RINGING EARS, BLURRY EYES AND TREMBLING HANDS - OLD AGE IS FUN

          Seems like quite a few people read this blog, so I wonder how many hear a ringing noise in their ears like I do. At first, when they began ringing, I thought perhaps I was picking up a radio or WiFi signal and later on, when the noise became louder, I thought I was intercepting an alien's star-ship signal - little green people on the backside of the moon trying to make contact (especially since I've been a little green lately and can light up a dark room).  I'm kind of glad that the ringing became louder because it drowns out the various voices in my head, except when they are having a heated argument. However, I now realize, much to my dismay, it's most likely an age thing. When I'm busy doing something, I don't notice the ringing as much; it's the quiet times, like lying in bed trying to fall asleep, reading a book or trying to concentrate on something that I'm doing. However, on a positive note, I tend to have selective hearing and when someone interferes with my thoughts, I just zone them out to left field or even beyond the bleachers and then just say, "Sorry, I didn't hear what you were saying."

           Besides the ringing in my ears, my eyesight is constantly blurry, which again is an age thing - because even wearing spectacles doesn't work any longer. Sometimes, it's as if the ringing in my ears compounded with my bad eyesight is like watching a Charlie Chaplin silent movie (something which is actually older than this old fart). I doubt that anyone wants to hear about my farting episodes but since I'm on the topic of farting; just before my operation and having a war with cancer, I used to blow the most melodious farts (didn't even have to eat a mess of beans); probably could have joined a symphony orchestra. Yes, the farts were that good, could almost blow them on cue. Now, whenever I happen to let one go, it's like puckering your lips and saying poof very quietly, not nearly as satisfying even though they sometimes make me giggle.

Wolf Bay - my last painting

               It's been a while since I put paint to canvas and I can't blame it on poor eyesight or being lifted out of my chair by an explosive fart. No, it's mostly due to my slightly trembling hands (not an old age factor, more because of the chemo treatments I was undergoing (so glad that has ended). I like to paint realistically and one slip of the brush loaded with paint could be disastrous, especially since my temper is somewhat light-triggered, ready to fire at any moment; I might just rip up the canvas rather than wipe off the paint and start again.  I also have a touch of chemo-brain (my mind short-circuiting once in a while) so if I was for instance mixing a purple (blue and red) I might wind up mixing orange (yellow and red) and that just wouldn't be appropriate. I may have to switch to abstracts rather than realistic paintings because if I'm a wee bit shaky or mix the wrong color, it just might add something positive to the painting, a happy mistake so to speak.

               So there you have it folks, probably more information than you would like to have read, loud ringing noises in my ears, soon to be hopefully farting frequently (melodious of course) shaky hands and did I mention shuffling along when walking? Yeah, I'm a wreck of an old man now but at age 77, am I really interested in leaping over bar stools in a single bound, zipping around on a motorcycle or giving the eye to some sweet woman? Well. bar stools and motorcycles are definitely  out of the question but women, no, not women, I have a sweet Daisy that I love very much...peace, eh - Trip

Time to blog some good news for a change...

Exercise - getting stronger!

          It's been a while since I wrote a blog but even though I'm still suffering from funny feeling finger tips (my toes feel even worse) and slight chemo-brain problems, (lose my train of thought and make a lot of typo errors) thought I'd give it a try today.

Celebrating the good news!

          I've had many visits to the hospital but the news concerning my cancer infected rectum, after all the test results, my surgeon told me yesterday that he had good news; (first time the doctor smiled during our visits) I'm happy to report I am cancer free and he'll able to put me back together, which means reconnecting my colon and sewing up my belly will soon be happening, possibly before Christmas or in the New Year. However, this doesn't mean I'll be out of the woods, I'm still as weak as a new born kitten. For instance, a few weeks ago, while I was in St. John for my last test, when I stepped out of the truck, a gust of wind blew me over and I found myself lying on my back on the wet sidewalk; rain pelting my face. Good thing the wind eased off or I may have kept going, tumbled down the street and landed in the St. John river. I wouldn't have made much of a splash because I most likely don't weigh much more than a good sized boulder.
          After hearing the doctor's good news, giving me a new leaf in life, as strange as it may seem when I walked out of his office, I still felt somewhat like a broken down old man shuffling down the hallways and then outside to the truck (nothing is an instant cure). It takes time to process the reality - since things were feeling so dire, and we were worried many of my symptoms were the result of more cancer. I am going to improve, but it is still a long road. Of course, the doctors have all told me that it will take a year or two to recover and not to lift anything weighing over 3 pounds, apparently lifting heavy objects can cause a hernia and I still have enough problems to overcome.
          Since I've had to endure quite a few extremely painful days over the past 7 months, and would have been happy to depart this Earth at times, my wife recently asked if I would do it all over again. To which I replied, "If it meant a cure was possible and I would have a decent quality of life, I would somewhat reluctantly, do it again." However, because of my age, if the doctor were to tell me it would only give me another year or two to live, at my age (77), I'd most likely decline. For me, there is a time to die and I've made arrangements that if something were to go terribly wrong with me health wise in the future, for instance a heart attack and I'm unconscious, I'm not to be resuscitated. The last thing I want is to lose the remainder of my mind, to be in a veggie state of existence for the remainder of my life. I have always been independent so, the thought of losing that, anymore than I already have, is not appealing to me at all.
      But for today, although I accept the future can change, I am happy to look forward to getting well and planning to hit the road in the Hippie Hangout with my beautiful Daisy in the Spring of 2019!
Cheers, eh?
Trip

TO ME, BEARS ARE WILD AND WONDERFUL CREATURES

             It was great to see a mama bear and her two cubs enjoying sniffing around in our back yard for moles and field mice, plus our apple tree is loaded with organic apples for them to munch on. I've been hobbling down to the apple tree occasionally and although the apples aren't quite ripe, I still enjoy that taste of sourness, which reminds me of when I was a boy raiding the neighbour's fruit trees so long ago. I thought about going down for an apple this morning but with a mama bear and her two inquisitive cubs hanging about for the past two days, I decided it was a bad and possibly a dangerous idea. I've had several close encounters with bears over the years but they all moved on about their business. It's that feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong moment that always concerns me, which can happen at any time if one is not aware of their surroundings while wandering about in the forest..

             It's great to have a 50 acre back yard because we get to enjoy all sorts of wildlife besides the bears; foxes, raccoons, moose, porcupines, skunks and deer and of course those pesky squirrels are often seen, especially since we no longer have a dog. I'm of the belief, if you leave them alone, they'll leave me alone. I find it a bit shameful that the bears, deer and other wild animals are often baited instead of actually being hunted. Although I could have shot many a wild animal enjoying our apples, put venison and such on the table, especially when I can afford to fill the freezer with beef, pork and chicken, I really don't see the point in killing the forest creatures.

            I grew up in big cities made of concrete and glass, which were inundated with masses of people and vehicles of every kind and thought they were wonderful, however, I have to admit that I feel more at home living next door to Nature. There's a quietness that abounds and when the sun sets, the quietness is doubled and the multitude of stars to be seen are remarkable compared to a city-slicker's evening. For me, I feel a connection, the roots of my forefathers, especially my grandfather and grandmother, who homesteaded on the banks of the mighty Fraser River, after journeying by foot, stagecoach and wagon from North Carolina in the late 1800's.  They were basically farmers and I'm so glad they weren't racists or bigots filled with hatred like so many other southern Americans were and still are. When I was a young lad, I often went roaming through the forests on their homestead without even a trail to follow. And getting back to bears, I remember once as a boy, a trusty .22 in my hands coming across a small bog. When I saw the water dripping off some branches and leaves, I realized that I had disrupted a bear taking advantage of that muddy pool. I wasn't scared but I was certainly all ears and eyes until I arrived back at my grandfolk's two story log house that my grandfather had built with a team of horses and his two bare hands.  I don't feel akin to a bear but I do have respect for such a strong and intelligent animal that when it comes to family, has as much love and tolerance for their young ones as we do...peace, eh - Trip

SIDEWAYS

Managed to letter some more hearts and apply 
them to our Hippie Hangout, which will 
hopefully be on the road this time next year.

              I used to think I knew which direction I was travelling. I had a purpose and a straight road ahead, and then wham! Just like that, I'm skidding off the road and heading sideways towards a big tree. Everything is in slow motion at this point and as I start putting up my hands to possibly slow down the out of control skid or at least save me some broken limbs when my body slams into the tree, I can't help wondering about the outcome. Yup, I got schmucked up and although everything looked very bad at the time, it turned out that it wasn't quite as serious as I thought it would be. If anyone is confused about what I just wrote; no, I never had an accident; no skidding off the road and slamming into a tree; it's my health that went sideways.  It's not like my life hasn't gone sideways before and things didn't look too good at the time but when your health takes a big turn for the worse, that's when you realize how important it is to have really looked after yourself in your younger years. 

              Now, I didn't especially take my health too seriously when I was younger, more for granted than anything else, especially since I'd hardly ever been sick a day in my life or taken any pills; that is, until now. I certainly take a lot of pills these days, some of them very pretty, blue, green, orange and white but most of them taste quite bitter. I chug 'em back the way I used to chug my beer but as fast as I down them, I don't get the satisfaction of knocking back a cold glass of beer anymore - alcohol is strictly forbidden.
              I wound up in Emergency at the hospital a couple of weeks ago and while there I complained about the discomfort of my swollen balls, which had been going on since my operation May 7th.  Finally. the doctor on call in the Emergency took notice and told me I had an infection. But to be sure, he wanted to test my prostate. As I watched him eye up his longest finger, my whole body tightened up. As he began inspecting my hairy orifice, noticing I was not in favour of sticking his finger up my rear end he said, "I'll be very careful. I don't have to go in too far and it shouldn't hurt much."
              Yeah right, I thought,. I've had a lot of probing fingers up my bottom end and if my sphincter had be honed as sharp as a guillotine, I would have happily cut off his finger. He prescribed some pills, which he said would not show any results until about a month's time. After three weeks of swollen testicles, I have yet to seen any improvement.
              Due to toxicity, my chemo treatments have been postponed for several weeks; I tend to light up a dark room, an eerie green, when I enter. I feel pretty good at the moment, have even gained some of my body weight back. This will hopefully withstand the month and a half of remaining chemo treatments and then I can start healing until it's time for the next operation to put my guts back together and hopefully have my rectum working normal once again. Most of my hair has fallen out and I expect once the last three chemo treatments have ended, I will be as bald as an apple, perhaps even as red. I'm hoping that it will grow back but there are no guarantees, each person is different.
             The chemo treatments are extremely harsh and I almost quit having them because with each session, it took me longer to sort of bounce back, I was beginning to feel that another one would kill me. Thankfully, the doctor postponed them. It's all a waiting game and I hope I have the patience and endurance to withstand the last three treatments - keeping my fingers crossed - peace, eh - Trip 
                     

DID ANOTHER PENCIL CARICATURE AND AM ITCHING TO PICK UP THE BRUSHES ONCE AGAIN

Arek Caricature

         Since I sketched a caricature of Dr. Knapp, and enjoyed doing it so much, I thought I'd sketch somebody else. I should mention that both caricatures were drawn with an ordinary HB pencil and I let the smudges do their own thing with a little help from an eraser.  This caricature is of a well-known photographer Arek Saczuk, and I think he liked it according to his own words: "WOW. WOW, WOW!!! I was most certainly NOT expecting that...and I absolutely, totally love it !!!  THANK YOU! Your bang-on caricature went straight to my heart. It's so perfect...I have no idea how to thank you that very unexpected and VERY beloved gift." Arek lives in Vancouver, BC and has taken photos all over the world, including Antarctica and the Northwest Passage, where I have also been, the Northwest Passage that is; a couple of friends and mine, on quite possibly the smallest sailboat, Dove III, sailed the legendary Northwest Passage in 1995, the 6th vessel to ever do so.  Arek and I had been planning on doing a joint exhibition of our polar experiences, our sketches and photographs complementing each others endeavours this year when Sarah (Daisy) and I (Trip) had planned a road-trip across Canada pulling our "Hippie-Hangout". Fortunately, after all that's happened to me recently, Arek still likes the idea of our joint exhibition and we are planning for this venture in 2019. (No actual date as of yet for our show but possibly around next fall, shortly after the kids go back to school.) If you are interested in a caricature, I am offering them on Etsy.

             Most of the art I'll be displaying are the original pen and ink sketches that will be framed and can be seen in Arctic Odyssey, a book that I wrote and illustrated. Because the gallery, where Arek is the residential photographer, has an auditorium with a large screen, I may also be showing my DVD, Arctic Odyssey and give a little talk when the film concludes. In the poor physical state I find myself these days because of the harsh chemo treatments I receive every 2 weeks for 4 months, my hair is falling out as easily as dandruff these days, however, this up-coming joint venture has really perked me up. I may even do some large paintings of the higher latitudes, possibly keeping with the black and white motif of our show.

Painting Cleopatra

       A large easel I ordered just arrived the other day and Sarah will be moving some things around in the room next to my hospital bed so I can try and complete a 3'x5' acrylic painting of Cleopatra reclining on her silver and purple barge, which I started several years ago. Before leaving Nanaimo, BC to live in Fosterville, NB, I took quite a few photos of Ramona the Belly Dancer in her Cleopatra costume and she seems to be coming right along, still lots of work remaining before the painting is completely finished. When finished, it will be for sale like the other whimsical nautical paintings I did and if they don't sell, I'll be leaving them to my kids when my time finally comes to an end, something they will hopefully enjoy and when looking at them, occasionally think about their old dad. As much as I enjoy painting and other artistic creations, I find that once the last stroke of the brush is made and I'm cleaning the paint out of it, my so called love affair with the painting is over and I don't have much concern for it any more. Whether or not the painting sells, I don't really care but that doesn't mean that I'll give it away or sell it at a ridiculously low price. I've been very fortunate to have lived as long as I have and that I made a good living from my artistic talents ever since graduating from Art School over 50 years ago. Painting, sketching and occasionally sculpting to me is still a thrill and magical and I find, even at this age, I am still learning to hone my crafts...peace, eh! - Trip

 My wife Sarah and I started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out my paintings and other artistic creations that we both produce, just click on the link. At the moment, if you buy any item or items that add up to $50.00 or more BEFORE SHIPPING, you will receive as a bonus, my book Arctic Odyssey, worth $20.00 - makes a really fine gift for a sailor or a wanna-be sailor or just a dreamer like me.  If you are interested in a caricature of yourself or anyone else, I'll be listing it at our Etsy Store for $45.00 each. 

  

LEN AND VINCENT VAN GOGH COMBINED PAINTING

On the Edge

          I've been putting some of my original paintings up for sale on Etsy and I'm rather reluctant to sell my Vincent van Gogh, after all, his works are way beyond my reach monetarily and I'd never be able to afford one of his originals. Since I've always been a fan of his incredible talent, and I think I'm safe in saying, he only sold one painting during his lifetime, which would most likely have been bought for a pittance. Now Vinnie boy wasn't of his time and he had a troubled mind; he was pretty much rejected as an up and coming artist, not like now, when one of his paintings sell for over a hundred million bucks, the rich snapping them up as soon as they become available, most likely not so much for his artistry but as an investment.

           Before I painted the large 2'x3' acrylic of "On the Edge", I painted a much smaller version, 3"x5", which I sold on Ebay. I was living on a sailboat at the time, so most all of my art stuff was small in size, I mean a 4'x4' floating studio was seriously tiny. Still, it's amazing how much art I still produced while living on my sailboat. When I eventually had a larger studio, not a huge studio but certainly a decent sized one, I painted "On the Edge". Not sure how Vinnie boy would have liked my rendition of his self portrait but I'm hoping he would have enjoyed the concept. If you look closely at the painting, you will see that van Gogh is holding onto his self portrait and he is beginning to float away from the world. The painting I selected for my very own original van Gogh was a self portrait with his ear still intact. So immediately after Vinnie boy cut off his ear, he literally cut it out of the canvas, probably a whole lot less painful than when he sliced it off for real with a sharp knife.

             There are rumors about why Vinnie boy cut off his ear such as being spurned by a prostitute, but the most likely reason was that he and another great painter, Paul Gauguin, whom he'd be living with, got into an extremely heated argument. I imagine Gauguin fled down the streets and alleys with van Gogh in pursuit with a big knife. However, unable to catch Pauly boy, probably enraged and frustrated, good old van Gogh returned home and sliced off his ear - besides being very painful, I expect he bled like a stuck pig. Vincent must have been a very unhappy man because not only did his paintings not sell, he was ridiculed by many of the locals. Not everyone is positive whether Vinnie boy committed suicide or if he accidentally shot himself in the stomach. Not sure why, only he would know the reason why he got his pistol, went out in a field and shot himself. Sadly. although he wasn't that successful in shooting himself, meaning he missed his heart, he eventually died very painfully from the gunshot wound to his belly.

              Vinnie boy is certainly one of my favourite artists and like him, I've sometimes lived "on the edge" as well; sometimes events in life can become overwhelming and makes it difficult to cope. I hope this painting finds a good home, someone who will enjoy Vinnie boy's great talent and my not so great talent to produce "On the Edge". - Peace, eh! - Trip

My wife Sarah and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out my paintings and other artistic creations that we produce, just click on the link.

TRIP'S TRIBUTE TO DR. KNAPP

                It's been a long time since I spent three summers at the Nanaimo Ferry Terminal sketching caricatures of tourists to earn a few bucks, which is probably one of the reasons I can say that my art can be found all over the world. Although my hands tremble a touch from the chemo treatments, unable to sleep much last night, I managed to draw a caricature of my surgeon, Dr. Gregory Knapp. I was glad that he smiled when he removed the wrapping paper because in actuality, Dr. Knapp is quite a handsome man.

               Now let me tell you about Dr. Knapp, if it wasn't for him, no one would ever be able to call me an A-Hole again because I would no longer have one. When Dr. Knapp first checked out my toothless wonder, which could only utter a single word, "fart", he had determined that I had cancer of the rectum. The cancer doctors said, "No," but certain that his prognosis was positive, once again Knappy boy, peered through my hairy orifice and nipped off another deeper chunk of my infection for a biopsy. The results were positive, which although it's not great to have cancer, it was actually beneficial because it meant that the operation I would undergo could be reversed and I wouldn't have an ileostomy bag attached to me for the remainder of my life.

             All kidding aside, over the months that Dr. Knapp became involved in my critical malady, each meeting I had with him, only made me fonder of him, not only as a surgeon but because there is a kindness and deep concern within his being. I also know that because my operation was supposed to be 3-5 hours and wound up taking 8 hours, he had taken the extra time to fix my problem.

               I feel as if I am a boxer in a ring up against a better boxer and Dr. Knapp is my trainer. He knew that I was going to get the crap beat out of me but still gave me hope. I'm probably in about the 8th round at the moment, bloody and bruised but he's still standing in my corner giving me advice. I won't win the boxing match outright but it's highly unlikely that I won't be knocked out. and in this case; I'm still a winner! 

              So thank you Dr. Knapp for all that you have done for me and my A-Hole; I wish you nothing but all the best that life has to offer to you and yours. Our paths may never cross again since I know that you are leaving New Brunswick very soon and this old man would just like to give you a big heartfelt thank you...peace, eh! - Trip

STILL SHUFFLIN' ALONG

View of Walk Around Our House

          Trip may not be trippin' the Light Fandango but at least I'm still shufflin' along. As most of the readers of this blog know, Sarah and I are going through a bit of a tough stretch but what you may or may not know is, although we haven't really reached out for any aid other than what comes with my problem, many of the people in our community, neighbours and friends and from afar as well have been very generous and thoughtful towards us. I cannot stress

enough about how good they make us feel and how much we appreciate their concern and generosity.

            Many people may knock our medical system, but having experienced much of it first hand, I'd like to mention that unlike our neighbours south of the border, I haven't had to mortgage my home or sell off my first born in order to pay for my treatments. From the staff who cleaned my room to the doctors and nurses who looked after me during my stay in the hospital and the Mural Nurses who visit me on a regular basis at home still tending to my needs, I have the highest respect for their professionalism and their concerns. 

             Something I found a little odd about my regular visits to the hospital is how many people find it unfair that they have to pay 2 bucks to park their vehicles, for as long as they want to, in the parking lot. From what I understand, the money collected is used primarily to help pay for the Internet and other things in the hospital that are useful for the patients and their visiting families and friends. Until these people have had to park their vehicles in other hospital parking lots at a cost of 2 bucks an hour, they should be thankful for such a low cost instead of complaining or parking down the road with their engines still running to either keep their vehicles cool in the summer or warm in the winter, which probably costs more than 2 bucks in fuel. For almost 77 years, I've hardly ever been sick or taken any pills, ate and drank as much as I pleased, didn't even get hangovers, I can honestly say, when my health suddenly went sideways, the last thing I thought about was the cost of parking our vehicle. 

             Since the thunder storm and rain, the sun shining gloriously today, I managed to do a few laps around the outside of the house without being attacked by a horde of blackflies or squeeters. Since I'm almost certain that my blood is toxic at the moment, I'm surprised that they find me delectable. I can't stress enough how important it's always been to me to be part of Nature and how even a leaf holds me in awe, so to be outside, able to smell the scent of the forest and touch a tree, gives me great pleasure. Actually, the simpler things in life, much of which we take for granted and carelessly destroy, are the most important aspects of my existence...peace, eh! - Trip            

PAINTING AND GOALS REACHED AND STILL REACHING FOR

             Considering everything that is going on in my life at the moment, I still believe that I will once again be a fairly normal person physically, certainly not the Trip who was able to leap a bar table in a single bound and sprint away from a saloon brawl, but will still be able to hopefully escape unscathed at least. Don't laugh, I've actually been in that position in my younger years, except when I landed on my back on the floor, I managed to roll over and quickly crawl away through the doors and then sprint off into the murky darkness - usually anyone who goes toe to toe, punch for punch, neither one wins. Now, with my slow-thinking chemo-brain and being as tough as a cream puff and unable to sprint away, I'd have to shuffle off at a snail's pace. But hey, those young man days have long passed and I've had to give up drinking beer, something I've always thoroughly enjoyed - loves the taste of a cold, cold beer!

                 The day before I once again started chemo treatments for the next four months, because my hands have begun trembling a wee bit, I managed to finish a commissioned painting depicting a vase of flowers. Now I know some artists would frown on painting such a thing but to me, when I received the photo, it became quite obvious that the bouquet was of a special interest to the person, a memento of some sort. And besides the fact that I will paint pretty much anything anyone wants, I also like to paint affordably, so that most anyone can afford a piece of my artwork. I have no idea how many portraits I have painted over the years but two that I did, one was of a woman dying of cancer to leave to her mother and the other painting was of a rabbi (and no, I am not Jewish - actually have never belonged to any sort of religious faith). The rabbi was the old man's father and both of his kids wanted the small portrait when he passed away, so he asked me if I could reproduce it. He paid me a great compliment when he came to pick up his two paintings because he couldn't tell which one was the original. Perhaps I should have become a forger? Anyway, as much as I would like another commissioned painting, I'm forced to hang up my brushes for the time being and hope the tremors will go away once all this cancer business has been concluded.

                It's good to have goals and I'm a firm believer in setting goals, which I have in place even now. The thing about goal-setting is not to have grandiose, reach-for-the-stars, lofty ideals but have goals that can actually be reached, otherwise one may feel somewhat disappointed, depressed or like a loser if these goals aren't attained. Reaching a goal, no matter how small, has always given me a positive boost and a feeling of accomplishment. I'm not one to put my wishes out to the universe; to me, they should be ones that I can attain myself or perhaps with a little help from someone who will be a part of my goal - two people are always better than one, for example, my Daisy and me often help each other reach a goal. I realize treating my rectal cancer ailment will most likely leave me with some permanent problems but if I can once again use that hairy orifice in a normal manner or perhaps not quite in a normal manner, I feel that one of my goals will be in place. At this age, whether or not I had been diagnosed with cancer, there are not too many years remaining. Sure, I have a lot of regrets in regards to my past but one of my goals in life was not to be ordinary but nor did I wish to be extraordinary and I feel that is still a happening goal and will be maintained as such until I take my final breath. One future goal I'm hoping to reach is our next year cross-Canada, spreadin'-the-love tour hippie-style but if it doesn't happen, I'm not going to be discouraged; I've had a blast so far just preparing for our trip and in my mind, I've already tripped across to the west coast - peace, eh! - Trip

FRUSTRATION IS MY ENEMY

Flowers in a Vase

          It's been a while since I last wrote a blog and although I'm not really feeling like a ball on fire, thought I would try and put a few thoughts down before I begin more chemo treatments early next week because I know I'll be feeling pretty crappy then, probably have chemo-brain and light up a dark room upon entering. Since leaving the hospital, I've had good days and not so good days. I can be feeling quite great and then all of sudden, it's as if someone pulled a plug and I start fading away rather quickly. 

           I'd like to mention that during my stay in the hospital, a person (won't say who he is) in the room next to mine was as equally annoying as when he wasn't sick. Although I knew him, I was worried that if he recognized me, he would have wheeled his skinny-ass into my room, so I constantly avoided any eye-contact with him. And, taking precautions, when the cleaning staff went through my room and placed a sign saying, "WET FLOOR" in the doorway, I asked them to leave it there, in case my neighbour mistakenly thought my room was his. One morning, he stopped in front of my doorway and began arguing with one of the nurses, eventually yelling out, "Jesus Christ!" 

            I was about to answer, "He's not in here, could you please look elsewhere," but fortunately, I held my tongue because it may have started up a conversation or more likely an argument I would have regretted. One day, when a nurse told him he had poop all over the back of his wheelchair and they had to clean it off, I had to laugh when he exclaimed, "No! I like it like that!" When I first realized who my next door neighbour was, I felt rather angry but as the days went by, he became my entertainment and I even felt sorry for him at the end, especially since no one ever came to visit him during the two weeks I was there. I had to remind myself that it's easy to criticize someone else less fortunate and until I've actually walked in their moccasins, it was best to keep my opinions to myself.

               Because I'm about as energetic as a soggy noodle, don't exactly sleep well during the night, it's frustrating to spend much of my time watching movies and programs on Netflix in a prone position. And, since I've been called lazy, should at least be painting, although I'm not really interested in dabbing paint around, I've decided to resume the "flower in a vase" painting, especially since it is a commissioned piece. I would like it completed before the chemo treatments begin and besides helping towards my unexpected medical expenses, it will feel real good to get something accomplished. And, while I'm thinking about it, if I haven't already, I would like to thank everyone who has sent "get well" cards and even donated money anonymously; I can't believe the amount of people who have been so helpful in so many ways; it is most appreciated...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently opened an Etsy Store and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link. 

ILA, BLONDIE AND FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE TO MY RESCUE

          Life has certainly taken an unexpected huge curve for me. Me and my new constant inseparable companion Ila (ileostomy bag) - hardly a thing of beauty but most definitely a real bag. Ila goes everywhere with me including bed but she is hardly a turn on. Not sure how long she will be my constant companion but we've made an agreement - if I treat her well, she will do the same for me, which reminds me it's time, just like a baby, to give her a kindly burp and perhaps even a change. My wife, Sarah has comes to terms with Ila too. At first she may have been a little jealous for all the attention I was displaying but she has undoubtedly become quite content to leave us alone for our little quiet times.

            Hmm, although Sarah understands and tolerates my affair with Ila, I'm not so certain about Blondie. I can't be completely certain that Blondie was a mere figment of my imagination or perhaps the woman of many men's dreams but she certainly appeared to be very real to me, or maybe surreal would be a better definition. She came to me unexpectedly a few nights ago and as her young, naked body straddled across mine, her long blonde tresses tickling my chest,
I reached up and held each of her firm breasts in my hands; unlike Ila, she was quite beautiful, hardly a bag. Clearly, she had firm intentions of having her way with me but strangely, while she whispered to me in the darkness, another woman lay at my side and a man with a black mustache holding a baby lay on the other side. Blondie seemed surprised by my rejection, because how could an old decrepit man turn down such a choice nubile woman. She was reluctant to leave but as I was laying on my back, I became more interested in the park, which could be seen through the open doorway.
               Extracting myself from the bed, careful not to awaken by bed mates, I tip-toed across the  wooden floor and wandered over to the park, which was brimming with people from another era, almost Victorian in appearance, many, mostly children, sitting on blankets selling their wares such as comic books. I found this very odd; I'd never heard about a lawn sale in the moonlight before. As I wandered about, I caught a glimpse of Blondie disappearing through an open door into an old house. Deciding to follow her, to see if I could get a handle on my peculiar situation, I wove my wave through the crowd until I reached the open door. The house had been lit up when I made my way to the doorway but upon entering, all the lights were suddenly extinguished.
               It was darker and quieter than a tomb, so I had to feel my way along. As I shuffled about, my hands, palms flat against the walls, which felt like freshly peeled wall-paper, I somehow knew there was a nearby stairwell present. Not taking my feet off the floor, I slid them over the wooden fllorboards until it seemed as if I was cornered, no place else to go. It wasn't until then that I had felt afraid. As the terror built and I succumbed to my helplessness I cried out in the darkness, "I'm lost!"
             Upon hearing nothing, only the echo of my empty voice, almost in tears, I cried out once again. "I'm lost! Please help me Sarah!"
               When I heard Sarah's worried voice answer back and she suddenly appeared like Florence Nightingale coming to my rescue within the murky darkness, the relief I felt was unimaginable!
                In reality, perhaps I had been sleepwalking or in a state of delirium, I had wandered from the bedroom, most likely in search of the bathroom, which is directly but two steps away from one doorway to the other. Somehow in my dreamlike excursion I had become turned around. Fortunately, since there is indeed an open stairway a short distance away from our bedroom, if had I taken that direction, I may not be writing this tale now.
                  The gorgeous Blondie has yet to return to my dreams, which is definitely alright with me. I have yet to hallucinate since that evening and hope it doesn't occur again...peace, eh! - Trip   

A CLOSE SHAVE AND A FIRST SHAVE

First Shave

          Thought I would try posting a blog today since I know there are people in similar circumstances as myself and have been waiting to hear from me. 16 days have passed since I had my operation in regards to cancer of the rectum; who knew such a small, hairy orifice could be such a problem? It's interesting to note that I've always had difficulty pinching off a loaf since I was a boy, in my middle years finally developing hemorrhoids, very painful bleeding hemorrhoids, which were eventually removed. It's also interesting to note, since being diagnosed with my problem, it can be hereditary, so anyone who has my problem should ask their doctor about being checked out if they are of similar circumstance. 

          My operation wasn't supposed to be as complicated as first thought, but due to having a small pelvis, the surgical operation, which was deemed to take about 3 - 5 hours, took 8 hours to complete. Luckily, I had an excellent doctor taking the extra time to help ensure that the operation could be reversed; the idea of having a plastic baggy attached to me for the remaining time of my life was not something I was looking forward to. I'm not sure if I am recovering as speedily as I should but at age 76, almost everything I did before was slower anyway

, so Speedy is hardly a name I would call myself. I realize, besides the doctor and anesthesiologist, there are others in the medical field, like many nurses who tended to me 24/7 during my stay in the hospital that have been reading this blog, so I would like to mention how thankful I am for their concerns and aid to help me heal.

          Although I have improved a great deal since the operation, I feel I am still far from being out of the weeds and will soon be undergoing more chemo treatments. Not sure if I will loose my lovely, long locks or not but if that's the case, it's a small price to pay for what I'm currently undergoing and if so, I may have to go across Canada next year with Daisy as a short-haired or perhaps even a bald hippie, something I'm OK with but I'm not too sure about Trip, he was hoping the hair would be even longer. 

           I should mention that although I feel fairly confident that everything will work out for the best, it's difficult for me, after being such an active person and hardly ever having been sick, seldom even getting a hangover after overindulging many times during my life, to be so unproductive, weak and fatigued. My energy level is at a low that I've never experienced before and to be like this can be a little depressing, the future seemingly enveloped in a fog. But hey, Trip still be trippin' - peace, eh! - Trip

FLOWERS, FRIENDS, FAMILY AND FASTING

Sorry Michelle - I won't be able to finish
your painting until after the operation.

          This will be my last blog for awhile because I'm not too sure how long I'll be in the hospital recovering from my operation that's scheduled for tomorrow morning. The doc told me I'd be laid up for a week to 10 days. So, that being said, if you don't want to take a chance and miss the next blog when I resume writing again, just click on the blue "Follow" button. I hope that whoever is following and reading the ramblings of this old man is enjoying what I have to say and that my words may even put a smile on someone's face or be of some help to someone who has gone or is going through similar medical issues. 

          I don't know how often I've heard the words, "Stay positive." That's easily said and although I feel I'm a positive sort of person, when the shit starts hitting the fan at all angles and I don't really have any control over my situation, it's sometimes difficult to put underlying problems aside, they keep popping up on their own accord and reminding me of my dilemma. Anyway, the slow awaiting time of turning up at the hospital is almost upon me and although I can say I'm not overly concerned about the outcome, it is still a touch worrisome, not so much about me but for my wife, Sarah and how she may have to cope without me if the operation for some unlikely reason goes sideways - we're like two peas in a pod. 

             We had been planning to stay in our "Hippie-Hangout" tonight since the operation is at 7:30 a.m. tomorrow morning and it's only a 5 min. drive to the hospital, until we realized that my bowels have to be completely cleared out. Since the toilet on the trailer doesn't seem to be operating quite up to standard, solids being primarily a problem, we've decided to stay home for the night because remembering what I went through the last time, me and the porcelain throne will soon be bosom or should I say butt-buddies once again. I just popped 3 tiny pills, which should start my bowel movements happening in about an hour and a half - no more food for me either until sometime after the operation. I can't say that I'll be looking forward to hospital cuisine, especially after my wife's fabulous cooking, almost everything organic, but I survived it before so I guess it will get me through my stay once again. Looks like until I'm rolled into the OR on a gurney, my life forward from this moment on, will be a series of enemas - gotta love those cramps and anal explosions - have to be careful not to poo my pants or the bed - it's going to be a long night and an early morning.

                 Since I have quite a few loose ends to clear up today and can't spend too much time writing this blog, I'd like to genuinely say thank you so much to all the people wishing me the best, some going way out of their way to help, even financially. Yes, your thoughts, prayers and well-wishes are much appreciated. Well...it's almost time for Trip 'n' Daisy to trip off...peace, eh! - Trip     

GOOD FRIENDS, GOOD NEIGHBOURS, GOOD TIMES AND FEELING GWOPPY

            The skies were cloudy and rain threatened to fall at any moment as my wife, Sarah drove our Dodge Ram pulling our 'Hippie-Hangout' trailer along the twisty, bumpy and frost-heaved country road to our friend's (Renee and Gary Sullivan's) place in Simonds, situated beside the still-rising and flooding Saint John river. As we drove by East Grand Lake, traces of ice could still be seen tenaciously hugging the shore, while clots of snow still huddled within the shadowy forest; winter's last holdout. Because of the possibility of an over flowing stream across the road, we took the slightly longer route to our destination through the quaint little town of Canterbury, not to be confused with Geoffrey Chaucer of long, long ago, who wrote 24 stories titled Canterbury Tales. We were wishing we were on our 'Cross Canada Tour' that we had planned for this year, but each bump in the road only brought us closer to the hospital and my upcoming rectal operation on May 7th. 

          Before reaching the Sullivan's, we had to make a quick stop at Woodstock, NB not the Woodstock of 1969, where a horde of hippies, 400,00 strong, arrived to experience a musical, marijuana induced love-in. While Sarah had to do some things at the Farm Market, where she, until very recently, used to run the cafe on Fridays, I sat in the truck and waited. A ray of sunlight had broken through the clouds and as I basked in its warmth, I watched as the Culberson's served delicious sausages on buns to a line of customers. We had spent 7 years being part of the Farm Market and knowing Sarah has mixed feelings about giving up the cafe, I wondered how she was feeling, seeing someone else running the kitchen. However, both of us, having done quite a few different things in our lives in order to make a living, I felt she would be fine, it would be just another phase in life dribbling away into obscurity, a new adventure rising on the horizon. 

          Our next stop, after leaving the Market was the River Valley Hospital in Waterville, where I had to go for pre-op bloodwork. I've been to that department so many times lately, that if someone had tied a blindfold around my head, I most likely could have walked there without bumping into anything. A young pretty blonde receptionist, after taking my medical card, began asking me some questions. I could see a touch of a grin at the corners of her mouth and a glint in her eye as she asked me, "You're not pregnant are you?" We both laughed when I said, "If I was, it would certainly be a long and skinny kid." When my name was eventually called for my blood test, I was surprised to see the same blonde woman waiting for me in one of the small rooms, where rumour has it, vampires have been seen. While she tied my arm off with a wide elastic band and I made a fist to make my vein pop, I told her one of my blood-takers had stuck me five times while trying to insert an IV needle and finally gave up, the next nurse, one painless poke and the job was done. I hardly felt a prick when she stuck the needle into me, a real pro in my estimation.

          We had hoped to see my surgeon afterwards because we wanted to talk to him about a recent episode I had had one night, after getting up to take a leak. I started feeling a bit gwoppy (how do you like that word, made it up myself?) and had to quit before I could finish and then shuffle-streaked back to bed, where Sarah asked if I was alright, should she call an ambulance.  Although I could see she was really scared, realizing it would take over an hour for an ambulance to arrive and then another hour or more to reach the hospital, thinking if I was going to die, I'd sooner be home, I told her to wait awhile. I had taken a bath shortly before the episode and I remember, while being immersed up to my neck in hot water, that I had actually shivered. When she took my temperature, we were surprised that it had dropped to 35C, which was not good. However, within a short space of time, it began climbing and my body soon reached a normal temperature and whatever was wrong with me had passed. I suspect, even though there is a serious problem with my back passage, the front passage may also have a problem, mini-strokes coming to mind.

             While at the hospital, since our neighbour, Clayton Clarke at the top of Green Mountain was recovering there, we took the time to visit him. At 120 lbs., although his spirit was feisty, he looked very frail. He and his family have been very good friends to us since almost the first day we arrived in NB from BC. He's helped us do a lot of things we were incapable of, mechanics, plumbing, etc., which are not my forte. I remember one very cold winter day one of the copper pipes froze and burst, and Clayton, well over 80 at the time, was lying on his back in the freezing cold as he replaced the pipe. We wished him well and speedy recovery and if we are to be hospital-bed neighbours, I couldn't be happier. We had no sooner left his room and were on the way out when we bumped into Bobby Farrell, another neighbour at the top of the hill. I hadn't seen him for a long time since he'd gone to work in the Alberta oil fields and it was really good to touch base with him too, especially since he was one of the first friends I'd made when we moved here. The day seemed to be filling up with running into friends, hopefully not an omen concerning my operation, because when we went to Walmart to pick something up, we also ran into Benjamin von Keutz and his girlfriend Aly, He works at Sabien's, where he builds the most beautiful conga drums imaginable. He invited me to drop in and play the drums after I recover and that seems like a real blast; I'd like that. Although I know diddly-squat about playing drums, I can see myself, my long white hair waving around, as I gyrate about while my hands are

beating away on a drum. Sarah could play her ukulele and we could make music, well maybe not music but a lot of incredible sounds just the same.

          Finally, after parking the 'Hippie-Hangout' at Renee and Gary's place (Sarah's home while I'm in the hospital for a week or more) we visited with them for a couple of hours, the conversation interspersed with much laughter. While I'll be recovering in the hospital, I'm so appreciative of them letting us park our trailer at their place because I know she will be staying with good supportive friends through this upcoming and yes, scary ordeal...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link.  

HIPPIE-HANGOUT, HEARTS AND HOPING

Tie-dyed Seat Covers for 'Hippie-Hangout'

          My wife Sarah has been working at getting our 'Hippie-Hangout' trailer ready for her to stay in at a friend's place while I'll soon be recovering in the hospital for a week to 10 days after my operation. She tie-dyed the bed sheets and seat covers. It looked as if she was having a blast even though her hands became very stained from the dye; scrubbing them with soap and water and even paint thinner wouldn't remove the stain. When we're dressed in our tie-dyed outfits, should anyone look through the windows they won't be able to see us because we'll look as if we have blended into the decor. 

            For me, the 70's, the hippie-era seemed like a Renaissance, a new awakening of music and art, psychedelic sounds and mind-blowing colours coming to the forefront. And now, years later, as I step back in time, I'm finding it exciting once again even though I have to admit that I'm more mellow, more laid-back - difficult to be seriously be uptight when everything, including my skin is hanging as loose as the balls on a moose. Also, my artwork has once again been somewhat influenced by that era, peace symbols, long hair, outrageous clothes and sayings such as, "make love not war" coming to mind.  But more importantly, although the 70's are somewhat of a haze now, partially alcohol and drug induced, I get to share this time again with my younger wife, who can't wait for us to hit the highway in our "Hippie-Hangout" - should be a groovy road-trip across Canada come 2019 - hoping to have a lot of good vibes, good times!

2 More Hearts to be Added to the Trailer

              As I look through the kitchen window at our 'Hippie-Hangout' waiting patiently in the driveway, even though I've painted and hand-lettered much of it's surface, I see that it is still an unfinished canvas, a work of art in progress, and I'm itching to get back at it. However, depending on my condition over the summer months, I may or may not add anything but hearts (just lettered two) to the trailer, which people are still ordering - "spreadin' the love" or wishing they could come along with us being the incentive. The thing about lettering hearts, it doesn't take much energy and I don't have to stand on any chairs or ladders, I can simply sit at a table and take my time. Which reminds me, I was up on the roof a little while ago making repairs from the heavy snow and it's surprising how slippery it was even though there wasn't much of an incline. Sarah of course, since I've come off a few ladders the past few years, narrowly missing being seriously injured, is very worried about me climbing up on anything. Also, since I sometimes feel a bit woozy, it's probably not in my best interest physically to be doing anything the least bit dangerous, so anything I paint on the trailer has to be hazard free.

          I'll soon be taking a break from writing this blog, although writing it on morphine might be a real trip, might even take me back to the 70's...mmm...now that's a thought...peace, eh! - Trip 

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link. 

LIFE IS A GAME OF CRAP - LITERALLY

C'mon Lucky Seven

          Life at the moment, almost feels like when I first climbed on the newly-erected roller-coaster at the PNE in Vancouver, BC many years ago. Not being brave enough to sit in the front seat, I had selected one near the centre. I was smiling as the roller-coaster slowly climbed towards the top of the first high drop, the view of the fair grounds, Windermere Park, massive grain elevators and harbour becoming more and more spectacular. Not exactly afraid of heights but still a person who feels my knees weaken, my legs becoming like wet noodles whenever I near the edge of a high, steep precipice, I had been reluctant to climb aboard but if I hadn't, my friends would have called me chicken. So there I sat, scared as hell, yet enjoying the initial beginning of the ride immensely, that is, until it reached its apex and then the persons' heads in the seat in front of me suddenly disappeared. I would have been screaming as it shot down the narrow rails towards the sharp turn at the bottom but the force of the air rushing into my gaping mouth only caused me to gasp and squeeze the bar I was holding onto more tightly; I'm sure my finger prints became a permanent fixture that sunny, summer day. And that's where I seem to be now, the people's heads sitting in front of me are about to disappear, or is it me who's about to disappear?

          Having undergone chemo/radiation treatments already, the possibility of having more after the operation to rid my anus canal of that dreaded word, 'cancer', I of course feel as if I've climbed aboard a roller-coaster once again, the ride and end results completely out of my hands. Well, maybe not completely out of my hands, my wife Sarah has made certain that I eat and drink properly, take my medicine (marijuana oil) regularly and don't overwork myself physically. Although I feel relatively fine, a lack of energy persists. Between the treatments, disease and whatever other ailments I may be inflicted with, my idea of feeling fine, feeling normal is now on a lower level than it used to be. But hey, that's to be expected. Like the time when I was a teenager doubling a friend on my bicycle, speeding down a hill and he accidentally stuck his foot in the front wheel and I flew over the handle bars and struck my head on the pavement. It took awhile to recover from the head injury but I did. Like then, I have a lot of people worried about me and trying to make me well again. Whether it's concerned doctors and nurses or relatives and friends sending their prayers and good thoughts my way, it's all appreciated. 

          To say I'm not a little nervous or scared about my situation would be fake bravado, even though I'm up for it mentally. The unknown is always scary in my opinion, even when I knew the end results were most likely come out positive because the thing about the unknown, one little blip and everything can go sideways. Being a gambler at heart, always trying to beat the odds, if I was once again a participant in a crap game, tossing a wad of money on the floor, I would still take the time to blow on the dice, roll them in my hands for luck and then yell at the top of my lungs, "C'mon seven or eleven!" as I throw them clattering up against the wall, the little black dots deciding who wins and who loses. And that's where I am now, I'm bent over, my arm is outstretched and the dice are about to be flung from my hand against the wall; the odds are good, even in my favour but boxcars and snake-eyes also abide on the those little devils. But hey, here's to roller-coaster rides and especially rolling sevens and elevens...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link.

FLOODING, FLOWERS AND FEELING FINE

Flower Painting is Coming Along

          Flooding in Frederickton, NB is very serious and the basement suite we stayed at in Saint John, which is located on the river, now has 4" of water sloshing around in it. I hope the damage isn't too severe. The last remnants of snow at our place just melted yesterday but East Grand Lake still contains quite a bit of ice. Since I barely went outdoors this past winter, I was sort of unaware about how much snow had fallen, must have been a lot because it's already May, almost summer, and glimpses of winter can still be seen cowering in the shadows. 

       The extreme flooding conditions doesn't really surprise me because the forests have been seriously clear-cut and are still being mowed down relentlessly, plus, due to all the runoffs, I expect the chemicals such as Glyphosate, which has been used extensively in the forests are most likely flowing into the rivers and streams. This sort of madness doesn't say much for us as a species. - I almost feel as if I'm morphing into a lemming heading toward a high cliff and because of the horde behind me, I'll have no choice but to topple over and be smashed on the rocks below. I've been an activist protesting against these moronic practices but I have come to realize that the majority of votes are held by city folk, many of them thinking that camping is lounging beside a fancy resort pool, a poor peon constantly bringing them pina coladas to sip. They really have no idea how important the country side and the wilderness are for our own survival, only think about their own lifestyle - they continually misspell ecology, e-c-o-n-o-m-y. 

          Not many days remaining before my operation on May 7th takes place at Waterville and I'm trying to finish off some jobs that need doing around the house, while I'm still capable of lifting and carrying things. I'm also working on a commissioned painting, which I'm hoping to complete by the weekend and then mail off. Someone mentioned, as if it was below him to paint a vase full of flowers that he had never done such a thing, but why not paint such a picture says I? Sure, when I paint things just for my own enjoyment or have something to say picturesquely, I probably wouldn't paint a vase full of flowers. The photo I'm working from, although it doesn't have any particular meaning for me other than a challenge to do a fairly decent job of painting it, may have a lot of meaning for the customer; every time they look at the painting hanging on their wall, they might smile at the special memory those flowers represent. Regardless, I'm quite enjoying painting the flowers and leaves, the vivid colours and shapes slowly bringing them to life, albeit a two dimensional life that never needs any watering or sunlight, but a life just the same. 

          It's a beautiful sun-shiny day outside and it feels almost like summer, expect the blood sucking black-flies and mosquitoes will soon be here; actually saw a skeeter yesterday scoping out the territory like a scout. I've already rearranged the tepee poles so it's more sturdy and hopefully, after bug-season has ended, if I'm up to it physically, it will once again become my outdoor studio. It's a great space on a warm sunny day - a little fire going, a pot of tea on the boil, doesn't get much better than that...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link.

HIPPIE-HANGOUT, HOSPITALS AND HAIRY PAWS

Trip 'n' Daisy's Hippie-Hangout 

          The time has arrived when Sarah and I had planned on loading up our "Hippie-Hangout"  (1973 Golden Falcon trailer) and heading down the road towards BC, Haida Gwaii being one of the places we were hoping to visit. However, that won't be happening this year. Instead, Sarah has been getting it ready to park at a neighbour's place near the hospital, where I'll soon be pampered by scantily dressed women and fed the most delectable meals - whoops - my chemo-brain must be confused. The last time I was in the hospital, the nurses, not exactly visions of extreme beauty, kept on waking me up at all hours of the day and night, sticking needles in my arms, taking my temperature and feeding me semi-palatable meals. But hey, after my three day stay, at least I had a happy-ending - I was able to walk out of the hospital with a big grin on my grizzled face. Unlike any other four-star resorts I've stayed where I wasn't in a rush to leave, although my bed was quite comfortable, the view of the parking lot sensational and the staff had glowing smiles (most likely waiting for a substantial tip), I couldn't wait to shed my Johnny outfit, put on my gumboots and head out the door. 

          Hmm, have you ever wondered how your life might have gone if you had followed the aptitude results way back in high school? I may not have become a stately surgeon with certificates up the yin-yang, have adoring patients thanking me for miraculous results in saving their lives from the most horrendous accidents and illnesses imaginable but I was supposed to be a veterinarian of all professions. Somehow shaking hairy paws and having my face constantly licked by thankful animals doesn't quite seem the same as being a successful doctor. Anyway, lucky for the animals, I was more interested in using a brush, rather than a scalpel. (The word 'scalpel' seems somewhat an odd choice for describing a knife, gives me the sense of being scalped - do you think that's what it was originally intended for?)  

            As the days tick by, my operation now approaching faster than anticipated, at my age or probably any age for that matter, I of course have mixed feelings about being sliced and diced. Having hardly ever been sick in my whole life, I'm not too sure how this old body will respond to having its guts rearranged, a little snip here and a little snip there, tie that piece off and tuck it in here and oh yeah, chuck that cancer bit into the waste basket. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of confidence in my doctor and even if the operation goes sideways, shit happens, I know he has my best interests at heart and will do everything to make sure that

I leave the hospital the same way I entered, on my own two feet.

             But let's not get caught up in what might happen and might not happen; life is for the living and I'm still feeling fairly lively. So with that thought in mind, I'm still working on future endeavours, like letting my alter ego Trip take over and make plans for our 2019 road-trip. Yeah, Trip is a 'trip'. He's been letting his hair grow long and looking forward to wearing beads and bell-bottoms once again, won't be able to tell he's wearing gumboots, which will most likely have hippie-symbols painted all over them. His language has once again been infiltrated by "Hey man...freedom's just another word for..." and "Groovy...pass the brownies." Yeah, he's anything but "uptight" and "out of sight", he's a here and now kinda dude and still looking forward to seeing "castles in the air" and "strawberries forever"...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link.

JOHNNY OUTFITS, COLD CHILLS AND FEELING FUNNY

A lady asked about my gum boots
and I told her that if I really had to
use the toilet and it was occupied,
then I could just fill my boots.

          A week today, Monday morning, I'll be in a hospital change room selecting the latest Johnny shirt asking myself, "Should I wear this one or that one? I wonder which shade of blue is more becoming?" Meanwhile, the doc will be sharpening up his knives, after which, he will pull a hair from his head, toss it into the air and see if it gets cut in two when it lands on the skinny, sharp edge of the blade. Yup, I'll be having a long-awaited operation on the 7th of May, which I don't particularly care to think about, but is subconsciously on my mind every day, like it or not. Although an operation may be an exciting procedure, I am not feeling particularly excited, mostly wondering about the outcome. But since none of that is happening until a week away and it's such a beautiful day outside and I have things to do before I'm physically unable to do much of anything except try to heal, I had better finish writing this blog. 

          Last night, just before it was time to go to sleep, the urge to pee, sent me shuffling from the bed to the toilet like an old man, oh yeah, I am an old man. I had barely managed to lift the lid and reach for my penis when things started feeling funny, a hard to describe sensation but nonetheless, a sensation that I've experienced before. I hadn't even finished peeing before, I felt my body suddenly getting colder and colder and I began shivering, could even hear my teeth clinking together inside my head. Feeling very peculiar as if I might pass out, and not wanting to dive headfirst into the toilet bowl, I scurried back to the bedroom
and threw myself into bed, pulling the covers tightly up to my chin. Sarah asked me if she should call an ambulance or perhaps start driving me to the hospital, which is a long, long drive away on a dark night with moose prowling the roads. Realizing help is not really nearby, I told her I thought the strange feelings that I was experiencing would pass. Besides, depending on the seriousness of my shaky ordeal, if something was dramatically wrong with me, thinking it's highly unlikely I would arrive at the hospital in time anyway, I might as well sit it out for a few more minutes. Sarah took my temperature, which had very suddenly dropped to 35C and said, "If it drops any lower, we have to go to the hospital." As the tremors throughout my body began to still, I could feel my body heating up and before much time had passed my temperature had climbed to 36.4C and I was feeling much better. Maybe it was a case of pre-operation jitters, butterflies in my head, I mean after all, pretty soon I'll be a star in my own mind, waddling sexy like down the runway in my Johnny-outfit, then being tucked under the covers on the gurney and then wheeled into the OR under the bright lights.

          I can't say that I was scared last night as I lay in bed, my Sarah cuddled up to me to help keep me warm but as I felt her body entwined with mine, I couldn't help wondering how much time I have remaining. I mean, I don't kid myself, although it wasn't that long ago, this old man was feeling really good and was physically active - it's just a matter of time until I roll snake-eyes - my life is definitely a crap-shoot and I don't have too many times remaining of being tossed up against a wall to see if I'll still land on my feet. Only a week to go before the doc begins to slice and dice, nick and prick, poke and joke, prod and nod, then wipe the sweat from his brow and begin to re-sew all the guts he took apart and readjusted. But hey, after it's all over and for being such a good boy on the operating table, I've been led to believe that I'll be rewarded with some real good, mind-blowing drugs and with that thought in mind, time to toke up and forget about my problems...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link.