Writing about short pants in my previous post triggered yet another recollection. It occurred in the same general time frame as my one-time experiment with wearing shorts, and it involved colouring my pants with a purplish crayon.
Because I have succumbed to the wiles of heathenism and no longer attend church, I don't know what folk do today, but back on those days — late fifties/early sixties — all of us men wore suits to church. And I went to church quite a lot, or at least twice on Sundays.
And lo it came to pass that I was handed-down a suit that was a bluish grey if I doth recall correctly. And verily, the pants did possess what must have been a bleached out spot on the left leg somewhat below the bottom of the jacket. So, yea my people, I didst endeavour to hide this blemish for it was evil in my sight. Behold, before wearing said suit to meeting, I wouldst take in mine hand a crayon and attempt to hideth the offending spot. Alas, it never didst worketh all that welleth but felt I indeedeth bettereth for the tryingeth of it — eth. So saith the AC. Amen
Putting my over-the-top parody of King Jimmy English aside, I don't recall being too embarrassed over having this particular trial inflicted upon me, for I knew we didn't exactly have a Rockerfellian bank account. So, fine and understanding fellow that I was, I didn't complain too vociferously. But even then I had my pride and simply put down mine hard-hearted foot over that other hand-me-down suit: the one that was a brownish herringbone suitable for an old man — a somewhat diminutive older man as it happened.
On that rock of faith and principle, I stood firm!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A Short Story
As I sat there enjoying the music at Celtfest, I chanced to look down to my legs. It was easy to do because, as the picture attests, I was wearing shorts, even though it turned out to a chilly day. That's pretty well what I do all summer long; it's my garb of choice. It's comfortable. It's summer.
If I were both sensitive and sensible, however, I should probably heretofore desist. Because as I gazed down, I beheld tiny little creases crossing my legs from side to side. Oh my! Wrinkles! For the sake of others if not for my own almost spent dignity, I really should change my sartorial habits, cover up, and continue on into my decline with a modicum of grace.
But I won't. And it's not the first time I've been a short rebel.
Fifty summers ago (exactly, I think), there came a hot summer day when I thought that it would be sensible to wear shorts. Of course, all I had of that particular article of clothing was my gym shorts. But, hey, they would do.
Well, apparently not. After I pedalled the three or four long blocks to my best friend's place to hang out for the afternoon, I became the object of scorn and derision for my fashion faux pas. It seems that AC was a little avant garde when it came to summer apparel, and shorts were most definitely not in at that point in history.
I was mocked and teased, and I didn't wear them again. The funny thing is that I don't recall being terribly embarrassed. It was as if I received a fashion lesson: that wearing shorts was not cool — even on a hot day. So, I desisted.
I suppose that I didn't wear shorts again for a few more years, but I changed and times changed, and pretty soon, they became my summer standard.
And despite my aging, wrinkled-ness, so they shall remain.
Note: I met up with that best friend about ten years ago now, in summer, and it strikes me that he was and no doubt still is a long pants guy. I wonder if that's so. He reads or used to read this blog, a lurker who has never commented. Perhaps he would like to report his current views. Eh, old friend.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Trash Talk
What with having Nikki Dee over for two sleepovers on the weekend and with other goings on, I've been just a titch distracted and blog-unmotivated lately. Also, with Celtfest coming up on the weekend and visitors possibly arriving, the distractedness promises no letup.
I am so distracted, in point of fact, that I have had a merry time taking the garbage and recycling in and out. Last Wednesday was Canada Day, so there was no pickup, but, of course, I had put out the trash regardless. In my defense, so did most of our neighbours. Nevertheless ...
That might have been understandable seeing that it is our normal garbage day, and because we never know how they're going to deal with a holiday anyway. They might choose to show up on a holiday or on the very next day. Well, they did collect the trash on the next day, but not the blue boxes (recycling). After a day or so we neighbours figured it out, and most of us brought our blue boxes back in, out of sight. Most, but not all. Which is partly responsible for my subsequent confusion.
Come Monday evening, Cuppa had left a bag of kitchen garbage for me to put out in the bin. Well, along with the fact that some neighbours still had their recycling out, I got myself all confused, thought it was garbage night again, and took it all out to the curb. It didn't help that I was going out that night because we used to go out on Tuesday, garbage night, and I tend to associate going out with garbage night.
So, I took it all to the curb before Cuppa could ask me what the heck I was doing and set me straight. Back in it came.
As I said, I've been distracted. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
However, last night was the real night, and I'm happy to report that the third time is a charm. I got it out to the curb, and the blue boxes have already been seen to. Hooray!
Sorry to say it, but your posts are piling up, and there's a bunch that I might have to let go. Maybe I'll get back into the groove next week. If not ... well it's summer ... eh?
Be well while I try to gather my rather loose wits.
I am so distracted, in point of fact, that I have had a merry time taking the garbage and recycling in and out. Last Wednesday was Canada Day, so there was no pickup, but, of course, I had put out the trash regardless. In my defense, so did most of our neighbours. Nevertheless ...
That might have been understandable seeing that it is our normal garbage day, and because we never know how they're going to deal with a holiday anyway. They might choose to show up on a holiday or on the very next day. Well, they did collect the trash on the next day, but not the blue boxes (recycling). After a day or so we neighbours figured it out, and most of us brought our blue boxes back in, out of sight. Most, but not all. Which is partly responsible for my subsequent confusion.
Come Monday evening, Cuppa had left a bag of kitchen garbage for me to put out in the bin. Well, along with the fact that some neighbours still had their recycling out, I got myself all confused, thought it was garbage night again, and took it all out to the curb. It didn't help that I was going out that night because we used to go out on Tuesday, garbage night, and I tend to associate going out with garbage night.
So, I took it all to the curb before Cuppa could ask me what the heck I was doing and set me straight. Back in it came.
As I said, I've been distracted. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
However, last night was the real night, and I'm happy to report that the third time is a charm. I got it out to the curb, and the blue boxes have already been seen to. Hooray!
Sorry to say it, but your posts are piling up, and there's a bunch that I might have to let go. Maybe I'll get back into the groove next week. If not ... well it's summer ... eh?
Be well while I try to gather my rather loose wits.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Council Letters
I must fess up to filching this from ChrisB at MsCellania, but I can't help myself. I thought it was the funniest thing I have come across in a long time. I don't know when I last had an endorphin release like that.
Letters to the council
Some of this is nearly English: Sentences in letters written to councils in the UK
1.. It's the dogs' mess that I find hard to swallow
2.. I want some repairs done to my cooker as it has backfired and burnt my knob off.
3.. I wish to complain that my father burnt his ankle very badly when he put his foot in the hole in his back passage..
4.. And their 18 year old son is continually banging his balls against my fence.
5.. I wish to report that tiles are missing from the outside toilet roof. I think it was bad wind the other day that blew them off.
6..My lavatory seat is cracked, where do I stand?
7.. I am writing on behalf of my sink, which is coming away from the wall.
8.. Will you please send someone to mend the garden path. My wife tripped and fell on it yesterday and now she is pregnant.
9.. I request permission to remove my drawers in the kitchen.
10.. 50% of the walls are damp, 50% have crumbling plaster, and 50% are Plain filthy.
11.. I am still having problems with smoke in my new drawers.
12.. The toilet is blocked and we cannot bath the children until it is Cleared.
13..Will you please send a man to look at my water, it is a funny colour and not fit to drink.
14..Our lavatory seat is broken in half and now is in three pieces.
15..I want to complain about the farmer across the road.. Every morning at 6am his cock wakes me up and it's now getting too much for me.
16..The man next door has a large erection in the back garden, which is unsightly and dangerous.
17..Our kitchen floor is damp. We have two children and would like a third So please send someone round to do something about it.
18..I am a single woman living in a downstairs flat and would you please do something about the noise made by the man on top of me every night.
19..Please send a man with the right tool to finish the job and satisfy my wife.
20.. I have had the clerk of works down on the floor six times but I still have no satisfaction.
21.. This is to let you know that our lavatory seat is broke and we can't get BBC2.
22.. My bush is really overgrown round the front and my back passage has fungus growing in it.
23..He's got this huge tool that vibrates the whole house and I just can't take it anymore.
Letters to the council
Some of this is nearly English: Sentences in letters written to councils in the UK
1.. It's the dogs' mess that I find hard to swallow
2.. I want some repairs done to my cooker as it has backfired and burnt my knob off.
3.. I wish to complain that my father burnt his ankle very badly when he put his foot in the hole in his back passage..
4.. And their 18 year old son is continually banging his balls against my fence.
5.. I wish to report that tiles are missing from the outside toilet roof. I think it was bad wind the other day that blew them off.
6..My lavatory seat is cracked, where do I stand?
7.. I am writing on behalf of my sink, which is coming away from the wall.
8.. Will you please send someone to mend the garden path. My wife tripped and fell on it yesterday and now she is pregnant.
9.. I request permission to remove my drawers in the kitchen.
10.. 50% of the walls are damp, 50% have crumbling plaster, and 50% are Plain filthy.
11.. I am still having problems with smoke in my new drawers.
12.. The toilet is blocked and we cannot bath the children until it is Cleared.
13..Will you please send a man to look at my water, it is a funny colour and not fit to drink.
14..Our lavatory seat is broken in half and now is in three pieces.
15..I want to complain about the farmer across the road.. Every morning at 6am his cock wakes me up and it's now getting too much for me.
16..The man next door has a large erection in the back garden, which is unsightly and dangerous.
17..Our kitchen floor is damp. We have two children and would like a third So please send someone round to do something about it.
18..I am a single woman living in a downstairs flat and would you please do something about the noise made by the man on top of me every night.
19..Please send a man with the right tool to finish the job and satisfy my wife.
20.. I have had the clerk of works down on the floor six times but I still have no satisfaction.
21.. This is to let you know that our lavatory seat is broke and we can't get BBC2.
22.. My bush is really overgrown round the front and my back passage has fungus growing in it.
23..He's got this huge tool that vibrates the whole house and I just can't take it anymore.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Showing the Flag
With the exception of Canada Day and international hockey tournaments, we Canadians are not exactly a flag-waving bunch. It's not that we don't love and appreciate our country because we sure do, but we're not demonstrably fervent on a daily basis. Of course, we're just taking the typically under-stated Canadian approach to life.
But it is July 1st today, and that means that it is Canada Day and that flags aplenty will be waving. We have three hanging about here and there, but they'll all come down shortly because ... well, because that's what we do when it's not Canada Day or an international hockey tournament. This is the flag that I see at present in our backyard while gazing out our bedroom window.
Most of us will be wearing red and white, or at least red if we can't find any white. I took the following picture several years ago at a gathering at the kids' place, but today will offer similar shots in many a yard and park across the land.
While I'm at it, here's a bit more Canadiana for your troubles. On the weekend we were able to take in the RCMP Musical Ride. I didn't take this photo (see acknowledgment below), but it is from a similar event. Several dozen Mounties in their scarlet tunics performing with their black horses is quite a wonderful sight.
And very Canadian. Eh?
But it is July 1st today, and that means that it is Canada Day and that flags aplenty will be waving. We have three hanging about here and there, but they'll all come down shortly because ... well, because that's what we do when it's not Canada Day or an international hockey tournament. This is the flag that I see at present in our backyard while gazing out our bedroom window.
Most of us will be wearing red and white, or at least red if we can't find any white. I took the following picture several years ago at a gathering at the kids' place, but today will offer similar shots in many a yard and park across the land.
While I'm at it, here's a bit more Canadiana for your troubles. On the weekend we were able to take in the RCMP Musical Ride. I didn't take this photo (see acknowledgment below), but it is from a similar event. Several dozen Mounties in their scarlet tunics performing with their black horses is quite a wonderful sight.
And very Canadian. Eh?
Taken by nikki-tate and posted on Flickr
Monday, June 29, 2009
Call Me Old-Fashioned
In one or two ways, but only in one or two ways I'll have you know, I am a old-fashioned kind of guy. For example: when Cuppa and I go out walking, I must always be closest to the curb. This makes for fancy footwork as we cross streets and change directions, but I can't stop myself. Me on the inside simply feels all wrong. There's one local street which only has a sidewalk on one side, but that side keeps changing, so we are forever crossing over the road and doing our odd little dance.
It's all my mother's fault. I remember once walking with her in Montreal when I was still in elementary school. My favourite teacher and her beau approached, and horror of horrors, wasn't he walking on the inside? We said a polite hello, but Mom certainly had more to say to me as we walked away. In point of fact, she was scandalized, for in her world, and now mine, men always took the curb (or kerb) side.
Despite what I said above, it's not my mother's fault; I was just saying that. It's really Sir Walter Raleigh's fault, for it was supposedly he who lay his coat over a muddy puddle for a lady to walk upon in order not to soil her pretty shoes. It may have been Queen Elizabeth I, or it may not have been anybody at all but only the stuff of myth and legend. Who's to say?
Despite what I said above, it's not really Sir Wally's fault either (I keep doing that). It was the fault of the times, for according to the Trivia-Library: "In 16th-century England, the habit of emptying chamber pots out of upper-story windows into the gutter made a city stroll so hazardous that gentlemen gallantly took the side nearest the curb when walking with their ladies." Although this seems against modern logic because it would seem to put men further from the hurled refuse and the women closer to it, there's probably some truth to it because I have found it in more than one reference. We've seen pictures of old English houses partly jutting out over the street, so the inside may really have been more sheltered and safer for the ladies.
Personally, I would bet that this bit of etiquette became firmly entrenched in Victorian times when more people lived in cities and the streets were pretty dirty places, clogged with horses and their leavings. Being partially shielded from the excrement was probably one of the few perks of being female in that very paternalistic society. Dear old Mom, came along shortly after Queen Victoria expired, but the sensibilities of that time still lingered — and street cleanliness was still not exactly up to modern standards — not by a horse's patootie it wasn't.
Whatever the historical truth, I haven't had the dubious pleasure of having to protect my lady from either flying chamber pot excrement or splashing horse manure, but I still take the outside, for I simply must. It's been ingrained. If you think that makes me an old-fashioned kind of guy, so be it, but let me remind you that I'm not exactly sending this message to you by carrier pigeon or smoke signal.
It's all my mother's fault. I remember once walking with her in Montreal when I was still in elementary school. My favourite teacher and her beau approached, and horror of horrors, wasn't he walking on the inside? We said a polite hello, but Mom certainly had more to say to me as we walked away. In point of fact, she was scandalized, for in her world, and now mine, men always took the curb (or kerb) side.
Despite what I said above, it's not my mother's fault; I was just saying that. It's really Sir Walter Raleigh's fault, for it was supposedly he who lay his coat over a muddy puddle for a lady to walk upon in order not to soil her pretty shoes. It may have been Queen Elizabeth I, or it may not have been anybody at all but only the stuff of myth and legend. Who's to say?
Despite what I said above, it's not really Sir Wally's fault either (I keep doing that). It was the fault of the times, for according to the Trivia-Library: "In 16th-century England, the habit of emptying chamber pots out of upper-story windows into the gutter made a city stroll so hazardous that gentlemen gallantly took the side nearest the curb when walking with their ladies." Although this seems against modern logic because it would seem to put men further from the hurled refuse and the women closer to it, there's probably some truth to it because I have found it in more than one reference. We've seen pictures of old English houses partly jutting out over the street, so the inside may really have been more sheltered and safer for the ladies.
Personally, I would bet that this bit of etiquette became firmly entrenched in Victorian times when more people lived in cities and the streets were pretty dirty places, clogged with horses and their leavings. Being partially shielded from the excrement was probably one of the few perks of being female in that very paternalistic society. Dear old Mom, came along shortly after Queen Victoria expired, but the sensibilities of that time still lingered — and street cleanliness was still not exactly up to modern standards — not by a horse's patootie it wasn't.
Whatever the historical truth, I haven't had the dubious pleasure of having to protect my lady from either flying chamber pot excrement or splashing horse manure, but I still take the outside, for I simply must. It's been ingrained. If you think that makes me an old-fashioned kind of guy, so be it, but let me remind you that I'm not exactly sending this message to you by carrier pigeon or smoke signal.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Foto Friday
We have tons of rather late Fathers Day photos today, but since I've missed a few Foto Fridays, perhaps I might be forgiven?
Actually, I begin with a few photos from the day before Fathers Day. Sorry, I can't help myself. We had been playing in her back yard. You can see bits and pieces of her new swing set in the background.
Now for Fathers Day itself. It began with a trip to Timmie's and taking our coffee and breakfast sandwich to the park.
But, of course, the real action was at the kids' house later in the day, beginning with a quick hug on arrival. I love Nikki Dee's enthusiastic greetings.
But most of the day was spent outdoors. Where else would you want to be on the first day of a Canadian summer? Nikki Dee loves her new swing.
Of course, there were gifts. Nikki Dee was in her modern art mode when she composed this card which speaks of tension and resolution in an atmosphere of love and respect within an imperfect world.
Accessories for the garden, either to walk on or display in some other way: the butterfly and ladybug are appropriate as they are totems (of a sort) of each of my two daughters.
The best gifts are those freely given. Fortunately, there were lots of hugs and snuggles on offer.
Actually, I begin with a few photos from the day before Fathers Day. Sorry, I can't help myself. We had been playing in her back yard. You can see bits and pieces of her new swing set in the background.
Now for Fathers Day itself. It began with a trip to Timmie's and taking our coffee and breakfast sandwich to the park.
But, of course, the real action was at the kids' house later in the day, beginning with a quick hug on arrival. I love Nikki Dee's enthusiastic greetings.
But most of the day was spent outdoors. Where else would you want to be on the first day of a Canadian summer? Nikki Dee loves her new swing.
Of course, there were gifts. Nikki Dee was in her modern art mode when she composed this card which speaks of tension and resolution in an atmosphere of love and respect within an imperfect world.
Accessories for the garden, either to walk on or display in some other way: the butterfly and ladybug are appropriate as they are totems (of a sort) of each of my two daughters.
The best gifts are those freely given. Fortunately, there were lots of hugs and snuggles on offer.
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