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.    

BIODEGRADABLE JEWELLERY

Some Samples of Our Hippie-Jewelry - $10. ea.

          Yesterday, Sarah and I attended an arts and crafts event in Florenceville, NB. Cortney Ardnt-Rector did a wonderful job putting the event together and it was the second time for us to attend, Sarah's delicious cooking and baking going over great once again. I noticed the attendance was good and steady all through the day and I had fun getting back in touch with some of my artistic friends. During the past while, I'd been working on our own jewelry hippie designs and, having never done such a thing, was wondering how people would react and if I was just wasting my time. Quite a few people liked the jewelry, even to the extent of buying some, so I'm thinking it might be a good item to produce and sell when we go hippie-skippy across Canada in 2019, help pay our costs - from the looks of the rising gas prices, come next summer, fuel could be quite expensive. 

          Because the operation as the doctor quoted, I'll feel as though I've "been hit by a truck", painting and making jewelry just might be the ticket to help pass the time as my interior wounds heal. A woman who bought one of my pieces asked how I made it and couldn't believe I used salt-dough.  I've used polymer to sculpt lots of stuff over the years but why I chose salt-dough over polymer is because I can be a lot more creative painting on it and I discovered paint doesn't stick to polymer that great, was able to scrape it off with my fingernail. In this age of plastic-garbage filling our oceans, lakes and landscapes, I was pleased to tell her that the jewelry was biodegradable, if it wasn't so salty, even edible. Also, because of the low cost of the materials used, if I don't count my time too much, I can sell the stuff at a very reasonable price that anyone can afford, even a kid. One thing I really enjoy about our hippie jewelry is that it takes me back in time to when my kids were small and we used to do some dough-art. Hmm, I wonder if I'll ever grow up or maybe I'm just a kid at heart? Yeah, that's a good way to look at it, just a kid at heart

.            Since moving into the house, predominately a corner of the kitchen, giving up my outside studio, I have enjoyed painting and creating things while Sarah does the same thing or cooks and bakes - we have a lot of fun together, whether we're chatting or just involved in our own thing. When I'm back on my feet, half-assed normal again, I don't think I'll move back to the studio, just use it as a workshop when doing something messy or quite smelly. Besides, Sarah doesn't like it when I'm out of sight for too long. We are both sort of up in the air concerning the eventual outcome of my operation, so selling my studio, which is its own building, sometimes comes to the forefront; either selling it or maybe moving it over to another piece of property and then moving into it - would make a terrific tiny house with a great loft for a bedroom. 

          I really slept in today - it was noon before I squinted at the bright sunshine streaming through the window. This tells me that there is really something wrong with me because this is very unusual  - 6-7 hours a night being the norm sleeping. I guess my body is more tired than I realize. And with that thought in mind, so late in the day, I had better get a move on and get some things done...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.

DIAPERS...FIRST AND POSSIBLE LAST FASHION STATEMENT

Started out wearing a diaper - wonder if???? 

          Woke up this morning, rolled over to check out the time and went wow! It was almost 10:30 a.m. and I'd slept through the night like a log, didn't even get up to relieve myself I was so out of it, probably from having a bath last night. One of my greatest pleasures, especially when I'm in quite a bit of pain is to take a bath as hot as I can stand it - we're talking a simmering, lobster-red heat. Because of the upcoming operation on May 7th, I'll no longer be able to enjoy up-to-my-neck hot baths and I'll have to be very careful having a shower, getting an infection being a possibility. Here I was thinking, once the colostomy bag is attached, the hot bath water would stimulate the gasses contained in the bag and if I just slightly unhooked it, the escaping gas would shoot me around the tub like a motor boat. It's fun to joke about my problem but beneath this happy clown face is a worried man, who most likely won't be the man he once was once the operation is completed. Rearranging my guts, diverting my plumbing is bound to have some everlasting results, like completely depriving me of my dwindling sex-drive and possibly causing me to become a diaper-bound old man for the rest of my days. I mean that's the way I started out in life, the doctor holding me up by my heels and slapping my little red butt - no sex drive and swaddled in diapers. Can't say that's the way I imagined leaving this world - no, anything butt - I mean but. 

           Since nobody gets out of here alive, we all must have thoughts concerning how we would like to exit this world. Since my dad died from a heart attack, that;s something to consider - oh yeah - go to the bathroom grunting and groaning while trying to make a deposit in the porcelain throne, and then, clasp my chest as my heart bursts doesn't sound like an ideal way to depart this wonderful planet. There's also the macho way - having a last orgasm over a hot blonde but that's not going to happen because I can't afford one and my wife wouldn't like that idea. And then, the most practical way, the way many people would like to depart, is to go to sleep one night in the comfort of their bed and never wake up. For me, I was thinking a horse-drawn hearse with several large kegs of beer attached to it, a marching band and a dozen shapely baton-twirling majorettes and then fireworks - launch my body on a rocket and have it explode over the Pacific Ocean - little bits and pieces of me to feed the sea critters - better than all of that plastic.

          life and death go hand in hand like two inseparable lovers from the moment we take our first deep breath and scream bloody murder. It doesn't matter if life is a struggle or if everything comes easily, as much as life would like to be completely free, death is shackled to our wrists patiently waiting for its turn. Sometimes we don't even get a first breath of air before we get the thumbs down and sometimes it just teases us with near misses, perhaps giggling to itself as we try recovering from our almost fatal mishaps. But in the end, no matter how much laughter, good times one has while being alive, death, the ultimate boogeyman comes smiling and knocking at our door. I've heard death knocking over the years but I avoided answering the door. Now, I'm not so sure if it's the loud ringing in my ears, but death seems to be knocking louder these days but so far I've not been tempted to open the door, I cower behind it and have decided I'll never open it. No, death is an uninvited guest and no matter how congenial or convincing it may appear, if it wants in, then it will just have to kick the bloody door down, grab me by my scrawny turkey neck and drag me off. Whew...guess I told death where to get off...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.

PESSIMISM, POETRY AND OLD PALS

Floral Painting in Progress

                   Between the sunshine and now the rain, most of the snow has melted, only a few large clots of it lying around, mostly remnants from being plowed into heaping piles over the winter months. It's odd, now that winter has basically lifted up her delicate snowy white-spangled gown and tip-toed away, I can't help wondering if I'll be around for next winter. I know some people who could see themselves growing to a ripe old age and that's just what they grew to be - old. And maybe that's my problem, I could never see myself becoming old because I never expected to live this long. Yet here I am, and I can't say that it's especially enjoyable now that I'm not feeling so well and then again, at any age, young or old, if a person is not in good health, life can suck. Yeah, I can't say as I can complain, I'm well looked after, my Sarah doting over me all the time, making sure I'm eating and drinking properly. I guess I've finally reached the final stage of life - old age - no place after this except to become older and older till it's all over.

          When I awoke this morning, before opening my wrinkly, old baggy, bloodshot eyes, I just laid in bed and drifted back into a space when I was a young lad. There's something about the comfort of a warm and secure place and as a boy, I'd often lie in bed with my eyes shut listening to the language of the house, the creak of the floor from my mother's footsteps in the kitchen or a bump on the wall as my sisters got ready for school. It felt so snug in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin until I'd fling the covers back and jump out of bed. I'm still able to toss the covers back but leaping out of bed is not going to happen - I'd find myself face down on the floor. I'm basically an early bird sort of a person, so even though I don't really have to get up early, could take my time crawling out of bed, I've always preferred getting up almost instantly. There's something about being up early before everyone else, a time to get my thoughts together without interruptions, while enjoying a cup of coffee or tea. I have to be just beat, almost tired to the bone, before I'm able to sleep in and then if I do, often times I feel rather sluggish throughout the remainder of the day.

           In the snow years of my life, although my memory is sometimes questionable, I still remember a poem I had to memorize in Grade 12. I don't remember the title but I believe the poet was Houseman and now that I'm at ripe elderly age, his words really seem to register more.

With rue my heart is laden

For golden friends I had

For many rose-lipped maiden

And many a light-foot lad.

By brooks too broad for leaping 

The light-foot boys are laid

The rose-lipped girls are sleeping

In fields where roses fade.

          I believe my English teacher at the time said Houseman's poem was pessimistic but I'm not so sure of that. If a person lives long enough, they will get to watch all their friends die and dying is just part of life. Yeah, I know that death is definitely a negative downer but facts are facts - many of my friends are "sleeping where roses fade".  One of the best and oldest friends I've ever had that I never really lost contact with but because of distance, we seldom got to spend much time together. Like other times before, he had really been on my mind. I hadn't chatted with him for over a year or more, when his brother called and told me he wasn't doing very well; he had fallen off a roof and hurt his back. Since he had refused to see a doctor. I was of course very worried until the phone rang one afternoon - it was my friend and it was so good to hear his voice. The thing about being older, the conversations are often about physical ailments and medication so we of course chatted about that for a short while. We promised to get together before too long but whatever injuries he sustained falling off the roof finally did him in. I remember his last words on the phone, "Bye for now," and I wonder like so many people do about the hereafter, if I'll get to see him then. Since being on Facebook, a couple of friends from back in the day contacted me, which was a real surprise. It seemed a little strange to talk about the way things were then but that's when we were the best of friends...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.

TRIP 'N' DAISY CREATIVE JEWELRY

          Unable to do a lot of physical stuff outside, like mend the chicken fence after the heavy snow slid off of the barn roof and took it out, repair the eaves and and numerous other things, I keep myself busy writing blogs, working on some crafts and painting. When Sarah and I go across Canada as a couple of reborn hippies on our 2019 road-trip, we're planning on visiting some craft fairs to help pay our costs. We've been trying to come up with some ideas, like jewelry - items that are small, easy to carry and display. Yesterday, I made some hearts, peace symbols and beads, which will be used to make necklaces or they could also be used to hang off the inside car mirror or even Christmas decorations and valentine mementos. I'm having fun making the jewelry and being able to use my hand-lettering skills is a bonus. In a world inundated with plastic, I'm happy to say, one of the features of our jewelry is that it's biodegradable.

          I'm not one for wearing jewelry much but as I was making up this stuff, since I'm letting my hair grow long for our trip, I was thinking I just might make my own special jewelry to either work into a braid or perhaps hang around my neck. Also, I could custom make jewelry for people, such as letter a couple of names on a heart or paint it in their favourite colours. Although our jewelry is unique, each piece individually created, we're hoping to keep it very affordable. If anyone reading this blog has any idea sor sayings that might be appropriate to use on our jewelry, I'd really be interested in hearing from you.

          As well as creating jewelery, I'm hoping to sculpt some small hippie type stuff too - not quite sure what sort of stuff, so am open to ideas on that one too. Since Sarah and I will be attending the art show in Florenceville this coming Saturday, it will be the first time anyone will have seen any of our hippie creations and I am looking forward to any comments regarding the finished products, see if they're even worthwhile pursuing. Our jewelry is not yet available at our Etsy Store. 

          The day just seems to be zooming by and I still have a lot that I would like to do today. And, as I look at my messy work space and the projects I'm working on, I'm itchy to get at it - not even two weeks away and I'll be undergoing an operation that's going to knock me on my ass...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.   

PUPPY DOGS - LARGE AND SMALL - LOVE 'EM ALL

     

 

My Old Friend Misty in Her Bed on the Sailboat.

Dogs are wonderful animals and I've been involved with quite a few of them over the years. I've had short ones, tall ones, huge ones, teeny ones, hairy ones, not so hairy ones, also nice ones and not so nice ones but hey, like us, they all have their own personalities. One of the first dogs I had was Skippy, a congenial cocker spaniel pup that my folks gave me for Christmas when I was just an early teen. Not sure how it happened but not even a month had gone by when I came home from school one day and no one was home. Upon opening the door, I called out, "Skippy!" As usual, we were both happy to be reunited as he came running up to me, his big brown eyes glistening with happiness and wagging his tail furiously. Not yet fully house-trained, he had widdled on the floor and I remember scolding him until he started walking in a peculiar stiff manner and then fell over on his side. I could feel my heart breaking as I rushed to him, then held him in my arms and watched him die, apparently from eating poison. After I carried Skippy downstairs to the basement, I laid him on the cement floor and then sat down on one of the bottom stairs, tears streaming down my face. As the sunlight beamed through a window warming his still body, I thought I saw his chest rise, I was sure of it - Skippy was breathing - he was alive! It wasn't until I rushed over and stroked his warm body and gently pulled his long ears that I realized it was only my imagination or wishful thinking that had brought Skippy miraculously back to life momentarily. 

           It was a long time, not until I was married, before another dog became part of the household. It was a small, short-haired, a Heinz 57 dog, mostly terrier as far as I could tell. Our two young daughters fell instantly in love with the dog and the three of them were constant companions. Of course, since the dog had brown hair, the girls named her Brownie. Unfortunately, we hadn't had the dog for very long when the kids came rushing into the house bawling their eyes out. Although we lived on a not very busy street, the little dog had been hit by a passing car and killed. She wasn't a pretty sight as I gathered her shattered, bloody body up in my arms and put her inside a cardboard box. As I write this blog, I'm just realizing the amount of dogs that passed through my life, quite a few of them coming to bad endings like the next dog, a black short-haired part-terrier named Salty. He was a highly comical dog. When he laid on his back and I rubbed his chest gently and howled mournfully in his ear, he would begin to howl too and then he would rush to the front door. Well...what can I say, one afternoon when I opened the door to let him out, he ran howling out into the street and got nipped by a passing vehicle. I thought the dog had been knocked unconscious, since the car barely seemed to touch him but although he looked as if he was taking a nap on the side of the road, he was dead. The next dog was a German Shepherd. She had been trained as a guard dog and because my commercial art shop was in an area that was broken into on a regular basis, I thought she would scare the bejeezus out of a burglar. Anyway, long story short, I came into the shop one morning and somehow, Thumper had managed to hang herself and rigor mortis had set in - one of her back legs was stretched to the limit so that only her toes barely touched the floor. The next dog to arrive was Misty, another wee brown dog, which looked like part-terrier and part-dachshund. Cars and dogs just don't seem to get along and one day while I was working in the garage on some artwork, it wasn't until I heard the girls screaming at the bottom of our driveway that I became very alarmed. Expecting the worst, that one of the kids (3 girls now) had been hit by a car, I ran to them as quickly as my bony white legs would carry me. The kids were standing by the edge of the road with horrified expressions on their faces as they looked down at their small dog, her tiny back leg obviously broken. When we rushed her to the vet, he told us that her leg was broken in three places and as far as he could tell, the rest of her was in tact. When he told me, it would cost about a thousand dollars to fix the leg, what could I do? When three teary-eyed little girls are looking up at you, the fate of their little dog in my hands, I gladly paid the money and Misty actually lived to a ripe old age before passing away. 

Rachel and Misty

          When I lived on my sailboat Dreamer II, a little Malti-poo, curly white-haired dog became my first mate. A girlfriend at the time had bought her, the runt of the litter. The dog had a wonderful disposition, wasn't yappy like a lot of smaller dogs and she thought she was tough too - yeah - tough like a marshmallow. She loved the boat life and the water. All I had to say was, "Get in the boat," and she would fly out of the aft hatch and jump into the dinghy, which was tied to the wharf. She too was poisoned from eating tainted dog food that the company recalled and although she didn't die, only became quite sick, she was never quite the same again. When I gave up the boat life, little Misty had a profound effect on one of Sarah's girls and if not for the dog, chances are Sarah and I may never have been married. She loved that little dog and used to dress her up in clothes. Misty lived for about 16 years before she became really sick and basically refused to eat. As she grew weaker and weaker, her weight dropping substantially, one warm sunny morning after I had taken Misty outside to do her business, as I held her in my arms and she looked up at me, I realized that she most likely wouldn't make it before the kids got home from school. We all knew she was dying and realizing it would be hard on Rachel, I told her, she should go and see her where she was lying in her little bed in the kitchen. The girls had barely gone to school, when I sat down on the floor next to Misty and gently stroked her brow and rubbed her ears. I was really surprised when she lifted her head and howled and then died a few minutes later. Of all the dogs I've had in my life, I'd have to say she was my favourite and to this day, about10 years having gone by, I still really miss my little dog. 

           There have been other dogs since then but they were basically outside farm dogs to protect the livestock from the wild critters that live around our place, not get-in-your-way, pampered house pets. At the moment, we don't have a dog and Sarah has been saying she would like to get another one, another Misty ideally. We've considered buying a Malti-poo to take with us on our cross-Canada 2019 road-trip but they are not affordable. Hmm, I wonder if I could trade a painting for one or does anyone have a small, house-trained dog they would like re-home?

          I realize dogs aren't for everyone - many people preferring cats and I've had a few of those in my life as well. However, to me, you just can't beat a dog for loyalty or good company, a cat, something that's covered in dried spit from continually licking itself all over, leaves a bit to be desired in my opinion. Although my Sarah is wonderful company, it might be nice to get another dog...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.  

CROCUSES, HEARTS AND DREAMS OF 2019

Spring Must be Here - Crocuses are in Bloom

          I guess springtime has finally arrived at the base of Green Mountain because the crocuses just popped up their lazy heads. Although we still have some snow remaining, it's quickly melting and dribbling away. There must be a kzilllion flies outside, their buzzing sometimes louder than the birds, which reminds me, the flycatchers have returned to their nest, which is located up in the woodshed rafters. I also heard some chickadees in the forest, most likely impatient to mate and create more little chickadees. Yesterday was so warm that Sarah and I were able to sit outside in our shirt sleeves, soak in the sun's rays and enjoy a couple of cold drinks and it looks as if today will be the same.

Trip Applying Hearts to Trailer

           The day of my operation will soon be arriving (May 7th) and I expect to be recovering in the hospital for 7-10 days before going home. So, with that in mind, since Sarah is planning to stay in our "Hippie-Hangout" at a friend's place near the hospital during my stay, I removed its winter tarp and opened the windows to clear out the musty odor. While removing the tarp, I noticed some of the ropes, which were used  to secure it in place had rubbed away some of the paint in a few places, so I'll have to touch them up soon, maybe even later today. I'd like to continue painting more hippie stuff on the sides of the trailer but I'm not sure that will be happening this year because it will depend on how active I am. However, if anyone is interested in "spreadin' the love" and having their name lettered on a big red heart, which will be adhered to the trailer, I'll still be able to manage that I'm sure. The hearts are $5.00 each and can be ordered on Etsy, Facebook or even via email tripndaisy777@gmail.com. I'll also be attending the art show in Florenceville this coming Saturday, so just in case someone would like one, along with some of my artwork to display, I'll bring along my paints and brushes to hand-letter them in person. Keep in mind, the more lettering there is on a heart, the smaller the info will be and the harder to read. 

Spreadin' the Love Heart Passengers

          Sarah and I had plans to do a road trip across Canada this year in our "Hippie-Hangout". We would be almost ready to leave right now, but unfortunately we've had to postpone it until 2019. It's a bit of a downer not to be able to go but then again, it will give us more time to make some necessary changes to the trailer, like replace the fridge and stove and also buy a new mattress. Plus, it will give Sarah time to sew up some tie-dyed sheets into curtains - should be a happening place when we hitch it to the truck and head on down the highway. (And speaking of a fridge and stove - does anyone reading this blog have such things for sale? They have to be in good working condition.) Although our trip is postponed, Sarah and I are planning to take some side trips around New Brunswick and Nova Scotia if I'm up to it. We would like to attend some summer craft shows and will be looking for places to stay so if anyone would like a visit from Trip 'n' Daisy or can steer us in those directions, it would be much appreciated. 

          Even though I feel antsy, wish we were soon on our way across Canada, we'll just have to put our travel plans on the back burner, add some spice and let them simmer till next year - then - look out! Well...since it's such a nice day out, before we sit back and enjoy a cold drink in the warm sunshine, I should probably go outside and climb up on the roof to make a small repair - don't need the rain coming in...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.   

SPECIAL MOMENTS IN LIFE

Me and My Dad and 'Roughy"

          Since my life slid into my seventies like an oiled snake through a keyhole, I've become a septuagenarian and I sometimes think of myself as being old, broken-down, dilapidated, forgetful, etc., etc. A friend of mine that I converse with rather regularly via email who is residing in Mexico told me, "We who are no longer young, tend to refer to ourselves as "old" and I wonder if we should stop doing that. We could use other words, like, experienced, or well traveled, veteran. I feel that every time I refer to myself as old, it is as though I am making an excuse for just being me." There's a lot of truth in those words and when I think about it, a lot of the things that still plague me, for instance, my lack of memory, has been happening throughout my whole life. I don't really think that I'm anymore absent minded than I was before. Actually, mind-wise, doesn't seem to be much of a problem, but my tiring body, achy joints and stiff muscles are quite another matter; pain can be a constant reminder of age. And besides, since I've reached this age, it's not that I'm overly absent minded, it's just that I have more things to forget about, which may have been put on the back-burners of my mind over the years.

          I can remember as a boy, enjoying myself so much with friends that I never wanted the day to end. And, as I grew, other special times came into existence as well. However, as profoundly special as these moments were and I tried to hold onto them, the clock kept ticking away and I was forced to move on. Since I've sort of bounced around during my life, took the path of least resistance even if it turned out to be like a precariously high waterfall zooming over a steep cliff to the rocks below, I've experienced different eras and life-styles, which predominately related to me. For example, when I not too cautiously took that first big step out of my boyhood nest, spread my wings and soloed, I found myself working and living at a racetrack in Vancouver. That was a great time, basically just me and no real responsibilities and more importantly, still a home to retreat to if things didn't work out very well. I had some great friends back then who said as I walked out the gates for the last time, "Once a racetracker; always a racetracker, he'll be back," but I never returned. And yet, although the odor of fresh manure, a sweating thoroughbred, fresh hay and golden straw escapes me, I only have to see a horse and rub its muzzle and I'm back at the track; it's early morning, dawn just breaking and I can hear the thunderous hooves as they gallop around the track and upon their return, feel their hot breaths on my cheeks from their flaring nostrils as they catch their breath. Still today, even at this age, like my racetrack days, there are special moments that I wish I could cling to, embrace and cherish but as tightly as I grasp them, like water, they too seep through my fingers, leaving only slight residues of their memories.

          Since I enjoy writing, hence this blog, I've been thinking about writing a series of short stories about my time at the racetrack. Not only was it a time that brought me closer to my dad who was a horse trainer, I also worked for other trainers, bumped shoulders with millionaires, befriended jockeys and placed bets with bookies. And although they were very colourful characters, many of the horses I worked with were equally colourful, each having its own distinctive personality. It was a wild and crazy time in my life, gambling, boozing and partying at the forefront. And yet, there I was smack dab in the middle of a huge bustling city surrounded by horses. It was as if I'd been magically transported and living on the fringe of country life when I found myself walking down a shedrow, horses sticking their heads out of the stalls and nickering in the early morning air. I wonder how many of you reading this blog have a strong attachment to horses? Although horses were too large to be lap pets, many of the horses I worked with still enjoyed being petted and wouldn't hurt a fly - well maybe not a fly, flicking at them with their tails was a daily commitment. In any case, before I begin writing "Horse Tails" or should it be "Horse Tales", I'm hoping to get a little feed back, see if any of you would be interested in buying such a book, might give me some incentive to write it.

          Well...it's such a nice day outside, I can hear the birds chirruping, see the sun glinting off the snow, I think it's time to take a wee walk and later, if the temperature rises somewhat significantly, take my bony ass outside,sit on the deck for a short while and sip a near-beer...peach, 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.        

MY SARAH, GOLDEN UNICORN FARM and UNICORNS

Unfinished Flower Arrangement

          It's a sunny Saturday morning and I find myself alone today. It's very quiet - not that Sarah's noisy but we usually have great little chats while sipping our morning coffees but she's gone off for the day to a Woman's Trade Fair in Perth-Andover, which is about a two hour drive away. Although the windshield was covered in ice and she had to give it a good scraping, the weather today is expected to be quite warm and pleasant. As I looked out the kitchen window this morning towards the ridge, I'm tempted to take a short hike, check out the stream and then up through the back pasture to the tree line to see how the land survived the winter. But any lengthy hikes, where I could be out of sight is strictly against the rules now, so I guess I won't be doing that. But the hike certainly is tempting. She doesn't want me working upstairs - operating power tools while she isn't around is a no-no too. But hey, I worry about Sarah too, especially driving during the winter, besides the sometimes treacherous roads, like a few days ago, she almost hit a moose in the dark. I may go for a wee walk along the road a little later because at least if I'm on the road and suddenly find myself face-down at the edge, someone should drive by before too long. Being an avid walker, on beautiful days like this, I find it hard to stay inside the house. Oh well...I have a partially painted canvas waiting on an easel, should be able to make a little more headway on it today.

          I received an email this morning from Sarah's brother Chad saying, "How glad I am that you met Sarah. You are certainly good for her and her for you." It was great to hear him say that because at the time I started seeing Sarah, it was not a good time in her life and some people, including some of her family, may have thought that I took advantage of her, since she's 25 years younger and I had a bit of a reputation for being a "dirty old man." But hey, I'd already known Sarah for about 20 years before we got together. Can you believe I was actually best man and caught her lacy black garter at her first wedding when she married a friend of mine. Now, some readers may be thinking that we started seeing each other on the sly but nothing could be further from the truth. We got together when we were both going through downers, her husband had recently been killed in a car crash and I was coming off a relationship - like two lonely ships passing in the dark, we literally crashed into one another and discovered that there was more to us than being friends, plus I had known her two girls all their lives, so I wasn't a stranger. I'm not going to say that our courtship was easy because it wasn't but like they say I guess, "Love conquers all."  So here we are, although a bit ragged from all the emotional upheavals over the years we've been together, we certainly have something between us that is wonderfully special and suspect it will last until...let's just say... till nature takes its course.

Golden Unicorn Farm Sign That I Painted

 Moonshine Willy

           Although I have some medical issues, overall, life is good here at Golden Unicorn Farm. That being said, it's not much of a farm anymore, not since we sold off our goats, gave away our big old friendly Great Pyrenees dog, cats disappeared and we gave away all our chickens (had about 100 of them) - my energy level went from being very active to almost couch-potatoe active, a real downer for me. But hey, things aren't so bad, we still have our unicorns. Some people may think that unicorns don't exist and that the two unicorn paintings I did were a figment of my imagination, but hey, on some starry, starry moonlit nights. they can be seen cavorting about our 50 acres, that Moonshine Willy being a rather rambunctious animal; a real card! The one thing about unicorns, they don't really need any special attention and prefer to frolic on their own so it isn't much work to look after them. I really like the unicorns because they remind me of the racehorses I used to work with so many years ago. Not that thoroughbreds are overly playful but some of them certainly had wonderful personalities and minds of their own. 

          It seems a little strange to find myself living in NB at the base of Green Mountain, especially since I grew up in Vancouver, a city boy through and through. I guess the influence of visiting my grandfather's wilderness homestead on the Fraser River up near Prince George, BC must have rubbed off on me. City life was like my life's blood at one time. I remember after working in Lethbridge, AL for about a year and half and then moving to Calgary, starting up my own commercial art/sign business, walking around downtown and looking up at all the high buildings and thinking, "It's so good to be home." Of course all that changed when I went bust in the early 80's, and living where I am now for the past 8 years, has been one of the best moves I have ever made. To me, I'd sooner wake up and listen to the  music of the birds, the wind whistling through the eaves and feel the warm sun on my back when I sit outside purveying our little bit of paradise than listening to honking horns, screaming sirens and sucking in all the traffic fumes.  It's strange, one may feel a wee bit lonely living out in the country since there are fewer people than in the city but being surrounded by thousands of people rushing around, I believe I felt lonelier there, even being within easy reach of so many things to do. If we leave here, go back to where we came from, which we sometimes discuss, it will be difficult to find such a wonderful idyllic place, and I know I will miss our Golden Unicorn Farm...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.           

SHARP KNIVES, EXCELLENT CUISINE AND A FRIENDLY EX

Samples of Our Artistic Endeavours

          Seems like my life has been sort of a waiting game for about the past six months and as I was sitting here this morning gnawing my fingernails down to the bone wondering about the next episode, the telephone rang. We received the confirmed date for my operation. May 7th is the day. As I heard the words, the date conjured up a special date on the calendar; May 7th being my ex-wife's birthday. Hmm, my ex lives on the other side of the country and if she was a witch, I might be a little worried. I mean, I'll soon be lying helplessly on a table, a sharp blade glittering in the bright lights of the OR, one little slip of the doc's nimble fingers and she might receive good news. However, that fleeting  thought quickly faded away into oblivion as I thought about my ex-wife Doreen. She and I, despite all the differences we had years ago, are still the best of friends. I know that she's still standing in my corner and only wishes me a fast and successful recovery and I thank her for that.

            Burning bridges. Some people believe in burning their bridges behind them but I'm not one of them. That is to say, I may set them afire and cause a huge smoke screen but I'm not going to let them burn down to the water line because I may need them again. Sometimes getting a little singed jumping back into the fire is a good way to escape something nastier. Although I'm crossing another bridge now and holding onto the rails for dear life, I realize I need this bridge in tact for my return to a normal life once again. But I don't kid myself about this bridge because it's not as strong as the others. Not having the strength that I once possessed, this high, skinny bridge is so rickety, it's continually swaying precariously over a steep narrow valley, the boulders below sharp and hard. I can't say that I'm scared crossing this bridge with no lifelines attached to my not so firm body, but honestly, it is a touch worrisome.

           Although spring officially arrived some weeks ago, we still have quite a lot of snow around the house even though it is melting quite fast. Near the shallow well that we used to use for our drinking water when we first moved here, and where the ground is mostly bare of snow, the crocuses and snowdrops have yet to poke their sleepy heads above ground. I don't know if spring here at the base of Green Mountain is so short, although the well is also ringed with daffodils, they never bloom. I've been hoping that most of the snow will be gone around the tepee before I have my operation because winter was pretty hard on it, the heavy snows actually snapping one of the poles. Of course, I'm also hoping the tepee, although it appears as if it will be a little wobbly, will still be standing on its own once the snow has melted. I used it last year for my outdoor studio after the blackflies and mosquitoes died off. It's a great space and with a little fire to keep a pot of tea going, I found it a very pleasant way to spend most of the day outside, even if it rained. 

Sarah's Mouth-Watering Cuisine - mmm Delicious 

          Getting back to May 7th, it's actually an opportune day for my operation since my wife, Sarah has a cooking gig at the 2nd Annual Spring Artisan Market in Florenceville, NB on Saturday, April 28th. There's a good chance that I'll also be able to attend to help her out and also display some of our artistic endeavours. Last year was a fun time since I got to rub shoulders with some of my artist friends that I seldom get to see because of where we live. So hey, if any of you readers are into art and excellent cuisine or just want to stop by and shoot-the-shit, drop by and see us...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.

CANNABIS TREATMENTS , EXPLOSIVE COLOSTOMY BAGS AND ART

Commissioned Painting
of Floral Arrangement in Progress

          Life has certainly changed for me. Whereas I used to be quite a vigorous outdoorsy-physical sort of guy, because of my health issues, I'm now pretty much housebound. It's not like I don't get out, like go to town once in awhile or go for short walks, but my wife, Sarah is like an old mother hen, she doesn't like me to be out of sight for too long. I can't say as I blame her because the last time I had an episode out in my studio, just steps away from the house, it was dark, an icy wind was blowing, the snow was falling furiously and I almost didn't make it to the door. By the time she would have became concerned about me and came looking to see if I was alright, I most likely would have been frozen stiff as a board and if she had stepped on my rigid body, she would have found herself snowboarding downhill across the pasture and colliding into the big apple tree. As much as I am enjoying painting, my tiny studio taking up a small portion of the kitchen, one cannot just sit around, so I've been working upstairs renovating the landing. I finally finished laying the laminate flooring the other day, so all that remains is cutting the base boards and nailing them in place. It's an easy job but because of my low energy level and sometimes pain, it has been a much slower process than normal. I have one bedroom remaining, approx. 144 sq. ft, which when I finish laying the laminate flooring will pretty much finish off the upstairs renovations. I'll be having an operation very soon, perhaps within the next couple of weeks, so I'll be trying real hard to complete the upstairs project before I'm laid out on a table and have my guts rearranged - oh mustn't forget the plastic bag attachment too.

          Speaking of colostomy bags, since I've been a real farty sort of a guy lately, I'm wondering if I'll fart into the bag and if so, what happens if it explodes? Besides the loud bang, which would probably leave my ears ringing more loudly than they already do, I expect the whole room, myself and anyone standing nearby will be showered in shit - now, that's a pretty picture I don't want to paint, even if it's easy. I mean, all I'd have to do is mix up various shades of brown paint and then splatter a canvas with it, wouldn't even have to use a brush or perhaps I could use the actual colourful residue of the explosion.

          Sarah is busy getting ready to go into a Woman's Trade Show this weekend. She'll be promoting CBD Oil, which has proven to be helpful to some people afflicted with cancer. She gives me this oil daily plus a straight THC marijuana oil in the evenings. The oils combined with the traditional chemo/radiation treatments, which, when the doctor very recently eyeballed my hairy rectum, discovered that the tumor had shrunk significantly. She'll also be displaying some of my recent paintings that will be for sale, to help offset some of our costs. So, if you're interested in the CBD Oil or would like to see what I've been up to, please visit her at the Perth/Andover Woman's Show this Saturday.

          This summer is most likely going to be one of the hardest summers I've yet to experience in my life and as odd as it seems, I'm looking forward to and not looking forward to it. If all goes well by the end of my recovery, I'm hoping to regain my energy back. I will still have some health problems remaining, which may be more threatening than the cancer but hey, one step at a time, right? Time to get on with the day and pick up my brushes...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. 

THE WORLD THE WAY I SEE IT

          Woke up about 2am and couldn't get back to sleep. Just tossed and turned, tossed and turned. It's not unusual for me to wake up in the middle of the night and not get back to sleep and I suspect this also happens to a lot of people for various reasons. I didn't really have anything on my mind but like a stuck record, whatever I'd start thinking about just went round and round, until finally I said, "Screw it. Might as well get up. I can always take a nap in the afternoon if I get tired."

           One of the thoughts I had spinning around, and I have no idea why it came up other than it's something I'm quite concerned about is the world, yeah, our planet, our one and only home. I expect within the millions of galaxies swirling around in the Universe, there is probably another place similar to our planet Earth. However, this being said, it's most likely a million or more light years away. Now a million miles is a long distance but to think of distance in light years, when light travels at 186,000 miles per sec. is simply mind-boggling. This means if we could travel at the speed of light, we would reach the moon within about half a second but that's never going to happen. So I have to ask myself, why are we treating the world environment with such reckless abandonment? The population is growing and the resources are dwindling, so we should really be taking stock of our predicament.

         So here we sit on this fragile rock that's wobbling on an axis, actually revolving at roughly 1,000 mph and zooming through space at I think around 70,000 mph, what are we doing to protect it? Nothing, instead we're throwing wars, bombing the hell out of countries, killing all the animals, cutting down all the trees, etc., etc., and garbage, talk about garbage, gargantuan gobs of garbage. When a plastic island about the size of France is floating around in the Pacific Ocean, we may talk about pigs being filthy animals (only if they're in captivity) but it seems rather apparent that we are the filthiest animals on the planet. Some of us have to shower every day because they feel dirty but having a little dried honest sweat on a person's body is nothing compared to the filth we're strewing all over the planet. I mean right here, out in the country where I live, many people just heave there garbage out the window as they drive down the road instead of getting rid of it in a mature manner. A little garbage here and there if it's biodegradable isn't too bad but plastic can be very harmful and it's here forever. It may break down over the millenniums but it's here to stay. I recently read where the Germans made the most pure beer but now traces of plastic can be found in it. So, if we're drinking plastic, we're probably breathing it in as well. Mind you, that may not be as bad as it sounds if we start ejecting our poop in reusable plastic baggies.

          I don't know about any of you reading these lines but I'm pretty worried about our planet, and for me, I'm not here much longer anyway so it doesn't really matter, but for my kids and their kids, the future of life is not looking too good. Most of us can't see beyond today and are more concerned about the economy and not ecology - let's face it most of us are as greedy as can be, all striving to be as rich as possible and do whatever we want. And why is that when most of us despise the rich and what they stand for, so why are we trying to emulate them? There isn't too much we can do regarding how other countries handle their affairs but here in Canada, we should be setting an example to the rest of the world. Instead of diabolically and recklessly destroying our land for literally the sake of a literally fucking Yankee dollar, we should be protecting it. My neighbours have been cutting down the trees on their properties the past few years and when the smiling logger-man came knocking on my door asking if he could cut down our trees, I told him the only value this land has is the trees, why would I want to cut them down. Sure, I use some of the trees for firewood but if the trees on this land are looked after properly, not allowed to be clear-cut and then sprayed with Glyphosate, they'll still be here long after I'm gone. The 25 acres on the lower side of our property is Crown Land and has a stream meandering through it to one of the main lakes. Last fall, while following the stream, I came across two large plastic containers lying in the forest, so not only were they cutting down trees, they also poisoned the area. If this isn't called shitting in your own back yard, I don't know what is. 

          Unfortunately our PM Trudeau and the previous one, Harper are like-minded in that they are selling the country out by embracing the toxic fossil fuel industries at any cost. Like the day the horse and buggy ended, so should the gasoline engine come to an end. Did you know that one of Henry Ford's first autos was made from hemp and fueled by hemp - and I don't mean the kind of hemp a person gets high on? You could smoke that shit all day and all that would happen is that you'd wind up coughing your lungs out. But hey, the real reason for the big push on oil is because of the war machine, which is where the US invests most of its money. They go on and on about invading other countries because they're trying to bring democracy to them but hey, who are they fooling - a country, just like ours, that doesn't look after it's own citizens, sure as hell doesn't give a fiddler's fuck for another country's citizens...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.      

PENNIES FROM HEAVEN; RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS

          Living out in the boonies where the bear, the deer and other critters roam can be a touch lonely at times and one tends to look forward to the mailman's visit, see the plastic red arm attached to the mailbox raised up. signifying that the mail has arrived. Like most people, our mail usually consists of bills, advertising gimmicks and notices. However, occasionally we discover a letter (who writes letters anymore in this day and age) or a card celebrating a birthday, etc. Well...yesterday as the mailbox stood at attention beside the side of the road saluting with its plastic red arm, a card was delivered to our place. When Sarah brought it inside she said it was for me, and I, thinking it was a card sent by my sister, didn't think too much about it until she said, "There's no return address and the postmark is from Canterbury," our nearest postal service. Upon opening the envelope, I discovered a beautiful card and a hundred dollar bill. My first thought was, wow! Who would send me some money, but there was no signature, the card and money were from a mystery person. Of course I'm eye-balling the writing to see if I can recognize the cursive style lettering and although my mother's writing was similar, I knew it wasn't hers since she's been dead for over 25 years. As many of you know from reading my blog on a regular basis, I've been diagnosed with cancer of the rectum (and yes it's wrecking me), so I can only assume the mystery donor (because of the hand writing style, I suspect is a woman) sent some money to help with some of the unexpected expenses that crop up whenever a person becomes ill. The one thing I've noticed about the country life in comparison to the city life, people I barely know have been so kind to us, whereas the city folk, only a small yard and a fence separating us, were still strangers from the day we moved in till the day we moved away. Sarah used to run the cafe at the Woodstock Farmer's Market and when they discovered I had cancer, to our great surprise they took up a collection, which helped substantially when we had to move to St. John's for over a month of cancer treatments. I also received a beautiful quilt from the Debec's Tuesday Quilters' Club to help keep me warm over our long cold winter. And now this, a hundred bucks in a card from a mysterious donor, whom I'd like thank so much, your kindness is very appreciated. 

          And, speaking about helping us out financially, as these words were hitting the page, Sarah noticed the red arm on the mailbox was standing straight up. When she came back inside, besides a bill, she handed me a card from my brother, which isn't unusual until I opened it and discovered 6 post-dated cheques, a couple of the lines saying, "Well little brother, thought you could use a little stress free cash flow. Take the time to heal you can't rush that." Although my brother and I weren't brought up together, I've always been amazed how close we are - I love you bro!  Thinking about all this random kindness almost brings a tear to my eye, which reminds me of a morning while living in
Nanaimo, BC when I stopped in at the Jabberwocky Coffee Shop, ordered a coffee and a bran muffin, the girl at the till saying, "Your order was paid by an anonymous customer." Having no idea who would do such a thing, I looked around at the people sitting in the small cafe by the sea to see if I knew anyone but everyone in the coffee shop was a complete stranger - now how special is that?

          I'm always amazed that in this world filled with so much hatred, violence and destruction, there are people out there who are very kind and giving. And as odd as it seems, I've found that most people who would give you the shirt of their backs are the people who often have the least. I once met a congenial middle-aged Polish man in a Lethbridge bar who invited me to his home for supper. He had the friendliest, brightest red face and smile imaginable. You can imagine how surprised I was when we drove into his yard, the freezing snow drifting across the prairies in huge gusts, and parked in front of a small building about the size of a single garage. Upon entering, I noticed the dirt floor had be swept and was actually shiny and a small curtain had been suspended in front of a tiny bedroom that separated it from the rest of the house. His wife was quite heavy in comparison to his size and she wore a long braided pig tail, which reminded me of " Let down your hair Rapunzel. Rapunzel let down your hair." They had two small boys and a dog as well living inside this small but warm dwelling. Since I enjoyed playing with the dog, after eating a tasty spaghetti dinner, when I was about to leave, he told me I could take the dog home. Well...being alone then, having recently moved from Nanimo, I thought the dog might be good company, that is, until I saw the tears welling up in the boys' eyes. Until then, I thought they wanted to be rid of the dog, so I kindly said no. But imagine that, a dirt-poor man, almost a complete stranger, offering me a good meal and then the family's pet?

          It's easy for us to turn our eyes away from a panhandler sitting with a tin can in front of him but until you've walked in his moccasins, we really don't know what has brought them to this point. I often chuck them some money and I don't care if they buy booze or drugs with it, whatever gets them through the day, and besides, it's their money once it leaves my hand, they can do what they want with it...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.         

THIS OLD MAN

         This old man is enjoying writing a blog again because what old man doesn't have a lot to talk about? Man, you never want to get cornered by an old man, they'll just go on and on about the good old days when they did this and they did that; things were wonderful then, not like they are now. At least the good thing for anyone reading this blog, is that if you don't like what you're reading, it's not a big deal; just one click of the mouse and it's good-bye, adios, see you later - delete, delete, delete. And something I've discovered about writing a blog is when the topic contains serious stuff that should concern everyone, the readership dramatically drops. Now I don't blame anyone for not reading the serious stuff: pollution, toxic waste, pipeline spills, radiation leakage, deforestation, rising ocean levels, war, etc., etc., etc. because I have to agree, it's down right depressing; it can turn me into a cranky old coot when I obsess on how the world situation has evolved since I first came into this world. I'm on my way out and what worries me the most, is not what is going to happen to me once I take my last breath but what will happen to my kids and especially their kids. When I came into the world, much of it was being blown to shit during WWII, nuclear devastation hanging over Hiroshima and Nagasaki like a filthy contaminated shroud. The thing that alarms me the most about that horrendous war is that instead of making sure that the holocaust would never again happen, people with most of the wealth discovered occupying and stealing other country's resources can be very, very lucrative. And what this means to me is that instead of embracing humanity, having compassion for our world, we've put a dollar sign on everything, with no regard of the overall effects it has on this planet, our only home. I'll soon be gone but my family will have to live in a world that is getting more and more environmentally difficult to live in and I fear for them. 
          Moving on to not so serious stuff, I was talking to my wife this morning, "Sarah," I said as I warmed my thick-stockinged feet by the hot wood stove and sipped a hot cup of coffee, "I can't believe it. I'm lookin' at the end of my life. This is it for me, Fosterville, NB of all places. It's highly unlikely that I will ever live somewhere else." Now don't get me wrong, I live in a great place; it's just at this age and my present health issues; I'm most likely going to die right here on this property, perhaps sitting in the old rocking-chair by the wood stove or face down on the keyboard. When I was a young guy, I had an ambitious future, but now, it's too dang hard to see any future for me, other than getting older and older and finally dying. Cripes a'mighty, there was a time when I worked hard and played hard and didn't give a crap where I laid my head down, and now, taking a nap has actually become a welcome highlight in this old man's day. A future for most people means looking forward towards a raise, a holiday or a great career move, marriage, kids, a home, yadda,-yadda-yadda; whatever. I mean I experienced a lot of that in my earlier days and still do to a certain degree but those ambitious dreams of years ago eventually hitched their asses to an old man's bod, where the energy level was hitting minus degrees on the thermometer of life and if I didn't wear semi-tight jeans, my sagging biscuits would be bouncing off my heels with every step I take.  

          To me, it was a mistake for a lot of people in my generation to plan for their retirement because it seems as if they were planning for things to do before they died. The problem with that is by the time retirement happens, our bodies are generally fairly old and tired. I've always been of the mind that life shouldn't be so regulated because one never knows what's lying just beyond the horizon before reaching that retirement age. However, I could never imagine working at the same job, for the same company, for the same boss, for just a pay-cheque, possible bonuses, vacation time, you know, all the little carrots they dangle in front of a person's nose as the wrinkles start appearing, muscles start sagging, you know, when women's sagging tits bounce off their knees, bones start cracking and men's noses continually drip, mortgage payments keep climbing higher and higher, education keeps getting more expensive, yet drops in learning values, etc., etc.  Nah, that was never for me. Of course, I was lucky and quite young to have retired around the age of 42 (mind you, no money and no pension, broke as flat as piss on a plate) - now that's not to say, I stopped working totally; I mean I've always supported myself and others, I've  never gone bankrupt, never drawn welfare and only once did I collect EI for a year or was it two - that's the thing about being an old man, the memory isn't as sharp as it once was. And now, at 76, I feel I've been working physically harder than I ever did during my younger years - mind you - could be because I ache a lot now, my joints are stiff and the majority of my strength knowing the jig is almost up, decided to hitch a ride on a mudslide heading towards a 6' hole in the ground.

          I know, I know, I'm ranting now, I'm sounding like the old man I am.  And if you've already hit the delete key, well that's no problem - I mostly just yammer away to hear myself talk; keeps me in touch with my being and makes me realize I'm not dead yet. It wouldn't surprise me if I live long enough that the last words I hear will be my own, "Will somebody please change this damnable diaper, I've just shit myself!"...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.   

GRIZZLY BEARS, BARROOM BRAWLS AND FLEET-FOOTED VANISHING ACTS

Illustration from one of my kid's
stories, Mindy and Caesar

          There was a time when I was able to leap over a single bar stool and run out of the door before all hell broke loose. Not that I participated in many barroom brawls during my younger days but sometimes there's just no arguing with a drunk and since I'm adverse to getting punched, taking flight versus confronting might was usually in my best interest. When I worked at the racetrack years ago, I can remember sitting in a bar with a group of my friends from the stables when an argument became rather heated and then the fists started flying. I'm not quite sure what happened but I suddenly found myself on the floor. Being somewhat small in stature but fleet on my feet and in this particular case, just as speedy on my hands and knees, like a snake, I simply wriggled between the angry fighters' fancy footwork and slid out the door, I wasn't about to hang around for the cops to show up and possibly get dinged for any damages that may have occurred. Besides, I knew firsthand how much it hurts when one takes a full punch in the face and three teeth snap off, and hey, dental work is costly.

          When I worked in television as an art director, I met a guest who was going to be interviewed on one of the station's shows. He filmed wild life, grizzly bears being one of the main subjects. He said to film the best dramatic pose was to get the grizzly to stand on its hind legs and then come for him. I'm not sure if he had more guts than brains but he said before he started filming he had an escape route planned. Realizing he couldn't outrun a grizzly, he was of the firm
belief, out of sight - out of mind, so that's what he did, simply took off and hid behind some boulders or whatever. I have to agree that now you're here and now, poof, your gone is something I can relate to. I may not be much of a fighter but my words can sometimes cause people to react in a not too friendly manner like the time when I was in high school and some guy took offence. When school ended for the day and I stepped outside the door, he was waiting to punch my lights out. Like, I said, I was light on my feet and a hell of a sprinter (in a foot race on Sports Day I was a loser but with my life on the line, like Jumpin'-Jack-Flash, I could dash). However, this guy was bigger, stronger, and had whiskers, whereas I had a peach-fuzzed face, pimples, wore glasses and had a voice like a girl's. And although my little  lily-white legs were fast, unfortunately his legs were longer and were gaining on me as we raced down a steep hill. I could hear him cursing at me as we ran and when I heard his footsteps getting closer and closer, I knew I had to switch strategies, I was running a losing race. I wasn't sure if my next maneuver would work out but what the hell, when I saw his hand reaching for my shoulder through my peripheral vision, although I was going full blast down the hill, I suddenly dropped to my knees. Well...where he expected me to be and where I was was was two different places and he tumbled head over heels over me onto the cement sidewalk. Before he could recompose himself and I suspect he may have been hurt, I was up on my feet, scaled an 8' wire fence as easily as leaping over a single bar stool and had disappeared amid a crowd of high school kids on their way home.
          At age 76, I'm a very mellow fellow, couldn't possibly outrun anything, actually had a confrontation with a mean old rooster awhile back and lost - ended up in hospital emergency getting some antibiotics pumped into me. Looking back, I've certainly had some close calls, most of which didn't materialize into receiving a beating but take it from me, being blessed with fast, fancy footwork doesn't always work. Sometimes, there's just no way out, like the time I was a paper boy and sassed off to the manager. After a short chase, the manager and all the other paper boys right behind me, he grabbed me, through me to the ground and began thumping me. Sometimes even if you lose the fight, you don't necessarily have to lose the battle so when he said to me, "Have you had enough?" I pointed to my chin and said, "You'd better give me one more here." Yeah, it hurt, but a lot of the paperboys had a new regard for me, which actually paid off not long afterward, when I was inside a house necking with one of their girlfriends. While they were deciding which one of them would fight me, I snuck out the back door and sprinted off into the dark...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.