Sunday seems like a perfect day to share my wacky words and world of wondrous-ness even though the questions are already a week old and probably no one cares what the answers are anymore. The alternative is to simply post this cartoon and leave it at that, so consider this extra blather your little Sunday bonus.
Are you usually late, early, or right on time?
When I was MUCH younger and working as a medical receptionist for an ophthalmologist who performed cataract surgery, most of our patients were older at that time than the age I’m now. So OLD. Old people are early for everything. The record for that office was a couple who showed up for an appointment 24 hours early. They explained that they were doing a trial run to see where the office was and how long it would take them to get there. They were thrilled that their calculations were so bang on and happily left promising to be back tomorrow. Now I understand that perfectly. We are going to do a trial run to the hospital where W will have his surgery, once we know the time, because then we can factor in traffic. Do we have entirely too much time on our hands? You betcha. But I can’t remember the last time we were late for anything. W likes to arrive right on time. I like to be ridiculously early. Especially at airports.
If you were or are a writer do you prefer writing short stories, poems or novels?
I fancy myself a writer of sorts. Doesn’t every blogger think that way? My novel-writing dreams are unlikely to ever come true now that I am older and wiser and have figured out how much work is involved in the novel-writing process. I have written short stories. And stuff that I call poetry. But mostly I’m happy to stick with blog posts. There’s certainly enough words recorded on this blog to fill a novel. That should count for something.
Where did you live at age ten? Is it the same place or town you live now?
I lived on a farm near Port Elgin, Ontario, but the name has been changed to Saugeen Shores. That’s where I went to high school, although that old high school is now a shopping centre. And the barn where we lived has been torn down, and now I think maybe the house has been demolished as well. Look at that – you leave and suddenly there’s no going back. There’s still lots of family to visit in the area but I haven’t lived there for going on 50 years.
Would you rather be able to fly or breathe under water?
Even if I had the ability to breathe under water I would still die if you put me there. That’s how freaked out I get even thinking about going down where scary water creatures dwell. And if I could fly I would like to be like a hovercraft or a low flying humming-bird. No extreme heights or speed. Whoever is granting me this wish will now no doubt tell me to just carry on walking and riding in cars.