Too hot!

I was starting to think The Plague Years might be dead, but no, here I am again, after a four-day break. 

Summer has arrived in southwestern Ontario. The temperature right now - at 6pm - is 29C. It's too hot to go out for an afternoon walk, although an early evening bike ride might be in order.

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I've not been a complete sloth the last few days. I continue to work on my photos, continue to do my daily exercise - 5K run one day, 4K fast-walk the next. I'm trying to get out earlier in the day, which I'm finding difficult - my early morning are fairly slothful. Today, it was reported to be 21C when I went out at about 10; it felt quite a bit hotter.

I continue to read. I have three books on the go. 

The Siege by Arturo Pérez-Reverte is an historical crime thriller set in Cádiz in the south of Spain during the Napoleonic Wars (1811). The Imperial Army has overrun most of Spain and imprisoned its monarch, but Cádiz is holding out, under siege. In the midst of daily bombardments from French positions that are more an annoyance than anything, Comisario Rogelio Tízon is baffled by a series of gruesome murders that seem somehow to be linked to the bombardment.

Vesper Flights by Helen Macdonald is a book of lovely short essays by the nature writer who's last book, H is for Hawk, was a modest best-seller and won a couple of awards. 

And lastly, D-Day Girls by Sarah Rose, the audiobook I'm listening to while exercising. It's the story of the women, mostly of French birth and background,  who were trained by a British intelligence agency during WWII and dropped into France to help organize, train, supply and fight alongside the resistance in advance of the D-Day landing in June 1944. Rose focuses on three of them. It reads almost like a thriller, but the historical research appears to be meticulous. Unfortunately, the author is the reader, and she's not very good at it. I now have the ebook, so I might end up reading some of it.

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I did go out for a walk a few days ago before my hiatus from The Plague Years and took a few not-very-inspired pictures.

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Because the hot weather is keeping me inside in the afternoon, most of the photography has been revisiting shots from winter 2017, which we spent in Lanzarote in the Canary Islands and Málaga on the south coast of mainland Spain. It's still early February and Karen and I seem to be full of energy for walks and drives and sight-seeing in Lanzarote. 

One day, we went for a walk along the sea from our village of Isla Mujeres through volcanic landscapes. The next, we drove across the island to Caleta de Famara, a surfer town with a lovely wide beach.

Another day, we drove 30 minutes up our side of the island to a fabulous cactus garden where I had a great time photographing the weird and wonderful plants.

Yet another day, we visited a cave formed by lava flows from one of the island's many volcanoes. This eerily-lit pool with its perfect reflections of the surrounding walls was one of the photographic highlights.

At Orzola, at the north end of the island, we watched hang gliders riding the thermals from a cliff overlooking wild beaches. Pictures of the hang gliders not that interesting but some good ones of Karen on the beach.

It seems we drove somewhere almost every day to go for a walk or see a village. This one was taken on a cliff walk just down the coast from our village.

Uh, yeah, guess-who again. It's alright, Caitlin arrives in a few days to relieve her mother of posing chores.

Still here

I missed another day of the Plague Years yesterday, but I'm still here.

We're experiencing May weather: temps in the high teens to low twenties, sun and cloud. 

I went for a run today and listened to more of D-Day Girls. I've decided Ms. Rose is a writer in need of some editing - the text sometimes sounds choppy. Or maybe she just needs a professional voice actor to read the book. The author does it herself. She has an annoying voice - sort of sassy-American-woman - and no natural acting or reading-out-loud ability.

Still, the book is entertaining. The three French women - one is actually from Mauritius, a French-speaking British protectorate in the Indian Ocean - have just been through training courses. The first two, Lise and Andrée, are the only ones from their two classes to graduate and be cleared for service in the field. They're about to jump into France.

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I went for a bike ride yesterday afternoon, around Old North streets. Many handsome properties, but none with striking enough front gardens to tempt me to stop and take pictures. It was a pleasant ride, though.

The day before, I had gone for a walk in the afternoon, down to the river, through Blackfriars and over into Petersville on the other side of Wharncliffe. I took a few pictures. I don't know what these little purple flowers are. I think Karen may have had some in her garden on West Mile Road. These were in a bed at the bottom of Ridout St., just before Blackfriars Bridge.

I crossed Wharncliffe into Petersville. I didn't know until quite recently that this part of the city was called Petersville. It was a separate municipality in the late 19th century, finally amalgamating with London in 1897. I photographed this grand old tree in a little park behind the Kiwanis Arena. I've taken dozens like this, but think this is among the best. I first processed it the way I do most pictures, but then decided to go a little extreme, trying for a kind of magic realist look. Not sure I was entirely successful.

This is another shot I've taken multiple times. It's the view from the west side of the north branch, by Labatt's Park, looking across the river toward downtown, with Harris Park in the foreground and apartment and office buildings, including ours, behind.

I ended up on the way back at Eldon House. The gardens were open this day, free entry, so I went in and took some pictures.

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I also did more work on my winter 2017 photos of Lanzarote. The first couple of days on the island, Karen and I drove our rental car around the north and central regions, exploring. We checked out some of the many miradors, scenic viewpoints, including two at the top of a central escarpment that runs down the centre of the island.

We also stopped into Téguise, a pretty, touristy little village that we would come back to a few times. I'm always attracted by the quiet residential streets in Spanish towns, especially at siesta time when no one is about.

Existential angst - the blog, not me...

Another day of no blogging yesterday. Tsk-tsk!

When I started this back in January, the idea was that it would fill in some time, help me stay somewhat disciplined and give me a chance to relate what was happening in the second year of the Plague.

Two problems: there's nothing happening - not in my life anyway - and the blogging is starting to feel like a chore. I doubt anyone is actually reading the thing - except maybe Karen, occasionally. So if I'm just writing it for myself - which is no bad thing - why do it in a public blog where I can't let it all hang out, as we used to say?

Maybe it's the feeling of millennial change that has me thinking this way today. Yesterday, I finished the interminable audiobook I've been listening to since March during my daily exercises: David W. Blight's 900-odd-page biography, Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom.

Frederick Douglass is no more. He was active speaking and writing right up to his last day on the planet, railing about injustices against African Americans - the same injustices, if less blatant and brutal, that blacks still suffer in America today.

He keeled over in the front hall of his suburban DC mansion, aged 77 - massive heart attack. He was pronounced dead at the scene. His wife, Helen Pitts Douglass, was with him. Not a terrible way to go. 

He lay in state where dead presidents had lain, in three different cities. He was eulogized by every prominent black leader in America, and many whites - and was of course dismissed and criticized by white supremacist antagonists in unrepentantly racist terms.

The end.

So I had to find a new book to listen to. The compromise choice, which I started listening to on my run this morning, was D-Day Girls by Sarah Rose, an American author, from 2019. I'd never heard of it or her and couldn't find any mainstream reviews of the book, but the subject matter sounded interesting. It's about the women, mostly of French birth and background, who were recruited by a branch of the British secret service to parachute into France and help organize, train, supply and fight with the Resistance.

After the sedate, erudite gravity of Blight's book, this is a splash of cold water. It's sensationalist, written almost like a novel with richly detailed descriptions of scenes and conversations that it's clear the author is imagining based on what is known of the real people and circumstances. 

So far, it's quite compelling. I can see that it could bog down or - perhaps more likely given the subject matter - become somewhat harrowing. We'll see.

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I also, in the most recent installment of this blog, posted the final shots recovered from my winter 2013 photos of our sojourn in Tucson and the drive home through New Mexico. So yesterday, I turned to photos from winter 2017. We spent part of that winter in Lanzarote in the Canary Islands, part of it in Malaga on the south coast of mainland Spain.

Thank goodness, the folders with my raw files appear to be free, so far, of the corruption problem that  ruined so many of the Tucson pictures. Here's a sampling of the first few I worked on.

Haría: city hall square

Haría: city hall square

Haría: strange rooftop sculpture garden

Hilltop viewpoint at north end of the island with view of Isla Graciosa

Isla Mujeres on the northeast coast, the town where our Airbnb was

Isla Mujeres on the northeast coast, the town where our Airbnb was

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Yesterday afternoon, I drove over to the LCBO at Wellington and Grand to pick up some wine Karen had ordered. On the way back, I went up to the hospital lands just east of Wellington. I'd ridden my bike through there the other day and thought it might be worth taking pictures of the old Edwardian era hospital buildings, some of which have been left standing, boarded up and decaying. It would have been worth taking good  pictures, but I didn't get any of those. 

The building I spent most time photographing was the War Memorial Children's Hospital, built in 1917. When Karen was a child, she suffered from a rare disorder that caused her to break bones in her feet easily. At one point, she was hospitalized at War Memorial, for three weeks, as she remembers, possibly longer. 

She remembers being annoyed that she had to go to the school in the hospital, but was still expected to do the homework for her regular class, part of the Advancement program which she had by this time started on. The hospital school was "just babysitting," she said. "It was just to keep us out of the nurses' hair."

Here's what the place looks like today. 

The developers say they're going to incorporate some of the surviving buildings into the new residential, business and recreation facilities they're building. We'll believe that when we see it. 

Another day with no blogging yesterday. Tsk-tsk.

When I started this thing, I conceived of it as a way to fill time, keep myself somewhat disciplined and record what was going on in this the second year of the plague. 

Two problems: nothing's going on - not in my life anyway - and it's starting to feel like a chore. I doubt anyone actually reads the thing, except maybe Karen, occasionally. If I'm just doing it for myself - which is fine - why do it as a public blog where I can't exactly let it all hang out, as we used to say? 

Maybe it's the feeling of a millennial change today that's got me thinking this way. Yesterday I finally reached the end of the interminable audiobook I've been listening to while exercising, since March: David W. Blight's 900-plus-page Pulitzer-winning biography, Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom.

Poor Fred was active up until the very last day, speaking and writing, railing against the injustices suffered by blacks in America - many of the same injustices, if more blatant and brutal, that they still suffer today. He keeled over in his front hallway with a massive heart attack, aged 77, and was pronounced dead at the scene. His wife, Helen, was with him. Not a terrible way to go.

He lay in state where dead presidents had lain, was eulogized by every prominent black person in America and many whites, was of course dismissed by racists in unabashedly scurrilous terms- and buried in his old home town of Rochester, despite having lived in Washington for over 20 years. The end.

So I went looking yesterday for something else to listen to. The compromise choice was D-Day Girls by Sarah Rose, an American. I'd never heard of it or her, and could find no mainstream reviews online, but the topic sounded interesting. It's about women, of mostly French birth and background, who were recruited by a British secret department to drop into France and help organize the resistance against the Nazis.

After the measured, erudite gravity of David Blight's book, it's a splash of cold water. It's a bit  sensationalist, written almost like a novel, with detailed descriptions of characters and meetings that Ms. Rose is clearly imagining based on what is known of the people and circumstances. For all that, it comes across as carefully researched. And it's kind of fun so far. I fear it could bog down or, more likely given what we know of the fates of French resistance fighters, become quite harrowing.

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I also finished my review of winter 2013 photos from the American southwest in the last post. I moved on yesterday to winter 2017, which we spent partly in Lanzarote in the Canaries and partly in Malaga on the south coast of the Spanish mainland. Here are a few of the photos I found worth taking a second look at.

Haría: city hall square

Haría: city hall square

Haría: bizarre rooftop sculpture garden

Viewpoint at north end of the island: Isla Graciosa lying just off the coast

Punta Mujeres - where our Airbnb was

Punta Mujeres - where our Airbnb was

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Yesterday, in the afternoon, I went to the LCBO at Wellington and Grand to pick up some wine Karen had ordered. Afterwards I drove up to the old hospital lands just east of Wellington. They're slated for redevelopment. I had ridden my bike through there the week before and thought it might be worth taking some pictures of the old Edwardian hospital buildings. It probably would be worth taking some good pictures, but I didn't really come up with any.

The building I spent most time photographing was War Memorial Children's Hospital (1917). As a child with a rare bone disorder that caused her feet to break easily, Karen had stayed there on one occasion for three weeks, she thinks, or longer. 

She remembers being annoyed that she had to go to school at the hospital, but was also still expected to do homework for her regular class, in the Advancement program which she'd by this time begun. The hospital school was basically "babysitting," she said, "to keep us out of the way of the nurses."

It'll be interesting to see what they make of this building when they come to redevelop. Some of the buildings have been torn down, but the developers are supposed to be incorporating the three surviving structures. We've heard that one before, of course.