About Me

I had been careful to come up on the camp from downwind. As I looked around at the men who were drinking coffee, I had one thought:

I shoulda brought more men.

I slid out of my saddle nice and smooth, just as they saw the sun glint off the star on my shirt. As they went for their guns, mine was already in my hand – smooth and easy as always.

“It’s a nice day to die, boys,” I said, and I started shooting.

I grew up on a small farm near a small town named Aberdeen, Saskatchewan. I was the youngest in my family, so my brother and sister didn’t want much to do with me – except to torment me, I suppose. My friend lived about a 1/2 mile from me, so I had a lot of time by myself.

And, so, I made up stories.

I defended our farm from cattle rustlers and thieving varmints. I conquered the jungle treetops as Edgar Rice Burrough’s Tarzan of the Apes, and I rafted down the mighty Mississippi (aka The Slough) with Huckleberry Finn and Jim.

I always had an active imagination, although my Mom always went one step further and said over-active. Well, Moms love us best, don’t they?

I was a very shy little boy, so I retreated into a world of books, comics, and my own stories of make believe. My Dad always worried that I wouldn’t amount to much, and he was probably right.

Somewhere along the line, I discovered a few things:

  1. Girls were pretty cool
  2. If I wanted to have girls for friends, I would have to actually talk to them
  3. If I wanted to talk to girls, it would be best to have something to say. [Although, in retrospect, it’s probably more important that the girl have something to say. Then you just have to get things rolling with something inane like “Are those new shoes?” and get out of the way.]

So, I became funny.

In my own defense, I always was funny. Some even said hilarious. [Thanks again, Mom.] I just didn’t know that saying funny things could make girls laugh. [It’s easy to make boys laugh. Just make up stories that include farts, poop, or any bodily function. Instant hilarity ensues. Guaranteed to be funny to boys aged 3 to 348.]

As I grew older, unlike Peter Pan, I grew up. Got a degree. Had a couple of kids. Got a job. Got married. Although not in that order. And my wife would question the “grew up” part.

I’ve done quite a few things in my time: forklift operator, construction worker, waterslide builder, art dealer [For a day, I tried selling “art” out of the trunk of my car. See “shy kid” above to imagine how profitable that was], computer trainer, deck builder, painter, ran my own computer training company [See “shy kid with few business skills” above to imagine how profitable that was!], worked for a non profit, started and ran a one man computer repair business, and am currently an associate pastor in a Mennonite church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.

Through it all, about the only thing I’ve been good at is telling stories.

So, as I approach middle age – if I live to be about 127 years old – I’ve decided that I’ll tell all the stories that I feel like telling. And be as hilarious as I feel like being  – or not. And I’ll put all these ramblings on the internet – all in one place –  where they can be ignored and collect dust … er … cyber  bunnies.

So, welcome here. I’m glad you stumbled onto my site. It feels like, in the interests of The Law, that I should put in a disclaimer:

All of the stories I tell are true … and some of them even happened.

 

 

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