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
Dang it! I Was posting my latest blog when old stumble-thumbs hit a wrong button. Yep, gone!
Lupin time again.
I guess I shouldn’t complain, it could have been an entire novel. So…where was I? Trying to remember verbatim would be like hiding my own Easter eggs. Haven’t found one yet and I’m not really sure I hid them in the first place.
The fence between our place and the neighbour immediately below is very tired. There’s a space between the garden shed and the fence which is perfect for a lawnmower shed or what I’ve come to call the “Donkey Shack.” I leaned slightly on that section of fence to see how rotten it really was. There was a crack. Then came the crash! Suddenly this Rubenesque geezer found his beak planted in the remains of the fence, ten feet lower in altitude. I cautiously checked my appurtenances. I shut off the fuel and electricals and then wiggled all my extremities. Then I began to laugh. Dumbass, dumbass, dumbass. I’d have to apologize for crashing the neighbour’s party. “Wasn’t planning on dropping in like this.”
All’s well that ends. The fence is repaired and the shed has been completed.
Dawn patrol. Ever notice that the best sunrises require some clouds?Bedheads. Jill and Arye greet the sunrise over our balcony. It is a lovely place to start the day with a coffee. I don’t know what happened to Jill’s mug.
Things happen in a flash. My last escapade was flying over the handlebars of my motorbike. I usually put only myself at risk, but then there all those uncontrollable moments out on the highway. That was one. This past winter a friend launched himself from the lower step of a ladder while pruning a tree. Fortunately he did not land on his still-running chainsaw. He called me from hospital where he lay with seven broken ribs and other collateral damage. Another friend had a leg collapse, as they do, while on his concrete driveway. He suffered a split femur and had surgery to install clamps at the ends of the bone. Are you squirming yet?
A turdshroom. At first I wondered what that dog had eaten. It is another forest fungi with a purpose and right to be even though we may not understand it.
Some times it is hard to not become paranoid. But life is like that and we’ve got to carry on. And so we do. The next morning I was mowing the lawn and discovered a spring bubbling out of my front lawn. Uhuh! Broken water line. That was Good Friday. Fortunately a good plumber we know was there in little over an hour. I knew it was foolish but I dug a pit where the water was coming out. Of course the source proved to be elsewhere. You’ve got to try nevertheless. Our man suggested we simply dig a new trench and install a new waterline. Digging up the old line, finding the break and patching it, probably having to patch the old line again in the near future just didn’t make sense.
I was already too knackered from my previous digging effort to be of use. This plumber had the new trench dug out by hand, on his own, in about four hours. Most others would have used a mini-excavator, boosting the invoice by a thousand bucks and tearing up our front yard. We had water again the next day. I can only offer humble kudus to a man of integrity who is willing to work. Sadly those are a rare breed now.
The trench. A defense against invasion and other Trumperisms.While digging, we broke into a mysterious cavern. We decided to leave that wonder for another day, when it becomes a sinkhole.
I’ve rumminated about what decadence it is to be able to take for granted the wonderful luxury of being able to casually turn a tap for an endless supply of clear, safe water drinking water. Millions do not know of such a thing. The water we use to flush the morning toilet would be a precious gift to an entire family in a place like Gazza. How lucky we are!
Spring on the coal pile.
A week later, spring advances. The swallows have been back for several days and water restrictions are coming into effect. Municipal spring cleanup is in full swing. Folks drag their heavy trash out to the street for a special pick up. The stuff is amazing. Appliances, beds, furniture and other valuable commodities languish shamelessly. I am frustrated that the taxpayer should cough up the funds to account for other’s waste and greed.
Easter SundayBack to the inlets for another load. The work never ends.Signals from the hidden water tower.
Other folks cruise the streets looking for treasures. They find plenty. I am always shocked at the mindless disposal of goods which third-world folks would soon turn to wealth. Consumerism is our modern religion, it is our reason to be, our measure of status and the dogma which drives us toward economic and environmental disaster. Bic economy, burn it up and throw it away. We talk about it, but that’s it. As I sit writing I can hear fuel-gobbling vehicles being driven as hard as possible up the highway. The comedy goes on. The latest folly is the federal election on Monday. There may be new clowns, but will it be the same old circus? Who is going to clean up behind the elephants? Was that a Republican joke?
PerfectThink greenFading beauty. See you next spring.Lean on me. I’ll be your root.Even the trillium season is nearing its end already.I’ll be around all summer.Me too!A storm always ends. Enjoy it while it lasts.
“”Don’t look for luxury in watches or bracelets, don’t look for luxury in villas or sailboats!
Luxury is laughter and friends, luxury is rain on your face, luxury is hugs and kisses.
Don’t look for luxury in shops, don’t look for it in gifts, don’t look for it in parties, don’t look for it in events!
Luxury is being loved by people, luxury is being respected, luxury is having your parents alive, luxury is being able to play with your grandchildren. Luxury is what money can’t buy.””
Magnolia trees in bloom. That fleeting glorious splendour marks the surety of the seasons, the bursting out of spring, warmer days ahead and then the luxuries of summer. In a day or two the wind or rain will tear away the stunning beauty of those magnificent blossoms. Like the rest of life, beauty is a fleeting thing. There are flowers and buds all around, very intense after the reluctant retreat of winter. They mean nothing. It is Easter, the celebration of hope and rebirth. This year, it means nothing. All is a hollow, echoing nightmare. I see but do not grasp, there is no reaching sound, no smell, no taste. All is surreal. All is a void. A few days ago her mother found her body in her apartment. Her frantic little dog was guarding. Apparently, we learned, Rachel our daughter had been dead a few days.
Rachel. She was seven years old when I met her. She and her mom were a package deal. I have no regrets about that.She was incredibly beautiful in all ways.
No mother should ever have to find her daughter’s corpse. How I wish I could erase that horror for her. I cannot imagination how she deals with this end of her motherhood. She will be a mother forever. What a slam! No manipulation of words can begin to describe the depths of anguish and darkness we find ourselves plunged into. We function like automatons, mechanically going about all the ordeals and logistics we must at such a time. There may be a short pause in my blogging. There is too much pain to be able to write coherently.
Rachel at about the age of ten with her dog Fletcher. That was thirty-seven years ago. How time flies! I cannot describe the depths of grief at losing her so suddenly. It is pain no parent should ever know.
It is absolutely no consolation but I think of people in an identical circumstance in a place like the Ukraine. Their loved ones are gone, there may be no family left to share the grief, no home or any familiarity for shelter, no food. Shattered bodies lay in the rubble-strewn streets. There is a smell of decay and soot and torn earth.
I try to find solace in the love received from my family and friends, it truly is a comfort. Yet for the time being I travel in a place I do not know, nor want to. I find myself in a dark labyrinth of caves. I do not know which way to crawl, I can see nothing. This will pass. Life will go on, with or without me, all I need is to grasp a single thread to follow back toward where I can see well enough to find the path ahead. I try to imagine that Rachel and Jack, who loved each other dearly, have found each other in some beautiful place and have each again found the bliss they used to share. Meanwhile, Rachel’s own little dog is utterly confused and I cannot image the wee beast being alone with her for days after she had died. Little Ayre is a living extension of our daughter’s existence and we will cherish her.
We had no chance to say goodbye to our daughter. And my message to you is to understand that every time you say farewell to anyone, it may be the last time. Life is like that, it is fragile. Don’t leave anything unfinished, leave no regrettable words, tell them you love them, hug your children every chance you get. Happy Easter.
Ayre. Rachel’s loyal companion past the bitter end. She watches for Rachel to reappear, just like her parents do. Is any of this real?
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”Winnie The Pooh
You can’t have spring without a Magnolia tree in full, splendid bloom.Feeling nearly faded as my flowers. I find a poignant beauty in fading flowers and that these perhaps should not have been picked at all, they deserved to be preserved in a photo.
I went to the grocery store yesterday (now a gauntlet indeed) and bought a pre-bagged sack of bulk mixed nuts. You can’t dip into the bulk bins yourself, you might cough. That leads to some obvious questions about bulk bins at the best of times and then there are the restaurants with buffets. And of course there the open markets in much of the world, where nothing is pre-packaged as it never has been since markets ever were. There are public washrooms, and water fountains and the Wailing Wall and the Blarney Stone and all those religious shrines which millions of strangers love to kiss…How the hell have we ever survived this long? Anyway this morning I took a handful of nuts and noted how the brazil nuts, cashews and almonds were on top of the peanuts.
So then: “Is life like a bag of nuts, the biggest ones rise to the top?”
Time to reload the hives and get the year’s honey crop in the making.
I am truly not in support of any political group or perspective, frankly my dear I think they’re all nuts. Some of the incredible stupidities we’ve seen in the past weeks bear that out and confirm the low datum of mass human intellect. If only, at the earliest rumour of this disaster, we had firmly stopped all international travel, perhaps things would be much different. Commerce remained more important than safety and here we are. I know I’m just a bog peanut backwoods boy but it is not space science to understand that if you close the barn door, chances are much better of keeping your piggies in and the wolves out. It seems simple enough. I am really weary of cynicism, even my own, but there has to be voices asking obvious questions. Frankly there is just too much baaing going on. But it’s Easter, so peace on earth and watch your blood sugar level. And beware the giant rabbit!
Popping out all over. What magic lets plants know when it is time to re-emerge for a new year?The Hobbit Hostel. A favourite nook for me at the base of two conjoined maples.
The day outside is pristine. The sky cloudless, the air warming. There is just enough breeze to gently stir the bushes and let us know that indeed the planet still lives. All else is quiet. I had a horrid dream last night about some authority’s decision that all dogs had to be destroyed. Our pandemic was their fault. I firmly decided that I did not want to live in a world without dogs and…I leave the rest to your imagination. I awoke suddenly and had a hard time sleeping after. It seems wildly dark and irrational but I’ve come to expect the ludicrous and the biblically incredible. Jack is slumbering peacefully by the back door, so it’s time to try and return my brain to a default setting. Faulty is my usual mode so “Hi ho off to the woods we go.”
How many springs have these old beauties slowly grown another covering of new leaves?It seems to be an especially good spring for Oregon Grape. the bright blooms are everywhere.
We went to our favourite spot but the local dog and gun club had taken over for the day. What better way to celebrate Easter? Plastic geese decoys, duck blinds, camouflage clothing, popping shotguns and bewildered dogs. They know what to do, in fact, they could probably teach the people a thing or two, but hell, it gets everyone out of the house despite current standing orders. Yep we were there too, albeit at a safe distance. Have your field, we’ll be back when you’re gone.
Not Easter Eggs. Button fungi adorn a slowly decaying log.Easter leaf. Was it dipped like an egg?
Easter Monday dawns just as crystalline with warmer temperatures yet in the forecast. There is not a sound outside. Maybe everyone is….. naw c’mon! I recall a story about a man who came to believe he was the last person alive. To end his loneliness and despair he threw himself from the top of the tallest building in town. As he hurtled down past the third floor from the bottom he heard a telephone ringing. There is always hope, you’ve just got to hang on a little bit longer.
Is it possible? For a moment I mused that the snake in last week’s photo had followed me the twenty miles home. This beauty is about a foot long. It was sunning itself beneath the neighbour’s car.
“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.” Albert Einstein
At the best of times, there is inevitably minor power-hungry bureaucrats trying to save us from ourselves and so empower themselves. Our current virus has apparently given some of them a sense of license to post dire signs and try to impose closures wherever possible. We are not a species with high primal instincts of self-preservation anymore but really, I do not need to be incessantly reminded to go home, hide in a closet, put my head between my knees and kiss me arse farewell. I get it! OK?
OK? So who has been saved from what by having a small gravel parking lot blocked? The signs have dire warnings about Covid 19.THAT’s better! You can see the blocked parking lot 100 metres away.Nope! Nothing’s allowed. Go home.Oh SHIT!GERM. A sign of the times. I don’t mind this one at all.
Those who don’t understand by now, never will, so we may as well let the gene pool cleanse itself a bit. I was encouraged to learn that in some places where it comes down to which victim needs a ventilator, a smoker will lose against the non-smoker. Sad, but fair.
Plod. Poor old Jack is slowing down. He used to run ahead and wait for me. There is still a sparkle in his eye and the stubby tail is quick to blur in a happy greeting. The crows were engrossed in a lively mating ritual.
Sorry but I’m getting a little fed up. Folks, sick and dying is sick and dying, wherever you are. Don’t give me any crap after what your local infection percentile is. I just spoke with a nurse from tiny little Tahsis, (Population about 248) a village way up on the remote west coast of Vancouver Island, next stop Japan. They’ve had a confirmed case of Covid 19. If you want to having a pissing contest about who has the worst situation, please, walk on by. We’re all in this together. Dead is dead. Got it? Every community I’ve ever lived in has, by someone’s declaimation, the worst hospital ever. So stop it already. Lighten up eh! Look for some light.
Today is a flawless spring day. The sky is cloudless, the breeze is light and warm. It’s a T-shirt day. (16° C /61°F) The air is filled with pollen. Folks will be sneezing, coughing, farting, blowing their noses and all thinking they have the big C. I swear that soon we’ll have officious little-minded people on the street corners in fluorescent space suits, with 2 meter long grabber sticks, leaping out to install a headbag on anyone so cavalier to venture out.
It’s a jungle out there, but so much nicer with the sun!Well woof to you too. Welcome to my wading pool.This way a wet dog came.“The vandals took the handles and now the pumps won’t work.” …Bob Dylan
Our premier goes on television to tell the proletariat how to properly wash its hands, to stay indoors but also get outside and enjoy the fresh air. Yep, I’ve broken out into some good old blue collar epithets more than once.
It is Good Friday and struth, usually the weather is cloudy and stormy. My fundamentalist parents used to explain that it was God reminding us of what a terrible day it was when the evil ones executed Christ. That the bad guys were the local religious factions of the time seemed to elude them. “Hurry up, we’re late for church!” But then, which army has not had God on ITS side? I am presently wading though a novel called ‘Stones From The River’ by Ursula Hegi. It is set in Germany during the era leading up to the second world war. I can only read a few pages at a time about the darkness of spiralling self-serving values, terrible behaviour, attitudes and practices of many inspired by Mr. H and the boys. The country had doomed itself before ever marching across any border. My personal cynicism can draw parallels to the mass mindlessness of our present pandemic. The ripple effects of this panic and terror will be far-reaching and with us for a long time. As the Australian man said, “Brace yourself Sheila!”
“Now what have I pushed?” Banana fingers and mobile phones are a poor mix. The inadvertent selfie. Scary! “More lines in his face than a street map of London.”The poet’s desk.New boots broken in, it’s time to say goodbye to the old ones. After three years of bilges, mechanics shops, welding, hundreds of miles of walking, one boot finally fell off my foot. I usually get about six months from a pair of working boots. Blundstones are more than just a fashion statement.
Our governments are trying to bolster our spirits by throwing money at us. Funds they don’t have and we will pay, and pay. There will be little happiness for a long time. Historically, countries pull themselves out of a crisis by starting yet another war. Pay attention! That’s all I’ll say now that I’ve depressed everyone even lower. While we ponder the extent of our weakness it is also a time to consider our strengths and develop those to a higher level. Kindness has no substitute and even a little has far-reaching implications. Common sense is clearly not common, so it is time to take a breath and think things through before letting someone else’s knee-jerk stupidity dictate the direction of your life. Smile. It’s Easter. Eat chocolate. It’s bad for you!
Bump! A stable air mass. Two intersecting contrails dissipate very slowly in the high spring sky.The crack pansy. Does that sound rude?Natural light, natural beauty. Trilliums are especially beautiful because they are so soon gone.
I understand how I may come across as crass and insensitive. In actual fact, I am an emotional flower and I am saddened when people demean their own god-given potential by refusing to think and feel for themselves. This blog finds me in mourning. Covid-19 took one of my few heroes and human inspirations this week. John Prine, gone. Oddly, a lot of folks don’t know who this incredible singer songwriter is/ was. His music will live on and on. He was of more value to me than any politician. Here’s a link to one of my favourite Prine songs:
