Spring trout fishing on PEI

The first day. Always a first day in these important matters of fishing among good friends and with fine waters. Not that this island is the ultimate in a purists adventure into a rushing arctic river. Nor the first place that line was cast as a child with father along the streams of youth...but a new place of great streams and wonderful new memories that stir the most from a deep almost deserted memory. Opening day of trout here was snowy and cold. As a young man, I only remember one day of fishing the Eastern chars, or brook tout in the high plateaus of the Allegheny that I recall snow falling as we removed the natural artworks called brook trout. These fish are natures jewels. Dark above and dotted with crimson and blue, white edged fins and creamy flanks...golden bellies. These are the trout caught here that have not yet been to sea. They are pure pleasure in the pursuit and eager hungry as the spring thaw awakens and all of us collective awaken to a spring leading to the summer sun. I never really expected that. In the memory of youth it was a time of great awakening and expectation. Rods brought out. Plans made. The early morning trip away to meet the streams and brooks...the air, racing clouds and chilling air ...bird song along places of youthful expectation. The winter is long at this latitude. It is far from the streams of the Arizona rim, later, and in most ways father still from the mountains and cold limestone valleys of the Cumberland gap of my youth. But it is trout fishing the same only modified by the geography and those who cast the line with me here. For those who do not understand that, or those whose memories are yet clouded by the unimportant or memories forgotten I can only say that it is as a wedding should be. The great expectations, hopes, and wishes of a powerful meaningful summer among all that can be profound and important at a time or renewal. The fish are a bit small, but the fill the pan well, dusted in flour and fried golden and a meal that means spring is here. Perhaps I should have fished elsewhere. My father is long a memory. We fished the streams of home and it remains a most important place of memory. Here we go out just a few miles from home here along along the Northumberland strait to fish. Not hours, but minutes to streams that hold many fish. That is why I remained and now that is why I remain. Pain of loss and suffering reduced to total simplicity. We will fish bait now and early here in the West, and as the water warms the flies will take trout...the sea run fish..will return. Larger and silvery from the time away , the meat pink and succulent from their salty foraging we will take some for the BBQ and release the rest. The odd salmon will visit but must be released. There is no finer past-time. Issac Walton observed that the simplicity and solitude of the stream and trout was a renewal of the soul. So be it. Time passed rather poorly against an amazing winter. A winter even these hardy souls said that they had not seen in years. Snow and gale. Snow and gale. Day after day along the shore buried in feet and feet of unmelting white. But the rain came and we went fishing. I met a lady. A true flower of a woman. Beautiful and fragile to intrude on my solitude. She is remarkable in that she distracts me from the brook. It has not been so for many seasons and I have been chided as a romantic. Again. Today was too windy and cold to go back to the Bradshaw and catch more trout. I caught 5 brookies Friday, my friends caught a few too. We returned to town and immediately cleaned and cooked the fished...still we were chilled to the core but it was the finest trout feast that I had had since long before. It has taken more than one winter for me to be able to grasp a new horizon. And the sun that rose from that horizon is the sun that breaks to pink clouds. The kind of sunrise portending a new adventure among people prior foreign, now friends. I changed my field boots and layers to evening wear and went out among those in my hometown. The strong Canadian beer flowed and the dance went along. Separated by only a thread we dance as family and laugh among the last remaining shadowed piles of snow. I remain in my Elba. Surely I miss fishing with my old pals and my son...even my father passed over 40 years ago. But all the souls are present. I remain here to fish, and coordinate that which must be written. All that is ones life is that which is a memory...the material passes away and rots as the last fall leaves are now gone...but the odour remains in the heart of that when one rakes and jumps into the leaf pile with children. It remains but is actually gone back into the damp red island soil.

Mid November Chill

The incessant rains of late and high winds have finally departed into a chilly dry mid-November. There is not very much new to report but it has been so long that I thought that a basic update entry would be a good idea.

With fishing season over and the winter approach as well as work and family issues in my "social club", fall has grown quiet.. Mary has reappeared with renewed enthusiasm to spend time with me, much to the chagrin of many of my club. I have missed Mary's maturity and good sense, but not the acerbity and hard-nosed islander behaviour that was seen before. i am just going to enjoy our friendship, as I miss our movie dates and restaurant explorations.

Still always brewing as roasting chicory on my cerebrum at this time of year are thoughts of the south, kids, Yankee-land. American Thanksgiving is November 25th this year, my birthday. What fine memories that imagined within the memory of a wonderful pre-life . But I will remain and just wait as it causes no real difficulty yet to do so. The kids are both very busy and my proximity, as previously tested, added little to the actual amount of time we were together last trip home. Perhaps a trip home to visit when logical, anyway.

We keep abreast via telephone and face book as best as is possible. I hear little from old friends these days via any medium anyway. In any case, there are worse things than being an "islander'.
I often think of my elusive X wife and wonder if and when she will return here to be with her theoretical husband. It must be very hard for her to be with her clan all this time, if indeed that is where she is, especially after the life that she had over the last 17 years. As a writer it is an interesting study in human disillusionment. I wish her or them well as the case may be.

So its an expansion on hobbies old and new, exercise now that I am finally up to it and the re embrace of a more healthy fresher diet and avoidance of negative and depressed dypsomanical club members hell-bent on moral turpitude and hepatic cellular death.

Yes, I will have to try some smelt fishing when the ice comes to the harbour. Yes, indeed!

Mid September..already

The whole world changed here as hurricane Earl past a few weeks ago. I mean that the air changed into a cool damp maritime fall. This is off a truly balmy summer of sunny beach days and cheeks of tan. Now the clouds are different. The towering cumulus coming across the straight from the mainland with distant long streamers of moisture to the sea, as a dimming near solstice sun wanes.

So spirits wane also. The smiles are smaller now among the indigenous and the off-landers are gone back to work and school and South to what they all may think is a type of predictable life. Art Linkletter said "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans". A good quote.

The routine here of weekends dancing with Mary are now dissonant. The fact that we are now longer together is oft talked about at the coffee shops and at the dances. This could last years in such a small place, and perhaps I love it as its smallness removes me from the real terror or at least controlled fear of having to be somewhere else.

Of course Arizona comes to mind as winter looms. The base in Yuma, my home in Glendale ...the palms, grill, the soft sound of the Spanish from dusky girls and the smell of roasting anchos at our grocery. shooting big and small guns on and off the range. Traffic in Phoenix, and hundreds of miles of open low desert on treks between Phoenix, Las Vegas, and Yuma. The inspection flights into smoggy L.A. to shake up the reservists with unit inspections.

But I have mused on these before. The smell of rain on a hot desert, the wet ironwood and mesquite drenched in the monsoon thunderstorms. A need for a real tamale.

I enjoy the respite of fishing mackerel at our wharf. We are a colourful bunch. One Korean gentleman is there almost all the time that the gates are open. I know if he is gone, no mackerel schools are in. For a trout fisherman who grew up with small streams, seeing mackerel school and rush past the wharf edge in a feeding frenzy, chasing the prey bait fish, or capelin, it is worth considering.

It is not the Kenai river nor King Salmon fresh from the arctic into a raging Alaskan river, nor is it trolling for Wahoo off Maui...but at least the Wahoo are relatives of my little mackerel that provide a distraction as I await a call to do something else. The brook trout here are relatives of my salmon friends too so its all in the family.

In many aspects I feel a sense of freedom that I have not felt since my teenage years. Perhaps that is what retirement should be. I see so many chasing shadows of unimportance that I oft feel fortunate. Then I thought who am I to decide what is worthwhile to pursue. A friend yesterday, on a trip to Charlottetown, explained to me (or asked) "Aren't goals important"?

Yes they are if they are not cast in stone. I assure you that overall any plans made will probably turn out differently that expected. Not always bad, just different.

I said once in a journal in 1979 that " I want to go through smoothly, easily, and not like a heavy iron chain drawn over rocky ground."

This I have not achieved. The chain has been dragged, often unwillingly, over harsh terrain. But the effort in pulling it, the callouses, the pains define this place.

So there we have it as the second part of September starts and summer is already past. Change is the only reality that is constant. Here, as elsewhere, people fight change and pretend time is static. The illusion of perception becomes real and few strive for a distant sunrise.

Perhaps it is fear of life, or just fear of fear. A life with fear is no life at all.

August 11 2010

Yes today is actually the 10Th. Tomorrow is a day of many birthdays. My daughter turns 18, my grandfather (Manduka) would be 109, my mom would be 91. i am not sure how common it is to have so many with the same birthday that are immediate family.

It was sultry here today, very Northeastern summer day with much heat sun and humidity after the rains. The evening now is cooler and dry-fallish. I walked over to the little park near my old home to visit my wishing pond. They have planted water lilies. no life that I could discern other than the putting about of the "water-boatmen". They are small insects that live in ponds. I remember as a child on the farm being fascinated by them, as only a 8 year old can be, in my pond that i have written so much about. As an old family tradition demands, I tossed a coin and made prayers for all those in my life I love or miss or both.

I rode shotgun today up west to Carl Campbell's salvage yard to assist my fishing buddy Glen Currie pick up his Toyota tercel. Carl put a rebuilt engine in it and it runs well. It was the same car that Shel had-perhaps Carl rebuilt her engine and put it in Glen's rig. I am still not sure why she never got it fixed, as it was a nice little car.

I spoke to my children today. Rhonda is taking them out tonight for a dinner in celebration of Alexis's birthday tomorrow. Alexis has to work and has no party planned. I was sad that I could not be there as 18 is an important day for anyone. Times slips away with amazing speed.

Joey even said that he may get a passport and take the 18 hour trip from Harrisburg up here. We will see. I remain rather entrenched here for the time being.

I am off to Carl's tomorrow for tires and a heater blower, and maybe a few other adjustments. they have taken great care of the old truck, but as winter looms there will be more to do.

today i was missing my Mary a bit. We shared the love of live music and movies, and good food. But the vast differences between us and the effects of her horrific childhood and relationships even I can not overcome. But I miss our romance. We had one last encounter last week at the wing. We kissed and talked in the Wing parking lot after the music. But I did not get the apology for her insults about my fishing pals that I needed to hear. So that at least for now, is that.

This is such a small town that there are absolutely no secrets. None. I have survived here by being affable and as generous as possible and that seems to work. My new social circle is both younger and more active. It includes males and females, which Mary would have not allowed. But i still miss the intimacy, as I have really been married or involved one way or another my entire adult life. So this is really new ground. For better or worse.

Hopefully I can make some beach time and get some fishing in this week. Summer is running down, trout wane and the mackerel arrive now.

It has been years since I had an amateur radio station. I am back on the air now and have simple chats with other hobbyists all over from South America to Russia, and California and Florida. Its a welcome distraction rooted in my childhood on the farm where I built my first transmitter from a Heathkit and strung my first home made wire antenna.

So that is August on the island for me. Live in the moment.

Fishing as June ends

Yes now it almost Canada Day which is July 1. It is a Canadian version of the US 4Th of July. There will be fireworks and a big party down at the bay walk (boardwalk) and beach 1 block from where I pen this. Perhaps this year it will be a bit warmer and there will be less mosquito's.

I went fishing with my friend Dave Elliot on Saturday (yesterday). First I managed to get lost trying to take the back roads to Coleman, about 30 miles West of Summerside. I had an appointment to meet and look at a small house there which I thought would make a nice fishing camp.It was pretty rough. My pal Dave is a master builder and carpenter and thought it was not a good idea, so we went to the legion in O'Leary. O'Leary is a nearly dead potato producing and processing town there that used to be a busy place. Both Dave and my friend Glen grew up there.

It is quaint as towns on the West Virginia panhandle. There is even a old store, closed, that has the old merchandise still in the window. A quaint old building with apartments above. Mary was quite upset that I would make such bold decisions without her approval, and we have been distant since Saturday night. She has not returned my phone calls and she went to the club last night and I stayed at the wing. It may be simple miscommunication or as Dave says, I am just a "bugger". The punishments aside, it was a great sunny weekend with big tides and a full moon. The fish seem to respond to that. I caught 4 nice trout near Coleman and just ate them with coleslaw and potato salad. Fishing and cooking these wild brook trout, I miss my son and the mountains streams of Pennsylvania (and Arizona) catching and cooking these amazing natural jewels.

Sundays always bring some sadness to me. Things close early and alone I am left to recollect, write here, and consider a future where it may be.

Its hard to beat a place to live on a great beach, wild trout, and eager young ladies. But I miss my older girl and during my revelries and travels, I miss Shel. Mostly I miss my kids. I speak to my daughter almost daily. She is directed and well balanced. Joey is very busy and lives a hectic life of some trepidation like his mother. I think they will both be well.

I am not so sure about me. But a summer of sun burn and fishing looms ahead. Just about 2 months before the weather turns back to the pre-autumn chill and rains leading to a sub-arctic winter that has to be felt to really know. As always to stay or go. At least for now I shall remain.
After all over staying a welcome is my speciality, and I now have a real social circle, flawed, but real acceptance among my little towns community.

It cannot continue forever and i am awful at endings. But sun and trout....I have seen much worse.

First Day of Summer in a Prescribed Paradise

So summer arrived at 8 something here on the coast of North America that's sees it first. So be it. My evening was listening to blue grass music as its called here at our legion. I feel there among the seniors (I am close to the youngest participant) that I am among my Hatfield family, long lost, along some holla on the Tug Fork of the Big Sandy in West Virginia. Know that I only visited Williamson once, to visit the family cemetery. There Anse Hatfield, a hero of the Confederacy stands tall in marble along Mate Creek. Yes, Matewan fame. He was either my GGGrandad or Uncle depending on who slept with whom. In any case I was born dead-eyed shooting a revolver, so maybe there is something to the DNA thing.

My mom, Aunt and grand mom only talked in their hidden language among us....they would use certain letters to create whole words, for example "Fuff A Cause EE". Which meant face "face". Later I learned that during the feud they had to be careful about what they said. I think that secret way of talk among the Hatfield clan has never been said before...but I won't say it all...

Here the spring peepers of my youth on the streams are still singing. At this latitude it has just broken dark and its almost 10PM.

The trout fishing here on the island is pretty good. There are decent sea-run brook trout of the same type I caught with my father and son in the streams of Pennsylvania. When they go into the sea hey grow fatter and take on a silver tone. The little bright dots of blue-ringed red gone and bellies fat from a time in the salt. They are profound.

Here, I am completely "islandized". I am a member of the social clubs and accepted by nearly all the folks that considered me an off-lander and even a "Yankee". Its a gentle strain of people who crave the world across the ferry or the bridge but just can't go. Many have left for work in the Alberta tar sands or even the states. Those that remain lust for the annual Florida or Las Vegas vacation. My former and lovely young wife has either been deported for working without a visa or simply disappeared.

A fishing friend or mine, who has shown me great great trout streams (Up West-meaning anywhere West of our little town) works at the potato plant. He tells me that his job is to use water jets and flumes to get the crop into the hoppers. He works second shift sorting potatoes in a stark warehouse here. His name is Glen. His life is also an abject tradgedy but he is one of the few lucky enough to have a job, and looks forward to our fishing trips to his home town up West near O'Leary. There are some serious sea-trout to be caught.

My relationship with my island girl continues. She is stoic from a truly horrible childhood of parental loss, no running water, and struggling here in the 1950's. I am talking incest, physical attack, and rural horror.

Such a run from my personal background. When we go out she makes her face and hair flawless, trying to achieve a recognition for beauty that she has never known. She is Mary, the lady I see here. She is as far from Shel or a desert sunrise as a human could be, but she is my Mary.


Here as a retiree the days come and go. The tourists are starting to arrive and the hopeless little shops are opening. A place of real beauty-but one has to stay here to find it. Cape Breton is more rugged and prettier. Nova Scotia has Halifax and the great Eastern shore and the Annapolis Valley. New Brunswick, our "drive through province" has the Bay of Fundy and the Miramachi. And don't consider the awful "Magnetic Hill".

I have few complaints but I do miss my family and my desert-oddly enough. But the sun shines and my skin tans under a maritime sun by my abode alone along the beach.

Its what I wanted. No real financial worries, no relationship issues and a place to fish...a truck that will take me anywhere. I can see the point lighthouse from my home.

Still...I feel a missing..a longing..is this it?

My mom used to ask me during my business and consulting days-"What am I running from".

Maybe I can get out of block and finally write the story. Now that most of the pain is settling, and I actually have something to say.

OK-Maybe not totally "islandized". My gorgeous French-speaking dental hygienist said to me at the end of picking my teeth last week..."Your from the states!" Accent. I am working on it. Its easier to learn Canadian inflection than Russian when I went there so long ago on a UN mission.

She also said that she has rarely seen anyone my age here that HAD all of his original teeth...ok, I have one gold crown.

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!

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.

Weekend after Christmas 2008

I had better blog a bit while I still have easy Internet access. It would be odd to go back to writing in a clandestine paper book, perhaps never to be seen or read again. Not that these are widely read as to the boring routine of my life, and my painfully journalistic style. So be it. In fact I really do tell most all on line, making my life an open book. My immortality on this world.

Joey called around noon on Saturday morning. I had run out to look at a house in Pinetown Friday morning, and it rained overnight. The house may work out, but the truck hated the cold damp rain and fog and stubbornly refused to start. Joey arrived here around 1 to get me. We loaded the fishing gear and a few things and went back to the Bradley Drive house to spend the weekend. Rhonda had gone to West Chester to be with Ed and we had my old home to ourselves. We ate, talked. Alexis is going through tough but predictable teenage relationship issues, both with her NJ boyfriend and with her needy friends. Joey admitted he was stressed by school, work, his car, and his mother. Thrust into the world without all of the pre-training and support I had, he is scared at times.

I need to show them all the love and support I can-too little too late, to be sure. But required of me as much as anything Ever has been, and probably much more. Some of Joey's friends came to jam in the basement. I had live music for a bit. Guitars and drums experimentally as only lonely teenage boys play. It brought back memories of those years. They are good kids. We watched Star Trek and I think those young men were surprised. They got it, at least some of it. We were all up to late. Sunday, everyone planned to go to the Colonial Park Mall. I wanted to go fishing, and it was 60 degrees, but Joey wanted to meet his girl and her son there. So we went there, ate mall teriyaki chicken, and socialized. Alexis and I went off to shop as she wanted to get a sexy outfit for her trip this week to New Jersey. I must admit some unusual and new emotions taking my 16 year out for a skimpy red dress and VERY high heel black shoes. Lord, she must be 6 foot three in them. She has lost weight and is so skinny she could easily compare to the ultra thin models everyone oohs about. I am concerned, but at this juncture can only give all of my support and advice when I can, or invited too. It is a new world. But not altogether unfamiliar.

I felt out of sync at the mall. The culture, people, glitter odd to me. This bustling glamorous place so reversed from our sad little mostly empty mall in Summerside. As a prisoner newly released to the real world after years in a solitary cell I was. The quiet quaintness of my other "home". The manners, the soft lilt of my Mary's island accented voice. I might have been scared, as if in a bad dream state that comes during a fever. Bright unhappy images of excess and loss, then the dark, restless sleep after a waking sweaty feverish flash of images.

The time is moving past so swiftly now its visceral. I feel the moments clicking by, like an old camera.

We were all tired after the mall day. I watched "Iron Man" with the kids at home and we had pizza. I felt fed, loved, and relaxed. Maybe even as the kids agreed for the first Christmas in many years.

This morning we got up late again. I sensed tension in Joey as it was the day to pick mom at the train station and clean before her return. I could feel the fear. But he made time to get gas, stop in Dauphin for worms and head on out to Clark's Creek. It was cool, sunny, and serene in our woods. I had forgotten my boots and heavy winter shirt. My feet were wet and cold and I loved it. Joey has been trying to film our adventures, but the camera battery is intermittent. We fished an hour or so. I caught a fall fish and a small wild brook trout a la Thundershower Run-Westline. Joey's reel fell off his rod (my rod of 35 years, now his) and he was a bit upset. We took a time dragging the stream, successfully, with a stick for the reel. An old Mitchell 408. I wasn't leaving that antique gem at the bottom of the creek, even if as it seems, we are the only fisherman ever there.

We went back home and I fried the small trout in butter and the three of us shared it. That was good.

Finally, I helped Joey clean up as Alexis got ready for work at her costume-shop mall job. She thinks she may get fired. She has been late and they are unhappy. I told her to find another job. She has to work as mom won't share any of the child support money with her. The girl hardly eats and has to buy her own clothes-you see, that is why I resisted support payments all those years. Yes, exactly.


Joey brought me back and all was OK here on Canterbury drive. My hostess announced that "the police are coming". I asked, "for me?, jokingly. No she said. During her cruise (last week and then some), someone broke into her safe and stole 5000 in cash and her morphine supply. I felt bad for the officer. The young ex-marine took the report, searched my room, shook my hand and left. It really was a bit much. Obviously, the kid who "takes care" of her who had all the keys would be my suspect. I always knew something was wrong after the "pot pie" incident and the trip to New York and the gas money caper.


All is calm now and it will be good to go to the other house-the serenity peace and welcome boredom of Pinetown. We will see.


I talked to Mary for a long time. She was emotional, sweet, upset and lonely. But strong. Strong as pain loss and faith make a strong woman. She is counting the seconds until I walk into the Wing, her house, or her arms. I honestly told her I just don't know if and when. Both children are asking me to stay here, this home, this universe. I must wait and see if it is still valuable to them after they return to school work, and the relationships.
For me the decision is do I make the sacrifice of a chance with a truly great lady on the island to be here. I sure sacrificed everything for Shel, not without pain , as I thought it was the right thing to do, and eventually we would all be a family again.



I must stabilize here and hope the decision on whom to hurt will appear. Perhaps its time for me to be there for them on their terms. But what of my Mary, and my island. That could be my most and final chance at peace and love in paradise. But what of the hearts of my own blood? I hope time tells me the truth this time.

Home for the Holidays

Well it has been a few weeks since I left my island home to return to central Pennsylvania to visit my family. It is ashame no one here has the ability to travel, or I may have remained on PEI forever. It is very unclear when and if I may return to my adopted island home. I left a tearful Mary on Water Street on the afternoon of December 3rd, to arrive here in Mechanicsburg late on December 4. The journey was tough as I drove nearly straight through. My old warhorse truck did well this trip and fuel costs were much less than in the summer.

My accommodations are comfortable but temporary. My hostess, Kelly Bingamen, is disabled and a bit erratic. I hope in a few weeks I can find a more permanent apartment until I decide if I am staying here, going back to PEI, going on a pilgrimage to Arizona, or something totally new.

It has been a real joy to see my children. They are both grown, beautiful-tall-strong, working and responsible. I have ostensibly missed their childhood during my ill-fated attempt to reconvene my illusive marriage. I am glad I made the effort. It is unfortunate that Mary got entangled in it all. At least sad that I am gone and we miss each other.

No good words from Shel. I assume she is still working at the Best of PEI market in Charlottetown. She has her dream. I am glad that I could help her to get there stay there and remain there. I am given no credit-she is only angry as she wasn't repayed for my last summer trip expenses and other matters.

I wish she would remain friendly until I can assist her when I can. The bitterness from someone that I am the closest to on earth is very disturbing and sad.

My place here is decorated with my items of tradition. The ship's wheel. Photos of Arizona and Shel, PEI, the kids-my big salmon from the Trask River in Oregon. Also are the paintings. The few I have have travelled far and wide. I hope to put some images on a Manduke family art blog. My mother and sister deserve some legacy. Their art is an excellent explanation of their minds and lives.

I visited Aprille at first. She became very angry when I couldn't take her shopping at an exact time. Joey was with me and we need all the time we can get. In any case, holiday plans here are unknown as everyone is pretty involved with boyfriend/girlfriend stuff and my sister hides on the holidays.

It may be that I may again spend another holiday season alone. Its sad as Mary wanted me on PEI to be with her family. The priorities of my life direct my often misery. But I made the decision to come home to the Susquehanna Valley and for now I am sticking to it.

It is a harsh cold reality compared to even the worst of the island. The true value of travel. Knowing truly where you want to be. Its where you can be and must be that are at issue. I rather think I will move on once the kids are back in school. But winter will end, trout season begin. Joey spoke of spring turkey hunting near our stream Clark's Creek. We saw turkeys there several times.

But there are Salmon and sea-run brook trout on PEI in many streams minutes from Summerside. There are fall mackerel at my wharf. But what of Big Lake and Crescent Lake in Arizona's high eastern mountains? Can I even go to Arizona and face that blond ghost that waits there for me by the palm tree and lake. Will the smell of spicy roasting ancho chili's on a warm evening, the warm soul-filling smell of fresh corn tortillas crush my heart?

But there is the prospect of a good tan and never-ending salsa music! Time will tell. Probably quite a bit of time. Once again I wait for the signs. My 4 year vacation continues...but is it permanent? What is.

Warm Rain to Cool Blast

The cliche that time rushes past seems apt today. I was thinking of nearly flying along the highway in my corvette between Grover, Colorado and Carpenter, Wyoming. It was the fastest I had driven a four wheeled vehicle then. We hit about 135 MPH. My then young brother-in-law was with me. The low prairie hills seeming to rush up and into a clear sky, the other side uncertain. Up and down. The Vette's fiberglass body seeming to float as the sixth gear could pull no more speed with that gear ratio and horsepower. What a rush.

Now I prepare to leave my island home for an undetermined time-perhaps for always. That seems unlikely but I can't see over the hill as the wind rushes past beyond the now security of my little harbourside apartment. There is a woman here who loves me deeply. There is another lost to the world beyond my reach who I love eternally but in vain.

Shel has said she is coming to get her remaining things soon. I have given my notice to my patient landlord that I must head South with the flocks now ahead of me to see my teenage children and sister. Leaving the women behind, my new social group-as flawed as it is, as well as the ocean vista, is painful. I feel I could relapse anytime and await the winter blow and snow piles-The driving maritime ice storms and warm hearts.

But all illusions end this way. Passage into and out of this torrent of time is but for the memories taken as are the breaths of fading lilac-scented breezes and the hint of deep true long lasting joy and suffering. Life is about loss and how it is dealt with in the turmoil that is a human soul. Grounded in my loves and stories of past glory-that fleets and ebbs with my harbour tides.

But what an honest and beautiful effort that has been made. In no way do I regret my awfully early retirement and mission to the island. Now after all it is home. I dance with my Mary each weekend. She makes island fishcakes as lovingly as my mother baked bread or taught me to love what is real and natural. Somewhere along this road of years I became a romantic dreamer. Lost in that which is the finest to hold and the most painful to lose. But what a driven glory.

I know now the deep sadness and rural hardships that shape the lives of those who feel imprisoned in this paradise. In the telling of life journey to my friends here I see the blankness of longing-the unknowing as if the words and images of my life are so strange that they are sometimes unsure and afraid. I have learned the dialect. I have learned the food and the joy of an ocean harvest and the bounty of of a place that is an Eden. So my wife was right to fall so far and deeply in passionate embrace to this place in the sea.

In my own heart the wanderlust of a thousand journeys takes root again. The long path back to reality and another country to the rush and crowds that toil for that which I have lost or simply left behind as worthless trappings of a vacant life.

So times sweeps on with me as the unsettled passenger. As across the prairie grasses in that angry red chariot of my overfunded impious youth. Look forward and not to the rear says the driver. She has no need for the luscious safety of the past. Its soft security darkened as the red-mud surf of my beach at Green's Shore is during the unrelenting harsh January blow across the ice filled bay.

No time to waste now. Only to collect the fragments that remain of here and her, and her. I only hope at full throttle someone hasn't just pulled out ahead of me over the next rise. I won't be able to stop.

Crisp Night of the Full Moon

It has been almost two weeks since my last entry. I have continued my audio logs. The march of fall progresses as now we have the first frosts, red maple trees, and can see our breath. Not a whole lot of news from Shel. She is still looking for a place in our "big" city and says she will have her stuff out around November 1. I have missed her greatly but my girl is lost in her own fantasies-some about how truly awful I am and others about how truly wonderful she is.

I am still planning on leaving the island at some point. The details are a bit difficult as there is really no way to select a home on the other end-I really need to go there and look around. This will mean some time in a motel. I just hope I do really get some time with the kids or I might just as well stay put here.

At least the Canadian dollar has crashed along with the US stock market. This adds a few dollars to my pension on this end-actually discounting my rent by about 40% should the loonie stay down until the end of the month.

I spent a lot of time with my lady friend Mary this weekend. It is nice to be pampered by a lady again. She is a good cook and very spiritual and feminine. We went up to North Cape today to see the wind farm. She, born and raised on the island, had never been there. Its 60 miles from Summerside.

She has never been in a plane. She has been off island twice in 50 years. The tragedy of her island life-especially her childhood and marriage is a horror. But it is all too common a tale when individual lives here in the Maritimes are examined. There is pain and human suffering beside the red cliffs and pastoral beauty of the planted fields.

I really am not sure what will come of it. All I know is this chapter closes. Shel fades to a tragic memory, among the joyous glimpses of our storybook romance and marriage. The travels. The foods. The love-making. Her beauty. Washed away in a sea of red clay tears on a foreign beach-sunk deep into the red mud of the old clay roads.

Mary to give me solace in her maturity and simplicity. Mary to be hurt when I leave the island as she and a few others are quite in love with me. The enigmatic Yankee. A romantic warrior tossed on a exile shore.

Crazy Germaine is back. I have been gone all weekend. Jerry let him in. Its OK-but he can't stay here forever without paying rent. He rather takes over the living room and smokes in there. His English is so bad its hard to communicate. Hopefully he will make some fertilizer, sell it, and go back to the Magdalen Islands. Somehow I doubt it will all be that easy.

I had invited Shel over Sunday as I had some oysters and quahogs left over that Manny Gallant gave me. I never heard anything and continue to get cold, unfriendly mails. She claims to be coming over to organize this week. I am not sure why. So I asked her to give me a little warning. There is no way that she doesn't miss her life. She thinks she has improved, reinvented herself. She is now just another young girl with nothing, working a minimum wage job, uneducated, with a hollow future. It is a far cry from Arizona palm trees and a pool , no responsibility and no cares.

She will miss that as the years swiftly pass. I can reinvent all that rather easily. But there will be no Shel. Actually now I am unsure that we will remain the promised friends we agreed to be. It is really tough to lose a loved one. Death is an eye opening. I still miss my dad after 36 years. My mother, my rock and guide gone now just over 4 years. My beloved wife, gone on lies and tragedy now almost 5 years. But my best friend-alive and unrepentant, still breathes an easy breath while the tears of our souls rain on the lost hollows of the broken heart.

But I will still make the effort. I will email her with news of the travels. She shall be a central character in the novel. I hope she gives me an address so I can send her magnets and postcards. Perhaps she doesn't care. Never really did. Now I know why Germany lost a war they should have won. No quarter. No forgiveness. The savagery of the Hun. Blue eyes flashing, Blond curling. Blood flowing. Defeated.

Letter To My Wonderful Son

Son,

I was very moved and a bit surprised at your mail regarding my fantastic mother. I know from the first time she held you as an infant that you had a close spitirtual bond. She was a very private person. I had always hoped you would have had the time to know her life. Especially the real powerful love she felt for my father, your and my namesake.

If you think of her, much that she wanted to tell you was blocked by the ugly situation you found yourself in. I mean the tension between your mother and me. She truly loved you and your sister. She was handicapped the the silly and unnecessary issues of the day.

I am most glad you knew this fine proper lady. She was the light of our family in her simplicicity, appeciation of beauty, and of life itself.

Only with much time will you know this gift.

I miss her greatly, as I do my amazing father, now and forever.

Just know that her blood flows in your veins, and she remains with you forever. She was most proud of her heritage, as founders of of our great country. Our people founded all that we love, and she stood as a beacon of that that is good. She had flaws. Often some sharpness, but always meant to build you high and to remind you of who you are.

That we both knew her, and are both products of the immense love she had for my father, your grandfather are gifts beyond earthly value.

My smile and pride brims in you and you lovely sister, my children.

When in doubt or sadness remember her. She has immortality.

Fear not.

Dad

Mail From My Son

THE DAY SHE DIED

You never truly expect death to happen until it finally occurs within your life. When your young, you are so wrapped up in the present that you never truly consider the possibility you may die some day. However, when someone close to you finally goes, it can change your perspective on many things. This experience is usually not the most pleasant. For me, I’d say my worst experience was when my grandmother died. It was this event that caused to see the true value of life and the relationships we have with others. My views took such a drastic change since I saw the sadness death causes in others, the fragility of life, as well as my own regrets regarding my relationship with my grandmother. I hope that Readers’ Digest will help to honor her memory.

The most obvious revelation I had did not occur while my grandmother was dieing. I suppose I couldn’t really comprehend someone I had known all my life was truly leaving us. Rather, the revelation came the week following her death. Never before had I felt such an emptiness within myself and in others. My mother and father barely spoke to one another for days. My grandma May, as she had been known, was my father’s mother. For him, I suppose the tragedy was the worst of all. We had been through hard to times before, but nothing like this . My father would often sit alone in his room, usually crying, sometimes just staring into space silently. Being close to my father, this was difficult for me, I simply did not know what to say, so I left him to his thoughts. It was the saddest day of my life.

My mother and sister were also so affected by this in different ways. My mother seemed to be shut away from the rest of the world, getting lost in books or her cooking. My sister, like myself, seemed to have difficulty understanding grandmothers’ death. She and I would talk about it, neither one of us truly knowing any truly comforting thing to say to the other. Never before had I felt so alone.

Secondly, my grandmothers’ death made me truly aware of my own mortality for the first time. I had thought about death before, but never with this amount of clarity. All I could do was think about my own eventual demise. How, when, where would my life end? What would happen when I died? Would I simply fade away into nothingness? These thoughts and others plagued my mind. Never before had I realized how fragile life is or how brief a time we occupy this little planet. I would like to say these thoughts no longer linger within my mind but, my grandmothers’ death has an effect on me to this day. I shall never forget the fear and doubt which haunted me that week following her death.

The most difficult aspect of this event I was forced to overcome was the regret I felt for not appreciating my grandmother while she was still alive. We had gone to visit her every Sunday over the years. To me it was simple routine. In all that time I never really asked her any questions about herself or her experiences. She had lived for Eight-five years and I never took the time to find out anything about her. Now that she is gone, all I have are my memories of her. I still often think of our visits to her little house. I remember her dog which barked at anything that moved and the beautiful paintings she made. I miss her kind demeanor and her soft voice. I will never forget them. My grandmothers’ death was difficult, but it made me understand something. Life is precious. We must treasure our lives and the people we care for most. In the end all we have are our memories, so we might as well make some good ones while we can.

Strong winds, Angry sea

So October arrived yesterday very gently. The warm afternoon and a glass calm harbour made for some nice relaxing fishing. It really wasn't my day. I only caught a few small smelt and 2 scrawny mackerel. But they cooked up nicely with island tomato-cucumber salad, farm fresh carrots and potatoes, and quahogs and oysters courtesy of Manny Gallant.

Manny is a soulmate fisherman and friend, perhaps business partner to be of mine. He pines away for his pretty wife. He opines that he is illiterate as he has been in a boat since age 12 to help with the family fishing business, and never went to school. I explain that I find it rather charming. This soulful man is healthy and prosperous. He glows with what I now identify as "Island Health". They have that here. Fishing. Can't read or write much. Oysters. Never been off island. Mackerel. Neat little farm. Artist wife. Never been in a plane. Inbreeding. Fresh quahogs. Big tomatoes. Healthy kids. 4 wheel drive. Divorce. Blizzards. Strong island moonshine. Hurricanes. I am in total complete envy. West Virginia on the Sea.

My soft tired educated body. I will miss this special place. Its rotund incomprehensible females. The shine. The bootleggers. Lobster at 4 bucks a pound. My wife.

I was sure that the last time I caught smelt I smelled something familiar-from a long ago dream-time. Yesterday I caught the scent when I landed the angry smelt-it was the smell of thyme and cucumber, that I had smelled long ago. The arctic grayling I caught in Alaska yarens ago smelled that way. Hence the scientific name of grayling, Thymallus. The arctic grayling is a sport fish somewhat like a trout. It has a huge very beautiful dorsal fin, almost like a sail. They are silvery gray and have tiny black and blue spots, as I recall. The fish used to range into the Northern US, but was extinguished long ago along with most good things during deforestation, pollution, greed, and mortal sin.

I have heard there are grayling stocked in the Arizona rim mountain lakes. To me, since I have spent a lot of the prior 15 years at those lakes fishing (for trout), I am unsure about any Arizona grayling. Maybe Montana or the U.P. of Michigan, but I can't confirm it. But in Alaska, grayling, like eagles are or were then (my last Alaska trip was in 1993), everywhere.

On the Internet I looked up smelt as the odour and even taste of these fish was grayling. Indeed they are closely related fish. The grayling has two distinct memories I will share here. When I took Rhonda to Alaska to go camping before we got married we fished grayling. I think I caught a bunch in a ditch by a culvert along the Denali Highway. It was probably 1985.

I took out our trusty little stove and cooked grayling along the road. Rhonda and I had fish together there, it was great. It is a very fond memory of my first wife before the dark times.

On the first trip to Alaska with Shel, wife 2, I fished grayling again in nearly the same spot. Actually, Shel only went to Alaska with me once. She was truly a child bride-barely 20 at the time of our trip.

I caught a truly impressive grayling, the largest I had seen. I wanted to take a photo of it. I asked Shel to hold the writhing fish up so I could take the shot. She, terrified of live fish to this day, refused. So you will have to take my word that that fish was 25 inches if it was a foot-thats a big grayling. (Alaskans consider grayling trash fish, pronouncing the name with a long A sound, ahhhhh, instead of the vowel-arctic graahhling.)

Here today as October begins the leaves are turning and falling very quickly. Very hard rain and hurricane force winds today made my evening walk difficult. The harbour was a froth of mud-red swells and shiny whitecaps, wind-whipped so salt can be tasted strong in the air in my living room.

I saw Cindy, but I didn't tell her I am moving out yet. The decision came painfully, slowly, but today I started to clean a bit and pack. I really have little to take south-just what I arrived here with 3 1/2 years ago.

Today 2 years ago I had been living on PEI 9 months. Shel asked me on this date back then, in 2006, to move out. It was then that the 6 month imbroglio with EIC and the Gustafson's began in Ottsville. It was really a wonderful experience and I had real quality time with my kids-even on the holidays. I know now that is why all that happened-it had little to do with business.

I will state for the record that both my Child-Centered Assessment and my E-Petz patents are great ideas. But I will have to do it myself or with family, without greed.

My pal Germain is back off to North Lake in search of Donnie Rose and Russian fish plant girls in Souris. I for one am about complete in my unpaid consulting services to Mr. Fougere. In fact, my friend Manny Gallant stopped by today. He has concerns about the business idea.

I told him I was glad to help, but that I am probably leaving, and that like the Gustafson's the chance of our colleagues (Fougere) business being a success were slim. Not because the idea is bad, but because of him.

Tomorrow I look forward to a calmer day and perhaps some fishing, and a call to the kids.

I guess I didn't record here that Shel stopped by Monday. She had said that she wanted to organize things. She still has no place and is living with Kathleen. There is much that both of us will have to leave behind-not the least of which are our hearts.

She was pretty angry at first. The issue of money and what bills are due being paramount. We settled that and she calmed a bit, looking stunning with bright blue-green eyes blaring and an adorable short-curly blond hairstyle-my Shel, my child-wife, who can't bear children. Tragedy within a tragedy.

She ate some of my cucumber salad and muffins. I had made cold coffee for her with creamer and sugar as she likes earlier in the day. I had to substitute honey for sugar, and I don't think she liked it so much. I thought it pretty good.

We actually parted on good terms. The one thing that sticks with me during her tirade was that she "wants her husband back". As if I am so different. so far, so much a distant memory. Oh save but one last chance to be a couple-she feels the loss too, but now moves into a new world.

Her world will not be the blissful days of lounging by our pool under the palms, with the smell of ancho chilies drifting on the wind. It will be 6 days a week of work without me.

It seems as Shel as an immigrant here has ended up a bit like my beautiful Russian fish plant girlfriends in Souris. 6 days a week of work and little money, in shared housing, praying for some escape after buying into the dream to live and work in Canada. To some of the girls, if not all I met, Kaliningrad is sounding better and better-to go home. That's a scary determination.

Maybe someday Shel will miss the palms, the chilies, and a real home too. She is part Russian, after all.

Up West and Real Work

So since I met the "Doctor" of organic landscaping Germain Fougere from the Magdalen Islands, I have been involved in a new and fascinating business venture. Involved originally only to set-up a web site and be a general business and entrepreneurship consultant, I am now actually getting my soft hands dirty.

We take a similar trip in the big Ford Diesel truck of "Fougere Organic Landscaping" about twice a week. Again today we went to the "Old Man's", a very pious anglophone gentleman named Loren near Richmond. Loren has clear bright intelligent blue eyes and is nearly deaf. Fougere has been storing equipment and supplies there. We loaded the trailer with what I imagine was close to a ton of plants, rocks, gardening stuff, shells, and one very heavy ( about 600 pounds) cast iron crusher. It had been a while since I worked that hard and I felt alive again. Loren lives in a homemade hut that is sinking into the boggy soil. It is filled with interesting but valueless things accumulated over his long life. He gave me two religious books, one called"I Need A Miracle" by Pastor Benny Hinn. I think he knew exactly what I needed. He had preached as a young man in Appalachia. I was somewhat envious, perhaps the smallest of my sins to date.

He carves amazing images of geese from huge pieces of wood and carefully paints them as to life. His wood stove is rusting through the floor. He has no insurance as his home is not "insurable". His phone was cut off. The company putting the power lines from Summerside to North Cape's new windfarm is coming across Loren's fallow sad land. He hopes they will pay a fair price for the easement. Maybe 6000 dollars. Perhaps this 85 year old man will not have to freeze alone in the cold this long and soon to arrive sub-arctic winter. His son distant and somewhat of an ass I am told, away in the "real world" and business.

It was a great clear sunny day. The sea was beautiful up west along the "lighthouse trail", route 11. We stopped as always to see Fougere's and now my friend Danielle. We need a motor and PTO ( Power Take Off) to run the lobster shell crushing machine. They talked Acadian, which I am starting to get a bit of, thanks little to my long forgotten high school Parisian French.

We then stopped at Manny's place to drop the trailer we will unload tomorrow. Manny is a soulful, sorrowful outwardly cheerful man, an oyster fisherman who built his own solid boat and at 55 could probably pick me up at 180 pounds like a feather. It was a great cold night, the milky way bright along with the planet Jupiter embedded in it like a bright white luminous gem. Manny lives on a neat little farm near his oyster beds in the Northumberland Strait. The farm is very neat and cozy and Manny is one of those people you instantly knew if you had to leave a thousand dollars cash with him to hold, it would be there when you return. He gets a few crates of oysters each day after 10 hours of back breaking work raking the bottom of the sea in churning swells under blistering sun or freezing winds.

Manny gets about 50 dollars a crate for his oysters. The shells are infested with shell worms this year. They cut tiny perfect holes in the shells but don't harm the delicious meat inside. Despite that, only one oyster buyer on the island will buy Manny's "ugly" oysters. Oddly enough its the oyster wholesaler across the way from George and Brenda Henderson's cottage in Freeland. That is where Shel and I stayed long ago when we were first coming here each summer. Long ago, so it seems, when I picked the wild mushrooms in George's little pine forest and steamed them with edible jewels from the sea (to the locals terror and amazement). I had learned, being self-taught, mushroom collecting in the high pine and aspen mountain forests of Arizona. Also dimming into that past.

He grows nice tomatoes and a few other things in a small garden. He shared tomatoes with us-a real luxury this far north when the incredibly short growing season ends. Manny is finalizing a divorce after 10 years with the artist wife who his feelings for are well concealed but to a fellow sufferer glow in that slight moistening of eye with a glance towards her primitive oils hanging on the old wall, or with a little deepening of the fisherman's sun and wind-worn brow. The artist wife. How well I know.

Manny is quite the artist himself. He crafts beautiful decorative items from driftwood and large, ancient white oyster shells. He built a little gift shop near the road that is quite a nice cottage in its own right, matching the perfect yellow Victorian farmhouse. He cries inside. Artist wife gone and the tourists far and few between. Gone now until summer returns-a truly distant and abstract thought. As goes the artist wife.

I know I'll be sore tomorrow-that's OK. No news from Shel, but I got a nice email from my son. Tomorrow we unload the ton of stuff and I hope my back holds out. Then to the beach for seaweed collection to make the fertilizer product.

You really never know whats around the next corner. I just wish it was spring instead of fall, as winter looms and I have decisions to make about my home and life on PEI. Quite a change in paradigm in a couple weeks. Maybe work therapy is what I need. I am really back in the environmental field in a very physical way. I also obtained oyster shell chemistry data for product labelling. Fougere needs my patent and trademark help too, but that comes later as orders are filled and I create an Internet presence. Its pretty exciting.

I have my desk work, legal work, computer, and even outdoor physical labour in one of the most beautiful places on earth. How about that? Retirement? Maybe, but it beats the button-downs and smog and office politics of the big city, in the "real world".

Sundays with Mary and the PEI "question"

So the first day of autumn is here. The day started cool, breezy and cloudy. By evening the sky cleared and it warmed the quiet town ever so slightly. Last night was my usual Saturday night at the "wing" as the air force legion hall is called here. I guess to distinguish it from the regular Canadian Forces "legion" that it sits beside. I met my friends Mary, Eva and her husband. Judy, Joan, and Rebe didn't show last night. There may have been a band elsewhere, and they are not big fans of Karaoke. Nor am I, but there are a few good singers and its better than sitting in my place waiting for emails from Shel or Joey. We sip water and dance rather badly I think. The attitude and music the very same as my nights spent in small taverns deep in the mountains of Appalachia during my years on the road.

Mary has become my special friend, after my very short relationship with Judy. Mary is a mature woman, tall with dark curly hair. She has lived her whole life on the island, born up the road a few miles in St. Eleanor's. She left the island once many years ago to go to her nephews wedding, I think, in Brampton, Ontario.

Her life has been a typical island, if not maritime tragedy. Her abusive mother kept her from her father who died, like mine, when she was 15. After a marriage that left her unable to remarry save she lose her support, she has had several variously awful romances. The last was with a trucker who was seemingly seeing another woman the whole time, 15 months, he was with her. This story is repeated in some form or another by almost everyone I meet here.

Mary and I dance and have been somewhat cuddly and close on the dance floor. We "waltz" as they call any dance to a slow song here, even when its rock and roll twist music. We often stay in embrace after the music stops and the dance floor empties-to the astonishment of everyone. Its good in some ways, but I doubt Ill get another date at the wing as I seem "taken". But it is a pure friendship and I suspect it will remain so.

I meet Mary Sundays and we talk for hours about family issues, good, bad, and ugly. Finding some comfort mutually in trying to discover why our relationships are so failed. It is quite sad. But the talks help. Today I showed her photos from my past lives-the big house, kids as babies playing at the New Jersey shore. My airplane, Mercedes, Chimney house-my red 'vette convertible with Shel lounging on the hood seductively somewhere in the mountain west years ago.

These are things as alien to her as a walk on the surface of Mars. I am attracted to her simplicity, lack of bitterness, and good church-going heart. Hours past and I just got home a bit ago. I missed my Sunday call to Joey as I had lost track of time. We sat today at the yacht club, as the mall was closed this Sunday, as it will be now as the tourists are gone away home, back to school, jobs, and the reality of the outside world.

One thing we discuss is my leaving PEI. Forever? For a month? Never? She overflowed like a happy teenager at a prom when I suggested I may not leave at all. It breaks my heart as I fear I may have to break hers. She won't be the only lady here that will miss me. And I will miss each and everyone of them.

No news today from my wayward Shel. Divorce now is imminent and I will have to file the papers soon. Shel wouldn't be able to, and she seems to think that we just go to the courthouse and sign a paper. It is , of course, more complex. I find the whole process distasteful and although I love my island, all those times I could have just stayed in PA with the kids makes me feel embarrassed. You see, I had three chances to stay in PA and chose each time to return to the island. Either to be with Shel or to try and get her to come home. As recently as August 5th, Shel was moving back in with me and/or going to Calgary with me. But no. It didn't happen.

So the three years I have been here seem a bit wasted. I mean that I could have had a little time with the kids as kids. But they have grown up, suddenly while I was here trying in vain to recapture a marriage that as I realize now was over in 2003. I guess.

I read Shel's journals from the 90's and she tells page by page of he unending love for me. Well it seems ended. One way or the other I must escape that bind. A new life-here on the island of dreams and sorrows, or back in harsh reality down south, in the states, my home home in Harrisburg to be near my beloved children.