I pulled up at Chez Angela not long after a car accident. As I was preparing to leave, the ambulance pulled up and parked next to me, boxing me in, so I went back into the bakery and had a coffee to wait them out.
The cars involved are on the other side of the fire truck in the photo. I felt it would be bad form to wander around the site taking photos. Plus it was way warmer inside, sipping my coffee, than out in the street.
When I left, about ten minutes later, the police were still there, and two tow trucks had showed up.
As far as I could tell, no one was seriously hurt, but at least one of the vehicles was not in great shape.
A friend told me once about his young son’s reaction to autumn. The boy was maybe two years old, and my friend took him out into the yard to watch the leaves fall from the trees. After a couple moments spent looking around with consternation on his face, the son picked up a double handful of leaves, held them up to his father, and said, “Fix it, Daddy!”
I feel the same, kid. I’m not ready for summer to be done, but there were yellow leaves on the deck this weekend and I had to use the space heater at the office today.
I know a lot of people who love fall, with its sweaters and the riot of colours in the trees, but to me it’s just the gateway to yet another winter. I’m definitely a spring-and-summer kind of guy.
It’s a long weekend Monday here in Canada, so I went for a nice long bike ride today. 23km and change, in a bit under two hours. There was quite a wind out of the east, so I’m happy with that time.
I had my camera with me, and so I snapped a couple photos: a goose landing in the river, above, and a train under the 1st Street bridge, below.
I didn’t get a photo of the family in the not-yet-open splash park on 1st Street south of Richmond (Kinsmen Park, I think), making do with a water-gun fight.
When I was a kid, I read a lot. I worked my way through the Hardy Boys mysteries, and even read a Nancy Drew book or two before I decided those were more in line with my sister’s sensibilities.
One day I discovered Encyclopedia Brown in the local public library, in a book of ten short mysteries whose endings were hidden at the back of the book, like a puzzle book. I was hooked. I read all the EB books the library had, and—if I recall correctly—I also discovered that interlibrary loan would bring me new tales.
As I aged, I discovered that names like “Franklin W. Dixon” and “Carolyn Keene”, authors of the Hardy Boys and the Nancy Drew mysteries, respectively, were “house names”, false identities adopted by writers who would write one or two or ten novels in the series, then move on. I long assumed that Donald J. Sobol, the name on the spine of the Encyclopedia Brown collections, was also a house name.
I was wrong. Donald J. Sobol was a real person, a single, singular author, and this is his story.
This time last year, I was still wearing hard plastic eye-shields to bed, thanks to my laser eye surgery. But my vision has been 20/16 since then, and the only glasses I’ve had to wear are sunglasses and (to my wife’s evergreen amusement) reading glasses.
Thanks to Dr. Rocha and his entire crew for making my eyes better than they’ve been since, oh, grade 2 or so.