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.