Hands

 

Me. Eleven years ago.

Yep. I’m on a postcard. Petting a cow. An Australian cow and an Australian postcard.

Did you know that I loved living in the outback so much that the man who is now my husband had to come to Australia to get me? It’s true. Umm…well…what I’ve just told you is actually the Disney version. Think of the real story of The Little Mermaid. And now picture the Disney version. Exactly. No way you’re getting the actual story out of me. All water under the bridge, right?

(Click on the photo above to be taken to Jacqueline Curley’s postcard website. If you wanted any of her postcards as an actual print, I’m pretty sure she’d be amenable to that. For a gander at the Curley’s Gipsy Plains stud website, click here. )

And this next one is the first postcard I bought when I was in Australia, never realising I’d actually live with and become friends with the lady, herself. (I’m talking about Jacqueline, people, not the cow.)

And see this last one? I’m on the horse in the middle. His name was Jim. I say ‘was’ because…well…he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken when I knew him eleven years ago.

Can you tell I don’t have a frickin’ clue what I’m doing? That’s me trying to get out of the way of the stampeding calves. Of course, by the time I left three months later, I was a dab hand. Those calves wouldn’t have had a chance if they’d tried that three months later. Me and Jim: we were like this.

 

Nostalgic for summer.

 

 

Hochzeit

(That’s German for wedding.)

I wasn’t home five days from Canada when I was off to Germany for a friend’s wedding.

Pure bliss.  And wistfulness.

I had forgotten how bone-deep quality of life is in that country.   A quality that is not reciprocal to earnings.

How wonderful to be with old friends who, in turn, are surrounded by their old friends.

And by the next generation.

And cake.  I had also forgotten how wonderful the cake is in Germany.   And the bread.  And did I mention the cheeses?

 

 

Anatomy of a Northern Ontario Roadtrip (Summer)

Start: Lake A.  Your own after a morning swim.  Stupid o’clock in the morning — unless drinking with buddies the night before.

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…

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On the Road.  Trans-Canada Highway.  10 a.m.  (because was drinking with buddies the night before)

Cruising speed: 105km/hr

Speed limit: 90 km/hr

Speed at which the cops will pull you over: 106 km/hr

…

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Coffee break, pee break, and toasted everything-bagel with herb cream cheese

 

Timmy’s parking lot (summer)

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…

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End: Lake B. Your friend’s.  11:30 a.m.

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22:00.  Reverse order.

(P.S.  That last picture is supposed to say large fluffy clouds, but I’ve already flattened it and I can’t be bothered starting over again.  I’m sure you understand.)

 

Snapshots of an afternoon at camp on Big Basswood Lake

 

Allen Family Camp - Definition

Camp (noun):

• a hot day’s retreat on the lake; archaic: a hot day’s retreat on the lake after the day’s haying;
• Includes: canoes, inner-tubes from old tractor tires, spare bathing suits from the ’70s “just in case”, small children who are adamantly not cold, four decks of playing cards — none of which are complete, two decks of Uno, bucket of water outside the cabin door for dipping sandy feet into; one outhouse with spiders (toilet paper with mouse nest optional), mosquitoes, pic mosquito coils, adults telling children to stop sniffing the mosquito coil smoke; a fire pit (outside); oil lamps (inside), friends and family;
• Cuisine: potato salad and/or pasta salad, hot dogs, Delmar chicken with JoJo’s and DJ sauce (large), Thelma’s [raspberry/blueberry/strawberry/peach/insert name of fruit] pie, Terry’s and/or Lynn’s butter tarts; [note: used cutlery to be scoured with sand in between swigs of beverage of choice];
• Beverage: pop, beer, wine, coolers — all of which have been placed in the lake to maintain optimal temperature.
• Synonym: the good life

P.S.  Forewarned is forearmed.  For all you people out there with slow broad-band (or no broad-band), the next post contains 11 pictures.

 

Third Bout of Snow

Back on the 13th of February, I found that the snowdrops had arrived.  Spring was here!

But then, not three days later, a foot of snow was dumped on us.  In the hills, there was two feet of the glorious white stuff.

A week later, it was still there when I accompanied Graeme to Dufftown.  No, it’s not a The Simpson’s theme park.  It’s the real name of a real town in Scotland and nine whisky distilleries call it home.   Call it a place of pilgrimage.  Graeme had just spent five weeks in Abu Dhabi.  He had only two days in Scotland before flying down to London for a week.  “Let’s go for a drive,” he says.  “Where to, I ask?”  “Oh, just along some country roads,” he says.   “Yes, lets,” I say.  “It’s a beautiful day for a drive.”

• Rorschach test #1 – in the ‘bridge-scape’ picture, I saw a hummingbird in the clouds.  Hubby saw a pterodactyl.  As soon as he said that, I saw instead a seagull floating on the water.
• Rorschach test #2 – in the ‘auchindoun caslte’ picture, I saw a rabbit drinking a can of beer.  Hubby saw a dog with its head tilted, looking at the castle
• Fun Fact #1 – The Dufftown  site says that Dufftown raises more capital for the Government per head of population than any other place in the UK.

 

All Sparkly

I woke up this morning to sparkles.

Lots and lots of sparkles.

 

Bramble Leaves

 

Seeded Grass

 

Our driveway fence. (Picturesque? Yes. Functional? No.)

 

Dalherick Road

 

Cardboard cut-outs? Perhaps.

 

Round Bale

 

Sparkles make Crystal

very

very

happy.

[Note: I've just now realised that clicking on a pictures does not allow you to view that picture in a larger format.  This is a wee bit frustrating because I want you to be able to see the pictures in their original size.  There are some pretty cool ice structures you're missing out on.  Will look into this and get back to you.]

 

Dunecht Estate

Every morning on the way to work Graeme and I drive past these:

We believed it to be the entrance to a private estate, but always saw a variety of cars parked in the lot in front of the gates.  This led us to wondering whether, in fact, we were wrong, so two weeks ago, Graeme and I parked our car amongst the others, walked through the gates, and were not struck down by lightening.  So we ventured a little further, and then a little further than that.  And we found this:

Which led us past neatly ploughed fields to:

To the right of which was:

After I had conquered my house envy by telling myself how much cleaning I would need to do to keep something like that tidy (but secretly vowing to begin playing the lottery), Graeme and I continued walking along the road, past a golf course (members from a specific cachement area only, and only if two other members have invited you to join), enjoying the Autumn colours,

acting silly,

And generally enjoying the fine day and the fine walk, where we saw labrador retrievers in training, a skidder doing skidder-type things, horses, ducks, swans and even a heron.  None of which you can see in this next picture.