tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19017448648946389442024-03-14T10:38:20.850-07:00Rob Reid ONLINEUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger902125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-58816833169916751002021-12-18T13:13:00.002-08:002021-12-18T13:14:43.404-08:00ROBBLOG #1000- Enough now...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUGryBktm6W61gDQD3zxM9nfo58Vfvw6QkSBMmgOTNfPcihCTP5IVdSMATwytCpdjVwblKblo3tZdGQ0Lt1yXEhaOnqfM3SVH7Db8k41pLecWy7PdC5tXdL5uGb3ouRo8KZIsPi_fhV9tn7gCTadDupgkhbb-cflpqJevSGAK_xaWKKK1_RGSwVlbj=s904" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUGryBktm6W61gDQD3zxM9nfo58Vfvw6QkSBMmgOTNfPcihCTP5IVdSMATwytCpdjVwblKblo3tZdGQ0Lt1yXEhaOnqfM3SVH7Db8k41pLecWy7PdC5tXdL5uGb3ouRo8KZIsPi_fhV9tn7gCTadDupgkhbb-cflpqJevSGAK_xaWKKK1_RGSwVlbj=s320" width="235" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">"Eight is a lot of legs, David!"</div><div style="text-align: left;">That's one of my favourite lines from the Holiday movie- "Love, Actually"</div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">and</div><div style="text-align: left;">1000 is a lot of RobBlogs, everybody.</div><div style="text-align: left;">That being said, I believe this is the last one.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The final RobBlog.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>~tears~</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">I think I wrote the first in 2006- maybe 2004. I had thought of stopping at #500 but I continued.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a lot, David.</div><div style="text-align: left;">In fact turning 70 last summer seems to have me thinking it's time to let go of a few things- like extra Christmas ornaments or shirts and sweaters I hardly every wear. Then there's online radio stations like Swisssh and Starlite.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Swisssh will be on the internet 15 years on March 7th.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Starlite began on New Years Eve 2011, so that makes it a decade.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have two Facebook Pages for the stations and a twitter account. They'll all close along with the Swisssh Website- which has been around a little longer.</div><div style="text-align: left;">This is a tough decision to pull the plug on the stations and I haven't made it for certain- yet I am getting there. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Podcast seem to be the thing now and I have no interest in those.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe I'll wait until March 7th.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe not.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxG83JMM1qRRVnGgo0N7Y8Pj6YUv3YdPgV7Ung7_58w-ZwNnwrbHHhL0L7GFV6kk4XPoGDnyr4QgzUOgb2pKxMofJ0x3ni_gPcH7_0sy18hBMHSTBm7pWKLKRivcrtXHJmhRUdEHYLRMaITOLbqGcNmt5UdG1sTdpBbv_yITDYeB1hnluZEb1WgNxc=s1668" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1668" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxG83JMM1qRRVnGgo0N7Y8Pj6YUv3YdPgV7Ung7_58w-ZwNnwrbHHhL0L7GFV6kk4XPoGDnyr4QgzUOgb2pKxMofJ0x3ni_gPcH7_0sy18hBMHSTBm7pWKLKRivcrtXHJmhRUdEHYLRMaITOLbqGcNmt5UdG1sTdpBbv_yITDYeB1hnluZEb1WgNxc=s320" width="207" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I am not giving up all media.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I recently started a You Tube Channel. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I have the studio lights, a laptop and a tablet- for the videos and some nice viewing numbers already.</div><div style="text-align: left;">You can see it on YouTube by searching "Rob Reid Star" in the search box.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Subscribe if you will by clicking on the "Subscribe" button. It just lets you know when I've posted something new.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now- Christmas.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Over the years I have written a seasonal greeting for the Holidays wishing one and all the best of the season. I'm not going to do that this year but I will say Merry Christmas, Happy Yuletide and all the best in the year ahead.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I hope this covid thing says tah tah in 2022 but I doubt it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Is it the end of the world?</div><div style="text-align: left;">No, just a different world.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Forest fires, floods, cold, heat and covid.</div><div style="text-align: left;">What a mess!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So, my friends and readers, I bid you all adieu from this RobBlog site on blogspot.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks for reading over the years.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I appreciate that so very much.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's always hard to say goodbye and I absolutely hate goodbyes but there comes a time...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-4510295620051294352021-12-04T13:37:00.001-08:002021-12-04T13:37:21.560-08:00ROBBLOG #999- Fah Lah Lah Christmas, eh?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTn5Bjkj6s-3Rot39_kB0Bmwk9RpIkWM2k_VdmiSg_hn2ql56kfCnjNYws0NvdNtL1u3FW7sYY60RUjC1Y29VFkwNbOb05dCdgnztifEDnF7pOpBcm5dTvdp4a0zfpTmzNgVFWV9HPsQM/s1367/Rob+Closeup.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="1367" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTn5Bjkj6s-3Rot39_kB0Bmwk9RpIkWM2k_VdmiSg_hn2ql56kfCnjNYws0NvdNtL1u3FW7sYY60RUjC1Y29VFkwNbOb05dCdgnztifEDnF7pOpBcm5dTvdp4a0zfpTmzNgVFWV9HPsQM/s320/Rob+Closeup.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Where did a whole month go?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am not apologizing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been busy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been thinking about ROBBLOG #999 and #1000.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Should I use 1000 for my yearly Christmas Greeting- or not.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I haven't decided yet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So the Holidays are here. Fah, Lah, Lah Christmas, eh?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We have two trees up and outside the front door there's a tree with twinkling lights to the left, a lit wreath on the wall next to the twinkling tree and Mr. Bill- our lighted snowman sitting to the right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Very festive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course we don't usually have a white Christmas on Vancouver Island but then only this morning</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 cm of the white stuff fell and for a while it looked like a Christmas Card with all the trees on the mountains covered in heavy, white flakes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's melting now as the temperature rises and the sun comes out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This year I bought these fancy GU10 bulbs for the lights up in the eves of the house. These bulbs change colour simply by pointing a remote at them. What doesn't work these days without a remote attached? I can choose a singular colour like red or green or change to the bulbs to revolve through 10 to 15 different colours.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's quite pretty and many passerby's are commenting on how nice the lights look. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had the lights all orange for Hallowe'en. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love the blues and the mauves.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Red and Green look very Christmassy as well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBIP7R2b42uaQFzSD-P5JQqubL66X86mdfVlY9yrorEsc0dDzbs0Cjqxbz6oyLl11qhllnbMfIJV2nIlK4RM_G7ql3rUyCDszxkHYoVJWZaS4flUg0dAhVwIAh2lRldVHdEZv6Q8IUXLk/s558/SWISSSH+Starlite+HOLIDAYS+2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="558" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBIP7R2b42uaQFzSD-P5JQqubL66X86mdfVlY9yrorEsc0dDzbs0Cjqxbz6oyLl11qhllnbMfIJV2nIlK4RM_G7ql3rUyCDszxkHYoVJWZaS4flUg0dAhVwIAh2lRldVHdEZv6Q8IUXLk/w328-h175/SWISSSH+Starlite+HOLIDAYS+2018.JPG" width="328" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Online stations are keeping me busy. Both Starlite and Swisssh have been all Holiday Music for a couple of weeks. Now that it's December I throw in a carol or two like "Do You Hear What I Hear?" but most of the music is secular. Listen to the stations at www.swisssh.ca</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You can ask Alexa-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Alexa, ask tunein (or Simple Radio) to play s w i s s s h (or s t a r l i t e) Radio."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Enjoy the musical Holiday Delights!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As if I'm not busy enough keeping the online radio stations flowing with Holiday Tunes, I've started a You Tube Blog.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes- I am what is known as a "Vlogger ".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've recorded four or five vlogs but I have a lot to learn.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I want the vlogs to be more professional.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I need to learn editing, camera angles, lighting and how to add words across the screen. Thank Goodness all my radio years taught me how to ad-lib.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Remember, I'm an old "radio guy" not video guy!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd like to buy one of those flat, circular lights to keep me looking my best in the videos while recording. I think makeup- a bit, would help too. All the professional Vloggers treat the Vlogs as Television or Theatre- so why the hell not?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No one needs to see my 70 year old liver spots! A dab or two will make things look "prettier"- if that's possible. Anyhoo, watch my Vlog and "Subscribe". Search "Rob Reid Star Channel" on You Tube.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then click on my headshot for the home page. Up aboue you'll see "videos". Click and choose. There are a couple of shows there as well including- "The Importance of Being Earnest".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had been considering a podcast but I think this is more fun and it only take a few minutes to record and load straight onto You Tube.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will get better at this as soon as I can find a few hours to sit down and learn editing etc. I'd like to put some non-copyrighted music on the Vlogs too. I'd like to do all this in the next week to be ready for a nice Christmas Vlog.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have I bitten off more than I can chew?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Perhaps...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the meantime- Happy Holidays. Be kind to each other.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a wonderful season to be cheerful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I must dash though...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have things to learn and all at the ripe old age of a septuagenarian.</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-36108114303436217482021-11-06T14:24:00.000-07:002021-11-06T14:24:26.280-07:00ROBBLOG #998- Slap!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFNnILWFcxNR4iJFJmwEHqd9lPsbxZ20ck9zkIwID_52lvW4k_eu76aRydLV_94n_uAYzvJNhdrYXKNuhIWCHnXJ2ipvs9_cRBCx5hK2EO14h26XzO7dTUBZHkIvc770rSm4I9o9zZcU/s1228/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1014" data-original-width="1228" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFNnILWFcxNR4iJFJmwEHqd9lPsbxZ20ck9zkIwID_52lvW4k_eu76aRydLV_94n_uAYzvJNhdrYXKNuhIWCHnXJ2ipvs9_cRBCx5hK2EO14h26XzO7dTUBZHkIvc770rSm4I9o9zZcU/s320/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>A phrase that comes up time and time again when reading one of my favourite magazines- English Home, is : "I don't have anything too precious."</p><div style="text-align: left;">The homeowner on one hand is meaning he/she doesn't have a lot of breakable, expensive, nice things</div><div style="text-align: left;">that could be broken by visitors. On the other hand maybe he/she has already dispersed precious keepsakes.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Either way it's not my way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When thinking about the future and what I will eventually do with all my "stuff", I realize my major problem is I have too much stuff and it's all precious- to me at least. I know when I shuffle off to the great beyond nobody will want this stuff.</div><div style="text-align: left;">That's a shame.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Much of it is family stuff.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A clock from my Dad's Dad- my Grandfather. </div><div style="text-align: left;">A charcoal photo of my Grandmother and her brother.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A rocking chair from Lottie- my Mum's Mum and her China set with it's 22 ct gold trimmings.</div><div style="text-align: left;">There's more but I'd be here all day listing the items including a Santa Claus from Christmas 1963 given to me by my Grandmother Lillian Reid. That furry Claus started my Santa Claus collection. HIs beard is a little ratty and yellowy all these decades later but he is still my favourite.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe I can slip him away with me.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Comforting thought to say the least.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd better stop or I'll start bawling....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_2BpzrqOh0VmgWESJa_AVrhJS_wjdF9lmpV__5B-7qnrRmM8oyhA-cJVjfJzhIrHoD989uSjeageaa43B1xjPJTzBjryDoWEYl8PVqeSs8-tjjUTk4s4-EGLFlEDSP9BviUX0Yu5sf0/s150/Santaface.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_2BpzrqOh0VmgWESJa_AVrhJS_wjdF9lmpV__5B-7qnrRmM8oyhA-cJVjfJzhIrHoD989uSjeageaa43B1xjPJTzBjryDoWEYl8PVqeSs8-tjjUTk4s4-EGLFlEDSP9BviUX0Yu5sf0/s0/Santaface.gif" width="150" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's a conundrum.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nieces and nephews have no interest.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The Mister and I have no kids.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes folks- I'm barren!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My Siblings have some stuff of their own so they don't need mine to add to their pile.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Do you worry about things like this?</div><div style="text-align: left;">As I start working my way through seventyhood, I seems I have the need to disperse these "precious" things- a plan even.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Not that I plan on going anywhere soon but there's that old adage-</div><div style="text-align: left;">Here today. Gone tomorrow.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then the Mister has to deal with it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">He tells me not to worry about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">"What will you care"- he says, "You'll be dead!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I guess this means I won't have any of my "precious accoutrements in "Heaven" unless he sends them Canada Post Express to wherever I'll be. I must remember when I do leave to jot down a forwarding address. That would be helpful- wouldn't it?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now that I think of it, if I stopped reading Obits from back home, I'd be better. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Every few weeks I search through the listings of those who have passed. Usually there's one or two folks I knew way back when- like the High School History Teacher Mr. Wilson whose class I never actually took but used to talk to frequently.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Probably because my cousin Jude babysat for he and his wife.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a strange place to be this 70 something.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't feel like 70 something but apparently the BC government has plopped me in the fragile senior category offering me my Senior "booster" Covid shot and imploring me to get a flu jab.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I've never had a flu shot.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Like the anti-vaxxers, I guess I feel I can beat the flu.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am invincible.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe what Dr. Henry here in British Columbia is saying to me is a wakeup call.</div><div style="text-align: left;">In person- like Cher, she might slap me across the cheek and say- </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Snap out of it!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ouch!!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-35080105233477414912021-10-30T14:32:00.000-07:002021-10-30T14:32:12.818-07:00ROBBLOG #997- French like France<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbQm0degEv2hyCmU2_BqOEhfcA8KhIpJepAtdmZkE7Zw81tYn38jJ1utkx66rjop5jqIEkcLVmWipNpltpCQDJMsMX8go_ycQ_A57t4bzZaoUtjx4kXGWHHQekaOeo8mO8XLbk9_46X0/s1367/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="1367" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbQm0degEv2hyCmU2_BqOEhfcA8KhIpJepAtdmZkE7Zw81tYn38jJ1utkx66rjop5jqIEkcLVmWipNpltpCQDJMsMX8go_ycQ_A57t4bzZaoUtjx4kXGWHHQekaOeo8mO8XLbk9_46X0/s320/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">First off.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notice this Blog is number 997.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Only 3 blogs and I reach 1000.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A milestone. What happens next?</div><div style="text-align: left;">I had planned to stop writing at number 500.</div><div style="text-align: left;">What happened?</div><div style="text-align: left;">I should go back to number 500 and have a read.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This past week, I slipped into Homo Depot to buy chalked paint.</div><div style="text-align: left;">For several years I have had a yearning to paint our oak dining set and hutch French Linen White.</div><div style="text-align: left;">We had been through a few days of fog and mist and rain when about 4ish in the afternoon I says</div><div style="text-align: left;">to the Mister- "That's it. Homo Depot has the chalked paint I have been wanting back in stock. I'm going to do it!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I did.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I painted and chalked my little heart out for a couple of days. Then, I waxed my work.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Overall it was pretty easy.</div><div style="text-align: left;">No prep.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Just paint- although a wipe down doesn't hurt.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Chalk paint doesn't splatter much and it goes on quickly. The end product is bee-you-tea-ful.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A French White Dining room in a day plus a few hours to wax once the chalked paint is completely dry.</div><div style="text-align: left;">This Solid Oak Dining set was made by Mennonites in Ontario- near Guelph, thirty four years ago.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It has stood the test of time but it was looking dated.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I love the French look. Some call it Farmhouse.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The Mister calls it- "I'm not sure but as long as you like it..."</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am used to these retorts these days.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo, I do love the look and it brings the white woodwork in the dining area to life.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdOMrZd40pbkpYtBjiCM4QbYugyAQtRftSyW-BNft-8q3RTbiP4F98QcFcPxMEuIt7YGxruyutDn9ZVuvYwUqhHWBM6f30_nCYzheeaK1bQcKC8Zbr0L38p9QbUFlhl5hSYsHwtrdevM/s4000/DSC03808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdOMrZd40pbkpYtBjiCM4QbYugyAQtRftSyW-BNft-8q3RTbiP4F98QcFcPxMEuIt7YGxruyutDn9ZVuvYwUqhHWBM6f30_nCYzheeaK1bQcKC8Zbr0L38p9QbUFlhl5hSYsHwtrdevM/s320/DSC03808.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">So back up a bit.</div><div style="text-align: left;">When I stepped into Homo Depot I walked into seasonal splendour. The store just inside the main doors was stocked from ceiling to floor with Holiday decor. There was not a ghoul in sight only reindeer, Christmas Trees and sparkle.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I had a quick look even though I was on a chalked paint mission. On a top shelf I could see a six foot Eiffel Tower. Definitely not as large as the original in Paris but with the twinkling lights it was a very reasonable facsimile in understated gold.</div><div style="text-align: left;">When you visit the tower in Paris it actually is a rusty brown.</div><div style="text-align: left;">This store model was a flat gold. It drew my interest because I bought the same tower in white years ago.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Since my purchase, the twinkling lights have all stopped twinkling and I have had to re-string it with simple, white fairy lights. It works. Just not as pretty as with the prelit twinkling lights. I noticed the price at one hundred and seventy dollars was not as pretty as before either.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I believe a ten dollar can of gold spray paint could give my tower a lift but I'd have to remove the lights, then spray the gold and re-string the lights.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Not sure I'm up for the redo.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I've painted enough this week but never say never.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a final thought I encourage you to think about "prelit" anything. Over the years I haven't had the best luck when it comes to prelit trees- indoor or outdoor as well as prelit geese. It sure saves time when decorating a tree. Then one year you plug it in and half the tree is dark.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am thinking about that this year.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Our huge 14 foot prelit, 900 light indoor tree from Costco is looking at its 6th year this Holiday Season.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I hope the heck it works when I plug it in.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If it goes dark you'll hear me scream from British Columbia all the way back to Ontario!</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-65249916763436849822021-10-16T16:30:00.002-07:002021-10-30T14:32:56.070-07:00ROBBLOG #996- Sore as "Ho"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbQm0degEv2hyCmU2_BqOEhfcA8KhIpJepAtdmZkE7Zw81tYn38jJ1utkx66rjop5jqIEkcLVmWipNpltpCQDJMsMX8go_ycQ_A57t4bzZaoUtjx4kXGWHHQekaOeo8mO8XLbk9_46X0/s1367/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="1367" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbQm0degEv2hyCmU2_BqOEhfcA8KhIpJepAtdmZkE7Zw81tYn38jJ1utkx66rjop5jqIEkcLVmWipNpltpCQDJMsMX8go_ycQ_A57t4bzZaoUtjx4kXGWHHQekaOeo8mO8XLbk9_46X0/s320/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I fell walking through the man door into our garage.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was wet out front.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was barefoot.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I went outside to take down a pumpkin banner that was flapping and snapping in the mountain breeze.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I stepped into the garage over the threshold and through the door, my right heel slid forward on the floor causing me to fall on the cement on my left knee. I am bruised on my knee and sore from neck to waist on my right side. In hindsight, if I was attempting the splits as a ballet dancer I would be proud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Mister opened the door into the mud room just as I was getting up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He panicked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I said I am fine but I'll be sore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What is it that makes us Seniors fall?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I came in the house. Iced my bruised knee and sat down to peruse the CBC News website.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the second row of stories down the page was the headline- "Risk of Falls for Seniors".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Apparently we seniors- over 65, flop to the floor enough times to have falling related injuries the number one reason we are hospitalized.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I may have gone to the hospital if my right leg had been wrapped up around my neck but it wasn't and I didn't. The article pointed to hearing loss and vision loss as the causes of us smacking the deck. Losing our balance was the result. In my case it was a slippery garage floor. Good Gawd, I might have chipped a tooth or broke my nose. I wouldn't have gone out for weeks what with the swelling and black and blue around my eyes, nose and mouth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course, I repeat- I am fine but I am sore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-AinF3Be1myto86OGRJUILHuSlc5cZStb5jQc-998xfa31BURm8qvpZxvh007xX9e4VUO4hFAkI9BoaBwGcDlyyHWSOoIa3aJcFNM_vXq1YC9d9VQzt_rXb94IN_9O2SegvtU1-2XgU/s157/hunkjump.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="157" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-AinF3Be1myto86OGRJUILHuSlc5cZStb5jQc-998xfa31BURm8qvpZxvh007xX9e4VUO4hFAkI9BoaBwGcDlyyHWSOoIa3aJcFNM_vXq1YC9d9VQzt_rXb94IN_9O2SegvtU1-2XgU/s0/hunkjump.jpeg" width="157" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't feel like 70 but somehow some things I do point to the fact I am and I am not pleased.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A neighbour asked if I wanted to borrow a cane.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Have one and used one before"- I said, "but thanks."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Crap.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These days my skin is much thinner too. I can mark my arm with anything vaguely sharp like a rubber ball- and have blood gush forth like never before. If our Mini Schnauzer pulls at my arm wanting a treat or a walk, her nails gouge my skin. The rich, crimson blood flows around the blonde hairs on my arm and droplets hit the floor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is crazy and the marks take longer to heal than they did in my previous youth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some days I should just lock myself in a padded room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd be safe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lonely but safe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd better go and apply another ice pack to my knee.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's smarting a bit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have Dr. Ho to help my right side. He doesn't come to the house. I keep his equipment in a drawer in the "Boy's Room"- our main floor powder room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I use his pads quite often.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Buying his contraption in a search for pain relief, I feel that I have provided extra cash so he can continue to enjoy his life on his huge yacht with all those nubile, blonde girls sunning themselves on every deck.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm sure Dr. Ho is well aware how often we oldsters fall or are in pain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He's stepped up to the plate</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">...which is better than falling on it. </div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-49446359409971665402021-10-13T12:27:00.002-07:002021-10-13T12:27:20.802-07:00ROBBLOG #995- Over the Log<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFNnILWFcxNR4iJFJmwEHqd9lPsbxZ20ck9zkIwID_52lvW4k_eu76aRydLV_94n_uAYzvJNhdrYXKNuhIWCHnXJ2ipvs9_cRBCx5hK2EO14h26XzO7dTUBZHkIvc770rSm4I9o9zZcU/s1228/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1014" data-original-width="1228" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFNnILWFcxNR4iJFJmwEHqd9lPsbxZ20ck9zkIwID_52lvW4k_eu76aRydLV_94n_uAYzvJNhdrYXKNuhIWCHnXJ2ipvs9_cRBCx5hK2EO14h26XzO7dTUBZHkIvc770rSm4I9o9zZcU/s320/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div>I had to reach out to a friend who had recently sunk down a dark, black hole called depression.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a bitch.</div><div>I suffered from depression years ago.</div><div>It's still there inside my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>At my lowest point down that hole, I was given a choice- hospital or staying with someone- outside of my immediate family, who would care for me. My Cousin Judy- who passed a couple of years back, stepped up to the plate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div>I will always love her and will never forget her for that.</div><div>She saved me.</div><div>You saved me Jude!</div><div><br /></div><div>I always suffered most at the changing of the season from summer to autumn. I don't know why.</div><div>Late August through the fall when it seems everything dies.</div><div>Weather changed. Seasons changed and <span style="font-size: 12pt;">so did I.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>At that lowest point I stopped going to work. I lied. I stayed home. In my state of depression I needed to be alone and to be surrounded by my things. I remember thinking if I was a millionaire I could deal with this. I wouldn't have to work and I could take off somewhere whenever I wanted.</div><div>I thought it would cure me.</div><div>It would have made me feel better but a cure? Not sure there even is a cure. </div><div>It's more of an understanding how to cope and still live a normal life- not that I personally have lived a "normal life" whatever that is...</div><div><br /></div><div>One day- the final day before I got help, my Mum and Sister, found me crouched in a fetal position</div><div>between my bed and a wall.</div><div>I was so low.</div><div>So low...</div><div>I wasn't answering my phone.</div><div>People were worried and rightly so.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was at the bottom of that dark, deep hole, I had to be on drugs to level myself out.</div><div>This was about 1980.</div><div>Mental Health issues were not talked about.</div><div>If one was depressed one was told to pull up one's socks</div><div>and get on with it. </div><div>My Dad told me that.</div><div>The brain knew different, however.</div><div>A broken arm people could see and understand.</div><div>A Mental illness and confusion- not so much</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhoo, it was three months or so for me to get back to feeling sort of okay. </div><div>I had put on weight. </div><div>My clothes felt tight. </div><div>My cheeks were chubby.</div><div>I was tired but looking forward.</div><div>I was "okay enough" to be out in public and even well enough to want to return to work.</div><div>I tried.</div><div>It didn't go quite to plan.</div><div><br /></div><div>My work- CHAY FM at the time, let me go.</div><div>I went in for a meeting all set to go back to work and they kindly let me go never understanding what</div><div>pain I had been through. None of the three managers at the meeting could look me in the eye.</div><div>I was done.</div><div>I bawled my eyes out in the car as I drove home.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of my major problems resulting in "the Great Depression" was being in the closet.</div><div>I was 29.</div><div>On the final day I saw a psychiatrist he said to me:</div><div>"Rob you know what you have to do, so go out there and do it."</div><div>I did.</div><div><br /></div><div>I called someone I had met that I knew was Gay and off I went to Toronto never telling a soul why.</div><div>After a few weeks- and not long before Christmas, I began to come out to family and friends.</div><div>Imagine if every straight person had to come out to family and friends.</div><div>For most Gay folks- like myself, it's a journey we must take.</div><div>It's like jumping over a log to a better side of the meadow.</div><div>Crossing a line in the sand to personal freedom.</div><div>It felt great and so right and remember this was 1980 not 2021!</div><div>It's a life-changing experience and takes guts but it's a road to wellness I had to take and wanted to take.</div><div><br /></div><div>My Mum called me one day and said my Dad didn't want me to come home for Christmas!</div><div>How nice!</div><div>After struggling for months this was not what I needed to hear but I was stronger and moved forward.</div><div>Then, at the last minute she called and said Dad had changed his mind.</div><div>"Come home for Christmas"- she said.</div><div>I said- no.</div><div>I had other plans.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBo5F2C6PB94JT5wcE_BZSOFw18uuoaKbGzEd0RQmzsa5Ej8wCNx4maqOMROFcm9ZsWkYifxawFGhyiGA4KLQKYsEmCMeFuQDQ4fetSvaxk2doPb5Rcb8HGA8noru2dbSRABn-fYQWp8/s2048/Sun+Settting+on+Highrock+Park+in+Victoria+Jan+20+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBo5F2C6PB94JT5wcE_BZSOFw18uuoaKbGzEd0RQmzsa5Ej8wCNx4maqOMROFcm9ZsWkYifxawFGhyiGA4KLQKYsEmCMeFuQDQ4fetSvaxk2doPb5Rcb8HGA8noru2dbSRABn-fYQWp8/s320/Sun+Settting+on+Highrock+Park+in+Victoria+Jan+20+19.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div>I had to watch myself for a few years.</div><div>I had to be careful and watch for depression's warning signs.</div><div>Things eventually fell into place.</div><div>After a relationship from hell in Toronto, I met the current "Mister" on a plane to Honolulu.</div><div>A few weeks later when we met up back on Toronto, I told him what I had been through what with depression and coming out a few years before.</div><div>Funnily enough, I helped him come out. He hadn't jumped over the log as of yet.</div><div>He helped me with my depression. He stayed strong when the vile illness tried to rear its ugly head in the next few years.</div><div>I still have "episodes" now and then. </div><div>A small blip but I handle it as best I can.</div><div>At least I don't curl up between my bed and a wall any more!</div><div><br /></div><div>Just a couple of years ago I wanted to go back to Ontario when I found myself dreadfully homesick. I thought maybe we- I, had made a mistake coming to the Island.</div><div>Depression is a devil of an illness and creeps up on you.</div><div>I had tears.</div><div>I tried to feel better and did eventually. Nothing like 1980.</div><div>I was just sad and feeling away from everything I had known.</div><div>Several people back in "Old Home" had passed and we couldn't go home.</div><div>The "monster" lurked and I had warning signals but I beat it back.</div><div>I'll always have some form of depression. </div><div>It's in me.</div><div>I have to control it and I do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Recently, I asked the Mister- "If we still lived in Orillia right now, would we make the move to the Island?"</div><div>It's a hard call to make and I don't know why I asked the question in the first place. I still get a pull from "old home" and the Autumn season now and then it leaves as quickly as it comes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Most importantly, if you believe you are suffering from depression, know you are not a alone.</div><div>That's the most important part of all this depression crap.</div><div>You go to the people who support you and understand and it's not always those closest to you. </div><div>Some people have a very hard time <span style="font-size: 12pt;">sorting through things like this and want no part of it.</span></div><div>If they only knew what it was like for us...</div><div><br /></div><div>So that's my rambling on my life with depression.</div><div>Get help.</div><div>Keep strong.</div><div>Remember "Life is Good".</div><div>Lean on those you can.</div><div>and</div><div>Be Well.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-40500033473231210202021-09-29T12:12:00.003-07:002021-10-13T11:31:13.868-07:00ROBBLOG #994- NO HO HO HOliday Shopping<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dyWtDv61zeRKFMiJQWFyoVbf2uejQgnEhTimk7VXRRxN1rgd-gJmgGQ1TCF99HyHwHsoAtrI8NgfoPsHMd0W4FhaBWOEwfU68o_SAiFGp5mu1IVqUOktU4dBv1BGMspAXxYLTrNhzpw/s1228/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1014" data-original-width="1228" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8dyWtDv61zeRKFMiJQWFyoVbf2uejQgnEhTimk7VXRRxN1rgd-gJmgGQ1TCF99HyHwHsoAtrI8NgfoPsHMd0W4FhaBWOEwfU68o_SAiFGp5mu1IVqUOktU4dBv1BGMspAXxYLTrNhzpw/s320/Rob+Closeup+B%2526W2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess we won't see Berlin or Paris or London this coming Holiday Season.</div><div><br /></div><div>We've made two appointments during the time period we usually go. We didn't go last season due to covid but we had hopes that this year would be different.</div><div>It's not.</div><div>Perhaps it's even worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>Documents needed. Masks. Do this. Don't do that. I'm NOT doing that.</div><div>Be safe.</div><div>How the hell can we be sure?</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, we could go to London and do some of our fun Christmas things like window shopping at Selfridges or having a meal at our favourite Oxford Street Pub The Three Tuns. The question is- if we were exposed to this new strain of covid or the next we'd have to stay another 14 days in a hotel at our expense.</div><div>That would break the bank.</div><div>Worst scenario- we get covid 4.0 and we'd have to stay in a hospital and accrue medical expenses.</div><div>None of this sounds like a good plan.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6fWNQC7zsDnuV06CbpDa4Y9b50IVdocSCY74J6W7ydAAn2anM-6fzEEs6XvEJuz0j13ps-Hef45Bc2tfEtzJ1nu0PPTRIMuDVuOLweCB4dfNhCVeD30PxeoqdpCZNHGUe9lod969khg/s2048/20121213_170.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6fWNQC7zsDnuV06CbpDa4Y9b50IVdocSCY74J6W7ydAAn2anM-6fzEEs6XvEJuz0j13ps-Hef45Bc2tfEtzJ1nu0PPTRIMuDVuOLweCB4dfNhCVeD30PxeoqdpCZNHGUe9lod969khg/s320/20121213_170.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>I know I'll miss the Holiday Spirit conjured up when we've gone in past years. The shopping at Primark</div><div>for clothes especially. It's a must when visiting Oxford Street at Christmas. We'd fill a Primark shopping basket with new things- even though we had no need of yet another shirt or pair of socks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Primark is remarkably inexpensive and yet the store always has the latest in fashions. Hanging in my closet from past years is a grey duffel coat that cost me 30 pounds. The one with the oblong wooden buttons you slip through a small hoop, then turn to secure.</div><div>There's the leather jacket that cost 35 pounds. At the time I bought it, I didn't need another leather jacket but I couldn't pass up the price!</div><div><br /></div><div>In my closet you would also find shoes and numerous styles and colours of shirts all bought for 10 pounds or less. This stuff lasts way longer than the six dollar T Shirts at Wally World!</div><div><br /></div><div>The tragedy is because of covid we are waiting for next year unless a big miracle happens between now and the first of November. I'd be happy going for an extended weekend instead of the 10 days or so that usually makes up this excursion.</div><div><br /></div><div>I would love to know I'd be strolling along the Champs-Elysees in Paris ogling the Christmas lights or checking out the Christmas Market. Buying some little thing and having an afternoon coffee at Le Depart de Saint-Michel. </div><div><i>~heavy sigh~</i></div><div>Not this year.</div><div>We had even contemplated starting our Holiday Trip in Berlin. Visiting an Aunt and then taking the train to Paris and then the Eurostar to St. Pancreas in London.</div><div>Again, not this year.</div><div>Damn.</div><div>Damn covid and damn those unvaccinated who are fueling this 4th wave.</div><div>The numbers tell the story.</div><div>Up to 80% of people hospitalized or in ICU's here in British Columbia are unvaccinated.</div><div>Our daily numbers are as high or higher than the wave prior to this past summer.</div><div><br /></div><div>So the Mister and I are not about to sacrifice our health and safety and head to England- or France, because of the uneducated un-jabbed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Only this past week we were talking to someone we have known for a few years who works in a busy store here on Vancouver Island only to discover this person is NOT vaccinated. This person is absolutely convinced they will NOT get covid nor pass it along to someone else.</div><div>They believe it's all a ruse perpetrated by the government.</div><div>They read it on the internet.</div><div>Huh, must be true.</div><div><br /></div><div>Give me strength.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-14058223420602666432021-09-12T16:25:00.001-07:002021-09-12T16:25:52.996-07:00ROBBLOG #993- Any "portico" in a Storm<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviwxmLeDsK5s4u1gXz-d8dhTiLTQYoUnNPY00UJKKk2Yiu-zqcJeVYCpTBzZowbhGJpkUvNtHeI8RRx5R_W0fcZRK6HYgGtpbHLA1ReWo65wovOWcyPRxEl7ExROuWBGZfQU33KFncNU/s431/ROBSepia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="431" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviwxmLeDsK5s4u1gXz-d8dhTiLTQYoUnNPY00UJKKk2Yiu-zqcJeVYCpTBzZowbhGJpkUvNtHeI8RRx5R_W0fcZRK6HYgGtpbHLA1ReWo65wovOWcyPRxEl7ExROuWBGZfQU33KFncNU/s320/ROBSepia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A portico.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I want a portico.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Seems like something someone might shove in my Christmas Stocking. Alas, a portico would be too darn big. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A portico is a structure- usually made of wood.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I saw one in a House and Home Magazine from a year ago. I bought the magazine last fall but because of our move to this mountain home, I suppose I only briefly glanced through its colourful pages. One of the feature articles was about a Gay couple who had bought at 1795 Georgian home in Chester, Nova Scotia. They called their home "White Cottage" for it is- white. It also has several bars so I would expect "Bar Cottage" would have been suitable as well. I don't suppose they'd mind me mentioning they had several bars since they were featured in the magazine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From their main living room a covered walkway led the way to this "Portico". A covered portico.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It had a roof- as porticos do- although some may be open like a pergola. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's another Blog.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The portico had a river-rock, wood-burning fireplace and plenty of seating. Three sides of the portico were open to the elements, so in a stiff winter wind- as I am sure Chester has, it would feel a bit nippy- even with a blazing fire.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A pile of colourful blankets sat on one of the surrounding benches so one could cozy up tight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It all looks very romantic- being the feature was shot for the Holidays. A nearby gate adjoining a white picket fence, sported a huge, real evergreen wreath tied with a holly berry red bow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A hot toddy, hearty flames and good conversation would make this portico a grand spot to be- even if it were a bit chilly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chester by the by is located on Mahone Bay in Nova Scotia, west of Halifax. Possibly their winters are milder because of the proximity to the ocean and the protected bay.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzt54zWZv1jR2aN-Vv6W33AOwPXabUY07SC6xF73pbfpACSDM43Gzo89iWWRGmdZ-sJPCGzEV8WAA75NxBXqmiewHXPx12lJUAmWu6IZ7g051uv4QOgvoqI5P0oo18HVBUGDQcmI3z38/s1920/Portico.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzt54zWZv1jR2aN-Vv6W33AOwPXabUY07SC6xF73pbfpACSDM43Gzo89iWWRGmdZ-sJPCGzEV8WAA75NxBXqmiewHXPx12lJUAmWu6IZ7g051uv4QOgvoqI5P0oo18HVBUGDQcmI3z38/s320/Portico.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This is an elegant entrance portico.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The cottage is gorgeous and now I want a portico at the front of Palm Villa. We have an automatic, retractable awning installed there now but a solid, all wood, covered portico would be lovely. Not being a carpenter I believe I can see that it would require two stout pillars on one side and the other would be lashed to the house just above the studio window. I would prefer a covered roof so during inclement, rainy weather one could comfortably sit beneath it, coffee in hand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Again, not being a professional carpenter, I should think the price of construction would be reasonable- meaning not too intolerably expensive. How much can a couple of pillars, a few brackets and a bit of wood set one back? I'll let you know when I find out. It could quite easily be my next major project after we receive the estimate for wooden shutters on four of our windows.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had roller blinds installed a year ago when we moved in but they have proved unworthy. The original idea with blinds and not shutters was to allow us to roll the blinds up to reveal our million-dollar view. What we quickly discovered come late spring and throughout the summer, there was no view since we had to keep the blinds pulled down eight hours a day to keep the sun from fading furniture and artwork.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Who knew?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyhoo, now we are beginning the expensive process of installing wooden shutters which should have been our initial choice. We've lived with shutters in our previous two homes and we know they look classically traditional and allowed us to move louvers up and down to re-direct sunlight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We're never too old to learn a valuable lesson in decor- are we?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Maybe one day in the near future- after we are shuttered, I can convince the Mister that a portico is the way to go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wish me luck!</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-85301516846346628352021-09-01T10:22:00.002-07:002021-09-01T10:22:20.714-07:00ROBBLOG #992- Holy Snappers!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Holy Snappers! It's September first!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cool, crisp days are ahead. Like sticking your head in a frost-free refrigerator. Not so crisp right away here in the Mediterranean climate of the Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island. We still keep mild and there'll be lots of sunshine before the rains roll in come November.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Boy do we need the rain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's the same every summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Drought, fires and brown.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The "winter" greens up nicely. Anemones, Winter Jasmine, snowdrops and Camellias bloom shortly after the new year a time that our friend Tall Steve calls "spring". There always seems to be something in bloom on our Island.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">September first.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">School.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Elections (Bah-Humbug)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Harvest decor. Thanksgiving. Light parades. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Santa Claus Parades and then "BOOM"- Christmas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-m9OONeVLReLo5lZZyZICArLytXTaQ6yk9npo20z5PJlCOhNZX58pfaKeJ9k13BYUqdBPUTU2QltcXeJZyeQIWraUE6Heglq57GLESX8CARIypdzthJuUkYdm0msZxv9PaVM_1hNYgk/s2048/Palm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-m9OONeVLReLo5lZZyZICArLytXTaQ6yk9npo20z5PJlCOhNZX58pfaKeJ9k13BYUqdBPUTU2QltcXeJZyeQIWraUE6Heglq57GLESX8CARIypdzthJuUkYdm0msZxv9PaVM_1hNYgk/s320/Palm.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It seems to fly by faster every year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Come September and the first cool, damp day I can't help myself. I pick up my stack of Christmas Magazines that go back more than 20 years. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I sort them by titles as well as by years.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some of the Home Magazines from the 80's start to look a little dated. I may flip through their colourful pages like a kid in a candy shop but mostly it's just a flip through.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here on the Island we don't have raking to do like back at Pine Tree House. Our trees and most shrubs are evergreen- at least on our property. People do have Maples but a tall, Arbutus keeps leaves year round and looks spectacular in January.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Costco will have their assortment of trees ready soon and last week I could see Home Depot was shuffling summer stuff out of the aisle to make way for seasonal decor. Of course, because of the weather here lawnmovers, blowers, mulch, bags of dirt and more are available year round. You won't see a display of shovels and scrapers appear until we have a few centimetres of snow and then it's all very last minute.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last year just before a freek, February snowstorm the Mister asked the fellah in Canadian Tire for a snow scraper. We hadn't brought one from Ontario.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The fellah scratched his head and said- "We should have a box of them around here somewhere, if I could just remember where. Could you come back tomorrow?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Mister assured him we could to which he answered- "A credit card works!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"We use debit mostly."- replies the Mister.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No, No."- The Canadian Tire man says, "I mean to scrape your windshield!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Island, eh?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So as the light fades a little more each evening and we feel a bit of a "chill" in the air, thoughts- my thoughts at least, turn to another season not too far off where I dream of pumpkin pie, whipped cream,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">oatmeal for breakfast and holiday shopping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd better get making a list...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-82139147406407921162021-08-22T09:49:00.000-07:002021-08-22T09:49:03.337-07:00ROBBLOG #891- A "Huge" Blog<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why can't I have a body like "Huge" Jackman.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I asked The Mister that very question.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Why can't I have a body like Hugh (I call him "Huge") Jackman?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Honey, You're just not built that way- nor are you tall enough."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I just thought with all the backyard labour I've been doing lately, my muscles would bulge and I'd grow a few inches."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Darling,"- he answered with a wide grin, "If it was meant to be that you had a build like "Huge" it would most certainly have happened by now. Be happy with what you have."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh piffle and poppycock!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I met him- in person, once you know. "Huge" was standing outside the stage entrance at the Princess of Wales Theatre in Toronto. He signed a DVD cover of his stint in Oklahoma for me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He looked at the curly-haired image on the cover, then smiled and said in his ever-so-cute Aussie accent-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Well, that was a long time ago Bruce!".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He actually didn't call me "Bruce" but it gives you a small slice of the accent I heard.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was charming.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yummy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Handsome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rugged...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and tall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The show we saw was amazing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Legs like a Vegas Showgirl!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A waist small and tight and a tuft of Australian chest hair peeking over the top of his brilliant, white shirt- which I kept hoping someone would rip off his damp, hairy body.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No one did.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Damn...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I see "Huge" is in a new movie these days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Looks like it's about regressing oneself back in time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Reminiscence?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyhow, it appears to give him the opportunity to strip off his shirt. It's a prominent shot in any of the promotional material I've seen on Twitter. I say good for him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A man should be used from time to time as a ruddy slab of fresh meat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Use him and then forget about him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Throw him away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Except I wouldn't. I'd be kind. Gentle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd invite him for tea- around the swimming pool of course- if I had one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We "boys" need something pretty to look at from time to time and "Huge" will do just fine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know he has a wife but she just has to get used to this adoration and share- right Dear?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Deb was in the audience at the Price of Wales.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He introduced her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Blah. Blah. Boring.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess she has her use and I am sure she is a lovely person who gets to see "Huge" prancing naked out of the shower on most days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTvKBAlysm57rQECo_u5_lW4jkPUrHNmZFA_5t1w8PpBjpo9iMA6GOR283w1vf1b6G3gWcI58mWeOr-8Y0RLij7XDEHBEIprzUKi7oPcekEl_B2eIyEfO_R3NM_kiQdBe3xoMSdXBtaM/s1200/Huge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTvKBAlysm57rQECo_u5_lW4jkPUrHNmZFA_5t1w8PpBjpo9iMA6GOR283w1vf1b6G3gWcI58mWeOr-8Y0RLij7XDEHBEIprzUKi7oPcekEl_B2eIyEfO_R3NM_kiQdBe3xoMSdXBtaM/s320/Huge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>"Huge" shirtless in his newest movie</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Huge" has "boyfriends too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ryan Reynolds is one. They look pretty tight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wonder if they've ever...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Naw...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's just in my mind and in a perfect world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, I work away making paths on our terraced backyard. Sweating in the hot August sun. Laying down bag after bag of subdued red mulch.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next a fence.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Down about terrace number four, we're running a decorative fence from one side of the property to the other. It's a natural cedar colour. It's not going to keep deer or vermin out. It's just going to be a backdrop to the terraces. A place where one's eyes stop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did you know that "Huge" spells "colour"- being Australian, like we do in this Dominion of Canada.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes he does!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It brings me closer to him.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now this fence. It's like an upstage curtain with evergreen plantings along it's run so things will look pretty and green all year through.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We can have that on the island you know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pretty things.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like the very talented "Huge" Jackman</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think I'll call my fence "Huge".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Strong.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Strapping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Naturally rough.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">~pause~</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Really, it's probably time for me to get a reality slap- isn't it?</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-46769783033705707982021-08-12T18:05:00.001-07:002021-08-12T18:05:44.136-07:00ROBBLOG #890- It's Black. It's All Black.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>September 20th. Circle your calendar.<p></p><p>It's rumoured- and may be true while this RobBlog is posted, to be the date we Canadians will go to the polls federally. I am already planning to sleep late, keep my blinds pulled down and watch old Bette Davis movies.</p><p>After the last time I voted here on the Island, I swore I never would again. The "bullies" who ran the poll made my mind up for me. You may remember that I was attending to vote with a friend- a Brit, who was going to vote in Canada for the first time. Like Justin Trudeau, I wanted to take a photo of her slipping her ballot into the box.</p><p>Verbotten! I was told and she was too. It was a case of a breach of National Security. Ottawa would fall. The Governor-General and the Queen would decide our fate. Bullshit and Poppycock but I was worried that the Poll "bullies" would report me to the authorities. I was led to believe such insurrection and un-canadianizum would not be tolerated.</p><p>What the fuck is this? Russia?</p><p>Anyhoo, I called elections Canada because I was afraid I would be hunted down and jailed and was politely told that Justin- or his people, would have asked those in position of authority if he could politely take a photo of he and the wife shoving the ballot in the box.</p><p>Really?</p><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo, my blood pressure is rising so I'll not re-live any more of that afternoon but still, I have decided not to vote. Sure hope Jann Arden doesn't find out and give me a hefty tongue lashing. I mean I don't eat beef and pork these days but chicken and turkey are staples in my diet and I know she would prefer me to go as Frank Sinatra once sang- "'All the Way".</div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh Jann, I am trying. Not voting but trying to be kind to all animals.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I really am...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A final Jann thought, season three of "Jann" airs on CTV in September.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So an election.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Governor General Mary Simon will approve- this will be her first major decision.</div><div style="text-align: left;">What if she refuses?</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd like to see that actually.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once her edict goes forward and Parliament and everything else gets cancelled, we Canadians are into 36 days of lying, cheating, backstabbing, more lying, nasty commercials and more lying. Thank goodness this only goes on for 36 days and not months like some countries around the world.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-32AwRCUa8-4/XYQyEJEeofI/AAAAAAAALa4/t-JhIrhnecMralDLBabvVteahepfTYsmQCPcBGAYYCw/s2000/Justin%2BBlackface.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="2000" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-32AwRCUa8-4/XYQyEJEeofI/AAAAAAAALa4/t-JhIrhnecMralDLBabvVteahepfTYsmQCPcBGAYYCw/s320/Justin%2BBlackface.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The Prime Minster.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i> Hey, we've all done black-face right? Haven't we? Right?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Anyway, he's the one in the centre. In case you're wondering, copious amounts of Vodka were involved </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>resulting in things coming back full circle to bite him in the ass. You'll see this photo again in the next 36 days or so...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It will be interesting to see how a Federal Election will work in this time of covid and possibly the 4th wave. Although, I think someone said yesterday that Canada is now in the 4th wave.</div><div style="text-align: left;">These days who do we believe?</div><div style="text-align: left;">Justin? He can't give a straight answer to a straight question if he tried.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Reporter: Mr. Prime Minister, is one plus one, two?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Justin: Our government is working daily on doing the best for Canadians and creating more jobs across the country while ignoring Quebecers and their sovereign nation as well as those Indigenous people across this great land who we acknowledge are interested in bringing change to every street and place name in every village, town and city across this country.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Reporter: So the answer is?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Justin: As I have said many times before, our government is working daily and will continue to do so...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Reporter: Ah, Prime Minister, we get it. No more questions thank you.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Justin: No, thank you and remember "JANN" premiers on CTV next month!</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was planning on making fun of "The Tool" or "Sing a Song" or whomever is running for the "out of touch greens" but I have used up my 500 words or less.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A final thought.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Keep in mind the case numbers for covid are climbing across the country and here in BC as we await this election. Our Dr. Baloney is not saying that all the cases on the BC mainland or Vancouver Island- or at least 80 to 90 percent of cases, are anti-vaxers or the "non vaccinated". </div><div style="text-align: left;">We just have to guess as the government keeps us in the dark.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anti-Vaxers and the non-vaccinated.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sounds like a tribe of zombies or vampires roaming the earth looking for victims.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hey, you know what?</div><div style="text-align: left;">That's exactly what it is...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-78482719924661544112021-08-05T10:22:00.006-07:002021-08-12T17:16:50.628-07:00ROBBLOG #889- Firm Tits, Being 70 and More<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></blockquote></div></blockquote></blockquote>So, here's the thing...<p></p><div>I turned 70 recently.</div><div>No, not the number of times I turned dirt in my garden.</div><div>No not onto a Hwy.</div><div>It's age.</div><div>I am now fucking 70!</div><div><br /></div><div>I could apologize for the language but apparently at 70 one doesn't have to.</div><div>I wasn't crotchety in my 60's but I think 70 and up creates a whole new level of telling it like it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gal at a counter says- "Can I help you sir?"</div><div>I say- "When I'm good and fucking ready sister. Stop talking!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I wouldn't do that- ever.</div><div>I am really Mr. "Nice Guy".</div><div>In fact I am known for it. It's just I feel a little more freedom in what I could say- not what I would say.</div><div>Believe me, I have known folks who thrive on belittling others.</div><div>Those who are cranky and cantankerous. Not nice humans.</div><div>Those types are vexations to the spirit.</div><div><br /></div><div>So here I sit in my 71st year- it just keeps getting better doesn't it? I mean I order my A10 blonde hair colour through WalMart so I don't have to have it displayed in my shopping cart as I shop the cat food aisle.</div><div>There's a dead giveaway to old age.</div><div>A man shopping for cat food.</div><div><br /></div><div>Apparently, my body will start to age even faster now.</div><div>I'll have to use mega bottles of face cream.</div><div>I'll have to walk more. Bicycle more. Watch what I eat a little more than in the past.</div><div><br /></div><div>Will my "tits" start to sag in this decade? </div><div>(Some Gay men call their chest or pecs- tits.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So far, they have not.</div><div>They are both rather perky and look pretty damn good in a semi-tight, white tee shirt- if I do say so myself...for being 70.</div><div>I need to do a few more pectoral exercises.</div><div>Lean forward. Grab each forearm and push and push and push. One, two, three...</div><div>This exercise works- if your wondering.</div><div>I've used it for years.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJpK7R2qZmBjuejtebxfjzFUPjaJ0Db_3E2JmKjD6GN2wFNVwkKFNgv2_hg_YXiGGmYWs6496btQ_NTwKgpTKFdsQim3vQJ1ZfnaZyJqebzFmzoqiWz3CSAbJ1zuR55vQS-Wxxs5vei0/s395/trent.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="395" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJpK7R2qZmBjuejtebxfjzFUPjaJ0Db_3E2JmKjD6GN2wFNVwkKFNgv2_hg_YXiGGmYWs6496btQ_NTwKgpTKFdsQim3vQJ1ZfnaZyJqebzFmzoqiWz3CSAbJ1zuR55vQS-Wxxs5vei0/s320/trent.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This is not me. It's a reasonable facsimile- in my mind!</i></div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder if I'll be a Daddy Fag who still ogles men whenever I get the chance?</div><div>Probably...</div><div>Case in point a new neighbour has built a pool. I see him and his friends in their boxer trunks splashing around. Sitting in the sun with drinks in hand slapping their tanned thighs when someone tells a funny.</div><div>What the hell happened to Speedos? Why are they only prolific on Australian beaches?</div><div>I am dying to ask the neighbour if he's been "Speedo Shopping". You know- in jest of course.</div><div><br /></div><div>So 70.</div><div>Seventy.</div><div>65 plus 5= 70.</div><div>80 minus 10=70</div><div><br /></div><div>The way I see it, I'm on the downside of the mountain but I'm digging in my heels to slow my descent.</div><div>Is 70 the new 50?</div><div>I'm not sure.</div><div>If one is healthy and happy, then yes. I am sure it's a whole different kettle of speedos if one is not well and suffering from a half dozen health problems.</div><div><br /></div><div>That photo at the top of my blog by the way is me from 5 years ago. It was taken by Seanna Kreager.</div><div>Seanna lives in Ottawa and I live on Vancouver Island. Too much distance for a photo shoot.</div><div>I am going to get a "headshot" done now I'm 70.</div><div>Egads!</div><div>That could be scary but photographers can play with light and smooth things out- just a little.</div><div>Can't they?</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh vanity, thy name is Rob.</div><div>Why change now?</div><div>I'm 70....</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-53832221776574211242021-07-29T09:03:00.004-07:002021-07-29T09:04:10.396-07:00ROBBLOG #888- Give Me A Bag, Please<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Many years ago my Mother and her friend were talking about an acquaintance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This acquaintance they had not seen for several years.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I wonder how old he'd be- if he's still alive at all"- the friend says.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh Goodness,"-says my Mum," He must be an awful age by now..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An awful age.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's 70.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today. It's right where I am at and let me tell you, it IS an awful age- especially if you still believe- inside, you're 27.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wouldn't want to be 27 again but being a tad younger would be nice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Life is good and I can't complain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDAG-4qk9s7WDsDVkppjbotS6b8FLylQFytUyUV_8udDraWDXxFl87Y4_v5uIdRdT0EQr97eSU_FJoC2DpCLo3mCMPjia1MKaiC_wZHfnGvTJCJez5iG1pnpDhVu4ZdD0PqH5PnFIJ3I/s322/80390589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDAG-4qk9s7WDsDVkppjbotS6b8FLylQFytUyUV_8udDraWDXxFl87Y4_v5uIdRdT0EQr97eSU_FJoC2DpCLo3mCMPjia1MKaiC_wZHfnGvTJCJez5iG1pnpDhVu4ZdD0PqH5PnFIJ3I/s320/80390589.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>"You go Gurl!"</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then, there was yesterday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were lunching and shopping in Victoria with friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After lunch we headed to the Bay Centre. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I needed some eye cream from The Body Shop. I've been using this particular cream under my eyes for a century it seems and I believe it keeps my eyes looking younger and refreshed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyhow, I pick up two small bottles of the eye cream and it tallies seventy-seven dollars and change.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The young gal behind the counter who also suggests I spread the cream on my lips, asks -</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Would you like to place your Body Shop purchase in a bag for 25 cents?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, my first reaction was WTF?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next was...well never mind...but it pissed me off.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I spend seventy-seven bucks and The Body Shop is too cheap to throw in a quarter bag?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Good Grief!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Earlier, I had made a purchase at a new shop run by a gal from Dublin- Ireland, who by way of Saskatoon, ended up on the Island. She sells Floral Perfumery.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A beautiful shop. It's at www.zingaropure.com</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She gives the Mister and I our purchase in a lovely bag tied up with fresh, fragrant greenery.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How nice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No charge and a big smile too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also remember the day before here in the Cowichan, we shopped at a lovely home store run by a former Ontarian from Buckhorn. Brian's been on Island for 10 months. His shop is just barely a couple of months old and he gave us two "free" bags.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Check him out at-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">www.countryhomeandkitchen.ca</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So what I am trying to say is here's The Body Shop who happens to be a chain where I've spent hundreds of dollars over the years and they are too Fucking cheap to place my purchase in a little bag.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They could have gone to the Dollar Store and bought a box of doggie poop bags and had 60 bags to use for customers. It doesn't sit well with me- environment conscious or not, or whatever the reason for the pathetic 25 cent charge.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's just wrong and that's that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Customer service is key and if the little guy can do it- why can't the Body Shop?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yesterday, it ruined my almost 70 year old afternoon. My friends and the Mister are tired of hearing the story but after all I'm an old guy now and I can vent if I want to...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do you hear that Body Shop?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-44196690868582298532021-07-13T10:23:00.002-07:002021-09-01T10:29:52.208-07:00ROBBLOG #887- Don't Call us Anymore- You're Old.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I have a rather large birthday ahead.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will become a septuagenarian.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A Gay septuagenarian.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Damn and Double Damn. Many of my friends are in the same age bracket.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nothing I can do about it. Seventy may be a very pleasant place to be in this game of life we all play.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I tell the Mister that I have another 13 good years left. 13 times to put up the Christmas Tree.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">13 more trips to Hawaii, 13 more summers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a short ride. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Only time will tell how short.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I still have most of my hair.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I can jauntily climb out of bed- most mornings.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I can walk many kilometres in a stretch.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I ride my bile. Okay, it is an ebike but still I do a lot of the pedaling myself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't take my shirt off in public anymore which results in the best "farmer's tan" I've ever seen on a septuagenarian.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My dimming eyesight requires glasses for not just reading but distance and I may have glaucoma developing in my left eye. That will be confirmed or denied in the next month. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not a happy thought.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I can still pee unassisted and I am not yet wearing those under panties in a box I pass by every time I shop at WalMart. Actually, the handsome "Daddy" on the box's cover seems quite proud to be wearing the fashionable diapers. I hope I feel that proud when I slap on a pair.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You've all heard it before- we're not here for a long time. Just a short time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had better make the best of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Angel of Death could come calling at any moment! I hope he's handsome!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm not being morbid here and I'm not dwelling on the end of days for me- although The Mister would tell you a different story. I am just trying to get my head around the swiftness that brought me from a little kid to an "old man".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupRoWlyTspNveevxceJHz03pOM-g972ZQ0YGp3MtgRHkQYzUmxbitN9V2GDBNDR7y0eCWQtTnevXppgbhl4SylEwIcDWXqwNevN6wVZ1dPaNY16Yo-E49ulFmJBoCcBp0axWkyhlLpoM/s687/scan0001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="687" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupRoWlyTspNveevxceJHz03pOM-g972ZQ0YGp3MtgRHkQYzUmxbitN9V2GDBNDR7y0eCWQtTnevXppgbhl4SylEwIcDWXqwNevN6wVZ1dPaNY16Yo-E49ulFmJBoCcBp0axWkyhlLpoM/s320/scan0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Me at about 23 years of age with long hair- ya damn hippy!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>That's my brand, spanking new Volkswagen Beetle in Clementine Orange. I loved her.</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then yesterday to drive home the point that I have a relatively short time left on earth, the Royal Bank of Canada sends me a letter. The letter says due to the fact that I am turning 70, they will not be able to cover my on demand account with life insurance at month's end after my birthday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How nice of them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Banked with them for decades.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Paid their stupid fees and now they don't want to take a chance on me any longer. I am lucky there's a nil balance on the account but still- what the fuck?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am not just a liability, I am an old fucker who's a liability.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean they didn't even wish me a happy birthday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Sincerely" the form letter was signed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not "Sincerely and Happy Birthday" just "Sincerely".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a postscript:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"If the information that we have about your birth date is incorrect, please call us as soon as possible you old fart."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay, I added the old fart but really couldn't they have said- "Best Wishes on the occasion of your 70th- you old fart"?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's not all been black and dreary news however.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've had some happy septuagenarian news this week.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was at the dentist.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dr. Tom tells me I have 31 of my 32 teeth still in my head.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"That's remarkable"- he says, "The missing tooth is a wisdom tooth and you didn't need that one anyway."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes indeedy do, I still have three wisdom's and I'm thinking that's why I'm so damn intelligent at this stage of life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, what other explanation is there it?</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-14381748127091594492021-07-04T17:23:00.001-07:002021-09-01T10:27:21.994-07:00ROBBLOG #886- Then I Saw Her Face<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>The "church" has been in the news of late- hasn't it?<p></p><p>What with the Catholics in shit with their residential schools and treatment of indigenous kids, to the Pope sitting on his gold throne refusing to recognize or at least ignoring the past and the need to say something.</p><p>Personally he could fart an apology and it would mean diddly-squat. Why people are expecting it or saying it's the right thing to do is beyond me. The sooner governments stop funding churches the better for all. Well, maybe not the churches...</p><p>Anyhoo, not to dwell on all things religious, I felt I needed to tell you of a remark made to The Mister and I earlier this week. There was a general discussion about something or other when the person who had the floor turned to us and said- "I know you're non-believers but I am going to tell you this story all the same." </p><div style="text-align: left;">"Pardon me?"- I thought. "Non- Believer?"</div><div style="text-align: left;">I bit my tongue.</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Ouch!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The teller of the tale commenced to tell us of a church-goer who was down on her luck. It seems a bunch of the flock from this particular church got together and prayed real hard. They clenched their fists and clasped their anus muscles very tightly praying with all their might. I used to clench my teeth when I was a church-boy back in the day. If I had of been a Catholic Lad, I would have been an altar boy- over 16 years of age, praying for extra attention at the end of mass- but that's just me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyhoo, low and behold the angel of the Lord came down and gave the poor Christian Lady a bunch of money. </div><div style="text-align: left;">That's right- a bunch of money!</div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't think she had references.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If it was that easy to become fluid, I would have been down on my knees a lot more than I was over the years and for a completely different reason too. I know one can make money from "old guys" by getting down on one's knees for the thing one gets down on one's knees for when one needs to make rent. I read it on the Internet...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">However, simply wishing and hoping and praying for cash is a whole different aspect to getting down on one's knees. I never knew.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeywNxxjyANWytYBINq_1XEzWaExOyPclbnegVBh-b7bT2lpBdcceAoAilwatadUkPOJur3msciHcWwt0vxx1mf2fAPnQ0wy1ORP-WI1VE5xtR1UejkrBlnAyt7aiSReOV04t91MMiME/s223/Holy+Man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeywNxxjyANWytYBINq_1XEzWaExOyPclbnegVBh-b7bT2lpBdcceAoAilwatadUkPOJur3msciHcWwt0vxx1mf2fAPnQ0wy1ORP-WI1VE5xtR1UejkrBlnAyt7aiSReOV04t91MMiME/s0/Holy+Man.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A reasonable facsimile of me sitting and thinking- only without the beard.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After being called a "Non Believer" I was taken aback.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I wanted to be able to have a snappy retort being the Humanist I am but nothing came. I thought about it for a couple of days.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Still nothing.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Damn looking back now, I should have prayed but to who?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I did get an answer eventually.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You see, the words "non believer" are nothing to do with me or The Mister and nothing we need to reply to. The words are part of being immersed in a Christian philosophy not part of an agnostic, atheist or Humanist's life. Christians just need to have a term for those that don't tow the line- besides words like sinners, the fallen and Satan's flock. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So you see, I wasn't at a loss for a retort. I responded the way I should have by saying nothing.</div><div style="text-align: left;">As the Yorkshire Dales folk across the pond would say- "It's knowt to do with me."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I could have said "Duh" but I didn't.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I could have said "puh-hard-on me?" I did not.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I could have foamed at the mouth. Nope.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I might have called on Satan for help. Being that he's a fallen angel he'd have some measure of displeasure at the comment. Naddah</div><div style="text-align: left;">But, I didn't use any of the above.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I just sat there still as you like, smiling sweetly, sipping away at my morning coffee.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What a good boy am I!!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-1716770616966053392021-06-28T14:46:00.002-07:002021-06-28T14:46:51.698-07:00ROBBLOG #885- Bippety, Boppety<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From time to time I check in on the Virgin Mary.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No, she hasn't appeared to me- not yet at least.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I check in via a webcam.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She still looks the same. Hasn't aged a bit. She always looks older in photos (paintings) and sculptures, when in reality she was- what 14(?) when God did the dirty to say nothing of her May/December romance with Joseph.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course her sexual relations with the Almighty were a hands-off kind of "bippety-boppety-boo."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's what makes it okay in the eyes of believers- at least "flocks" are told it's okay. Goodness in this #MeToo age that wouldn't travel far. The Lord would be playing cards in jail with the likes of Epstein or that Hollywood producer- what's his name.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mary wasn't the first to say- "Keep your hands off me!", there's been there a few times myself- in earlier years, when I had to say to the gent on the barstool next to mine- "Lord fellah, keep your hands off my bippety. I'm just sat here having a drink. That's all!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While we're talking all things Mary, does she always appear to folks in a wardrobe from centuries back? Well-tailored clothing from all accounts but does she not want to update her wardrobe?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Is there no Winners in Heaven?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Actually, her son is no different. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree the snake's hiding in. He's still imagined in a flimsy, cotton-like shift with no underwear and sandals on his tootsies. No pockets in that shift either! Where the hell does he put his mobile, let alone VISA credit card.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, yes, I check on Mary via a webcam from Lourdes. Google it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's the grotto where she appeared to those kids centuries ago. Up in a cave overlooking several rows of pews, there's the statue of her. She looking down lovingly with blue sash hanging from her waist as the kids reported.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I keep staring at the statue expecting it to come to life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It hasn't so far...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pzTFSpAjje4_Z8N34aiowu-l1IZoG3-LFHBp8DAtuiI6DLFDAJE9TTU6vlQQP45XeWEc9BC8dazeeZ-wFtlh-txkH4N-psXlQD_J7AnsXUbMIyRMztnoUNdWN04D761BcidSduD730Y/s137/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="137" data-original-width="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pzTFSpAjje4_Z8N34aiowu-l1IZoG3-LFHBp8DAtuiI6DLFDAJE9TTU6vlQQP45XeWEc9BC8dazeeZ-wFtlh-txkH4N-psXlQD_J7AnsXUbMIyRMztnoUNdWN04D761BcidSduD730Y/s0/images.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the grotto a stone altar with a pyramid of candles is blazing away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you pick the right time of day- late evening is best from Canada, you'll see a priest and nun celebrate mass to usually a dozen or so faithful- no matter the weather. Of course it's morning in Italy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do another Google search for Mary in Portugal and you'll find another webcam showing a church where she has appeared- before the church was built of course.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have you ever wondered why she just appears to Catholics?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Is it only Catholics who find her image on toast at the breakfast table?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyways, to be truthful, I check in at both cams now and then expecting one day to see her swoop down from Heaven in the latest Paris couture and knock that statue to the ground. Then, she'd peer into the camera, call my name and motion to me with a beckoning finger.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It could happen- couldn't it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">By the way I've had a virgin or two beckon me with a finger and more. That's for another Blog on another day...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why do these strange, supernatural happenings always manifest themselves to poor, uneducated kids, poor Catholics who eat toast or two rednecks in a Chevy truck drinking beer in the woods.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's rednecks you see, who observe strange things flying through the air. Of course they see strange things- they're drunk on beer! Too drunk I'd imagine to see Mary hovering above their rusted pick up truck. Too drunk to offer her one from the cooler in the back. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't think Mary drinks anything but red wine anyway. I know this because it seems she always had her son whip up an extra batch at parties in the early days of the holy land before wine stores opened up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've seen strange things too when friends have over-served me on Vodka.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You know who you are...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Only I have- as I previously stated, never seen a Virgin on a rock or Aliens while drinking Vodka on the rocks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just sayin...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-33717108990924061412021-06-14T22:33:00.004-07:002021-06-14T22:34:33.326-07:00ROBBLOG #884- Monet, Monet, Monet<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSRs8iwMH795r7eoB8uGBk5ttdqJLhZeM0xfb8swnUUF7_R5FUE6i6C_vbXeTIGZZgnrQDtSuugJpet92XFc3-2x68L9sQ5vhqHPsULVvPLYiQboDD5J0AB_nRFrBIiyxlDkHJKWTlro/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Okay, I haven't done this in a long, long while BUT it's time for<p></p><p>'DIS & 'DAT</p><div style="text-align: left;">1. There might be an election on the horizon- not that I would vote in one ever again. Ever. Those "Matrons" that ruled the poll where I voted last time can go straight to hell if they're not there already.</div><div style="text-align: left;">You can go back to a Blog I wrote after the last election day to see what the hub-bub was all about. Now for the other minions and millions that will cast a ballot, I sincerely hope that the Prime Minister- Justin, gets a freeking haircut before he expects anyone to vote for him in that mad do of his.</div><div style="text-align: left;">He looks like the trapper that came in from the cold.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">2. So those military guys who went golfing. What a sad little story. No meat to that one. A fucking game of golf so they can do the "buddy" thing and talk about another officer's tits. I am surmising here. Why they might even talk about a female officer's body parts too. Look, can't we spice these stories up a bit. Picture four military men with square jaws and perfectly trimmed neck hair entering a sauna, stripped down to their bits and bites. They sit down side by side where, perhaps, occasionally their thighs touch- occasionally. Now wouldn't that make a better story- albeit they would all have to be consenting adults</div><div style="text-align: left;">to be sure and to be sure it's wrong talking about anyone's tits</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">3.Did you read about the BC guy who stopped his vehicle to help a car and its driver that had driven off the road into a ditch. As the story goes, he left his keys in his vehicle and while he was playing the Good Samaritan with them, somebody drove off with his. What did Mother always say?</div><div style="text-align: left;">Don't leave your keys in the ignition- Good Samaritan or not. Damn!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">4. From this moment on, I am to be known as Rob (He/Him). Step up everyone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">5. Canada leads the world in the share of National Populations who have been vaccinated against Covid. Is Mr O'Toole eating crow yet? How about that leader of the NDP who is as much a whiner as any conservative- nationally or provincially. To think I coulda voted for him. He coulda been a contender. Now, all he'll do is fuck up a majority win for the Liberals- if there is to be a summer or autumnal election, which if you refer to point #1- I am not voting in anyway...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8VDRNSpbhQO0Jq1jJM40cUHfbKOoPDSvlKwxnkje8Dikd3MmtmAa5KGc5LH3qY61YW2Ty78lEUdbAV8QwCLKn-v-_s2D7LqrX2dJEUnqQnboDOLh34lezf32H47mZuIIRVNjbbdrvVM/s108/67d6c500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="80" data-original-width="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8VDRNSpbhQO0Jq1jJM40cUHfbKOoPDSvlKwxnkje8Dikd3MmtmAa5KGc5LH3qY61YW2Ty78lEUdbAV8QwCLKn-v-_s2D7LqrX2dJEUnqQnboDOLh34lezf32H47mZuIIRVNjbbdrvVM/s0/67d6c500.gif" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">6. That David What's His Name who came to fame on one of those "Let me Show You I Can Sing" programmes has come out "Bi". Now, I know he has a good voice and I even play his Christmas Songs on both radio stations during the Holidays but dang, I thought he was Gay- and I've only seen him once or twice- but dang- I could have sworn he was Gay or on his way to Gay. I guess when he hit the fork in the road he stood there having no idea which branch to take. Dang....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">7. The UK may renege on their plans on wide re-opening after Covid. It seems PM Boris wants more time. There's a worry about the Delta virus making a mess of things across England. Meanwhile back in Canada the Premier of Ontario is moving ahead with re-opening his province and stirring up shite by invoking the Notwithstandingclause which he is doing because....well really, just to be a dick. Ontarians are now wondering if there are any more Fords coming along to dash all hopes of ever being Canada's favourite province again. Meanwhile, back in the UK, Andrew Lloyd Webber says he'll open his theatres hennaway, which may result in him going to jail. Sounds like an idea for a new musical...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">8. Those two kids- you know the cute guy and the girl who's had too much plastic surgery, who are suspects in a Hamilton murder, have been found by police in Hungary. I didn't even know Hungary had police. Also I mean Hamilton the City- not the musical.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">9. I hear that Nova Scotia fishermen are looking for the whale that swallowed that guy off Provincetown the other day. They expect the whale to swim with a swisssy sound and it's fins will be a little limp. There's also been a report that the fishermen have invited Jason Kenny out for a swim- once the whale's been located.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">10. Someone has found a painting by David Bowie in a dump. Bette Davis found a house once that was also a dump. The finder of the Bowie picture paid five dollars for it. I saw it. They paid too much. I have a painting of flowers in a vase that I am almost pretty sure was painted by Monet. I found it in a thrift shop. I also paid 5 dollars for it. I even thought about telling the world that I have it and become rich and famous but I'm not going to. I know that sounds stupid but at least I know for certain my stupidity is real.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">...and dats dat. Another 'DIS and 'Dat.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-66212730673989890852021-06-07T16:09:00.004-07:002021-06-07T16:09:56.235-07:00ROBBLOG #883- Longing<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I'm longing.</p><div style="text-align: left;">Longing for summer?</div><div style="text-align: left;">Not number one on my list of longings but it was Mayuary here on the Island and now it's Juneuary.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Where the feck is summer?</div><div style="text-align: left;">Temps are cool.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Just 5c last night.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Osoyoos- where it's basically a desert, had snow last night!</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes, I guess I could be longing for a typical Island Summer but that's not on the top of my list.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">No, what I am really longing for is theatre.</div><div style="text-align: left;">There. I've said it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Moving to this Island The Mister and I had to give up theatre- both going to and performing in.</div><div style="text-align: left;">We gave up theatre like Mirvish theatre back in Toronto or the Broadway stuff or West End London stuff. The last big show we saw was "Come from Away" and we didn't even see this Canadian production here in Canada. We saw it while we were in London before covid reared it's most ugly of heads.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Occasionally, a touring Broadway show comes to Victoria here on the Island.</div><div style="text-align: left;">A couple of years back we saw Jersey Boys- again, for the umpteenth time.</div><div style="text-align: left;">We saw it in Toronto twice when it was a sit-down production but longing for a big show we decided to see it in Victoria again. Casts in these touring shows are smaller than the Toronto presentations and it's noticeable.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've seen some regional stuff in Chemainus which is just 20 minutes up island. Shows like Mama Mia, Kim's Convenience and Grease were really, really good. However the longing is still there to trod the boards. A Brit show that was live-streamed Sunday night called "The Show Must Go On" was in aid of all people and things theatrical. Seeing all those performers get up an belt a song stirred my heart even more so.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I want to do theatre again.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I just don't know how to start here. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I may have mentioned this in a Blog before.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I haven't really met any actors where I have developed an ongoing friendship.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then, there's the age quotient.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Tempus fugit dammit!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszTTCbSrXc6FsbVGev_7nh7N2JhEsFe_Jy7wF4Ge05duthF6j6YzO-yNiLqgq6LXoFjNwSuF_TWySaRYrcWV77X7x5ZPtlG1rdAT7r19YpgXe5L8u2-bjHVDMdNW7sZXF0Z2UVr5zKb8/s1600/emailgd13cropp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszTTCbSrXc6FsbVGev_7nh7N2JhEsFe_Jy7wF4Ge05duthF6j6YzO-yNiLqgq6LXoFjNwSuF_TWySaRYrcWV77X7x5ZPtlG1rdAT7r19YpgXe5L8u2-bjHVDMdNW7sZXF0Z2UVr5zKb8/s320/emailgd13cropp.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> One of the many configurations of my Garage Door Players.<br />This show was called "The Gospel According to Life".</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Writing this Blog helps keep my writing out there- whether you like what I write about or not. I see the numbers that read each blog. I know the stuff you readers ignore and stuff you read. Some of it based on the title of the blog alone. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Take a recent blog about penises. </div><div style="text-align: left;">They've been in the news what with that MP showing his on zoom- not once but twice.</div><div style="text-align: left;">That was not read by a lot of people.</div><div style="text-align: left;">To be fair, if I saw a blog entitled "Vagina", I'm not sure I'd read it either.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The thing is I can't expect you all to read all my blogs but I still write about certain subjects- like them or not. It is called "RobBlog" not NancyBlog or PeterBlog or KenBlog- right?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Besides this Blog, broadcasting my online radio stations Starlite and The Island's Golden Classics keeps me in "showbiz"- sorta.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">However, these past weeks- in my mind at least, I've been re-writing "All for Nun" and calling it </div><div style="text-align: left;">"All for ONE" but in this new show, the girls aren't Nuns anymore. </div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a dangerous place to be in today. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Wearing a habit. </div><div style="text-align: left;">When it comes to all things Catholic. I'm not sure if the humour would be appreciated.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So my characters- Sister Mary Margaret, Sister Neutrogena, Sister Murray Anne and Father O'Mally, have left their order and church behind and now run a community centre. They won't be the first or last to leave their "faith" behind. "All for ONE" has the same characters only minus the "Sister/Father" title.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I think the schlock and jokes will still work. Mary Margaret will still be in charge and will now be a man in a dress- kaftan actually, not a habit.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I may have Mary Margaret explain the change or maybe I'll just leave it to be written in the programme synopsis. I could use a voice over or an onstage announcer who will tell all at the beginning of the show. The show will kick off with the song I wrote for a previous show which just happens to be called- All for One. I've even toyed with the song being " The Sound of Music" and the characters kick the "habit" before the song ends.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I dunno...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Once I have it laid out in my mind- as I usually do when writing, I'll start to put it down on paper or at least in the computer. Most writers scrawl copious notes. I think it through then rush to get it all down before I forget- keyboards keys heartily tapping. The Mister knows never to interrupt me when he hears a flurry of thought unless North Korea is dropping the bomb or Putin's shirtless on the back of a horse again. Pretty much the same thing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Some of the initial scenes I write go straight from brain to paper and never see a change until they hit the stage. It's just my funny way of writing.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Burl Ives had a funny way of laughing. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I have a funny way of writing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So Kids in my moment of theatrical need I am relieving the itch by being creative.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Take this joke for instance-</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mary Margaret tells the audience that a friend of hers had passed recently.</div><div style="text-align: left;">When he was close to the end of his life, a relative leaning over the dying man and asked him if he wanted to renounce Satan before he departed this earthly coil.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The dying friend looked up at the relative and said-</div><div style="text-align: left;">"I'd like to keep my options open- if you don't mind, so feck right off!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Typical Mary Margaret stuff...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-17585201488478170802021-05-28T22:22:00.000-07:002021-05-28T22:22:10.679-07:00ROBBLOG #882- Make My Wishes Come True<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are three people in the whole, entire world who can grant wishes. They being Justin Trudeau, Santa Claus and - The Jesus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today Dear Readers, I will focus on the latter- not Church of the Latter- but The Jesus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now I am not a believer at all and if you have read my Blogs over the years, you will know that. You will also know I believe if <i>you</i> believe in a deity and that turns your crank and helps you get up in the morning, then more power to you. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today, I have a list of things I want accomplished. Just for me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I figure that the Prime Minister is much too busy with covid and Members of Parliament- noticed I used the word "Members", who have the need to show their penises to other members of Parliament. Now I think as Canadians and the very voters who put those "members" in parliament, we should have the right to see a Member's "member" and judge for ourselves if it's a nice penis or not.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean changing clothes in front of a possibly "live" camera could have been an honest mistake but to pee on camera, honestly, this MP knew what he was doing- didn't he? You might want to back up and read ROBBLOG # 880 to retrace my own experiences with the sight of penises. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyhoo, Justin's focus is elsewhere...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now Santa is a busy man but being almost halfway through this year already I think he is just too busy to grant three wishes not to mention an entire list.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That brings me to the latter choice- "The Jesus".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dear Jesus, listen to my wants and needs list and if you have some spare time please make all my wishes come true.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First item: The Jesus, I have been having a lot of paint in my neck and shoulders recently and this paint has made it way up to my head. Now, I hope I don't have cancer or a blood clot or anything but before I make an appointment with "Dr. Google" couldn't you just heal me now?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd be ever so grateful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWjBEqJOC_CvtYtNwd7G19Xd9-Hv0Nin8EZ-J73ABs5XzBU7CTlIUaSenqo5CWFJieozqS8NEB-1kwlsQTNqXTlEy2tGqipRtvmhwNbcHc2Rrz6ZEgQn8iRyQEaHIoHm7LxpGy4rjW5o/s261/Christ+Laughing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWjBEqJOC_CvtYtNwd7G19Xd9-Hv0Nin8EZ-J73ABs5XzBU7CTlIUaSenqo5CWFJieozqS8NEB-1kwlsQTNqXTlEy2tGqipRtvmhwNbcHc2Rrz6ZEgQn8iRyQEaHIoHm7LxpGy4rjW5o/s0/Christ+Laughing.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Second Item: The Jesus, I have been checked for almost a decade for glaucoma. My Grandmother had it and now it seems my Optometrist sees the beginning of it in my left eye. Yes The Jesus, I can see a specialist- an ophthalmologist, who could quite possibly give me eye drops but I have been told that that is a year and a half to two years wait.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Jesus, just save me some wait time and heal me now. Please and thank you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Third Item: The Jesus you already know- because you are omnipotent, that I have another specialist appointment in the near future. This "specialist" is educated in "down there" problems. I was experiencing "down there" stuff almost four months ago when Dr. Google made the appointment but the problem has gone away. I still want to see this specialist because I want his opinion. I want to ask if all this stuff is happening because I am turning 70 very soon or is it just luck of the draw.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dear The Jesus, just to save me more stress and added worry can you just reach down and tap me with your magic "The Jesus Wand" and make it all better.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, that's my list The Jesus. You'll notice I didn't even ask you for a million dollars as many other greedy, self-centred devotees of your religion do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The way I see it, at this point in one's short life I have maybe 10 to 15 good years left. Good years meaning years where I don't have to wear a giant diaper or forget my name or forget where I live or even be aware of the fact that I am wearing a giant diaper.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's not a lot of time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, I could live longer but unless some Doctor or Scientist hurries themselves up and invents a pill to keep me youngish and healthy I don't believe I have a chance in Satan's Hell!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean that. I really do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a bleak future is it not The Jesus?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now all kidding aside, let me be perfectly serious for a second.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If...IF you are up there in Heaven The Jesus can you please take a minute or two and make me well- if I need to be made well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just give me a little magic whomp anyway. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It may be good for my soul- if I had one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, The Jesus, I will leave all this and that in your capable, English-Speaking, white hands.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the meantime, I am going to do a Google Search to find a picture of The Member's member.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let's see what all the fuss is about...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-58392071873850525462021-05-27T19:26:00.001-07:002021-05-29T13:57:10.140-07:00ROBBLOG #881- A Short Tale<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s904/Rob+2016+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVXy8IDzYD8F398iAZ9q0jjgO9Czs8pmnPsMZTVTg1x1HUTtDPxv_j5-bMriSbLSYh5EA73qNL9nCrFcus4aei6io5qlmLw-tfAubu7WF5dL6j2isE0DmEj1EgGZuzkqsGBIJb82_vZE/s320/Rob+2016+3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Today for you, a short tale of a Rabbit named Rodney:</p><p>Rodney Rabbit lived alongside the stream that ran between Mr. Jones' and Mr. Smith's property.</p><div style="text-align: left;">Rodney's comfy home was in the bottom of a huge, mature oak tree that grew alongside the stream's bank. He had a main floor living level and an upstairs level where his cozy bedroom and ensuite bath were located. Bet you didn't know reader that rabbits has ensuite bathrooms.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now you do.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Rodney loved rising early on warm summer mornings to take his mug of carrot coffee and slice of buttered carrot bread outdoors. He sat on a slatted wooden chair he has just painted sunshine yellow and placed his coffee and treat on a wooden tree stump he had fashioned into a table next to the chair. Rodney looked across the little stream and marveled- as he always did, at the beauty of the scene laid out before him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Bunches of wild daises grew here and there along the stream's banks. Mother Nature knew just how to place her flowers. Rodney sighed. </div><div style="text-align: left;">"So very pretty. She's such a gardener!"</div><div style="text-align: left;">He reached for his mug with the maple lead emblazoned on the side. He took a sip.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nothing like a good, hot carrot coffee in the morning. Life is good.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Off in the distance he could hear the Robins and Goldfinches chattering in the meadow. Both families had offspring now and he delighted in the feathered chatter. Some mornings Mrs. Robin would bring her new brood down to visit Rodney. They'd sit on the patch of bright green grass just in front of Rodney's Oak Tree home. He always kept a supply of fresh worms in a galvanized bucket inside his garden shed at the rear of the oak. He delighted in seeing the little Robins eat their fill while he and Mrs. Robin chatted about this and that and shared news from the banks of the stream or the middle of the meadow.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Just the other morning Mrs. Robin had some delightful news.</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Mr. and Mrs. Goldfinch are thinking of flying over to Derryville tomorrow. I said I'd look after her twins. They're no trouble at all."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"That's nice of you. Very nice of you."-says Rodney. "It's good to get away from time to time even though we have the loveliest stream and meadow in the county! Why even in this whole western province of British Columbia!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mrs. Robin tweeted her agreement. "Oh I think so too. We are so lucky- aren't we Mr. Rabbit? I mean look we could live in Ontario with that dipshit Ford as Premier or that rattlesnake Kenny.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Truer words..."- says Rodney as he washed down a mouthful of bread with a sip of carrot coffee.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Rodney smiled as he remembered Mrs. Robin's words from a couple of mornings ago. </div><div style="text-align: left;">What a nice lady and a Liberal Robin too sporting the loveliest of red breasts.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He took another sip of carrot coffee and a wee bite of carrot bread.</div><div style="text-align: left;">All was right with his stream, his meadow, his Oak Tree Home and life in general...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The End.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-1934054372470169972021-05-21T01:54:00.001-07:002021-05-21T01:54:34.755-07:00ROBBLOG #880- All About a Penis<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dear Readers, the blog you are bout to read is all about the Penis.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Penises to be exact.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It may be long.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It may be short.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The BLOG I mean!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Penises or "<i>a</i> penis" seems to pop up every now again in the news. Like sticking one's nose in someone's business somewhere along the way a guy sticks his penis somewhere and not always where it is wanted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some guys are proud of their appendage and want to show it off whenever possible- even to those who may not want to see it in particular or to those who never ever have any interest in seeing it- like Lesbians. Usually they will politely decline if offered the chance to view one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's their choice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's in the Constitution- I think....or is the Bible?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For me personally, I started seeing penises when I was quite young. I've seen a good many so far in my life and in fact I still see the odd one today. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not an odd penis- I mean it's happenchance to see a penis at all these days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sometimes one is sent in a greeting card. Sometimes sent from a friend- not the actual friend's penis, just a penis that belongs to someone else that a friend feels the need to share with someone like me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess I saw my first penis a few years before I turned ten.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I saw it in Lake Simcoe in Ontario.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was the penis of one of two brothers who were friends. Summer friends who visited their Nan each summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First I saw one friend's penis then the brother's.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They were okay to look at swimming along in the cool water looking like baby squids</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, before I go further, let it be known that a penis is know by many other names.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For instance-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dick,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pee Pee,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cock,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sausage,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Manhood,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Baloney Pony,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rod etc.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are more and you may have a favourite.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So as I just said above, my first Pee Pees were seen in a lake on a hot July day in the mid-fifties.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My next penis was also seen in the summer. This Dick was attached to Larry. I can't remember his face but I do remember his penis- and his name. Larry liked to show me his Dick in his sister's playhouse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was quite insistent and liked to show me his willy on a hot summer day. The hotter- the better.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I never had a problem with that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's what young boys do in the summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At least I think that's what young boys do or did.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eventually, as time passed I grew older as did the penises I saw. In high school there were penises galore in shower rooms. Some stood out amongst the crowd- like the Westmoreland Twins. Hardy farm boys who were packing monsters!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The girls tittered when they heard.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Size Queens!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The smallest penis I ever had the joy to witness was about the size of my little finger.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was shocked quite frankly and felt a little sorry for its owner but eventually that smallish penis went on to father children.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Size doesn't matter- apparently.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once in Nagara Falls Ontario, there was a Dick that belonged to an extremely well-built, hirsute Englishman who was about 6 foot two and played rugby. I'll give you a minute to picture this...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a long story as to how I ended up in Niagara Falls for a weekend one summer but needless to say I slept on this Englishman's living room couch. You see, he slept elsewhere, in his bedroom, with his wife I would imagine- who was a heavy sleeper.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now I know what you're thinking...slut!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Look, I was on that couch sound asleep when he tip-toed out to the living room to ask me if I was comfortable. He stood a few feet from the couch where I lay, covering his nakedness with a drapery from the window. I could see all this because of the opportune positioning of a street lamp directly outside the window where I lay.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, what was I to do?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Say no?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was his guest after all.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was worth the effort to be the perfect guest- I must say!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once a few years later, I saw another pair of penises that belonged to another pair of brothers- one I had a crush on for many summers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rick.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rhymes with Dick. Did you notice?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This particular warmish summer day we were in a cabana on a beach changing into our swimwear. I thought Rick had a sturdy fellah down there but his brother Joe won the blue ribbon and there was plenty of room to pin it along the length and breadth of it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To make matters ever more delightful, Joe swung naked from the rafters in this roomy Cabana Hut like a muscle-bound Jungle Boy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know why he did but he did as his brother and I watched.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I grinned...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A few years further along I had a couple of opportunities to see Dicks but I refused.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One was a roommate who wanted me to check out a pimple that had grown on the side of his John Thomas. I politely refused and suggested a Doctor might be a better, wiser choice. Along about the same time a flighty, little piano tuner who was decades ahead of me in years wanted desperately to show me his Howdy Doody. I steadfastly stood my ground and said no.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In return he asked me to show him mine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nope. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sorry I said, but just no.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean a girl has her rules...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu__UJqEsglSP0w3dQTh3SnwCVdZMQjSpY-OcI1PtQ5ai1tbcnuIJNUqd4hiqDtIH10I5UmmL582h0sawfF6867B-uVkowwlStGdGZQkwxcyR1zkVZT6AisumAboXP8M4UHYBCTJBrOmI/s127/Sausage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="119" data-original-width="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu__UJqEsglSP0w3dQTh3SnwCVdZMQjSpY-OcI1PtQ5ai1tbcnuIJNUqd4hiqDtIH10I5UmmL582h0sawfF6867B-uVkowwlStGdGZQkwxcyR1zkVZT6AisumAboXP8M4UHYBCTJBrOmI/s0/Sausage.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A year or two later I moved along focusing on straight men's penises. At the time there was not a good stock of Gay Penises to be had so, you know- any cock in a storm.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What I believe was my first married, straight penis came straight out of the blue.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He asked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I said yes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For a couple of years he was insatiable and I mean he just didn't stop at looking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's a story for another blog or the book I have yet to complete.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was what I would term "hot" even though I knew there was no future with his penis because he always went home to "the wife" but it was immensely enjoyable to see while it lasted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In later years along came an Italian Dick, a Swimmer's Dick, A Dick that moved cargo for a major airline and a Dick that approached me in the warm Pacific waters in front of a major tropical hotel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know of course what you're wanting to ask me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What is the biggest penis I ever saw alive and in person?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To this very day it is-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">11 inches!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and yes I used a ruler!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let that sink in!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was a sweet man who was a clothes horse- when I saw him in them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Keep your mind out of the gutter Ladies and Gentlemen. After all this is simply a blog about a variety of penises.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nothing more.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now today, a penis- a 32 year old plus penis, is in the news.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This fellah put it on display all those years ago and now more than three decades later the person who was on the receiving end of the display decided it was not appreciated. Remember too that Member of Parliament in Muskoka, Ontario did it a few years back. Didn't he text photos of his wiener to ladies?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's bound to happen what with social media and all but still there are rules and a thing called consent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As my Dad once said to me-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Rob, keep your pecker in your pants!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Words to live buy and I usually did-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">most of the time...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-11937758318970958192021-05-10T22:59:00.001-07:002021-05-10T22:59:45.519-07:00ROBBLOG #879- So I'm Watching a Bab's Concert<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">So, I’m at this outdoor Barbra Streisand concert on
Vancouver Island- not too far from where I live in Maple Bay. I think I'm dreaming. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">FACT: I am dreaming.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">She- Miss Streisand, is performing an intimate concert for a few hundred
friends. I scooped a ticket. I was lucky. She’s performing for a society that protects the whale
and dolphins. Nice. I am standing by a large Arbutus Tree. Barbra is about 20 feet away. </p><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Babs- do you think I should call her Babs? Too soon? Yes. I think you are right. It’s too soon.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Hennaway, she’s singing "Evergreen"- Beautiful, when all of a sudden her eyes lock mine and
she walks towards me. Me, standing at my Arbutus Tree watching Ms. Streisand
sing "Evergreen". An Arbutus tree is "Evergreen".</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I stand there mesmerized in a shirt with a nice collar, a
leather jacket- evening breezes can be cool, shorts, flip-flops and my
favourite leather man-bag flung over my right shoulder. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She finishes the song. "Hello"- she says. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Hi"- I respond.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Whattaya doing here?"- she asks.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"> "I’m at a Barbra Streisand concert"- I say. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Hey. Whaddahya know, me too!"- She smiles that Streisand smile.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Who woulda thought?"- I reply.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Hey nice man-bag."- she says.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Thanks"- says me, "it’s handmade. From London. England, I mean- not Ontario.".<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Oh... So,"- she asks with that Barbra twinkle in her eyes, "What
do you do?"</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"I live here on the Island."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1D7FstmD4-_I8hP5ZArKifmnhb0L8T4FD_BWJGJyIH1UVmarQPyZi0WKpIMLwUjobrjkDGft9Di-xkq53wo6MTOiy77WVRvnco_GuBv3aMLL5s3EjFE4Dea52ee1TjoANRaEAcfF2Mo/s232/barbrab%2526w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="232" data-original-width="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1D7FstmD4-_I8hP5ZArKifmnhb0L8T4FD_BWJGJyIH1UVmarQPyZi0WKpIMLwUjobrjkDGft9Di-xkq53wo6MTOiy77WVRvnco_GuBv3aMLL5s3EjFE4Dea52ee1TjoANRaEAcfF2Mo/s0/barbrab%2526w.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Get out!"- she says, "I might too. I’m thinking of buying a
small place- ten, maybe twelve million. On the ocean. Nothing too garish."</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Of course. I’m smitten. Garish is never good. </p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"So you live on the island then."- Babs continues. Sorry. I can't help myself.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Uh-huh."</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Do you like plants and gardens?"</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"I love them!"- I scream with excitement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p>"</o:p>Holy shit! Me too!"- Barbra is over the top excited. "You
wanna come and live with me in my non-garish mansion on the ocean with fish and
dolphins and things?"</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Well…" I say trying to be polite. "I have a life."</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Never mind that!" </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Barbra pulls a mobile from her back
pocket. Did I say she was wearing designer jeans and a sparkly Designer top? Nice. She dials. I'm thinking- would Barbra wear jeans? To a concert. Probably not.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Hello James? What am I doing? I'm at a Barbra Streisand Concert."</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">She looks to me- "Men, eh?"</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">God, she sounded so Canadian at that moment.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"James"- she says into the phone. "Can ummm…what’s your name?"</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Rob"- I say.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Oh, I’m Barbra!"</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>I’m guessing Babs <i>is</i> out of bounds and I say- "I know..."</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"James, I’m with a fellah here who might come and live
with us…His name? What does that matter…It’s Rob." She takes the phone from her ear- "He says he likes guys
called Rob. Getta vay,!"- she says back into the mobile- "We’ll talk." She looks at me- straight in the eye and says- "Look Rob, I've got this concert-thingy to do. We’ll have coffee after?"</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">"Sure."- I say.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Babs wanders away. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">The orchestra plays and she starts to
sing. "People". </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">One of my fav’s…</p><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-3996954382427055272021-04-30T20:21:00.001-07:002021-04-30T20:21:56.448-07:00ROBBLOG #878- And Then, One Day<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was chatting with my Mum.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I just had dinner with your Father."- she says.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She continued. "Yes, we don't see each other that often these times but it is nice when we do. It reminds me of all that earth time we had together."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You mean, earth down here?" I wasn't sure what she meant.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh down there. Around there. Over and up there. In there. It's a matter of perception." - Mum says.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Perception? You must be learning new words while you're away. That's a a 25 cent word- as you'd say."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I guess it is!" I could tell she was smiling. "I have lots of time to do what I wish and be where I want. Must be hard for you to understand what I mean."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Kinda..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"One day all will be revealed and you'll say oh yeah." Mum sounded like herself in one way but not in another.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Is it difficult to talk like this?- I quickly asked. Sometimes she didn't talk long and scooted away without much notice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Not too bad."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I could tell she was thinking or bothered.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I just have to sort of fenegal my way back to how it was. You have to be in the mood and rely on misty memories to talk this way."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I appreciate it when you do but sometimes it is hard for me. Being open I mean."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You've always been open."- Mum says. You're receptive. Spiritual. Waiting there for the message.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It gets busy at times- doesn't it?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yes, it does. Did you know about this when you were around?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Around?" Mum went quiet. "Oh damn. You mean around there where you are. Yes and no. I knew you were my "different child".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Different?...Oh the Gay thing!" I thought I had nailed it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"For goodness sakes no- although that was a part of of your learning experience. Mine too- and Dad's.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I remember it being tough. Your Dad and I worried and struggled."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You did?" I hadn't heard that before.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean, "I hadn't heard that before from you here. Before. When you were here. With us."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mum was quick. "I know what you meant before you said it. It happens fast that way now and you are already well-tuned so it comes quite fast. You'll know what I mean eventually. You think it and hear it and I have it and I understand. That's a big change for myself here. It must sound strange to you..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I shrugged. "It does I must admit and there are times when I think I am making it all up."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You're not. I am telling you now. You are not! It's there for everyone if they care to use it. Your Grandmother Lillian says hi and Judy just spirited in. She knew the connection was open.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know you have sentences with her now and then."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Sentences?"- I asked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yes. Short and sweet pieces of reality." She laughed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Now that does not sound like you at all Mum!"- I was a bit taken aback.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh Dear. Sorry. I try to meet your consciousness. It's difficult sometimes. I feel you want to go Rob."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I do and I don't. I get a little sad and I have some tears." I mumbled.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Normal- for you. Healthy I believe your medical people would say. Your Dad just came by in a flash. Twenty- nine years next week for him. He's off to play lacrosse he says."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Really Mum?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yes. That's what he says."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Oh." I go quiet for a second.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Rob?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I'm here Mum. Just thinking..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"That's good."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You know Mum it's seven years today April 30th?" I waited for her response. It was a long pause.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Is that so...I'm waiting for you, you know. I always will. Then one day..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I'll see you once again."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She laughed- "Oh, you'll see alright."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and she was gone all in what seemed a jumbled flash in time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I do miss her and I always will...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then, one day...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidF1-zePxmEaLcaIo5qG-1ZwsFss4bKN_B16FWq63vcMkxG0KnzRWLCi1ryvV2i5uNDJ7B75b6TOP_wbJHyOXoJ3AqOUtZTGfrUfJXOT776rZm_QL_dhciE2I-rzxySDpaY8GIfOYlNPw/s2048/DSC02267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidF1-zePxmEaLcaIo5qG-1ZwsFss4bKN_B16FWq63vcMkxG0KnzRWLCi1ryvV2i5uNDJ7B75b6TOP_wbJHyOXoJ3AqOUtZTGfrUfJXOT776rZm_QL_dhciE2I-rzxySDpaY8GIfOYlNPw/s320/DSC02267.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-57128757193914901172021-04-22T18:48:00.001-07:002021-04-22T18:48:29.110-07:00ROBBLOG #877- Jabbed at Last<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been Jabbed!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes Dear Readers, I am now partially vaccinated against the dreaded covid 19.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Praise The Jesus...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If there was one. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sorry, I had to get that "shot" in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jabbed. Shot. Get it??</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Actually, I didn't see anyone praying or genuflecting or clutching a rosary.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course, I was clutching my pearls.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was alone when I entered the huge Cowichan gymnasium where the smell of sweaty socks and armpits hung in the cool, salty Island air. Again, maybe from armpit sweat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am not a Doctor, although some friends refer to me as "Nurse Reid" whenever I wear my Nursing Crocs. I am always happy and prepared to diagnose ailments.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The whole vaccination process took about 50 minutes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Canadian Red Cross workers were everywhere- even one I knew.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eli from Cowichan Auto. How we recognized each other behind masks I don't know- but we did.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had the QR Image in my Pass Android app on my phone but I was never asked for it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was asked if I was wearing a fresh mask. Never saw that posted anywhere as a requirement.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A fresh mask.<br />I was. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Almost.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess I fibbed just a bit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I panicked. So many questions and I'm a Senior.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyhoo, I'm a nurse and we're allowed- even us "fake" nurses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, take it from Nurse Reid. Wear a new mask.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The young Canadian Red Cross worker asked me to swipe my health card in the swiper thingy on the desk. I also had to tell him my birthdate just to be sure I was who I said I was and not under the influence of Vodka I guess... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He didn't mention the mask.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Phew!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He gave me a sheet of paper and said- "Read this at your leisure."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had passed the "screws"- for it kind of felt like a bad prison movie being in that gym with all the congregants separated by a few metres and sitting on ugly, yellow plastic chairs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then I was instructed to a volunteer wearing a powder blue tee shirt who pointed me to two plastic, yellow chairs where I was told to sit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I did.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Alone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did I mention I was alone?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I should say that in this gym it echoed because of the high ceiling and smooth floor making it hard to hear people when they spoke to you. By the way, one person can accompany you for moral support but my support- my Husband, stayed at home as he was building a deck and stairs onto our backyard terraces. He was supported in that task by my Brother Scott a recent new arrival to the Big Island. Actually, Scott is the builder and the Hubbie would be the support worker.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In a few minutes- almost right on the dot of my appointment time, I was sent to Lola who was sitting behind a white table where a computer sat and papers were strewn about.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes- "What Lola wants, Lola gets". We had that laugh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJdBSThmWPPmwOtupbcRaS4xnKnLM4YIn33tP_4ufMFYCWIMoQTKfzoB8oQIdgR2ZS0iJnYuEsy35L5XvBf1N20bnOuDIxTH9krg3cHw6koFxoGlnzI7dC5hRZar9J2tTZ9jBHlXpbnE/s720/Nuse+Tina2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="542" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJdBSThmWPPmwOtupbcRaS4xnKnLM4YIn33tP_4ufMFYCWIMoQTKfzoB8oQIdgR2ZS0iJnYuEsy35L5XvBf1N20bnOuDIxTH9krg3cHw6koFxoGlnzI7dC5hRZar9J2tTZ9jBHlXpbnE/s320/Nuse+Tina2.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nurse Lola was pleasant and she went over a few things like the vaccine I was about to be jabbed with was the Pfizer vaccine. I answered "no" to a bunch of questions on a printed sheet in front of me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No, I was not indigenous.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No I wasn't feeling ill.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No I wasn't breastfeeding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She did not mention the mask.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Again- phew!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we chatted Lola rolled up my sleeve and said she admired my shirt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"It reminds me of Delft Blue China."- she chirped.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Actually it's a Ren Spooner design from Hawaii"- I said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Lovely." Smiled Lola.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had become fast friends!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lola talked of a bureau she had at home that was painted the same colour blue as my shirt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As she told me, I saw her reach across the table for a little brown pad about the size of a dime.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She stuck it on my arm.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nurse Lola then said-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Now go over there and sit on a blue chair for 15 minutes and leave. You don't have to see anyone before you leave- unless you feel unwell."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">OMG!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had not felt the needle prick my skin and I wasn't even under the influence of vodka.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am somewhat an expert on pricks and this one got past me- somehow...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How could that be?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean not feeling the needle NOT being under the influence of Vodka.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I stood up. Thanked Lola for being there and gave her a box of Merci chocolates.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I walked across the gym through basketball court markings and plopped down on a blue plastic chair sitting up against the gym wall. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sitting in a chair in a gym is the closest I ever got to being a jock- both in high school and beyond.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So kids, that's about it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nothing more to say.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I shopped at WalMart and Canadian Tire before heading home to the mountain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I do have a slight soreness in a joint or two and my jaw has a bit of an ache.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lola said that could be expected for up to 48 hours.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nothing to worry about she had said unless I start vomiting. That's when I call a special number on the sheet that I was handed way back at check in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The future is bright.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'll get a text in about sixteen weeks when I get a second jab.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My heart beats rapidly with anticipation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Gawd, I hope it isn't the vaccine doing that...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901744864894638944.post-85900025738805980222021-04-12T13:14:00.003-07:002021-04-12T13:14:54.769-07:00ROBBLOG #876- I Was So Mad<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s943/Rob+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="943" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZmTsS8JclPUbNr7G17COHMX4gYOvGV6yyO3t2J5ZrpJvHy5GSS2DEhIr68FMkCYRW2AQg5PkvXVIvcrJdfOEqR5n2LuxSQdVAybUR-Ido6R61hBRW74GI4z9DLYS34i_zsYe5vFPQ3s/s320/Rob+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I realized there was a bunch of things I was mad about.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when Dr. Baloney here in BC said 10 people could gather in a backyard- size was not mentioned, yet 10 people couldn't congregate indoors physically distanced.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when the Prime Minister made that foul-smelling weed that makes me "ill" when I smell it, legal across the Nation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I ordered a wind-sun sensor for our new outdoor awning and I paid $73 dollars more buying direct from the manufacturer than I would have paid by ordering it at Wayfair.ca</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad that some people in this country who were much younger than myself had been getting their covid shots way before I was even eligible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when the CBC cancelled Kim's Convenience.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when young French people- mostly black as far as I saw, smashed storefronts in Old Montreal just because they had to be home by 8PM because of covid.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when people reading the above "I Was So Mad" thought me racist when I clearly saw young black men smashing windows willy-nilly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I realized that maybe the media only filmed young black men throwing street signs into store windows.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7bJp3X7JMSokoWlwtwUZYV9XeT9LbfYxIa4CHYnHAmyT2Wjuy4qDUzqidepWi7TGzswe90fXkzrphi_mDkYt6c15ZUAJAUZtSfSqsp9Df2OrNMrMQjmSBbqY2k3_zNxdk75c2eJYh-z8/s129/Ellen+2+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="129" data-original-width="86" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7bJp3X7JMSokoWlwtwUZYV9XeT9LbfYxIa4CHYnHAmyT2Wjuy4qDUzqidepWi7TGzswe90fXkzrphi_mDkYt6c15ZUAJAUZtSfSqsp9Df2OrNMrMQjmSBbqY2k3_zNxdk75c2eJYh-z8/s0/Ellen+2+B%2526W.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad that our "made in America KitchenAid Cooker" wouldn't work properly here in Canada.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I heard Albertans were sending healthy horses to Japan to be slaughtered for Sushi and eaten by rich Japanese. www.horseshit.ca</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I heard Korea has a "Dog Meat" festival every year when dogs are dipped in hot oil- whilst alive, to strip their bodies of fur before they are sold for meat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I realized I was turning 70 this year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad when I realized I would never have the chance to become Queen of England, Wales, Northern Island and Scotland.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad that I wasted two hours watching a movie that was filmed in black and white that had been nominated for an Academy Award.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad that I could barely follow the storyline of the movie mentioned above.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad that The Jesuz didn't answer my prayer when I asked him to give my Husband a $60 million dollar lotto win.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I Was So Mad that I couldn't think of anything else to be mad about...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0