Opinions and Philosophy Archives - Page 2 of 22

Lost For words

Against the wind. Autumn is still able to catch me by surprise

October fourteenth. Thanksgiving day now past. I sit watching the sun rise in a clear sky. As it rises, a skim of frost forms on my neighbour’s roof. It is always coldest right at dawn. There is an explanation but I’ve never quite bought it. Perhaps it is an atmospheric compression factor but I think I prefer the simple mystery of not knowing. Why does everything need to be dissected and put in boxes?

And there I sit clicking away. It must be scary looking in.

Lately there has been a storm of people contacting me in an effort to scam me about one of my books. They all have an eloquently-worded AI preamble which praises my literary skills and promises to lead me into the light of commercial success. There are now dozens who have promised fulfillment for this jaded old given-up writer. They carefully do not mention upfront what their fees are and I carefully do not mention the laughable state of my finances. I went bust long ago trying to market my work. It is very cruel that folks would prey on other people’s faltering dignity and false hope; especially faded geezers like me. Cold and heartless knacker crackers! The lot of them.

“Once you’ve got the lawn mowed, drop in for a spot of breakfast.”

Really? It’s hard to look ahead if you’re texting.

It is a terrible thing to watch a friend waste away. I’ve gone to see him twice in the last week, he has been asleep. He is fading and I recognize him first by his mechanic’s hands. How many times we have worked side by side, handing over wrenches, prying on a stubborn part, covered in black muck. Now they lay at his sides, clean and still. We are both mechanics, ( he a splendid one) sailors and rough-necked men who see and share a love of the natural world. It is hard not being able to do a damned thing for him. I know some of his family regard me as an interloper although this man and his wife have treated me as family for a long time. All I can do is be there, standing by for any need I can fill. My wife and I went to the hospital today and looked in on this now breathing cadaver who has for a very long time been full of life, humour and much wisdom. I feel so very weary and guilty. Yet while he still lives I miss already him horribly.

The proprietress could charge admission.

When we arrived home this afternoon it was still light enough to do what I call my scat patrol. It was between fierce cold blasts of precipitation. Already in a splendid mood I bent down and scooped up the rain-hammered dog turds wondering those eternal questions about life’s meaning. Now I sit at my desk, staring back blankly at my reflection in the black window. Long will be the night.

Meet me there, where the sea meets the sky,

Lost but finally free.”

Inscription on memorial bench, M-y-grib Point, England.

From ‘The Salt Path,’ Raynor Winn.

A Twenty-Two Thousand Dollar Camping Trip

What’s warmer and fuzzier than a child playing with a dog, especially when it’s a dog who usually doesn’t like children. This moment made my day.

Nearly everybody loves a parade. Especially if it is their own. Yesterday while driving home from Nanaimo the highway was clogged. Our sleepy little island has become what I call “Surrey West.” There is every style of driving at play and how our roads are not heaped with bodies daily is indeed a miracle. The passing lane was backed up yesterday although everyone was hurtling along well above the speed limit. There was no room for error.

At the head of that zooming parade was a pickup truck with Washington license plates pulling a very large Grady White powerboat on a trailer. It had two 300hp outboards hanging on the transom. A thirty foot boat with 600 horsepower is insanity! Nevertheless what what I really noted was the huge American flag flapping from the boat’s rigging as the T-Rump undergraduate declared his self-absorbed arrogance. When I described this aberration to my wife she declared it an act of aggression. I think she is right. It seemed an American solution was in order, one which involves several machine guns. Do NOT come into my country to piss on my head. This Canadian is not inclined to be warm and fuzzy toward such an affront; eh! Maybe we should build a wall!

It’s that time of the year again. The annual salmon spawn is on.

The elk are getting into the mood. The incumbent patriarch is chasing off an usurper. His defeated rump is dissappearing into the brush on the left.

One of the issues on our national plate these days is to continue the plan to purchase a load of several F35s from the US. At this summer’s Abbotsford Air Show an F35 was part of the spectacle. A news story had an expert describing the wonders of this aircraft and how it was “The most technically advanced fighter aircraft ever.” The flight demonstration was cancelled at mid-point due to “technical difficulties.” Say no more. Through my lifetime of being around things mechanical, the ultimate sophistication is always about simplification. A friend recently described problems with his electronic kitchen faucet. He loved the device but parts and support were in Toronto. I suggested a simple turn-the-knob tap from the local hardware store. Yeah but…

In a documentary about a village in rural Russia running water there involved a well with a windlass and a bucket on a rope. The water was murky. You run home with a pail in each hand. Everyone gathered around the well waiting to crank up their daily water declared Russia to be the best country in the world. Da! Perspectives. Here, we’ve had a rainy twenty-four hours. The earth slurped it up greedily. But now it is early autumn, all teetering on that one day of desperately needed moisture. Hopefully a majority of gringos are going back into the woodwork as we grab a few days of residual summer.

The sad state of our island railroad. We desperately need it back in service. There is little hope apparently.

In the interior, Indian Summer comes after a first frost. Here it is after that first serious day of rain. The weather at the moment is perfect so… we know that only fools and newcomers predict the weather. Frankly those girls on TV wearing tight skirts can go to hell with their atmospheric rivers and predictions with newly invented words. I am an old-school pilot and mariner. I can still out-predict them usually with an eye on the barometer and the sky; and know that I’m no smarter than I look! Just get in tune with the home planet.

Last week we went to a place called Saratoga Beach Resort. It is halfway between Courtenay and Campbell River. It looks out across broad white sands to Mittlenatch Island, Desolation Sound and the coastal mountains beyond. We have been driving past this place for forty years and wonder how we have missed it. The RV park is small and patronized by quiet and friendly people. The beach is stunning with spectacular views of the the mainland coast and the rugged mountains inland. I know that part of the coast intimately and take great comfort in seeing old familiar haunts even if from ashore.

A view to mainland Canada and Desolation Sound.

On the drive up from Ladysmith it was once again obvious that our old yellow pickup truck was a little too light for towing our trailer. While doing a quick search online to see what decent used trucks were available, and affordable, (virtually none) I found one at a used car lot only two miles away. Go figure! We went for a look. All I’ll say is that this is the story of a twenty-two thousand dollar camping trip. Any other similar used truck was easily twice the price. Jill has done an amazing job of shaking our scrawny money shrubs and she gleaned what we needed. We’ve just bought a house and the ribs on the piggy bank are showing. My imagination is beggared at what folks are paying for used vehicles with very high mileage. New vehicle prices, for me, are incomprehensible. How the hell do people survive while supporting such high prices? We have an enviable lifestyle and nobody is shooting at us, yet, but we seem determined to live within a growing hairball of need and greed.

Das Voody. Locals line up for burgers cooked in the old bus.

A Dodgy truck, a 1960 D100. The Dodge I bought is 68 years newer. It is very nice but I think I’d rather have the old one. Despite the rust-hole, it is in amazing condition.

At this time of year many folks are able to flaunt a well-bronzed body. However every year one of the signs of summer’s end is men in shorts with a glaring fluorescent pair of shanks. Where they’ve been since spring, with their legs hidden away, is anyone’s guess but Geez Louise! They sure stand out. It is an annual phenomenon which perhaps precludes the winter shorts gang who are out in several feet of snow with glowing red legs. There are also other folks already in wool toques and parkas which leaves me wondering at the togs they’ll sport come winter. It is a cute wee conundrum to have along with taking for granted having food, clean water, hospitals and other infrastructures for all who want them. God bless us every one.

On a final note of how we are so blessed here I sat yesterday on a bench beside the Nanaimo River. The dogs and I were out for our daily walk. The water was crystal clear. I soon noticed that I could see spawning salmon swimming up in mid-stream. I am always drawn to think of their incredible journey, out into mid-Pacific and then back to exactly the same place they were spawned. To have fish and a clean river full of fresh water is an abundance we take for granted. Autumn arrives and the cycle of life continues.

Is this a sign of autumn or did a passing dog leave a pee mail?

“When you get to the end of your rope, there’s often a little more rope.” anon

More rain tonight. Looking out from my desk as I post this blog.

General Error

I am sitting at my desk waiting for the bank’s security department to pick up my call-on-hold. It’s been over fifty minutes of dreadful music. Then the call finally timed out. Ho hum.

This was after several hours on the line with a scammer who cleaned out my bank account, with my help. I am neither senile or stupid but they bagged me with some cyber trickery. I won’t crawl back through the gory details except to say I was phoned by someone claiming to be from Amazon Security and that my account had been hacked. They wanted to help me get refunded for my loss and to block the alleged scammer from access to my account. I fell for it. There’s an old rule that says if it smells like fish, chances are, there be a fish! In hindsight I should have first checked my bank account for anything unusual and then called Amazon to see if indeed anything was amiss. There are now several obvious questions I should have asked. The biggest one is Why the hell didn’t I just hand up? I am sick at my loss and sick that even an old smart ass like me can be so easily scammed. Enough said, stay alert!

Another smokey day. There are three ships in this photo.

Well, well I’ve got my money back!!! My rapid response somehow stopped the scammer’s process. I’ve since learned that with today’s new telepathic mobile phones, using one in close proximity to your computer can give the caller-scammer instant and full access to all of your information and accounts. It is a scary world and unfortunately it pays to be paranoid and suspicious. Even with no fiscal loss I am shamed and humiliated that this jaded old fart could let someone jam a stick into my spokes so easily. The whole event has upset me quite badly. I’ll admit that. I wonder about how many folks are just too embarrassed to admit that they fell prey to some very clever thief. There are plenty out there. Apparently it pays. Even with the wisdom of older years, folks are being bamboozled by nasty people at the top of their game and who are very hard to out-scheme. They are incredibly blatant, just like certain politicians.

A few days later, the scammers had the temerity to call me back. Click!

The title comes from the message shown when I went to finish my last blog. General Error the computer said. That translates to “Poof Gone, we have lost your files!” What a week! Suddenly it is September with golden days and cool early sunsets. The anchorage in the harbour is still full of yachts, my head is still full of dreams, life goes on. Today is the only one we have.

The lawn ornament. Damn! What an ugly car! It is a late 50’s/early 60’s Vauxhall Victor. I know. I had one for a first car. The rusty beast ran as well as it looked. No wonder girls did not want to come out with me. It would NOT ever be used as a garden decoration.

No ambitions. Porch hounds on a warm summer’s afternoon.

“ The truth has no defence against a fool determined to believe a lie.”

-Mark Twain

Rusty Postie

I told my friends after suddenly losing their beloved dog that the next one would find them. There were doubts expressed that they’d ever have another dog. Along came Milo. He’s 11 weeks old, about 4 pounds and king of the heartbreakers. “Only love can break a heart, only love can mend it again.”About 250 metres below my office window runs the Vancouver Island Highway. It is also a part of the Trans Canada Highway. It is busy. My neighbour’s house obscures my harbour view but also blocks some of the din from the roadway. Amazingly a lot of the traffic is a huge number of motorcycles. You can’t mistake them. Some are the howling crotch rockets. Apparently, paramedics refer to their accidents as “donor cycle crashes.” Say no more. Another huge number of motorcycles are Harley Davidsons. Their blatant roar is unmistakable. For the last three nights, in the wee hours, one has passed at what sounds like full throttle. Its straight-pipe exhaust screams defiant blapping contempt. Every time, not far behind, comes the warbling woo-woo of a police siren. I don’t know the rest of this story but it sounds like someone is having fun. Perhaps the local donut shop is now open all night.

I’ll soon be out there giving those Harley folks a laugh. I have just purchased a 1981 Honda CT110 otherwise known as a Honda Trail. I know I’ll look like a bear on a roller skate. I don’t care. They have a tremedous reputation and are world famous. One even went around the world! In Australia they’re known as a “Postie.” That is because they were popular with the down under postal service. Imagine my bemusement when I came upon a YouTube video called “Rusty Postie.”

Little dogs have taught me that it is entirely noble to do big things with tiny friends. Boats too!

These are incredibly popular tiny motorcycles well-known around the world. Honda has sold millions of them. They first appeared in the 1960s and apart from larger engines now, they remain virtually unchanged. They started with a 70cc and are presently being sold with a raging 125 cc power. They are over-priced and supply is minimal. I’m told the new bikes just don’t compare to their ancestors mainly because their gear boxes have been changed. The old ones had a two speed transfer case which allowed the driver a choice of eight gears in all. I’ll soon find out if I can actually climb a vertical cliff with mine. They are delightful little machines, easy to handle and can go anywhere. They’ll get 100 mpg and can stretch up to speeds of 50 mph. That’s ample velocity for some fatal stupidity.

Maybe it was the sign but the trail seemed hard too find.

My wife has been away for the past few weeks. Our dogs have dulled into her absence. When she arrives there’ll be a circus of yelping, licking, peeing, twirling dances and every manner of woofing excitement. Their honest enthusiasm is always delightful. How I’d like to know that exuberance within myself once again. Meanwhile I’ve been heads-down at domestic chores in Jill’s absence. There was a plethora of little jobs around the house and yard including a new fence between the neighbours and our yard. Now that the moat is all dug out, I’ll flood it in the morning. Damn those summer water restrictions!

The bridge under troubled dogs. They were fascinated with the view.

Preparations for the new fence. Mexicans welcome.

A breath-taker in my front garden. I’ve learned that it is called a Hydrangea Bluebird, or serrata. I am much pleased.

A free tree in every nut. Some squirrel forgot where he buried his lunch.

I am not an enthusiastic gardener but have disciplined myself to plod away at it. One tiny joy was the ripening strawberries I’d nurtured. I decided to allow one more day of succulent red ripening to perfection. Then I’d freeze them. Some furry varmint ate every one overnight. God bless all his mangy critters. Allahu Akbar! They deserve more rights on this planet than I do but it is hard to accept. Meanwhile a truckload of gorgeous strawberry redness from Mexico has appeared in the local store for a exorbitant price but still below what my pathetic crop has cost per stolen berry. Well, I can still take drinking water for granted and I’m staying overweight.

Indian plums seem especially succulent this year.

The RVer. They poke around everywhere in the summer.

Things ain’t so bad!

“A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.”

Jackie Robinson

Seventy- Three

If you don’t like my peaches don’t shake my tree. Looks like a bumper crop coming on.

Everything has a season. “Feeling nearly faded as my peony.”

It is no big deal. Lots of folks live far beyond this age and continue to be vital, providing a contribution to the world around them. So it should be. When I was a child the old biblical three score and ten was your divine allotment and life beyond that was was either a holy gift or perhaps a devlish deal had been made. We have generally abandoned that nonsense now. Not only are folks living longer than ever, they are alive in all senses. They don’t look, act or smell geriatric. Not like the geezer who sat next to me in church when I was a child, his hearing aid a twisty-wired contraption that squealed horribly and he stank, a decompossed smell. Maybe it was his underwear. In contrast I watched a video last night of the entertainer Cher, at age 79, prancing on stage in bare-bum glory. You go girl! I remember first seeing her on 1960’s black and white television. She’s still ticking.

My dad was an old-school English train-spotter, among other things. He planned everything to the second. Garden planting schedules, vacations and nearly everything else had to have a precise itinerary and if something were three minutes late, “Heads would roll.” He was a postman and even that went according to an exacting military routine.

He even managed to die exactly on his seventy-third birthday. That is stuck in my brain, especially today, my own 73^rd birthday. I’ve scoffed at this simple barrier and know I am the one who has erected it, but the notion won’t bugger off. So what do I do when I wake up tomorrow morning? “I’ve beaten the bastard” I’ll chant as I shuffle down the street right into the path of a speeding garbage truck. I know there are far less sleeps ahead of me than behind. Perhaps now I’m over the hump of my weary thoughts I can charge down the other side of this mountain like a runaway train. It’s all bonus time now. Perhaps I’ll yet get to expire in my sleep… unlike all my screaming passengers. Haar!

As I sit at my desk and look out on the harbour I start to think of all that is taken for granted which never existed at one time in my life. There is a grand glistening white fibreglass yacht anchored out there. Most yachts are now made of that stuff. When I was a kid all were made of wood. Steam trains were a fact of life, just like the ice man and the coal man. Rotary dial telephones were a novel idea. Cartoon character Dick Tracy talked into his wrist watch, ( a ridiculous fantasy) people still rode across the oceans in propellor and gasoline powered aircraft. Many still felt travelling by ship was much safer. Doctors made housecalls. Police, priests and teachers were pillars of the community. The notion of pecking out some writing on an electronic brain was certainly far fetched. In fact, the word “electronic” may not have existed yet, certainly a transistor radio was cutting edge. It would be easy to reminisce for pages but my avatar says that would be dead boring.

Faking it. I decided thar fake water lilies were a helluva a lot cheaper than the reals ones. There’s a lot less fuss and they do look fairly authentic.

So all is well, the tic-toc goes on. Everything is ticking, thumping and squishing along as it should. I’m sitting at my desk on June 2^nd at 04:30 watching the sun rise behind a thick overcast. Robins begin to sing as a fierce low red spreads across the low horizon. This is not in the forecast, let’s see what we’ve got. The clouds cleared and a northwester began to blow. It was a perfect day and the forecast is for a long string of perfect summer days ahead. We need rain but I am not going to complain.

REALLY! A two-day advance booking, paid in full. i arrived in good time and was still put on Standby. No point in raising a fuss, you’ll just go further back in the bus. BC Ferries!!!

The dogs hated it too. This was the best possible accomodation for them…and me.

I sat out on the front doorstep just at sundown. The wind continued to blow. The air was a cool notch below tepid, entirely pleasant. A waxing halfmoon was settling in the west and the air was filled with the aroma of roses, both wild and growing in my garden. The concrete beneath my bare feet was still warm from the day. I held a fleeting joy of home ownership until I began to consider all the projects still ahead of me.

I’ll have some time ahead to focus and try to get the work done. My wife Jill is away home to the UK for a few weeks. She has family and old school friends to visit, a precious thing indeed. I’ll bear down, making all the noise and mess I want. After all the tragedy we’ve endured together we have managed to survive as a couple. We are esoteric opposites and she needs to get the hell away from me for a while. I know I’d sure like to leave myself behind for a while, vexatious old fart that I am. She loves me and carries me in ways I don’t understand and I am deeply grateful. Seventy-four or bust!

A dire red sunrise. We’ve had not a cloud nor drop of rain ever since.

“The goal of life is to take everything that made you weird as a kid and get people to pay you money for it when you’re older.” — David Freeman

Death Of A Dog

Can’t you see I’m busy? bugger off. Swarms of honey bees are busy with the tiny blossoms of shrubs in our hedge.

I rang the doorbell and there was no sharp bark on the other side of the door. Something was wrong. I soon learned that Fritzi was gone. These folks are some very good friends and so was their dog, a rambunctious, joyful daschund. His long backbone had done him in. He’d suddenly lost the use of his hind legs. The only loving thing to do was to end his suffering and put him to sleep. He was only six years old. I discovered that despite my own two beloved wee dogs, I’d also been going to see my other four-legged friend. He has left a very big void in several lives. Rest in peace my friend. Like my own previous dogs I’ll miss him forever.

And then it finally rained. A gladiolus prepares to bloom.

It is very odd about how torn-up a person can get over a dog who has died. People…well ? Not so much. I do value my fellow specimans but few can match the honesty, loyalty and simple affections of any canine. Some folks condemn others for keeping the company of dogs but frankly if you can’t find a place in your heart for a dog, and worse, can’t let them love you, you don’t have any hope of getting along with people.

The last trillium. Blooming white in their prime, they turn purple and then shrivel at the end of their season.

We’ve had a string of clear days with little rain. For the usually wet month of May it is very dry. Municipal water restrictions are in effect. We have to be frugal with water for the garden but hose your heart out if you are washing your car or filling you swimming pool. All the time that we worry about having enough water we are still selling building permits for even more subdivisions. I can’t fathom the thinking but then why are we allowing dudes like Trump to rampage over every country on the planet. To think that we are being affected by the edicts of a megalomaniac from the inner sanctum of a golf course in Florida. Wot’s a birdie?

May is proving to be a month of drought. It is often very rainy right through to mid-July. I’m trying to persuade my vegetable beds to sprout the seeds I’ve planted. There seems to be a determination for dust. The summer ahead looks long but then only fools and newcomers predict the weather.

The girl next door. A lady lives on this property, in another house. she’s been there since she was a little girl.

I used to call it the haunted house. Now I live next door.

A field of ferns. Did I hear a rustling sound in there?

Don’t like the weather? Wait ten minutes. It will change.

I am using the weather to try and complete all the projects I’ve planned. I’ve completed repairs to the former fish pond in the front yard. Once again it has a little working waterfall. The birds come to drink and to bathe. It’s fabulous. Meanwhile domesticated Fred has a heap of generators, powersaws and outboard motors to get running. The neighbour has 1973 Triumph TR6 to tuneup. There’s a new fence to build, vegetable gardens to water and weed. I’m not thinking of getting a goat but maybe…a milk cow? The gardens need the manure.

A 1959 Evinrude Flightwin 3hp, 2 cylinder. I could not get it to run. Every bolt was seized solid. Use it or lose it!

It landed just before nightfall. Actually it is a metal interpretation of an old indigenous fish trap.

They’re wild, deep in the forest. They looked like tiny orchids.

Weeds are just plants that someone else says are bad.

I sit at my desk looking out on the harbour on Sunday morning,Victoria Day weekend. Yachts sail out. It is hard for me to watch. Then I find this quote on the internet.

Pie in the sky. A sun dog, a tiny cloud and a contrail make a weird image in the sky. Verily, verily, strange signs shall appear in the firmament.

“ The best way to keep a person in prison is to make sure they never know they are in prison.” Isn’t that true for all of us?”

Know what’s weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change, but pretty soon…everything’s different.

— Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes

JUMP

Like it or not, see it or not, the sun always rises. I leave my curtains open to catch that first light on those mornings when the clouds allow it to shine through.

I am a recluse. An old T-shirt of mine sports an image of a Sasquatch above the word “Introvert.” That’s me. I do not like crowds and people’s conjoined behaviours within them. I prefer to hear music versus being slapped on the face with a monstrous din. A friend called to say that he had an extra ticket for a Bachman Turner Overdrive concert, probably their last one ever. Did I want to come? I agreed, then instantly had regrets. Yeah but…

“Takin’ care of business.” What must it be like to play that same song thousands of times?

So! I’ll long remember that April fool’s Monday night in Victoria. There were thousands of lumpy old farts and younger folk leaping joyously about to the music, happy and in harmony. It was an uplifting experience. Randy Bachman is now 81 years old, the band has been going for 55 years! His arthritic hands still play flawlessly. The other iconic band Randy participated in was the Guess Who and they played several of those songs as well. WOW! Happily, the band put a distinctively Canadian edge on the show. There was enough positive energy exuded to power an electric car for a year. I should also note that an opening band was April Wine, another half-century old, world-renowned, Canadian band. One opening band was Headpin, descended from yet another famous group, Chilliwack. The Pins have also been around for a long time, notorious for being the loudest rock band ever. No kidding! My buddy renomered them the ‘Pinheads.’ I came home with ringing ears, wondering what the hell I’ve done with all my years of rockless existence. Wot? Now, each morning when I’m out collecting the daily crop of doggy dna I catch myself hummimg “Takin’ care of business.”

“My father was a Cushman My mother was a Checkered Cab.” Move over Tesla, here is a practical urban electric transport. BEEP!

A week later, after a brief respite of semi-sunny days, we’re back to the spring drearies. Rain.

The drier days were long enough to weed the gardens and discover an infestation of Japanese Knotweed. It is a pernicious fauna, an invasive species which tends to over-run all else. Each tender shoot rises from a massive system of underground rhizomes. And so my life is reduced to this, pulling weeds. I remind myself that weeds are merely plants someone else says are bad bur I have an ingrained sensibility. Just let it be I tell myself, but my distant farmboy instincts have their own imbedded rhizomes. Damn it all! How about the Knotweed Cookbook? Boil the piss out of them!

A quick peek at a root. Apparently they can run 20′ underground and 7′ down. They have pretty flowers in August but can completely over-run a garden. Yet another example of someone thinking they can improve nature, this one came from Japan.

Careened. The traditional way of servicing a boat’s bottom. There didn’t seem to be anyone around on the coal bank. That seemed odd. Usually there is frantic activity as the tide turns and returns.

A Westsail 32 is all trimmed up to sail on the wind and out of the harbour. It is sometimes a poignant view for this old sailor sitting at his desk.

I sit at my desk watching sail and power yachts leaving the harbour at sunup. For all the possible reasons to own a boat, mine were spiritual. It is where my soul felt at home. I also held an illusion that I was free to leave this civilized world behind. The current madnesses out there really weigh heavily. The latest Trump tariffs have been impossed on tiny unihabited islands in the South Pacific and Southern Oceans, their only significant population being penguins. I guess when you’ve alienated all the people you may as well go to work on the birds. There is a meat wholesaler from over in mainland Canada who delivers to our local butcher. They’re named Penguin Foods. I’ve asked the driver who eats all the penguin meat but he didn’t get the joke. Wot? That, of course, makes it even funnier.

A bed of Fawn Lilies. Despite the cool wet weather the seasons march on.

Peach blossoms against my wall. Will every one become a tasty fruit?

Quail attack! A flock has discovered the seed spill beneath the bird feeder. I love these boisterous, zippy, noisy birds with the jaunty feather on their head. We also now have Mourning Doves visiting as well. I love them and their wonderful soothing call.

I wanted them but was told the “Bubbles” weren’t for sale.

Our reluctant spring continues. Just as the world dries out enough to get to work out there, another heavy shower arrives. We’ll need that moisture come summer. I sit at my desk and watch the world go by. The rain now comes by horizontally.

“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.”

…Dolly Parton

Going To Astoria

The ‘Polynesian Queen’ heads upriver under the Astoria Bridge. An hour earlier she was inbound over the notorious Columbia Bar. The bridge is huge, very high and five miles long.

Another year, another trip to the Fisher Poets Gathering in Astoria. It is something I treasure and looking forward to the event helps me through the winter. I have to thank my wife for her wonderful support. High lights have included an intense inspection by a US Homeland Insecurity K9. What a beautiful dog! The trip proved to be the usual litany of rainy grey roads and the gauntlet of trying to find a motel in the dark. The road signage at times is terrible and I really prefer now not to drive once the sun goes down. Many vehicles have searing bright headlights and not content with that, their owners will have banks more of add-on blazing lamps and do not dim anything as they approach. Of course these vehicles also usually have jacked-up suspensions as well. Share the glare! Having a blinded old geezer’s truck jammed in their grill is a potential danger they don’t grasp. The testosterone years! Somehow I survived my own and don’t want to go in a puddle of someone else’s juice.

A real truck. It’s almost paid for! 1964 Ford complete with tool box beneath cargo bed and a puddle of pee on the rear tire. The engine is an orignal 292 with a classic stuttering roar…music to my ears. The sign in the back window says”Eat More Possum.”

If you can’t see my mirror, I can’t see you.
Images may be closer than they look.

I vowed to keep my political mouth shut while in Amurica. It is too dangerous in an agitated country that may have a hand gun in nearly every purse and pair of pants. I did see a large demonstration in one town where everyone waved signs saying “Who Elected Musk?” My Canadian heart sang. I like driving back roads. There is a copious number of people who seem to prefer inhabiting the bog lands in broke-back hovels in varying states of decay surrounded by moats of mud heaped with junk. Huge black hogs snuffled in the carnage. Many of these properties displayed large TRUMP 2024 signs. Say no more, just button up the old lip. I don’t want to end up feeding the beasties in someone’s patch.

Downtown Raymond WA
A patch of sidewalk in front of the Hungry Heifer Cafe.

Buying yourself a job. Downtown Raymond.

I spent one long night in a redneck motel. Sometimes you take what can be found. The office was guarded by a huge yellow dog named Elmer. He was a delight. But the room, good grief! The carpet had streaks of black tractor grease and a stain like someone’s donkey couldn’t hold it anymore, the bedside lamp didn’t work, the toilet was plugged, there were evil-looking stains all over the bathroom wall, the linoleum was damaged in several places. All the caulking around the shower was covered in mould. Grey spider webs wafted from the ceiling. Of course the internet password did not work.The Eeech Inn. Yes, I checked the bedding, it seemed fine. All this included for a full fee. Elmer, you old dog! The proprietor, when asked about nearby food, told me about MacDonalds over the bridge. So I found a lovely tavern right across the street from my room, with great craft beer, good home cooking, live music and friendly locals. Uhuh? All night folks out on the street were trying to do tricks with their ve-hickles and none seemed to have mufflers. Then around 04:00 the loggers staying next door got up and dieseled away into the night after a good long warm-up.

Arriving at Marrowstone Island near Port Townsend this US Navy vessel gets the Queen Bee treatment. “Ye may have crossed the Pacific but ye canna dock it on yer own!”

First thing I wanted to do at my next accomodation was to have a long, hot shower. I guess not every town can have a Trump Hotel. I don’t find the drive southward through the state of coastal Washington particularly scenic. There seem to be endless miles of raped and abandoned forest, mouldering little towns gasping their last breaths. But, those back routes, for me, certainly beat the chaotic gauntlet that is the throbbing pain of driving in the Seattle area. Everything seems exploited. The drive on highway I5 seems an endless strip mall all the way to Portland which is also a tumbling mess of urban blight. There are certainly wonderful and uplifting places to visit but so much seems so very soul-less in the land of the free.

Shop Astoria. They had some wonderful items…at wonderful prices!

Well there was plenty of soul in Astoria. It is truly wonderful to meet up with old friends of a kindred spirit. There was a blur of wonderful poetry and music. All too soon it was time to head home. Up early in the morning, back over the long, long bridge and then a heads-down drive to the Black Ball Ferry terminal in Port Angeles. Home again in Ladysmith by Sunday night and then it is as if the event had never happened. Now it is already nearly a week since my return. Several folks apologized to me for their gormless president’s remarks about the 51^st state. I get it, and appreciate their chagrin. We have similar issures here.

Breakfast at the Workers. The bartender kept busy pouring drinks and cooking wonderful meals.

penciled beneath the word author it says “who judges books by their cover”

Ching, ching, ching, ching, music to eat eggs derelict with a bloody mary.

Blink! The dogs were within three feet of it before the rabbit bolted.

The poser. In the centerfold of ‘Playmutt’ Magazine

In the few days that I was away the snow had all melted. Flowers are trying to bud and it is time to get to work on this new old house and yard. So, first thing I did was to blow up my used pressure washer. It was a great price and worked wonderfully; twice. Now it is up on my shop bench with the guts hanging out of its pump.

Some farmer’s sons never learn! Spring is sprung. Time for a good manure spreader.

Isn’t it amazing what people can achieve when they work together? The Astoria bridge is 5 miles long where it spans the mighty Columbia River. It has 200 feet of clearance at mid-tide. The river can run at up to nine knots. Politicians should look at this bridge over bubbling waters and think about a few things other than themselves.

In short, corruption destroys the ‘deal’ – the bargain – between the citizen and the state; and it harms the poorest most. Hilary Benn

On A Winter Day

Have you ever noticed that the coldest moments of the night come just at dawn? Frost will form just as the sun is about to appear. Sitting at my new desk and looking out over my neighbour’s roof to the harbour has repeatedly confirmed that this winter. It is 08:08, under a cloudless sky and it is happening again. I think I undestand the phenomenon but it is complicated to explain. And do we need to dissect every bit of life with science? We just need to understand that things happen and we don’t have to try to change anything. In fact, I enjoy a certain degree of mystery in the machinations of the universe.

How the human race manages to stumble on in spite of itself is amazing to me. I grasp that I’m jaded. I could easily come to believe that nice people are simply assholes who want something. It does seem that way somedays. However I know enough folks who can easily prove me wrong. Here I go but for the grace of a few charitable, loving souls. In the days I see ahead it is important to avoid close-ended political rhetoric. We will be demanded to choose a side and that is always dangerous. I prefer stealth tactics. A seasoned US journalist, David Cay Johnston, in his poltical comments about current events says that the reason we are in the mess we are is that fifty percent of North Americans are semi-literate or worse. When people dismiss the value of the cornerstone of their culture, language, they also dull their critical thinking skills. When folks don’t ask intelligent questions they fall into a mindset of herd instinct and unquestioning direction. I just cannot say baa.

‘Reborn’ She was apparently built in Scotland in the 1930s. This is a sad way to die.

Dogpatch, the bay of broken dreams. In a quest, or necessity, to live off-grid, some folks see buying an old boat as an easy answer. They cannot grasp that the price of freedom is responsibilty. Old boats are cheap because of the overwhelming burden of maintenance. Then comes a sinking feeling.

The independant. I admire this character. They are tidy, unobstrusive and apparently self-sufficient. No-one bothers them. It must be miserable under those plastic wraps in the morning but they soldier on through the winter. Kudo’s indeed.

So, once again I sit watching another clear-sky winter sunrise. It is only minus five outside the window but there is a damp cold I can feel in my bones. I don’t want to concede to anything geriatric but I do wonder if plaid blankets are warmest. “Oh lord I’m beggin’ you please, for a new set of glow plugs and if you can; spare me a pair of grease fittings for these creaky old knees!”

A few mornings on it is now snowing furiously. Think I’ll stay off the greasy roads and post this blog. It is so very peaceful.

Git ‘er done. After a two-day breakdown the crew finishes discharging their cargo as winter closes in.

It happens. For our few snowy days each year it is best to just stay home. Well-seasoned in the extremes of the Great White North I’ll stay off this coastal wet white grease and avoid other drivers who don’t know any better. I have nothing that needs proving.

Jill’s Flying Circus. I really don’t know which button I pushed by accident to achieve this effect. I’d sure like to find it again.

“ I have never once in my life seen a fanatic with a sense of humour.” Amos Oz

“Nothing is permanent in this wicked world-not even our troubles.”

Charlie Chaplin

T-Rump Day

I’ll shoot! A juvenile CANADIAN Bald Eagle guarding his perch area. Is this a prophetic view of politics to come?

Three young eagles. They gave the dogs a close scrutiny. Yum!

Saturday morning, January 11^th. I’ve been sitting here since 05:00 winking at my reflection in the window. It is now 07:20, ther glimmer of dawn appeared about a half-hour ago. It has been a pristine night with a sky full of stars over the harbour. Now puffs of fog are forming under a clear sky. I may see frost when the light brightens. Yep another sleepless night since 04:00. I used to work the mate’s watch and stood at the helm from midnight to six am. There was no daylight on that shift in winter and upcoast on the afternoon watch it was often dark by three-thirty in the afternoon. I’m used to it and I hate it. This old flower needs his sunshine. Official dawn is forecast for 08:06, sunset is to be 16:40. That’s a little over eight and a half hours, no time for laying around today. The first sunlight we saw this year was a for few minutes on the 6^th. That light is precious.

I’m still nineteen with all the frustrations of that time, yes ALL, and even more nasty is the seventy-something decrepit body I’m trapped in. I truly did not think I’d live this long and so did not look after myself. I’m the classic cliche. The memories of all the foolish and daring things I’ve done don’t thrill me much now at all. Like most younger folks I once looked on geezers as some sort of separate species. Now here I am. I just hope I don’t carry any of those old man smells. This too is coming to you.

My dear sister made me two bags filled with buckwheat. I put them in the micro wave oven for two minutes and have some delightful and enduring warm comfort on my old knees. One knee was replaced last year but so far the pain is equal in both. I have always loved ambling up mountains and into valleys beyond, along beaches and country roads. Now I realize that those days may be gone but damnit, I’m gonna to force the issue every way I can. Meanwhile the simple joy of a bean bag is bliss.

Bean bags. With two very warm beanbags between my knees it didn’t take my wee girls long to find them. Awwww! Bliss! Their added warmth is appreciated.

There’s that neighbour’s roof again! 10:00 this morning. Clearly the solar panels were on standby. Hopefully the little sloop at the guest dock across the bay has a good heater. At the moment this is the depth of winter. No snow yet. Green shoots are appearing in the flower beds.

And yes, there is frost. It is now January 20^th. T-Rump Day. That character has been issuing edicts and making declarations since the day he was re-elected. His decrees came from a Florida country club, not the White house and folks seemed to accept them even though he had no official voice. Now he’ll be singing “Back In The Saddle Again!” We are living in a neo-version of the ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ and seem determined to embrace a mass lemming sillyness. Up here in Canada we love to have something to whine about. We are a nation that claims to hate Americans yet most of us live within 50 miles of the US border even though the country runs north and south as far as it does east and west. We are finally realizing we have no political leadership, and have not for a long time. A bully has moved back in next door and we’re crapping ourselves. Well frankly, I perceive that we’ve been the 51^st state since WWII and not much is going to change in that regard. Trump calls us the “Big faucet” up north.

I incessantly rant about Canadians consuming foreign food products. I discovered a lovely-looking frozen vacuum-bagged filet of salmon in the freezer. It had come home with the recent shopping. It is claimed to be sockeye. It looked great. I checked the fine print and discovered it was a product of Chile! Chile? I live in British Columbia! What are we famous for if not our salmon? Chile may be on the same beach as us but it is well around the far side of the planet! . WTF? Then Mr Brain-dead here bought some bagged tree bark to landscape the front yard. As I finished slashing the bags open I noted the labelling. It was a product of Rexford, IDAHO. No! We can’t even supply ourselves with our own tree bark? What else is this province noted for if not it’s timber exports. And I bought into it. I want to break into my sailor expletives but what’s the point. It has been said that “If rape is inevitable, relax and try to enjoy it.” ‘Fraid not!

Chile! THIS is BC! Where did the BC salmon go? It is also worth noting that this filet is not represented as being wild and the mention of antibiotics is a strong hint. How much of the price went to paying for diesel to ship it up here? Think local! Think green! UHUH!

Not this very binary old bilge ape. My finacial acumen is minimal but I understand that for a nation to build a strong economy being able to feed itself is a huge advantage. We certainly possess all those resources and once fed much of the rest of the world. Now we operate like an egg farmer who goes to town to buy eggs for himself at retail prices. Third world economics sell their resources wholesale and buy back finished products retail. Sound uncomfortably familiar? Maybe a global economic wizard for our next Prime Minister is not such a bad idea.

What’s his name again?

A bump in the night. The trunk is about four feet in diameter. A few feet further on another old giant lay in exactly the opposite direction. It was a wild and vicious wind.

On the writer’s desk as I make notes about what we import. Irish whiskey is awfully tough to compete with.

“Nothing is more deadly to achievement than the belief that effort will not be rewarded, that the world is a bleak and discriminatory place in which only the predatory and the specially preferred can get ahead.” – George Gilder