Crabby Codgers - Day Two

We slept the sleep of the minimally exhausted; maximum would arrive a night later. All that unburdened energy sweeping through the house with the transitory introduction of two young girls. Somewhat overwhelming for a pair of co-dependents who have gone through life together, sharing its vicissitudes, and on the way the shining moments and those of despair. Should have prepared us for anything, one would think. What whiners.

Angie was up first; not quite at the crack of dawn, but early enough. She read in bed from 7:00 to 8:00, when she heard Button complaining about our lazy bones still abed, when she urgently required her breakfast. In crept Angie, as we cracked open our sleep-fuzzed eyes to regard her hesitant entry. Seeing we were really awake, she availed herself of the opportunity to leap into our bed, beside me.

Cuddling, even with grandparents, is still important at this stage of life. When, she asked, should she awaken Sarah? Not yet, I replied. Wait until we've showered and breakfast is ready. She whispered in my ear "Sarah rocks from side to side as she sleeps, but she doesn't wake up". Off she went to shower, while we let Button and Riley out into the backyard for their first evacuation of the day. Routine; nothing like it for the day's reassuring commencement.

Breakfast was a repeat of the day before, replete with grapefruit, banana, eggs and bacon, coffee and toast, with honey and jam to spread on the toast; a lingering and very relaxed affair. And yes, the girls said, they had slept well. They were, in fact, raring to go. At the suggestion we might hazard the inauspicious weather forecast and go off for a hike to Gatineau Park, their raring-enthusiasm came to a stuttering halt.

I suffered a mild panic attack - what to do with these perpetual-motion machines - then firmly re-stated the Gatineau Park venture, transforming it from an invitation to an unequivocal statement of intent, surreptitiously watching shoulders droop in resigned acquiescence. Still, once they accepted we'd be going, they co-operated very nicely, dressed appropriate to the mission, and we were off.

Stopped at a Wendy's on the way, to pick up two chicken Caesar salads to tuck into the cooler in the trunk. Which already held a large container of cranberry-orange juice. Lunch would be partaken in a lovely natural, out-door setting. That salad was Angie's favourite take-out food, and Sarah had said she doesn't eat greasy foods; the salad was perfect for her. Our drive wasn't long, well under an hour.

Angie is familiar with Gatineau Park, we've taken her there since she was a baby. The venue was a new one for Sarah; she hadn't ever heard of it. How that's even remotely possible for someone living in the Ottawa Valley is beyond us, but then we don't know everything, either. The heavy clouds didn't relent, and I cringed inwardly, envisioning our getting caught out on the trail a good hour-and-a-half's distance on either side, from shelter.

But it was a warm, muggy day, and even if it rained it wouldn't be a disaster. I could have hauled along rain jackets for everyone in a backpack, but decided against it. Living dangerously. And in fact, once we got up there and embarked on the trail, Sarah seemed determined to do just that. If there was a log, she would straddle it; a huge rock, she would leap onto it; a running brook, she would leap over it. (What if she fell, hurt her arm - omigod?)

Angie did just about everything Sarah did. We ventured a mild caution, but chose not to emphasize it, since they're surely old enough to decide how to comport themselves in the deep woods with so many enticing and moderately challenging geological features to test their balance, agility and strength upon. So we concentrated on our little dogs, and took photographs and enjoyed the day.

No flying pests to annoy us, and although the cloud cover remained, there were no cloudbursts - something we were inordinately grateful for. When we finally approached the huge tunnel to take us onto another portion of the trail, Sarah scrambled determinedly over it, to sit at the top, unsettling detritus that fell on our heads as we emerged. Across from the tunnel a stony ridge rose implacably perpendicular.

Reminding me of the time we'd seen a young couple years ago, at this juncture in the hike. About 18 or 20, the young man decided to scramble uphill, and the girl, watching helplessly at first, finally followed him, clumsily unhappily. We left them to scramble uphill to their hearts' delight, and wandered off up the trail, imagining the scenario following that would inform the young lady she hadn't, after all, that many interests in common with the young man.

And here was Sarah, doing the very same thing. Sarah, with her frail arm, moving heavily from side to side, throwing her weight at the immovable wall of stone, dirt, bushes and trees, grasping with her good arm what she could to allow her to achieve a greater height. We said nothing, and Angie chose not to follow her friend's example this time. It didn't take too long for Sarah to decide it wasn't that good an idea, after all, and she soon returned to the fold.

Finally, at the parking lot, we liberated their lunch from the cooler in the trunk. A mere few yards would take us to the perimeter of the small lake below, with its lovely wooden pier where we could sit on long benches and peer out below at the bullfrogs, tadpoles and endless schools of tiny fish. No, they'd prefer not; they'd eat their lunch beside the car, sitting on top of a low fence. Their call.

We began to chat animatedly ourselves, with a few older men who appeared also to have completed a hike in the woods, joined soon afterward by their two female companions. Amazing how perfect strangers can find so much of common interest to engage in a lively conversation. We concluded that lengthy chat just about the same time the girls finished their lunch.

Sarah had declined to use the two packets of dressing that came with her salad. Sensibly having her fresh vegetables fresh. Angie happily used her two packets of dressing, and Sarah's as well; four in all, dribbled over her salad. Wise Sarah, improvident Angie; I was certain she would feel ill from having drenched her salad so liberally, but no. Truly, that child has a lead-lined stomach.

The drive home was another lively affair, with the two girls rollicking with laughter in the back seat. Poor Button, I thought, stuck in the back seat with the girls; good thing she's gone deaf. We weren't deaf, but the roar from back there did promise some potential deleterious impact on our hearing, should it go on much longer. We stopped at a Giant Tiger store, Sarah's purported favourite shopping venue.

The girls were encouraged to look around at the offerings on display. If they found an article of clothing they liked, it would be a gift from us. Not my favourite place to shop, but I bought a pound of really fresh strawberries, a ten-pound bag of Yukon Gold potatoes, and a pair of gardening gloves, badly needed. As for the girls, they each selected a top for themselves, after much searching, comparing, and critical analysis.

Back home again, we agreed it was as good a time as any to try to download the songs they had selected yesterday to their iPods. Trouble was, I couldn't figure out how to do it. No iPod icon appeared. The usual sequence is to turn on the computer, plug in the device, at which point the computer would recognize it, and up would pop the iPod. No such thing. I tried everything I could think of, to no useful avail.

As my frustration mounted, the girls' high spirits began to grate on my patience. I telephoned a neighbour, asked if their son could come along and bail me out. I'd done the same for them in reverse, so I was calling in my return-favour. When Imran arrived, he explained that somehow the computer just didn't adequately recognize the device; he shut down the computer, plugged in the iPod, then turned the computer back on.

Voila! there was the elusive little icon. Imran then handily took me through the download process. Where, he asked did I get the songs from? He was horror-struck when I told him. Why, he asked plaintively, would you do that? Pay for them? Just a minute, he said, and he slipped off back home and brought me back a software program that would enable us to take our pick of music from LimeWire.

Instead of really paying attention throughout this learning procedure, the girls were busy giggling and poking one another, and generally carrying on as though their intention was to persuade Imran, a young boy some years older than they are, that they're joining the happy lunatic society. I became slightly more than a little irritated with our granddaughter. By that time I was feeling a bit of stress because of the time.

It was late, I had to feed the dogs, had to put dinner together for us, and here I was, mired down in this ridiculous situation attempting to procure music for the two unhelpful girls. I thanked Imran effusively, mumbled quietly to him how grateful I would be when the girls would finally assume some vestige of human behaviour again. He offered to take me through the process again, to ensure I had it down right.

And he sat patiently with Angelyne and Sarah afterward, helping them to select the music they wanted, before finally leaving to have his own dinner. Taking his father, Mohindar, with him. Mohindar, our dear good neighbour, had ambled alongside his son, so he could schmooze with Irving in the living room. And then I frantically got dinner moving. Fed the dogs, chopped up vegetables, grated cheese, filled corn tortillas and put them in the oven.

Later, as I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, the girls took a nice long and relaxed amble in the neighbourhood. Telling us afterward of their engaging little adventures. Calling out to someone driving by in a car that his vehicle was really "cool". Engaging in conversation with some man who had been walking behind them, having got off a bus en route to his home, after work. My head was beginning to pound.

I was ever so glad to see them drift gradually upstairs, into bed. After they had regaled me sufficiently, while I was attempting to read the newspapers, of their rollicking adventures.
Up there, they could expound, criticize, giggle to the happy conclusion of sleep finally overtaking them. And we could finally relax. A bit of rare solitude.