Ya Cannot Change The Laws Of Physics

*** continued from previous post ***


Anyway I hope we don't frighten the staff too badly, but I have my doubts. Mom's giving me the willies and I live with her.

Back to our story. The front of the Lodge is exactly what you would expect the front of a Lodge in the Canadian Rockies to look like. Very woodsy. Very outdoorsy. Very Canadian.

We make our way to the front and open the massively planked and wrought-iron hinged door with a rumbling squeak. Soft yellow light spills across us. Your mother sneaks a glance at me in this new light and draws in her breath with a quick sucking sound, for apparently I'm not as dashing as I had assumed.

From the interior of the building a wave of warmth rolls over us mixed with the odors of something wonderful cooking. It sucks out what little energy I have left like a junior Congressmen sucks up donations at a PAC luncheon. I am a leather-clad, three-legged, quivering mound of goo. I have hit the wall and pushed through to the other wall that is bigger and thicker and painted an unsightly color. I am all in.

We stumble into the foyer with our clothes dripping and forming puddles on the slate floor around our boots.

Now that we are inside, I see that the building is much bigger than I'd inferred from the parking lot. I believe this to be true of all Canadian architecture. Somewhere, somehow, these tricky - and extremely affable people have managed to break the space-time continuum and are keeping it a closely guarded secret from their brothers to the south. Fine. See if we bail your asses out next time Hitler decides to annex Quebec!

*** the journey continues ***

I Have Become French

*** continued from previous post ***


Where was I?

Oh yeah, Mom returned with a suitable rock, and once in place I grabbed my collapsible cane off of the trunk. Whereupon, the spring-loaded demon that it is, once free of its constraining tie, quickly expanded and straightened with a loud 'shooook-CLANK' - - - and promptly thwapped me in the only place on my body that wasn't protected by leather or Kevlar or multiple layers of clothes.

Yes sir, smack-dab right in the boy-zone.

Mom watched me squirm and contort for a minute. "See, every time that happens, it just makes me a bit more thankful that I'm a woman."

That's nice," I squeaked in a gnome-on-helium voice.

”Looks like it hurts."

"Mmmmmmmmhummmmm," I manage.

"Yep, definitely looks very painful."

She shakes her head and gives a little click of her tongue for emphasis as she folded her arms across her chest.

I was able to suck in a partial breath. "Enjoying this, are we?"

Mom looks me up and down. Apparently she has a bit of buried resentment and is blaming me for this day. I have no idea why. It's obvious that she's irrational from fatigue.

"Why no", she says, "No, not at all."

I narrow my eyes and point my finger at her in a grand accusation. "LIAR!" I shout.

Only the 'boys' are still fox-holed and deeply entrenched, so in my exuberance it comes out much like the sound a squeaky-toy makes while being ravaged by a spiteful dog.

"Come on," she sighs, and gently tugs my arm, "let's get inside where it's warm and dry."

I start to protest - just for kicks - but then I fold and follow obediently. I have a small, resilient nugget of attitude deep inside, but that is all. No strength. I have no resistance left in me. I am all wiggly gelatin. I believe myself petulant, but in reality I'm just sad. You see where this is going of course. Yes, I - through the trials and tribulations of the day - have become French.

*** the journey continues ***