This is my Coronation Street morning. My co-workers laugh at me because I'm such an old lady with my Coro fanaticism. But it's one of those comfort things that I'd be hard pressed to do without. It usually starts with a nice cup of strong coffee (see "coffee in the marnin") and a ciggy while I answer some emails and maybe write in the blog. Then when I'm good and caffeinated I sit down in my nice, big, luxurious, brown-leather couch (the only nice thing I really had the heart to take with me from Calgary. I didn't want the kids to do without any of the stuff they'd gotten used to, plus I don't think I actually owned much more than that) and click the several hundred buttons it takes to get a TV working these days. Funny how that has not gotten simpler with the modern wonders of technology. It seems like I need about five remote controls just to turn on the CBC. But I digress...

I'm glad I have Coronation Street today, because this is also Chub Creek day. Because I'm a hopeless procrastinator I usuallly save doing the show for last thing Sunday night, but sometimes if I'm ambitious I might start it earlier. But Coronation Street gives me a reason to delay doing Chub Creek for a couple of guilt-free hours while I immerse myself in the Weatherfield goodness the show always offers. Why do I want to delay doing the show so much?

It's because this will be a difficult one. I can't say much about why, but this will be one of the most difficult shows I've ever done and I really don't want it to start or end. Maybe you can guess why. But if you're reading this Monday or later you'll already understand. I've even begun scribbling on my chalkboard some ideas for the show so it's a bit easier for me when I get down to it. It's amazing how emotions come into play during the silliest things, but it's also amazing how those silly things sometimes become the most important things.

So I'm going to refill my coffee now and maybe have another ciggy and just savour that little bit of morning that I love just before I start watching Coro. I hope this is a good one. I might even treat myself to some bacon and eggs the way they love to go on about eating on the show. They always seem to be eating bacon "butties" and quaffing gallons of tea and ale. I think they've cut down on the smoking lately for political reasons, so there's that. But watching them eat and drink all that stuff makes me want to smoke even more.

But I digress again...

Now where are those five remotes?

It's 3:03 am. I'm jet lagging and don't want to go to bed. Just ordered a meat laden pizza, in fact. These days they don't give you any food on Canadian flights, even ones across the entire country. I'm writing because all of this reminded me of something that happened on the last leg of the flight. I was sitting there on the (stinking, cramped, too-small, no-food-serving) plane, on the final approach to Toronto's Pearson International Airport, when I noticed a woman about four seats ahead and on the other side. She was blonde, and I could only see her profile, but the more I looked at her (she was talking to somebody across the aisle, which is why I was seeing her in profile) the more I became convinced it was Tracy — An old flame.

Tracy was a very hot flame. She was somebody that I've been secretly wishing I'd bump into somewhere for many years now, and who I have completely lost track of since we split about twelve years ago. And there she was. Two seats ahead, talking to somebody across the aisle. The last time I saw her I was sitting in her car, telling her that I was seeing somebody else now and that she'd have to stop trying to get into my pants. If I could only have such problems anymore...

She had left me for some guy who owned a ranch. Tracy had a thing for cowboys and country music, neither of which would bring me to mind if you knew me very well. But I had accepted this and moved on to a new relationship. Funny how moving on can sometimes cause people to find you interesting again. Yes, Tracy wasn't interested in the cowboy anymore and was constantly finding ways to bump into me and made it plain she was interested in stirring things up again. But no, when this happened I told her in no uncertain terms that it was over and I had to be loyal to my new girlfriend. That girlfriend proceeded to dump me for a lawyer about a year later, after moving across the country with her, but because I had moved across the country it brought many new opportunties for me which would eventually culminate in a new career, a new girlfriend and two beautiful children. All because I said no to Tracy.

Tracy, the one I was evidently still in love with, even now. It was my own personal soap opera.

These were the thoughts flowing through my mind then, sitting on the plane, looking at her face, her blonde hair, even hearing that familiar laugh. But then I heard her mention the word "husband" and "kids" and my heart sank a little. I even figured out who her husband was. He was sitting across the aisle from me. Good looking, (better looking than me) wearing a suit, being very kind to everybody around him. (he even tried to help me move my armrest out of the way when I found the seat too damned small.) Nice guy. Of course he was. Figures.

The plane landed and we stood up in anticipation of finally having freedom from the cramped plane. The husband remained seated so those around him could stand. Tracy stood as well but I couldn't see her anymore. I had already "let her go", again mentally, but determined that I would at least catch her eye while we waited for luggage in the airport. Maybe say hello. See if she remembered me and perhaps thought I still looked good despite the years and the pounds and the hair (loss).

I let her husband stand up in front of me and he took the opportunity to call to his wife: "Dana, the others are staying at the airport so we can just hop in a cab," he said. The woman who wasn't Tracy by any stretch of the imagination turned around and saw me looking at her. She held my eyes for a second and looked away just before I could do the same.

Dana.

Phew. I think. Pizza's here.

Okay, be honest. How many of you have seen that photo of me and are driving yourselves crazy wanting to pluck that long hair out of my eyebrow? And then, how many of those are dying to tear off that Biore strip and look at it? Just wondering.