Monday, June 12, 2006
Oh golly!
What started as a very good weekend ended in nothing but oddness and worry. Shall I proceed chronologically? Of course I shall.
I got to see my dad for the first time in a long time. I traveled to Edmonton to stay with Walt and Terry, Aunty Terry and Uncle Walt for when I was growing up, and to visit with them and my parents. My dad was partaking in a golf tourney that pitted his home club of Uplands against an Edmonton club called Highlands. Also, he was picking up Walt’s brand spanking new golf cart to take back to their home club. Anyway, I got to visit with my pop and also got to watch the Oilers beat the Hurricanes. That was a pretty good game with all the right elements of suspense and action. However, my lack of knowledge of the game let slip when I made it know that I had no idea how an icing call was made. Apparently its when the puck travels over two red lines. Now I know, and knowing is half the battle. Can I hear a “Yo Joe?”
Oh, I also let slip that I didn’t know Chris Christopherson was a country and western singer. Almost a sin in my dad’s books. Almost!
I got a bit of free time to myself after Walt showed me around his place of business. I really appreciated that because my place of work deals with his place of work, and so now I know exactly what it is we’re dealing with. After the tour, I went to West Edmonton Mall. Have any of you ever been here? It’s massive. But I really don’t know why people go there to shop. I’d just go there for the submarines, huge indoor water park, indoor theme park, skating on their NHL sized skating rink, mini golf and a host of movie theatres ranging from regular to IMAX sized. It’s nuts! I even stopped to watch a sea world style show involving actors and sea lions. It was right near the huge pirate ship and bumper boats. Yes, I’m serious. You feel like you need a machete just to get through the wall to wall people there, and the guy behind the counter at Dairy Queen didn’t seem to be in the best of moods.
Also, after I left there, mom accompanied me to my first trip ever to an Ikea. This was the landmark that my dad based his directions for me to find Walt and Terri’s home. I was a little worried that I would miss it coming into Edmonton, but when I saw it I realized that the only way I would miss it would be if I was blind and shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car. So I went to the big blue and yellow building with my mother, admired the size of the place, the $0.50 hotdog sign and the fact that they had child minding for children of a certain size, and I bought myself a laundry hamper because I was tired of putting my dirty clothes in garbage bags. Oh, I also bought pot holders because I was tired of my skin blistering when pulling stuff out of the oven.
So the visit went well. Terri and Walt fed us some awesome food which included Creston Asparagus both evenings. Interesting fact: asparagus grows so quickly in the right temperature that it can be harvested twice a day from the same plant. Neat, huh?
I left early on Sunday morning with the rest of the folks. They had a longer drive than I, so they wanted to start earlier so the got there in daylight, I presume. Weirdly enough, the qualms that I usually held for speeding seemed to have disappeared since moving to Alberta. In a 110kpm zone, it wasn’t uncommon to look down at the speedometer to see 130kph or 140kph. I fought with myself to slow down coming into the city limits. Without meaning to, I kind of sort of barely ran a red light. Bad, Derek, bad. It changed just as I entered the intersection. Then I fought with myself again to slow down to a mere 65kph in a 50kpm zone. That’s when the cop with the radar gun waved his finger at me indicating I should slow down. I obliged, and when I got passed him I sort of laughed to myself that I just got a finger waving for all the bad driving I just did. Rest assured, I will be thinking on it a bit better the next time I get behind the wheel for a long trip. I get home, Roger and I get the loveseat, he buys a stereo and everything is just dandy.
Until a cop shows up at my door…
He’s here to see my landlord’s father, the gentleman whom I refer to as my roomy. I’ll call him Mr. M for now because even though M is the first initial of his first name, the cop referred to him as Mr. M where M was his first name but he was using it as his last name. Does that make sense? Tough! The cop’s here to talk to Mr. M about the neighbor that Mr. M and his son are having trouble with there’s been a restraining order, I think, and all sorts of police calling and name calling and whatever else calling. I don’t get the whole story because Mr. M would like to talk to the police man by himself, but I’m pretty sure Mr. M’s intentions were not to upset me, his son’s new tenants. It’s widely accepted between me and Roger and those we have met that the previous tenants were not very, er, respectable to the surrounding neighborhood. As a result, I have probably moved into THAT house. You know THAT house, don’t you? It’s the one on your block that people kind of wish was vacant, but whose occupants are a bane of the block. I hope that if we stay there we don’t inherit the reputation that comes with the house.
Anyway, Mr. M finishes with the cop, the cop says that if I want the whole story that I’d have to get it from Mr. M and he drives off or goes to see the neighbor. Mr. M gives me some song and dance about the neighbor being a nice man but just doesn’t like him or his son. A week ago he was calling the neighbor a racist but I let it slide because Mr. M is around 90, he’s worried about me liking the place and I didn’t want to stress him out.
It turns out that he’s stressed anyway because just as I’m about to go to bed around 11ish, Mr. M comes upstairs complaining of dizziness, pains in his chest and he’s rubbing his left arm and shoulder. I tell him we’re going to the hospital but he just wants me to call a cab and not to worry. Roger and I pack him in my car and we go anyway. They did a whole bunch of blood work and monitoring of his vitals and then wanted to keep him overnight. I think it was about 12:30am by the time we left the hospital. He seemed fine, but he was very adamant that I don’t tell his son. He pleaded, actually, and I could see it was stressing him out more. So what was I to do? I told him I wouldn’t tell his son although I think he should know. One of his sentences caught me off guard though because as he was pleading for my silence, he said, “For the sake of your children, please don’t tell my son.” What the heck is that supposed to mean? I just chalked it up to him being upset and left it at that.
So that’s my weekend. I’ve been just sitting here trying to stay awake, and then I decided to type away. I hope you enjoyed it because it’s the best thing I’ve done today. What do you think? Does his son deserve to know, but should I be the one to tell him? Hmm! Dilema.
I got to see my dad for the first time in a long time. I traveled to Edmonton to stay with Walt and Terry, Aunty Terry and Uncle Walt for when I was growing up, and to visit with them and my parents. My dad was partaking in a golf tourney that pitted his home club of Uplands against an Edmonton club called Highlands. Also, he was picking up Walt’s brand spanking new golf cart to take back to their home club. Anyway, I got to visit with my pop and also got to watch the Oilers beat the Hurricanes. That was a pretty good game with all the right elements of suspense and action. However, my lack of knowledge of the game let slip when I made it know that I had no idea how an icing call was made. Apparently its when the puck travels over two red lines. Now I know, and knowing is half the battle. Can I hear a “Yo Joe?”
Oh, I also let slip that I didn’t know Chris Christopherson was a country and western singer. Almost a sin in my dad’s books. Almost!
I got a bit of free time to myself after Walt showed me around his place of business. I really appreciated that because my place of work deals with his place of work, and so now I know exactly what it is we’re dealing with. After the tour, I went to West Edmonton Mall. Have any of you ever been here? It’s massive. But I really don’t know why people go there to shop. I’d just go there for the submarines, huge indoor water park, indoor theme park, skating on their NHL sized skating rink, mini golf and a host of movie theatres ranging from regular to IMAX sized. It’s nuts! I even stopped to watch a sea world style show involving actors and sea lions. It was right near the huge pirate ship and bumper boats. Yes, I’m serious. You feel like you need a machete just to get through the wall to wall people there, and the guy behind the counter at Dairy Queen didn’t seem to be in the best of moods.
Also, after I left there, mom accompanied me to my first trip ever to an Ikea. This was the landmark that my dad based his directions for me to find Walt and Terri’s home. I was a little worried that I would miss it coming into Edmonton, but when I saw it I realized that the only way I would miss it would be if I was blind and shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car. So I went to the big blue and yellow building with my mother, admired the size of the place, the $0.50 hotdog sign and the fact that they had child minding for children of a certain size, and I bought myself a laundry hamper because I was tired of putting my dirty clothes in garbage bags. Oh, I also bought pot holders because I was tired of my skin blistering when pulling stuff out of the oven.
So the visit went well. Terri and Walt fed us some awesome food which included Creston Asparagus both evenings. Interesting fact: asparagus grows so quickly in the right temperature that it can be harvested twice a day from the same plant. Neat, huh?
I left early on Sunday morning with the rest of the folks. They had a longer drive than I, so they wanted to start earlier so the got there in daylight, I presume. Weirdly enough, the qualms that I usually held for speeding seemed to have disappeared since moving to Alberta. In a 110kpm zone, it wasn’t uncommon to look down at the speedometer to see 130kph or 140kph. I fought with myself to slow down coming into the city limits. Without meaning to, I kind of sort of barely ran a red light. Bad, Derek, bad. It changed just as I entered the intersection. Then I fought with myself again to slow down to a mere 65kph in a 50kpm zone. That’s when the cop with the radar gun waved his finger at me indicating I should slow down. I obliged, and when I got passed him I sort of laughed to myself that I just got a finger waving for all the bad driving I just did. Rest assured, I will be thinking on it a bit better the next time I get behind the wheel for a long trip. I get home, Roger and I get the loveseat, he buys a stereo and everything is just dandy.
Until a cop shows up at my door…
He’s here to see my landlord’s father, the gentleman whom I refer to as my roomy. I’ll call him Mr. M for now because even though M is the first initial of his first name, the cop referred to him as Mr. M where M was his first name but he was using it as his last name. Does that make sense? Tough! The cop’s here to talk to Mr. M about the neighbor that Mr. M and his son are having trouble with there’s been a restraining order, I think, and all sorts of police calling and name calling and whatever else calling. I don’t get the whole story because Mr. M would like to talk to the police man by himself, but I’m pretty sure Mr. M’s intentions were not to upset me, his son’s new tenants. It’s widely accepted between me and Roger and those we have met that the previous tenants were not very, er, respectable to the surrounding neighborhood. As a result, I have probably moved into THAT house. You know THAT house, don’t you? It’s the one on your block that people kind of wish was vacant, but whose occupants are a bane of the block. I hope that if we stay there we don’t inherit the reputation that comes with the house.
Anyway, Mr. M finishes with the cop, the cop says that if I want the whole story that I’d have to get it from Mr. M and he drives off or goes to see the neighbor. Mr. M gives me some song and dance about the neighbor being a nice man but just doesn’t like him or his son. A week ago he was calling the neighbor a racist but I let it slide because Mr. M is around 90, he’s worried about me liking the place and I didn’t want to stress him out.
It turns out that he’s stressed anyway because just as I’m about to go to bed around 11ish, Mr. M comes upstairs complaining of dizziness, pains in his chest and he’s rubbing his left arm and shoulder. I tell him we’re going to the hospital but he just wants me to call a cab and not to worry. Roger and I pack him in my car and we go anyway. They did a whole bunch of blood work and monitoring of his vitals and then wanted to keep him overnight. I think it was about 12:30am by the time we left the hospital. He seemed fine, but he was very adamant that I don’t tell his son. He pleaded, actually, and I could see it was stressing him out more. So what was I to do? I told him I wouldn’t tell his son although I think he should know. One of his sentences caught me off guard though because as he was pleading for my silence, he said, “For the sake of your children, please don’t tell my son.” What the heck is that supposed to mean? I just chalked it up to him being upset and left it at that.
So that’s my weekend. I’ve been just sitting here trying to stay awake, and then I decided to type away. I hope you enjoyed it because it’s the best thing I’ve done today. What do you think? Does his son deserve to know, but should I be the one to tell him? Hmm! Dilema.
