Dad's birthday dinner was very nice.
Not that there weren't issues.
It's my family.
Issues are as expected as inappropriate quips and Em asking for dessert.
But they were not the result of Dad.
Meredyth.
The source of malcontent.
Luckily, she was at the opposite end of the table from me.
She was not herself.
Or she was.
In which case I am more scared and more concerned than ever.
My brother bought Dad an Acer laptop for his birthday.
He asked me if I would purchase a router.
Sure, I said.
What's a router?
Look up technologically challenged in the dictionary, and you'll see my picture.
Keith often has to say things like,
MUM! Step away from the remote!
Or, MUM! You don't have to touch the X-Box. Just tell me what you're trying to do!
So telling me to just go into Rogers and ask them what they would recommend was a bit of a gamble.
Definitely moving me out of my comfort zone.
But, I did go in, knowing to some extent what the experience was going to be like before even starting.
Stephen and Mer in tow.
Because neither was willing to just wait in the car.
I approach three young men, all wearing the uniform of a Roger's employee, all looking suitably bored as there were no customers demanding that they at least look as if they're thrilled to be working a minimum wage job serving people who no nothing about electronics, cable or the internet.
Pretty much sums me up.
I asked for a router.
At first they looked at me like I was nuts.
Who doesn't know what a router is?
Then they suggested I upgrade his modem for a nominal monthly fee.
No thanks.
I have enough bills to pay.
And I am certain that Dad wouldn't be thrilled to know I made additions to his monthly bill for his birthday present.
They suggested Future Shop.
I cringed.
Never have I ever gone into Future Shop and purchased anything without some sort of problem.
Which usually manifests itself AFTER I get what I bought home.
But it seemed as if Future Shop was the route I was going to have to take.
Thankfully, my brother prepared me for this potential step in the process.
You may have to go to Future Shop or The Source.
As we were leaving Rogers, I heard one of the three males with whom I had been conversing, lazing in their seats, "working", mumble,
I would have just upgraded the modem.
I stopped.
Turned around.
Looked him square in the eye and said,
Me, too. But it isn't me. And it isn't you. It's my Dad. And I'm not adding anything to his bill for his birthday. Doesn't seem very nice, does it?
And walked out.
Thankfully, the Future Shop employee who helped us. . . .
. . .an experience made much nice as he had a lovely Scottish accent. . . .
knew what I was looking for.
And even where they were located.
Good thing because I had NO idea where to even begin.
I actually despise going into electronic stores.
As soon as I walk in I feel as if I've entered an alternative universe.
Plus they're SO loud.
TVs on different channels, music booming from unseen places, some middle aged man playing an electric guitar hooked up to a computer. . .
Plus,
I never know where to look for what I am supposed to be getting.
Coupled with the fact that I never know what I am actually getting.
Keith asked for an ipod dock one Christmas, and I was convinced it was some sort of gag to make me look like more of an arse in The Source than I do most of the other times I've had to go in there.
Em was with me and assured me that such a thing existed.
Otherwise, I would have never even asked.
Digital tape recorders?
I think not.
I want an actual tape in an actual machine.
Call me old fashioned, but I am having a hard enough time with my fancy normal tape recorder, let alone something that doesn't need a tape.
My brother asks me if I've connected Netflix to Keith's X-Box 360.
No, I reply.
It's so easy! he says.
I ask Keith.
Well, you'll need this cord and this plug in and this wire and this doodad, and this has to be added to the X-box and it'll cost about $100.00.
Easy.
Sure.
I'll just buy a new dvd player thank you very much.
Fate must have smiled upon me because I was actually able to get the router without any difficulty.
Mainly because I made it very clear that I was there not of my own volition, but because I had been asked to, and then explained the circumstances under which I found myself purchasing a router.
I don't care if he needed to know or not.
I needed him to know.
Culpability.
I wish to avoid it.
Because, in typical Dawne fashion, we left all of this to the last minute, I had to go to Dollarama for gift bags.
I don't mind Dollarama.
Because I usually don't go on Saturday.
And I always go for specific things.
Just because something only costs a dollar doesn't mean it should be purchased for a dollar.
Case in point:
Stephen once bought underwear at the Dollarama.
Don't ask me why.
He still hasn't told me.
And I'm not sure I want to know.
No bag, no tags, nothing.
Just picked it from a pile.
I made him throw it out.
Call me an underwear snob.
I don't care.
Like peanut butter and cheez whiz, somethings shouldn't be compromised.
I anticipated a quick in and out, gift bags in hand before I had to pick up my mother.
Anticipation is a nasty bitch.
The place was FULL.
Packed.
People lined up in the aisles.
Of course, because we were in a hurry, there was a woman two people ahead of us with a pile of stuff.
One item in particular struck me as kind of odd, but who am I to judge?
Fake black hair attached to comb-like thingies, whose purpose I ascertained must be to affix said fake hair to someone's head.
One of the combs was broken.
The woman purchasing this item wanted to know if she could get a discount.
The cashier said,
We don't give discounts.
The woman then proceeded to ask the cashier behind her.
Apparently thinking the first cashier was lying to her.
The second cashier looked at this woman wanting to purchase the fake hair affixed to the broken combs and said plainly, bluntly, without any pretense,
We don't do discounts. This is a dollar store. Buy them or leave them.
I liked it.
Clear. Concise. To the point.
And she wasn't rude.
But she wasn't fooling around when the store was packed, people were lining up in the aisles and there is one woman who wants to purchase fake hair?
She bought them.
What I wanted to know was what middle aged woman with short hair was going to do with two combs holding fake black hair.
That seemed to me to be the more interesting question.
After the trauma of Rogers and the Future Shop, the irritation of the Dollarama, I needed the comfort of the real world.
Okay, my real world.
I had one more purchase to make for my dad's birthday.
A book.
Jean Auel's The Land of Painted Caves.
Meaning I had to go to Chapters.
Which restored me.
I no longer felt unbalanced.
It wasn't so much being in Chapters per se, as being surrounded by books.
A restorative on so many levels.
Some of which involve the bathroom and the impact being around books has on my bodily functions.
I'll save that one for later.
Picking up Mum from the nursing home was its own set of trauma.
She likes going out.
But she does not like the change in her routine.
The entire time we're gone she worries about what time we'll get back.
Thinking that if we aren't there by the time the meds are dispensed, they will withhold her medication.
We arrive and she wants to know if she needs to wear her winter coat.
Mum's winter coat is two sizes to big for her, but she wanted it that way in case she needed to put on extra layers underneath.
Getting her into the car with this coat on is a huge challenge, because she can't tell if she's actually on the seat, as the coat is so padded it prevents her from knowing where her parts are.
Sitting in the car is also a challenge.
The coat is so big that once we do manage to get her in there, and secure the seat belt around all of her coat, the coat actually surrounds her head like a nun's wimple.
Her head sits more where her shoulders should be.
So, I made an executive decision and decided we would leave the coat in the closet.
A decision that spurned her to remark she needed a new spring coat.
Which caused me to reply that was no problem, and I would take her to Penningtons to get one.
Because I am no schlepping back and forth between the store and the nursing home a hundred times to ensure she get the right coat that's the right size and the right color.
Been there before.
Not willing to go again.
Of course, the second we get her outside the wind gusts and she gives me a look that says,
I should have worn my coat.
Once in the car, I put on the seat warmer, Stephen turned the heat to 3 and off we went.
From the back seat, I could see sweat forming on Stephen's upper lip from the blasting heat in the front of the car.
And Mum announces that she's just starting to warm up.
This is the woman who, just below her thermostat in her room, has a sign that says,
DO NOT ADJUST JANET'S THERMOSTAT!
SHE IS ALWAYS COLD!
Meaning, winter, summer, spring or fall, her thermometer is at it's highest setting.
30 degrees Celcius.
Some nights I come out there ten pounds lighter than when I went in.
And we wonder about the causes of global warming.
Title Lyric: I Do Better Electronics by Sad Little Stars
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