Sixty years ago an unexpected find in the basement of my boyhood home led to a great scheme to save my haircut money for spending change at the upcoming annual street carnival in the town where i lived.
Long forgotten, the incident came to life last summer when my co-conspirator happened upon an antique barber implement at a garage sale in Ohio.
Brad and I hadn't seen each other for 23 years until he came for a visit last September. Until his wife sent this clip last week of Brad's presentation I didn't realize this special moment in the Palace was being recorded.

The sun is ready to rise on Valentine's Day. I had to pause on my way to the office to admire this good omen and beautiful sight.
Happy Valentine's Day, my friends!

Forty-five years ago Fareed Ali and I sat together with a pitcher of beer in the old Crest Hotel in Thunder Bay and ripped a dollar bill in half.
We each pocketed one of the halves, vowing to put them together and buy a bunch of beers when we met up again.
Fareed returned home to Trinidad. I have kicked around Northwestern Ontario, my favorite spot in the universe, for the decades since, still carrying my half of the small fortune in beer money.
I think it's time for Fareed and I to find each other.
Fareed had a brother who taught at Confederation College in those days. I think he was with the college for many years. I have forgotten the brother's first name, but his last was Ali, like Fareed's.
I'm wondering if any of my Thunder Bay friends - or any of my friends, really - have any clues as to how I might find Fareed's brother (and with his help, find Fareed).
If so, I will tell you how it came about that I named one of my Siamese cats Fareed.

My friend Miguel wished me a safe trip home today as we said our fond farewells here in front of his cigar bar.
He noted that the temperature difference between Cuba and Sioux Lookout this morning was 50 degrees C (90 degrees F).
"I don't know how you can live there," he shivered with a warm smile.
"We wear long pants," I joked, pointing at the skinny legs hanging from my shorts.
I can tell you those skinny legs propelled me at high speed across the hotel parking lot when we arrived back in Canada tonight as I made the mad dash to retrieve coats and boots we left stashed in the car while we were gone.

Buying Cohibas at the cigar factory in Havana.
Limited Internet access. More later.

A peek out our mid-winter Thunder Bay hotel window. Minus 28 degrees. Snow in the spruce. Bottle of wine and box of pizza on the coffee table. First leg of the trip to Cuba.
Tomorrow at this time, full moon rising from the Caribbean, naked toes writhing in the sand, Mojito and Monte Cristo in hand, warm breezes through the palms.

Four steps to a pretty good cookout:
1) Get a fire started in early afternoon.
2) Carve out a refrigerated drink holder within arm's reach of your fireside chair. Sit there for a few hours and keep an eye on the fire. Top up beverage as necessary. Repeat.
3) Sometime before dusk insert cooking grate and top with wrapped packets of potatoes, onions, and garlic butter over modest heat.
4) After an hour or so lower the grate so it just grazes the coals and lay on a couple juicy ribeyes.
Add a couple logs to the coals after plating the grand dinner and swinging the cooking grate to the side. After the meal the fire will provide the perfect ambience for a cigar and after dinner glass of wine as you sit in the silence of a snowy January night.

I glanced over to the table beside me a few minutes ago and noticed my spring garden catalog, partially hidden behind the computer monitor where I had tossed it a few days ago.
From where I sat, my vision of next summer's planting took on a whole new perspective.
As I giggled at the silliness, my mind wandered to the years I attended sports shows a couple decades ago in Minneapolis. At one particular intersection on Stinson Blvd. that I drove daily a sign advertised a business, apparently a small home-based enterprise operated by Violet who sold curtains and such.
With amazing regularity I was the first vehicle stopped at the red light there where a utility pole obscured a small piece of the sign that now read, "Violet's raperies".
And I always wondered if Violet had ever been stopped in her car at that intersection when the traffic light turned red.

Last weekend Mary and I stayed home. It's the first time I can remember, ever, that we've missed time at camp because of cold. I feel like a first-class wimp.
 
Tonight, as you've likely guessed, we're at camp. This morning's temperature was minus 39, so we waited until noon to make the breakaway. By then the outdoor heat was registering minus 29 so we hightailed it out while the going was good. Twelve layers of insulated underwear and sweaters kept us toasty on the trail - except for a few patches of exposed cheek and chin sticking out from our mad trapper hats and snowmobile helmets.
 
Now, four roaring-fire hours after arrival, the cabin has warmed up enough to sit around comfortably with only two layers of clothes and one pair of wool socks in the moccasins. Unfortunately my box of wine is still frozen, but the scotch stayed liquid so I have something to accompany a nice cigar. Pretty sure the wine will be thawed in time for breakfast.
 
Attached is a picture of a framed watercolor painting I bought at a craft market here last month. Great story behind this painting, created by a talented local lady, and friend. I have it hanging at camp now.
 
I am sitting in my big bird watching chair at the moment. Sun has set and it's pitch black outside the window. And I'm typing on my little phone screen (you can imagine how much that thrills me) so won't carry on much more here for the moment.
 
Cheers, my friends.

P.S. About five years ago I carved this coffee scoop from a diamond willow tree. It was a nice late winter day so I sat on the deck at camp after finishing the carving, set the little spoon on the rail where I was feeding sunflower seeds to the birds, and proceeded to daydream.
The afternoon was bright and thoroughly pleasant, with the heat of the sun streaming down on me, and the chickadees flying so close that they occasionally grazed my face on their way to feed.
During my drowsy delight, this cheeky chicky landed on the spoon, and chirped, "So, you made this little perch just for me? Thanks, man!"
I enjoy some simple carving, and get a kick out of taking pictures. I'm an amateur of both, at best.
For some reason I loved this picture. Maybe because the day was so marvelous, maybe because I had created the scoop, possibly because the picture turned out so cute. Who knows? I guess several factors converged.
In the years since, I have given the coffee scoop to one of my best friends (who still uses it nearly every day) and have used the picture on my web site (dickshideaway.com), on calendars I print every year for a handful of friends, and on my business card. It's an indulgence I've basked in, just because...
Last month I was working a craft market booth, selling our Rotary ice candles for the upcoming Christmas memorial service.
I didn't see her coming, but realized suddenly at one moment that my friend Norah Laverty was standing beside me, holding up her framed water color for me to see.
It was love at first sight (the painting, not Norah). I bought it immediately and began imagining right where I would hang it at camp.
And it's hanging there now, and I'm flattered as all heck that Norah saw the picture somewhere and believed it was nice enough to create such a beautiful work of art.

The sun is up on this eve of Christmas, 2017. 8:15 a.m. It's a cozy 20 degrees (70F) as I sit in my housecoat sipping camp coffee, admiring the view out my window.
On the other side of the glass, an arm's reach from my perch, the chickadees are feeding merrily. Temperature minus 30 (-21F).
I must be on ol' Santa's good boy list to be so blessed.