A flat 9×12 white-plastic envelope sat on my desk for a while this week: I assumed it was one of my magazines that comes packaged that way. Meanwhile, from time to time, I wondered where my latest yarn shipment was. I got the shipment notice about 10 days ago, and it was only coming from St. John’s. Odd.
Today I picked up said envelope and was surprised at its heft and hardness: This was no floppy magazine. Odd again. I struggled a bit to extricate an inner sleeve of plastic, to be greeted by my yarn. Sort of. It looked–I dunno–odd.
The oddness was more evident from the side.
I’ve had a cheese-slice face before: a full-on portrait, not a profile.
This was a chance encounter of two neighbours, one of whom was just a hair more animated than the other.
. . . and the day wanes.
I was this many years old when I noticed that the vernal and autumnal equinoxes don’t land on the same-numbered day. I had them both in my head as the 21st (of March and September, respectively), but it is not so.
Perhaps I was confused by the solstices both being on the 21st of their respective months? Nope. The summer solstice is June 21; the winter solstice is December 22. I just don’t pay attention. (If you would like to know more, here’s an excellent resource, complete with quiz. I’ll post your scores if you send them to me.)
Sidebar: The 2024 vernal equinox will be on March 19 (not like, oh I don’t know, March 21). Quick Google answers to the question of why the date varies talk about the discrepancy between the sidereal and calendar years. Thus, they announce definitively, the equinox gets 6 hours later year to year. Unless there’s an intervening Leap Year, I guess, which throws it all off-kilter. Maybe? In any event, on we go, trusting that the equinox calculators and the solar system itself know what they’re doing.
Back in the day, the point just short of this mileage saw everyone piling into the car to drive that last little bit, hanging over the back seat to get a good view as all the nines rolled upwards with a series of soft clicks (Did we really hear them, or just imagine them?), to be replaced by all-zeroes on the odometer. I mean, how satisfying was that?
What a moment! It wasn’t like we were going to see it happen again anytime soon. And woe to the driver who missed the great rollover. Imagine glancing at the speedometer and catching sight of this in passing.
It’s been 112 years since 1911. In geological or astronomical terms that’s nothing, but in human terms? Man, 112 years is a long time. Things that have been around for ever were just getting started in 1911:
- Chevrolet started making cars
- J.M. Smucker started making Crisco®
It’s been 112 years since 1911, which is longer than all but a handful of lifetimes. It’s long enough to take us from newspaper accounts of the coronation of George V to the streamed-online coronation of Charles III, George V’s great-grandson. And yet, 1911 is potentially just one handshake away. How so? That takes some explaining.
GoFundMe. Go. Fund. Me. I don’t quite get it.
I know what it means all right; I just don’t get why the communication works.
Why isn’t it ComeFundMe? I mean, where am I going? Isn’t the invitation to join someone in doing something? To come and be part of something?
Wouldn’t PleaseFundMe be more semantically correct as well as more polite? Heck, why is the first word needed at all? Wouldn’t FundMe communicate the same thing?
Could the punctuation be implied? GO!FUND ME! or even GO:FUNDME! Continue reading
A last-of-the-season fabulous boat ride produces less-than-fabulous photos of a family of common loons, in part because the birds and I bob up-and-down at what seem like different amounts/frequencies even though we’re on the self-same lake.
Always fabulous, notwithstanding distance, wave action, light, and (cough) shutter speeds.
Back on dry land, unencumbered by the complex wave-mechanics of Canada’s Shield lakes and untroubled by the shifts in the tectonic plates underlying the Shield itself, I turn my attention to a smaller-and-nearer photographic subject. My dragonfly-identification skills are not my strong point, but at least this time I know that I’m looking at one species. It is, after all, just one individual.
Male autumn meadowhawk? Pretty sure. Pretty fabulous.
Check out Ontario’s dragonflies and damselflies here.
It’s not what you’re thinking, but it was quite a night. The home team lost their final home game of the season, but the crowd left the stadium pretty cheery. Well, I know I did.
Getting out of town, even for a week, brings many new views and a few new perspectives.
Two views from one pier.
Rain isn’t all bad.
These are my choices?