TheOttawacker

By TheOttawacker

The big day arrives and I’m not ready

I have been banging on about Ottawacker Jr.’s imminent departure for so long that I am beginning to bore myself. I think, in fairness, I am just a little jealous that he is getting to do this at such a tender age. Just a little – but mainly I am thrilled for him. What I wouldn’t have done to have the same opportunity he has at his age. And, of course, what wouldn’t I give to be his age and starting it all off again. He is very lucky and I am very proud of him. I was thinking this as the alarm went off just before six, and again as I stood under the shower, waiting in vain for it to revive me. And again, as we dropped his luggage off at the Porter Airlines desk, and again as we hugged him goodbye at the security gate (“no way” was his answer when I offered to come in with him and sit at the gate). I was still thinking it as we waved at his small figure heading off in the distance towards his gate (see blip), with only a few looks backwards and big waves to his parents. And then, all of a sudden, Mrs. Ottawacker and I were stood looking at each other, each with a little bit of grit in our eyes (must be from all the construction work around the airport), and then walking hand-in-hand back to our car to begin the long and somewhat solitary ride back home. And that was that.
 
Everything went very smoothly. He was first to board and sent us plenty of texts. He fell asleep over Alberta and missed the Rockies, waking up just in time for the descent int Victoria. He was met at the airport and has now started a 12-day stint as the Prince of BC. We WhatsApped around 6pm our time, and he was bubbly and excited and it sounds as if he will be having the time of his life.
 
And as for us. Well, I have long suspected that Mrs. Ottawacker might actually be a very nice woman, so I plan on introducing myself and taking it from there. Things have progressed well so far. In between work, we managed to have lunch. Then dinner together. And after dinner, instead of watching television, we got in the car and drove over the border into Québec, marvelling at the Chaudière Falls and vowing to start taking advantage of our proximity to them.
 
In the evening, Mrs. Ottawacker went to bed, and I caught up with my blips before heading out to the General Hospital for a 2am MRI on my back. My doctor, in a fit of efficiency, had booked it to see if the spondyloarthritis in my lower spine Is actually arthritis or whether my lunatic rheumatologist was taking more than quaaludes for his nerves. We shall see.

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