But as I pack, I wondered if Fryslan is still in Canada and how his trip went. Lo and behold, he has left a message. Thank you. Yes, next time, a cottage in Georgian Bay where scenes from Group of Seven paintings come alive, like these trees, taken at a friend's cottage this summer.
As I pack, I am also thinking, How will I benefit from this trip to India? And seriously, the answer is not profound. Top of mind is, I really hope I lose a lot of weight. I think the cost of enrolling in a fat farm for a month is much more than what I am paying for this trip. So I have simply found a more interesting and bang-for-the-buck way of forced weight loss.
How decadent this Western-speak is, so telling of the excess in our culture. Yet, I won't be guilted into giving away all my possessions on the march or to telemarketers looking for donations. Tricked into doing so maybe, but not knowingly and willingly hand over all in atonement for our society's sins. That is not my cross to bear.
As I pack, I think, will The Man and The Boy be alright in my absence? The Man is on the verge of confirming his next contract. What if it falls through? What if it's a go? What of it? Do I think I am so essential to their well-being or do I just want to matter?
And finally, as I pack, I wonder what The Exchange is doing. Should I tell him where I am going and ask him to join me? Will his mom let him? Ha ha, that is too funny. Or should I casually stop by France to see him on the way home? Oh that's funny too. And such naughty naughty thoughts. I'm no Steford Wife, that's for sure. More like a Desperate Housewife. Ok, I'll stop.
How my mind flits.
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