Otra Vez

Peachy. After a severe pruning our fabulous peach tree makes a decision to keep on living.

In English: One more time. There’s no fool like an old fool. I am ninteen years old but trapped in a seventy-four old body. I’ve heard it said that “If I knew I’d live this long I would have taken better care of myself.” Fred Kneivel doesn’t have much of a ring to it but the gods know I’ve tried. Crash boom bang, Still I tick. A video series I watch begins with the words “Another day, another opportunity.” What can we get into today?

So here I sit. The sun broke the horizon at 07:14. I’ve pulled the curtain so I am not blinded by the light. My neighbour suggested I prune his cherry tree so I could better see the bay. My buddy was up a ladder with a chainsaw a year and ended up in hospital. I kept that in mind, lecturing myself that a turning saw chain knows no difference between wood and meat. Having survived that ordeal. Now this used-to-be-a-logger sits at his desk savouring the sight of boats heading out at dawn over a base of cherry blooms further down the hill. Aren’t people odd? It is forecast to pour rain tomorrow so it is seize the moment time.

The improved view. I’ve cut up a cherry tree so I can see cherry trees.
Cherry blossoms elsewhere. Pretty even in dull light.

There’s plenty to do. A house and yard to look after, especially in spring. Then there is a truck and trailer that always need something. For the moment there is no boat but there is a new used motorcyle. Yep here I go again. I had a beautiful little Honda, a wee bike designed for putting around the back country. For a Rubenesque old raider with a gimpy leg the bike proved a little too wee and reluctantly I sold it. Now I have a Yamahopper, probably a bit more than I need but I’m the nut that holds the throttle. I’ll try to remember to take my prudence pills. I do like to try big things with tiny units, boats, airplanes, motorcycles, finances.

Tomorrow is the first day of April, the year is one quarter gone. Spring plods along, cold and grudging. I sit at my desk, looking out, cold and grudging. While walking the dogs a few days ago, we took a back route where I slipped and landed with my hip on a sharp rock. I lay on the ground as the pain washed over me. Thinking the worst I knew a broken hip is a harbinger of advanced old age. And he’s going to zoom off on a motorbike? Well all is well, it is a pain in the ass but use it or loose it. The parts the bike needs finally arrived today. Hopefully I can swing a leg over the contraption and then keep myself from falling on my door knob.

Arthritis. Nice feeling. Not!
Oh Camillia!
Deep in the dark forest, in the pouring rain, the first trilliums put on a show.

So here I sit on April Fool’s day watching clouds scud along the ridge across the bay. The forecast is for rain. I have finally received my long-awaited motorcycle parts. Once I can ride what can hold me back? Well next to arrive, today, is a metal gazebo from China. It needs to be assembled. Oh bueno! That’ll get me through the weekend. I don’t really want to drag my trailer into the woods to drink beer while sitting around a smokey fire as some dufus in a brown shirt tells what me what I can’t do.

Where are the brown shirts when we need them? Transmission fluid leaks into the seawater as yet another derelict boat is abandoned on the old coal beach.
A vague claim of ownership. One old bow line tethers the hulk to a useless peg. It is careened with the deck facing the wrong way, in my opinion. Hopefully she’ll rise with the tide before she floods.
Wasn’t that a party? There was no sign of anyone else there.

Half a gazebo arrived ten days ago, it was a hundred pound box. The rest of the order did not show up so now, hopefully, we’re receiving a whole order. Wanna buy half a gazebo?

The dog’s cat.
Waiting for mom again.
“Think we can get it to roll?”
On the skids.
Liquid sunshine.

A good thing about becoming old and forgetful is that you can hide your own Easter eggs!” …moi

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

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