Large Fierce Mammal

Oddly enough, this poem was born from an intention to write something with a pretty beginning that set the reader up for a funny punch line involving the way Spring unveils just how much frozen dog shit has been slumbering under the snow and ice in our yard, and that blessed day when Nature does Her Big Reveal. As it turns out, today was the day.

Anyway, it didn’t turn out as intended but I’m publishing it anyway. Here’s Spring, a little more serious than planned.

Spring

by LFM

Spring’s in my yard
With warming breath,
Her gentle kiss
Cures Winter’s death.
Where once was silent
Snowy cloak,
Now birdie song
And froggy croak.
Now turns the mind
To bursting buds,
To bee blessed blooms,
And fragrant floods.
Of all that cries out,
“LIFE is here!”
The soul’s renewed,
The mind is clear!
All is business
For Nature’s things,
Each plies its trade
With roots or wings,
Each bends its life
To Nature’s ken —
Live fully now,
Winter comes
Again.

A couple days ago this little gem caught my eye, a beautifully rendered short animated film written and directed by Andrey Shushkov titled Invention of Love. Subtitled, “A love story from the world of gears and bolts,” it serves up bittersweet in a neat little package.

All comments directed to my blog are subject to being moderated by me. I make a point of encouraging both positive and negative observations from my readers, and will never filter out comments just because they aren’t favourable to me or my subject matter, but what I will not tolerate is anyone who comments for the purpose of using my blog as a platform to reinvent the truth, launch personal attacks on other readers who have commented before them, or who seek to affect the willingness of others to comment at all.

Most of all, I will not tolerate comments from people who disrespect me, my work, and my audience by proving with their every word that they haven’t done us all the courtesy of actually reading the article they’re commenting on, but are reacting instead to what someone else has told them about it. This past Monday, I received two examples of just what I’m talking about, both aimed at my 31 January 2011 article, Bullied by the Nova Scotia SPCA? (more…)

1961 on the Halifax CJCH Romper Room set.

From the deep dark LFM family archives comes this little goodie. 1961 was a passionate year for me, and here I am with the second of my great childhood loves; Ann Wilson, professionally known as “Miss Ann” of Romper Room.

Born Ann Ramey in Kentville, Nova Scotia in 1928, she hosted the Atlantic Canada version of the popular kid’s TV show through the 1960’s and 1970’s. I was 4 years old in this picture which would have made her 33.

Predeceased by her husband Ronald Wilson, Ann Wilson died in hospital of cancer on Monday, 16 February 2009 at the age of 80. Speaking on her career as Miss Ann, her producer/director Merv Hebb said, “When she was in front of the camera, she became bigger than life in her own way.”

She certainly attracted my attention. I could feel the warmth of her hand on my ribs for days, and forbade my mother ever to wash that sweater. I have always suspected she disobeyed me.

Growing up with a burning interest in living safely and well outside of the comforting arms of “civilization”, I spent a lot of time learning and mastering my skills one at time so I knew they wouldn’t fail me when I needed them to live. More than half a century worth of winters down the road, I’m still not done, nor will I ever be.

Over the years I’ve met my share of “survivalists” and gun shop commandos who spoke with great authority on the toys and games they’d accumulated, and how in the wake of a societal collapse, they were ready, willing, and able to defend hearth and home, and live off the land. Everything for them was about literally arming themselves instead of arming themselves with the kind of mental equipage that cannot be lost, broken, or taken away.

None of those people had actually gone out under controlled conditions and tried living off the land. Instead, each had funneled his efforts and resources into an accumulation of objects he honestly thought would compensate for his lack of understanding. He who can, does – he who cannot may find himself sitting on a pile of toys that can be taken away in a flash if the day the shit hits the fan for him starts with a catastrophic house fire.

Today I’m presenting an entertaining video that illustrates just how important it is to bring tenacity and fun into the process of learning a skill that may save your life one day, all the while making your mistakes in a setting that won’t get you killed when you find yourself failing over and over and over again. I salute this man, I really do.

Source: here

Binary code is straight forward. 1 or 0. On or off. Black or white. Love Justin Bieber or hate Justin Beiber. There are no shades of grey.

I don’t get a heart throb vibe from this kid at all, but then I was brought up on the premise that the true definition of a male music star is that your persona makes men want to be you, and women want to fuck you. In Bieber’s case, all I get is ewwww.

That having been said, there’s no denying that Bieber’s star is shining bright right now, but fame is fleeting, and I’m sure the boy’s handlers are painfully aware that their cash cow may be ripe for the barbecue pit when his voice starts to change. That is, if it starts to change; I mean there are historical precedents, and it’s starting to get noticed that a 16 year old boy is still singing like a 16 year old girl.

Then again, casting all theories of surgical or pharmaceutical castration aside, there’s that old saw that holds, “Make hay while the sun shines.” Take a look around and see if there are any untapped markets you can capitalize on before that pesky biological clock winds down. There’s a historical precedent for this too, although in that case the driving force had more to do with the life expectancy of a television series than with biology.

Yes, I’m talking about Xena: Warrior Princess, and I don’t find this surprising at all because after years of study I’ve proven, at least to the minds of Mrs. LFM and me, that no matter what you’re looking for, all roads eventually lead back to her. (more…)

"Hunter's Moon" by Mother Nature with slight, tolerated interference on my part.

What follows is a character development for the most important role in my present work in progress, Skrælingibók – A Skræling’s Saga. After all, without the Wendigo what would be the point? If you don’t yet know the concept of the story, click here for enlightenment.

Lore holds that the Wendigo is a spirit. While, under the right circumstances,  it can be seen in its spirit state, it has no corporeal form. It feeds upon human flesh but is impotent to do so without first inhabiting a human host that provides it with the physical means to hunt, kill, and devour its prey.

There is no known way to destroy the Wendigo, and the only way to remove it from its host is by rendering its physical being uninhabitable through complete and utter destruction. With the superhuman stealth, strength, and speed imparted to it by the Wendigo, also comes a stop to the ravages of age and an unnaturally powerful ability to heal, so nothing short of decapitation and dismemberment, consumption by flames, or both, will do. (more…)

On those rare occasions when I find myself on the road alone, singing helps keep me alert. This first song has always been one of my favourites, probably because I’ve spent way too many years of my life being part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Anyway, settle back for a dose of Let the Good Guys Win courtesy of Tom Cochrane, Paul Hyde & Murray McLauglan. By the way, I sincerely hope you all get what you want, and not what you deserve.

This next one I only found the day before yesterday thanks to Mrs. LFM. We endorse this sentiment from Toby Keith with the able accompaniment of the great Willy Nelson.

Until yesterday, when they found me serendipitously because of driving while listening to CBC Radio, I had never heard of these guys. The Stanfields are a band that plays out of Halifax, Nova Scotia, described by Q104 Radio as, “The bastard children of AC/DC and Stan Rogers”. (more…)