Musing

I love that word.

In its adjective form, absorbed in thought or meditative. As a noun, a musing is a contemplation, or reflection.

I haven't felt like blogging for months now, but that's not to say that I haven't been keeping true to my form; I partake in contemplations and reflection regularly. Absorbed in thought? Me? Absolutely. In fact, I've literally been accused of overthinking. Can't argue, either. I do it. But that's not what's kept me from blogging. I tend to have lots to say here whilst the wheels turn.

Since the beginning of the year, it seems, I've been far busier "doing" than I used to. I feel, anyway, far more exhausted yet energized at the same time. In January we had record sales. Ten events in a month is hardly "record", except for the fact it was January and a normal January sees normally the odd leftover Christmas party. This had me scratching my head wondering why, while everyone was banterning on about a recession, we were doing so well.

I honestly remember very little about February through April. I didn't keep a blog record of any consequence. April brought with it the onset of a flood at my place which necessitated a full-on renovation of the basement suite. We did it in a month - the entire month of May - and I came out the other side with a tenant right away for June, and it's worked out rather well. I jokingly call her my "downstairs wife" because on the occasion that I forget to flip my laundry, it mysteriously gets dried, folded and stacked. I also get invited for suppers fairly regularly. In exchange I tend to offer up rides here and there because my "downstairs wife" doesn't drive. Now, before you go getting any wild and crazy ideas, "downstairs wife" starts and ends with laundry, meals and rides. But it also provides for a bit of a humerous story:

Back in July I went on a date.
It was the first real date I'd had since Nathalie moved back to Quebec, so I was anticipating it. We went for a bevy, then over to catch the fireworks. Now, think of the most stunning question you could ever be asked on a first date - the one that would make you choke on your food, or spit your drink across the table. Got it? OK, now I'm going to tell you what happened to me. Thankfully, at the time, we were not sitting at the table so I didn't spew all over my date. That's bad, and you usually don't get a second chance for a first impression.

The question was, as we stood outside my van,

"Why didn't you tell me you have kids?"

I literally replied,

"Huh?"

(for those of you who may be reading for the first time, I don't have kids)

I was thinking to myself, 'So... is this a trick question?'

She replied,

"You have a car seat in your van. Why?"

I wish I had had something clever with which to respond. I didn't. So, I told her the truth:

"Oh, that! It belongs to my downstairs tenant." Notice I said "tenant", not "wife"... that would have been bad.

I explained that I occasionally give rides to a single mom, who has two kids, who also happens to live in my basement. My date nodded as if she understood, we had a bit of a laugh and carried on. A little while later - 'bout two weeks to be precise, I received a phone call from the same girl explaining to me that she really felt she wasn't ready to be dating again. I shared the story with my "downstairs tenant-wife-whatever" and she gave me a look like 'are you an idiot?'

"Dave, there ARE times when you don't ACTUALLY have to tell the truth! ...and... this is one of them!"

I think I actually shared a bigger laugh with her over that than with my date. So, note to self - remove other people's car seats from your vehicle before going on a date. It just makes things simpler.

How's that for "a musing"?