The ducks do it.

I love swimming!

Strange, having grown up in one of the most land-locked places on the entire planet (me, Saskatchewan, and some bits of Russia...), but I really do. Maybe it's because it will always have that holiday flair of the exotic to it.

In any case. I love it.

So, when Erin and Natalya were visiting earlier this month, we chose a sunny day, and rode bikes along gravel paths to a certain place on the Avon river (upstream of town), and jumped in. It was quiet, but we weren't the only ones, there were a few others in the water there; it's something of a small-time local swimming hole.

Except,

when I tell people about this experience, they either: sigh dreamily and say, 'That sounds so nice,' or else: gasp and clutch their mouths or stomachs and say, 'you SWAM in the river?! You're going to die.'

Is river swimming so dangerous now, in this time of pollutants, parasites and oil spills? Or is it really no worse than it ever was, and people are just paranoid (and jealous)?

(For the record, we all survived. Happily.)

Room to beat

Not too long ago, a nice film-maker called Bob offered to make us a music video. His mind works in magical ways, (as does his camera). See evidence below:



It's from a track from our oh-so-soon-to-be-released album. Very exciting.

Derrida and Daisies

Sometimes a life-long goal is achieved not with a bang, but a whisper, slipping by as naturally as any other day.

I may only be an hourly-paid, part-time lecturer at the university, but today, the first lovely, warm, sunny Tuesday of Spring, I became who I always wanted to be.

Today, I taught my class outside: a circle of students in the daisies and dappled shade by the lake.

I always wanted to be that professor when I grew up. 5'2" isn't very tall, but I think I might be just about there.