Tuesday, 19 August 2014

Hello From the North Apron of Wascana Pool

I pulled weeds along the fence to make a place for my towel, which is the first time I've said such a thing.
Run. No wait, don't run a mom tells her daughter. My bad!
A lifeguard, dude with red-blonde afro, takes the loudspeaker Listen up, hey listen up to explain how the deep end works now that the high board has gone. The high board--how many times did I arc against a blue sky poolward, blade or wrecking ball, the surface all mine?*--took us higher than anything, especially the Recreation Ranch-style, worn blue, office and changeroom building.
It's the contour I miss, of high ladder.
When some teen with a football calls out Hey good timing, buddy, afro says Thank you with his loudspeaker as he disappears inside.
He makes other announcements--too many. People will stop listening.











*none

Saturday, 12 July 2014

Age

I wonder if visiting an archeological site, say a Roman settlement near present-day Mertola, in Portugal, and finding your jackknife there would make you old. Old needs no help, of course. I worked my scaps the other day and felt like a bird, old bird, proto-pelican. I liked what it did with my voice, but I tell you, the rest was brittle. Things continue that way. A casual swipe of a square inch or two back of my left eyebrow leads to consultation with NASA as to the composition of my noggin. I'm called "you old fuck" during a parking lot episode. In Lisbon about two months ago a young man on a tram offers me his seat. (Here I'll remember that a crowded tram in Lisbon leaves you hanging from forces of nature beginning with, but not limited to, hump, swivel, bend, press and hundred-year-old wooden box with windows.)
Eyes that require
their own staff and budget
(but don't they see past the bridge?)
is how an idea like this carries on. And I'm not feeling old today!
I did point out to my daughter the other day, though, that "we're all pushing 80."

Monday, 7 July 2014

In My Room

Not to go on about old songs, but the Beach Boys are doing it right now, singing "In My Room" at my desk while I look out across the Courthouse. In either case a fortress is built, as adolescent boys know how to build them.
Here I am, thinking this way.
I don't know details but Brian Wilson got heavy into himself, I think, and the group broke down. I'll use sublime for some of their songs, though. "In My Room" can take a lot of abuse--sentimental pap, lyrics that beg for satiric intervention, squarest possible harmonies--but every fourteen years or so I find it again.
Look at the workers streaming home through the sunlight, 4:49.

Thursday, 3 July 2014

Three Days After Canada Day

Three days later much had changed. Just occasional waves reached the bike path nearest the bandstand. They looked thin, doomed.
The bandstand could've played through it all. I attended a love-in there in about 1969, played concerts with the Lions Band. Trombone. When horns were required by progressive rockers, the time of Lighthouse and Chicago and Blood Sweat and Tears, I covered the 'bone chart for Kharma, a band that lasted not much longer than three or four gigs around Regina, the last at the bandstand on a Saturday afternoon.











For the lake to achieve even that much overflow today the lake needs wind. Those two have been at it for a hundred and thirty-some years.








I heard the fireworks on Canada Day, saw people walking there with blankets.
It's a day bracing and fair.

Friday, 20 June 2014

Gerry Goffin

Long-time readers of this blog--a rainy afternoon to you, Uncle Brownie and Aunt Green--will have at least twice seen the story of my life as defined by encounters with the King-Goffen 1962 hit "Loco-motion". I'll check the facts later, but that's the gist of it, the gist book.
All you have to do is listen to the song. Maybe you were there in the fall of '62, the gym of Massey School in south Regina. Colleen, Diane, Sherry, Laura, Trudy, Linda, Lisa, Barbara, Sheila, Joanne--I know you were there, for the dance, a Friday after school. And so was Little Eva, on a Dimension '45, doin the loco-motion with me. Everything I knew about girls I learned to that song, but don't blame the song.
Jump ahead 38 years. Friday after school at Massey, my daughter's staying for a dance. I'll pick her up when it's over.
I walked. Approaching the gym I could hear it, "Loco-motion" (accept no substitute--stick with Little Eva) and I stopped to do it just inside the front door. The light from the gym was getting to me. And everybody's do-oo-in a brand new dance now.
Do you like it with the hyphen?

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Wascana Lake

I'll get to the lake in a minute but first I'm saluting the late great Paco de Lucia, now playing with Al Di Meola on the latter's "Mediterranean Sundance". Please Check it out on the Tube or someplace. Paco's gorgeous "ole"! (Try to find the version from Elegant Gypsy, Di M's album from '77.)
But yes, the lake. I'm meeting my daughter and grandchildren for a circuit. I'm also poised for a big write on the topic, of that lake but maybe the family too.
I'd give in to goose by page three.
My grandson might need a piggyback part way. First I'll ask him to give me one.
Tennis ball, never a bad idea.
The lake offers I'd say fifteen thousand viewpoints. That could be the writing piece right there.
Sorry, gotta go

Sunday, 15 June 2014

Lotta Latte

Since I bought the machine, I've cut down on tea, though I'm making a pot right now. I refer to my Breville espresso maker, aka espresso machine, which I've used daily to refine my coffee habit, the one costing four bucks per small latte. This pot of tea is my first in a week.
I'm not sure if latte is what I've produced, these last few days. But I've downed it, and it's not bad. Don't rely on your machine to make your latte, the guide tells me. Distracted by World Cup soccer, I'm learning to run the machine, all right. (A sip of green tea, the rain stopped.)
Because size of glassware offers room to explore, I sent away for latte glasses. And I'll fool around with beans. Once I get it all figured out I'll turn to the weather, which it takes a pot of tea to subdue.
PS: I'll be looking to Portugal tomorrow.
gh