I took my mountain bike and my dog out for a run this past Saturday morning and I took a bunch of photos. I’ve selected five to post here. If you want to see the twenty-three I uploaded to Facebook, click here.
Warning: what follows may not be for the squeamish. However, it may also contain some useful information for people who care for dogs.
I took my dog, Meeka, walking down by the river last night, off leash. Nobody else was around and she had a great time running back and forth and in and out of the water. Unfortunately, she got into a bunch of discarded old fish parts on the beach and ingested some of it before I was able to get hold of her.
It’s the middle of June and I’m still not used to the light. It was about 11pm and I glanced down the hall into the living room and I thought maybe I’d left on a light or the TV or something, so I checked. No, everything was off but the blinds were open. I was seeing light from the sun that had set but was not very far below the horizon. Maybe my perception of light as it relates to time of day at this time of year has been messed up by how cold and wet this year’s spring weather has been.
Took the dog for a walk this evening at 10:30. It was still so light out that, despite the clear skies, I could only locate four stars, not because of urban light pollution but because nature is compensating us for the darkness of winter.
Sunset was at 9:28 but, at this time of year and at these latitudes, the sun doesn’t dip as far below the horizon as it does for those closer to the equator. So, we get this extended dusk with residual daylight that lingers longer and longer until it never quite goes away by the time we get to the last week of June.
The light during these times of not-day and not-night seems extraordinarily beautiful to me. It’s crap for star gazing, of course, but we get plenty of time for that in winter.
The one thing I personally found valuable about the churches in which I grew up, apart from the very few friendships that have lasted since then, isn’t part of any church I’ve visited in the last thirty years. They used to have hymnals in which the music to the songs was written out in proper notation, in four part harmony. Most people who grew up in that tradition absorbed by “osmosis”, if not by study, the concept of harmony and gained some idea of what is signified by those funny marks that aren’t letters of the alphabet. In many cases, there was intricacy and beauty to the music. The singing of such hymns could sound glorious if the choir or congregation was motivated to put some oomph into it.
I’m a grampa and I enjoy it but I cleverly managed to get there without procreating. Let’s hear it for having grandchildren without going through all the muss and fuss of raising kids! I don’t desire offspring, for reasons that are both rational and selfish, and, frankly, I have a hard time understanding those who do want to burden the planet with their spawn.
For the past several months, we’ve been looking at adopting a dog from North West Animal Shelter. Yesterday, Meeka finally came home to live with us. She had been rescued from a bad situation and was generously being fostered by Cheryl at Dog Digs kennels.
Father’s Day. Although I haven’t fathered any children, I’m a grampa and our granddaughter spent the day with us, as did my wife’s younger sister. I enjoy cooking so I celebrated the day by preparing barbecued t-bone steaks, fried onions and mushrooms seasoned with cumin as well as salt and pepper, baked potatoes, and steamed carrots. Delicious. My steak was just on the rare side of medium rare, while the others chose to have theirs medium-well.
My sister phoned to talk while I was peeling carrots. She lives a sixteen hour drive away, so we don’t see each other often anymore. She called because she was missing our dad, who died about five-and-a-half years ago. I’d been thinking about phoning her for the same reason. We had a good long chat, catching up on things.