Home Stretch

I could say I have been bad again.. neglecting my blogging, but if you also follow me on FB or Instagram, you will know why.

Let's recap.

It’s been a hectic few weeks.

You will remember we ran away to the lake for three days after Lynda wound up year one of school, and before we had Lynda's parents staying for nearly two weeks starting May 10th.

At the lake we had no internet. Joy! Just sun and water and books and canoes for about 68 hours. And, breathe... Then, on our return at 11am, I took an inconveniently timed cooking

lesson (how to sear steak properly), before the parentals arrived at 6pm.

This re-entry day was a microcosm of my next 2.5 weeks. #ENDOFZEN

Don't get me wrong, it was fun. It just wasn't much "downtime".

There were terraces and brew pubs to be visited. Ice creams to be eaten. Picnics to be taken. Fancy ass dinners to be had. Family and friend reunions to be experienced. Many, many beers to be drunk (not by moi!).

There were also“rail to trails" to be ridden. Okay, fun fact.. who actually knows what a “rail to trail” is?! We sure didn’t, well we assumed we did, but it turns out we didn’t. Lynda's mum kept saying she had the P'tit Train du Nord on her bucket list... and handily there was a portion of it near Mont Tremblant, where we happened to be going !

“Let’s do it!”, we said... by now, everyone by now knows how much I love trains!

We were a little confused though, as she kept talking about bikes. We just assumed we would rent them at some point either before or after the train portion.

Turns out a “rail to trail” is a bike path that follows the course of a former train line.

#DOH

#NEVERASSUME

Despite the fact that I didn’t get to go on a train, and was continuously shamed in biking prowess by John Gerty, we had fun. I had to remind myself that this is a guy who, at 79, runs up the stairs at the Metro on his holidays because he wasn’t getting enough exercise!

The day after they headed East, the great “man of mystery” arrived in the form of Big Al MacMillan. Mythical husband of the one and only Christine MacMillan, parents of champion water polo players Maxwell and Quinn who were coming to town for the Under 19 and Under 16 National Championships being held in Montreal. Big Al I had met only once. At Lynda's 40th. I’m pretty sure I was drunk. And it was dark. I DO have a vague memory of a very tall man with a very deep voice. That’s it. For all I knew, Christine found some guy outside before the party!! We became FB friends. And I knew he was a soul mate when he expressed his intense dislike of one, now thankfully retired, Mr Rick Clough of CBC radio. It was a no brainer he could stay with us while his poor wife chaperoned, and tried to keep a leash on, a team of 16-19 yr old boys at the hotel. Until now I really did kinda assume Christine had swiped the photo from a sperm donor book and set up her "husbands" FB account with that... and that when she selected Al, her only requests had been, “give me someone tall and kind”. And that maybe they “super sized” her choice on both!?

It was the only thing that made sense, as no-one ever saw him, even though we had hung out with his rapidly growing and rather aquatically talented progeny at successive Vancouver Folk Festivals. I didn't know until 10 days ago that Al too had been on the national water polo team.

Anyway, on May 23rd there was Al, (picture stolen from FB)

literally filling the entire doorway at Waverly Street with his 6 ft 10’ frame, kind soul, and tiny backpack. An easier house guest there never was. We spent the next two days at the Parc Olympique pool.

All that cement lofted into the ceiling and made for an air temperature that Sydney on a summer day would be proud of- 35’C with 100% humidity. Sweaty asses everywhere. Using pom poms as fans. Al yelling so much he lost his voice. All worth it as the MacMillans proudly carried home a silver medal. And I think I lost a few pounds with all that sweating!

#EVERYONESAWINNER!! In the middle of all that somewhere, our beloved "itty bitty kitty" Leopold Finnegan Anderson Kelaher Gerty,

decided it was time for him to hunt the ankles of angels (do angels have ankles? Well you get the idea). We had hoped to see him again, but are thankful to our amazing vet who basically had him in hospice care at her house for his last 3 weeks, where he tolerated both kids and puppies with 12 step serenity we thought him incapable of!

#NEVERASSUME- the sequel.

So there was aaaaalllll that, and the associated lack of free time to sit and pontificate on blogs.

Zero time to poke any donuts! Three days after Al left, there I was, at 35,000 feet heading west on AC 303. The only way I could get a break to write this thing was to hop a 4 hour and 45 mins flight to Vancouver. Then the puddle hopper to the new homeland. Victoria. I wrote most of this post on the way.

For the 72 hours I was "home", I moved out tenants, went for long bike rides with the BFF, played frisbee with the dog, hoed clay soil and transplanted tomatoes, and generally made sure we were making the right "next move".