All I Have To Say About Busking

Throughout my creatively-obsessed life, I've been exposed to a bit of the artsy fartsy side of things. Since one tends to assume that everyone else thinks the same as oneself, I'd not realised that there are people out there who don't know about busking! So I've taken it upon myself to inform and educate - at least of my opinion on the subject.

I guess my busking career technically started when I was a preschooler and my mom would say to me "Sing something for our guests." and I would dutifully stand on the big brown footstool and sing and was usually rewarded with praise and perhaps a peppermint. This progressed to my first planned performance (also known as "circle busking"), when I donned a princess dress over my snow suit and sang "Old MacDonald's Farm" to the MacDonald family down the road, receiving much applause and candy for my trick-or-treating bucket.

After college I occasionally took my guitar to Red Deer and would sit on the benches on Ross Street to play if the weather was nice. Less vehicle traffic at the Farmer's Markets suited my accoustic sound better, but there used to be a great cafe right on the corner where I could trade my change for a double espresso.

This brings me around to a big point about busking - the change.

I'm not referring to the unfortunate change in people's attitudes about busking as society shifts and entertainment becomes a megabyte of ADD bling on a handheld device. I'm talkin' cold hard cash. Which is what ought to be plinking into every busker's open violin case, or hat, or tin pan.

Firstly, I want to make it clear that busking is NOT begging. Buskers have been entertaining the masses since no-one-knows-when, in all corners of the world. You can find them on street corners or plazas anywhere, AKA minstrels, troubadours, mariachis, minnesingers, skmorokh, chindonya... 

And for those folks who are so tethered to their tech that they rarely see real-life street corners, there are even cyber-buskers who accept donations via PayPal. This fine art of busking was originally a legitimate method of performance, long before recorded music was ever imagined, and the donated money was a sign of appreciation and admiration. 

The thing is, creativity is not necessarily an easily marketable skill. I tend to come from a pretty right-brain perspective, which has caused people to say things like "Is there anything you CAN'T do?!" to which I must reply you have NO idea! Indeed, I sing and paint and carve and play instruments and all that but I would basically be homeless and starving if I didn't marry OtherHalf, whose adorable left-brain takes care of all things responsible like holding down a Proper Job and bringing home a Paycheque. I know there are folks out there who bring home paycheques by doing singing and painting and carving and all that but I'm so far out there that I can't even be reliable enough to make my talents profitable! Somehow that seems to suck the fun out of being creative. You know, marketing and record keeping and... blech.

I suspect I'm not the only one.

In fact, I know I'm not. By busking, I keep company with a few better-known artists such as Joni Mitchel, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Jimmy Durante, Andrea Bocelli, Billy Joel, Bon Jovi... the list goes on. Some of these famous artists were once plain old irresponsible musically-obsessed performance junkies like me who just wanted to play for an audience. Unlike me, they got discovered and went on to fame and fortune (BTW, the word "busker" originally came from the Spanish word "buscar", meaning "to seek". As in fame and fortune.) 

Secondly, there's a great benefit for everyone when a busker takes up residence (a busker's territory is called a "pitch"). Studies have shown that areas which host regular busking tend to have a lower crime rate, and people nearby report having a reduced stressed rate. It also promotes a sense of community and improves the atmosphere in any space. For business owners, shoppers tend to linger and relax when good entertainment is provided.

From my point of view as a busker, it's not about making money (I have OtherHalf for that ;) )it's about the joy of bringing a little happiness into the lives of others, the best way I can. It's about the opportunity to share my music with an audience while maintaining my lifestyle of stay-at-home mom, gardener and farmer. For me, a friendly smile, an appreciative nod... at least a willingness to pause and listen mean far more than a bit of silver in the pot.

But it is nice to have enough change for a double espresso at the end of the day.

Here Comes Another One

D'you remember that Monty Python skit, where whacky things keep happening (wait - that's every Monty Python skit...) and in the background someone sings, "Heeeeere cooooomes aaaaaaanother ooooooone!"? Sometimes I hear that jingle as the underscore of my life. Just when I think that the sea is dead flat calm suddenly another wave rolls in and tries to capsize me.

Ok - it was a difficult process just to buy Home Farm. The banks didn't want to give us a loan because A)we had no down payment, B) the property is too small to be classified and mortgaged as a FARM, C) the property is too big to be classified and mortgaged as RESIDENTIAL (so that makes it.... what? Part of the Emerald City? Obviously, since we're not in Kansas anymore.) We had a handful of banks and even a mortgage broker turn us down as clients. We were ready to throw in the towel and accept that this property was not part of God's will for us, but some godly folks that we trust encouraged us to hang in there and keep trying, and at long last Alberta Treasury Branch decided to finance us, and here we are! Yay Home Farm! Yay ATB! Hurrah! Now everything will run smoothly!

Heeeeere cooooooomes aaaaaaanother ooooone!

Last week I opened an envelope addressed to OtherHalf and I, from the county of Athabasca. I thought: tax time already? That was fast! Nope. I never could've imagined this one:

....it has come to our attention...extensive renovations done...previous owners....no building permit....

WHAT??!
Oh boy. Turns out the previous owners of our farm did some major renovations to the house (well, we could see that. One can tell where the original house was, and where the new work was added on. And where old bits were removed. To be exact, our dining room, living room and mud room are all new additions.) However, it just so happens that the brilliant, honest fellow that did all this work neglected to pull building permits beforehand, and neglected to have his work inspected. Huh. And, according to the County, since we are the owners now, we are responsible. That's how democracy works, don't ya know. Doesn't matter if we haven't even owned the property for a year. Doesn't matter that we had no idea. Doesn't matter that Comrade County has record of this situation from 2008 and didn't pursue the matter until now.

The rest of my conversation with the Building Coordinatior for Development and Blahdeblahblah is a bit of a blur. A bunch of numbers scribbled down... plumbing permit - $300... cost to inspect - $0.39 a square foot (I lost track here as I slowly spun in circles trying to figure out how many square feet of new house there was, then got sidetracked wondering how did a family grow up in here withOUT the new additions? Where did they put their table? Couches? Little sister?).... come in at your earliest convenience (convenience? Oh yeah, this is all very convenient. Lovely.)... resolve the matter...

I'll tell ya what I'd like to resolve. Oh boy I'd like to get my hands on the previous owner. Does this not fall under the "non-disclosure" clause? I thought back to OtherHalf and I, young and early in our marriage, with two toddlers, removing the scraps of asbestos from our first home when we were ready to sell it because we couldn't, in good conscience, sell a house with a few feet of asbestos lining the heating ducts. It amounted to a couple of garbage bags. And now, in the ultimate fairness of life we are the proud owners of an illegally expanded house and we're looking at some major expense to set things right. Did the previous owner not know he had no permits? Not realize he was required to obtain permits? Did he think no-one would ever notice that the house magically doubled in size and grew siding and a covered deck? Or was he hoping to high-tail it outta here before someone insisted on inspecting his handywork? I just don't know - was it lazyness, forgetfulness, crookedness or downright mental impairment? Well, judging by his finished work, I'm leaning toward mental...

And herein lies the rub. The rubbier part of the rub, anyway. All of this tends to chafe a bit.
OtherHalf, who worked in construction and framing way back when, and built several new structures at our last job (see www.bluelakeadventures.blogspot.com), who endlessly researches the right way to do things, who is affectionately known as Legal Beagle and even stops at railway crossings on back roads... he wonders how these renovations are going to hold up under scrutiny. I mean, I suspect they barely hold up under snow. We knew that the floor was a little uneven when we moved in, but now that we have "before and after" pictures (graciously emailed by our friendly neighbourhood County) we see that the entire mound of dirt supporting the additions was pushed up here by hand. So, how much has it settled? How much more will it settle? And what kind of foundation is actually under these new rooms? OtherHalf is pretty sure that building inspectors don't really like to see homemade dirt mounds supporting dwellings. Now I hear: "The foolish man built his house upon the sand....and the house on the sand went SPLAT!" Sounds cute when Sunday School kids are singing it. Sounds ominous when it's referring to my living room.
And, the roof trusses (which we'd hoped to save up and replace, later. Much later.) are homemade as well. At least, they have no stamp of engineered trusses. I'm guessing that's a no-no.
So, besides the expense of the permits and the inspections, we will be held responsible for the costs of making the work meet inspection requirements. Awesome.

Ok, we have Title Insurance. According to our lawyer (everyone can trust a lawyer, right?) our Title Insurance is supposed to cover this very thing. So our insurance company is looking into it. (And everyone can trust an insurance company, right?)

In case any of you hadn't noticed, I tend to have an active imagination. Over the past few days my imagination has swung wildly between the different possible outcomes of this situation. We have:

1)Best Case Scenario - in which the insurance company agrees to cover all expenses, the building inspector condemns the house, and the insurance builds us a brand-new house all for free! The rest of this day was lost as I planned my Dream Home, and considered how we could convince a contractor to build us a straw-bale house.

2)The middle of the night reminded me of the antagonist of Scenario #1 - in which the building inspector condemns the house but the insurance company refuses to pay up and we are homeless. Well... been there, done that, and I still have my holiday trailer so I guess we would cope. At the very least, I'd probably get my straw bale house that way.

3) In reality the other scenarios are all combinations of #1 and #2, with various bits of construction requiring repair, and various amounts of coverage being provided.

We had a teacher in college who, when talking about Armageddon and the rapture of Christians advised "Pray for 'Pre', prepare for 'Post'." So, hope for scenario #1, prepare for #2. For example, perhaps I should post-phone replacing my crock pot until we find out if this is gonna cost us a bunch of money. On the other hand, how much would $39.95 really make a difference?

A few people that we've talked to about this have had pretty major reactions - and then they marvel that OtherHalf and I are relatively calm about the whole thing. Of course, they weren't around when we first found out - they missed our initial reactions. We joke that we've already progressed through the first stages of mourning, and we're on to the "acceptance and resignation" step. In those first few hours before I could vent to anyone, while I waited for OtherHalf to come home from work, I paced and fumed and wanted to seek vengeance on everyone - anyone - the previous owner for hiding this... the County for neglecting this.... the tattle-tail that "brought this to our attention" at the County... the lawyer for not discovering this before we signed all the papers... us for being naive and gullible...
But what good would any of it do? I thought of Job: "Shall we accept good from the Lord and not evil? The Lord gives and He takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord." Indeed. My God is big enough to take care of this, too. And think - think it through. Sure, it sucks that this is all happening in March, a month notorious for depression and despair. Sure, it's happening at the same time as our wells are running dry (that's literal, not figurative. OtherHalf has been mending and fiddling and replacing pumps and things for weeks, trying to keep the water flowing into the house) (in our uninspected plumbing). But isn't it better to find out now, when it's been less than a year since purchase, when we still have a fighting chance of recovering at least some of the costs from the previous owners? And, one way or another, I'll be getting some renovations done. We highly doubt that our roof is going to pass inspection, so someone will be fixing it. We'd rather not have to pay for that this year, but if we do, well, it's an investment. And, we're getting this sorted out right at the very beginning of spring, so if work has to be done we have the entire summer stretching ahead to do it in, and we can live quite comfortably for the summer in our holiday trailer if we have to. If the roof is pried off the house like a bottle top. 'Cause that would let in quite a draft.

God is good, and life goes on. Sure sure, life's a stage. I would prefer a little less drama, though.
I'll keep you posted.

Marching On

Ok, I know it's still February - but March is coming into view and it's likely to be very much the same as February has been, so I'm going with that play on words for the title of this post. I find it adequately reflects my restless, anticipatory mental jogging-in-place that always happens at this time of year.

Sure, sure, Seasonal Affective Disorder is biological. Ya, ya, things would look brighter if I would take a nice Vitamin D supplement. In truth, I just need to learn to wrap my head around the fact that once Christmas and New Years celebrations end, winter still stretches on into infinity. Somehow all that mid-winter excitement seems like a bookend - even after 30-some years I expect that spring will be turning over a new leaf as I turn over a new calendar. Not so. Despite the short month of February, these weeks leading up to spring dawdle along, taking me on a roller coaster of elation and despondency with each thaw and freeze.

Probably my whole attitude can be summed up in OtherHalf's assessment:
  "You can't do everything at once, you know."
This comment was in reply to me making suggestions (ok, maybe whining and wheedling) about livestock purchases. Kijiji fuels my fire. I'll bet the real reason we moved waaaaay out to MiddleOfNowhere Boyle is so that I'm unable to just pick up every last four-legged critter for sale online. Seems like every animal advertised is at least an hour away. Now, if it was going to be a 15 minute drive, I'd simply stuff that nanny goat right in the backseat of my Volkswagen Jetta. But an hour and forty-two minutes is a bit too long to put up with the kind of shenanigans only a confined goat can get into. So, every now and then OtherHalf happens onto Kijiji to look for a truck or a trailer or something responsible, and then has to spend ages clearing out all the alpaca and heritage chicken ads I've got on our "watchlist".

What is it about my nature that compels me to do this? I'm not a hoarder - I've moved enough times in my life to know that Stuff is expendable. I'm definitely not a workaholic; not really looking for things to fill up my time. Time - that's what it comes down to. All my life I've felt like there's just not enough time. Like if I don't hurry up and try something now I'll miss my chance. In my head I know that it makes more sense to get a milk cow later on, once the weather is warm. Who wants to trudge out in -25* to wrap freezing cold hands around grungy cow teats at 7am? However, I want a milk cow right NOW! Quick! I need to make cheese! I need to try clotted cream!
   Ridiculous. I know it. It's the same with the goats. I find all sorts of reasons why we should get goats - I've finally convinced OtherHalf that it's a good idea. He is, however, irritatingly smart and practical and points out the fact that we have no fencing to keep goats in. I must be patient and wait 'til spring, so we can fence, and then get goats.
   AAAAARRGH! Spring! Dratted Spring! Everything is on hold 'til then. I've got seedlings coming up in little pots in the house, and all the old-timers "tut tutting" because it's too early.... gotta wait 'til closer to spring....
   Our neighbour came the other day with his Giant Tractor and plowed out my favorite driveway. (This is yet another example of my brain. My favorite driveway sweeps in a graceful curve right through our hayfield. It's nothing but a set of tracks on packed clay. The wind blows it in promptly, the clay turns to sloppy goo in wet weather, and it makes harvesting a real pain. BUT I love it and I want to plant fruit trees along it, to arch over and make a magical fairy tale lane. I want a great huge gate at the end of it, with a sign for our farm. Happily, OtherHalf humors me in these aspirations, despite the extreme impracticality of them.) In any case, this massive bazgillion-wheeled tractor pushed through the deep drifted snow with ease, and I wanted him to plow off my whole garden just so I could see the dirt. Sheesh.

   And then this morning's devotion is about patience. About patiently waiting for God's timing. And I'm reminded that He hasn't made this season in this way solely to drive me bonkers. If I can just change my attitude, January, February, March and April could be a lovely time of year. A peaceful time with cozy hours of painting, crocheting and cups of tea. A good time to take a correspondence course online. Catch up on reading. Or blogging ;)
   The trick is, as usual, gratefulness. As Madame Blueberry put it: "A grateful heart is a happy heart." Or, if you're looking for a more reliable source than an animated antioxidant; King Solomon writes (in Ecclesiastes, of all places!) "Furthermore, as for every man to whom God has given riches and wealth, He has also empowered him to eat from them and to receive his reward and rejoice in his labor; this is the gift of God. For he will not often consider the years of his life, because God keeps him occupied with the gladness of his heart." (Ecc. 5:19, 20)
Has God given me riches and wealth? You bet. In less than a year He has given me my heart's desire: a farm, gardens, a handful of horses, calves in the pen, chickens in the coop. And that's just material stuff - the blessings he's brought to my heart are overwhelmingly abundantly more than I ever expected. And has He empowered me to eat from my riches and receive my reward? Absolutely. My pantry shelves are still full of pickles and applesauce and my freezer overflows with the best beef I've eaten in 10 years. How about the empowerment to rejoice?
   Aha. Herein lies the rub. I am empowered to rejoice, and I've got plenty of reasons to do so. But I find myself watching the snow blow around the grey sky and my thoughts drift with it. I get all complainey and pathetic and put on my "planning blinders". That's like a plow horse bridle with blinders... I just look ahead at what I want done and forget all about everything behind and around me. Maybe that works for horses, but it's not good for me. If I'm ever going to make it through the shack-wacky stages of winter I've gotta get a grip on this "rejoice" concept. Because if I can see this quarter of a year as a time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labour, then God promises to keep me so busy with the gladness of my heart that I won't have time to think about myself. Now that sounds good.

On that note, I did have one little break in the clouds yesterday. A marvelous new idea that was agreed upon and put into action within the day:
8:30am - OtherHalf and I began discussing the mangels fed to dairy cows on our new favorite documentary series, "Victorian Farm" (you can watch these BBC shows on www.dailymotion.com)
9am - I find mangel seeds for sale in a heritage seed catalogue. Expensive!
9:17am - google "growing mangels in Alberta"
9:19am - find an ad on kijiji for an Ontario farm selling Red Mammoth Mangel seeds.
9:20am - appeal to OtherHalf. Brainstorm about planting mangels in the future orchard.
9:22am - reply to kijiji ad
 ----- wait-----
10:07am - receive reply from CowBoss at Wallace Springs Cattle Company.

Invoice followed, Paypal payment came next, and before suppertime I had confirmation that 1/8lb of mangel wurzel seed will be in the mail this morning. Now that was quick farm work!
There are some raised eyebrows in the community already - despite the fact that mangels were common fodder in Britain for decades, maybe even centuries, no one in this neck of the woods has even heard of them. (In case any of my devoted readers aren't familiar with them either: mangel wurzels are a type of beet that can grow up to 20 lbs each. They are high in protein, iron, and all sorts of other good vitamins and minerals; store well for months and can be chopped up and fed to livestock. The tops also get huge and are even more nutritious than the roots, and can be made into silage.)
When OtherHalf asked a nearby farmer if he had any experience with mangels, the bewildered fellow replied "Doesn't that girl do anything normal?"

Well, you tell me.

(By the way, you can check out your friendly neighbourhood mangel seed supplier at www.wallacesprings.blogspot.ca)