Getting out of bed in the morning at any particular time is never guaranteed – more so on a weekend when there persists the customary hang-over treatment. Most often we haven’t any scheduled appointments which would prompt the Drill Sergeant into parade ground routine. Today – Sunday – was no exception. Yet when I succumbed at last this morning to the allure of a new day it was approaching nine o’clock. I recall having voided my bladder shortly after five o’clock this morning. I then took my initial collection of pharmaceuticals and pain killer which I presume afforded a soporific effect. Nonetheless my awakening was nurtured moderately by a taste for discovery.
I had on my mind a small matter which has been simmering for weeks. It concerned a photograph I had taken of a nearby farmhouse along the erstwhile railway right-of-way where we cycle daily. Initially I had contemplated putting a print of the photograph in a cheap frame then hanging it somewhere in the apartment. Though I like photography – and we already have several framed photographs about the apartment – I was reluctant to add my own to our art collection. This reluctance had nothing especially to do with either the art or the artist; I just wasn’t convinced it was the right thing to do from an interior design vantage.
I was however assured that the photograph (including the altered versions thereof I had created by “editing” on the computer) would be of interest to the land owner. Accordingly this morning following our statutory bike ride along the railway right-of-way we dipped into Dollarama Discount Store and bought a modest frame for the collection of photographs. Afterwards we drove to the farm and delivered the frame and photos to a young man whom I presume was the son of the owner – though in answer to my opening question to him he only confirmed he lived there. His evident curiosity concerning our unannounced arrival was quelled when I invited him to take the shopping bag containing the frame and the photographs and do whatever he wished to do with them – including throwing them out. This succinct mandate wrought a sufficient end to our congress and we departed without further communication.
We fulfilled our domestic duties by shopping for select provisions at Patrice’s Independent Grocer in Almonte and at Staple’s in Carleton Place. Then it was my ritual sortie to the car wash in Stittsville where I discovered – or, more precisely, reaffirmed – that Petro-Canada points are no longer suitable for lottery tickets. I’m guessing the “purchases” were becoming overwhelming. The gas station attendant informed me that the points could be used to buy a 90-day car wash card but I am unconvinced he is correct. For the time being I shall continue to collect the points and when my car wash card expires in October next I’ll see whether the points will work with a new one. It is largely irrelevant as I prefer the Petro-Canada gas stations and car wash to any others.
The drive home on the ribbon of 4-lane highway was magical as always – even rendering the imagery of approaching the ocean over the hill. In addition the mountainous billows of white clouds created there own picture on the horizon. This is unquestionably a fine automobile – both smooth and extremely well equipped. The utter pleasure of the drive made me question the necessity and utility of having the service department check the windows for possible misalignment. I have an appointment there early tomorrow morning!