Bits and Pieces

by Angela Sanford

No Bang, All Brilliance

Last week, I came across a post about New Glasgow’s 150th birthday celebration—just hours before it began—and learned the town had planned a drone show at 9 p.m. to mark the milestone.

Drone Display - Fish

 The questions instantly ran through my head as soon as we had decided to partake – Would the experience be worth the drive? How many drones would light up the sky? What would the show look like, and how long could it possibly last?

 With more questions than answers, my mother, my husband and I set off at dusk for our destination - 155 Riverside Parkway. We parked at the nearby Sobeys lot and walked to the bridge to stake out our viewing spot.

  At first, I was surprised by the small turnout. Perhaps, like us, many locals hadn’t heard about the event—or perhaps we were about to be underwhelmed. Just before the show began, some friends joined us on the bridge. They live in town but had only discovered the event that afternoon themselves. They even swapped their evening plans of watching 1923 for the chance to see what the buzz was about. None of us had ever seen a live drone show and none of us left disappointed.

  The synchronicity of the drones was stunning, set against a coal-black sky and a half moon, that felt, periodically, like it was a prominent feature of the show. Even more breathtaking, though, was the mirrored reflection shimmering on the glassy river below.

Drone Display - Fireworks

I had planned to keep my phone in my pocket, but I couldn’t resist taking a few clips while still trying to soak in the live choreography. I tired hard to just be in the moment but the draw of capturing the display was just too much.

  The show was dazzling, though it lacked the crackle and boom of fireworks. Still, during a fire ban, drones are a brilliant alternative—and far gentler for pets or people sensitive to loud noises. At one point, the display even incorporated a mini fireworks set, however still without sound.  

  The show lasted about 15 minutes, limited, I assume, by battery life—another small drawback. But the vibrant colors, imaginative designs, and even sponsor logos more than made up for it. The applause that erupted from the crowd as the drones descended said it all – we were impressed.

For someone who can barely get a single drone off the ground, watching how these drones glided in perfect harmony was more than worth the drive to New Glasgow.

Some Bubbles Can't Be Trusted

It’s been a dry summer, that’s for certain. I can’t say I’ve minded mowing less often—though I do enjoy the peace of riding the mower around the yard. What I have missed is the sight of lush green grass, and I certainly haven’t enjoyed the brittle crunch-crunch-crunch underfoot when I cross the lawn. Even my hanging plant, which usually gasps along under my less-than-diligent care, didn’t make it this year. For once, though, I wasn’t the sole culprit. Mother Nature joined me in a sort of horticultural manslaughter.

  All this talk of drought and water shortages takes me back to my younger years, when conserving water wasn’t just a wise choice—it was a way of life. Back then, we had only one bath a week, and I often shared the tub with my younger sibling—at least until one memorable Saturday night changed the routine forever.

  As usual, the bath was drawn,  our pajamas were warming in the oven of the old woodstove in the kitchen, and the two of us were set in the tub to play until Mum came in to scrub us clean. I never thought twice about it—it was simply how things were. 

The two of us were happily splashing away when I reached through the suds for a toy boat. Only what I nearly grasped wasn’t a toy boat. Nor was it a duck, a block, or anything remotely designed for bathtub amusement. Let’s just say it was something that “arrived unexpectedly,” courtesy of my younger sibling’s digestive system.

  I squealed; Mum came rushing in, and when she saw the situation, she didn’t waste a second. Out of the tub I flew, like a slippery bar of soap launched across the room, followed quickly by my sibling. We stood there shivering but wrapped in towels while she carried out the damage control.

  I don’t recall what became of the water, but I do remember very clearly is that night, I had my very first shower - once the tub had been cleaned out, of course.

And if there was a moral to that messy tale, it was this:

• Some bubbles are not to be trusted.

• When life gives you a mess, sometimes the best thing you can do is rinse off, start fresh, and laugh about it later.

• And if you ever find yourself reaching for a toy boat—make sure it really is a toy boat.

  So yes, my lawn might be crispy, my flowers might be dead, and my mower might be bored stiff… but hey, at least I’ve never had to share bathwater since. Now that’s a drought I can live with.