I could spend a lot of time talking about how Stan Freberg was an integral part of my childhood, but I won’t. I mourn the man.
You can call me the Queen of Denial…. Keith and Paul conveyed me up and down the Fraser Foreshore in a canoe yesterday afternoon. The tide was slack. We had a brief picnic on very soggy and clay-ey ‘beach’. Of particular note (beside the weather, which was glorious) was the immense sea lion carcass on the log boom. There was a live sea lion swimming by the railway bridge; he or she chose to surf the waves generated by a fishing boat. We had a few beers and sang and played on the deck afterward and Paul mowed our front lawn (I ran outside when I heard the mower fire up to get the parade of “I live close to a public school so my lawn has lots of junk food wrappers on it” policed up.)
