Status quo

Sometimes, a lack of change is good.

While others muse on Autumn after moving to a far, fair city, or wax eloquently about their new home after wandering to the Antipodes and back, I find myself, in many ways, where I was last year, and the year before, and the year before that. Which, I confess, suits me well.

I've an upcoming trip to Southern California, to the same general area as I visited before. That fits my comfort level nicely - I've been to LAX before, and rented a car from the same agency as I will this time. The trip down the Interstate I know well, and the final destination won't be hard to find. Even better, I know the hosts of the conference I'll be attending - it'll be a social visit, as well as business.

On the home front, despite frightening weather recently, things are calm - and pretty similar this year to last, too. The notable exception being that Mrs. Ricardipus is now a fully graduated, and (temporarily, we hope) unemployed school teacher.


A graduation rose.

And other things haven't changed much - still employed, still dealing with early-fall grant-writing season, and once again relaxing following the Mobil 1 Grand Prix of Mosport, which I and my brother also attended last year. We had the annual cottage weekend earlier in August, and it was pretty much as it always is, too. Which is a good thing.


The red Ferrari was around last year, too.

I really find that I'm content, in a Jane Austen, settled-in-the-neighbourhood, kind of manner. Yes, it's a quiet life, but I know my limits. I'm well in my comfort zone, and happy about it.

A lazy Sunday Springy morning

A weed.

The tell-tale green haze on the willows, tiny leaflets on the rose bush and clematis, the sweet smell of manure from nearby farms hanging in the air. Another sign: I sighted the first Ferrari of the season yesterday - a 355, freed from its winter lair, shamelessly downshifting for no obvious reason other than to make a cheerful noise, flaunting its 8-cylinder muscle at the record-high gasoline prices we seem to be saddled with in these parts.

Spring, it seems, is here, as is the annual post about it, I guess.

And with spring comes grant deadlines, unfortunately. I have a string of them on my whiteboard at work, stretching out through mid-May (and a few long-range ones into July, and even October). Which goes a long way towards explaining why posts here have been thin, to say the least, even taking yesterday's exceedingly lame effort into consideration.

Of course, the deadlines really have the effect of feeding my procrastination engine: weekends are now so nice and sunny (although still cool, with a crisp breeze blowing today) that I have no problem at all in finding multiple things to do instead of grant-writing (or blogging, for that matter). Even mundane tasks, like dismantling the ageing composter, or picking last year's ivy leaves out of the flower beds, take on a remarkably romantic appeal when compared with sitting and typing about this piece of equipment, or that budget line item, or trying to articulate in 2,000 characters or less why we need great gobs of government money to do our research.

I would type more now, but I need to pour some more coffee, and maybe barbeque some lunch. Having already been roped into playing a couple of rounds of a Scooby-Doo boardgame, after watching the red cars dominate the Spanish Grand Prix, I'd say that this Sunday, like many others, is shaping up to be another less-productive-than-anticipated day. Ah well. At least there's a blog post to show for it.

In the usual fashion...

...a post with precious little content and a photo to tide you over.

Having put most of the nails in the coffin of a (right now) 81-page report to a certain government agency about how my colleagues and I have been spending their money, in between procrastinating by IM chatting with The Wrathful One*, I am now more-or-less free to post.

Except - I'm off to Wallyworld this evening with the family. So this will be brief, and as promised here's a terribly terribly artistic** photograph of the ivy on the front wall. Cleverly framed so as to omit all of the surrounding suburbia.



More after Monday... probably.


*A post about Ricardipus's complete and utter confusion with this high-tech Instant Messenging stuff is in the works. You knew that was coming, didn't you?

**not really

Another weekend

...and it's just now started pouring rain. Which defeats my Grand Plan to actually get around to cutting the grass this weekend. It's been so dry here that the front lawn is actually nice and short, if a little parched - but the back, which gets more shade and doesn't drain as well, is looking like a weedy, overgrown mess.

Ah well, maybe tomorrow. Or next week. In the meantime, here are some daisies from the garden:



In good news, the tomatoes planted by the Junior Ricardipi are ripening up nicely, and the basil is growing like the proverbial house on fire, making some tasty Tomato and Basil Sandwiches a distinct possibility in the near future. Mmm.

It's good to be sitting here at home though, rather than fighting with the daily commute, which on Thursday turned into a right royal pain in the... you know. The lovely 360 Maple Express bus, which is reasonably reliable in getting me home each night, decided to have a bit of a hiccup. Distinctly lacking in torque, and alternately wheezing geriatrically and roaring like a lion with a thorn in its paw and a red-hot poker in its [deleted], it managed to haul itself onto Highway 400 before giving up the ghost entirely.


At which point, we sat for about an hour waiting for a relief bus. As we were passed by:

1. Another 360 bus, which clearly hadn't gotten the message that we were parked.

2. A horrendously ugly Scion xB, which I believe isn't even supposed to be available in this country, and which I shall continue to complain about every time I see one.

And, to add insult to injury,

3. A coach, proudly bearing the logo GOBYBUS.CA as it roared past, cheerfully advertising the many virtues of travel by non-defunct, still-mobile autobus transportation.

Sigh.

Anyway, eventually a cheerful OPP officer showed up to ensure we could safely exit the vehicle on the verge of a major highway, without even getting run over, and we piled into another bus that had appeared to pick us up. An hour and a half late, home, just in time to brush some teeth and kiss a couple of kids goodnight.

It's enough to make me wish for a gas-guzzling, comfortable car instead of the environmentally friendly, but increasingly unreliable bus. Maybe one of these here Aston Martin thingies, in a natty shade of black like the one I saw downtown a week or two ago. That'd do.