Scrunched

The cottage, Riverwood, sits on a large piece of mostly forested land — about 120 acres. In addition to this expansive Riverwood outdoors, the actual cottage contains a fairly large kitchen and a decent sized living room, but we have a certain predilection to gather in the porch. So, here's the family: five adults and two dogs in a small space with AC and Zeus just barely outside the door (possibly contemplating their next duet). It seems to be ever thus — that we scrunch ourselves into this tiny space.

That's Cuppa's brother, top left, and his wife, top right. Her sister is in the middle right beside her husband's knees. My family? Heck I'm an only child.

Going to the Dogs

Greetings from holiday land.

Actually, we are no longer in holiday land, but we are still on holiday, so to speak. After visiting BIL and SIL, we are back home but only for a few days before we head off to Toronto to visit daughter2 and friend. This will be our final get-together with them before they fly off for an extended romp around Southeast Asia. Although it will be a few weeks early we'll also celebrate D2's birthday while there. Meanwhile, we have a few days here at home to recuperate before this next round of visitations.

It seems that Cuppa's family all and always have dogs. I like dogs, but we are the misfits and usually seem to have a cat or two hanging about. I like cats too, so this is no hardship for me. Maybe I'll have a dog someday, but the proper timing and circumstances have not yet seemed to converge. For one thing, our cat isn't young, so it doesn't seem best to foist a dog on him. Yet, as I say that, I am also forced to admit that he is an even-tempered and easy-going beastie who would probably adapt quite well. I guess that it I who am not ready for a dog. Maybe I never will be and will remain the family oddity.

But like them I do, and I was able to enjoy them for four days. The first two, below, seen through the screen door, are my BIL's dogs. They are purebred dogs — King Charles Cavalier Spaniels if you please. I am at pains to refrain from genuflecting whenever I say that. Anyway, they are delightful little pooches. The brown one, Oliver, is much younger than Charlie but not as much larger as he appears in this photo.

Then there is Zeus, my SIL's canine. I'm not sure how he came by the name, for he is a much beloved mongrel, a lab-shepherd mix if I understand it correctly. Cuppa took this picture of Zeus sitting by me as I read a magazine.

Of course, since he is called Zeus, and given his exalted stature in the household, at some point, we began referring to him as God of the Dogs. And so it has come to pass that when I was am visiting on a Sunday that I have taken to singing The DOGsologoy (get it?) to him or rather with him. I know it's irreverent, but given his name and status, it seems appropriate. So I sing, "Praise Dog from ... " and so on. And the great thing is that he sings along with me. I don't know if that is what we are singing in the picture below, but I do know that we are singing ... or howling at that point. His singing startles me sometimes. You see, I am the type to hum, whistle and sing without thinking at any old sporadic moment. Sometimes, I forget that he's around and am unaware that I am making a joyful noise of some description, so it surprises me when a dog suddenly appears howling and singing at my side. I love it though.

There is a small river on the back of my SIL's recreational property (the one that we call Riverwood and that I call a cottage and Cuppa calls a farm). On a hot day SIL's hubby and I might go in for a dip. Here we are returning from such an event. I am wearing my new Aussie-type cowboyish hat. I have a more North American one, but it has never been comfortable. While on this little vacation I happened to try this one on. It fit and the price was right. But I think the pained expression on my face in this picture was the result of being surprised by yet another random shooting by my wife who doth snap the shutter with reckless abandon.

Taking Off

From the frequency or lack thereof of my posting this summer, you probably won't notice any difference, but we are going visiting for the next little while. For how long of a while we're not sure yet.

What we do know is that we're heading west on highway 7 to visit with Cuppa's brother tomorrow. From there we were going to visit daughter 2 on the weekend, but now we're not. We'll head to the cottage instead. We may stay for a few days, come back here for a few, and then visit daughter in Toronto, or we may stay at the cottage for about a week and go to Toronto from there.

Regardless, it rather looks like I won't get much if any posting done for the best part of two weeks. Sometimes, I post from the cottage, however, so we'll see. In any event, take care.

Concert Security

Two faces of security personnel at the festival — Grumpy and Smiley.

Quite a Jam

Riverside Jam has ended. Cuppa and I worked our three volunteer shifts putting in about 23 hours of surveillance: mostly standing and peering at little armbands (coloured bracelets if you will) to determine colour and access privileges. Black, hardly a standout choice, was the dominant colour at our gate. You would not be stretching your imagination a whole lot to deduce that we must be a trifle weary this morning.

I could barely believe the influx of people for this event. We arrived for our first shift many hours before the first concert was scheduled to begin and the campgrounds already appeared to be full with all sorts of trailers of various levels of opulence. This was very impressive to a guy who can barely afford a tent. And as we later learned, the campgrounds spread a long, long way from the prime campground next to the river – in the very same quiet little park that Cuppa and I often frequent on a pleasant day.

So, it was a major event for this little town, and I must say that it was pretty darn well organized and run. Oh, there were glitches and some poor decisions that we soon became aware of at our gate. We spent time trying to prevent regular concert-goers from accessing the campgrounds, for example. We'd refuse (not so much me but the stick-to-the damn-rules folk) old couples entrance to the campgrounds (from the concert area) because they didn't have a camper to escort them, and we'd give kids (under twelve without passes) a hassle about getting back into the camp (from the concert area) because their parents were supposed to accompany them, but, lo and behold, the parents were already in the campgrounds. But then as the weekend progressed, guests of the sponsors could more or less come and go at will by simply mentioning the family name. Ah well, as I said, it was pretty well run on the whole. This is still only the third year of the event, and there remain some glitches to be ironed out.

What I heard of the music was pretty uneven. Some of the bigger performers didn't excite me too much. Some shouted songs with incomprehensible lyrics. The influence of Rock music on other genres is pretty doggone profound. Many of the acts, especially those who performed earlier in the day, were closer to traditional country, however, and were really quite pleasant to listen to. The main and closing act last night, Ricky Scaggs, was rather insipid and anticlimactic in my humble and untutored opinion, but the act before him, a group called Ambush, sounded very good to my ears.

Things got a little bit hectic last night. It was hard to keep control of our gate. There were those who faked armbands, and I'm sure that some of them got by us. Of course, some kids got a little rowdy, but Response Security was pretty on the ball, and nothing got very out of hand. Really though, with thousands of people on a small area and with much alcohol being consumed most people were happy, friendly and compliant. I would never ever ever never contemplate working at a Rock venue, however. Uh uh.

Final wonderment: how do people afford to drink like they do? Beer was selling for $4.50 per glass, and it was being consumed prodigiously. Some were deep into it all weekend it seemed. I could never afford to be a drunk.

It Could Have Been Worse

The upshot of my hearing aid tragedy of about ten days ago is that it can be fixed – sort of.

As you know, I trod upon it and smashed the shell to smithereens. However, we gathered said smithereens and sent them off for a post mortem. Apparently, the electronics still function. The company still has the specs for the ear mould and will put Humpty back together again for just a little over three hundred dollars. I am rather relieved.

I'm not sure when I'll receive the refurbished piece, but I will be happy when I do.

Yes, it could have been worse — much worse.

The Unchanging

My nephew and significant other have just departed for a night in Montreal. They will drop by tomorrow on their way back to the cottage. If they're late, they'll stay overnight and continue on the next day. It's all fine with us; they're really nice kids. Some people despair about "kids today," but people have always done that. I taught for three decades, and kids were always kids – always nice in other words.

So, we took them to see some small towns and the locks on the Rideau Canal system. We even saw a whole street in Merrickville move aside to let boats through – just small pleasure craft, that's all. It was a swing. Two workers crank the cranks, and the street (bridge) just swings to the side on a rail. It's century old technology (even older), but it still works a treat. We then proceeded to the Hershey factory in Smiths Falls where none of us could resist loading up on cheap chocolate. We almost always do that with new guests on day one: take them to see the small towns, locks, and the Hershey factory.

On day two, we're likely to run into Ottawa. We'll take them to parliament hill, the Byward Market, and the National (Art) Gallery. The changing of the guard is rather splendid to watch, so we headed in bright and early yesterday morning. They perform the ceremony at ten o'clock, but we leave around 8:30 in order to drive in, find parking, and walk to the Parliament Buildings. But we're not having much success with The Changing. Definitely not; it has become The Unchanging of the Guard for us.

It first happened in June last year. I had wondered if they would perform the ceremony in June; so I looked it up on the Net. Yes, according to the site, they started in June and continued through July and August. What the site didn't say was that they only begin in late June, just before the Canada Day weekend. And, of course, we were there early in the month.

But yesterday was the heart of summer, so there was no question that the show would go on. I lie, however, for there was a question. You see, yesterday was the hottest of the year in these parts. It was torrid: about 95F but feeling more like 115F with the humidity. So, they cancelled The Changing.

I don't blame them at all though. The soldiers wear those big bear skin hats and wool uniforms, and it would have been cruel to make them perform yesterday. Even the Mounted Police, the ones that saunter around The Hill on horseback and in their scarlet tunics, stayed away.

So I'm not mad or bitter. Not me 'cause I'm Canadian eh? And good Canadians try to accept our lots and take things in phlegmatic stride. But jeez louise I would like our visitors to be able to view this rather wonderful spectacle.

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