Why I will Never Fly with Copa Airlines Again

We were told that we'd be met by a Copa Airlines representative once we arrived in Miami, and she would take us through customs and baggage, and bring us to a hotel to spend the night.

Once in Miami, we were met by an agent, however she was pretty useless and didn't help us get through customs or baggage as promised, and by the time we were through, it was 2:30am.  American customs is brutal at the best of times, and at this time in the morning, they only had a couple people manning the booths.  There were 2 or 3 flights worth of people waiting to get through, and it took FOREVER.  We were exhausted and extremely frustrated at this point.  When we finally made it to the customs agent, he first gave us a hard time why we didn't have an address to stay at in the US, and once we explained why we were there, he told us should we ever have a similar situation again, we can speed up the customs process by going through the VIP line.  Thanks Copa!  Sounds like a very important detail that you should have shared with us!  (so angry)

That frustration was amplified when we met the next incompetent Copa Airline agent: Winston Clark.  Winston waited until all 9 of us passengers who missed our Toronto flight were through customs before he began the long process of slowly hand writing out each hotel and meal voucher.  He told us that he received the email from Panama nearly 4 hours prior, and therefore KNEW how many people were going to need vouchers, and yet he WAITED until 2:30am before organizing a place for us to stay overnight.  Instead of sending us in a couple of shuttles to speed up the process, we had to wait for everyone to have a voucher before he even called a shuttle, and so we had to wait even longer for a shuttle big enough for all 9 passengers to arrive.  At this point it was after 3am.  He was really unsympathetic and quite rude, and he even mocked an elderly passenger when she asked if the hotel rooms would have a Jacuzzi.  I agree that it was kind of a ridiculous request at that late hour of night, but for him as a professional representative of an airline who had ruined our travel experience with their sheer incompetence to mock her in front of the rest of the passengers was completely uncalled for.

Winston had decided to arrange rooms for us at a skeezy theme-roomed local motel called Miami Princess Hotel.

We were put on the shuttle and Winston left for the night without confirming that we arrived safely.  At the hotel, the rude girl at the front desk refused to honour the vouchers we were given, saying that she had never seen them before and she had told Winston that rooms were $160/night each.  She kissed her teeth at us and sent us back to the waiting shuttle. Back at the airport, where all Copa Airline staff, and pretty much everyone else, had already gone home for the night, the 9 of us tried to sleep on the dirty floor or hard benches until the airport reopened in several hours.  There weren't even any food stations open, so we were hungry, tired, dirty, cranky and uncomfortable.

The next morning, we were able to meet with Jorges Eapinoza  who was the first Copa employee who actually listened to our complaints and tried to help us.  He gave us proper vouchers so we could have some breakfast at the airport, but at that time there was no sense in getting a hotel since we'd have to be back at the airport in a couple hours.  Further more, Mr Eapinoza told us that he had no idea why Winston Clark sent us to that hotel, as he's never heard of it and Copa Airlines has agreements with several other proper hotels that regularly accept their vouchers.  

Costa Rica - Day 7 - Monteverde

We had a rough first night, as although the Cayoba Tropical was very beautiful, it is too close to the main road, so we were kept awake by traffic, fighting dogs and another bloody rooster. The next morning Paul made us a really nice Costa Rican breakfast before we took off towards the Manuel Antonio National Park. Our prebooked guide had cancelled on us the night before but Mike knew of a couple well-known guides and gave us their names to search for once we got to the park.  We hopped on the bus and traveled along the main road towards the public beach, and were entertained by all the tourist traps and fancy restaurants along the way. As we rounded the last corner and the ocean came into view, we all "oooh'ed" at the same time.

We accidentally got off the bus a couple stops too early, but it was easy enough for us to make our way down the road to the entrance of Manuel Antonio National Park.  Along the way, we were approached several times by would-be guides, all promising a money-back guarantee if we didn't see any animals.  That sounded like a pretty decent deal, but we were pretty set on locating one of the specific guides that Mike had recommended.  Luckily for us, once at the gate we only had to ask one person and he was able to quickly find a woman off our list, named Astell.

Almost the moment that we walked into the park we saw both a couple spider monkeys and a sloth.  I could see now that the previous guides' money-back guarantee was actually something of a joke.  The monkeys were completely unbothered by the crowd of tourists below them and totally focused on their pursuit of foraging for bugs.  The sloth to the left of the path moved so slowly that the tour guides outside the gate could continue their sales pitches based on him alone. Astell let us get over our monkey-glee for a little while there before leading us further down the path.  She had a really good eye and was easily able to point out several types of spiders, birds, and insects that no one else seemed to catch...or were even looking for. 

She would set up her telescope and fix it on the tiny creature from metres away, and we could see and take photos through the scope. 

She found us interesting plants along the way and explained where they we from and what medicinal purposes they held.  One tree was called 'yellow rain' that can be boiled into a tea to cure diarrhea. The Spanish brought it with them when they arrived for that particular purpose.  Then there was the 'Sleeping plant', named in respect to how its leaves wilt on contact as a defense mechanism. When ground into a paste it can be used as an anesthetic.  There was also a toxic tree that grew along the beach.  Its leaves, sap and nuts will all cause a burn or rash on your skin, and apparently the nut tastes like 10 jalapenos all at once. People without guides were sitting under them on the beach because they are also great shade trees.

While on the tour we saw a bunch of Capuchin monkeys, including one with a baby riding on her back, a few more spider monkeys, and a handful of sloths too. One sloth had a baby riding on her stomach! This was more impressive to me than the baby Capuchin because sloths seem more rare and apparently don't breed as quickly.  It is true what's they say about sloths.  They barely move and do actually grow moss on their fur.  One sloth was directly above us on the beach path and at first his face was obscured by some leaves, but every slowly became visible as he ate them chomp by chomp.

Towards the end of our tour we saw some raccoons scavenging around tourists on the beach to steal their bags. We watched one pull a backpack over a log before the owner came running.  It was really funny and they are much more bold than their Canadian counterparts.

The other couple on the tour with us were French and once Astell realized that most of our group spoke French, she nearly stopped speaking English all together. Only Sandra and I don't speak French and I found myself having to ask the other girls if what Astell was saying was just aimless chatting or relevant to our tour.  I was really annoyed by this, and how Astell took a call every few minutes to set up tours for later in the day.  I know she's got to make a living, but it's not great business practice to forgo your current tour for one that's not even happening yet.  She was good at finding us animals when she was off the phone but imagine ask the other things we might have seen.  Before she left us, we each handed her our payment and when she saw I didn't tip her she about 3 times if I enjoyed myself.  I simply said 'yes, it was nice' because I'm too much of a chicken to have given her honest feedback.

After the tour we stayed to lounge on the private beach.  It was so beautiful, with such warm water and perfectly rock-free sandy beaches.  The waves were a bit stronger than we anticipated and both Christine and I were thrown off our feet at one point. After about an hour we left the beach to follow the Cathedral hiking trail, which took us up the hill to a few look-out points. Personally I would have preferred to stay in the water, but it was a very nice hike.

Back at the bed and breakfast, we cleaned up as fast as we were able to and found our way back to a highly-recommended restaurant to watch the sun set over diner.  Unfortunately there wasn't a spectacular sunset that evening but the food was very good. We had something called a shrimp tower that was made of fried plantain crisps alternating with a shrimp and avocado salad. Might sound odd but it was delicious.  Since we all were uncertain about what to order, we each got a different dish and passed our plate to the left after a minute.  It was a really silly and fun way to try the whole menu. We perhaps also drank a lot...can't remember  ;)

I tried to grab some money out from the bank on the way home but was thwarted, even thought both Christine and Caroline we able to take out cash, and all three of us use the same bank.  I was annoyed and embarrassed because I had to borrow more money, but at least the bed and breakfast had free calls to Canada.  I would have to sort it out with my bank later.

In the evening, which comes a lot earlier than in Canada, I spoke to Drew for a bit online, then joined the girls at the Jacuzzi. It was a bit shocking at first as you except it to be hot, but its just as cold as the pool, only with bubbles. We sat around and chatted for a while before I decided I waned to venture into the forest above us at the end of Mike and Paul's property. Mike had told me earlier that day that they had a lot of tree frogs up there, of which I was yet to seeing the wild.  As I unlocked the gate to climb the stairs into the woods, I had a moment of clarity and decided I should take a dog with me for protection, just in case.  I called for Shadow, who was the sprier of the two larger dogs, but both her and Rica came bounding towards me and pushed through the gate, up the stairs and into the woods before I even knew what was happening.  I managed to get the gate closed before Ginger, the Jack Russell, joined them.  She wasn't too happy about that. I ran to the top of the stairs and was taken aback to see that the forest had absolutely no trails, no fences, and no light whatsoever.  In a panic, I called for the dogs to come back, but they were gone. I was  so terrified that I lost Mike and Paul's beloved dogs, and that they'd get attacked by a poison snake, or run through the woods onto a road and got hit by a truck.

By this point Christine had gotten out of the tub to help me find them. She stayed at the top of the stairs calling them while I ran back to my room to get some jeans and proper shoes on. I had to go after them and couldn't hike in the dark woods wearing a bathing suit and flip flops.  I was praying that they'd have already found their way back by the time I got back outside, but no such luck.  Christine was still calling for them and Caroline was shaking their kibble bowls to try to lure them home.  Back in the woods I tried to make my way through the trees calling their names, but just couldn't...the ground was uneven and there really was no path to follow. It was like walking into a wall. I turned around and tried another direction, calling out the dogs names, when Shadow ran to me out of the darkness! I grabbed her collar and escorted her back down into the backyard, where Rica had already appeared. She must have just climbed down the garden wall or something because the other girls didn't see her come back either.

After that excitement, and with me getting a good ribbing from the girls, we all went to bed.

When I Fell Through Ice

Spending New Years at Aunt Lorna's cottage has been tradition for several years now.  It's a winterized cottage on a reasonably secluded lake, complete with sauna and outdoor hot tub.  A dozen or so of our friend's gather here each year and have a pseudo-quiet weekend of board games, movies, fancy-pants meals, shooting pop cans with bb-guns, kitchen dance parties and scary midnight ice walks. 

I'm sure most of my friends make no bones about it, but in truth, the ice walks terrify me. What otherwise could be portrayed as a romantic starlit walk is more of a battle of bravery and determination for me. I internally obsess over the depth of freezing cold water beneath us. Every step is marked with a crunch of snow, and every few feet we progress lets out a moan of cracking ice. I pray nearly the whole way.  But each year I go along for the stroll, perhaps just to renew a healthy sense of respect for nature into my soul.

In 2008 Laurie, Justin and I went for a walk on the ice just after sunset. Instead of venturing off to the other side of the lake, we opted to stick closer to the cottage. Not far from the cottage, the ice suddenly gave way and swallowed my entire right leg. I screamed and yelled "help me!" as my best friend ran off to the shore. I'll forgive her since she was two months pregnant at the time. Luckily her husband wasn't a jerk and pulled me out before the lake decided to finish me off.

My leg was soaked and nearly frozen through by the time we got back to the cottage. I threw open the front door to announce to our friends that I had just stared death in the eye...but I barely interrupted the intense domino game growing on the dinning room table. No one was particularly impressed other to impart a quick science lesson on me: "Didn't you know ice is thinner near the shore?"

My friends are jerks. Except Justin.  We're still cool.

The Significance of the Back of the Bus

Back in grade 7 or 8, we were going on a ski trip and had been corralled like cattle into the GP room to wait for the buses to arrive.  The room was thick with anticipation, both for the actual trip and to see who would get the back of the bus.

- Quick pause for those of you who have never been bussed to school.  Seating on a school bus is like a hierarchy of coolness.  Like chickens sorting out their pecking order, so too are tweens in determining the seating arrangement of a bus. -

Back in the GP room, I was front and center at the closed door, fiddling with the metal latch to control my tension.  Little to my knowledge, the buses had arrived out front and the teachers, having heard the excited din of the auditorium, were strategically arranging themselves so as not to get trampled.

Suddenly -with my thumb still in the metal latch- the doors were flung open, tearing my thumbnail nearly clean off.

I ran at the head of the stampede...both out of searing pain and stubborn determination to stake my claim.  Once my gear was safely guarding the most coveted of all vinyl benches, I had to wait for the rest of the bus to fill up before I could do anything about my mangled thumb.  

As soon as I was able, I bee-lined for the office.  At this point my thumb was on fire and shooting flaming needles up my arm.  The nail was now only partially lodged in my nail bed and the soft white flesh underneath was curdling with blood and oil. I threw open the office door and as my vision went black and my hearing faded I shouted "I need Tylenol!"

Back then Tylenol counted as medicine so instead I got an orange juice box, a bandaid, and a stern suggestion to not go skiing.  Which I obviously ignored.

After a few hills my hands were too cold to register the pain anymore, but by the end of the day when I took off my glove, I left the thumbnail behind in the pocket of my mitten.

Such is the cost of popularity.

Some Ass Over Tea Kettle Memories

I can't even remember the last time I went skiing/boarding; all I know is there is a dry, rusty snowboard sitting angrily in my dad's cold cellar in Guelph and the foam around my goggles has started to crumble.  But with Toronto's recent snowmagedon, today's perfect weather, and --most importantly-- a free day pass with gear rentals (sorry cellar-captive board), we rented a car and headed to Mansfield to see if our knees were too old to handle a day on the hills.  Despite a few falls, I am happy to discover that snowboarding is just like riding a bicycle...only in that it all comes back easily, otherwise the two have absolutely nothing in common.

Being on the hill lead me to recall a couple fond skiing/boarding memories of yonder, which I'd like to share with anyone who stumbles upon my blog:


Story One - 
A leading cause as to how my friends and I caught the skiing bug in the first place, was back in middle school when our math teacher formed a Skiing Club.  Looking back now, it was a brilliant tactical maneuver on both his and our parts.  He was able indulge a personal passion and veneer it as extra curricular participation, all while skipping work for a day every three weeks during the winter.  Genius!  We were able to skip a day of school every three weeks during the winter months and mask it off as school spirit...and get exercise, learn a new sport, blah blah blah...but mostly skip school.  All that, plus my mom used to buy me a litre bottle of the sparkling flavoured water every time I went on a ski trip, so that was pretty special too.

On one of these such trips the skiing conditions were not so great, and Laurie had just passed her skills test to have free run of the park.  Sandra, Jackie and I decided that trial by fire was in order, and we led her straight to one of the black diamond runs.  Not only was the hill steep and covered in moguls, but unbeknownst to us it was also layered in a respectable sheet of ice.  We charged down that hill the way that only fearless tweens can, and that sheet of ice reached out and sucker punched Laurie.  Sandra stayed with her, but Jackie and I were at the bottom of the hill before we realized that she was hurt, and rushed back up to 'rescue' her.  The ice went for round two and tried to give us the same treatment it bestowed upon Laurie.  We both went ass over tea kettle and nearly took her out bowling ball style.  Luckily, our aim was as good as our skiing and we managed to avoid damaging her any further.  That trip ended with Laurie being put in a body bag and snowmobiled to the first aid room.  She was later found to have torn her ACL and needed to be on crutches for months afterwards.

Story Two - 
My second time ever snowboarding was at Lake Louise, because it seems I like punishment.  I rose to the occasion and was able to follow my born-in-Alberta friend Dale on nearly all the runs that day.  So impressed with my new found ability, he decided it would be a great denouement for our last run to be from the top of the mountain.  From that peak we'd be able to see all the mountains and nearly touch the sun.  Sounded like a good plan.

We took the ski lift for a good 15 minutes to what I thought was the top of the mountain, but it was actually only as far as the ski lift was capable of going.  From there we still had to board a t-bar and travel damn near vertically up the precipice.  Now, I know you're like "So what? They use t-bars on bunny hills", but to you I say using a t-bar on a snowboard is more difficult than using it on skis since you have to face sideways.  Furthermore, using a t-bar to go up an unreasonably steep slop is bloody hard on your muscles, particularly after a whole day of 'sink or swim' snowboarding.  And finally, to ice the damned cake, using a t-bar at the end of the day after a ton of people before you have carved ruts into the route with their skiis is nearly impossible.  I managed to get a third of the way up to the top of the mountain when my board caught a rut and my wussy arms couldn't re-balance me.  I. Just. Couldn't. Hang. On. Any. Longer.

So I bailed, but with the last of my energy I bailed to the side so as not to take out nearly every single person behind me.  Except for Dale.  He dove out of line in hopes of literally saving my neck, but instead, I just crashed into him and he joined my human snowball.

We flipped ass over tea kettle, picking up speed with our snowboards ratcheted to our feet, flailing all over.  The people in the line behind us were wide eyed and gasping in horror as we tumbled all the way back to the top of the chair lift.  Again, I know you're thinking "Big deal, I used to roll down hills all the time when I was a kid", but to you I say this hill was not a hill, it was a freaking MOUNTAIN.  And we tumbled with planks of metal rimmed wood strapped to our feet in a double human snowball forever...kilometres...hours...DAYS!  We were motion sick, bruised and disoriented when we finally stopped, and it's only by the grace of God that neither of us were broken or missing any teeth.  We called it a day after that.

Actually wait...I guess that's why I haven't been snowboarding in years.

The Aptly Named "Uh Oh"

When I was fourteen, the day camp where I worked as a junior leader was contacted by YTV.  They needed contestants for a new game show called "Uh Oh".  Excited by the memories of toy mountains from "Kid Street", my friends and I eagerly auditioned.  If the casting directors were looking for outgoing kids who were willing to make fools of themselves on television, they found the right place.

Jackie and I were both selected as contestants.  We were not allowed to be partners because I was taller than her, and we didn't look good standing together on TV.  We were disappointed, but you know, whatever. We were just thrilled at the opportunity to be the centre of attention and win some cool stuff.

The filming day finally arrived, and YTV sent a bus down to the camp to pick us up.  All our friends were allowed to come sit in the audience and cheer us on.  I was put on the blue team and Jackie on the green team.  We bid each other good luck and stared cooly into each other's eyes, knowing that for the next hour or so, we were enemies.  Children's game shows have a way of doing this to you, I suppose.  Exposing the competitive, conceited, conniving, greedy little monsters teenager's are.

As the audience was arranged, the contestants were herded into the green room where we were instructed on the rules of the game.  I don't remember most of them, but assume they were unoriginal:  Spin the wheel, answer a question, play a game, incorrect answers might get you slimed by "The Punisher".  This was Canadian programing, after all, so no creative boundaries were broken. I secretly hoped my partner would get an answer wrong so I would be slimed, as part of the overall game show experience, but otherwise I was cool, calm, collected and ready to win! 

Our very first task was to come tearing onto the stage, slapping high-fives with the audience as we ran up to the podium.  Easy enough, though wickedly lame.  I was really embarrassed to be high-fiving the audience, and also worried that they would be too cool to high-five me back. Worst still, I had to go first. 

What they neglected to tell us was that the lights would be off when we came running onto the sound stage, with only coloured strobe lights to guide our way through the twisting ally of arm-flailing kids.  Without much choice in the matter, I was shoved into the dark flashy auditorium.  Thank God the kids high-fived me back, because that would have been the worst type of embarrassment - or so I thought.  Then I ran into the camera man, knocking him over, causing him to drop the camera on his own head. 

They obviously stopped taping and had to bring up the lights while they checked his face and camera to make sure that neither were broken.  Not the type of "look at me" attention I was aiming for. 

Luckily for his face, everything was fine and we resumed the show.  To Cole's Note this for you, I didn't get slimed but my partner did as a result of me not knowing how dentures were attached when they were first invented.  We ended up winning, and went home with an electric keyboard, which I later sold via the Penny Saver for $100.

I would give that $100 to see the blooper reel one day.






AND now, thanks to Jack MacDougall, here are some clips from the show!

How I learned to "look before you leap"

Growing up, we loved visiting my Aunt Marg's house in Milton during the summer when we could use her swimming pool.  It wasn't just the pool we loved.  We loved under the pool as well.  Her backyard was on a hill, so the pool deck was level closest to the house, but you could walk around it and get under the deck.  This arrangement made for excellent hide and seek games, and provided a wealth of bugs and plants to find and examine.  In particular, there were always little yellow butter flowers that you held under your chin and your chin glowed yellow from their reflection, it meant you loved butter.  Spoiler!  If it was sunny out, everyone loved butter.  But at the time - gasp!  I DO love butter! 
The spider webs that we found under the pool were incredible and pristine, complete with fat spiders of all sizes munching on untold numbers of bugs.  There were so many snails that it was impossible to go barefoot under the pool as their shells would inadvertently crunch under your feet.  My favourite were what we called pill bugs; the little guys that would curl up into their shells like armadillos and roll around the margarine containers we put them in.  We were told mice lived under there as well, but were never able to confirm that rumour.

As my memory holds, it was a typical day during a typical summer and we were eager for a swim.  Part of the fun at my aunt's pool was the assortment of pool toys kept on her deck in a big wooden trunk.  There were all sorts of inflatable toys, boats, floaties, flippers, and snorkels.  My brother, sister and I would race to see who got the best gear for our aquatic escapades (re: dunking each other until someone cried and we were ordered out of the pool).

On this day day I opted for surprise-under-water-tactics and thus required the snorkeling set.   I rushed to shove my feet into the flippers, and the snorkel and mask set over my pony tail. I dove in ready to begin my assault.  As I ducked under the water I put the snorkel in my mouth and took a big breath.

And filled my lungs full of earwigs.

I came to the surface choking, gagging and gasping for air, but it was too late.  The earwigs of Aunt Marg's wooden pool toy trunk were now scrambing around deep in my lungs. 

To this day, every time I feel a sharp prick while breathing, I think of the pile of little earwig carcase shells that might still be there...cemented to the sides of my lungs with their horny little pointers jabbing my flesh.

But I always check the snorkel tubes now.

My First Stitches

Another one of my first memories involved the combination of golf balls, blood and freezies. Let's set this story up in chapter headings, just to shake things up a bit.

Golf Beats Freezie:
My dad was practicing his swing in our Georgetown backyard, facing the woods. Not that anyone would confuse him for an environmentally-conscious man, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was either simply swinging, or using biodegradable balls. Anyway, as it were, my two-year-old self wandered up behind him, wanting to request a Freezie. As would become an unfortunate theme in my later life, I exercised poor timing and was caught mid-swing in the face.

Blood Beats Golf:
This is actually where my memory kicks in. My dad burst into the kitchen, holding me in his arms. My mom ran over yelling "Cope, what happened?!" and held a blue jay cloth to my mouth. When she pulled it away it was saturated with blood. If I wasn't crying before then, I was wailing now!

Freezie Beats Blood:
We went to the hospital to get my face mended. I have no recollection of the actual stitching process, but I remember being told afterward that I was very brave. Then the doctor came back with the biggest Freezie I had yet to see in my young life.

I don't know if the scar on my lip or forehead was from this experience, but I know whichever it was, it was totally worth it.

Earliest Memories

Here are a few of my earliest memories, in no particular order or relation. That's what you're going to get from this blog...a spattering of nonsense that probably doesn't interest anyone but me. And potentially anyone I happen to write about. I'll try to keep the bitchy-teen-angst infused comments to a minimum this time.

We had just moved from Georgetown into our new Brampton house, which would have made me three. Our basement was unfinished, dark, and potentially full of monsters. Trevor, 6 at the time, was scared to go down there and as an act of defiance and bravery, I decided to upshow him and go down there, alone, in the dark. It was terrifying and I was pretty sure I was going to die, but well worth it in the end. This was probably the turning point in our relationship.

Again, basement story:

The neighbourhood kids were all in our basement, and as dumb kids do, we were running the circular path around the stairs for no particular reason. As I ran by, I accidentally knocked down a 2x4 into the path, but as the race was on, I didn't want to stop and pick it back up. In fact, I probably prided myself on a successful obstacle for the next runner to overcome. The next runner was unfortunately my toddler little sister, who stepped on the board and got a nail through her little shoe, into her little foot. I feel TERRIBLE!!!!!

That last story I held onto in shame until just last year, when I finally felt it was time to tell Sarah what I had done. She obviously didn't remember, as she was really young, but upon confirmation with our dad, he said that it didn't happen. Perhaps she just fell and there was no nail, or maybe there was a nail and she narrowly missed it...or maybe I dreamed the whole thing up. Don't know, but it's still a memory. So onto the blog it goes.

The day I got Blackie:

Mom had told me that I could get a kitten as soon as the fences were put up in our backyard. I was sitting in the kitchen looking out the patio doors, emphatically telling her that the fences were there, but I still didn't have a kitten. I was really angry about it and sulking my five-year-old face off.
Aunt Marg and likely Nanny opened our front door, as they came over every Wednesday for lunch. I was too sulky to go say hi, so I just sat slumped in the kitchen against the back wall. When I looked over, Aunt Marg was carrying a little black kitten and handed him to me. I vividly remember that moment, and how happy she looked to be able to give him to me. I felt nearly sick with guilt for being so angry at my mom.

Why is it that my earliest memories are charged by guilt?

Proof that I'm a thoughtless and unfeeling person:

When Grampa Les died, he and Nanny lived in Connecticut. Mom and Dad only took baby Sarah to the funeral with them and left Trevor and I with Aunt Caroline and Uncle Lambert for the weekend. I was probably about 4 if Sarah was a baby. It was the first time they'd been away from me, and it was over my birthday. I remember being very excited to spend a sleep over weekend with A Caroline and U Lambert, because they had a pinball machine in the basement and the little mushroom houses for their smurf figurines. Before Mom and Dad left us there, they gave me a birthday present to open. It was a girl-transformer, which transformed from a cat into a lipstick. It thrilled the shit out of me. Grampa Les, who?

Random, the day I became a "Big Girl":

One afternoon before I was old enough to go to school, I asked Mom to take me to the park. I decided to test her to see if she'd let me into the stroller and was really surprised when she let me. Feeling pretty pleased with my lazy ingenuity, I took the stroller ride congratulating myself the whole way. Until we passed my brother's friend Lindsay. She was 3 years older than me, and someone who I considered a "Big Girl". I was humiliated at being caught hitching a stroller ride, and never rode in one again.

Random, possibly the origin of my bathroom insecurities

More on the subject of Lindsay, she was an only child, had two cats, and super long hair. Though I wasn't aware of this word at the time, to me she seemed very bohemian. Once when all the kids were playing hide and seek, I thought she was going to go hide in the bathroom, so I followed her in there. She wasn't in there to hide, and didn't seem to mind taking a poo in front of me. Also very bohemian. She explained that when you got to go, you got to go, and once her mom didn't poo for a very long time and the doctor needed to sit his hand up her bum and take the poo out. I really wish I didn't know that story. When I went to high school and Lindsay was there, that story was all I could think about every time I ran into her, with her cropped green hair. Confirmed: Bohemian.

Short and Sweet...wallpaper:

My first room in the Brampton house had strawberry shortcake wallpaper. I was quite convinced that it was scratch and sniff, and used to sniff the different characters all the time. In fact, I remember giving it a lick, just to confirm whether it was also tasty wallpaper; it was just regular wallpaper flavour.