Labour Day Weekend
One of the (many) great things about living in my lovely little downtown neighbourhood is the combination of almost smalltown quiet and largetown happenings. For instance, in July, I can hear the Molson Indy, a fact which has persuaded me to never go, because if I can hear it here, I don’t want to think about how loud it is over yonder. Which brings us to the last long weekend of the summer (by the way? It’s not officially Fall until the 21st and I intend to live in denial until that date or beyond, only admitting that summer might be on its way out the day I have to wear socks again). It’s the last days of The Ex, which means the airshow, which means three days of me sitting outside, craning my neck to attempt to catch glimpse of the planes (especially the fighter jets) as they buzz my neighbourhood on their way to the turn before they fly back west, towards the CNE. This year, I brought my camera and my days went something like this:
I started in the park, listening to The Subtle Knife (acquired, along with #3, the instant I finished The Golden Compass). Or that was the intention, anyway, but it’s too distracting. By the time the first sign of them getting closer – mumblings, then a moment later, sky-splitting thunder - makes it past the headphones, it’s too late. So I entertained myself in other ways
What is it about scratch tickets that’s so much fun? I's completely adddicted - and in this particular case, an A away from winning $10,000. Argh!
There’s always things to look at in the park. A man and his horse… er, I mean, his dog came by and I watched as he threw yellow tennis balls and the dog happily chased them again and again and again
While repeatedly attempting to snap a picture as the jets rumbled overhead, I managed to capture a whole lot of sky (this being merely one of a set of 17. At least)
I forget who started the picture of the sky movement, likely because I’m not as deeply immersed in the world of knitting blogs as I could be - there’s only so much knit porn one can handle before restraint flies out the window and there’s unseemly diving headfirst into an orgy of soft, yummy yarn and coloured needles and cabled socks, strawberry hats and lacy shawls and… erm… where was I? Am i the only one who got a little flushed there? Anyway, Sandy, was it? Maybe? So, while waiting for the jet that I heard, but never saw, I played around with my camera and I discovered that my hair is redder than I thought it was
And then I got a brilliant idea, inspired by a recent photo of Morgan’s eyes posted by John (I don’t know why I can’t link to a specific post, but scroll down until you find the post from August 29, called "... But No bears Yet"). Or perhaps it’s only brilliant when you’ve been lurking under a tree for an hour for the second day in a row, waiting for a fighter jet to zoom by and in sheer boredom spent some time taking close-ups of your eye. Then, after seeing the result, briefly lamented my Scandinavian heritage of fair everything, considered starting to wear mascara again and ultimately decided I can't be bothered. Anyway, back to the great idea. How about starting the “new” year – after eons in school, September will always be the real new year to me - in supreme silliness by all posting pictures of our eyes? Who’s with me?
Speaking of orgies… after frustrated hunting, the reward is my favourite dessert, consumed on a daily basis. I love summer.
And at the last possible moment, success