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Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Some Christmastime Photos from 2008 and 2011

This is my third post today ─ both Boxing Day's and December 27's posts were actually composed this afternoon.  I had fallen that far behind.

Today's will be equally brief.

Something of interest took place on Boxing Day that I want to mention ─ it took place late in the afternoon and through the early evening.

I often lament here on what a slob my youngest step-son Pote is ─ and how his girlfriend doesn't seem much improved, nor at all concerned about the state of the boys' den area where Pote sleeps.  He's long had packages of both opened and unopened junk food lying about all over the place, as well as bowls and plates of leftovers he's too slovenly and/or lazy to take out to the kitchen and deal with.

Ditto for all manner of beverage cans and bottles. 

Well, a large casserole-like glass dish with a red lid must have been just lying around ─ perhaps some food was in it. Jack found it, and saw that the edges of the red plastic were badly chewed away in some areas.

The kid admitted that he thinks that more than once he has seen a mouse scurry in such a flash that he was never fully certain that he saw something.

And he said that he has heard noises at night when he's been in bed ─ noises like scratching coming even from the kitchen.

So Jack got to work and did a thorough cleaning of the den area, throwing out lots of cartons and boxes that have just accumulated ─ usually pushed away and out of sight under Pote's bed.

Will the effort have paid off and whatever rodent(s) simply move on if there are no more ready foodstuffs lying about?

Or will the kid's bad habits reassert, and all will be as before?

The answer to that will come in time.

Since Christmas Day, I have been slowly drinking every day just about all the day long ─ today is the first in which I have held off.  But I would love to indulge and bring on the numbing that will take away the nervous unease I am now feeling.

I even exercised today ─ I felt strong enough, but it was unusually taxing.  I even wondered if I might be putting my heart at risk ─ I am 67 years old, after all.

The hope is that I will feel considerably better tomorrow.

As I mentioned in the post dated yesterday, I had even lost track of the date.  Right up until late last evening, I was convinced that it was Monday and not Tuesday.  I couldn't understand why it was that my younger brother Mark was scheduled to go to work today.  I just thought that he was likely having a partial day of it, and not many businesses would be open ─ for was not today the transplanted Boxing Day statutory holiday in lieu of being able to have that same day off on the weekend?

Mark drives a large cargo truck, making pick-ups and deliveries of various items throughout each working day.

I hope he had a safe day.  It has been lightly raining for most of last night and today; the snow is melting, and the ice that is now covered with slick rain is utterly treacherous to the step.  I was unnerved by just how risky it was negotiating my way along the driveway to the street in order to bring in the recycling bin that got emptied today.

Gosh, I had forgotten that Google has been busy making 'postcards' or collages of some of my older photos taken on a couple of past Christmastimes.

This first collage celebrates December 28, 2008:

I was able to track down the two original photos ─ our front yard:

The next collage also celebrates December 28, 2008:

And these are the four originals, beginning with one of my niece Rene (Irene) at extreme left; myself in the red cap; my eldest step-son Tho; and my youngest step-son Pote kneeling in the snow.  This was the boys' very first Canadian Winter ─ they had never before been in snow.  They came here from Thailand in September of that year:

The backyard sheds:

Now standing in front of the open car-port ─ my brother Mark has joined the boys, Rene, and I, and he is standing beside his daughter (Rene):

And now Rene on the backyard sundeck ─ the same location as the first of these four photos:

Finally, a collage celebrating December 30, 2011 (although the photo of Jack hugging the tree claims to be from January 5, 2012 ─ which makes no sense):

These are the original photos:

Before I forget, I want to declare what has been the worst part of my day ─ it has been that damned brown hound beyond our backyard fence, baying and barking all morning and afternoon.  Its owners keep it essentially as a house-dog, but today they stuck the weakling outside for six to eight hours.

Curse them ─ and their miserable hound.

I want to close ─ I am tired of blogging, and it is getting late.

So before I go, I wish to post this entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

That wee rented unit was in a house located on Ninth Street, a house or two up from Third Avenue.

I had retired to bed the evening before at 7:00 p.m.
SUNDAY, December 28, 1975

I slept very badly, and even watched Monty Python last night, though it in no way helped.  I may as well have went with Bill to Mark's.

I never got up till 4:30 a.m.

Will my foot ever heal?

I went out in rain just after 5:00 a.m. to mail my letters to Ron and Jean.

I was going to go to the library today, but my appearance disappointed me too much; I never even had the courage to go out for the current TV Guide.

I was unable to fight sleep any longer than 1:30 p.m.; actually, I tried to resist completely falling asleep, but sure enough, I came around at 3:00 p.m. lacking knowledge of reality, my awareness filled with the fatality of a dream: 

A very tiny group of us (I only remember myself and my father; perhaps Mark was a member) composed a tribe of Indians who were faced with an outlawry after I slew a holy creature ─ a bird of a neighbouring lake, I believe.

I bed for good about 7:05 p.m.
This was now eight days in which it felt as if a tiny bone in my foot had broken or dislocated ─ the result of running a number of miles of city street while I was wearing boots.

The two letters I mailed were to U.S. pen-pals Ron Bain and Jean M. Martin (née Black).

My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend had invited my old friend William Alan Gill and I over for a chicken supper the previous day, but I had declined ─ I was trying to keep early bedtime hours to facilitate rising exceptionally early.  But it was not going well.

Evidently my complexion must have been acting up, making me far too socially shy to venture out into the public.  And so I remained in my room the entire day without exchanging a word with a soul.  

I had no phone.

I cannot comment on the dream I mentioned, since I no longer remember it.

Anyway, so much for my day on this date in 1975.
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