He shuffled out of the bedroom and said, “I’ve got two stiffies this morning.”
“You what?” She responded, “A tooth fitting!?”
“ No, no, my knees!”
The moss jungle
That’s a real story. It occurred a few minutes ago right in this room. This getting old has its moments. Thankfully I’m still alive enough to have a sense of humour. When that’s gone, so too will I be. Today is the 21st, the shortest daylight hours of the year. The official solstice is at 01:27 UTC tomorrow morning. There’ll be palm trees swaying in the breeze before we know it and parrots squawking at dawn.
Meanwhile I’ve been out in my cold, cold garage overhauling my wee genset. These new ones are amazing. They’re tiny, they’re quiet and produce electricity for hours on one tank of fuel. I have an “app” on my mobile phone which lets me monitor load, remaining fuel and allows me to shut the machine off remotely. It has not been running perfectly so I decided to remove the tiny carburetor for a good cleaning. So! Try jamming your gnarly old paws into that thing, while holding a wrench. It’s like trying to do brain surgery on a kitten, through the rectum! I succeeded. tt runs fine now but there were contemplations about the price of a new generator. Think green, bic it!
It’s complicated. These old poplar trees stretch out in the winter sun
Christmas shopping is at full frenzy. Folks are lined up in the grocery store buying their festive spam and the elite may be able to manage a sack of gizzards. Gull or turkey, who knows? While truly thankful that I’m not in Gaza, or the Ukraine, I wonder how this will end. Most folks in our culture don’t even know how to plant a potato. Damn we are spoiled and soft! In my favourite auto parts store a man was buying a full case of WD40 in spray cans. I complimented him on his clever Christmas shopping and wondered how long it would take to gift wrap each can. He told me that products in aerosol cans were being banned and he wanted to lay in a rest-of-his-life stock. Hmmm. As if the company was closing its doors! I wonder if he scooted on to pick up a case of toilet paper. We’ve been there before! And if you live on an island… with a belly full of turkey spam! Yer gonna need it.
December ferry to Penalakut Island
Here in Ladysmith, the town throbs with Christmas lights, and they love special interest activities. One is to drive around town, and around, and bloody around with fire trucks and wailing sirens. The poor dogs howl their asses off and grumpy old men fume. What the hell sirens have to do with peace on earth is a total mystery. But then our neighbour has a pulsing, garish light display that looks like the crash scene of a 787.
Winter solstice spring flood tideExtra wet in the swampIn the distance, shotguns bang away at ducks. Christmas in the estuary.
And so now I’m writing on December 24th. Everyone is out there rushing about on their final Christmas missions and I’m half a pot of coffee into my dawn watch. After a while I realize that the dull pallor is as good as it gets. It’s time to get out and walk the dogs before a heavy rain begins again. I wish everyone a happy traditional Christmas and that you all have someone to give a gift to. Fleas navigate and bumhug to all. Don’t let it make you swell up too much.
To all a good night
Christmas is built upon a beautiful and intentional paradox; that the birth of the homeless should be celebrated in every home.hG.K. Chesterton
Last year, for less than twenty bucks, I bought this living tree already decorated. I have even reused the string of tiny lights. Two trees are still alive out there because I’m a cheap old knob.It works for me. Think green!
Feeling miserable as last year’s little Christmas tree, sitting in its little pot on the back on the deck while beat upon by the cold December rain. Nasty blasty weather days are punctuated by clear and cold but penetrating damp days. Solar illumination available 8am to 4pm. Considering weather, economic and political climates we live in probably the best place on earth. Yet, my old bones crave warmer climates. All it takes is money, attitude and a southern latitude. I’m sure someone in Gaza woud be happy to trade places with me.
After the night’s stormLoneliness of the long distance runner
Last year at this time salmon were spawning like the end of the world. Maybe it was.. They were everwhere, you could walk on them. This year there are hardly any. That is not a sign of end times, climate change or any political malfeasance. It is normal to have fluxuations in all things natural, especially weather and climate. The rest of the effects follow as they always have. There are rich years and then lean ones. Indigenous people starved during low-cycle years and understood that was how it worked. They did not trot around looking for someone to blame. No human has a hand on a switch to control those things, whatever folks may choose to believe. Folks used to accept that fact but now that most of us live in a man-made synthetic environment, many of us look for someone to blame when we’ve planned our picnic wrong.
A different kind of alone. Stuck on a foreign ship in a harbour in the cold pouring rain, can’t go ashore. Waiting for cargo. Thoughts of family at Christmas.A lovely tradition. Some folks randomly decorate trees along paths in the woods. That never fails to cheer me up.Ya got the ball!
The wee dogs and I have just returned from our morning outing. It is hammering a very cold December rain mixed with blobs of slush. The girls reluctantly trotted up into the dog park, did their business, and hurtled back to the truck but I forced them to walk one round of the park. They both wear colourful winter rain jackets but they prefered the comforts of home. They’re now laying in front of the fireplace. Through the scudding clouds I can see fresh snow on the mountain behind town. Think I’ll go downtown and line up for a jug of rum.
Cowichan Valley December morning.Hold on to your dreams“For a good second look, come back at high tide.”
Sunday morning is blacker than inside a bear but there is no snow on the ground. I guess it is nice that all I have to whine about is the weather. I put hot coffee and food inside my fat belly and then the dogs walk me around an old local farm, We meet kindred spirits out with their lovely dogs. Those pets show their resilience and joy in the moment and keep their complaints to themselves. We have so much to learn from them. If only we would pay attention.
Sometimes we’ve got to SEE the beauty in the things we look at.“Yep, and be sure to see the things looking at you.”
The month wears on. It’s like a slow skid on a gravel road. I’m tinkering up my recently-bought trailer. Personalizing it, stowing “stuff”, dreaming of fragrant ocean breezes, seeing monster saguaro cacti through the windows, hearing the cry of a caracara. Perhaps that’s the value of the thing, the dream box.
Lone gull on the road to Crofton in the afternoon.White car passing in Sunday morning red dawn.Meanwhile, Sunday morning inside.Softly she snores.
The line up and say “Baa” queue. After getting up in the dark to catch a ferry to the mainland, all you want is a coffee. You join a lineup which goes half-way around the ship and shuffles along for an eternity to get some yuck breakfast on a tray and a papercup of hot bilgewater. Beats swimming!
I’ve been looking, and looking, for the right travel trailer. Of course I wanted a pristine flagship for the price of a worn-out child’s wagon. It is an enlightening experience. There are a lot of gold bricks hidden in those old boxes. If folks would dig them out our economy would be healed overnight. We all want the most for the least but I need simple warm, dry shelter big enough to stand in and lay down in with a spot to safely cook. Soggy floors, leaks repaired with paint, missing registration papers are all disqualifiers. I’m not prepared to pay new prices for something that is fifty years old and rotted out. I don’t care how much fun you’ve had in this in the past. I actually had a lady explain how she repaired a roof leak from inside with paint. Really! I didn’t inquire about the rest of the rig.
My BC Ferry share certificates are in the mail. Fuel surcharge? No comment.Room with a view. After paying the fare for the trailer I decided to break the rules and stay inside it. I prentended I was on a cruise ship and this was my cabin.
I’ve sold off a bunch of stuff recently and am fed up with the response on MarketPlace, “Is it still available?” The only thing worse is the vendor replying with “Are you still interested?” No, I just thought I’d bother you. Now I’ve advertised my beloved Yamaha motorcycle, to see what the Gods ordain and there has been a string of dudes asking “Is it stll available? Would you be interested in trading for something along with some cash?” There is is no mention of what the “something” is and how much cash is in the pot. That is despite my ad’s warning not to ask if it is stll available. It leaves me wanting to speak explicit redneck. I guess you’ve just got to kiss a lot of toads before you find your frog. It’s tedious.
We know the average life span of an RV is about ten years. Ones older than that are often described as “Retro.” I don’t care how old they are. If they’ve been properly cared for they may be in better condition than newer ones. A photo of some old moss-covered relic keeled over in the blackberries just doesn’t float my boat. Some old motorhomes are advertised for less money than a trailer but if their structure is not filled with cancerous growths then they have a huge old engine with a gas line as big as your knee. I’ve foolishly wasted far too much money buying somebody else’s problem. Poverty begets poverty. I don’t need a major project.
Last weekend I burned off a 3/4 tank of gas to look at a trailer, which when I arrived was claimed to be just sold. They knew I was coming. Damn their teeth! Most interesting was a newer and much nicer trailer which had to be the one photographed to advertise the older unit. I then developed an interest in a trailer which was Australian-built but when I asked for an address to come see it, a deposit was demanded to “Hold” it for me. Communications ceased when I asked why all the photos of the trailer were taken in Australia. Hey mate, we don’t have many eucalyptus trees here.
Finally I found a cute little trailer far away in Chilliwack and off I went to the bustling mainland, furiously squeezing the piggy bank until its ribs began to crack. The trailer was the right size (19′), in good condition, had plenty of room, and I liked the family selling it. It now sits in my back yard. It is lovely and Jill likes it too. She helped make this possible. A bed we can sit up in, room to get around each other and plenty of storage space. We don’t need to step outside to change our mind. Mexico or bust, we just need a little more mordida. I’m usually alone on my adventures and this trailer is all I need. Home on the range!
Home on the range. Wow, you sure have to kiss a lot of toads before you find your frog!
It was full moon last night. It glowed down through a blanket of fog and now at 07:30 the sun is trying to illuminate our gloomy world. How I hate this time of year! The damp cold penetrates to your aching bones and the sun is setting shortly after it rose. At least I’m not living at a more northerly latitude anymore where sun light was at even more of a premium. We are having a drought at the moment and so there have been several clear sunny days. Our life-giving star becomes a curse with its harsh light seeming to be in your eyes no matter where you look. Pedestrians and vehicles appear suddenly out of the deep shadows. Curse or blessing, it is all about attitude.
Feral fog apples. A free worm in every one.
The dawn grudgingly yields to minimun dimness, time to roust the hibernating wee girl dogs and go make tracks in the frost. The day stayed gloomy with a penetrating damp chill. Then I sold my motorcycle. I love it and what it represents to me but I’m realizing that maybe I have to concede that age and all its old injuries have not left me the snappiest cracker in the box. I love the wind in my face and the acceleration that comes with the twist of the throttle. Risking a quick death is one issue, but laying in a hospital bed staring at a beige ceiling with a B747 wiring harness hooked to my smashed parts is another ordeal. I’ve had that adventure and I don’t want to repeat it. My long-suffering wife doesn’t deserve any more ordeals at my own hand, she’s endured enough already. I have learned that motorcycling in traffic is where you submit your fate totally to other drivers. Superior pilots use their superior judgement to avoid situations requiring their superior skill. Enough said. That’s how I got to this age, time to move on. But…bear in mind that simply walking down the street can be as dangerous as anything else. We have no control over our fellows.
I’ll miss this beauty. I truly had a short “head over heels” romance and now she’s gone. It is the story of a motorcycle which morphed into a trailer. I have plans for another wee bike.Still they come. After a day or two at best, they’re gone until next year.Fungi demonstrate the meaning of life. Whether we understand or not, life must go on.
Here I am at 03:30 pecking out my musings. It is two days past full moon, a time of month when I often cannot sleep. Outside, the opalescent gloom crushes down on the town as its light is reflected back from the fog. It’s a strange silent world out there, the sort of night where characters in fedoras and trenchcoats wander the echoing alleys in hard-soled shoes. Dawn seems an eternity away. I’ll post this sometime after that.
Another day goes by. Sometimes the business of just living can quickly fritter the whole day away. And so once again, here I am peering out into another bleak dawn. It’s garbage day again. I step out into the cold, cold grey damp of the morning fog. I say goodbye to a cherished pair of shoes, finally worn beyond hope. Ingloriously I tie the bag over them, another friend gone. Back inside, it is warm with the frangrance of coffee and a little dog happily wiggles around my feet. Here in Ladysmith, it is also the traditional day when all the downtown Christmas lights are turned on. Everyone turns goofy and they do things like driving around and around town celebrating the season with fire truck sirens screaming. The dogs love it! Uhuh. Oh how I’ve been waiting to say this: “BUMHUG!”
May your lights be bright and your nights filled with happiness, good health and something to look forward to.
“A man is a very small thing, and the night is very large and full of wonders.” – Lord Dunsany
