Last evening, July 19, 2019, as dusk turned to dark, Kim and I sat outside on our stone front porch, each armed with a wonderful Cranberry Rosé Cider from the No Boats on Sunday beverage company. I had just return from inside because Kim rightfully suggested that we drink from classy beer glasses rather than straight out of the bottle. We were looking around our neighbourhood and discussing who lived where when we first moved into the townhouse directly across the street 17 years ago. That was seven years before we made the gargantuan leap across the road to our semi-detached backsplit.
It was a particularly warm evening, on the heels of a hot day. Here in Burlington, Ontario we were considerably above the 30-degree Celsius mark, not figuring in the humidex. But that’s nothing compared to what New York City and the rest of the American Eastern Seaboard was facing. We had just returned from NYC a day earlier and were reflecting on the amazing sites we had seen there, having scoured much of central Manhattan and the lower west side. We were grateful not to be there now, because walking around in 30-degree Celsius heat was arduous enough. Now it was closer to 35 and feeling like over 40.
There was little unusual about this evening, other than we only get the chance to do this sitting around and enjoying a beverage in the late evening once every few weeks. That’s because I’m away in the truck so much and Kim is often in bed by nine o’clock. So, here we were together around 9:30pm, with our Maltese Poodle Sydney resting on Kim’s lap. Continue reading
