Stuck in the middle

Today would have been a perfect beach day, much better than yesterday. I think the high was 27˚C. However, we didn't go. Instead, we picked up Dave & Ci and went to Woodvale for the 10:15am service. Pastor Mark Scarr spoke on "Enjoying Others" (Phil. 1:3-11). To immediately practice what he preached, the four of us went out for lunch at Broadway Bar & Grill. The patio wasn't as busy as it has been at times in the past--must mean a lot of people are out of town for the long weekend.

While James worked like a mad scientist on electronic things in the basement, I spent basically the entire afternoon trying to get the photo below to appear in its rotated glory. I tried a variety of things with no success. Turns out, it existed in the rotated form all along, just not in the folder to which I'd renamed it and saved it. No, somehow behind the scenes the system saved it to a new "modified" folder. Technology is getting too smart for our own good.

Here's the view as we face our house: half a neighbor's home, our townhome, and half of another neighbor's. A quick tour of the outside includes our sidewalk, our (unpaved) driveway, our stretch of sod, a few leaves of the tree on the neighbor's yard poking out, and most of a street lamp.


So that's us, stuck in the middle--fortunately, not between Scylla and Charybdis, or clowns to the left and jokers to the right, for that matter, unless the teams of construction workers count as such. Most weekdays they're on the job beginning at about 7am.

Other than that, ours is a reasonably quiet neighborhood, despite the fair number of children biking, blading, and bumming around up and down the street. Those are probably the 6- to 12-year-olds; the smaller fry are preoccupied with playing tag or tea party in their backyards. There may be teens; if so, they've mastered the art of camouflage and are indiscernible from adults, brickwork, and very skinny trees. It seemed even quieter than usual out there today. I guess everyone's stuck in the middle of the long weekend, and trying to wring every ounce of pleasure out of it. Cheers to that, I say.