Wow! What a crazy summer it is. Why is it that we save all of our shit to do for the few months of the year when we should be out enjoying the shit out of it? Between moving crap from one house to another, raising chickens and guinea fowl, and painting, painting, and more painting a person can get no rest.
Thankfully it has been gorgeous this year. So much better than last year where it rained 24/7.
Quick, someone bring me a rum and Pepsi and get me to the beach.
Some people are born to greatness while others have greatness thrust upon them. Neither of those describes me. I'm more of the hermit/crotchety/Pastafarian/mediocre type carbon life form. I keep living my life until I have wealth thrust upon me which will happen when I find that cached pirate’s booty that has been buried in the back forty. (Don’t ask me how, or why, pirates would bury their gold miles from the ocean and in the bush, they just did okay.)
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Saturday, May 23, 2015
War
I have a veritable war going on just outside my window. At any given moment my humming bird feeder will have anywhere from one to twenty would be customers. They zip about, they fight, they land, they flit, and they attack. Birds are mean.
My guineas are mean as well. Last year I started with six. One, ended up with an injured foot and automatically became low man on the pole. He (or she) was literally hen pecked all day long. Then one day death came in an instant, and just like that, a new low man was born. To me, it was hard to tell why, but to the others it was easy. They spent the rest of the summer chasing and pecking at him (her) until she too was murdered. Then a new low man was born.
I live in a rather secluded area and get to see many types of birds. We put out feed in the winter and watch them going in and out of their bird houses in the summer. They are blue, yellow, black, grey, red, pink, brown, and everything in between. They are big, small, fast, slow, in the air, and on the ground. Their behaviours are a varying as their looks, but the one thing which they all have in common is that they are assholes.
I can only imagine what this would was like when dinosaurs roamed the planet. Large, constantly shitting, and forever battling. Perhaps that asteroid did us a favour. At least the devolved species of dinosaurs are small.
My guineas are mean as well. Last year I started with six. One, ended up with an injured foot and automatically became low man on the pole. He (or she) was literally hen pecked all day long. Then one day death came in an instant, and just like that, a new low man was born. To me, it was hard to tell why, but to the others it was easy. They spent the rest of the summer chasing and pecking at him (her) until she too was murdered. Then a new low man was born.
I live in a rather secluded area and get to see many types of birds. We put out feed in the winter and watch them going in and out of their bird houses in the summer. They are blue, yellow, black, grey, red, pink, brown, and everything in between. They are big, small, fast, slow, in the air, and on the ground. Their behaviours are a varying as their looks, but the one thing which they all have in common is that they are assholes.
I can only imagine what this would was like when dinosaurs roamed the planet. Large, constantly shitting, and forever battling. Perhaps that asteroid did us a favour. At least the devolved species of dinosaurs are small.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
A Lesson in Too Much
Yesterday was the first day I was able to get
to my favourite sea-glass beach and go combing. When I arrived, a thick
bank of white was sitting just off the shore and a fog horn across the bay kept up
its steady tolling. It is in Old Lunenburg town. I couldn’t those colourful buildings, but I could picture the reds and yellows in my
mind. I could picture its narrow streets, its funky little shops and its tar covered
piers. I crunched over pebbles and sand while I listened to
that horn and the sough and crash of the waves on the shore. At one point I looked up
and just caught the stern of a sailing ship disappearing into the thick
mists. It was like a scene right out of a Hollywood film. Did I actually
see it? I stood for a long time looking out into the fog as tendrils of
mist curled around my legs before blowing away like ephemeral spirits.
My very first glass find was a light blue piece, a rare treasure. I was thrilled. Normally I have to wander up and down, back and forth, to and fro for a couple of hours before I find anything so wonderful. My usual beach combing M.O. is to spend two hours wandering. I might find just enough pieces to cover the bottom of my bag. Once in a blue moon I fill it to the top. Yesterday I filled my bag in twenty minutes. Sea-glass lay scattered everywhere. Initially I was ecstatic, than as I bent down and picked my hundredth piece, leaving about twenty on the ground, I realized that this cornucopia of finds had reduced the experience. I felt cheated.
Literally there were too many to pick from. More than half the fun comes from the search. It came as a bit of an epiphany this act of finding too much and I realized that sometimes the best things in life come from a lot of work.
The fog moved further out to sea and I watched a lobster boat weave in and out of the curtain of white. The deep tolling of the horn kept up its warning of shallow waters and the tide began to move back in. I slung my bag of treasure over my arm and took one last deep breath of the wet, salty air, and then turned to leave. Sometimes the best things in life are free. Sometimes the best things in life come from knowing where to look. Sometimes the very best thing in life is what you have to work hard for. Understanding this lesson, deep down inside, is one treasure I did not expect to find yesterday.
My very first glass find was a light blue piece, a rare treasure. I was thrilled. Normally I have to wander up and down, back and forth, to and fro for a couple of hours before I find anything so wonderful. My usual beach combing M.O. is to spend two hours wandering. I might find just enough pieces to cover the bottom of my bag. Once in a blue moon I fill it to the top. Yesterday I filled my bag in twenty minutes. Sea-glass lay scattered everywhere. Initially I was ecstatic, than as I bent down and picked my hundredth piece, leaving about twenty on the ground, I realized that this cornucopia of finds had reduced the experience. I felt cheated.
Literally there were too many to pick from. More than half the fun comes from the search. It came as a bit of an epiphany this act of finding too much and I realized that sometimes the best things in life come from a lot of work.
The fog moved further out to sea and I watched a lobster boat weave in and out of the curtain of white. The deep tolling of the horn kept up its warning of shallow waters and the tide began to move back in. I slung my bag of treasure over my arm and took one last deep breath of the wet, salty air, and then turned to leave. Sometimes the best things in life are free. Sometimes the best things in life come from knowing where to look. Sometimes the very best thing in life is what you have to work hard for. Understanding this lesson, deep down inside, is one treasure I did not expect to find yesterday.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Another Pile...
Yes, another day, another pile of the white stuff. I am living in Westeros where winter has arrived and isn't going anywhere, anytime soon. Four more inches.
I'm starting to work on putting together a bit of a writing class. I'm thinking of offering one in the fall. My nefarious reasons--because I want to surround myself with like minded people. I know, shocking. But when you have the bug, you have the bug, and there doesn't seem to be a cure for it. Even when I'm not writing, I think about writing. (Which I'm sure for those of you who can crank out the words day in and day out don't mean a thing. In order to produce, one must sit down and work, this, thinking about it, business is for losers.)
Speaking about thinking about it...time to get up and walk around before I seize up.
I'm starting to work on putting together a bit of a writing class. I'm thinking of offering one in the fall. My nefarious reasons--because I want to surround myself with like minded people. I know, shocking. But when you have the bug, you have the bug, and there doesn't seem to be a cure for it. Even when I'm not writing, I think about writing. (Which I'm sure for those of you who can crank out the words day in and day out don't mean a thing. In order to produce, one must sit down and work, this, thinking about it, business is for losers.)
Speaking about thinking about it...time to get up and walk around before I seize up.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Sitting Pretty
Finally on the mend. I'm still a little sore and stiff, but not anywhere as bad as last week. The best thing is that I can actually sit up now. It turned out to be a locked hip joint that was pulling on my back and doing bad things to my innards. A combination of shovelling many, many shovel fulls of snow and then having a 100 pound German Shepherd jump on my snow shoes and making me hit the ground. Sometimes I could just take off a snow shoe and beat the turd with it. Lucky for her that I'm not a violent type person.
The worst part of my convalescence was my book choices. They were boring, crappy, creepy, and sigh...another fucking zombie book. How come I always end up with zombie books? I think there should be a rule about that. If it contains the undead wanting to attack and eat people there should be a warning label on the cover. Warning, Warning...there be zombies here!!! I get it, zombies and vampires sell, but come on...who the hell wants to read that many? Or any? I just can't buy into the premise. They are dead...they do not need to eat...they can't see, think, or move...I DO NOT BUY IT!
I have two pathetic looking dogs sitting here trying to will me into giving them some food. In order to save my capacity to smell anything than stinky dog, i had better go and feed them.
The worst part of my convalescence was my book choices. They were boring, crappy, creepy, and sigh...another fucking zombie book. How come I always end up with zombie books? I think there should be a rule about that. If it contains the undead wanting to attack and eat people there should be a warning label on the cover. Warning, Warning...there be zombies here!!! I get it, zombies and vampires sell, but come on...who the hell wants to read that many? Or any? I just can't buy into the premise. They are dead...they do not need to eat...they can't see, think, or move...I DO NOT BUY IT!
I have two pathetic looking dogs sitting here trying to will me into giving them some food. In order to save my capacity to smell anything than stinky dog, i had better go and feed them.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Bad hip...very bad...
WTF? I mean really. What is going on with my back/hip? It's as if I was doing something like lifting a million pounds of sludge or something. Today I am much, much worse. The worst thing is that it is sunny and warm outside. How often has that happened? Not very, that's how often. So instead of enjoying the sun and the warmth I get to feel like someone ran over my midsection. Grrrrr. Well I think I will try and go for a walk and see if I can shake it off. It's either that or sit around and whine. And god only knows I've done enough of that for awhile.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Oh my aching hip...
What in the seventh level of the abyss is up with my hip. I got up this morning all sunshine and happiness (I have to do my own sunshine because it sure as hell isn't outside) and decided that the house needed a vacuum and wash. About half way through my vacuum my hip started hurting so bad that it actually took my breath away whenever I bent over. WTF? Is this what I have to look forward to as I age? If so...it sucks something bad. So, now I get to sit here on a heating pad and hope that it goes away. Me not so happy. Grrrrrr.
And speaking of grrrrr...every time I look up and out my window all I see is cold, blowing snow. Come on already, its almost the end of March. Typically at this time of the year we have zero snow, not four feet of the shit.
Okay, whining and complaining is over now. I shall return to other more productive things. Kicking the cat, stomping around (and saying ouch), and possibly eating anything that isn't nailed down. Sigh.
And speaking of grrrrr...every time I look up and out my window all I see is cold, blowing snow. Come on already, its almost the end of March. Typically at this time of the year we have zero snow, not four feet of the shit.
Okay, whining and complaining is over now. I shall return to other more productive things. Kicking the cat, stomping around (and saying ouch), and possibly eating anything that isn't nailed down. Sigh.
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