Almost perfect proportions and just enough detail

That time of year again

I love this picture.  One of my former careers was as a locksmith.  We used to joke that a lock was only as good as the door it was in.  This goes a step farther!  The door is only as good as the wall it's in!

Archita Romania, June 2010

Doors

Caru' cu Bere

I had heard about this place from an aquaintance in Bucharest.  It is an amazing pub/restaurant in the Lipiscani district, which is, I think one of the most interesting parts of of the city.  Interesting places to eat and drink abound here and this place was amoung the top.  All carved wood stained glass and tile work!  Beautiful.  Great beer selection too: http://www.carucubere.ro/en/homepage

The wonders of technology..... when it works

I finally have a computer back that works!  After returning from my trip I found my computer to be without vital signs,  no pulse, no heart beat, and for sure no brain activity! 

My problem with this resides with the issue of tools.  If I have a hammer that doesn't work properly (a rare sort of thing with a simple impliment of whacking) I would replace it with one that does what I expect.

Computers ,on the other hand, are nothing like this.  They function as a be all and END all (in my case) to rid the user's world (in this case mine, but not really) of pesky little details, like where things are and are you going to die.  Wait, I admit I should have been backing up things all the time, but I had been lulled into a false sense of security by years of trouble free whacking ability.

Well, no longer.  Now that I have a device (let's not say tool!) that is working, I will endeavour to back things up religiously every day.  well maybe not every day, perhaps every otherday...  Maybe not every other day but......................

Romania, a country of juxtaposition

Having spent almost three weeks in Romania, the country still defies any sort of definition.  The extremely rural town of Archita is a perfect example.  I saw a man leading a rickety horse cart down a rutted dirt road talking on a cell phone!  I stayed at the Archita Gasthaus.  The place is run by a nice couple and the food is great.  They have an extensive organic garden that produces some of the best salads I have ever had.

Parts of this country are a place out of time, while others could be in western Europe.  The city of Sibiu for example has a marvellous central square with elegant restaurants and cafes everywhere.  My favourite has to be the citadel town of Sighisoara.  I cannot seem able to get enough of that place.  Walking around the ramparts on a clear moonlit night, sitting in the sunshine at a hidden cafe built into the city walls or talking to the local artist who seems to know everyone.  Accomodation is plentiful and reasonable.  Hopefully I will have some pictures to come soon.

Cultural Mash up

I think I have experienced the ultimate cultural mash up today.  I was eating goulash soup, Hungarian style, with French bread, at a pub called Dirty Harry's, did I mention it was an Irish pub? Drinking Tuborg, in Bucharest, Romania, while the music playing was "Born in the USA", by Bruce Springsteen!

Last minute items

There is always this racing around to do before a trip.  On Tuesday morning I am going on an adventure and to learn new skills.  I am always amazed that I leave so many things to the last minute!  I've been planning for a couple of months.  Researching flights, sourcing out accomodations, costing train travel.  One would think with all of the planning I would have at the very least made up a to do list.  But no, alas.  Perhaps I somehow need the rush to fully enjoy the journey.  "Don't stop believing"

Bitter-sweetness of nostalgia

Recently I made a trip to the farm in Northern Ontario where I did much of my growing up.

Visits there are always bittersweet.

I felt my self longing after something

or hardening for protection.

The place in my mind hasen't changed,

but the reality has.

This used to distress me, but now

in the moment

I can see it's decay, collapse and aging

as a kind of

 temporal art

catnapping

Let it be

I've been working on finishing some table tops for my local..Went this morning to install two more and found one of the previous ones deeply scratched.  I was furious!  How could anyone be so careless?  Doesn't anyone know what went into making them?  Doesn't anyone care? 
I paused and reconsidered. 
I know no one was careless.  I know what went into making them.  I care about how they look.  Then I realized that it was all about me!  It wasn't supposed to be.  Somewhere along the line I lost sight of the bigger picture.  To me the table tops had become art.  I can make art for me, or I can put my art out there and have it be touched, judged, and yes, even scratched.  My joy came in the moment of giving it life, and NOT from telling it how to live.

Bygone era...

Eddie

Edward Johnson lived on the property next to ours while I was growing up. He was a quirky odd guy. Not in the sense that he was scary, just different. Even as a kid I called him "Eddie" by his choice. He was born around 1900. I never could exactly find out. He became a prospector and had apparently staked claims all over nothern Ontario. Eventually he stopped prospecting because he was having a hard time getting around. I remember he had a rolling sort of walk like one leg didn't work that well. Whether he spent time in the war , I don't know. He never gave up much about himself to my parents or me. I do know that at one time he had been married and had had a son. By the time I got to meet him he seemed old. That's normal from a child's point of view.

He lived in a square cut log home across the field from my parents farm. It was a tiny two room place with a big cast iron cooking stove in one corner of the bigger front room.

His bed and living space were also in the front room. The back room was for storage, firewood or whatever. Eddie had no running water or electricity.

I would regularly see him going to his well with a bucket. I recall that his place always faintly smelled of the kerosene he used for lighting. He did have a telephone. Occasionally he would call my father and ask if he could get him some whiskey - his drink of choice. I think it was Wild Turkey or some such brand. At that age I didn't really pay attention to things like that. When my dad would deliver it to him they would sit and talk and have a shot or two. He seemed to really like my parents. I know that often they would walk over to his little place and sit and talk. My mother remembers that he would offer her a drink from grimy shot glasses. She figured that the whiskey would probably kill anything on the glass, so she accepted.

He had had a cat before I had ever met him called Useless. He also had a dog, a happy black and white mut named Nameless. Eddie had a curmudgionly sense of humour!

Eventually he moved into a tiny near by town and lived in the hotel. A hotel in that part of Ontario is also a euphamism for bar. He spent his time in his room and in the bar. He was always a fixture there while I was growing up. If I went by his place I would stop and talk. I found him interesting and I think he enjoyed that.

Sunday Afternoon

I love Sundays! The week before has been completed in what ever way, and the week to come awaits full of promise. As human beings we break down our time into manageable pieces. Even better, the day started out gray and cool with the indication of rain to come, but finished off clear and sunny. What could be better than that?

Turning over a new leaf

This is it! I've thought for a long time about creating a blog to post thoughts, photographs and travel stuff on (and really anything else of interest). The name "195 Countries" reflects the total countries in our one world at the moment. Unlike the U.S., I prefer to recognize them all. Who am I to judgewho can be a country or not. I just want to get out there and meet people and see their place in the world. Today is the first day of spring in Canada and it seemed as good a time as any to plant the seed of something which I hope will grow.