If G is for Groovy, I am forEezing
I think I just killed spellcheck
It’s gorgeous out there this monring. Windy and cool so that when you step outdise you want to stay because there’s a gallop of adventure in the air but pretty soon it becomes clear that it’s early October and the refreshing part goes away and in you go.
I don’t know why I wrote that in second person, but I’m here now
I always try to drag a bit of the outside inside and write about the weather first thing because it warms me up and by the time I’ve got a few nice and easy lines down, I’ve got just enough bully coffee in me to keep on going.
All kinds of fairs around this time of year and apples galore that are crisp and juicy and perfect. Daisy pretends to be indifferent when I’m having an apple. She just sits and waits, assessing my progress from the corner of her eye, and acts surprised when I offer her the core. Pears, too, are here although just like peaches you often have to buy them hard and wait for them to ripen, which is tricky, at least for me. Just yesterday I came across a bag of six pears I bought at the City Hall market last Thursday. They were in a cupboard under the counter where things get put and are never seen again. There was a galaxy of fruit flies surrounding the bag and I figured it was too late but there they were all very light green and beautiful, glowing with health, so I rinsed them and took a bite out of one and continued to eat it over the sink it was so juicy. Best pear I ever had but I always say that about everything. This coffee, for instance, is the best coffee I’ve ever had although it’s very close to being past tense.
I have a soft spot for pears, which sounds like a bruise or a flaw of some sort but it’s not
I like that you can only get them this time of year.
I used to love strawberry season in Ontario, end of June, because strawberries reminded me of when I was little and the Strawberry Festival we used to have at our public school, you know, when you’d run off with your friends and your parents and sibs were all running off with theirs and when there was just a touch of dusk in the air you’d find each other and get all strawberried up. I don’t get that feeling any more though because every single time I go into a grocery store there are strawberries everywhere, and they’ve lost their charm.
Not so with pears
My parents met at the wedding of my mother’s sister to my father’s brother. She was Maid of Honour; he was Best Man, and I’m sticking by that semi-colon. Next day they went to a movie together, and my dad brought a bag of pears and so they sat there in the dark watching a movie and eating pears. My mother said it was so casual, so easy. He went back to Ireland and she stayed put in England and I guess everybody thought that was that. Except it wasn’t. Obviously.
I’m home for a few days playing nurse which is really not my forté because I spend most of my time trying to unbuckle my knees and pretend I’m not gagging and wishing there was a real fort for hiding
Remember I told you about the photo assistant gig I had a few months ago and how confusing and difficult it was to wield all the wheeled and tripoded top heavy clunky and unfamiliar apparatus? Well that was nothing compared to the weird wheeled octagons and miles of very important tubes and all those protruding legs – the metal ones and those belonging to miserable humans in various positions and stages of discomfort and understandably utterly lousy moods – in the acutely crowded emergency department.
It took a very long time as in 16 hours before things got on the right path because the symptoms were atypical, and surgery was required, and I am happy to report the patient is doing great although I could use a holiday.
I go outside every once in a while and stare into puddles of boiling clouds
People in hospitals are very kind. Even the ladies in Tim Horton’s – which may not need that possessive apostrophe because it’s just blended in after all this time – were very nice even when I couldn’t be.
We all, I hope, appreciate the doctors and nurses who work under those trying circumstances day after day but let’s not forget those who roll laundry down the hallways and patiently give direction to people who for whatever reason can’t keep anything in their heads, and explain for the millionth time how the parking payment system works.
Here, finally, the G is for Groovy part
So I was in the elevator at the hospital, just me, and a guy dressed all in blue wheeling a cart came in and pressed “G” and said “G is for Groovy” in a weirdly familiar growly musical voice but because of his accent I suppose, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He paused and said it a second time and I so nearly put my finger on it, but again not quite, but I figured I should react regardless which I did with a smile, which he seemed to appreciate.
But when I got out of the elevator, he must have realized his mistake I guess because he yelled after me in a much louder version of the same weird growly musical voice, “G is for GROVER… GROVER!!!!”
