40 Years Gone

I've finally shook the bone cold of the prairies. 10 minutes in a tanning bed did the trick. Ahh the marvels of technology. Caught up on my sleep too, I was fading worse than worse than a pair of Levi's last night.

I take off for Zihuatanejo tomorrow. I have so much to get done, and yet I find myself in one of my reflective moods, my personal leg hold trap. A lot of people I know have funeral lists, you know, songs that they want played at their funeral. I woke up this morning thinking about a life list, the songs that have shaped me and hung with me the last four decades. The songs that can lift you higher, the songs that can make you remember...good things and bad. The songs that can spread an unsurpressable grin on your face, and the songs that can make you cry. We probably have more memories tied to music than to any other thing. It's as if songs are the index cards of our lives, our own personal Dewey decimal system.

The song above just reflects life up to this point, it's not a favorite, and it wasn't easy to choose. I've already spent far too much time I don't have on the ipod this morning figuring it out. (Champange Supernova was second). But I think the song gets the message out of where I am and where I've been.

Songs are a lot like people. They come in and out of our lives, one moment they are our favorite and we spend all of our time with them, then they are forgotten until a memory or moment brings them back to us like the aroma of your Grandmothers cooking. You are instantly back in the moment.

The only regret I have after 40 years is the people that have come in and and out of my life. I'm not an easy person to get along with, but I have my reasons too. But each person has meant something to me, and just as the sun kisses our skin and makes us different, happier, warmer, even different looking, so too have those people affected my life. I miss all of them, and I always wish they will return like a loved season or a forgotten song. Between the songs and the people, they made me who I am today, and I am happy and I'm content.

The 40 years may be gone, but they have given me the answers and tools I need to move forward. I'm done looking back, for I am so enticed by tomorrow.

Someone once said "At the age of 20, we don't care what the world thinks of us; at 30, we worry about what it is thinking about us; at 40, we discover that it wasn't thinking of us at all." Fortunately I like that last one because I'm tired of looking over my shoulder.

Before I go I just want to thank my dogs as well, for they too had a hand in shaping me. Sabre, Raine, Skeeter, Reno, I miss you all and think of you everyday.

That's it, off to Mexico.

Adios, te amo.

A Room With a View (If You Just Happen to Be In Saskatoon)

14 hours until I'm on my way home, and it can't come soon enough. I have been in Saskatoon since Sunday due to some potential "accounting discrepancies" with one of my dealers. I have only been through here once in the blanketing heat of the summer, and at a very high speed I must say. The wheat seemed to be waving hello and goodbye as it weaved in the wind as I sped by.

It is freaking cold here. It was about -25 last night, but with a wind that could squeeze through the microscopic pores of your leather jacket.

As you can see my luck continues to run high when it comes to getting shitty hotel rooms. Nothing says "happy slumber" like a one tonne A/C unit outside your window.



Monday was an absolute blizzard, the wind so high I thought I could hear the faint whisper of Mexico calling me every time a door opened. It totally reminds me of Fargo here. It's like the town that time forgot. I wish I had remembered to take my camera with me downtown today, the boulevards look like they are straight out of the '50's. The same old neon signs hissing at you like some electric snake about to take a bite.

I was supposed to be here until Friday, but I actually wrapped things up yesterday...until the accountant messed everything up. I got it handled early this morning, but thanks to Air Canada I couldn't get a flight out so one more night of suffering. I haven't slept in 3 days so I'm trying to catch a flight at 5 in the morning figuring I don't have anything to lose. I can't get home fast enough.

John the Bug-eyed Sprite

Today is the day. Within a matter of hours I will be dragged kicking and screaming down the jetway to the plane that will take me to Saskatoon. I am just so not a traveller, and having back to backs doesn't help. I literally have at most 24 hours when I get back to sort myself out for Mexico. That's a lot of obsessive compulsive behavior to squeeze into 24 hours.

I haven't slept at all of course, tossed and turned for hours with an ever growing pit in my stomach. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning in full disgust. My eyes are nothing but swollen slits. I have to have my "A" game for the morning, so I was playing around with prying my eyes open until the futility of my situation became clear.

I have an old collector car book beside my bed and started to flip through it in a useless pursuit to get back to sleep. That is when I came across the 1959 Austin-Healey Bug-Eyed Sprite. THAT'S the look I need!! I quickly jumped to the mirror and practised my bug-eyed non-committal smile look. Success!!

I still don't want to go, but with the help of the little car that could, I just might make it.

Hopefully I will have some downtime while there and I can try to catch up on some posts.

The Perfect Storm

Ohhh, what to do. You know I just want a quiet kick back kinda, nuthin', nuthin', sumthin', sumthin', night. That's the problem with flying solo, you tend to be subject to what you expose yourself to through boredom.

I will wander to the pub around 4, and try to squeeze in what I can. From the south comes the Canucks game at 7. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind watching the game, it just seems to lose its sheen when broadcast louder than a 747 at takeoff. From the east comes the Ultimate Fighting Challenge 96. A true symbol that our society is collapsing with the same veracity as our economy. And finally from the west, a strong low pressure trough known as country music night. They all meet right in the middle, 9 o'clock. The perfect storm. So wish me luck, and feel free to bail me out at any time.

What the @#$%?!?

We May Have Our Problems...But At Least We Aren't Melting

The Tacoma Gravy Incident Part 2

So we pulled into the parking lot. It was amazing how packed it was at that time of night, especially seeing as how it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It was as if everyone in the Denny's had been the victim of a brain wash, or perhaps a body snatching as they all turned their heads collectively as we pointing the Jeep/Mr. Turtle Pool into it's stall.

Some colourful words were exchanged as we helped the girls out of the back, I couldn't really blame them. The dogs were resilient once patted on the head and promised a hot patty melt upon our return.

We all headed straight to the restrooms once we moved into the dryness of the restaurant. I couldn't really blame the other patrons, we did look like hell. My hair made me look like Bela Legosi after taking swimming lessons, and I had to take my shirt off to wring it in the sink. We all made it back to the door and "waited to be seated."

Everyone still seemed to be looking at us, and the waitress did a full top to bottom scan with her over mascared eyes. She guided to a booth after a few minutes and dropped the menus on the table with the care of an abusive mother. Once we got a good look at each other, we did have a bit of a laugh. What in the hell were we doing?? Anyhow, we were starved and quickly grabbed the menus as if they were the tools of salvation itself. I've never been a big fan of menus that have pictures of the food beside every item, but I get even more concerned when the food comes out looking "exactly" like the photo. It happens every time there. It's like they have one of those Star Trek ovens in the back. "Grand Slam breakfast, scrambled, bacon, hash browns...black coffee, hot."

The waitress finally came back and started taking the orders, me being the gentleman I am (if that is even possible in a Denny's) waited to go last. When she finally got to me I ordered two patty melts on their own to go (for Jordan and Reno), and a patty melt for myself with fries and gravy. As she gathered the menus from the our hands with the same haste she had deposited them, she repeated my order. "Two patty melts to go, one patty melt with fries and white gray."

I got a sudden shiver in my spine (you see I had just seen the picture in the menu). I said "excuse me miss, I wanted brown gravy not white gravy."

She spun around as if on roller skates, a feat that didn't seem possible considering her form or lack thereof. She said "First let me inform you that I am not a miss, do I look like a miss? I have been slinging hash here since before you were born, you may called me ma'am." I managed to sneak in a "yikes" before she managed a laboured breath before she could continue. "Secondly, everyone knows there's no brown gravy after 10pm."

I sat there in stunned silence for a moment. Once collected I squeaked out "Um, ma'am. I think you just said everyone knows there is no brown gravy after 10pm???"

"That is what I just said, are you slow? There is no brown gravy in Tacoma after 10pm!"

"What, is this a bylaw or something? Did you have kids all whacked out of brown gravy raging terror on the city? Lady....ma'am, I've had a really long night, I would just like some hot brown gravy I can have with my fries and I will simply go away."

Her eyes narrowed and focused as if she was trying to use her heat vision to give me a lobotomy. She quickly spun again and headed to the other side of the restaurant. I realized that the din of ever fattening clientele had ceased. I waited for it to start up again like a lawnmower engine before I looked at my fellow weary travellers and whispered out a "what the fuck was that?"

Jeff got a wry smile on his face, but at the same time motioned his eyes up and away from me just as I felt a hand grasp my shoulder. "Is there a problem here son?" A booming voice questioned me. I looked up to find a very Buford T. Justice looking State Trooper....with his hand on gun no less.

"There in no problem here officer, just looking for some brown gravy was all."

"Well we don't take a shine to that around here. You've made Mabel (Mabel ugh!!) uncomfortable and I think it's time you folks hit the road."

Don't get me wrong. I've always respected the law, but this was getting out of hand. Of course I then had to seal the deal with a "You've got to be fucking kidding me? You are asking us to leave because you fucking phycho's only eat white gravy after 10pm?!? What are you people, a bunch of fucking culinary Stepfords?"

That was it. He picked up my 240lb frame with one hand and started guiding me toward the door. My brown gravy entourage followed. He opened the door with my head (nice touch) and shoved me out. "Just start driving boy!!" CRAZY ASS SHIT. We loaded back up in the Jeep. The cattle...I mean customers in the restaurant were clapping, they were actually freaking clapping, all strung out on white gravy no doubt. The dogs looked at me as if they too were trying to raise a middle finger from their paws in response to their missing patty melts. Not to worry, they were more than content with their AM/PM hotdogs about 15 minutes later. We sure the hell weren't.

To be continued....