As in . . .
You can’t step into the same river twice.
This week sees a change in the format/layout of my blog. I was working on some technical issues with the previous theme (jargon for a blog layout package) and parked the blog here until I had them resolved.
That, at least, was the plan. But I’d be interested in your opinions (better, worse, meh) on the new look to help me decide whether it should be a fill-in solution or a longer-term solution. I can’t promise to go with what the majority prefer, because pesky technical problems do arise, but I’d still be interested.
If you can’t remember what it used to look like, you can get an approximate view of that by checking out my proposal blog. Different colours but same-old layout.
It all comes in a mad rush. We seemed to wait For Ever for the tulips and irises to bloom, and then the flowering crabapple tree came and went in about 24 hours, the Korean lilacs and magnolia blossoms hung around for maybe three days, and now the poppies and clematis are having their (quick) turn.
a more efficient fireplace
That sounds good, especially in these energy-conscious times and given our on-off relationship with spring this year.
a more efficient fireplace
a coffee percolator
What? Do we put the percolator on the efficient fireplace to heat up? A two-fer?
In the year 2020, of the reign of Elizabeth II, Queen of England and Canada, we Isabel, commander of a detachment (comprising my various selves) sent by whatever powers-that-be to do whatever-it-is that these selves do, have buried this Piece of Paper at the intersection of Solera Circle and Dunston Terrace this 11th day of June, near Hunt Club Drive, otherwise Irritatingly Overloaded Arterial Road…
Being a bystander is harder than it looks: I have much of the interest in the activity that participants have, but little of the satisfaction that comes from being in the fray.
Being an amateur is harder than it looks: I have much of the love of the subject that professionals have, but little of the knowledge that would allay fears.
Being a grandparent is harder than it looks: I have much of the concern about outcomes that parents have, but little of the day-to-day input to address them. Continue reading
As I might have mentioned, my father once told me that someone once told him that the date for the D-Day invasion was chosen to prevent any misunderstandings about exactly which day it was. When they wrote condensed military jargon, I understand that the British put the day first and the Americans the month. You can see how that might lead to coordination problems between military units with commanders from different countries. Enter a date that reads the same both ways: 6/6.
Alas, it is not true. General Eisenhower originally set D-Day for 05 June 1944, based on favourable tide conditions that would not be repeated for another two weeks and the fear that waiting another two weeks might give it away to the Germans. Bad weather on 05 June delayed the invasion by one day. Continue reading
In January 2018, we drove drove drove to the tip of the Florida Keys and then took a 153-minute boat ride — not that I was counting — to Fort Jefferson, at the tip of a string of tiny islands and lumps of rocks.
The spot is called the Dry Tortugas: dry because there’s no fresh water; tortugas because someone thought the lumps looked like turtles. Spanish turtles, I guess. Continue reading
The flute music soars into the cavernous reaches of the air terminal. It’s not the precursor to a flash mob: That would be so last January. It’s not any kind of mob at all. I observe two people — the flautist and a lone audience member — and I infer the presence of at least one other — a videographer.
For the duration of the three-minute solo, while the black-gowned flautist performs, the audience member sits unnaturally still on a folding chair. Is she self-conscious? The audience member, I mean. I would be. Actually, at the end of the clip it looks as if they both are. I’m not surprised. It’s an unusual situation. Continue reading
When my children were in grade school in Saskatoon, lo, these many years ago now, one teacher did a weird thing. Well, one teacher that I knew of.
Through the school year, each kid had to take a turn sitting in a chair in the middle of the class with all the other kids sitting in their desks in their usual jumble around the edges of the room. For five minutes, the kid sat there and listened to their classmates talk about them.
They couldn’t argue or talk back or deflect or dismiss or laugh it off. They just had to sit there and take it. Continue reading