My Week 168: June/September Relationships, A Micro-Story

Saturday: I realize I’m in a June/September relationship

Yesterday, Ken and I were driving back from grocery shopping when he said, “Can we stop at the cemetery?” While this might sound ominous to some people, I was actually really excited because someone in town has been playing a practical joke for weeks now, whereby they move the sign directing people to a new property development/subdivision in our small town to the outskirts, where it points right at the cemetery. The first time it happened, it was funny enough, but the person is nothing if not determined; despite the best efforts of the subdivision developer, the sign keeps magically reappearing across from the graveyard. I think it’s fairly obvious what kind of message the sign-thief is trying to send—that Drumbo is so boring that it might as well be a cemetery—but the big question is who? Is it a disgruntled teen, longing for the lights and action of the big city? Is it the previous developer, who wasn’t able to sell most of the lots and had to give the land up? (Also, it’s worthwhile to note that the previous development was called Aspen Hills, which is the most ironic name I could think of for a subdivision on completely flat land—luckily the new owners have called it “Oxford Meadows”, which makes more sense considering most of the lots are currently overgrown with weeds and wildflowers).

Anyway, it’s been giving us a bit of a chuckle, and yesterday, Ken wanted to get a picture of the whole scenario. So we stopped and Ken got out of the car, camera in hand. Ken takes a camera with him wherever he goes, “just in case”. He has a very popular Flickr account, and sometimes he gets over 8000 views in one day, so I cut him a little slack when he leans over and tries to shoot an interesting cloud through the windshield when I’m driving.

He got back into the car, having taken several photos of the sign and the cemetery, and then the fun began, as he tried to post the picture to Facebook. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, as he pressed buttons and muttered to himself:

Me: What’s going on?
Ken: Oh, nothing. I just have to—hmmm. Or maybe…
Me: Just use the image icon.
Ken: I will, after I write the post.
Me: You’re not done yet?
Ken: No, I’m trying to find Facebook.
Me: Maybe the problem is that you have a Blackberry. You know how the “interwebs” works, right? “I just can’t keep up with you kids and your newfangled gadgets and the Twitters. What ever happened to the good old days when people used typewriters?!” Oh wait, you ARE using a typewriter. Look at the keyboard on your phone.
Ken: Blackberries are great phones.
Me: Yeah, if you’re 75 years old. “I like to feel the keys go down when I press them, just like they did in the 1950s.” Also, could your screen be any smaller? No wonder you can’t find “the Facebook”.
Ken: Ha. Posted. So there. Oh wait, not yet—it’s a little laggy…by the way, Sheila has a flip phone with an ANTENNAE, so go make fun of her.

And then I was like, man, I really AM married to a senior citizen, because the thought had occurred to me earlier when we were in the grocery store, and all these old people kept greeting us.

Me: Who was that?
Ken: Oh, that’s Sheila. We’re on the Historical Society together.

Me: Who’s that?
Ken: That’s Bob. He curls at the same club as I do.

Then, 5 minutes later, we got stopped by an elderly couple:

Man: Oh hi, Ken!
Ken: Hey Gary. How are things?
Man: Good. We’re just here picking up some groceries for the Lion’s Club dinner on Wednesday.
Woman: Yes, it’s my turn to cook!
Ken: Ooh, I can’t wait!
Woman: See you both then!
Me: Oh, sorry, I won’t be there–I’m in Toronto that night. Darn.

You see, Ken recently became a Lion, which means he does civic duty type things like helping decorate the Lions Park trees with Christmas lights, or taking cookies to the Historical Society Sunday Tea (which I just had to wake him up from a nap to remind him to do). It’s probably quite telling that most of the members of these clubs refer to him as “the youngster” or “fresh blood”. In order to be initiated into the Lions, he had to learn the Lions Club roar, which is not as cool as the Mason’s secret handshake, and simply involves bending over at the waist, making your hands into little lions’ paws, then straightening up as you roar and reach your paws to the sky. He’s obliged me with a couple of demonstrations, and it’s kind of cute if you ignore the fact that a grown man is doing it.

In the long run, I’m glad that Ken is involved in so many community activities. It keeps him busy during the week when I’m not here, and the interaction with other people will keep him away from the Bingo Hall. But the dude needs a phone without an actual keyboard. Luckily, Christmas is coming. But now I’m getting worried that Ken is rubbing off on me, because last night at dinner, I dropped the F bomb in front of T and his girlfriend, and I put my hand over my mouth, apologized, and corrected it to “gosh darn”. Then I read back this post and realized that there isn’t a single epithet in it. My god—I’m an old f*cking woman!

Micro-Story

The other day, I was rummaging around in one of my desk drawers, and I found a piece of foolscap with the following written on it. It’s a little weird but I hope you enjoy it. It’s about karma, among other things:

The boy carefully opened the can of peas with a wooden-handled can opener. This would be his new killing jar, and therefore, couldn’t have any jagged metal edges which might damage his specimens. He dumped the peas into the garbage, and rinsed out the can. Then, taking down ether, plastic wrap, a rubber band, and cotton balls from the shelf above the sink, he prepared the chamber. When all was ready, he picked up his butterfly net and headed out the door, into the field behind his house. Putting his equipment down on a nearby rock, he waited for his prey to float by.

It was a lazy, warm afternoon and his eyelids felt heavy as he watched the skies for any sign of the fluttering prize. Over the last two years, he had amassed quite a collection, from the simple Monarch to other, more exotic species, each carefully caught in his own net, and then executed in a tin can.

As he sat, cross-legged, patiently watching and waiting, he suddenly heard a loud voice from somewhere far above his head:

“Ew!! Mommy, a bug—kill it! Kill it!”

“It’s all right, sweetheart, I’ll get it.”

And with that, a giant shovel slammed down from the heavens and crushed him into oblivion.

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18 thoughts on “My Week 168: June/September Relationships, A Micro-Story

  1. That’s a great story but Ken may really be rubbing off on you if you’re calling your paper “foolscap”. Does it have the fool’s cap watermark?
    It’s a small thing to get hung up on, but you had a whole theme of time and mortality going this week. Although I’m sure Ken feels quite up to date. Gary’s got a rotary cell phone.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Dee-El says:

      Foolscap is a size of paper… like A4, A5 etc.

      Also, Google tells me they’re called April-September relationships, rather than June? Is it a Canadian thing? I’ve never heard the phrase either way.

      Liked by 1 person

      • June/September isn’t a Canadian thing–it’s just part of the joke. Ken and I are pretty much the same age, so April/September didn’t seem appropriate! Maybe “foolscap” is more of a Canadian thing though–here, we use it to refer to a long, lined piece of paper that you use for scribbling or rough notes, as opposed to 3 hole paper that you would keep in a binder. It’s pretty common to say to someone “Hand me a piece of foolscap”. Is that what people call it other places?

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  2. I cannot join in the good-natured ribbing of Ken since my own sister — who is five years my senior, I might add — has started referring to me as a “Dinosaur”. You won’t find an antenna on my flip phone, though. No, Ma’am. It’s state of the art.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. You are quite hilarious. Before I turned to a smartphone a few years ago I had a flip phone. When I brought it in to the store to have them transfer my contacts onto the new phone the kid literally laughed at it. “This is your phone?” He said and chuckled. I would have punched him but I needed him to show me how to work my new fangled computer phone.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Oooh, dark. The little story anyway.
    The Lion roar, I’m pretty sure I could “learn” – I’ve seen my little nephews do it many times without any instruction at all – and nor a hint of embarrassment.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. I did not see that ending coming–great story about perspective! In other news, I just loved reading about your Lion! Your ribbing of your husband is affectionate and funny, and it feels a little like some of my interactions with my own husband, who I believe should probably have been born fifty years earlier. Technology? What’s that? Why do I need this?? I think you and I really may share some DNA! Thanks for the smile!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Oh, but to see him actually do the roar–so adorable, and a little weird! Yeah, I’ve been calling Ken a 60 year old man since we were 25, mostly because of his taste in music. You and I are definitely sisters from another mother:-)

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