I had a brilliant idea.
Okay. It wasn’t brilliant, it was different.
I would pin up my own calendar photo each month. I would pin it up on the door of our condo.
I would customize each photo with its own title and with the date and place where it was snapped.
I often have brilliant ideas like that.
Okay. Not brilliant. Just different.
I ran out to Michael’s and purchased photo frames and hanging wire. I sorted through the hundreds of frames on offer and finally found some that I could attach a wire to.
I sorted through the dozens of hanging wire packages and found one.
They offered one kind of hanging wire.
I bought the wire.
It turned out that it would take a Louis Cyr to bend the wire and a Harry Houdini to tie a knot in it.
Who is Louis Cyr? Who is Harry Houdini?
It doesn’t matter. Focus on the problem here.
Then I had another brilliant idea.
Okay . . . You know the drill now.
I ran over to Canadian Tire. I knew exactly the kind of wire I was looking for. It was wire that I had used as a kid some seventy odd years ago.
It was snare wire.
Now, Canadian Tire was established 94 years ago. Surely it still had snare wire in stock.
I had used snare wire as a kid to fashion ̶ what else? – snares.
Snares. To trap rabbits.
Snares are set on rabbit runs in the woods. As a kid, I had visions of trapping a whole slew of rabbits and making a rabbit-skin robe or maybe one rabbit to make a watch fob. To make a lucky foot.
I was under the impression that Robinson Crusoe or maybe Hiawatha would approve my project.
As a kid, I overlooked what a cruel death I would subject a rabbit to and how messy and smelly and labour-intensive making a rabbit-skin robe would be, and once I had a rabbit-skin robe, how I would convince my mom that it was superior to a woolen camp blanket and was a cinch to wash.
Just my luck, though.
I never caught a rabbit.
So, at Canadian Tire I accosted the first sales associate I saw and I asked, Where do I find snare wire? And he responded, Just follow me, sir, and I followed him into the bowels of the store and he stopped at a whole rack of wires that were labelled snare wire and I could scarcely believe my eyes.
I said, Excuse me, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you by any chance a trapper? And he said, Yes, I am, which confirmed my impression that he had some Aboriginal genes and I said, Thanks a lot, and he responded, It’s my pleasure, buddy.
Back home, I fashioned a hanging wire for the frame, and my calendar photo for November has now been unveiled for all passers-by to gaze upon.
There are eight condos on our floor.
Surely someone will notice it.
That would be brilliant.