The Road to the West

It was Thursday morning, 5:30, when I opened the day like a can of worms. I saw Travis had brought home some lovely barbequed sausages from the farm, and they were all plump, with juice springing from the inside. To start a morning with a barbequed sausage sandwich! Packed, I headed to pick up Dennis down Balmoral. I was ashamed to find it to be so light outside at this time of day, and so peaceful. How time has been squandered! At Dennis' apartment I waited outside, when I saw a tabby cat behind a screen window above me. It tilted its head sideways with curiosity as it viewed me. Then, in a slow fit, attempted to burst from the screen to meet me on the street!
Soon we were at Johnny's place, where we got a small tour of the perennials while things got underway. In the tree sat three black birds, with matte chests and glossy wings. An omen?
Picked up James and Will and started to drive.
Driving.
Driving.
Driving is done at John's good pace. Our eventual destination is here:

Along the way we are busy throwing "verbal barbs" at each other (I quote the James on this one). This, or something else, caused the van to get quite heated, and sometimes smoke was seen on the inside. The van itself drove fine. We gassed up quite frequently, and made an emergency #2 stop.
One time there was a stench coming from a garbage bag in the back. Dennis threw it out in the trash, but then James stated that his shoes were in a garbage bag because they were wet. A moment of horror. Then we found the shoes, still sitting in the van in a different garbage bag.
There was a constant background of various metal music, which complemented the metal farm equipment along the road outside. This naturally lead to great discussions about farming, and James gave us an eleven point sermon on the problems of farming today. Dennis often occupied himself by reading: once from a magazine that put forth unfounded trends in computer engineering, the rest in a small book on vitamins in food.
He vowed to eat as healthy and as infrequent as possible, even buying a small Horton's wrap so he could avoid a bigger lunch. Come lunch time, he went to Safeway and bought bread, and turkey, and bananas, and vector bars, and lettuce. A good and healthy effort to avoid spending money on supper. He ate some salad while the rest of us ate other salad in Wendy's. He made a sandwich and put the rest in the cooler (which had to be constantly monitored due to a testy power cord). John wanted the cooler off to save energy. So Dennis had to eat the meat to prevent it from going bad. Could you blame him? The whole packet, and most of the bread, and the bananas that did not get squished on the floor now drained. This got us to supper. We ran into Subway where I tried the new ham and swiss sub (3 out of 5 stars) and the sandwich artist got anxious after we bugged him about the lack of garlic bread. When we got our subs we found Dennis in the parking lot, having gone to Dairy Queen to get a small, make that a medium, blizzard, which was promptly eaten and (somewhat) spilled on his shirt.
So this is good! We are on our way to Calgary for an evening out.
We decide to pass the time on the flat plains of Alberta by playing "The Price is Right" with items found in a Swift Current newspaper. What is the price of a salt block? $4. What is the price of a grain bin? $8000. Will surprises us all by nailing these two prices on the head. Will, you should be an auctioneer. We move on to cars, and boats, and dogs, and office wages, and rent per month, etc. How about the price of one square bale? James should know this, for he has just spent the morning telling us about his Aggie studies. And he guesses... $400 per bale?! What? Actual retail price: $2.35.
We are in Calgary, and heading to a Jazz club owned by James' cousin. Here it is:

Playing tonight is Rabnett 5 (we don't like the name either), a local band, and pretty young. But as we all know, young jazz musicians are great, and they put on a solid show. I loved admiring the band's dynamics, and the bassist was outstanding. They played a variety of styles, adding a funk/jazz song and some mellow blues. The drummer spiced up jazz time with variations from other styles.
After the show, we go upstairs to an empty Piq Niq to have a drink and chat with James' cousin. We hear stories of old relatives who have beat up thugs with army belts, and a cousin driving off to Dawson, BC, with a trunk full of other relatives luggage and plane tickets. It was not an accident.
Neither was our arrival at Tyson's place after driving through Okotoks for, what was it, half an hour? =^). In due justice, Will was gunned down by an M16 bullet on the front lawn. Out from the bushes emerges a cowboy hat and a grinning face: Tyson with his airsoft gun.
There was lots to discuss before sleep.