Monday, October 29, 2012

Who's Gonna Save Me? Or the post with the potential-plethora of parentheses problem

I have no reason for the post title except that I was listening to Midnight Oil while trying to figure it out.  I guess it could be a valid question though, thinking about it.  I wonder what all I need saving from these days.

Ooh, sounds like a list!

1. Political ads.  This should be self-explanatory.
2. "Fun size" chocolate bars.
3. Writer's Block.  
4. *mumbles something*
5. Cats that got left alone for 1.5 days and ohmygodthedrama.
6. Myself.  

That's probably about it.  At least that's as much as I can trick out of my brain.

As I'm writing this, Hurricane Sandy is opening a can of whoop-ass on the denizens of the US's East Coast, and I just want to let my friends there know that I'm thinking of you and crossing my fingers and toes for y'all to be safe.  Of course this is only gonna be read by people who still have power.  The rest of you are likely ignoring this blog anyway, with the lame excuse that you have no power.  Hmph.

Of course, being from the rainy Lower Mainland of BC (which translates from its native Canadian to a rough "Pacific Northwest" in US English - which is actually an oxymoron, because it doesn't sound anything like English at all - and I have too much punctuation in here now so I'm confused and have no way to gracefully remove myself at this point so I'm going to pretend that this is completely planned and you can't say it's not, well you could, but I don't have to agree and I can delete your comments anyway so NYAH!), I have webbed feet so I don't get my tail feathers in a knot over rainy weather. But I will concede that the wind is worrying.  

(By the way, I know that last paragraph was a mess, but I'm calling it a creative foray so shut up.  Writer's privilege.)

It's been proposed that Sandy and the weekend's 7+ point earthquake off BC's coast are a direct result of my actions.  Honestly I have not found evidence to refute that proposal; to the contrary all indicators point to my involvement.  

I went camping this past weekend.  Apparently the balance of nature was completely tossed and Ms. Nature is having fits at my daring to leave my natural habitat.  I'd tell her off but she gets really nasty.  Plus, I live closer to Mt. St. Helens than I did growing up and I know she's gonna use that one on me one day.  The old adage of "never piss off an active volcano or its momma" still stands today.  If only the Brady kids had figured that out when they went to Hawaii, Greg wouldn't have died in that surfing accident.  Or something.

Actually the news that I went camping isn't such a big deal.  The news that I survived camping is.  Of course, I went with two grown up boy scouts (that sounds very wrong), a very savvy chica, and a two year old that has numerous survival skills superior to mine (seriously, that is not a joke).  I did manage not to cut off a limb (no one let me have anything sharp), burn myself (didn't get to throw myself in the fire for warmth), or drown (they made me walk around the puddle between the cabin and the indoor washrooms).

Yes, cabin and indoor washrooms.  There was even a heater in the cabin.  Because my type of camping rules.

I jest a very little though, I was a Brownie, and a Girl Guide - *ponders if I need to explain this to the non-Canadians and decides, no, that Google is your friend so do your own damn research people!* - and have camped in all seasons and all kinds of weather.  Here's the thing though...on the first multi-day camping trip, I was handed a jack knife** and proceeded to "whittle", ultimately producing a lovely scar on my left index finger.  (Seriously, what numb nuts hands a jack knife to an accident-prone 8 year old?  I'm lucky it was just a flesh wound.  I could have been killed!)

**Brief segue - years later, like maybe last year, I finally put together a "jack-knifed semi" that was named as such because it looked like a jack knife partially distended.  Who knew???  Not me, that's for sure!  Mr. Eggshells laughed at me, but really, flashes of brilliance can happen anywhere.

Anyway, I camped as a child when I didn't have to do all the work, left the outdoor survivalist groups when they conflicted with my regular viewing of "The Greatest American Hero" (I know...I wish it was for something way more poetic, like "The A Team" but that wasn't on the air yet), and as an adult I camped with people who offered to teach me the ropes/fill in the gaps (which largely consisted of me being the water fetching and dishes girl).  Needless to say (which is really a dumb phrase, because it's obvious I'm going to say it), I didn't learn much about putting up a tent (most pointedly does not say pitching a tent because I have learned that well), securing tarps and the like.  

Essentially, I didn't learn much about that this time either, but it was a good trial run for the next camping trip.  Since Mr. Eggshells and I had never been camping together, despite our many years of marriage and the almost yearly conversation of "we should go camping", cabining was a relatively easy dynamic to start with.  By the time we work our way up to tenting, I might have convinced him to let me play with matches.

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