Blowin Through the Jasmine in My Mind

Debra Ereaut and Trevor Denault of Craunchy Flower

     I'm not a big fan of summer. It's too hot. I can't sleep. It's too crowded. The traffic makes me want to scream. Tourists! - can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Can't give them directions back to the GTA when they are looking for Sandbanks.
     I AM a fan of Summer Festivals, however. I love the ethnic food, the naked people at Pride, the beer festivals, the fan expos... everything. One of these summers, fingers crossed, I will get to the Toronto International Film Festival. In the meantime, I will settle for the multitude of great music festivals across Ontario.
     Unfortunately, I am a server at a popular small town resort, which means my weekends are always filled with fat fucks who can't get enough coffee and bacon while they let their demon spawn play with the sugar packets and lay in the middle of the aisles.
     I love my job. I really do. I love when you can make a connection with a group of crazy tourists who just want to have some fun. Or a couple who really appreciate your helpful directions and suggestions for the best local attractions. What I DON'T like, is this morning.
     I walked in at a few minutes to 9 a.m. when my shift starts. Turns out, we have introduced a new menu. Yay! All of the tables on the left half of the room are set for breakfast, but people inevitably want to sit on the right side of the room. There is no logical reason for this. There are windows along both sides of the room. The garden is actually on the left, not the right, so the view is better. I have come to the conclusion that some people just like to be difficult and are clearly just cunts.
     These same people proceed to order breakfast. They are, of course, not happy with just having what is on the menu. They want pancakes with sides of sausage, sides of bacon, three glasses of juice, home fries with onions, extra ketchup, more jam, more peanut butter, even more ketchup, sides of tomatoes, fruit not home fries, home fries not toast, toast not muffin, muffin not eggs. "Do you have salsa?" "Can I get tobasco sauce, hot sauce, brown sauce, Hollandaise sauce, cheese sauce, no sauce, sauce on the side, marmalade, jelly, and/or more ketchup?" Breakfast is the worst meal of the day for special requests, I swear.

Beer and Taco. The official meal of summer 2013

     One of our breakfast items, which is limited mainly because it is included in the price of the room rate for guests, is an omelette of the day. So, today was a broccoli and cheese omelette. When I tell people what the omelette of the day is, someone will inevitably ask me if they can get an omelette with something else in it. For example, ham and onions or peppers and olives or feta and smoked salmon... whatever. I find it very hard not to say to these people, "No. If you could get whatever you wanted in the omelette of the day, it would not be called an omelette of the day. It would be called the Get-Whatever-You-Want-In-Your-Omelette, you high maintenance bastard. Take the broccoli and cheese or fuck off."
     Anyway, I needed a break from the madness. A break helps me keep the fake smile on my face. A road trip, with music, and food, and the outdoors, and beer. Get me to the festival! Lucky for me, there was just such an event in Richmond, Ontario, in a berry patch surrounded by pine trees with one of my favourite independent classic rock bands.
     Richmond is only 2 and a half hours away. If I left at 2:30 p.m., I would be there in time to see the band at 5 p.m. All I need is 5 hours travel time, four dollars for a taco, three feet of space, two hours in the sun, one beer, and a zero gravity chair to relax in.


raspberries in waiting

     For those of you who have never been to Rideau Pines, it looks like a beautiful place to go for all your pick-your-own favourites. On arrival, I grabbed a blueberry wheat ale from the Ashton Brewing Company. Excellent! And, then a black bean taco from Ottawa Streat Gourmet - a food truck with flare. I could not have been happier as I meandered through the rows and rows of raspberry bushes. The summer breeze was making me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine of my mind.
     Of course, Crunchy Flower put on a great show. I was itching to get up and dance even though no one else was rocking out. I tried to be nonchalant about it when I got up to shake my hips to I Shot the Sherriff. But, I'm under a canopy of pine trees in a green-striped maxi skirt, with a fanny pack, and big tits. I'm sure I made some people talk. IMHO, I have earned the right to make a fucking fool of myself. I'm 40 now, bitches.
     I am back home writing all of this by quarter to ten. I can still get to bed at a reasonable hour and get to work at 8:30 tomorrow morning to fling plates and pour coffee to all the Canada Day, long-weekend travelers.