Valentine's Day Breakfast

As you know, we tend to celebrate special days with breakfast out although, sometimes, we opt for lunch. You may also recall that we usually go out either before or after the special day, particularly if it's a special day for all, such as Mother's Day. This time we drove a little outside of town to Generations Inn on Mississippi Lake, which is part of Mississippi River before the river passes through our town, just to the north or east.

Whatever its history Generations Inn is a restaurant, particularly for boaters in season.

We were the only customers on a late Wednesday morning, but we had confidence that the absence of diners did not portend negatively against a positive culinary experience on a bleak, midweek winter's day, and we were not disappointed.

The main dining area is on the glassed-in porch.

A fireplace make it very comfortable.

We were not disappointed with the food. In fact, I've never had a breakfast quite like it.

Of course, it was very pricey, but it was worth it, and I am glad that we did it once. Maybe we will return someday for a fish 'n chip lunch or supper.

From the dining room, we see the very white snow on the lake beyond the trees. As we have mentioned in previous posts, here the Mississippi River widens into what we call Mississippi Lake. If you squint, you may see two ice huts out there. If you can't, I have zoomed in and enlarged that portion from the second photo in the third image.

A section of the same photo as above but enlarged somewhat to aid the viewer to, hopefully, see the
two ice fishing huts. One is somewhat obscured by the bush, but the vague shape is present.
The other is just to the left of the bush and is partly red, and if you look very closely,
you might see two people way out there by the red hut.

Now for Susie and Johnny looking pleased with themselves.

It’s a Toque

It's a toque, or occasionally tuque, but most definitely not a wool hat, beanie, or toboggan. I don't care where you are from, you must immediately, henceforth and forthwith, use the proper, Canadian, appellation.

For one thing, this is a toboggan.

And this may be a beanie, a non-serious piece of headgear

That aside, I really want to tell you that I sometimes wear a toque in bed. Well, not really in bed but in chair on a cold night. I don't wear it to go to sleep exactly, but I leave it by the side of my chair and sometimes grab it in the middle of the night because we let our house get quite cold, and I have a lot of bare scalp up there. Those who have a nice head of hair probably don't appreciate just how well it insulates your head.

When I settle in my chair on a cold winter's night, I decide between donning my hoodie or engaging my heated throw. When I opt for the heating, assuming I remember, I place my toque by the side of my chair just in case my head gets chilly while the rest of me is comfy cozy. Come 4 or 5 o'clock when the house is at its coldest, I may reach blindly for the toque.

That is what this silly, old Canucklehead has to do in his silly, elder years, and yes, that is how I sleep, or try to, non-horizontally in my recliner. I think it is the ledges (arms) on which I can use to prop my legs that make it better for me than a flat bed  

Not a Gutter

On the light side of life, I don't know a gentler way to tell Americans this, but . . .

When I posted this on FB, I had an old blog friend, whose first language is not English, ask how we would pronounce it. She speculated eaves as in leaves and trough as in tough but with an r added. I wrote yes but then added that trough would be pronounced more like trawf, as in raw and straw. 

Her name is Iona, but she hasn’t blogged for a long time, so probably none of you know her, but I’m mentioning her just in case she might be a former blog acquaintance of yours. 

By the way, we do know what a gutter is, and some people do, indeed, have their minds in them, but eavestrough seems to be the favoured word by most Canadians.

Showering With a Friend Or . . .

. . .  fiend? Whatever the case, I recently enjoyed showering with a being who looked something like …

⬇️ ⬇️ ⬇️

She was fairly near the faucet when I turned on the shower. I was prepared for either eventuality, whether she were to be swept down the drain or if she were to escape that watery fate. I was hoping for the latter outcome, and by golly, she made it to the outer shower curtain, protected from the thundering hot stream beyond the barrier of the inner curtain.

I was wondering if she would continue hang around the bathroom or depart to obscure, hidden recesses, but by next shower, she had apparently chosen the latter option. Good for her.

I am not sure if I would have felt as sanguine about sharing the tub with a large, fat, hairy arachnid, but I was willing to accommodate a daddy long-legs, even if it were a mommy.

The Pholcidae are a family of araneomorph spiders. The family contains more than 2,000 individual species of pholcids, including those commonly known as cellar spider, daddy long-legs spider, carpenter spider, daddy long-legger, vibrating spider, gyrating spider, long daddy, and angel spider. The family, first described by Carl Ludwig Koch in 1850, is divided into 94 genera. (Wikipedia)

I don't like killing things and often will try to take insects outside in summer, but she wouldn't not have survived in February, so I let things take their course. I don't like killing mosquitoes or houseflies either, but I do it: not gladly but out of what I deem to be a necessity.

More About My Back

I have decided to double-post today because my queue is getting long again. While some of those putative entries will likely be trashed, I will still have too many gathering cyber dust.

When I posted of the 1994 Olympics and my back attack, some readers had questions. I think these excerpts from a 2010 post answers at least some of those questions. I've added the headings to make it a bit easier to follow.

The Onset

My troubles had begun one Sunday after I had gone to the gym. I hadn't done anything terribly strenuous that day but had spent quite a bit of time on the Stairmaster. On the way home, my back felt uncomfortable, but I thought little of it as I had experienced spasms and twinges from time to time for several years. It was the same on Monday morning, but off I went to my teaching job with my fellow car poolers, and I became more and more uncomfortable as we drove past the flat fields of rural Lambton County.

Soon after I started walking around the school, my back became even worse, and I realized that I wasn't going to make it. Fortunately, the first period of the day was my spare, so I had time to prepare some materials and drag myself around the school to photocopy some handouts for the supply teacher. I called Sue to come and get me after informing the vice principal that I had to go home. "I'll see you in three days," I said, because my history with muscle spasms had informed me that I should become ambulatory in that time frame

On the Floor

Except it wasn't muscle spasms this time around but a bulging L4-L5 disc. For weeks, I was unable to sit or stand for more than a few minutes without terrible leg pain, for that's where the pain was always worst. I could barely get through a shower before I was forced to throw myself on the floor in search of relief. Thankfully, I could be fairly comfortable when I was prone, preferably on my stomach.

I say that I was on the floor for six weeks, but I think it was eight weeks before I actually got back to work. In the subsequent years, I have experienced constant numbness in my left leg and foot, but I have never had a total repeat of that back incident. However, I remain constantly aware of how fragile my back is, and I have to be very careful how I sit and move. Fortunately, despite some limitations, such as giving up tennis, I have been surprised to be able to carry on a normal life, for I thought that I would have experienced another major incident or two by now. In the back of my mind, I still rather expect worse to come to worst someday, but I also remain hopeful.

More of Sue in White

Awhile ago, I posted a photo of Sue on the town hall staircase, dressed in white to fulfill one of her photo prompts. I said that I would get around to posting more photos, so as a man who tries to keep his word, here we are.

When I saw the window light at the top of the staircase, I thought we should try some more photos using that light. They are more traditional portrait photos (although by phone), but I like the above photos better. I often prefer the compositional aspect of seeing the subject in situ. But here are the others regardless.

    

Sue did not use any of the photos that I have posted either here or in the initial post for her group. She chose one on the stairs but with her sunglasses on. You can see it here on her Flickr newish stream if you like.

In the previous post, someone wondered about her hat. Actually, it is a Linda Lundstrom headband, which Sue purchased more than two decades ago. I don't have further details, but this link takes us to the general site, and I have copied and posted their blurb, below. Sue has a Lundstrom coat; it is considered to be somewhat upscale winter wear.

Linda’s experience spans over 34 years in the Apparel Industry designing and building the Linda Lundström brand and a state-of- the-art Canadian Lean manufacturing facility. Recognized by the fashion industry, business, manufacturing, educational institutes and the community. She is the recipient of numerous awards, including three honorary Ph. D.s. She was named to the Order of Ontario in 1995, and the Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal in 2013. She is recognized as a champion of First Nations awareness and ethical manufacturing practices — proud to use the label ‘Made in Canada’.

No Reminders Required

I am not amongst those who are mesmerized by the Olympics, but I will turn them on occasionally out of a sense of duty. On Saturday morning, among other events, ski jumping was being featured. Aside from finding it boring in the present, I was reminded just how mind-numbing it was back in February 1994.

There I was, lying very uncomfortably on the floor in the middle of the night. I tuned the tv to The Games and was treated to ski jumping — hour after interminable hour, or so it felt like and still feels like in retrospect.

I had been mostly on the floor for weeks after a back attack of bulging discs. I could barely sit at the table long enough to eat a quick meal before the pain in my leg would become overwhelming, forcing me back to the floor. We had a waterbed at the time, which wouldn’t have been helpful for a misaligned back, so I also slept (sort of slept and sort of not slept) on a mattress on the floor beside the bed when I wasn’t lying downstairs in the family room  

That particular morning, I had been about to leave for physio (I could drive that far in a few minutes) when I had a severe spasm that instantly put me onto the floor almost unable to move. I pretty well stayed there throughout that day and then throughout that long, lonely, miserable night. It was before the internet, and all that I had to occupy my hours was the tv, and all that the tv had on, or close enough anyway, were the Olympics. Unfortunately, the thing that was playing was ski jumping. 

It was a rather dismal night. I don’t think I got any sleep in my uncomfortable predicament even though hour after hour of ski jumping should be enough to send anyone into a state of stupor.

I was more or less out of commission for two months, and my body has never been the same as it used to be since then. 

So, on this past Saturday morning, as I sat in my chair, doing this or that on my tablet, probably reading blog posts, I was not at all amused to be aware of ski jumping being featured. After a time, I extricated myself from the chair, wobbled over to the computer, and turned it off because the ski jumping was only bringing me back to that miserable night within a miserable two months.

It happened thirty-two years ago, but I really don't require any reminders.