a good laugh & Back to a Child

A Good Laugh

Phx!

I whirl around to trace the voice that just called me. It's the vice-president, a jolly German in his mid-60s. His bulk is hunched over a dwarfed laptop computer, and he's scowling.

Come help me with this stupid computer.

I set down my papers and walk around his desk to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at the offending screen.

I want to put a space—here, he points to the screen, his finger landing just under the text of the email he's written.

I can make a new line when I press Enter, his index finger thumps down on the Enter key, but it won't let me add another one. He moves his hand to his mouse and clicks the arrow determinedly where he wants the new line.

Biting down on a smile, I say, Press Enter again.

He does so, and the space he wanted appears. He guffaws and looks up at me. I grin back, pick up my papers and walk back to my office, his riotous bellows of laughter filling the office around me.

Back to a Child

Back to a child

March 30, 2006—Restlessness is taking me over. As relieved as I am to be home from the mind-shrinking monotony of work, sitting in our apartment is not much better. I order a Moving to magazine—all about relocating to Alberta, something that has resurfaced in my mind lately, and a CD of poetry by a favourite poet of mine. Wandering in circles through the living room, kitchen, living room kitchen, I finally flop on the bed. I hope the creaking is loud enough for Tomek to come and see what’s up. It’s not. After 10 minutes, my belly rumbles. I want Taco Time, but reheat some pasta instead. Full, I begin wandering again. There’s not many places to go in a 750 sq ft apartment.

So I go the only place I can get some relief—into Tomek’s lap. I curl up, my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around me. Soft kisses in my hair, and I give him a squeeze.

He asks if I want to go for a walk, but I just ate, and with my luck, we’ll be 10 minutes down the road and I’ll have to go badly. We need cereal for me and coffee for him, so our walk turns into a wander through the grocery store. He suggests we meander, even though we came for 2 items. I’m game; it’s a relief to be surrounded by so many different items, colours, textures. Normally when I shop I know where the stuff I need is, I grab it and get out. No browsing. This evening though, I browse, and I find some apple streusel. 6 pieces for 2.50. Looks fresh. Tomek is in the fruit and veggie section, and he picks up a honey dew melon, a cucumber, and a tomato. I return to him with my treat, somehow satisfied.

We return home with 9 more items than we intended to purchase, although all were needed. I put the streusel on top of the fridge and go to bed, calmed and sleepy.

Nights like these remind me of how I used to help my mom with the groceries when I was 8-10 years old. There were small constants that I still remember: the butcher shop with its wood floor covered in sawdust. I’d swirl it around with my foot while waiting for my mom to get her order—then the butcher would give me a free weiner or piece of bologna. Yum. Then the No Frills store, where I’d get to push the cart. Sometimes, I could pick out a treat from the racks by the check out line. Next, the fruit and veggie store, where she’d send me to count out 100 green beans. She showed me how to pick out the good beans and leave the bad ones. I took this task seriously, making sure there were exactly 100 green beans in the bag. After that, the health food store. I was allowed to go into the book/toy store next door while my mom picked up vitamins and other boring items. I’d sit on a stool and read a bit, or play with the Brio train setup they had at the back of the store. No one ever asked me to leave, or where my mom was. There was a coffee shop nearby, and sometimes we’d stop there so she could get a coffee, and me a pastry.

I don’t remember ever disliking those excursions, but I’ll have to ask my mom what I was really like.