Folding, spindeling, and mutilating lauguage for fun since Aug, 2004
Tuesday, 19 July 2005

     Well, back from a week-long vacation in Winnipeg.

     Day one, 10 hours of driving, road construction, kids in the back seat playing with transformer toys.  If you don’t get how this is a bad thing, think about ten hours of listening to noises that basically sound like snapping, popping, breaking, stuff.  Add in all the lasers and sound effects and dramatic voice work, and you get the idea.  Mayhem.

     Still,  no T.V. no video games, no place to run around and play…we had to let them do SOMETHING…so I learned to tune it out.

     We got to Grand Beach, about one hour north of Winnipeg, Manitoba just in time to set up camp and go swimming.  The mosquitoes were pretty bad, but we wanted to go anyway. 

     We had no idea.

     We got in the truck and drove down to the East Beach, because that was closest.  We got out of the car, and were immediately covered in mosquitoes.  We started running.  The trail to the beach lead through a swamp, but we are LHOTKA’s damnit, and no near-microscopic probiscus-weilding winged vampires are going to get between us and an evening swim.

     Just on the other side of the swamp was a monstrous dune of sand…and what sand it was.  Fine as talcum powder, a nice sandy color, and a perfect fiendish accomplice to the blood-suckers who pursed us relentlessly right up to the water’s edge where we shed the clothing we were wearing over our swimsuits, and plunged into the water.

     …sort of.

     You see, they’ve had a lot of rain up there recently…a LOT...and the lake is significantly higher than normal…which apparently means that you can run quite a distance through hip-deep water, and never quite get covered up.  It also means that there is a massive increase in prime mosquitoes habitat as yards and yards of shallow water have been produced the entire perimeter of this very large lake.  So we crouched down in the water, and worked out a rhythm where we would duck our heads under to rid them of mosquitoes, and then come up for air and a burst of communication.

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“OK, we’re going in now”
 *dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“Everyone crawl in to shore, keep as covered as possible”

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“When we can’t stay under anymore, we’ll give the signal, and you run to your stuff.

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“everyone get your OWN stuff, make sure you have it ALL, and run for the truck ,and don’t stop.”

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“OK, GO!!!!”


     We charged up the beach, gathered up our stuff without breaking stride, and raced (if you can call it that) up the powdery sand dune.  I’ve made more progress on a treadmill.

     We finally cleared the dune, and were trotting back to the truck, fanned dry by the gentle breeze kicked up by the humming of all those tiny wings.

     In science fiction, they often address the difficulty of water storage and reclamation in space travel by having the crews of ships take “sonic showers”.  I imagined a sonic shower would feel a lot like that.

     Halfway back to the truck, Rocky says something that freezes our blood (“Oh good!  Popsicles!  Cried an elated chorus of tiny, buzzing voices):

     “Wait a minute!  Where the hell are my keys?”

     “Oh, that is SO not funny.”

     “No really, I can’t find my keys.  Keep running I’ll be back.”

     Rocky turns and plunges back up the trail, his long legs eating the distance between him, and the water’s edge.

     I know in my heart, I’ll never see him again.

     He’s not coming back, and if he does, he’s going to be shy at least a pint of blood, and he’s never going to find those keys…but just in case he does, I have to keep us going until the miracle happens.

     There’s some changing rooms up a head.  Maybe they can provide some shelter.  I reach the women’s changing building, and yank the door open…no roof.  No roof, are you kidding me?

     Well, the best solution I can come up with is to run around the truck again and again.

     Luckily, the hosts of heaven smiled on us and Rocky was not gone long before returning with the keys.  I have no idea how they came to be lost.  I have no idea how they came to be found.

     I didn’t ask.  When grace strikes, you don’t look under the hood.  You just accept it.

     We went back to the camp site, got into our jammies, watched an episode of Full Metal Alchemist on Rocky’s computer, and went to bed.


And that’s where I will leave you until to morrow, when I will finish the saga of our Canadian vacation.

Tuesday, 19 July 2005 06:51:47 (Central Standard Time, UTC-06:00) | Comments [0] | #
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