With a whopping google reader of over 500 (argh!! *insert convulsions here*), I am officially back in Internets-ville and all that other fun day-to-day life stuff that the end of a holiday entails. The snippets below are just a few random thoughts that came about during my week away when my laptop and I had some quiet moments. More coherent narratives (including photos and bachelorette party escapades!) soon to come.
I have a certain affinity for small town newspapers. I think there is something about the unique combination of kitschy advertisements, local news bits, and blatant opinion pieces that remind me of home.
Take the actual title of the paper, which always includes some sort of semi-witty pun. Small town papers and puns go together like pancakes and maple syrup. Or the front page headline. While the big city paper box will be emblazoned with tales of multiple murders or drug busts, here, the month of July is accompanied by the announcement of the Annual Church Fair. Obituaries are not a generic few square inches of text, but rather half pages with large, smiling photos and anecdotes. There is even an elegy for Lucky, Doreen and Dan’s beloved dog. Letters to the editor tell of the latest controversy over the Island Improvement Committee’s recent meeting. A half page ad, accompanied by a photo of a laughing woman in horn-rimmed glasses and a lei, declares “When U are 21,915 days old, should U be having this much fun!?!? YES…. If you are Lois!”, and proceeds to invite the entire island to Lois’s 60th birthday party at the community hall.
My favourite, however, has to be the RCMP report, written by the island’s apparent sole RCMP constable. It informs residents of the newest speed limit signs and warns them to “please stop when you see me jump out from behind the bushes with my handheld radar gun”. It also details a case in which a man selling $20,000 worth of Snap-On Tools passed away, and his family is unsure of whether they were stolen or sold prior to his passing. The highlight, however, is a personal plea for information regarding the islander supposedly cooking Ecstasy in their home.
Some days love feels like more of a tragedy than others. Today, I sit on a ferry bobbing away from him. Normally, I make a particular point of covering up that heart on my sleeve, but today, it feels a little inflamed and exposed. My practical mind tells me it is only a matter of weeks at most, yet the sunlight sparkling on the water still seems a little phony. Perhaps it is the dramatic goodbye, rife with movie-perfect embraces and spectacularly blown kisses. Perhaps goodbyes, even the little ones, are meant to always sting a little.
Staying in a house with parents always has a bit of a regressive effect. The Duke’s parents are fairly liberal folk, and thus are accepting of him and I sharing a bedroom, given the fact that we do so in our day-to-day life. However, given the close quarters, we’ve taken what feels like a step back into Grade 12 in our tricks to get a little “private time”. Living together involves a certain neglected freedom, meaning that shutting the blinds is the biggest concern when the urge strikes. When staying with one’s parents, it involves a careful planning, that of whispers and excuses (“I think we are feeling a little tuckered out, so we’re thinking of going to bed early.”), of murmurs and bitten tongues, and of creative locations (“We’re just going for a short hike!”). I’m suddenly reminded again of being ten years younger and in the back of a cramped station wagon due to sheer lack of other options.