AN APPLE A DAY AND STINKY SKUNK

       
           Lately, it's been quite a battle health-wise. Many doctors and nurses armed with long pointy needles, catheters and miles of plastic tubes have probed, poked and pricked this old guy - perhaps I can join a circus as a real live human pincushion. I wouldn't really have to do anything, except sit on a comfy cushion and allow people to insert needles into my body like an acupuncturist. I've had cameras inserted up my rectum and penis and it surprises me how they get a digital 35mm camera with a telescopic lens up those tiny, tight orifices without getting them stuck. 
          A few days ago, I had an appointment with an eye-doctor and he didn't do any of the things above, just pried my stubborn eyelids open and then squeezed some drops into my eyes, which stung for a short while. He didn't have to tell me I'm half blind, I already knew that - I've got bruises on my shins from bumping into things and there is a definite wobble to this old man's shuffling footsteps as I hold my hands out in front of me to keep from walking into walls, stairs or closed doors. Apparently, after he squeezed a small bottle of eye-drops into my eyes to cause my pupils to expand and the stinging sensation had stopped, I was informed that I have cataracts on both eyes and since the right one is the worst, he'll be operating on it first. He says there's a 99% chance that the operation will be a success but because one of the medications I'm on could be a problem, it might be a bit dodgy. Without taking the necessary precautions - using a sharp blade or a laser to peel off the cataracts, it would not be a good time to blink.
            There's a stinky skunk hanging around the place, well actually, he thought this was the Hotel Hilton because he was residing under the house all winter until my wife was able to stuff up the hole with chunks of firewood.  Unfortunately, since a family of raccoons and a pesky porcupine thought it would make a suitable abode for them, he'd fend them off with his special perfume - it's enough to make your eyes water when he's primed and fires - whew! Stinky Skunk has moved under one of the other buildings and it's amazing how unafraid he is - just turns his back and lifts his tail as soon as we get near him. 
           And while I'm on the subject of skunks, thought you might get a chuckle about a poem I once wrote. It was titled Spunky the Skunk, the words escape me now, but I wrote it for a TV kid's show when I was the art director. The lady who hosted the show, which was live, had no idea what the poem was all about and it wasn't until she started reading it and showing the kids some illustrations I'd drawn that I suddenly felt a wee bit scared and thought I might lose my job. Although the poem sounded all cute like a nursery rhyme, it was really about a skunk and other forest animals getting stoned on pot.
          Well...that's enough information regarding my bodily orifices, eyes and nose, although I could mention...hmm...better not - time to hit the toilet - cheers, eh!

BEING OLD IS A GOOD THING

Photo of me at 75 - don't look a day over 90 - right

          Here it is; April already and spring hasn't even arrived yet. In my earlier years, just a boy actually, I can remember swimming near the end of March (in Vancouver, BC at Trout Lake - why they called it that I'll never know because there were no trout, only catfish). However, here, living near the base of Green Mountain, the nearby lake, which is about a ten minute leisurely walk in the summer is now a slog, up to your thighs in snow, tripping and sliding on some bare ice, and, if you forgot the ice auger to cut yourself a hole, good luck diving in and going for a swim - jumping up and down like a kid throwing a temper-tantrum or butting your head against the ice, won't so much as crack it, most likely split your head wide open, so I advise you not to try that. Even a polar bear would have difficulty getting through the ice in search of seals. Oh yeah, almost forgot, there are no seals in the lake this time of year, they don't arrive until the summer and then they're wearing fluorescent bikinis to disguise their wobbly bits. Not being able to swim, if you're a high-diver training for the Olympics, all you have to do here is climb a tall tree and then dive off, do a triple flip, maybe spread your cheeks a wee bit to slow down your descent  and then, plow head first into the deep snow - even an out of control belly-flop wouldn't hurt a 450 lb. man the snow is so deep. 
         I used to enjoy swimming when I was around 45, could easily swim up to a mile or two. However, today, even wading in shallow water is a problem even if there is still a little ice left on the lake. Walking is slow two, if you could call it walking - I actually call it the old-man-shuffle. But hey, I can do one hell of a jig as long as I don't lift my feet - just sway, nod my head to the beat of the music and have a lot of arm action - of course I still have to be careful I don't totter and then tumble face down on the dance floor. 

           I have no idea concerning the average age of the people who read this blog but for those of you who think they're just getting old, are old or are ancient and decrepit, don't you just love this age. Imagine, some bullshit guy, most likely an overpaid advertising exec came up with the slogan, "the 70's are now the new 50's" (what a crock)! Have you noticed all the old people with dyed hair, - the only part that looks young is their hair - the rest of their wrinkly, saggy body is heading south faster than a Mexican getting chased by a Texan armed with a 12 gauge shot gun. And the reason many of us old people are hunched over, it's not because we have bad backs, we've got 3 lbs, of makeup on our faces to fill in the wrinkles - that's a lot of weight for an old turkey-neck to hold up. I was once walking along a street and I saw this woman coming towards me, her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze. I was beginning to get a little excited until she was almost in front of me, her body looked as if it had been pried into a girdle and her face looked as if she had tried using it to open a 45 gallon can of oil. But who knows, in the dark, in bed, she may have seemed like Marilyn Monroe if she had lived to be 105 old.

          Now, some of us have been told they look younger than we are. Me, for instance, have been told that I look ten years younger. That's funny because I'm 77 and if I look 67, I still look freaking old. Now kids, if we're over 30, they tell us we look old, which is probably more the truth because when I hit the age of 40, I wouldn't have been able to keep up to myself when I was 20. But hey, being old is a good thing, we can wear our wrinkles like medals -we're not yet looking up at the daisies - still survivors...cheers, eh!  

          

THE CAPTAIN, MATE AND SIREN OF THE SEA

Dreamer II anchored in Desolation Sound

          Although my life seems adrift at the moment, like a castaway floating on the sea of life, not sure that I'll ever see land again, it doesn't hurt to keep on paddling. It would be great to have a distant mountain top poke its head above the horizon and give me direction or a sea bird dip its wing and point the way. However, even the waves are flat and soundless; the silence at times unbearable. 

          Shortly before I married Sarah, I lived on a sailboat for almost 25 years. Her name was Dreamer II, and I loved that name right from the start because I've always been a 'dreamer too'. Living either on the sea or by the sea for most of my life, to be honest, it still seems a bit strange anchored to 50 acres of semi-wilderness land. Although the wind can almost be as fierce (actually not that long ago, I was blown over by a gust); the land does not ebb and flow, nor does it gently move up and down. 

            I'm not sure that anyone loses their affinity for the sea, especially when they have sailed; no loud annoying engine noise, only the sound of the wind filling the sails and the bow cutting through the waves. And, when the land dips out of sight, only sky and water in view, the feel of the Earth's heartbeat as the rollers rise and fall with every breath is a very humbling experience. Realizing this living planet, our only home, could suddenly rear up like a mangy dog and shake all us fleas off as easily as the spray from a gigantic wave crashing against the rocks, we shouldn't be taking Mother Nature for granted.  

          While living on my sailboat, I painted seascapes and wrote about the sea. Although I really enjoy writing stories, I've also written a shit-load of poetry. The poem you're about to read if you've read this far was inspired by a sailor's yarn: 
         About to set sail across the vast Pacific Ocean and searching for a crew member, a friend he knew volunteered. At first, everything was working out fine but then things started getting a little weird. His friend told him that he was going to marry a mermaid. At first he thought it was funny, until one day, when he went outside to take his turn at the helm, his friend had vanished. Since the wind was mild and the sea wasn't rough, it wasn't likely he had fallen overboard, so the question is, did he marry a mermaid and live happyily ever after in the ocean or did he dive in and try to swim back home? 

The Captain, Mate and Siren of the Sea

C'me 'ere me matey, set a spell,
'Cause this old salty dog o' the sea
Has a yarn to spin, a tale to tell
That'll keep you in awe and ecstasy.

'Twas a clear night such as this
A sliver of a moon in the sky,
The sea as flat as a plate of piss;
That I heard a maiden's melancholy cry.

At first I thought it a trick,
A light breeze through the riggin' and sails;
So I gives meself a good hard kick,
But I 'ears it again, 'er mournful wails.

It sounds as if she's cryin'
Alone, adrift on the endless sea;
A castaway on a raft dyin'
'Til I hears 'er voice call clear to me.

I squinted through the darkness
Across the star reflected sea;
I'll be blow'd!  For off in the blarkness
Stood an isle and its maid o' mystery!

Voice as soft as an angel's,
She hallooed out to me by name.
Agin me logic, agin me will,
I steered the boat closer to test 'er game.

I could scarce believe me e'e!
She sat stark naked on a rock;
Smilin', 'er long arms outstretched to me
Beckonin', "Come ashore an' 'ave a wee talk."

Tell me.  Do I look like a fool?
On second thought, don't answer that;
Not 'til on the tale I've thrown more fuel,
Don't make y'ur final rule on this chat.

I ached for those slender arms,
Her coquettish smile of desire;
To be enveloped within her charms;
Set my body, my very soul afire!

She promised love ever more;
Days of laughter, nights of pleasure;
Even marriage by the seashore,
One I could trust an' forever more treasure.

As the vessel neared the shore
Close to imminent disaster,
A silent voice deep within my core
Said, "Wait!  What's the rush?  Y'ur still the master!"

Turnin' 'er hard back on course
I yelled, "One day, I will return!"
Instantly overcome with remorse,
I never chanced a look back o'er the stern.

In the darkness of the night
I heered 'er melancholy plea.
"Oh sailor, sailor, why take flight?
I'll always love you.  Please come back to me."

Those words, "I'll always love you."
Have haunted me o'er the years;
"Please come back to me."  Tis sad but true,
I gave up love in search of other spheres.

The mate thought the captain mad,
Quite completely out of his realm
As he stood strangely clad,
One hand on his hip, t' other at the helm.

He was dressed in tux an' tails,
A silken scarf about his throat,
His starched shirt gleamin' white as the sails
Flapped loosely in the breeze below his coat.

For awhile he was silent,
And then, almost in a whisper,
"Mate!  Do you hear that soulful lament?
There!  There!  Now it sounds a little crisper.

Listen!  She's callin' me name.
Step lively mate!  Take holt this spoke!"
No sooner did I grab hold the same,
He was over the side doin' the stroke.

As he swam away he said,
"If you want the longytude,
It's under the pillow on me bed
Written side b' side with the lattytude."

"Hah!  As if I'd come back here.
This place is a source of madness.
But wait!  What's that sound, that lilt I hear?
Can it be my name, sung with such sadness?"

          Well...not only are my fingers tired from tapping away on the keyboard and I haven't been sleeping too well lately, the rest of me feels the same too. So...I think I'll call it a night and post this blog tomorrow...cheers, eh!

     

SHORT STORY BOOK FINISHED AND JOYFUL RAINY DAYS

          I finally finished editing and completed a few illustrations for my short story book, so it's now ready for self-publishing. A brief description of each story is on the back cover. Probably like a lot of writers, I draw from my own life memories and experiences and such is the case in three of the stories - of course I write a lot of bullshit too, but hey, that's one of the perks and joys of creating characters and messing with their lives - having them fall in love, kill people and have all sorts of schemes and twists. While I was writing A SURE THING, I occasionally had tears in my eyes because it was at the racetrack that I really got to know my dad - a true gambler and honest and loyal to the enth degree. The front cover shows me holding Rough Road and my dad standing beside me. (I am interested in getting some pre-orders for this current book $15 plus shipping if required $5 within Canada - I am accepting e Transfers and you will get it HOT off the press! Please email this link!)

           Although it's snowing at the moment, the weather appears to be getting warmer and instead of  rain has been falling more frequently. I know some people get depressed when it's cloudy and rains but I've mostly derived enjoyment from being in the rain, perhaps not so much when I drove a motorcycle because visually it can be a problem. Since my wife and I live on 50 acres out in the boonies where the bear and deer roam, we don't get too many visitors especially on rainy days. And boy can it pour, one would think we were living in a tropical jungle at times. And thunder and lightning! How exciting is that?

          One hot summer day, a few years ago when I was still able to leap a bar stool in a single bound, the thunder rolled in and lightening lit up the whole place with a deafening crack. The rain was pouring down so hard, almost stung my naked body as I ran out and stood under the end of the eave trough - good time to take a shower I thought. And like I said, the odds of someone visiting during a storm is like betting on a 30-1 long shot at the horse races. But, wouldn't you know it, two old ladies drove in asking for directions and there I was standing with my ding-dong hanging out! I don't think they saw much, maybe my old wrinkly saggy ass as I fled around the corner. I've gone skinny-dipping many times with some hot looking women in my day so I'm not too shy about dropping my duds but on that day, it was time to high-tail it.

              I haven't been swimming in the nearby lake since I've haven't been feeling very well the past two summers. There's a probable chance I'll never swim again, but I'd sure like to dip my toes in the Pacific Ocean at least one more time - it's on my bucket-list - as well as visiting Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte Islands). There's a tree that grows close to the shore near Tow Hill, where I camped for a couple weeks and I'd like to give it one last hug...cheers, eh! 

             

                

ROOM 254 - a memory during a stay in the ER

                    As  some of my readers of this non-fiction or at times straight-up-bullshit blog may know, I've been writing short stories after being diagnosed with cancer (the big 'C', as I recall, the usual marks I received in high school many years ago). Actually, my condition now is probably a C-, closer to a D. Unfortunately my eyesight has declined to the point where writing and even simply reading has become somewhat of a chore - I have to really magnify the words and although they are readable, they're still very blurry. I did go momentarily blind for about 20 minutes and I can say stepping out of the studio, hands outstretched in front of me as I  struggled to feel the side of the house on a cold November night, was more than a bit scary. If I hadn't of made it, my poor wife would have found me frozen stiff as an over-sized carrot lying face down on the ice. 

          During recovery time, much of it lying in bed enjoying various degrees of pain - well not really enjoying, more like reassuring me I was still among the living - I wrote several short stories, which will soon be published with some other ones. Anyone wishing to pre-purchase A Sure Thing and 6 Other Short Stories, it will be for sale very shortly for $15. plus shipping. 

          I know this might sound stupid but does anyone actually read anymore or are they all twiddling their thumbs on their phones these days, hoping they can enter the Olympics first ever strongest thumb event? Anyway, whether or not someone actually buys one of my books, of which I've written several, is not the reason I write stories. The main reason is that I'm hoping one of my stories will be made into an Oscar award winning movie, starring the most handsome actor and the most beautiful actress and I, of course will write the screen play and will become utterly famous and utterly rich, money will fall from the heavens like rain. And oh yes, mustn't forget the young, gorgeous and vivacious starlets, their incredible bodies falling into this old man's lap. All kidding aside, I enjoy bringing my mostly fictional characters to life (some of them nice and some of them at times evil) - what can I say - I often live in my own imaginative world - actually, sometimes better than the real one. My books are currently listed in our Trip 'n Daisy Etsy shop or you can email me directly to pre-order this new book.

          My non-fiction stories are occasionally inspired by something someone may have told me or like ROOM 254, this short story came to me while I was in ER at the hospital. I heard a real elderly woman sobbing just a few beds away from me and saying that she was all alone - most likely at her age, most of her immediate family had passed on. Being almost 78, not too far behind that old lady's age, touched this old guy's heart strings, the result being a somewhat emotional story - possibly even a love story, when two totally different strangers meet at the very ending of their lives.

          And speaking of loneliness, because of our business or forgetfulness, we should all try to make an effort to visit someone who is alone for long extended periods of time. Like that old lady in the hospital, you can't imagine how much she brightened up when a total stranger or a nurse took a little time to just talk to her - a smile and a few words is often all it takes to brighten up a lonely person...cheers, eh!

          

           

A SURE THING...

          A few people have told me that they miss my blogs - one woman saying I had a way with words - which I thought was a very nice compliment. I pretty much stopped writing blogs when I had been diagnosed with cancer, getting on close to 2 years now because I didn't want to sound as if I was whining all the time.  Between the radiation and chemo, you might say the crap was literally kicked out of me. After the first operation, Dr. Knapp cutting me open, (supposed to be a 3 hr. operation turning into 8 hrs.) rearranged my guts and attached a plastic bag to my tummy. I thought it might come in handy as a little purse, you know, stuff coins into it, especially toonies, have no idea how many of those we spent at the hospital parking lot. Besides losing all my hair, I also lost 30 pounds, actually got blown over by a gust of wind when I stepped out of the truck one cold November day. Hard to believe, there I was laying on the sidewalk and the rain pouring down on me; I knew I needed a bath but I thought that was rather extreme. A couple of months ago, Dr. Singh- Ranger removed the ileostomy bag and then arranged all my guts in the correct places. I'm still trying to get everything inside me working properly, at least as well as I can; told me I'd have to find a new normal for me - and also said I'd never be the man I used to be - would take one to two years to build up my strength; I'm still unable to twist a cap off an orange juice bottle, I'm so fricking weak.  However, all that being said I still have an A-hole but I no longer have a rectum - doctor described it as a drain pipe. Once my body gets the urge and even sometimes doesn't get the urge, it just starts coming out - I could probably go in a shitting-contest and win a blue ribbon for pooping out the longest turd - they're sometimes 2' in length or longer. 

            Although I haven't been writing any blogs, I have been writing, which is difficult - seems I have cataracts and my vision has really deteriorated - everything is blurry. Nothing like a half-blind artist and writer - if my eyesight keeps worsening, I'll have to buy a monitor that uses braille in order to feel the little bumps on the screen. But hey, I'm supposedly cancer free at the moment, so that's a good thing and even if I hadn't had that dreaded disease, I might be in the same state anyway - damn near 78, which makes me an old worn out bastard just the same.

          I've written several short stories while I'm still recovering and expect will write more, even though I have enough short stories to self-publish another book. A Sure Thing is based on the ten years I worked and lived at the racetrack (Exhibition Park, Vancouver, BC) when I was a young man. The photo at the bottom is a racehorse named Rough Road and I'm holding onto him next to my dad. He owned and trained 'Ruffy' as we called him. He was a great horse, almost always brought home a paycheck when he ran. He was one of those horses that have you holding your breath and tightly clutching your form chart because he always came out of nowhere from behind. And when he started moving that's when you started yelling! The story isn't about Rough Road but although there is some truth in this tale, it is highly fictitious. 

          During my years at the racetrack (being similar to a carnival atmosphere) I met many interesting people and looked after a lot of racehorses, so I've been thinking of writing a book about my experiences there and titling it Horse Tails. Although I had a lot of fun and exciting times then, I also had some very sad times too. 

          My book, A Sure Thing and 6 Other Short Stories will soon be available. The price is $15. plus $5. for shipping if it has to be posted. If anyone is interested or would like to prepay for the book, please let me know because it will give me a good idea how many books I should order from the printers. This is the second book of short stories I've published, the first being The Confession and Other Short Stories, which is the same price.

           Since my wife Sarah was able to magnify the monitor, it feels good to be able to write again  - can't even read a book these days because the printing is too small and blurry. At least I don't feel as useless anymore. She calls me her "giant toddler" (with love and gentle humour) and in some respects that's just what I've become. I'm hoping I'll be able to paint again if I don't make it too realistic, so I'll be trying that before too long, especially since there are quite a few blank canvases on hand and painting has been such a big part of my life, basically earned a living as an artist.

          Because so many friends and relatives have been exceptionally good to us during my cancer ordeal and are still continuing to do so, I'd really like to take this time to give them my heartfelt appreciation. To go through something like I'm going through would be terrible if I was totally alone, which some people are. I've always been an independent sort and to suddenly find myself unable to do very much and at times unable to do anything, to have help from others is something I don't take lightly and if able, would do the same for them.  

          My wife and I have an Etsy store for some of our other crafty endeavours. She makes beautiful rugs (upcycled-clothing) and I've been making jewelry made from dough (if you're starving and like lots of salt, simply scrape the paint and clear finish off and eat them) - cheers, eh.  

          

  

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

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

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

Wolf Bay - my last painting

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

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