I haven’t complained yet, have you? 43C does wonders for the skin. We’d pay thousands for this in a salon; we’re
glistening, not sweating. Some of you on the other hand enjoy sweating
profusely. While I lay like a slug
trying to breathe, you take your 2PM jog.
I am fascinated watching you maintain your sanity as you run in 40C; the sun full bore. What are
you thinking? Martyrs, all of you. Of
course, in light of Toronto and Calgary floods, plane crashes, train
derailments and Orange Day riots, we can hardly moan about our little bit of
inclement weather. But as I wrote in OLD YEAR/NEW YEAR, writing about our
little corner is one way to sustain ourselves.
I began this post three weeks back but the neurons don’t function so
well in 90% humidity.
Dinner with the
Pater had just wrapped up-London Broils and roast potatoes-delicious. Forced a couple of White Russians before
dinner and followed them with a bottle of rose; recommending the Pelee Island. I'll be posting the avocado courses later. Took coffee and pastry on the patio and watched the pre-Canada
Day fireworks. Where were the
neighbours? Watching the big blue
screen? Comfortable temps and no
mosquitoes; we could breath and our buttocks didn’t stick to the chair. Second slice of meringue? Why not?
Feel very strongly about giving in to the urge to take that second
slice. Because, Dear Reader, what if something
should happen and you never again taste your favourite dessert? Would you not
(if you still could) kick yourself? Give
in to it.
Once the night sky lost its crackle and pop, I turned to the
usual late night romp through TV Land. PBS had a doc on Harlem undertakers. Thinking a parade through town in horse drawn carriage would be a fine thing. Perhaps while I’m still alive, though. I
must say, I’m missing The Box when it comes to Wimbledon and Tour de
France. The 7th was the
perfect day for tennis. Temps soared and a leisurely afternoon court side would
have been good. Of course the last time
I watched tennis with any regularity, Connors and Cash were out on the clay. Oh,
I’m not that old and yes, I know it’s 2013.
Wondering how many cyclists are doping. Very impassioned stance from The
Widget Maker on the Armstrong debacle.
He claimed a large heart was the only thing responsible for the race
results. I was redeemed in the end.
Took my leave and soaked up the remainder of the Stat
holiday. A four day week is a fine thing
but you’ll be pleased to know I won’t be going down that particular rant
today. Think we’re all in agreement that
the less time spent cubicalized, the better.
Tried to nurse an injured bird, but, it soon became clear
that we had a dying bird on our hands. The right leg seemed to be growing out
of the back of its body. Scooped it out
of the bottom of a rubble pile and it escaped only to fall into a watering can.
I was distraught. Then, with what strength it had left, the bird bit me; my
life flashed before my eyes. The bird
was determined to die in dignity and made its way down to the sunny patio where
it took comfort in the sun. I was
worried about the heat and tried to create shade. The bird turned to me as if to say, “Get out
of my space, now.” By eight o’clock,
instinct took over and it dragged itself into the plants for the night, only to
drag itself out again at sunrise, when it died.
I buried the animal in the top garden and let nature take its course. The fireworks continued. Someone offered up a hot dog salute to the
long weekend-deep fried/bacon wrapped/dressed in mac & cheese and drizzled
with fried onions. Who could resist? Finished off the evening with Annie
Hall. What can I say about this
movie? Do I need to say anything? Finally noticed the photo of Allen holding
the lobsters!
Thanks to those who opened their property up for Hamilton
Open Gardens. Apparently we are the only
community that has managed to sustain this.
What’s blooming in the garden this week?
TICKSEED...
SHASTA DAISY...
NASTURTIUM...
HOLLYHOCK ...
LAVENDER...
CHIVE...
Reading frenzy at the moment. Picked up three rapid reads and I recommend
them all. Julian Barnes’ A Sense of An
Ending and Staring At the Sun. Just finished Pat Barker’s Blow Your House Down
where every chapter is dripping in misery but the sections end in such a way as
to make you stop squirming and just be taken in by the images. You’ll probably
want to read it through as soon as you’ve finished because you’ve been
introduced to everyone and for obvious reasons you’ll see things from a
different perspective. Wasn’t expecting chapter ten to wander off where it did;
I was ill prepared. Of course, I’m still wading through Trollope. Like Mr. Fry wrote, you have to treat books of this nature like dips and tortilla chips.
The Ice Cream Man has become a regular fixture in the
neighbourhood. Everyone wants one but
nobody wants to show themselves up by actually running after him. Happy memories of ordering a “99” back in the
day. A 99, for those of you who don’t
know, consists of a cone, soft ice cream and a Flake. Delicious. I may or may not have managed some ice cream
this week.
Michael Kaeshammer graced Hamilton with his presence last
Friday and Saturday as part of the BROTT FEST. It was an impulse
purchase, but so glad I did. Great show.
And we were not sat on pews as expected.
Of course I first took a wander through the graveyard, as is my
wont. As with most Brott concerts, you
have to get to the venue early because it’s open seating. I chose wisely and got sat next to some fine
people. The general rule at shows like
this is that no one talks to anyone.
Fortunately the tide had turned and we had a fine conversation. How refreshing! Kaeshammer brought his bassist and drummer
with him and I can’t say enough about the show.
Refreshing also to have such an enthusiastic performer and everyone
offered up a solo. Do like upright
bass. Drummer and bassist hanging about
after the show and I made a Bee-line to thank them for the performance. Unfortunately, they had asked someone to take
their picture. There was great technical difficulty and things got a little
awkward. So I quietly took my leave
because to remain would have turned me into some kind of gawker. Hope we’ll see Mr. K. in these parts
again. I think the Proms concert, next. Quick drive through town. Where is the new cheese shop? Drove past the Indian restaurant and was very
tempted to pick up samosa and butter chicken.
Next time.
Sunday. 30C by early
AM. John Major interview on The Sunday
Edition about his book, My Old Man. Major's father had been a performer in early Music
Halls and was sixty five by the time little John came along but Major managed
to extract from him reminiscences about his early life. Unfortunate news on the new stadium front-we
are to scrub the name Ivor Wynne in favour of Tim Hortons dollars. I detest naming rights. We’ve been through this at the Henderson
hospital. The Juravinski’s should have
done the right thing and acknowledged that they already have several
buildings named after them (including the adjacent cancer hospital)and that it
would be wrong to rechristen this hospital.
I digress.
Sought refuge from the heat at the Art Gallery of
Hamilton. I was in my element-19th
century French painting and photography.
Lots of it. The photographs are of the painters themselves in their
studios or portrait sitting. Enjoyed the
Arthur Crisp’s, Lavergne’s David with
the Head of Goliath, Steinman’s Roulette and the film I’ll call, The Chess
Player of Sarajevo. (Have you read The Cellist of Sarajevo?) Basically, the
movie cuts between two men playing chess and a ballet where the chess pieces
have come to life. Something you’ll have
to see for yourself. Finished up having
a wander through the new grocery store, Nations Fresh Foods. Wondering how this will affect the Farmers’
Market? The downtown needed a seven day
a week store. Sliced pig feet and ears available along with deep fried chicken
feet. It’s carrying a bit of
everything-fresh veg to deli and cheese to Thai, dim sum and Chinese takeout to
bagels and coffee. Have a wander ‘round
and pick up something you haven’t tried before.
Drove past Gage Park.
The flower beds are looking well but couldn’t get a parking spot on
account of the Jazz concert at the band shell.
It was rather hot to be wandering around, though. Here is something from last year, OUR OWN KEW GARDENS, until the new one’s come along.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to cool off with another in a series of icy showers.
More people watching to come. I think I hear Stratford calling.
