Groaners

A glittering softness hangs over the stream bed. Water levels are very low this year.
That’s it! An August water level in June.

Nearly everyone knows about Gary Larson’s “Far Side” cartoons. When you mention the man’s name, folks instantly tell you about their favourite one. A former family doctor, when sending files to a specialist, would glue a Larson to the folder. He claimed that file would always end up on top of the pile. After an accident which required major heart surgery, I was able to get near the head of the line-up relatively quickly. Perhaps a Larson cartoon helped save my life!

Down to a trickle.

Half of Larson’s work goes right over my head. I don’t understand it at all. The other ones are indelible. I cannot name a favourite because I have several filed away in my brain. Among them is one about a boy entering the “School For The Gifted” and pushing desperately on a door marked ‘Pull.’

Two dogs have a man on his back while they tickle him and laugh at his twitching leg.

There is one about the “Boneless Chicken Ranch.”

Cows grazing placidly in a field stand on their hind legs until someone shouts “Car coming!” Two old salts sit at a bar and exchange yarns. One with a wooden leg says “Well that’s interesting but let me tell you how I lost this.” His buddy has a wooden peg sticking up from his collar with a sailor’s hat hanging from the top.” The humour is often dark and sarcastic, but then all humour is a form of sarcasm.

Our cartoonists and comedians are among our modern philosophers and Larson is there with the best. One of his works depicts cattle in a long queue which goes up a ramp into the Acme Abattoir. One cow stands at right angles to the line with its head jammed between the tail of the cow in front and the face of the next cow which says, “No cutting in eh!” How’s that for social comment?

Two morgue workers attend a body in a drawer, sheet over it, toe tagged. They are going through the deceased’s pockets. One worker finds a winning lottery ticket. He says,“Lucky stiff.” As you recall one cartoon yet more come to mind.

Humour has been my salvation. Mr Larson has certainly helped sustain me in a few different ways. I’d like to buy him a beer and discover what sort of fellow he is in person. I often employ humour to ease my way through difficult situations and in interactions with other people. If you can make someone laugh, especially yourself, things are going to work out. Folks who don’t laugh leave me baffled. Everyone needs levity and the endorphin release induced with laughter. “Laughter, the best medicine” is not just a cliché.

No-one is as broke as the person who has lost their sense of humour. I think of the people out there with no apparent sense of humour at all, ever, and I wonder how they carry on. Many of those dour characters are in prominent places making global decisions. I’m sure they carry a sobering load but wouldn’t it be great if people like Mr. Trump, for example, just stepped up to the microphone and asked, “Did you ever hear the one about…?” Suddenly the world would become a much brighter place. Imagine Gary Larson, Billy Connolly, Steven Wright or Rowan Atkinson as a political leader. Prime Minister Bean, that does have a ring to it. Mind you, they probably do more for humanity right where they are. Volodymyr Zelensky, the new President of the Ukraine, was a nationally prominent comedian. Considering the dangerous clown named Putin with whom he must now lock horns, he is perhaps imminently qualified for his new role. I know nothing about politics, especially in Eastern Europe. Politics here leave me plenty baffled.

The bee’s knees. You can see them sticking out from behind one flower.

Even here at home, where everyday the political news is yet another groaner, it would be nice to laugh with, instead of at, all those manoeuvring to get themselves re-elected. On a final note about politicians and humour, our Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau has just announced the government’s approval of the very controversial Trans Mountain Pipeline . I am reminded of Steven Wright’s line, “I just took a lie detector test…no I didn’t.” 

A promise of green apples. “Anyone can count the seeds in one apple, but who can count the apples in one seed?”

On the subject of groaners, my little rotted trailer is gone. It sold at a salvage price to some very nice people who clearly understand, and want, the project they have bought. No matter how I did the math, I could not make sense of building myself a mobile monument. I could easily have spent all of the summer, and up to another ten thousand dollars, building the ultimate f.r.e.d. trailer (freaking ridiculous economic disaster) Now the albatross around my neck is gone and so once again I can start over. After attending URVU (Used RV University,) I can find another trailer now that I think I know what to look for. Meanwhile I feel that I’ve stood over the toilet and ripped up ten thousand dollars for one mighty royal flush. That much money is a fortune to me these days but I keep telling myself that I’m getting off lightly. I know of folks who have bought houses, vehicles, boats and RVs for a very much higher tuition.

Closed. I know, it’s irrelevant to this blog, but I could not resist the image.

You can well imagine some of the language I’ve used in consideration of recent events. Coincidentally, a friend just e-mailed me about the origins of the word “Shit.” Lord, I hope this is true! Before fertilizers had been invented manure was often shipped by sea. To reduce weight, it was always dried first. (Some places on earth had natural deposits of seabird droppings which was mined as “Guano.”) Once at sea, this cargo tended to absorb moisture and begin to ferment. Fermentation produces methane. Any flame below decks, such as a lantern, would cause a huge explosion. Several ships were lost this way before the cause was eventually determined.

After that, these cargoes were marked with the warning, Ship High In Transit. S.H.I.T. Thus ends the nautical portion of this blog.

My nautical image for this blog. It is of a stowed gaff-mainsail and an explanation of the term, “Knowing the ropes.”

The stream beds are dry, the snow on the mountains is gone. Folks continue to soak their lawns and continue to wash their cars and boats. This, in a community where sprawling subdivisions have been permitted to spread like cancer. The newcomers water their new lawns as oblivious to the problem as the municipal fathers. Water levels, this mid-June, are lower than many years in August. We have twice the population as only a few years ago with the same water supply, let alone in a year of drought. All those new roads, and driveways are freshly paved. That in turn sheds any precipitation we do receive. It is no longer retained as it was in the forest ecosystem which is now gone. When the tap to the hot tub coughs out a puff of dust, who will we blame? Water, clean fresh water, even in our toilets, the most precious commodity on the planet, is something with which we are abundantly blessed and take absolutely for granted. I close my eyes and hear Joni Mitchel singing ‘Big Yellow Taxi’… “They’ve paved paradise and put up a parking lot.” Who would have ever thought that British Columbia would face water shortages?

Jack, now very hale and healthy, indulges in his favourite pastime while there’s still fresh water to wade in.
Summer!

So, two quotes for this posting. One leapt out at me from some research I was doing. I am a sucker for anything Steinbeck so I was immediately hooked. It thumped me between the eyes. The lyrical blessing of the second quote was graciously sent to me from a friend who apparently understands perfect timing. Is it possible? Can one’s stumbling progress come together as if there was a higher purpose that will make sense in the end? Only we can make that realization.

The hairy monster. A dog we met on the trail was furious at the sight of the microphone.

Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? …Well, think about it. Maybe you’re playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience.” 
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”

– Edward Abbey

Ho Hum, Pass The Rum

A Weary Traveller. I found this moth on the hood of my vehicle. His wingspan was about three centimetres. The photo was taken with my cell phone. Some technology is amazing.
A Weary Traveller.
I found this moth on the hood of my vehicle. His wingspan was about three centimetres. The photo was taken with my cell phone. Some new technology is amazing.

 

It’s blog o’clock. I haven’t written a blog in a while and, at the moment, don’t really have much exciting to write about but my readers should be warned that yet I live. Each day is pretty mundane. Life is ticking by, my health is improving and the wounded ankle is slowly healing. I’m walking and swimming as much as possible. Part of my dream is to hike along cactus-studded ridges and look down on this boat anchored in translucent warm, green waters below me. Yeah, like the Sea Of Cortez! I want to be in good shape for that and I know that being in big shape is a death spiral. I reckon that I’m packing around the equivalent of a sack of concrete in my Value Village jeans. If any of you flat-bellied folks want to get ready for winter, I’ll make you a package deal on several pounds of blubber.

"Lard Tunderin' Jasus!" Fierce as it looked, this cumulonimbus cloud fizzled out and faded away. A snap-shot with my cell phone while at a stoplight.
“Lard Tunderin’ Jasus!”
As fierce as it looked, this cumulonimbus cloud fizzled out and faded away. A snap-shot taken with my cell phone while at a stoplight.

I’m also beginning to realize that I imbibe a buffet of prescription medications. I’m sensing that the pills are a toxic stew which does nothing to improve or maintain good health. It may be having the opposite effect and I’m noting how one thing leads to the next. Is my excess weight due, in part, to the influence of my daily drugs? I know that when I’ve sworn off some of these concoctions, the weight loss is soon noticeable. One new prescription’s fine print noted that if mixed with another drug, already in my daily intake, there could be dire consequences. At three bucks a day for this one poison, I declined to participate in someone else’s Porsche payment program.

Profusion. Scotch Broom, an invasive species, seems to have especially brilliant flowrs this spring, much to the delight of thousands who are allergic to its pollen.
Profusion.
Scotch Broom, an invasive species, seems to have especially brilliant flowrs this spring, much to the delight of thousands who are allergic to its pollen.
A free tree in every one! Cottonwood seeds enjoy their say, much to the irritation of those with allergies
A free tree in every one!
Cottonwood seeds enjoy their say, much to the irritation of those with allergies

It’s my body and it’s up to me what goes into it. A person should not blindly trust strangers to keep an eye on the details of their health anymore than one should trust a new mechanic with their vehicle. It’s simple. If the flab goes, so do the damned pills and perhaps, if the pills go, so does that excess weight. It’s all connected. And so pass the rum, chum. Now that’s a medicine I understand and can even advocate. Yes I’m aware of the side effects. That’s why I drink it!

"C'mon up to my box baby" Purple Martins at their nesting box beside 'Seafire'
“C’mon up to my box baby”
Purple Martins at their nesting box beside ‘Seafire’
When the summer's business of raising chicks and eating tons of bugs, the Martins will fly all the way back to Mexico. Enviable I think!
When the summer’s business of raising chicks and eating tons of bugs, the Martins will fly all the way back to Mexico.
Enviable I think!

Meanwhile I’m tinkering the boat back into good shape and watching other boats come and go. Damn! That makes for a big itch! There have been some beauties pass through already. One monstrous old Tolly Craft appeared within the painful thunder of two extremely loud Detroit Diesels. (If a tugboat produced that much noise, it would never have a crew.) Everyone in the marina was holding their ears. The geriatric skipper wore an intercom headset and mercifully shut the engines down promptly. The yacht gleamed and although it displayed no name, it caught even my eye. Within minutes of docking, the couple aboard it were out, up, down and around polishing and buffing. That went on until sundown when the flickering blue of television filled the vessel’s cabin. Wot a life! A Fart Parkerson-type sailboat next appeared bearing the name “High Heels.” There are things I just don’t understand. All that money, apparently, with no imagination. Yesterday an old geezer pulled up beside me at a stoplight. He was driving an Audi R8, a gorgeous, rare sports car. Its V10 motor rocketed the car away as if I’d only imagined seeing it. I looked it up on the internet and discovered the price tag is $164,000. And it only seats two! (Maybe the chap was a pharmacist!) I wonder how it would look jacked up in the air with big fat wheels.

Warm and fuzzy snow. For a few days there are drifts of Cottonwood seeds then it rains. (These large hardwood trees are commonly known as alder.) They can grow very large. Each seed is about the size of a small grain of salt.
Warm and fuzzy snow. For a few days there are drifts of Cottonwood seeds Then .it rains. (These large hardwood trees are also commonly known as alder.) They can grow very large. Each seed is about the size of a small grain of salt.

Just off the end of the marina where ‘Seafire’ is berthed, a local marine contractor is breaking up a decommissioned steel tug. I can hardly bring myself to photograph the process. It seems so very sad. Each day there is less of the tug and a higher pile of scrap on the breaker’s barge. The smell of burned paint and the shower of sparks from the cutting torches are like the effluent of an Indian funeral ghat. In a bizarre way I relate to the worn-out old hulk. I hope that when my day comes there is a more glorious or, at least, discreet ending.

A dissection in progress. The bow stem cap and forebits are lifted away. how many hours I've spent off-watch leaning on bits like these while watching the world go by. It was as far away from the noise and the rest of the crew you could get.
A dissection in progress. The bow stem cap and forebits are lifted away. How many hours I’ve spent off-watch leaning on bits like these while watching the world go by! It was as far away from the noise and the rest of the crew you could get.

Call It Fred

There may well come a time,

When I’ll be shark shit.

I hope, at least, the bottom feeder will be a fish

And not a politician.

How my time in this dimension

Comes to an end I do not know

Except that with luck it will occur while at sea.

Hopefully I can be afforded the dignity of being discharged

in something like a sailbag ballasted enough

to take me quickly to a depth where the big fish are.

Passing through the belly of a gleaming sleek beast

I will become an object of low regard

Yet I will still exist, drifting, dissolving, feeding little fish.

They in turn, as you know, will feed bigger fish and so on

Until a time arrives when I am a shining smiley in your net.

You came name that fish.

Call it Fred,

It’ll all be the same to me.

The aspiration of finding a decent J.O.B. is dwindling. Apparently nobody wants to hire an old fart like me and pay me for my decades of experience. I also do not have a certificate or license for much of anything. You seem to require a document to do anything now and I marvel at all the things I have done in my life without paperwork. As we all know, a ticket is no assurance of competence but I won’t get into that rant now. I also have no interest or social skill to be a box store greeter or a security guard so, I’m desperately looking for a clever and legal means of producing an income, hopefully something I can do while travelling. That of course means working online and this Cyber-Neanderthal has got some adventures ahead on that path. In my heart of hearts, I don’t really want employment ever again, but there are other realities. Living under a bridge is not one of my ambitions.

A boat wit no name. This glorious, gleaming stinkpot represents values I can't comprehend.
A boat with no name, all fifty-plus feet of her. It does have an oxygen tent.
This glorious, gleaming stinkpot represents values I can’t comprehend. (But I wish I could afford it!)

 

High Heels ...enough said.
High Heels
…enough said.

It is now past mid-May and proving to be a very dry spring. Hopefully Vancouver Island does not end up burning like Fort McMurray but a serious drought does appear imminent this year. The creeks are dry already and the days are an endless stream of cloudless warmth. Every day, in an effort to stave off the blues and various anxieties I try to find the beauty in the world around me. Some days that is especially hard to see, but not because it isn’t there.

Tubular Bells
Tubular Bells

Other mornings the amazing natural wealth all around becomes obvious in overwhelming clarity. With the dry spring the wildflowers are profuse. I’m trying to improve my skills with the photo mode of my LG cell phone. It can produce some excellent high-quality images despite the clumsiness I find in using it. I’ve restricted my photography for the moment to that single device. All the photos (Except those of the birds) in this blog were taken with that one mobile phone.

Columbine among the blackberries
Columbine among the blackberries

So, this blog proves to be another photo essay. “Thar be new adventure to write about just over the horizon Billy! Stay the course!”

The Nurse Stump
The Nurse Stump
Everywhere you look!
Everywhere you look!
Leaves of grass There is richness and beauty even in the simple symmetry of a clump of grass.
Leaves of grass
There is richness and beauty even in the simple symmetry of a clump of grass.
Morning cuddle
Morning cuddle

There are times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling.” George Carlin