Friday, September 12, 2008
been home over a week now, though I've been home less than 40 hours in that time. right now I'm at the parental units' crash pad in new brunswick. they're off in fredericton at my dad's 40th high school reunion tonight, so I have the place to myself. it's the first time since I returned to this side of the pond that I've had a chance to post anything up here. I'd forgotten how much entertaining parents require.
it's an 18 hour drive to NB from buffalo, and one that I've not made with fewer than five people in the car since before geoffrey arrived. as everyone knows, a proper family road trip involves a carload of at least four people, with precisely one fewer pillow and ipod than kids present. at least one kid should be prone to motion sickness. preferably, the trip should entail crossing an international border and as many persons present as possible should have been born in a country other than the one in which they now reside. whoever packs the lunch should be sure it ends up under all the suitcases in the trunk.
usually, a steady dialogue pours from the backseat: "geoff's kicking me... laura stole my pillow... pam's pointing all the air conditioners at me... random spilled water all over the seat... pam's music is too loud... geoff used up all the batteries to the cd player...laura's stealing my space... I'm hungry... I have to pee... do you have something I can throw up in? can you pull over so I can take a picture? how many minutes till we get there?"
this time around, it was just random and me in the backseat. by the time we reached saint john, I was exhausted. eighteen hours of giving random belly rubs and responding to my mom's endless stream of conversation in monosyllables is utterly draining. it's been two days and I've still not recovered.
(early morning fog on belleisle bay. the first picture is the view of the ferry from our front porch.)
you have so much more time on your hands when you're living on your own. no one is there to tell you to eat or get your bloody shoes out of the middle of the hall. no one asks you to play gin rummy or come walk the dog. no one is there to talk with you (or at you, if you're of the non-responsive persuasion). you have lots more time to stew in your own juices. it's not that I mind playing cards or going for walks, but my juices aren't really used to sitting alone in the pot for so long. hence the lack of blog posts, which generally come about once my juices have come to a boil and been left to simmer a couple hours.
yesterday we went to town to visit my grandparents, who I haven't seen in five years. today, I had a go at the chuch organ I've been given free reign over and went kayaking and swimming until I'd gone cyanotic and lost sensation in my appendages. then I put on six or so dry layers and scraped old paint off the front porch.
now I'm off to give my juices a stir. maybe add a buttertart to the pot. or two. or three.