A man and his dog

A couple of days ago - and a beautiful day it was - I took Winston on a short journey. We ventured across the Ottawa river to the small town of Wakefield, Quebec, perhaps 40 minutes from where we live here in Ottawa.
This modified from Wikipedia:
Wakefield is a village on the western shore of the Gatineau River, at the confluence of the La Pêche River in the Outaouais region of Quebec. The village, named after the town ofWakefield in West Yorkshire, England, is now the southern edge of the municipality of La Pêche, and was founded in 1830 by Irish, Scottish, and English immigrants. It is approximately twenty minutes from Ottawa, Ontario driving north on Autoroute 5 and Route 105 at Route 366

The village's primary industry is tourism. The main attractions, in addition to a picturesque setting, are the covered bridge spanning the Gatineau River, the recently restored Maclaren Mill, named after an early family in the region, now operated as the Wakefield Inn and Spa. 

This picture of the Mill was taken from the bridge crossing La Pêche river

Former Canadian prime minister Lester B. Pearson is buried in MacLaren Cemetery in Wakefield.

I took the following picture at the village cemetery located on the side of the mountain up the road from the Inn.

This memorial stands in honour of Lester B. Pearson

Winston and I had great fun. He ran all over the place and generally was easy to spot:

except when we ventured up the trail towards the summit of the small mountain which overlooks the village. Can you spot Winston?:

We spent perhaps an hour on our mini-trek, then called it an afternoon. Walking down from the cemetery gave me a glimpse of why its not totally shitty that I'm spending winter in this god forsaken country of mine!

Pretty nice, eh!

So that's about it for this one... nothing too deep or insightful this posting. Perhaps I'm still smarting from the end of the Sens 10 game winning streak?!

Tonight is the Superbowl, and I'll likely be watching alone, as there's no one in my household that gives a sh*t but me.

Tomorrow its off to the gym to begin the long, painful process of losing 20 lbs before the nuptials in July. I think there is a good chance I'll do it, but I can't say I'm going to enjoy it much. Wish me luck won't you?

A father's pride knows no bounds

 Leigh and Heather Xmas 2008

Here we are only a month into 2010, and all Hell is breaking loose in the vacuous darkness of my twisted - some would say damaged - brain.

Leigh has accepted Aaron's proposal of marriage, and try as I might, it seems as though I - and this will be a surprise to absolutely no one that knows me - have an opinion on just about everything that has to do with the forthcoming nuptials.

It is no secret that I am inclined towards a conservative point of view, so it had surprised the heck out of me that I have chosen to project on to anyone that will care to listen - and less and less of these people exist each passing day - a rather un-conservative point of view on how my number #1 should manage her big day.

I have railed on about the stupidity of purchasing a traditional wedding dress. This in favor of going on a spree in Holt's, where she could buy a magnificent gown that she could wear at future 'formal' occasions; I am hopeful that she will not tread the path so well worn with respect to the way the wedding party dresses. The prospect of seeing her sister and the other 'attendants' standing all in a row dressed in Sea Foam Green makes me shudder.

I am - almost - baffled as to why I even give a hoot. It is Leigh's day after all, and what business is it of mine whether or not she wears one thing or another. I know that she will make a beautiful bride no matter what she wears.

Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's my way of compensating - for I know that I will be a tearful mess when the time comes.

The tears will primarily be of pride. And love. And - I'm embarrassed to say - of loss. Silly of me I know, but there you have it. Anyone reading this who has any insight into my make up will know that I am nothing, if not overwhelmingly sentimental.

And the tears will not just be about Leigh. My thoughts will be for Heather as well.

I will inevitably project my sense of loss on her also. Heather - my brain will insist - will be losing part of her sister. And, it's only a matter of time before some lucky - and foresightful - man will be asking for her hand as well. Christ, it seems like only yesterday that I was pretending to sleep when they would wake up in the middle of the night to be changed!

So there you have it ...  I am a man on the wrong side of the half way mark - scared to death.

Despite having cheated death once and paralysis twice; and despite the fact that intellectually I KNOW that life for me - at this precise moment -  should be wonderful - and all I seem to do is obsess about trivialities.

If I come out of this with my marriage intact it will not be because of me. Rather because I was so incredibly lucky that Marg said yes to me so many years ago (when I scared the shit out of my mother and father over the same issue). Marg and I were only 21. Liegh at least had the good sense to wait until she was 27. She would certainly have caused my heart to fail were she to be as foolish as her parents were back then.

I've vented enough for this entry. I will do my part. And I'll do it with as much grace as I can muster. And I'll do it medicated - no doubt. And, finally I hope I will do it in a fashion that will not cause either of my fantastic, beautiful children one moment of embarrassment.

Time for me to buy stock in Kimberly-Clark.

Au revoire!