Home.
Two nights in a bed that doesn't move. The noises in the night are birds and bugs. Traffic is gauged by cars-per-hour. I'm addressing personal hygiene issues, and re-learning the limits of the hot water tank. (How many kinds of hair conditioner can I combine and what is the optimum sequence?) Dishwasher and laundry-systems worship has begun with fervour. Fridge is stocked, food is on our minds, and the traditional champagne has been quaffed (at breakfast, hurrah). Last night we had smoked haddock fish cakes a la Chef Randall, with Elaine's bread and butter pickles and Edna's brown bread. Really, we are at least on cloud 7.
Some moments, I can hardly believe the trip is over. Even though the road trip seemed to go fast (rather faster than we were used to going) It was a big help to break it up with a visit with Randy's son Ian, Jill and Dean (formerly of Delilah) in Cambridge, and Bill and Janet (trioconbrio) in Breadalbane, NB. They speak our language, lowered the stress level and treated our fatigue with vitamins A and F (alcohol and food, and in Janet's case, C [curry and chocolate chip cookies]). They made the hardest parts of the trip so much easier.
But dat finish. Now, we pay attention to the major weather system in our area, which is black flies, but when the sun shines, and it has, we can see a huge expanse of the lake through the trees, which are just starting to leaf out. We have a trillium, the myrtle is blooming, several random tulips are glowing in the grass, and the ferns are unfurling. The early spiders are gorging on black flies (go girls, go). Squirrels are awake.
The car is unloaded (you could almost hear a sigh of relief as the rear end rose up to normal), Marjorie is in the driveway, and when the bugs move off, we'll get her down to the lake, and explore in style. Met a neighbour at the grocery store and he said, "I hear you've got a new boat." Back in the village! Now, where to put boat-life stuff in land-life space. An ongoing process. I'm okay with the idea that I'll be discarding some more of what we packed and hauled. It's just the way it works.
The oldsters are in fine form, Randy's Mum, Auntie Mary and my Dad, and if you detect a smirk in the photo of Dad and me, it's because I'm in the process of taking the first game of cribbage.
It's a homecoming really full of relief and appreciation. We are happy to realize that we still love this place, and it feels so right to land here. We need to rest our bones and our brains for a bit, and we're not exactly winding down from the last few months, but we're getting there.
I've been to Frenchy's. Randy's just sitting down with a plate of fresh scallops for lunch. All's right with the world. Now somebody make an offer on the boat please.
Two nights in a bed that doesn't move. The noises in the night are birds and bugs. Traffic is gauged by cars-per-hour. I'm addressing personal hygiene issues, and re-learning the limits of the hot water tank. (How many kinds of hair conditioner can I combine and what is the optimum sequence?) Dishwasher and laundry-systems worship has begun with fervour. Fridge is stocked, food is on our minds, and the traditional champagne has been quaffed (at breakfast, hurrah). Last night we had smoked haddock fish cakes a la Chef Randall, with Elaine's bread and butter pickles and Edna's brown bread. Really, we are at least on cloud 7.
Some moments, I can hardly believe the trip is over. Even though the road trip seemed to go fast (rather faster than we were used to going) It was a big help to break it up with a visit with Randy's son Ian, Jill and Dean (formerly of Delilah) in Cambridge, and Bill and Janet (trioconbrio) in Breadalbane, NB. They speak our language, lowered the stress level and treated our fatigue with vitamins A and F (alcohol and food, and in Janet's case, C [curry and chocolate chip cookies]). They made the hardest parts of the trip so much easier.
But dat finish. Now, we pay attention to the major weather system in our area, which is black flies, but when the sun shines, and it has, we can see a huge expanse of the lake through the trees, which are just starting to leaf out. We have a trillium, the myrtle is blooming, several random tulips are glowing in the grass, and the ferns are unfurling. The early spiders are gorging on black flies (go girls, go). Squirrels are awake.
The car is unloaded (you could almost hear a sigh of relief as the rear end rose up to normal), Marjorie is in the driveway, and when the bugs move off, we'll get her down to the lake, and explore in style. Met a neighbour at the grocery store and he said, "I hear you've got a new boat." Back in the village! Now, where to put boat-life stuff in land-life space. An ongoing process. I'm okay with the idea that I'll be discarding some more of what we packed and hauled. It's just the way it works.
The oldsters are in fine form, Randy's Mum, Auntie Mary and my Dad, and if you detect a smirk in the photo of Dad and me, it's because I'm in the process of taking the first game of cribbage.
It's a homecoming really full of relief and appreciation. We are happy to realize that we still love this place, and it feels so right to land here. We need to rest our bones and our brains for a bit, and we're not exactly winding down from the last few months, but we're getting there.
I've been to Frenchy's. Randy's just sitting down with a plate of fresh scallops for lunch. All's right with the world. Now somebody make an offer on the boat please.
posted by Susan at 12:48 PM
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