The Caped Crusader Rappelling

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Originally uploaded by Rob Hoey

This is my son-in-law, Frankie, dressed as a super hero whom I've never heard of, rappelling down 19 storeys at the Delta Hotel in Ottawa. His company, Morguard, is the management company for the buidling and I guess it was Frankie's way of doing something for charity while sucking up to the boss. Unfortunately, Shabana arrived just minutes after her husband reached the bottom, so she didn't get to watch him risk life and limb for kids who need help with theirs. I shot over 100 photos and posted some of them to my flickr site. It was a blast.

Rapid Rob

Rapid Rob
Originally uploaded by Rob Hoey

The photo was taken in 1986 at the Philadelphia Marathon. That's me running the last few miles to the finish line. I was tired and now that I see the photo again, I looked exhausted. I was 39 years old when I ran this race and I was in great shape. So here I am pushing retirement in a few years and I'll be heading out to the gym after this blog is written. My body will not be as strong, as fast, and as resilient as it was back in the day, and I'm not okay with that--I wish I was. I don't like the idea of aging but I agree with George Burns who, when asked when he turned 100 how he felt about being so old, replied, "Well, think of the alternative." So I will go to the gym and lift weights, do the treadmill, and feel better that I've done something positive for myself. I will be happy that I can lift a bit more weight than some, not all, of the younger guys, and all of the women (at my small gym, at least), but I will come home and remember when I was young and had legs that could carry me 26 miles when I felt I could fly. But the thing I like about my age now is that I've learned so much in all these years and I don't sweat the small stuff. I see how lucky I have been to have found Thasneem and also to have come to Canada. Here is a place where I can appreciate all that I never had as a young guy from Brooklyn, and as a bonus, be a mere two miles from my daughter, Shabana.

Who has it better than me, eh?

Money---the root of all stuff

Cindy Crawford will be at the tent sale (at least her photo will)
Originally uploaded by Rob Hoey

Microsoft Excel is an excellent program that can easily show you how long it's going to take before you end up in the Poor House. I did a spreadsheet for Thas and averaged what her daily intake was for two days in August and for September, thus far. She is busting her butt for nine to ten hours a day at a commission split that would make a pizza delivery boy LOL because he's doing better. So I'm in the living room writing my blog and she's in the office getting her papers together for a job she had considered to apply for several weeks ago until this one came along.

Let's face it, the Canadian economy sucks as much as that of the USA, except it sucks a lot colder in the winter. In order to get to work you need a car, or be willing to freeze body parts blue, and I don't just mean those body parts that turn blue for lack of usage, if you get my drift. It's only one day beyond the ides of September and I've already gone out and bought heat shrink plastic covering for the windows and terrace door. I anticipate snow as high as this door, and it's on the second floor.

So getting back to my opening point, the tent sale didn't make us rich or even pleasantly comfortable, but it served the purpose of warning us that a real job with a weekly salary vs. a job only paying commission, is the viable option.

I look forward to getting my permanent residency so I can begin helping out the cause, but it's taking so long.

Remember, every time you click onto one of the ads in this blog, I make a few cents--money that can be used for heating or food; money that, I can assure you, will not go to waste.

Click at will.

maple leaves

maple leaves
Originally uploaded by Rob Hoey

So we took Shabana's advice and went to Le Parc de la Gatineau. It was truly a French experience what with all the French signs in the windows, and those pain in the ass bike riders in the streets of the park (oops, parc) riding like they owned the rue. Lucy, our GPS, wasn't able to find the route for us because parks don't actually have addresses, and I'm as technologically advanced as a broken frisbee, so I didn't know how to find parks on the device, so we used an ancient method of navigation, you've probably never heard of--something called "a map," if I spelled it correctly. A map is kind of like a schematic diagram of places, only much much smaller so it can fit on a sheet of paper. Thasneem was the navigator and I was the pilot, and Doug was, and still is, the car.

We found the park without too much difficulty and went to the information booth. There was a French family of three ahead of us, asking for information about the map they were given by the information maven, and the discourse seemed to go on for hours. French question after French question and finally Thasneem realized that on the other side of the little Question Hut was another French person answering more questions. We got our own map of the park and found out that the closest lake, pinc lake, was fairly far down the road. Oh, I forgot to mention that when I opened Doug's trunk to get my camera gear, I had left the backpack opened and my 60 mm macro lens fell out and got bruised on the edge so that I cannot use a filter on it anymore. Now of course, this is sad on one hand, but gives me leverage about getting another cool lens as a replacement, on the other hand.

But I digress.

So we got back in Doug, drove into the heart of the park, and found Pinc Lac or Lake or whatever. I was as disappointed as the little British girl next to us on the observatory platform as she asked her mummy, "Mummy, why isn't the lake pink?"

"Well, it says here that a man named Pinc discovered it, so I guess they named it after him."

"Boy, that sucks," I said, much to the shock of the British mummy, who put her hands over her daughter's ears and scooped her up and away from me.

So I shot some photos with Steve, my Nikon D 300, and we got back into Doug, and headed for more park to shoot.

The photo above, called "Maple Leaves," is my symbolic concept of the drugs being used in this area of Canada by its citizens. Who paints a house mauve anyway?
Before long, it started to rain. It was a gentle rain that fell, and some of it fell into the back of my shirt, down my back, into my underwear. It was uncomfortable and I decided it would be a good thing if we would go home and see my wonderful photos of this glorious Labor Day in Canada.
So Thasneem and I put Steve away, got into Doug, and drove home to Ottawa. We were one big happy family.
The end.