CORRECTION: pete: ah, there it is. I was punctuating while you were talking, and you started with "that time went to Hudson", then a dash, and I was waiting for the second dash to tie back to the beginning of the sentence, and that was it.

and, actually, you were far less inarticulate "like, and stuff" than you have portrayed yourself here. it wasn't run-on conversational crap like high-school kids write; convoluted, but punctuatable.

I love Virginia Woolf. Okay, so I've only read a few things, but I loved them. I see what he means. :)

Ha!

SNORT! God, I miss you two!

I am cracking up that Peter made a correction in the comments. Cearly, it's a compliment.

LMAO. ::choke:: ::breathe:: LMAO some more! I can so see this in my head. LMAO. I miss you and Pete.

Did you name the goldfish?

And the fact that Pete remembered it well enough to correct your recounting says so so much. Miss you both!

doesn't everyone have conversations this way?

NWJR: You know, I have a feeling we did, but I can't remember. Actually I think his (her?) name might have simply been "fish", or "goldfish"; my brother would probably remember. The thing is, I tried to have as little as possible to do with the fish, as I've been phobic about them my whole life, and this was a car trip driving home from two weeks in a northern Ontario lakeside campground where I couldn't escape the fishing culture, and had several scarring run-ins with fish both dead and alive (I'm not overdramatising here, I am truly terrified of fish and can still give myself nightmares if I dwell for too long on some of my memories of that holiday) so I was feeling quite shellshocked and having to endure bringing a fish home with us seemed a unique torture. I was relieved to see it go. But the following Christmas our parents gave us a replacement goldfish, causing me to spend the next two years performing an elaborate lunchtime ritual in which the goldfish bowl had to be moved from the dining room table to the kitchen counter so that I didn't have to see it while I ate, but my food had to be already prepared and set in a "neutral" place (not the counter) so that I never once saw the fish and my lunch at once, because if I did then I could no longer eat that food. I can't eat if I even see a picture of a fish.

i keep coming back to read this.

Yep, me too, MrsPilkington.

My first degree was in Fishery Science (chosen as an act of rebellion) and I kind of share how you feel about the fish, Jodi. We did oceanography (the chemistry of fishy homes), acoustic sonography (how to spot fishies at a distance), naval architecture (how to build fish-chasers), biology (how fishies work) etc... the joke was on me.

You remember the weirdest things. I had forgotton the gold fish. what about those fish flies all over the tent trailer? and the dogs running in and out of the dance hall? too cool. and 3 days in the back of a volvo stations wagon wasn't as bad as being the parent in the front of the station wagon listening to the kids in the back complaining...what wonderful memories!

That's one of the nicest things I've ever heard.