Saturday, April 18, 2015


Busking I am with it.   Blogging I am woolgathering.   And today I am woolgathering of the simple life; that is, slinging my guitar and going wherever and whenever I want.

Ah … the simple life!  A simple life is a life uncluttered.  A simple life is a life of long walks and deep conversations.  A simple life is one reminiscent of the 1960’s Hippie counterculture of street theatre and folk music, beads and sandals, and the sexual liberation of bearded men and braless women.

Factoid:  HIPPIE is from the word, HIPSTER, which referred to the BEATNIKS, the followers of the back-to-the-earth BEAT GENERATION of the 1950’s.

The Beatniks, the fore-runners of the Hippies, too, yearned for the simple life.  However, the Beatniks disappeared and so, too, did the Hippies.  Woodstock came in August of 1969 and the Hippie era closed.  But not completely closed.

A Hippie remnant still exists in places such as Nelson, British Columbia.  Nelson is a haven for adolescent and emerging adult snow boarders, but not so hidden in the deep backwoods throughout the mountains are hundreds of American draft dodgers of the Viet Nam war era, the 60 something baby boomers with their balding, pony-tailed heads and paunched bellies still wimpling the forests making peace and love and hugging trees.

I do believe that to live the simple life is embracing and investing in the notion of FREEDOM.  But what is freedom?

Hmmm …

Freedom is at the very least, self-determination.  And what is self-determination? 

Hmmm …

Methinks self-determination has to be a by-product of democracy.  Maybe, Maybe not.  However way freedom is defined, it means a life of letting go.  It means of letting go of a structured work day, and replacing it with an unstructured play day.  It means peeling the gadgets from our technologically captive lives.   It means standing naked in the wind and making out with nature in the trees.  

Freedom means no more Nintendo or Xbox.  No more iPods or i Pads or i Phones.  No more Webcam, no more GPS.  No more Bluetooth.  No more digital camera or 3-D digital TV.  No more smart watch.  NO MORE KINDLE.

Not so strangely, abandoning any of the above-mentioned gizmos would truly NOT hurt me – I have never played a digital game and I have never employed Bluetooth.

But ditching my condo (worth half a million and right downtown), ditching my car (2013 Acura ILX), ditching my job/s (full-time counseling, part-time university teaching, part-time private practice) would be my demise.  Not caring about looking good would mean ditching my daily exercise, long-distance daily run around Wascana Lake, my morning weight-lifting at the university Lifestyle and Fitness Centre.


Not caring about looking good would also mean ditching my hundred dollar plus long-sleeved white shirts from Colin O’Brian Man’s Shoppe in downtown Regina; ditching my hundred dollar plus long-sleeved black shirts from Madame Yes in downtown Regina.  (Did I mention I live in a condo right downtown in Regina?) 


Not caring about looking good means quitting my hundred dollar hair and color/cuts at Front Page Beauty in downtown Regina.  Not caring about looking good means not buying my Calvin Klein underway from the Hudson’s Bay Company in downtown Regina.  (Did I mention I live in a condo right downtown in Regina?)

Yes I could, indeed, spin all of my gold into straw, ditch or sell everything that I own (or rather owns me) and wimple my way, following the sun to the simple life.

Having a simple life is easy to imagine but difficult to do.  Long walks are easy; whereas, deep and conscious conversations are always difficult.  Smelling the morning coffee, as long as it’s Americano, is pure joy.  The flower power Hippie connotation in springtime and summertime is priceless (especially after the Canadian Winter).

Fact:  The simple life is not a new concept, which can be qualified even in my short time so far on the western side of the planet.

Factoid:  I am a busker.  I am not willing to ditch my $850 Seagull to sing a cappella and cap-in-hand.  I do not long to be a minstrel with a penny whistle.

Factoid:  Being even as a faux busker I am the perceived symbol of freedom.  My consumers imagine me to be a wandering troubadour.  My consumers know nothing of my Walter Mitty type of wanderlust.

Factoid:  I do not long to dance in the rain and sleep under the stars; though, I do long to follow the sun.

Factoid:  If I were living a pedantic lifestyle and were merely another pedagogue, I would be more inclined to abdicate EVERYTHING.  As it is, however, being a legend in my own mind I am willing to abdicate NOTHING.

Factoid:  Sure, I’ve qualms about some things in my life.  For example, I am arrogant in my thinking that most other zoomers (boomers of my ilk pretending to be thirty-something) are simple-minded poetasters, especially when compared to me.

Factoid:  Sadly, I am just another pugilist, boxing in the ring of conformity, imagining my true identity to be a busker and a writer (which I have coined as a BUSKOLOGIST).

Factoid:  I am a raconteur and have the RATE MY PROFESSOR comments as proof.  Should you Google this site, you will discover that as a professor I am so-so, but as story-teller I am a virtuoso.

Factoid:  The sombre truth is that should I ever run away to gain my freedom, I’d without a doubt be hoisted by my own petard; that is, I’d end up as a back alley bottle-picker.






Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week are WINSTON, KIRA, AND BINOO ( for my canophile and ailurphile friends), and ... new bounce, AUSTIN SHAWN ALPHONSE (for my ISLAND KITCHEN friends, SHAWN and EMMA and CHRYSTA, at VALUE VILLAGE).








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