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A rare treat when we are all together, this time in Lewes DE at Neil & Barb’s home. A day at the beach and an evening in Rehoboth.

Hi – thanks for stopping by, but we’ve moved to Facebook.

You can find us at Facebook as Mike Parry, and Lynne Parry. The boys are there too.

Thanks

Landing the Cirrus at New Garden Airport, April 2014

Landing the Citabria at Big Oak (private strip), Chesapeake Bay

Citabria departure

1946 Piper J3 Cub flying, Landing

Enough already! 25 to 30 inches of snow fell Friday night into Saturday. What a mess. The Delaware State Governor ordered all cars to stay off roads and declared a state of emergency. Bloody nuisance and with more snow projected for Tuesday and Wednesday this is not going to end soon.

I left Argentina on Friday evening (10 hour flight) not knowing if we would land at JFK because of the blizzard. There was just light snow in NYC, so all ok. But on the Amtrak train south the depth just kept building. Amtrak did a great job keeping their service running and I got to Wilmington. The station was open but buried in snow. Dragged my laundry (suitcase) to the office, to collect my car.Despite it being unlawful I drove the Audi home. The car was just fabulous, just perfect for such conditions (unplowed streets, snow banks). The Q7’s power and all-the-time-four-wheel-drive payed dividends – she handled it so well! I dropped my buddy Pat at his house, the set out for home. Valley Road was unplowed and I followed a Power Company truck’s tracks and just kept moving. The Q7 climbed the Meeting House Hill without problems – yeh!

I got to Foxmeadow, which had been lightly plowed, and to my driveway – which hadn’t. I got the car off the street but with the depth of snow I couldn’t get further up the driveway. Lynne and I had to dig it out later in the day, no big deal as the snow was light.

Hopefully today Foxmeadow will be cleaned-up, and my driveway too. Our plow-chappie promises he’ll be later. He needs to – I have a conference in Connecticut to get to tomorrow!

In a place where daily temperatures heat up to minus-8dC (17dF) on warm days keeping the biting wind out and retaining all the body heat one can means wrapping up in as many layers as your outer coat permits, ensuring always that this bulk does not prevent you from getting into taxi-cabs or store entrances. Mastering the layering technique is equally critical as one will undress and redress many, many laborious times during the tourist day. Getting the sequence right is critical as is recalling the correct pocket location of all the sundries – scarf, then neck warmer, then hat, then gloves. Doing this going in then out for each store, coffee-shop, restaurant or ‘point-of-interest’ makes for an exhausting experience for the first-timer.

The local Montreal Canadians do this effortlessly of course, with better choices in clothing but also with a grace and flow that is worth watching and aspiring to. They smile at the congregation of tourists (like us) blocking shop doorways as we work troubled zippers, look for the other glove and get ourselves ready for the blast of cold from the chilled outdoors.

The hat is an essential. But those unused to hats, like me, find them strange, itchy and a nuisance. Canadians, having been born wearing ski-hats, have no such issues and adorn them with a flourish. Colours and shapes are plenty, with fur being a popular decorative add. Indeed number-one-son, the Circus Boy, and the reason for our sojourn in this city, has a great example of such which he bought – of all places – in Tokyo.

Hair is the casualty of the hat of course, and I don’t think there’s a good hair-do to be seen in the city. But nobody local seems to notice nor care even, and restaurants and bars (we saw plenty of both) are populated by bad hair-do’s.

You can tell people from the south amongst the throng though, they’re the ones continually patting-down, hand-combing, seeking unattainable engineering hair feats, anxious about their appearance in-case, maybe, that someone from the office might see them in this unruly and unkempt state. Quebec-ers meanwhile enjoy their Molson and Poutine, and smile knowingly.

Center-ville, Montréal, Québec

Now, with overwhelming international-based evidence to hand, I can confirm the March of the Duvets.The cold shoulders, cold feet and lack of overnight bedding weight experienced in Montreal this week give evidence supporting my long reached conclusion that somewhere in the West there is a calling. This is the place where duvets aspire to be, to converge, to congregate. Overnight they inch in that direction, thinking their movement wont be noticed, in this most recent incident, by the cognac-laced sleeper.

Duvets of all types, shapes and sizes have this inane drive and desire. Marriott duvets are no different than those experienced elsewhere. True, they could be larger. Lynne had already pointed out the lack of duvet hang-over that our king-size-no-smoking-view-of-the-park Marriott bed possessed. But I feel this was planned and facilitated the March, all by design.

The struggle continued through the night, incursions westward thwarted by grabbing handfuls of duvet and wrenching eastward, only to have to repeat the skirmish several times. Exhaustion brought on sleep, the only benefit of the battle.

The earliest deep snow on record! Bah!