Smile for the Day. It’s going to be Okay.

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“Bambi! Look! It’s the paparazzi again! I TOLD you that we should have gone somewhere else to eat!”

Avoid Cooper Ridge Road!

Okay, so part of the good-ole fitness program is to walk/run down the stagecoach trails that pass for roads in my neck of the woods (literally). Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE where I hang my Daniel Boone hat and wouldn’t trade the daisies for streetlamps, not even for a Klondike bar.

Over the sixteen years I’ve lived out here, I’ve crossed paths with deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, a fisher, and even once had a too-close encounter with a bear. It was a good thing that not all of the stuffing between my ears has been blown away, by those nasty nor’easter’s we get up here in the attic of North America. There was enough sense tumbling about in there, to stave off the temptation to high tail it. The nearest bruin-proof structure was over a mile, that’s approximately 1.60934 kilometers for us metric folks.

Anywho, that’s quite enough claptrap about (or aboot) that, if you wish to subscribe to the stereotypical Canuck (Canadian) accent. None of these adventures with our furry and feathered co-habitants of this big, blue marble, can compare with the trippy experience, of the bovine kind, that sent me spiraling down a worm hole, questioning my sanity. I’ve always believed that it was at least held intact by the same string used to package meat, but it’s become apparently evident that my perception was just a tad bit off. Here is proof that it’s being hung by a thread soaked overnight, in the corrosive beverage that supposedly eats roofing nails.

Okay, alright, I’ll shut my bone box. Sorry, just slinging a bit of Victorian slang your way. Now, I’m just nutters about those picture books, and especially them pop-up storybooks. Actually, kinda creeped out by them, ’cause, you can’t surprise them . . . just you try sneaking up on Rikki-Tikki-Tavi at three am. I’ll just let these photos and captions spill the beans about what went down on that horse trail named Cooper Ridge Road.

“Hey, hooman! Yup, I’m talkin’ to you, ya bipedal walking stick.”

Me: “Eh?”

 

“Wanna come stand by this tree?”

Me: “Uh, nope.”

 

“Psyche! You can’t, ’cause yur not one of us. See, we got this here tree blocked, just try and lean against it. Dare ya’!”

Me: “Why would I even wan–”

 

“You smell kinda funny. What is that stink?”

Me: “Uh, soap and deodorant.”

 

“Kin’ ya do this?”

Me: “Hmmm . . . nope. I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous.”

“Shorty tongue! Shorty tongue . . . hooman is a shorty tongue! Mooohaha!”

 

“Melvin doesn’t like ya.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

“Wanna hear what happened to Bob? Awfully good tale, true story.”

Me: “Sure, why not? Can you tell it in a picture?”

 

 

 

Me: “Nope! I call bullsh**! Not willing to suspend my disbelief on that one!

So, that my friends, is why I no longer haul myself down Cooper Ridge Road.

 

Three Generations On The Slopes!

“I can’t wait to go skiing with Grandpa!” my youngest exclaimed, as we made the one-hour drive to Brockville.

We’d spend the night at my parent’s and then travel to Mount Pakenham, a small ski hill that’s just the perfect size for a pair of budding downhill skiers.

Last year, my daughters had finally given the green light to fulfill a wish that’d been in my heart for quite some time. That was to share my love of this winter activity. This year was even better!  They were going to share it with their seventy-seven-year-old Grandpa!

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I wanted to get a photo of all four of us, but my phone was acting up. I had to settle for two separate photos taken last year. 

This man has been an inspiration for me because he’s still doing things that require a great deal of physical health and mobility. Credit genetics, diet, or the many years he’s spent working at physical jobs, but I’m just happy we could share this experience.

It was a great day on the slopes, with a few spills, though nothing serious, and some frosty weather. Memories were built that I hope will be ingrained for a lifetime.

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The ‘Old Guy’  and his two pupils on their first skiing adventure, taken last winter. Don’t worry, I’ve moved into the 21st century and now wear a helmut. Makes the goggles a bit less goofy looking, too! 🙂

I feel truly privileged and blessed for the opportunity to have had three generations cruising the runs together!