When that course is run/Then come to me…

So I’m typing this from my Granshoes’ ancient 256MB Random Small-Town Computer Store Build, which gets no further attention from year to year except when my preteen cousins are jonesing for the Jones Brothers.

It’s not that my grandfather is afraid of new technology; simply utterly, serenely conscious of having lived 85 years without it. A snappy young salesman managed to entice him with the prospect of on-demand photos of the grandkids, but repented in tears and ashes upon trying to explain the concept of ‘opening email attachments’ shortly thereafter.
At which point the [theoretically] adoring eldest grand-daughter was hauled in (‘[Shoe]’s so good with computers!’), apparently just because the Creator has a quirky sense of humour. The number of times I’ve tried to explain, say, Media Player to this man, only to be greeted with a stone wall of “Yes, dear…hmmm…why, that’s a good idea…hmmmm…” would surely make Bill Gates cry.

At any rate, as summer weekend retreats go, this isn’t such a bad prospect. Peterborough, nestled snugly in the bottleneck between Southern & Northern Ontario, is a beautiful little city. Part university town, part retirement community (and thus all great shopping), it sweeps gracefully down long hills and around lazy rivers. The air is crisp and sweet, the foliage is green and lush…the music is country and western. By which I mean: Charley Pride shows up at the music festival every year. Seriously. He’s something of a local hero.
Here the extended Shoe clan has foregathered – having abandoned PEI long ago, apparently as too exciting – and thus, every once in awhile, must Shoemom and her daughters. The clan may be small-minded, stubborn and not incidentally completely crazy; but hey, you want the ingredients for a great party, look no further. Already there’s talk of fridge-fulls of BBQ ribs.

I have no objection at all to celebrating the status quo this weekend, for I am once again priviledged to look upon it and smile serenely from the vantage point of one gainfully employed in ‘the big city’. Yes, the morning of my return from convention vacation I was told they’d found a spot for me in the reorg after all. Yay!…

…well, sort of. Faithful readers – who should really be back on their meds by now, come to think of it – anyway, you might recall that the reorg originally consisted of splitting my present job into two: the cool, glamourous part and the dull drone part. If you haven’t guessed by now which one your correspondent was offered, you’re – well, probably back on the meds and doing well. Congratulations.

Thus I am now an Item Management Associate, within the – I just love this – Circle of Excellence. In sum, come August I will be joining my fellow talented and/or tenured associates in a modern-day steno pool devoted to the creating and maintaining of inventory records. Since the formula for Corporate Buzzword Strength tends to run ‘responsibility if anything goes wrong x necessity to company / reallyreally boring work….well, you can just imagine how tickled I am to discover that my bosses consider me ideally suited for the post.

There are upsides, however. Chief among them being, well, employment. Shoemom and I had just gotten our lifestyle balanced out to the point where we’d be really heartbroken if we had to give any of it up – and I’m talking a car and a small apartment and the occasional jaunt out to Niagara Falls for ice-cream, so you can picture the next step down.

So as I say, the status quo is maintained, with provision for upgrade. My psyche is rescued from the black-hole of job hunting, but still free to roam pleasantly among the possibilities. Freed from having to devote myself wholeheartedly to ‘the business’, my conscience is left with more space to concentrate on my writing…and photograpy…and sorting out the metric buttload of new Bob & Ray material I just downloaded/ordered from Amazon. My next obsession is going to be some 17th-century Flemish poet with six fragmentary cantoes to his name, I swear.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get dressed. There’s a long sweeping hill out there with my name on it.


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