Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These And Who Am I To Disagree?

*** continued from previous post ***


Luckily, nature intervened on my behalf so unpleasantness was avoided. Mom woke me again, only this time with a "David! David! Get the camera and come here!"

I cracked open one eye, dreams still flitting across my synapses light as butterflies, and I couldn't figure out why Mom wanted a picture of me running down a hallway being chased by a grizzly in a pink tutu while an elk played goalie at the other end. Then, the world swam into solidity and I saw that she was standing by the glass door to the balcony, towel wrapped around her head, pointing excitedly at something down below.

"Grrrrk", I said, quite plainly. My vocal dexterity of moments before gone. Stupid tongue paralysis. I opened my mouth and tried again. "Whatizit?"

“Just get the camera and come here!"

I bounced out of bed and promptly smacked my knee on a log. Really, who the hell builds a bed out of logs anyway? Poor lumberjacks? Beavers forced into labor camps? Carpenters with a raw timber fetish? I managed to teeter over and grabbed the camera off of the end table closest to the bed, then hobble-gimped over to where your mom was fairly bouncing by the window.

"Look!"

Remember that we hadn't seen the view from 'Moose Snot' in the daylight, so you can excuse my sleep-addled brain as it struggled to interpret what I saw.

A postcard. That's the only way to describe the scene spread out before me . . . a flippin' postcard. In the daylight we saw that our room sat perched on a small bank 25 feet, (or 7.93 NLM - that's nano-liter-meters to you plebeians), above the valley floor, and overlooked that same gorgeous meadow that we had traveled by in the twilight. Iridescent green grasses, lush bush, and a small stream that looked close enough to touch lay before us. The meadow widened close to the Lodge, playing over hollows and slight slopes for a half a mile. (Oh I said mile, yes I did. So SNAPS!) Then the green blanket gave way to a gentle hill and the grasses transitioned to scattered trees. After a short distance the trees gave way to the dense forest of the foothills, that then climbed rapidly into some of the most stunning mountains I've ever had the privilege to view.

*** the journey continues ***

Lets Play A Game

*** continued from previous post ***


While Mom enjoyed a good scrubbing, I busied myself the way I do most mornings and promptly fell back asleep.

This time not the sleep of the dead, but more like 'Hey it's really cold because it's December and the electricity is out so let's bring that big honkin' BBQ into the house, fill 'er to the the brim with briquettes, and fire that baby up! That'll warm us all toasty and put a healthy glow into the kid's cheeks' kind of sleep.

Wait a sec. . . . ummm . . . I guess that's the sleep of the dead as well.

I don't know if you're aware, but another of Mom's and my favorite games is: If-David-Falls-Back-Asleep-Don't-Wake-Him-Until-It's-Five-Minutes-Before-The-Time-We-Have-To-Leave.

It's not my favorite game, as waking up in a modified panic does funny things to my heart and can cast a pall over my morning, but your mother has grown quite fond of it over the years. I don't share her enthusiasm, but she puts up with quite a bit from me so I allow her these simple pleasures.

I've asked her many, many, many times why she does this to me, to which she replies, "I woke you once. Be an adult and get your keister out of bed."

Silly, silly Mom. I've tried to explain to her that obviously, after all these years she KNOWS I'm going to fall back asleep, so why play this silly charade? Why not just wake me again?

To which she replies that I KNOW she won't wake me again, and I KNOW that I have to get up, so why do I insist on playing this silly charade and just get the hell out of bed?

Oh . . . now I get it! Gah! Well played good woman. I’ve done been bamboozled with me own logic.

*** the journey continues ***

Zippity Doo Dah!

*** Okay, back to the fun ***


Mom was the first to spring out of bed. Well, spring might be too strong a word. Slithered is more like it. You can’t imagine how many muscles you use riding a motorcycle. Then add several hours of intense panic on top of that and it tends to tax the tendons a bit. Think of a rubber band that's been twisted along its length, oh . . . several thousand times.

I pried my eyes open and managed a garbled, "Morning tiger."

Mom looked at me through the fog of sleep. Her eyes squinty and puffy, and with a slight hint of drool around the corners of her mouth. "Morning," she mumbled.

"Sleep well last night?"

"Oh yeah. I don't think I moved once my head hit the pillow. Completely exhausted. How about you?"

"Like a baby. Or like someone that's been sedated. And none of the dentist office, 'we're going to give you something to help you relax' sedation. I'm talking the good stuff. The major surgery sedation. The black hole sedation. The 'Okay, the procedure will take about 7 hours so we're giving you . . . time to wake up! It's all over!' sedation."

She looked at me, blinking. "Well. I guess that's good. I'm going to go take a shower. We have about 45 minutes until breakfast."

She gave me a quizzical look, trying to decide if she was going to bring up the fact that we were going to be eating 'family style' with a group of people that may, or may not, be hostile. I saw her calculate, saw the wheels spin, and finally - thank Jeebus - she decided that this particular battle could wait until she'd washed the cobwebs from her brain.

"Okey doke. I'll be here," I said with what I hoped was a friendly grin. I very much wanted the day to start out right.

She looked at me hard. As if she hadn't decided whether my still being here was a positive or a negative. Oh cruel woman, must you carry a grudge? I hadn't had her close to death in what . . . 9 hours? Some people just can't let go. Sad really. Anyway, with a shrug she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. I had survived one of the most dangerous times of the day - pre-shower. Whatever followed should be a piece of cake.

Or so I told myself.

Chapter 8 - Breakfast With Canadians

*** Continued from previous post ***

October 1st, 2008

Dear Amber,

It was good to hear your voice on the phone the other day.

I had no idea they were working you that hard. Sand up your what again?

Still all quiet on the western front. Nothing to report around here. Well, nothing that our lawyer will let us discuss anyway.

Oh! Good news! We got the woodchucks out of your room! Not the smell, but we’re working on that.

Love you,

Daddio
 




Chapter 8

Breakfast With Canadians. What...no bacon?



As I've said before, sleep comes in a variety of flavors, textures, and colors. Notice that I didn't use 'colour', Canada has not drilled so deep into my soul that I'm throwing extra vowels hither and yon simply for the lulz. To whit: there is the fitful slumber of the damned - it is as bitter and dark as a cup of fast-food coffee. There is the troubled dreaming sleep - it has the flavor and color of an old apple, mostly it's good, but every once in a while you hit a spot that makes you want to scream. There is the evil sleep where you dream that you are awake and can't GET to sleep, and is the color of copper leaving a foul, foul tang on the tongue.

My personal favorite sleep is the sleep of the dead. It has no flavor or color. You know, much like supermarket sushi. This was the sleep of our first night at Hidden Valley and it was, to put it mildly, glorious.

We awoke early - very early - to the first glow of dawn peeking from behind the mountains, their hulk blocking the sun, punching perfect silhouettes in the brightening sky.

I assume that is what we would have seen had it not been foggy and gray and raining. Again or still. I didn't care. I was dry! Let the heavens descend! The point being we were refreshed, rested, and ready to take on whatever adventures the day would bring, as long as those adventures took place indoors and included a lot of napping.

*** the journey continues ***

Everything's Better With Cake

*** continued from previous post ***


"Our special Rocky Mountain Mud Cake with double Swiss chocolate sauce and hand-turned vanilla ice cream. I hope you left room."

Silly, silly Leeza. It was chocolate. Your mother would slice open her own stomach to make room for chocolate, especially after a day like today.

"Oh my. Leeza, if this is anything like the rest of our meal, you are the Devil." I said with a smile.

Leeza gave a small laugh and leaned down to whisper, "This is my absolute favorite. I make sure that the cook bakes an extra cake just so the staff can have a treat."

"I am so stuffed . . . but this looks so good . . . " Mom said as she picked up a fork.
We all knew that it was a display of etiquette for social interaction, and what she really wanted to do was face-plant directly into the icing. She pulled the cake close to her, and took a tentative bite making sure to get equal portions of cake and frosting and chocolate sauce. She gently placed the bite in her mouth, letting it rest on her tongue. I saw her eyes close, and her upper body wilt into ecstasy. She swallowed.

"Oh . . . oh yeah. That's good." She took a larger bite. “I mean REALLY good."

Leeza smiled and patted her arm. "Glad you like it. Stay here as long as you like, there is no need to rush off when you finish."

"Give the cook our compliments. Simply wonderful."

"I will," she said over her shoulder. And with that Leeza disappeared into the depths of the Lodge. Probably to churn more butter. Or prepare a pep-talk for the bees.

For the first time in what seemed like forever all was right with the world.
Much to both our surprise we managed to finish our cake. We then scampered back to the room where, warm, dry and with the lights off we were asleep in seconds.

Take that Canada. We, the people from THE STATES, had survived your worst and come through in one piece.

Mostly.

End of Chapter 7

*** the journey continues ***

The Water Had Not Been Kind

*** continued from previous post ***


Your mother glared, but held her tongue. She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

I busied myself with draping various pieces of wet clothing about the room. When I finished, it looked like a washing machine had spontaneously exploded and disgorged its contents helter-skelter. I tried to make it a bit tidier, but it was no use. I didn't have the energy.

I heard the water run in the shower, and, when I was sure it was safe, stripped off my wet gear and clothes. Several hours being damp had - in NO sense of the word - been kind. I disgusted even myself. I collapsed on the bed in a damp, wrinkly heap.

Mom finished in the shower and said with a refreshed sigh, "Okay. Your turn." She walked back into the bedroom, and I was glad to see some color in her face. She glanced around our quarters at first quizzically, then with a bit of disgust. Finally with a shrug she gave up. It made me sad to see the spunk gone out of her. There were pants hanging from curtain rods, socks adorning the arms of chairs and the sofa, and underwear draped over lampshades. You know, much like a dorm room on a Sunday morning.

She shook her head and massaged her temples. "Go take a shower. I'm starving."

Without further ado, or comment, I did as I was told.

I have had many a shower in my life, but none ever felt as grand as this one. I could have just stood there all night, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the past 14 hours emerging in the morning as refreshed as a converted Catholic after confession. But I knew your mom was waiting, and it was wayyyyyyyy past her dinner time, and I wanted to put this all behind us and make a fresh start. So I hurriedly washed, dried, and put on some (semi) dry clothes, and sprang from the bathroom fresh as a daisy. If that daisy had been sitting in a flea market flower stall for the last week slowly fossilizing.

Had we really only been gone from home two days? Felt more like two months.

*** the journey continues ***

Moose-snot Roost? What the . . .

*** continued from previous post ***


Leeza shook her head as if coming out of a dream. "Well you have had quite a day. Quite a day indeed and as anxious as I am to hear the details I think we'd better get you out of those we clothes before you freeze completely. Stacy, please show David and Suzanne to their room."

Stacy wore two brilliant, neon pink pig-tails on top of her head, exactly like 'Red' from Fraggle Rock. She was pierced in the lips, nose, and eyebrow. I could see tats on her arms and stomach. Heavy blue and black eye shadow completed the look. She was adorable!

Stacy smiled, and took your mom by the elbow, steering her back towards the front door. "Come on guys, let's get you warm and dry."

Mom followed Stacy, and with a brief goodbye to our new hosts, I followed your mother. As soon as we cleared the door, I could hear the buzz of conversation erupt behind us.

"We've got you booked into the 'Moose-Snot Roost' for three nights, is that right?", she asked as we stepped into the darkness. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a flashlight playing over the Vision in the parking lot. Evidently Donny was making a thorough inspection.

"Ummmmm . . .", I stammered. Moose-Snot Roost? What the hell? I'm all one for adventure, but that seldom requires moose mucus.

"Don't be put off by the name," Stacy giggled. It's one of the best rooms in the place. The balcony sits right over the Moose-wallow. You'll be able to watch the moose come and go all day. So close that you could reach out and touch them." She giggled a bit, then stopped in dead her tracks, so quickly Mom almost ran into her, and in the dim light of the porch lamps I could see a severely concerned look flit across brow. "But don't - okay? I mean, don't try to touch a moose. Although they look all cuddly they're wild animals. And sometimes, you'll run into one that's aggressive. Some of them have quite bad attitudes."

"Oh," I said. "We know. The one that was standing in the road blocking our path flipped us off."

Stacy studied us then, trying to decide if she should call for reinforcements when her face brightened. "Oh! You're joking!" She giggled. "Good one eh?"

I wanted to explain that in our Universe, the moose really had flipped us off, but thought better of it. You can only expose so much of yourself at the beginning of a relationship. Otherwise people tend to avoid you. Or run. Or possibly call the authorities. But that's just been my experience, your mileage may vary.

*** the journey continues ***

Chapter 3 - Of Ferries and Frogs and Vegans oh my!

*** continued from previous post ***

When last we met our daring duo, sleep had descended on the famished pair as they hunkered, like suspicious lab-rats, in a small Canadian tourist town populated by high-strangeness and low expectations. And this, with the first Michelangelo-esque stirrings of the dawn-clad world, is where we pick up their story.

After a sweet night in the arms of Morpheus, (No, not the guy from the 'Matrix', that's just weird. The Greek God Morpheus. You know, the one that. . . aw forget it. I've bored myself), Mom and I awoke simultaneously at 5:00 in the AM. Remember, we'd collapsed about 9 PM the night before - did I mention we were tired? - so this was no surprise. Exhaustion will do that to you - give you the sleep-of-the-dead as a consolation prize for pushing your body far, far beyond its limits. Or, if the nocturnal sojourn is a little lighter, the nap-of-the-quite-seriously-ill. Possibly the doze-of-the-I-think-I'm-coming-down-with-a-bug'. Whatever. We were rested, refreshed, wondrously hungry, and blessedly suffering almost total amnesia concerning most of the unpleasantness of the previous day.

You know, much like the Bush Administration.

However, as charming as things appeared in dawn's early light, we were ready to beat a hasty retreat from "Casa de Whacked", and get back on the road. We, (I need another word for 'blind optimism'. Maybe 'foolhardy cheer'. 'Idiotic hope'. Hmmm . . . I'll figure something out.), anyway, we, in our blithering stupidity, convinced ourselves that what lie up the road had to be better than what lay behind us. So, time to throw our crap back on the bike, shake the mud off our boots, and get the hell out of Dodge.


*** the journey continues tomorrow ***