Hey. You. No, no ... not you ... you. Are you ... hungry?

I was a little bit more focused this evening while shooting photos for +Chrysta Rae's Photography Scavenger Hunt and managed to not eat the the entire goddamned bag of cookies at one go. Was there temptation? Sure. But there was also discipline. Eight cookies isn't really that many, after all.

Where does the time go? It's #LastCall .

the hunger

Hey. You. No, no ... not you ... you. Are you ... hungry?

I was a little bit more focused this evening while shooting photos for +Chrysta Rae's Photography Scavenger Hunt and managed to not eat the the entire goddamned bag of cookies at one go. Was there temptation? Sure. But there was also discipline. Eight cookies isn't really that many, after all.

Where does the time go? It's #LastCall .

the hunger

Hey. You. No, no ... not you ... you. Are you ... hungry?

I was a little bit more focused this evening while shooting photos for +Chrysta Rae's Photography Scavenger Hunt and managed to not eat the the entire goddamned bag of cookies at one go. Was there temptation? Sure. But there was also discipline. Eight cookies isn't really that many, after all.

Where does the time go? It's #LastCall .

the hunger

Hey. You. No, no ... not you ... you. Are you ... hungry?

I was a little bit more focused this evening while shooting photos for +Chrysta Rae's Photography Scavenger Hunt and managed to not eat the the entire goddamned bag of cookies at one go. Was there temptation? Sure. But there was also discipline. Eight cookies isn't really that many, after all.

Where does the time go? It's #LastCall .

the hunger

I'm goin' down ... to Alphabet Street ...

I'm goin' down ... to Alphabet Street ...

I'm goin' down ... to Alphabet Street ...

I'm goin' down ... to Alphabet Street ...

I was really, really skinny when I was young. A former teacher of mine showed me this photo and I instantly realized that I can't pester my 17-year-old about how fucking skinny he is, because ... well, look. I had probably just turned 17 when this was taken, and I was slender. Also. What am I wearing on my head? Why do I have that expression on my face? Yeeeesh.

#BlastFromThePast is curated by +Mark Rodriguez, +Isabelle Fortin, and +Cheryl Cooper.

I was really, really skinny when I was young. A former teacher of mine showed me this photo and I instantly realized that I can't pester my 17-year-old about how fucking skinny he is, because ... well, look. I had probably just turned 17 when this was taken, and I was slender. Also. What am I wearing on my head? Why do I have that expression on my face? Yeeeesh.

#BlastFromThePast is curated by +Mark Rodriguez, +Isabelle Fortin, and +Cheryl Cooper.

I was really, really skinny when I was young. A former teacher of mine showed me this photo and I instantly realized that I can't pester my 17-year-old about how fucking skinny he is, because ... well, look. I had probably just turned 17 when this was taken, and I was slender. Also. What am I wearing on my head? Why do I have that expression on my face? Yeeeesh.

#BlastFromThePast is curated by +Mark Rodriguez, +Isabelle Fortin, and +Cheryl Cooper.

I was really, really skinny when I was young. A former teacher of mine showed me this photo and I instantly realized that I can't pester my 17-year-old about how fucking skinny he is, because ... well, look. I had probably just turned 17 when this was taken, and I was slender. Also. What am I wearing on my head? Why do I have that expression on my face? Yeeeesh.

#BlastFromThePast is curated by +Mark Rodriguez, +Isabelle Fortin, and +Cheryl Cooper.

What do I sound like in your head when you read my posts?

snicker

#BreakfastClub

What do I sound like in your head when you read my posts?

snicker

#BreakfastClub

What do I sound like in your head when you read my posts?

snicker

#BreakfastClub

What do I sound like in your head when you read my posts?

snicker

#BreakfastClub

You guys kept me up late! But I have to say ... it was worth it! Thanks, y'all!

You guys kept me up late! But I have to say ... it was worth it! Thanks, y'all!

You guys kept me up late! But I have to say ... it was worth it! Thanks, y'all!

You guys kept me up late! But I have to say ... it was worth it! Thanks, y'all!

OK.  So HOW do you actually join a Community?? Anyone?

OK.  So HOW do you actually join a Community?? Anyone?

OK.  So HOW do you actually join a Community?? Anyone?

OK.  So HOW do you actually join a Community?? Anyone?

Four flowers. Four ways.

Look at me bein' a slacker. I'm showing up late to +Alan Shapiro's #sitinthebackoftheclasswithchrystarae classes because I had the audacity to go to a basketball game last night. And now that he's made +Chrysta Rae move down front, whose pigtails am I gonna get to pull? sigh The humanity!

#BreakfastClub

Four flowers. Four ways.

Look at me bein' a slacker. I'm showing up late to +Alan Shapiro's #sitinthebackoftheclasswithchrystarae classes because I had the audacity to go to a basketball game last night. And now that he's made +Chrysta Rae move down front, whose pigtails am I gonna get to pull? sigh The humanity!

#BreakfastClub

Four flowers. Four ways.

Look at me bein' a slacker. I'm showing up late to +Alan Shapiro's #sitinthebackoftheclasswithchrystarae classes because I had the audacity to go to a basketball game last night. And now that he's made +Chrysta Rae move down front, whose pigtails am I gonna get to pull? sigh The humanity!

#BreakfastClub

Four flowers. Four ways.

Look at me bein' a slacker. I'm showing up late to +Alan Shapiro's #sitinthebackoftheclasswithchrystarae classes because I had the audacity to go to a basketball game last night. And now that he's made +Chrysta Rae move down front, whose pigtails am I gonna get to pull? sigh The humanity!

#BreakfastClub

#SelfySunday was a hoot this week. I was out most of the day, and returned to an album full of spectacular photos. Check it out here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115961021629090154025/albums/5684679645327806801

Many thanks to +Levi Moore and +Jeff Smith for their work organizing this theme on a biweekly basis.

My humble effort this week? Here you go.

Clearly, I have made some bad decisions.

#SelfySunday was a hoot this week. I was out most of the day, and returned to an album full of spectacular photos. Check it out here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115961021629090154025/albums/5684679645327806801

Many thanks to +Levi Moore and +Jeff Smith for their work organizing this theme on a biweekly basis.

My humble effort this week? Here you go.

Clearly, I have made some bad decisions.

#SelfySunday was a hoot this week. I was out most of the day, and returned to an album full of spectacular photos. Check it out here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115961021629090154025/albums/5684679645327806801

Many thanks to +Levi Moore and +Jeff Smith for their work organizing this theme on a biweekly basis.

My humble effort this week? Here you go.

Clearly, I have made some bad decisions.

#SelfySunday was a hoot this week. I was out most of the day, and returned to an album full of spectacular photos. Check it out here:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/115961021629090154025/albums/5684679645327806801

Many thanks to +Levi Moore and +Jeff Smith for their work organizing this theme on a biweekly basis.

My humble effort this week? Here you go.

Clearly, I have made some bad decisions.

Hey! Have I missed the #Ingress  boat?  Does anyone still have any invites?

I just got a Galaxy SIII today (And no, I'm not giving up my iPhone, either). Hook a fella up.

Hey! Have I missed the #Ingress  boat?  Does anyone still have any invites?

I just got a Galaxy SIII today (And no, I'm not giving up my iPhone, either). Hook a fella up.

Hey! Have I missed the #Ingress  boat?  Does anyone still have any invites?

I just got a Galaxy SIII today (And no, I'm not giving up my iPhone, either). Hook a fella up.

Hey! Have I missed the #Ingress  boat?  Does anyone still have any invites?

I just got a Galaxy SIII today (And no, I'm not giving up my iPhone, either). Hook a fella up.

Father Figure

My first memory of my father is of fear. That’s not something most people say of parents, especially of fathers. A father is meant to be a protector; to be strong. He’s meant to be a foundation on which can stand the edifice of the family. It’s unfair to say that my father was not these things, because in a very real way, he was every one of those and more. I was two years old when he left us, and it was maybe the hardest thing that he could have done. At the time, we lived in South America, and he had moved to Canada alone to establish a home for us. He wanted better opportunities for me and for my sister than could have been found where we lived. So it amounts to this: he gave up his family for his family.

Fear. My father moved when I was two years old, and he was only able to afford to come back to visit us once between the time he left and the time that we were able to join him. I was young enough when he left that I did not remember him at all when he appeared at our house in Guyana, and for a time I refused to be held by him or to approach him. It took me a long time to realize how much that must have hurt him, and in a way, it might have defined our relationship for many, many years thereafter. To me, my father never seemed approachable. Although I loved him, I was always much closer to my mother. My sister, having had the advantage of a more functional memory, was the opposite ... closer to father than to mother, but enough like him to make their relationship one of extremes.

So, my father always seemed like a stern man to me. There weren’t many hugs, but there were enough. And I remember my father being strong when we were young ... strong enough to balance one of us kids on each hand to give us airplane rides for what seemed like forever. He was strong in the way an old, weathered oak was strong. You never believed that anything could touch that kind of power. But that’s what my father was for me. There was always love, even when it seemed as though we lived separate lives in the same home. I say that he was stern, but there is one thing about him that I will always carry with me, and it’s something that I can hear even now. He had, without question, the best laugh in the world. Everyone always knew when my father was amused, and I mean everyone. Every kid is easily embarrassed by their parents, and I was no exception when it came to that laugh and to being out in public … but I eventually grew up enough to realize that it was a unique part of him and that it made him exciting, not embarrassing to be around.

Our relationship got better, as is often the case, when I grew up a little bit. And maybe part of it was because of the fact that we spent less time in each other’s company. I learned to cherish the times that we spent together rather than doing what we did when we lived in the same house, which was somewhat akin to stalking around each other like two alpha wolves in the same forest. We still were not terribly close, but we were able to enjoy being together. We talked more, and we laughed together more often than we ever had. I missed him when he retired to Florida, but we enjoyed meeting for lunches or dinners when he came back for visits. Or he’d stay with my family, even though where we lived was often too far away from where he really wanted to be. It took so, so many years to get from fear to where our relationship should have been in the first place, but now … now …

It’s almost never a good thing when there’s a message from a medical examiner’s office on your answering machine. That was the call I got from my sister this afternoon. The Palm Beach M.E. called her, and they didn’t leave a message. I knew then. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it. In fact, I absolutely refused to let myself dwell on what I knew was true. But I knew. I already knew. When I called my Dad’s cell phone and got no answer, I knew. But I refused to believe it. No one wants to believe this kind of news until they have to. But now I have to. The second call from my sister was the one … well, it’s the call you’re never prepared for. My poor sister was so, so shattered. And now we have to figure out how to move on from here.

My father’s remains were found in his home on April 4th, after his boss called the police to do a "well check" at his home. He’d failed to show up for work on the 3rd, and he’d recently come up to Canada for a check up and to do some preparation for a procedure to address some heart issues that had developed recently. I had seen him about three weeks before he died. I asked him to come to the house for dinner, and we enjoyed a pleasant evening with my entire family. I walked him out to the car without ever dreaming that watching him pull out of the driveway would be the last time I ever got to see him face to face. I was lucky to have had him in my life for 44 years. My only regret is that I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye.

I love you, Dad. I already miss you. I hope that you were happy when you died, and I hope that you died without pain and with dignity. I’m proud to have had you for my father.

Father Figure

My first memory of my father is of fear. That’s not something most people say of parents, especially of fathers. A father is meant to be a protector; to be strong. He’s meant to be a foundation on which can stand the edifice of the family. It’s unfair to say that my father was not these things, because in a very real way, he was every one of those and more. I was two years old when he left us, and it was maybe the hardest thing that he could have done. At the time, we lived in South America, and he had moved to Canada alone to establish a home for us. He wanted better opportunities for me and for my sister than could have been found where we lived. So it amounts to this: he gave up his family for his family.

Fear. My father moved when I was two years old, and he was only able to afford to come back to visit us once between the time he left and the time that we were able to join him. I was young enough when he left that I did not remember him at all when he appeared at our house in Guyana, and for a time I refused to be held by him or to approach him. It took me a long time to realize how much that must have hurt him, and in a way, it might have defined our relationship for many, many years thereafter. To me, my father never seemed approachable. Although I loved him, I was always much closer to my mother. My sister, having had the advantage of a more functional memory, was the opposite ... closer to father than to mother, but enough like him to make their relationship one of extremes.

So, my father always seemed like a stern man to me. There weren’t many hugs, but there were enough. And I remember my father being strong when we were young ... strong enough to balance one of us kids on each hand to give us airplane rides for what seemed like forever. He was strong in the way an old, weathered oak was strong. You never believed that anything could touch that kind of power. But that’s what my father was for me. There was always love, even when it seemed as though we lived separate lives in the same home. I say that he was stern, but there is one thing about him that I will always carry with me, and it’s something that I can hear even now. He had, without question, the best laugh in the world. Everyone always knew when my father was amused, and I mean everyone. Every kid is easily embarrassed by their parents, and I was no exception when it came to that laugh and to being out in public … but I eventually grew up enough to realize that it was a unique part of him and that it made him exciting, not embarrassing to be around.

Our relationship got better, as is often the case, when I grew up a little bit. And maybe part of it was because of the fact that we spent less time in each other’s company. I learned to cherish the times that we spent together rather than doing what we did when we lived in the same house, which was somewhat akin to stalking around each other like two alpha wolves in the same forest. We still were not terribly close, but we were able to enjoy being together. We talked more, and we laughed together more often than we ever had. I missed him when he retired to Florida, but we enjoyed meeting for lunches or dinners when he came back for visits. Or he’d stay with my family, even though where we lived was often too far away from where he really wanted to be. It took so, so many years to get from fear to where our relationship should have been in the first place, but now … now …

It’s almost never a good thing when there’s a message from a medical examiner’s office on your answering machine. That was the call I got from my sister this afternoon. The Palm Beach M.E. called her, and they didn’t leave a message. I knew then. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it. In fact, I absolutely refused to let myself dwell on what I knew was true. But I knew. I already knew. When I called my Dad’s cell phone and got no answer, I knew. But I refused to believe it. No one wants to believe this kind of news until they have to. But now I have to. The second call from my sister was the one … well, it’s the call you’re never prepared for. My poor sister was so, so shattered. And now we have to figure out how to move on from here.

My father’s remains were found in his home on April 4th, after his boss called the police to do a "well check" at his home. He’d failed to show up for work on the 3rd, and he’d recently come up to Canada for a check up and to do some preparation for a procedure to address some heart issues that had developed recently. I had seen him about three weeks before he died. I asked him to come to the house for dinner, and we enjoyed a pleasant evening with my entire family. I walked him out to the car without ever dreaming that watching him pull out of the driveway would be the last time I ever got to see him face to face. I was lucky to have had him in my life for 44 years. My only regret is that I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye.

I love you, Dad. I already miss you. I hope that you were happy when you died, and I hope that you died without pain and with dignity. I’m proud to have had you for my father.

Father Figure

My first memory of my father is of fear. That’s not something most people say of parents, especially of fathers. A father is meant to be a protector; to be strong. He’s meant to be a foundation on which can stand the edifice of the family. It’s unfair to say that my father was not these things, because in a very real way, he was every one of those and more. I was two years old when he left us, and it was maybe the hardest thing that he could have done. At the time, we lived in South America, and he had moved to Canada alone to establish a home for us. He wanted better opportunities for me and for my sister than could have been found where we lived. So it amounts to this: he gave up his family for his family.

Fear. My father moved when I was two years old, and he was only able to afford to come back to visit us once between the time he left and the time that we were able to join him. I was young enough when he left that I did not remember him at all when he appeared at our house in Guyana, and for a time I refused to be held by him or to approach him. It took me a long time to realize how much that must have hurt him, and in a way, it might have defined our relationship for many, many years thereafter. To me, my father never seemed approachable. Although I loved him, I was always much closer to my mother. My sister, having had the advantage of a more functional memory, was the opposite ... closer to father than to mother, but enough like him to make their relationship one of extremes.

So, my father always seemed like a stern man to me. There weren’t many hugs, but there were enough. And I remember my father being strong when we were young ... strong enough to balance one of us kids on each hand to give us airplane rides for what seemed like forever. He was strong in the way an old, weathered oak was strong. You never believed that anything could touch that kind of power. But that’s what my father was for me. There was always love, even when it seemed as though we lived separate lives in the same home. I say that he was stern, but there is one thing about him that I will always carry with me, and it’s something that I can hear even now. He had, without question, the best laugh in the world. Everyone always knew when my father was amused, and I mean everyone. Every kid is easily embarrassed by their parents, and I was no exception when it came to that laugh and to being out in public … but I eventually grew up enough to realize that it was a unique part of him and that it made him exciting, not embarrassing to be around.

Our relationship got better, as is often the case, when I grew up a little bit. And maybe part of it was because of the fact that we spent less time in each other’s company. I learned to cherish the times that we spent together rather than doing what we did when we lived in the same house, which was somewhat akin to stalking around each other like two alpha wolves in the same forest. We still were not terribly close, but we were able to enjoy being together. We talked more, and we laughed together more often than we ever had. I missed him when he retired to Florida, but we enjoyed meeting for lunches or dinners when he came back for visits. Or he’d stay with my family, even though where we lived was often too far away from where he really wanted to be. It took so, so many years to get from fear to where our relationship should have been in the first place, but now … now …

It’s almost never a good thing when there’s a message from a medical examiner’s office on your answering machine. That was the call I got from my sister this afternoon. The Palm Beach M.E. called her, and they didn’t leave a message. I knew then. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it. In fact, I absolutely refused to let myself dwell on what I knew was true. But I knew. I already knew. When I called my Dad’s cell phone and got no answer, I knew. But I refused to believe it. No one wants to believe this kind of news until they have to. But now I have to. The second call from my sister was the one … well, it’s the call you’re never prepared for. My poor sister was so, so shattered. And now we have to figure out how to move on from here.

My father’s remains were found in his home on April 4th, after his boss called the police to do a "well check" at his home. He’d failed to show up for work on the 3rd, and he’d recently come up to Canada for a check up and to do some preparation for a procedure to address some heart issues that had developed recently. I had seen him about three weeks before he died. I asked him to come to the house for dinner, and we enjoyed a pleasant evening with my entire family. I walked him out to the car without ever dreaming that watching him pull out of the driveway would be the last time I ever got to see him face to face. I was lucky to have had him in my life for 44 years. My only regret is that I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye.

I love you, Dad. I already miss you. I hope that you were happy when you died, and I hope that you died without pain and with dignity. I’m proud to have had you for my father.

Father Figure

My first memory of my father is of fear. That’s not something most people say of parents, especially of fathers. A father is meant to be a protector; to be strong. He’s meant to be a foundation on which can stand the edifice of the family. It’s unfair to say that my father was not these things, because in a very real way, he was every one of those and more. I was two years old when he left us, and it was maybe the hardest thing that he could have done. At the time, we lived in South America, and he had moved to Canada alone to establish a home for us. He wanted better opportunities for me and for my sister than could have been found where we lived. So it amounts to this: he gave up his family for his family.

Fear. My father moved when I was two years old, and he was only able to afford to come back to visit us once between the time he left and the time that we were able to join him. I was young enough when he left that I did not remember him at all when he appeared at our house in Guyana, and for a time I refused to be held by him or to approach him. It took me a long time to realize how much that must have hurt him, and in a way, it might have defined our relationship for many, many years thereafter. To me, my father never seemed approachable. Although I loved him, I was always much closer to my mother. My sister, having had the advantage of a more functional memory, was the opposite ... closer to father than to mother, but enough like him to make their relationship one of extremes.

So, my father always seemed like a stern man to me. There weren’t many hugs, but there were enough. And I remember my father being strong when we were young ... strong enough to balance one of us kids on each hand to give us airplane rides for what seemed like forever. He was strong in the way an old, weathered oak was strong. You never believed that anything could touch that kind of power. But that’s what my father was for me. There was always love, even when it seemed as though we lived separate lives in the same home. I say that he was stern, but there is one thing about him that I will always carry with me, and it’s something that I can hear even now. He had, without question, the best laugh in the world. Everyone always knew when my father was amused, and I mean everyone. Every kid is easily embarrassed by their parents, and I was no exception when it came to that laugh and to being out in public … but I eventually grew up enough to realize that it was a unique part of him and that it made him exciting, not embarrassing to be around.

Our relationship got better, as is often the case, when I grew up a little bit. And maybe part of it was because of the fact that we spent less time in each other’s company. I learned to cherish the times that we spent together rather than doing what we did when we lived in the same house, which was somewhat akin to stalking around each other like two alpha wolves in the same forest. We still were not terribly close, but we were able to enjoy being together. We talked more, and we laughed together more often than we ever had. I missed him when he retired to Florida, but we enjoyed meeting for lunches or dinners when he came back for visits. Or he’d stay with my family, even though where we lived was often too far away from where he really wanted to be. It took so, so many years to get from fear to where our relationship should have been in the first place, but now … now …

It’s almost never a good thing when there’s a message from a medical examiner’s office on your answering machine. That was the call I got from my sister this afternoon. The Palm Beach M.E. called her, and they didn’t leave a message. I knew then. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it. In fact, I absolutely refused to let myself dwell on what I knew was true. But I knew. I already knew. When I called my Dad’s cell phone and got no answer, I knew. But I refused to believe it. No one wants to believe this kind of news until they have to. But now I have to. The second call from my sister was the one … well, it’s the call you’re never prepared for. My poor sister was so, so shattered. And now we have to figure out how to move on from here.

My father’s remains were found in his home on April 4th, after his boss called the police to do a "well check" at his home. He’d failed to show up for work on the 3rd, and he’d recently come up to Canada for a check up and to do some preparation for a procedure to address some heart issues that had developed recently. I had seen him about three weeks before he died. I asked him to come to the house for dinner, and we enjoyed a pleasant evening with my entire family. I walked him out to the car without ever dreaming that watching him pull out of the driveway would be the last time I ever got to see him face to face. I was lucky to have had him in my life for 44 years. My only regret is that I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye.

I love you, Dad. I already miss you. I hope that you were happy when you died, and I hope that you died without pain and with dignity. I’m proud to have had you for my father.

Today I said goodbye to my friend.

He was thirteen when we let him go. And I guess he was ready. His arthritis was beginning to get the best of him in a house full of stairs, the poor guy. His boy has left home for university, and I couldn't work from home to be with him any more. Spending your days sad, hurting and alone is no good way to live. There's an empty Bruce-shaped space in the house and a hole in our hearts tonight.

Today I said goodbye to my friend.

He was thirteen when we let him go. And I guess he was ready. His arthritis was beginning to get the best of him in a house full of stairs, the poor guy. His boy has left home for university, and I couldn't work from home to be with him any more. Spending your days sad, hurting and alone is no good way to live. There's an empty Bruce-shaped space in the house and a hole in our hearts tonight.

Today I said goodbye to my friend.

He was thirteen when we let him go. And I guess he was ready. His arthritis was beginning to get the best of him in a house full of stairs, the poor guy. His boy has left home for university, and I couldn't work from home to be with him any more. Spending your days sad, hurting and alone is no good way to live. There's an empty Bruce-shaped space in the house and a hole in our hearts tonight.

Today I said goodbye to my friend.

He was thirteen when we let him go. And I guess he was ready. His arthritis was beginning to get the best of him in a house full of stairs, the poor guy. His boy has left home for university, and I couldn't work from home to be with him any more. Spending your days sad, hurting and alone is no good way to live. There's an empty Bruce-shaped space in the house and a hole in our hearts tonight.

Look. #ThatsMyTat  ... or one of them, anyway.

And coincidentally, this being #halfnekkidthursday , this photo probably qualifies for that as well (even if it's an older one!).

Look. #ThatsMyTat  ... or one of them, anyway.

And coincidentally, this being #halfnekkidthursday , this photo probably qualifies for that as well (even if it's an older one!).

Look. #ThatsMyTat  ... or one of them, anyway.

And coincidentally, this being #halfnekkidthursday , this photo probably qualifies for that as well (even if it's an older one!).

Look. #ThatsMyTat  ... or one of them, anyway.

And coincidentally, this being #halfnekkidthursday , this photo probably qualifies for that as well (even if it's an older one!).

There are things about this photo that I can't explain. I don't know why there's writing in chalk on my legs, for example. And I am wearing sunglasses, but that I can explain -- it's because I'm fucking cool (and believe it or not, those massive shades were tremendously cool in the mid-eighties). I was only sixteen when this photo was shot, and it seems so, so long ago. Someday I'm going to take a follow-up shot and you'll see just how much I've changed since this was taken.

+Blast From The Past (featuring +Cheryl Cooper, +Isabelle Fortin, and +Mark Rodriguez!)   #blastfromthepast  

It has been a busy weekend!  My family has been celebrating my wife's birthday and preparing for my son's high school graduation.  All that having been said, here's a true thing I've learned: there's almost always time for flowers.

sparkle and shine

It has been a busy weekend!  My family has been celebrating my wife's birthday and preparing for my son's high school graduation.  All that having been said, here's a true thing I've learned: there's almost always time for flowers.

sparkle and shine

It has been a busy weekend!  My family has been celebrating my wife's birthday and preparing for my son's high school graduation.  All that having been said, here's a true thing I've learned: there's almost always time for flowers.

sparkle and shine

It has been a busy weekend!  My family has been celebrating my wife's birthday and preparing for my son's high school graduation.  All that having been said, here's a true thing I've learned: there's almost always time for flowers.

sparkle and shine

Today is one of those awake too early, forgot my VoIP phone headset, too cold in the office, too far to walk to get my morning tea throwaway kind of Thursdays.
bleh

[ #throwawaythursday -- +Doug DeTraz, +lynn langmade]

You know how when you have a new toy, you have to play with it? Yeah, this photo is what happens. (It helps that my wife is very patient with me.)

#LastCall [The +Last Call Gang and +Christina Lawrie]

third eye

Today is one of those awake too early, forgot my VoIP phone headset, too cold in the office, too far to walk to get my morning tea throwaway kind of Thursdays.
bleh

[ #throwawaythursday -- +Doug DeTraz, +lynn langmade]

You know how when you have a new toy, you have to play with it? Yeah, this photo is what happens. (It helps that my wife is very patient with me.)

#LastCall [The +Last Call Gang and +Christina Lawrie]

third eye

Today is one of those awake too early, forgot my VoIP phone headset, too cold in the office, too far to walk to get my morning tea throwaway kind of Thursdays.
bleh

[ #throwawaythursday -- +Doug DeTraz, +lynn langmade]

You know how when you have a new toy, you have to play with it? Yeah, this photo is what happens. (It helps that my wife is very patient with me.)

#LastCall [The +Last Call Gang and +Christina Lawrie]

third eye

Today is one of those awake too early, forgot my VoIP phone headset, too cold in the office, too far to walk to get my morning tea throwaway kind of Thursdays.
bleh

[ #throwawaythursday -- +Doug DeTraz, +lynn langmade]

You know how when you have a new toy, you have to play with it? Yeah, this photo is what happens. (It helps that my wife is very patient with me.)

#LastCall [The +Last Call Gang and +Christina Lawrie]

third eye

First. I have no idea what my mom or dad was doing with the camera tilt. Second. Don't hate on the socks, because they were my favourite.

The medal around my neck is for the 50-yard dash. I could run pretty fast back then.

[ #BlastFromThePast -- +Cheryl Cooper +Isabelle Fortin +Mark Rodriguez]

First. I have no idea what my mom or dad was doing with the camera tilt. Second. Don't hate on the socks, because they were my favourite.

The medal around my neck is for the 50-yard dash. I could run pretty fast back then.

[ #BlastFromThePast -- +Cheryl Cooper +Isabelle Fortin +Mark Rodriguez]

First. I have no idea what my mom or dad was doing with the camera tilt. Second. Don't hate on the socks, because they were my favourite.

The medal around my neck is for the 50-yard dash. I could run pretty fast back then.

[ #BlastFromThePast -- +Cheryl Cooper +Isabelle Fortin +Mark Rodriguez]

First. I have no idea what my mom or dad was doing with the camera tilt. Second. Don't hate on the socks, because they were my favourite.

The medal around my neck is for the 50-yard dash. I could run pretty fast back then.

[ #BlastFromThePast -- +Cheryl Cooper +Isabelle Fortin +Mark Rodriguez]

RESHARE:
Look at me ... I'm engaging, and Canadian! I'm an engaging Canadian!

All that aside, there are some great people on this list, and you should follow them immediately.

Reshared text:
Engaging Canadians Circle... Version 3!

This updated circle contains 52 Canadian Google+er's who are very engaging and always share interesting posts. All of these people make Google+ feel a little bit more Canadian. Don't forget to add n' share this circle with others!

#CircleShare   #Canadians  

I blame my wife for all my flower photos.

That's not 100% true, because I love to shoot them ... but there's this: I'd probably bring home far fewer plants and bouquets if I wasn't married. And just look. When I bring something like these flowers home, everybody wins! (Gerbera daisies are my favourites.)

it takes two

I blame my wife for all my flower photos.

That's not 100% true, because I love to shoot them ... but there's this: I'd probably bring home far fewer plants and bouquets if I wasn't married. And just look. When I bring something like these flowers home, everybody wins! (Gerbera daisies are my favourites.)

it takes two

I blame my wife for all my flower photos.

That's not 100% true, because I love to shoot them ... but there's this: I'd probably bring home far fewer plants and bouquets if I wasn't married. And just look. When I bring something like these flowers home, everybody wins! (Gerbera daisies are my favourites.)

it takes two

I blame my wife for all my flower photos.

That's not 100% true, because I love to shoot them ... but there's this: I'd probably bring home far fewer plants and bouquets if I wasn't married. And just look. When I bring something like these flowers home, everybody wins! (Gerbera daisies are my favourites.)

it takes two

So. Tomorrow is +Chrysta Rae Day [ #ChrystaRaeDay ] , and in celebration, we're having a rice cake party. I have something a tiny bit different, 'cause I've been wearing a rice cake for a little while already. I promise ... I'll have something for tomorrow as well, but for today, this will have to do!

[This will fit into the +G+ Profiling Project, I think.]

An Ode to Rice Cakes ... Part One

So. Tomorrow is +Chrysta Rae Day [ #ChrystaRaeDay ] , and in celebration, we're having a rice cake party. I have something a tiny bit different, 'cause I've been wearing a rice cake for a little while already. I promise ... I'll have something for tomorrow as well, but for today, this will have to do!

[This will fit into the +G+ Profiling Project, I think.]

An Ode to Rice Cakes ... Part One

So. Tomorrow is +Chrysta Rae Day [ #ChrystaRaeDay ] , and in celebration, we're having a rice cake party. I have something a tiny bit different, 'cause I've been wearing a rice cake for a little while already. I promise ... I'll have something for tomorrow as well, but for today, this will have to do!

[This will fit into the +G+ Profiling Project, I think.]

An Ode to Rice Cakes ... Part One

So. Tomorrow is +Chrysta Rae Day [ #ChrystaRaeDay ] , and in celebration, we're having a rice cake party. I have something a tiny bit different, 'cause I've been wearing a rice cake for a little while already. I promise ... I'll have something for tomorrow as well, but for today, this will have to do!

[This will fit into the +G+ Profiling Project, I think.]

An Ode to Rice Cakes ... Part One

This has long been one of my favourite manly things to do: use improvised tools to do stupid, stupid stuff. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

It's one of those #ManlyMondays! Curators -- +Alan Shapiro, +Barry Blanchard, +Kjetil Greger Pedersen, and +Mark Rodriguez.

This has long been one of my favourite manly things to do: use improvised tools to do stupid, stupid stuff. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

It's one of those #ManlyMondays! Curators -- +Alan Shapiro, +Barry Blanchard, +Kjetil Greger Pedersen, and +Mark Rodriguez.

This has long been one of my favourite manly things to do: use improvised tools to do stupid, stupid stuff. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

It's one of those #ManlyMondays! Curators -- +Alan Shapiro, +Barry Blanchard, +Kjetil Greger Pedersen, and +Mark Rodriguez.

This has long been one of my favourite manly things to do: use improvised tools to do stupid, stupid stuff. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

It's one of those #ManlyMondays! Curators -- +Alan Shapiro, +Barry Blanchard, +Kjetil Greger Pedersen, and +Mark Rodriguez.

Word on the street is that today is American Gothic Day, upon which the birthday of iconic American artist Grant Wood is celebrated. With that in mind ... I give you this.

Yes. It's the Dibble House in Eldon, Iowa.

#Americana

Word on the street is that today is American Gothic Day, upon which the birthday of iconic American artist Grant Wood is celebrated. With that in mind ... I give you this.

Yes. It's the Dibble House in Eldon, Iowa.

#Americana

Word on the street is that today is American Gothic Day, upon which the birthday of iconic American artist Grant Wood is celebrated. With that in mind ... I give you this.

Yes. It's the Dibble House in Eldon, Iowa.

#Americana

Word on the street is that today is American Gothic Day, upon which the birthday of iconic American artist Grant Wood is celebrated. With that in mind ... I give you this.

Yes. It's the Dibble House in Eldon, Iowa.

#Americana

One more #portraitpoker  photo for +J. Rae Chipera, +Kelly-Shane Fuller, and special guest +Jeff Smith.

Sometimes, it's not about the blood. It can also be about the knife on some days.

one false move, and the fucking bunny gets it.

One more #portraitpoker  photo for +J. Rae Chipera, +Kelly-Shane Fuller, and special guest +Jeff Smith.

Sometimes, it's not about the blood. It can also be about the knife on some days.

one false move, and the fucking bunny gets it.

One more #portraitpoker  photo for +J. Rae Chipera, +Kelly-Shane Fuller, and special guest +Jeff Smith.

Sometimes, it's not about the blood. It can also be about the knife on some days.

one false move, and the fucking bunny gets it.

One more #portraitpoker  photo for +J. Rae Chipera, +Kelly-Shane Fuller, and special guest +Jeff Smith.

Sometimes, it's not about the blood. It can also be about the knife on some days.

one false move, and the fucking bunny gets it.

I am like a very tiny child. I run through photos and process them, and then I have to run out and show them to people immediately. This photo? I was going to save it until Friday. Not happening. Ah well .....

#plusphotoextract

aurora

I am like a very tiny child. I run through photos and process them, and then I have to run out and show them to people immediately. This photo? I was going to save it until Friday. Not happening. Ah well .....

#plusphotoextract

aurora

I am like a very tiny child. I run through photos and process them, and then I have to run out and show them to people immediately. This photo? I was going to save it until Friday. Not happening. Ah well .....

#plusphotoextract

aurora

I am like a very tiny child. I run through photos and process them, and then I have to run out and show them to people immediately. This photo? I was going to save it until Friday. Not happening. Ah well .....

#plusphotoextract

aurora

FFFFFFFUUUUUU .... work laptop has failed. cries

I guess that's lunch.

FFFFFFFUUUUUU .... work laptop has failed. cries

I guess that's lunch.

FFFFFFFUUUUUU .... work laptop has failed. cries

I guess that's lunch.

FFFFFFFUUUUUU .... work laptop has failed. cries

I guess that's lunch.

A bed of roses is an overrated and impractical place to try to get a night's sleep.  The smell eventually becomes overwhelming, and the thorns can be ... troublesome.

(In other news, I really should be more proactive about my sleep schedule.)

So. We go out for my daughter's birthday, thinking that we're going to play some laser tag and some arcade games, and race in some go-karts. Somehow we come home with a bunny. How does that happen??

Now that +Chrysta Rae's Photography Scavenger Hunt is up and running again, I promised myself that I'd lay off the trash talk.

The owl? He said nothing of the kind.

A bed of roses is an overrated and impractical place to try to get a night's sleep.  The smell eventually becomes overwhelming, and the thorns can be ... troublesome.

(In other news, I really should be more proactive about my sleep schedule.)

So. We go out for my daughter's birthday, thinking that we're going to play some laser tag and some arcade games, and race in some go-karts. Somehow we come home with a bunny. How does that happen??

Now that +Chrysta Rae's Photography Scavenger Hunt is up and running again, I promised myself that I'd lay off the trash talk.

The owl? He said nothing of the kind.