I'm surprised that I woke up as early as I did. The heat during the past few days has been a little too oppressive, and I've been finding it too hot to sleep. But I'm thankful that it has warmed up, and that we are getting a few prime days of summer now, even though they have come late. The beginnings of the yellowing elm leaves and the purpling chokecherry leaves are a signal to enjoy it while I can. There will be fewer and fewer days of enjoying my meals and refreshments al fresco on the deck. I try to eat outside as often as I can through the summer and early fall. Fresh air and sunshine really does make food taste better.
I'm glad I had a chance to have a brief escape to the lake on Friday morning. The trip really helped me so much to clear my head, and fix a few aches. The three hours spent there swimming*, stretching my legs, back, and hips in the water, meditating, and cruising around on a paddle board did more for me than the couple of weeks' worth of time off that I used previously combined.
I found a wallet this morning while I was walking the dog. It had no money in it, but the SIN card, pay pass credit cards; numerous redeemable pre-paid Visa and PIN-free gift cards left inside it led me to believe that it was lost; not stolen. Since ID was in it, I troubled myself to take it to the police station, and let them deal with it. I expect no reward, but if there is good karma for doing this, I hope it comes soon. Perhaps I was already pre-rewarded. Yesterday, I found a half-used Folk Fest passport on the street that someone dropped. One of these things costs fifteen bucks, and gets you through the various ethnic pavilions for the festival. I borrowed/recycled it to get a beer from Scottish pavilion, but I passed on eating there. Some of my ethnic ancestry is Scottish, but apparently it's not a big enough fraction of my constitution to make me appreciate Scottish food. I imagine that Scottish food must do something wonderful for the true Scots in conjuring up nostalgic feelings of home and hearth: because it sure as hell isn't eaten for the flavour. Turnips (neeps) are absolutely detestable to me, and haggis . . . well, I think I now know why the Scots have endeavored to take such great measures in crafting quality whiskey: to serve as both compensation and liquid courage if they were forced to constantly eat that stuff. I ended up dining at the Greek pavilion for supper. I wish now that I went to the German pavilion: where the best beer is.
From now until the end of September, it will be the time the season where I'd typically be plotting out my grander projects of personal home economics. OneNote and Excel will be my best friends for that time.
*-An exaggeration: for the record, I don't really swim. I have no absolutely no buoyancy; I thrash arms and legs wildly to deploy what I realistically call a "drowning prevention strategy"; but I don't really move anywhere. To be accurate, I'd say that I swim like a drowning cat . . . but after looking at my style and form, I'm sure that could be considered an insult to all drowning cats everywhere.
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