"Did you eat yet?" my mom asked me on the phone on Friday evening.
"Yeah, I had popcorn," I said. It's that time of year again where when I come home on Fridays I just want to sit outside and eat popcorn for dinner.
"Oh, did you have beer with that?"
"No," I laughed. "Getting tipsy on a gimpy ankle didn't seem like the best of ideas, mom."
"Your dad is worried you're not eating properly," she said. I wasn't sure how serious this passed on sentiment was. Maybe he was serious, maybe he said it jokingly, but don't even get me started on his eating habits. I know my dad worries about me more than he lets on though and I suppose his daughter passing out on a downtown sidewalk last week really didn't do much to give the poor old guy any relief. I did eat that day, for the record. It's the drinking fluids part that I have a strange aversion to and had better learn to smarten up on.
On Sunday afternoon I took a drive up to Gimli with Judy. Before she picked me up I was at my mom's and dad's. I was scratching Elmo under his chin when I felt the sickening little lump. I took a closer look. Yup. Wood tick. A big one. It was white already. Then I looked at his ear and spotted two more, a little smaller. I don't mind ticks normally, but when they get big they do gross me out a bit.
"Go see dad," I told Elmo. We walked together to where Dad was watching a race on TV.
"Elmo has wood ticks." I announced. "Is Gordon still in the lead?"
"No, he's in second. Elmo has wood ticks? What do you want me to do? Go pull them off."
Poor Elmo hates wood tick season. He gets all jumpy whenever you slowly comb through his fur or let your fingers linger a little too long over his ears. Don't try to feign an innocent little belly rub with him. He knows.
Mom cornered him by the back door and I pretty much sat on the poor guy to pin him down so she could do the dirty work. Every time after she's pulled the tick out, she shows it to Elmo to prove to him that she was doing something good for him. I caught a glance of the bugger in the Kleenex and had to put my hand to my stomach while doubled over with disgust.
"Yeah, and who wants a dog?" Dad said.
"Well what am I supposed to get, a hairless cat?"
"It's just like a kernel of corn," Mom said after the two of them pulled another one off. I had to leave.
I don't know where I was when Judy was announcing at her goodbye party last week that she was going to be spending the summer in Gimli. I didn't ever leave the table, but maybe those syrupy sweet belinis got the better of me and I missed that entire part of the conversation. Anyway, on Sunday morning I called her up to reply to a text she had sent me the night before. "Men suck" it said. "Indeed they do," I replied when I called her. It was during that conversation I found out that she was going to be away for the whole summer. The WHOLE SUMMER. I've never had a best friend leave me behind for summer camp or anything like that, but I imagine this is what it would feel like. Major suckage.
Gimli is a small beach/fishing town in the Manitoba Interlake region, about an hour's drive north of Winnipeg. Judy's in the military and landed a term job doing PR work for the Air Cadets training camp there. She wanted to take a load of her stuff up there and check out her summer digs. Along the way Judy told me about her guy troubles with Knucklehead, the on again/off again man in her life.
"The longest we've ever gone without talking is a month," she said. "Without him, I'm not the same. I'm like 10 per cent Judy."
"You know that's the same rationalization alcoholics use?" I said with a sympathetic smile. We see it all the time, don't we? Smart girls with these mixed up guys who just break their hearts. From the outside it's so easy to see, but when you're the girl with that mess of a guy and your heart is in it 100 per cent, it's damn near impossible to operate with logic or any small bit of deserved selfishness. I know. I've been the outside observer and inside idiot more than a few times.
Judy introduced me to a few people she knew on the base. I won't get into it, but boy is she walking into a soap opera up there. I told her she needs to blog all this stuff. She promised to keep an eye out for persons who may be of interest to me. They have parties and social nights up there and we agreed that it would be fun for me to come up and visit. Me. Pilots. I can hear the theme from Top Gun playing already. Hey, didn't Maverick have a motorcycle? Please don't tell my poor father.
On the way home it was my turn at the confessional but talking gave me no relief or new insight into my history. I've told my stories enough times, walked around and examined them from all angles to the point that I just don't care anymore to look.
"You've gotta get on writing that book of yours," Judy said. "I read your blog the other day and my heart just went out to you."
I was avoiding it all weekend but when I got home on Sunday night I did do a little bit of writing. Not enough, but a start, thanks to Judy's little nudge of encouragement. Feel free to nag me at random with reminders to keep it up. I'm not the best at self-discipline.
"Yeah, I had popcorn," I said. It's that time of year again where when I come home on Fridays I just want to sit outside and eat popcorn for dinner.
"Oh, did you have beer with that?"
"No," I laughed. "Getting tipsy on a gimpy ankle didn't seem like the best of ideas, mom."
"Your dad is worried you're not eating properly," she said. I wasn't sure how serious this passed on sentiment was. Maybe he was serious, maybe he said it jokingly, but don't even get me started on his eating habits. I know my dad worries about me more than he lets on though and I suppose his daughter passing out on a downtown sidewalk last week really didn't do much to give the poor old guy any relief. I did eat that day, for the record. It's the drinking fluids part that I have a strange aversion to and had better learn to smarten up on.
On Sunday afternoon I took a drive up to Gimli with Judy. Before she picked me up I was at my mom's and dad's. I was scratching Elmo under his chin when I felt the sickening little lump. I took a closer look. Yup. Wood tick. A big one. It was white already. Then I looked at his ear and spotted two more, a little smaller. I don't mind ticks normally, but when they get big they do gross me out a bit.
"Go see dad," I told Elmo. We walked together to where Dad was watching a race on TV.
"Elmo has wood ticks." I announced. "Is Gordon still in the lead?"
"No, he's in second. Elmo has wood ticks? What do you want me to do? Go pull them off."
Poor Elmo hates wood tick season. He gets all jumpy whenever you slowly comb through his fur or let your fingers linger a little too long over his ears. Don't try to feign an innocent little belly rub with him. He knows.
Mom cornered him by the back door and I pretty much sat on the poor guy to pin him down so she could do the dirty work. Every time after she's pulled the tick out, she shows it to Elmo to prove to him that she was doing something good for him. I caught a glance of the bugger in the Kleenex and had to put my hand to my stomach while doubled over with disgust.
"Yeah, and who wants a dog?" Dad said.
"Well what am I supposed to get, a hairless cat?"
"It's just like a kernel of corn," Mom said after the two of them pulled another one off. I had to leave.
I don't know where I was when Judy was announcing at her goodbye party last week that she was going to be spending the summer in Gimli. I didn't ever leave the table, but maybe those syrupy sweet belinis got the better of me and I missed that entire part of the conversation. Anyway, on Sunday morning I called her up to reply to a text she had sent me the night before. "Men suck" it said. "Indeed they do," I replied when I called her. It was during that conversation I found out that she was going to be away for the whole summer. The WHOLE SUMMER. I've never had a best friend leave me behind for summer camp or anything like that, but I imagine this is what it would feel like. Major suckage.
Gimli is a small beach/fishing town in the Manitoba Interlake region, about an hour's drive north of Winnipeg. Judy's in the military and landed a term job doing PR work for the Air Cadets training camp there. She wanted to take a load of her stuff up there and check out her summer digs. Along the way Judy told me about her guy troubles with Knucklehead, the on again/off again man in her life.
"The longest we've ever gone without talking is a month," she said. "Without him, I'm not the same. I'm like 10 per cent Judy."
"You know that's the same rationalization alcoholics use?" I said with a sympathetic smile. We see it all the time, don't we? Smart girls with these mixed up guys who just break their hearts. From the outside it's so easy to see, but when you're the girl with that mess of a guy and your heart is in it 100 per cent, it's damn near impossible to operate with logic or any small bit of deserved selfishness. I know. I've been the outside observer and inside idiot more than a few times.
Judy introduced me to a few people she knew on the base. I won't get into it, but boy is she walking into a soap opera up there. I told her she needs to blog all this stuff. She promised to keep an eye out for persons who may be of interest to me. They have parties and social nights up there and we agreed that it would be fun for me to come up and visit. Me. Pilots. I can hear the theme from Top Gun playing already. Hey, didn't Maverick have a motorcycle? Please don't tell my poor father.
On the way home it was my turn at the confessional but talking gave me no relief or new insight into my history. I've told my stories enough times, walked around and examined them from all angles to the point that I just don't care anymore to look.
"You've gotta get on writing that book of yours," Judy said. "I read your blog the other day and my heart just went out to you."
I was avoiding it all weekend but when I got home on Sunday night I did do a little bit of writing. Not enough, but a start, thanks to Judy's little nudge of encouragement. Feel free to nag me at random with reminders to keep it up. I'm not the best at self-discipline.
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