I have been visited by a Sunday morning harbinger of good luck.
At first glance, I wondered if I had somehow slid into the wine o'clock haze without realizing it.
As I pondered, my mind danced around "The Sphinx ", my very favorite Edgar Allen Poe short story.
With a re-adjustment of my glasses, the monster became clear. I startled both dogs and Mary with my excited shouts of, "YAY! WOO HOO!"
This little beast will never be more welcome. We all know the message...

The joy of Saturday morning!

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.