There are some people who think I am a bit ditzy. The reason I don’t always come across as the educated person that I am is that I am sometimes verbally impulsive. I speak without thinking. Excitement and/or wine can result in my blurting things out while pretending to be self assured or witty or while trying to show that I am truly engaged and interested, though I may not always look the part. It is worse when I attempt serious communications. I hate to argue or debate because I can’t think on my feet. All my intelligent rebuttals come hours later, after I have digested verbal moments and have had time to let them percolate. This is why I prefer to write. Writing lets me think things through. The more I write, the more I think I should just keep my mouth shut to avoid all awkward situations.
One person who I am convinced thinks I am the biggest ditz going is a certain female on The Doc’s side of the family. I could be wrong about this, but I have given her plenty of reasons to formulate such an opinion. Reasons like inviting her to dinner and forgetting to turn on the oven in order to cook the roast. In my defense, there were, at that time, two knobs on my oven that required turning. I set the temperature knob but not the one that selected and turned on the bottom element. I actually think I did this twice in her presence. Both times in the vague past when we lived closer together. Maybe she has now forgotten them since we rarely see each other.
Leave it to me to provide more pro-ditz evidence on our recent trip to Ontario. It was after the graveside service for Mum T. Seven of us were gathered around the kitchen table at The Doc’s brother’s place. We usually stay at my brother and sister-in-law’s place at some point when we visit Ontario because I feel comfortable around them and never turn into a ditz. Also in attendance was the certain female and her husband and JT–who, knowing his mother so well, would find the whole thing very amusing. We were discussing various topics when I brought up Nova Scotia’s Dining On The Ocean Floor event, where you enjoy a beautiful banquet of locally sourced food and beverages on the ocean floor while the tide is out. Nova Scotia has the highest tides in the world and the logistics of this event, which The Doc and I were lucky enough to attend, is awe inspiring. I, always proud to discuss anything wonderful about Nova Scotia, happily imparted these details. This inspired the certain female to talk about the island they visited near Cornwall where water covers the road half the time.
If she said castle, I didn’t hear it.
If she said the UK, I didn’t hear that either.
What I heard was Cornwall. What I knew was that we were going to spend a night in Cornwall, Ontario on our way home.
“We should go,” I said to The Doc. “We’re going to Cornwall.”
“If you can find it, we can go,” The Doc said. I didn’t realize that he was joking. Sometimes it is hard to tell.
“We can use the GPS,” I said. “Be spontaneous,” I jabbed.
Then I saw it. The look on their faces. The certain female and her husband looking at me like I was really the ditz I continued to prove to them that I was.
Ask me if I felt stupid.
Now I am familiar with St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall. The Cornwall that is in the United Kingdom. I have seen the images of the tide covered road, the castle and the beautiful terraced gardens. Not too long ago, they had been advertising for a gardener and I thought about what a job that would be. But I didn’t make the connection when the certain female was relaying her details. I didn’t make the connection until much later.
I am also familiar with the other Cornwall. The Cornwall that is in Ontario. We stayed there a few years ago and did an excursion to the museum and site to commemorate the lost villages. The villages that were destroyed then flooded on July 1, 1958 to complete the construction of the St. Lawrence Seaway. Something I learned about when reading Anne Michael’s novel The Winter Vault. It is a site that makes you think. Approximately 6500 Canadians were displaced. All the trees were cut down. Churches and graveyards moved. Houses relocated, others burnt to the ground. A place where there are also roads that go underwater. I walked along paved remnants of an old highway, stopped at the water’s edge and stared at the dark ribbon that continued under the surface. It was surreal.
Yet I didn’t remember this either during my awkward ditzy moment. I wish I had because it would have made more sense. Me mixing up two different underwater roads. Instead I was blank. I had no comeback and couldn’t think fast enough to laugh at the circumstances and make it a joke. So in the future, around certain people, I will strive to keep my spontaneous, verbally-impulsive comments to myself, but I’m not sure how successful I will be. Especially since I find it difficult to curb my excitement and I have no plans to give up wine.
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For more details on Dining on the Ocean Floor go here.
For more information on The Lost Villages go here.
For more information on St. Michaels Mount go here.