Markers of time...

My lovely lady is preparing for the spring move from here out to the 12. That means going through our boxes of "stuff" packed away in the basement. It's both comforting to rediscover things we had forgotten but also a little un-settling to realize how fast that world is vanishing in the rear view mirror. Wristwatches for example. I'd forgotten how I used to tell the time before my cell phone permanetly attached itself. Who wears a watch these days? How I miss my Timex, now I'm reminded of it. Which also marks a change in my values. Barrometers. When did you last see a barrometer hanging on the wall? It used to be a daily ritual to check the glass to see what the weather was doing. No more, now we push a button and it's all fed right to you. Darts. More than anything I miss my darts and what they represented. As British as bacon and eggs, we were naked without a pack of darts in our back pocket on a Friday night down at The Tom Cobbly, The Ring of Bells or The New Inn. Some of us had our special darts that were lucky and threw better than others but really it didn't matter if we won or not. It was about being there, a part of it. Looking back, it's the strangest of things that stick in the brain. Pubs that are 300 years old. Walls made of Cob, 3 feet thick and flagstones on the floor. Sitting by a massive open hearth fireplace with the flames flickering off the walls. The Grandfather clock's slow measure of our lives and the barrman standing behind the glistening fairy land of light, reflecting off the glasses hanging above the bar. But most of all..... the silence. No pounding rock music, no big screen sports blaring, no waitresses interupting your thoughts. Just the fire crackling and the clock marking the quiet murmer of hushed, respectful patrons enjoying their night down at the pub. That's what I miss.

Move Along Please.....

As time passes, our most basic need of shelter continues to evolve. This sea can shelter is one of the most well thought out and logical I've seen. One of the issues I see with it though is that it sits on the ground. In a developing country that might not be an issue but in the majority of the "civilized" western world it could be. Few are the places one can drop a sea-can without Government's begrudging approvals, permissions and blessings. If however that box remains on wheels, it can be a different story. As our fools paradise sinks into murkier waters, these methods of finding shelter will mushroom, literally popping up all over the place. Every highway van trailer I see trucking down the road increasingly looks like a prime chunk of real estate. Why not convert a 48' van in a similar way, now you've got lots of sq feet and being able to fold up a fair sized house on wheels and trundle down the road makes sense to me. Living in the northern climes, each winter drives home the fact that we should not be here. The energy to heat our house would move us to warmer lands many times over and leave cash in hand. Each fall I look up at our beautiful Canada Geese flying south, calling us to come with them. We Humans continue to believe we are the superior spiecies of this plannet. I beg to differ. Even those geese, with brains the size of a postage stamp know when it's time to get out of Dodge.

Your True Worth.

Being half a step away from being downright unsociable has it's benefits. I much prefer animals for company compared to the many pathetic excuses of humanity I am forced to deal with in life. I've never felt kinship with those who do not show love, care and respect to other living things. Does that make me sound crusty? Bloody Right!. With all the B.S. we fill our lives with, we have lost contact with who we really are. It takes another spiecies to humble us down. And IF they deem us truly worthy, they will share their lives with us. That is the greatest compliment a Human can recieve.

Long May You Run.

If you own it, you'll fix it, it's just the nature of the beast. Our trusty Buick Roadmaster Stationwagon has been all that it could.... and more. It was purchased for $250 from a Kijiji ad that sounded too good to be true. Perhaps thats why few people had responded to it, thinking the car was a junker. Perhaps the 475000Km put them off too. Wimps! With that kind of mileage she's just broke in! It was a B.C. car which meant that now being an Alberta resident, it needed an Out Of Province inspection which are 3 words that chill the veins of any car owner around here. It's quite common to require the entire brake system, inculding the brake lines replaced for an O.O.P. inspection. Utter B.S; just a Government sanctioned money grab by the auto industry. Anyway, the Buick sailed through, I couldn't believe it. Knock me down with a feather. We have driven that car for 3 years now, all the way to Yuma, Az; and had a blast. People come up to us in parking lots reminising about the Woody Wagon they had years ago and wish they had kept. And she's never missed a beat. Service, tires, a heater motor and today some minor electrical repairs and on she rolls. To me, a 91 Buick is a newish car. Most others I have are from the 70's because thats where I belong. Back where I could fix them whithout the dealer on speed dial.. I've never sold any of the cars I love, so I have a few. All old and needing love. My two boys each have 70's Lincolns, so they will know what it is to own a real car. So even though our Buick is now 24 years old, she's still my newest car and what a joy it was to be out there today fixing it! Yes, a joy! Despite the -20C temperature, the blowing snow, frozen hands, feet and ears, it was wonderful. We bonded again. So here's to another year with the Buick, I'll never sell her. In the imortal words of Neil Young: Long may you run.