The Pursuit Of Happiness - Ultimate Windsurfingmobile Edition

Don't worry, I'm not about to buy this faded dandelion. It's just one of many vehicles that have been considered for  'ultimate windsurfingmobile' status.

Think of my windsurfingmobile quest in the same way that you'd think of a birdwatcher hoping for a glossy ibis sighting. Sure, you want to find one, but you're not actually planning to bring it home! The thrill is in the chase.

I probably shouldn't use the word 'chase' when talking about this luscious lemon. I don't think it could chase anything, let alone the wind. It might be able to overtake a moped, but not with a headwind or up a hill.

So why is it a contender? Quite simply it meets most of my criteria:
1) It could hold a lot of windsurfing gear.
2) I could sleep in it, maybe even with Wendy (at least for one night).
3) It's affordable.
4) It has nice windows.
5) It's just a tad outrageous.

This van has it all. It laughs in the face of danger (which it would encounter every time it was shifted into drive). It's delightfully irreverent, and that's how I wish people would view me. Shouldn't your vehicle be a reflection of you? I'm a rebel. Yes...rebel without a clutch!

Okay, so I'm not a rebel. I drive a Ford Focus station wagon. I have used a Swiffer on multiple occasions. I  hand wash my dishes wearing rubber gloves. <Sigh>. Can you not see why the ultimate windsurfingmobile has its allure? It speaks directly to my inner Marlboro man, but without the smelly cigarettes.

I see the ultimate windsurfingmobile parked on a bluff. The evening light is low and warm. Below me the salty ocean settles down after a day of thunderous surf. A fading breeze blows through my hair.

Hair?

Okay, so I need a van and a wig. <Sigh>.

Cambridge-Narrows - April Pretending To Be July

April 29: sunny, windless, 21 degrees. Ahhhh...heaven, except for the windless part!

It's so nice to be here. I took the SUP out for its inaugural paddle for 2013. Felt great. I paddled up to Steve Johanson's place, then back along to the Akerley's cottage where I had a chat with Keith and his brother Myles. I then paddled to Robena's before returning home.

Glorious day.

The Annapolis Valley

Four images from a recent frolic in the Annapolis Valley with Gup and Andy. All images were taken at a Ducks Unlimited site, Miner's Marsh, in Kentville.

Shadowy Figures

A Headless Photographer?

I'm a little teapot...

Fat people must love shadows. Your shadow is almost always long and lean in the evening. At least your legs and doak always seem to be thinner.

Political Correctness Police Probe...

Am I even allowed to say 'fat people' these days or must I say 'those blessed with ample lipids'?

Exonerated.

Regardless, the only way that my legs could possibly appear thinner is during the waning hours of sunlight, when my shadow takes on the appearance of a stilted clown. A headless clown in this image.

Though shadows exaggerate my legs, they sometimes compress the top end. I look rather short and stout in the other cropped image, wouldn't you say?

Shadows can be great fun. It's how we used to amuse ourselves in the evening, before Wheel Of Fortune hit the airwaves and turned us all into mindless vegetables.

Dumpster Diving 101

The Scottish are known to be thrifty. The British are known to be 'collectors'. Canadians aren't known for much. I'm half Scottish, half English, and all Canadian. This is perfect because it allows me to dumpster dive without remorse. It's a genetic flaw...out of my control.

The pine bed frame in this picture was sitting next to a dumpster in my Toronto condo building, waiting to be carried to its death. I saved it.

I am....Ian Varty, dumpster diver.

And proud of it. In all likelihood the former owner(s) of this bed probably found that it didn't suit his/his or her tastes anymore, so they placed it next to the dumpster in the hope that some entrepreneurial, self motivated, semi-Scottish garbage hawk would find it.

Then along comes Ian.

The bed is now in Julian's room and it looks like a million bucks, but cost exactly one million less. Victory is mine! A celebratory meal of haggis and mead is on tonight's menu, if I can find a haggis in a dumpster (the most logical place to find one).

In May I Paddle. May I Paddle In April?

Gordon Lightfoot wrote about clouds like that....think 'Edmund Fitzgerald'.

Dave, Alison and Enya paddle towards Hammond River #2 covered bridge.

Yes, there is a Hammond River #2 bridge as well as #3, but no #1 so far as I 

could tell.

Now this is Canada! It's mid-April and there's still ice along the shady banks of the river. There's a red canoe and one orange umiak (okay, so it's a kayak and I'm into it like an Inuit). The forecast daytime high was to be +6 but it was only +4 when we launched at 9:30 a.m.

Ffffffffffffff.......cold.

The Hammond River. It's the only river in New Brunswick named after an organ. Wait a minute! I forgot about Wurlitzer Creek!! Kidding.

We launched at a covered bridge known as Hammond River #3. One could presume there are others, but like Gate #3 at the Fredericton airport, don't assume anything logical. Our launch site was along the Damascus Road in Smithtown.

Damascus Road. Hmmm...doesn't sound terribly Canadian, eh? Are you  serious, Ian? Or Syrian, Ian? Blah blah blah.

And Hammond. What or who is a Hammond? I did some digging in the New Brunswick Provincial Archives (on-line) and here are the results...

William Francis Ganong identified the Maliseet name for the Hammond River as Nuhwig'ewauk: named for Sir Andrew Snape Hamond (1738-1828), lieutenant-governor of Nova Scotia from 1780-1782 and a land owner in area:  in 1866 Hammond River was a farming community with approximately 52 resident families: in 1871 the community and surrounding district had a population of 300: in 1898 Hammond River had 1 post office, 2 stores, 1 tannery, 1 cheese factory, 1 church and a population of 100: Hammond River is now within the town of Quispamsis, a small community owned by Randy and Jennifer Wilson.

Therein ends our almost true history lesson for today, kiddies. Class dismissed. Grab your paddles and get out there.

P.S. re: William Francis Ganong. Mmmm...Ganong's.

Cool Hand Juke

With the encroachment of Alzheimers upon me Mootha, it's sometimes not easy to get the reaction from her that's desired. My best clowning around sometimes falls flat (tough crowd!). There is one exception. There's one interaction that always gets results.

Question: what would that be?

Answer: a cold hand to the cheek.

Inevitably, when I come from the outdoors into Pine Grove and hold me Mootha's hand, or put my hand on her face, I get the reaction that you see in this picture. It has a 'severe' look to it but she usually chuckles afterwards.

It works in both directions too...hot or cold. The other day I placed a perhaps-too-warm heated blanket on her and she immediately said 'oh my god!'.

And while I'm telling Mootha stories....something funny happened yesterday. I was sitting with Mootha, holding her hand with fingers entwined. She lifted both of our hands up to her lips and started kissing them. The great hilarity came when she said 'How'd 'ya like that?', especially since she was kissing her own hand, and not mine.