The past week was pronounced…no matter how I persevered, people persisted in being a pain in my patoot:
1. A Premature Passing. On Wednesday night, I was poking into the family photo albums, looking for the prized pictures of phenom puck-passer, Wayne Gretzky, for the post I published for his prestigious birthday. As I perused the pages, my dad was peering over my shoulder. “Oh, was that when Anna was cremated? You looked good there!” he proclaimed.
Taking pains to prevent the peals of laughter that would probably provoke my pop, I parried with “I think we’ll wait until after Anna dies to cremate her (my very much alive 16-year-old was standing next to me at the time).”
Putting on a pained expression, Dad picked up on his mistake. “You know I meant christened,” he pouted.
2. Pecans, Pesto, and Pizza. Thursday, the “powers that be” proclaimed a snow day for public school pupils. My “pets” pronounced it “Piss Off A Parent Day.” Anna and Hope passed the day at the bookstore with me, plundering my purse for every penny. They prevailed that they were “parched” and might “perish” if their pleas for payment were pooh-poohed. When not pestering me, they picked at each other. Anna proposed patronizing Pomodori for supper. Jim and I permitted it, since I had no prior plan for our evening meal. I ordered the Spinach Salad with Sugared Pecans, Feta, and Figs, something I’d been pumped to partake of. The progeny both had Chicken Pesto Pizza, and Jim got Spicy Italian Sausage Pizza with hot peppers. After paying with pre-purchased gift cards, we polished off our plates, and the girls took some pizza home in a package.
3. The Plowman Pops In. I preach to people I know that I’ve got “the best plow guy in the world.” He was that every other day but last Thursday. On our way home from Pomodori, my phone rang. My dad called to tell me he was stuck partway down the driveway…he had tried to power his way through the plentiful snowdrifts…the plow guy had not been there at all that day. As we approached, we saw Dad shovelling behind the paused vehicle. That was when the plow guy made his appearance, approaching from the other direction. Jim parked by the side of the road, and the girls and I plunged through the knee-deep snow towards the house to get more shovels. When we got there, we were exhausted. I changed my socks and was at the door putting on my boots, when the plow guy came to the door. He asked if I wanted to pay him! I was more than a little peeved, thinking I’d be more inclined to pay him if he’d shown up before my dad’s car got buried up to its rims in pesky precipitation! I wrote him a cheque (a preposterous amount, since he hadn’t asked for payment all winter!), and then waited as he plowed near the house so that I could get back out to where Dad’s car was. I made it just in time for his car to be freed, and for Jim’s battery to die at the end of the driveway. Dad parked his car in front of the garage, and then helped me push Jim’s car until it started again. It was after 8 by the time we got in the house! We plunked down on the couch. We were all pooped! Our pooch was pleased to see us…he parked himself on my chest and pushed his head up under my chin. After a few minutes of “puppy love” the pains of our predicament were forgotten…