Thanksgiving Monday Picnic

This morning I baked two more sweet potato pies, then packed this basket with all the rigamarole necessary for a picnic...pie...a hot pot of English breakfast tea...leftover French vanilla ice cream from Sunday night and away we went, off to Town to visit GG's folks. We'd travelled about two miles on bumpy road torn up by construction when I remembered I'd forgotten part of the rigamarole and we had to turn around and go back.

While in the house I remembered I'd forgotten the ice cream too, and dashed downstairs to the freezer. Apparently I'd taken a bit more time than expected hunting up four weenie dishes because GG had turned off the engine and was leaned back into his seat...eyes closed.

We were enjoying tea in the garden of GG's parent's home when GG's Dad casually remarked, "You know, these aren't my socks I'm wearing. I'm wearing somebody else' s socks." Now, I wasn't shocked by this statement because GG's Dad isn't crazy and I happened to know that what he said was true.

A few weeks ago GG’s Dad got to utilize the Canadian Health Care System (Bow down and Kiss the Earth) and I got to do his laundry. I discovered that not only do I have missing sock problems, so does the senior home where GG’s parent's reside. I was folding his socks thinking, “Ah, a complete set”…when I noticed, George G. Dagglehorf, neatly printed on the name tags when it should have said, Geek Guy’s Dad.

And I turned to him and casually asked, "Is there a hole in the right sock?" GG's Mother burst into hysterical laughter. I repeated, "Is there a hole in the right sock?" "No. why?" "Because the socks I washed for you two weeks ago while you were utilizing the Canadian Health Care System (Bow Down and Kiss the Earth) not only weren't yours, they also had a hole in the right sock."

So we sat and pondered the dilly of a sock problem The Home must have and the fact that nobody there darns socks either. We finished our pie enjoying the hot tea and late afternoon sunshine until the long shadows and autumn chill sent us inside.

When GG noticed he was carrying a wussie picnic basket, I offered to return it to the van and in my hurry hit my flip-flopped foot quite hard against the curb. As I ran back into the home I noticed my foot was bleeding and thought best to wash it. I ran into GG's Dad's bathroom, stuck my foot into his sink, ran water, noticed some disinfectant looking stuff on the counter with a long unfamiliar name, squirted some onto my bleeding toes, and stuck my flip flops back on.

We said our goodbyes, hugged and kissed and while walking down the hallway to the stairwell, GG said, "Why are your toes foaming?" And my toes on the left foot foamed another two hours and felt squishy the rest of the afternoon, while we went off into the sunset taking photographs of this gorgeous Thanksgiving Day Monday.