nonamedufus

Well, we've reached the end of another month and that means it's time to share the photos I've taken for P.J.'s Photo Challenge. This month, P.J. tasked us with the theme "signs". Now instead of snapping pictures of stop signs, street signs, highway signs and so on I went a different route. Ready? This was the sky over our backyard one night around mid-month. You know what they say: Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailor's warning. So this was a good sign, and the next day was indeed gorgeous and the start of our enduring heat wave with temperatures in the 40C's. The temperature in our pool was 32C which works out to 90F. And this was a good sign because it nevertheless beat sitting around in the heat. We have a pine tree, or maybe I should say had a pine tree, at the back of our yard. This is a bad sign. To quote Star Trek's Dr McCoy "It's dead, Jim." That's a bad sign. We have to cut it...

His day started pretty much the same as any other day. He roused himself from a deep sleep around 7am, sat up, took his pills and checked his blood sugar. Quietly, he pulled on his pajama bottoms and tip toes out of the bedroom, making his way downstairs to the family room. He opened his computer and powered up and flicked on the television and clicked the remote until he landed on the all news channel. He checked his blog comments and scrolled through Facebook, then played a game or two of solitaire on his laptop. His wife arose - sleeping-in a bit because she was on holidays - stepped to the kitchen and made them a wonderful breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and bagels. Neither was aware of the sense of foreboding that was building. Or the five or six boding, for that matter. After breakfast, he cleaned up the dishes from breakfast and dinner the night before, emptied the dishwasher and then told his wife, "I'm going to take my shower." Unheard by either o...

Two chairs, no waiting! I've always had a thing about getting a haircut. Call me a latter-day hippie but going six months between visits to the barber - or stylist I think they call themselves - isn't unusual for me. My wife, my kids and my grandkids wonder why. The little ones think I'm Santa Claus. But I put it off even more so since I've discovered my hair's starting to thin on top of my head. I guess it had to happen eventually after a full life with a full head of hair. When I was young my parents made me get a hair cut every two weeks, whether I wanted one, or for that matter in my estimation needed one, or not. And so every 2nd Saturday I'd walk to the barber's, wait patiently for my turn, plop down in the chair and say to Angelo or Gino or this Italian clipper with some name I now can't recall,"long on the sides and top, please". Then I'd come away from the den of a thousand cuts with nothing near what I asked for but somethi...

I've been watching some of the Tour de France coverage this year. For me, oddly perhaps, it's not about the race but the photography. The French countryside through which the bicyclists travel is simply gorgeous. The coverage from day to day is like one big travelogue for rural France. The race itself can be exciting at times, like when someone sprints away from the pack. You sit glued to the TV to see if anyone else will break away and catch up to him. But one thing that annoys me is how some fans react. I think these guys have been standing out in the hot sun on a hillside too long sucking back the vin rouge. You see, as the bikers draw near and start to climb an incline the fans on both sides of the road crowd in and what once was a two lane road quickly becomes a gauntlet barely wide enough to fit a bike and it's rider. And the fans whoop and holler, wave flags and clap. The braver fans - or maybe the more inebriated - slap the bicyclist on the back or, stan...

It's really hot in the Ottawa area this week. It was 29C yesterday and with the humidity felt like 37C. There's not much to do but sit under the fan or, with the aid of a couple of noodles (hey, that's what they call them - for my Brit friends, it's a woggle), float around the pool. The water temperature was 32C which works out to 90F. No twerkin' for this fella this week. Needless to say one's mind kinda turns to mush and maybe it was sunstroke or sumpin' but after a while my mind started to wander. Then I popped open a Corona and I sat down to pull this post together. I think I've made reference to this before but I'm at a certain age where it crosses my mind now and then - or maybe I'm at an age where I forget that I've mentioned it before - and that's the lyrics to that Leonard Cohen tune Tower of Song where he goes... Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey I ache in the places where I used to play It's a ...

Jack: The Whole Package Jack Lalanne was the Godfather of Fitness. He was also Mr Power Juicer but we won't go there. He died in 2011 at the age of 95. His dedication to fitness and nutrition would appear to have paid off. But now, I'm sure, he'd be spinning in his grave. Or, perhaps, to be current, twerkin' in his grave. "What's twerkin'?" I hear you say. (Not really but this narrative works better this way.) Well I'm glad you asked. You see I've been wondering the very same thing for the last little while until I did a little research. You know, of course, that from time to time I cruise the entertainment websites - places like TMZ and Perez Hilton - where I avidly follow the empty lives of people who's names mean absolutely nothing to me. Well, over the last little while I've come across increasing references to twerkin'. Miley Cyrus does it. You know, Billy "Achy Breaky Heart" Ray's kid? And Rihanna does...