Whispers from the Myth Teller

Spent the weekend in Quebec city with the folks. We would've left Friday night, but we had a friend having a birthday party before he leaves for India for a year.

While in Quebec, we visited friends and family and did some shopping. I picked up some summer shoes and sandals (don't worry: I won't wear them with socks) and sarahcarotte picked up some shoes and a kick-ass cool shirt.

We also visited my nieces and their parents on Sunday. The oldest (Alexandra) is a grunting teenager at 13, but at least she was in a good mood. The middle child (Samantha) is 9 years old and the youngest (Natasha-my godchild) is 7. It's always a pleasure to see them (and bring them Easter candy) and we stayed for supper and I got to tuck them into bed (after telling them a story).

Natasha always blows me away with the things she says. Most of the time, I can't understand what she's saying and then she'll come up with something that leaves me stunned. This time, after calling out for her mother after I tucked her in, her mum came up to me very seriously and said "Natasha is concerned about your health. She's afraid your heart will stop beating if you don't stop stressing out about work and lose some weight."

Heh. I gotta start cycling to work. I'm under Niece's orders!

It's that time of year again, steeped in tradition.

I have four traditions for this time of year:

1. Join my Angus and Kensington for a pint on the 17th of March.
2. Attend a St. Patrick's Day brunch.
3. Watch the St. Patrick's Day parade on the Sunday.
4. Go pub crawling.

This year, there are two pubs I definitely want to hit: the John Sleeman pub and the new Olde Orchard pub in town. This evening, I intend to consume without fear and go on a socializing rampage. Tomorrow will never come!

This is a mild form of what I used to do in my younger days. In the days of yore, I would start celebrating on the Thursday night and go non-stop until the wee hours of Monday morning.

I don't have that kind of stamina anymore, but I'm more than willing to hoist a pint to those days. If I cross you in the next few days, let's raise a pint together and sing of the old times.

This past weekend, a bunch of us went on the holiday we had promised ourselves in the summer. We were supposed to go to Cuba, but a series of unfortunate events led us to not being able to make it.

So instead, we went to La Sapiniere in Ste. Adele. Of course, this seems like the polar opposite of Cuba, but I've always been one to enjoy odd twists of fate. In the end, we had a great time in a luxurious cabin (complete with fireplace), access to X-country ski trails and snowshoeing, and evening meals that were prepared by some of the finest chefs in the province.

I really mean this. The food was unreal; I've never had such fantastically prepared meals. The company was great, the meals were heavenly, and the wine went down smoothly. So in the end, we traded the heat of Cuba for the finest of food (food in Cuba is reputed to be crappy anyways).

On the downside, I was involved in a snowmobile accident on Sunday. Gabbo and I were taking turns driving the rented skidoo and while I was a passenger, Gabbo lost control of the machine (trying to avoid a sinkhole that appeared on the trail) and it nearly flipped over (while heading for a tree).

While it was flipping over, my knee got caught in the snowbank and I was ripped off the back of the skidoo. It all happened so fast, but I think my leg got caught under the treads of the machine and it twisted my knee.

Before I knew what was happening, I was writhing on the trail, screaming in agony. Gabbo was also thrown from the skidoo, bruising his hip. He ran over to me to see what had happened.

"Did you break your leg?" he asked, unsure what to do. I tried to bend my knee, and although it hurt, I could bend it and I wiggled my toes. I've dislocated my knee before, so I knew how this felt.

I could feel my knee swelling up, but I rasped "No... it's not broken. Just give me a minute." Once I got my breath and composure back, I managed to stand on the injured leg. The crisis being past, I felt lucky to be alive. And to reassure Gabbo, I started to laugh and cried out "I'M ALIVE!!!"

So I'm hobbling about today in quite a bit of pain. No, of course I haven't been to see the doctor yet (another long story), but I'm heading out that way this afternoon.

sarahcarotte says I have a strong love-hate relationship with sympathy. That's true enough, I guess. I realize that I need help now getting my things done, but I hate being a burden to others. I hope I'm not sidelined for too long.