(An addendum to the previous blog.)
The Vancouver Folk Society sponsors two folk music camps each year, one in July and the other in the late November or early December. They last from Friday afternoon till about Sunday noon. There’s plenty of good music and we have been there enough to have a lot of friends.
The summer camp is for the whole family and some of our grandkids have attended. It’s a good time. They have classes and other musical activities for kids and its fun for them.
The winter camp is geared for adults. For example they have a hot tub and make an announcement that clothing is optional, but I’m here to tell you than not many of them exercise their option. I’m sure you all know that I’m a ‘died in the wool’ redneck and am rather fond of my clothes, and besides the doctor told me to stay out of hot tubs. So I do.
Let me get back to the subject...Crossing the Canadian border. The border crossing is a little more than 100 miles north of where we live, so it’s a relatively short drive. However, there is often a long line of cars getting through the port of entry.
I like to drink a Coke/Pepsi or two when traveling any distance. One time we waited for more than an hour to get through the border check point. I REALLY had to visit the men’s room and wasn’t in any mood for nit-picking border guards at the time. He asked “Do you have any weapons?”
I responded “Only a banjo, but it’s unloaded and the safety’s on.”
He didn’t smile, blink or nod. He just said “Park over there” and pointed to an empty parking space by the booth.
They searched our car and even inspected the undercarriage with large convex mirrors on a pole. It was more than half an hour later when they finally finished and allowed me to find the men’s room and we were able to continue to the music camp.
My wife and daughter didn’t say anything, but they didn’t need to. I really learned my lesson that time. When crossing the border from then on, my answers are “Yes,” “No” or a minimal explanation. Nothing more than necessary. No extra chit-chat. No being friendly. No nothing, but only exactly what’s needed. Especially if I just drank a Pepsi.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Happy Garbage Day
Yep, today is garbage day. What a day! Every Thursday the faithful garbage man drives up and down the streets of Seattle and hauls away everything that was purged from your home for the last week. This is fine except around this house, garbage day brings back memories that I wish could be forgotten. Every Thursday!
It all started with an anniversary. Just which anniversary, I’m not sure. We’ve had so many. It was long enough ago that our kids were still living at home. Now I’ve never forgotten our anniversary, but that time I just didn’t mention it. The plan was to surprise her in the afternoon and take her out to an early dinner.
She didn’t say anything at first, but by mid-morning just couldn’t help herself. “Do you know what day it is?”
At this point it should noted that if anyone ever kept score, I would be world famous for saying something without thinking things through.
Of course I knew what day it was. Without thinking, I said “Oh, it’s Thursday! Happy Garbage day!” and gave her a kiss.
That’s when I added another item to my “Do Not Joke About” list. That list includes things like NEVER JOKE WITH:
1) The doctor when he’s putting on his latex glove just before he gives you a prostate exam
2) The policeman when he asks what’s your hurry
3) The security agent at the airport when he wants to look in your shoes
4) The Border Patrol agent when he asks if you have any illegal drugs
5) Anybody wearing a name tag with a really weird name
6) The panhandler when he asks you for ‘spare’ change
And of course anytime you wonder beforehand whether a silly comment would be appropriate.
There are more items on the list, but I usually forget them until after the fopa has been voiced.
I have to hand it to her. She took it all in good stride, even though she didn’t laugh as much as our kids did.
That was many years ago and still sometimes, out of the blue, one of our kids will call and wish us a Happy Garbage Day.
It all started with an anniversary. Just which anniversary, I’m not sure. We’ve had so many. It was long enough ago that our kids were still living at home. Now I’ve never forgotten our anniversary, but that time I just didn’t mention it. The plan was to surprise her in the afternoon and take her out to an early dinner.
She didn’t say anything at first, but by mid-morning just couldn’t help herself. “Do you know what day it is?”
At this point it should noted that if anyone ever kept score, I would be world famous for saying something without thinking things through.
Of course I knew what day it was. Without thinking, I said “Oh, it’s Thursday! Happy Garbage day!” and gave her a kiss.
That’s when I added another item to my “Do Not Joke About” list. That list includes things like NEVER JOKE WITH:
1) The doctor when he’s putting on his latex glove just before he gives you a prostate exam
2) The policeman when he asks what’s your hurry
3) The security agent at the airport when he wants to look in your shoes
4) The Border Patrol agent when he asks if you have any illegal drugs
5) Anybody wearing a name tag with a really weird name
6) The panhandler when he asks you for ‘spare’ change
And of course anytime you wonder beforehand whether a silly comment would be appropriate.
There are more items on the list, but I usually forget them until after the fopa has been voiced.
I have to hand it to her. She took it all in good stride, even though she didn’t laugh as much as our kids did.
That was many years ago and still sometimes, out of the blue, one of our kids will call and wish us a Happy Garbage Day.
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