On Saturday, still sodden from Friday’s rain, we set out on a multi-kilometre journey to attend a birthday party. . .
– But first, umbrellas. God, I hate umbrellas. I hate that now that I wear a corduroy coat that I love, I feel compelled to carry an umbrella and then have to deal with being an umbrella carrier among flocks of umbrella carriers. Narrow sidewalks, slow walkers, groups of eight trudging up the street, four across, tiny people with umbrellas, I swear, the size of UFOs. (Maybe they are plucked from the sky and plunged onto discarded branches. I do not know. I know that if I can’t see your body beneath your umbrella, the ‘brella probably should be returned to outer space or the beach in Cuba from whence it came.) I hate umbrellas that don’t close properly, those that blow inside out when it is windy and those that are carried like weapons, swinging by the handle from the arms of businessmen, pointing their pointy points at my soft belly. Urban warfare! –
…which first invoved taking the bus to Burnaby, sweet Burnaby, land of fairy dust, strong wine and cheap tomatoes. Then we got in Gordo, our car who is parked in Burnaby and observed that a puddle had formed beneath the passenger seat, decreasing his already tar-pit-like resale value to about $40. Anyone want an ’88 Tercel two door coupe with a sunroof and 5 speeds and a slightly moist trunk where nice things like rain forest ferns might grow? Comes with spare tire. Alternately, he is moisty like a hothouse. He would make a very original planter.
Saint Aardvark found a bag of Doritos from when we last drove Gordo, which was November 1st. He was surprised by their slightly cardboardy texture, despite having knowingly retrieved them from the puddle beneath the passenger seat. Shut up! He is a good man!
We drove to Surrey, then, reciting novenas and hail marys and shakespeare and 50 Cent lyrics to keep us alive. Driving on the highway in the torrential rain in l’il Gordo, being passed by SUVs and 18 wheelers was kind of like walking up Robson St. wearing sandals and carrying a dollar store umbrella that actually says “Dollar Store!” on it, so people know where to aim their vitriol, but scarier because while it may be irritating to do the RobsonStruut, it is not actually life-threatening like the highway. I don’t want to drive anymore unless it’s in a maraschino cherry-red convertible.
We found the heart of Surrey (just follow the trail of heads on sticks) and it had a church in it and we entered and attended a nice birthday party for my co-worker. She wore blue crushed velvet and played her flute for us and we all tunefully sang happy birthday and there were small sandwiches and sugary cake and coffee and PUNCH and the punch had in it little pieces of tangerine and also? it had Maraschino Cherries which just happen to be the greatest love of all. Whitney said the greatest love of all is learning to love yourself? I am here to tell you, it is maraschino cherries.
Do you all know about maraschino cherries and how good they are? I think I must have forgotten. Maybe it was just the left-over adrenaline from the drive or perhaps the peculiar throat issues I’ve been having but that punch-soaked cherry crushed so lightly between my teeth and all that SUGAR (pretty sure it was the sugar, come to think of it) came pouring out and my world took on a technicolour rainbow glow, like in the Wizard of Oz. Unicorns and squirrels frolicked in the forest outside the window and I said, “That is the best thing I have ever tasted,” and all the people I had just met who had been so friendly were suddenly cold to me and I know it was because they were jealous because they do not yet know the greatest love of all.
But they are expensive, the cherries. I went to buy some today so I could [eat them all and barf red for days] put them in the thimble cookies I am making and yes, I bought them at SuperValu which is anything but, but still, $8.99? Well, I know what I’m doing next summer. Making my own damn maraschinos so I can spend fall and winter in a dreamy sugar haze. Right now I am soaking some in apricot brandy and I will be sure and let you all know just how fun it is to pop one of those past the ol’ tonsils.