Try a breadtangle of pizza
Continue reading “Garglemesh”new post
Bordeaux
Yup, on our last day I finally found a good boulangerie, 760 meters from our door but worth the 1,067 steps each way. A line up to get in, big selection, friendly staff, and products that looked like they had been lacquered because they glistened in the display cases like an influencer’s dream pic.
Continue ReadingOh Death, where is thy sting?… Ouch!
It was a cool morning for this time of year. Not a genuine frosty morning, more of a shrink-your-package-while-walking-to-the-tub type of morning.
It was time for my playdate with Steve. I was cavorting with him, turning the jets on and off while the heater was running. His lights were blinking rhythmically and he would shudder when the pump started and splash, foaming the water more and more as we played together. By now the froth was clinging to the vinyl walls at the pool’s edge The water was heating up more than usual too, and then I had a disgusting thought. STEVE!! What’s going on? We don’t have that type of relationship! Steve had been burbling more lately when Carol had joined us in the early evenings, and after watching how our phones and tablets acted on vacation together… well, let’s just say it was time to cool his jets.
You know you’re a real British Columbian when you’ve been shat upon by an eagle, or come close at least.
Continue reading “Oh Death, where is thy sting?… Ouch!”Chapter 4: It’s all relative
Today is our only full day in the Okanagan. It’s already 6:30 pm and we have steeped ourselves in medium big-city living all day and are worked, napped, and fed. Carol has an armload of treasures that she’s rescued from second hand shops plus a host of vegetation to take back home to spruce up the crib.
We have a big night planned… indoors.
Always thinking, Carol found two partial sets of scuba gear in the dumpster behind Oleg’s Used Sports Emporium. A quick rinse with acetone and ta-da we can now enjoy two meter contact with the kids without my long johns on. Carol has grafted a funnel to the top of the snorkels and if you can time your breathing just right you can savour a lovely chenin blanc virus-free. Plus, if you stuff about four ounces of camembert into the mouthpiece it will last up to forty-five minutes if you dig it out with your tongue. If we’re lucky and this pandemic lasts another year I could market this setup and strike it big. Making lemonade out of lemons indeed. I should donate my brain to science (after I’m dead).
Continue reading “Chapter 4: It’s all relative”Chapter 3: Are we there yet?
It’s going to be a busy day so we’re up at dawn (dawnish… okay, it’s 8:30). I go through my morning routine minus my date with the tub, while Carol organizes the suitcases, the in-car meal, the snacks, the itinerary, waters the plants, empties the garbage, sets the lamp timer, and locks the windows and doors. If I knew she would take this long I would’ve hooked up with Steve. Come on girl… pitter, patter, let’s get-at-er. Time’s a-wastin’. By now I’ve been warming up the car for ten minutes.
Our car is a classic. Well, not an actual classic in the truest sense of the word. It’s not fast, it’s not sexy or even comfortable but with the rear glass open I have hauled 12 sixteen-foot 4x4s; one end perched up against the windshield and the other end hovering in space six feet beyond the back bumper, plus there were 18 concrete patio blocks in the back seat. Let’s see your Mercedes B250 do that! Plus it’s black, like the Batmobile.
Continue reading “Chapter 3: Are we there yet?”Chapter 2: The usual suspects, plus one…
By now the faithful reader has become accustomed to the entourage that accompanies us when we escape the confines of the West Kootenays.
There is Fred, my Samsung S5 Neo; always looking for mischief, falling off tables, getting drunk in a puddle of beer, wrapped in his Otterbox Commuter shield. His current home screen shows Carol and Puny Sis (Darlene, a female spawned by my parents after my father was unable to provide a fourth male child, so they settled with her) in a YMCA-like pose when I captured them wandering on the Spanish Banks in Vancouver.
Then Carol has Wilma, her stalwart Samsung S4, robed in a clear vinyl case, tucked in her purse pocket; older than Fred and not as immature or foolish as her male counterpart. A no-nonsense blue background for her main screen so the miniature fonts exposing battery charge, time, and date details are visible. Her heart (battery) is nearing it’s Best Before date and requires constant observation. She’s a sweetie and we love her.
Then we have Julie, Carol’s Galaxy Tab A. She’s slim, trim, intelligent, not power hungry like some of her contemporaries, and swathed in a magnificent blue/gold, almost Asian-styled wrap. Known for her e-book prowess, as well as Pinterest ideas, she is always close at hand. Her primary screen exhibits the requisite shot of the grandkids in all their nonsensical glory, tongues exposed, eyes askew; not a Nobel laureate among them.
Rounding out our electronic family is Randy, our beefy Galaxy Tab E. Big screen, big memory, a real workhorse when storing images or meeting the fast pace of the blogosphere. He’s The Man. Randy has a rotating slate of images for his home screen. Sometimes it’s an image from a previous out-of-country excursion of castles or vineyards and other times it’s a local shot of mountains and rivers. He’s a real renaissance man/tablet. We do spend a lot of time together in bed but he’s been neutered with a child-lock and has no time for racy fare… at least with me. I have seen him glancing toward Julie when Carol is perched beside me under the covers reading from her latest fresh young author. It’s probably nothing.
Continue reading “Chapter 2: The usual suspects, plus one…”Chapter 1: Preamble
Early March, and spring has arrived. The trees are already pruned, the grass is raked, crocuses poke through the rotting mulch in the flower beds left over from last fall. My world is unfolding as it has for the past 68 years.
I spent the winter in a funk. The best part of most days was in the first two hours of the morning. Roll out of bed, contemplate life on the porcelain dais, tidy up my visage, unknit my eyebrows because I slept on my face most of the night, then walk down the six steps to the coffee maker while strangling the handrail lest I should slip in my socks.
Standing in front of the fridge, I arch my back with my hands on my hips unknotting my muscles and hoping I don’t hear that creaking sound from my knee, and look to the ceiling. I notice that a light bulb has gone to the afterlife. Hmm… looks like I’ll be busy this weekend.
Continue reading “Chapter 1: Preamble”Spring has sprung
February 27 It’s a proven fact that middle-aged men can only hold their breath for 3 minutes and 14 seconds; after that they’re left to contemplate if killing all those brain cells from the ’70s till now was really worth it.
Lounging under a palapa on the beach in front of our hotel, adorned only in my illl-fitting swim trunks, Spanish fisherman’s hat, and designer shades, I’m staring straight ahead at the sand and the sea. A visual bonus is the passel of gringos and vendors passing by in both directions.
An added feature to the beach view this year is the late-30s, curly blonde-haired woman next door who spends most of her day sunning on a lounge chair beside us or chatting up folks as they pass by. She compliments her free and easy bathing attire with a broad sun hat and rocks a pair of aviator sunglasses. This is where men holding their breath comes into play.
Continue reading “Spring has sprung”Hey! You lookin’ at me?
Carol and I were walking along the beach this morning hand in hand, staring into each other’s eyes almost dream-like… no seriously, she was 20 feet ahead of me, hunched over with her eyes scanning the latest gravel pile looking for loot to weigh down our suitcase, her caboose in the air looking very unlady-like. I, on the other hand was looking for real treasure; dead sea creatures that had been deposited on shore during the night.
Because I rarely reach the beach before 11, the airborne scavengers have usually dealt with many of the morning’s quality artifacts; but today we were out at a bleary-eyed 10:15 and it was a whole new world!
I started with a baby pufferfish just a few meters from our hotel. Despite them having enough toxins in them to kill an average human being in a gut- twisting, agonizing last few hours, they conjure up a sympathetic response because they look so helpless with their swollen body, protruding eyes, and that perma-grin mouth. Of course they are covered in spines and the last thing that you want to do is step on one. On I went. So, another puffer, then a bit farther along a smallish sardine-like silver fish, and then THE HOLY GRAIL!!