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Phyllis Humby's picture

A tarty time with the write friend

Tue, 08/07/2018 - 08:35 -- Phyllis Humby

I tire easily but the adrenalin keeps me going when I’m visiting or entertaining. Usually, that is.

This has been a particularly busy time. Lots of company. Guests from out of town whom I love but don’t see often enough. There was a three-day lull between visits. Three days. Energy seeped from my pores as I slouched on a lounger, my pose sliding into a sideways tilt until my whole body began to fold in on itself. Not a pretty sight. Especially on the verandah of our park home where people walk past at the rate of Union Station rush hour. Everyone waves. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense my dog-walking neighbours waving as they passed. Because they do. We do. It’s what we all do. Waves and how are ya’s  can turn into a ‘plant yourself in the chair and let’s chat’ visit. If it’s around 4:30, a small refreshment might be in hand. Wait a minute, where was I? Oh yes, my battle with fatigue.

She said she would stay a night or two. This long-time friend. We’re at the age where we consciously say ‘long-time’ friend and not ‘old’ friend. Roused from an hour and a half nap – and it was still before noon – I dutifully waved from the front steps when she pulled up. You look tired, she said, spotting the sleep creases across my cheek, then added, we don’t need to do the town (and that refers to shopping). She preferred to stay here and relax. Perfect!

I oohed over the decadent, drool worthy, gigantic (size of mini pies) butter tarts she couldn’t resist buying from the market. It wasn’t long before I served one to each of us as we chin wagged our way into the afternoon. After we’d licked our plates clean – figuratively speaking – I informed her that the tarts – filled with whole walnuts, not raisins – had been our lunch. The dinner menu has yet to be planned but the fridge is full, I assured her. We’ll come up with something. She was quick to offer dinner out at a local restaurant. The adrenalin kicked in. Or was that the sugary pastry?

A delicious vegetable curry dish on the patio of the Black Dog didn’t save us from the munchies later that evening while watching TV. I could have hauled out my fave artichoke and asiago dip and crackers, hummus, or nachos. I have leftover pizza, I told her. She jumped all over that. I love cold pizza, she said.

Presentation is everything. To enhance the congealed but exotic hawaiian pizza, a carefully arranged scrumptious butter tart – half portion for each – is the finishing touch for our impromptu snack. She was impressed. Oh, dessert too, she cooed.

As we digested the syrupy treat and cold pizza, she confessed that the butter tarts were actually for Marv. Well, geesh! I’ll save the last one for him, I told her. When I arrived home the next day, I left it on the counter but perhaps forgot to mention it was his. At some point he irritated me with something he said, or did, or maybe he made a face at something I said, or did, or maybe I misconstrued a smile for a grimace. Anyway, something happened to make me feel he didn’t deserve this lip smacking indulgence. With only the teensiest twinge of guilt I devoured the tasty tart right down to the last drip…er, drop. Or slurp. Yes, it was that good.

With a contented but heavy sigh, I closed my eyes to rest up for the next relaxing stay in vacationland.

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