Another vacation

I was driving these crazy mountain roads, the kind that are little more than one lane, with switchbacks and hairpin turns, and heavy tree cover and sometimes you wonder if there isn’t just going to be a landslide. We’d gone to some kind of mountainous terrain to research the rugged Western Canadian Mountain’s propensity for vicious attacks on unsuspecting tourists – just a few weeks ago, a hapless hiker had been dashed to smithereens when one of the wild Mountains shook him from his foothold on a small hiking path.

SMITHEREENS.

It wasn’t that long ago that an entire portion of one of the great Western Canadian Mountains attacked an entire village of unsuspecting people. It just up and fell over right on top of them. No warning (except from the Aboriginal Elders, who called that particular range : the mountains that move), just whup! up in the middle of the night and jumped all over a hapless village. Go ahead and pooh-pooh. The evidence is STILL THERE.

Anyway, we’d been attempting to research these vicious Mountains. On our way back, it appeared that wherever we stopped to camp, there were people there we knew. On one such stop, my friend David was there. Strangely, a number of our friends were there as it appears we’d contacted them all ahead of time to let them know we’d be camping and throwing a camping party. The strange thing about this was that we didn’t know until after someone explained it to us that we’d done that.

I figured it out, though. It’s very simple when you think about it. We’d *already* camped at that site, on that day. Sometime in the future, I, or His Nibs, had travelled back into the past to alert all our friends that we would be there on that day, at that time. Of course, future us could not talk to past us, because of the horrible things that does to the space-time continuum (evidence: Star Trek, Superman, Back to the Future I, II, and III, and this version of Hamlet I read in a comic shop once). So the party itself was a surprise. Which was nice, and unexpected!

Anyway, David approached me and said, “I have a gift for you in the car!”
And I said, “A gift!?”
And he said, “In the car!”
“In the car!?”
“A gift!” he exclaimed. This conversation went on for rather longer than it probably ought to have, but it was terribly entertaining. Eventually, David went to his car and returned with a little piece of PVC tubing with some shoots growing out of it. I stared at it. I stared at David. I stared at the PVC tubing with some shoots growing out of it. I stared at David. I repeated these two things a few times more. Then I said
“David?”
And he said, “Yes?”
And I said, “Did you just give me weed?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed.
“Hydroponically growing weed?”
“Yes!”
“Little baby dope plants, growing in PVC tubing?”
“Yes! I’ve decided that I’d rather have fresh herbs all year, and so I’ve set up this hydroponic greenhouse in my basement.”
“David?” I asked, “Are you seriously growing a basement full of weed?”
And he said, “No! That’s just for you! Most of what’s in my basement is basil, oregano, rosemary…I have some lovely tomatoes, though. You should come and see. Oh, and the chives are DELICIOUS…”

David went on talking about his hydroponics grow op while I stared at the little marijuana plants he’d just handed me. My ears quit listening, and I shook my head, but then terrible, wonderful Ideas came to me as I watched my baby reefer reaching for the sun.

cenobyte
cenobyte is a writer, editor, blogger, and super genius from Saskatchewan, Canada.

2 Comments

  1. It’s a testimony to… something or other that I almost always read your posts, enjoy them hugely, and am never sure until I get to the very end and see the tag “dreams” (or not) whether they actually happened.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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