22-4-28

 Chicken.

22-4-27

The Winter Hotel is no more.
 

22-4-26

 Back here again. Better camera this time. Better photo too, I think. Right?

22-4-25

 

22-4-24

 Amanda was 30 years old. 

22-4-23

 The detritus of life. Next to the sidewalk. Because that's where it is? 

22-4-22

 I don't say this often. I like this one. I don't like most of what I post but this one I like. 

22-4-21

 Variations on a theme.

22-4-20

 I had managed to go late into the blossom season without taking a photo of Vancouver's iconic cherry blossoms. Most trees have lost nearly all of their pink and white petals except for this one on a busy street. It presented as "beauty in spite" rather than simply "beautiful." 

The branches claimed a good chunk of the sidewalk. I had to duck, and still managed water down my neck as I brushed the blooms with my head. 

So here it is. A photograph of cherry blossoms. See you next year.

22-4-19

 

22-4-18

That lip of green at the bottom of the board? That's where the silver cover used to be. It fell out somewhere. Maybe it'll show up again. Without the cover, the pegs don't stay put either. So a week later, a new cover fashioned out of the plastic reclaimed from an olive oil bottle. The internet delivered replacement pegs to me. Now to break them in. 
 

22-4-17

 

22-4-16

 Bit of a theme these days. Maybe it's because there's actually been some blue sky lately. And clouds.

22-4-15

 

22-4-14

 

22-4-13

 

22-4-12

 

22-4-11

 The city was on fire. 

22-4-10

Storm coming it. It brought hail. Snow stuck to the ground for a hot minute and then it was gone. Sunny tomorrow. Strange days. 
 

22-4-9

 Shopping Malls. 

22-4-8

 

22-4-7

 

22-4-6

 

22-4-5

 

22-4-4

 

22-4-3

 I rewatched Withnail and I today. I probably haven't watched it in 20 years. It's better than I remembered though many would probably beg to differ. The BBC article points out "Another issue was the almost total absence of a plot." But when does life have an identifiable plot? 

I was taken with the final speech given by Richard E. Grant's Withnail. It's from Hamlet. I have a collection of all of Shakespeare's plays published in 1926 and I took it down from the shelf, probably for the first time since I moved into this house a decade ago, and found the passage. The pages are yellow. The book smells musty. And I read Hamlet. Not all of it, but some small part of it. 

Apparently the original ending was: 

Withnail gets having said his goodbyes to Marwood and drinks a shotgun full of Margeaux before blowing his brains out. Not surprisingly, this original ending was shelved for being too 'dark'.

That's all. Nothing more. 

22-4-2

 

22-4-1

 

22-3-31

 

22-3-30

 

22-3-29