Domestic bliss

Saturday night.
The fridge is well stocked, Jan is either being taken for a walk by our dogs or trying to finish a few more report cards and the girls are watching Simon Cowell destroy Billy-Bobs long held belief that his musical career is a sure thing. My son, sitting next to me, has his I Pod Touch plugged in to my laptop and is blissfully working his magic. All he needs to do to remain in my good graces is to sprint to the fridge every 15 minutes or so to bring Paps another cold beverage.
My boy. Innocent, quick, sure and pure.
Pretty soon he and his younger sister will be upstairs howling about one thing or another while my 15 year old will be hammering away furiously on a keyboard somewhere in the house, checking out what's new and exciting on facebook and texting several friends on her blackberry. I've given up trying to keep track of who she's hanging out with nowadays. Most punks that come around know that "paps" has issues and is not to be provoked.
Jan's been busy with exercising, shopping, harassing our kids and whatever else she does to keep herself exhausted. Usually she locks herself in the bathroom and treats herself to a nice aromatic soak with the jets going full blast to drown out the whining from our offspring leaving me to roam the house and generally making a mess of all things domestic. Life can be challenging when you have to live with a dashing and righteous foreigner with some questionable lifestyle habits. It'll be another hour before peace and tranquility will have found it's way back into our humble abode so that I may endeavour to finish the day appropriately in my own suave way. Iron Horse and Balvenie will be assisting me tonight while my son's I pod will be providing the necessary musical setting to accomplish the task at hand. Writing in English is not an easy thing when you're bent out of shape and up to no good.
I did enroll in an English lit course shortly after I arrived in Canada. After our third session the prof and I came to a mutual understanding that the kind of gibberish that appealed to me is better done privately, late at night when cops congregate at Tim Hortons, coyotes patrol the streets of Kitsilano and nobody gives a damn. I do posses two Dutch English dictionaries and although they were printed in 1948 they've been quiet helpful. My appreciation for Dr. Prick van Wely's efforts are substantial especially after I became familiar with the English vernacular spoken here on the West coast. I'm convinced that the good Doctor was quiet pleased that mom and dad opted to remain in Holland so that their son could continue his valiant work interpreting English. Anyway, it's way more fun to find a cool groove and to follow it to whatever end. Staring at a screen, wondering about trivial and cumbersome grammatical details has got to be more devastating to the creative soul then a good hit from some serious ganja...........2hrs later..............Just came back into the house after spending some time on the back deck staring at the moon and harassing the neighbours cat. When I was tearing the kitchen apart to dig up that elusive bottle of Balvenie I just happened to come across some......... ganja. Potent little bugger too. No writers block now, just a whole shitload of absolutely useless drivel to sort through and somehow turn it into something that jives with the rest.
Tomorrow we're off to Playland, Vancouver's silly version of Knotts Berry Farm. I haven't been for a decade but my kids tell me it's Gods will that I should accompany them and see for myself what I've been missing all these years. Maybe, maybe not. I am looking forward to watch them and their fiends whooping it up. They're growing up to fast. Not that I miss the diapers.