First thing tomorrow I need to start calling up newspaper classified sections. It breaks my heart to do it. It wasn't so very long ago that my Alaskan Malamute, Boris couldn't see past his dislike of the baby and he had to go to a new home on an acreage. They say if it's not one thing, it's another. As sad as I am about it, I am trading in my boyfriend.
It's just that in this economy, he is too expensive. Aside from his regularly scheduled man maintenance like gym memberships, action movie purchases and Pay Per View UFC fights, lately he has been hitting the bank account harder than usual.
It all started the day I got back from Newfoundland on vacation. I was sorting through the giant stack of mail that had amassed in my absence. I mean a big stack. Bills, junk mail, photography magazine subscriptions, a handwritten envelope or two from a client. It was all pretty routine. Open, read and shred or open, read, and file. Then I see a very official looking envelope lurking in the pile. Well no, lurking is a term reserved for sketchy looking men who hide in bushes of pretty ladies on crime drama shows. This envelope was sitting there, staring me down. Looking me square in the eye, daring me to open it next. I don't dare easily so I continued with my correspondence with my credit card company and the good folks at the natural gas company.
But it was LOOKING at me.
Suddenly, I am out of envelopes. I have a big pile of paper in the garbage and a pile to match on the table to file. I still have that piece of correspondence staring me straight in the face. It was saying my name, in big bold letters. AMY DONOVAN.
Well, I may as well open it. It's not going to hop back in the mailbox and head off with the mailman when he stops by.
I open it, and remove the sheet of paper contained within. It is a photo of my black Ford Escape rounding the corner of Jasper Ave and 82nd. You could tell by the view of the river valley. Printed on cheap photocopy paper was a photo of my vehicle and a bill for $130 for driving in excess of the posted legal limit.
But I don't speed. Surely, there is some mistake. I look at the photo again. Yes, that is my truck with an enlarged photo of my license plate. There I am, going around the turn of Jasper and 82nd. But I don't speed. I drive like a granny. It's one of my more irritating qualities. I would never speed around that 90 degree angle turn. Not a chance.
Then like any good nosy pants, I get to reading. The photo was taken at 8:20am. Any mother of a toddler who works from home understands me when I say, I do not leave the house at that hour, never mind to be heading towards the downtown core. Only business people are crazy enough to be headed down there at that hour. People who work in big tall buildings and iron their shirts regularly head down there. Not those of us who are having breakfast thrown at us at that hour. My mind began to wander, suddenly, while picturing myself in nice heels, hair done, pants pressed, headed towards the busy downtown section of the city, I see it in my mind's eye. There it is. Shining like the sunrise. The Bell Tower.
WAIT A MINUTE. This isn't my ticket at all.
My fingers work the buttons on the phone so fast they don't know what hit them. "Jamie speaking," says an unsuspecting boyfriend on the phone.
Please tell me where you were on date in question at the time in question, I query.
"Um, I don't know," he says.
Get out that Blackberry with the uber calendar you can't live without and tell me where you were, I press.
Huff, puff.
"Oh right, I had a meeting at the Bell Tower. Why?" he is cool as a cucumber.
Huff, puff, grrr. "Were you running late?"
Yes. He was. There was no doubt whose ticket it was. No tweaking, thrill seeking teenager had stolen our truck and gone careening down Jasper Ave at rush hour. It was my steady as a clock, quiet as a mouse, baseball coaching boyfriend.
"Well Ok." I grumble about the ticket, the money and the speeding. It's what a nagging girlfriend is supposed to do. We would only be best friends otherwise.
I still haven't paid the ticket, but there is a note on my fridge that has a list of things that needs to be paid on it. The speeding ticket is at the very bottom of the list. It will get paid. Sometime.
But tonight, I am sitting on my couch, working on a book I dream of having published, watching Bridget eat cheesies and dance. Jamie had left to chauffer teenagers out of town to visit a friend for the weekend. The only thing that could make the evening better would be a good cup of coffee, but all in all, life is pretty darn good.
Of course, before he left to head out of town, I had worked my way down my checklist of nagging girlfriend warnings. Watch out for deer. Watch out for Coyotes. I heard rumours about cougars in that area, I don't believe it, but watch out for them too. Mocking ensued, so I stopped. I left out the Drive carefully and don't speed warnings.
But there's a reason why I keep a mental checklist stored in this elephant brain of mine. I don't forget things, like driving carefully, below the posted speed limit, wearing my seat belt and carrying my driver's license at all times. I always remember to adjust my seat and mirrors and set the GPS before getting on the road. You might now be making fun, but that's all I can do. I am after all, a Granny Driver. I might as well drive a Buick.
Anyway, the door opened and the familiar grey coat Jamie wears came into the house carrying the wheelbarrow load of coats that I had left in the car over the last week. I might mention, I can't drive wearing a coat. I feel stuffy. I also don't like to wear coats to hockey games for the same reason. I am not saying it is logical or even healthy, but that's how it is. So he tosses the coats over the stairs to the laundry and I notice he is laughing. He is laughing in that funny laugh he has when he thinks something is really funny. It's sort of an inaudible huh, huh, with tears in his eyes. It's really quite cute.
"I have a funny story for you."
I brace myself. His co-pilot for the trip was Daniel, my 11 year old stepson who thinks that farting is comical and the work butt is funny. This is going to be a great story. I wait.
"So, I am driving along, listening to music (ahem...I wasn't there, but I can pretty much bet my bottom dollar that it was 80's rock and he was reliving his glory days, back when his permed mullet waved in the wind....) when all of a sudden, I see flashing lights and there is a police officer standing in the middle of the road, waving me in. I knew I didn't do anything wrong. I was only driving 100."
Ok, I think. He was on the highway. He must have been pulled over for a routine check. I continue with my editing, as he continues.
"...so he asked me how fast I was going and I confidently said, 100km/hr officer. But then he told me I was going 103km/hr. Then he told me I was in 70km/hr zone. And I remembered that I was. So now Daniel was laughing to kill himself, and I needed to find my driver's license. It wasn't in my coat pocket."
Now, I am going to take this opportunity to mention that in the course of our relationship, I have bought him a wallet, as annually as Christmas occurs. Each wallet sits on top of the fridge, like a lonely little duck until the next one replaces it. I don't know, because I am not him, but I suspect that carrying a wallet must feel to him like wearing a coat feels to me. It really doesn't matter if a grown man carries all of his plastic in his pocket, does it!?
I digress.
Now as the story continues, Jamie finds his self in the back seat of a police car with the door closed. The officer is unable to find Jamie Reynolds in the system. This might be because his name is actually James, as is the case with most Jamies. They find him. Daniel is now trying to take photos of Jamie locked in the back of a police cruiser. The pretty pink insurance slip he has passed the officer is not for our truck. It's for a car we owned years back. He swears there was an avalanche when he opened the glove compartment. I don't disbelieve him, but suspect he might have been a little melodramatic about said receipt and service record landslide.
Now he is laughing from the belly as he relays the rest of the story which involves the RCMP officer listing off the laundry list of fines he is facing for driving 33kms over the speed limit, without a driver's license and because he gave him the wrong insurance slip. Daniel is yelling from the truck to the police car about having to pee.
Clearly this story is much more fun for a man and pubescent boy than for the work at home, vanilla ice cream eating, Granny Driver.
So now, at the bottom of my running list on the fridge is a new dollar amount. The amount we need to pay for this supposedly funny driving infraction. So, if you are looking for a steady as a clock, quiet as a mouse, baseball coaching boyfriend, I have one for you. I will trade him for the price of his moving violations.
I absolutely love photographing people in love. It might be the very best part of my job. Don't get me wrong. I love all the the little Emma's and Jack's and Mom's and Dad's but in love couples are super willing to try new things and be affectionate in front of the camera.
Jeff and Kirsty were no exception. In fact, all I needed to do was point in the direction I wanted them to go, and like a couple of models, the would go exactly where I said, and cozy in together. It was magic to work with people who were so affectionate. It made for some amazing photos of them- photos I don't think we could have taken in a studio. The tall grass, the big blue sky and the crisp air really added something to the mood. 
I love Red Willow Park in St. Albert, AB which is where we took these photos. It literally is in the middle of the city and has an amazing walking trail that leads all over the place. Would you believe that we were literally behind St. Albert Centre here? It sure doesn't look like a shopping mall parking lot to me!
Thanks Jeff and Kirsty for coming to hang out today and for being so awesome. You two are perfect together and I love to see it! I hope you enjoyed your sneak peak. I look forward to showing you the rest of your photos in the next few days. I truly had a terrible time deciding which shots to blog because I love them all so much!
