centre of the universe - the dreaming: Back to the Beginning

03/09/2003: "Back to the Beginning" Home.

What a comforting thing. I love to drive; I love to visit; I love to take vacations. But I think one of the best parts about going on vacation is coming home. (See Spirit of the West's "Home for a Rest")

I think I'll try some more of the Christmas Story. Lloyd from Edmonton apparently liked it. As God is my Witness, the story is true. Oh, and hi to Maara.

When last we left Our Heroes (remember; every hero has a fatal flaw), they were boarding the shuttle to get to the airport to get to Florida for vacation. Surprisingly enough, after the petty theft, hotel fire, cultural mockery, 24-hour upchucks, destruction of a new car by deer, and various seemingly insignificant arguments, this part of the journey went of relatively smoothly. Things were Looking Up.

Remember waaaaay back to the beginning of this story? When I mentioned it was about 60 below the day we left? We were really looking forward to being in Florida, where it was warm. Water doesn't freeze in Florida, unless it's in ice cube trays. What a novel idea!

On the plane (remember also my mother is petrified of air travel), my mother has 'a few' drinks. She closes her eyes and tries to relax. She's getting better at this by the second day. So I wait for a few minutes, then cup my hands over my mouth and announce (in my best PA-system static voice): "ccccch...if you'd care to look out the window, you'll see the exploding fuselage and burning left wing...chhhhh".

Well *I* thought it was funny.

Before we land, I change out of my longjohns-jeans-two-sweaters look and into a flashy short green dress my mother bought me for Christmas that year. In the two-by-three airplane washroom, I stuff my other layers in my carry-on bag and strut back down the aisle, gleeful that I would be stepping out into balmy Florida sun. I love sun.

As we descend into Orlando International Airport, a gravelly voice comes over the actual PA system (my mother jumped about a foot), and informs us that the normal temperature for this area is 78. I assumed that was Farenheit. "However," the Voice continues, "Yesterday, southern Florida experienced a freak snowstorm, which destroyed most of the state's orange crop".

Snow.

The bloody stuff *followed* us here...or rather, preceeded us. I refuse to let that weather report stifle my enthusiasm for 78 degree weather. Whatever that means. I also refuse to let 68 degree weather daunt me, which is what our pilot reports the weather is on the ground. Had to be warmer than minus 60. I sling my coat over my shoulder and prepare to bask.

Customs and luggage retrieval is easy as pie. We'd left all the bad mojo behind us. Dad gets the rental car and meets us out front. Out front where people were wearing parkas. I come strutting out of the airport to gaping mouths and staring eyes. I thought perhaps my skirt was tucked into my pantyhose. Maybe I had some of those vitreous humours on my cheek....a third eye at least?

"Yall mus be frum the naoth," a gentleman wearing a toque and mittens mentions.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask, not quite ready for this southern-american accent.

"Ah sez yall mus be frum the NAOTH" he repeats, pointing north.

"Ah. Yes. Well, we are. From the North. Yes." Remembering that women in my family have the strange ability to attract people who really REALLY want to spill their lives' stories, I back slowly away, grinning but firm that I have no desire to talk to this person.

He follows me. "Ah haid a sistah once lived up naoth," he tells me, "she dahd of the TeeBee."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Here's my ride!" I exclaim, trying to sprint across the street without seeming too rude. Dad's not there yet, but I figure I can wait over there. But he's grabbed my arm with an amazing grip for someone I assume is an octegenarian.

"Do yall still have the TeeBee in the naoth?"

I really really wanted to launch in to a coughing spree, but I was a little flabbergasted. At that moment, Dad pulls up in the rental car, I hop in the back and sink down as far as I can go.

"Who's your friend?" Dad asks with a silly grin on his face. I'm about to make a smartass response when I see what else is accompanying me in the back seat. Some Indistinguishable Stain spreads from the middle of the back seat out to the door. There is what appears to be a Sticky Mass on the windowsill, and some kind of strange splatter pattern on the back of the drivers' seat. No, it didn't look like blood. Yes, it did look like *some* kind of bodily fluid. I immediately propel myself toward the ceiling and holler.

"THAT IS SO GROSS!"

Dad whips around, nearly driving into my 'friend' in front of the airport, and tries to see what I'm making noise about, which is, of course, right behind him. He tells me to settle down and just ignore it. I try to figure out a polite way to tell him (without revealing too much about my own social education) that someone's spooge has been left in the backseat of this car, and I have little to no desire to share my accommodations with a billion dying sperm.

Not to worry, however, as the car chooses that moment to stall. And not restart. The old fellow whose sister died of TeeBee is waving at me from the kerb. I am balancing on my toes and the back of my neck to try not to have any part of my body touch the seat. Dad begins to swear. Mum rolls down the window and lights a cigarette.

After about an hour, we manage to get the rental car to the rental station at the airport, explain the engine troubles (the engine appears to be on the verge of seizing), I point out the spooge (when Dad isn't listening), and we get a bigger, better car for 1/2 the price. We're ready. Now to find the hotel.

Dad pulls out in to a street, up on to the boulevard, and across the other oncoming lanes of traffic. He needs to stop somewhere to find his map. That concrete bit was, apparently, in the road. Well, yes, literally, it was in the road. But...oh hell...you get the point.

Remind me to tell you the story about My Father and the Animals some day. That's another story though, and I really oughtn't start that one until I'm finished this one.

But it appears the story *has* lost some momentum, so I'll tell you the bit about DisneyWorld and the football player, the beach at Fort Lauderdale, and possibly the Denny's. But not until tomorrow.

Good night, Gracie.

"A Thought" "Why are 'morning' and 'mourning' homonyms?"

3 Comments

Ooblik , on Sunday, 9th March:

Spooge? OMFG. Revolting.

carrier penguin , on Monday, 10th March:

You must not travel much Ooblik. I've been in hotel rooms where 'spooge' would have been an improvement.

If there's one thing I've learned... people are pigs!

Pig Anti-Defamation League , on Monday, 10th March:

Hey! Do you mind?

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