Did They Say 'Cougar'? Crap.

*** continued from previous post ***

"Oh yeah. Ve see da bears all da time ven ve come to hike. Every summer." He looked around the table. "Ve don't bodder dem and dey don't bodder us."

"Still," I said, "you think it's wise to get that close? They are wild animals after all."

"Ah," said Eric's wife, whom we would later discover to be named Leah, "dey aren't so bad. Dey know vat your tinking. Ve saw annuder one today at a picnic place. She vas a big girl! Ve got a picture of her as she walked by da car." She turned to me. “I tink jew vas dere on yer bike.”

The residents of the table, now brimming with morbid curiosity, (Hey, Canadian or American, humans are humans), leaned forward with rapt attention, hanging on Leah's every word.

She appeared puzzled by our collective reaction. "Animals aren't da big bad creatures dat you tink." She looked to Eric for confirmation, which he gave with a nod of his head. "Last year ven ve vas here dere was a," she paused, searching for the right word. She turned to Erick.

"Stor kat?"
"Beeg cat," he translated.

"Beeg cat. Dat's right. But the name. A. . ."

"Koogur," Eric supplied.

"Koogur. Yes, koogur. Anyvay, last year dere was a cougar right here at da lodge. Ve got a good look at her, didn't ve Eric?"

"Ya. Den da man yelled and made us come to da inside."

I looked over to where Leeza was peeking around the doorway to the kitchen, eavesdropping. Our eyes met. I don't know what mine looked like, but her's were open wide and her mouth hung agape.

"Ya," Leah agreed, "dere vasn't any problem. Ve veren't going to hurt her." She rolled her eyes.

"Nah," Eric said, "Ve luv da animals." He then looked around the table. As if his declaration cleared the situation up completely.

The table sat there in silence. Stunned. Incredulous. Horrified. It was delicious! Jackie in particular regarded the two with a look of disbelief bordering on anger. She was collecting herself to voice her opinion, and by the look on her face it would have been voiced quite forcefully, quite pointedly, and may have been couched in different terms, but was certain to boil down to 'what the Hell is wrong with you?'

However Robert, being a married man, saw this coming a mile away. "So," he said to the Danish couple, "it's Eric and Leah, is that right?"

They nodded in the affirmative.

"Eric and Leah, you said you guys come here every year?"

And as deftly as a ballerina transitioning from a pirouette to a entrechat, Robert had changed the subject completely. If they gave medals for husbands I would have nominated Robert for a silver cross. It was a thing of beauty.

I was almost sad about the oil thingee.

Almost.

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It's Never Too Late Too Have The Past You Want

*** continued from previous post ***

As Leeza leaned close, to pass me my salad, she whispered in my ear, "Oh my God. Now I remember them. They were the people that tried to pet the Cougar!"

She straightened to return the cart, but I motioned her back down.

Turning away from the group, I in turn whispered, "Oh my God! They were the ones trying to take a picture of the bear when we went for a ride!"

I stared at Leeza. Leeza stared at me. We turned in perfect synchronization and looked at the couple from Denmark. So did everyone else at the table.

"That was YOU?" Jackie asked.

The couple looked at each other for a moment. The couples language flowed between the two like electric arcs on a Jacob's Ladder.

"Ya," he said with mild confusion. "Did ve do sumting wrong?" he asked the group.

Before, and probably for the best, I could say anything, Jackie said, "Well not wrong. It's just I was really worried about you. You guys stood really close to that bear for a long time."

"Oh ya. It vas a nice bear. Big rump." He smiled.

"Umm . . . ," I said, "weren't you a little worried?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Vat? About da bear?"

Dear lord. I think I just discovered what it's like to be on the other end of a conversation with me. I heartily apologize for your childhood. I looked around the table to see if anyone else was going to step up to the plate, but they were either shell-shocked by the casual attitude of the Danish man, or, more than likely, full on yellow-bellied chickens. Fine. If it was up to me then so be it.

"Well," I said, "Yeah. You know, inches from a grizzly and all that."

"Pffffttttt." said the woman from Denmark with a dismissive wave of her hand. "De bear knew ve vasn't going to hurt her." She looked around the table as if this statement should satisfy everyone's concern. "Am I right Eric?"

Evidently Eric was her husband's name. Good to know. Yet, in my heart he had firmly been established as ‘Danish Man’. I'm sure that in years to come I will forget most of this episode and simply recall that I spent some time with a guy that made breakfast pastries in the shapes of bears. Memory is a funny thing. No wait! Not in the shape of bears - Bearclaws! That's it!

Ah. . . mis-remembrances. It's never too late to have the past you want.



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If You Like 'Em Hairy, Tooth, And Ill-tempered

*** continued from previous post ***

"Back to the story," Jackie said, "I haven't even got to the good part yet."

Leeza came in with a cart, and began working her way around the table passing out salads and large bowls filled with steaming hot rolls.

"So there we were waving like lunatics. I didn't want to yell because I didn't want to startle the bear. The couple saw me because they waved back but they kept right on walking. I waved harder, and pointed to the bear that was still eating berries in just about the same spot as we'd left her. They waved back. Then they walked RIGHT BEHIND THE BEAR AND STOPPED TO WATCH IT! I mean, they just stood there, inches away from this HUGE animal and ---"

"Oh," the guy from Denmark said, "dat vas joo? We tought," he said turning to his wife, "dat joo vas just real friendly."

And right then and there I knew where I had seen this couple before. It wasn't in Denmark, that's for sure. No, this was the couple that jumped out of the car to take pictures during our bear encounter earlier in the day.

How the hell did these people make it from the picnic area to the trail in such a short amount of time? Did they have some kind of Danish teleportation device that took them from grizzly to grizzly so they could taunt death and startle tourists? I mean sure, they were raised on a steady diet of Ingmar Bergman films, so death was like a weird old uncle, but really. (Okay. So Ingmar Bergman was Swedish and not Danish. It's close. It's like Seattle and Portland. Different towns, same tree-huggin' hippies. You lived in the U District. You know exactly what I mean.)

Possibly they were the rarest of creatures: grizzly magnets. Not to be confused with 'chick magnets' unless you like your women toothy, hairy, and ill-tempered.

If so, I once again refer you to Portland.


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A Lawyer And A Bear Walk Into A Courtroom

*** continued from previous post ***

The topic of conversation around the table now turned to your mom's and my encounter with the bear and moose. Everyone had a bear story.

Everyone.

Jackie cleared her throat and spoke. "You know what happened to us today? So there we were, hiking the 'Miner's Trail' up to Big Stone Gap. It was wet and rainy and cold and I don't know about Robert, but I'd had just about enough. So we turned around and were walking through this meadow when I looked off the trail and there was the HUGE bear eating berries! Right there!"

She looked around the table to see if people had comprehended the magnitude of what she was describing. "I almost freaked out but then realized that would be a bad thing to do."

"Yes," Robert added, "a very bad thing."

"Right," Jackie said, casting a not terribly appreciative glance at Robert, "not a good idea. So I just walked right on by as quietly as I could.” Turning to Robert she said, “ I don't think you even saw the bear until after I stopped you on the hill and pointed it out, did you?"

"Nope," Robert replied, "I can't believe it but I didn't even notice."

"And then," Jackie said, " we were standing there and I saw another couple on the trail behind us. Well, I had to warn them, right?"

"It was your duty," said Robert. "As we talked about later if something had happened and we hadn't tried to warn them, well. . .", he said, letting the group finish his sentence.

”Yeah," Jackie said, "how could you live with yourself? That would be horrible. Knowing that you could have prevented someone from getting hurt. Or killed."

Robert looked at her. "Well yeah. But there's also the risk of a liability lawsuit. If only one of them had survived, or maybe both just injured, I think a case could be made that we could be held liable. We had a legal obligation to alert them to danger."

Everyone had been following Jackie's story with interest, and now looked as if they had collectively hit a brick wall, with their faces, at about 30 kilometers a foot. (That's fast, right? Damn you metric system! You'll be my undoing yet!) Jackie looked disgusted, and Robert looked confused.

Taking command of the situation, I put my hand to the side of my mouth, blocking Robert from seeing my lips, and whispered WAY too loudly to the group "He's a law-yer," dragging out the last syllable and letting it fade to silence.

I then shook my head up and down, confirming my own declaration.

Terrence regarded Robert with a cocked eyebrow. "I'm sorry," he said.

I was liking Terrence more and more as the minutes ticked by.

"A lawyer and a motorcycle rider. Yeah. There you go. Chew on that combination."

I sat back in my chair, full of satisfaction. "And you thought I was the scary one."

To which we all chuckled heartily. Well all of us except for Robert. But even he managed a grin.

"Sorry Robert. Cheap shot. Easy pickings and all that."

"It's okay," he said, "I'm used to it."

See? See what I mean? Congeniality flows through these northern lands like butter on a biscuit. Or like tears at a (insert your favorite Washington State sports team - college or professional -here)'s game. Or, like water in a urinal during dollar-beer night. Being in the Navy I assume that the latter resonates quite well with you and creates an image with which you can connect. Although not the urinal part. Probably. And if it does - well kudos to you my dear.

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Cheap Philosophy, Aisle 3

*** continued from previous post ***

She then recounted our afternoon, and our early evening journey to the Lodge three days hence. I didn't come out in the most positive light during her monologue but she had the basic facts straight. When she was done with her story, in all of its messy detail chock-full of near death experiences, the group, which had fallen silent as your Mother spoke, now turned to study me.

I grinned, and brought my hands palm-up in front of my chest. With a shrug I said, "Whatcha gonna do?"

Desperate to regain respect, I put on my best philosopher / old man face, narrowed my eyes and gently stroking my beard said, "Sometimes the only way out is through."

HA! Take that oh table' du Canadian. Chew on that bon-mot of irrefutable logic. Wrestle that paradox to the ground for an ephiney courtesy of this bald American biker! No need to thank me for enlightenment. You're welcome.

"Or sometimes," Terrence said, "sometimes the only way out is not to set on the path at all."
Gah! Evidently I had seriously underestimated Terrence. After filing that platitude away to later claim as my own I said, "But I think you'll agree, you cannot travel the path until you become the path."

Oh yeah, that just happened. I hurled The Buddha at you like a rotten tomato at the festival of La Tomitina in Bunyol, Spain.

Terrance chewed on this a bit. "Many are stubborn in the path they have chosen, few in pursuit of the goal."

Oh he did not just hit me upside the head with Nietzche! This required a rapid and deliberate response. Go and get all existential on me, will you? I looked him square in the eye. "A well-beaten path does not always make the right road."

Refute that Mr. Man.

Although I had delivered what I thought was a killing blow, Terrence took a deep breath prepared his response. Damn. I was all out of quotes and proverbs concerning a path. If he answered I was going to have to start making up crap.

"The best path through life is a highway." Terrence tossed this into the conversation with ease. Pleased with himself he added "That's Henri Amiel."

I studied this man - this Doctor. The table, now thoroughly engaged in our little repartee turned to me as if they were watching ping-pong. Or tennis. Or a really bad duel. Damn. Double-dog damn. I scrambled. There was naught to be done but open my mouth and see what would spill out.

"The path is long and arduous, yet even the rat packs a lunch."

Terrence blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally he said, "I have no idea what that means."

"Welcome to my world," I said. "I haven't a clue as to what I'm talking about three-fifths of the time."

Terrence laughed and I heard Robert giggle.

"That must be difficult."

Your mom, who had been following our tit-for-tat with mild amusement said, "You have no idea."

"Ah my dear," I said, putting an arm around Mom's shoulder, "what you call my ramblings I call entertainment."

"Okay sweetie," Mom said, patting my arm.



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Character Flaws Abound

*** continued from previous post ***

Your mom had been chatting, (I KNOW! Where was my anti-social bride? Oh Great White North - what have you done with her personality? You've taken her soul, isn't that enough?), with Julie and Jackie but turned her attention to me upon hearing her name. She's quite nosey like that. A character flaw that I've come to overlook.

"Are you talking about me?"

"He said you get lost. A lot," Terrence offered, then smiled at me.

Ah. A worthy adversary. Well played good Sir. Well played.

"It's okay honey, we're amongst friends. You won't be judged for your directional
deficiencies."

I patted her on the arm and looked at Robert and Terrence. "Women," I said, as if that explained everything.

Mom directed her attention to Julie and Jackie, and with a warm smile said, "Excuse me a moment while I kill my husband." She turned to me, then looked at Robert and Terrence. "Ask him who booked our trip and planned our route and was in charge of the GPS as well as driving the bike."
I leaned close to the men and stage-whispered, "She gets confused quite easily poor thing."
Ignoring me Terrance spoke directly to your mom, "I take it he did."

"Yes," Mom said, "yes he did."





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I Blame Suzanne

*** continued from previous post ***

Now that it had been established - and people had been reassured - that I was a genial, and relatively harmless smart-ass, a chorus of giggles and smiles flowed around the table.

Even the corners of Julie's mouth turned up ever so slightly. She turned to the Beemers, "Did you guys really ride up here too?"

Robert grinned and smoothed his napkin. "We did."

"So," said Julie's husband the Doctor whom we would later find out was named Terrence, "which one of you rides the BMW and which one of your rides . . . the other one?"

I looked at Robert. Robert looked at me. We both looked at Terrence.

"Ahh," Terrence said, "gotcha."

"That obvious?" I asked.

"Kind of." said Terrence.

Here was Robert, neatly attired in a dress shirt and slacks, his hair moussed into perfection. Here was I; bald, goateed, bulky, jean-clad and boot wearing.

"I would protest," I said to Terrence, "but it's a fair assessment."

"Just curious, but how did you manage to get that big . . . what's it called?"

"A Victory Vision. A Vivi, or a Vic if you prefer." I paused here, "Although, her actual name is Cindy. Cindy Loohoo. But I don't think you know her well enough to speak of her on such a personal level." I turned to his wife, "Strict southern upbringing," I explained, "very mannered. Birthed from genteel and polite society, if you know what I mean."

From the look on her face she didn't. Julie was going to have to get with the program or it was going to be a long, long night.

"Thanks," Terrence said, "a Victory. I was looking at it in the parking lot earlier. If you don't mind me asking, how did you ride that thing up here? It looks more like a street bike."

"Very, very carefully," I said.

Robert taped Terrence on the shoulder. "Ask him where he rode it from."

"What?" Terrence asked a bit confused.

"Ask him which way he came to the Lodge."

Oh this was wonderful! I had them speaking about me to my face! I was the Oracle at Delphi. I was the Sage. I was in - but not of - their world. I am Shaman! Cool. Then I realized that's also the way you speak to children, dogs, or the feeble-minded. That took a chunk out of the coolness.

Terrence studied me for a moment. Being a Doctor I assumed he was a reasoned man, a calculating thinker. He wasn't about to rush down any path without scouting the surroundings. He turned back to Robert. "Highway 40?"

"We," I interjected, "came up from Carnack."

Terrence studied me with a blank expression. Finally he said, "Why?"

"Good question," I answered. "I could dance around the issue, make lame excuses. Try to twist the facts. Sugar-coat the truth so as to make us seem better than we are. But I won't do that. I'll just speak it loud and clear for all to hear." I cleared my throat. "Suzanne tends to get lost.”

Then, in a stroke of pure genius I added, “ A lot."




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I Grinned The Grin Of The Seriously Flawed

*** continued from previous post ***

Julie's eyes first went wide with surprise, then narrowed into confusion. It was a short trip. Her face scrunched so hard that if you'd have held an orange to her eye-sockets OJ would have poured down her nose.

She looked from me to the Beemers, then back to me. "I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean anything. I just meant. . . I mean Leeza said . . . "

She looked around the table for allies, for confirmation that this situation had taken a weird turn. Wisely, no one was offering her anything in the way of support. Too dangerous to commit to any one person this early in the evening. What if they backed the wrong horse? That's a social risk few will take. Who said our forefathers learned nothing from Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot? It's difficult to explain your way out of rebellion. No, best to hang on the periphery and the second that momentum swings to one side or the other offer your support to the one with the numbers. Then claim that you've been with them all along. Much like any session of Congress.

Back to the situation at hand. Your mom however had spent the last 32 years with me, so her instincts as to where the conversation was headed were a tad sharper than our dinner partners'. She kicked my shin under the table. Hard. Good thing I was wearing my boots, that kick could have drawn blood.

"Don't pay any attention to him," she said looking at me, "he has a weird sense of humor."
I nodded in idiotic agreement.

"To answer your question, yes - we did ride a bike up here."

Mom studied Julie's face for some hint of relaxation. Finding none, she added "Did I mention he has a weird sense of humor?" She looked back to me, "And he's harmless?"

"Mostly," I corrected her.

Julie looked at your mom, then at me, then at the group, then back to me. I had rattled the poor dear. More than I had anticipated. I had to fix it before debilitating embarrassment set in. Never embarrass someone in front of a group unless you're looking to make an enemy.

But you're my daughter. Bursting with inappropriateness of your own. I'm sure you've discovered this by now.

"It's true," I said smiling. "You really can't take anything I say too seriously." I paused, thinking about what I'd just said. "Even that statement needs to be taken with a grain of salt. Probably. Mostly." I grinned the grin of the seriously flawed. "I blame it on a public school education I received in THE STATES."

I turned to the gentleman on my right, the man from Denmark. "Or possibly I shouldn't have drunk copious amounts of cough syrup in my youth. The jury is still out."

"Dat vould do it," he said nodding his head in the affirmative.

Damn, he looked familiar. For that matter so did his wife. I scoured my memory. Had I ever been to Denmark? I didn't think so, but there are several periods in my life I can't account for, so who knows? I did have that bizarre affection for all things Hans Christian Anderson-y. The pieces were all adding up. I'd have to check with your Mother later. She'd know.



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Skinner or Pavlov For The First Course?

*** continued from previous post ***

Back to the conversation.

Now here comes my favorite part of non-chosen group communication - the 'easing in'. And by non-chosen, I mean a group of people, unknown to each other, thrown into a situation where they must interact. Oh, it's a veritable Rorschach Test coupled with some mighty fine Skinnerian interactions, then peppered liberally with a few down-home Pavlovian responses. Truly, people at their best. Who would dominate the group? Who would try and build consensus? Who would initiate conversation? Who would set themselves as the Authority? The Rebel? The Outsider? The Victim? The Negotiator? The Appeaser? I rubbed my hands together. This was going to be fun!

I looked at your mom. She now wore the expression of a woman facing a firing squad. Somehow she made the look work.

Whilst waiting for this cavalcade of fun to begin in earnest, we spent the next few minutes chatting quietly with our partners, inspecting our place settings, generally avoiding eye contact. The tension was palpable and quite delicious. The dinner chatter would rise and fall in the natural sine wave of action, punctuated by long silences.

It was during one of these silences that Julie, the Doctor's wife, cleared her throat, turned to your Mother and me, and spoke loud enough for the entire group to hear. "So you rode a motorcycle up here, huh?"

And here she was, the Instigator - The Authoritarian. The self-appointed spokesperson. I could smell a trap a mile away. What devious intentions did this woman have for calling us out? It couldn't be simple curiosity, I was sure of that. No, there was a subtext here, a definite unspoken opinion behind the question. The dominance gauntlet had been thrown. How dare she use the alpha-male ritual so early in the game? This was a serious breach of gender-etiquette and must be dealt with poste-haste. Swiftly I poured over my possible responses, sifting for just the right one.

"We're not the only ones!” I exclaimed in exaggerated defence, and pointed to our BMW buddies in an accusatory fashion, "they rode one too!"

Jaws dropped.

God I love an inappropriate response. It just makes everything more interesting.



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And Then It Got Weird

*** continued from previous post ***

We took our place and pleasant greetings ensued. Leeza wandered back into the kitchen, leaving us alone with the tribe. We saw our BMW friends seated at the end of the table, close enough to chat but far enough away that you didn't feel a constant need to engage them in idle banter. They looked a little tired, a little warn. Their hike from earlier in the day had evidently taken a toll.

Next to them sat an older couple, probably in their mid-sixties. We would find out later that these were our Innkeepers, Bob and Linda. Next to them sat another couple of approximately the same age, and would turn out to be friends of the Innkeepers here on 'holiday' from the Canadian east coast. Really, is the word 'vacation' not adequate in these northerly climes? Is this a nod to the home Isles? Or just another in a series of 'this is why we are different from you so f' off'?

Continuing clockwise, in the next seats were a couple that appeared to be a few years younger than ourselves, a doctor and his wife up for a few days from Calgary. There were two middle-aged women on a yearly pilgrimage to 'the woods' as they put it. I really didn't want any more detail. Very "Goddess" looking, if you know what I mean.

Next to them sat a very interesting looking man and woman that we would discover were vacationing from Denmark. Three other couples of indeterminate middle-age rounded out the group. I would add more detail but they were sitting on the opposite side of the table so . . . they were 'fuzzy'. Which could only mean one of two things - either my eyesight was getting worse, or these folk were inter-dimensional beings having difficulty tuning to our frequency. Since I refuse to let my eyesight deteriorate any further - and my damn eyeballs know this - the obvious conclusion was that these wispy folks had to be from another world.

From my observations of these Canadians, these Homo Canukus if you will, from the shores of Galaway Bay to these lofty and majestic mountains, it was readily apparent that the entire population of the country was comprised of either shamans or psychonauts, just chock-full of dimensional capers. Oh you deceptively simple Multiverse! You never cease to amaze.

Come to think of it, it's entirely possible that Canada is the metaphysical attic of the North American continent. This would require further research and confirmation. I made a mental note to ask these ill-defined people sitting across from me if they had any 'Nozz-A-La Cola'. I've only had it once, yet no matter how I try I can't seem to get the damn taste, nor the craving, out of my brain. I didn't tell you about the Nozz-A-La Cola? What a night that was! Hopefully, even if these Brane-travelers had none of the divine nectar on their person, they could direct me to the nearest available thinnie. Perhaps I should stock up. We were almost done with our trip anyway and would be heading for home after breakfast in the morning. I could afford to jettison some socks and underwear for a few bottles of the forbidden beverage.



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To Lie Or Not To Lie

*** continued from previous post ***

Anyway, we walked into the dining room and the first thing that struck me was how empty the place seemed. It looked as if most of the guests had left. All of the people were sitting at one table near the windows at the back right side of the dining room.

At that table there were two empty chairs with place settings. This looked ominous. I glanced around the room and all the other tables were bare. Nary a spork nor a knife to be seen. Being somewhat quick on my feet I surmised that much like a Seder, the staff had left the settings empty so that the rest of the table could honor a pair of hikers that had been eaten earlier in the day.

I wondered where we would sit? Because really, it had to be the Seder thing. If not, that meant that they intended Mom and I to sit there, and as I'm sure you know by now the only thing that would have made this situation worse for your Mother, would be if one of the guests was a Cougar. Although, there was one lady sitting on the end that gave an unsettling look to the young men serving, but that's another story.

”David! Suzanne! Just in time," Leeza said, walking up behind us and putting her arms around our shoulders, gently steering us to what appeared to be our assigned places at the table.

"Everyone? I'd like you to meet Suzanne and David," Leeza said. Then, almost as an afterthought she added "They rode their motorcycle up here from THE STATES!"

Two strikes and I hadn't even opened my mouth yet! This may be a new record. I noticed the group glance from my cane to my face as they processed the information. Oh, mis-guided conclusions abounded as to the nature of my disability! It couldn't have been plainer if you'd written on their foreheads in magic marker. Of course since I rode a motorcycle my obvious injury had come from a nasty meeting with the pavement.

Would I correct them? Would I embellish a story confirming their suspicions? I could hardly wait to hear what I was going to say. You know how much I like surprises.


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7 Deadly Sins Committed, And I Can't Even Play A Fiddle

*** continued from previous post ***

The problem with spending a few days stuffing yourself on delicious food is that . . . okay I lied. There is no problem. Except the whole I-can't-button-my-pants-because-the-altitude-has-shrunk-the-waistband thingee. This was to be our last dinner at the Lodge and I was looking forward to the offering.

After a bit of 'freshening up', and a nap, we returned to the dining room to once again stuff ourselves silly. I reasoned thusly: this was our last chance to sample the fare, and it would be 'poor form' to be anything but wildly enthusiastic about whatever they set before me. Gluttony may be a sin, but so was rudeness. Well, maybe rudeness is not a cardinal sin. More like a venal sin. Just a little sin. Oh, who am I kidding. This dinner was to be the spiritual equivalent of an atomic bomb. I intended to not only break all seven of the deadly sins, but also make up a few of my own.

What? You doubt me? How you may ask, at a simple dinner could I damn my eternal soul? It would take some work, but I was up to the challenge. To wit:

1. Lust.
My anticipation of the feast to come was more than mere appetite. Oh, it was far beyond that. I had fantasized about dinner even as I was eating tasty treats at High Tea. I couldn't help myself. Really. Food. Arghlghlghrrrr.

2. Gluttony.
Self explanatory. I would finish all on my plate, your mother's plate, and possibly the skinny little freaks sitting next to me. Bonus meats for me if they were Vegans!

3. Greed.
Need I explain what would happen should someone take a fancy to something I had ordered? Whatever delicacy was presented before me was mine. MINE. And woe be to anyone that wanted 'just a taste' of anything on my plate. Or your mother's. Or, once again, to the skinny-ass vegan freak to my right.

4. Sloth.
After such a grand dinner a nap would be in order. Due to my over-consumption it would probably be best to have Donny wheel me to our room with a wheelbarrow. Or possibly piggyback. Something that wouldn't disturb me too much. I wanted to doze the 100 yards to my bed.

5. Wrath.
Yeah. Just try to take my dessert. I dare ya. And if they were out of my favorite 'fair trade' coffee . . . Well, let's just say it wouldn't be pretty.

6. Envy.
Dammit! I should have gone with the fowl like the skinny-ass freak next to me! It looks so much better than what I’m having!

7. Pride.
After I had made it through such piggishness without a quick trip to the bathroom for a 'Roman Appetizer', I would be quite pleased with myself. Quite pleased indeed.

So, as you can see, I was on a path straight to Hell. A tasty, tasty path without a doubt, but one that ended with a date with Old Scratch himself. Quite sad really. No hope of redemption. And me, I can't even play a fiddle.

I mentioned this fact to your Mother as we readied ourselves for dinner. "Honey, I have something to tell you. It won't be easy to say, and I'm afraid it's going to upset your terribly."

Mom sighed, braced her hands on the bathroom sink and looked at my reflection in the mirror. "Okay, I'll bite. What's so troubling?"

"I'm afraid I'm going straight to Hell. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200."

Mom stared at me. After a bit she said, "Is that it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. There's naught that can be done. All is lost."

"And you're going to Hell because . . . ?"

Whereupon I recounted my reasoning concerning the Seven Deadly Sins, and the inevitability of my eternal damnation due to dinner.

"Oh sweetie," she said, standing and wrapping me in a tight hug. "you were cursed to Hell long before this."

I started to argue but we both know she was right. Somehow, this made me feel better. Hungry in fact. The road to Hell is paved with deliciousness. Umm . . . forbidden dinner. Yum!



* * *

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Hello, Hell? Reservation For One Please.

*** continued from previous post ***

Now I’m going to share with you something that even your Mother doesn’t know. Well, unless she’s reading this.


After High Tea, and before dinner, I went out to check the oil level on the bike. We were leaving in the morning, and I didn’t want to have to do it then. So, with a wary eye about for mooses and cougars and bears (oh my!), I walked the short distance to the bike and proceeded to take a gander at her vital fluids.

As I sat there with dipstick in hand, a horrible thought crossed my brain. An awful thought. An evil thought. A ‘how could you do that?’ thought.

Robert’s bike was sitting so close, so very close . . .

I jumped off the bike and with the oily dipstick in hand, I went over to his BMW, and - oh so carefully - I placed 3 drops of oil on the ground underneath his bike’s frame, directly below the motor. I spread them out a bit, in a trail, and I let a little puddle accumulate on the last one directly below the engine.

Yes. I realize I’m an evil, evil man.

For you see, nothing will shake a motorcycle rider faster than a little bit of oil under their bike. Especially a BMW rider. If Robert had been riding a Harley I wouldn’t have bothered. Harleys leak oil all the time. A Harley rider would have looked at those three drops and wondered why there weren’t more. The consensus amongst Harley riders is that it’s not leaking oil - it’s simply breathing.

But poor Robert, I knew, would spend hours trying to track down the leak. He would never find it of course, but it would haunt him for days. Weeks maybe.

Yes, your suspicions have been confirmed. I am a right bastard.

But a funny one.

Mostly.


* * *

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Doppelgangers, Cougars, and HUGE Atomic Spiders - Or Thursday If You Prefer

*** continued from previous post ***

After Stacy was safely out of ear shot, Mom turned to me and said, "Cougar? Did you know about this?"

I studied her face. "Possibly.”

She nodded her head up and down, but I don't think she was agreeing. "And you didn't tell me because. . .?"

"Umm. . . I was saving it for a surprise?"

"Try again," Mom said.

"I hit my head as we packed the bike and the only damage was to that one, tiny, little memory concerning the cougar?"

"Nope," she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"Wait, before we continue, is this a 'Oh David I'm so mad at you ha ha ha' situation, or a 'Oh David I'm going to kill you in your sleep' situation?"

"What do you think?"

"Umm. . . that I probably need more coffee?"

"That wouldn't be a bad idea. So really, why didn't you tell me about the cougar hanging around the Lodge?"

"Because I wanted you to come on the trip," I said, dropping my head in shame.

"Bingo. I thought that might have something to do with it."

"Babe," I said, "look - I know how you feel about cougars. But you and I both know that we probably pass by several a year just in the woods around our house without incident."

A look of panic flittered over your mom's face. "What?"

"Umm. Never mind. Forget I said that. Here, it's like this. You know how I am about spiders. I know they are all around us all the time but I lie to myself so that I don't go around in a constant state of the terminal willies. You know that about me. Do you tell me every time you come across one in the house?"

"Well, no," she said.

"And so why would I point out that over a year ago they had a cougar encounter at the Lodge? Would you tell me if you found out they had a spider in the dining room?"

"No, but that's different."

"How?" I asked.

"Because spiders rarely pounce on you then carry you away to dine on later."

"Oh ho! Faulty logic there my dear. What if they're really big spiders?"
"Look, you can't compare spiders to cougars. Don't try to change the subject."

"Are you kidding me? Have you never watched any of those movies from the 1950's? The government is involved in a deep cover up. Deep I tell you! There are gigantic, venomous, atomic spiders all over the desert. That my dear, is why I refuse to visit Nevada."

Here I put two curved fingers in front of my mouth simulating spider fangs. "Arrrgghhhh arrrggghhh."

"I'm ignoring that. Back to the original question. Why didn't you tell me?"

God I hate it when she demands the truth. Oh devil woman, why can't you be satisfied with carefully crafted delusions?

"Okay. I didn't tell you about the cougars because I didn't want you to worry and obsess the entire trip. If Stacy hadn't brought it up, you never would have known."

I thought about what I'd said for a minute then added, "But you know I mean obsess in the most positive, non-derogatory way. Really. In most people obsessing is a problem but you, oh when you do it, it's cute. And not full of insanity at all."

Mom chewed this over. I could see the wheels turning inside her head. Actually, it was quite exciting, like playing a slot machine. Would I get three cherries and everything would be okay, or would I have to mortgage the house in order to recoup my losses?

A smile crossed her face. "You know, you're right. I would have worried the whole trip."

Gah! This vacation was having a tremendous impact on your mom. When she slept tonight I would fingerprint her. Maybe take a dental impression, although she was a bit of a light sleeper for that. It seemed entirely possible that she, at some point on our trip, had been replaced by a doppelganger. Now the question was did this doppelganger have more money than Mom? This was relevant to my interests.

"Let's make a deal," Mom said. "You tell me about cougars, and I'll continue lying to you about spiders."

That seemed like an equitable arrangement to which I readily agreed.

We spent the next two hours eating way too many treats and drinking way too many cups of coffee and tea. I was on fire as far as cribbage was concerned. Yet, in order not to 'show up' your Mother, I managed to allow her to win most of the games. We laughed. We talked. We watched the clouds drift through the valley like a river of cotton, the rain falling in sheets against the hills. At one point I happened to glance up from my cards and something about the quality of the rain caught my eye.

"Hey sweetie? Does that rain look a little 'thick' to you?"

"Thick?"

"Yeah. Thick. Semi-solid."

Mom squinted her eyes and looked outside. "It does look that way, yes. But it can't be snow, it's the middle of August."

"You're right. Must be a trick of the light," I said, and never gave it another thought.


* * *




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Here Kitty-Kitty

*** continued from previous post ***

The problem here is that there is really is only one animal that your mom is completely, thoroughly, and truly frightened of, on a primordial level. That's a cougar. She explains her fear thusly; "A cougar is really just a big cat. Right? Think about our cats. Little sweet kitties. Think about the way they behave. Now think about them weighing 150 pounds instead of 9 or 10. One moment they would be playing, the next they would kill and eat you. Eat you dead. Oh sure, they would feel bad afterwards, but they would still kill you and eat you just the same."

The problem is we all know she's 100 percent right.

Mom perked up immediately. "Did you say cougar?"

"Yeah," Stacy said. "A HUGE cougar. I mean, I've seen plenty of cats up here, but this one dwarfed them all."

Mom looked at me and I realized that this was probably one of the times that her look was dead serious.

"Anyway, this cougar kept hanging around the Lodge. Later we found out it was because it had killed a moose calf and buried it not 25 feet from where we're sitting." She pointed to a spot just off the outside deck.

"But we didn’t know that then. So, one morning we're having breakfast and we look outside and there's the cougar, just laying in the sun like it was a regular occurrence. Of course the guests and the staff all crowded around the windows to take a peek. I'd never seen one this close, you know? At least not in the wild. So we're standing there, oohing and ahhing over this gorgeous animal, when Donny looks out and sees there is this couple coming out from under the deck and WALKING RIGHT UP TO THE COUGAR! I mean right up! Like it was tame! Can you believe that?"

Okay, I'm an idiot, but not that big of an idiot. "Wow. That is completely insane. What did you guys do?"

"Well Donny made a bee-line for the door to the deck and opened his mouth to scream at the two to get the hell out of there, but thought better of it because he didn't want to startle the cat."

Yes. Good idea. The only thing worse than a cougar is a startled cougar. As I understand it, they don't take getting punked well. Not well at all. That's why you never see them on Ashton Kucher's show. Or at scary movies. Or at a GOP convention.

"So Donny," she continues, "in as gentle a voice as he can muster under the circumstances says 'What the hell are you doing?' to the couple. At this point, they're like 10 feet away and getting closer, cooing and saying things like 'nice kitty', 'pretty kitty'. It was unbelievable. They told Donny that it was okay, they weren't going to harm the cat."

She stopped for a moment looking back and forth to your mom and me. "Really. That's what they said." She shook her head. You could tell that although she had probably told this story dozens of times it still shocked her. "We aren't going to harm the cat."

"What did Donny do?" I asked.

"Well, Donny is an old Navy boy. So he let loose with a string of words that would peel paint off the wall. I guess the last thing he said was, 'Fuck the cat. You guys are two seconds away from being shredded. Now back away slowly and get the hell out of there because I don't want to have to clean up the mess!' We watched them leave after that, although they seemed reluctant."

"People never cease to amaze me," Mom said.

"What did the cat do?" I asked.

"Just kind of yawned and stretched like it was bored with the whole thing. After about 5 minutes it got up and walked into the forest."

"Wow," Mom said.

"Yeah. It was intense.” Stacy shook her head as if coming out of a dream. “Anyway, can I get you guys anything?"

"Nope," I replied, "I think we're good. Just bring the coffee around every once in a while.

I'll be trouncing Suzanne in cribbage this afternoon, and I need to be alert."
Stacy smiled. "Okay, but take it easy on her now."

"Well, if I have too," I said.

"In your dreams mister," Mom added.



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*** the journey continues ***

Damn, Damn, Double-Dog Damn

*** continued from previous post ***

"I'm doing good! Are you folks enjoying your stay?"

"Yes we are. What a wonderful place you have here," Mom said, leisurely playing with the tea bag in her cup.

Stacy sighed. "I wish you folks had been here just a few days ago. The days were hot, the nights were clear. . . " her voice trailed off. "You should see the stars from here. It looks like they're close enough you could reach out and touch them."

"We seem to be storm bringers," I said. "The rain follows us. I suppose we could make a tidy income by visiting drought stricken areas."

"I think you're on to something," Stacy said. "So, did you guys get to go out for a ride? Explore the area a bit like you planned?"

We spent the next 10 minutes regaling Stacy with our encounter with bears and hikers and muddy roads. Mom had to keep correcting me on little details. Like the fact that I didn't stare the bear into submission, there were no UFOs, and I didn't have to fend off an attack by cloned hordes of Nordic warriors. Pffftttt! Minor details.

"Oh my God!" Stacy said when we recounted the people jumping out of their cars to take a close-up picture of the grizzly. "People amaze me sometimes. What were they thinking?"

"I'm betting not much other than 'Hey! I'm pretty sure that wild animal six times my size full of teeth and claw wouldn't mind if I got really close and took a picture."

"You’re probably right." She shook her head. "You know," she said, leaning close as if she were sharing a secret. "We had a similar thing happen here last summer with a couple from," she paused to think, "Germany? Is that right? Germany? Austria? Sweden?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't matter I guess. From somewhere in that part of the world. Anyway, we had this cougar hanging around the Lodge. . . "

Damn. Damn damn double-dog damn.

See, I'd known about the cougar because I'd spent quite a bit of time at Hidden Valley’s website where they just happened to have over 9000 pictures of a HUGE mountain lion taking afternoon high-balls on the deck. And below the deck. And in the parking lot. And by the front door. And there may have been one of the cougar and the staff in a group picture, all hamming it up and making silly faces and sticking fingers in each other's ears but I may be confusing that with our family photo.



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The Prosecutor Was Quite Adamant

*** continued from previous post ***

After a brief rest we returned to the Lodge for this afternoon's High Tea.

We weren't terribly hungry, but a hot cup of coffee for me, and a nice cup of tea for your mom sounded like a grand idea. If certain pastries, meats, cheeses, caviar, and smoked goods happened to fall on our plates by 'accident', well, one has to do what one has to do. Sometimes we have the luxury of choosing our niche, sometimes not. As Red Green, the wise prophet of the north, states so well: "Remember, I'm pulling for you. We're all in this together."

I have no idea what this has to do with me gorging myself on tasty, tasty tidbits, but somehow it seemed there was a connection in my mind. Oh curse you Canada! You have left me befuddled!

We walked into the dining room to a smattering of people sitting in twos and threes at the tables. The gray light of the afternoon pushing through the windows made the room feel heavy and ponderous. Outside the rain was raging in full force. The cloud cover had dropped low into the hills. We could see groups of hikers trudging the meadow trail back to the lodge. They plodded in their plastic ponchos, heads down, leaning their bodies into the weather.

We had barely sat down at a table against the window when Stacy greeted us with coffee and tea.
"Afternoon folks. How you doing today?"

"Stacy," I said, "we are doing wonderfully. How are you?" Catching myself I said "Wait - Suz? We are doing wonderfully, right?"

"We are," your mom said, smiling.

"We are. Yes. Good." With a nod of my head I turned to Stacy. "Sometimes I think we are doing great and I'm wrong. Never hurts to check. So how are you?"

Stacy giggled. Today she wore a denim dress with overall straps to compliment her bright pink pig-tails. The dress hung to just below her knees where it met the top of what appeared to be white tube socks. Her feet were adorned with 'waffle-stompers', so named for the pattern of their tread, or if you can't get your mind around that, then hiking boots if you prefer. There was a beaded hemp necklace dangling from her neck with matching earrings. Her fingers were a mess of rings and stones and doodads. On her this look worked. My God she was so cute I wanted to take her home and love her and feed her and get her shots and get her fixed.

Now that I write that it sounds creepy. Really, I meant take her home like one would do with a kitten or a puppy. Not that I would keep a human as a pet.

Well. . . not again anyway. The prosecutor was quite adamant about that.



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Chapter 12 Why You Should Never Mention Quebec Outside of Quebec

*** continued from previous post ***

Luckily, and with no small amount of pleading, Mom DID let me into the room, so evidently I was, if not forgiven, well on the way.

We didn't discuss the bear incident. Which made me happy and nervous at the same time. See, in a marriage as long as ours nothing is ever truly forgotten. Oh, it may be shelved for a bit. It may appear that the topic shall never be broached again, but that ain't so. In my experience the longer between the incident and the discussion of the incident, the worse for me. See, your mom's logic which is excellent to begin with, becomes bullet-proof when she has time to stew. It's not fair. How am I supposed to weasel my way out of trouble, with a winning combination of cuteness and humor, when she's had time to think from all angles? There was no way I was going to let what had happened fester.

"So," I said, "that was something, huh?"

Mom dropped the book she was reading from in front of her eyes, just long enough to give me the look of death. The she raised the book again. It wasn't as if she were hiding behind the pages. It was more like she was behind a fortress. A fortress of literature. The strongest barrier known to mankind.

"We did get close, didn't we? I mean, wasn't she amazing?" I said. With no response from behind the book I took a chance. "It really wasn't that dangerous. I mean, we could leave at any minute." Still nothing. "Wait 'til we tell the kids. I bet they'll get a kick out of it."

Yes. I brought you and your sister into the mix. I played the 'child' card. It's a low ploy, but I was desperate. Oh, you have no idea how many difficult situations you and your sister have rescued me from over the years. Would this strategy bear fruit? Only time would tell.

Mom closed her book with a snap.

"Sweetie," I said, stalling for time, "before you say anything - - -"

"Oh will you be quiet," Mom said, cutting me off. "I'm not upset."

My hackles raised. My suspicions aroused. My interest piqued. It was quite painful. What game was this? What tact was she taking? What fresh Hell was I in now?

”Umm. . .," I said quietly. "Really?"

I wasn't about to let down my guard just yet. She could be hiding any number of weapons behind that book.

Mom stood up from the window bench and came to where I perched on the edge of the Lincoln-log bed. She sat beside me, putting her arm around my shoulder and drawing me close. I could smell the faint hint of freesia in her hair.

"Really," she said. Her hand crept up my back and stroked the smooth skin on my head.

"Actually, now that I think back on it, it was kind of cool."

"It was, wasn't it? Quite an adrenaline rush!"

"Yeah, yeah it was," she smiled, patting my head. "Now we both know," she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, rocking me back and forth in a mock shaking, "that it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"And that we should have gotten out of there at the first sign of the bear, right?"

"Without a doubt," I said.

"AND we were REALLY lucky because that situation could have turned very ugly, very fast."

"We're so lucky we should go buy a Lottery ticket right now."

This made her chuckle. "But it was. . . actually pretty cool."

I pulled her close and kissed her. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"Enough to buy me massive amounts of chocolate once we get back home?

"My dear," I said, "I will buy you the flippin' Hershey's factory if that's what your heart desires."

"You couldn't afford that. I'll settle for a candy bar."

She stood, cradling my head in her hands. "You know, you always think I'm ticked off at you. I'll let you in on a little secret." She bent and kissed me on the forehead. "Most of the time I'm not."

"Don't tell me that!"

"Why not?"

"Because," I said, "that's the only thing that keeps me in check most of the time."

"I did not know that. Well, if that's the way it is, then I'm an ogre. Shape up or feel my wrath."

That was better. Who does she think she is messing about with my fundamental perceptions? My reality is based on a series of observations that may, or may not, be real. But it's my reality and I'm fine with it.

"I shall give you a wide birth, oh master of all things ogre-y."

She laughed. "Ogre-y? Is that even a word?"

I thought about that for a minute. "It is now."

“Besides, who else would play the ‘straight man’ to your insanity?”

And she kissed me again. And just like that the issue was put to rest. Let me just say this unequivocally: Yer mom RAWKS. Rocks harder than a lapidary collection. Rocks more than gravel. Rocks more than a cradle. You get the picture.

“I am a little worried about those kids though.”

“Yeah, I thought about that at the time. But really, what could we do? I’ve forgotten my circus training. The most I could pile on the bike was four. That still left two as bait. Besides, I’m sure the people in the cars offered them shelter.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Sweetie, this is Canada. Where people are actually human.”

“Good point,” she said, “I keep forgetting that.”



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*** the journey continues ***