The Family Visit

I took this weekend off from travel arrangements, tattoe searches, and vaccinations to visit my family before I go. Every time I go on a journey I like to see them - its a tradition, or supersticion, or something like that.


Mom picked me up at the train station on Friday night in Woodstock and took me out for supper at Tim Horton's. It felt like that commercial where the guy was in Europe and his folks sent him their love in the form of a care package that consisted of a tin of special coffee grounds. As a souvenir of the evening, Mom saved the extra butter packets that came with my whole wheat bun. If something ever happened to me, like getting my hand stuck in a tin of coffee, she can always send her love and the ability to grease my way out of the coffee tin at the same time!

After that we made our way to my brother Doug's place. He was busy putting up a light fixture on his front porch, so I decided to hang out with my two youngest nephews. We took turns scaring each other, and when the lustre of that game started to dwindle, I decided to rest on the chesterfield. My nephews invented a new game whereby they would jump off the back of the chesterfield and land on me. The bruises all over my shins are lasting much longer than that game did.

The next morning I rose bright and early to return back to Doug's place and accompany him to my nephew's soccer game. I almost felt like a soccer Mom! For one Saturday, it was a great novelty.

Following that, I spent some time with my three other nephews at Eastpark Golf Gardens in London. After watching a couple of them ride around the go-cart track for a while, I decided to get a bucket of balls and head off to the driving range. Its been about a decade since I went to a driving range, and it showed. In the past 10 years of golf retirement, I seem to have mastered the art of hitting the ball three feet in front of me. One of my nephews looked at me and said "Yeah, I don't want people to think I know you, so would you please go to the other end of the driving range?" I responded by hitting the ball three feet in front of me. In the middle of the driving range there is a sign that showed the phone number of someone who provides golf lessons. After hitting the ball three feet in front of me again, I said "What am I doing wrong?" and my other nephew said "You're not calling the number on the sign!"

I finished the last ball in my bucket with the joy of having spent time with my nephews, the satisfaction of having improved my swing by eventually hitting the ball past the 100 yard marker, and the pain of using my right shoulder in a way that it has not been used in about 10 years. I remembered that my next Hep shot was scheduled for Monday and figured I would put the pain of golfing to good use by having it mask the pain of the upcoming Hep shot.

After we returned back to my Mom's house, my niece and I sat on the kitchen counter and chatted about important stuff like clothes and boys. Mom walked through the kitchen and reminded us that she has a large number of chairs strategically placed around the kitchen table, and perhaps we should consider using them. I thought it was a great idea, since the blood was starting to congeal in my feet, so I moved a couple of them over to the counter to use as foot stools. Mom shook her head and left the room, my niece and I continued to talk. She commented on my clothing choice, and threatened to nominate me for the show "What not to Wear". It's sad that my 13 year old niece already dresses better than I do. I texted Paul for sympathy, but he agreed with my niece. Next time she is in Toronto, she told me that she and Paul are taking me shopping. I hope I don't wind up looking like Hannah Montanah.

I needed to return to my geeky normal self, so I spent the next little while helping my nephew decode strange letters on his PSP. I didn't do a very good job at that either, but he was happy that someone was talking with him about his game.

Sunday I returned back home with the satisfaction of knowing that I got to spend a great weekend with my family. As I leaned back on my chesterfield to bask in my familial glow, I reminded myself that I had my next Hep shot appointment on Monday, and I should put my immunization record in my purse for the appointment. Today the doctor asked me if I had the immunization record with me, to which I responded "No, but I did get a good night's sleep!"

A lot of people must forget their immunization records because he responded with "Oh, that's okay, I can give you a sticker for your records, then we can write it in when you come back in 6 months for your final shot." I imagined it would be a sticker just like what I would get in grade school after getting my shots there. In my mind it was one of those joyously yellow happy face stickers that would say "I just got my shots for: _______" and the school nurse would fill in the blank with Measles, or Polio, or Tetanus.

He filled the needle full of inactivated hep juice and proceeded to vaccinate me in my left arm. WAIT! The last time he used my right arm, and that is where I was sore from "golfing" on the weekend. CURSES! Now both shoulders are sore again.

After that he sat at the desk, and proceeded to write some things down. He turned around, and handed me my immunization sticker. As I proceeded to receive the immunization sticker from him, I realized that it was not the joyously yellow happy faced sticker I had dreamed it would be. My immunization record is on a HOT PINK POST IT NOTE!!

I don't know how this stuff always happens to me. But this little anecdote serves as the perfect illustration as to why Paul keeps me around as his friend. Even if I do talk too much.