This time last year, I would have said with all sue honesty, “this winter is killing me”. It was long, cold and stressful.  This year we were given an early December that made it appear that winter would be short and mild.  It was a ruse.  It is mid February and we face an endless number of weeks with nighttime lows dropping to the minus fifteen levels (unsure what that is in the archaic F scale).  We have had numerous snowfalls and I am finally starting to run out of places to put the snow.  We received a seven hundred dollar heating bill which drove my wife into fits of sailor-like word spewing as we only ten months ago  had a new furnace installed with a new heat pump somewhere in the order of $a-person-on-part time-wages.00 in cost.
To top it all off, I didn’t plant my garlic last fall, so no scapes this spring. I didn’t even have a vegetable garden last year. I don’t really know why, I just never got around to digging it out and planting, which was really odd as I had (this time last year) received about $50 worth of elaborate seeds  from the online seed vendors.
Last summer was a blur and I admit fully it was my fault.  I let it slip by like an autumn wind, because I was fixated on home renovations that I really had no part in other than watching from the sidelines and complaining that my wife didn’t procure the people in a standard “three quotations to a fixed term of work” method I would have.  I griped as the furnace guys did nothing wrong.  I complained quietly as the deck people did in fact screw up, show up late, mess up the approvals from the municipality, stop work, show up again weeks later and in the end not finish the job.  I steamed as the kitchen took forever as I tried to work from home having to make decisions that I felt in no way shape or form able to make (as my wife was un-reachable and I didn’t want to be in trouble).  I let it slip by, did not keep up with gardens, did not relax, did not play soccer, did not run as much as I should have, did not go to the gym in any reasonable pattern.
I hereto vow that as I watch things melt outside that this year will be different and I am already starting to work on such.  I am reclaiming the basement from those who would store things in our home!  I will re-fashion my basement gym and use it on nights or days I cannot find a way to Goodlife!  I will run!  I will continue to not play soccer because frankly my knees hate me, craven curs that they are. I will start my garden seeds in my little indoor planter things in a couple of weeks (granted, at this point I have NO CLUE when that will be) so that they can be transplanted outside into the garden I will TEND daily.  I will tidy my decorative garden areas and my pond!  I will put screenage up to keep bees and squirrels out of my attic! I will use my chainsaw in my woods and take care of all that recently fallen deadwood that needs management! I will do ANYTHING to make this summer more memorable and productive.
And I will write.
That little hobby has fallen to the wayside.  I have started three novels, THREE, these past six months along with one screenplay for a war movie. They stare at me through the mask of their working titles from my desktop.  I think I will put them in a folder so I cannot see them, BUT I WILL WORK ON THEM!
And I will fix my canoe.
And I will finally get my youngest riding his bike.
And I will teach my sons to do important MAN THINGS like starting fires and building shelters and making spoons from wood and building medieval weaponry.
But for now, I stew.  I look outside and see frozen wasteland. I see windswept snow curling into tiny cold tornados, skipping across the barely plowed road.  I see ducks arriving en-masse looking desperately for some open water to land in.  I witness people striving to maintain a stoic façade, pretending to enjoy this everlasting frigid death.
Winter, I hate you.

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If anything, social media such as Facebook brings about the opportunity to have wide reaching discussions with dozens of if not hundreds of complete strangers.  Wait, let me rephrase that, if anything, social media such as Facebook forces you to have wide reaching discussions with dozens of if not hundreds of complete strangers.

A friend the other day made a casual observation on his page that he had seen someone in their elder years who had dyed their hair bright purple.  He made a comment somewhat to the effect that he found it to be silly.  I agreed.  Numerous friends of his then weighed in on the subject.

In Ye Olde Days (pre-2005) such a conversation might take place in a bar or a living room, in near privacy contained to those within earshot.  Now, in 2015, earshot has expanded to eyeshot, to those who can see ones page (due to friendship) or in some bases anyone at all who owns a computer mainly due to a lack of active security setting management on behalf of the speaker.  When one combines this with today’s pervasive sense of entitlement and perceived rights to be able to always do anything one wants without question, any statements of opinion of another can and often do result in an argument.

In the example above, I agreed, then as usual I expanded upon my agreement with some form of sarcastic comment, because, well, it’s what Tiggers do best.  Someone, a friend of the friend, then in a sense explained that I was wrong because the Purple Hair Person was obviously an elder who like other elders nowadays “feels invisible”. Apparently they feel SO invisible, they need to turn their head in to a neon sign.  I in response then explained that (in my opinion) if one needs to decorate their body with tattoos, piercings or brilliant hair colour to be “non-invisible” ( i think I said interesting) then they are in fact not interesting to begin with.  Further, I said that perhaps they needed to work on their personality.  It went from there but I stayed out of it as frankly, I felt there were better fights to be had elsewhere.   Sadly, I was wrong and by the time I returned to the discussion it had died.  I never got to state that in Ye Olde Days, older people didn’t seem to care if they were not “visible”, probably because they were not aging boomers who are still smarting from the lack of world change they tried to initiate in the sixties. Aging boomers who worked excessively long hours at their office jobs and now wonder why younger people do not. Aging boomers who would rather have praise heaped upon them for said long hours than money because they are very, very boring.  Aging boomers who are attention whores.

However I went away to look at cat videos, because sometimes, arguing a point is so much less INTERESTING than cats.

I will never dye my hair and I would thank you to ignore me when I get old like nature intended.

Posted from WordPress for Android by that guy that runs the place


Kingston, Ontario Canada.

John Jamieson, 54, a local Pharmacist, in an attempt to differentiate himself from the scores of women and men of his demographic, has purchased a modern North American muscle car. In his own words, he performed the visual and aesthetic upgrades to show that he is “way cooler than you might expect”. A plastic faux-metal chain frame around front and rear license plates, thin “yet tasteful” professionally applied flame appliques and a local hockey team “bobble head” complete the maneuver.

“I don’t really watch hockey, or any sports really, but hey, go team!” he said as his wife of twenty years, Vera, shook her head, pointed and snorted at the small figure on his dashboard as it nodded in her direction. “I just thought I should pimp my ride a bit” he reports (to visible eye rolling of Vera), “you know, after our lead cashier Norma bought a hot pink one, I had to up the ante!”

John’s wife and three daughters declined to be interviewed for this report however they did laugh uproariously when asked “is this a mid-life crisis thing or just a guy being a guy?” as he modelled his new leather jacket.

Update: John has ordered a new vanity plate.  “TUF GUY”.