The last couple of mornings I have wakened early with the Wolfe Island Ferry’s horn blowing off-shore in the fog. The combination of humid days and cool nights have produced morning fog which is both eerie and wonderful. I lie in bed imagining the ferry slowly making its way toward shore, both edging through the mist and warning others of its presence.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to be up early to go to the country to join the crew of the movie FAULT which is shooting now in the Kingston region. In order not to disrupt a scene in progress or have my car in the way, I parked about half a kilometer down the road in the Oddfellows Hall parking lot and walked along the country road to the farmhouse where the movie was being shot that day.

There was a dense fog. I could not see far along the road. Apart from the distinctive call of chickadees in the brush by the road it was absolutely silent. I stopped for a few minutes to enjoy this isolation, feeling totally cut off from everything and everyone else. Despite being a very gregarious soul, I found this almost a spiritual experience.

I turned around and behind me was a graveyard, also blanketed in fog. In a world of 6 billion people, I was there alone, maybe with some ghosts from the past wafting about me in the fog.

I could see the yellow line in the road but nothing else ahead. What lay out there in the fog? Where would my path lead that day? What surprises, yet to be revealed, will the day hold? What interactions, experiences or even dangers lie beyond what I can see?

Within half an hour the fog had lifted and the sun was shining brightly. I was back in a world of colour and noise and people and I liked that too, but the few moments in the fog on the road were remarkably peaceful and uplifting.

This few minutes in the fog reminded me that each day’s wakening brings the same anticipation of hidden events yet to unfold. And even when the sun shines brightly, we do not really know what lies only moments ahead. Like navigating in the fog, there is something both un-nerving and exciting about that prospect.

I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I have been drawn to gobbling up articles about the “Black Widow” recently appearing on the internet news sites. There is something about tabloid-type journalism that has a perverse appeal. When it appears in a CBC news report I can read it without the humiliation of picking up a copy of the National Inquirer at the grocery store check out. I do look at the front pages of these journals as I stand in line at the checkout but half the time the headline is about a younger celeb who I don’t know.

A recent headline had Queen Elizabeth distressed because she had learned that Prince Philip had an affair with Zza Zza Gabor.  One woman also reading the headline at the counter commented ” Who hasn’t?”

The “Internet Black Widow” is a PEI-born woman in her late 70’s who seems to have made a career of picking up lonely well-to-do older men. Shortly after they marry her she becomes their heir, cleans out their bank accounts, drugs them with benzodiazepines and has even dispatched two of them in one way or another. In the late 1980’s she drugged and then ran over her then husband, was tried and found guilty of manslaughter and spent some time in Kingston’s Prison for Women. She gained some celebrity there, claiming to be an abused wife who killed to protect herself – although two people watched her back over her semi-conscious husband and then run over him again. She was featured in a National Film Board documentary (When women kill) and also the subject of another CBC documentary in 2005. She surfaced again last month.

Her story reminded me of an experience I had while working in Bosnia a few years ago. I was at a barbecue dinner at the home of one of my friends, a young Serbian fellow who had acted as my translator for the previous few years. There were six of us for the dinner, including one of my friend’s neighbours named Vito.

Vito was an lively and curious 50 year old man who talked non-stop. Most of the conversation was in Serbian and although I could pick out words and phrases I could not follow this guy’s jovial chatter which, at times, had the others laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief.

Suddenly Vito turned to me. My friend translated his onslaught roughly as follows:

“Say, I think I know a woman who would be great for you. If you like, I can introduce her to you.
Her name is Nevus Titsiani. She lives in Zagreb with her mother. She is an attractive woman, maybe ten years younger than you. She is well-educated – speaks three languages – and financially independent.”

I told him it was OK, I wasn’t really looking for someone but thanks, anyway.

“She has been married four times. Her present husband is in jail in Italy so that would not present a problem.”

Bonus, I thought.

“Her other three husbands died. One fell out of a boat in the Adriatic when they were out fishing. The second one died in their bathtub – electrocuted or something.” He leaned closer and winked. “The third died while they were having sex.”

Bad luck. For her. Or for her husbands?

“If you want, I can call her right now. I have her number here on my phone.”

He started fumbling with his cell phone, looking for her number.

It was hard to dissuade him from calling this woman and bringing her to meet me but eventually I convinced him that I was not keen on being the next man on her list of unfortunate lovers.

When I read about the Black Widow, it triggered this memory and I wondered if, in fact, Vito had been ready to refer me to the Croatian Viper!

At a dinner barbecue in Bosnia in 2005, Vito wanted to hook me up with someone I feared may turn out to be the Croatian Viper.

I have become infatuated. I know that sometimes these summer flings don’t last long and that there are lots of bumps and changes along the way but recently I have fallen in love and it has held for the past couple of weeks.

I met the object of my affection on my recent trip to the East Coast. Since my return we have spent our dinner times together, enjoying fresh vegetables from the Kingston market, rice, pasta and corn on the cob.

While browsing around a craft shop on East Point of Prince Edward Island I spied just what I had looked for in the past months – a pottery plate that I can eat my meals off in some style.  She has (love) handles and a well-rounded shape. A nice smooth earthy brown – hand-made pottery. Her lips are perfect to hold overflowing dinner juices. She is even good with a dishwasher and microwave. What more could a man want?

I have had dinner with her every night since I came home from my vacation. She makes my meals look (and even taste) splendid. I am waiting for autumn to laden her with spaghetti or stew. (Photos will follow, I’m sure). I will confess now that our friendship has become so intimate that sometimes I lick her clean.

And we are planning to expand the family. I have contacted our matchmaker at the East Point Gift Shop on Prince Edward Island and she is arranging for the potter to send me three more. Soon my friends can also meet my newest infatuation and we can even have a foursome (or threesome or twosome or however many plates we need).

I am hoping this infatuation lasts a while. She has transformed my dinner hour into bliss. I look forward to spending the hour with her every night. I can’t resist photographing her (I hope she doesn’t mind my sharing.)