On Wednesday, Yann reached another milestone: the anniversary of his conception. He celebrated the usual way, turning it into a destination Birthday. Last year, we were at the base of Mt. Albert Edward. The year before, we were in France. Before that? New Hampshire.
Anyway, you get the idea: August is a good month to have been birthed.
In the time of Coronavirus, we had to be low-key with this year’s destination and tote a pump dispenser of hand sanitizer. I also brought a chair, binoculars, and at least twelve articles of clothing even though we were gone for just a night.
So, where did we go?
Continue reading “A short distance overseas.”
Last night, Yann and I laced up our Nike Decades and headed up to Gonzales Hill Observatory with a flask of phenobarbital to catch a glimpse of NEOWISE before it disappears for the next 6000 years.
The observatory itself is an old weather station and is off-limits to the public; however, the Capital Regional District was kind enough to provide a park bench 20 metres away from the building.
Yann and I settled down on this bench as the sun sunk below the horizon. As usual, Sirius was the first to seep through the evening twilight, followed by the Grande Ourse, which is French for Big Bear, which how they refer to The Big Dipper. Or you’re in the UK, The Plough. Whatever it’s called, it’s the one constellation most Northern Hemispherians can identify. The Big Dipper was to direct us to NEOWISE’s position in the sky.
We sat in the darkness, shivering among the wind-warped Garry oak trees for an hour before scoping the dim smudge that is NEOWISE in the sky. It was expectedly anti-climactic, as we had long missed the window when it was the most brilliant.
Also, there was no flask of phenobarbital, and I wear Adidas kicks.
Continue reading “Apocalyptic insignificance.”
Yann and I took a trip out of town last Tuesday. On the ride back, I received this text message:
Fuck that. We hadn’t visited another country: we’d just returned from another planet.
Continue reading “When work doesn’t interfere.”
Many of my posts are inspired by conversations I have with Yann. He’s my one-man test audience. Whenever a horrified look spreads across his face, I think, “Ooh, this is definitely blog-worthy.”
The night I posted about my impending exit from InstaCrap, the bedroom light suddenly switched off. I had angered God (who is now owned by Facebook).
My first thought was that Yann had grown impatient of me treating the bedroom as a makeshift office, and had shut off the light as a way to announce bedtime. This wasn’t rational as it’s not his style. If anything, it’s something I would do.
The glow from my notebook was enough for me to see that Yann wasn’t standing at the bedroom door as expected. I jump to conclusions poorly: the wind had knocked out the power, blacking out our building.
Continue reading “The adoration of Jack Frost.”