Sundays at CCIW

Oliver and I have come to the office this Sunday morning to get out of Catherine’s hair while she puts down a couple of dozen cobs of corn for the winter. We stopped at Timothy’s on our way in for a bagel with swiss and tomato, a cup of tea and a glass of orange juice. And as I type Oliver is out front in the lounge playing with the mysterious Lego that appeared there this spring. And I am blogging, at least for this minute.

And suddenly I’m flooded with memories of CCIW, where my Dad worked for more than 30 years, and visits there with him on Sundays. I remember signing in with the Commissionaire at the front desk, the “sciencey” smell of the place, getting to draw with pencils and pens on reams of old line printer paper (with lines and lines of discarded sedimentological data on the other side), and taking a walk down to the hydraulics lab to see the giant water tanks.

And, if the moon was in the right place, getting to stop at Tim Horton Donuts on the way home for a Dutchie.