Perceptive.

They say that travelling with someone is a good way to learn about them. They're right.

We were on our way home, taking the 'scenic' route, which added about 6 hours to the trip. It was already suppertime. We came to the town where my granny used to live, and I got unexpectedly choked up, realising I hadn't been there since the funeral. That's the first time T has seen me cry.

I explained. Granny and I were close.

T looked at me, head cocked, and said "do you need to visit the grave?"

I would never have asked, as we were running so late, but I really, really did.

What a sweetie.

Days before, we had gone to introduce T to my father. Neither of us were looking forward to that. Calling my relationship with Dad 'strained' would be equivalent to calling the Rockies 'a few hills'. Outright combative would be a little more accurate.

We went for dinner, and Dad picked up the tab, then tucked a wad of bills into my pocket. Driving away from the restaraunt, I shook my head.

"I hate that," I told T.

"Does he show he cares by giving people money?" T asked

Perceptive.

"Yeah," I admitted, "and he shows he's pissed off by writing us out of the will."

"Well," T mused, "if that's the only way he knows how to say he cares, why not just accept it?"

Touche...

Packing.

T met my mom a few weeks ago. And Mom's girlfriend. For a guy raised in an uber-religious family, he was pretty blase about it.

"I like your mom," he said, "Actually, I felt pretty comfortable around them both."

Good thing, that - we're packing up and going there for the rest of the week, as we are on holidays.

I managed to carry everything I needed for a year-long trip covering four seasons on three continents in one backpack...once. I have since discovered that I pack exactly the same amount of crap whether I am going for two days or a year.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I pack more for a weekend.

Problem is, I knew I wouldn't want to be dressing up and wearing makeup in the middle of the Sahara desert. When I'm travelling, looking good is not on the priority list, and high heels just aren't necessary. However, going home and visiting friends is another story entirely.

First off, you never know whether it is going to rain, snow, or shine - temperatures in the Prairies at this time of year range from thirty above to twenty below (celcius SWF, celcius) and the weather dudes really can't predict what's going to happen in the next hour, let alone the rest of the week.

Secondly, chances are good I'll run into people I haven't seen in a few years. You want to be looking good when you run into those stuck-up bitches from highschool - there is something gratifying to say "oh, no, I haven't gotten around to having kids yet, I got a degree and traveled Africa instead" while you watch them wiping the snotty nose on their third or fourth little brat. Well, that and I weigh exactly the same as I did in grade 11.

T has already figured out my packing style. I was finishing the laundry this morning, and he was setting out the stuff he intended to take. He'd dug out quite a large bag - we both usually just stuff a few things in our laptop knapsacks, but this one was a duffel bag.

I started packing my own things, in my laptop bag, of course. Then I realised I needed to bring a nice pair of shoes, and a fall jacket. And another pair of slacks, in case I go out bar hopping with my cousin. T had two pair of jeans and three shirts in that great big bag...so much space left over...so I asked him - "hey, can I tuck a few things in there?"

"That's what I'm bringing this bag for," he said smugly.

Who says they don't pay attention?