I had participated in a GenChat nearly a fortnight ago [Next MAR14 9pm Central], when the Pirate Queen handed out an assignment. [Yes, I know, she is becoming very glib with such things of late, this year, isn’t she?].
Be as it may, this particular assignment seemed easy enough to finish. I had already done something similar years before.
Yes, MANY years, as in 25 years B.C. — No. Before Children!
I presented my original case before Her Majesty’s Court and was informed that it was not acceptable! I would need to do something more … recent.
So, here we are:
Allow me to explain:
MiLady and I had had an enjoyable quiet that lasted almost the entire month of February. Nostalgia had taken off to view the countryside vistas from the Rocky Mountains of Central Alberta, down into the United States, while on her mission to invade RootsTech and win everyone’s favour!
When she returned, she was ill — self-induced of course from consuming all the rum that she had “borrowed” from Treeverne, which in turn made her unavailable to socialize at the biggest genealogical event in history!
Furthermore, this condition caused her to miss her Command appearance with the Pirate Queen & Her Court, as well as the many other GenChatters that were looking forward to seeing my childhood nemesis!
So, being the understanding rabbit that I am, I waited a few days before I went to speak with her.
She was absolutely miserable! [Add to this that her “hero” was not there either! We discussed Tom McEntee’s absence before].
I politely asked how her travelling went.
Her answers were mild. Three words or less and completely out of character, even for her!
I inquired if she took any pictures along the way. “Are the mountains as majestic as the Americans sing them to be?”
Gia looked at me oddly. I took that to mean a No.
“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice, Dearie,” I then scolded. “You KNEW he wouldn’t be there, months ago!”
She rolled her eyes and stared at the wall. It was evident that she was not herself, so I left her to her moodiness and retired to my computer to do some genealogy.
It would be one more day before I would realize that my quiet bliss would be no more.
I had spent much of “My Last Day of Bliss” investigating contact information for NARA in St. Louis. I was hoping to re-establish the contact I had had when I investigated the Civil War records of one of my paternal relatives. I found an e-mail address and copied it into a draft blank.
The next day I chose to write my draft in my Word app rather than the email program.
Now, for those that know me well, my writing has an Old Country charm to it. I write in ramblings, read it over, add a bit here and there, move that bit up a little, the next bit down a touch and fix it up; but for those not accustomed to my words … let’s just hope that your reactions would be more curious than condeming.
I was about midway through writing my letter when Nostalgia invaded my space.
“What are you doing, Dearie?” she inquired, clamping one of her clawed hands on my bad shoulder while craning her head over the other, to lightly butt her head aside of mine.
“Genealogy,” I replied.
“Oh,” she stiffened. “Doesn’t that get boring, all those dead people? You certainly cannot converse with any of them, can you?”
“Plenty of time for that,” I answered, “when I’m dead.”
“Well, aren’t you –” she began to retort as her eyes focused on my writing. “Whose Nara?”
“Nara?” I asked. Nostalgia looked over her half-glasses and pointed at the screen.
“Oh, Nara!” I smirked. [Time for a little fun.]. “She’s an old friend.”
“Define OLD,” Nostalgia asked as her hands clenched and rested authouritively on her hips.
“Before I got married.” I chuckled to myself. Anytime now.
“When?!?” came the all to familiar roar of The Banshee of Olde.
“I don’t remember exactly, Nostalgia.” I began.
“Don’t or WON’T?” she prodded.
“We met St. Louis, when still in our 20s. You can retract your claws, it was long before I got married — the first time.”
That started it, I think. I was not certain:
Why are you still writing to her? How long has this been going on?
Does she know you’re married?
Does MiLady know about HER? I’ll bet she doesn’t!
Yes, as endless as her questions were, it was very comforting that the old girl was back to her annoying self. I have been accustomed to her in this manner. I would not know how else to handle her otherwise.
And, yes, she certainly does make life more interesting, but my terse answers only made the immediate situation worse:
“That is not your business, Gia. More than long enough. Yes, she does. Yes, she does too; and, what was the wager?”
“I don’t believe you!” she hissed as she stormed out of the room and stampeded down the stairs, screaming:
With a deep sigh of relief, and a gulp of my, now cold, steeped tea, I got up from my chair and walked to the top of the staircase. I couldn’t make out too much of what was said but Nostalgia’s ranting drowned out everything else.
” — divorce him, Dearie, he’s a cad!”
I then watched as the Olde Crone dragged my poor girl to the looming staircase.
“Gia, I’m supposed to be working! Are you trying to get me fired?” MiLady told her, as she looked up to see me. “Dear’st, what is going on?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Love. I’m just a cad.”
“There!” she cackled, sidestepping to usher MiLady up the three-step curve. “An Admission of Guilt! I know an excellent barrister in Washington State — she’s the President of our Tiara Club, she’ll do it pro bono!”
My wife grabbed the rail with one hand and reached out for the opposite wall with the other.
“Gia,” she said in that low, sexy voice of an annoyed woman who has had enough, “What. Is. It?”
“He’s writing a love letter!” Gia prattled. “A love letter!”
My wife looked up at me, shook her head and turned around to climb down the stairs.
“Don’t you want to see it?!?” she screeched.
“He’ll give it to me when he’s done,” my soulmate replied. “He always does.”
“He’s not writing it to YOU,” Gia hissed with an evil grin growing across her face.
MiLady stopped and looked back up the staircase. Our eyes locked.
“I’m writing to Nara, again,” I replied to her gaze, “to help locate the diaries of the Glory Regiment from the U.S. Civil War.”
My girl smiled and blew me a kiss. “Okay,” she said, “I’ve got to get back to work now!”
Left alone at the bottom of the stairs, Nostalgia was flabbergasted. She looked up at me in disgust, and down the hall at MiLady’s shrinking form in disbelief.
“How?” she asked.
My other (mis)adventures with Nostalgia: