Hail to Caesar

Confession time: I had a Caesar (as in an alcoholic beverage, and not a Roman emperor) before supper tonight.

I never have been one to drink much: partly due to my religious upbringing, partly due to personal taste, and partly due to a certain sense of responsibility. I don’t really have anything against the moderate consumption of alcohol, but it doesn’t particularly draw me. Not on a regular basis anyway. Occasionally, however, I choose to have a beer, a glass of wine, a cooler, or a Caesar. Very occasionally.

Along with several bottles of beer, three Caesars have sat in my fridge since Christmas. They exist primarily for company’s sake. Ordinarily, I might have consumed them at a slightly faster rate, but not much in all probability. However, in an effort to make healthier diet choices, I have been even less inclined than usual, if that’s possible, to imbibe alcohol.

It’s not just alcohol but my diet, in general. I am eating smaller portions and making better choices. It’s working. Progress is slow, but it’s progress nonetheless.

“Everything in moderation,” they say.

“Even dieting,” I say.

I am still being very careful, for more inches demand to be shed, but I am trying not to be too regimented. It’s summer in Canada after all. One needs to be out and to enjoy what this short season has to offer: fries at the waterfront; ice cream at the bridge; corn on the cob; and, even an occasional Caesar, or cooler, or … well … whatever.

I am not about to throw caution to the wind, but I mean to enjoy myself too, for life is to be lived, not gazed upon ... and it is summer in Canada after all.

On the Currents

On the Trail
I wasn’t sure where we were going or how far we’d get when we headed out on our bicycles today. It was 10:30, and, at first, the weather was both a little windy and a little cool. Once we got onto the trail, however, we felt very comfortable. The wind didn’t seem to be much of a factor any more.

We were so comfortable that when we got about seven klicks out — our previous best effort — we decided to keep going. And then we decided that we were still okay, so we ended up pedalling all of the way to The Grove. Parts of the trail are nicer than others; I particularly like the section shown in the photo to the left. (All of these photos are click-able, by the way.)


Lunch by the Lake
There is a Tim’s in The Grove, so we stopped for coffee and turkey-bacon-club to go. Sue managed to fit the refreshments into her storage container, and, more importantly, managed not to spill a drop of coffee on our way down to the lakeside where we found a nice lookout complete with benches (photo to right for a view of yours truly enjoying the view of the lake).

Time to go home. Well no not yet. We took another detour down to the bridge, rested there for a spell, splurged on an ice cream cone. It was just a single dipper, so we didn’t sin too greatly. Or is a sin a sin? My theology is weak on this point.


At the Bridge
We finally arrived home, almost five hours after we set out, not really knowing where we were headed. In all, we covered over forty kilometres (twenty-five miles) — not bad for two old fogies who have only had their bikes for a week. We’re pretty impressed and pleased with ourselves anyway.

What a great day! We didn’t exactly plan it, and maybe that’s the key. Maybe we tend to over-plan and over-schedule in this era. Perhaps you have to go with the flow every now and then and see where the current will take you. Your journey might be just as delightful as ours was today.

Echinacea Photo

Sometimes you feel like writing; sometimes you feel like taking pictures.

Lily Photo

There are so many flowers blooming in the July garden. I wanted to catch this lily (and its neighbours) while it was still in its glory. It's a fresh photo — only about a half-hour old.

Pass the Towel

I have to admit to liking this photo of a duckling in need of a good towling-off.

The Joy of Cycling

The other day, our friends let us try out their “adult cruiser” bicycles. They started biking last year, and frequently spoke of the glories thereof. But we resisted until now, for we two occupants of this household are plagued with bad backs, knees, and whatnots (I throw that in for good measure). Therefore, our reluctance, more mine that Sue’s, was understandable. I had ridden Ally’s bike from time to time in the past few years, and did not find it easy on my back. I hadn’t heard about “adult cruisers” or “comfort bikes” until our friends began preaching of their virtues (the bikes’ virtues not the friends’).

And so it was with some scepticism that we borrowed our friends’ bikes the other day, but our scepticism soon gave way to exaltation. The high, curve-around handle bars let us ride in a straight-back position rather that the usual forward hunch. We pedalled down to The Bay and under the bridge for almost two hours. Backs, knees, and whatnots remained comfortable and in good working order.

Part-way through, Sue proclaimed that she knew what she was going to do that afternoon. “What’s that?” responded I, thinking to hear that she would be recuperating in bed or soaking sore muscles in a hot tub. But, like me, she was feeling so elated that she had already determined that she would be shopping for a bicycle that afternoon. I was forced to concur, for when mama speaks in that voice, papa listens.

Indeed, by mid-afternoon, we had spent the remaining portion of our meagre life-savings (I exaggerate only slightly for the benefit of the narrative) in favour of enjoying the exhilaration of pedal-power. It is now four days later, and we have managed to go riding almost daily for about two hours at a time. That’s pretty darn good for these not-so-fit, somewhat creaky, almost-senior bodies.

When I’m out there biking, I am also back there somewhere — somewhere in time. It seems as though in some way I have pedalled through a forty-five-year time barrier, as though a backward glance could reveal my boyhood best friend wheeling along behind. I am almost in two worlds at once. The present and past get all crinkled up together somehow. Kind of a neat feeling that.

I always liked biking when I was a kid — really, really liked it — but was resigned to those days being long gone. Thankfully, however, that’s one door that I have been able to ride through again. Both Sue and I are having a blast.

Isn’t it great when these somewhat serendipitous things happen? If we didn’t have friends who happened to get adult cruisers and who were willing to let us try them out, we wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have tried.

We would have been happy still, for happiness comes from within, but we wouldn’t be experiencing this particular joy. Happiness is wonderful, the state of being that we choose (see Sue’s blog), but special joy often creeps up when we are not expecting it. If happiness is the table from which we dine, perhaps joy is the salt that flavours the food.

You can choose to be happy. I have known sick and dying people who have chosen this way of being in the world, and I think I have learned from them. Joy seems to visit sporadically and randomly, but I think that sometimes we can put ourselves in its path. When an option or opportunity presents itself, we can seize the moment, open the door, and walk through. Because nothing is certain in life, I cannot proclaim that joy always awaits us on the other side of the door, but I think it often does.

Worth the Wait

How well I remember my first two hummingbird sightings. I had lived well into my adult years before the serendipity goddess relented long enough to bestow this particular blessing upon me.

We had a flowerbed by the gate into the backyard, and as I passed through on this day, my mind on who knows what, I thought I saw an incredibly big bug navigating amongst the flowers. Intrigued, I approached. When it began to fly off, I immediately realized, "No mere bug this." I had glimpsed my first hummer.

Several days later, I was lazing quietly on the deck, minding my own business. It was then that the hummer condescended to treat me to a genuine close encounter by visiting the flower baskets which hung but a few feet beyond my grasp. He lingered, fed from the nectar, hovered, and buzzed: in and out, back and forth, up and down.

I'm sure that my jaw dropped in amazement as I beheld this tiny but magnificent creation. I felt as though I were in the presence of something ... I don't know ... words fail. Something miraculous? Something divine? To me at least, a marvel.

I was deeply moved by this flying miracle. Tears formed, my heart leapt, my spirit gave thanks — emotions whirled and swirled unbidden. As the hummer drank from the flowers, I drank too — deep draughts of nature's finest. I'm sure that the moment must have been brief, that he shortly moved on. But time stopped for me then, and that remarkable twinkling remains forever etched. As I posted yesterday, I have since had glimpses of him or his descendants from afar; and, I have frequently and closely scrutinized his northerly cousins. However, he has never chosen to return to those flower baskets to bestow another blessing on this mere, awkward, lumbering human entity.

In an I want it now if not yesterday world, I speak up, here and now, of the merits of delayed gratification. When one has to endure for a comparatively long time before beholding certain wonders of nature, I believe that the wonders become all that more wondrous. I saw neither the sea nor the mountains until I was in my fifth decade. Upon seeing them, however, I was deeply moved, deeply grateful. Just as I had also been touched by the perfect little hummingbird in that perfect little moment.