With Polytheism You Get More Paid Holidays

*** continued from previous post ***


As much as I would have liked, I could delay the inevitable no longer. With a sigh and a smile, I broached the subject that I had been dreading. Please, if there is a God, let this go smoothly. Let her be cheered by the miracle of life, and decide to give me a pass on this one. I braced myself, took a deep breath and said, "So honey," I put an arm around her waist drawing her into a hug, "shall we go have breakfast?"

Have you ever had a cat nestled in your arms, relaxed and purring, when startled by some noise transform in the blink of an eye from an animal with no bones into a piece of steel? Steel with claws and fangs and a penchant for assigning blame? It's a joy, really. You should try it sometime.

Protip: Wear gloves, a heavy coat, and a goalie mask. A baseball bat is not out of the question.

"You mean the wonderful group breakfast with 30 people I don't know that by now consider us idiots at best and insane at worst?"

Damn. God has failed me again. I swear, as soon as I'm back in THE STATES I'm gonna go all Pagan. That'll learn ya God. Learn ya good. Or maybe polytheistic. I think you get more paid holidays with polytheism.

"Well, if you put a spin like that on the situation, anything can sound bad."
"Really," she said raising an eyebrow, "let's see. . . .how could you spin this? Mr. Moore, the limo is here to take you to your awards ceremony.”

Crap. She was in test mode. No worries, I'm fast on my feet when the need arises. I cleared my throat and in a crisp voice said, "Yeah, your awards ceremony. . . IN HELL!"
Ha. I've beat her at her own game. Two points!

She started to say something, then shook her head in defeat and said, "Go brush your teeth and shave. Let's get this over with. But I swear by all that is holy, if this goes the way I think it will, I’m going to stab you with a fork under the table."

"In the knee?"

“You wish," she said.

"Fair enough good lady. But don't jump to any conclusions. This may be an exciting new experience! Let's go with an open mind, shall we?"

Mom looked me in the eye for what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few seconds at most. With a dead-pan voice and a slight shrug she said, "Sure."

Ah, my little dove. Her exuberance overwhelmed me.

*** the journey continues ***

A Love of all Things Croaky

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Mom kneels down next to the girl and motions me over with a frantic wave of her hand. "Hey! David! Look at this!"

I look to where the two kneeling women are pointing, and realize that it's not magical hopping gravel at all, but a tiny, tiny little frog. Or Toad. Whatever. These things at their biggest are about the size of a dime, and literally ALL OVER THE FRICKIN' PLACE! Really!

How could I have not seen them before? There must be thousands and thousands of these little buggers! They are all over the road, all over the grass, all over the shore of the lake. It kind of gives me the willies. I mean, just how fat was her boyfriend?

This is not a good development. I would have to tread carefully here. You know how your Mom feels about amphibians. It's a close race between frogs and squirrels and birds and raccoons and stray cats in Mom's bestiary of love. She was enthralled - nay smitten even - and began to take numerous pictures and copious amounts of video of this miracle of nature. I feared, now that Mom was held in a toady-spell, that we may never leave this parking lot.

Regrettably, another car pulls into the rest-stop at this time. I can hear the 'crunch crunch' of tiny lives coming to an abrupt end underneath tires. Now, fully engaged in the National Geographic moment, all I want to do is save the frogs. Or toads. Whatever. Your Mother has infected me with the spirit of nature. I want to wave the car off, but really - there is nothing I can do. It is the balance of natural world. If by balance you mean tiny dime-sized frogs in fierce battle with car tires for their niche in nature. Or toads. Whatever.

The girl, enthusiastically friendly now that Mom and her share a love of all things croaky, explain to us that this is an annual migration. That the frogs, (or Toads - although they look like frogs to me - and I've seen many frogs in my day. I can tell by the color and the eyes and the hoppity-hop-hop motions), come down the hillside across the road, make their way to the lake, and then party like it's 1999 in Toadville. She recounts, in graphic detail, how they had to install a 'Toad Bypass' underneath the road, and into the parking lot because in years past, and I quote, "After a few hours, the road would become very, very slick with dead toads and it was causing many, many horrible accidents."

Yeah. Hitting, what I can only visualize as a 'smear' of toads at speeds just below the sound barrier on a slight corner would be a bit tricky. In fact, it would probably be like hitting an ice-sheet in the middle of a Tokyo Drift. (See, I'm hip...I'm with it.) Oh sure, it would be all laughs for a split second, then WHAM. Who wants that in their Obit? "Henry was driving like a typical Canadian maniac and bought it on Toad Smear Curve."

Wait a minute. On second thought . . . that would be an AWESOME Obit!


*** the journey continues Monday ***

Letter to a Pilot

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September 20th, 2008

Dear Amber,

Well, I guess I need to apologize. After talking with your Mom I found out you're not going to be a Navy Pirate, but a Navy PILOT.

That's cool and all but damn . . . I was really looking forward to visiting you and scuttling a few of Her Majesty's schooners. Well, whatever. I shall get over my disappointment. Eventually.

Dammit! Could you still get a Navy issued parrot?

So, I've been looking into this whole Navy Pilot thingee - wow. Double wow. The more I read, the more I'm thinking this might even be COOLER than being a Pirate! Pirate's don't get to fly. Well, not unless they're unruly and get launched out of a cannon.

So now I have a few questions for you:

1. Do they let you check out the aircraft on weekends? You know, for pleasure trips?

2. Mom says that if you graduate OCS, then you go to ground school. Really? I would think you would go to Air School. I mean, don't you want to avoid the ground?

3. Do you get to pick your own call sign? If so, might I suggest "Bubbles", or "Perky", or possibly "Smiles"? Those are some bad ass pilot names right there and I believe they would fit your personality quite well.

4. Is it too late to apply to Pirate School?

Love ,

Daddio

P.S. Your cat came back. It took him a few days to dig himself out of the ground. I guess he wasn't dead. Just really, really tired. My bad.


*** The journey continues tomorrow ***