"Short Note" on the Blue Moon

Its "Twice in a Blue Moon" for me. The winter solstice coming on Prince Edward Island with a warm snow-killing white Christmas destroying rain. Here for me among the decorated cottages and Victorian homes I walk in the evening to observe the frozen pond at our memorial park. Often a coin is tossed with a hope for all as always for an abundance.

This blue moon, or the second full moon within the same calendar month comes appropriately on December 31. The last such moon was on May 29, 2007. That twas the night before I was to travel to New Hampshire and pick Shel up at the airport after her last trip home, to Colorado. I am mired in the bizarre and ironic. This Christmas season marks the first time we are truly out of touch in nearly 18 years.

The end of this year marks many conclusions in my life and the life of our family. Romantically, a once very pleasant long-term relationship formally ends and a more stressful and more recent dalliance concludes simply and with a hint of relief. The death of my sister in October ends the existence of my immediate family on this earth save one (me). Both of my adult children are on their way into life in various states of confusion or over-confidence so much like teenagers.

So Christmas alone here on this island selected as my refuge seems just fine. Much better than the uproarious time two years ago here when emotions were so high as marriage writhed in its last ugly death throws. Nor as last year when I sat with my sister, ailing in her silent suffering, over a meager and reluctant Christmas meal during my now rare winter off-island. As for so many, this time of year for my family has been difficult. In our case, now only MY case, since the 1970's. I have written so much on that that it is time to move on.

It is also time now write the conclusion. Not this journalistic read here that is completed only out of reverence for 30 years of diaries penned by me, now lost. But to actually do "something". The novel or collection of short stories to be.

As a dear old friend has advised me many times, "You can do anything you want-create businesses, speak, teach, why are you just waiting?". Well for us the emotions run deep as does the brilliance. My sister was absolutely brilliant but in the actual world would have been and was considered a "loser". I wasn't. I created millions and just walked away from it. Now thats a tale someone might read. And I have learned the most from my friends turned enemies.

The experience of that loss has honed my instincts on human nature to a very sharp edge. For the most part its pretty ugly. The beauty of nature and a fine trout stream sustained me while I have endured my vacation here. It is the, the rare kind deed that is truly unselfish I search for.

The rarest concept to consider or act upon for today, at the time of this Christmas for all of us should be an act made or observed of true forgiveness. It is a very rare thing, this "forgiveness" and nary seen in fact by action other than meaningless words. Forgiveness is a tangible act of the spirit uniquely human. I seek a spirit that can really take that leap of faith. Another rarity is the ability to go through life without fear. This is a true Christian value. These are as rare as a blue moon, or rarer. Forgiveness within a life without fear.

Go on without fear. Ask yourself this year what are you afraid of-nothing? Losing your money, your lover,wife, family, gold, looks, car, house, food....the list is long and usually obvious. What about losing your soul? What is of value to you. Do you I have one?

Trust me on this matter I speak from experience. To fully push the envelope to prove a point may be madness, and perhaps I am guilty. As a writer I can only tell of what I have lived and what I have experienced, so perhaps its been worth it.

The New Year's of the Blue Moon should help you stop and pause-look up at the sky and figure out your real place in the universe. So few even look at the sky. Stop and observe it. If life still makes little or no sense walk away from all that makes you comfortable and try a new world and a new life. Experience that and grow as a viable spirit verses an automaton on a fake material world and a black and white life.

It has been said that a life lived in fear is half a life. I disagree. It is no life at all. Remember the mandala and its significance.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year-Go live it in honesty without fear, with charity, forgiveness and appreciation. For me that means going fishing with my son, maybe a trip home to Arizona and whatever is in my path that needs doing. What does it mean to you?

Mid-November

Finally got a chance to sit and write a few lines. I have been busy dealing with my sisters estate from afar. Since I am in Canada I have to give administration of Aprille's things to the attorney, Joie Rehcamp. My son was going to take care of it but his mother has erroneously convinced him it will somehow put him on the hook for money. Now I will have to pay a lawyer to do what Joey could have done and earned himself a few bucks. But he is very busy with work and school so I understand. I just wish he didn't hang on his mothers every word, as she is often just plain wrong.

The realtor that I have hired sent some pictures of the little house. It looks ransacked. Aprille kept it so neat. Her TVs and most other electronics are missing. The new futon that she loved has disappeared. I think the cousins must have thought that I had not been there nor knew what was in the house. I gave Bettejean, the daughter of my mothers oldest brother, the refrigerator for a church donation. Perhaps that meant "help yourself".

I do not really care. But it is very disrespectful and I myself felt a bit violated. In our family, and perhaps in most, when someone dies alone, the first "relative" on-site takes what plunder they may want.

It is tough to see what few remaining trinkets and art I knew in my childhood alone in that place. I think of all the abandoned properties I have inspected over the years and of flea-markets. There the last remaining worthless but sentimental treasures of a past life fade away to the dump or someone else's nick-knack shelf.

Little things of beauty meant so much to my mother and sister. The paintings, driftwood, colorful glass of all kinds. Some items belonged to our Great grandmother , Mary Riley. I suspect that these won't be preserved as I am stuck here and have no truly reliable caretaker.

Cold and harsh is the modern world. I suspect at the conclusion of all this I may be able to return to the States for a time. The where and why and when has yet to be determined.

In any case its a bright cool day here on the island. Winter looms as does my 53rd birthday one week from today. I may never know why my 61 year old sister, who seemed healthy in March, just died alone. An old friend told me sometimes an artistic heart just cannot bear the ugliness of the world and reality of life here. I think that my son is right when he says his aunt died of lonliness. She was lost without our mother.

Somehow I have managed to be tougher and more resolute than my sister. I am not as intelligent as she was. But she was my preschool teacher and allowed me to love a life of learning and travel. After the disaster of my life with Shel and the inordinate amount of suffering that caused I feel that some are correct in stating I am too sensitive and a dreamer.

My mother told me all we retain are our dreams and memories. Perhaps I do not hold the keys to fort knox, but in memories and dreams I am rich. Both fulfilled and unrealized. Maybe when I leave this place finally mission accomplished I can write the tale and again sit in the sun.

A legacy of visions.

FALL

So the fall is almost gone now. Its brilliant and very crisp. I found out from my son last Friday that my sister passed away at home sometime around that date. A visitor couldn't get an answer at the door so the police were called, broke in and found her in final rest in her living room chair. I had wondered why my calls and letters had been unanswered. I knew she was lonely and not feeling well when I left to return home last March.

I just wish I could have stayed local and been of some help-but at least we had our final trip together to the New Jersey shore of our childhood. I had hoped to stay nearby longer but dealing with family realities in Harrisburg and the unfriendliness of it made me long to return to the island.

Aprille had wanted to visit but I had to drive round-trip again and I just wasn't up to it after the ordeal in Pennsylvania last winter.

The family is all together again now save for one-yes, the last of the "Manduka's"- I hope my children get on the stick with career and weddings so I can see some grandkids-one thing is for sure I am next on the list.

Aprille was cremated at Newmyer funeral home in Harrisburg as per her request. The ashes are at our cousin Bettejean "Sis" Weber's home of Etters, and are to be scattered about my mothers ashes in the rose garden at the family home at 3937 Walnut Street.

I am glad cousin sissie (Mom's brother's-Harold Hatfield daughter) and her husband Russ have tried to help my sister and check on her during my travels. It is a shame my children, only a few miles away never really got to know or understand her life and talents, and pains. She was much like Van Gogh, but in actuality a much better artist.
She was my mentor and teacher who had me reading and doing math, playing chess at age 5.

Her intelligence misunderstood caused her pain and rejection in a cruel world. At age 61, missing her family and probably still our life on our Bucks County farm in the 60's and our trips to the Mexico, Florida, Canada and the New Jesey shore and Wyalusing (Homet's Ferry,PA) as children, succumbed as only a sensitive can to the ugliness of a wanton and brutal modern world, perhaps as it is.

She expressed herself in her music, writing and most of all art-I hope it can be preserved as her testimony.

Hurrican Bill

Well what was touted as a big storm really seemed like a few Arizona monsoon thundershowers to me. But it was my first maritime hurricane. Wow-its been a long time since I have written. This is due to the fact that I have an uncomfortable computer position and weak wi-fi connections.

What a great warm August! I didn't get as much fishing or beach time as I have been futzing around with Mary a lot. I am taking a break from that now and I doubt it will go over well..but I need some space and thinking time.

Shel seems quite happy in her new life and has blogged about it on this server. Now I come to the annual event of deciding whence to remain here and be hard-frozen or go off somewhere else to do whatever.

The kids have been okay with predictable Rhonda and girlfriend/boyfriend issues. I am planning on finally getting my truck fixed-a check showed up without explanation from my sister so it will be well spent.

Otherwise been fishing a little but my hands have been sore and spoiled it a bit.

I have plenty more to espouse upon and photos to post. I actually have two handwritten essays ready to go-hopefully this week.

One story discusses my dependence upon "signs" to decide various actions that I may take or not. Fall approacheth..I await a sign...or just winter it out again?? Guess I could go home and go back to work. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

Canada Day

Well there is a lot to say on my fourth Canada Day here on PEI. I won't elaborate in this post but later when I can. I am working on the "Golden Coffin" essay and I will post that soon.

The whole town was down at the baywalk for fireworks tonight. Mostly school-aged kids and young families. The cool misty rain started just as the fireworks ended around 10:30. It was a night requiring a jacket and my hands grew a bit numb sitting on the fence for an hour. They started at 10, as that was really when it was dark enough at this latitude on July 1.

No mail from anyone other than Phil Benjamin today. He lost his birth certificate and I reminded him it had been in his dad's house in Monroeton in the safe. The house that should have been. Another gift from Rhonda to the family. The latter-day loss of two homes the kids could have had. I hope she is happy with the few dollars all the pain yielded. Watch the karma, Shel always says.

No word from her either but payday approacheth. She will probably be heard from. Happy July to all-back to creative writing soon, I promise.

Summer in Summerside

I have often commented on how this island is perhaps one of the best places in all of my travels to spend a summer. But allow for the fact that it is overcast most of the time. Each really bright warm day is a jewel from the sun gods. Often the wind shifts bringing shockingly cool air from some place still icy or of icy seas. My little beach at Green's shore, the "Bay walk' as we call it here is really a eel grass choked tidal flat.

The sand is coarse and brown and the sea smells 0f organic decay. I love it as it is as it should be, but many a passerby comments upon the weeds and the "smell". I can hear them as the walk by on the boardwalk while I am lounging hour after hour on the coarse red-brown sand.

They trot by with dogs and kids, some chattering in French, some on phones, some speaking too loudly about a local affair or their world travels. Please. I learn more while on the beach than I do at the wing or legion on Saturday night. My friend Mary doesn't like it when I socialize, especially with female friends. She hates it when I dance facing the seated folks. I think she hates my tan, and she sure dislikes my computer. I am also advised that my life is an abject failure and my misery is my punishment from God for my misdeeds and crimes against humanity, Rhonda, and Shel. I consider this as I soak up the sun and write here by the sea.

Somehow my punishment seems to be what all the moneyed folk walking on bay walk and touring the island for a few days long for. Early retirement. affordable housing. Cable TV. I guess I have missed the point somewhere but I am trying to figure out what everyone is so afraid of and what they are working so hard to accomplish.

I have done all of that. College. Started a business, made millions. Tahiti. My airplane, fleet of cars, my Mercedes, mansion and servants, Shel among them. Now I wait on the beach. All of the material props removed I am still on vacation. Those who visit here have to leave to return to whatever reality someone told them was the proper way to comport themselves. Pay your bills. Follow all the rules. Act like a sycophant-yes sir or ma mm. Don't question authority. Be afraid , yes awfully and horribly afraid.

For tomorrow you may be broke. Don't take a risk. You may lose your home, wife, car, airplane, nanny, or mistress. OOH Noooo! Been there and done that. Still on the beach. Clothes clean, hair cut. And the ladies still like me.

The big loss is the fact of my own bewilderment. Everyone is taking it all way too seriously, and usually about matters of little or no importance of issues over which one has little or no control. They are the same thing.

My quandary is that for most of my time in life it seems that someone wants to steal my joy. I know that misery loves a good friend, but what is it about me that drives the unhappy masses insane? Maybe I just attract the wrong people. At my first job, I was hated as a rebel, but was one of the most cited and admired professionals in my organization. Later, in business I made millions making it seem easy. Then I was ridiculed for taking too many vacations. Hell, that is why I started my own company in the first place!

Then when I lost all that because wife one thought she could steal and somehow operate my "easy" business I married a young blond and moved to the desert southwest. Here I started another small business and worked on my hobbies, fishing, shooting, and the art of relaxation.

Being too happy at that, wife two decides too get what she can and seek paradise at my expense after still angry wife one has me handcuffed for failure to keep her in the mansion, which she of course lost and screwed up after she ruined the business that she desired to run so badly. Must be my fault.

Blond wife decides that she has to make me angry so Ill go away so she sleeps around and ruins my truck. Of course I decide to stay in paradise to wait on her return, which never really occurs unless she is homeless and without a boyfriend at the moment, or some other payor.

Sure I should be all twisted up about this. But I am still on vacation as I sit on the beach and watch the ants dart about their serious purposes. Life is great. I sincerely thank all of my friends and lovers who have pointed out how awful my life is and what an evil bum I am and always shall be.

Maybe Ill move to Hawaii when I get bored again.

Next entry, "The Golden Casket Syndrome".

Cloudy second day of Summer

Just a quick note to report a quiet few days of rain. pretty cool for summer, but ah, the maritimes! I am at the library as my wireless at home is down. I had a banking problem that I think I have solved and pretty much just waiting out the last week of June until payday.

the its parts for my old truck and a fishing trip-hopefully some more pix and real writing for here. It has been a prolonged period of writer block and Internet troubles. I hope will soon end.

All quiet here as summer gets into swing and I can finally do some overdue swimming!

Quiet weekend

It has been too long since I made an entry. My Internet connection has not been as easy as in the past. Finally got back out to do a little fishing. Its been mostly small brookies, but I did catch and release a small smolt salmon near Bedeque. My first PEI salmon! The Alaskan Kenai it is not, but there are a lot of fish and fishing spots close by. My truck needs serious work so my travel is limited. Frankly, fishing here is a rather lonely experience without my son.

Mary went with me a few times . We grow closer. She is a fine woman and a real lady and we spend most every weekend together. Weekends with Mary...before it was just "Sundays with Mary". Last week it was even" "Sundaes" with Mary", as we went to the St. Eleanor's dairy bar after supper.

I did get an email from Joe Moltzen. He sent some pictures of he and Kevin Geraci fishing salmon on the Columbia River. They both look prosperous but we are all aging-my high school fishing buddy's. It strikes a bit of a spear in my heart, but I am glad they have done well and missed the trials I brought upon myself.

Frankly, I think again now of going home. It has gotten complicated. I also got a note from my sister. She seemed OK, but complained of some pain. She refuses to see a doctor as she is sure that she will have to pay, but with medicare and medicaid she can get what she needs.

My lost wife did send an email around the 3rd of this month asking for cash. That always breaks me-and in a different reality I would love to help. The coldness there after 18 years of love and friendship is astonishing.

Cool and Wet

Well damp and cool here in my quiet reclusion. My entries have been less frequent than I would really prefer as my WiFi connection at my place seems to have evaporated. So its the library or sneak my laptop in here to my friends while she is at work. I know that sounds dishonest but she is a radical "anti-technology" type. This can be quite quaint, charming and all that but since this format is my primary connection to both business and my children, it is , at the minimum, "inconvenient".

I did hear from my son with an update. He seems well with school finished, and he is frustrated with dating and work. My work problem is solved at the moment (retirement). The "dating" issue, which in my life never lasts long, is a non-issue. I mean that when I meet someone it goes to serious so quickly that it can be annoying. Trying to stay single has been a challenge in my life.

In any case, I hope to get the truck's front differential fixed and finally get out and fish some more at some point. The "lilac run" of sea-trout should commence here shortly. I am amazed at the streams I have seen-small wild brook trout streams like home-but way too few. Small jewel-like trout fill them. I search for the grown-up fat fish that have been out to sea, and have come home to spawn. Some are 5 pounds, or more. Thats a big brook trout-anywhere!

I am in total writer block for some time now. There has been insufficient time for me to be alone and brood so something interesting will emerge from my brain. I can't let it go on forever.

But its said to be 70 degrees on Thursday, and I may finally fit in another beach day. My summer agenda-tanning and fishing. Maybe something else will come up.

No news from my distant separated "non-wife". I finally figured out that her friend's supposed "Love and Life" blog was just an attempt to annoy me. Both her and her "friend" have fallen electronically silent. It is really too bad that has happened. I do miss those beach days with her long ago in San Diego, the Bahamas, even Cavendish. But it has been explained to me that when I took the vow of poverty, she took flight.

Maybe I should have just stayed in Highland. Well I am "stuck" here in paradise now.

My sister wrote a note last week. She is feeling ill and had the neighbour cut her grass. Joey never stopped by to visit his Aunt, but he has had a busy month. So on into June we go.

Spring Rains

So spring finally arrives here on the island. Warm south winds bring the delayed spring here north and far east of my ancestral home. It always seems the seasons are a month off here. The cool returns in late August and Spring on or about May 1 at this latitude. Its really the icy waters that control the weather. Its been warmer on the mainland. Here, it will take several months for the increasing sun to really warm to a moderate temperature.

I hope to get out this weekend to chase some sea-trout up west. "Up west" means the Acadien part of this island, that begins a few miles from here. There, French is widely spoken and the streams are cleaner, wilder.Its not that critical that I fish immediately, as I have all season to pursue the brook trout that has been at sea as they return to spawn. The sad part is that so many streams here are silt-chocked due to agricultural run-off. That combined with the not rare enough ignorant release of chemicals from careless farmers fields has hurt both the commercial and sport fisheries. This saddens me as I imagine what a paradise this place must have been before settlement and deforestation long ago.

More trees need to be planted and stricter rules enforced. But the economy is poor here and farmers rule. Soon the "tourist" season will begin. Each year it seems that fewer people visit the island. The obnoxious bridge has removed some of the mystery associated with a visit here. Upon our first arrival in the early 90's, a ferry was required to reach this shore. The isolation, although subtle created a unique language and genealogy here that I am just beginning to figure out. My lady Mary is such an example. Often I still don't know what she is talking about. Yes, these folks are separated from the Yanks by a common language.

We go out on weekends dancing. I challenged Mary to identify anyone in any of the clubs who doesn't have a blood relative in the room. She balked, but when we asked about it, everyone had kinfolk in the place. Mary's cousins are always there. Another sensitive point is the large number of physically or mentally challenged people I see everyday. I was told this is because in Canada, the folks are more integrated and accepted. In fact, my theory is that the reduced gene pool is the root cause. This would sure to yield harsh words, or a punch in the nose should I openly disclose it. Much like the isolated valleys of the mountains to the south, this place and its culture was born in the harsh reality of rural life. This includes poverty and inbreeding among the families here.

I know many people who have never been off the island and only rarely go to Charlottetown, the provincial capital about an hour away.

My friend Manny Gallant came by. He asked me to put some of his driftwood sculpture on EBay. I have done so, but I am dubious of the outcome. He makes items from big old Malpeque Bay oysters and driftwood he collects at Holman's island. Pronounced "Mawl-Peck", from this bay come the finest oysters in the world.

Like many lifetime fisherman here, he is nearly illiterate. I find this charming and at times envy him, as I have written before. He explains he has been in a boat nearly since he could walk, and had little time for schooling. The usual harsh childhood, similar to Mary's and many other shaping an island stoicism that is tough for a soft educated spoiled Yankee to grasp. Alcoholism and brutality shaped many a childhood here. This is shown by the angst of failed lives and relationships, broken angry families, and an unearned ignorant pride that it creates in a soul. Some of this is evidenced in my own family. My first wife's mother was raised in such an environment on Newfoundland. The transfer of her pain effected the mother of my children, and even flavours some of their attitudes and fears.

But I love this place. Carefully backing-off on my Yankee attitude and my own ignorance, I have been slowly accepted as an "islander". But with my unique surname here, and without kin, I remain separate.

But I sure look forward to the trout and the beach. In fact this is one place that I can live in a "resort" and be able to live a normal life on my pension. I still struggle with a possible return to the states and a job. Mary would be crushed should I make that choice. It seems my children do OK without me, perhaps thrive without the fear that their mother would go mad if I was nearby. But I may try again.

Its that or make a life here for the time being. Its not so bad. I fear "island fever", which is one reason I decided not to settle on Kauai for a bit. I have to take my own advice, as I gave to my son, "one day at a time, and enjoy life as it come". As my much missed mother had advised.

Trout Season on Prince Edward Island

Many years have past since I actually went out on a cold spring morning to observe this rite of spring. In fact, I cannot remember the last time. Year after year I had planned this event with my son in Pennsylvania. I think we last came close in the spring of 2007 at Clark's Creek just before my ever-predictable return to this island.

I attended a friends funeral here on the Tuesday before our fishing season started. My friend Lloyd from our local legion was 74, and a well know local fiddler. We would sit and chat about mostly religion among the artifacts of war drinking draft Canadian beer. While Mary and I were in church on maundy Thursday, Lloyds wife Shirley waited and Lloyd never came to church where she was to meet him. She found him dead on the living room sofa, after returning home concerned. Lloyd was never late for mass at St. Paul's.

The funeral was the Catholic rite of internment and a high mass. It was nice to attend the sacraments again, but I will miss my friend. The tears welled with memories of past losses of all kinds, and thoughts of the future losses to come. Now I feel part of the town. I had been to such events before, but not for someone that I knew well. The funeral included fiddling and I felt close to home, somewhere west of Harrisburg, in a mountain halla or maybe at the Oriental Hotel in Juniata county.

Those events set the stage for trout season here. The dark calm morning was icy cold with some snow on the ground and calm winds. I left at 5 AM as the season begins at 6:00. The selected spot a few miles East of Summerside on the upper Wilmot River, near an place called Marshbank's pond. The Wilmont empties into the sea about 4 miles below my spot and is straight and wild as it mixes into the salt of Summerside harbour. I could barely see, but parked by a bridge and walked down to the small stream. It was clear with a brownish bottom and some debris. The spot reminds me of the Yellow Breeches near New Cumberland. It isn't all that wild at that point, there are summer cabins and trailers, reminiscent of the rest of Appalachia.

A few cold bodies waited nearby as the crescent moon dropped lower opposite the planet Mercury in a bright frigid azure sky, Mercury shining as the morning star afore the rising sun. The folks spoke in muffled tones of how good the river is, and how they had caught big sea-run trout here over the years. We all cast (all 4 of us) at 6 AM and waited as the sun stubbornly climbed and our toes numbed. The young fellow with his brother and grandma across from me caught a small trout about 6:15. Ice formed on my rod tippet as the line was retrieved. I cast and drifted bait for 2 hours and with no fish, then sat in the Blazer and recorded in my audio diary.

The water is simply too cold, and most trout arrive here later in the spring. Later, I fished the nearby pond with no results. I don't feel too bad-that one trout was the only one caught that I witnessed.

One thing I found odd was that the island has no "non-resident" fishing licence. We all pay 30 bucks, unless we want to fish for salmon and pay an extra fee. All salmon fishing here is catch and release.

I also realized in my hasty departure from Pennsylvania, I left my small lure box in my son's car. I also have his rod and vest. So I will probably move from bait fishing to fly-rod as the weather warms, unless I get a few spinning lures here.

This day after the season opener is cold and breezy and bright. The air will remain cool another month or longer until the surrounding icy sea warms from the strengthening spring sunshine. I have many other streams here and ponds to explore. But it just isn't home nor the same without my boy along. I just have to pretend that I am that teenager that I was with my first car, before my first girl was in my life-driving around with my rod looking for meaning in a stream or on the rural roads.

I admit to being a bit homesick at this time of year. But I will probably remain on the island a
while this time. Life is easier to deal with here for me. But I miss my family and the pain remains vivid of yet another futile attempt to be with family and haunts. So as the lonely roving fisherman of the Pennsylvania back-roads found in the 1970's, I will find here places that can fill the void, maybe catch a fish and kiss a girl-attend the mass, and try to make sense of the issues of the day, both mine and the desperate pursuits that drive the people in the real world-far from this place. Far from my island. The rite of spring, a rite of life.

Transition Day on Prince Edward Island

So today begins the second day of the first full month of spring. Three weeks have past since my return to my adopted home. Mary has been a gracious host but as we spend more time together I see more clearly how our different paths in life have made us so different. I realize also at this point in my life she is a great friend and in reality has probably saved me from some difficulties now thwarted. My old truck was moisture sensitive this morning as an unforecast and therefore unexpected icy- cold damp north wind driven drizzle prevented ignition this morning. Mary bundled up like an Eskimo and has gone to walk up to her work today on Victoria road.

Tomorrow I hope the truck will start or I can get some wire drier and get it running. A trip to Carl's to get those ignition parts put on and an oil change is now imperative. Also tomorrow I am to pay Allan Brown for my rental on Convent street. I am really looking forward to finally unloading and organizing my "kit" and having some alone time. Not only to catch up on the writings but to reflect on the time with Mary, and my recent winter in Pennsylvania with family.

I have been struggling to a conclusion for my writing. Now I feel that I have to make one. But conclusion means where I draw the line-to what end. I mean to stay here, take another stab at PA, or go radical and try and make it back to Arizona at some point. I have decided April is the month of rest-some sea-trout fishing here on the island, and contemplating the summers. In fact, I really have to decide in May where I shall remain.

I had an email from Joey today and he seems OK, and he wants me to call tomorrow around noon his time. Then of course it will be dancing at the "Wing" with Mary and since its a popular band, "Misty Waters", maybe the "Rock and Roll Girls" will reassemble again. Since Mary and I paired off, the old group has been no more. I saw Judy and Joan at different times around town. They seemed ill and bloated and sad. Great sadness here. Great poverty and tragedy hidden in semi-superficial Canadian bliss.

The loonie remains under 80 cents giving my American pension a nice boost. In fact living here gives me a 20% pension increase at the moment. The American car companies move relentlessly to bankruptcy, unemployment soars, and foreclosures continue. The vast American economy in its illness sickens the tiny dependant Canadian economy as when in a siege, ancient armies threw rotten carcasses into a city to sicken and kill the inhabitants. Not that any of this was really intentional (?), but it was avoidable.

For me, on a fixed livable income, depression and deflation are welcome. Poverty causes price reduction, improving my standard of living. If the loonie crashes against the greenback, I win. Sad, but true. Yankee in paradise. I just hope my truck starts and I can catch a few sea run brook trout.

I have heard from my absent and remote "wife". She is still in Charlottetown carless. She has asked me to to find a small book of quotes she had by Norman Vincent Peale. It was always in our bathroom on Central Street. It was a gift to Shel from her friend Tracy. She somehow thinks that I have it. I will look through my stuff, but I am almost sure she took it during her move-out period or it is still in the bookcase at 67 Central Street. I will look. But I told her that I may be able to get another one on Amazon. But she wants that book. I asked why the sudden wave of nostalgia and had no response. We have both lost so many material things of sentimental value. Shel makes me very sad. The awful fact is I am still in love with her, even after this terror, and I find it hard to give Mary 100%.

What a winter!

Spring on Prince Edward Island

Well perhaps it goes without saying, after this long delay in writing here that once again the adventure has taken another turn. Things went south with my army buddy Jason at the Juniata county house and it was time to leave, rather abruptly I might add. I bailed in with my sister and we took an impromptu but traditional (and traditionally expensive) trip to Atlantic City. We spent a few days with our old friend of childhood, the New Jersey shore. My pals at the little Greek restaurant remembered us and we had some good food there at the end of Kentucky Ave. We had a great ocean view suite at the Renaissance Hotel, room 907.

At that time 2 weeks ago I had just planned on renting a place near the kids and just continue on with the family reunification mission. The place south of town was marginal but affordable until something else better came along. Joey and I took a ride down to scope the place and he agreed I should probably not be stuck down there on I-83. So after a night at the kids place and a hassle parking the Blazer, I just decided to drive back here to the Island.

I went on a pizza delivery with Joey and emotionally told him I was heading North again. I think he was sad, but perhaps relieved too. It had been a strain as R never knew I had returned to PA for over 3 months. Alexis had an incident with her man involving a forbidden stay over discovered by mom and her man, causing much stress on the kids.

So it was back to my island home to stay with Mary until I find a new place. I felt silly giving up my place here of nearly 4 years for only a few months-but at least I escaped most of the worst of the island winter. I just rented a nice place on Convent Street, about two blocks from my old home. I move in next Friday.

It has been nice to spend time with Mary, but it is not tension free. We have been dining and dancing-she is a great dancer and cook, a truly lovely lady. She really wants me just to stay here with her, but our personal situations complicate that at the moment. I need some alone time to regroup and decide if I am here to stay of if I will try again to move south, with better planning this time.

There is a possibility I may just stay on the island. Its affordable and beautiful, and I had a real homecoming celebration from the folks at the dance clubs, my neighbours-even the store clerks. Such a small town. Deep with many sorrows but also a place of great beauty. Once again I will miss various outdoor events with my son, so long planned, that just never seem to happen even with all of our maximum efforts.

So a few months here or a few years? Maybe my kids will visit me this summer here.

Shel has emailed me with car trouble. She does not yet know that I am back on the island. For better or worse I am going to remain incognito until I am fully established in my new place. Mary has hinted that I have no place else to go-giving her a powerful upper hand at the moment-for two weeks less a day-then I am back in my own place and free to sort things out.

I would not have returned here directly without Mary. Perhaps not at all. But I am still unsure about our long-term situation and I feel I may be over-playing my hand a bit just to get along until April 3. For sure I am stuck here until that time-another blissful prison.

After I am back in my own place I can sort out the next couple of months. I have serious decisions to make before June 1. More on that later. Sure miss the kids. Visit interruptous.

The End of February

Just trying out my laptop on battery power only. Its early morning here in the mountains with a warmish springlike rain just before the sunrise. My compatriot's have already stirred and gone to work. Simon is up and awaiting his nearly hour long trip on a bus to school. AHH...ruralia. I am not sure that I could ever really go back to a city, although completely comfortable there too. Especially after living in Summerside and always longing for these mountains of my youth;

Yes I am somewhere South of Wyalusing and Towanda...but not that far in terms of fishing or basic philosophy. My mission today in this warm rain is to use the old fishing map and find some new haunts near here to explore.

I was overjoyed yesterday to find, in a small town near here, a place to buy worms and a car wash. The town is Mount Pleasant Mills. Just South of the famous trout stream, Penn's Creek.

It was sure good to wash off 2 months worth of salt The removal of that surficial outrage is also prophesy. So I am here as it seems until I can complete the circle - the Yellow Breeches of my youth in Huntsdale. Opening day of trout season 49 years after I first walked that stream and took trout with my father. The question remains will I walk alone, as Shel has suggested or shall I go with my son and new friends?

Oh-the battery lasts 15 minutes.

My Favourite Month

Well not really. I haven't written this month here, but I have made audio recordings and a long-hand old style journal entry. Life goes on here in Juniata County. I feel as distant from Harrisburg as I did on the island as the kids are still hard to reach. My working roommates come and go at all hours, but are generally well mannered and respectful. We had one disagreement and I really do think one of them was trying to force me out, in that I have a nice furnished two rooms, good heat, my computer and a big cable TV.

I may be wrong. In any case the landlords young son Simon, 11, is now staying with us. He wanted to get away from his mother in Kentucky. Jason asked if I would help him with his homework. Well its beyond that, I make him breakfast and see him off to school and take him fishing and feed him when he gets home. His father works long hours for the railroad and told me he has little patience.

Some of Simon's friends already refer to me as the "nanny", in an odd twist of fate. But it gives me something to do. Mary says I am being abused. She has a problem that I see now-she has never been loved and sees human caring and protectiveness as some kind of weakness. Unless it is towards her of course. I think she is too cold and too demanding for me. Talk about the classic "Guilt Trip", to coin a phrase. I told her that I am a free spirit and that go where I please. She says that I can't. Don't tell me "can't".

The other reason that I haven't written is that my old PEI computer died. I bought this laptop on Ebay. Most all of my work and images are on line so I didn't lose much.

The good news today was that I heard from Shel. I had wrongly threatened to turn her into the RCMP for what is really a non-issue. I was very upset after an ice-cold email she sent that was just too much. I told her today that I am just glad that she is safe and happy and that I will leave her be. The awful part of it is that if she needed me, I would probably leave right now. Probably. After all she is still my family and shall remain so, I hope that over time we can at least establish a correspondence-that would be wonderful.

That all means that when I crossed the bridge into New Brunswick on December 3rd, that world and really a 20 year cycle came to an end. I have been amazed for all of my internet presence and writings, how few people I hear from, really hundreds whose lives I were in have simply vanished.

I have a few new DVD's I bought-one is the "Edge" with Anthony Hopkin's. The film is very hard for me to watch.

So I wait to decide my next life or Port 'O Call. We'll see as the winter wains and maybe my heart gladdens in a new horizon, always warmed by the fondest of memories-being truly in love. Maybe I will be myself again. Its been 5 years. Some may say longer.

Second Storm

A second snow and ice storm passed quickly by leaving a few inches of snow. It seemed so trivial compared to the storms of last winter on the island. I admit to being a little isolated here among the mountains of my distant past. All here consumed with work, lack of work, relationships or lack thereof. I guess I haven't been very good company as I am somber and a bit reclusive here.

I was up the past few nights thinking of Shel, Mary, my kids, and sister. Joey did send an email. He is upset still over his girlfriend and his hectic schedule. I surely do miss him, but I am putting no pressure on him to drive the almost 40 miles here to visit in addition to his busy life. He suggested that I come down and visit with Lexi this weekend.

Mary and I talked a bit today after nearly a week. She scolded me and warned that Windsor (our crazy pal from the "Wing") said my calls would get less frequent and I would finally disappear. Mary does do the female thing with vague accusations and mild guilt trips, but she misses me and has never tried to manage an "international" friendship before. OK its more than a "friendship".

I have made and listened to some of my audio recordings. The CBC Compass news show is on via Livestream each night and I admit to it being emotional to watch it. Boomer Gallant is the weather guy. I used to watch him do live weather out my window on Central Street.

Mary said she is still going out to dance with Eva and sometimes Wilbur, but the rest of my "Rock and Roll Girls" no longer go to the Wing. In an odd way I think I broke that group up after my time with Judy Griffin and later more serious time with Mary. The Lady Mary.

I miss that simple place. It was nice being in a real town with people and active social events like our weekly dances. No such thing here that I can see. This is harsher. Chilly compared to all of the people I knew in Summerside. I asked about Manny Gallant and Germain Fougere but they also have disappeared.

So I wait. Stay or go as the old story goes. I told Mary that I was having second thoughts about leaving PEI-that it might have been fine just to visit for Christmas and then to go home. Joey warned me that I may not see much of him. But I had to try.

Shel has disappeared. I even miss her nasty mails-at least I knew she was OK. OH-I could find out everything if I snooped her out. I was thinking since it is almost payday I may hear from her-the pattern since late 2004. At least then she put on a happy tune and it was pleasant to pay for her apartment, phone, food and whatever there. I really thought it my duty then and that she may decide I am an OK guy anyway. That all really hurts-but I had to know the truth no matter what the cost. I think I now do.

Home in Appalachia

Waking up on a sub-zero morning here on the west bank of Susquehanna, among the ancient ridges and the valleys of the mountains beyond Blue Ridge I am home. In my last entry I tried in vain to explain my personal concept of home. Only someone who has spent his life in travels in work and play would understand. I have often joked that I have been in a plane, train, boat, or car going somewhere all of my life. Often I think it began in the now fading memories of trips with my family to Florida, the Canadian Maritimes, and Mexico as a very small child. Being to young to remember much of that in the 1950's I find my powerful memories near the place I am now.

My extended vacation on Prince Edward Island even after a few months in the past seems almost remote. The emotional voice of my Mary there, here accent and semi-inquisitive Eh? bringing me back to mackerel at my wharf in the fall, and her warmth, her cooking and simplicity. This is truly something to miss. After "having it all", I often tell those who may listen about the beauty of simplicity-true freedom sans materialism and the rush for ephemeral success among the harried and strained world.

I will from now on consider this home, the "Oriental House", as my young son might have called it, the "camp".
Son says it is much like Westline, the old inn there. Perhaps this is the southern camp and that the northern. Westline is so far north and west of here it is really beyond Appalachia in some sense. This is remarkably similar to the interior of PEI, without the forever nearby sea. Not so much the French "Up West" there, more like "Out east" near the stunningly beautiful country near East Point and North Lake. There when the weather is right, the Cape Breton highlands can be seen. From the sea the mountains at the end of this chain meet the ocean. That is an unforgettable scene, especially as to my first trip there with my family around 1960, and later trips with wife 2.

My fellow campers here are Jason who is a railroad supervisor. He is suffering a painful divorce in his mid-30's and here we have commonality. The other pair of residents are the "sons of Dixie" as I call them. Seemingly forever travellers from the deep south, they are working temporarily near Harrisburg. The whole crew speak in a charming drawl and show the scars of a less than satisfactory life. The pair are father and son that I suspect are on the trail together out of real need, but there is simple bonding there that is touching. It saddens me as I feel lost as I hear them talking quietly for hours at night in their bunks with a closeness which for years has eluded me for years with my own children. Of course I have my trips with Joey to Arizona's rim, and Westline. Both kids to the fish hatchery in Huntsdale, and my one trip with them to Island Beach Park, New Jersey. It was there I have a photograph of my father on the beach, with me. It was his last trip to that special place before he left us.

There is the single trip I took with my daughter to Pittsburgh in 2006. She was still a little girl then. But no more.

Today is Friday and some locals may gather. We play an odd gambling game at the rustic little bar-much like the Pine Tree Inn of old. We pass a box of dice and lie about our scores and bet a quarter. I guess that's called "liars poker". I am not very good at it.

The deadline approaching with Mary for a return, the elusivity of my children, and my sisters problems place my decisions on "place" outside soulful serenity. Yes, where your heart is. But when it is scattered to the winds, all points nearly of any reachable place, I must find root in the solace of memory. But perhaps the constant chase, as my mother asked "what am I running from?", was rooted in the travels she and my father provided before I can remember. Always happier with any new vista and mission, no matter how painful, I now must decide on a home for an extended period. The questions are beyond resolution today. But it is only Friday. The weekend at Turkey Ridge and Ox Mountain, Appalachia.

Mid-Winter Deep Freeze

I note today that the weather here today is almost the same as PEI-but without the constant brutal winds and sea-effect snow. Have been a bit under the weather and perhaps settling after a bit of a virus, but it is almost gone now. Jason made chicken and dumplings for the camp after his grandmothers recipe. It was quite good. Almost like mom's but he uses no vegetables.

An email came from Joey today. He likes his social sciences classes as I did as a young lad. He said he is free Saturday and may come up with his girl and her son, with her parents permission. So be it.

Mary and I talked a while this evening. We have this decision date of February. If I am not back by then we are to "break up". I barely feel I have had enough time to decide if the kids are OK yet. Maybe I didn't mention that I got a call from a headhunter that wanted me in Iraq NOW. They had already started my paperwork for a 14 month deployment. After talking to Mary and my son (who both broke down), I declined the "opportunity".

Miss Mary but I am not leaving here yet. If it takes more time so be it. I am afraid that she could be the right one, but the kids have to come first at this time. I actually think Mary doesn't believe that I am coming home. The entire concept of "home" has become so vague to me at this point its non-resolvable.

I have sacrificed for a sweet embrace for many years only to lose the very foundations of my own being. It will not happen again. You see, its choice between home, and "home home". An elusive definition.

No mail from anyone else in Canada-that one I think now after a last nasty attempt at extortion has given up-my ultimate sentence for not rolling over this time is eternal silence. A German tradition-to be "shunned", or as in the Becker/Konig familiy "to be disowned".

It is railroad ties. That means that one Becker Uncle didn't pay the other Uncles about 10 bucks for railroad ties on the prairie 40 years ago. The debtor Uncle was dis-owned and died alone in a trailer somewhere near Grover, Colorado. Dead of being "shunned". Shel always predicted that fate for me. She has worked hard to accomplish that. Oddly enough I am still on vacation, wondering what it would be like to live life guiltless, admitting no wrong at any time. It might be paradise-until the balloon bursts.

Oriental

So I write again. Here at the base of Turkey mountain I am home. Long last. The wood stove heats and my son and I just ate a 20 inch trout I found under a covered bridge by the house. And the Amish. All around they confirm but do not really satisfy my curiosity of the simple and plain life.

Many unpleasant mails from my distant non wife. Quiet. In the Appalachians we have quiet. Maybe beyond the island. I hope to make a study of this culture.

Joey my son was here today. Only 30 miles north of Harrisburg but a different world. I need time to learn this place and my son, my daughter.

The fact that I caught an amazing trout less than a mile away is telling. The little rural bar on the hill seems sad after the step dancing of my island life. I will wait.

The mountains here abound with game. And soon the warmth will return and I shall fish the streams of youth-and new places.

My dads guns now adorn the wall. Soon to be used again.