Saturday, November 05, 2005
Ken
Sign on the cabin's 2nd floor said 'Come in, We're Open.'
"What's up there?"
"Oh, that's Ken. Go on up and say hello."
Tentative stairclimb to peek inside.
"Oh, hi! Come on in, have some chili. I'm Ken. Have a seat next to the basketweaver." Sparse-bearded, toothless menonite cuddling a basket in hand.
Ken poured us some slaughtered bovine chili. "It's great stuff. Harvey made it, thanks Harvey!"
"No problem Ken." Beer-sipping bronze bearded kid in the corner, Hulk Hogan smile.
"Now, this here's Anna, Jane, oh, here's Stevie. Hey Stevie!" Stevie delivered us a few cans of malt liquor and the Basketweaver quoffed his and stumbled off to a class he was teaching on weaving hats.
"He made me this one," said Anna, long-time west-coast hippie, pretty in her fifties.
"So where you folks from?"
"Toronto. Well, I'm from Halifax originally, but we live in Toronto now."
"Nova Scotia, eh? I got a job offer from there yesterday. They want me to come build them a gazebo."
"That's a bit of a commute Ken," said Harvey. Ken emitted this cackle - it volcano erupted from his torso, stalled, turned over agin like a cold Calgary engine, sputtered, and exploded once more - hyena laugh, body convulsing hands slapping knees.
"Commute! Ha!" he finally sputtered. "No! They wanted to fly me out there. They heard my rep!"
"Which rep Ken?"
The same laugh had me bellowing my own cowardly lion laugh - Sadie later said she'd never heard such noises from me. "Which rep?! Which one do you think?"
"You have so many - could be the professional, could be the personal. Or was it the romantic?"
"Oh, I've dipped into those lush meadows many a time Harvey, many a time. Ha-ha-ha-haaa! He-heh-ha-ha-haaa!" Made the Polar Bear's roar sound like a mouse being stepped on.
"What's up there?"
"Oh, that's Ken. Go on up and say hello."
Tentative stairclimb to peek inside.
"Oh, hi! Come on in, have some chili. I'm Ken. Have a seat next to the basketweaver." Sparse-bearded, toothless menonite cuddling a basket in hand.
Ken poured us some slaughtered bovine chili. "It's great stuff. Harvey made it, thanks Harvey!"
"No problem Ken." Beer-sipping bronze bearded kid in the corner, Hulk Hogan smile.
"Now, this here's Anna, Jane, oh, here's Stevie. Hey Stevie!" Stevie delivered us a few cans of malt liquor and the Basketweaver quoffed his and stumbled off to a class he was teaching on weaving hats.
"He made me this one," said Anna, long-time west-coast hippie, pretty in her fifties.
"So where you folks from?"
"Toronto. Well, I'm from Halifax originally, but we live in Toronto now."
"Nova Scotia, eh? I got a job offer from there yesterday. They want me to come build them a gazebo."
"That's a bit of a commute Ken," said Harvey. Ken emitted this cackle - it volcano erupted from his torso, stalled, turned over agin like a cold Calgary engine, sputtered, and exploded once more - hyena laugh, body convulsing hands slapping knees.
"Commute! Ha!" he finally sputtered. "No! They wanted to fly me out there. They heard my rep!"
"Which rep Ken?"
The same laugh had me bellowing my own cowardly lion laugh - Sadie later said she'd never heard such noises from me. "Which rep?! Which one do you think?"
"You have so many - could be the professional, could be the personal. Or was it the romantic?"
"Oh, I've dipped into those lush meadows many a time Harvey, many a time. Ha-ha-ha-haaa! He-heh-ha-ha-haaa!" Made the Polar Bear's roar sound like a mouse being stepped on.
Labels: 2001, non-fiction, Travel, west coast
