”

  1. For the mundane Fred…you manage to still keep me interested. Keep it up!!
    Going to try to your Thai restaurant next time we’re passing through!

  2. Peppers will dry your blood up, and playing with yourself will make you go blind. Ask my old muy.

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