Back and Front

Early-ish yesterday morning, I poked my nose into the easement, which desperately needs mowing. But there are flowers — erigeron aka fleabane — along part of the fence.

They are such pretty little things, and I can't bear to mow them down just yet. It's not that anyone really sees them back there, but I am still reluctant. On the other hand no one really sees the current mess either, so there's really no hurry.

Meanwhile, out front, the daisies are beginning to open. I am so pleased to have daisies again after a longish absence. I don't know why they failed previously, but I hope this plant flourishes for many a year.

There are only three flowers open now, but there are lots of buds.

Last Gasp for My Father’s Day Weekend

Danica had yet to pay her Father's Day respects. Yesterday, she asked me to drive her to an appointment, but first she wanted to visit with the old fella. She had me stop at Tims for coffee and muffins for the three us, and then we headed over here to consume the goodies and catch up.

After some talk, I opened her gift. She gave me a little composite photo of our past times together that she put together on Pinterest. The other gift was a very nice solar lantern.

Of course, the main gift was her thoughtfulness and presence. I wish we had taken a picture of her and,  particularly, of her with me, but we didn't. We're slipping, but at least she did think to take those two of me.

We hung the lantern and once darkness fell, I took photos of the it shining in the dark.

What Has it Gots in its Pocketses

When I first posted the Father's Day photo of me and dad, one poster noted the hands in pockets. Not only did both Dad and I have our hands in our pockets, but so did the much later picture of me.

One day in church back in that early-ish 1960s, a pastor chided me for standing around, after the service I suppose, with my hands in my pockets. He seemed to see it as a sign of indolence or disrespect.

I had never thought that and certainly didn't see myself as portraying anything but a causal disposition. I was puzzled but quickly removed hands from pockets.

So all of these years later, we can get quick answers about such concerns. To wit:

Whether having your hands in your pockets is considered disrespectful depends heavily on the context, the environment, and cultural expectations. While it is often just a casual or comfortable habit, it can be perceived as rude, unengaged, or overly relaxed in certain situations.

It can be see as disrespectful in Formal and Professional Settings, in Historical/Military Context, and also when Conversing with Superiors or Elders.

In many cultures, keeping hands hidden is strongly frowned upon. For example, in Japanese and many African cultures, it is considered deeply disrespectful and arrogant.

If I recall correctly, this pastor was of Irish descent. Other than that incident, I have never come across a hands-in-pockets difficulty.

When I am walking with Sue, more often than not I will hold my cane in my left hand and place my right hand in a jacket or pants pocket. I seems natural to me.

From Whence and Where

After my Father's Day post showing dad and me, more than one commenter wondered where my height came from. It's a jolly good question, Take a look at this photo.

That's me with all of my living family on my wedding day in 1969. Before we left for the church, I had a friend take a family picture: my uncle (left), mother and father. My dad was the tallest of the three at 5'4". Rounded up, my mother was 5'1" but her brother, my uncle didn't quite make 5'.

And there I am, looming in the background, an aberration at almost 6'2".

From where and whence came I?

My paternal grandfather was also diminutive, somewhat stocky but not tall. Granny may have been taller but it is hard to tell because she had a dowager's hump from polio. My maternal grandmother was certainly not tall. However, my maternal grandfather was somewhat tall, probably 5'10" or maybe even 11". That's my best guess anyway since I haven’t seen him since I was ten years old. 

My kids aren't short, but they are not giants, child 2 probably being 5'10". I should ask them. 

That has made me recall a recent dream about child 2 where they were definitely taller than I. Well, I have shrunk by 3" so we might actually be seeing eye to eye, as it were. I should ask them now, and then we should stand together for a photo when we next meet. They live on the other side on the country, so I don't know when such a get-together might occur. They had a visit planned just a month or so ago, but back problems threw a wrench into the works — their back issue and not mine on that particular occasion.

Dad at 50

We were dressed for church in the fall of 1962, shortly after we moved from Montreal to the western fringes of the Toronto region. I had recently turned 15 in September, and dad was either 50 or a just a few weeks from it. During that summer, I'd had much of my growth spurt and was considerably taller than my diminutive, 5'4" father. I was probably inching close to 6' tall by then and on my way to being almost 6'2".The height difference doesn't show entirely in the photo because I am standing farther from the camera.

We lived in a cottage on the nursery on which Dad worked. Directly across  from our front door lay his greenhouse, actually two and for awhile three greenhouses. There were also two larger greenhouses in another spot on the property, and dad was in charge of them all. He worked hard to keep all his flowers ship-shape.

The view from our front door. Although I left for university in 1967, Dad kept on working there for about another 10 years.

Apparently, he was giving Sue and me a bit of a tour that day. He liked Sue quite a lot, I think.

It was nice to see the old guy in his middle-aged days in the first photo because I tend to picture him more readily in his more elder years, which is where I am at now. However, it is nice to be reminded of any age now that he’s been gone for 27 years.

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Then, after preparing the above, I had the notion to insert me at Dad's ago as he was in 1962. The only photo already on the computer that would more or less work was one of me at 59 compared to his 50. The the ages and appearance were close enough to make it work somewhat, I think, and so I composited as best I  could. The new composite pushed me farther forward that I was in the original photo, so I had to make myself larger because I was much taller than dad.

It was fun to try, and I think it was worth the effort. I know that lighting doesn't match up, but you work with what you have.

Father's Day Observed

The official Father's Day isn't until tomorrow, but our observances are already done. Sue took me out for coffee and a blueberry scone on Wednesday and to Generations on the Lake for brunch on Thursday  

I don't have a picture of us on the scone morning, but I did capture a photo of the lady at the far table engrossed in her book. I do like an interesting candid photo.

We did photograph our own likenesses at the  Generations brunch, which is a nice spot for dining out. I tried to get quite a bit of the grounds in the photo of Sue.

That is Mississippi Lake beyond, which later condenses into a narrow river as it flows through our town.

Et moi, wondering from where and whence came all of the wrinkles.

We did the pretty standard pizza and gift celly at Sha's last evening, leaving the kids free to honour their dad tomorrow. We missed Danica who got stuck at work, but I will see her on Monday to drive her to work, and she has promised to drop by for more of a chat someday soon.

Great idea: a chair-side table with power and USB outlets 

This morning

Our Odd Tree Bush

We planted a silk lilac tree in the backyard. It produced some blossoms on occasion, but it never did well. We removed the poor, spindly, failing thing two years ago.

Last summer, when the roots began to shoot up many branches, we left it to its own devices. It fills in a space, and our backyard is pretty well an unused space because it is close to a busy street and the afternoon sun can be very strong. The seldom used yard doesn’t need to be showpiece, so, we left it to do what it wanted.

It continues to do well as a bush, much better than it ever did as a tree, which seems rather odd. Currently it is producing quite a few blossoms (or flowers or whatever you call them). I find this quite surprising, so I decided to post about it.

from the back upstairs window

To change the topic: every now and then, I go for a little evening saunter, just up or down the street. Unusual for us, these are solo outings, for Sue is either in bed or getting close to it. I took this one around the corner at almost 10pm. The outcome was accidental because I forgot that one usually must hold the phone steady for a few seconds at night while the image is being recorded. As it turns out, I like it.