Children Of The Flax

*** continued from previous post ***

Despite my feelings of inadequacy concerning hot cereal, I knew if Leeza left we would be lost. Two souls from THE STATES ripped to shreds and devoured by this eco-outdoorsey-anti-American minded family. I wanted to say something - anything to engage her in conversations but alas . . . I had nuthin'. Panic and fatigue had drained my creative juices. Were I a lemon I would be all crushed and lumpy with the pulp naught but a disorganized mess in the rind. Still, I had to try and convert these northerly heathens into friends, and quickly. A stolen glance at your mom confirmed that she was about 2 seconds away from a full blown case of the social willies.

I opened my mouth to address the group and prayed that something coherent would pop out. It was a 50-50 gamble. "Come here often?" I asked.

Great. I've just used the lamest bar pick-up line ever on an entire family. That may be a new low for me.

Mark cleared his throat. "Yeah. We come every summer. Carl here," he said, jerking a thumb towards his brother, "lives in Peru. He doesn't get home much. So, it's a nice way to get the family to reconnect."

Carl, who was a smaller, younger version of Mark, even down to the hair and glasses, nodded his head.

"Oh," I said, "that's pretty cool. What a great place for you guys to gather. Not a ton of distractions up here." I made sure to keep my tone light and breezy.

The brothers, in complete unison, nodded their heads three times. Not two. Not four. Three. I felt my stomach turn. This was some scary, scary stuff right here. It really was 'Children of the Corn', only much farther north. 'Children of. . .’ what the hell does Alberta grow this far north? Oh yeah. 'Children of the Flax Seed'.

Now that I see it on paper, it doesn't sound that scary.

*** the journey continues ***