Terrorists and Cheeze Whiz

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We started this trip with lots of time and now find ourselves concerned that we may not have enough time to do what we wanted. Isn't that the way it always goes though?

So far it has been great. We entered the USA a few days ago and crossed some obscure border in the hills somewhere around Duluth, Minnesota. Joey was very excited. His first crossing of the American border by car. Annie in the back, happily snapping pictures. I ask her to stop, as we are approaching the border. The guard, a very friendly looking sort of fellow. Early 30's, soft, pudgy (not unlike myself, except I am slightly older), very kind eyes.....until he saw Annie taking pictures. Waving our passports he insisted that she put her camera down, and I swear his right hand, a' la "Barney Fife" went to his gun. An eternity in the seconds that followed was broken with a surreal smile from the guard , "Can't be too careful, don't know when your picture will end up in Iraq".........

Now I am a patient man and have learned a lot in the last few years.

As I type this now, some terrorist has taken his picture, at his outpost in Duluth, in the hills.....where you can hear the kid playing his banjo, and has posted it on a bulletin board somewhere in Irag. There, they...yes, them, are planning an attack on his country, no, his state, no, his out post and him alone. He will be working a quiet shift and suddenly Abbdulah and his friends will try to cross the border from Canada in their terrorist tank. It will be disguised as a Fiat Uno. As he checks their passports, their terrorist tank turret will turn and start to fire. The first shot will kill Spot, the outpost dog (it actually hits the coke machine, which falls on Glenda, his 400 lbs female worker, who in turn falls on Spot). The second shot goes wild, because he has managed to pull his gun and threaten the tank driver. The driver panics at the sight of the guards gun and slams his Fiat Uno (terrorist tank) into reverse as the President of the USA repels down from Air Force One to pin the medal of Honor on his chest for stopping the Terrorist invasion and the little boy, on his porch, plays his banjo louder in appreciation.

I didn't act upon my desire to slap this man, take his gun away from him and send him home until he read something......anything. Perhaps listen to some Mozart or have a yogurt instead of his blueberry muffin; which I swear to God is nothing but a lump of half cooked dough with ...well, I don't know what is in it, however I am reasonably certain that it is NOT blueberries; or have his waffles with it's litre...ooops...sorry.....gallon of whipping cream and his syrup (NOT maple syrup. Apparently they don't know what it is here. They serve SYRUP, with a smile, that American smile. Syrup, which contains "Corn Syrup, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Water and Artificial Maple Flavor, Potassium Sorbate, Caramel Color,Citric Acid"...yeah Syrup .....on their cheese....their cheese whiz that appears at breakfast here, yeah, Cheese Whiz. But he is probably right.

Now perhaps it was a new found peace or a sense of awe at my natural surroundings or the fact that he still had his hand on his gun, that I smiled and looked him in the eye and said "Yeah....you wouldn't want that."

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