Diverticulitis Dining Diet

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I’m on a battlefield.  Bombs are going off. I’m in a trench filled with mud and stink.  My socks are wet.  Another bomb explodes overhead. I duck and cover my head. I’m sweating like a red lentil in boiling water. Then out of nowhere – I need to poop, but not in this intestinal muck.  The battle is over.  I have scars. A new day.

Diet is right up there with the other biggies – exercise, sleep and alcohol use. Diet jumped to list top after 3 diverticulitis attacks (two months apart). On these occasions, I woke up at 2am with retching gut pain and the sweats. I felt like I had a flu and food poisoning combination. When I tried to pee, slight pain (inflamed colon pressing against my bladder). After the first attack, I went to the doc who said it was diverticulitis, not uncommon for a man of your age (64 – knocking on the senior citizen’s door). He gave me some nasty antibiotic pills – Ciprofloxacin (very harsh) and Metronidazole ten days on this shit, literally.

Now, the first 24 hours are brutal, but 24 hours later, I’m out running 10k. What the?  On to Dr. Google and his assistant Dr. YouTube – the resounding and agreeable result, drum roll please. You need to switch to a high fibre diet. Ok, can’t hurt, right? My diet is already very good.  More beans please.   The advice was slowly increase fibre.  Did eye? Nope. The gut was yelling at me for the first few weeks, but I pooped on.

My dietary changes were – psyllium husk fibre every morning (in my blueberry, banana, high protein almond milk and plain yogurt smoothie), beans at lunch (added to my avocado, cheese and egg on sour dough toast). In the evening some high fibre veggies – potatoes, sprouts or beans (roasted chickpeas ever the ready). With these minor additions,  I am getting close to 30 grams of fibre every day. Poops are awesome. I can always tell a good ‘ol fibre poop (no description here, but you’ll know). I also decreased red meat to maybe twice a month (lean sirloin only) and I stopped alcohol consumption (I dunno if it helps, but it doesn’t hurt).  And finally, probiotic Kombucha, every afternoon at 2.

So far, so good. I’m coming on three months and nothing but good poops and evening bean farts (sorry honey). What have I learnt from the experience? One needs to eat what agrees with them (and this changes with age). I changed my diet for medical reasons. Even if I wasn’t scared of impending attacks, adding more fibre to a diet is a great idea. I feel great and really that’s all that matters. Right.

Good Night Irene

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I had a dream we were sipping whisky neat. I threw the glass in the campfire. Darkness surrounded me.  I heard a noise in the bush. Out came a giant Scottish dude named Balvenie. He shouted in an accent I couldn’t decipher.  I got up and ran, fear over my shoulder.  I woke up in the middle of the night sweating. Panting. The next morning, I looked at my watch. Dr. Garmin yelled at me  with a 34-sleep score. Holy shit. Not good. I need to get better.

Now, I’ve always been a great sleeper. I can sleep anywhere – at a movie, concert even while driving (not too often). Sleep is very important right up there with the other two biggies, exercise and diet. But with the invention of smart watches, monitoring is both a blessing and a curse.   How can you not take an interest in your sleep? The device is either yelling at me or stroking me with positivity.

However, how accurate are sleep monitoring watches? When you get a sleep score of 93, they are the greatest invention to man. A 34 score and they are shit. From what I’ve read, watches are very good at monitoring how long you’ve slept and that’s about it. Deep sleep and REM, not so much. I was getting such poor scores on my Garmin (average 82), that I decided to funnel the data into Apple health.  She (you beautiful gem) regularly  gives me a 97-100 score every night, so uplifting. Garmin is nothing more that a scolding old bitty who enjoys picking the wings off flies . Constant low scores surely affects your sleep. We all want a 100 percent right? The highest I’ve ever gotten is 93. Once.

With all these poor scores, I decided to try and enhance my sleep score. First magnesium bisglycinate. Made me sleepy before bed, but if you stop taking it,  your body needs time to readjust. It’s like taking a sleeping pill. Once you use, you become dependant and I don’t want to become dependant on anything, except warm socks in the winter. I tried it for two weeks. No change. Then Gabapentin, another sleep inducing medication.  Same – no change and hard to come off.  Blue filter glasses (I use a reader every night). Nope. In fact for the first week, my score was worse. So none of this shit works – what does work?  Going to bed at the same time. Routine is king. And I’m happy with Apple scores.

Does Garmin really matter – you old cantankerous dick? How do you feel when you put your feet on the floor? Five years ago, I didn’t have a sleep monitoring watch and I felt fine. In fact, I think my sleep has gotten worse (for a time) from the constant nagging and negative Garmin reports. I know more than one person who turns the Garmin sleep data off completely. Switching to the more positive Apple is an eye closer for sure.

Sleep is great. I have a routine and I stick to it. I also make sure my bedroom is cool and dark. And no alcohol. If there’s one good report for Garmin, it’s how shitty your sleep is with even one glass of wine too close to bed. I wonder how many people, like me, who have given up booze after damning sleep reports.  The giant nasty Scottish dude is still chasing me, but good luck trying to catch me.

Sober Sunshine

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I’m laying in a flower infested summer field, eyes toward a beautiful blue sky. Warm sunbeams fill my soul. Tranquility I haven’t felt in years. My phone bleeps. I try to ignore it, but it won’t go away. I answer. Hello, this is the wine industry calling. We haven’t seen you in months. Are you ok?  Don’t abandon us.  We were good to you once. Remember the fun? Ok the mornings sucked, but still. We need you. I apologized, hung up and went back to the warm sunshine.  Giving up alcohol is the greatest gift I ever gave myself.

I didn’t stop because I got a DUI or my wife left me or I lost my job. I was a Friday night binge drinker for forty years. Week’s end, I’d come home, sit in my easy chair and drink very expensive wine or single malt scotch (so cultured right). I never had just two glasses. A bottle of wine led to some beers and then ohhhh some weed.  With the cupboards bare, it was Good Night, Irene. I never blacked out. I remember the songs and running rampant though midnight streets at dawn.  I never lost anything but my health.

Mental health issues were the main inspiration for change. I didn’t realize the damage alcohol caused until I gave it up. No booze means, waking up in the morning with a clear head, watching a beautiful pink sun rise and feeling it. No more hangovers and recovery days. No more brain numbness. No more hangxiety – the anxiety you feel the next morning after a night of drinking with your head in your hands asking yourself, why?  Or the depression that follows from the frustration you feel because you just can’t stop or how come you can’t just have two glasses and be done. Mental health issues were literally driving me crazy.

And the sleep issues. Even two glasses of wine devastated my sleep. It took me two weeks sober to get my sleep pattern back to normal.  Now I sleep consistently well.  Some people say they return to dreaming. I never had that problem – drinking nightmares never stopped until I quit.

I don’t know when I realized drinking was doing me harm – possibly retirement because I could drink whenever I wanted. Monday? Haha. It’s not like I have work tomorrow. My job held the bottle in check (very hard to teach grammar hungover). Oh no, it’s Sunday. I can’t drink. I work tomorrow. But once the training wheels were off – whoohoo.  Then came the pandemic. What else do you do? Watching the world slowly unravel while in isolation, please pass me the wine. But once normality returned, I couldn’t stop. Maybe for a couple of weeks or a thirty-day challenge.  Something is wrong here.

And then a switch finally clicked. I stopped. Annie Grace was a big help, along with many YouTube videos and r/stopdrinking (I’m a stocker, but very helpful). Yes, alcohol is bad for your health. I wish I was a two-glasser, but I am not. I like where I am now. I enjoy my mornings. I enjoy my sleep. I feel healthy, mentally and physically. And frankly, I am afraid. I know what one glass leads to and I do not want to travel that road.  I love my victories – sober birthday, sober Xmas, sober vacation. Alcohol takes up too much brain space I need for other activities like enjoying life.

Move It or Lose It

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I just turned 65. I am now officially a senior citizen – bring on the discounts, extended health care benefits (in my Province) and my Old Age Security cheque (coming in the new year).  I’ve taken pretty good care of myself over the past few decades (I want to enjoy my retirement). I am physically fit (or so my watch tells me), I have a plan – first exercise.

My favourite  motto is  – “Move it or Lose it.” With my exercise plan, it’s not how many kilometres I run or walk, it’s about getting out and moving every day, no matter what weather conditions. Last week we had a  -31C with the windchill snap, but as the Swedes say – “No bad weather, just bad clothing .” Every morning, I get up,  drink half a litre of lemon water and immediately head out the door for a run or walk.

Running is unique – I run to the conditions. If the paths are too snowy, or if it’s too cold, (-15C or more – running gear gets too bulky), I do a 3k walk (in any condition) and run later. I am very lucky because I can afford winter walking/hiking gear – fleece hoodie, puffer jacket, windproof shell, two layers of pants, light gloves inside mitts, toque and a buff for my neck and face. Walking gear for really freaking cold weather (I am good until -25). If it’s -5C to zero get out the shorts and flip flops (kidding). I follow my walk with a 6k run on the treadmill (another luxury, a gift from my daughter).

If I can run outside, it’s a very slow 7k to 10k (winter max). Winter is not the time to set speed records.  Last thing I need is a broken ankle (please see winter emergency rooms). One more item, I cannot hit the trail or path before 8am because it’s too dark out (the sun does not rise before 8:30 – mid winter). Double danger whammy – darkness and ice. The Swedes have another saying, if it’s too dark and cold, go to IKEA. Always sunny among the meatballs and Björn Borg shelves.

Now the best benefit with waking or running  outside are what I call morning bombs. Moving outside in the early morning sun, the radiance fills your bones like drops of sweet honey dew. As you move, you are literally elevated, your entire mood is lifted atop the mountains or clouds. I cannot think of a better mental health medicine than an early morning walk or run. Every Sunday I walk through the forest near my house (another lucky nugget) and feel the energy of nature buzzing in me bones. Even in -25, my bones are tingling. Face stings like a metal glove slap, but the bones are very happy.

Now here’s my weekly movement schedule:

Sun. Mon. Tues. Wed.  Thur. Fri. Sat.
5.5 k nature walk 7k outside run with weights 7k outside run 3k walk/6k dreadmill run with weights 7k outside run 3k walk/ 6k dreadmill run with weights Long run 8-10k

All weather permitting – see, ice, snow, cold and emergency room broken bones. And yes – three fifteen minute weight session each week to keep the upper body muscles strong and osteoporosis at bay (and looking nice in the mirror – vanity goes a long way at 65). And remember as King Julian says, “I like to move it,  move it.”  It is NEVER too late.

Alzheimer’s Aware

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I listened to a great podcast (Dan Harris – Ten Percent Happier) yesterday on Alzheimer’s – my biggest scare. I can’t imagine having your life slip away into an empty sunny field where nothing is familiar. Everyone you know is gone. Now I don’t want to say a dark hole because you’re not dead. You are alive physically, just in an unknown world, on a new planet so to speak. You can see the flowers, the waving grass and the sunshine, but you don’t know the names of the people who pass you by. You feel the warm sun on your face, and it feels good, but where and with whom you have shared this experience is beyond your present grasp.

The guest, neuroscientist Lisa Genova, made the disease more human (she has many TED talks). And it’s good to know that only two percent of all cases of Alzheimer’s are genetic. The disease really comes down to lifestyle and the big three: sleep, diet and exercise.  She also calmed my fears. I can’t think how many times I’ve forgotten where I parked my car, but, according to the scientist, it’s not that you forget where you parked (everyone does), it’s when you can’t remember getting to the mall or what your car looks like (Phew!!).  She has many comforting suggestions. Write shit down.  Lists are fine and it’s OK to Google shit. Young folks do all the time, so why struggle. No one needs to power through forgetfulness. The stress is worse.

Now the lifestyle choices, first sleep. You need to get your seven to nine per night because when you get a good night’s rest it clears your brain of a chemical that erodes your hippocampus – the area where our memories reside. She also stated it’s OK to get up and pee in the night (can I have another Phew!); it doesn’t have to be completely uninterrupted sleep.  Even when I was twenty, I never got a complete sleep unless accompanied by too many beers or sixteen-hour waiter shifts.

The diet recommendation is, of course, the Mediterranean (for the umpteenth time) – lots of veggies and a reduced amount of red meat. I’m already on this, but I could use less red meat and more fish in my diet. I also need to watch the pasta, rice and potatoes –  refined carbs not a good idea.  Eat more whole grain.

The exercise suggestion is at least twenty minutes of moderate activity or fifteen minutes vigorous per day. Just go outside for less than half an hour and walk like you’re late for work and boom you’re done.

However, the brain needs work, so enhance this by learning something new; another important aspect of keeping the brain in tip top shape. Learn new things – it keeps the brain sharp and creates new pathways – rewire baby.  For example, try a new sport like cross country skiing or go for a run or walk in a new place. Today on my run, I made sure I took notice of new people I see on my run. Not a new place, but new people. She also suggests team sports, the socializing while on a court or rink helps the brain keep in shape.

Nothing prevents the disease one-hundred percent, but be aware or beware. Now  I gotta walk to the store as if chased by the coppers or a T-Rex. I need blueberries and plain yogourt.

More Information:

 

 

Spicy Harvest

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Yep, crop gathering in the backyard.  Many herbs, peppers and fruit.  Now, it’s time to preserve my gems for the long cold winter. If leaves are falling, can snow be far behind?

The reason we had such a bumper crop this year is due to the massive rainfall we had in early summer. I’m not sure if it was a record, but we had almost double the normal amount for July. Then came our late warm summer – it’s nearly October and I’m still outside drinking my morning coffee in me skivvies  (the best undies on the planet). Just last week we had over plus twenty temperatures for the whole week. Whooohooo. Slap on the sunnies and lotion. The weather combination means an amazing autumn crop.

My herb crop was:  basil, oregano, thyme, rosemary, sage and parsley. I picked up sage late, just so I could say – parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme (check out the song). The first three, I dried over the summer months, filling two large jars. The rosemary is still happy in the garden, so have at ‘er. I had a massive amount of basil, so from pesto, to salads, to margarita pizza to caprese to whatever – it did not go to waste. I also froze some ice cube pesto for whenever. The kitchen smelt like a spice spa all summer. The dried sage is for the Thanksgiving turkey.

My peppers were also amazing – yellow banana, jalapeno, and habanero.  The yellow I just chopped up and put in salads as soon as they were ready. With the jalapenos, I made salsa and pickled them (along with the yellow). Now the habanero were an issue. I’m past the days when I would eat hot peppers whole just on a dare – me stomach and bottom half has burning issues.  Then I found this fantastic recipe for habanero sauce. Deliciosa! I watered it down a bit with a can of fire roasted tomatoes and removed some seeds. Not too spicy. I also had some leftover and yes you can freeze them – remove stems, air tight ziplock.

Now my final crop – apples. The tree only gives fruit every couple of years, so I’d hate to see them go to waste – although the critters love the fruit. However, I find them very bland to eat raw. The squirrels and birds must have a different palette. I have a ton and I don’t know what to do with them.  Apple sauce? Apple Cider? I can fortify the fruit with honey and make an excellent energy meal for my long runs or hikes or bikes. I’m sure the kiddies might like the sauce (or hooch) as well. I will need to test. Much honey. The youngins’ do not have rodent tastes.

Ok, gotta run and find out what to do with those apples. And in case you’re wondering because I was: Spicy poop. “Yes, spicy food can lead to soft poop or diarrhea because it contains capsaicin, which irritates the digestive tract and speeds up intestinal contractions. This can result in a quicker passage of food through the gut, often leading to loose stools. ” Who woulda known?

One final reminder – use gloves with the hot peppers. My nose is still burning as if I did a 10k barefoot walk on desert pavement.

 

East Slopes Disaster

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'Morally and ethically wrong:' Court to hear challenge to Alberta coal ...

‘Morally and ethically wrong:’

I don’t know what’s going on in this crazy this province. I mean it has always leaned right of centre, but these days, the Alberta UCP government is run by ugly corporations and extreme right-wing radicals, and it’s unable (or is afraid to) to stand up to these morons.

One huge concern (among many others) is the destructive coal mining on the East Slopes of the Rocky Mountains near Tent Mountain. Our government doesn’t seem to realize (or is afraid to – common theme here) the catastrophic environmental issues around leaching toxins into rivers and lakes. But this is what happens when you have an entitled government and no opposition. They don’t listen to anyone, except those who scream the loudest, even though the yellers are a minority.

Coal mining is destroying waterways by pouring Selenium into both Crowsnest Creek and East Crowsnest Creek to the point where trout are now extinct. Tests showed concentrations of Selenium were 151 micrograms per litre. The provincial limit is 2 while the federal maximum is 1. I find it hard to believe Environment Alberta (Rebecca Schultz, minister) doesn’t have this information, demanding immediate action.

Nearly 70% of people in the province disagree with mining in the Crowsnest Pass except those who live there, but the issue is larger than the four hundred jobs promised (where have I heard this before) for the six thousand residents nestled in the Canadian Rockies, a small minority in a province of 5 million. Water flows, effecting many more downstream, including Indigenous peoples – they have enough clean water issues. And what about the four-legged creatures, drinking from these once pristine waterways? My precious Alberta beef!

And to have an Australian asshole (Peter Doyle, CEO of Montem Resources,) come to this country and bully the government into changing environmental policy is a joke. This idiot threatened to sue the entire Alberta Energy  Regulator (and the UCP government) over this issue. How can we sit here and get bullied by some freaking offshore idiot.  His demonic corporation will mine the coal and export it to Asia. What other environmental issues occur when China or India burn coal – holy global warming Batman.

The UCP government is also running scared because they know any division in their “base” means they will lose power. Their management is not about any environmental concerns. It’s about losing power, so if corporations (their base along with squawking radicals) start rattling the cage, they’d better cave in like a cheap coal mine or lose support. And right now, they need all the support they can muster.  People are angry.

It says something about a government bullied by offshore thugs meanwhile it bitches about manipulation by the Federal government. Maybe the UCP should come up with a separatist act against foreign interference.  Dani Smith needs to realize her government works for the people of Alberta, not the other way around. And with cave-ins like this, she’ll need a new job peeling shrimp in Australia.

For more information and to lend a helping hand, try these.

Save our Slopes

CPAWS

And an excellent article from my new favourite on-line news source The Tyee out of Vancouver  – Inside an Australian Miner’s Brawl with Alberta Regulators

 

James by Percival Everett

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'James' Author Percival Everett on Freedom, Violence, and the Lure of ...Ok, what am I reading right now?  I wanted to explore humorous novels, after all summer is near, so chillin’ in the hammock with some chuckles, ideal. Let’s start with the ever unreliable – “Hey Siri, what are the funniest books ever written.”  She gave me a list with “James “by Percival Everett on, but WTF – slavery is not funny. You’re fired Apple Irish voice. However, I’m glad James popped up because it’s a great read and it brought back many education journey memories.

The novel is based on “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” written in 1884 by Mark Twain, the ex-river boat pilot. However, the new version is written from James’ (the new Jim) perspective. Both follow his escape from Miss Watson because she is about to sell him down the river. Literally, to New Orleans. They must escape and make some money to buy freedom for their family and move to Illinois, a free state.

“James,” the re-creation, is amazing. His vocabulary when speaking with other slaves is right out of Oxford (not the Faulkner home), but when talking to white folk, he plays slave – “Mos’ peoples likes money mo’ ’n anythin’ else. White folks, anyways”.  He’s also a proficient reader, writer and teacher. And why not? Who’s to say he couldn’t.  I love this take.

The  first escape  is to Jackson’s Island where he meets up with Huck.  The boy fakes his death to escape the violence from his drunk and abusive father, Pap Finn, just like in the original. From here Jim and Huck make a raft and head up the river to freedom in the north. While travelling, James pens intriguing passages about his situation, until he loses his pencil.

Both novels take place in Southern antebellum society before the civil war, giving an accurate and terrifying portrait of slave life in the United States.  However, the lynching scene differs. In “James” it takes place over a stolen pencil and it’s an accused slave who is murdered by a gang of white assholes.  However, in Twain’s novel, Colonel Sherburn, a white dude and a wealthy shop owner, challenges and calls out the mob gathered to lynch him after he shoots town drunk Boggs.  When I first read “Huckleberry Finn,” this scene had me in tears of anger.

I also loved Norman – the light skinned companion who passes as a white dude (not in the original – even Twain could’ve imagined this situation). The ending of the novels is slightly different.  In the original Jim is freed by Miss Watson but loses it to help Tom Sawyer (a prick), after he’s shot, but finally his freedom is secured. Huck then “lights out for the Territory.”  Whereas in “James,” we have fireworks, but hope (not too much spoiler here).

I read the Twain novel just as I started my university journey. My first English class was  American Literature with Gary Frame, the best teacher I ever had. I always felt sorry that poor guy because he put up with an overly zealous student who waited outside his door almost every day to ask questions. I’m sure as he walked back to his office, saw me he said, “Oh shit not again.” He surely wanted to light out for the Territory.

I loved “James” and I’m sure if Gary Frame were still teaching, the novel would be on his syllabus. I remember almost every book I read in that class.  Ok, time to re-read “Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch,” but no recreation here.

Vancouver Walk and Eat – 2025

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So many things to like about Vancouver (unless you need to buy a house) – the transportation, the food and the ability to walk everywhere. Let’s get to them all.

First the transportation. Before I left, I registered my Compass Card (leftover from my last visit) and added some funds. Note: when you leave the airport, just tap the card. I bought a ticket from the machine with my card – 9.85. On the way back I tapped in from downtown and airport out – cost 3.85, the two zone fare (not totally sure why). Get the transit card, so convenient for all your travels. And if you need a car, check out EVO – they are everywhere.  However, we also walked, walked and walked (over 38k steps one day – a new personal record) in the pouring rain. Yea to the Gortex shoes and jacket.

Next the food. Oh my goodness, so good. Our first meal was in Gastown at GUU, just down from Waterfront station. We started with the Takowasa – marinated octopus and wasabi – served w/ 6 pieces of roasted seaweed – a very small portion but the wasabi didn’t peel the insides of my nostrils so that’s good. Next, we had the Salmon With Seven Friends – diced wild sockeye salmon w/ natto (fermented soy beans), pickled cucumber, pickled daikon, garlic chips, crispy wonton, green onion, fresh egg yolk, “otokomae” and roasted seaweed.  Just mix and wrap in seaweed strips, yummy. We finished with Grilled Salmon Bento Box with a daily side dish, rice, and miso soup. We ordered an extra miso so we wouldn’t start throwing punches. The grilled salmon was huge and coming from the prairies I need all the salmon I can get. With tip, we walked out paying a reasonable 50 bucks for two people. Gotta love the price.

We were going to see a movie, so a quick stop in Chinatown and Bao Bei.  We arrived a little early and it was already lined up. Luckily, we were number one (stink-eyeing any line butting persons), rewarded with a nice high top near the door (twenty minutes later, the place was packed). We started with the Bean Curd – amazing. Then on to the Beef Tartre – more amazing – then the Kick Ass Fried Rice, Steamed Prawn, Scallop and Chive Dumplings all amazing, amazing. We didn’t try any of the cocktails (sober trip), but we were close to the bar, and they looked fun. Ok, I’ve used the “amazing” adjective a lot, but it was. All in for two of us – 165. A bit pricey but well worth the experience.

Ok, it’s Vancouver and one must do sushi. I live on the prairies where fresh seafood is about as common as a Liberal vote. We went to a Yaletown spot called Oshi Nori . A small cozy spot with only a sushi bar. We had Truffle Edamame (I’ll eat anything with truffle) and all the Toro and Salmon Nigiri on the menu . We also sampled the 5 Roll Basic Set (served taco style – wrapped in seaweed). A nasty scene as we wrestled for the last piece (even numbers, please).  125, for two hungry lads. Pricey, but a very happy tummy indeed.

The biggest food trip take away –  from my house on the other side of the Rockies, I was in  downtown Vancouver eating sushi in two and a half hours. Mind boggling. I’m already planning my next walk ‘n eat  journey with my amazing travelling companion who has an excellent nose where to go.

Table Manners

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I’m waiting for an old friend, a tall skinny dude with short cropped grey hair and a long-drawn-out face like a tragedy mask pulled down from the chin.  I am sitting in a restaurant – a corner hole in the wall, shaped like a piece of cake with white fifties Formica counter tops running the length. The chairs are bolted to the floor cushioned with red puffy faux leather. They squeak when  swivel. I wait.  I never know if he’ll show. Is he worth the wait?

 Finally, he walks into the slice of time, swaying with slumping shoulders, wearing a long dark wool coat hanging down to his knees.  He falls beside me. I say you should really give me your phone number so I can call you and arrange meetings rather than this wait and hope game we play.  I get tired. He shrugs. Puts his head down. I didn’t mean to scold?  He’s a past I need. A measure to know how far I’ve come.

We sit at the counter. More coffee, please. I say, do you wanna go skiing?  Friday night?  Only problem, many drunk kids on the hill, I add. He says, he doesn’t drink.  I say the town is very busy on weekends. Accommodation short. He says he knows a guy. I nod. He shrugs.  He says, he has a meeting.  Do I want to join? Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do. We put the slippery hill on hold.

We go to another restaurant.  Green and pink neon swirling letters with no organization.  We move to a round half circle booth, made for twelve. Only four shows. Slick brown faux leather this time. What is the arrangement, I think. On the reclaimed wood table, stand glasses half full with melting cubes. Wet circles in no pattern. I strain to  understand. Sounds like baby gaga.  Naiveté? They laugh. Heads bobble. Facial wrinkles. Crows slash faces.

They are eating something bloody, red puddles on plates.  One show, Sherry or Shirley, points to a raw picture with a long shiny nail. I say wow that’s too much. I don’t eat red meat. She rubs her belly and smiles.  I return a grin and order, but it’s only half. Did I misunderstand?   Still too much. They keep talking. I only listen. They continue to laugh.

I want to join, eager to make friends. I mimic their noises. Conversation dies. The table loses energy. I hear ice reforming into blocks. A grey tattered face, stands and says that’s not funny. I finally understand. Shirley or Sherry says she’ll pay for the show. The table evaporates like rings on the table.

I put my head down. Hard fluorescent gum under the table. When I look up, the group is gone.  What did I say? I stopped the laughter.  I killed the language. I walk out, staring at my shoe tops. My past deserts me. Solo skiing isn’t fun, but he knows a guy.