Mid-Summer Afternoons…

There was no air conditioning, central, window or otherwise.  There were no large, five-speed oscillating fans.  The one 12-inch fan in the house, hummed like a diesel and was in the kitchen where it kept Mom cool while she was preparing our meal.  Dinner included a cool cucumber soup, vareneki and peach pie – – cucumbers individually pulled off the vines in the garden and plump, ripe peaches picked from our fruit trees. The oven, running all afternoon, added to the oppressive heat in the house.

We had one TV, with one channel, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.  Hockey Night in Canada (Saturday Nights) was one of the few programs worthy of watching.  And, in any event, watching TV during the day was taboo.  We had one radio station, and it was country.  (So no radio.)  There was no internet.  No Playstation. No iPhones, iTunes, iPods, iPads, iAnthing.  No desktops or laptops.  No Barnes & Noble, Borders, Waldenbooks or Amazon.  No Kindles, Nooks or Readers.  The Public Library was miles away and I had never set my foot in it.  We had a camera but that was off limits and of little interest. Continue reading “Mid-Summer Afternoons…”

Running…Away.

5:35am: I’m up and out the door. The rest of the gang is sound asleep   (Day 3 of vacation. Day 1 of running after a week sabbatical.  I needed to rest the jet. Have to say the condition of my knee spooked me.  30 years ago, I could fall from pine trees, slip head long on slimy river rocks fishing with cousins, get chopped on ankle by a nasty Trail Smoke Eater – – and spring back like a slinky.  No more.  Dark thoughts encroach – – will I heal or will this knee-thing be biting me the rest of the ride?)

5:40am: I find the sign for the Mountain Trail.  (There are 3 trails.  Walking. Intermediate. Mountain.  I’m a Man, right?  Mountain it is.  ‘Throw caution to the wind.’  Knee be damned.) Continue reading “Running…Away.”

Running. With a bad jet.

Homer Simpson6:15am.  77°F and 89% relative humidity.  I walk out the door and air is thick and soupy. (Hmmmm.  Maybe this sauna will accelerate the decomposition of the Oreo cookie intake yesterday. Count: 16. Yep.  Strapped on the feedbag and ravenously wolfed ‘em down. But lets be balanced here. This was spread over lunch and dinner – not so bad when looking at it this way – a modest amount actually.  I don’t think this even adds up to a full row.)

0.5 miles: I feel a pinch in my right knee.  The pinch advances to bite.  I grimace. (D*mn weekend warrior. I slow the pace but don’t stop.  “Run through it.” I recall the 2007 NY Times article – ‘We want you to keep moving…injured tissue heals quicker if it’s under stress…moderate exercise aids the healing.’ 5 year old article and its stuck with me.)

1 mile: It’s not going away. Limp-running now.  Slow pace further. (So, where’s the d*mn moderate exercise will heal part.  Healing can show up anytime now. I’m almost walking know.  Sweat is raining down…and tastes a bit creamy. (Oreos?)  You would think this humidity would be lubing my knee. Odd, my right shoulder is stiff now.  Oh, yea.  Re-started my push-up routine yesterday.  Man, my entire carriage is coming apart!  Another 1/2 mile and we’ll need to call 911.  As long as I don’t keel over into all of this Goose dung and avoid rolling into the cove…I should be ok.)

Continue reading “Running. With a bad jet.”

Guest Post: Squirm. Splash. Sink.

After reading Friday’s post (The King loses (again)…), Eric (18, son) was inspired to share a family vacation story.  The fact that he read my post was a head-scratcher…so best to nurture this sudden interest in both reading and writing.  I should disclose upfront, that I fail to see any humor in this story – and I say “story” as I don’t recall this version of the events.  Here it is…unedited and unplugged.  (And yes, the photo is an actual photo of me during the scuba lesson.)

scubaSQUIRM. SPLASH. SINK.

By Eric Kanigan

Anyone who knows my Dad personally can attest to the enjoyment he gets out of poking fun at others, to phrase it nicely (in reality it’s usually a firm jab rather than a poke). For those that do not know him, just imagine a person who loves to relive the details of your painfully embarrassing moments months, sometimes years after they occur. Throw in a mustache to your mental image and presto! You have David Kanigan!

It only seems fitting to return the favor, so it’s time for a trip down memory lane.

Continue reading “Guest Post: Squirm. Splash. Sink.”

The King loses (again)…

The King’s choice of a summer vacation destination is scuttled. (sigh)

The King’s super-vote is thrown out.  Three years running. (sigh)

The King’s dreams of walking the Pont Neuf will need to wait another year.  (sigh)

Long live the King.  (Long enough to get to Paris)

Pont Neuf, River Seine, Paris, France

In memory of what could have been, here’s John Altman with “Under the Bridges of Paris” from the Soundtrack Let’s Dance:

↓ click for audio (Under the Bridges of Paris)

 


Image: carnetimaginaire via Kiss at Pont Neuf by Quadriman on Flickr.

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