Oh Frabjous Day!

The magical day has finally arrived.

Trishkit, the human alarm clock, awoke the slumbering Pookie at the pre-designated time. Instead of being the greeted with the usual "who the fuck are you and why is your hand on my foot?" look followed by a recommencement of snoring that is the usual result of my preliminary wake up attempts, he smiled widely and bounded out of bed. After giving me the "who the fuck are you and what is your hand doing on my foot?" look.

For today is the day that he has been looking forward to with great anticipation and impatience.

Yes, it's Star Wars day.

He kissed me goodbye as if he was leaving the country and is now happily ensconced on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn and a big glass of Pepsi.

Poor thing, he has to work at five today, so he won't be able to watch them all in one sitting. He thought that the 21st was on a Monday.

Thank God for brain farts. Smallville and The Amazing Race are on tonight.

A girl's gotta have some priorities.

Atlantis: 110 The Storm

Atlantis: 110 The Storm

What a way to leave us hanging.

Bastards.

I’ve always enjoyed watching the Stargate episodes that “pay homage” (aka rip off) other movies and television shows. “The Storm” is no exception. ( Read more... )

*Waiting impatiently for Part II*

Marina Memories #1: Worms

Our family business is a marina. My sister and I spent untold hours there over the years. My memories of my dad are inextricably linked with the Marina. The Marina has been both good and bad for all of us. Every aspect of my life with my dad has been entwined with that place. He’s getting ready to retire in the next couple of years and I’m having a hard time imagining him without it. I think he is too.

It may sound strange, but I have many pleasant memories of worms. The Marina mainly sells and services motor boats. We’re located on a river that empties out into Georgian Bay, the northeastern arm of Lake Huron. Fishing wasn't our big thing, but we did have live bait, minnows and worms. A huge minnow tank took pride of place in the middle of the store and scented the area with a pleasantly fishy odour. The worms would be delivered by the worm guy (who looked pretty much how you would imagine) in large wooden flats that held a gross each. The flats were stored in a shelving unit in a cool, dark corner of the service shop. From the age of eight or so onwards, my sister and I would help get the worms ready for sale.

We sold dew worms (Lumbricus terrestris), a large–sized worm popular with fishermen. The worms smelled like the forest, with the omnipresent scent of oil, gasoline and water that marked the marina mixed in. We called the process “picking worms”. A handful of topsoil and a pinch of peat moss would be added to a styrofoam container. One dozen worms would be carefully counted out from the mass of writhing bodies in the flat and put into their new home. If the worms were on the small side (they were about 4 inches long on average), you could add a couple extra. The containers felt warm and alive as we carried them to the "worm fridge" that was located outside next to the pop machine. I liked it best when the flat was nearly empty, and you had to comb through the soil to find the worms. I can remember the way that my dad's hands looked as he would run his fingers through the soil, showing me how to avoid missing any stragglers.

Our regular worm guy went on to other things about a decade ago. Dad is very loyal to his vendors and contractors and especially enjoys working with people who need the help (don’t even get me started about the small engine repair guy with no hands - he's amazing), but the worm guy wanted out of the worm business. The new worm guy has got quite the operation. Instead of pulling up in a beat up old sedan he’s got a snazzy truck and delivers the worms presorted and ready to go. He’s actually the only worm guy in the region now. He also offers worm vending machines, but dad still sticks to the old worm fridge.

I was never grossed out by the worms, I was actually quite fond of them. I think that Dad was too. My sister and I would occasionally attempt to fish from the docks. My dad would always bait our hooks for us. This was an involved process, since he would never stab the worm, he tied them in a knot around the hook instead. It wouldn't take long for the worm to wriggle free and "swim" away (as I fondly imagined), so we'd tramp all the way up the launching ramp and make him do it again. If dad wasn't around or was busy, one of the guys who worked at the Marina would bait the hook for us, the regular way.

I liked dad's way better.