Here in Canada, this weekend is traditionally the first mini vacation away from home of the year. It’s Queen Victoria’s birthday celebration, and everyone wants to get out and finally enjoy the fact that it’s summer. Although it’s not summer, and no one cares about Queen Victoria or Prince Albert, anymore.

When I was a kid, many people liked to go camping on the Victoria Day weekend. It being Eastern Canada, though, and not yet the end of May, it quite often involved a bit of snow-shoveling.

On construction sites throughout the country, people left early on Friday. Some of them are going to cottages by a lake and some of them are going home to start working on their summer projects. This is a good weekend for demolition and clean-up.

One guy I know started his own renovation company on a Victoria Day weekend. It lasted until Halloween. He spent the winter hiding in his house and then looked for a job in the spring. But it was fun for a while.

Quite a while ago, on the Friday of a long weekend, Pete and I went to a job site and were greeted by one of the guys who worked there. He asked us if we were staying for the barbeque.

“What barbeque?”
“We’re having a barbeque!”
“What for?”
“To eat meat, man!”
“Who’s cooking it?”
“I am.”

Pete was silent. He had no expression on his face.

“Come on,” said the other guy. “It’s a barbeque.”
“Maybe,” he said, and walked away.
“What’s with him?” the guy asked me.
“He’s a vegetarian,” I said.
“I’m no vegetarian,” Pete yelled from across the lot.
“His hearing is good!”
“It is today,” I said.

“What’s wrong with barbeque?” the guy yelled across to Pete.
Pete waved his hand and walked into the building.
“Are you going to have barbeque?” he asked me.
“I came with him,” I said, “So, if he leaves, I gotta go, too.”
“Oh. Ok. Well, you’re both missing out. Meat! Wine! Well, no wine. Ha Ha!”

I went into the building and found Pete. He was busy getting his tools out of a box.
“Don’t want barbeque?” I asked.
“I’m not eating anything anyone here cooks,” he said. “I’ve seen these guys eat lunch.”

I’d seen lots of stuff Pete had eaten that was just as iffy as anything anyone else ate, but I said nothing. The end of the day came, and we went home.

In the truck, I said, “Man, I’m hungry.”

“You can eat when you get home.”