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A New Business Idea Gone Poof

11 Jun

Just came back from a trip out west. Beautiful weather, beautiful views. No commitments.

Coming back, however, to that cultivated weed called grass, un-mowed for 2 1/2 weeks, is something else. The grass was not growing alone. But  perhaps, I thought, there is a business opportunity.  The pitch would go something like this:

My Field of Dreams. My Very Own Organically Grown Dandelions

My Field of Dreams. My Very Own Organically Grown Dandelions


Dandelion U-Pick

Organically grown Dandelions

No artificial chemicals. Only nutritious septic field effluent or pelican poop fertilizers

Tasty, healthy. High in vitamin C and other stuff

Great for salads, wine-making, coffee substitutes and other stuff

Only $1.00 a ton. Bring a bucket, a bag or other stuff

Get it early before the whole crop goes poof!

Some of My Dandelions Gone Poof

Some of My Dandelions Gone Poof

Others, however, had more mundane ideas. S-S, who is usually my muse, said, “Just mow the d–n grass,”  or somewhat similar words.

Brute Rarin' To Go

Brute Rarin’ To Go

Then there was Brute, eager to go, slice and dice anything in his path. So eager in fact he started first time. No huffing, or puffing or coughing. No post-winter warm-up hiccups. Just an immediate growl of happiness. Look at the smile on his face!

The gods were against me. I mowed the lawn. No “Dandelions ‘R Us” empire. Ah well, S-S and Brute are happy. 2 out of 3 ain’t bad. I feel a ‘Bat Outta Hell’ Meatloaf song coming on. I should quit now.


Happy Victoria Day Weekend

19 May
Victoria Day 2014

Victoria Day 2014

Grass, that cultivated weed, is growing and green. Brute is happy to get out of the shed to mow and mulch. The first of the flower pots is swinging from the branches. Ice still covers the lake.

‘Nuff said.

Winter Has Finally Arrived

17 Nov
Snow and grey lake, November 17, 2013

Snow and grey lake, November 17, 2013

Driveway and snow, November 17, 2013

Driveway and snow, November 17, 2013

Rant time! At the risk of sounding repetitive winter has shown its face early again. Although not as early as last year – that was October 5th – it’s still early. Now don’t quibble those of you who live in the balmier, semi-tropical climes of southern Ontario or BC. This is early! Winter is not supposed to arrive until December 21, four days before Christmas, and is supposed to exit March 21, on the dot! Instead we have something that generally lasts from October to May, in a good year. Quit whining you may say. You live in Manitoba for crying out loud! Well it’s my blog and I am a winter weenie. There, I’ve said it, confessed, admitted it. I am a winter weenie. Cold and snow are no longer fun. Brute is snug in his shed, hibernating, probably dreaming of new adventures in mowing next spring, with a new spark plug, of course. Me, I have to deal with frozen boogers.

Where I'd like to  be right now

Where I’d like to be right now

Gone are the days of skiing, ice-fishing, snowshoeing and the like. What was I thinking? Now I watch the Northern Lights from  inside the house since they only appear when its -20° C before the windchill.  Darkness, pitch black, comes at 5:00 pm. I have come to the realization I like sun, warmth, blue skies, palm trees, golden  sunsets. Mexico is looking better all the time. Primal scream alert! Aaaaaaaarrrrggh!!!

There, I almost feel better. Pass the Tequila.


Canadian Snowbird Song


Of Snow Fences and Sore Thumbs

29 Oct
Hammer Meets Thumb

Hammer Meets Thumb

Ah, the joy of preparing for winter, the snow, the storms, the -40°C temperatures, sunset at 4:00 pm. I so look forward to it all. Yeah right! Mexico here we come, some time in the distant future. So distant future. Sooo long in the future.

But stuff has to be done in the meantime. Brute has to hibernate for the winter. The garden has to be turned over. The well-head covered. Leaves raked for ground cover over water lines. Along with the leaves comes the snow fence.

This year the snow fence is a true work of art. Straight, tall, an orange splash of colour to catch the inevitable drifts to insulate the ground. All the tools that are required are orange plastic snow fence, steel posts, plastic ties, step stool or ladder, miniature sledge hammer, and the motivation to just get up and do it. Fortunately I have the last in abundance. She’s my motivational speaker, S-S. The sequence usually runs something like this: “When are you going to do the snowfence?”, to “Are you going to do the snowfence?”, to “Do the snowfence!” My pleas that it is too cold, that I have a cold, that I am too old don’t seem to work. So the work gets done. Two steps up on the ladder I get vertigo; my vision goes blurry, hammer hits my thumb. S-S turns a deaf ear to my pain. She calls it whining. “Just do it!”

The Snowfence and Me

The Snowfence and Me

The job gets done. I can stand proud before my winter masterpiece. Master of my domain. I knew all along that I could do it. I wallow in my virile accomplishment. S-S makes me a nice hot cup of cocoa with little marshmallows and kisses the boo-boo on my thumb. I tell her my arm and shoulder are sore. She says that I can go and have a nap. Life is good again.

New Header Pic For Your Favourite Blog!

10 Aug
Dressed for whatever Nature can throw at Me

Dressed for whatever Nature can throw at Me

Rejoice! Two things. Firstly, the fishflies are gone, enough said there. Secondly, on the advice of my financial and business consultant S-S and the the whining of Brute for more on-screen-time on the blog I have created a new blog header. S-S turned paparazza on me and snapped pics while I sweated on the driveway, capturing a picture of me and Brute (he never will get first billing!) at work. In the header pic it’s hard to tell whether I am pushing or following Brute. It’s an ongoing battle as to who is the boss. A titanic clash of wills.

I know I have a pic of S-S behind Brute somewhere. She was smiling so I am not quite sure as to what their relationship actually is. Luckily I am not paranoid. Anyway she told me not to use it, or else. But who knows, it might find its way onto the site accidentally. Caught between a loving prima femina and a conflicted primus res (finally I get to use some high school Latin.) life is not easy here in the wilderness some 45 minutes north of Winnipeg.

The attached pic here is me in all my fashionable glory with fishfly and cobweb carcasses and debris hanging off me. The camo duct tape on the hat is a particularly elegant touch. If you think I am using the site to milk sympathy by trying to add class to this rugged life, you are right. And the pioneers thought they had it tough! I mean life is brutal. Until recently we only had dial up, we still can’t get Netflix and gas is $1.36 a litre!

Fishflies, Enough Already

30 Jul

What gives? Here we are in the 3rd week of fishflies! Usually they come in late June or very early July and are gone in a few days. This year it’s like Chinese water torture! Everyday they keep on coming back and back and back. Going outside is almost impossible. Trapped by a host of horny insects. They swarm, they attack, they smother, they coat they crunch, they smear. They even get in your underwear. (Hmm, that almost rhymes.) Where was I?  Some friends came for supper over the weekend. As their car pulled into the driveway, yes that infamous driveway, the swarm was like a biblical plague of locusts, almost darkening the sky. Cleaning them off is guaranteed to create a thick, indelible smear. When the surface is light-coloured they smear as blackish-brown but when the surface is dark they smear as light yellow-white. I don’t know how they know how to do this. I do know it will mean extensive siding, deck and window cleaning when they have finally departed after their orgy. Mexico is looking really good right now!

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I’m disappointed in Brute. He’s been hiding out in the shed during the infestation. Something about being a vegetarian and only doing grass and weeds, not animal-life forms, even if they are stupid life forms. Fortunately the grass has gone dormant; however, small poplar trees are trying to gain a foothold on the lawn. The entire lawn is covered with a jiggling,vibrating mat of brown bodies.  I don’t think Brute realizes the next time we mow he will be mulching these same stupid pests before his blade even begins to suck up grass; that when his wheels and underside are thickly coated in  twitching and dying bodies he will begin to smell like a fish factory. And guess who he will expect to clean him off. Why can’t he be calm and rational like me?