Apple picking
In the light of a sunny afternoon, that tree looked wonderful. Through the spotting scope, actually; the tree is down the lane, along the hedgerow. Filled with ripe apples, ready for harvest; I should go, before a sudden windstorm throws them to the ground.
Who am I kidding? Just yesterday, I learned that my favourite brown polo shirt is actually green. Letting me choose the best apple is a hit or miss process. And for those who wonder, apples do not become “uniformly flavorful”, once the peel has been cut away.
On the calendar, there’s an apple-picking excursion later this week. I suspect that I’m not invited. The dog accepts that, like him, I’m challenged by colours. It bonds us.
Up here, we’re now watching the latest hurricane activity in the Jamaica area. So far, the forecasts are unclear, but we could be in for a “blow” by next weekend. How do the weather people do that? Couldn’t they hold off with their Cassandra approach until there’s certainty? I mean, I have nothing else to do in preparation.
Taxi drivers in Quebec are planning a work stoppage, possibly. Some sort of protest about Uber-ization of their perceived wealth, also known as “the medallions”. Hey, just a thought. Coming from someone who uses a taxi about twice per decade… do you really think I’ll notice. I mean, other than the reduction in cars racing through red lights and playing dodge’em with pedestrians. Perhaps you might want to look at who “drove” the cost of your permits through the roof. Hint: it wasn’t the government.
