You be the judge...

On Sunday April 6, TLATO and I drove into Toronto in her car; we were going to stay over at her Mum's place before taking a morning flight to Florida.

I decided to take the scenic route; a beautiful drive west bound from Hwy. 115 to Hwy. 407 on a narrow and occasionally windy road. At that time, spring had not really hit these parts in earnest. Snow banks were still evident and there was on this quaint road, severe winter damage from the ravages of extreme cold and moisture. Potholes that could swallow a Smart car.

You may have read an earlier post where I commented on drivers' habits in the country; Well one of them found us, and on a Sunday too, no less.

On two occasions, this "individual" sounded his horn at us. Each time, I looked in the rear view mirror, could see no reason for the noisy interruption and continued on our journey, muttering niceties under my breath to anyone within earshot about the lineage of said horn honker. Finally, at the third intersection, the idyllic silence was once again interrupted with the urgent sounding of "Twitchy's" horn. We pulled forward and stopped our car. I rolled down the window. Twitchy drew alongside and rolled down the passenger window in his GM family truckster. Sitting in the front seat was a very pregnant woman and strapped into the back seat were three youngsters of various ages. In as polite a voice as I could possibly muster, I inquired if there might be something that we might be able to do to assist him with his horn hand. "You lost a hub cap about three clicks back..." he grinned.

You see, we still had on our snow tires and steel rims. When we purchased them, the dealer "threw in" four hub caps so the rims would not look quite as ugly.

Feeling foolish, I thanked him and his family for their attention to our problem, turned to Sheryl and hissed, "We're not going back... it's a freakin' hub cap, is all." And so we continued on our journey.

Fast forward to April 18. We are driving home from the airport. On that same country road. Just about where we pulled over, TLATO cheerfully wondered out loud that wouldn't it be weird if we found our hub cap?

Naturally, at this point, I was in head-on "guy" mode. I was on a mission. I wanted to get home in the best time possible. I smirked and uttered a disdainful, "Whatever!" and sped along.

Listening to White Bird by It's a Beautiful Day on Sirius satellite radio, I was in the zone. My personal tranquility was interrupted by a scream coming from the person to my right. "Look! Look!" There's our hubcap, there's our hubcap!" Now you need to understand that when it comes to cars and such, Sheryl is as observant as most people - in other words, NOT! How she could identify this piece of aluminum as we sped by escapes me. I did not see Grissom and his CSI cohorts in the immediate vicinity.

Like the dutiful husband that I am, I stopped the car and pulled a U-turn. There, propped up lovingly against a tree trunk was a hubcap. Our hubcap.

Naturally, Sheryl was ecstatic and for the next half hour or so went on about how amazing this was... what were the odds, etc., etc.

Me? I just wanted to get home, unpack the car and have a nap.

I have to admit, the thought did cross my mind to buy a lottery ticket...

Fall down... go boom!

In a person’s life there are many dates and events that become etched in our personal life diary: birth days; a first kiss; anniversaries… April 17, 2008. April 17, 2008 at 5.32am. That would be the latest date that will forever be remembered by Sheryl and me. It was on this date, at that time, that our walls came tumbling down.

OK, so perhaps that’s a little melodramatic. The walls did not actually cave in. The John Mellencamp song title as a metaphor was used to make a point is all.

Many of you are aware that for the past 10 days, Sheryl and me have been in south east Florida fixing up our newly acquired vacation home. On the actual vacation scale, I would likely rate this trip as a 2.5. It’s not exactly been relaxing. Running all over the place, finding furniture, trades people etc. to complete our idyllic new nest.

Yesterday afternoon, three very large pieces of abstract art were professionally installed. Two pieces were hung on load-bearing concrete walls. The process appeared to be involved and lengthy. Lasers, drills with concrete bits and spirit levels were just some of the tools required and utilized.

Everyone we are told, dreams. I’m one of those people that rarely remember dreams. At 5.31 this morning, I was sharing tea and cookies with some friends when the peaceful tranquility of my REM sleep was interrupted by a sound that truly is hard to describe. Suffice to say, it was not the dawn chorus of recently slumbering birds. We both ran to where we thought the noise emanated. The living room. Behind the couch was one of the pieces, all 64” x 44” of it.

Fortunately damage was minimal. Some marks on the wall and a partially “peeled” baseboard. Just before going to bed last night, we moved the couch an inch or two more from the wall. Just as well. Otherwise this piece could have bounced off the back of the couch and landed on a glass coffee table in front of the couch. Now that would have been a memorable sound indeed.

Stuff really does happen.

Time for a serious reality check...

Here we are, me and the TLATO in sunny Florida, taking our first vacation together in seven years.

Of course, as I write, Sheryl is nowhere to be found; out "shopping" and without her cell phone...

So here I sit at a laptop, catching up on some work and taking messages for Sheryl from people with strong Spanish accents. Our electrician, Wilson, is from Colombia (Bogota, not the school in NYC). I swear he saw "Cast Away" one time too many and decided his new "English" pseudonym would be derived from a beaten up volley ball...

Anyway, I digress.

A few months ago we were in the fortunate position to be able to purchase a condo in Deerfield Beach at a very good price (if you've been reading any newspapers or magazines these last few months you'll know that the real estate market in certain parts of the USA, Florida, specifically is a buyer's market).

Naturally, there was some work required - nothing too major, mostly cosmetic in nature, but work nonetheless. We "inherited" Wilson from a new friend and neighbour who used him and his compadre for electrical work when she completely gutted her unit.

Seems the place to find out about trades people is at the pool; everyone has a renovation/remodelling story and at least one recommendation for plumbers, electricians, et al.

In addition to tales of "mud", wiring, pipes, etc. the weather is way up there on the top five conversation topics. Yesterday was a record-breaking 90 degrees; the forecast for today was 80. I swear, it was as if this was to be considered a sign of the apocalypse. Heavy sweaters, coats and jackets were being hurriedly brought out of storage, supermarkets were being visited to stock up on provisions... you cannot imagine.

And all for a 10 degree change in temperature. To me, it's still damn hot!

Military intelligence et al...

Oxymoron. Even the very word makes me smile.

In today's Toronto Star and likely in many of Canada's daily and weekly newspapers, there will be at least one article talking about the last Canadian census and how the facts present themselves in specific areas of the country; in this instance the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). In the main section of the Star it is a lead story on the front page. Additional pages also illustrate the point being made. The headline? "Visible minorities gaining".

My comment is not about the facts of the census. The statistics are what they are. My issue is with the terminology - nothing more, nothing less. No sinister agenda here.

OK. Now math may not be my strongest suit; however, to my mind, anything greater than 50% is a majority. There is a very nice graphic laid out in all its glory presenting "visible minorities" in the GTA. The first two areas in this chart are Markham where 65.45% of the population is a "visible minority" and Brampton, where 57.03% falls into that same category. Coming a very close third is Mississauga at 49.00% with the city of Toronto another contender at 46.90%.

Does that present a "visible minority" picture to you?

Jumbo shrimp, anyone?

Could it be time for the "S" word?

The last couple of mornings, the early morning air has been filled with the sounds of hopeful, chirping birds. I guess they too are on daylight savings time.

However, if I were them, I'd be registering a formal complaint. You see, here it is, on the calendar at least, the second day of April. Thing is, there's still a great deal of snow and ice on the ground in these parts. What's a migrant bird to do if there are no kind souls to put out seed or even table scraps? Will this confusion lead to greater turmoil when it comes to traditional spring-time flings? Will nests be filled with eggs sooner - or later? What will the wee tykes live on?

While it is officially recognized as spring in most parts of the civilized world there are still days here when one wonders. The lake is still frozen; there are still some major snow banks; there are very few brown/green patches of grass visible.

The returning migrant birds must be wondering what the heck is going on.

Of course, not all birds migrate south for the winter, here. Not even all Canada Geese - contrary to what you may believe. Over the bleak winter months, pockets of geese could often be seen flying aimlessly overhead in their familiar "v" pattern. Where did they hang out once they landed? Most bodies of water were long since frozen. It's not as if you would spy a goose perched deep inside a cedar like some over stuffed Chickadee...

Just a few short days ago, I looked out of my office window from the house toward the lake and spied a lone wolf, loping purposefully on the frozen lake, seemingly on some final winter mission. Perhaps he'd heard of a gaggle of Butterball geese lakeside somewhere?