A week before classes started, I was doing some landscaping in Coquitlam. I can't remember how the topic came up, but I told one of the workers on the site that it was going to be my last day. He seemed to think that there was plenty of work out there and that I would be better off staying. '"Oh no" I said, "I'm going back to school." To which he replied, "good for you" and paused, "what grade?"
But in all seriousness, I do occasionally reminisce about grade school. From this side of the great divide, it appears to have been made up of eating lunch, holding hands, and playing hooky. In truth I was probably under a lot of stress, but at the very least I could hang onto the fact that my work would have no real lasting effect on the course of my life. As long as I got into university, I could do whatever I wanted with my highschool time. That is no longer the case.
We have been gradually dividing the week up into special days, flash-in-the-pan traditions that will only last so long as we have time, money, and memory for them. Monday is Burger Monday, wherein we travel to the Fort Langley Pub and partake of their Monday burger deal and a couple of pints. Tuesday is either Ben Cooper Day or Cut-Off-Jeans Tuesday, depending on the weather. Wednesday is Creeper Wednesday, rule number one of which is, "no actual creeping." Thursdays are Peppermint Thursdays, where peppermint tea is consumed and I endeavour to listen to some White Stripes. The weekend has not been allocated. We are creating a structure here which, to the casual observer, might seem meaningless or even unnoticable, but which gives meaning to an otherwise arbitrary separation of the week.
Three minutes ago a corn roast started. If I actually owned a pair of cut-offs, I would be wearing them. Regardless, I'm still going to go get my corn on.
Will
