On Wednesday morning we happily loaded the musical gear out of the Mississauga Stage West hotel and into our rented van. The show the night before was delightful. All hands were on top shelf as we rolled west along Dixie and on to that ribbon of misery, the 401. We had gone no more than 2 kilometres en route to Port Hope when a man in a SUV sped up side by side with us and gestured strongly for us to pull over. He looked like a trusting soul so we complied. When both vehicles came to a stop on that narrow, unsafe strip of no man’s land he came running towards us.

“Your banjo just fell off the roof of your van”, he sympathetically declared.

It was then that one of us (how kind of me) realized that he had placed the poor creature up there while loading and neither of us had seem it prior to departure.

So, dear friends, the banjo is no more – kaput, roadkill, falttened, pancaked, completely plucked and rendered eternally useless. In a matter of seconds she was passed over by a multitude of wheels and unmistakably trampled. Yes, she will duel more more.

Get this: that was our second banjo crisis. The last one got destroyed a month ago en route from Ft McMurray by the gentle handlers at West Jet.

Now I’m sure, dear fans, that some of you are crying as you read this disturbing news. Like us you probably can’t get her last moments off your mind. We therefore ask that you join us in our grieving by sending us condolences, poems, jokes, odes or any other fitting tributes. We need closure in a bad way.

She was a marvelous little plucker. May she rest in pieces.

And we can’t say enough wonderful things about the Lawrence O’Brien Arts Centre. The venue is superb in every way. The staff is professional, kind and easy to be around. It was truly a good experience and that comes from three old codgers who have seen a few theatres in 29 years. Thanks again.

Just one little experience I wish to share with you. On our day off Kathleen Hicks, theatre manager, took us on an excursion to Muskrat Falls. We drove 30 kilometers, walked a foot beaten path for 15 minutes and ended up overlooking one hell of a mighty cascade of water. Standing next to it, being engulfed by the mist, thinking about all the poor souls who portaged around it, hearing the thunderous roar and looking up to the peaceful valley from which it comes is a moving experience to say the least.

Of course the salient question came to mind: should they dam it? Before the reasoning mind was up and running the heart cried out for it to be left alone. It’s just such a powerful piece of nature for future eyes to behold. I know it’s a source of clean power. I know it will provide economic impetus to the region. I know that we need clean energy but tell that to the heart. It’s just not listening.

I could only foresee the tops of noble spruce trees underwater for miles upriver, animal habitat spoiled and a thunderous voice muzzled into silence forever.

I know, I’m an artsy, right minded, romantic sort of guy and the damn dam probably does make financial, social and business sense. But, I can’t help pondering on the question, ‘where will the muskrats go?’

God bless Labrador.

On the first day of summer I was out in rain gear trying to plant peas with my mitts on. When I opened that package I swear I could hear a chorus of “Please Don’t Bury Me Down in The Cold, Cold Ground”. I thought maybe I’d put them on a Florida bound plane where they’d have a chance.

The onions which I planted in late May are up four inches and giving me strong looks of disapproval. The worms are still deep in the ground and the trout haven’t come up out of the mud yet. I’ll tell you, it’s tough.

But this morning I looked out through the window and noticed smiles from the hardy little blue Forget-me-nots, the purple Pop-up-and-kiss-mes and the brave blooming lilacs. I found strength and inspiration. Yes sir, one must bundle up, sing ‘Storms Never Last’ and go forward despite the elements.

So, I’m going salmon fishing. Does anyone know if the ice is out of the river?

Take for example the financial consideration. It will break you. Here’s what the tip of the iceberg looks like. Pole, line, waders, boots, flies, net etc will cost you at least $1000. Believe it or not there is a wardrobe involved and it’s not cheap. To get to your favorite ‘spot’ you will need a four by four at a cost of say, $35,000 and eventually it will come to the point where a boat and engine is a must. That’ll set you back perhaps $8000. Oh, and all that stuff’s got to be maintained at tremendous cost. I won’t go any further on this one except to hint that a cabin will be in your future. All very costly, indeed.

On to another matter; here’s how your marriage will crumble. When you hook your first few fish the adrenaline rushes will be so pleasing that an immediate and long lasting addiction will be formed. The only fix available to you will be found on the river. Your wife will certainly not want to come with you and, yes, you guessed it, your new mistress will be a lady that flows gently from high marshland down to the salt water. You will sneak away in the early morning darkness and stay way too late just to have the pleasure of laying a line on soft flowing waters. The loving wife can only accept so much flirtation; she will get jealous.

You will become dishonest and delusional as you stretch to find reasons to go fishing. Indeed your personality will become totally altered and friends will see the changes in you. After hours and hours of staring at moving water you will occasionally hallucinate, hear voices and experience motion sickness – all the signs of being a junkie, right? Your moods will drastically swing from depression (no rises) to unbridled elation (landing a 6 pounder) and this will impact on your mental heath.

Your health, that’s another issue. You will not sleep for several reasons – coming home late, rising way too early and waking up several times in the night looking at the clock. You will lose weight because eating is unrelated to landing a fish. I have a buddy who takes a break from casting at seven in the morning to have what he calls ‘a breakfast of champions’. This non-nutritional break consists of a Blackhorse and an Eatmore bar. You will most likely start smoking because it calms your nerves after (a) landing a fish (b) losing a fish (c) becoming anemic from fly bites, etc. And then there’s beer. It and fishing just go together so nicely; again, addictive and costly. Put all those negatives together and you pay dearly for your pursuit of the noble fish.

So, after all that do you still want to go fishing? If so give me a call; I can’t wait to tighten a line.

That purpose, I think, is to help us keep our feet on the ground; to encourage us not to become swollen-headed because things are going well. It serves to keep us humble. A lot of entertainers need a regular dose of this.

Thankfully, for Ray, Kevin and I, the lessons seem to be inherently taught without personal harm and quite often with tasty hints of humor.

I’m now thinking about one particular occasion. We were doing a show at Bert Church Theatre in Airdrie, Alberta on October 11, 1999. Hopefully someone is saying, “Ah, I was there”. Things had gone so joyfully smooth all day. We had an easy load-in, uncomplicated sound check, nice supper, good merchandise sales and a sold out show. What more could you want? It was a wonderful start to a twelve day tour that would take us around Alberta with a couple of stops in Northern Ontario. We felt good.

After the show we loaded the instruments into the van and headed to Calgary airport where we intended to store them over night for an early morning flight. Jim, our agent at the time, was driving and Blackmore and I were carrying on with our usual foolishness which of course is the genesis of a lot of our show material. Ray, in usual form, was yawning and trying to ignore the lunacy; it was four minutes past his bedtime.

All of a sudden I experienced an intense taste on my lips and noticed a light brown substance forming on the windshield. It seemed we were driving into a peculiar mist. Jim turned to me and commented on the awful foul odor in the air, enough to turn your stomach. “What’s the smell, man?”

We quickly realized that we were driving behind a cattle truck and one mother of an animal had just let go a bladder load of urine which sprayed the entire van.

So, there we were, the rock stars in us expecting to be sprayed by champagne and what do we get? – a cow piss shower! Oh well, humbled again.

The Wife By the Cabin

Well, yesterday I witnessed a random act of kindness which fortified my faith in humanity. It left me feeling aglow and optimistic.

I was in St. John’s for meetings for couple of days and before leaving town the wife and I dropped by a small business down in the denser part of town to pick up four or five items. While getting ready to pay for them someone spoke up and notified us that our vehicle was being ticketed.

“Oh my larsh, we should have told you not to park there. I feels some bad,” said the lady behind the counter.

I passed it off with a joke, Carolyn paid the bill and we left. As we were driving away I asked her about the cost of the items and when she checked we realized that the total was half of what it should be. Back I go to the store with the receipt.

She was waiting for my return and with absolute resolve and determination refused to take money for the 50% discount she gave me in lieu of the ticket.

Yes indeed, there is always good to be found.

Some go with the ABB campaign (Anyone But Boston). That’s mainly because they defeated their beloved Canadiens. Leanne Power spits every time she has to say the ‘B’ word. Others cheer for Boston because they are the only Canadian team left. They think that Montreal is in another country and that Vancouver is on another planet.

Vancouver, some say, deserves it because they have more talent. Others say Boston should win it because they have more heart. Of course there are those who go for Vancouver because they hate Charra. Also there are Toronto fans (do they count?) who favor Boston because Vancouver stole their captain, Matts Sundin. And we can’t ignore the fact that Vancouver sent Ryan Clowe golfing earlier than he preferred.

Ah, wait now, there’s still more. I’ve been told I should back Boston because they have a uniform whereas Vancouver is still fishing around for one. Oh, and then there’s our prominent Newfoundland son, Michael Ryder. I’m strongly urged to tilt my TV in his direction. But, the opponents say there is also a Newf doing some Vancouver coaching. Lardy jumpin’, this is getting deep. Maybe I should ask Don Cherry. But then Ron McLean will disagree and I like him too.

Not simple is it? How do I figure this out? I’m confused. Come people, help me out here. After all I could be the one fan who could tip the scale in some team’s favor. Talk to me please.

In the spring of 2006 we were touring BC doing shows in Nanaimo, Courtney, Vancouver and Victoria before moving on to a bunch of gigs at Keyano Theatre in Ft. McMurray. On Wednesday, March 22 we were scheduled to do a show at The McPherson Playhouse so we rolled into town in the early afternoon and went straight to sound check. When we arrived we were told that Great Big Sea was also playing in town at, I think, The Grande Theatre. Both shows were sold out and the word on the street was that it was Newfoundland night in Victoria. Cool.

With the lengthy sound check over we headed back to The Executive Suites Hotel to check in, rest and get a bit of grub in us before the show. Kevin had gone ahead to check on rooms and Ray and I were taking stuff out of the van. All of a sudden we heard a familiar voice, “Greetings fellow countrymen”. We turned around and there was Alan Doyle, the charming front man for GBS.

Not having seen each other since we did a show together in Markham in the 90’s we chatted about all kinds of stuff and shared some news.

Now here’s the fun part. While we were talking two giggling 14 year girls came running up to Alan, notebooks in hands requesting his autograph. After scribbling his name and a couple of remarks he looked at the girls and said, ‘Wow, are you lucky. This is Buddy Wasisname And The Other Fellers and you can get their autographs too”.

One of the girls looked at Alan, looked at us and said, “Nah, that’s all right, mom can get theirs”.

What a laugh we had.

Oh well, it’s done now and we survived marvelously. I’ll let those of you who saw a show judge whether or not it was worth it. For us we had a great time; gathered up loads of memories, met tons of people, discovered some great new restaurants, shipped home a fair bit of cash and managed to stay healthy. How wicket is that. Now we get to enjoy summer; just hope we don’t sleep in and miss it. Some cold lately, wha?

Oh, and we managed to write, practice and slip in a few new pieces. One dandy one called, Dicky Picked Up is being received nicely. We’re having fun performing it and audiences are singing along with a fair bit of bite. It’s a song about fighting in hockey; one which I started and Blackmore finished ( Ray does some fine accordion cooking on it).

Lyric sample:
Dickey picked up a six pack and went home to watch the game
The Montreal Canadians were playing the Calgary Flames
He’d sit there every evening in the comfort of his home
And the world could go to hell and leave Dicky all alone!

Can’t give away too much but I’m just saying Don Cherry would be proud. We’re hoping he’ll eventually hear it and use it for a theme song. You never know. We were told in Brantford that Wayne Gretzky really like Kevin’s Shinny On The Ice!

On another note, we just confirmed our Sept. 10th show at The Clarenville Events Centre. We’ll be doing it in conjunction with The Clarenville Caribous. They won the Alan Cup. Congrats, boys. Judging by the wild sold out crowd last time there’s going to be noise again this time. It’ll be our first fall show before kicking off our 36 Arts & Culture shows. No rest for the wicket!!