The world's just fine when it's 60x148 feet....

[captainsblog]

Those are the official measurements of our lot, and for the first time in months, I spent an entire day not going beyond them.

Did a bunch, though.  Finished reading things in various media. Mowed the remaining half of the back forty, then weedwhacked around its edges later in the day. My companion for the first round was yesterday's podcast of Wait Wait, in which Canada played two essential roles: using the GBS version of "End of the World," rather than the usual Stipe tripe, as the musical bumper out of a story about the Mayans being right about the whole calendar thang; and then, this one, about a perfectly polite act of Canadian civil disobedience arising out of a labour dispute:


A day after its owner Postmedia announced layoffs that will target copy editors and cuts that will see some print editions reduced, Canada’s National Post today published a crossword that provides a reminder of the value of copy editing.

Canadian journalist Maryam Siddiqi tweeted a picture of today’s Post crossword, which really isn’t much of a challenge at all:



Thousands of Canadian cross-wits rioted following the protest reveal, running into the streets of Ottawa and, oot of habit, picking up all the litter on them.

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The soundtrack to the second outdoor run was Jackson Browne's The Pretender, which I picked up on CD years ago but had never iPodded until some random Facebooker mentioned his newest release earlier today. The older album was a timely choice for today, since it has two back-to-back songs about fathers and sons. The first, titled "The Only Child," is his song to the next generation, about the need to take care of your mother/brother/each other- in ways that my own father, and Cam's parents, and our neighbor's kids, could've all learned a thing or two from. Following it is "Daddy's Tune," a confession/apology to his own dad about not connecting with him and his words when he was younger. The irony in it is the key line about merging their realities:

Make room for my forty-fives
Along beside your seventy-eights

I have no idea what OUR daughter would make of that metaphor, even though she lived last year with roommates with a living room full of vinyl 33's. I'm just happy that we're not likely to ever have that rift of formats, or emotions, in the first place.

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Dinner was part Eleanor-made and part Fridays-flair; we watched most of the original Clerks; and while I also got to watch the Mets losing their third game in a row, there were plenty of poignant Fathers Day moments in the images, and from the broadcast booth, to make up for that.

Tomorrow, it's back to the reality beyond these bounds. Necessary, but not nearly as sweet.

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[bill_sheehan.livejournal.com]

Home sweet home. I spent Sunday not even leaving the house. It might be a deadly sin, but there's much to be said for sloth...