ROBBLOG #993- Any "portico" in a Storm

 

A portico.

I want a portico.

Seems like something someone might shove in my Christmas Stocking. Alas, a portico would be too darn big. 

A portico is a structure- usually made of wood.

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.

From their main living room a covered walkway led the way to this "Portico". A covered portico.

It had a roof- as porticos do- although some may be open like a pergola. 

That's another Blog.

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.

A pile of colourful blankets sat on one of the surrounding benches so one could cozy up tight.

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.

A hot toddy, hearty flames and good conversation would make this portico a grand spot to be- even if it were a bit chilly.

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.

This is an elegant entrance portico.

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.

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.

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.

Who knew?

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.

We're never too old to learn a valuable lesson in decor- are we?

Maybe one day in the near future- after we are shuttered, I can convince the Mister that a portico is the way to go.

Wish me luck!

ROBBLOG #992- Holy Snappers!

 

Holy Snappers! It's September first!

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.

Boy do we need the rain.

It's the same every summer.

Drought, fires and brown.

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.

September first.

School.

Elections (Bah-Humbug)

Harvest decor. Thanksgiving. Light parades. 

Santa Claus Parades and then "BOOM"- Christmas.

It seems to fly by faster every year.

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. 

I sort them by titles as well as by years.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

The Mister assured him we could to which he answered- "A credit card works!"

"We use debit mostly."- replies the Mister.

"No, No."- The Canadian Tire man says, "I mean to scrape your windshield!"

The Island, eh?

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,

oatmeal for breakfast and holiday shopping.

I'd better get making a list...

ROBBLOG #891- A "Huge" Blog

 

Why can't I have a body like "Huge" Jackman.

I asked The Mister that very question.

"Why can't I have a body like Hugh (I call him "Huge") Jackman?"

"Honey, You're just not built that way- nor are you tall enough."

"I just thought with all the backyard labour I've been doing lately, my muscles would bulge and I'd grow a few inches."

"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."

Oh piffle and poppycock!

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.

He looked at the curly-haired image on the cover, then smiled and said in his ever-so-cute Aussie accent-

"Well, that was a long time ago Bruce!".

He actually didn't call me "Bruce" but it gives you a small slice of the accent I heard.

He was charming.

Yummy.

Handsome.

Rugged...

and tall.

The show we saw was amazing.

Legs like a Vegas Showgirl!

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.

No one did.

Damn...

I see "Huge" is in a new movie these days.

Looks like it's about regressing oneself back in time.

Reminiscence?

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.

A man should be used from time to time as a ruddy slab of fresh meat.

Use him and then forget about him.

Throw him away.

Except I wouldn't. I'd be kind. Gentle.

I'd invite him for tea- around the swimming pool of course- if I had one.

We "boys" need something pretty to look at from time to time and "Huge" will do just fine.

I know he has a wife but she just has to get used to this adoration and share- right Dear?

Deb was in the audience at the Price of Wales.

He introduced her.

Blah. Blah. Boring.

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.

"Huge" shirtless in his newest movie

"Huge" has "boyfriends too.

Ryan Reynolds is one. They look pretty tight.

I wonder if they've ever...

Naw...

That's just in my mind and in a perfect world.

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.

Next a fence.

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.

Did you know that "Huge" spells "colour"- being Australian, like we do in this Dominion of Canada.

Yes he does!

It brings me closer to him.

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.

We can have that on the island you know.

Pretty things.

Like the very talented "Huge" Jackman

I think I'll call my fence "Huge".

Strong.

Strapping.

Naturally rough.

~pause~

Really, it's probably time for me to get a reality slap- isn't it?

ROBBLOG #890- It's Black. It's All Black.

 

September 20th. Circle your calendar.

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.

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.

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.

What the fuck is this? Russia?

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.

Really?

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".

Oh Jann, I am trying. Not voting but trying to be kind to all animals.

I really am...

A final Jann thought, season three of "Jann" airs on CTV in September.

So an election.

Governor General Mary Simon will approve- this will be her first major decision.

What if she refuses?

I'd like to see that actually.

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.

The Prime Minster.

 Hey, we've all done black-face right? Haven't we? Right?

Anyway, he's the one in the centre. In case you're wondering, copious amounts of Vodka were involved 

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...

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.

These days who do we believe?

Justin? He can't give a straight answer to a straight question if he tried.

Reporter: Mr. Prime Minister, is one plus one, two?

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.

Reporter: So the answer is?

Justin: As I have said many times before, our government is working daily and will continue to do so...

Reporter: Ah, Prime Minister, we get it. No more questions thank you.

Justin: No, thank you and remember "JANN" premiers on CTV next month!

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.

A final thought.

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". 

We just have to guess as the government keeps us in the dark.

Anti-Vaxers and the non-vaccinated.

Sounds like a tribe of zombies or vampires roaming the earth looking for victims.

Hey, you know what?

That's exactly what it is...

ROBBLOG #889- Firm Tits, Being 70 and More

 

So, here's the thing...

I turned 70 recently.

No, not the number of times I turned dirt in my garden.

No not onto a Hwy.

It's age.

I am now fucking 70!

I could apologize for the language but apparently at 70 one doesn't have to.

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.

Gal at a counter says- "Can I help you sir?"

I say- "When I'm good and fucking ready sister. Stop talking!"

Now, I wouldn't do that- ever.

I am really Mr. "Nice Guy".

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.

Believe me, I have known folks who thrive on belittling others.

Those who are cranky and cantankerous. Not nice humans.

Those types are vexations to the spirit.

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.

There's a dead giveaway to old age.

A man shopping for cat food.

Apparently, my body will start to age even faster now.

I'll have to use mega bottles of face cream.

I'll have to walk more. Bicycle more. Watch what I eat a little more than in the past.

Will my "tits" start to sag in this decade? 

(Some Gay men call their chest or pecs- tits.)

So far, they have not.

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.

I need to do a few more pectoral exercises.

Lean forward. Grab each forearm and push and push and push. One, two, three...

This exercise works- if your wondering.

I've used it for years.

This is not me. It's a reasonable facsimile- in my mind!

I wonder if I'll be a Daddy Fag who still ogles men whenever I get the chance?

Probably...

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.

What the hell happened to Speedos? Why are they only prolific on Australian beaches?

I am dying to ask the neighbour if he's been "Speedo Shopping". You know- in jest of course.

So 70.

Seventy.

65 plus 5= 70.

80 minus 10=70

The way I see it, I'm on the downside of the mountain but I'm digging in my heels to slow my descent.

Is 70 the new 50?

I'm not sure.

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.

That photo at the top of my blog by the way is me from 5 years ago. It was taken by Seanna Kreager.

Seanna lives in Ottawa and I live on Vancouver Island. Too much distance for a photo shoot.

I am going to get a "headshot" done now I'm 70.

Egads!

That could be scary but photographers can play with light and smooth things out- just a little.

Can't they?

Oh vanity, thy name is Rob.

Why change now?

I'm 70....

ROBBLOG #888- Give Me A Bag, Please

 

Many years ago my Mother and her friend were talking about an acquaintance.

This acquaintance they had not seen for several years.

"I wonder how old he'd be- if he's still alive at all"- the friend says.

"Oh Goodness,"-says my Mum," He must be an awful age by now..."

An awful age.

That's 70.

That's me.

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.

I wouldn't want to be 27 again but being a tad younger would be nice.

Life is good and I can't complain.

"You go Gurl!"

Then, there was yesterday.

We were lunching and shopping in Victoria with friends.

After lunch we headed to the Bay Centre. 

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.

Anyhow, I pick up two small bottles of the eye cream and it tallies seventy-seven dollars and change.

The young gal behind the counter who also suggests I spread the cream on my lips, asks -

"Would you like to place your Body Shop purchase in a bag for 25 cents?"

Well, my first reaction was WTF?

The next was...well never mind...but it pissed me off.

I spend seventy-seven bucks and The Body Shop is too cheap to throw in a quarter bag?

Good Grief!

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.

A beautiful shop. It's at www.zingaropure.com

She gives the Mister and I our purchase in a lovely bag tied up with fresh, fragrant greenery.

How nice.

No charge and a big smile too.

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.

Check him out at-

www.countryhomeandkitchen.ca

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.

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.

It's just wrong and that's that.

Customer service is key and if the little guy can do it- why can't the Body Shop?

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...

Do you hear that Body Shop?

ROBBLOG #887- Don't Call us Anymore- You're Old.

 

So I have a rather large birthday ahead.

I will become a septuagenarian.

A Gay septuagenarian.

Damn and Double Damn. Many of my friends are in the same age bracket.

Nothing I can do about it. Seventy may be a very pleasant place to be in this game of life we all play.

I tell the Mister that I have another 13 good years left. 13 times to put up the Christmas Tree.

13 more trips to Hawaii, 13 more summers.

It's a short ride. 

Only time will tell how short.

I still have most of my hair.

I can jauntily climb out of bed- most mornings.

I can walk many kilometres in a stretch.

I ride my bile. Okay, it is an ebike but still I do a lot of  the pedaling myself.

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.

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. 

Not a happy thought.

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.

You've all heard it before- we're not here for a long time. Just a short time.

We had better make the best of it.

The Angel of Death could come calling at any moment! I hope he's handsome!

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".

Me at about 23 years of age with long hair- ya damn hippy!

That's my brand, spanking new Volkswagen Beetle in Clementine Orange. I loved her.

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.

How nice of them.

Banked with them for decades.

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?

I am not just a liability, I am an old fucker who's a liability.

I mean they didn't even wish me a happy birthday.

"Sincerely" the form letter was signed.

Not "Sincerely and Happy Birthday" just "Sincerely".

There was a postscript:

"If the information that we have about your birth date is incorrect, please call us as soon as possible you old fart."

Okay, I added the old fart but really couldn't they have said- "Best Wishes on the occasion of your 70th- you old fart"?

It's not all been black and dreary news however.

I've had some happy septuagenarian news this week.

I was at the dentist.

Dr. Tom tells me I have 31 of my 32 teeth still in my head.

"That's remarkable"- he says, "The missing tooth is a wisdom tooth and you didn't need that one anyway."

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.

Well, what  other explanation is there it?