I get ideas.

Most of which are goofy,  I’ll readily admit.  Once in a while though, there’s a glimmer.  Only just a glimmer.

Last night as I was whipping up yet another banana bread (hey, it’s ALL I GOT),  it occurred to me that our drawer full of handy kitchen utensils was mighty crowded.  There always seems to be more things needed than there’s room for.  And no,  I didn’t take a picture.  There’s nothing in there that would leave any scars or anything, it’s just the usual baking cr*p.

Which brings me to these:

I mean,  they could be hanging.  Somewhere.

I don’t really like too much clutter in the kitchen though,  so that usually means I’m at an impasse.  Then the idea.

There’s no measuring or drawings here.  I just hack away until I come up with something.  That’s the big “plan”.

And later that morning…

Bob’s yer Uncle.  Or Dad, or something.

 

The hidden agenda for whipping up the banana bread,  apart from the over ripe bananas that seem to always manifest themselves,  was that Travelling Companion would need a snack this morning right around breakfast time.  She flew Westjet to Calgary,  and they’re not really known for their snacks.  That,  by the way,  is OK with me,  since then you can take along just whatever your little heart desires,  knowing full well *going in* that you’ll not be fed.  I’ve been offered some crap on planes in the past, and would really have preferred to have just taken my own dinner,  had I known how horrid the food was.

So we left for John C. Munroe airport this morning at about 5:15.   Traffic was light,  I’ll offer that much.   Oh,  that’s Hamilton Airport,  for those of you from far away.

And here’s the thing,  it’s right around a half hour from our front door.  As a matter of fact,  I had dropped off T.C. and was back here eyeing the kitchen cupboards already at 6:20.   So just about an hour round trip.

I can dig it.   The thing is though,  there are only certain places you can get to from Hamilton.  Thankfully,  Calgary happens to be one of them.

It’s probably a good thing this airport isn’t quite so very busy just yet,  since they have a ways to go to get it all streamlined-like.

That’s the main entrance.  Departures AND arrivals.   I think the gates are about 50 metres on the other side of that door. 

The only slight near wrinkle was when I damned near missed the entrance.

Now I ask you.  Do you see a big ole sign that says “Hamilton International Airport”?   Well,  neither did I, ‘cause there ain’t one. 

The Merc has good brakes,  it turns out.

Oh, yes there is that tiny little sign with the outline of an airplane,  but I thought there would be an actual sign. 

Silly me.

Anyhoodle,   we got there in plenty of time,  and she just now called to say she was on the ground in Cow Town.   This isn’t her first time,  by the way.  There was life before we went to Europe.  She’ll be on her way to Airdrie in short order.  That’s the location of the Company that Cannot be Named. 

 

Not nap time just yet.  Stuff to do. 

 

Keep your head down!

Oh wait,  that only applies to golf.  Never mind.

 

Thanks for stopping in.

 

 

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