Raindrops

Moved

2010-12-30T12:35:00.002-05:00

Raindrops has moved to The AC is On. Come on over!

http://anvilcloud.net/

Enough

2010-11-08T06:00:00.001-05:00

Good Morning All

I began this blog more than six years ago. In an email newsletter, I was told how easy it was to set up a blog here. I had heard the term, blog, and was interested but barely knew what it meant. Anyway, I signed up and have been here for a long time.

Six plus years of posting tells me that most people don't stay the course for this long, so I have accomplished something.

To wit: in the recent but old Halloween template that I used for a few weeks, I counted 37 links to other blogs in the sidebar. I analyzed only to misplace the sheet where I tallied the results, but I think only six were still blogging, at least to the extent that I knew and/or with whom was in still contact. And by the time I had made that list quite some time ago, many bloggers had already come and gone — and many, many since then, of course.

So 6+ years with 1600+ entries isn't too shabby when you consider the high turnover.

However, I say all that to say this ....

it's time for me to go.

My Bloggering days are done.

But I'm not done with blogging.

I have simply decided to blog ....

... HERE.

I hope you choose to click the link and follow me. More will be explained when you get there.

Not From Holland

2010-11-06T06:00:00.003-04:00

So you see it there to the bottom left? Yes siree, sitting on my shelf among other keepsakes is a desktop calendar all the way from ~~Holland~~ The Netherlands. It came from Mara who, as the top-rated bus driver in ~~Holland~~ The Netherlands, really gets around. In the calendar are twelve photos that Mara has taken on her journeys.

She sent it because I left a comment at the appropriate time. This is the third parcel that I have received from fellow bloggers over the years, the others being a piece of pottery from Dave and a cookbook from Donna. Early on in this blogs life, I also exchanged postcards with some in a little experiment that was only moderately successful. In addition, there has been some exchanging of Christmas cards, but I think it's a little too early to think about that little thing yet this year.

Thank you, Mara for gifting this poor Canadian all of the way from ~~Holland~~ The Netherlands: it's very well done and much appreciated.

And if anybody else feels like sending ... oh ... nevermind ...

As for the title and the strikeouts, that's one of the many things that I have learned from Mara. Apparently, Holland is only a part of The Netherlands. I always wondered about that, and I'm being serious — for once.

The Shower Incident

2010-11-05T06:00:00.002-04:00

I was showering the other day. Yes, I do that at least once quarterly, but bear with me.

I grabbed the Old Spice, the one on the left in the photo. I promise you, however, that only the Old Spice was in the shower with me ... although I certainly do need to catchup on many things.

Except the bottle was oriented the other way from the photo — with the top-up.

While that might have seemed normal in the previous century, I think the picture suggest that the bottle paradigm is shifting and that top-down is becoming the de facto normative position.

It only makes sense really because when the bottle is more empty than full, the desired substance, which is what you buy the bottle for in the first place is much more accessible.

Beyond that, it's especially handy dandy for ketchup which has from time immemorial (whatever that means, but it sounds good to me) been a deuce of a thing to entice out of its container. You know what? It only costs a few cents more to purchase the top-down ketchup container than the old fashioned standard issue. And since one bottle of ketchup lasts for at least a half century, I for one am willing to ante up the extra coinage.

So ... if the Old Spice bottle will stand top-down as in the photo, why was I forced to orient it standing top- up in the shower? Regardless (please note: not irregardless as many are wont to say), why was it a problem?

Well,I didn't have it standing top- down because the top is so narrow that a misguided breath or water droplet would bring it tumbling down. That's why!

And ... that was a problem because I had almost run out of soap and prodigious shaking was required. It's not that I mind that much, really, but I really wonder why those Spicy Oldsters who make the product wouldn't just design the cap properly in the first place. This halfway business is nowhere, dude/duchess.

I mean, it was good for one blog post, but the keener visioned amongst will have discerned that I have gone over to the nymphs of the Irish Spring for my next month of laves.

I'm sure there will be a spring in my step although I'm likely to become a less spicy blogger.

More Simply "Grand" Photos

2010-11-04T06:00:00.002-04:00

I get a little leery of doing too many picture posts of the grands in a short interval, but I've been a bit preoccupied to write much lately. Nikki Dee managed to wangle a sleepover last night by imploring Cuppa. After Cuppa had said something to the effect that we don't have room for two little munchkins to sleepover, Nikki Dee asked if she had room for one little munchkin. Apparently, that did it.

Of course we took a few pictures. At one point, she got to running around and around through the kitchen and hall, and I was able to get these two action shots which I think are good enough to share if you will indulge me yet again.

Halloween Photos

2010-11-02T08:45:00.001-04:00

I have a few Halloween pics to post before moving on ... to what? ... Christmas? Good grief.

Anyhoo, I went over to take a few pics and give out treats while mom, dad and kids gamboled around the neighborhood — they had to gambol because it was so darn cold.

Let's begin with a few of Zach. The night kind of overwhelmed the boy, but I managed to get a few pics. In the first shot he sits with his costume not done up yet, leafing through a book from Amma and Buppa — in lieu of candy. He's costumed in the other two and chomping on chocolate. Lingering tears are visible in the closeup.

Now, for Nikkie Dee. She continues to make progress in acknowledging the camera although her eyes were on the tv in the first photo.

The two together, followed by a family photo outside as they headed off madly in all directions.

Fiddling Away the Afternoon

2010-11-01T06:00:00.001-04:00

For some reason or other, the other day I got all caught up with watching and listening to fiddling on YouTube. I thought I'd share some of my "likes" with you. If you aren't in the mood for that much, check out the last one with Andre Rieu and an Irish fiddler, from The Dubliners (I believe it said in one place). Love this stuff. Wish I could do it.

The first pair are a brother and sister from Victoria, Canada. The second group is from Boston, but they play a lot of Cape Breton music. It's amazing how this music gets around and transcends borders. The third is Emily Brandenburg, but I can't find any further information. Gotta love her onstage persona and presence tough. The fourth, you already know about.

Flowers in the Snow

2010-10-31T16:20:00.001-04:00

Last night, around 8:30, we picked up the phone to fine a somewhat disturbed Nikki Dee on the line. It was bedtime, and she wanted someone other than the babysitter to comfort here. As luck would have it, Cuppa was just then getting ready to head over there to pick up something or other to do with Halloween. However, when I explained that to Nikki, she began to wail that she wanted Buppa to come over too.

So, out we went, me just in a my slippers (Crocs actually), into the snow. In my slippers and ... surprise, surprise ... into the snow. Wet snow. Me in slippers (Crocs actually). My feet didn't get too wet while I was scraping the car, but still ... it was snowing, and I was in my slippers (Crocs actually).

As soon as we arrived to placate the impy doodle, I took her to the front door and shower her the snow. Nikki Dee: "Is it Christmas?" Well, isn't that cute?

Between Buppa and Amma, she was sound asleep within about a half hour. And home we went. Through the snow. Me in my slippers (Crocs actually).

And this is what it looked like this morning from the upstairs window.

It looks like Christmas flowers in the snow, but these geraniums be long gone come Christmas. Hopefully, this particular accumulation of snow will also soon be gone, for it's too early for it to stay, y'know: two weeks to a month too early based on the five winters that we've experienced here. Hope so. Winter is long enough as it is.

And they're not actually Crocs, not actually despite all of my actuallys. They're a knockoff called Frogs, actually. Actually Frogs is what I actually and factually mean.

Of Halloweens Past ...

2010-10-31T06:00:00.002-04:00

... and Present

Cuppa and I will be duplicating some photos a today, but she'll weave more of a story, so you may wish to check in at Brown Betty Brew as we pay homage to Halloweens Past. The old pictures were already scanned from a little photo album that we created for Thesha's thirtieth birthday. Althegal is now thirty-two, but I haven't yet managed to make the same effort for her. Perhaps I will someday get my mayhem of old slides in some sort of order (with sort being a rather operative word),, so that I can more readily contemplate doing this for her.

Let us begin with Ancient History by showing four slides in chronological order beginning in Thesha's early childhood up to when she was about ten years old. Althegal made an appearance in the ten-year photo where they are both dressed in Cuppa's rendition of First Nations costumes when such things weren't politically incorrect. It's worth noting that Cuppa designed and fabricated all four of these costumes: creative and talented lady that she is. If I've got it right, the Wonder Woman getup is from 1984, when the tv program was current. It was quite a hit at Thesha's school if I recall correctly.

Nikki Dee's first Halloween was in 2007 when she wasn't even crawling. Daddy brought the cute, little pumpkin to our place while Thesha stayed home to pass out treats to the tricksters.

She was Piglet in 2008 when Mommy brought her over for a little visit.

Sticking with The Pooh theme, Nikki Dee became Tigger last year while Zachary was Winnie. They were taken pre-Halloween last year as became a trifle problematic to shunt two kids about.

Cuppa managed to take a few pre-shots of this years outfits this past week. The kids weren't being terribly cooperative; perhaps I'll manage some better ones when I go over for a little visit while Cuppa mans (womans? persons?) the treat fort here. In our first year in this place, I made an effort to get into the Halloween spirit (the header up there came from that year). I dressed up and played scary sounds with my iPod hooked up to speakers. But, frankly, I don't really dig Halloween and have left the nonsense to Cuppa ever since. The whistles in the following photos don't have anything to do with the costumes; it's just what they were taken with on that day. I think in keeping with her outfit at least the Jungle Book elephant song was being played and marched to, and the kids added their own musical overtones.

Neti Knows Noses

2010-10-30T06:00:00.002-04:00

Well, you can never assume; otherwise you make the first three letters of assume true about yourself. Yesterday, I assumed that everyone would be familiar with Neti Pots or Netipots, but that may not actually be the case. We don't all go to Oprah College after all.

It was Dr Oz on Oprah who first introduced me to Neti, and I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. In response to some sort of question about allergies or sinuses I (I think it was), he invited the lady to the stage. There he had her tilt her head over a basin and, using Dear Neti, pour water in one nostril so that it flowed out of the other nostril.

Who knew that such a concept for the cleaning of sinus cavities existed? Well, Dr Oz and a lot of other people knew, apparently, for it is not a new invention by any means.

Following are two excerpts from Wikipedia. Please visit Wiki for the whole article for links and references that I have eliminated from the these sections.

Nasal irrigation or nasal lavage or nose douche is the personal hygiene practice in which the nasal cavity is washed to flush out excess mucus and debris from the nose and sinuses. It has been practiced in India for centuries as one of the disciplines of yoga. Some clinical tests have shown that this practice is safe and beneficial with no significant side effects.[1][2] Nasal irrigation in a wider sense can also refer to the use of saline nasal spray or nebulizers to moisten the mucus membranes....

The simplest method, in that it does not require any equipment, is to snort water from cupped hands. The application of commercially available saline nasal spray is another simple alternative, but it is relatively inefficient for washing away debris although it may suffice for simple rehydration of mucous and tissues.[6]

A simple yet effective technique is to pour salt water solution into one nostril and let it run out through the other while the mouth is kept open to breathe, using gravity as an aid. This is an old Ayurvedic technique known as jala neti, and the container used to administer the saline is called a neti pot. (Neti is Sanskrit for "nasal cleansing". A second neti technique known as sutra neti uses a piece of string instead of water.)

Finally, here's one YouTube demonstration of a plethora of choices. I am surprised that there are so many examples as I, personally, wouldn't care to demonstrate Neti and me getting so close and personal. I'm appreciate, however, that others are not so disinclined to get their noses into it onstage. Or it into their noses, rather.

A New but Dear Friend

2010-10-29T09:50:00.002-04:00

It's true; there's a new love in my love, and I have come to cherish the moments that we spend together every day. Like all loves, she does get up my nose from time to time, but our relationship remains committed.

Yes folks, I admit to having fallen for Neti, and the fact that she is a little potty simply makes her all that more precious to me.

Last winter I experienced multiple bouts of ear and sinus problems and found that my body doesn't get along well with all of the decongestants that I was forced to swallow. Neither did I much like being force fed antibiotics on a regular basis. So, this autumn I invited Neti into my life, and, so far, I am happy to say that she makes a difference.

After few intimate moments with Neti, I find that I can breathe easier. It's a good feeling to take those clear, unsnottified breaths let me tell ya.

I know that getting so excited about these short trysts makes an AC's life seem rather empty, but I am deeply appreciative that it's really my sinus cavities that are empty — even though as is true about intimate moments in general, the relief is only temporary.

It's fair to say that my moments with Neti have become an eagerly anticipated highlight of my dreary days.

Her Turn

2010-10-28T10:40:00.000-04:00

... and His Again Too

Although I took the camera over to get some new pics of him the other day, I did get some of her while he was sleeping and after he was up too: sorry, can't resist.

She was actually engaging with the camera a bit. Here ↓↓ she tries to make a sad face: which turned out to be funny.

And lookee here ↓↓ two pictures looking right at the camera and me not having to rush too very much before the millisecond became history.

Even outside, she condescended to glance my way. Maybe it's because she loves looking at herself in pictures, and she's beginning to connect cause and effect better. ↓↓

Two more of the blond, curly guy. ↓↓

Faces of Our Boy

2010-10-27T06:00:00.001-04:00

I hauled my camera over to the kids' place yesterday with the specific purpose of getting some up-to-date close-ups of Zach. At his age, we have fewer photo ops with him than his sister. She comes for sleepovers and outings while he stays home. But it was time to make an effort.

So here he are the many faces of Zachary. Actually, they're all pretty well versions of the same happy face. The first two were after his nap around the lunch/computer table, and the other three were taken outdoors a little later. It was a warm day for October, but he had his little coat on anyway as Buppa wasn't quite sure how best to dress him .

By the way, had Amma been present, her likely would have had his hair and wardrobe attended to, but Buppas don't think of things like that. And even they do, they're pretty helpless to do anything about it.

Absorption

2010-10-26T09:00:00.000-04:00

The kids seem to prefer watching videos on Buppa's old laptop more than the tv. Mind you, the upstairs tv isn't too much bigger than the laptop. They can get closer to the computer and seem to enjoy the experience. My laptop is old but it's a big screen (for a laptop), and it has decent speakers.

As Zach enjoyed his lengthy, midday slumber the girl enjoyed some video time. ↓↓

Really enjoyed it. ↓↓

Once they were both up and few, both kids watched clips of themselves for awhile. I had wandered into the other room to check email etc on Thesha's computer and was a little concerned to see them both sprawled on the table in an effort to get at or close to my laptop. Officially, "We were not amused," but unofficially, in our heart of hearts, we were. ↓↓

This is a representative clip of what they were viewing at the time. Nikki Dee was requesting singing videos. It took old Buppa awhile to figure out that she wanted to see a series of Thanksgiving videos like the one below. She was being a little manic at the time: really enjoying the attention, and she loves to watch herself, which I guess is typical of us all. ↓↓

A Cool but Colourful Saunter

2010-10-25T06:00:00.002-04:00

Friday, on our round trip, there were countless photo ops. But when you're travelling, they pass by quickly, usually with very little opportunity to pull over. So it was that we have no pictures; and certainly none of foxes or wolves who were very quick to cross the road into the forest at the other side. No, you're stuck with either believing or disbelieving that one.

Come Saturday, we were able to take some photos after Cuppa made a picnic lunch to take to the park. As we headed out, it looked promising despite to cool temperatures because the sun was out. So, having arrived at the park, we exited the car and made for a picnic table. Naturally, just as we arrived at the table, the clouds managed to roll across the sun. We sat at the table for a few minutes, but the cool temperatures, plus the wind, plus the ominous amount of clouds in the sky soon sent us back to the car.

We had our lunch in the relative warmth of Harriet the Chariot, but were disappointed not to be able to take at least one photo of ourselves enjoying a picnic lunch in the great outdoors because Althegal so looks forward to these sorts of pictures. In fact, she has often mentioned this to us and pleaded for more: he said, speaking just a tad sarcastically.

We did walk a bit after our lunch; fortunately, there remained just enough colour to satisfy our spirits and to persuade us to snap a few photos, several of which I present below. In the first picture, Cuppa, in the distance, drinks Tim's coffee from her travel mug. However, even carrying a mug around was enough to make the hand cold as I was forced to keep switching my own mug from hand to hand in an attempt to minimize the discomfort. It helped a little, but also informed me that eating in the vehicle had been the right choice.

Before, I mosey off, permit me the reminder that it's only two months until Santa comes down the chimney.

There and Back Again

2010-10-23T09:20:00.000-04:00

Cuppa and I surprised ourselves a little bit yesterday. We drove to the cottage to pick up stuff that we couldn't fit in the car after our extended-family vacation in August because the vehicle was too full of people. We went with our options open: return on the same day; stay overnight; or spend the weekend there. In our heads, option two, overnighting, was what we most expected to do. But with the weather being cold and windy, and comfortable beds at home awaiting, we hit the road home as soon as we loaded up Harriet the Chariot.

It was a good day for a drive, however. For most of the way, both coming and going, there was sun which lit up the tamaracks rather gloriously. And despite the fact that all of the other leaves had fallen, the oaks were still adamant about holding onto their bronze beauties. The drive home was especially pretty as the lowering sun cast the just the right angle of light.

On the way there, however, we saw a first — or two first, rather. We drove the extremely rural backroads, and at one point, I exclaimed to Cuppa that there was a fox trotting across the road up ahead. As we drew nearer, we saw that it was larger and darker and concluded that it was a wolf. Lightning struck a second time a little bit later. This time we got a closer look and decided that this was a coyote.

I suppose we could have been wrong both times, and they could have been regular run-of-the-mill dogs, but, given the backwoodsiness of the geography, neither of us really believe that. Both of these sightings are extremely rare; in fact, having never seen either before, it seems almost miraculously serendipitous as well as synchronous to witness both.

This morning, however, nature's other shoe dropped as we awoke to the season's first snowfall. Yes, it snowed overnight: so lightly that it could only be seen on bare rooftops and not the ground. Nevertheless, it was snow. Sigh: it could be a long winter.

Another Round

2010-10-22T06:00:00.000-04:00

Since I have been posting from the vaults, please permit me another round. For all I know, I have posted some of these previously, but since they were more or less ready to go, and I'm in a bit of a rush, here they are. I really just want to post something today because I won't likely be able to for several days. They are all from 1976 0r 1977 as near as I can determine and are presented in possible sequential order.

↑↑ Thesha with our dog. Other than Susie, we've been a cat family. Thesha was reading in our sunporch, which had to be closed off in the cold weather. The couch in the background was a wedding gift from my parents seven or eight years before the picture was taken.

↓↓ Thesha with her grandmother, apparently near Mom's in May of 1976.

↑↑ My dad, the girls' grampa, possibly also taken on grandma's birthday weekend.

↓↓ Grandma reading Thesha a story. I think that same book is on the shelf behind me right now. Sometimes, I read it to Nikki Dee.

↑↑ We went to Centre Island in Toronto with some relatives. Thesha was quite intent on her driving.

↓↓ A horseback ride on that same day. Her cousin is on the next horse.

Another Oldie from the Vaults ...

2010-10-21T08:47:00.003-04:00

... or The Floor rather

We had a split-second power outage last night, which fried my surge protector. As I was unplugging it this morning, I found this slide on the floor, so I decided to scan it on the spot. It's of Thesha with my mother in 1973 at Centennial Park in Sarnia when she was about a half year old. It always stops me short to realize that mom was younger then than I am now. And she seemed so old at the time.

They Can Drive You Crazy

2010-10-20T06:00:00.001-04:00

As I've posted before, taking pictures of my grandchildren can be frustrating. I can't get her to acknowledge the camera, and I can't take a candid of him because he has to react to it each and every time.

Yesterday, I just wanted a simple picture of him intently watching a dvd on my computer as he munched his lunch. You see, he is so disinterested in eating these days, that I find it easiest to distract him with a video or Sesame Street on tv.

I wanted to show how he put cheerios (in this case — you can see them on the tray in the second picture) into his mouth, hardly realizing what he was doing because he was so intent he was on the program. Needless to say, the pictures prove that he chose to play to the camera rather than staying glued to the video.

Kids! They get you every time.

From Ye Olde Photo Album

2010-10-19T08:40:00.000-04:00

Last week I posted pictures of Nikki Dee wearing dresses that her mother had worn. Cuppa is posting more information about their history today. She asked me to scan some old family photos for her post, and having made the effort to do the legwork, I'm also going to make use of those pictures today. But I'll try not to duplicate too much.

In the mid-seventies, I tried briefly tried my hand at developing my own film and photos. I didn't keep at it very long because I didn't have a proper darkroom and found it impossible to keep the chemicals at their proper temperature in our cold basement. However, above and below are two my efforts. I had a good model. In both pictures I experimented with dodging as I was projecting the negative onto the photo paper in an effort to eliminate the busy wallpaper background. Nikki Dee was in that dress last week, and those pictures are on Cuppa's blog this morning.

I think the next one was done at Sears; if not, it was taken as part of a church booklet. She must have been a bit younger than Nikki Dee is because the dress fit her better.

A family portrait from the very early eighties when AC still had hair.. This time Althegal is in the same white dress. Note: I still wear a goatee but I wore a fullish beard most of the time for over thirty years. Although I never thought to go full-beard again, I have lately been playing with the idea of growing it in. My hair isn't very gray, but beards turn sooner, and I am wondering what mine is like now.

In case you don't go to Cuppa's blog I will say that the white dress was smocked by my mother and the orange one by Cuppa's mother. I don't suppose they were even thinking about great grandchildren back then; I know that I certainly wasn't thinking of grandchildren, and I certainly wouldn't have thought of getting out those dresses if Cuppa hadn't.

A Forgotten Template

2010-10-18T21:15:00.000-04:00

I forgot I had this template from days of yore. Perhaps it should have remained forgotten. But I won't leave it up long. Promise.

More Battening

2010-10-18T06:00:00.001-04:00

Our preparations for winter continue. After already making the garage mostly ready to receive the car two weekends ago, last week we had the furnace inspected to make sure it was also ready for the the abuse that it's about to receive.

We've already had one light frost, and since there's another in the forecast for tomorrow night, it was also time to put the garden to bed on the weekend. We cut down the remains of many plants and emptied the hanging baskets. A few plants remain in flower — some mums and some geraniums — so we've let them be for now at least.

The grass has been cut and edged for the final time. If it needs to be done again, it will have to wait until spring because the lawnmower has been put out of the way on a high shelf. Otherwise, we could barely get around the the car when we need to park it in the garage. Amazingly, my back survived the lifting.

In other news, I was inspired to cook a new dish yesterday — a zucchini toss with penne, red peppers and asiago cheese. I shouldn't have. Really, I shouldn't have. It tasted awful and the semi melted cheese, which was required to be mixed with the rest of the ingredients, was a horror to clean up. The recipe should have come with a warning: "Tastes awful and makes a mess." How such a recipe could have escaped the kitchens of Canadian Living to be published in one of their cookbooks is beyond me.

I guess we're ready for Old Man Winter and Jack Frost to come a'callin, but we await with empty stomachs thanks to that horrid dish.

How D'ya Like Dem Apples?

2010-10-16T09:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, this being October and all, apples were available abundantly and inexpensively at the grocery store. I picked eight that were neither abundant nor inexpensive. They cost almost four times as much — nearly a dollar an apple — but for the brief time that they're available, they're worth it.

You see, a Honeycrisp apple tastes great "as its sweetness, firmness, and tartness make it an ideal apple for eating raw." (Wikipedia) They are a relatively new variety developed in Minnesota less than twenty years ago, so they are not to be had in abundance yet.

They're very good though and really not much more expensive in autumn than Galas are in winter. If you haven't experienced them yet, and if they're available where you are, why not try a few. I'd like to know if you agree with me.

Thinking About Superman

2010-10-14T09:00:00.000-04:00

I see that new documentary, Waiting for Superman, will be opening in Ottawa tomorrow. I’m not entirely sure why a film explicitly about the American educational system is relevant to Canadians, but it’s coming regardless. Not that it shouldn’t, but let’s not jump to too many hysterical conclusions about the Canadian system based on this evaluation of the system to the south of us. Let’s also not forget the fact that there is no one Canadian system, and I’m pretty sure that the same is true for the good old US of A, and I think that needs to be remembered.

Since I haven’t seen the film and don’t intend to, I cannot fairly critique it. However, based on newspaper reports and Oprah’s episode on the topic , I am afeared that it might be a complete trashing of the whole American system. I gather it’s a call to action and not meant to be an unbiased evaluation, and that’s fair enough as I’m sure the problems that the film documents are real enough. I am also quite confident, however, that there are thousands of fine public schools south of the border with tens of thousands of wonderful teachers and hundreds of thousands of incredible students. I think it is important to recognize that.

It seems to me, and not just in this instance but in general, that when people criticize the educational system, they tend to forget one thing: we tend to get what we want and ask for.

Schools are a mirror of society. If it is important for schools to become better, then it is of great importance that parents and communities also be willing do better. If society’s wish is for everyone to pass and feel good about themselves at minimum expenditure, then that’s what schools will learn to deliver. I can’t fault the goal of ensuring that all students should succeed. Obviously, they should. Just as obviously, we should want all students to think of themselves in a positive light. Unfortunately, implemented properly, such goals carry a price tag, for it requires proper identification and remediation. Resources and support staff need to be made available, and that costs.

Parents also must be willing to be part of the solution and not just be vociferous complainers. If parents refuse to step up and be supportively involved in their child’s educations, they can only expect the school to accomplish so much. One example: if parents don’t insist on their child doing homework and many don’t, then teachers tend to stop assigning it or at least very much. It only makes sense, for if only a third or less of the class normally completes the work , the teacher is left with a difficult dilemma: to leave the two-thirds behind, or to try to pull the majority along even if it means having to slow the achievers down. In my experience s/he will most likely decide to try to teach as much as possible to as many as possible, leaving as few in the dust as possible. Put like that, who would have it any other way?

So, by all means, let’s examine the educational system and try to ameliorate its flaws and weaknesses, but if the goal is to make significant advances, the issue must be framed properly in the wider societal context. Otherwise, despite our angst and railings, little will be accomplished in the long term.

Checking In

2010-10-12T10:50:00.000-04:00

Still not in the mood to write or post much, it's at least time to check in with family members. On Saturday, we went on a little studio tour. Aside from two failed indoor attempts, this is the only picture that I have to offer from that day. Across the road from our first stop, the scene looked nice enough for a photo, and then the milk tanker came up the road to add a little interest. So I quickly snapped the photo while the truck was still in the frame.

Cuppa took this next picture of Nikki Dee playing in the rain last week.

Now, for quite a few more NIkke Dee photos. I took them just an hour or two ago after an unexpected sleepover. She always wants to sleepover; sometimes, as tired as we might me, we feel compelled to give in.

She decided she wanted to call Mommy and also talk to baby brother while she was at it.

Then she played with Mommy's old doll, Saranella, for awhile ...

... before stopping to pick her ever sore lip. Perhaps if she stopped picking, it would heal.

Then Cuppa had the bright idea to pose her in dresses that my mother had smocked for Thesha. Both our girls wore them at some point, but as Cuppa observed, Thesha was much more cooperative about posing. In Nikki Dee's defense, the dresses were a bit snug, but she really would have made the session difficult regardless.

I know; all of the recent grandkid photos are of her and not him. I will attempt to rectify that in the near future, but it is she who is more of an age to spend time with Amma and Buppa. It's just the way it is.

Lotsa Locks

2010-10-08T22:15:00.000-04:00

We live near a designated UNESCO World Heritage site, the Rideau Canal, and while we have visited some of the nearby locks including those in Ottawa itself, we had neglected the more removed locks towards the southwest of us. It was time to remedy that today as we set out in perfect Thanksgiving weekend weather. So with cameras in hand, of we set.

Before I get to the picture show, however, let me digress just a little to explain what the Rideau Canal or Waterway is.

It was planned after our 1812 overture with the good, old US of A: a war which we claim to have won by the way. The idea was to enable ships to bypass the St Lawrence River between Montreal and Kingston as we feared those dastardly Americans who lurked on the southern bank of the river had nothing but mayhem on their minds. The canal with its 49 locks was completed twenty year later in 1832, an engineering marvel that has withstood the test of time. The thing still works in the way it did almost two hundred years ago.

Just one caveat about the use of the word canal. People tend to think of a canal as a completely man-made channel with or without locks. In fact, the Rideau Waterway is for the most part a natural waterway, but to make the whole thing navigable, locks were constructed here and there to bypass rapids and so link two bodies of water of different heights.

Having disgorged that bit of pedantry, let's gets around to the photos. This first set is from Chaffey's Locks. Yes, it was a beautiful day in a beautiful spot. I wish that the heron in the fourth picture had been closer, but you do what you can. The final picture is or was a mill.

Then we were off to Davis Lock in a very secluded spot. I stopped on the road to take the first photo, but the rest are around the lock itself. The final picture in the Davis series is of the guardhouse, or whatever it was properly called. It was well constructed just in case those nasty Americans were to sneak up on it. I'm not sure how they would get so far into Canada from the border and, if they did, why this particular lock would be so vital because they would have done a lot of damage by the time they had made it this far, but there you have it.

Finally, we were off to Jones Falls, which required four separate locks in order to overcome a significant change in elevation. The first photo, below, is taken from the second lock, looking down at the first with Cuppa looking up towards me. The second is from the third lock. I had stupidly walked along the gateway bewteen locks two and three to get this picture. I say stupidly because I don't do heights very well.

Above, Cuppa climbs the stairs from the third to fourth lock. Below, I shoot back form about the elevation of the fourth lock back to the lower locks. The third lock is plainly visible, and one can also see how much lower the end point is from way up at the height of the fourth lock.

There was an inn/hotel at Jones Falls (below). Sadly, however, we were 15 minutes late for lunch. Somewhat famished after only having one piece of toast and one donut since early morning, we made a beeline to the nearest town, but it was a lot farther than your average bee might fly in a half hour, let me tell ya.

Note: I'm tired, so I'm going to post as is without editing and revising. Sorry, but the wit, such as it is, will have to wait for another day.

Sanctuary Lost, Blogger Found

2010-10-08T09:40:00.000-04:00

Thanksgiving weekend is here, but for various reasons we have decided to stay close to home, perhaps venturing on a number of little day trips. Yesterday, in particular, we needed to stay fairly close to home, so I checked out Google Maps, looking for some place that we had previously overlooked. Lo and behold, didn't I see the Wildlife Conservation and Bird Sanctuary on the shores of Mississippi Lake. Why hadn't I noticed this before?

So, off we headed, turning down the correct road as instructed by Google Maps. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. It's not there, or if it is, it's nothing but woodland with no public access. If there is in fact anything there, it would only be accessible by ATV or more likely helicopter.

So, off we went driving around this lake and that. There are a lot of lakes nearby, but they are all pretty well inaccessible: that is to say, all of the surrounding land is privately owned. One can drive along a road close to and paralleling the lake and not even know that it's there unless one is looking on a map. It's a little disappointing to say the least.

We did take one side road in hopes of finding a scenic spot and were able to catch a glimpse of the lake, but the man whose property we stopped adjacent to was soon out there protecting his feudal rights. Oh, he was pleasant enough, but he was surely keeping an eye on interlopers. Here is what we were able to glimpse before he trained his rifle on us (kidding).

That was it for the lake, so we turned Harriet the Chariot around with bullets whizzing past our ears (still kidding) and drove off. We were searching for autumn colour, but it's not the great year for colourful foliage in these parts. At one point we crossed a short, wooden railway bridge and hopped out to take a few pictures. Sadly, we were not as fortunate as Lorna last weekend, so a train didn't choose that moment to thunder by.

We stopped again at the edge of another lake — rather a glorified beaver pond — for a few more pictures. Once again, there's some colour, but the landscape isn't exactly resplendent.

Finally, we ended up at the cheese shop in Balderson where there's more than just cheese let me tell ya: much more, including a large adjacent Amish furniture store.

At one point, as I meandered about, I saw a woman staring at me. Actually, she was staring as if in in horror, crossing herself and mumbling prayers about dreadful apparitions. (Once again, I jest although the staring part is correct.)

I moved on, but Cuppa and I headed back in that direction a few moments later and didn't the lady approach and call my name. I puzzled for a moment because she did look somewhat similar to Sheila who lives hundreds of miles away. But she didn't look that much like Sheila. As this lady called my name again, her identity began to dawn on me at the same time as she introduced herself. Yes, it was fellow blogger, Mary G of Them's My Sentiments. Mary and we live in the same county, but we had never met. Fortunately, I post so many pictures that she had no difficulty at all recognizing me. We chatted for a few moments and posed for pictures before moving on. We had both stopped at the same cheese shop at the same time from our divergent parts of this large county.

So, it was an odd day that went from not finding a place that was on the map to a serendipitous meeting with a fellow blogger. I do regret, however, that as far as I can tell there is no suitable antonym for that great word: serendipity. It would make it much easier to coin a clever title for this post.

In Passing

2010-10-06T10:05:00.003-04:00

I seem to have hit a bit of a dry spell with regards to blogging. It happens. As Thanksgiving weekend is upon us, and I'm not sure what we'll be doing or where we'll be going, I can't say that new posts are likely to rain down anytime soon. You never know though.

I have two pics to leave with you, however. Nobody around here seems very healthy lately, so when we dropped by the other day, Nikki Dee required a cuddling. It wasn't long before she was snoring on my shoulder. I wasn't quite able to join her in Slumberland, but I was giving it my all.

Signs of the Season

2010-10-03T09:55:00.001-04:00

In preparation for winter, I'm sorry to inform you that the battening of the figurative hatches hath begun. Canadian Thanksgiving will be upon us next weekend, and as turkeys cower in corners in an effort to look too small to cook, the rest us us can hear Jack Frost whistling in the distance, and we tremble too.

Yesterday, we cleaned out our tiny, barely-one-car garage to make room for Harriet the Chariot whenever the nasty truly weather threatens to burst upon us. The bikes were hauled into the basement and other items were stored in the garage's overhead shelves. So we're ready to drive the car in on a moments notice.

First steps were taken in readying the gardens for winter. The impatiens were pulled although the perennials have been allowed to remain in ground for the time being. I swear I can hear their petals chattering in the cold, however.

This morning, I felt compelled to extract our little portable heater from the depths and use it to warm up the bathroom prior to showering.

Furthermore, as temperatures descended to 15°C/60°F this morning, I eyed the furnace thermostat with lust in my heart. I did resist as the mercury began to climb to a balmy 16°C/61°F (please note the palindromishness of those numbers) and hopefully higher, but I will probably cave in any day now and flip the heating switch to the on position.. What can I say? I'm soft.

Meanwhile, I find comfort in wearing my hoodie in the house. We baldies lose the heat and feel the cold on our uppermost extremity, and I can't afford any more brain freeze than is normal to my sluggish thought processes.

That's all I've got today, which I don't think is all that bad considering that it's not yet ten o'clock and that I've already been up for seven hours. I did have two hours of sleep, however. I am forced to take what I can get ... and down the Tylenol like it's the most delicious candy known to humankind. Fortunately, I had a good book to keep me company through the bleak hours. It helps — quite a lot actually.

On Sleep and Medics

2010-10-02T01:00:00.000-04:00

Well, here goes nothing ...

It's well past midnight, but my sleep has taken a bad turn lately. Sometimes it does that — goes from not being good to being distinctly bad. Tonight, for example, I stumbled wearily to bed at ten o'clock. I almost went to sleep; in fact, I drifted off for a few minutes. I know it was only that long because I had some music playing, and I missed one short tune. After lying there for an hour and a half, however, I gave it up for a lost cause. I think what happens is that I drift and rest just enough to feel sufficiently refreshed to get up and do something or other for awhile before I try again.

It's most frustrating let me tell you. In my life, I have tended to be a guy who requires perhaps a little more sleep than average. Now, I get too much less than average. It's getting on my nerves.

So here I sit with a headache after completing a crossword puzzle and munching on a bowl of cornflakes. When the pills begin to take effect, I'll try again. Maybe I'll try the couch; sometimes I settle there. I have no idea why as generally I feel the need to sprawl, and one cannot exactly sprawl on a couch.

Well anyway, let me tell you about the highlight of my week, which once I tell it, you will rather pity me for having such an uneventful life.

You see, on Monday morning, I had an appointment at the Eye Institute near downtown Ottawa. Thinking I was clever, I decided to take the backroads in and avoid rush hour congestion on the expressway. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in practice it was anything but, for once we neared the city, the congestion on the backroads was worse than it ever would have been on the expressway — much worse. Sigh.

I had set aside more than an hour and a half for the trip which should normally have taken less than an hour. And I was actually a few minutes late. Not that hospitals tend to run on standard time, but still it rather unnerved me.

But here's the highlight. The doctor. Once he got around to seeing me, he introduced himself and shook my hand. Can you believe a doctor shaking your hand: treating you with respect and consideration? When we parted, he offered his hand once again. Wow! I mean WOW!

Between handshakes, he didn't rush me and patiently clarified a point that had confused me a little.

After such positive treatment, I came out of there feeling good about the world.

I have since mused that the time difference between a doctor rushing you and not rushing you is probably less than a minute.

This guy should be training young medical students in client management.

That's my highlight.

It's been a dull week.

I Want to be in the Frame Too

2010-09-30T06:00:00.008-04:00

All week long, I've been posting pictures of our Saturday walk through Mill of Kintail. Now, I wants me some attention too. So, just to prove I was there, here is a sequence of Nikki Dee attempting to climb a tree stump. She has had this climbing business on the brain more about a year and a half now, ever since she saw Jungle Book. There's a part where Mowgli and Bagheera climb a tree to supposedly sleep safely, and she has wanted to do this ever since. Some of you longtimers (notice that I didn't call you oldtimers) may recall me posting her attempts way back when.

Here's a stump that looks climb-able, Buppa.

But I guess I need a little help.

I'm up, but I want to stand.

That's really nice, but now ...

... I want to sit ...

... and just feel smug.

Just Her

2010-09-29T06:00:00.000-04:00

I am continuing with pictures of our ramble through the Mill of Kintail last Saturday: these of just Nikki Dee. I presume you can tell that the girl is an active and fun sort.

Two Loves

2010-09-28T06:00:00.000-04:00

I love me five women, or make that four women and one girl child. At the Mill of Kintail the other day, I was able to take lots of pics of two of these great loves: the oldest and the youngest. These two adore each other almost as much as I adore them. Separated my almost exactly sixty years, they share a joy of life. The older of the two is especially to be raised on a pedestal just now — for making me three apple pies! I'll present the photos without further comment except to say the the last is my fave; sometimes (and not often in my opinion) black and white conversion is just the ticket.

Windows and Doors

2010-09-27T06:00:00.002-04:00

It had been quite awhile since we had Nikki Dee for a sleepover, so Friday night was it. We took her out for breakfast on Saturday morning and then for a walk at Mill of Kintail before taking her back home. Cuppa and I both took loads of pictures, so you can expect a few photo blogs this week. The theme of this post is Windows and Doors.

There is a little cabin along the path to the museum. Nikki thought it was pretty exciting to get hoisted up and see me below with the camera.

A window in the museum (or the former Tait house). I have desaturated the brickwork to almost black and white.

This side door must go down into a kitchen of sorts because the ladies auxiliary serves tea and goodies from out of here on Saturdays during summer.

Behold we stand at the door and knock. I also converted the stonework to black and white. I love this one.

Of Ducts, Brains, Flicks and Cursors

2010-09-24T09:40:00.002-04:00

It promises to be a most exciting day around here as we wait in eager anticipation for the duct cleaning people to come by. Yes indeedy, we do live life on the edge, but we are desperate after spending all of last winter, or so it seemed, fighting off colds — losing most battles. I guess, however, that we won the war seeing that we're still here to tell about it. I don't really suppose that clean ducts will help this winter, but I don't suppose that they will hurt.

Perhaps we need more than our ducts cleaned, however. Can they do brains too, I wonder. These days I find myself searching desperately for words that should be on the tip of my tongue, such as ... oh, I forget. This makes me a bit nervous because I recall how my poor dad was reduced to calling the sun and moon the "big fella and the other guy." Seriously.

Mind you, Cuppa isn't immune either. As we stood by the patio door looking out at the chilly fog this morning, me in my hoodie, she mentioned that it was going to be thirty degrees this afternoon. When I asked whether that was in fahrenheit or celsius, she stopped to puzzle it out. Eventually, she said, "Farhenheit ... (long pause) ... no ... I mean celsius. I need another cup of coffee." For the record, she did mean celsius, and also for the record, I want to know how it's possible that it will be so hot seeing as it's so cold this morning.

While we're spinning records (as in "for the record"), could somebody please explain to me why I swelter through the first half of the night, even with just a sheet on, and shiver through the second half, even though I have pulled the blanket up. Last night, after sweating through part of my dreams, I eventually got so cold that I went and found my trustworthy hoodie once again. I think it's going to be a long winter.

Finally, for the record or not, could somebody please explain why they can't make good films anymore ... or hardly any? They spend millions (or is it trillions) of dollars per flick and can barely make a good one. This morning just as it happened last week, when I looked at the movie page, I saw only one five star flick listed ... and that was the abominable Inception of which I have spoken before. If that's the best of the lot ... well, I just don't know how to finish that thought.

Finally, with all of your trazillions of dollars, Google, could you devote a few cents to figuring out how to make my cursor not disappear when I am typing and editing these posts? After all, my brain is diminishing and I need all of the help I can get. Trying to figure out where the invisible is located does nothing to help my precarious mental state. Oh, for goodness sakes, the cursor hath re-appeared. Maybe I'm hallucinating, but was it then or now?

A Few Pet Peeves

2010-09-22T09:00:00.001-04:00

Maybe they're not even pet peeves but just a few things that mildly irritate me. Four have to do with how people drive, and three others have to do with bloggers (other bloggers, not you).

First, my Driving Peeves

1. Slow drivers who speed up noticeably as soon as they reach a passing zone on a two lane highway. They then slow back down the second the passing zone reverts back to two lanes.

2. Drivers who approach stop signs going about fifty miles an hour when I am entering the intersection perpendicular to them. I am always affeered that they might not stop.

3. Cars that sit on my bumper when I'm already exceeding the speed limit on a two-lane road. I don't mind so much if they pass when the opportunity arises, but when they don't, I feel like frightening them just a little by touching my brakes. I don't though; a car is no place for games.

4. This is specifically directed to the guy around the corner who decided to back into his driveway while I had to wait for him. I didn't really mind the waiting, but what was the dirty look all about? Would you have preferred that I didn't stop but plowed right into you? You are a very silly twit. Sir.

Three Peeves Aimed At SpecificBloggers

1. There's a certain romance involved in linking up with another blogger and following him or her. When a stranger posts a comment to my blog I reciprocate, or at the very least I go to his or her blog and decide whether I would like to reciprocate. If we repeat the process a few times, I tend to assume that I've got a regular visitor, and I add this person to my list and begin to follow and not wait for his or her initiating comments. So far so good, but it really peeves me when I never hear from that blogger again even after I comment a number of times. I don't really care who follows me, but let's not do the dance if you don't want to go home with me — so to speak.

2. Then there's the blogger who had an old template that didn't really lend itself to following. So, when he finally updated his template, he sent me a note that I could now follow easily. Except he never bothered to follow me. Really, Mr Professor, you're not all that special that I would find your writing so irresistible that I would follow you one-sidedly with endless devotion. Blogging is at least partly about relationships and give and take. Otherwise, I can find better writers than you in the newspaper.

3. And to you Dear Lady: you've blogged for a long time and we became blogging friends. Then you moved and no one that I know of has ever heard from you again. Have the courtesy to at least say goodbye. Someone else just did that — said goodbye — and I'm really cool with that, but I am somewhat miffed that you stepped into the void without a departing word. Common courtesy, my dear.

AC and His Unfortunate Mousecapades

2010-09-21T06:00:00.002-04:00

I am mainly an essay-style writer, and Cuppa is the story teller. In that vein, I think you would be advised to sit back and read her anecdotes of my famous mousecapades which I mentioned in yesterday's post. Do it. Really.

From Oh No! Not again!

We were merrily driving along the highway going about 60mph when all of a sudden the car began to swerve from side to side. I turned to look at AC and was shocked to see him flapping his arms wildly and banging the steering wheel repeatedly. What the heck was going on? I soon saw that a mouse was running to and fro on his person. Read More

From Mouse in the House

We were in bed early one morning, and I was in a deep, deep sleep. All of a sudden AC sat bolt upright in bed, made an ungodly guttural sound and grabbed his chest. He thrashed about and continued to make horrible sounds. Read More

Of Moose and Mice

2010-09-20T06:00:00.002-04:00

Depending on where you live in this huge province, moose hunting season is upon us; different zones begin on different dates. (But let me throw this bit of information out there for warm climate tourists. You will never sight nor hunt moose in Toronto, Montreal or other fine southern Canadian cities. Well, if you do attempt to sight and/or hunt, you will do so in vain. I say this because I hear that it has been attempted by some visitors. It may very well be an urban myth; however, you can't be too careful.)

Not being a hunter, you'd think that the moose season would not be relevant to me, and it isn't except that for me personally, the mouse season is also upon us. It's only a one letter difference after all.

You see, as the weather cools, for some reason local mice begin make a ~~beeline~~ mouseline right into our garage casting longing looks at the basement wall, knowing that there lies a modicum of warmth on the other side.

We've caught four of the blighters in the past week.

I really don't like snapping their little necks and snuffing their little lives like that, but they simply can't be permitted access. It just wouldn't work out. In times past, I've shared both my car and my bed with with mice, and let me tell you that the experience did not work out to our mutual satisfaction.

But I really hate it when the trap doesn't spring properly, like it didn't a few days ago, when one poor little, terrified fella was caught by the cheek.

What to do? He's injured, so you can't set him free. I mean, what do you do?

Fortunately (I guess), I have role models to follow.

For one, I have my father's example, for I vividly remember the cat bringing a trophy in the form of a live mouse into the kitchen one fine day. I was even more shocked by my dad's rapid response of stomping the critter. I never thought of my dad as a quick thinking sort of guy, but he sure was on that day. He stomped with great and fervent alacrity before said mouse could even begin to think of making a ~~beeline~~ mouseline to any sort of nook or cranny. It was a most impressive display by dear old dad.

On another occasion, somewhat later in my life, I saw how Cuppa's dad put a badly trapped mouse out of its misery by holding under the faucet until it drowned.

So, what to do with our poor wee mousie caught by the cheek? Personally, drowning doesn't seem like fun to me, so I opted for the quick, booted stomp.

I hated doing it. I don't like killing. I remember a Clint Eastwood western (I think) where he opines to Morgan Freeman (I think) that it's an awful thing to kill a man because you take away the only thing that he really has — his life (I think). I feel the same way about killing animals and even insects. To wit: I will try to capture a spider who has found its way into our little abode and release it outside. I am also here to inform you that I only take a small amount of satisfaction in swatting the life out of a biting mosquito. So, it was really hard for me to stomp the mouse into oblivion. Really hard: heart poundingly and body-shakingly hard. And if that admission makes me a womanish wimp in the the eyes of blogdom, so be it.

I know that others feel differently about taking animals' lives, but this is the way that I feel. Yes, I eat meat, mostly because I'm too tired and harried these days to figure out how to be a planet and life friendly vegetarian. It would please me if I could or would though.

So that's my little mousecapade. Let's hope that the news of our unfriendly welcome gets around and that any other mice searching for winter warmth take their little bods to one of the many other fine and more hospitable neighborhood establishments.

For a little light relief, I offer you Mouse in the Mug on the Uilleann Pipes. I know I'm reaching, but it's all I've got.

Fiddling in the House

2010-09-18T10:00:00.000-04:00

Cuppa and I went to our first house concert last night. If my count is correct, 24 fine folk attended, not including the two hosts and two musicians. Such concerts occur semi regularly in this neck of the woods, where there are a lot of fine musicians, and I had wanted to attend one to sample the experience, and for twenty bucks apiece last night, we got our chance. The price was right, the entertainment was delightful, and the dessert provided by the host were to die for as they say ... somewhere.

Both the location and genre suited me well as the house was very local and the genre was a combination of fiddling (several styles, including Swing) and voice by a performer whom I had encountered previously — Kelli Trottier. She was accompanied by Halifax guitarist, Greg Simm who kept us all loose and entertained with his wonderful sense of humour.

The above clip was taken in a little burg in Ontario; Kelli is the second from the right. This is my kind of fiddling. She didn't a lot of that style last night, but I thoroughly enjoyed what she did. (There is some camera shake in the first few seconds, but it soon settles down.)

Below is a clip of Kelli singing with her somewhat renown touring company of fiddlers and violinists, Bowfire. The group very recently performed for Sean Connery's 80th birthday party in The Bahamas.

Both Cuppa and I were pleased with our first house concert experience. My horoscope predicts that I will attend more house concerts in the future.

Thursday Takes

2010-09-16T08:30:00.001-04:00

I've been updating garden progress periodically as it evolves ever so slowly. We have completed another little job — lining the inside of the driveway border with stones ↑↑. We've also added two Chrysanthemums (as you can see) and two little Daylilies (which you probably can't see). I was hoping to do some renovation in the centre garden last weekend, but I was down with a cold. Given the time of year, I think I'll just make a few notes now and wait for the spring.

School is in. The neighbours with little children gather at the bus stop across the street; everyone stands around in a loose circle. I think it's cute, so I took this picture from my window. ↓↓

Since we had yesterday off from our babysitting gig, we took a little walk in the park after sitting and munching on fries/chips from the chip truck. Since I met our mayor at the truck and compared our chip-enhanced tummies, I have decided to vote for him in the upcoming election. To the point: the walk goes past the local high school and kids were our playing lacrosse in gym class. ↑↑

Further along, a little motor boat passed up and a lady and her dog walking on the other bank. ↓↓

Finally, I thought these geese ↑↑ were kind of framed nicely through these diverging tree trunks. Too bad they weren't interested in posing nicely and were already on the move. Because they were so anxious to be off, I wasn't able to get their names or to have them sign a consent form to allow me to post this. So, I am presuming.

Wheelbarrow Photos Found

2010-09-15T06:00:00.000-04:00

Perhaps you recall me posting these two wheelbarrow photos last week, the first with Grampa Me with Nikki Dee and the second with Little Me in my grampa's wheelbarrow.

Perhaps you also recall that we thought we had similarly-themed photos of Thesha with her grampa. I had looked through many old boxes of slides in the hopes of finding it — to no avail. However, I picked up one more box the other day. Lo and behold.

These were taken in 1973 at grampa's cottage when Thesha was less than a year old, probably seven or eight months. While I had forgotten about both photos, even Cuppa had not remembered the one with her included ... and Mac the pooch, of course.

Belated Cottage Pics

2010-09-14T06:00:00.004-04:00

Even though it's not Christmas, like Cratchit I am a little behind my times with this post. We have been back from the cottage for almost three weeks, but it took me awhile to get around to posting these pictures because I first had to finish working with photos from our Down East trip,. Let's face it; it just had to be done. This batch I like from a photographic point of view.

I walked into the woods, not very far in, to see what I could see. Soon, I heard chickadees cheeping and headed toward the sound. They were brave enough to stay within camera distance for awhile.

While I was standing still and taking chickadee pictures, a chipmunk stopped in front of me for quite a long time, trying to take the measure of such a weird, clumsy creature.

On another occasion, I passed this Monarch butterfly in the trees. Apparently, they have been somewhat scarce in the past few years, so I was glad to see this one and others later on.

Evenings found us down at the planer mill. We'd light candles inside and start a campfire outside. As you can see, it gets quite dark in the country.

There is a garage/shed on the property. I have taken pictures of the front, but this time I focussed on this simple picture of the window in the back wall.

There is also a picturesque red bar on the property. Again, I focussed on a small area including a window.

Every year I seem to take a picture of the planer mill. It really was a working mill up until about fifteen years ago. Now that it has been screened in, we can be indoors away from the bugs but still feel like we are outdoors.

We call this cleared area Bench Sward because years ago, my nephew and his friends built a Friendship Bench there (to the left of the willow tree in the photo). Although it's hard to see from this angle, we can get down to the river for a swim at one spot. It's a bit of a steep access, but we can manage. It's always cold in the Crowe River, however.

Through the screen, I spied with my little eye Auntie Lychee walking with Zach. I quickly took two pictures: one with the people in focus and one with the screen in focus. They're both okay, but I prefer this one with the screen in focus.

That's about it. Whatever will I think to blog about next?

On Being Crabby

2010-09-12T20:00:00.000-04:00

I am not usually like this — being a crabby old fart. Generally speaking I roll through life fairly happily, shrugging off its less than thrilling trials as best I can. However, I frankly admit that a number of things are crabbing me out just now.

We've just begun September, and it's still technically summer, but I am brought low by a cold. It's too early for this sort of nonsense. And that is turning me into Mr Cranky Pants.
Also: as colds go, it's a bad one. Although colds, by definition, always make one sick, this one is giving me a real pummeling. When watching TV, I have to go a rest for about fifteen minutes every hour or so. Having to rest from watching TV is pretty pathetic, don't you think? Would this not make you a little bit cranky too?
Furthermore: it really peeves me that I can't easily do the natural thing to fight a cold: i.e. I can't just go to sleep. That's what normal people do to help them recover. Me? I sleep even less than my usually pathetic amount and that really makes me crabby.
With that in mind, I am am reduced to dragging myself about the house while the garden stands neglected on what should be perfect weather for those chores that I really want to get to while the getting is good because this fine weather won't last too much longer. Sigh and crab.
Saturday, despite having very little energy, I decided that I could handle coffee out followed by a few quick tours of Doors Open Day in a nearby town. I trudged wearily to the first stop, only to find that their doors would open an hour later than everybody else's doors. Why they couldn't have noted the time adjustment on the official brochure rather than post a sign after a wearying trudge is beyond me. Grrr and crab.
We drove to the next point of interest, a former woolen mill that is now, at least partly, a textile museum. The sign out front informed us that we were free to enjoy touring the exterior of the building. Huh? Well thanks, but couldn't I do that any ole time? I mean, do you usually wrap the building in a shroud, so that people can't see the exterior? If we had wanted to go inside, we would have had to pay the usual admittance fee. I'm really crabby about such duplicity. If you don't want to freely open your doors, then don't advertise your site as one of the open doors.
Since the morning had gone so badly, I thought it would be nice to drive to the chip truck around the corner for a little treat. It was gone, probably to a special event, or perhaps it is already closing down as cooler weather approaches. Either way I was crabby. I could have gone to another chip truck as there are a number of them in this town, but I was too tired and crabby to go on a merry chase.
Due to this dadblasted cold, I will not be attending the jam tonight. I have hardly been there for a year; everytime that I have targetted a return date, something has happened — be it ear infection, hearing aid problems or whatnot. Yes, this too is upping my crabbiness index.
I'm also crabby about how tennis, specifically right now the US Open, is broadcast on TV. We like to watch Wimbledon at the beginning of summer and the US Open at the end, with the Canadian Open in between. But why do announcers insist on mumbling year after year? We are forced to turn the sound way up to try to discern their mumbles, and then the commercials fairly blast us through the walls. It's very crab-making.
And for goodness sakes, in this high tech era, can they not figure out a way to decrease the amount crowd noise that the mics pick up and transmit to us while they're commenting after an exciting rally? I can seldom make out what they're saying over the background noise. While I understand that my hearing isn't the best, I must report that when I turn to Rabbit-Ears Cuppa for an interpretation, she is generally shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders in perplexity. CBS pours millions of dollars into covering the event and televising it for us. They pay their announcers a small fortune but fail to gauge their sound in such a way as to allow us to hear the commentators. That's stupid, and stupidity makes me crabby.
While I'm at it, I want to ask what purpose those pre-match interviews serve. The players clearly don't want to be there and only serve up innocuous statements. Frankly, I cringe when these interviews are shown. I told you that I was crabby.
Finally, it really frosts me that we can't watch tennis on the American channel (CBS) but get a feed-over from the Canadian channel that buys the rights to the feed. Even when I choose CBS, I get TSN. On Saturday evening after Clisters won her match, there was still twenty minutes to spare in the time slot. I would have loved to have seen a wrap-up of the day: the thoughts and analyses of various commentators. But no: our Canadian relay (TSN) immediately switched over to regular programming, and I found myself suddenly watching a ridiculous car show about an new economy Mazda vehicle. We have this problem year after year. One year, we missed the end of the tennis finals because it went longer than the time allotted, and we were switched over to some telethon or other. It really makes me crabby to endure this year after year.
On top of all that, I have had to come back to this post about three times to add points that I forgot about whilst typing. It really makes me crabby to do that.

I'm sure I could go on if I really put my mind to it, but this cold is sapping my energy, and I must go rest again. Which makes me crabby.

More On Giving and Happiness

2010-09-11T06:00:00.001-04:00

Since I just mentioned it as a key to personal happiness, it was serendipitous to come across this newspaper article about giving in the Ottawa Citizen. Apparently both Canadians and Americans do quite well. I've pasted a few excerpts below, but you can read the whole article at The Ottawa Citizen's website.

Canada ranks third in a global "generosity" survey, in which the key overall finding is that being happy is a greater impulse for people to give their time and money to charity than being rich.

Canadians are on par with the Irish for giving, and surpassed only by the Australians and New Zealanders, according to the survey — the largest ever to study global charitable behaviour.

... it is important to recognize both giving of time as well as money since a simple measure of financial donations would, on the whole, make the wealthiest nations appear most charitable ...

On a regional basis, North Americans — defined by the study as Canadians and Americans collectively — are the most willing in the world to help strangers.

Of Grampas, Wheelbarrows and Faulty Memories

2010-09-10T06:00:00.003-04:00

While at the cottage just the other week, I chanced to put Nikki Dee in the wheelbarrow and Cuppa chanced to be there with the camera. ↓↓ This photo brought back memories, at least some of which have turned out to be faulty.

Cuppa remembers a photo of her dad pushing Thesha in a wheelbarrow. She might be right, but our box of old slides is so stupidly disorganized that I haven't yet been able to uncover such a gem. I will continue to look and will post if I come across it.

However, be it real or not, her recollection caused me to remember an old photo of my grampa pushing me in a wheelbarrow — or so I thought. But I've been through all of the albums, and I regret to inform the world that (GASP!) my memory is faulty. There is no photo of him pushing me in a wheelbarrow. However, I did find one ↓↓ of me in his wheelbarrow about sixty years ago. I wish he were in it, but alas ...

I so wish I could sit down and have a long talk with my grampas now. There's so much I would like to know: about their childhood, their families, their crossings to Canada, their stories about work, etc. One reason that I blog now is to leave a bit of record behind should my own scions ever wish to know more about the nuts in their family tree: nuts with faulty memories as it turns out.

Odd Milestone

2010-09-09T06:00:00.000-04:00

In an effort to win the Inane Trivia Award, I am now abusing my keyboard to inform you of the significant milestone that I have reached. To wit: I have been drinking coffee for a whole decade now.

I don't mean that I have been drinking it nonstop for ten years, barely coming up for breath, although that would really be worth posting. Rather it has been a decade since I decided that I was old enough to consume such an adult beverage.

We had been out west, and I sometimes felt a bit out of it when people in my company were socially sipping their java whilst I twiddled my thumbs. So in September of 2000, I decided to overcome my distaste of the brew and do what decent folk everywhere were doing. Up until then, I had only bothered to taste it a few times, and one sip had been sufficient. I didn't even like the smell of it. Nevertheless, I purposed to grow up.

I began by adding lots of cream and sugar: triple-triples in Tim Hortons parlance. Then it became double-doubles before I settled in at double cream. And that's the way I continue to have it although I suppose that I slide toward triple cream some of the time.

Most days, I have one mug in the morning, occasionally one and a half but seldom two, and that's usually it for the day. Only infrequently I will drop into Tims for an additional jolt.

Come to think of it, I haven't been indulging in that other adult beverage — beer — for so very much longer. What can I say? I guess some of us take longer to grow up.

Aren't you happy that you stopped by for such earth-shaking report? Carry on.

Steps to Happiness

2010-09-08T06:00:00.004-04:00

From another blog, I was directed to this video of a TED presentation by Nic Marks about what it takes or will take to create a happy planet. For much of this almost 17 minute video, the material deals with a global view based on statistics etc, but around the 13 minute mark, he begins to highlight five specific actions that we can engage in daily on a personal level. What follows below is what I understood the speaker to say, not necessarily his actual words.

Take time to CONNECT with others. Relationships are the cornerstone of your life.
The fastest and surest way to overcome a bad mood etc is to BE ACTIVE: go for a walk; put on some music and dance etc.
TAKE NOTICE of life. Be aware of the changing seasons, of what people are saying, of your own inner thoughts and feelings.
It has been found that older people who KEEP LEARNING are generally healthier than those who don't. One doesn't have to take formal courses, but it is beneficial to remain curious.
There seems to be a part of our brains that is hardwired to feel good when we GIVE of ourselves.

Of Smoke and Fire

2010-09-07T06:00:00.000-04:00

Late on Saturday night, I was totally engrossed in The Girl Who Played With Fire (the book, I mean, not an actual female pyromaniac) when I thought I heard a beep. It came to me that I might have actually heard a few beeps deep in the background in the past few minutes, and I had been too absorbed to consciously notice. Naw: couldn't be. I went back to my reading but with a little more awareness. Sure enough, in a moment or two: beep.

I knew what it was — the smoke detector. It went wonky one night about six months ago when we had visitors staying over, so I knew. Why these things must happen at night and particularly when one has visitors, I know not. I mean to say, in five years in this place, that had been a first. Now, we were having a second incident. At least it was just the two of us this time.

However, from that experience I now knew what to do: blow some compressed air into the mechanism, and it would magically cease to beep. Not. For once I sat down smugly and comfortably to resume my reading, I head it: beep.

Okay AC, remove the cover and disconnect the infernal thing. Unfortunately the plug didn't want to budge, so, I had to content myself with blowing more air. Surely it would work this time because with the cover part hanging down, I could access it much more thoroughly.

Wrong again. Minutes later, it beeped its beeping beep once again.

This time, the sleeping Cuppa was also roused sufficiently enough to inquire what the heck was going on. She also decided to try to disconnect the thing and it came apart easy peasy, which confirms my mechanical ineptitude for the about the gazillionth time.

She: back to bed.

Me: back to reading.

The detector in the ceiling: back to beeping.

But the cover was now off, so how in the world could a disconnected smoke detector keep detecting and beeping, I wondered. Maybe there's a backup battery inside it, said she.

After another beep or two, I wondered whether it might not be the upstairs smoke detector at all. Maybe it was the one the one directly below the stairs on the first floor. I went down and listened, but the beeping didn't seem to be coming from there. Cuppa had stayed upstairs directly below the part still in the ceiling, and she declared that it wasn't the wall part that was beeping but the disconnected part that was now lying on a table. Curiouser and curiouser.

Regardless, she of the better ears decided it would be prudent to go downstairs to listen for herself while I stayed up, but she could only confirm that it wasn't the downstairs smoke detector. I confess to being quite baffled: wondering how in tarnation a taken-apart smoke detector could possibly be working be it the ceiling part or the disconnected part.

Idea: maybe it was neither smoke detector but the carbon monoxide detector in the bedroom. So, I went in to have myself a listen. Well, if a watched pot doesn't boil neither does a watched detector detect. Eventually, as she tired of waiting for the next beep, Cuppa also joined me to contemplate the carbon monoxide monitor. After more frustrated waiting, she picked the thing up, carried it to the light where she was able eventually discern a tiny, dimly lit message: Change the Battery.

So, I hadn't known after all what had been causing the dad-blasted beeping; I had merely assumed that what had occurred once before in the middle of the night was occurring once again. But the mystery had been solved after much drowsy-headed puzzlement; Cuppa headed back to sweet repose and I back to my reading. I am pleased to report that I finished the novel around midnight. Once again, I recommend Steig Larsson to you.

Upon reflection, it's indeed an ill wind that blows no good. In this case, dear reader is able to come to Raindrops without having to look at any sort of photo whatsoever. Should that not be cause for rejoicing throughout blogland? And don't you find it a tiny bit ironic that all this detector foofaraw occurred while I was reading a book entitled, The Girl Who Played With Fire? Thankfully, on this Saturday night at least, where there was fire there was not smoke.

Belated Birthday Pics

2010-09-06T10:21:00.006-04:00

As it happened, my 63rd birthday unfolded in three stages beginning with some cake, ice cream and gifts (remember the obsolete iPod?) with the A Team after we got home from the cottage and before they flew back to Vancouver. After a hectic week at the cottage followed a long drive home to a house in the mess of a major renovation, we neglected to take pictures. That shows how tired Cuppa was because she hardly ever forgets to record these events.

My actual birthday was a usual day of childcare, but the event was still remembered — with pictures this time. The morning began with candles — on my birthday buns as it were.

The lighting and blowing of the candles was repeated five times accompanied by five very slow rounds of Happy Birthday. Nikki Dee loves to lead the singing and to be the main candle-blower-outer.

She is also happy to be the main gift-opener and doesn't mind at all that the gifts are for someone else.

Last year, I took her and Cuppa to McDonalds for my birthday. This year Zach was sleeping, so we continued to make it a tradition without Cuppa who stayed with him while Nikki Dee and I went out. Maybe someday, Nikki Dee will take me out, or maybe this won't really become a tradition; time will tell. I took more than a half dozen pictures of her, but this is the only time I managed to get her to look at the camera: little impy-doodle that she is.

It was back home for cake, which she helped Amma to decorate ...

... along with much finger-sticking and licking just to make sure it was acceptable.

Yum. It passed the test.

Come Saturday, Thesha took us out to breakfast while Theboy stayed home to continue with the renovations.

And that's about it for another year.

In Review

2010-09-03T09:00:00.000-04:00

We haven't been so very lucky with movies lately, but we seem to be doing better with books.

Inception

Just last week, we headed to the theater to see the at-least-somewhat acclaimed Inception. I had read some great comments about this flick, but with all apologies and due respect to Lorna who is at least ten times smarter than me, to put it mildly I didn't care for it. To me and my tiny, it was nothing but endless rounds of chases and shootouts camouflaged in an esoteric scifi sort of plot. Did I mention that I hate chases and shootouts?

Verdict = Epic Fail

A Single Man

Then we watched A Single Man on video (yes, I know they're DVDs now, but please give me a break because I still also call any sort of video recording a tape, even though tape died a slow and agonizing death a longtime ago). Single Man starring Colin Firth, whom I like very much, centers around a gay professor in the early sixties before gay meant what it does now and before consciousnesses were raised (except for the rabid evangelical who stopped following me when I posted a slideshow of my gay daughter's wedding. The nerve of a father not to stone his gay offspring. ) In Single Man, George Falconer played by Firth, an English professor tragically lost his partner and contemplated ending his own life.

Without the plot overdoing social commentary, I was able to empathize with the frustration of being gay in the closetted sixties, at least in the early part of the decade. With its subdued, somewhat reticent script, it seems to be the type of film that critics would love. Indeed, Firth garnered a spot in the race for best actor.

Although I don't dislike all slow-paced films, this one was a little too halting for my taste. Nevertheless, I didn't hate it. I think it's worth watching.

Verdict = A Somewhat Grudging Pass

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Here's where I can begin to raise both my thumbs. First, Thesha read the book and recommended it to Cuppa who in turn read it couldn't stop raving about it. I confess that this mystery set in Sweden in 2002 by the now deceased Steig Larsson also grabbed this old curmudgeon and forced him to read in a way that he seldom does anymore. What fun to delve so happily into a book again.

The plot centers around a financial reporter and a young female computer whiz and hacker. They are brought together in a most interesting way to solve an odd and longtime unsolved case. This is not your run-of-the-mill detective novel (although I am quite happy with lots of those), and I think it would appeal to all sorts of readers.

My only nitpickerish complaints might be that (i) it does begin a bit slowly, and (ii) does tend to get a little Ludlumesesque or even worse Grishamesque towards the end. But don't let that stop you because I was quite eager to pick up the second in the trilogy and Cuppa was just as eager to move on to book three. Please don't let the trilogy aspect throw you off because each volume stands on its own. If there had never been a second Girl With novel, I would have been quite chuffed just have read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Verdict = Six Thumbs Up
(two each from AC, Cuppa and Thesha)

Morning Tidbits

2010-09-02T10:00:00.001-04:00

Speaking of tidbits, they are titbits in Britain, but I suppose we're too puritanical to say tit over here. Oddly enough, however, according to dictionary.com tid is the original source word: "c.1640, probably from dialectal tid 'fond, solicitous, tender' + bit 'morsel.' "

I have this morning received birthday wishes on Facebook from as far away as Finland and Georgia. Isn't that cool?

I enjoyed a hearty laugh at my computer this morning. After writing my birthday post (last night), I checked my email (this morning). I clicked on a message from Best Buy, which informed me that there is a new generation of iPods out there. So, my birthday iPod is already obsolete — on my birthday no less. That is too funny. (Note: I just proofread the above; I had typed Beast Buy instead of Best Buy. What do you think of that?)

How nice to know that even the prestigious NY Times is prone to making careless errors. I also received an email from them yesterday. Please note the discrepancy between the title and subject of the following text. To wit: Wimbledon is over and the US Open is on.

Wimbledon 2010
Follow Straight Sets, the Tennis Blog of The New York Times, for updates, insights, links and analysis on the U.S. Open. Stay up-to-the minute with live tweeting from the tournament by Times reporters and editors. Don't miss Open House, featuring Gerry Marzorati and Michael Kimmelman who are covering all of the nooks and crannies of the Open. For complete coverage of the U.S. Open visit nytimes.com/tennis.

Speaking of tennis, I read this morning that Andy Roddick lost it a bit last night. Not only did he lose the match but lost his cool when he was called for a foot fault. Apparently he did foot fault, but when he asked the linesperson which foot, she picked the wrong one. Supposedly, it was the fact that she got the foot wrong and not the call itself that sent him into a tizzy. I do feel for Roddick, however; he is/was a fine player who would have won more tournaments and received more recognition had he not had the misfortune to play in the Roger Federer era.

Finally, last week KGMom posted a link on Facebook to a long article in the New Yorker mainly about the Koch brothers who have apparently funded the Tea Party so-called grass roots movements. I read the ten page essay, if not terribly closely, for interest sake. My take was and is that I find it terribly ironical that scores of Americans are being led by big business to protest big government. The NY Times reports, somewhat succinctly, on the original story.

Birthday Twinges

2010-09-02T06:00:00.000-04:00

My goodness, today I begin my 64th year on this planet. That means that it's my 63rd birthday for those of you who get confused by such things. All I asked for was a new iPod, and I already received it when we were all together last week. It's a spiffy little red one, the colour that supports Bono's effort to fight AIDS in Africa. I'm glad the family thought to add that nice touch, but there is another part of me that feels a bit funny about having this iPod even though it's what I asked for.

You see, I was the first in the family to purchase an iPod almost five years ago. I dithered a lot before I made the leap, but it has proved useful over the years in ways that I don't need to detail here and now. I say that I dithered before purchasing it because it's a frivolous item — really frivolous. After much angst, I capitulated and bought the thing but still felt some subsequent pangs of guilt.

Five years later, that pod being on its last legs (if you can picture that), I asked and received for a new one for my birthday this year. It's not an iTouch, iPhone or iPad but just a little Nano for goodness sakes, but I still feel the odd twinge of guilt because I could surely live without an iPod of any sort, and my old one still more or less functions.

To some extent we all now begin to think it's necessary to have computers, cell phones and myriad other goodies. We can't seem to live without them. Most of us have both cell phone and multiple land phones, and both varieties must have such features as call answer, call forwarding, caller id and whatnot. We have satellite dishes for our multiple televisions which must carry hundreds of channels lest we feel deprived. There was a time when all the telephone did was ring and all the television channels we received were twelve ... if we were lucky.

Times have changed. I like my toys and comforts as much as the next guy or gal, maybe even more than most, and I own my share. But I still sometimes feel a little guilty over possessing unnecessary luxury items such as this. As I said, I like to have them, but I think also experiencing the odd guilt twinge about having so much in this inequitable world isn't such a bad thing.

Portraits of my Smiter

2010-09-01T06:00:00.001-04:00

This may come as news to you, but I must confess to being totally smitten with Nikki Dee. I love to take her picture, but it's not always easy because unlike her brother she has never been very prone to play up to the camera. Oh, I get some fine shots from time to time, but when I do, I feel that I must share them for all of the world to see. So, when I was able to grab these pictures at the cottage last week, they begged to be blogged. And who am I to disregard a begging photo?

The first is my fave, I think, but I love them all. Sometimes, not posing and not smiling for the camera is a good thing.

Sweet dreams, kid.

There was no AC for AC

2010-08-31T06:00:00.003-04:00

I'm sure there must have been exceptions, but I can't recall any. You see, in my mind there has always been a heat wave around this time of year. As our temperatures hover around 31°C/90°F, I'm feeling like a chicken on a rotisserie and remembering all of those early back-to-school days when I was teaching. The heat wave seemed to happen every single darn year, just when one wants to be as fresh as a daisy to make good initial impressions on those darlings who sat before me eager to soak up my pearls of wisdom. Instead, they had to make do with beholding my sweaty armpits.

The luck of the draw always had me in a hot classroom with poor ventilation and oodles of heat retention. I had four main rooms that were mine over the course of thirty years, and they were all hot ones. Parts of my schools were even reconstructed from time to time, which meant that AC was added — but not for this AC. Nope: I was never fortunate enough to occupy one of those AC'ed rooms — even long after I had paid my dues and had earned it.

Never ever would it occur to me to complain to you dear folk. I'm just reminiscing.

That's all.

Into the Mists of Oblivion?

2010-08-30T06:00:00.002-04:00

I confess; I am a hummer. I hum to myself all of the time, and I much of the time I'm not even aware. Although I am not humming right now while my mind is occupied with a task, I am prone to hum much of my life away. I hum when I walk, when I cook, when I shop: in otherwords a lot. I often don't know what I am doing until I catch myself at it, and I am frequently peeved to realize that I've been humming without realizing it.

The other day at the cottage, we were playing toss and balance the stick, and my nephew asked me if it helped for me to hum while trying to catch and balance. I wasn't aware that I was doing it at and can't fathom why I would be if I were in my right mind. I confess that this tendency worries me to some degree as I understand that humming is a characteristic of some Alzheimer sufferers.

Usually, there's an earworm connected to this strange behaviour of mine. Thank goodness my earworms rotate frequently. Some earworms I recognize: others not so much. Lately I've been humming a song that I've been wondering if I have made up. Apparently it is the Highland (or Skye) Boat Song (see below) because when I heard it the other day, I went "Aha! That's it!" But the only place that I can think that I might have possibly heard it is on a CD that I purchased sometime back and have hardly ever played and even then only in the background some time ago. So why it stuck with me, I know not. Of course, I know that I've heard it somewhere else as well in my life, but the point is that it's not exactly in my repertoire, so I can't fathom why it's been stuck in my head.

I worry myself sometime, but if I'm slipping into the oblivious mists, I guess I'll go on my way singing happily in my tiny little head.

Of Campfires and Sparklers

2010-08-27T07:05:00.000-04:00

I can't build a campfire to save my life, but other members of the family have the knack. And so, we had campfires at the cottage: campfires with hot dogs, marshmallows, and ... er ... refreshments. One night I took my camera down and tried to shoot in the natural light — or natural darkness rather. With no artificial light and only the glow of the fire, I didn't have too much success. However, I did manage to salvage these two pictures of Nikki Dee with sparklers. She loved sitting around the fire with the old folk and singing songs. She would lead us in Twinkle Twinkle and even carry on with her spontaneous songs of whatever came into her wonderful little head.

I wonder where the wonder went?

2010-08-26T13:40:00.003-04:00

We're home after a very busy and unrelaxing time at the cottage. Very shortly after we arrived home yesterday, I glanced out the door and beheld ...

... a fantastic rainbow. I could see the whole arch (or almost). It took me awhile to spot the higher and less bright double rainbow (sorry for the poor shot). Having only seen such a sight once in my entire life, ten years ago on our trip out west, I was enthralled.

I drove to the grocery store and was delighted that the rainbows remained. However, I was surprised and even disappointed that so many people were taking it so casually as I strolled through the parking lot hardly able to divert my eyes from this gift in the heavens.

I can't help but wonder where the sense of wonder went?

Hello and Goodbye

2010-08-20T06:00:00.001-04:00

I think I have more or less covered our Down East trip just in time for our next vacation. The A Team is flying in from Vancouver today, and we'll head off to the cottage tomorrow. There is almost no internet or at least v.e.r.y.s.l.o.w internet there, so I'll be withdrawing for a week or so.

I have been posting a lot of our trip photos to Flickr lately. Initially, I was just going to post my best shots, but then I changed my mind and opted for a more comprehensive posting. I'm going to insert them as a slideshow below. This is a plain flipping-of-the-pictures show with no clever zooming or music.

I have 67 pics in here, more or less in sequential order, and I think I will eventually add a few more. Truthfully, I don't expect anybody but me and Cuppa to watch it. Some blogs we simply post for ourselves, generally reminders that we can re-visit from time to time. If you do decide to have a look, please consider viewing the large format presentation as opposed to the insert below. In either case, you can hurry the show along a little bit by continuing to press play or next.

Have a good week. Talk to you soon.

Loyalist, Traitor or What?

2010-08-17T06:00:00.002-04:00

Sharing the continent with the American goliath means that we receive much information from their perspective. I mean to say that when you have 300 million rich and powerful neighbours, you tend to take note, and one thing that I've noted is that Benedict Arnold was a traitor. Equating treachery with Benny Boy is as common up here as it is down there.

So, when I came to a chainsaw carving (background story a few posts down — this post would have been sequential if ... well ... it's a long story) of Mr Arnold in Saint John, I was somewhat taken aback by the title in the accompanying description: "Rebel and Loyalist." How's that? Shouldn't it read "Patriot Turned Traitor?" Well, it should if you are American but apparently not if you are British, or even Canadian I guess. From the British standpoint, he was a rebel who returned to the faith, so to speak.

According to the signage (and this information is all on the picture of the plaque below if you don't believe me and wish to embiggen in order to read the original), Benedict Arnold had won some major victories for the US army but married a British Loyalist when he was recuperating from battle wounds. Apparently, she influenced Arnold to engage in a wee bit o' espionage, which, as you might imagine, kind of led to him falling out of favour with the Yankee Doodle Dandies. Subsequently, I imagine he piqued their ire even more by leading British troops to victory against his former allies in several battles. Be that as it may, when the Brits lost the war he headed swiftly and forthwith to the safe shores of England.

The connection to our holidays is that from England the Loyal or Traitorous or both Mr Arnold ended up living in Saint John for six years beginning in 1783. He opened a store and traded with the West Indies and became a prominent if distrusted and envied citizen. Why he might be distrusted, I can't begin to think. He returned to England after his warehouse burned down.

So there's an interesting new point of view for me and some facts which I was entirely unaware of ... if you'll excuse the terminal preposition, which I am completely in favour ... of.

The Blame Game

2010-08-16T06:00:00.000-04:00

Minny is to blame; don't you see? Because she had gorgeous hydrangeas in every corner of her beautiful Yarmouth garden. ↓↓

Cuppa really really really liked them, so they stayed in my mind. So, Cuppa's to blame.

So, when I passed some nice looking inexpensive specimens at W*M, I brought one home ↓↓ ... after paying for it ... naturally. I guess, therefore, that W*M is to blame.

The best planting spot that we could come up with was already occupied by a hosta, so I guess the former owner could be blamed for me having to move it. And for me having to enlarge the tiny garden by moving rocks which he or she put there so the hydrangea would fit. Said former owner could further be blamed for planting the tree that put down a big root right where I wanted to put the hydrangea. S/he had planted to destined-to-be-huge maples in a tiny backyard = more blame.

I know the root doesn't look like much ↑↑, but when one has to hack with a small hatchet with arthritic hands and dirt falling back into the hole ... well who's to blame for that? I could blame my hands on my mother, but she could blame them on her father, and I suppose that blame game could go a long way back. Perhaps, I should just blame Adam, the operative syllable being dam in this case.

And who is to blame for the fact that I couldn't sleep past 4:30 AM and didn't feel like gardening at all but knew it had to be done. Do I blame myself, my disinterested doctor, or the universe? Let's just blame the universe, shall we?

Meanwhile ... where do I go to lay blame about the maple tree that won't quit? ↓↓ We had it cut down almost two years ago, and it insists on sending up new branches. Sigh, come autumn, I'll cut the branches one more time once the leaves fall.

And I'd like heap some blame on the silly daylilies in passing. I took out all eight plants earlier this year because I don't like the generic orange daylilies. Now, there are more than a dozen sprouting up. Go figure. Anybody want some stupid orange daylilies? They'll grow. Promise. But don't blame me if they don't.

Reprising Nikki Dee

2010-08-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

There are, no doubt, a few quiet adherents to this blog who might like to see a few pics of the kids as a change of pace. I can't oblige totally because I have been deliberately leaving my camera at home when I go over. I have been doing this because there have been so many vacation pieces to wade through that I don't want to add to the stack too much. However, I did bring Nikki Dee over to our place for a short while and snapped a few. We had been shopping, and I needed to put some items in the fridge before heading back to her place. As it turned out, she was quite chuffed to be here for awhile, and that afforded me a photo op.

Sitting in the chair where we read and reading one of our books

She seems quite engrossed

Fooled you. I'm closing the book ...

And moving on the more mischief, Buppa.

Yet Another Yarmouthian Experience

2010-08-15T06:00:00.001-04:00

What do you suppose this guy was doing with that little boat and net out near Cape Forchu?

As this blurry picture shows or attempts to show, he was gathering seaweed.

It was explained to me that there is a chemical that can be extracted from this seaweed. I can't remember what it is or what it's used for, but I think it's interesting how folk will find a way to eke a living out of meagre resources.

Note: the Firefox spellchecker, which does not support non-American English as far as I know, causes me to question myself sometimes. Yes dictionary, spelling meagre with and re and not an er ending is perfectly acceptable. Sheesh!

The Explorer, the Saint and the Falls

2010-08-14T08:30:00.001-04:00

Today, I am going back to the early days of our hols, back to Saint John, NB, because I want to play teacher. Saint John is an example of history and geography coming together. I have mentioned the Reversing Falls previously, and I'll get back to them later in this blog, but let's talk about the title.

On our second visit to the Falls, we noticed a park of statues on a nearby hilltop. So we sauntered up and found a ring of chainsaw carvings representing historical figures relevant to Saint John. This photo shows a bit of the ring to give you the idea.

And so, we come to the explorer extraordinaire, Samuel de Champlain.

On his second voyage (I think) across the sea in 1604, he sailed to into the Bay of Fundy and into what is now called Saint John. It was June 24, which happened to be Saint's Day for John the Baptist: hence, the name. His journal records his description of the point of the next two photos of the Reversing Falls: "After rounding a point it narrows again and forms a waterfall between two lofty cliffs where the water runs with such great swiftness that if a piece of wood be thrown in, it sinks and is never seen again."

That's the connection between the explorer, the saint, and the falls, but here's what I can show you and try to describe.

Frankly, it's nothing much to look at: a deep gorge with water at the bottom, but how the water works is interesting. The above photo was actually our second trip of the day, about six hours after the first, at low tide. The water is flowing as water normally does: downstream and out to the sea. I've labelled the photo, but you might have to embiggen by clicking on it it to see it properly. I've also labelled a rock as a reference point.

Below: it is high tide, six hours earlier. The rock is almost covered, and water is actually flowing upstream, counter to the normal way of things.

This where Sammy and his crew stopped their exploration and turned around on the saint's day, and why the city is now called Saint John. Just so you know, it is not Saint John's, and you're also expected to write out Saint and not abbreviate it if I understand the protocol correctly.

The Carleton Martello Tower

2010-08-13T06:00:00.001-04:00

I keep saying, "I'm done," but then I find that there's more: something like John Donne, I guess (if that doesn't register, just move on — it's not important).

On the morning that we were to catch the ferry from Saint John to Digby, we had a bit of time to spare, and since the Carleton Martello Tower was pretty well on the way, we stopped to take a few piccies. We didn't have enough time to pay and go inside, but it was a nice day and a pretty good photo op.

Here is some information from the website.

Carleton Martello Tower dates from the War of 1812 and played a pivotal role in conflicts up until the Second World War. The site features a restored powder magazine, a restored barracks room, and exhibits in the tower and in the Visitor Centre.

Carleton Martello Tower is just one of over 200 defence towers that the British built worldwide. Between 1810 and 1847, eleven Martello towers were constructed in British North America. In an age of smoothbore artillery, these towers were seen as an effective and affordable way to protect coastal areas from enemy attack.

But what makes a tower a Martello tower? Martello towers, whether in Canada, England, or Mauritius, all had certain features in common. For instance, these structures were circular in shape with a flat roof on which artillery could be mounted. The towers were accessible through a doorway in the second storey, or barrack floor. The ground floor had storage space and a gunpowder magazine. The key feature was a round, brick pillar that supported both the roof and the arched brick ceiling which, along with the thick walls, was designed to absorb artillery fire. Based on these elements, it is easy to see why Martello towers gained a reputation for strength.

An Anecdote

2010-08-12T06:00:00.003-04:00

I have to admit it. I love my own sense of humour. I suppose that's true of everybody up to a point. I mean it stands to reason that what we think is funny we think is funny. Yesterday, I gave myself a good chuckle as a result of a line that I came up with out of the surprising blue.

Previously, I have describe Zach's propensity to appear behind me when I least expect it. Actually, I am growing to expect his appearances more often, be they behind, sideways or any other way, but he still surprises me by times. To wit: I was helping sister wash her hands in the handwashingroom, when he suddenly manifested himself, right by my elbow, quite eager to wash his hands too. In a certain amount of exasperation I opined (I want to say ejaculated, but we can't use that word in any other way but one anymore): "Zachary, you're like the Holy Ghost. You're everywhere."

I know it doesn't sound like a rib-splitter when I describe it like that, but it did have the quality of surprise and was a bit of a tension breaker in what had become a vexing morning. Cuppa also caught the humour and joined me in my giggles — which I appreciated very much because I often giggle alone while folk look on his befuddled amusement , lifting their knowing eyebrows and endeavouring to nod surreptitiously but sagely to one another.

Upon reflection, other analogies would also fit. A stealth aircraft that evades radar detection comes to mind. Or what about a Klingon Bird of Prey that can suddenly decloak and blast you a good one.

Getting back to the religious motif, however, I am reminded of the Lord's words: "Lo, I am with you always." For Zach, it's more like: "Beware, for LOW I am with you always."

Not Quite Done

2010-08-11T08:36:00.002-04:00

I was about to post that this is indeed the final trip post, but since I just put another in the queue, I have had to come back and change the title and this intro. I know I promised that the last one was the last one, but having come this far, I figure I might as well get myself home ... or at least on the journey.

From Yarmouth we had driven to Lunenburg and then onto Halifax on the same day. The plan was to stay in Halifax for two nights: see the sights on day one and start home on day two. Before, I awoke on day one, however, I had the epiphany that it wouldn't take too very long too see the harbour or at least get a taste of it, and that I wasn't really up to a full day of traipsing and sightseeing. So, we could be on the road by early afternoon and actually get home on Saturday rather than Sunday. It seemed too appealing, so we cancelled our room, headed to the pier, and then began our homeward journey by about 1 PM.

It was difficult to leave this friendly dolphin behind. I'm sure it was a she who found me most attractive, even though that might sound fishy to you.

As we walked the pier, we saw Timothy Too the Tugboat pass by. We had purchased a TTT book for the kids back in Yarmouth, and I had no idea that it was a real tugboat.

There was a TTT store where we could even purchase a ride. There were many boat rides available and many hopeful implorers imploring us to ride their craft, but we shunned them all.

I did appreciate seeing this real container ship go by, however.

Just before leaving, I and my hips and my upset tummy sat and had a think of the 1500km/950mi trip that lay before us in the next two days. I forced a smile but wondered how I was going to make it.

Earlier we had wandered into this little mall off the pier. This is where I and my travelling quarters purchased that pricey new mug that I showed you a week or so ago.

Cuppa had a chat with our former Prime Minister whom everybody had thought to be deceased, but in point of fact he is as alive as Elvis.

She also was able to make a little purchase that day. Such things make her happy ... and that makes me happy.

Soon enough, we were on the road, that day to Grand Falls where we stayed at a highly overpriced hotel which I refuse to show you ...

... and from there, all of the way home on the next day. With many hip-friendly stops.

It was a long way to go for a week. The time spent in Yarmouth was great; a few more days there and a few less everywhere else would probably have been ideal. But one can only impose oneself on gracious hosts for so long, so I guess it all worked out well. Besides, one can only guess and expect how a trip might unfold and what might wish to see and do. We made our plans as best we could and had an experience and have a memory ... or twenty.

St John's Anglican Church

2010-08-10T08:00:00.000-04:00

Through much of the Maritimes, you see pristine, little, white, Protestant churches. When you get to Catholic communities, cathedral-like structures become the norm. In Lunenburg, we saw a mixture of the two traditions: a white Protestant church built on a semi grand scale. The doors were open, and Cuppa is at the entrance in this picture.

Using a high ISO and a slow shutter speed, I was able to take these pictures inside. The remarkable thing was that ten years ago, this church was pretty badly gutted by fire. The restoration has been pretty remarkable. I can hardly fathom that sufficient funds could be raised in these modern times.

Th th th that's all folks. I could post a few pics of the Halifax Harbour and our trip home, but enough is enough.

Lunenburg

2010-08-09T06:00:00.004-04:00

I had seen some neat pictures of neat buildings in Lunenburg, and I said to myself, "Neat! I want to go there." So we stopped on the way from Yarmouth to Halifax. It's true, there were lots of neat buildings, but it was just a disappointing tourist trap sort of place for me. There were lots of over-priced shops and over-priced restaurants and lots of people and cars, so that it was hard to get any neat pictures. But such as I have I leave with you.

It is a pretty town built on a steeply slanting shore which makes strolling around quite an exercise in ... er ... exercise, but a quaint, little out of the way fishing village it ain't. While Lunenburg might be the prettiest tourist town that I'll ever see, I was happy to move on after a disappointing little walkabout. Perhaps I'd have felt differently if I hadn't dropped in at the height of tourist season when everybody and her dog (literally) were also dropping in. Can't stand dem gawking tourists. Of course, my impressions were also doubtless affected by the reality that I and my stomach were not in the pink of condition by the time we made this stop.

-Eth

2010-08-08T06:00:00.003-04:00

I interrupt the trip posting, which shall soon continue ad nauseum, to rant-eth ... just a tad.

Not being the brightest lightbulb on the ceiling, there are some things that I simply don't get.

Six or seven years ago, my provincial health card completely fell apart. It was the cumulative effects of my ponderous posterior sitting on my wallet for several decades.

So, I got myself a new one: new colours, photo id. Spiffy.

It seemed like no sooner did I get it, than I reached a magical birthday and had to renew it. New picture, proof of citizenship, residence — the whole bit. When we moved, didn't I have to do it all over again. And now that five years hath yeah verily elapsed, I've had to go through the whole procedure yet again.

I really don't mind in a way because health care costs money, tons of money, and there have been scams. So, it's good to know that Big Brobro is keeping track.

Or is he?

Cuppa, who has a photo-less, old card never has to update her card. Never ever. Well, except to notify of a change of address when we moved.

Her card is the best part of forty years old, I guess, and she never has to prove anything to anybody. She and her card just keep on rolling merrily along the health care highway, apparently unseen to bureaucratic eyeballs.

Meanwhile, AC must do the updating dance every five years — or sooner — even though it has his photo right on the card and his sweet countenance doesn't change much from one half decade to the next: new photo, proof of citizenship, proof that he lives where he lives, the whole flippin bit.

Such bureaucracy doth causeth AC to shaketh his head—Eth.

Signs from Yarmouth

2010-08-07T06:00:00.003-04:00

The first sign is priceless in its inuendo, the second a reminder of times past, and the third is funny. Even the Antiquarian Saint Paul the Yarmouthian thinks so.

And that's it for Yarmouth, I believe. I may or may not post a few other pics of our trip before I give it up. We shall see what we shall see.

Reunion

2010-08-06T07:00:00.000-04:00

These two ladies have been good friends for a long time but haven't seen each other for five years. How great to see Cuppa and Minny together again, enjoying each other so much.

Yarmouth and its Abodes

2010-08-05T06:00:00.002-04:00

Yarmouth, although it has earlier history, was named in 1759 by settlers who came from a settlement by the same name in Massachusetts. In the nineteenth century, it became a major shipbuilding centre, and for at least part of the century was supposedly the richest small town in the world. Subsequently, it became a railway centre of some note.

These days, it’s a tourist centre although that has declined a bit this year as the ferry service from Maine has been discontinued. The good news is that some sort of service is projected to resume again next year. Read more about the town.

I could certainly glimpse much of Yarmouth’s historical glory as we strolled about the town in the form of its wonderful, old mansions

Did you see the fantastic Widow's Walk in that last photo?

Also, I thought I'd include the following buildings. The first is The Saints' favourite restaurant, Rudders, where we had a fine meal on the night of our arrival. The second is a house converted into a shop that Cuppa truly appreciated and helped to keep solvent through this down turn.

Learning of Lobster

2010-08-04T06:00:00.002-04:00

On our way to the Cape Forchu lighthouse, being the brilliant observer that I am, I had noticed several stacks of lobster traps by the roadside. So on the way back, I asked Saint Paul to stop so I could take this picture.

The traps are all stacked like this because the lobster season in Yarmouth is over for the year. It lasts from late autumn to sometime in spring (I forget the exact dates). Apparently, when it's time to lay the traps they decorate the lobster boats and light them as they parade out at midnight (I think).

When I requested the photo op however, I hadn't realized that we were about to stop at a lobster shed (my word — don't know if it's correct) where we would be immersed in lobster knowledge. These traps represent but a portion of all those that were stacked at the shed.

Inside, we were treated to a personalized guided tour by the very nice man who was only too happy to throw a little scare into Cuppa by suggesting that she might wish to caress this squirming live creature thingie.

Among other things, we were shown this huge guy who weighed in at 17 pounds. He's too big and tough for meat, and I think the hope is that some outfit purchase him for display purposes. Maybe he would like a home in a tank in a fancy restaurant, I don't know.

It's hard to appreciate his size from that photo, so here are a bunch or normal-size lobsters in a bin of similar dimensions. Quite a difference, eh?

I was surprised to learn that, ideally, lobsters are kept in cold, almost freezing water for four months during which they are not fed. In fact, they a stuffed into little compartments that resembled pigeonhole mailboxes. Somehow, their meat improves over that time span. The somewhat humanitarian AC isn't too sure that he approves of this, but it is what it is, and my consumption of lobster will certainly not support this practice, for I'd only eaten lobster once in my life until that day and now only twice.

They would have cooked for us right on the spot had we requested it. For the time being, however, Cuppa contented herself with faking it, and we took four lucky devils home with us to enjoy later.

The cooking came later, and I was sure to avert my eyes as they were dumped into the boiling cauldron. However, it was by The Saint's insistence that we found ourselves cracking the critters for their meat. Cuppa grimaces at a portion that was offered as a reward for her labors.

AC put on a brave face when it came to his turn although he was thinking of hiding out with the quarters.

Saint Paul laid out some of the best meat for us before adding the other parts of the meal to the plates. Cuppa still looks leery, but it was okay in the end.

However, it was not so wonderfully delicious that we'll be queuing up for lobster at the local Red Lobster restaurant on the weekend.

Curiously enough, apparently long before they became a supposed delicacy, lobster were considered undesirable and fit only for the poor person's supper.

I'm glad we learned a little about the lobster culture, but this concludes both my tale and poor Sir Lobster's tail.

Cape St Mary

2010-08-03T06:00:00.002-04:00

The focal point of our second and final day (unfortunately) with Mr and Mrs Saint took us from Yarmouth to another lighthouse, Cape St Mary (or Cape St Mary's). This part of Nova Scotia and for much of the way to Digby is Acadian (ie French), and when we had driven earlier from Digby to Yarmouth, I was surprised as the shore unfolded as almost one continuous village.

There is some confusion in my mind whether it's St Mary as on this sign or St Mary's as I've seen on some maps. Maybe it's that confusion that messed up The Saints head. Cuppa and Minny don't seem perturbed by his loss: quite the opposite, it seems.

You see, he's still searching for his missing brain in this picture. I've heard of Saints losing their heads in times past but doubt they could walk about looking for it after the severing.

Cuppa in front of the somewhat rusty lighthouse. She's was holding onto her hat quite a bit that day. Talk about windy.

My favourite photo from Cap Ste-Marie (to use the other language): perhaps due to the blue sky and cirrus clouds in the background.

Cuppa and Minny braved the wind all of the way to the point.

Some images from the point.

I later took this picture of the lighthouse from a nearby beach.

And this from even farther away ...

... where we had stopped for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the sea.

We landlubbers really liked that restaurant ...

... which also seemed please our Yarmouthian hosts.

So, fie on you: overblown, touristy Peggy. We did just fine without ye.

Cape Forchu

2010-08-02T06:00:00.001-04:00

Many thanks to the travelling quarters for helping me out yesterday. What a great bunch! As much as I appreciate them, however, it's time for them to hibernate and for AC to start writing his own blog, thank you very much.

We didn't know it at the time, but, due to fog and rain, we were eventually going to miss visiting the famous lighthouse at Peggy's Cove. However, Saint Paul and Minny are of the opinion that there are better lighthouse sights in Nova Scotia and endeavoured to prove their point by first taking us to Cape Forchu just outside of Yarmouth.

Without seeing Old Peg, I am tempted to agree, and perhaps you will too after sharing my first glimpses of the Forchu lighthouse as we approached the upward climb to the structure.

Partway up, we stopped for another photo op. I stood staring up, trying to figure out how else to shoot the beacon while The Saint checked a picture he had just taken. There is rather a stunned look on my face as I try to take it in. That happens a lot — even when there are no lighthouses to go gaga over (with apologies to the Lady singer of said name) .

Here are the pics that I took from about that spot.

Not too shabby, eh?

This is out of sequence but is my final shot of Cape Forchu from the far shore as we later headed toward the next stop of that day's tour.

You can't help but feeling small when as you gaze upon the vast ocean, but there was definitely more to it as this pic of Cuppa and Minny attests.

Below, Cuppa and Minny look out from the point.

Part of what they saw.

Little did we know that that Saint Paul and Minny had another lighthouse visitation in store for us, but that will have to wait for another day.

A Huggy for Mugsy

2010-08-01T09:20:00.001-04:00

Phew! What a whirlwind trip! AC had best not do that to us again.

We do love our new friend, Mugsy, however, as our group hug demonstrates. We insisted that AC bring her home from the Halifax pier. He does love his mug from the West Coast, and now he also has a beaut from the East Coast — please note the ocean theme. Nice, eh?

No doubt, AC will get around to posting sometime, but we thought we'd help out while recuperates. He and his hips are a trifle weary after driving for 11 hours yesterday (breaks included), and he has to shop today because the stores will be closed for the Civic Holiday tomorrow.

Subdued Sunday

2010-07-26T10:00:00.000-04:00

Today, we will board the ferry to take us across the Bay of Fundy to Digby Nova Scotia. We rehearsed the short drive to the dock yesterday, which was rather a good thing because the directions from the Innkeeper didn't work. Not that they were wrong, but the highway access that he directed us to was closed for repairs. This threw both Prudence and Cuppa into a wee bit of a panic, (Prudence being our GPS, Prudence the Pathfinder — perhaps I'll explain sometime), but we eventually prevailed and found our own way.

It was a slow day, which isn't necessarily completely bad, but my quarters did get somewhat antsy as they waited impatiently by the window for the rain to stop. At times they act a lot like mutts in their desire to go out for a ride.

The Reversing Falls are quite close to the Inn (indeed, nothing seems far in this fairly small community), so we got there in time to see high tide pushing the water upstream. The Fundy tides are so high that the water actually flows in reverse up the river at this spot. Of course, come low tide, it flows normally once more. In the photo it is flowing to the left, just behind the pretty lady.

A picture of Cuppa by the entrance, the site being free by the way with not even a parking charge.

From there, we headed to a park by the bay (ie ocean). Yes, it was a dreary day.

I have said that our Inn is not for the infirm when I showed you the circular inner staircase yesterday. The actual entrance is worse as this photo up Cuppa at the entrance taken from ground level reveals. My goodness. It's a good thing we're not any older.

Day of Rest

2010-07-25T10:00:00.000-04:00

It's Sunday; it's raining; appropriately, at least in a way, it's a day of rest. We are staying at the Homeport Inn in Saint John, New Brunswick, looking out at the rain. At least we are not camping in the rain, which we have done in times past, much to our chagrin.

We were on the road for two days: much on the road on day 1 (Friday) but much less so on day 2 (Saturday = yesterday). We and our hips journeyed for 11 hours on Friday, from Ottawa through Montreal past Quebec City and eventually into New Brunswick. Those 11 hours included many stops, two for picnic lunches where we and our hips decided that we'd dine while standing. However, Cuppa was sitting for this photo where we stopped to have supper in Quebec but near the New Brunswick border whilst overlook hills and a lake.

Yesterday, we drove from Edmundston to Saint John with a few stops such as this one where I contemplated the gorge at Grand Falls. At the moment the Falls weren't too grand as not much water was pouring over at this time of year due to the dam, but we can say we've been there and done that.

The drive was quite scenic in the Canadian section of the Appalachians (photo taken from moving car). Did you know that Canadians usually say Appa-LAY-shuns while in my experience Americans go with Appa-LATCH-ee-uns? I'm not sure what that proves except that I am good at useless trivia.

We stopped for awhile at a town called Woodstock (but not that Woodstock), which is at the confluence of two rivers, one being the Saint John River and the other being a name I can't pronounce and can't remember if I could pronounce it. But for my fine American friends, I am happy to point out that the land on the other side of the river to the left is yours.

So, he we are, in a B&B on this rainy Sunday. Our breakfast companions were a couple of professors from Massachusetts who were on their way to their cottage in Cap Breton. He and I share a common interest in Celtic music. He plays the mandolin in a session (ie jam) in his home town, and I occasionally play the fiddle in my stomping ground. Anyway, it's a fine Inn/B&B; we could be spending a rainy day in a much worse place. The first photo shows the dining room and the second the stairs that we climb to our room. As charming as it is, this place is not for the infirm.

Cuppa and I shared many chuckles in the wee hours this morning when a restless AC awoke the sleeping beauty. Among others, one funny thing are the two chairs in our room (or is that two funny things?). One chair is a king-like throne and the other must be the servant's perch.

After today, the forecast is for clear weather, so we might keep ourselves too busy to post, so until next time ...

By the time I get to Phoenix ...

2010-07-23T10:30:00.004-04:00

... you won't be reading this letter ...

... because I'm not heading to Phoenix or Albuquerque or Oklahoma, but I am on my way to Nova Scotia. Right now. As you read this.

In fact at this very moment as you sit in your comfy chairs, we and our aching hips are probably nearing Montreal. From there, the plan is to continue on up the south/east shore of the St Lawrence River into New Brunswick. Just inside the New Brunswick border, we'll stop at Edmundston for the night. May heaven smile kindly on our arthritic hips during this, the longest haul of the trip to Yarmouth. (see Day 1 on the map below and click on the map if you'd prefer a larger view that you can actually see)

As you diligently study the map for the upcoming test, the astute amongst you will observe that we don't have very far to travel on Day 2. That will be a nice break; we can take our time and enjoy what my memory tells me is a nice, fairly scenic drive. Day 3 will be even gentler on us as we are going to hang around the Saint John area before taking the ferry across the Bay of Fundy to Digby on Day 4. That will be on Monday the 26th if you're counting (and even if you're not as it turns out). From Digby, we'll drive down to Yarmouth on the same day, and we'll bunk with friends for three nights.

I'm not sure what little sidetrips we'll make from Yarmouth, but we'll be there until Thursday according to our present but tentative plans. After that we'll have a few days at our disposal before heading back to resume babysitting on August the third.

I don't know whether I will blog: (a) not at all; (b) infrequently; or (c) regularly. Your guess is as good as mine because every holiday/vacation is different, and I have done all of the above. Whatever the eventuality, you will have to make do without my terribly witty and incisive comments on your blogs for awhile. Speaking of travelling, however, I now direct you to the picture below.

That's right: quarters in an old film case. What the heck does that have to do with travelling, AC? Well ... I filled that film case with quarters, ten years ago, for the western trip, which I've mentioned recently, because we were told that we would cost a quarter to shower at campgrounds, and since we didn't want to be caught short when we were desperately in need of ablutions, we took a bunch. Well, our advisors fooled us because we didn't require any coin at all to shower anywhere that we stayed. Just in case, however, we took them Down East with us the following year and out to Manitoba two years after that ... and brought them home after each trip.

Somehow however, half the quarters have since disappeared, which is mystifying because I swear that we brought them all home with us, and I certainly can't remember sneaking any when I desperately needed a smoke. Possibly because I don't smoke. What I do know is that said quarters have been to every Canadian province except Newfoundland and since I get the distinct vibe emanating from ye olde film container that they would really like to revisit New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, I plan to make sure that their wish be granted. Call me silly, call it sentimental, or call it nothing, but that's what I'm going to do — take my quarters on a long drive.

Be good while I'm gone. And that means YOU!

For those who want the rest of the lyrics to Glen Campbell's song that was plagiarized for the title of this post, this is what I found through googling.

By the time I get to Phoenix she'll be rising
She'll find the note I left hanging on her door
She'll laugh when she reads the part that says I'm leaving
Cause I've left that girl so many times before
By the time I make Albuquerque she'll be working
She'll prob'ly stop at lunch and give me a call
But she'll just hear that phone keep on ringing off the wall that's all
By the time I make Oklahoma she'll be sleeping she'll turn softly call my name out low
And she'll cry just to think I'd really leave her
Though time and time I've tried to tell her so she just didn't know I would really go

Oh what the heck, here's a clip.

A Girl and a Butterfly

2010-07-21T21:00:00.001-04:00

Nikki Dee came for a sleepover, and I thought to take a few snaps while she was playing with the hose as Cuppa was trying to water her flowers. It was then that Cuppa noticed a butterfly on the Echinacea and I switched my attention.

Consider viewing this one large on black.

Another Farewell

2010-07-21T18:19:00.004-04:00

I was truly moved and saddened when I read that Barry the Explorer had passed away yesterday. The man touched me and many others through his blog.

Barry was a wonderful writer who had the gift of setting the scene and unfolding the narrative that few in Blogland can match. He was a realist but also an optimist in his writings, never ever allowing himself to wallow in the misery of his condition or whatever fear and trepidation that he might have felt. His skies always seemed sunny and bright, and I can add him to the short list of people whom I hope have taught me how to live and die with grace.

I am thrilled that we rang the bells for Barry when we could and when he could appreciate it; I think he was tickled pink by the worldwide outpouring that occurred in his honour. I am also so glad I took those few moments to code his ancestor's Wedding Waltz into computer music so that he could hear it for the first time. From his almost instantaneous posting, I would say that pleased him too. From this, I guess that in addition to what was can learn from his spirit, there's also a lesson about not hesitating to put yourself out for others. It is indeed blessed to give to someone as appreciative as he.

I am down two blogging friends within the year, but I feel blessed to have been partially included in both Pam's and Barry's worlds.

Starkers

2010-07-20T21:00:00.000-04:00

As most of you know, Cuppa and I do daycare duty for Nikki Dee and Zach. However, on the two days a week that Nikki Dee goes to real daycare, Cuppa goes home to tend to the multitude of chores over there, and I stay with the boy.

That's when weird things occur. At least twice, and I think it's really three times, he has come down sick on a Friday when he has been in my charge. He tends to not sleep as long for some strange reason, and he sometimes picks those days to be extra whiny. Truthfully, we're doing much better lately, but he had a special treat for me on Monday.

I had the monitor on, and when I thought I heard him stir, I began to listen more carefully. All was quiet for the next round or two, but then he began to wail. That's odd behavior because he usually awakes in a quiet and happy mood.

So, when I hurried in, much to my dismay, he was starkers. He had somehow managed to peel off his domed sleepers, and of course the underlying diapers were no problem after that. He has never done this before but was happy to surprise Buppa with his nude bod.

But wait ... there's more ...

You see, there was a poopy in the diaper, or at least it had been in the diaper before he was shed of it. It was a messy poopy. The messiest of messy poopies and smelliest of smelly poopies. And it was all over the place. And I, the hapless Buppa, was all alone with a crying, poopy baby and a total poopy mess in the crib.

It would only happen when I was alone with the boy, not ever when Amma was around. Apparently, he saves the special treats for his Buppa. But he shouldn't bother. Really, I'd be okay without these extra gifts.

Garden Stuff

2010-07-20T06:00:00.003-04:00

I went out to do some dead-heading and found bees swarming my Monarda aka Bee Balm. Why bees would be interested in Bee Balm, I have no idea. If you check out the big version of the photos (hint hint), you can see Miss Bee holding onto the petal above its body with one leg. Her missiness is quite sharp and in focus in the large version.

The last plant to bloom in our garden is also the prettiest. This is the After Eight lily (so much like the famous Stargazer that I'm not sure what the difference is) at three different lengths of close-upedness. What beauties!

Finally for today: when I posted the picture of the weed growing out of the tiny hole in the bag of soil last week, I should have posted these two following pics as well. In that post, I think it was Kila who quoted a line from Jurassic Park. "Life finds a way," is how the quote went, I think.

Now look at the daylilies trying to grow in this bed ↓↓. They are of the common orange variety, and, me not much liking them, I dug them out earlier this year. "Not so fast AC: we're coming back." There's got to be the best part of a dozen little daylily plants striving to return to my garden and thwart me.

Then there is the maple tree, that we had cut down two years ago, in the other corner of the backyard, . It also refuses to give it up and keeps sending up branches. We've cut branches two or three times already, but they keep coming back (red leaves behind the geranium).

Indeed: life will find a way.

Ye Dratted Olde Hipsters

2010-07-19T06:00:00.001-04:00

It's been a month since I wrote briefly of the anticipation of our impending trip Down East. Now, with only a few days to go, both Cuppa and I find ourselves a little apprehensive because of old age creeping into our hips. We're not sure how the old hipsters will respond to so much car time. It's about an eighteen hour drive to our main destination, and although we plan on overnight breaks, we're still not sure how far we'll be able to go on any given day. So, how do we make plans on where to stay, and if we don't make plans, will every motel be filled in midsummer, particularly on a weekend? Sigh.

I already take Celebrex, which is very effective for certain aches and pains but doesn't seem to affect whatever is going on in my hip. The doctor has said that Tylenol for Arthritis often works well in conjunction with Celebrex; I haven't tried it yet, but we are now the proud owners of a bottle and live in hope. We don't leave until Friday, so we have a few days to dither and stew.

Meanwhile, above and below are pics of the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. I'm not sure if we'll get there this time because our main stop is southern Nova Scotia, not northern, so we'll shall see what we shall see. I would like to visit up there again, both for the scenery and the culture — they sure know how to fiddle up there.

I wonder if this will be our last road trip? I hope not because I rather enjoy these trips once we are on our way: the getting ready hardly being a barrel of laughs, however.

Foto Friday

2010-07-16T06:00:00.002-04:00

I post a lot of photos, but it's been a long time since I did a proper Foto Friday. Forgive me for a few repeats; just put it down to oldtimers disease.

We babysit the grands over at their house, but Zach has enjoyed a couple of daytime breaks at our place lately. ↓↓

At their place ↓↓

Nikki Dee being friendly at the restaurant ↓↓

From the garden ↓↓

The loveliest flower in my garden ↓↓

The Lens Exposed

2010-07-15T06:00:00.005-04:00

About a week ago, I revealed that I had decided to get a new lens for my camera. It's a super zoom from 18 to 270mm, which is quite impressive. It will make the cameras heavier to port about, and that was and is a concern. Eventually, however, one has to make a decision, and in this world, compromise is necessary.

Looking up our street using the widest angle which should be pretty useful for landscapes

At maximum zoom from the same position

The lens also has vibration control, and I think it helps. Both of the following photos were taken at 1/13 second, which normally produces more blur or fuzziness than what I see here.

The portability factor notwithstanding, I think I am and I'll continue to be fairly happy with this addition. Afterall, we still have Cuppa's compact when I really want to travel light.

Before I go, here it is in its two positions.

Eight Days to Calgary

2010-07-14T06:00:00.000-04:00

Ten years ago this very day, Cuppa and AC set off on a very long drive. We were heading off for a month-long trip from Sarnia to Calgary and beyond. These two fifty-plus bods did a lot of camping in a lot of places and had quite an adventure. I put my journal online back then before blogs existed, or at least several years before I knew they existed. Here are some excerpts from the part of the journal that covered the trip out. Perhaps I will eventually add other excerpts from the rest of the trip.

In July 2000, we packed our little, old Corolla to the hilt and rode it mercilessly on a 30-day drive that took us more than 12 000 kilometres through several major geographic regions of Canada. We journeyed from the flat lands of southwestern Ontario, through the rugged Canadian Shield north of Lake Superior, across the gently rolling Prairie, to the majestic Rocky Mountains.

As the more youthful among you might say, "I totally loved this trip. It was like awesome!" Canada truly is an incredibly diverse and glorious land. I loved every part of the journey, but let me confess that The Rocky Mountains magnetized my spirit like a primal force field. Such was their appeal that I dreamt of them reverentially every single night from my first sighting until a month after we got back home.

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Here I sit, bug-swarmed and hot in the forests north of Lake Superior. It is 9:00 p.m., and I am now well-swaddled in clothing in order to minimize skin exposure to the teeming mosquitoes. We tried our best to wash and brush at an outdoor sink earlier, and we learned that we were easy prey for the hungry hordes. My few exposed, fleshly parts have now been liberally applicated with Deep Woods Off. So, maybe I will be able to write a little. There is also a citronella candle/pot burning about one foot from my head.

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I am sitting at a picnic table at Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park, about 30 km past Thunder Bay. It felt like we were still driving west when we passed Thunder Bay, but it’s probably more north of the city. It’s 10:00 p.m., but I still have enough light by which to see the mosquitoes that land on my bare arms. We are almost in the next time zone, so it is really closer to 9:00 or 9:30 sun time, 8 to 8:30 adjusting for daylight savings.

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In all we drove about 587 km today and about 1377 km in the past two. It seemed like a long way, but I’m not sure why as the scenery was fantastic for the most part. You would like to take a picture at every bend in the road, but since you’re on the Trans Canada Highway, it is almost impossible to take any at all. Stopping is too problematic.

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What a huge province and country! Behold, we have now driven just over 2000 km, and we only arrived in Manitoba, the next province, in the past hour and a half or so. We drove 726 km today and are now in Winnipeg.

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I guess you have to drive through Northern Ontario to appreciate the immensity and the isolation. Towns are so small and so far apart that there was a sign telling us that it was only 3 hours to Dryden. When we got there, it was a settlement of less than 8000 people.

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We resumed our westward trek, and past Brandon, the Trans Canada dwindled to two-lanes and stayed that way until the outskirts of Regina. The other thing that I should mention is the westward incline. For probably 80 to 90 percent of the time, the road grade inclines noticeably to the west. You notice this most when you look in the rear-view mirror, and you can see that the land slopes down behind you.

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The highlight of the day, I think for both of us, was a detour we made into the Qu’Appelle Valley. On a whim I followed a sign that told of a Scenic Qu’Appelle drive after 33 km. So, we took the path less travelled and, eventually, after some panic from Cuppa, who couldn’t find our road on the map, came upon the Qu’Appelle Valley. It was quite a sight to behold. Sometimes, it’s well worth leaving the beaten path.

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It is especially rolling, almost rugged, down here in the extreme southwest of Saskatchewan where we are now camping. We are at Cypress Hill Provincial Park, and the local area is, indeed, hilly. It is quite a nice park, with lots of amenities, such as a Subway restaurant where we had a late supper ... From Shaunavon, we followed "The Red Coat Trail" (#13) that the RCMP took westward from Gull Lake . Once again, the country was very rolling, but it was getting more desiccated. The road was a bit rough, and our little Corolla bottomed out a few times.

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Life isn’t perfect, and neither is today. I guess that riding the back roads last night was not the best of ideas. Afterward, the car started to become noisy. So, we drove it to Medicine Hat today and took it to Canadian Tire. We need a new front wheel bearing, which has to come from Calgary – tomorrow!!

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We were able to pick up the car and leave “The Hat” around 11:00 o’clock this morning, and we were in Calgary by about 3:00 p.m. Praise be! The car is running well, and it didn’t cost an arm and a leg to fix — just two fingers and one toe.

The land west of The Hat is really dry and quite treeless. It is mostly pasture land except where they irrigate, and they do quite a bit of that. The terrain continued to roll, even more so as we approached Calgary. It also started to green up. It was odd to see 5 small deer grazing by the side of the Trans Canada Highway in an environment devoid of trees. How did they get there and why?

The trip now totals 3597 kilometres, but we are only 2550 klicks from Sarnia if you can fly like a crow. We’ve come a long way in eight days, but they have been thoroughly enjoyable. It’s a marvellous land, this Canada of ours.

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Instant Garden

2010-07-12T20:50:00.004-04:00

A few fine folk among you have expressed interest in my garden-making technique. I make no claims except to say that has worked for me. I hasten to add that I didn't invent the method, so it, therefore, has some credibility.

I had no interest in gardening until about ten years ago. It's like I woke up one morning, just past the age of fifty, and out of the blue decided that I needed to plant a perennial garden. So ...

... in the typical exuberance of a fresh but naive convert, I went all out to prepare that first flower bed, even to the extent of double-digging. In other words, I dug up the surface soil, put it to one side, and then dug up the subsoil. If memory serves, I discarded the subsoil and replaced it with the former surface soil before adding new topsoil. That was total dedication, which I plan to never repeat, I hasten to add.

Ever since then, I've taken the lazy way. It is so simple that I hardly need to outline the steps, but here goes.

Outline the area that you will make into a flower bed and cut the grass if necessary.

Outline the flower bed

Wet the newspapers down (see notes 1 and 2, below) and cover the grass to a thickness of about a half dozen sheets, give or take.

Cover with newspaper

Cover the newspaper with 4 to 6 inches of soil — the thicker the merrier, but when there is much to cover, I'm satisfied with the lesser amount (see note 3, below). If you do not need to raise the bed, such as I must do due to bedrock, I don't see why you couldn't make do with a thinner covering.

I spread 4 to 6 inches of soil on top of the newspaper

Dig the required number of planting holes. Unless you are planting annuals, you will probably dig deeper than the newspaper, so make sure to remove the sod from those spots. While it might seem counterproductive to dig up the freshly laid paper, remember that you are digging a limited number of holes, which definitely beats having to dig up all of the sod. (see note 4, below)

I remove sod from the bottom of the planting hole

Lay mulch. Use natural cedar or the like. The dyed mixes like red, which are attractive to begin with, soon start to fade and lose their color, so you may as well begin with the natural look.

Presto! You have a complete garden. While I did the job in bits and pieces over several days, with proper planning you can amaze your neighbours by creating a fine looking garden replete with plants in a matter of hours.

Doing this job later in the season rather than early in spring, I was able to purchase everything on sale — soil, mulch, and plants — and complete this fair-sized flower bed for about a hundred dollars. While that sounds like a lot in a way, consider that I put in 18 bags of soil, 3 bags of mulch, 9 perennials (some a good size), and and 5 annuals. To me that seems to be a fairly reasonable amount for a garden that endure for a long time.

Based on previous results, this method works because that's what I did last year to produce the happy garden that you have seen in various, recent blog photos.

This year's garden from last year's planting using this method

I hesitate to show the finished product because I absolutely detest the mulch. I've never seen the like. Next year, I will cover it with a thin layer of nicer looking stuff — if I can wait that long.

Grrrr! What awful mulch!

Notes

You could use landscaping cloth, but I just use newspapers that I already have lying around.
While it's possible to lay dry newspaper, the wet stuff will be more malleable and less prone to being blown about. It's just easier to work with.
In my case I used bags of garden soil. In the past I haven't had much luck getting large quantities of dirt trucked in, for I have found it weedy. Your experience may be different, and if you have a large area to cover it will likely be cheaper and easier to truck it in. Also note that it may not be necessary to apply the best soil over the whole bed — see next note.
Within reason, dig the planting holes deep and wide and backfill with a good grade of soil. As long as the planting holes are well nourished with fertile soil, it may not be necessary to lay the more expensive garden soil over the whole flower bed. I did in this instance, but it's your choice.

An Echinacea for your viewing pleasure: just because I can.

Progress

2010-07-10T06:00:00.001-04:00

As the world turned, Friday, July 09 2010 was a unique and productive day of babysitting.

It began by taking Nikki Dee and her festooned bike to daycare for Bike Day. ↓↓

And continued with an impromptu breakfast at the local breakfastery. ↓↓

It was our first time to have Zach out by himself for such an occasion, and he seemed pleased with the undivided attention. ↓↓

For another first, we brought him to our place for his nap, during which we were able to continue our garden addition. You will recall that the bordering rocks were laid down a few weeks ago, but things really got cracking yesterday. We outlined the inside border with pound-in-edging. That being done, I stopped to read the paper. ↓↓

That bit about reading the paper was just a little joke. Very little. What I was planning to do was to lay the paper over the grass as a vegetation barrier before topping it with soil. First we wet the papers. ↓↓

Then we lay them. ↓↓

Ahem. Are we done laying papers yet, AC? ↓↓

Finally done with the blasted paper, BAC (Bald Anvilcloud) poured the soil: twelve bags in all. ↓↓

Unfortunately, we were running out of bags, time and weather before we could finish the job. ↓↓

In this last photo ↓↓, the last three bags were about be be dumped after which it was time to call it a day. We had run out of soil; it was beginning to rain; and, Zach was getting ready to get up and rumble.

Despite not quite finishing the job, it was great to finally make such progress with this vision that has been in our minds for more than a year now. With any luck, part of which will be if I and my back can still move after yesterday's exertion, we'll finish the job today.