In no particular order, and all from around Penetang. The camera did not roam to Go Home as the trip was short and busy. But I am beginning to get that camera itch again, and can only hope, like the ducks below to get mine in a row, so I can get in a row … boat and go find me some ducks to shoot.
Nature’s infinity pool!
Some big ass boulders
reminding us that we are standing on the Canadian Shield.
Where’s Waldo?
There’s Waldo.
My hideaway, hidden away:
Spiders, everywhere, doing their job:
This was actually dawn, and with my iPhone. The big camera was even less able to capture the red sun, which was the colour of the reflection in the water to the naked eye. But I didn’t want to retouch the pictures in any way [except to straighten them, she comes with a list, like a drunken sailor, ed.] because that was the colour it was. [Red sky at night sailor’s delight, red sky at dawn sailors take … warning. Does this rhyme? No, but I digress with a minor pet peeve.]
So calm … I would really like to emulate it [minus the invasive goby and other assorted exciting parasites, the thinking ed adds, ed. [Oh fine, have the final word. [Thought you could trick me, eh, ed.? [Yes, because I have the fingers.]]]]
Have a Thursdayish Thursday, as is most likely, and I hope it is a pleasant one.
Thought this was cute, as yet another variation on the theme.
http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/poetry/william-henry-davies.html
Good Morning … and yes to the poem. Dashing from pillar to post is a phrase I used to describe our weekend, and while each individual moment had its moments, it was hard to enjoy. The now was a little squeezed.
I am trying to get the courage up to go back up alone to Go Home, something I used to do whenever I could, spending ages up there with the kids when they were little. It is a funny thing having been sick for so long now that I have grown incompetent through lack of practice and many of my muscles have gone into early retirement. I was used to being able to do pretty much anything I wanted, spoiled brat that I am. And now I am feeling that I am beyond medical help, at least until the three-year waiting list at the pain clinic shuffles along, and even then … so I am determined to fight back as much as I can even though I don’t know how. Angie is paddling for me, I guess. That is the hell of writing … like hanging your underwear in public.
That was a pretty gloomy and revealing morning comment, but hey, getting things out in the open is often the first step to solving them and I have been wallowing in gloom, and need to unwallow.
Thanks
Oh, and counting blessings, I have failed to mention on the blog how we inherited two WWFFers [woofers: will work for food] or, in this case, will loiter charmingly for lodging, from the Czech Republic, which I keep calling Czechoslovakia much to their youthful amusement. That I was the only one publicly acknowledging that they were going to end up staying at our house, once we drove them here from Penetang where the hot potato got passed, arriving home after ten at night, made me extra cranky, which these days is vocal cranky which is awful to even produce. But I was both right and well-behaved, and as Thursday dawned and they were still peacefully abed in my daughter’s old bedroom, I went out to find solace in my front garden, and also to try to duck any and all social interaction. Hailed by my immediate neighbour, I went over and admired all the stuff she had been preparing for her sister’s wedding, which was going to cause her to leave town for four days. The paint wasn’t dry on the crafty moustache she was painting before the words left my lips, and the delightful couple, who seem to have neither a penny nor a clue, are now ensconced in heaven, because my neighbour happens to be a movie and game nut, and extremely accommodating. The silence of the non-Czech Republic is awesome, even if they were quiet as mice.
“That is the hell of writing … like hanging your underwear in public.”
That is a genius statement. Exactly why no one will ever see that thing I wrote. I don’t have the balls for it.
Oh my gosh. Yet another example of deceitful charts by the doomsayers. Yes, to their credit they did do an inflation adjustment, and somehow took it all the way back to 1871 (before that index existed), and have a log chart, but where are the dividends? If you want a prayer of accuracy you need both dividend reinvestment AND an inflation adjustment.
Let’s do the math. Let’s say 2% divvy’s since 1871 (probably lowballing it). On my calculator that takes $1 up to $17. So, take the endpoint on that ridiculous chart and multiply it by 17!! Where is your trendline now? Huh? What are your conclusions now? Anybody can draw their trendline anywhere they want to, just to support their prior bias, but when you start with a chart that is just a flat out lie, then it’s just total propaganda.
It’s embarrassing how bad some of this stuff is. Zero credibility. Zero.
This is not the profit you are looking for …
Starting points are everything sometimes and I remember when I was more fixated on the gold chart how I would move from 1 minute up to 8 hours, etc., looking for that pattern that somehow no one else could see … just like how economists and other soft math sciences run regressions until they get the smoothing they desire, and somehow thing it is meaningful.
I know how the thought process goes, because I’ve struggled with it myself in the past.
“Dividend data is hard to gather. 143 years of it! It would be a ton of work to get that data and build that chart. I might have to do the work myself instead of just snipe it off the web. And besides, it might invalidate my conclusions! Can’t have that. I think I’ll just go with this cheap and easy one, and hope nobody notices.”
Funny, Xty. I never pictured you as a one minute chart lady. You’ve been a bad girl. Very bad. 🙂
Really nice poem, Pete. I’m going to copy it to my flickr profile to help explain my interest in photography. Now that I’m public with some pics, I guess my underwear is on public display as well. Big deal. I could as easily put my nude body on display as I have a Walt Whitman-esq comfort in my own skin as I romp through wood and glade, camera in hand (female companions only, though).
https://www.flickr.com/photos/dudeflickr/
Comments are welcome, although I realize my style may not appeal to you, but I’m not after “hat tips”. Maybe you would like something from another under my favorites heading.
Lots to look at Dude – first glance says very nice!
And that is some skillet – how are you my missing pal? I hope life has been serving you flapjacks not lead pies.
Whoa! Looks like you scored! Very nice.
Been wondering where you’ve been. Now I see you’ve been out hunting cast iron. Totally understandable. 🙂
That looks like about a #8, or perhaps a #9, small logo Griswold griddle, and about a #12 skillet, not sure on the make. We are talking heavy iron here.
Last fall I procured a #12 skillet for the family cottage, in the keeping of my sister-in-law, and been looking for just the right one for myself ever since. I never should have given it up. 🙁