My name is Bevboy. In 2007, I decided to start this here little old blog. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, I have been here, year in and year out, trying to produce a blog post, or more, every single day.
Why haven't I been more prolific lately?
It is hard to say. I have been in a little funk lately. I get up. Go to work. Be at work. Drive home. Vege in front of the tv. Research and write my articles for Frank. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. After all that, there was little time left to stretch my muscles and produce a blog post for y'all.
And, yet, other years I would persevere and write something anyway. So, what gives?
See two paragraphs above. The funk thing.
Things which didn't get to me before, are starting to do so. It is perhaps the idea that I am getting older and what do I want to do with the rest of my life, and what have I accomplished so far, if anything at all? These are all excellent questions, and my pursuit of answers has resulted in the funk I have now mentioned three times.
I am also quite sure that you are getting tired of me telling you what I did recently. A summary of my recent comings and goings is probably tiresome for you to read, although I can type it pretty quickly on my 30 year old Model M keyboard.
Perhaps if I picked and chose the things that I find most interesting? Let's try that.
A week ago, Patricia and I went to the Valley for the day. We learned that the Box of Delights Bookstore, a mainstay of downtown Wolfville for since 1972 or so, is closing up. The owner is retiring, and it does not appear as if anyone wants to take on the business. What this means for the Deep Roots Festival, which rents space downstairs from that store, is anybody's guess.
We went there one last time a week ago. I bought one last book there, a walking tour of the town of Wolfville, a slender tome priced at $15. Patricia got a few more things there. As we were about to leave, she pointed out the keyboard that the owner was using to run the point of sale computer. It was wooden! I had heard of wooden keyboards before, but had never seen one in real life. Since the store was closing, and I figured what the hey, I offered to purchase the keyboard from her, if she wanted to part with it after the store closed. She took my business card and wrote my phone # on it along with a note regarding my interest in the keyboard.
I did a bit more research. You can get bamboo keyboards for goodness' sake, but I do not understand what the typing experience is like on such things. I can enthusiastically report that the typing experience is sublime on this keyboard, which I got a couple of years ago at a thrift store for 50 cents. I wish I had several of them. Maybe this wooden keyboard, if I can get it cheap enough, will be a nice typing experience. Maybe it won't. Time will only tell. I promise to tell you how this plays out, because I know that all of your care so very deeply about such things.
Patricia is just back from another edition of BOW, Becoming an Outdoor Woman. She was too tired to tell me much about it this evening. She has already gone to bed. But she did come home with a pretty nifty knapsack, one nearly as big as a teenager, and which could likely fit a teenager.
I told you several months ago that I joined the CWC, the Crime Writers of Canada. They have the Arthur Ellis Awards every year, which award excellence in various types of crime writing. There was a call for judges. I wrote back seeking more information, which I am awaiting. There is a chance that I will be a judge, one of many, for the next Arthur Ellis Awards. That sounds pretty interesting. But, once again, I do not know how this will pan out. I will tell you how it does, because, once again, I know you hang on my every word.
Oh, for those who don't know: Arthur Ellis was the official hangman of Canada between 1912 and 1935. His actual name was Arthur English, but he adopted that pseudonym. That is why the logo of the CWC looks like someone being hanged. The actual awards are constructed in such a way that if you pull the string on it, the legs and arms move. I hope to see one in person some day.
I think I will call it a night. It's a night. That joke never gets old.
Tonight felt good. It felt good to get back in the saddle again. I want to try this, again. Soon.
How about, Monday night?
See you then!
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