A Severed Connection.

Appropriate enough, I guess, given that the "Mix Fruit Bowl" likely consists of sliced fruit, but I got a chuckle of it being described as "Severed" with Strawberry, Orange, and Apple." Certainly, a cut above.

Yes, small things entertain me. I was also even mildly amused by the menu's inconsistent re-ordering of its ham, bacon or sausage options. In each different dish, it is as though a different pork product demanded top billing.

The fruit cup wasn't the only time the term "severed" came to mind on the weekend, either. At one point, looking across the street, I told the person I was with: "There's a homeless guy with a saw over there." "Yeah right," came the reply.

Then the scruffy man with several dark hoodies, tinted glasses and hat pulled low climbed through the broken slats in the fence, wandering along other people's backyards - with a long hand saw poking out like a pirate's hook. The only thing more jagged than the teeth on the saw were the ones in his mouth. It was a moment straight out of a cheese ball horror movie script - craziest thing I ever saw (yuck, yuck).

No Ordinary Joe.

So long to a Second Cup of Tim Horton's Starbucks, even if it is Seattle's Best?

If you find yourself around King and Sherbourne in Toronto, you may indeed find yourself having a mug of creamy caffeination that would make the street corner-hogging, hyper barista-flogging chain locales become 'has-beans'. Bisogno, now that's a coffee.

With an antique dining room table around which to sit and a couple of plush couches, this hip little spot makes for a nice place to enjoy a mighty fine cup of coffee - even if it did take nearly a half-hour to have it made (but really, when was the last time your venti, one-and-a-half shot, half-sweet, no-foam macchiatto came with a heart on top?)

What the sign said was true: with coffee and ambiance like that, it's not going to need much advertising.

Awaken: It's Spring.

Sunshine. Like bears from a den, people around these parts are beginning to blink and rub their eyes in anticipation of impending spring. Verdant buds have even begun to tentatively poke their soft noses up through the soil, sniffing for the call that comes to them on the breeze. The crunchy frozen ground has been replaced with the squishiness of mud between exposed toes. And everywhere else. Of course, a couple days from now and we could again be shivering and cursing at the cruel taunt that is the warmth we're experiencing this week.

The nice weather has afforded SCS and me the opportunity to get out for a couple of beautiful hikes, including one two weekends ago in Komoka when the ground was still frozen enough to not be muddy, yet still warm enough to enjoy the stroll. And it's early enough in the season the paths are still relatively quiet.

Last weekend, too, SCS was kind enough to surprise me with a fieldtrip to Springwater to celebrate my upcoming birthday. Mmm, a maple syrup festival: fresh taffy and a horse ride into the bush, followed by a 5km hike in the foggy woods. All quiet except for my ankle, chattering like a squirrel at every step. And pileated woodpeckers, blitzkrieging their way through enormous trees. Spring has sprung and put a pep in my step.

To Market, To Market, To Buy a Fat Hog.

It was a gorgeous, fall day for a stroll to the market. Leaves, crisp as the air. The bustle of bundled people and the smell of coffee hanging languidly in the air. Soon, the odours of home fires, crackling, will make everyone outside envious. Have I mentioned just how much I love the fall? And wandering through markets, looking for tiny treasures. And meats and cheeses. And doing that wandering, hand-in hand? I had missed that. My paws had been lonely.

I love this time of year; it conjures many fine memories, like a faded photograph that lingers in my mind. And in my senses, etched indelibly.

Sure, it snowed a couple of days ago -- and that feeling remained in the air -- but it was sunny. And people were upbeat, though sporting scarves and extra layers. A gorgeous day for a stroll, past old houses we could imagine buying. And remodeling. Though I don't really have the capacity to do either right now.

So it was off to the market, which always brings with it its own distinct sounds, smells and sights. Though it was relatively quiet today, the market offered its usual assortment of meats, cheeses, prepared foods, flowers and gift items, like the vases above. It was nice to get out and forget about the complexities of life for a while. And tenderly caress the pastries.

Just ducky. Really.

Some might say I'm more 'batty' at this point than 'ducky' particularly considering the odd fascination with my little duck friends below. Something about nice white bread, torn into pieces and flung at a gaggle (is it still a 'gaggle' with ducks as it is with geese? -- actually, no; it seems that the preferred terms are a 'paddling' of ducks or a 'raft' of ducks. Even a 'dopping' of ducks. But no gaggle. Let's go with 'raft' and call the first one Huck). Anyway, onto the waterfowl.

Approaching ominously like security service detail. Just missing the ear buds and walkie-talkies. "Check left." "Clear." "Cover me." "Caught in the web." "Ah! Duck Down." Makes for a nice duvet.

Well, I could've been watching baseball instead, but here the ducks cut a swath through the path, making the smaller birds move a long. "But, I'm just a patsy," it said. "A patsy, no -- but perhaps soon, a nice pastry."

Running a tight formation.

Standing regally. Like a lifeguard surveying the scene for any fowl play. Okay, that one was just too much. One (more) too many. Bird brained.

One of these things is not like the other. "Really, officer, I CAN pick the perp out of the lineup." "How, son? Ducks look very much alike to the naked eye, you know." "But, sir, this one was deeeferent."

Okay, so too much fun with the ducks. I get it. I should go back to my diet of thalmon and ginger ale. With a cracker on the side. Enough. Done.

Two perspectives.

Having a little too much fun with a sprinkler on a hot summer day. Ah, the things we do for a photo. Or to cool off. Taken at pretty much the same instant.

All wilderness-like.

Interesting choice of terms for the sign at the entrance to the Komoka provincial park. Sort of insinuates that the regulations weren't exactly enforced previously, n'est-ce-pas? So, are the bodies of those choosing infraction over obedience buried within the park?

Gorgeous day within the park and the sun is striking against the lush verdant nature of the lilies and other plants.
One heck of a long log felled across the path. No sign of beavers on this one, though.

One of the highlights of the day, though, was seeing a buck, replete with full rack, bounding up the hill beside us. Sort of looked like a golden retriever for a moment. Sure, the photo is more like Internet shots of bigfoot, but he's there, all blurry-like, in the middle of the shot toward the top of the hill.
More twisted-ness.
And lots of tall trees I resisted the urge to climb.

Blithely Headed to Blythe

On the road to the booming metropolis of Blythe as a team to see the ‘World Premiere’ of a play written by a colleague about Canadian legend Stompin’ Tom Connors. Perfectly appropriate for the Canada Day long weekend. And the bus wasn’t even so much a ‘short bus’ as it was an ‘executive bus’. The screw caps on the wine gave away our real status, though. But, there was also beer (Stompin’s favourite…Moosehead!) and popcorn (thanks Marcia), which always somehow ended up on Bob’s lap. Hmmm…cheddar dill!


Ah, the fun has yet to begin -- just wait until we get off of campus.

A tribute to Stompin'

Trip organizer, Scott, not seeming too thrilled to be empty. Three times over. Oh wait, he's just cleaning up after the rest of us!

Because there wasn't enough beer on bus, we were -- thankfully! -- rescued by the local legion, who were more than glad to take in some new patrons. Just don't eat the pickled eggs or sausages. For whatever reason, Paul is practicing his 'dart swing' in the background. Hmm, must be a Windsor thing.
A tree outside the legion in Blyth. Had to be sure to take a picture to ensure my mind wasn't playing tricks on me...

The crew, hanging out on a beautiful evening in Blythe, being piped in by a bagpiper.

The man of the hour arrives, only to be mobbed by throngs of fans. Or at least colleagues. Who are closet fans (lest it go to his head).

Scott and Scotty. The writer with a look of relief on his face. And a bundle of goodies.

Blithely Headed to Blythe, Deux

Paul, ever the man with t-shirt ideas, with a gift for the writer. "Smokin' Monkey" anyone?

A Leamington tomato, a PEI potato and the puck is in -- the play, a success!

A motley crew: the boys in the band, with Bob doing the lead singer schtick, looking longingly into the distance. Ever the hipster.

The ladies.

Mac, Dee and Scott.

Now it just gets ugly: the ride home. But this is where the fun is -- in the back of the bus. It's cozy, hot and well, maybe just a tad loud.

See, that's where the real trouble began in the back seat!