Posted on June 15, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

 

A walk on the wild side

 

“I love walking because it clears your mind, enriches the soul, takes away stress, and opens your eyes to a whole new world.” Claudette Dudley.

I have used this space on more than one occasion to trumpet the merits of walking. While I can’t offer any new insights into this healthy pursuit, I believe that now, more than ever, people who have the gift of good health, might consider walking as good medicine during a pandemic.

I’m not about to suggest that you walk for hours at a time. Short walks in your own neighborhood might be a great place to start. Most experts suggest that new habits can be formed in 21 days. I know that I have developed some bad habits during these self-isolating times. It didn’t take me 21 days to resume my sugar addiction. I will confess that I have done my share to keep profits healthy at the NSLC!

I have accepted the fact that things aren’t going to return to normal any time soon, so I think we all need to hit the re-set button and figure out a plan for the next six months to a year. Healthy living is my number one priority.

It’s not like I have been sitting around on my arse for the past 2.5 months. I have kept my mind active writing a new book and doing 50 “live” Facebook shows but these were temporary diversions. I am one of the very lucky ones. At the end of July, I will return to the north to continue my education under the guise of teaching. Many people face uncertainty in the labour market.

I have walked or hiked almost every day since I ended my 14 -day self-isolation back in April. I have still managed to gain weight. This is an equation I plan to reverse.

Of all the walking I’ve done, my hikes with my son in the woods have been the most enjoyable. Once you step inside a forest, it is like entering a magical kingdom. It is particularly so at this time of the year with all the flora sprouting forth daily. I never realized how many different shades of green existed.

Pete and I chat on the trails but most of the time is spent in silence taking in the wonders of nature. All of one’s senses are on high alert. The smells are delectable. If you listen carefully, you can hear the birds chirping and the wind rustling the leaves. Invariably you find a small brook or stream running down the mountain with its cheerful gurgling urging you to stop and listen. The golden rays of the sun part the trees creating interesting lighting. Strawberry blossoms are plentiful.

As an older person with some creaky joints, most of my attention is focused on the path in front of me, trying to avoid tangled roots or indentations in the terrain… a metaphor for the pandemic.

I routinely have a song playing incessant loops in my head.

As you climb further and further, you can hear and feel the beating of your heart. You realize that you are alive and well, and incredibly blessed. Eventually, you reach the apex of your journey and make your descent back to reality.

Walking indeed clears the mind and is a great stress reliever. Your body will love you for it too.

Put your best foot forward.

Today might be a good day to start.

Have a great week.

Posted on June 8, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

 

Paradise Lost

 

I’m supremely ticked off.

Now what, pray tell, has Len in a lather? Nothing, actually. I don’t lather easily these days with a bald head.

Last Thursday was one of those glorious spring days. The air was devoid of humidity, the sun shone brightly, and there was a gentle breeze wafting through the air. I went for a morning walk where I realized for the umpteenth time how lucky I was to live in this town, this province, and this country. All the leaves of the trees are now in bloom and the birds seemed particularly cheerful that morning.

I texted Pete late morning and we agreed that it would be an ideal day for a long hike. Having already hiked Sugarloaf on multiple occasions, as well as a few walks through the Keppoch and Fairmont Ridge, we opted to go and do the trail at Ballantyne’s Cove. I had done it once before a few years ago and remembered it fondly.

We parked the car just off the road on the Lighthouse Road, walked across the highway, and began our ascent. We both commented on the lovely smells emanating from the new foliage. After walking for about half an hour, we reached one of several glorious lookoffs. We were able to look down at the wharf at Ballantyne’s Cove and all up the coastline. Off in the distance, we could see Cape Breton Island. I mentioned to Pete the stark contrast between this and some of the very crowded cities that I’ve been in over my lifetime. We were gazing at paradise.

This feeling of bliss was short lived. Paradise morphed into purgatory and then into pure hell.

I couldn’t recall from my previous walk around this trail how long it took to get to the wharf, followed by the 2 kilometer walk back up the highway to the Lighthouse Road to retrieve our car. Around the 45- minute mark, we were passing through part of the path that was a bit swampy when I heard Pete yell, “Oh, crap.” Truthfully, that’s not what he uttered! Both of his legs were covered in ticks. He frantically brushed them off. I was preoccupied with his situation and didn’t pay much attention to my own well being until I got to the other end of the swampy area. When I saw blood dripping form my leg, I knew that a tick had found its mark.

Having once before experienced a tick embedded in my shoulder a few years ago, I wasn’t too alarmed. I took a kleenex out of my pocket and removed the tick before he gained entry under my skin. I had merely suffered a flesh wound. There were a few others on my socks which I was able to brush off.

Back on a dry path, we felt relieved to have that little piece of drama behind us. We soon realized, however, that that was just the beginning of our travails. For the next hour and a half, we spent inordinate amounts of time removing ticks. Sadly, five of them managed to land and remain on me long enough to turn me into a walking blood bank. We encountered many large trees downed by a windstorm. They were strewn across the trail at various intervals requiring us to go over, under and around them, picking up even more ticks. The further we walked, we came to the realization that these nasty insects had targeted the old and frail person in much larger numbers than the young and strong member of our twosome.

Just before exiting the woods, after what felt like an eternity, we captured one of the ticks and put it in Peter’s water bottle.

I was never so glad to see asphalt in my entire life. It’s fortuitous that no one stopped to offer us a ride up the last steep 2-kilometer incline. They may have reported a zombie sighting to the authorities.

We returned to my apartment. I stripped off all of my bloody clothing and immediately put it in the washing machine. I jumped into the shower and watched the water run off my body in pink rivulets.

We cracked open a cold beer. After all of the extra exertion in the woods, including jogging the last 15 minutes of the trail, we were dehydrated.

As many of you know, ticks come in a number of varieties. Some can cause Lyme disease. Wanting to rule this out, we took a picture of the tick and posted it on Facebook. It didn’t take long for the public to weigh in. Several people took stabs at identifying the offending object while other dispensed medical advice. It was suggested that a) I call 811; b) that I apply Vaseline to the affected areas; c) that I use rubbing alcohol. After the fact I became aware of “tick kits” and Atlantick Outdoor Spray.

Not having any rubbing alcohol for external use, I did what any self-respecting Maritimer would do. I opted for the internal use of alcohol and grabbed a second can of beer.

I was made aware of an app (thanks LM) that can help a person find out exactly what kind of tick has attacked them. I downloaded the app at eTick.ca. We sent off a picture and two hours later received definitive word. Prior to this, a good friend and respected veterinarian, Alyssa informed me that the tick in the picture we had posted was a dog tick. eTick had come to the same conclusion.

The drama was over.

The following morning, I was out for a walk. Coming through a path at the rear of our apartment building, I stopped amongst a stand of trees and chatted with a neighbour. I felt something bite my arm. Instinctively I recoiled. I put my hand to my arm and came up with bloodied fingers. You cannot imagine my relief and joy when I discovered that I had been bitten by a garden variety mosquito. Rarely has a mosquito bite ever felt so good.

I entered my apartment, cleared away this latest bloodletting, and turned on Youtube. I thought it was only appropriate to listen to an old Jethro Tull favourite… “Tick as a Brick”!

Have a great week.

Posted on June 1, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Perm, highlights or shadow wave?

 

“She asks me why, I’m just a hairy guy

I’m hairy noon and night, hair that’s a fright

I’m hairy high and low, don’t ask me why, don’t know”

Hair. The Cowsills

 

BREAKING NEWS. HAIR SALONS OPENING ON JUNE 5^TH.

It’s the big reveal. We’re about to come out of our Covid caves and face the world in all of our human imperfections. We’ve all added a bit of heft as the path to our refrigerators has been worn down to the floorboards. We may have added a few wrinkles to our brows worrying about the fate of the planet, our families and our jobs. Our speech may be a bit halted as we haven’t had much practice talking in recent months. But nowhere, has the pandemic bared its teeth most obviously than the tops of our head. We can hide a few extra pounds with loose fitting clothing, and cover our faces with masks, but unless we wear a shawl or a Stetson, our hair will be on full display.

Hair used to matter a lot to me, especially during my university days when I carried a rather large bush on the top of my head. Long hair was prevalent, a sign of penury and protest. Why waste money on a haircut when you could buy a bottle of Ruby Rouge or Golden Glow. I can see you nodding your heads at the recognition of these two fine specimens of the nectar of the gods. And lest we forget, there was the forgettable Hermit’s wine, that exquisite plonk with a delicate bouquet. Hermit’s “red” (the color of blood) was a fighting wine while the “white” was a dancing wine. I digress.

“Does she, or doesn’t she? Only her hairdresser knows for sure.” This was a famous ad created by Clairol back in the 1950s. This week, more than one’s hairdresser might discover the true color of people’s hair. I expect to see a big uptick in the sale of hoodies in the next few days as people skulk from their homes, possibly in the cover of darkness, to get to their hair salons. A hair-raising experience to be sure.

No amount of hair dye will stop the aging process. Just sayin.

Of course, we could opt to let our hair keep growing. We could rage against aging. We could infuse our hair with patchouli oil, wear a headband and trot out our torn blue jeans, and tie-dyed t-shirts. We could “let it all hang out”. Groovy. Far out.

When my sparse hair started going sideways in March, I made the painful decision to just shave it off. Of course, being quarantined made this exercise somewhat easier as the only person I had to face for a few weeks was myself. So now, instead of rushing out to the Campus Clipper this week (sorry, NJ)  for my pandemic coif, I will head to the drugstore to get more razor blades and shaving cream.

Highlights or a perm? Here’s one person who won’t ever have to make this agonizing choice again. I won’t ever have to blow dry my afro with an industrial sized vacuum cleaner again. I won’t have to purchase hair shampoo. I will be gifting my hairbrushes, combs, and afro picks. These will not be a part of my will. My children will remain heirless.

Hair today… gone tomorrow.

Have a great weekend.