Sunday morning in Ottawa, at Frank and Kathy’s house. Preparing for tomorrow, when it’s on to Montreal to try a new life. It’s a nervous time, but tremendously exciting.
Frank and I go way back. We got in a lot a trouble, had way too much fun for own good, and now we’re both grandfathers. It’s crazy how time slips away.
I once traded a couple of dozen albums to Frank for his Suzuki 80 motorcycle. I still say he ripped me off.
We partied our youth away, hitchhiked miles together, went through so many highs and lows. When I first moved to Orillia, he and Kathy followed soon after, and I watched Frank rise from a dead-end job to high-level management. He’s done great, better than most of the old crowd, and I’m proud of him. And he did it because he’s a smart son of a bitch.
I need to cut this short. So much to do before tomorrow rolls around, and I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer right now. I’ll get back on track and back to the Habs and such, but for now I hope you understand. At this stage of the game, my life is slightly upside down.
One thing I’m proud of, though. More than five and a half years of blogging, I still haven’t missed a day of putting up at least one post. Even if it’s not much of a post, like today’s.