I type with three fingers of my right hand, and two of my left, plus one thumb for the space bar. I’m fast but not efficient. And if someone’s watching I just can’t type. Only recently did I realize that the space bar had nothing to do with outer space, but the space between words. Computers are so amazing. Space age.
Eight years ago this month I had a burger with my dad at the DQ on Bank Street in Ottawa South. I was there again tonight having strawberry sundaes with Suzy and my boys. The decor is exactly the same, but dad died just five months after we were there, in 2001. I remember that night because Dad finally agreed that maybe Noah’s Ark was a metaphor, and not a historic event.
Now I’m terrified of dying young too.
In high school, the very last day of grade 12, in fact, I was called to the Principal’s office. Charlottetown Police had showed up and wanted to arrest me for arson. The night before, someone had set the smoking shelter on the side of one of the portable classrooms on fire. I know what you’re thinking: Smoking shelter? It was 1986. In PEI. And the evidence that I was to blame? My science scribbler was used to get the fire going. Great police work, guys.
I had strawberries for breakfast this morning and only by mid-morning, in the middle of a meeting, did it occur to me that I’d recently been obsessed with them. It was brought to my attention by Dan when I commented that two pens in a row died in mid sentence over the past day. And then I got home and the price on the defrosted pork tenderloin was $6.66. I can’t stand all these signs.
Thanks. I feel better now.
Oh, make sure you check the peanut bits for freshness before you have them sprinkled on your strawberry (OMG, there it is AGAIN) sundae. And keep your eyes on the kids and the future.
