Angel

In the spirit of the holiday season, I give you one angel ornament, photographed through the viewfinder of a 74-year-old (more or less) camera. Which is now loaded with film and will, I hope, produce some interesting photos in coming weeks.



All the best, loyal reader (or two) for the holiday season. Merry Christmas if that's your flavour, happy holidays regardless, and all the best for 2012. As usual, my resolutions will be to (a) drink less coffee, and (b) blog more. Which, of course, I promised last year, and pretty much failed to deliver.

'Tis the Season

Obligatory long-exposure Christmas Tree photo, 2010 version.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

2010

A winter scene, on the way home.


Happy New Year, to anyone who might still be reading.

The annual trip down to the other end of Lake Ontario is over, the slew of Christmas presents packed into two vehicles and transported back home, and calm has descended on Chateau Ricardipus for the time being. Back to the Land of Wireless Internet™ again, which makes just about everything easier. Blog posting, obviously - but also looking up trivia ("where on Earth have I seen that movie actor before?" being a favourite question around here), uploading photos to Flickr of course, and even (*shudder*) doing work. From home. On a Statutory Holiday.

Our next, biggest challenge will be re-synchronizing ourselves with the school/work day schedule by Monday morning. No more sleeping late, lounging about in pajamas until mid-day, and snacking throughout. No more staying up to watch movies. Back to the daily routine, which, to be honest, is looking like a nice option after two solid weeks off.

And for the new year? Well, given recent events, I'm hoping for less travel, at least to the US, since border crossing has once again escalated into a complicated gauntlet of security checks, restrictions on what you can and can't be reading/working on/playing with on the plane, and other general Scroogeiness. And just when I'd perfected the "shoes and belt and pockets" security-check dance. No, in the near future I'm hoping for nothing more exotic than a trip to Montréal, for which I will once again take the train, an altogether much more civilized experience than negotiating airport security these days.

Or perhaps somewhere I can drive, since I rather enjoy transporting myself. Armed, as always, with a camera, and the potential for some diversions along the way. Like that last trip home, where I detoured along the Loyalist Parkway for the first time in many, many years, revisiting the Glenora Ferry, which I remember as being a highlight of family trips when I was young. I'm pleased to report that some things, in keeping with the Christmas theme of tradition, never change.


M.V. Glenora, coming to take me home.

All the best for 2010, everyone.

In lieu of a real post, again

There is, as usual, not much of interest going on over here these days, so in my usual way I shall deflect your attention from the lack of a literary magnum opus by gratuitously posting some photos. Or, "how I spent my Christmas holiday with the in-laws".

I spent some time taking the usual arty shots of things around the back yard:


It's either Galadriel's mirror, or a birdbath.

A trip down to the waterfront to see the blustery, freezing cold of Lake Ontario:


There were ducks floating in the lake. Crazy birds.

Followed by a jaunt to take some shots of local photogenic correctional facilities, Kingston, Ontario being the undisputed capital of such things in Canada:


Some people call this place Disneyland. It also has a minimum-security farm institution. Yes, a real farm.


My brother once took an astonishing picture of these towers across Portsmouth Olympic Harbour, featuring a sailing ship that had sunk while at dock, using 1600 speed film in broad daylight. It was artistically grainy, to say the least. This place is maximum security and houses at least one notorious serial killer.

And of course there was the traditional Yule log on the fire (said log being purchased in the traditional manner from the grocery store, wrapped in paper and doubtless impregnated with traditional petrochemicals to help it burn):



And some presents, including this one which indicates that at least one person had been listening to me hinting over the previous month or two:


It's a 250 GTO on the cover, in case anyone cares.

Oh, and I've decided that after inhabiting my current office at work for a year, its walls need some decoration. Suggestions, please. Those of you who might actually be feeling helpful and not inclined to suggest "Ozzy Osbourne poster", "collage made of bottle caps", or "multimedia art installation consisting of dried grass, mucilage, doll parts and human dung" might toddle over to Flickr and suggest a few of my photos that would be suitable for framing (if any). I'm just vain enough to put some of them on the wall.

Guerrilla Christmas Post

Deployed during a break in the action, from a remote location, using alternative technology.

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all of you who celebrate/observe/enjoy this kind of thing.

Now back to the regularly scheduled chaos that is Christmas morning around these parts.

Three Seasonal Fragments

It has snowed here. Again. And I've had no time to go outside and take pictures of the Winter Wonderland that is the back yard (or the front yard for that matter). Mrs. Ricardipus is stringing lights on the tree, the classic Anne Murray Christmas album is playing on the stereo, and the whole family spent the day at a nearby mall shopping, going to see Santa, and enjoying the snowy countryside between here and there, horse farms and sheep and Christmas tree farms and all. The photo is a taste of last year, but it's beginning to look like that again.

In a snarky mood, as I am once again plowing through a large grant application (not ours this time, but one I'm reading through for various reasons), so for the remainder of the post you get some ancient, recycled poetry. Standard disclaimers apply, of course - these were written at least twenty years ago, trying to capture the bleakness of a winter far, far to the north of here.

Recycled picture, recycled words, recycled ideas. A veritable hat-trick of blogging.


Three Seasonal Fragments

i.

the knives
in the winterstorm
tear

shreds of flesh
deer meat
in cracking
ice-snow




ii.

in the darkness
of peace

the inner length
the knife
lies




iii.

I am suffering
heat-death
I am experiencing
combustion
I am a moss-fire
slowburning