When the Smoke Clears

Meeting so many bloggers is always interesting. Like beef stew at a truck stop diner, you never know what you are going to get or how it will taste, but there are always a few basic ingredients guaranteed.

I’m a quiet man. Usually. Well, almost always. I can be weird, though, and people don’t often expect it.

With some writers I feel a quick kinship, and I found that yet again in Helen. And I also found moments of discomfort, to be honest. Loud people who assume immediate familiarity send off warning signs in me and all the shields go up. But that’s okay. A little bit of “punch” and a nap and a little more punch and everything was alright again. I even met a Canadian! Friends, you know how much I love Canada (in spite of the dominant politics) and so you know what a treat that is. Plus apparently she is part of some Acadian Blueberry Cartel. I shall investigate further and report back.

It’s also good to note Eric, the blog-father, even claims me in public places. Someone once mentioned about old souls. In his presence I feel like we are two interlocutors in the current century while still retaining a modicum of the detachment of immortals. (Vampires, sir, I’m referencing Vampires, never zombies.)

I wish I had the chance to see more of them. I wish I had the chance to enjoy a full weekend of running from the cops, but I had other duties.

Instead, another detail, the text messages on the side of the mountain came from the Wildebeest. He was inviting me over (well, ordering me over) for breakfast on Sunday. I figured he’d forget so I’d show up, make him feel guilty for a minute, then take him out to eat.

So wrong was I. He was in the kitchen whipping up an enormous spread, booming a voice of welcome. Soon his girlfriend showed up… though she forgot the jelly and had to be sent back out. There’s a reason for it. We ate for a while, slowly, deliberately, and let me tell you, watching him eat in the morning is frightening. Piles of eggs, waffles, 2 plates full of bacon, giant sausages, bananas, and twinkies.

Afterwards, a spell as his girlfriend brought in the Scrabble board. Wow, she is competitive. Almost frightening. Unfortunately, she lost. The Wildebeest and I tied. Not bad for a guy who hasn’t been speaking English that long. Oh, she’ll say he had a final word that wasn’t real, but it was in our dictionary. If she wanted to pursue it then it would guarantee he won. He’d have gotten extra points for winning the challenge, bumping me into second place.

Bowling was offered after that, but I had laundry to deal with. Ahhh… more laundry. Why can’t it finish itself?

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