Best efforts are out the window as I write amidst the Victoria Day weekend. A whirlwind of activities has consumed my original plans to spend a few quiet days resurrecting my '93 Ford Ranger, which has been parked since July 2008 after it sprung a gas leak on the way to a Trooper concert. Spending most of Saturday and the weekend with the carnivores made it once again, too easy to fall prey to the trap and temptations of the devil inside.
My baby sister and her husband are unexpectedly in the process of making an exciting real estate transaction. We did what we've always done best - respond to the call to action and help paper and plaster, as friends and family emerged from the woods and woodwork during this highly anticipated campfire weekend.
Saturday morning started with a drive-by for Margaret's coffee and cranberry muffin at the local arches. I'm sure I said 'for two' but the gremlins and glitches of drive-thru technology must have altered my speech to say 'number two,' somewhat akin to the backward vinyls and voices of the 60s, 70s and 80s. 'REDRUM... REDRUM... REDRUMMM!' Next thing I knew, I was indulging with sin and sausage.
We made it home for lunch and I repented with a veggie chicken nugget and spinach wrap and a side of steamed vegetables. But upon returning and after a dogged, hot day of cleaning and construction, the family gathered for the mass destruction of a wiener filled platter. Earlier, Margaret had put a couple veggie dogs on ice to bring with us and asked if I wanted some too, but that would have thrown off the one constant since the beginning of time - the uneven wiener-to-bun ratio masterminded by the food industry and gods. So I took one for the team and said no, seeing an opportunity to bring balance to the food chain, our family, and the world.
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