Bruce The Goose Gets Lucky

In this 09 photo, Dad, who was keeper of the corn, is followed by that honking fool, Bruce the Goose.

About a month ago, Elisabeth advertised in an online classified service, offering to give Bruce the Goose away to a good home. Within 10 minutes of posting the ad, she had 7 replies. The best reply of the bunch was from Charlie.

Charlie and his wife Meegen had 8 geese they kept as pets, a mess of chickens and a pond with a fence around it. Patrolling the fence was a dog-coyote-stomping guard donkey. Charlie told me about the time he had warned one of his neighbors about the donkey and to keep their dog out of the goose-chicken enclosure. The neighbor didn't care or listen. The next day, Charlie found the big dog's carcass in the pen, stomped flat. He said it was like somebody had skinned it with the bones still in it.

While I'm a dog lover and not in favor of dog-stomping in general, I am all for goose safety. Especially after seeing our pet Pekin ducks slaughtered in the night because there was nowhere for them to waddle and no donkey there to protect them.

Charlie said he fed his feathery friends gourmet chicken feed mixed with corn and that Bruce would have a good life and die of old age with smile on his beak and a honk in his heart. He told us about one of his goose friends who had recently passed away of natural causes - the goose was a Chinese goose like Bruce and his head knob was huge, indicating old age. So we told Charlie to come on!

It took a couple of weeks - Charlie and Meegan do not live close and he was trying to time it with another trip. But he did show up. Unfortunately it was after dark. Have you ever tried to capture a goose in the dark? One that can fly and has a pond nearby? A feller can get fairly close to Bruce, especially if you have corn, but he has to see the corn for that to work.

So there we were, Charlie and Meegan and I, trying to herd this swimming, flying goose to a dog cage they had brought with them. If I could have sat on the porch and watched, I probably would have near died laughing. Charlie said that if he knew capturing the goose would be so difficult, he would have brought his net. I told Charlie that if I knew he was coming in the dark, I would have told him to bring the damn net.

Finally, I decided I would blind Bruce by shining a flashlight in his eyes. While he was temporarily dazzled, Meegen-with-the-quick-hands snuck up behind him, grabbed him by the neck just under his head (to prevent a good beak strike), cradled him in her arms and stuffed him into the dog cage.

We received a follow-up email from Charlie the next day. Bruce had behaved on his journey, even when Charlie and Meegen stopped at "Steak and Shake" for dinner. When Bruce reached Charlie and Meegen's pen, he was warmly welcomed into the fold by the gaggle. Last I heard, he was making goose eyes at a shapely female with a sexy waddle.

And so ends the saga of Bruce the Goose.

May your days be full of goose play, your donkey be ever-vigilent and the knob on your head grow to be humungous!

In the end, who could want more than that?

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Most of my local friends had been following the Vancouver Olympics and had seen that last breathtaking hockey game between Canada and the U.S. Imagine how touched I was when I walked into a pub where there were about twenty of these friends and they all started singing "Oh Canada." And not just "Oh Canada, la la la la la la". Well, there were some of those in the crowd. But many of them knew all the words and they sang the whole anthem. The whole bloody thing. Even the barflies that I didn't know raised their glasses and mouthed a few words. How gracious! I was truly touched.

Bluegrass Underground

On Saturday Feb 27, WCTE descended into a hole in the ground called the Cumberland Caverns to tape a pilot for a show called "Bluegrass Underground." The following are a few of the images I shot from that day.

The entrance to the hole.

The stage in the hole 333 feet below the ground.

Another shot of the whole stage and a big part of the audience in the hole.

Elisabeth, friends Jennifer Lefevre and the Prez of WCTE, Becky Magura, at our merchandise booth.

Mike Farris and the McCrary Sisters.

My pal Todd Jarrell sharing his vision of the show with Mike Farris.

In the back of the cave, monitoring the Farewell Drifters on the stage.

Behind the camera, shooting the Farewell Drifters.

A view from the stage.

The rabbi that plays with Mike Farris.

Audience member makes himself comfy.

Shooting the Farewell Drifters.

The audience watching the John Cowan band.

Morning Slip-Slidey Walk

The view that greeted me the morning of Sunday, January 31 after the winter storm of aught-ten that rolled through the South. Sleet, rain, snow, then repeat. Temperature currently just below freezing. Treacherous driving, especially with Southerners on the road who do not have much experience on this stuff. Treacherous walking too. Snow is crusty, ice is just underneath. Pretty though, if you don't have to go anywhere. Schools should be closed for days.

Ten Years

(one of my ads)

Welcome to 2010 my friend! Through the bumps and the tears and the laughter and the beers we have clawed our way, tooth and nail, frail of body and shaky in spirit, into the next decade. Each of us has had our own rocky path to navigate, our own challenges to overcome but here we are. While not exactly waving flags in triumph and dancing the rumba in victory over whatever sledgehammer pies-in-the-face life throws at us, at least we are still limping onward.

Last night, I spent a comfortable New Years Eve with a few friends in a little old house in Tennessee. Ten years ago, who could have predicted such a thing? You never know do you? While I was never much for “Auld Lang Syne,” I am prone to a little reflection at the turning of the year.

Snort! Prone to reflection hell! Memories have been slapping my big white ass all around the Tennessee hills lately. All vivid and shiny they have been, full of tastes and smells and places and faces. I thought for a while, I was of that age when you remember more details about something that happened many moons ago than you do about the breakfast you ate this morning. Who knows, I may be of that age. We’ll see when the day passes. I seem to recall chewing on a banana and Quaker Oatmeal Squares (with a hint of brown sugar) this morning but who knows?

A mere ten years ago, I was living in quiet desperation in Calgary at 15 Ranchglen Drive in a nice house I had owned since 1990, married to a nice, simple woman. I had a nice job, money in my pocket, good friends… and I was bored to tears. I longed to explode into the world, to escape the bonds of a ho-hum existence and experience a more fulfilling life.

Mid-life crisis? Maybe. As self-centered as it sounds, I needed… NEEDED to escape, of that there is no question. It turned out that this crisis was a wake-up call and while the mid-life crisis is viewed as a negative with pot-bellied balding men wanting hot cars and fast women, sometimes it is a voice of reason asking what the hell you are doing with your life and is this all you want out of it. Do not dismiss that voice out-of-hand. Warning - following the advice of that voice is not for the weak but I am here to tell you, I listened to it and... wow.

The intervening years have found my pot-bellied balding brim overflowing. Separation and divorce was pure but truly justified pain. Living in the Big Smoke as an editor and the dear and splendid friends I made while I was there, the healing wonder of the lands I have seen and the people I have met in the months I spent traveling, the exhilaration of going back to school and developing the skills that have made my new life possible, the challenge of running a business, the joy of finding new love, the petty annoyance of those damned kidney stones, the frustration and rewards of moving to the Holy Roman/American Empire and starting a new career within a new culture within a new relationship within a new life.

This last decade has alternately wrenched and touched my heart until I’m not sure I can find the sucker.

But still, it beats. I hear it now and then thumping to me in the night from an undisclosed location.

As this New Year approached and the memories slapped me around, I often saw your face (one of the sweeter slaps). I wanted to let you know you are in my thoughts and my heart and I wish you more joy and happiness than you can possibly stand.

And oh yes, more adventure!

From one beating heart to another with affection, admiration and love.

Dracula

My latest "just for the helluvit" poster project...
(click on it for a bigger view)

Not Crazy, Just Canadian

I took this shot this morning, complete with a Southern mansion in the background. I wish I had more time to take photos for the fun of it. There is a lot to shoot here.

Oh, I do take photos. I write and design and do all the things I love to do for work. But there is a heap of it and I do it mostly on my own time and with my own equipment because in this PBS non-profit, there are no resources and no time to spare for things that require concentration once you are in the daily melee. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying. Well, maybe I'm complaining just a little.

Dad was here for Canadian Thanksgiving. So was my friend Terry. Elisabeth was off for the week they were here and I took a couple of days off so I could spend time with them. We did it up right with turkey and taters and all of the trimmings. It made me long for home, what with the drinking Innis and Gunn, which Terry brought down with him, and talking like Canucks. It reminded me that I'm not crazy, I'm just Canadian. I took them to Chattanooga and the Aquarium and the Imax and the Choo Choo and we drove them around the Tennessee countryside. It rained the whole time but we enjoyed ourselves. Here's Dad eating breakfast with his friend Sweet Pea (Dad's the one with his back to the camera).

We had to get up at 3:00 AM on the 19th to get Dad to the Nashville airport in time for his 6:16 AM flight. Not many people on the Interstate at that time on a Sunday morning. I think I'll do that every time I drive on that highway. I won't have to put up with so many bloody big trucks. I-40 is one big rig after another.

This afternoon, I'm off to the Bacchanal. Bacchus was the Greek God of wine and intoxication which may give you a hint as to the nature of the Bacchanal. It is a fundraiser for the Appalachian Center for Crafts (a division of Tennessee Tech University). Forty bucks buys you admittance and as much wine and beer as you can consume, plus the chance to bid on art. It is always wise to combine drinking with spending money I always say. Not surprisingly, this is one of the Craft Center's most successful fundraisers. Elisabeth is working the event and WCTE is one of the media sponsors so I get in free.

Anyhow I wanted to let y'all know that I am still alive and feebly kicking. Please find a minute, drop me a line and let me know what is new in your lives.

Cheers!!!