Warm, not a hint of cold or even the wind. Heather coloured grass all around, it was everywhere as though it were a theme. An overwhelming sense of comfort upon the air, the kind you have when you're in the presence of friends and loved ones. It was in the evening as we all met for supper. Large birds with long wing spans, water birds were nesting in the near by grass and others flying around. It felt eastern seaboard, Nova Scotia, Maine or Massachussetts. Sand under our feet, not requiring us to wear shoes.
The only sound heard was the laughter of friends and their conversations. We sat at picnic tables that were well built, not wobbly but sturdy, hard, thick cuts of wood - unpainted to be untainted, natural - everything around was natural. Some of the grass was up to your waist, on average just above the knee, not green, not dead but dry and dense and only the sandy paths dare to cut through it.
Potato salad in abundance upon the buffet table. As we finished and walked back the help started to take up their share. I could pick out arabic on their tongue and politely said "Salam Alakim", getting the usual look of surprise I get when it is heard from a face as obviously white as mine. I tried to carry the conversation as best I could with my repertoire of maybe 18 words of arabic, it ended shortly with a giggle from both sides and Stephanie's embarrassment. Along the way Glenn pointing out the nests that were destroyed when someone had stored their gear there years ago. The gear remained as did the skeleton on the nest and that which once bore it. It was decided that after getting back from supper we would all take part in a game of british. It was perfact considering it required nothing for equipment other than shoes of respectable grip. I cringed knowing I had a couple ideal pairs at home, far far away. Looking down at the DC's I bought only because Stephanie liked them, I spied the poor grip they provided and cringed again - mainly for not following my normal selection criteria of grip and functionality when it comes to shoes. I had decided that on our way back to the houses we were staying in I would quickly stop in and purchase a more appropriate pair for our game of british.
Walking back from my purchase and not quite satisfied with the grip of my new kickers, I watched Keith and Amanda take a few bags from the trunk, as I walked down the very slight decline of the lane on our way to the house we were staying in. From the top of the tree lined lane you could see all the houses we occupied. At the bottom of the little hill was the waters edge and it was beautifully positioned at the end of the lane which bifurcated the land. On each side of the lane were these lovely, older, well built 2 storey dimensional houses, each with a sandy driveway and several old growth trees that reached high into the sky.
Starting from the bottom of the hill on the right hand side was the house Glenn and Amanda stayed in, followed by Jason and Trudy, then Adam and Michelle and finally myself and Stephanie. On the other side nearly across from us but just down the hill a bit was Keith and Amanda, then Joey and Maya who were staying in a house that had a small convenience store attached to the bottom. This store was ran by an older man and woman of tasteful manners and a culture similar to that of our own. It just so happened to carry all our favourite beers, not out of coincidence but because they knew we were coming. The store had all our favourite junk food, favourite cuts of steak, the right types of spices, it carried .5%, 1%, and 2% milk as well as 18% cream for mine and Joey's tea. Fruit came in fresh each day, the bread was homemade, the bacon came special order from that place out where Brad lives and there was no such thing as margarine. They had fudgicles stocked and restocked accordingly as my appetite for these delectible treats still number in the 8-12 range each day. They had Wild Berry Backwoods Hand rolled Cigars and the brand of cigarettes smoked only by those who inhabited the idyllic country lane.
Steph and I went up stairs and changed our clothes to something more appropriate she pulled out her "joggers" and I zoomed in on the grip on her shoes, she had better grip than I did. I was starting to fulminate, knowing full well the difference a pair of shoes can make when you're trying to out run and out manoeuvre an opponent, it's like understeer in a sports car; At this point my main opponent was my bloody shoes. I walked over to Joey and Maya's to see if Joe had a better pair. Each time I looked down at my shoes I didn't recognise them, it seemed the shoes were changing but the grip remained the same. I went in and presented my problem to Joe who - making me feel no better - agreed I had a problem. He gave me a pair to try on, they fit well enough and the grip was increasing my confidence. He gave them a second look and for some reason - probably because it was in a dream - says: "those are Trevor Boone's sneakers"
