Apr. 4th, 2013 09:29 pm
Getting out
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muckefuckI keep telling myself that I need to get back in the habit of walking--in the shape I'm in currently, I'd never survive an upland hiking trip with my father now that he's knee is better. I've just been waiting for better weather to do it in. Today, for what is only the third of fourth time since the beginning of the year, we had highs in the double digits Celsius, so I couldn't let the opportunity slip.
I wandered through the better-kempt streets just south of Devon hoping I might come across something, anything in bloom. But though there's a lot sprouting, there's precious little actually in bloom. The crocus were out in our own yard last Friday, but they closed up as soon as it turned nippy again. Last night I noticed squill for the first time, and there are some Japanese irises on Arthur which have been out for a week already, but that's it--not a single blooming daffodil (although plenty about to), no forsythia, and the trees barely in bud.
Eventually, I made it to the lakeside and Berger Park, a pocket park at the intersection of Sheridan and Granville. I know the Lake's been low, but it was astounding to see how much the shoreline has changed there. I don't remember there ever being sand to speak of there and now there's a whole little beach. Of course, my memory is not to be relied on too much these days. On my way back home, I shot over to Highland and Clark and a corner bar there with no obvious identification. "Is this new?" I asked a man smoking out front. "I've been coming here for ten years." Wow, okay then, I'm just fucking oblivious.
All of this makes my appointment on Saturday morning to give an oral history of my UofC days a little intimidating. I ask other people about what was going on then and they can rattle off full names, exact dates, extensive accounts. I realised I couldn't even remember the name of the German guy I had a pathetic crush on my second year. I couldn't even remember it was my second year, in fact, until I recalled which roommate it was who had taken a phone message from him. How sad is it to have to cram the night before in order to answer questions about your own life story?
I wandered through the better-kempt streets just south of Devon hoping I might come across something, anything in bloom. But though there's a lot sprouting, there's precious little actually in bloom. The crocus were out in our own yard last Friday, but they closed up as soon as it turned nippy again. Last night I noticed squill for the first time, and there are some Japanese irises on Arthur which have been out for a week already, but that's it--not a single blooming daffodil (although plenty about to), no forsythia, and the trees barely in bud.
Eventually, I made it to the lakeside and Berger Park, a pocket park at the intersection of Sheridan and Granville. I know the Lake's been low, but it was astounding to see how much the shoreline has changed there. I don't remember there ever being sand to speak of there and now there's a whole little beach. Of course, my memory is not to be relied on too much these days. On my way back home, I shot over to Highland and Clark and a corner bar there with no obvious identification. "Is this new?" I asked a man smoking out front. "I've been coming here for ten years." Wow, okay then, I'm just fucking oblivious.
All of this makes my appointment on Saturday morning to give an oral history of my UofC days a little intimidating. I ask other people about what was going on then and they can rattle off full names, exact dates, extensive accounts. I realised I couldn't even remember the name of the German guy I had a pathetic crush on my second year. I couldn't even remember it was my second year, in fact, until I recalled which roommate it was who had taken a phone message from him. How sad is it to have to cram the night before in order to answer questions about your own life story?
Tags: