Wednesday, September 25, 2019

THE POLITICIAN AND THE WHITE BUTTERFLY


The summer sun was shining brightly on the little boy, his blonde hair almost as white as the flitting white butterfly he was chasing. As he ran between the rows of beans, peas, carrots, lettuce and tomatoes, he almost tripped over his father’s legs as he was kneeling on the ground busily weeding the garden. Perhaps realizing that everything wasn’t about playing and having fun, the little boy suddenly stopped chasing the butterfly and asked, “Can I help daddy?”
About to say no but then noticing the sincerity glowing within his son’s eyes he said, “Thanks, I could use some help pulling these pesky weeds.” 
                As they worked side by side pulling weeds from the warm, damp earth, the father reached over and gently tousled the little boy’s hair saying, “You’re a hard worker son. I’m proud of you. You’ll go far in life.”
                Upon hearing his father’s words of praise, he smiled broadly and worked even harder, his little hands becoming dirtier and dirtier with every weed he pulled. However, before too long, he suddenly stopped and after wiping the sweat off his forehead with a dirty hand, leaving a scraggily brown smear across it, he yawned. 
                Thinking perhaps his son had grown bored pulling weeds, he watched the boy as he stood up, trundled over to the edge of the garden and then curled up on the grass beneath the cool shade of an apple tree. But the little boy was not bored, like many young children that always seem so full of bursting energy; he had simply run out of steam and needed a nap.
                As the years passed by, the little boy steadily grew. Working alongside his father on the small farm, he was often up at the break of day helping with the chores before catching the school bus. Not only did he work hard at home, he worked hard at school too – a straight A student. He’d considered joining a school football or baseball team but because of the workload at home and his mom and dad were growing older, he preferred helping them. Some of his fellow students may have thought he was a little nerdy but because of the way his blue jeans hugged his hips and shirts fit tightly across his broad shoulders, they knew his physical strength matched his intelligence.
                Besides having straight A’s, an amiable personality, hard-working and always willing to give a helping hand, when graduation arrived, he was chosen high school valedictorian, his words eloquent and encouraging, giving future hope to his fellow students. His mother and father beamed with pride when his name was called to receive his diploma and several scholarships he had won. Before the happy graduates ran off to continue with prom festivities a well-dressed man emerged from the audience and firmly shook the teenager’s hand saying, “Congratulations. One of the scholarships you won was donated by my firm. You’ll go far in life my boy and I expect great things from you.”
                Because the university he had chosen was located in a large city, many kilometers away, the budding young man was forced to leave the farm in order to further his education. Although his mother and father worried about their son being tempted and seduced by the city’s glitter they had nothing to fear. However, since money was short for his education and to help with expenses at home, he gladly accepted a part time job from the man who had attended his graduation ceremonies. 
Having grown into a ruggedly handsome young man, not only were the girls interested in him but so were the university sports’ coaches. They were constantly trying to entice him to join one of their teams by telling him there would be special advantages to help lighten his studies. However, since he wasn’t overly interested in becoming a professional athlete, he turned their efforts down, that is the coaches – not the girls – one very pretty young lady catching his eye. 
                When graduation day arrived and the young man took his turn at the podium to accept his diploma, his mother and father upon hearing the wonderful accolades being bestowed upon their son were bursting with pride. At the conclusion of the ceremony, like his high school graduation, the same well-dressed man stepped forward out of the crowd. Shaking the scholar’s hand firmly he said, “You’re living up to my expectations,” and putting an arm around his shoulders continued, “You’re well on your way to a successful life my boy and I’d like very much to continue giving you my support.”
                Soon after accepting the man’s offer, an important position within his prestigious corporation, he and his pretty university-miss were hitched, bought a modest but expensive home and began a family. Life was good as he climbed the ladder from one success to another success, his faithful employer forever shaking his hand and congratulating him on his achievements.
                Middle age began creeping over the horizon as the years passed by and although his curly blonde hair had a silvery tinge and his paunch had grown slightly larger, he was still a handsome man of distinction. His wife had become a little heavier too but mostly in the right places. Needless to say he was very pleased with his position in life, his attractive wife and their children, a boy and a girl.
One morning, upon arriving at his office, upon opening the door, he discovered his employer sitting behind his desk. Somewhat startled by the observation, his smiling employer suddenly stood up, stepped forward and extended his hand saying, “You have no idea how proud I am of you my boy. You’ve come far and helped my business grow substantially. Although retirement with a comfortable pension is still a fair distance off, a man of your esteem, ethics, honesty, moral standards and hard-working abilities should perhaps think about branching out. You needn’t worry about money; I’ll always stand behind you to help with your endeavours.  Have you ever considered politics?”
        Since some of his friends and business colleagues had already mentioned that he should consider running for a political position, he put his name forward in the upcoming election. Soon, signs portraying his smiling face were popping up everywhere informing people to vote for him. He was elected by a huge majority and as the years went by, his achievements growing in leaps and bounds, becoming not just a pillar of his community but spreading province wide, he was approached to put his name forward and run for premier.
                Climbing higher and higher up the political ladder, each success seeming almost effortless, his perception may have been slightly clouded when his employer, now a friend, approached him and said, “Who’d of thought a mere farm boy from nowhere would be running for premier of this fine province?  However, becoming the leader will require a lot more work and to help lighten your load, besides increasing your wages, you’ll also be receiving shares in my firm, something I don’t take lightly.  But you’ve earned it my boy, you’ve earned every penny. I'm so proud of you my boy.”
                The speeches over, all the candidates having boasted about the things they would accomplish if they were elected, he waited with his family for the polls to end. As the voting results were posted across the province, he thought about all the people who had believed in him and had worked so hard to make his campaign a success. His name was in the front position as soon as the voting stations opened their doors. When it was announced that he’d won by a landslide victory, he stepped up to the podium and looked around at all the cheering supporters. His campaign slogan had been “The Man Who Can Get Things Done for You” and after the cheering had subsided he yelled, “Who’s the man?  Who’s the man?” and while motioning his thumbs towards his chest shouted even louder, “Who’s the man?”
                All of his followers, men and women of every age that had worked very hard to promote him, lifted their signs and roared in unison, “You’re the man!  You’re the man!  You’re the man!”
                Seated in his office as the new premier of the province, his benefactor and employer on the verge of old age limped into the room with the use of a cane and exclaimed, “Congratulations on becoming the premier of our fair province!  Right from the very beginning I knew you had what it took to get this far and perhaps even further,” he winked. “Yes, my boy, rumours are already beginning to circulate about you becoming the next prime minister. And now, now that you are here, sitting in the forefront, a great amount of power at your fingertips, since I have helped you achieve this goal, mainly on a monetary basis and putting you in touch with the right people, I’d like to ask for a favour.”
                After the old man had departed, the new premier sat down behind his desk and then spun the well-padded leather chair towards the window. Looking down, he observed someone of importance being interviewed and filmed on the front steps of the parliament building and as his gaze took in the green expanse of the well-manicured lawns and colourful flowerbeds, his eyes caught sight of a tiny white object. Upon closer observation, he realized it was a white butterfly flitting about. The words of the old man still resonating in his ears, he stood up; smiled, loosened his tie and then took it off. While undoing the top three buttons of his shirt he began chuckling and then, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he suddenly dashed out of the office laughing outrageously and headed down the hall towards the stairway. His laughter echoed in the stairwell as he rushed down the steps and onto the main floor. Many of the people, upon hearing the premier’s loud laughter, gaped with amazement as they watched him run out of the front door. As he hurtled down the stairs past the person being interviewed, about a dozen security personnel, all dressed in dark suits, hot on his heels, the TV reporters and camera crews took up the chase as well.
                The premier was still laughing uproariously but panting heavily by the time he reached the little white butterfly but he wasn’t deterred.  As he continued chasing the butterfly, zig-zagging across the lawn and traipsing through the flower beds, a horde of security personnel, newsmen, camera crews right behind him every step of the way; he finally stopped and collapsed on the lawn.  Lying spread-eagle on his back, looking up at the blue sky, a few white puffy clouds scudding overhead, he continued laughing until tears began flowing down his cheeks. The realization who he had been so many years ago and the man he had now become, like the population of the province he represented, he had been duped, tricked, flimflammed and blind-sided by all the pats on the back and the monetary perks he had received over the years.

Sunday, September 22, 2019

FOREST FALLS - Going ONCE! Going TWICE! ... make your bid before it's SOLD!


Make your auction bid on this piece "Forest Falls" 

I've been painting autumn scenes lately since it is the season and frankly, the colours are downright dazzling. One can almost hear the leaves and the trees chattering about how gorgeous they all look. I wonder if the leaves are saying goodbye to one another and wishing all a good winter before spring arrives? Just because we don't understand the language of the forest doesn't mean that it doesn't converse. I have always found forest life very interesting, right from a pine cone lying on a mottled path to the tip of tall tree reaching for the heavens above.

There's something spiritual and magical about trees, bushes and brambles and the creatures that inhabit this environment. Also, a tumbling waterfall, a babbling brook or a lapping wave can be an aphrodisiac for the soul.

I've been selling similar 12"x16" acrylic paintings for $25. online but thought for a change and like autumn, spice it up a little, have put this one up for bids via my own personal auction, the starting bid being $25., so on that note, "Who'll give me twenty, twenty-five dollars for this original Len Sherman painting...you do know that he's an old man and that art doubles it worth when the old codger pops off - man - it would be worth a whole 50 bucks then! How about you sir, yes you, the one scratching his ear in the back row or you mam...yes dear...are you making a bid or just powdering your nose?" 

It's tough working the crowd, time to take a break...cheers, eh!

NOTE: Please follow THIS link to the original post and make your bid! This auction will run until 9AM Atlantic time on Tuesday, September 24, 2019. Please post YOUR bid on THIS link to make your bid! Good luck! (Please note FINAL bid does not include shipping - $20 within Canada and locally Woodstock area, can be arranged for FREE!) 



Thursday, September 5, 2019

THE COAST ROCKS - Painting No.5

             This is the 5th painting in I don't know how long a series.  Could be a long time since I find Nature anything but boring and I like the idea of painting canvases that are affordable to most people.
       Hey man...what can I say for a title...east coast, west coast...The Coast Rocks. Like myself sometimes, feeling battered and defeated, the sea hits the rocks and then slides back, not defeated but to strike again, again and again. I don't know for everyone, but their is a lulling sound to the sea. When I was out in the middle of the Northern Pacific aboard a small sailboat, out of sight of land and the sea was rising and falling asleep, I almost felt like I was asleep on my mother's chest when I was a toddler. This 12"16" original painting is FOR SALE - Only 25 bucks, plus about 10 bucks for shipping.
SOLD
          Hope you enjoy the painting as much as I did splashing the paint around...cheers, eh! 

TRIP 'N DAISY MEET THE BEATLES

The Beatles Crossing Abbey Road
          From out of nowhere, we were once again flying Eagle-Express. Beneath us, Ireland became a green blur and as we flew across the Irish Sea towards England, my mind was drifting towards the past and one of the places I would really like to visit. And then, as if an enormous eagle wasn't out of place, it gently set our Hippie Hangout down on Abbey Road. And, as if this wasn't a groovy mind-blow in itself, as I looked through the truck's windshield, I could scarce believe my eyes, John, Ringo, Paul and George were crossing the street right in front of us. I looked at Daisy and she looked at me as I said, "Is it just my imagination or do you see what I see?"
         "If you're watching the Beatles crossing Abbey Road like on their album cover, then I guess we are both seeing the same thing."
         And then, as if the impossible were happening, in disbelief I watched as they gathered on the corner and then came over to the Hippie Hangout, Paul asking, "Man, is your caravan ever cool. Do you mind if we take a peek inside?"
          This can't be happening, this must be a magic mushroom experience and to be sure, I gave myself a pinch. "Ow!" Nope, it was a happening. Paul McCartney was actually talking to us.
          Daisy was beside herself as we all settled around our little table inside the trailer, George, the last to be seated. Their bigger than life presence was overwhelming and I was completely gob-smacked as was Daisy. The meeting of the then and now was really a mind-blow especially when John said, "I see by the license plates that you're from Canada, which is very cool. But what I don't understand is that the year is 2019 and this is 1969; 50 years difference."
              I was at a loss for words and so was Daisy, which was highly unusual for her because she always has something to say. Finally, to break the silence and not really wanting to say we were from the future, I mean, I didn't really want to tell him about his death or George's either so I uttered, "Hmm...what can I tell you. We're on a trip and boy are we ever trippin'!" To quickly change the subject or perhaps turn it in another direction I added, "Daisy, I bet the boys (because in real life, I'm actually an old man) would love some of your brownies."
           But John wouldn't let it go and said, "You guys look the part for 1969 but something just doesn't seem right." As he chewed his brownie and continued looking at us strangely he added, "Especially the truck."
          George, perhaps tuning into my apprehension suddenly spoke up and said, "Let it be."
          And then Ringo spoke up, "Yeah man. Let it be."
          To which Paul piped up, "Yeah. Hey man, hang loose. Let it be."
          (Now, I realize a lot of people who are reading this blog most likely think that it's all fake, just a figment of my imagination colliding with the reality of my realities but hey, would I kid you?")
           I'm not sure if the Beatles realized that Abbey Road was their last album together or not and I'm sure many chemical-assisted arguments have wondered that too. However, what I do know is that John Lennon's final remark is remarkable when he said, "Let it be, that's a great title for the next album", which was the last album they released.
          History was being made or should I say being performed in our little trailer as soon as Ringo started tapping a drum beat on the table followed by Paul singing, "Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be Whisper words of wisdom, let it be..." 
           I don't know if it was Daisy's brownies or the fat doobie we passed around the table but before I knew it, poof!...cheers, eh!  

Wednesday, September 4, 2019

COASTAL ODYSSEY

          My paint brushes are certainly getting a work out lately - finished another painting. Having sailed and lived on a sailboat for about 25 years, the sea still holds a fascination for my soul. There's nothing like a setting sun, the lap of waves and the cries of gulls to tug at my heart strings. This painting could be anywhere on the island infested coast of BC where I used to live; brings joy to my eyes. COASTAL ODYSSEY - only 25 bucks plus shipping (about 10 bucks) depending on the location for this one of a kind, original 12"x16" painting by yours truly...cheers, eh! 

Monday, September 2, 2019

THE SENTINEL


          I've started a series of Nature paintings. This 12"x16" original acrylic painting on canvas is titled The Sentinel and is painting No. 3. Rather than spend so much time on painting larger paintings with loads of detail, which I have to sell for a lot more money, I thought I'd try painting in a loser style. The painting of The Sentinel has been continued onto the edge of the canvas so no frame is needed, just hang it on the wall. The cost of this painting is $25. plus shipping (about $10.) unless you live nearby or in Woodstock, NB.

RENEWING OUR WEDDING VOWS

          One of the reasons my wife and I went to Nanaimo recently was to renew our wedding vows as Trip 'n Daisy. We sort of did it hippie-style - love and peace and all that sort of stuff. The vows were to take place before everyone chowed down. Unfortunately, while I was talking to a woman, my energy level dropped dramatically and we had to postpone the ceremony - I most likely would have collapsed otherwise. A couple of hours later, after stretching out, I was able to carry on. I noticed as I was down on one knee with a silver daisy ring in my hand asking her to remarry me, promising my continuation of undying love, a nearby group were in tears. Although, still feeling somewhat weak, I was able to stand and listen to Daisy's wonderful words and I have to say, I really love this woman - am not sure that I would still be above ground if it were not for her. 
          Our exchange of vows was held at the German Hall and on the walls were several paintings that I had painted for a German restaurant years ago in Ladysmith. Each 4'x6' painting was situated at a booth and took about a week to paint. I really enjoyed painting there because besides getting paid for the work, the owner was a wonderful cook. She fed me wiener-schnitzel and other tasty dishes, accompanied by mugs of beer - talk about great perks! I heard that when she later sold the restaurant to an Italian, he began painting over some of the pictures and I can understand that. However, when the waitress told him they just popped out of the moldings, he sold them all to her and she in turn sold them to the German Hall. So besides holding our hippie ceremony at the hall, it was great to see the paintings again.
          It's highly unlikely I will ever renew our wedding vows again or ever paint about dozen paintings for a restaurant, but one thing I know - I'll still keep on painting and will love my Daisy till I take my last breath...cheers, eh!   
       

Sunday, September 1, 2019

POOP OR NOT TO POOP - that is the question

          When I woke up this morning, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, crawled out of bed and then pulled the curtains open and looked outside, although the sky was a vivid blue and the sun was shining brightly, I could tell it was going to be one of those days when most likely, I should have just pulled the covers up over my head and drifted back to the turmoil within my troubled dreams.
          These days, I feel like I have an anchor around my neck keeping me down and although I'm still above ground, I feel older than water and fart bubbles, big gooey bubbles. I'm surprised that when I look behind me, like a giant snail, I haven't left a trail of slime. Now you might think I'm making this up, crapping slime, but it's true. Not sure why this is happening, perhaps I'm not feeling well or it's possibly stress related because living on the precarious edge of life with little or no future ahead is more than a little intimidating, I can tell you. Also, going to sleep, wondering if I'll wake up in the morning is occasionally on my mind. However, I have to admit, despite not having a normal arse-hole and normal poops, some of my droppings are very creative, even an art form if I may be so bold.
          I don't know how many people document their odorous,  stinky, pinch your nose tight, piles of crap but I do. It's too bad shit isn't money because it's not uncommon for me to make several very large deposits a day. However, all my deposits are not large, sometimes I'll blast out a pellet about the size of the end of my thumb and am often surprised I haven't blown a hole in the toilet or cracked the porcelain throne - believe me - I'm the king of shit! Other times, like a couple of days ago, if I'd been standing up, the length of the coil circling my grunting body would have mummified me, which would be great if I was an Egyptian Pharaoh about to be sealed in a pyramid. And that my friends is an ongoing problem. Since I don't really have a proper rectum, my plumbing consisting of a drain only, when my intestines start emptying, they sometimes don't stop until there is nothing left inside me - hence, shortly after, the clear slime appears, which oddly enough has no odor - trust me, I've held it a whisker away from my nose for closer observation and sniffed its magnificence - ewww.
            Besides documenting my repugnant, smelly deposits on a daily bases, trying to find a pattern for some sort of normalcy in that department, I've been hoping to solve this ongoing problem so that I can plan for occasions, which are necessary for me to attend. Take for instance my recent flights to and from Nanaimo. If I could somehow come up with a remedy for that particular time, which would make them slime days, there wouldn't be enough coming out of me to fill my diaper. Luckily for me, the flights didn't happen to be a clear-out-my-intestines-days, which could have been a huge problem. Imagine me gritting my teeth, squirming about in my seat, my body racked with painful cramps while trying to clench the cheeks of my ass tightly, knowing that in the end it's a futile endeavour.  Like a long skinny snake it begins uncoiling, at first filling the diaper and then up my back, peering over my seat staring at the passenger sitting directly behind me who is quivering in shock and screaming hysterically for the stewardess to bring him an antidote for an oncoming cobra strike. Before long, all the terrified passengers are yelling for parachutes to abandon the plane, as my giant anaconda, which is more enormous than its Amazon cousin begins slithering down the aisle. You may be chuckling as you read these words but I received calls from people who wanted to know which flights I'd be on. But enough about crap, who wants to read about crap and then again, crap is the circle of life...cheers, eh!

Sunday, July 21, 2019

EPISODE 6: TT MOTORCYCLE RACES - ISLE OF MAN

          The next thing I knew, we were traveling along a quiet country road and people were waving at us. At first, I thought they were digging our cool looking Hippie Hangout, so we were smiling and waving back at them. However, by the time we realized they were waving frantically at us to pull over and get off the road, it was too late; a swarm of motorcycles topped a hill and were buzzing towards us at an alarming speed. Daisy applied the brakes just as one motorcycle shot overhead and we could hear its rear wheel running along the roof. Three more speeding motorcycles, a blur of colour, zipped around us, while more were speeding our way. As it turned out, we were on the Isle of Man, which is situated in the Irish Sea and we had become part of one of the world's most dangerous events - the TT (Tourist Trophy) Motorcycle Race. Fortunately, Daisy and her fancy maneuvering managed to get the truck and trailer far enough off the road, which gave us an excellent place to watch these amazing bikers, sometimes reaching speeds of 320k (200mph). Since I had driven motorcycles for about 30 years when I was younger and not in a shy manner, I was in complete awe at the death defying rate they were traveling.
          The Isle of Man, although basically its own country, is really quite small, so we decided to trip around and take in the sights. And besides, we hadn't yet asked the little people (fairies) for safe journey and after the super close call we had during the race, we were soon on our way to the fairy bridge. Apparently, not visiting them first can have serious consequences, which is why everyone, including the TT racers go and greet them upon arrival.
          I was somewhat skeptical regarding fairies but then most cats have tails - except on the Isle of Man - the Manx cats don't have them - so why shouldn't fairies exist - right? After munching up a couple of Daisy's brownies and feeling really laid back, we followed a narrow dirt path until we arrived at the small stone bridge crossing over a sparkling stream. Since it was so peaceful and we were not in any rush, I laid down amidst some purple wild flowers growing beside the path and shut my eyes. I wasn't sure if I had drifted off to the land of dreams because when I opened my eyes, the image before me couldn't be real. An extremely tiny man dressed all in green, including his hat and curled up pointy shoes was sitting on my chest peering into my bloodshot eyes.
          Needless to say I was shocked and even more so when the wee green dude said, his eyes twinkling with merriment, "I witnessed your remarkable arrival. Like us, you must have splendid, superlative mystical powers."
            I was going to tell him about our mind-bending herbal brownies but instead said, "Not really. Crazy stuff happens - that's all I can tell you."
          "So you don't have any control?"
          "Not really. One moment Daisy and I are just minding our own business and then poof, we've found ourselves at the North Pole, Greenland, Iceland and Ireland before arriving here. And who knows where we'll wind up next."
             "How long will you be staying here at the Isle of Man?"
          "I have no idea but we thought since we're here, we had better get your approval for safe journey especially after we wound up in the middle of the TT Race. It's amazing none of them crashed into us."
          "You were safe enough, all the drivers came to us before the race and we made sure there wouldn't be any serious accidents. Although there were a couple of them that were kind of snooty, thought we were just a plain old superstition, they ran into a few mishaps - nothing serious - just slowed then down."
          When the little man stood up and looked like he was about to leave I asked, "You're not the type that makes wishes come true are you, like if I wished for a pot of gold, you'd give it to me?"
          "No. Sorry. We're not like the genie in Aladdin's lamp. However, we did make an exception a long time ago when the Isle of Man was ruled by a very rich tyrant who enslaved many young women for his enjoyment. A frightened young lad caught one of us and he wanted three wishes in exchange for his captive. When he told us his situation, which involved the tyrant, they were granted, not because he held one of us captive (we can easily escape) but because his wishes seemed fair. The only thing that seemed strange about was that whatever he wished for, the tyrant would get double. His first wish to be rich only made the tyrant richer and the second wish to have twelve of the most beautiful women live with him seemed to be right up the tyrant's alley, that is, until the third wish was granted."
          "I don't get it. He made the tyrant richer and he now had two dozen of the most beautiful women in his harem - seems to me he already has more than a good deal."
          "It does doesn't it, that is, until we granted the young man's last wish to cut his sex appeal in half."
          Sounded like a far out tale to me but the little dude and I still got a big laugh out of it. I don't know why my belly hurt so much, whether it was because I was laughing so hard or because he was jumping up and down on it - either way it was a great belly laugh.
          Before leaving, we all ate a brownie or two or maybe three and then, while we were all laughing hysterically at absolutely nothing, poof...cheers, eh! 
         
          
           
           

Friday, July 19, 2019

EPISODE 5 - TRIP 'N DAISY FLY TO IRELAND

          Flying high via Bald Eagle-Express had me wondering where our next destination would be, landing safe and sound on the ground or at its aerie to feed its hungry young a couple of tidbits. Daisy wouldn't look out the window since she's not too keen on heights and believe me, we were high and in more ways than one. Perhaps feeling Daisy's concern, the gigantenormous eagle suddenly dipped it's wings and soared downwards towards the North Atlantic Ocean. Just when I thought the plunging eagle was going to dive into the sea, it suddenly put on the brakes and glided over the 60' waves. Man! What a rush! I almost crapped my pants!
        When you're trippin', you're trippin' and for how long this magnificent eagle skimmed along the ocean, dipping in and out of the roller's troughs, water higher than our heads, I have no idea. While marveling at the beauty of the high waves, I saw a chunk of land pop up over the horizon and before too long, we began soaring higher and higher. Then, like a jumbo-jet, the eagle suddenly dived towards the eastward greenery and soon landed on a narrow country road - we were in Ireland and heading towards Cork.
Blarney House
          Being the friendly hippie type we picked up a couple of hitchhikers who were on their way to Cork. While we shared some of Daisy's wonderful mind altering brownies, they told us if we did nothing else while in Ireland, we should visit Blarney Castle and kiss the Blarney stone. And of course, being a bit full of the blarney meself, called a silver-tongued devil in my younger years, that's where we headed. The Colthurst's, (owners) were very hospitable, not only did they allow us to park the Hippie Hangout in front of their medieval manor, they invited us in for a snack, which consisted of half a cow and all the trimmings imaginable. After partaking the substantial snack, my bellbottoms fitting tighter than a yellow polka dot bikini on a 400 lb. woman, we waddled off to their gardens on the way to Blarney Castle, which is only 200 yards away. They warned us about their Poison Garden that contained wolfsbane, which was fenced in and never let out, especially when the moon was full. We were told to stay away from their pet werewolf but a weird wolf wearing a red hood was permitted. The gardens, which of course were very beautiful this time of year were great but the expanse of lawns proved to be very bountiful - magical-shrooms abounded everywhere!
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Blarney Castle
          By the time we arrived at Blarney Castle, we were giggling so much, I didn't even remember climbing the stone stairs to the top of the tower where the Blarney Stone is situated.  Legend has it, you'll gain the gift of eloquence if you kiss this very famous stone. Kissing a cod fish in Newfoundland hadn't been a problem for Daisy, but kissing the stone was a real dilemma. It wasn't just  the height but because in order to kiss the stone, you have to hang out over the parapet backwards with someone holding onto your heels so you don't fall to your death. And I have to give Daisy kudos because after I kissed the stone (must have had a little extra magic in it) because it seemed to make me more powerful and she let me dangle her by her heels why she planted a big fat kiss on the stone.
          I don't know if it was the shrooms or brownies but I was really trippin' by the time we arrived back at the Hippie Hangout. Feeling a little amorous, I wrapped my arms around Daisy as we stretched out on our bed and poof!... cheers, eh! 

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Tuesday, July 16, 2019

ICELAND - HOME OF VIKINGS - Episode 4 - World Wild Magical Tour

          How long the Hippie-Hangout flipped through the air, I have no idea but when it materialized on a narrow twisty road, I thought we were time travelling rather than having a mind-blowing experience. I could scarce believe my eyes, coming towards us in the middle of the road appeared to be a viking wearing a helmet containing a set of horns riding a bicycle. I don't know who's eyes bugged out the most, his or ours?  
Drangey Island
          Shortly after passing the strange looking man, we met some other residents and learned that we had landed on Iceland. However, stranger yet, it was rumoured that a clan of actual vikings from the 10th century also lived here, their exact whereabouts unknown but thought to be residing in some caves located on nearby Drangey Island. The Icelanders weren't too surprised that we had come across a viking, even riding a bicycle, because they were suspected of sneaking about and pillaging the country side, especially on dark and stormy nights. And occasionally, a viking ship had been spotted, its sail silhouetted by the moon.

I'd somehow have to imagine being on Drangey Island because meeting a real live viking was a must. However, before checking out a viking's lair, we had to make one more stop - the John Lennon Imagine Peace Tower. After all, that's what our Hippie-Hangout is all about - groovin' to peace and love.
          While we were parked at the Peace Tower, which had been built by Oko Yono (Lennon's wife) Daisy baked a delicious pan of brownies (her own magical recipe). After having a few bites, the sweet chocolaty flavour bursting in my mouth, I stretched out on the bed and set my mind free. Suddenly as if we were cart-wheeling through the heavens, a star-burst of thoughts expanding into one, we soon found ourselves on Drangey Island, but without the trailer, which seemed a little odd. It was good timing though, because the vikings were having a feast and we had the munchies. I'm not sure if we were a mirage or if they were because no one seemed to notice us when we sat down on one of the benches at the long wooden table where everyone else was seated and gorging themselves with fist-fulls of meat, the blood dripping off their chins. We tried conversing but didn't understand Norwegian, if that's what they were even speaking. The only standout word was "Odin", which was spoken often, they all lifted their mugs of ale high into the air and cheered. They were a rugged looking group of people, some dressed in furs, hides and others in crotch-tight Spandex. However, as the evening merriment continued, they began to look at us a little oddly, to which Daisy passed her pan of brownies around. Before long, everyone was smiling and then laughing hysterically, especially when the man we met on the road rode in on his bicycle and then instantly fell over. Whether it was the copious amount of food, drink or brownies or a combination thereof, almost in unison, the vikings began to fall asleep and then poof; we were back inside our trailer parked near the Peace Tower.
          I guess my imagination was on overdrive because when I awoke and found myself rubbing the sleep from my eyes, a large shadow descended over our Hippie Hangout and poof; a giant eagle suddenlyhad swooped down and was carrying us skyward...cheers, eh!

Sunday, July 14, 2019

A WHALE OF A TALE - 3rd Episode - Trip 'n Daisy's Magical World Tour

          Bright psychedelic images flashed through my mind like an out of control kaleidoscope while Daisy and I were relaxing in the Hippie Hangout with a small group of friendly Greenlanders. Then jumpin'-Jack-flash quick, the next thing I knew, the truck and trailer were parked on top of a gargantuan whale's back almost surfing through the icy North Atlantic Ocean. Thankfully the sea is calm as I gather my wits and take in our surroundings but all I can see is water in every direction. Daisy is as astonished as me as she looks out the front starboard window and casually says, "Whatever. Icebergs, polar bears, why not take a trip on a huge freaking whale!"
          The thing about the sea, which really hits home, is when all the land, everything a person is familiar with, suddenly dips below the horizon and completely disappears. Earth doesn't seem the same any more even though you can feel it breathing; the mighty rollers going up and down with each breath. If you've never felt small before, it's like becoming a mere speck, a very humbling experience. 
      As wave after wave slithers across the whale's back and splashes up against the truck and trailer, splattering the front window with white foam, I'm mesmerized as I watch the effervescent bubbles pop and think to myself, wow, what a trip! This is so cool! I'd seen whales before, big whales too, but they were in the North Pacific when my buddies Winston, George and I sailed towards the Aleutian Islands on our way to the Northwest Passage. However, now as I looked towards the behemoth's head, a tower of water shooting skyward out of its blowhole as high as the Eiffel Tower, I'd never before seen such a gigantic whale. It was one whale of a whale! 
          In this crazy imaginative world where Daisy and I sometimes exist, I didn't think too much of it when the whale began singing like a beautiful mermaid - that is - until more whales began emerging from the depths. Surrounded by a chorus of whales, the notes trippin' along the waves and echoing in the troughs, it wasn't until large schools of dolphins joined in that a rhapsody of peace and love filled me to the core. Daisy must have been familiar with their music selection because she suddenly stood up and swaying to the beat of the splashing waves began to sing in a voice akin to Janice Joplin: 
                       Oh Lord, won't you
                       Buy me a Mercedes Benz
                       My friends all drive Porsches
                       I must make amends...                                        
          Their song choice seemed a little odd, but to an old hippie like me, it took me back to my younger days when my hair wasn't the colour of snow and I was able to leap a bar stool in a single bound, considered jumping off tall buildings, because sometimes, depending on my mind's condition, I was certain I could fly. Lost in Daisy's melodic words, combined with the backup chorus of the ocean denizens, I closed my eyes and like a sea breeze, let my mind drift, when poof! I heard the slap of the whale's fluke hit the surface of the sea and then, before I knew it, our Dodge Ram truck and Hippie Hangout were somersaulting through the clear blue sky...cheers, eh! 

DON'T MISS OUT - To be a follower of our magical mystery world tour - follow this blog or our Trip 'n Daisy page.

Saturday, July 13, 2019

TRIPPIN' FROM THE NORTH POLE TO SOUTHERN GREENLAND - to be continued

          The thing about trippin' is not to be in a big rush, constantly on the run taking in one sight after another. Daisy and I find it better if we go with the flow and wind up in some mysterious place, even if we miss out on something that's been touted in a tourist's guide. Mind you, with my high-octave chemo-brain somewhat out of control, we're certainly discovering that the unplanned is definitely more exciting and more memorable; nothing like rubbing shoulders with the locals - man or beast. I mean, what could be much slower than hitching a ride on an iceberg at the North Pole as it drifts towards the southern tip of Greenland? And the polar bear that was coming towards us in the last blog didn't turn out to be as scary as we thought. As a matter a fact, even though a mama bear is very protective of her cubs, she was anything but dangerous once we got to know her.
          When Polly the friendly polar bear and her 2 cubs arrived and began sniffing around our Hippie Hangout and growling at us, we were more than a little alarmed, actually, I almost crapped my bell-bottom jeans. Now, I suppose you're wondering how does one become friends with a polar bear, especially a mama with two sucking cubs? I'm not sure if how we became friends was the best way but one of the times she stuck her snout through the trailer window, we gave her a good hit off the bong. From then on, the iceberg was home to us all; "live and let live" was our motto. 
          Polly was very hospitable, even clawed off a chunk of raw seal meat for us to enjoy. Tasted a bit like sushi to me but I could tell by the odd expression on Daisy's face, she wasn't too partial eating seal. And of course Polly wasn't overly fond of the things we preferred to eat but I can tell you one thing; she and her cubs really liked Daisy's brownies - eat enough of those and instead of being on an iceberg floating down Davis Strait, we were on another planet. Yup, we were all bosom friends by the time we sighted Greenland. However, if you've never seen a polar bear smile - let me tell you - it's a little unnerving because all you can see is a mouthful of teeth and very large sharp teeth, I might add. 
            As you can see by the top photo, by the time the iceberg reached Greenland, the warm summer days under the midnight sun took its toll - there wasn't too much ice left above water. And, when it finally nudged ashore we bid farewell to Polly and her youngsters and headed towards the town of Nanortalik, which unbeknownst to me meant "place of polar bears", actually Polly's home town.
          The folks of Nanortalik were of course stunned by the appearance of our trailer, which seemed to magically appear out of nowhere but like Polly the friendly polar bear, they soon took to us. Wasn't long before we were all the best of buddies gathered about our table in the Hippie Hangout passing around the bong and nibbling on Daisy's magical brownies, when poof!...cheers, eh!

 DON'T MISS OUT - To be a follower of our magical mystery world tour - follow this blog or our Trip 'n Daisy page.    

Tuesday, July 9, 2019

TRAVEL ALONG WITH TRIP 'N DAISY ON THEIR MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR - to be continued...

             Living near the base of Green Mountain can be really rewarding, since it's not uncommon to see a dainty deer nibbling in the swaying grass or a big old black bear strolling through the yard. Since battling with cancer, 3 operations combined with chemo-radiation for almost 2 years and still on that bumpy, curvy road of recovery, I sometimes let my imagination travel where physically and financially I'm unable to ramble. I had dreams of a cross-Canada trip in our Hippie Hangout (1973 Falcon) and painted it all up for its maiden journey and that may still occur next year but for now, I simply just open the door and imagine I'm someplace else in the world other than in the driveway. And poof! Just like magic; I'm off with Daisy by my side for an incredible magical ride.
          The other day, the humidity was as thick as a damp sponge and the mosquitoes were as big as my fist banging on the door, when my Daisy and I made a dash from the house to the Hippie Hangout. How we managed to get through the door without letting any of those pesky critters inside was beyond me. While I was sipping a near-beer (can't drink real beer anymore since the last time I imbibed I went blind for a short spell) and Daisy was chasing an olive with her fingers in her glass of gin and tonic, I just let my mind drift and abracadabra, the trailer began shaking. And before I knew it as I looked through the window at the psychedelic colors whizzing by or perhaps exploding inside my head, our driveway turned into a highway and not being too much different than Dorothy's yellow brick road to the land of Oz, we were on our way! 
             It seemed like only an instant had passed and it must be so, since I hadn't yet taken a swallow nor had Daisy plucked the olive out of her glass. There we were, truck and trailer parked on a majestic iceberg at the North Pole of all places. Now, I've voyaged to the northern hemisphere before via sailboat that hammered its way through the ice but never like this. And if being parked on an iceberg wasn't surprising enough, when we stepped outside, you wouldn't believe the astonished expressions on a small group of Inuit hunters. Their maws were so wide open, they could have swallowed a beluga whale whole. Dressed in bright tie-dyed hippie-fashion shirts and bell-bottom jeans, Daisy's hair adorned in flowers and wearing beads around our necks, like the trailer, we must have looked really out of place too.
             However, in these remarkable days of holograms, space travel and not like the arctic days of old, it wasn't long before we became great friends, the hunters even shared some whale blubber with us. And as we sat and chatted, I thought why not and went back inside the trailer and got something we could all share as well.
          As we passed the bong around, the stories we all told began to get more absurd and the laughter even louder. And of course before we knew it, the munchies set in, so Daisy brought out a huge platter of tasty morsels, which we happily devoured in short time. Since the sun doesn't set (24 hours of daylight) in the arctic at this time of year, we had a great day of merriment before the Inuit paddled off in their kayaks. The quietness that ensued was as sparkling as the glistening ice, not a mosquito could be heard. However, when we spotted a prowling polar bear ambling towards us (humans on their menu) we decided to head inside the Hippie Hangout. Not being sure if we were in danger or not, I let my imagination take over and poof!...cheers, eh!

To be a follower of our magical mystery tour - follow this blog or our Trip 'n Daisy page.

Tuesday, July 2, 2019

ROOM 254 - Short Story for a Contest

Booksie 2019 Short Story Contest - Contest Entries

I just wrote a short story for a contest, which I think almost anybody would enjoy. Check it out and let me know what you think...cheers, eh! Click on the link above - thanks.

Monday, July 1, 2019

1.5 PERCENT, book by len sherman

1.5 PERCENT, book by len sherman

I've just written a novel. Check it out the first chapter and let me know if you would like to read more. Please like or better yet, leave a comment at the contest link listed above. Cheers, eh!


Sunday, June 30, 2019

YELLOW BRICK WALL - A very, very short story.

https://www.booksie.com/597968-yellow-brick-road

I've just written a  short story for a contest. Check it out and let me know if it is worthy or not. Please like or better yet, leave a comment at the contest link listed above. Cheers, eh!

Thursday, June 20, 2019

WELCOME BACK THE MESSENGER

          I woke up this morning to the sound of a skeeter about to dive bomb me and sink its proboscis into my wrinkly flesh, which made me crankier and meaner than a gut shot grizzly bear with two sucking cubs. Instead of blaring air-raid alarms and bright spotlights on the ceiling, I reached for the flyswatter lying next to the bed. Ah, ha I thought, gonna get you now, you blood-suckin' flying insect. Madly flailing the air around me until my arms tuckered out, I'm not sure if I was relieved or not, when I finally realized the noise I was hearing wasn't a mosquito but my ringing ears. Like my eyes and the rest of this tired old body, I guess they're plumb wore out too.
          Life here on our 50 acres of semi-wilderness land, where often is seen a deer, a moose, a bear or a lot of other forest creatures in the back yard, saddens me when I think about our government in New Brunswick headed by an Irving bean-counter. Their combined dinosaur brain attitudes is destroying the very earth we're standing on. Spraying the forests with poisonous glyphosate kills not only trees but kills everything else that lives within and outside those areas. It flows into the streams, rivers, lakes and even the ocean. 
          I dread going to Saint John, not because of my cancer treatments but because it's quite possibly one of the most disgusting smog-filled cities I've ever been in - the pollution is incredible. I'm surprised that the residents aren't protesting but then again, since many of them are probably employed by the industries, which are causing the pollution, it's understandable. 
          I'm amazed by a lot of people's lackadaisical thinking towards the very apparent destruction occurring in their own backyard. They say things like "if I don't do it, they'll just hire someone else", "whatever will be will be" and "I can't change anything". But that's all wrong; there are lots of things people can do - one of the main things being to vote for the right cause, which is not the economy - the economy to me is all a smoke screen, a load of propaganda. However, saying that, sustainability probably offers up more jobs that protect our environment than the ones that are being offered by the largest industrial polluters on the planet, which are destroying us - climate change is real - you only have to step out your own door to realize the weather is not performing like it used to not so long ago. The ice is melting at a devastating rate and the seas are rising - even the permafrost is beginning to melt, which will release dangerous amounts of methane into the atmosphere. The good Lord may have made a covenant that He wouldn't flood the world again, but He never said He wouldn't set it ablaze - methane is highly flammable. And if you don't think this is true, pull your pants tight against your ass, strike a match and watch the flame shoot out of your ass.  
          Before I was diagnosed with cancer, my energy level dropping day by day, I had to give up The Messenger, a publication, which came out once a month for three years. Up until the final issue, May 2017, "Good-bye" was published I tried to inform people, open up their eyes to the things that were happening on their own doorstep. Not that I'm in good health these days, most likely never will be, I'm considering republishing The Messenger.  I don't know how many of the people that read this blog and had read The Messenger but I'd be interested in your opinion on its revival. If I decide to publish it again, please keep in mind, although I do all the prep work for free, that it does cost to be printed and distributed Although it is free to the public, any advertising, donations or subscriptions will be a big help. Also, people will be able to read the monthly issues online for free as well. The first issue will be released in September 2019, so all ads must be in place and paid for a month before.
            I don't feel like I have the right to rant about a lot of things unless I'm prepared to actually do something and I like a good rant so I guess The Messenger was a good sounding board for me and could be again...cheers, eh!

Monday, June 17, 2019

WONKY-EYED PAINTER, POET but not a PHLEBOTOMIST

2'x4' acrylic painting 
          Despite my eyes being wonky - seeing double and blurry - I managed to finish the Ottawa Senators train painting. It's a good thing I painted the train first before the eye surgery otherwise I doubt the painting would have been finished - the logo and wheels would have driven me to drink, which would've be a good thing because I'd really love a beer. However, that being said, alcohol is taboo - haven't had a drink for 2 years - can't take the chance. That's one of the pleasant things I miss - a nice cold beer with a bite to it. 
          Now that the painting has been completed, I'm not quite sure what I'll do next. Perhaps I'll take up bull fighting, sky diving, car racing or become a jockey. Actually, since I've laid around for so long, I could probably get a job as a professional mattress tester or a portable paper weight. I've brought taking a crap to a whole new level as well, I've become a porcelain throne king - now if only I had a kingdom to reign and a crown to wear - mind you, the toilet paper rolls stand to attention when I enter the bathroom. Seriously though, I need another project, just one that doesn't need good eye sight - anyone have any ideas?

              I've been a rambler, a gambler
              A midnight lover, didn't blow my cover
              A writer, a fighter and a toenail biter
              I've been a painter, a fainter
              A know it all poet, don't you know it
              I've been poor and slept on the floor
              Nothing to eat, not even a purple beet
              And I've been rich, called a son of a bitch
              But what's a name in the life game
              I've been knocked down, a not so funny clown
              Laughed at, a cool cat and even a brat
              Over my shoulder, into the wind I've spat
              And I've been an optimist but never a phlebotomist 
              So take a chance, dance, prance or make romance
              My advice is to roll the dice
              Seven come eleven, not everyone goes to heaven
              But take a risk, tisk, tisk
              Don't be a wannabe, a cry baby or a wallaby
              Life is what you make it, grab hold and take it!

               Hmm... I'm at a loss for words, for something to say, so I wrote that quick little poem. I think there's a message in it but I can't really say what it is. But sometimes it's good to be a bit of a scribe, prescribe, describe and if possible, imbibe...cheers, eh!  

               
                     

Saturday, June 15, 2019

MARAUDING MOSQUITOES

Kamikaze Mosquito
          I awoke this morning, not to the clap of thunder nor the crack of dawn but to the scream of a mosquito, like a Japanese kamikaze pilot dive bombing towards my face. When it landed lightly on the tip of my nose, it sneered at me and said, "I dare you to swat me! Go on, I dare you!" 
          Of course, having been rudely awakened, my senses not yet untangled from it's spiderweb of tentacles, and becoming cross-eyed watching the menacing mosquito about to probe my nasal protuberance with its proboscis, I let fly with my mighty right hand! Hardly a slight swat, myriad of stars swirling in tandem with my stinging nose from the result of my foolish blow, I was now fully awake. 
         Being the size of the gigantic ape, King Kong, in comparison to that pesky squeeter, I was on a mission. Holding out my left arm like a long landing strip, instead of tarmac, made of flesh and blood, I waited like a patient sniper, my sight set and my aim true. While I waited and I waited and I waited until the weight of my arm felt like lead, that minuscule winged insect hovered like a drunken helicopter pilot, one eye out for a landing and the other, eye to eye with me. However, like any tasty buffet, my arm laid out like a  juicy rare T-bone steak, the mosquito overwhelmed with the meal set before it, couldn't resist temptation. Wrapping a bib around its skinny throat while licking its chops, and after maneuvering and re-maneuvering several times, realizing the dangers in setting down, the pesky pest finally alit on my hairy left arm. As it was saying Grace, thanking the Great Skeeter in the sky for what it was about to devour or perhaps imbibe, I waited with the patience of Job, my right hand cocked and ready for the colossal swat to be delivered. Hunkering down, its spindly long legs spread out, I waited until its pointy stinger containing six mouths (you heard right - six mouths) speared my flesh. Then, as it began siphoning out my red blood, confident it had eluded danger, I slowly brought my slaying hand into position, the impact of the swat like a crack of thunder flattening that tiny insect into oblivion! Besides the broken wreckage of that crumpled insect, a splotch of red blood, my blood could be seen. Proud of my achievement, about to be rewarded a Purple Heart for being wounded under fire, I began to hear that alarming Eeeeee sound, not just one but many. The only trouble with mosquitoes is that they seldom fly solo and soon swarms of them, I'm thinking on a quest of vengeance, sent me cowering beneath the covers. 
          The other day, desperately having to take a leak, (when I have to go - I have to go) upstairs to the bathroom is a long distance for a shuffling old man. Unable to get there on time, rather than wetting my pants, I stepped out the backdoor, unzipped my fly and let fly. Well...no sooner had the yellow piss hit the grass, the air turned grey with mosquitoes. Swatting mosquitoes and holding on to my ding-dong at the same time, trying not to spray all over my slippers was more than a little unnerving but believe it or not, I stayed dry and didn't get stung.
          Although here at the base of Green Mountain in New Brunswick, we have been invaded by hordes of mosquitoes, the most I've ever seen was while I was in the northern hemisphere, the arctic. Wearing mosquito netting over my head and my entire body clothed, like a knight wearing armor for protection, I proceeded along the shoreline, each footstep flushing up clouds of mosquitoes. Thousands upon thousands of them were attached to me as if they couldn't dine on me there, were going to airlift me to their tundra domain for a leisurely feast. Although a prowling polar bear could have been lurking behind a nearby huge slab of ice and I should have been wary since we're on their menu, they were not on my mind at that time. Hmm...I wonder which would be a worse way to go - eaten alive by a hungry polar bear or bled to death by throngs of blood thirsty mosquitoes. Hopefully I'll never know...cheers, eh!