A Tip of the Hat to St. Paddy

A few days ago it was St. Patrick's Day. It dawned beautifully with the hot sun streaming in the east facing windows of our bedroom. Saturdays can be lazy days here after a week of work in the studio or in Deb's case, her current job search. The smell of spring and the face warming sun was a heady, almost overwhelming load on my senses as we enjoyed the start of the day from our balcony overlooking our yard.
The back of our place faces towards open fields behind the yards on the side street beside us. The field, recently abandoned as a subdivision, is overgrown with bush, sumach, swamp grass and some medium sized trees. It is a haven for birds and it is so pleasurable to sit on the balcony and listen or watch the birds doing what birds do with scant attention to our important human work or CNN playing in the background. This is where I start most of my days now that decent weather is here.
We went for a ride yesterday, just getting to know our new neighbourhood and to see the lakeside before the summer gets here and the sand is populated with people and their dogs playing in the sun. It is so warm this spring the shorebirds with their chaise lounges were already out on the sand flipping Frisbees and taking in the vitamin D.
The 2011 Road Glide is running perfectly and Debra got her first ride on this bike. Wow!!! No comparison to the 2004 in terms of ride or raw horsepower. The amenities including the TourPak and passenger backrest with built-in speakers were a real hit.
Later, we drove into Niagara-on-the-Lake to take in the St. Patrick's Day festivities at the Irish Harp pub. We met up with my good biker friends Lee and Linda, Stan and Danuta, Dave and Mary Ann and Mary Ann's mother, and Nancy. The place was packed and hopping with a Celtic Band and lots of good beer on hand. Debra got to meet my friends who have been a big part of my life since retirement and I got to re-connect after many, many months. What a wonderful time!
We called it a night after a few hours of fun wit friends and made the drive back to Lake Erie. The day ended with a quiet beer on the balcony listening to the tree frogs and crickets singing their way into a wonderful, warm spring night. Life is good!!!

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St. Patrick's Day in Niagara

Springing Forward on this New Path

I spent some time last night out on the balcony that overlooks the back yard.  The birds are migrating north through the fields and the small bush lots that surround our home.  In the morning I could hear the killdeers and just before dawn I heard a Great Horned owl in the pines east of our place.  In the softening evening light, the red winged blackbirds and some  warblers were flitting through the sumach beside the house doing whatever it is birds do on a spring evening.

I got out for a ride today along the upper Niagara River and the shore road that follows the north shore of Lake Erie.  The lake is still cold and the wind coming in off the lake was piercing and chilled me to the bone.  I guess I should have worn my heated vest but it was home hanging in the garage.

Today is a bit of a laid back day.  I'm retired after all!  My sleep was restless with all the thoughts running through my head about work that needs to get done around the house, reno projects, problems with my website (now resolved), and the painting work in progress.

Unlike writing poetry or blog, there is no instant gratification with a large oil painting project.  There are "Aha"moments as I work on some portion of the painting but not the immediate feedback like posting a blog and getting a flood of comments and emails.  With four paintings in the g, it is easy to get overwhelmed so I have to continuously keep those fires dampened and keep my focus on the work on the easel and the immediate tasks to be done.

Today's session will be to incorporate the detail into the sky on the Sacred Circle North painting.  I know in concept what I want to do but the exact approach will be a bit of a trial.  It should work but if it doesn't there will be house of restorative work to be done before I can try another approach. (Gulp!!!)

Over-arching all these thoughts is the one that is hard to speak aloud "Will anyone give a flying burrito about what I am putting to canvas and will the final result compel someone to reach into their pocket to add the work to their collection?".  Time will tell,,,,,

It is time to grab a granola bar and some water and hunker down while the light is good and get this very tricky part of this painting done.  I will post some pictures on the From the Studio page if I get a result that feels good.

A New Journey Begins

It has been many months since I last wrote a blog post.  In the time since I last wrote life has been very busy, complicated and full of ups and downs; I met my fiancee Debra, I recovered from injuries suffered in a bike crash last May, we found a house after months of looking and moved in October 21st, we had my 2011 Road Glide delivered to Canada by my friend Tudor, we renovated the house (ongoing like, forever), we went to San Diego and Baja California, and I set up a new art/music/photography studio.

I have been retired now since 2008 but Debra is still working and will be for a while yet.  While she earns our daily bread, I work on projects around the house.  One thing that remained an incomplete chapter in my book of life was my art.  I got side-tracked by my career and had asthma issues so I drifted away from something I love to do.  Creative pursuits energize me in a way that turns everything around me into a positive experience.  Working on my writing, painting, or working in the field with my camera elevates my sense of well-being and that infuses every aspect of my life.

After talking with Debra about it on many occasions, I decided to take the plunge and get back to my art with the intention of selling my work.  This winter I dove back into the world of art and managed to keep the home repair/reno list under control.  At this moment, I have 4 works underway and a new website to showcase my work and in the near future, I will add an e-commerce function to sell original works and limited edition prints.  Yes, I built the website myself and launched it tonight.

My regular readers will remember that I was working on a book.  That project has been on hold for a while but I hope to pick that up again and do the final editing.  There is not a huge market out there interested in eclectic beat-style poetry so I will sell my wiring as e-books through the website to make it an affordable venture rather than the tradition find-a-publisher route.

Did I mention I went for a ride today?  Well I did.  The 2011 Road Glide fired right up and away I went this afternoon for a 2 hour ride around Niagara.  It sure felt great!  My 2004 Road Glide is for sale to make some room in the garage.

I have moved my blog to the new website so I hope you will bookmark my site and subscribe.

It's great to be back!!!

My new site

The Filler of the Giver’s Well and the Keeper of the Garden

It is a sunny, hot humid day in Niagara.  I am living in a single motel room with amenities (a hot plate, microwave, and a small fridge with a broken door plus my supplemental ice coolers).  It is a far cry from the Hotel California in Sebastian Florida with nary a palm tree in sight.

My journey continues but it has taken a new form and new direction.  I have not felt moved to blog the last few weeks as I have moved into a long term relationship with a woman in Canada who lives 45 minutes from my home town.  My focus has been on growing this relationship and building a solid foundation for the future.

It is clear to me the journey never ends.  It just takes me through new landscapes physically, emotionally, and mentally.  I set out on this journey now almost 2 years ago to seek my real self beneath the massive layers of work experience, troubled relationships, self doubt, and unclear thinking that obscured my true essence as a man.

On that journey I met many people and discovered friends, fellow travelers of the soul, love, and places of great beauty and spiritual power.  On my return to Canada I felt at loose ends.  I wasn’t grounded and my transient life did not lend itself to the calmness and essential isolation for the writer/artist spirit to speak with a strong and clear voice.

Last night as I lay beside my love, Debra it became clear.  Very clear.  Old habits were injecting themselves in my life again.  All I needed to do was go to the keyboard and the words would come.  I can say without doubt or hesitation, that I have never felt happier or more complete in my soul than I am in this moment.  Yes I do not have my own personal space and I am living in a dump but my mind and spirit can transcend this if I remove my feelings about it as a simple roadblock to more happiness.  As I went for more ice for the coolers I banished those artificial constraints and felt a surge of energy and well-being.

My thoughts wandered back to April and a blog I wrote titled “Who Fills the Giver Well”.  That blog addressed the need of those of us who are givers by nature to have our spirits refreshed and replenished as our love, emotions, caring, and physical help flows to those with whom we wish to help or share our energies and skills.  I got many answers from my readers that were all very good and worked for some but not for others simply because our innate human natures make our needs and all us all a little different in how we are replenished.

My journey took a hard right turn upon leaving Florida.  I went through the trauma of closing up and selling the matrimonial home as the law likes to call it.  Then, oversaw the sale of the home and the subsequent divisions of property.

While living in Canada I started reaching out to meet others in the area with similar interests hoping to start new friendships and pick up old friendships that were meaningful and valued.  In my wanderings on line through the social networks I met a woman whose profile was intriguing and her pictures were easy on the eyes.  We got chatting online and found many common interests in the areas of music, aboriginal culture, spirituality, and travel.  Chatting lead to phone calls and soon we were talking a few times a day. 

Then one day, a day of epiphany, I realized my new friend named Debra was the type of spirit that is the perfect fit for a giver like me.  I headed back to Canada cutting short my time in Florida because she was taking off to British Columbia for a couple of weeks to visit family.  I sensed that it was very important we meet before she left.  Thus began the marathon hamburger and fries run from Florida to Canada in 31 hours.

We met.  The chemistry was instant but we both had our personal baggage backpacks over our shoulders.  We started sorting through all the historical dross that was just noise and an impediment to really getting to know each other.  In two short weeks we knew we had found something very special in each other.

The next week Debra was off for almost 2 weeks with her family but we talked and texted at least once every day and kept the contact alive.  On her return, we have spent every possible minute together building a foundation of trust based on respect, care, and ever-deepening understanding of who we are.  The future looks golden.  We have felt those initial seed of love grow and strengthen and blossom into a rich loving relationship that will only grow deeper.

Back to the theme of “Who Fills the Givers Well”.  In my case, affection, physical queues and touch that are pure affection and not just sexual, a listening ear, someone who jumps to my defense when they feel my soft-hearted, giving nature is being abused are the waters that replenish my particular well.  Someone who gives love to me to enrich and acknowledge the person I am and not the person they would like me to be or change to be.  This is no surprise because Debra is a professional caregiver and understands, being a giver herself, the needs of another giver.

My well is full and my spirit is soaring.  Life is good.  The journey ahead is one we will travel together in love, respect, and excitement.

Ye, my well IS full.

Searching for the Maid of the Mist

Tuesday was a gorgeous day in Niagara Region.  I rode to the Fall’s tourist area and did about a 3 mile walk along the river walkway taking about 150 shots of the water and scenery.  I’m sitting in my room now in the Hotel California North feeling good about the day and good about life.

I picked up mail at the post office yesterday and there in the bundle was special delivery notice from the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs (now called Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada but, I guess they were using up old envelopes).  Inside was a formal letter acknowledging my application for status as Indian, under the new Gender Equity legislation passed in June.  The letter notified me of my file number and stated that my application was being processed.  I spoke to a friend who is Indian and she told me her brother waited over a year for the process to be finalized so now me, Mr. Full Speed Ahead, will get another lesson in patience as the wheels of government grind their way through the approval process.

There are many reminders of the First Nations here in Niagara.  From the Seneca-owned casino across the river in Niagara Falls, NY to the history of the woods at Queenston Heights that tell the story of Chief John Norton from Six Nations Mohawk who began the rout of invading American forces from the heights, and of course, the Maid of the Mist boats that carry tourists into the waters below the falls to get wet and go oooo and ahhhhh.  This tourist attraction is named after the daughter of a Neuter First Nations woman, the daughter of the chief, who was sent over the falls as a gift to the gods as the legend tells.

My brother has been gathering information about our family and photographs to fill in the gaps of our family history.  He has spent long hours at this work and has established contact with other relatives of ours in the native community so the long concealed history of this part of our family becomes open and accessible to all of us.

This summer and fall I hope to make some rides to the reservations to view first hand, the documentation they have and to embrace this very important part of my heritage.  It is a journey of discovery; maybe not a search for the Maid of the Mist but rather a quest to solve the mysteries of where my family came from and our roots in this nation.

Here are some of the photographs that have surfaced through the hard work of my brother Bruce and the good folks at the Tyendinaga, Deseronto reserve and our distant relatives who have given their time generously to make this story complete.

Great Grandmother with my Grandmother

My great Uncle Barney at Deseronto

Grandpa Morris (English) and Grandma Morris (Mohawk)

My grandparents and their children

Grandma Norah May Bernherdt

Me with the family daschund Lee

Memories of Dad

It’s a hot humid evening in Niagara with the sun beating down out of an optimistic blue sky.  It’s hot like mid summer and I am ready for evening to creep in from the east with its pink paintbrush to touch the sky.

I will start out by saying Father’s Day is a tough day for me to get through.  The huge build-up in the media, the talk radio shows on the topic, and the many BBQ’s going on right now in the neighbourhood in honor of the fathers that surround me. 

There are two reasons for my dread of this day; I don’t have any children so there are no crappy ties that I will never wear coming my way tomorrow or a year’s supply of Old Spice aftershave.  Also, my own Dad passed away June 8 1991.  He is no longer around to call on the phone so I can bounce an idea off of him and he is no longer around to visit this weekend with a card, a chance to chat, and to chew my way through my mother’s very well, well-done roast beef.  His passing is 20 years ago this month in which, Father’s Day falls.

His passing came on the weekend I was running an international yacht race for double-handed yachts racing the length of Lake Ontario and back to Port Credit with some marks roundings along the way.  My father’s living will instructions were clear.  There was to be no caskets, no viewings, no funeral service, and a total absence of “fuss” as he would call it. 

My Mother called me the morning he died to tell me.  I went into my standard response of fixit mode though I didn’t have the foggiest clue as to what I would fix.  Mom just said I should cool my jets, run my race and come down the next week and help with the funeral home papers. 

I did just that.  It was strange to walk into what had been the family home for 43 years and not see my Dad in his LazyBoy recliner reading a Mickey Spillane novel while listening to military bands or Strauss waltzes on the stereo.

After the hospital released the body, he was cremated right away.  Later, my Mother and my sister spread his ashes in one of his favorite places along the Illecillewaet River in British Columbia.

I have not visited this place yet but suspect I will on one of my rides.

So on this Father’s Day’s eve, as I sit here alone my Niagara home, part of me longs to receive a tie with a hideous patter and color combination that I will never wear or a red squeeze bottle of Old Spice that would likely trigger a full blown asthma attack.  But most of all, I would give the world to hear my Dad’s soft, gentle voice again telling me “Well Kim, there’s no future in getting old.”

Here’s to you Dad, on this Father’s Day 2011.

Here is a selection of pictures of my Dad.  I have tried to figure out dates and time but I will let my Big Bro’ the family historian correct any in accuracies.

Dad in uniform before his posting to Kiska, Ak as part of the joint US/Canadian garrison in WW II

Mom and Dad on their wedding day in January 1942

Dad in Yorkshire with his lorry in the training period before the Normandy invasion

Dad in his uniform of the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders of Canada probably in England

Dad's Bren Gun carrier somewhere in Normandy after D-Day

Dad (bringing up the rear) at Port Loring with the day's catch from Long Lake with a camp guest

Our Family taken in the mid 80's

Mom and Dad with my sister-in-law and their grand children

Of Sunshine and Supermen

It is a beautiful sunny late spring day in Niagara.  I am enjoying a garden salad with salmon while I sit at the patio table in the garden listening to the waterfall that flows into my fishpond.  The fish are gone now to a deserving home as I am wrapping up life here in Niagara, selling the house, and planning another winter in Florida and Texas.

The superman part of the blog title is a little joke on myself.  Last weekend I rode up to Sturgeon Falls Ontario to ride through my old haunts and to see biker friends I have made over the Internet.  The ride is 306 miles one way and by the time I got there, the old bod was telling me I had overdone my current endurance limits.  The month layoff from riding due to my crash-induced broken ribs has left me with some work to do in the fitness department.  As Jim Croce said, “Have you seen superman step on his cape?”  That was me!

The weekend was rotten in the weather department.  It rained and rained.  The trip however, was exciting!  It took me back to the car trips with my Dad from ST. Catharines (our home) to the fish camp in Port Loring.  Every road sign was a memory!  Severn Bridge, Huntsville where I stopped for gas, Burks Falls, South River, Trout Creek, the Magnetawan River, Powassun, Port Loring were all associated with a memory of happy days as a kid sitting in the cat bird seat. 

That time in my life was one of privilege.  Although my parents struggled financially with the costs of paying for and maintaining the camp, they offered us such a wonderful opportunity to grow as independent, insightful children fully engaged with the world around us.  The camp featured our house where the five of us (later 7 with two late arrival siblings) lived and it also held the small variety store that was called the Tuck Shop for some reason.  There were 14 cottages with housekeeping facilities, plus a large boathouse to store the fleet of boats that went with the cottages, a recreation hall that featured a ping pong table (pooh to all those that call it table tennis) and an old Wurlitzer juke box that Mom and Dad kept stocked with the latest hits of the 50’s, a laundry, an ice house, and a gas shed.

The property sat on a peninsula jutting out into Wilson Lake, the largest lake on the Pickerel River system.  The land was rocky with big granite outcroppings with beautiful quartz seams, pine trees, and white birches along with oak, maple, elm and basswood trees.  On the down side was the lack of plumbing so every cottage had an outhouse! They tended to overcome the natural scent of the forest on hot, still days.

I recall that we had about 1,000 feet of shoreline and a rather large dock that was permanently installed in the lake plus a number of stringer docks that came out each winter.

My father had to work at his refrigeration business in St. Catharines during the week then he would make the 300-mile trek almost every weekend to the camp.  My mother ran the camp for the most part.  And run it she did with all the drive, the temper, and the energy that seemed larger than her 4’ 11” frame.  All of us older kids had out chores that grew as we grew though my big brother pointed out not long ago that my mother seemed to favor me and I ended up doing less.

Our season there usually started with a quick trip on the Easter weekend.  Sometimes we kids were left behind because the snow was too deep and getting there involved a fair hike over less-than-ideal roads.  The first regular trip up was the Victoria Day long weekend (the weekend before the USA Memorial Day weekend).  That trip was used to assess the damage suffered by the camp over the long snowy winter.  The ice on the lake got thick enough that the logging trucks would cross the lake to deliver logs to the lumber mill!  Every year there was some damage to the large dock and that meant donning our swim trunks to help Dad lever the cribs back into place and to tighten the mooring cables.  A frigid job considering the ice was there but a couple of week’s previous.

Our northern life swung into full gear in June as fishermen from all over the eastern USA and Ontario would roll into town for the pike and pickerel seasons.  Some years, Mom would badger our principal to get us out of school early so we could be there with her.  Sometimes we would not get up there until the end of the school year at the end of June.

Our days were filled with adventure; swimming, snorkeling, fishing, canoeing, sailing, and goofing about in the forest.  We met kids who were up there with their families from places like Kentucky, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and Virginia.  Many of the families would come up year-after-year and great friendship ensued that lasted for years.  We measured our summer by the weeks in which particular families would be scheduled to arrive.

When I think back to those days, I am sure my parents would have been locked up and we kids would have been wards of the state for the latitude we were given to do things.  My big brother would often take me on excursions by motorboat then canoe portage with a plastic sheet as a tent, a few basic food items and our fishing poles.  If you want to eat you had better catch dinner!  He was and is still a master camper.  I remember the day he got licensed as a guide at 16.  I was so proud of him!  That was a big deal to be a guide.  It meant you knew what you were doing and had the skills to take tourists to far places and get paid in the process!

One of the joys of the summer was the weekly wiener roast for the whole camp on Thursday run with military precision by Mom.  Occasionally Dad would take a 4 day weekend or come up for a couple of weeks to spend time with us and to make a few bucks servicing the cooling equipment for the local stores.   Those were special times we kids looked forward to.  When Dad was there for an extended period he would take a large group of guests into one of the back lake systems that could onlu=y be reached via a mile long portage to the boat livery.  We would pick up boats with 3 hp motors and fish these back lakes for pike, large mouth and small mouth bass.  The fishing was great and we would see deer and other wildlife during the day.  We had favorite spots where Dad would breakout the picnic lunch my Mom had made and we would sit among the blueberry bushes eating sandwiches and fighting over the chocolate bar selection he had brought from the Tuck Shop (what the heck is a Tuck Shop anyways???).

These were idyllic times with friends and family.  Perhaps some of my character for introspection was born in those times of hiking and fishing in such a setting.

As I rode north this past weekend, the scent of the pine trees, the rocks and the moss took me back to those distant memories and caused me to reflect on the good fortune that afforded this opportunity for me and my siblings.  I think the experiences of my youth in this wonderful setting helped develop a sense of adventure and a love for scenery and solitude.

It is a wonderful thing to be surrounded by Nature’s beauty and the gifts of the Creator.   Perhaps I will get back to Port Loring this summer and can blog from there with pictures of my places in memory.