I heard that special rustle in the trees again, the one that sounds like a squirrel on steroids. I looked out to see our buddy had returned. This time he was filling up on Saskatoon berries. Picture a twenty-foot blueberry bush. The branches aren't like a stalwart Douglas Fir. They're twigs and he's at least a few hundred pounds. We filmed him for a while, hoping he'd fall and we could post it on Youtube. He was totally asking for it. Look:
He was entertaining to watch despite not falling. What is it about bears that they always look like a guy in a bear suit?
Meanwhile, while we were shooting nothing but still and motion pictures, we were talking about whether we were part of the problem. We didn't make a huge effort to scare him off beyond yelling a few remarks that insulted his grace and lack thereof. He is, therefore, what the news calls 'becoming conditioned to humans.'
In our defence, he wasn't even up one of our fruit trees this time. Saskatoons are native here. You can't kill a bear for being a bear. Besides, it would have meant discharging a firearm in the direction of our closest neighbour's house. I'm no gun expert, but I'm thinking that's not cool.
Speaking of Youtube and the internet, I was asking my daughter if she remembered the actress who played Buffy the Vampire Slayer's sister. I thought she was the same actress who plays Bruce Willis's daughter in Cop Out. (Is that what it was called? We just watched it last night, with Tracy Morgan.)
Anyway, she said, "Mom. We have something called the internet." I was like, "That's no fun." Seriously, my sister is my go-to when it comes to playing Name That Tune. We've called her at ungodly hours over the years to find out if it was Boston, Kansas, America or Foreigner. (Little River Band. What are you, retarded? Go to bed.)
Meanwhile, her husband is the On-Star of the family. Who wants to look up Google Maps on an iPhone if you can use the phone (hands-free of course!) and let him remotely pilot you through the Lower Mainland. (Definition of good times: Calling him on her cellphone to tell him she got us lost. What are you, retarded? I told you not to go that way.)
My mom is a typical maternal font of knowledge. True story: decades ago we were in a store in New West, I can't even recall what for. The cashier was a young woman. She said, "You're a mom. You'll know what to do. The face of my watch is steamed up on the inside." My mom quickly dashed into the nearest phone booth, came out with a capital M emblazoned on her chest and said, "Leave it somewhere warm for a few days, like on top of your TV."
Dad can literally tell you how to build a better mousetrap. If I need to know what an ombudsmen does, or what 'mad as a cut snake' really means, the only lifeline I need is the one to my second sister and her significant other in Australia.
Internet, shminternet. That's not even real people.
But, actually it is. I have no idea why this seems significant to me, but I think it's funny how depersonalized we think the internet is when it's actually built by humans. That bear up my tree ain't making any entries into it unless I post it for him. I'm not saying the internet is never wrong. Hello. It's built by humans. Of course it's prone to gross error. But by checking the internet for a bit of trivia, I may not be reconnecting with my family, but I'm connecting with someone, somewhere.
In On Writing, Stephen King talks about how writing is just a psychic message that's transmitted over time from one brain to another. I love that concept. It makes me think there must be a wi-fi modem built into an ant hill and that's why they have antennae. The Queen taps in "Hey, Leaf-Cutter, drag that dead guard out to the graveyard. And by the way, who sang 'Take It Easy On Me? Styx?'" (What are you, retarded? Little River Band.)
By the way, when I use the term 'retarded' I mean it in the modern 'are you failing to grasp the obvious' sense. As much as I appreciate the internet, I am more than aware you have to be careful what you post. Think that bear needs more compensation for using his image than a tree full of Saskatoon berries? Or am I in for a world of hurt?