I have a story that I used to tell. Said story involved me, my brother and a large kitchen knife. The story didn't end happily, but it didn't end badly either. Sometimes just an ending is the best you can hope for.

I've stopped telling that story. My mom asked me to stop telling it, and out of respect for her I have. Not telling the story doesn't mean it didn't happen, nor does it undo the times I had told.

Ben mentioned it last night when he, Lisa and I were sitting around the fire talking. He asked about it, and my parents' divorce, and a number of other questions before coming to the conclusion I had a rough childhood. I can't say it was a piece of cake, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't truly a bad childhood. There were no drugs, no hunger, no creepy uncles or physically abuse relatives.

We had a large dose of religion, two young parents trying to find their way, three aimless youths with a complete lack of direction and a small town environment with lots of freedom.

I think we did okay.

Ben eventually agreed, but did point out my childhood had a lot more drama than his did. That, now, I couldn't argue with. Fortunately, I had Guy and Kris to show me that a life without drama can still be a wonderful place to be.

Intentionally vague. If you read this and see yourself in this post, you're reading too much into it. There is only one person this describes, and I'm 100% sure that person won't read this.

I have finally realized why I cannot stand interacting with a particular employee of a client of mine. It's been years in the realization, and annoying that I took so long to figure this out. As in, quite annoying in several ways, the least of which is the unbridled stress this particular person has caused in my life over the last few years.

What I finally realized is that this person is completely passive aggressive, but in a subtle way. I've always questioned this person's professionalism and management style (particularly in the way this person decides not to like someone, whether this someone is an employee or a client or a customer, then does everything possible to make the target's life miserable before firing said target), but never quite understood why I disliked the person so much.

Today, however, I had an epiphany, and feel much better for it. Instead of letting the behaviour stress me out, as it has in past years, I've decided to take each of the digs, backhanded compliments and insults at direct face value and counter with irrefutable information and facts. That, and call this person on her passive aggressive behaviour.

Today's exchange had this person telling me that a third person (whom I don't interact with, who doesn't know the client's server setup and hasn't had any experience with the particular software installed on the server) said all I "had to do was turn it on." I responded, suggesting that since the passive-aggressive person believed the third person knew more about the setup, perhaps this third person should be asked to setup the neccessary software, I'd happily take a step back.

My response was met with much back-pedalling on parts of the suggestion, and silence on the other parts.

Honestly, I derived much pleasure from the back-pedalling.

As Ben, Lisa and I were gathering ourselves up to head to bed, Ben told me to open the window next to where I was standing in the bathroom. He waited a few moments, then asked, "Can you hear them?"

I hadn't managed to open the window, so Lisa offered a different solution, and chatted with me as we walked out the back door, onto the small porch.

In the distance, I heard shrieks. Shrieks and calls and howls and whines and laughter from a pack of coyotes sounding from the cemetary which was just beyond the next copse over. I listened, becoming more fascinated and more terrified by the moment. Lisa was unaware of my growing unease, and listened to the changing timbre of the coyote song. "Sounds like it might be a kill," she commented, increasing my unease even more, "listen how many there are."

Now, the adult part of me knows that coyotes don't walk up to houses and attack adult humans off the porches. That same part knows that any loud noise would scare off all but the biggest of the pack. That I was standing near dear friends who would beat off any coyote attack the way I would unflinchingly fight for the two of them.

But the small child terrified of the loud monster under the bed, the one who slept downstairs when the rest of her family slept upstairs, the one who's vivid imagination caused a decade of sleep problems, SHE wasn't so sure about those coyote sounds. SHE hustled back into the house, grabbed her toothbrush and headed for high ground.

Yeah, nature's nice, but sometimes the doses work better from under the covers in a locked house.

Ben, Lisa, Jake and I went to the zoo today. Well, Max, too, but he wasn't really aware of the adventure as much. We left fairly early (for me anyway), to catch the ferry over to Seattle. Even with a two year old (maybe even because of the two year old), ferry crossings are wonderful events.

Although the day was pleasant (with SUN!), I can't say it wasn't cold. Very much what I expected, actually, temperature-wise. Very much surprised water-falling-from-the-sky-wise, actually. So, into the zoo we went, with Ben handing me the map, and leading the way. The family has a season pass, so my $6 ticket was the only additional expense on the trip.

We saw hippos ...

... who have pretty big feet.

We saw the giraffes, but they managed to take too long to actually come out of their shed, so we of a two-year-old's attention span didn't see much of them.

We saw elephants ...

... no really, I was there ...

... and komodos ...

... and owls ...

.. and gorillas ...

... and a lot of really ugly children. What is it with small children that there are just so many ugly ones?

I ask you.

Anyway.

The creatures who live in the zoo and stay at night. So, there was this one monkey, simian biped HOWLing near the gorillas. We had heard one of the women talking about the gorillas in a way that clearly indicated she knew what the heck was going on with the gorilla, so we asked her about the howling when she walked by us.

Turns out, this particular monkey was born and raised in captivity. When he was old enough, a female was introduced to him, and put in his area. The female was mature enough to reproduce and, according to the zoo woman we had stopped, making all the right moves to start the courtship. The howling monkey, however, DIDN'T KNOW how to DO IT, so managed to miss completely.

In an effort to continue this particular line, the female was moved to a different zoo with a male who knows what to do, and another female, who is past her prime and had her mate die recently, was moved in. The female and the howling male were howling to each other, presumably to start the mating ritual.

Not that the boy monkey would know what to do.

We continued our zoo journey after learning about the monkeys, and saw a big cat...

And somewhere around here, my bladder started calling out to me. I had to dash off to the nearest building with a toilet.

Now, I recall getting lost as a child, maybe 8 years old, at the Marriott's Great America (probably a Six Flags now). The experience was traumatic enough to remember a couple decades later. When I stepped out of the building with the restroom, and couldn't find Ben and Lisa and Jake, the desperation feelings of an eight year old me washed over me.

Fortunately, the adult me was fine. I went off on my own to visit the pink flamingos ...

... before finding the family again.

They had wandered fully into the big cat exhibit, not just the one cat we saw earlier. Ben managed some amazing pictures of the cats.

We together next wandered into a kids playland, a building where adults are allowed in only if accompanied by a child. I'm not sure about the three to one for Jake, but no one seemed to mind.

Lisa pointed out that the building was fairly empty at this point, but that when it was raining, the place was PACKED with kids playing and parents standing around bored. How about that for a switch?

Jake enjoyed the slide.

About this time, Jake was getting tired. The attention span of a two year old? Yeah, not so long. So, we started our journey out of the zoo, but not before seeing one a Southern Pudu, which is a full grown deer smaller than Bella.

I wanted to take one home with me.

Not that Bella wouldn't have tried to eat if I had.

All in all, a good trip.

When Kris and I first starting spending time with Ben and Lisa, way way way back when (10 years ago!), I thought Lisa didn't like me. I couldn't quite figure out why I felt this way. Kris told me I was mistaken, that the two of them liked the two of us, and, well, okay, Kris said I was crazy for thinking that. Still, I couldn't quite shake the feeling.

Until I figured out why, and the source was completely my fault.

My fault in that I interrupt people who are speaking, and Lisa doesn't let people interrupt her when she's speaking. If you attempt to interrupt Lisa, she will continue to talk until she's completed her sentence, then pause to allow you to talk. Really, it's how conversations should be: rather than interrupt the other person, listen to what she's saying, then answer that.

With Lisa around, I learned to stop interrupting people when they are talking, listen to them, and, hey, what do you know, Lisa likes me. Fancy that.

In the three years since Ben and Lisa have been gone, I've fallen back into my rude ways. Honestly, I'm pretty embarrassed by it, too. I've spent most of today trying to undo the interruptting habit I have, to listen to whoever is talking to me, and start talking only when he's done.

I'm not sure I'll be able to fix this habit in a weekend, but, once again, Lisa makes me a better person by reminding me of how to one of my faults.

She's good like that.