It’s a done deal; my parents can breathe a sigh of relief, as their last remaining bachelor officially changed his status last night at around 4:30 p.m. It rained – and how – forcing the ceremony indoors rather than among the ripening grapes in the Cave Spring vineyard, but the service was lovely and the reception was tremendous. Your erstwhile correspondent had the very great honour of serving as Master of Ceremonies, a duty that I very much enjoyed. This completes, however, ten days in which I have travelled all over Ontario – attending “summer school” training for work in London at the University of Western Ontario, back to Juniorvania for a Wednesday evening visit with Spouse, an early Thursday morning return to London and a Friday night odyssey (owing to a very bad collision on the 403 and consequent traffic snarls) to Jordan. I am very happy for my brother and my new sister-in-law; they seem like an excellent match for one another, and Spouse and I had a wonderful time last night.
I have not been a good Internet friend recently. Two nights in a row, now, I have sat here with a blank screen staring me in the face, looking in vain for inspiration to start typing. Nothing happened. I think the problem is at least partly related to the fact that I want to write quite a bit about my fishing trip, but I haven’t had the available block of time it’s going to take to mash out a couple of no doubt lengthy entries about my angling adventures; unable to write about my preferred subject, my mind is rebelling and refusing to be distracted from its intended authorial purpose. In this way, I am the literary equivalent of a two-year old child having a screaming fit because somebody switched off the cartoons. Anyway, fear not, I have not abandoned the blog except temporarily; I will write something tomorrow about the fishing trip and no longer will there be any excuse for failure to tippy-tap.
Worse than my failure to blather here, though, is my inability to find anything to say that I feel is worthwhile while reading the work of others. Mike is a wonder of consistency; every day, without fail, he finds some reflection or insight worth setting out on his site. I have been continuing to read about his exploits, but for the most part, haven’t even felt the sparkle of inspiration to even come up with a worthwhile comment.
I’m going to interrupt my own fishing story here to mention two unrelated things.
First, the Ticats lost to the Roughriders on Saturday afternoon, but miracle of miracles, the Tabbies were in the game right up until the end against the Grey Cup Champs. Games in which the hometown side meaningfully participates have been kind of rare around here for the last few years, and especially so in the early months of the season. As this highlight package shows, the ‘Cats battled back after being down by more than a touchdown on a couple of occasions, and they actually had the lead with a minute and a half to go. The visiting champs, though, had luck on their side – a first quarter field goal that followed a glide path designed by M.C. Escher, a critical second quarter fumble in the so-called “red zone” by the hometown monster-back Jesse Lumsden, a series of ill-timed penalties that got the visitors a major late in the first half, and finally, an incredibly obvious blown call by the officials that sealed the Ticats’ fate. Jykine Bradley‘s hustle and effort to chase down the ‘Rider player from behind (the guy who was seemingly on his way in to the end zone unchallenged for the winning score), punching the ball out to cause a fumble – that was an amazing feat of determination. It’s a shame that the official who was standing right there blew the call so badly. That guy’s buddies should get a refrigerator-sized enlargement of a picture showing him with his arms upraised and signalling “touchdown”, with the ball clearly being fumbled by the Saskatchewan ball carrier – and post it on a wall across from the guy’s house for the next six years, just to remind him what a colossal fuck-up he committed. Although there were reasons for concern – one might legitimately point out that the Ticats could have won the game if they were simply able to make another first down, and that it might have been possible to choose a more inventive play than “Lumsden up the middle” on second and four with the game on the line and everybody in the building expecting Jesse to get the ball. One might also point out that the ‘Riders might have had the winning touchdown if their slotback hadn’t tripped and fallen when he was wide open on the second-last set of downs run by the Green Riders’ offence, or that a six-yard completion on second down with a minute and a half left should NOT be permitted by the Ticats’ defence to turn in to a sixty yard pass and run touchdown play in that situation.
It says here though that – all things considered – these criticisms would be nothing more than nitpicking right now. Instead, there are a great many positives to be taken from Saturday’s game: the play of Lyle C. “Tre” Smith (his kick returns alone were a major factor in the game, consistently giving the Steeltowners excellent starting field position), the determination of a defence that rose to the occasion on several key series to derail the ‘Riders’ offence, create two-and-outs and give the offence a short field to work on, and little things like (in addition to Bradley’s play) the play of DB Chris Thompson, who in addition to hustling back to force a Saskatchewan receiver to drop a sure touchdown in the endzone, made a timely interception on the play immediately following a Ticats turnover. The bottom line is that the game was thoroughly entertaining, and Spouse and I haven’t felt so engaged by a Hamilton team in the three years we’ve been going to games together; these guys are hustling and playing like they believe they can win. Let’s hope they do win a few, but I will gladly go back to watch another game like the one Spouse and I saw on Saturday, win or lose.
A couple of quick photos – here’s one of Jesse taking the ball off tackle right.
Here’s my favourite picture of the day; a nice-enough looking lady, likely somebody’s grandma, decked out in her proper finery – including yellow hat with a giant “Argos Suck” button affixed to the brim:
Second, it was my birthday today and I have an update for you on this post. You may recall that I whined somewhat about the fact that I was destined to be operating the new tractor without a suitable chapeau. Well, Spouse is apparently many things, including an attentive reader: she came through in flying colours and when I awoke to her dulcet tones imploring me to have a Happy Birthday this morning, the accompanying bag o’ gifts included (amongst other tractor-related swag) one green ball cap emblazoned with the J.D. logo. I was almost sorry I had cut the lawn yesterday, denying me the chance to saddle up immediately with my new haberdashery.
Spouse headed off to the barn to ride Ralph, and Popeye and I headed down to the road to pick up the mail from the box. When I reached in and retrieved the day’s delivery, there was a letter from the tractor manufacturer. It was a letter of thanks for purchasing a JD, and enclosing a little coupon redeemable for a fitting token expression of the gratitude of the John Deere company of Moline, Illinois.
The coupon may be exchanged for a free green and yellow “John Deere” ball cap.
Alright, so I took a few days’ vacation; first, a trip up north to the French River area of Northern Ontario (for some fishing) and second, after returning from my time away, I’ve been having some difficulties diving back into the old routine. The first casualty of this latter internal war was not truth, but rather whatever concept is represented by HiR:tb. Too many nights this past week, I’ve come home from work, had a little sump’n sump’n to eat, and promptly passed out on the couch in front of what Spouse refers to (I believe somewhat disparagingly, if you can believe it) as “my cartoons” – Simpsons, King of the Hill, Family Guy. Is it wrong to be a full-grown adult who needs to be entertained by brightly coloured images and sleeping peacefully by 9:30 to have any chance of surviving the following day without some sort of screaming tantrum?
Let me tell you a little bit about my fishing trip. I had hoped to blog about the trip while I was on it, but this proved to be impossible as the wireless access point I was hoping to use (at the fishing lodge) got smoked by approximately one kajillion volts of electricity when lightning struck the lodge several days before I arrived. I will tell you that when I learned that I could not access teh Intarwebs while at the lodge, I internally resolved to write a little entry each day nonetheless, and simply post these entries sequentially upon my return to the land of the wired. I thought that I was going to have all kinds of time, inspiration and motivation to be writing these entries because I was in a cabin in the middle of the woods all by myself and – quite frankly – I assumed I would need to fill the time somehow.
Wrongo.
I had forgotten, apparently, how tiring a day in the boat fishing can be, and Newton’s Third Law of Fishing, which clearly states that when a body that’s been fishing is at rest, it ain’t freakin’ likely that it’s moving anywhere to do any damn thing, it’ll just stay crashed out on the couch watching TV or reading its book, thank you very much, prior to the sweet relief of the deepest sleep known to mankind without the use of ether.
So, I need to back up to the beginning.
Last October, Spouse and I had booked a cabin at Memquisit Lodge for the week of June 28th to July 5th. It was supposed to be a week away together, during which I could do some fishing. Memquisit is a fantastic place; the Lodge owns a massive piece of land on the North shore of the West Arm of Lake Nipissing. On this giant piece of property, they have placed only slightly more than a dozen cabins. The surrounding area is typically rugged Northern Ontario wilderness, with a modest number of cottages in the general area. The end result is that – at least for now – it is an area where it is possible to get in the boat, head off to a secluded bay and spend the day floating around in the middle of a stunningly beautiful landscape, and on many such days you may not see (or hear) another soul for many hours. A problem arose for Spouse – by forces beyond her control, her schedule at work got set arranged in such a way that she could not take the entire week of vacation. With the cabin booked and the fish waiting, I felt I had no choice but to make my way up Highway 69 and start fishing, hopeful that Spouse’s work commitments would resolve themselves early enough to permit her to join me at the cabin for the end of the week.
It didn’t happen that way; by the time Spouse was able to get away from the office, she was not excited about the prospect of packing the car, shipping Henry off to my parents’ place, loading Popeye into the car and driving for six hours to spend a few days at the cabin, then turn around and drive home again. We decided that it would be better if she were to simply remain home and spend some time with her horse Ralph.
That is how I came to spend an entire week in Cabin 12 (pictured below) by myself. Right now, we’re off to the Ticats/Roughriders game (oskie wee wee!). I’ll write more about the trip when I get home.
A shot of one of the three girthy marine monsters with whom I spent a brief portion of Canada Day (prior to returning them to their aquatic home, safe and sound, if not somewhat dissatisfied with the meal provided).
I will have more details of my trip tomorrow, but suffice to say that there are some who would argue it was less a “fishing trip” and more a “data collection exercise.”
The other day, as Spouse and I were returning home from work, we were driving along a portion of the Steel City roadways that consisted of a fairly abrupt and steep descent. The road was dipping in this extreme fashion to permit passage beneath a rail bridge. There was a diamond shaped sign showing a water-covered roadway and a caption that I read as follows: “Underpants subject to flooding.”
UnderPASS. Not “underpants”. UnderPASS. Big difference. That is all.
A new experience: Spouse and I finished watching Spiderman for the umpteenth time earlier tonight. I got up to let Popeye in the house; more accurately, I got up to persuade Popeye to please vacate his now habitual spot in the garden just outside the back door and to come at least temporarily into the house. I exhorted him to pee first – he got Spouse up four times last night – and he obliged me, but then cast a disparaging eye over his shoulder and promptly marched around the front of the house, presumably determined to recline once again, in a different garden and under a different bush.
Popper’s intransigence led me to enlist Spouse’s assistance in retrieving our wayward little friend. She headed on to the front porch and the exclamations began immediately. I was urged to join her.
In the front yard, there were many, many, many of these, doing what they do – flying around and periodically emitting little, but very bright, bursts of light. In the moonless darkness of the lawn, with hundreds of the little critters zooming around the vast expanse of air and trees around us, it was like being in the middle of an all-insect Beatles press conference. The flashes flitted and glittered like so many airborne diamonds, and the only sound was Spouse’s oohing and aahing at our own private light show.
I tried to take pictures – timed exposures with the DSLR, and even some video with the Sony HandyCam on “Nightshot Plus” mode, but I don’t think any of them turned out. They certainly didn’t capture the moment.
The SFX were pretty good in Spiderman, but the stuff we saw in the movie was handily outdone by the natural light and magic of a few hundred fireflies.
Apparently, there is a seventeenth century English criminal case called Wright’s Case. In this case, it was held (according to the Supreme Court of Canada) that a man would:
be punished at law for procuring another to sever his hand – to assist his career as a mendicant – but the person effecting the task would also be liable to criminal sanction, irrespective of the other’s consent.
Apparently, mendicant “refers to begging or relying on charitable donations, and is most widely used for religious followers or ascetics who rely exclusively on charity to survive”. Also apparently, going for skills development training as a trainee mendicant entails making a very significant and permanent commitment to continuing employment in the field.
They say you learn something new every day. It’s only five to three in the afternoon; I guess I can be ignorant now until at least midnight.
