Posts Tagged ‘Life’s humor’

Operatic Solo or Operatic No-no

I’ve been hanging around the coffee shops again. Listening to snatches of conversations and pondering the wisdom of people.

What have I learned?

  • It doesn’t matter how well dressed and together people look, they still have the same kind of sticky, icky issues.
  • Like the young couple, who were, whether they realized it or not, breaking up. I was fascinated at how their voices would go from quiet angry to rising fury, before dropping into angry hisses, only to start rising again. It was like hearing an operatic libretto minus any musical score.
  • Across town, in another coffee shop I was treated to the following; Two male clerks were eating lunch and discussing the sales levels of the new ‘manly’ outdoors store.

“Yeah, headquarters is trying to figure out why our rifle sales and our fudge sales are still shooting up. We’re outselling all the other stores.

“Simple,” replies the other one. “We gotta’ lotta’ fat people shooting off more than just their mouths around here.”

I’m still amazed that neither of them, while busting a gut, didn’t choke on their sandwiches. And, I really wonder, just who the real fatheads were. . .

. . . .

One last scene worth sharing—This time it was all Man-Wonder’s fault (and since he never reads this blog I’m safe to say that.) Part of our improved lifestyle means more walking. So we decided that we would include an after dinner walk to our local coffee shop, a few times a week, for an evening cuppa.

“Let’s take the crib board.” Man-Wonder said last night.

“I’m kind of tired.”

But he did and we had a game. When it was apparent he was going to double-skunk me I offered to toss the game.

“Un uh” he said, “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.”

Remember how I said I was tired?

Well, I belted out one of my short operatic squalls,thSNBVKTCX like I tend to do at home (or when locked safely in a moving vehicle).

Wow! Have you ever been the cause of instant dead silence? I considered sliding under the table but the image of struggling to get back up killed that thought before my legs had time to do more than twitch.  Instead—with crib board tucked tightly under arm and toques pulled low—we slunk quietly into the foggy night.

So, I wonder which will happen first—we go back to that coffee shop or Man-Wonder wants another game of crib?

And, I want to add a note here for anyone with a song in their heart; I couldn’t help but notice the echoing—the acoustics in a half-empty coffee shop are pretty good!

 

 

 

 

 

Fish Talk

It’s fishing mania right now and since Man-wonder is a fishing addict we’ve been hanging around the shoreline catching the tides.

And there have been interesting moments.

Like watching the damp poetry of a line of fishermen standing, maybe ten or fifteen feet apart  tossing out their lines when, upon hearing a splash of a leaping fish, turn in tandem to cast in that direction.

Or when the good-sporting hoots and conversation that drift ashore quickly turn to low grumbles and snide remarks when less-than-sporting fishermen/women don’t release  fowl-hooked ones. Illegal and worse — dirty fishing.

Personally, I think they deserve the title of ‘fishing whores’ bestowed upon them.

Another goober-sliding-into-stupid move we saw came from a canoeist, and I truly hate to say anything bad about someone who canoes, but this goombah deliberately  paddled into a mess of fishermen and began cutting the lines as they fell over his canoe.

Ever seen a group of ballistic fisherman? Ever seen a canoe leave a wake?

I have.

Even the seals like to get into the action—One hungry one slipped into the middle of a circle of fishermen around a school of fish which sent the fish into a broiling mass just before they took off in every direction.  Within seconds all there was left was a group of either laughing or forlorn-looking fishermen reeling in empty lines as the seal feasted.

Another broil, on another evening, almost caused Man-wonder to do a tush-dive when a school broiled around him close enough to be banging into his legs.

Ever seen a man dance in waders?  Wonder if the fish were laughing?

I know I was. . .

Another evening we watched a group of teens having an absolute hoot. They were nailing fish like they had magical lures and as soon as one teen hooked a fish another teen splashed over and held out the bottom of his tee-shirt like a net and caught the fish. Together they’d unhook the fish and after a kiss to the snout they’d release it, laughing like bandits the whole time.

And, when I got tired of watching the water action I’d look up and catch some magnificent sunrises, sunsets and odd cloud formations.

sky shots (16)          sky shots (27)          sky shots (10)

sky shots (21)      003

But, all this fishy action leaves me with a couple of  questions—Like what do fish talk about underwater?

fish dreams

And, just how many fishermen pee in the water?

thCA8XOT8K

 

 

From Dogs to Ducks

It’s been one of those weeks. Not the busy kind. More the slow, Mañana, and get outta’ my face and space week, thanks to a spell of hot-sticky days. It seems even the birds and animals are taking it slower. 

Except for good old Elvis the Jack Russell a few doors down. That dog has a seriously high bark-o-meter level! Personally I think someone left him out in the sun too long when he was a pup and it fried a few of the cells connecting the brain to the bark. Might of damaged his vision too. Because he tends to stare stone-still for a good thirty seconds before his body begins this weird vibration that starts in his throat and works its way down to his tail which whips around like a whirling dervish – sending the vibrations back through his body to explode out of his snout like a canine barkmobile.

A little tired of listening to Elvis the barking wonder, and to escape the heat for a while, Man-wonder and I went for a paddle on one of our favorite lakes (close to home).

Quennell Lake has always been an interesting paddle.

quennell lake 023

quennell lake 029

The first time we ever tried the lake was just after we’d purchased a canoe. (Yeah, it was on sale because it was still winter and they needed to move merchandise) and yeah, we went for a paddle in mid-February and yeah, we didn’t even make it past the line of shore reeds before we flipped.

I gotta’ say—lake water is damn  very cold in February.

Very, very cold!

Being slightly more intelligent than, say—Elvis, we waited three months before trying again.

Happily we stayed upright and dry that trip. Though just barely!

We found ourselves in the middle of a battle between a frightened duck and a hungry eagle. It was a  little unnerving to have an eagle swooping over you as if he wasn’t even aware of your existence while he tries to snag a la duck. Thankfully we didn’t witness any bloodshed. The duck managed to reach the tall reeds to our left where he stayed hidden until the frustrated eagle gave up. The eagle gave us the stink- eye as he passed for the last time; almost as if he was blaming us for his blown lunch.

Come to think of it – that’s the same look I get when I’m hungry.  .  .

The next trip around Quennell Lake put us under a surprise attack from a swan when we unknowingly paddled in too close to the nest.

There we were, paddling away and yakking it up when this furious honking started ahead of us, at the mouth of the channel. We sat there like a royal pair of goobers watching, and not believing what we were seeing as this big, angry white swan skimmed over the surface of the water heading straight for us. It swerved at the last second. I think I squeaked. I know Man-wonder did. The kamikaze  bundle of protectant feathers was turning around for a repeat performance before we clued in and paddled our butts out of its channel. I still wonder how many how many other unsuspecting canoeists were bird-bombed.

So we were looking forward to this trip because anything could happen and something usually does.

But this time the only sounds were the black-winged redbirds singing and the only action came from people waving at us as we passed them relaxing on their docks. A totally relaxing, quiet and lovely paddle.

Ah well,  there’s always next time. . .

 

 

 

The Art of Stopping

driving 1

I had a wonderful reminder the other day about what is important in life. At least what is important to me—laughter and the art of not taking oneself too seriously.

Man-wonder and I were off on a two-hour break together. We decided on the local coffee shop for two reasons:

  1. I was in desperate need of voices that didn’t matter to me, just loud waves of noise from other lives. Voices I could eavesdrop on and then tune out. And kitchen sounds I knew weren’t calling to me so what better place than an active Tim Hortons coffee shop? A place where no one knows my name.
  2. Man-wonder will go anywhere there are doughnuts and coffee.

“I’ll drive.” I said in my usual bossy-ish manner. “We’ll get there faster.”

True statement. We are the hare and the tortoise when it comes to driving. Only this hare has to use some caution since tortoise gets carsick when I forget he’s there and really get into the driving.

At the mall I dropped Man-wonder off to do a piece of quick business while I found a parking spot by the coffee shop. It always amazes me how people will ignore a shaded parking spot to park closer to the coffee shop. Sure enough there were empty parking spaces near the short cement wall separating the lot from the road way. And under shade of trees too!

I backed into a spot between two cars forgetting about Man-wonder’s work trailer hitch which meant I stopped sooner than expected. And harder.

Here’s where I always wonder—why is there an audience when we do something daft?

Right beside me, two feet away is a woman relaxing in her car, enjoying a cuppa and a read.

At least until I arrived.

I gave the passenger door a  glance wondering if I could slither over the console and out that side of the car avoiding eye contact. But sadly, my slithering days are long gone.

I sighed and made eye contact.

She was wearing one big shit-ass grin and holding up a thumb. Holding it up like a trophy on display.  I laughed and with a flick of my short hair, climbed out of the truck and said to her, as casual as you please, “And they think I don’t know how to drive.”

“What do they know eh?” She nods at the back of my truck. “You got the stopping part nailed. “

I laughed all the way into the cacophony of voices filling the coffee shop.

Thank you, dear lady, wherever you are. Whoever you are. You reminded me to laugh at myself.

And that’s a very good thing.