Good Grief Too

I suspect that this will be the most photographed wall by Ottawa bloggers in the next few hours.

My picture did not turn out, but Robin's did.

You see the person in the picture? We struck up a conversation.

I found out that he is new to Ottawa, and he has a blog. I welcomed him to the Ottawa blog scene, and asked where he is from.

He's from a small northern town. And, well, it turns out he knows my brother and grew up with my step-nephew.

Good grief, it's a small world.

Downtown Air Service - Part II

Remember the airplane seat? Well, yesterday I came across the whole crew!

Drunk Angry Beaver

According to the friendly young man on the left, I really pissed off his buddy on the right by taking his picture. That beaver was a mean drunk, and he startled the hell out of me when I first saw him.

Snow Bunny

Imagine what might have ensued if Coyote had been walking behind this young man...

Labanne c'est pas banale

I have a weakness for boys

with red hair.

My first fiancé had red hair and freckles.

We were nine.

UMI Café

OM
a strong cappuccino gently served
on a cold day

Morning Heartbreak

"He's covered in some kind of sticky resin. He's screwed."

The pigeon was calm and seemed at peace in this young man's caring hands.

"I am going to have to do him in."

Who or what did this to this poor creature?

Hallowe'en Costume Contest Winners

Scariest Costume - M Girl as Sarah Palin

Sexiest Young Men Costume - Last Minute Men with One Woman

Cutest Witch Costume - Good Witch from the North

Spookiest for a Good Cause Costume - Guys Against Hunger

Most Clever Pet Costume - Magi as a Vampire

Best Cat Toy Costume - Jen G

Happy Hallowe'en to all!

Three Intellectuals

I was trying to get a shot of a church spire on Somerset West last Friday, when these three fellows addressed me.

"Hey, take our picture," they teased. I was initially a tad intimidated, but the vibes were friendly. I took a photo of them and asked, "Can I put you on the Internet?"

The young lad in the middle responded with hip hop moves and, "Ya, sure - and say that we are three intellectuals who like to have their pictures taken!"

The fellow on the left, is sincerely hoping to be a model some day.

The Bus Tickets

He is a young lad - he is maybe fourteen. He walks up to me and quietly asks if I would be kind enough to trade his two bus tickets for a loonie, "They are worth two dollars, you know."
Yes, I know.

I let him down for a second when I tell him that I don't need the tickets. "But wait," I say and encourage him with a smile. "I think I have a loonie that you can have." I search my wallet well aware that he can see that I have a couple of bills. I find three quarters, a dime and a penny. I place them in his slender hand.

"Here, you should have the tickets," he repeats.

"No, I really don't need them. What are you up to?" I ask cautiously, "Do you have a home to go to?"

"I'm just wandering around killing time before my curfew."

"Can't you go home before your curfew?"

"No, it's a shelter. I can't get in before ten."

As I write this, I've been home safe and comfortable for over two hours. He has just been allowed into the shelter.

He's about to walk away and I say, "Wait", and I give him five dollars. It seems such a pittance, but then I remember when five dollars was a fortune to me - it wasn't that that long ago.

We look at each other for a few seconds - he has gentle intelligent eyes shaded by a lock of blond hair.

He tries to give me the tickets a third time.

"I'll make you a deal," I tell him. He looks at me suspiciously. "Keep the tickets, and instead, one day when you are doing well, and I have a good feeling you will do well one day, I want you to pass on the favour to someone else, OK?"

He hesitates only a second, "I will."

I think that he believes me that I believe in him. And, I do.

As he walks away he shares his faith with me, "God Bless."

(In memory of Steven (Cactus) Beriault)

Grandchildren of Punk

I got a kick out of these guys.

I stopped to listen to the end of a song, and then I chatted with them for a bit. They were friendly, funny and engaging.

Tyler, the young man in the middle with the guitar, was particularly charming. I can't tell you if his singing was in tune or if he had perfect pitch, but I can say that he had a strong pleasant voice that gave me goose-bumps on my little nymph arms.

They were playing their music and singing in the middle of the chaos and destruction that is part of Bank Street these days.

"So, are you guys part of a band?" I asked.

"No, we're just playing for the fun of it," responded Tyler.

"You guys are like at the Blue Skies of Punk," I said not too cleverly in reference to their surroundings.

"Sure, country's cool too!" responded Tyler.

Maybe he thought I said Blue Grass.

Blue Skies - Hoots and Hellmouth - Part I

Megan Butcher seems to love giant squids. And when I saw this fella and his squid shirt, I felt that both, the shirt and the cutie, would appeal to her.

His name is Rob, he looks a girl in the eyes when he speaks, he has a fabulous singing voice, plays the Mandolin (now that's a sexy instrument), and shakes hands firmly but with an extra gentle squeeze - Woodsy was smitten! He's part of my new favourite band, Hoots and Hellmouth.

"Hi, can I get a picture of your shirt for a friend of mine? She loves giant squids." I said to him after attending the workshop he participated in on the magic of the trio for songwriting.

"Sure," he responded with a gigantic smile, and without hesitation he posed for me. "But what about the teeth?" He asked... "What about the teeth?" he repeated.

Megan? What about the teeth?

Bravo!

I am sitting on the bus next to a lanky youth. His head is covered in soft looking golden blond curls, and he has Angelina Jolie lips. His ethereal sweetness must certainly attract the attention of both, girls and boys.

I hear humming. Could it be my young bus mate? I hear more humming. It sounds angelic. Do I ask him about it? Before I can decide, he points to the outside and calmly says, "Well, it is about time!"

"What?" I say eager to engage in a conversation. "I didn't see what you were pointing at."

"That stretch of road - they have finally paved it."

"Oh, I see - that's great." I say humouring him. I continue by asking, "Were you humming just now?"

"I am sorry. I was. Sometimes I don't even realize it. I am so, sorry." He says, sighing lightly.

His voice is mesmerizing as his velvety lips pronounce every word, every syllable, and every sound clearly and precisely with a gentleness that is enchanting to the ear.

"No, no. It was lovely," I reassure him. "Are you in a band?" I inquire further.

"No, I am studying opera in Toronto," he tells me proudly. "I also volunteer with an opera company... I hope to perform in an Opera next year... I love singing! Sometimes, I am certain that I am singing in my head, and then I realize that people are looking at me, and then I realize that I am singing out loud... Oh, I really hope my singing was not bothering you..."

In the second that he takes to catch his breath, I chime in, "Your singing was not bothersome at all - it was heavenly. I love opera. I also enjoy connecting with people..."

"Oh, that is wonderful!" he interjects. "People should be more free to do and say what makes them happy, and to be more open with each other..." I listen enraptured by his musical voice as he continues.

Cruising for a Tip

I open the door, greet him and see that he is leaning on the door frame with the pizza balanced and held high in his left hand. He seems very relaxed. He doesn't smile, but right away engages in a conversation.

"Are you Greek?" he asks in an easy voice.

He is a young one. My guess is that when I was 27, I could have changed his diapers.

"No, I'm not Greek. I am French Canadian." I reply and touch my hair. It's always the hair that makes them think that I am of Mediterranean ancestry.

I notice that he takes a quick, not very subtle look at my cleavage.

"Do I look Greek to you?" I inquire.

"Yes, you do." He finally smiles.

"And what country are you originally from?" I ask as I sneak a peek at his biceps, not so subtly.

"I am from Lebanon." He responds as he hands me the pizza.

"Oh, that is a beautiful country," I tell him as we make eye contact.

"Yes, it is." He agrees.

I pay him, give him a generous tip, thank him, and he is off to deliver his next pizza and line.

Great Glebe Garage Website Sale

I am standing beside two young men by a table full of trinkets. I notice them because one smells nice and the other has a soft alluring voice.

As I walk away from them, I overhear one say, "This is great. I didn't know about the Great Glebe Garage Sale. Next year I am setting up a table and selling my Websites!"

Did I hear him correctly? Can you sell Websites at a garage sale?