No Misbehavin'

Effects from today’s events:

1. I am riddled with bug bites, three of which rest within the inner elbow of my left arm. Each leg boasts several angry, red specks, while two more dot my right wrist.

2. My computer now plays host to more than two dozen photos of Canadian geese.

3. There is a bottle of wine in my room.

All are most unusual, and for three reasons:

A. I am not, as Meredith in the 1998 production of The Parent Trap says, a “nature girl.” Inwardly, I cringe at the idea of physically exerting myself while hiking, kayaking, or biking. Encouraging my body to become dirty, sweaty, and bug-bitten during said activities is not something I have ever enjoyed. I don’t feel any sense of accomplishment after finishing these activities, either—only once I have taken a shower.

B. Canadian geese usually don’t hold too much of a particular interest to me. However, I have also never had the opportunity to chase them, paparazzi-style, with my Kodak Easy Share, either.

C. I hate alcohol.

However, I endured mild physical exertion and the strategic dodging of greasy geese “land mines” because I knew that A. would enjoy a venture to Arrowhead. Littered with fishing peninsulas, a playground, and several trails for hiking, I figured that he and I would enjoy the beautiful weather by eating a picnic lunch. After splitting a Zebra Cake for dessert, we spent our time watching/photographing/chasing/imitating the geese and walking through trails that I declared “itchy.”

After entertaining ourselves on the swings, slides, and miniature zip-line included in the playground, we headed back to the car. Having previously decided that we could visit a nearby winery, I proceeded to drive in that direction and successfully traveled approximately four miles in A.’s car before realizing that the parking brake was still on.

Once at the winery, a couple of pleasant surprises ensued. First, my great uncle—whom I intended to stalk at the country fair last night—appeared and purchased sweet corn. Second, the wines I tasted were not as bad as I half-expected. In fact, A. and I ended up walking away with a bottle of Edelweiss, a sweet white wine that I only enjoy because it does not taste like alcohol.

However, what I remember the most about the visit to the winery is the one woman’s story:

Her son and his friends were somewhere (an elevator, a hotel, perhaps...I do not entirely remember) and had a pack of candy cigarettes in their possession. They stood in a pack, a “cigarette” resting between each of their lips. A strange—and obviously drunk—woman came up to them, asking if she could bum a cigarette. Bewildered, but amused, they looked at each other, wondering what she wanted. “A cigarette,” she said, pointing to the stick in the son’s mouth. Fighting back laughter, the son—who had the rest of the “package” in his breast pocket—gave her what he had. Stumbling back to where she came, the woman slurred her thanks and wished them a good night, obviously oblivious not only her drunkenness, but to the fact that she was trying to light up a stick of chalk-like composition.

This amusing story highlighted my visit to the winery, but it was not what made my day. Rather, today was deemed a good day because,

  • The geese pictures (and other digital experiments) will provide me with much-needed wildlife photos.
  • The over-priced Cranberry White Chocolate Truffle that I purchased at the winery certainly merited its weight in chocolate, and was well-worth the few Washingtons I handed over to receive it.
  • Today was...well, fun.


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