Answering the Call of Nature

Our Steed. I'll explain . . .

Our oldest daughter believed that there was something called the 'Universal Animal Call'.
It was a simple whistle. A single note rising in pitch at the end.
Tweee-eet!
She swore it worked on all animals.
We thought the idea was hilarious.
Enough background.
My husband, for our 25th anniversary, surprised me with a trip to Greece.
And a cruise around the Mediterranean on a tall ship.
My dream of a lifetime.
And the vacation of a lifetime.
Ten days of unbelievable bliss.
I probably don't have to mention, here, that I enjoyed it.
But I will anyway.
I enjoyed it.
Immensely.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . .
What? Where was I?
Oh, yes.
Greece.
Mediterranean.
During the cruise, we discovered the joy of laying in the nets beneath the spritsail at the bow of the ship, watching the Mediterranean slip past far beneath us.
It was the most relaxing experience of my life.
On the second last evening of our cruise, we introduced several new friends to this delicious experience.
Let me describe the scene . . .
The sun was setting, glowing orange and red on the clots of cloud floating far above us in the darkening sky. There was just enough breeze to fill every rosy sail and push us forward through gentle, perfect waves on impossibly blue water.
The air was a caress. Soft. Fragrant.
The only sounds were the occasional call of the sea birds as they floated on still wings alongside us.
Rocked gently, we hovered at the edges of complete peace.
Conversation lagged as, one by one, the members of our party flirted with the idea of succumbing to the call of Morpheus.
Drowsily, I turned to my husband and said, "What a perfect evening."
He laughed. "No, we need one more thing to make it truly perfect."
"What is that?"
"Dolphins."
He was right. The last perfect touch would be dolphins, chittering and giggling as they leaped and played in the water beside us.
"We could always try the Universal Animal Call."
We explained the UAC to our new friends, and joined in their laughter.
Then I sat up.
And whistled.
Tweee-eet! Tweee-eet!
And we laughed again.
Silence settled over us once more.
Silence broken, suddenly, by . . . chittering and giggling.
We looked down.
Several dolphins were leaping and playing alongside us.
I blinked and stared, open-mouthed.
Then rubbed my eyes and stared again.
Yes. There really were dolphins.
And yes, they really were playing beside the ship.
My husband and I looked at each other.
And laughed.
Happily, this time.
Maybe the UAC actually worked.
Or maybe it was just an amazing coincidence.
But it made the evening truly perfect.
And I'll never, ever forget it.

The reason I’m telling you all this is because we are leaving our home and puppy in the charge of our daughter and her family and faring once again into ‘tourist land’. 
We will again be on a tall ship.
And I’m so excited!
Tomorrow’s post is already set, so this is my last post before landing in Malta.
I’ll message you from there!

Wish us luck!

Using Clean Words

Probe, (n): a parlor game introduced in the 1960s by Parker Brothers. It is reminiscent of the simple two-person game Hangman, whose object is to guess a word chosen by another player by revealing specific letters. Probe extends the number of players to a maximum of four and introduces additional game elements that increase the levels of both skill and chance. Like Hangman, each player has a secret chosen word. But unlike Hangman, the game ends when the last word, not the first word, is revealed. All players remain in the game until the end.

Enough background . . .

My Father-In-Law, Ray (hereinafter known as Dad), loved games. But one of his favourites was the game of Probe. He loved the challenge of guessing his fellow players’ words.

And he really loved the challenge of coming up with nasty, horrible, very, very difficult words.

Particularly words containing letter such as ‘Z’ or ‘X’ or ‘Q’ or ‘K’.

Or multiples of the same.

Sneaky devil . . .

Dad loved this part of the game so much that he kept a list of words he encountered.

I am not making this up.

In his breast pocket, he kept a list of words he had read or heard that would surely stump his opponents in future games of Probe.

Such words as: acquire (a ‘c’ and a ‘q’? Come on!!!). Galax (wha . . .?). Abuzz (took us a while with that one!). Katharometer (okay, now you’re just making stuff up . . .).

Ugh.

So while I was composing such stumpers as rhododendron, he was crafting masterpieces like: xenophobia. Now how do you compete with that?

It got so that, when any of us sat down to play the game with him, we’d see that list come out, and hear the distant drums that signalled our impending doom.

Sigh.

But my Mother-In-Law beat him.

Okay, I don’t mean actually ‘beat’ him, although there were times (Particularly when he dipped into that pocket and emerged with that list) . . .

No. I mean that she fixed him and his little list of stinkers for good.

And she wasn’t even playing the game.

How? You ask as you prepare to play your own game and are looking for an edge . . .

Simple. She waited for laundry day and washed his list.

When he complained long and loud about her actions, she snickered and said, “Well, they were dirty words. I just had to clean them up!”

Of course she claimed forevermore that it really was an accident. And that she’d never actually meant to do it.

But we knew.

She was simply getting payback for trying to guess such posers as: zomotherapy. And: quadriform. 

Yep. We knew.

Genius.

Going in the Woods

Ahhh! Romance!

Our good friends had been dating for some time.

For a young man deeply in love, a despairingly long time.

He had decided that the moment had come.

In a surge of love and commitment, he had purchased . . . the ring.

Then, being a man of imagination and daring, he plotted . . . the proposal.

He would take his love to their favourite place and pop the question there.

Where was their favourite place? 

The woods.

Brilliant.

All had gone according to plan.

They had rambled along the woodsy paths.

Had a picnic.

The time had come to hide the ring, then lead his love to the magical spot.

And propose.

He excused himself, citing ‘having to take care of some business’.

Now I don’t know about you, but if I was walking with someone in the woods, and he excused himself saying . . . that . . . I know what I would think.

His soon-to-be-if-all-went-well fiancée thought the same thing.

He disappeared.

She sat on a log among the pink, white and indigo flowers and waited.

Finally, a large grin of satisfaction on his face, her date returned.

She stood up.

“So!” he said heartily, thinking of the ring he had just so cleverly hidden. “Do you want to see where I went?”

Now, in his mind, all was sweet, romantic and full of promise and anticipation as he led his love to that beautiful, magical little clearing.

In hers . . .

“Umm . . . no,” she said, giving him a strange look.

It took a moment to register.

His well-planned, uber-romantic idea had just fallen flat.

‘Business in the woods’ flat.

And looking in from the outside, I would have to side with her.

Oh, they did get engaged.

And married.

Enjoyed parenthood and are now enjoying grandparenthood.

He just learned, when planning surprises, he had to be more careful of how things look.

And how he worded them.