Little Boy wine

A fine little 10$ bottle, very very subtle, was Dao (with an pinyata on the "a")'s Meia Encosta. Rich red wine taste and a true red wine colour, especially in the wineglass, this little number was selected by Imogen at the SAQ at Papineau and Mount Royal. So I says to her: "which one should Daddy buy?" and without hesitating, Imogen walks straight up to a pile of Meia Encosta, grabs one, turns her heavy lidded eyes up to Daddy and says flatly: "this one". So I bought it. She also selected a white Saumur (which someone adult confirmed will be superb: will report soon!) and a third bottle which we have already drunk, but for the life of me, can't remember....OH! yes, a Beaujolais. Forgettable, for sure. Anyway, after my first sip of the 2007 Meia Encosta, I blurted out: "it's a Little Boy wine!" Try some, you'll see what I mean!

Meia Encosta: as in, don't cost much? Any helpers, here?

Weeds

I had been helping Kirsten weed her community garden, a distasteful task for me. I think we should use some late 20th century herbicide free techniques to keep the weeds down: black plastic garbage bags, carefully layered over the soil, but with holes to let the good guys out, a technique taught to me by Chris Wrobel, my farmer friend. But K likes to weed.

And last night, I had a dream that this weed came back. A stinging weed that she thought was strawberries: it had grown ginormous and I was tasked to get it out, which is how I learned it was a stinging weed. So I used a pitchfork. So here is this weed in my dream, and I pinned it against a metal grate with my heel and cut the roots off it with a machete. Very satisfying.

Metal grate: could this have been a visual import from Terminator Two, that took us four days to watch this past week? Remember the liquid metal man who could squeeze through grates? Can't wait to see Terminator Four. But I digress.

It was a great dream. Not exciting, but very satisfying.

Visiting an English enclave in Amsterdam

J and I were in Amsterdam. I was wandering the city, alone, at night and came upon a kind of village near the water. A bunch of smart and interesting artist/squatter types were living in some industrial buildings. When I arrived, they were having a neighbourhood party. A bonfire raged in the middle of the street. The overall feeling was of Christiania, circa 1996.

Oddly, the people in the village spoke English. They told me they were part of an English enclave in Amsterdam.

I went back to where we were staying. The next morning, I wanted to show J the village but got lost on my way to find it. We ended up at an elementary school. I thought I would take a shortcut by going through the school.

Inside, I watched a really cool teacher work with a group of kids. They were doing incredible things. A man saw us watching and invited us to have lunch with him. It turned out that he was the principal of the school. The teacher we were watching was his wife. We knew we wanted to send our kids to this school.

J and I had a wonderful lunch with him in his office next to the gym where the kids were playing. Then we went on our way. It was the school for the village I had visited the night before. J and I knew this was where we belonged.

Cocktails in the trees -- so lovely

I'm not going to tell you anything about this magic treehouse... you'll just have to check it out for yourself.