ROBBLOG #783- Bear With Me

Summertime and the living is easy and ergo...I haven't really been thinking about blog-writing.

We have bears on this Island you know.
Yes, there were bears in Ontario too but we've had a couple of sightings in our neighbourhood in the past week.

One black bear- I'll call Yogi, was at the red bin next to the houses under construction behind our place. One evening, a lady came walking past Palm Villa walking her dog. She was walking at a very fast pace to tell us to beware or Be-Bear!
A small joke.

I went with a neighbour- Nurse Ratchett, to have a look.
No Yogi.
Just as well.
I am afraid of bears. Yogi's of all kinds.
I am also afraid- terrified really, of sharks, cougars and lions of any kind- even dandelions. Dandelions bring down property values when homeowners allow them to go to seed and then spread over to my "perfect" lawn.
Not acceptable or nice. It means for an immediate removal from my Christmas Card list!

I know that we are disturbing these "Yogis" neighbourhoods but good gosh there's lots of space out there Yogi.
Stay out of my yard.

A couple of afternoons back a black Yogi was near the steps leading onto a walking trail The Mister and I frequent. That is too close for comfort.
Too close to homes and a playground with kids.
I hear you!
Bears only eat nuts and berries and Cherrios- if there is a box handy, what's the fuss?
I have a question.
Why do they chase humans?
For sport?
No. To maim and kill.
Yogis need to keep their distance. I hear there's some nice Yogi Land up island near Campbell River.

The only real "bear" I like are the bears one sees in Gay clubs or Pride Parade. So soft and cuddly like big teddy Yogis. Yes, they may chase you but only to court you and to hug you and maybe to ask you to caress their furry chest with your nimble fingers.
I digress.
I was having an 80's moment there.

A bear and a "Bear". Both want to chase you!

In other Island news, days are hot and sunny. There's been no rain for a couple of weeks and none in the forecast a couple of weeks ahead.
Here you thought it rained day and night in British Columbia.
That would be wrong.
We do have rainy months- like November. December can be dull but the past two years January and February have been bright.
I care not to re-live last February's two or three weeks of "white-stuff" and talking to fellow Islanders, we all remember that unfortunate snow storm as lasting only a day or two.
Islanders have short memories or do we just simply like to remember things in a positive light?

It wouldn't be unusual not to see any rainfall until September.
It will get very dry. Many lawns will be a pretty shade of brown unless- like us, one is fortunate enough to have an automatic lawn sprinkler that waters the lawn several pre-set times in a week or drip irrigation that many people have to keep our Island Gardens lush and growing.

It's a different way of life out here west of Vancouver and Tsawwassen yet east of Hawaii.
Even the bears will tell you that...

ROBBLOG #782-Bye Bye Doris

Holy Cripes! Doris Day has passed.

Yup, this week. Well, she was 97 or something like that. Her time as they say...
I loved Doris but more than Doris I especially loved her movies with Rock Hudson and James Garner. I used to see the Doris Day films- The Thrill of  It All, Girl Talk and more in wonderful technicolour at the Geneva Theatre in Orillia.

Que Sera, Sera.
Me in the dark. Doris in all her bright, golden-haired, sunny goofiness up there on the big screen.
James Garner in all his black, chest-hair glory.
Rock with those Hudson muscles- and Gay to boot although we I didn't know it at the time.
The pool parties that must have transpired at Rock's House- Speedo optional swim parties I suppose.
Martinis and Muscles.

Goodness, my young boy loins- what was I about 13 or 14 years old, stirred when James Garner appeared onscreen bare-chested.
"Take me as I am Daddy!"- I yelled at the silver screen.
Not out loud of course.
What would it be like to have all that black chest hair and I wondered and what it would feel like to run my ~ahem~ fingers through it all.
Every last hair attached to that deeply tanned chest.

Doris Day who's last name rhymes with "Gay"

Good Lawrd!
Did Mr. Garner know what he did to impressionable young men such as myself?
Puberty.
Gotta love it.

I had another visitor in my sleep this past week.
No! Not Mr. Garner. Get your mind out of the gutter please.
It was- The Devil.
The Devil pops by now and then to see how I'm doing and to scare the livin' "bejezuz" out of me.
Now, I don't believe Lucifer exists and I don't believe he is trying to pull me over to the dark side through my dreams, although, with a toned body and a a pair of black wings I think I would look pretty hot if I were to cross over to the dark side and become one of his "Fallen Angels".
The picnics me and Michael would have...

Anyhow, I was walking across the living room floor in this small, white, two-story house and decided to go upstairs. I paused looking out a window just over a kitchen counter that had a double sink in it. I heard a rumbling in the darkness behind me.
I whipped around and it was him- Old Beelzebub.
I screamed out-
"Get out of here you crimson-faced asshole!"
I woke up screaming- according to Tom.
One of my best, loudest and longest screams ever.

Now, before you start to send the JW's to my door to save and protect me, I can explain.
I was talking about double sinks a day or two before my nightmare and I've been looking at a two story, white house with 4.37 acres of land. It follows that is where my nightmare would take place.
Where the fuck was Jesus when he should have been protecting me I do not know!
I say that for effect only because as we all know, Jesus is just a character in a storybook.
A badly written storybook- like Episode Five in this final season of Game of Thrones!

Then, an evening ago, I caught the promo for "Lucifer" a show on Netflix. Lucifer was downright hotty-handsome and there were plenty of well-built men stripped to the waist and more in the promo, so you can see why the Devil was on my mind.
I expect his pool parties last for days not unlike Mr. Hudson's.

Everybody into the Pool!

It's not the first time "the fallen one" has come to me and I am sure it's not the last.
I have no idea why I scream out loud but as the Mister assured me- this was my best scream ever!.
Is there an award for the best "Devil Scream" in a dream?
Did Linda Blair ever get an award for one?
Now, that Bitch could scream!
Let me know if there is one will you?

Speaking of the Devil...
I saw a tweet on my Twitter account today that amused me and quite succinctly bulls-eyed the Canadian Conservative Party- not to be confused with the People's Party of Canada (not to be confused with Communists- although....) nor Kenny's excessively right-winged Alberta Good Old Boys Party.
The tweet said-
"Thinking of voting for Andrew Scheer? One word- A L A B A M A." I could add two more words- Doug Ford, however, Ontario you got what you voted for!

If you pay as little attention to US politics as I do, you have probably at least heard that one by one Southern Confederate States are bringing back the death penalty and by that I mean abortion is becoming illegal again. It's a felony. The new laws were all voted in by old white men who drive pick up trucks with window stickers that say "Lock up your 14 year old daughters 'cause here I come!"

Speaking of window stickers, recently I saw a Ford pick up truck right here on the Island being driven by a country boy and his "friend".
That is not a Homosexual inference.
It was an asshole inference.
The boys were spinning the pickup around in circles in a gravel parking lot a few blocks from our house. Grey dust was circling towards Heaven.
They were acting out being the assholes they were.
The old truck- that had seen better days, had a home-made sticker emblazoned across the back tail-gate in 4 inch black lettering.
It said- "F U C K  Trudeau.

I can only dream of what that would be like...

I thank you for your time today.

ROBBLOG #781- Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

The Mister and I were riding our bikes along the trail towards Mount Prevost the other day.

At one point a lively caramel-coloured rabbit flew out from the underbrush and ran excitedly along the trail in front of us. After a few metres he exited- stage right, into a thicket.

I thought I heard a female-type, rabbity sounding voice say-
"Harold are you back already with the carrots from Mr. Grenfeld's Garden?"

"Not exactly..." was Harold's reply, "You see Mabel, I was about to cross the gravel path to Mr. Grenfeld's yard when all of a sudden two huge metal contraptions with humans sitting on top almost knocked me sideways!"

"What in the name of a Rabbit's Warren are you talking about?"

"The machines! They were very fast and I thought they were going to run over me right there and then!"

"Hog Varnish!"
You could tell Mabel was mad.

"It's just two human's- like Mr. Grenfeld and that contraption? It's a bicycle. They were riding them
for exercise. Really Harold. Don't you know anything?"

Harold pause briefly and said- "Well, I know I didn't get the carrots!"

"Ugh"
You could hear Mabel's exasperation from the gravel trail.

After the ride, I got to thinking about the animals I had when I was a young lad, although I don't remember any of them carrying on a conversation with me or any another animal for that matter.

In the Years before I turned to the ripe old age of ten, I had a menagerie of pets including a raccoon, several turtles- including tiny ones from the pet store which I kept in a plastic bowl that had a small palm tree in the centre, a white goose and finally a small black dog named "tippy" so-named because of the white tip on his tail.

The raccoon lived in a chicken wire enclosure but would come out to play on the green lawn between our house and the lake where we all lived.
I had him from a baby.
I presume he wandered onto our property and stayed. Dad built him the enclosure for his safety since our property backed onto a forest and other wild animals lived there who could do him harm.

The turtle I had wandered across the road from Smith's Bay in Lake Simcoe to a marshy area bordered by Forest Avenue and Victoria Crescent. I remember Dad stopping our old '42 Ford to let the turtle pass and like any kid I probably said- "Dad, can I have him as a pet? Oh, please!"
My Dad- as any Dad would, got out and picked the wayward turtle up and put him in a cardboard box next to me in the rear seat. Maybe I called him "Charlie". I'm not sure.

One September in the late 1950's, Dad was given a white goose. She was beautiful and he intended to fatten her up for Christmas. She lived in a pen with a wooden enclosed that had a trap door. If- let's call her Hilda, if Hilda was resting in her little, wooden house I could peek in on her through the trap door. She was as white as snow and honked when you addressed her by name.
"Hilda!"
"Honk, Honk!"
I think I got to understand her quite well and I loved filling her bowl with "Goose" Food- mostly grains I think that Dad bought from the Co-Op store that was alongside the CN Rail Tracks on Neywash Street.

Hilda did put on some weight as my Dad had hoped.
However, we all got so attached to her- Mum included, we didn't have the heart to end her life, so she lived and we had Turkey that cold, snowy Christmas.

The final "pet" from my years living on Lake Simcoe (1951 through the summer of 1960) with Maw and Paw, was a small, terrier-type puppy that we named "Tippy". He was all black, had the sweetest brown eyes and a tiny tuft of white hair on the tip of his tail.
I presume by now you have figured out why he was named "Tippy".
If you are smiling a big, warm-hearted smile right now, you may not want to read this next bit.
I don't remember having Tippy for a long time. Certainly not years more like months- I think.

Anyhoo- and here's where you might want to skip down to the next paragraph, one fine summer day Mum was backing the old, black Ford- the one with the rumble seat, out of the drive to head into Orillia to go shopping. Unfortunately, Tippy crossed the drive behind her and, well......

As I look back at the animals I remember having as a kid- to the best of my memory, I never had a cat. There was a cat I remember cuddling and petting at my Grandparent's house in town on Front Street, South. My Grandma Lillian used to place milk out for her in lovely, little, china bowl- my Gram did everything with such style. I loved to watch her little pink tongue lap up the cold milk. Milk that was probably more natural and certainly free from the chemicals that prolong the shelf life these days. She may have been strictly an outdoor cat but I know Gram fed her inside the sun porch that ran along part of the south side of 217 Front Street, South.

Next door was a paddock in front of Davey Park's barn where several draft horses spent their day when they weren't hauling logs or hay or whatever needed animal power for hauling. The gigantic animals would come to the fence for a scratch on the forehead or a handful of overgrown grass they couldn't reach from their side of the fence. It seemed magical.

Not only have all those animals from the 1950's passed on to their "greater reward" of course but so too Norman and Lillian Reid- my Grandparents- Dad's parents. They left this earthly plane an eternity ago in 1963 and 1965 respectively. A few years ago, their white stucco, two storey house that held so many wonderful memories was leveled and in it's place a new Ford Dealership was built.
My Grandmother would not be pleased nor would Hartly Foster.
Hartly? That's another story for another time.

I still love to get close to and "talk" to horses. Here on the Island I see a pair of horses every time I ride my bike. As soon as I stop alongside the gated fence, they whiny when they see me and saunter over to say hello- maybe to get a handful of long grass.

If only Hilda could see me now.