Markets, Pipes, and Hobbit Holes

Thursday was a great day. Thursday started with Philip and I walking down to the farmer's market that happens at the arena near his home each Thursday morning. Good thing we didn't try this the day before. We started with the seafood truck parked in the lot outside the arena. The fellow was on the phone when we approached, but was soon done. The usual pleasantries were exchanged and when Philip asked how the gentleman was doing today the answer was a refreshingly honest "Not so good". You see, there's a hurricane coming. It's due late tonight, and into tomorrow. It's name is Arthur. We're hoping it will cut down to a tropical storm level (meaning that the 'eye' has collapsed I learned), but the winds are still expected to be up and around 120 km/hr.

So his "not so good" was coming from a very real place. His boats were all coming in early, and at once, which meant that there was suddenly lots of stock. Given that other boats were also likely coming in, it means that they'll all likely not be able to sell all of their stock. Too much in too little a time. Meanwhile his various crews are calling in to find out what the plan will be. Will they be going out Saturday? What does he think is going to happen?

Apparently tracking a hurricane is no easy business, and predicting what is going to happen as it travels up the coast, across water, across land, (I'm out of options) is somewhat of a crap shoot. There may be a hurricane tomorrow, there may not. It could suddenly curve left and miss this part of Nova Scotia all together. Last year they predicted it would be a really hard hurricane season, and it wasn't. This year they've predicted it would be a light season and the first one is coming in the beginning of July. They normally start late summer. So ya, who knows. I certainly don't. But I can understand how the uncertainty can make for a "not so good" day for a man whose livelihood is dependent upon the weather.

So we bought about 5lbs of scallops that we'll be eating tonight. Some will be wrapped in bacon we got from the market from Philip's "pig guy", and the rest done up as a ceviche. And then we wandered into the market, picked up fresh vegetables, bread, eggs, goat squeaky cheese; relaxed with a coffee and people watched for a bit before heading back home.

The afternoon saw Marc, Sherri, Noah, Jake and I heading off to Halifax by way of Peggy's Cove. I've had the opportunity to drive along a similar route one time when I was Halifax, however I've never actually been to Peggy's Cove so this indirect route that we decided upon after having already hit the road to Halifax was a welcome one.

That's Jake.

At Peggy's Cove we basically beelined directly to the rocks around the lighthouse, so I can't really say anything useful about Peggy's Cove as a town, other than what I saw as we drove up the hill to park by the information centre was picturesque to say the least. Sitting on granite worn smooth by the water and watching said water crash up against said rock was the most peaceful moment of this trip thus far. I'm looking forward to many more of these moments. What I can't decide though is which is more hypnotic: watching the flames of a camp fire, or the waves crashing. More data required.

We headed on for Halifax, Marc seeming to very much enjoy the windy coastal roads. Seeing all of these homes, docks and small boats along the way I was reminded of the conversation with the fella we had bought scallops from that morning. Everyone is going to be affected in some very real way by Arthur. I think of the griping I hear about weather in Toronto, and while I will admit that there have been times when the weather has definitely had significant negative impact, I somehow don't think it is anywhere near as "real" this. If that makes any sense.

On to Halifax where we lunched on fish and chips from the first food truck we saw down by the boardwalk. I think Noah put it best when he commented that the fish was like butter. A walk along the boardwalk had us conveniently at a Cape Breton tourist centre; convenient because this is where we are going for a few days starting Monday and we hadn't planned a bit of it yet. The folk there were extremely helpful and we walked away with a few booklets and a map with too many things circled on it for us to see in the three days we will be there. No problem, we'll figure it out.

Marc, the boys and I then continued on to the Halifax Citadel, the first of the forts built around Halifax during the war of 1812, and designed to protect the city, not from sea attacks, but from land attacks. It now protects the city from the university. There are, or at least were, other forts much closer to the ocean that do the job of protecting from that side of things. The current Citadel was actually built post the war of 1812 when the British decided they wanted a more permanent fortress there. (Or at least that is what I recall from reading one of the many plaques. - I like plaques.)

I have concluded though that defense of Halifax was actually placed into the hands of Hobbits. I provide the following photo of a hobbit hole as evidence.

Though I could be wrong. Sadly history does not speak of the heroism of Hobbits and the role they played in defending Halifax from US invasion. Okay, I'm likely wrong.

Oh, and I got to hear bagpipes. I LOVE bagpipes. This made me very happy again. And peaceful. Yes, bagpipes are peaceful. They're relaxing to listen to. Seriously.

Sherri had not joined us at the Citadel so we went off to meet her at a tea shop and en route we got to hear the pipes again. Then it was back in the car and off to Lunenburg for a late dinner and an initial planning session for our trip to Cape Breton.

There are so many things to see and do in Cape Breton.  Music, food, parks, towns, inland sea, historic sites, miner musuems. How to make choices? I actually don't know the answer. There are too many possibilities. It's kinda like a mini version of the choices we have ahead for the year. We can't do it all. So we pick things, or we keep it loose and see what presents itself in any given moment, and we do our best to remind ourselves to not be disappointed by what didn't happen, and just pour ourselves into the things that do.

As a friend reminded me via a Facebook message yesterday: "Be prepared to modify your plan."

Paddling Pugilist

I have no idea how to punch someone in the face, and because of this my shoulders are killing me this morning. Based upon yesterday evening, if I were trying to punch someone in the face using my right arm, I would more than likely grab their belt and toss them behind me with my left. Likely a good technique for judo, but totally wrong when it comes to sea kayaking.

Yep, sea kayaking. Did I mention that Philip works from time to time as a guide? And he is an excellent teacher to boot. I am just a poor pupil - there is a litany of educational professionals who will attest to that I am sure.

Yesterday was a nice relaxing day. Out and about in Lunenburg for awhile. Jake was feeling a bit off so he and I headed home and relaxed to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I will forego telling you what filled in the blank for Harry Potter and the ****** when we were playing Cards Against Humanity later last night. Oh, and to tie a bow on why Jake was feeling a bit off, and Privacy Point #1 from yesterday's post, you can check this out.

Everyone else got home mid afternoon and a little while later, with Jake feeling much better, and the cars all packed up, we headed to Pleasant Paddling in Blue Rocks NS, which is, as promised by their brochure, minutes from Lunenburg.

It was, in a word, fantastic.

We arrived shortly after 5pm or so. Craig, the owner and operator, was just coming in with a tour of folk that I think were from Texas. Philip had started to get us sorted out, signing papers, collecting gear, and all that. Soon enough we had pulled four double kayaks down to the water, had our PFD's nicely zipped up, and were standing on the road learning the basics of kayak paddling. Note: these are not weapons.

Kayaking is a fun experience, one which I enjoyed immensely despite my poor form. And this was one of the few definite things we wanted to do while in Lunenburg, so I am very, very happy that we were all able to do it. You see, for the past few years, Marc, Noah, Jake, and I have been going on canoe trips in Algonquin. Portaging. Four or so days, different camp site each night. Paddle. Hike with a canoe on your head. Paddle. More hiking. Paddle. Get stuck on a beaver damn you should have avoided and swamp the canoe. Paddle. Set up camp. With the boys and I leaving the country July 15th, our canoe trip is not going to happen, so the opportunity for us to spend some time on the water together with Marc was very important. We've actually planned to have the four of us and Philip do an overnight on Sacrifice Island this coming weekend however there is apparently a hurricane coming in - they're starting early this year - so we've thought better of that and have decided to skip the camping.

But yesterday evening on the water was great. I've never been kayaking before, and it did not disappoint, despite me paddling like a canoer and not a kayaker. I highly recommend it, and hopefully I'll one day develop the correct technique and not feel like Quasimodo the next day, despite stretching last night and this morning. Yes, I'm trying to stretch more often. It's a thing I'm trying to make a thing. Lord knows my legs are so damn tight that I need the next several month to get into some kind of reasonable shape or I will totally hobble myself should we try for the Everest Base Camp trek we've been talking about doing in Nepal. More on that in about eight months.

We were out for nearly four hours in total. Paddling through some of the many islands that make up Blue Rocks, stopping for dinner a la Coleman stove on Heckmans Island, and then paddling back. Along the way Philip was an excellent guide, providing us with some of the history of Blue Rocks, both geological and social. Slate and sandstone that is so craggy it looks like tree bark. The house that was Tom Selleck's character Jesse Stone's house in the Jesse Stone tv movies. Apparently this landmark attracts a certain demographic of paddling tourist. And apparently Magnum PI once, or possibly still has, property in NS. Neat. I really liked Magnum. Zeus! Apollo! Run Magnum Run! Seals. We couldn't get closer than 200 metres to them as we didn't want to disturb, but there they were in all their glory. Seals. Passing under the last remaining bridge connecting a couple of the Blue Rock Islands.

There used to be many bridges connecting the islands together. The height of the community was the 20's, with fishing and agriculture being the primary forms of business, or so I am told. Hurricanes in 1926-27, awhile before there were hurricane warnings, marked the beginning of the communities decline, however it's decline can be attributed to what I suspect the decline of many of these smaller communities across Canada and the rest of the world can be attributed to - "modern living". The school in Lunenburg was better than the local one. Better motors on boats made it easier for people to live further from where they worked. No longer did you need to be right on the water where you fished. There are still homes on several of the islands, and some lovely ones based upon our paddle by, but the bridges are gone. Lack of use leads to disrepair leads to collapse, and now there is one.

It's a beautiful part of Canada, and I am very happy we got the opportunity to paddle around a small piece of it. I'm looking forward to coming back and paddling through more. But first I need to learn how to punch someone in the face.

Happy Canada Day

Yes, this post is a day late, but I find myself forming the habit of writing in the morning about the previous day, and yesterday morning I didn't feel quite up to writing so, for two, I think, very good reasons, today is the day I wish everyone Happy Canada Day from Lunenburg Nova Scotia.

We arrived two nights ago shortly after 7pm having spent the day driving through New Brunswick where we got to travel across the Hartland covered bridge not once, but twice! Yes people, twice! Why do you care? Why am I excited? Why twice for heaven's sake? Well, the Hartland covered bridge, at 391 metres, is the world's longest covered bridge. While crossing it was not required to get us where we we were going, hence crossing it again, it was a required activity, well, just cuz. I'm sure you understand. The boys and I made the return crossing by foot.

Look! Now with pictures! I finally took the time to find an easy to use resize app for my android tablet. See, I didn't want to be uploading all of these 6Mb pictures to the blog. You may not care about how your bandwidth gets used, but I certainly do. Anyway, most of the free photo editors I had found in Google Play don't actually resize images. Yes I am about to complain about something that is free, but don't get me started on what the actual price of "free" is these days when it comes to services and apps available online And you wonder why so many people seem to have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement.

Are blog and rant synonymous?

Anyway, I finally got clever, actually my friend Marc did and I was listening, so I searched under image resize and low and behold Resized. Tada! Easy to install, easy to use, and now I can break up the monotony of my endless babble with pretty pictures of stuff along the way.

The taller one is Noah. The one you can see is Jake. I'm the one taking the picture. Expect this to be a trend in the coming year, unless of course Jake has an enormous growth spurt. Could happen.

Anyway, we travelled across the bridge a couple of times. Sherri even got a certificate for proof. The Lion's Club offers them for $2.00 as a fundraiser. An excellent investment if you're looking for some sort of certificate to frame and hang behind your desk in case you're wanting to add a bit of professionalism into your working atmosphere, assuming of course you have a desk. As long as no one reads it you should be okay.

I digress. You may have noticed.

We stopped for a late lunch at Catch 22 in Moncton. This may be old news if we're friends on Facebook. Fish 'n Chips and Lobster rolls all around. Very good. Highly recommended.

We arrived at our friends Philip and Heather's in Lunenburg, as I mentioned already, about 7ish. Philip and Heather are friends of all of ours going back various spans depending on if you're Marc, Sherri, me or Noah and Jake. Suffice to say they are wonderful people we love to spend time with and have gotten to do so pretty consistently the past few New Years when they visit Kitchener, but the boys and I have never been out to visit them before. Hence one of the reasons for coming out east.

Now, I'm not sure how to handle this part, so bear with me. I'm quite aware of the fact that what I write in this blog is not just about me, it is about who I am with, and who we may meet along the way. Things happen to each of us. Some of them are shared, some of them are unique to the individual. While I get to choose what I write about for my own experiences here, I don't believe I have carte blanche to write about everyone else. So I ask first, and if the answer is "no thank you" then I don't write about it. And that is what happened at this point.  That said I need to cap off the end of the first evening in Lunenburg (or perhaps I don't and am just not a good enough writer to figure out how to gracefully seque into yesterday) and I don't want to lie and say we had a nice quiet evening chatting because we didn't. Perhaps at a point in the future I'll be able to fill this in, but for now I'll just label this point Privacy Point #1 and move on. Oh, I will add though that everyone is okay, and that there is nothing at all for anyone to worry about. Promise.

Canada Day was a quiet day for us, and apparently that is true for much of Lunenburg, and the rest of Nova Scotia. Who knew? Bu there you go.

We spent the day hanging out at Philip and Heather's (a theme for the coming week by the way) and were joined by their friends (in fine east coast tradition now our friends too) Craig, his daughter Betsy, and Chris and Selena, and their kids Astrid, Julian and Sevy. The kids are all in and around Meara's age (that's Philip and Heather's daughter) and they spent the day doing what little kids do  - trampoline, pool, running, screaming. Good times. Quiet is a relative term I guess.

Craig is an arbourist turned distiller at Ironworks Distillery here in Lunenburg. Chris is a hydrogeologist who does ocean surveys and is off to the arctic soon to chart some of our northern sovereign waters, and Selena just finished a very busy two months being one of the production managers for the Right Some Good festival that just happened in Halifax. Basically they all do seriously cool things and were a lot of fun to spend Canada Day with.

Like all good Canada Days there was a barbeque, but there were also lots of mussels, a favourite of everyone's. These were done by Philip. A few different broths, one whose base was Goat Scrotum, a stout beer that Philip has been brewing. Did I mention he was an amatuer brewer? See, cool people. Fun conversation, great food. A wonderful day that ended sitting around the fire pit in the backyard being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

So it was a quiet day, and one which, after a few days of driving, we were all happy to have I suspect.

Happy Birthday Canada. We'll miss you when we go.

Plaster Rock

I'm starting to find myself seeing stories everywhere. Going through the day, and oh - there's a potential story, and here's something that definitely needs to get into the next blog, and here's something that I'd better do a bit of research on before shooting my mouth off, and more often then not: "Frick really? I had no idea. That's definitely something to tell folk." Stuff we come across, people we meet, moments we have, patterns that start to emerge, all of these are little pictures that chronicle the day. And I'm starting to note them as they happen. I imagine it is much like how I imagine a photographer views the world, framing a moment in time and cropping it to let us know where they focussed, what stuck to them. And as everyone can look at the same thing yet see something different - I for instance see bunnies - I expect we all end up with different stories that comprised our day.

Let me say for the record that I am pleased as punch about this. Seeing stories that is, not the bunnies.

Switching metaphors for a moment, I suspect one of the difficulties/dangers/styles, that could emerge from all of this is the list, or perhaps if you took the time to cull it a little, the highlight reel. Today's Top Ten. And what a great thing to do. All the moments that could be popped down in bullet form so that each one was captured. Would that tell a story though? I imagine it would, but would anyone know why those items made the list? Would I remember why each of those events made it? Is a mnemonic enough?

I don't know. What I do know is that I think I want to write as many stories as I can, and draw up as few lists (which will be tough as I am somewhat of a Type A) as possible. No one ever gets the full story anyway. Even the people living it.

So why am I rambling on about this? Well, if you're a student of foreshadowing, you may have guessed that our day yesterday travelling from Charlevoix QC to Plaster Rock NB was a day that warrants a highlight reel. You would be correct.

The day started in Charlevoix with pig on the air. The end of the day in Plaster Rock ended with skunk. Isn't symmetry wonderful? Okay, bookending the day with striking olfactorial intrusions does not symmetry make, but wait, there's more. Leaving Charlevoix and travelling west back to Quebec had us travelling the north side of the St. Lawrence through the Laurentian mountains. Crossing over the St. Lawrence had us soon moving east and through the Appalachians. See? See? And while not the chronological midpoint certainly the symbolic midpoint of the day would be the crossing over from Quebec to New Brunswick. And yes, this actually did come with a bit of a fanfare. I cheered. I clapped. I haven't been to New Brunswick before, so entering a new province was a moment for celebration, even if just a little one.

And some great discoveries along the way. The touchscreen radio for example. After a couple of days of scanning the FM band, constantly shifting from clear, to fuzzy, to french talk radio, to fuzzy, we decided that, even though it was Sunday, that we would try out the SAT button. Ah! Behold! Satellite radio. Not a button dedicated to the seven day of the week, or sixth depending on how you want to count. Now we have 20's on 2, 30's on 3, 40'4 on 4, and you get it I hope. Not to mention the other 181 stations. And yes, 80's on 8 is where we spent the most of our time, though 70's on 7 did creep in now and again, and we even tried Hits 2K on 10, but only for a minute.

Another great discovery - for me anyway. The fact that there were two zip lines spanning it suggests others were already aware, not to mention Sherri had told us it was coming up on the right, so maybe "discovery" is the wrong word. Anyway, this other thing we saw (see, while more accurate, certainly not as cool sounding as discovery) was Grand Falls, a water fall in NB that, in springtime has a waterflow 9/10 ths that of Niagara Falls. I mean - holy cow, that's a lot of water.

But the greatest one along the way, and likely why I feel like I now am overflowing with way too many stories to ever tell, were the people. Sherri's family in Plaster Rock. People all carry their stories, and make their stories, and each time you meet someone you get to hear these stories, make new stories with them, and share your stories, sometimes discovering that you had stories you didn't know you have.

And that's what happened the moment we arrived at Sherri's Aunt Heather's home. Family and friends were all there. Food was out and already well gotten in to (we were running late apparently). Immediately welcomed, and immediately hearing stories. The stories they shared are their stories to tell, so I am not going to tell them here. But there were stories. Stories of travel, stories of family, stories of Plaster Rock and its community. Surprisingly no embarassing stories of Sherri, for which I am sure she is a tad relieved. We didn't need more material. It was an evening of stories.

Wonderful warm, welcoming, amazing people, with amazing stories. And, as I already mentioned, the opportunity for new ones. I think Sherri's Aunt Angie summed it up best: Some of the worst decisions make for the best stories. And while I don't think there was any poor decision making on anyone's part, the day did end with a good story.

The end of the evening saw the five of us settling down with Heather at her dining room table, which I should mention is in this amazing log house on the banks of the Tobique river, river stone hearth and chimney rising up through the great room, the whole bit. We had settled down to play Mexican Train, a variation on dominoes that the boys and I first learned to play over New Years in Kitchener with Marc, Sherri and our teacher in this, Sherri's mom Colleen. I won't explain all of the rules of the game, but the basics is it gets to be quite long as you play many, many rounds as each round starts with one of the double tiles, and you need to work your way through all of the doubles. We were playing with the highest tile being a double twelve, so that was twelve rounds.

Anyway, it got late. Thomas, a family friend, whose family had built and lived in the house we were playing cards in, was outside doing some latenight gardening with his dog Maggie. At one point we all heard a sound from outside, something like a whine or animal cry, depending on who you ask. We promptly ignored it and continued on with the serious business of Mexican Train. Then we heard the front door. Then Maggie came running in and hid under the table we were all at. Then Thomas came running in calling for Maggie to come out, apologizing profusely for her getting in, and saying she got sprayed by a skunk. Then we smelled skunk.

Ah, symmetry.

Charlevoix

It smells like pig. And not the yummy bacon kind, but the live, squealing, I don't know where you are but the wind is gong the right direction and thank the heavens I haven't had breakfast yet pig. Actually, it's not that bad. And it's not all of Charlevoix.

This was the smell that greeted nay, embraced us like long lost kin when we arrived at the Maison Chez Laurent yesterday. After a couple of hours driving east through beautific hills with surprise glimpses of the St. Lawrence along the way, evoking a tranquility in us all that must rival that of heaven, this air-born delight was a welcome respite. Someone really should bottle it and use it for aroma therapy.

Maison Chez Laurent is a motel located just outside Baie-St-Paul, one of the lovely towns dotting the Charlevoix region. I have not had the privilege of staying in a motel before, and I am happy to report that it has lived up to the exacting standard/bias I have formed over the years in the absence of empirical data.

The region is delightful and we spent a relaxing day discovering some of it, going as far east as Saint-Simeon to dip our toes in the St. Lawrence and clambe along the rocks, and stopping for dinner at Restaurant L'Orchidee in La Malbaie. Wonderful food, excellent service. Seafood all around for the lot of us. Go figure. What else do you eat after tracing the St Lawrence river for a day.

Previously in the day we had spent our time attempting to explore parts of the Charlevoix "Flavour Trail", a collection of artisinal and otherwise bakers, brewers, cheese makers, farms, well, you get the idea. We collected baguette, pate, squeaky cheese, smoked salmon, cider, and of course chocolate, found an excellent spot to picnic, and proceeded to polish off the lot. All of it scrumptuous.

Oh, as an aside. We all like food. It's gonna come up a fair bit. I mean, the point of this day was to go around to different places and eat, so ya, you get the idea. We like food.

I would say that the one disappointment about that part of the day was that their weren't enough places that offered samples. Following the map, available at many of the places noted on said map (go figure) we seemed to end up mostly in stores, rather than in where things actually get done. Not that things don't get done in stores but either you get my meaning or you are being deliberately obtuse and I really don't appreciate that. Actually, I do appreciate being deliberately obtuse. It can be fun.

Anyway, based on previous experience in other parts of the world (wineries in the niagara region for instance) we assumed that the places on the map would be the place where the work gets done, and that they would have a lovely little store with tasting counters offering free, or token priced samples of their wares. And in all honesty, we had hoped to spend the day gorging ourselves in this way and not have to pay for a meal or two. Alright, I can't speak for everyone else in the car, maybe that was just me.

In truth, we didn't get to a lot of them, and, had we done a bit (read "any") research before coming into the area we likely would have known where these types of places were, which ones we definitely wanted to get to, and the best way to move between them that would allow for the optimal order of epicurial experience.

That said, it was a great day filled with great experiences. I am sure along the way that some days will be more planned than others. I am very good at planning. I like it. I almost need it. And I am trying to tone down that particular behaviour. Not orchestrating each experience along the way means possibly missing something that would have been super cool. Orchestrating everything along the way means missing experiences that just "come up". Either way you experience stuff and you miss stuff. I guess the trick is to make the most of whatever you experience, and I believe we all did a good job of that in Charlevoix.

Cloud Godzillas and the Dreaded Camels of Quebec

You would think that eight (make it closer to ten) hours along the Tran-Canada highway between Toronto and Quebec City, henceforth referred to as highway signs and people alike refer to it: Quebec, does not make for much of a first step on our trip, or that, beyond reciting the first twenty verses of "This is the Song that Never Ends", there would not be a great deal worthy of note. You may in fact be correct. I'm gonna do it anyway.

What surprised me about the trip to Quebec was how new it all got to be. I've travelled the 401 highway between Toronto and Montreal too many times to count, and, getting into the car yesterday morning with Noah, Jake, and our friends Marc and Sherri, (who do drive incidently, so this is not a case of us all sitting, saying "vrooom" and using our imaginations) I was pretty sure I wouldn't have much to say about the drive to Quebec, or at least a good portion of it. It's gorgeous though. There is so much green, and so many different greens, and the highway just seems to go on through this wonderful tunnel of colour. It's beautiful in the autumn too. But right now, green it is. And of course a big blue sky dotted with clouds. Big cumulus clouds. There Godzilla. There Jack's dog Zero. What surprised me though was actually what I saw. And no, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Farms: yes. Towns: yes. A crap load of other cars trying to get through the tunnel under the St. Lawrence river outside Montreal: yes. Aliens: no. Dinosaurs: yes - birds are dinosaurs afterall as Marc informed me. I mistakenly believed that while birds evolved from dinosaurs that they were classified as something else. Apparently I was mistaken.

I saw alot of the stuff that has always been outside the window. The fun thing is, this time I actually noticed it, took it in, thought about it. This time the little rusted barn type building nestled down the hill just off the highway grabbed my attention and found a place in my memory. This time I experienced the space we were travelling through, And, paraphrasing many a license plate, it was beautiful. And I think that what is really neat is that, because this is the first step of a year of travel where everything outside the window is going to be new, that this familiar space I have seen so many times got a chance to be new again too. And it did not disappoint.

We arrived around 8pm and checked into our hotel Auberge du Tresor, which is ideally situated in a square right by Le Chateau Frontenac, in the heart of Vieux Quebec. Dinner was fondu, and a lesson. The lesson was: remember to ask questions. The fondu was fabulous, but of a different consistency than what I am used to. I'm used to something very smooth, while this had a bit of a grainy texture. I don't know why,  but I expect it is the types of cheese used. I am used to a swiss recipe that consists primarily of gruyere, swiss and one other I never remember until I ask my Dad. I don't know what this one was. I should have asked. It can't hurt to ask. And really, if we want to learn from these experiences, then voicing a question now again is likely a good idea.

We spent the night walking the streets of the old city, hearing music, watching street performers, getting ice cream, riding the funicular, hanging from camels - actually canons, but I'm not the clearest of speakers at times - and enjoying the night.

I am, sadly, all but entirely mono-lingual. I speak very, very little french. The fact that I hesitated to write, and then looked up "un petit peu" for the correct spelling should be a testiment to that. Surrounded by the french language was honestly a little isolating. Part of that has to do with feeling apologetic for not speaking french, as I really feel I should but have not done much to resolve that. This though got me thinking about what lies ahead. If lack of language can bring on that feeling on day one of the trip while still in my own country, then I can only imagine what the rest of the year and its many destinations will bring. I'm looking forward to finding out, and I am looking forward to having to crack through that self-imposed isolation and connecting, ever-so-apologetically, with people.

Um... Where did June get to?

My last day of work was May 30th.
I left work with a plan.
That plan has failed spectacularly.

The plan was to get up each day, do some stretching, do some blogging, and then get on with all the other wonderful things that needed to get done in order to start on our trip. Purging. Packing. Visiting with friends and family.

Purge - check.
Pack - check.
Visits - check, check, several more checks, I'll get the cheque.

Stretching? Um... no. Well once, so let's just call that no.
Blogging? You're reading it.

FAIL.

Okay, sure, I got the time sensitive stuff done.

I purged.

I know of people (strange, strange people) who, when they are moving, take the opportunity to go through their belongings and get rid of stuff. I also know of people (even stranger) who have established rules, especially for kids toys, that have something old go out when something new comes in. While I applaud these people I cannot count myself amongst them. I am not a purger. I'm not a hoarder either. I keep stuff. Not too much stuff, but definitely stuff. And I don't make an effort to go through it and get rid of some things at various seemingly logical points. I like my stuff, that's why I got it in the first place. Right?

But I gave it a go this time. And I did so primarily because I A) did not want to rent out storage space, and B) did not want to bury my mother and her home in all this crap that I don't really care about. If I was going to bury her in crap, it needed to be crap that mattered. So what mattered?

Well, the approach I took to this kinda sprang from my thoughts on packing for the trip. If we could live our lives comfortably for a year out of a 40L bag, then how much do we really need to live the rest of the time?

I've already told the heart rending story of going through my books, so I won't dwell on that painful memory again. Actually, I will. It got worse. I got through all of my books, made difficult decisions, and got it down to two piles - keepers and goers. For anyone interested in the decision process it goes like this: If a book is something that has value to me as an object - say like a first edition collection of Yeats poetry or the complete works of HP Lovecraft or the copies of the Narnia books I read as a kid - then I kept it. If it was something that I will never read again, could just get for my Kobo if I wanted to, or my father has a copy of and I can just snarf from his library without him noticing, then I got rid of it. Pretty straight forward. I will say though that actually admitting to myself that I wasn't likely ever going to read Thomas Aquinas was a bit distressing. More so for my father now that he has read this I imagine.

Here's what sucked. People then started asking me for books, and just "whatever I thought they might like". So then I started going through all of the goers repeatedly with different people in mind creating multiple piles. Now, let me just say that after having made the decision to say goodbye to all of those books (about 15 boxes worth after the additional culling for friends), it wasn't fun going through them again. And again. But I did it, and they now have good homes, and that is a happy ending.

So ya, that's what happened with the books. So much for not getting into it again.

The reasoning behind not wanting storage space was simply a math one. How much would it cost to move and store and move again the contents of a three bedroom apartment? Well, my math worked out to being able to potentially refurnish an apartment for roughly the same amount when I got back. So that became the goal: keep the things that matter, get rid of everything that doesn't.

And I have to say it worked quite well. There are a couple of pieces of furniture that matter - a green couch my brother Wayne left me for example. Keeper. The IKEA bed I've had for 12 years and broke while putting on a sock one morning, and then "fixed". Goner.

Don't ask.

Something things went to friends who could use stuff, which I am really happy about. And then a lot of stuff went to Cerebral Palsy, which, like many fundraising groups, will come by your home, pick things up and then go sell it to Value Village. A very cool notion. Quick note though. Apparently while they say they take books about 80% of them end up getting tossed. I didn't learn that until the truck was loaded and I was totally out of time to find another option, and am pretty upset about it. I live in hope that my books are worthy of the shelves of Value Village, but, given my previous note on Thomas Aquinas... well, I'll remain hopeful, for the future of those books, and the future of the study of humanities in Canada. Another quick note: I saw boxes and bags getting tossed around on the truck. I didn't hear the crash of glass, but things did go squish. So not sure how much gets to it's destination intact. I hope the majority, but I'm not sure. If I were to do this again I would take everything to a drop-off centre somewhere myself, at least that way I know it got there in the number of pieces I sent it in.

It's an interesting exercise to decide what matters, what to keep. Some things in the kitchen for example were  not surprising - martini glassses come to mind. Other things, more surprising. I have this wooden spoon that I just love to cook with. Had it for years, and I use it for all of my stirring. In fact, if I'm stirring multiple dishes, I'll often just rinse it off and use it for everything. And I had several wooden spoons. This one though, I simply could not part with.

Noah and Jake were far better at it. They did wonders with their toys and other belongings in short order. I could learn much from them. I expect I will. For example, if you know the right people, Lego makes an excellent form of currency.

Without going through the litany of 43 years of accumulation, thus saving us all from a suffering similar to reading the book of Chronicles, I'll conclude purging by saying that I think I've been successful. I think I got it down to the things that matter. For sure other things snuck their way in there, and they will suffer my wrath (or befuddlement) in a year or so, but ya, it got done, and it got done pretty well.

Which leads to packing.

It got packed. It got moved. Not much left to say.
Oh, tape gun thingies can be really frustrating.
Oh, and my mom is awesome. A) Because she read this far without knowing I was going to say she was awesome, and B) because the things that are keepers, well, she is the keeper of the keepers. There's a Harry Potter thing somewhere in there but I am not going to look for it.

Actually a word on moving. I don't drive. And by that I mean, I do not know how. I, surprisingly enough, do not own a vehicle. Amazing how one follows the other. That said, I am very fortunate to have a friend with a truck, and friends with a vehicle with significant interior storage space. Between these three people and two vehicles everything got moved to wherever it needed to go. And not all in one stress filling day, but casually over the course over a couple of weeks, a load here, a load there. Definitely a nice, low stress way to do it. Highly recommended.

Visits
June has been a lot of visiting. And it's been wonderful. I am blessed with amazing friends.  I really am. See above for an example. I'm also the type of person who generally likes to socialize in small numbers, like less than four. Yes I can do the bigger things, and I do enjoy them, but if I want time with people then I try to make that time one on one. It's lead to a lot of socializing these past few weeks, and with each one of those, a lot of goodbyes.

A year is both a short and long period of time, so saying goodbye can be weird. You're coming back, but not for awhile. You're accessible via email, skype and such, but not in person. And sure, you may see this friend only a few times a year, but there is the comfort knowing that you can set it up, or make a plan to set it up, or something, and that it will happen in fairly short notice if you want it to. Leaving for a period though takes that option away, or at least makes it more expensive. And losing the potential of immediacy feels odd, and kinda sad. Meanwhile this voice, presumably of logic, is mumbling away about how it is only a year, get over it. Stop whining. It's a year damn it! You'll be back before you know it and before half of these people realize you left. Unless of course they are following the blog. And yes, I know that, but yes, it's still sad to say bye. Like I said, it's both a short time and a long time.

When your days consist primarily of these three activities of purging, packing, and visiting you get into, or at least I got into, a pretty funny space. Somewhat of a funk at times. That's sad funk not a Mark Wahlberg funk, though I wouldn't call that funk either, but whatever, they were a bunch of something anyway. It's all good though. Maybe I've said this before, so stop me if I have. My friend Charles described it as surfing. Oh, that reminds me of couch surfing which I definitely will write about another time.

Right.

So Charles describes it as surfing emotions. Doing things that mess with your norm and create some form of disruption can come with a variety of emotions. Some are the classic happy and excited, others are the equally classic but less longed for fear, sadness and anxiety. All are good. All are worth surfing through. We learn and benefit from each of them. June has been really good to me that way. I expect the coming year will be as well.

We leave tomorrow.