Memories of 63.

And it’s not even the 22nd yet,  but of course,  it’s all over the “documentary type” shows.  I remember when documentaries were just that.  There’s not supposed to be any “suspense”,  but maybe I’m being too cynical.  I think it’s all the commercials.  They figure you’ll get bored and flip away.  Not hard to imagine.

It’s probably time to put the whole thing to rest, not that the event could or should ever be forgotten,  but the conspiracy theories do start to get somewhat annoying.  And now with Youtube?  Oh gawd.

Even as a wee lad (and really, I was pretty damned skinny) I remember that day.  Well,  snippets of it anyway. I would have been all of seven.

You have to understand too,  we’re talking rural Nova Scotia here.  Pretty much a back water,  and in another country,  but it still hit us pretty hard.  It’s hard to separate what I remember of that day,  from the images we saw over the years.  I do seem to recall Walter Cronkite struggling to keep his composure.

 

I felt bad for him.  How you do you even do that?

 

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Meanwhile,  back here at the ranch,  it was a nice day outside.

I stayed in.

 

Since I was getting just a *few* too many appliances hanging around downstairs,  I figured I had better get at least one of them sorted out. 

I had to remove the cabinet with the cook top first though.  I was reminded that it was hard wired into the 220 volt receptacle. 

Right.  This could take a few more minutes than I expected.

Of course,  it’s not the actual “doing it” that would be anything close to a problem.  This is all easy peasy.

It’s the crawling around on my hands and knees (and somehow my hips always seem to have a voice in the complaints department) that creates the actual dread. 

Just one of life’s little ironies.  By the time you figure out all this kind of stuff,  doing it makes you so stiff and sore,  it ain’t fun anymore.   That’s my take on it,  anyway.  Your mileage may vary.

 

So the answer is “yes”.  Yes we have a second kitchen downstairs.   And no,  we won’t be opening a catering business anytime soon. 

It’s actually an entire apartment,  even though it’s more of the “bachelor” type.  There’s a separate bedroom, plus bathroom (three piece),  along with a combination kitchen/living room/dining area/what have you.  There have been a couple different couples who have lived there,  but eventually it gets too small.  There’s either the introduction of offspring,  or just too many shoes.

Today I’m off to hang with a couple of the “pub buddies” to take in some TV viewing.  There’s the F1,  something called Nascar,  (“Hey, that sure is a ‘nas’ car!)  where Jimmy Johnson is apparently a shoo-in for the championship,  and then the good old Sunday stand-by,  the NFL.

I can’t stay too late though,  since the word is the “kids” are coming to dinner.   That’s OK.    Too many hours of snacks and beer is never a good thing. 

Oh, you might argue otherwise,  but trust me,  I ain’t that dumb.  I know what happens to my “nether regions” if I get carried away.  But let’s not go there.

 

Enjoy your day.

 

Thanks for stopping in.

 

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