Another Thanksgiving is over. Spent with Lenore’s family, much turkey was consumed, much knitting performed, and much thanks was given. And then, at the last minute, I fumbled.
Okay, for the few regular readers I have, you’ll know this is the time for some backstory. Back in the day when I first met Lenore’s family, I was… intrigued/interested/impressed/something… to note that, when giving goodbye’s, it’s tradititional to kiss on the lips. This was interesting and, frankly, foreign to me because, coming from a cold, heartless, distant family, we just don’t do things like that. Hell, we barely hug or, you know, express affection for one another, let alone kiss. In fact, truth be told, I’m virtually positive that the only women I’ve kissed on the lips are the women I’ve dated. And even then, it can be iffy… Lenore had to practically force me to kiss her (though, that was mainly because I’m a gigantic pussy).
Anyway, after a rocky start (hey, who would trust me right off the bat?), I finally managed to win Linda (Lenore’s mom) over, and since then I think I’ve managed to integrate myself fairly well into the Harrison family unit. Hell, I’ve even delivered the occasional “I love you”… and I barely say that to my mom!
Which brings us to my fumble. We were all ready to leave. It was the end of a fine weekend and goodbyes were being said. And just as I’m ready to give Linda a goodbye hug… she moves in for the kiss. And I panicked. And I gave her the cheek. Oh yes I did. I gave her the cheek. I’m so awesome.
Now, in the end, it’s probably a minor thing. But, Linda, if you’re reading this, I hope you don’t feel embarassed or anything… consider this a reminder that I’m still a gigantic knob, even if I managed to convince you otherwise. ;)
So we went to visit my Granda Kosinski on the Easter weekend… first time in, like, 5 months, much to my chagrin. Anyway, she lives down in Camrose, so we did the drive down there and visited for a couple hours and did the usual… talked talked talked. Well, during the course of discussions, we some how landed on the topic of books, and I discovered a rather interesting little factoid: apparently my great-grandma’s, and hence also my grandma’s, favourite book was/is “The Count of Monte Cristo”! Heck, my grandma owns two copies of the book, and while we were chatting about it, proceeded to describe some of the major plot points, something I can barely do with any book I’ve read. Now, this in and of itself is interesting, particularly since my great-grandma, when first introduced to the book, couldn’t actually read, and so only knew it because she heard other people reading it out loud. But the other thing that makes this all rather ironic, at least to me, is that TCMC is one of a small handful of books that I consciously chose not to finish (one of the others being “The Plague”, by Albert Camus, but I think I can hardly be blamed for that one).
Anyway, I think I can do nothing but make another attempt at the book, so back into the queue it goes. Which means I should get to it sometime… next year, maybe.
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