Easter Past

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 Sunday
Back 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?

Perfect
Think green
Fading 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.””

(2024) ” Clint Eastwood

Whores And Mechanics

The shipping news: Same as yesterday.
“Pull up a stump. Something’s gonna happen any minute now.”
Rerun!

It is said all too often that there is no rest for the wicked and that idle hands do the devil’s work. This week I’ve removed a grotty old carpet in a bedroom and replaced it with laminate flooring. After a couple of days of constant kneeling I am remembering old wisdoms and old injuries. (I know, a professional about forty years younger, would have done this job in a day.) Damn, this getting old is definitely not for the faint-hearted! Another old blue collar witticism says that both whores and mechanics earn their living the same way: on their knees or their backs. I’ll let the reader work out all the possible metaphors. I’ll just say that some kinds of dirt wash off at the end of the day and I’ve never minded getting my hands dirty, although my knees sure hurt at the moment. And now I’ve gone and taken a real job, as a mechanic.

The job. No turning back.
Nearing completion. Note the grain and texture in the flooring including saw marks and knots. Clever people those Chinese.
Mmmmmmm. Up? Me? Walk? In a minute….maybe.
A new friend. Your stick? Nice!

So it’s back to work for me. I confess to a sense of humility of having to do this at my age but such is life. There are all kinds of folks with a similar number of rings on their stump working at menial jobs and seem content to have found any sort of employment. I regard the usually personable employees in places like the big box stores with respect and awe. Some are seniors who have known glory and some degree of good income are now reduced to the horrid lighting and vacuous din of those consumer edifices selling products from China. Many others are single moms, not even earning enough to be able to shop where they work and I wonder how the hell they do it day after day, then go home to care for their children. There are types of courage I do not possess or begin to comprehend.

Distracted driver? A policeman with two VHF radios, a cell phone, at least one computer and perhaps a fistful of donuts has to make a subjective decision.

I’ve spent months looking for a suitable job, then finally any job, and have gotten used to being chucked out on the rubbish heap of competent senior folks with good experience and skills and yet some sparks of vitality. Unless you are already wealthy it seems no-one wants to hire an old fart. They don’t seem to understand that you don’t become an old bull by being frail or stupid. I once described being a didiot (disposable idiot) in a previous work environment and it seems that is what a lot of employers want. Incredibly, in this enlightened age there are still plenty of job ads for automatons. The pre-qualified candidate must be no more than twenty years of age, hold three master’s degrees, two trade certificates, be fully computer-literate, have transgender first aid certificates, a forklift training certificate, a dangerous goods certificate, be fluent with English as well as Swahili and Mongolian, be willing to work flexible hours for minimum wage in a “fast-paced” environment, have no criminal record and be able to accept dna, drug and alcohol testing and…preferably have some medical training with a willingness to make a lifetime commitment. “We are an equal-opportunity employer.” Uh huh? Please provide references.

So I am taking pride in being found employable at something where I can use my experience. It’s a boat shop, one for all those little plastic buckets which I hate so much but I’ll be under a roof out of the rain and hot sun and the folks I’ll be spending my days with seem quite nice. I’ll be rigging boats. (Installing engines and accessories) There’ll be none of the romance of filthy old fishing boats and the stench of bilgewater. I’ve been told that I’ll be training other junior employees. It should be interesting and maybe even fun. These people seem to see the value in their employees and working there will be a very nice change from other situations I have known. It beats hell out of working as a night watchman at a glue factory (Vat #9) which I’d feared would be my fate. “Where’d that old geezer go?” It seems odd that I will be travelling back and forth in my rut-mobile in the parade of daily grinders just like a regular guy. “What, me normal?”

Crystal pond moment. The rope swings will hang idle for a few months yet.
Crystal pond bridge
Crystal pond magic
Old Friends. “How’s your winter been?”

I won’t be out throwing hammers at invading bears, or hearing wolves howl while tramping home in the rain and mud to the boat where I live, heading deep into the wilderness on days off but I’ll cope. I still have my down-south dreams with plenty to tinker away at in preparation. I’ve written often that you can’t steer a steady course by looking back and so onward I go. Adventure or ordeal, it is all up to each of us. Let’s see what I can blog about now.

Ocean view family home available. Handyman special, beat the rush.
The fungal stick. Not frost, but a type of fungus…yeah, like a toad stool. It appears suddenly and then vanishes as mysteriously.
My solar roof defroster. It’s nice to feel the radiation.
Winter’s edge

I am the humble subject of an act of love for which I am deeply grateful and overwhelmed. My annual subscription fees to WordPress for hosting this blog site were due. Because I post so many images and use up goggles of giggle bites I must pay a business rate which I could not raise this year. My financial woes have me painted into a corner. Due in part to the kindness of the nice folks at WordPress and the benevolence of Jill, here I am, still. Thank you, thank you! I had my teary goodbye blog written but happily it now languishes in the back of the archives. And to all my loyal subscribers with your many thoughtful criticisms and kind remarks through the years and around the planet, much gratitude as well. My interaction with all of you folks means very much and has carried me through some very dark days indeed. Namasté.

…The odd grumpy old man at large as well.

Life is a series of windows. We must choose which one to pass through all the while knowing there will more windows ahead leading in turn to ever more and that there is never any open windows behind. Often a good choice leads to more happy windows and poor choices tend to lead to more of those. So, the window on the left or the one on the right? Curse or blessing, there’s only one way to find out. Phew! Look out for that hooooooooooole.

Race ya to the mast. The calm after dawn.
A bouquet of fingers to ungracious employers. “It’s Ok. I was looking for a job when I found this one.”
The fork. Life, a series of choices.
Y’all come back now!

I now have anti-bodies to assholes after working for so many.”
― Crystal Woods,  Write like no one is reading