A Day

This morning, I went to my French class, bumble around town, then went to my doctor's appointment. The Man went to see his dentist, then visited friends. The Boy went to school.

In the afternoon, I met The Man for coffee and he massaged my left hand. I don't know why the back of my hand is swollen. I wonder if I banged it into something or if it's arthritis. Then we went shopping and got The Man some shoes to replace ones he lost in France.

Later, we hooked up with The Boy, picked Mom up, and went to dinner. The Man and The Boy ducked into a clothing store beside the restaurant. A few minutes later, The Boy emerged with a dry-clean only purple wool sweater. The Boy said, I like shopping with Dad. We just go it, get it, and get out. So simple. Dry clean only? What's the matter with The Man?

We had oysters at dinner. Mom said she's never had raw oysters before. I didn't believe her. If she's never had it, then where did I acquire the taste from? I seem to have a memory of Granny, Mom, and me as a young girl, eating oysters at a stall on a mountain. Never happened, Mom claimed. She said the idea of eating uncooked meat repulses her, but now that she's tried it, raw oysters are quite delicious.

Now we are home. Each of us have dispersed to our own corner of the house. I am forever cleaning up and throwing things out. The Man has gone to sleep. The Boy is with his friends on the computer and phone. That's our day.

Regrouping

Hot diggity, The Man is home! He brought back a beautiful carpet. It has tones of yellow, brown, blue, and red. It lays on the floor with a subtle presence, warming up the room so you feel it rather than see it.



I asked The Boy to be home for dinner and he complied. It was very nice sitting down as a family, just the three of us. I don't think the three of us have reconstituted since May. When The Man came home in July, the Exchange was here. When we met him in France, there were always people with us.

Immediately, The Man and The Boy made plans to spend time together, take in a movie, see a concert, just hang and chill. Oooh, maybe I can talk them into going camping. Fat chance. The Boy doesn't even want anything organic in his room.

The goal of this home visit for The Man and me is to help The Boy sort out how he should spend this year, and what to put in place for next year. I am doing most of the research. The Boy has no idea what he wants and doesn't know how to go about thinking it through. He seems bogged down by processes.

I phoned his school and the university to get an understanding of his status. If he were to re-apply for university, he needs to go through his new school. If he withdraws from or fails his current courses, it would not affect his academic standing. So if he's not attending class and handing in work enough to improve his grade, why is he in school?

Since he has already been accepted by U of T, if he switches out of Cinema Studies and opts for a program within Humanities and Social Sciences, he would not have to re-apply. So does he want a program within U of T's Humanities and Social Sciences faculty, or does he want to a completely different program or university?

For this academic year, The Boy said he wouldn't mind going to France to take a cooking or sommelier course. Well me neither. I think it will do him good to have something fun and concrete under his belt.

We have much to review and discuss in the next few days.

Mixed Signals

The Man comes back today. I rented a car for his time home, and to run errands in preparation for his arrival.

But for most of yesterday, I felt bad. Bad, like unsettled, jittery. Didn't know if I wanted to sit or stand. I kept wanting to throw up. I felt my pulse racing for no reason. God, I thought, Why am I so nervous at The Man's homecoming?

I tried to go about my day. On return from the library, I rushed into the house. Something had a grip of my stomach and I needed to let it go.

So. It wasn't The Man coming home that upset me. It was those sausages I had for breakfast. I thought they tasted funny. Really, I have to stop this need to not waste food. Bet the Halloween chocolates I couldn't stop eating didn't help. I stayed home all afternoon to be near the bathroom.

But isn't it interesting though, that the symptoms are the same whether you are physically or emotionally upset.

Many Tongues

In my invincible twenties, I wanted to speak seven languages fluently before my end of days. In the optimism of my late thirties, I said, Yes, I still have time for five languages. Now in my realistic fifties, it's time for another revision: I will speak three languages fluently in this life.

Me good wid Engish. J'apprends francais. I need to beef up my Chinese - Cantonese, Mandarin, and Toisanese. I gotta work with what I have first.

But if I were to add more languages, what would they be? In my twenties, I thought Russian, Japanese, Italian, and German. They were the languages of the literature I was reading in translation at the time.

In my forties, I thought perfect business Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. They were the commercial languages of emerging markets.

Now I'm thinking maybe Hindi, Arabic, and Spanish. I'd like to be conversant wherever I go.

It's not just the language. It's the culture one also learns with the language, and the way people think and the values they hold. And that's before you account for differences of the individual. I want to know how other people live, how they make sense of their time on earth. How people live fascinates me.

On the one hand, I think people all over live out variations of the same theme: survival. It's like watching the BBC series Planet Earth. Animals are always looking for food so they can breed. That's how they survive. I am mesmerized by how animals hunt and breed, what they do to survive.

Although, when I stop to think about it, The Boy and I actually speak different languages and inhabit different cultures. We want nothing to do with each other's language and culture. That's how we ensure our own survival. No, no, I better not go there.

I'll just do my French homework.

Balance

Uh oh. Now I gone and done it. I bought a jacket for no reason. It's a really nice jacket. I look good in it. I make it come alive. It goes with some boots I bought once for no reason, and a scarf I bought for the same reason.

Thing is, I can only wear the jacket when it's not freezing out. As we now head into winter, I will have few opportunities to wear it. Even though it is a spiffy jacket and I look really good in it.

But I also fixed two kitchen cabinet doors by replacing the hinges on them instead of the doors. And I fixed the plumbing in the bathtub. And I made tons of food so we'll be having dinners at home instead of eating out. And the next time I get sick, I won't buy the medicine, I promise.

It all balances out, I hope.

Geez, the things one acquires when the mind unhinges.

My Man Bruce

There are few men who are not only a lady's man, but also a man's man. Bruce Willis is one of them. So I am shocked. Shocked that my brothers claim to not like him.

Which makes me wonder if they are just jealous of Bruce, or if they find his masculinity and macho persona overwhelming against their more effeminate ways. Surely those Die Hard movies were not made for women. Perhaps they weren't made for metrosexuals either. It's just that I've never thought of my brothers as metrosexuals. They are so boorish and priggish at the same time.

I don't think you have to be in love with Bruce to like a guy like Bruce. You like him because you appreciate his good looks and charming grin, and the pleasure and entertainment he brings to the screen. That's all. You don't necessarily want to bed him or be him.

He was paid millions and millions to peddle alcohol for a company. But when he stopped drinking, he stopped being the public face of the company despite the renewal offer. He did his own stunts in his movies. The man's fit and daring. Here's a guy whose hairline receded early. He shaved his head when his hair could no longer cover over the baldness. Because he wears his baldness proudly, he looks sexy. Sometimes he wears a goofy hat. He still looks sexy in it. I thought men would admire that.

Politically, Bruce is a reformed Republican. That is, he grew disillusioned with the Republicans and now votes for the right man rather than the right party. He has supported both GOPs and Dems. Even though divorced, he remains friendly with Demi Moore and her new husband, is a constant father to his children, and is still a sex symbol. He sings, plays harmonica, and writes.

Is he full of himself? Absolutely. He's a handsome, manly man. Does he take himself too seriously? I don't think so. Look on You Tube and see him on David Letterman wearing an orange suit and windmill headgear. He's funny.

So I don't get it. What's not to like in a guy like Bruce?

Cold Cold Land

How cold was it camping?

It was so cold that the first night in front of the open fire, I rested my feet on the rim of the fire pit to keep warm. After a while, I felt the bottoms of my shoes grip me. It was like my shoes suddenly wanted to meld with my feet. I stood up and felt for the soles of my shoes. They were warm and soft, in the first throes of melting. I stepped away from the fire and stomped around in the cold to harden them. Then the side of one shoe split. Good thing I brought my hiking boots and I wear old shoes to go camping, although these were my favourite, comfortable old shoes.

The next morning, there was frost on a glass we left out.


There was mist over the lake.


After our hike that day, the cold kicked in again at night. I brought out my faux fur, wrapped my Yemeni pashmina scarf round my head, and put on my gloves. I went to the comfort station to feel the comfort. Two teenage girls were on the floor with cell phones. One looked up at me and gave me a polite, respectful smile. It puzzled me. That's the kind of smile you reserve for old people or foreigners to make them feel welcome. I looked in the mirror. Looking back at me was an old lady wearing fur with a foreign scarf wrapped around her head. (Canadians wear toques and ski jackets.) I looked like a newly arrived immigrant experiencing winter camping for the first time!

The next morning when I stepped outside the yurt, I could barely see ten feet in front of me, the mist on the ground was so thick. We drove along the Hwy 60 corridor. This is what it looked like. You wouldn't think it'd be that cold, and you'd be wrong. We're barely into Fall.

Jays and Moose

The next day, we went for an 11 K hike along the Mizzy Lake trail. In the parking lot to the trail, two sweating young men came out and said, "Open your hands." They put some loose nuts into our palms. They said, "You'll get to a part where you'll see some birds that look like blue jays, but they're bigger and they're grey. Some people call them grey jays. If you hold out some nuts, they'll come and eat right out of your hands." We asked them for water as well because my friend forgot hers. They showed us photographs of otters they saw. They said they power hiked and completed the walk in three hours. We said we aim to finish in four and a half, even though the brochure said six.

So we set off. It was a long, long difficult hike, with lots of rocks to climb over, tree roots to negotiate, indiscernible turns to navigate. We made it to the first post (there were 13 on the trail) and saw two women collapsed by a lake. They said they were too tired to continue. I knew how they felt. I too was tired and doubted I could finish the trail. But if we made it to post 6, then there was no sense in turning back, so we had to decide in the next three posts whether we turn back or finish the trail.

At times, we literally walked through a forest. If it weren't for blue markers on certain trees, we wouldn't have known a trail ran through the area. Other times, we were on a boardwalk that seemed to stretch endlessly. And when it ended, boy was I sorry.

Soon enough, we realized a pair of large grey birds were hovering us. We tested the nuts by putting them in our hands. Sure enough, the birds landed onto our hands, ate the nuts, and flew away. We did this several times till we ran out of nuts. When we left this part of the forest and walked along a gravel road, a pair of grey jays followed us out. So I took some bread from our lunch and offered it to them. Yup, they came and ate out of my hand.

Further into the walk, we came upon four people whispering. A loud crashing sound through the woods ensued. We turned a corner to see a cow moose standing in the water. My friend said, "There is a second moose. Look where those people are pointing their cameras." I couldn't see them; leaves were in the way. I just knew there was the pond with the moose in it between us and them.

Suddenly, a large brown moose charged out of the forest into the pond about 20 feet in front of us. My friend and I froze and gasped. When we looked at each other again, we had each put our hand to our mouth to keep from screaming. My camera, my camera, my kingdom for a camera!

We watched the moose, the moose watched us. I wondered if they would let me touch them. I didn't try. Eventually, we walked away quietly. It was a spectacular encounter.

We finished the hike in just over four and a half hours. We did real good.

Getting To The Park

After a great trip outdoors, it always takes me a few days to settle back in at home. 

This time back, I stumbled on a young Bruce Willis singing on You Tube. I've spent everyday with Bruce since. His singing voice is a bit thin, but young Bruce in his hair days was quite the manly heart throb.

Now that I've gotten this out of the way, I can relive the weekend.

It was such a hoot getting there. Algonquin park is about three hours from Toronto. When you get to the 400, there is a sign that says "Algonquin Park 247 km" on the side of the highway. You'd think it's a two and a half hour ride in from that point on. I don't know what time we started out, but you know, we stopped for washrooms, french fries, and during conversations in the car, we diagnosed my friend with iron deficiency so had to make another stop to get iron pills. By the time we got to our yurt, it was 6 PM, we had no gas in the car, and the gas station at Canoe Lake was closed.

We needed firewood. We took a blanket and walked to the firewood lot. We met Ranger Jeff there. He was loading the woodshed with more bags of wood. Since we were taking two bags and didn't bring the car, Ranger Jeff offered to drop the wood off at our site. Then we asked about gas. Oh, that gas station at Canoe Lake is closed for the season. You gotta get to Whitney for gas. But we had just enough gas to get back out to Canoe Lake, which was why we walked to get wood.

So Ranger Jeff offered to bring us two containers of gas from his boat. My friend and I elbowed ourselves silly as we walked away.

Back at the yurt, we put soup on. Ranger Jeff arrived with the wood. He had phoned the office to make sure - the gas station at Canoe Lake will open in the morning. This was the first weekend it has ever stayed opened after Thanksgiving. So he didn't bring us gas. At least he checked for us and brought the wood, which was most important.

The yurt was a depressing little structure inside. Literally bunk beds, a table with chairs, and a light bulb overhead. But the place had an electric heater, which we turned on full blast.

It was cold out there. The coldest camping I've ever done. I kept thinking, Canada, eh? I believe the temperature dropped below zero at night. But we had wood. That is probably the main reason I brave the cold and discomfort - to sit around an open fire at night. And drink brandy and eat chocolates. I love camping.

Salvaging

My aching back. Today was a day of salvaging leftovers. I made crab cakes, turkey pies, soup from scratch, and banana bread. I didn't have to go shopping. All the ingredients I needed I had in the house left over from the many meals of late. What I didn't have I substituted or skipped.

Which means if these refurbished meals are good, I won't ever be able to replicate the dishes quite the same way. But if they aren't any good, thank god I won't be able to repeat them. These are once in a lifetime tastes The Boy and I are about to experience. He doesn't know how lucky he is.

I am also packing for my final camping trip of the year, a last pitch to salvage a carefree lifestyle, prolong the coatless weather. Only, I am bringing a coat. The forecast predicts it will dip down to zero Celsius at night. We'll be sleeping in a yurt, with electricity, heat, and beds. I am bringing my electric coffee maker. But I am still calling it camping. We'll have a camp site and fire pit. We'll still have to cook outdoors, use outdoor washrooms and showers, and bring our own water. This late in the season, the water taps have been turned off.

We are trying very hard to not bring too much food. It's always the food that weighs us down. Already, I know we will be over loaded. We have pre-made all our food. They are soups and sandwiches. I am bringing yogurt, cereal, and fresh fruit for breakfasts. Of course we have wine and brandy. Geez, I hope everything fits into the car. Okay, I'll bring ground coffee and not bring the electric coffee grinder. It'll probably be too cold to swim so I won't bring my bathing suit. But it'll be cold so I better bring a duvet.

We are only away for two nights. The big question is, will we check into an inn the second night to salvage our sanity?

Grand Dame

One of our dinner guests last night was my friend's 80-something-year-old mother. She is a slim, fragile, bent-over woman who needed her walker for every move. Friend took her out of her old age home to come for dinner. I was honoured she came, for she is a feisty, delightful grand dame!

I would invite her back just to hear her compliments. She said things like, I love your house, it's so warm and comfortable, it's a reflection of the people who live here...I love your laugh, it's so musical, I could listen to it all day...Everything about this meal is wonderful. Daughter is right, you are the best cook I've ever met.

Another friend said she had a 22-year-old daughter. Grand Dame said, "Your daughter is what? You're not serious, you look about 22."

Thing is, Grand Dame says all these things with seriousness, sometimes as if she's muttering to herself.

She talked about life at her old age home. She said several times, "I'm so glad to have dinner here tonight because you know, I live with a bunch of old farts."

Finally, I had to ask, "How old are they?"

"Oh they must be in their late eighties and early nineties. I feel like a teenager beside them. What we need are some men in that boarding school. The women are so cliquey."

"You live in an all-women home?"

"No. Men can live there too. They just don't last as long. Two just moved in, but one of them is gay."

"How do you know?"

"I know him from before. His children used to come over to the house all the time. It was a big deal when he admitted he was gay. His poor wife must have been devastated."

We talked about movies and shows. Another friend talked about seeing Jersey Boys the musical and how much she enjoyed it. I told them about Mama Mia the movie and what a lark it was to see Pierce Brosnan, Meryl Streep and Colin Firth sing and dance with frills and bell-bottoms. The Grand Dame knew who all these actors were! She said she loved Mama Mia the musical because it was so much fun. She loved that everyone left the theatre with a big smile on their face and you felt so light.

We talked politics. "I'm so disappointed in that Harper," she said, "And I've voted Conservative all my life. He's a bully. He's only done things that are bad for the country, and the good things he said he would do, he didn't do them." Which took us into a discussion about the Security and Prosperity Partnership, which I think Harper is using to create a North American Union where we will use the Amero for currency. A merger with the U.S. and Mexico. The outrage Grand Dame expressed at the very idea of losing Canadian sovereignty! "I will not vote for that man tomorrow," she said.

When she was getting ready to leave, the temperature outside had dropped. Stooped over and clutching onto her walker, she said to her daughter, "Would you button my shirt up? I don't need to look sexy any more. Actually, I have not needed to look sexy after your father."

"But what about those men you want them to bring in at the home?"

"They'll be old farts. I want to have fun before I turn into one of them."

See why she needs to come back.

Giving Thanks

It's Thanksgiving. I did most of my dinner prep last night. I even had time to clean the house today. Right now, I'm just sitting here waiting for the turkey to cook.

I had thought of making a turkey dinner today just for The Boy and me, as our Thanksgiving dinner with my family was Saturday. But that would have meant very limited conversation and the meal would be over in 5 minutes, or I would have been eating alone. So I invited some friends over. I bought a 16-lb turkey, much too large for the six of us. But I wanted leftovers to make turkey pot pies this week. We are also having a salad, a vegetable, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and someone is bringing a dessert. Nothing excessive. I am thankful I get to make this dinner and enjoy it with friends. I really like my house filling up with the smell of roasting turkey.

I looked out the window and I saw my neighbour and his uncle outside repairing the fence that came down earlier this year. The uncle taught me how to repair the leak in our bathtub taps a few months ago. Thank you. A few minutes ago, I made arrangements with another neighbour to pool our leftovers tomorrow for another night of feasting. I am glad my neighbours and I are friends.

I am thankful to have good friends I communicate with regularly even if I don't see them as often as I would like.

I see my garden and am thankful I get to work in it. Sorting through the garbage and yard waste, I am thankful I live in a city where recycling is a priority. Despite the unpredictable Fall weather, today is a beautiful 25C. Next weekend, when the weather plummets, I'll be camping. I am thankful for that, I think. So I mounted my metal blue bird of happiness on the fence close to the house where I can see it and be reminded of today's beautiful weather.

I am thankful I am friends with my brothers and sister, that we have regular family gatherings, and that we look after mom together. I am relieved The Boy and I reached a new understanding of what he's doing with his time this year. Most of all, I am thankful for The Man, whose uprightness, doting affection and support make his personality quirks feel like endearing traits.

I have many things to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving!

Fall

In the cycle of nature, Fall is a time to wind down in preparation for winter. It is nature's closure of many things even as we start new projects that nestle us in for the cold months. As the wind whips through and leaves collapse around us, I think of eventual renewal in the Spring.

But Fall is also a treacherous time. Both Dad and Granny passed in the Fall. My friend's father passed this Fall. And now I get word that a friend's 20-year-old son was hit by a car from behind while he was on his bike. He did not survive. It rained all day after I received this news. I don't know where the renewal is.

The Poet

On the march in India one day, a round Indian man joined us. One of the march organizers introduced him to me as Dr. So-and-So from a university somewhere. He was about 45, a very learned scholar of some kind. I chatted with him as we walked and at the end of the day, he joined my French friend and I for lunch.

But he was a slow, intense, self-obsessed man. Despite his gentle way, you got the sense he had the habit of imposing himself on you and was in sore need of levity. You sensed also he thought the world of himself and you had the desire to inject a sense of humour into the self-image he carried. Half way through lunch, he said to me, "Do you like poetry?"

"No, I can't say that I do. I need my sentences to be complete. And sometimes, I don't get the references and metaphors in a poem."

"Perhaps you will like my poetry. Would you like to hear some?" 

"You wrote them?"

"Yes, I am a poet also."

"Well..sure then. Try your poetry on me."

So he proceeded to recite his poetry in a serious, quiet, accented monotone. I don't remember what he wrote, mostly because I couldn't understand what he said. I remember thinking, My god, I am a prisoner here on the road to Delhi and a witness to his masturbatory engagement in self-absorption. Wait, is he hitting on me? How do I get out? Fortunately, my French friend leaned over and asked with intention, "And how is your husband doing, Sylph?" So I turned to answer her, and somehow, we made our escape.

Now, almost a year after the march, a Toronto friend invited me to her house. She said, "I have a visitor from India. Maybe you've met him before. You may enjoy meeting him now. Besides, I don't know what to do with him and I would really appreciate your coming over." So I went.

Well.

Of course her guest turned out to be that scholar-poet my French friend rescued me from in the march. The poet and I greeted each other enthusiastically and formally. That is, with clasping hands and hugs like long lost friends, and bows and utterances of "namaste, namaste" like strangers, just to make sure we cover all the bases. Okay, he greeted me that way. I would have settled for a handshake.

I gave him a mini pumpkin. T'is the season. He gave me a postcard of Ghandi's house. We inquired after each other's well-being and what we are doing. Turns out the man is a professor at a university in India and has author eight books on development. He's in Canada to promote his latest, something about causes, community and self-development, and is a visiting professor at a university in London, Ontario. He also has a wife and two almost adult children.

Then we talked about current events and I shot my mouth off about Sarah Palin and how much fun fodder she was. The poet scribbled in his notebook as I talked. We took my friend's dog out for a walk while she finished preparing dinner. I don't think the poet is harmful, just a little too intense, and maybe oblivious to or does not care what other people think. We walked - with me marvelling at how comfortable my sexy new ankle boots were, him pointing out every few steps the beautiful pink sky above then standing still with his palms faced up to feel the sky, as if meditating on the spot, while the dog sniffed and sprayed every tree and pole we passed to mark his territory.

After dinner, the poet said, "And do you like poetry?"

"I know that you write poetry."

"How do you know that?" he smiled.

"You read your poetry to me when we were on the march."

"Ah. I don't remember that."

"Yes, he also read us some of his poetry before you arrived today, Sylph," my friend and host chimed in. I thought I detected in her fear that he would read again.

"I think I am more interested in reading your new book," I said. So he promised to send me a PDF of his new book, with a hard copy to follow when he gets back to India.

Today, I looked up Indigo to see if he books were there. Sure enough, there they were. He's written on the Habitat for Humanity project, public space for art and reflection, the Waco massacre, development and global responsibility, and other subjects. He's a development sociologist.

But he is still an odd man and I took no pleasure in his company. In fact, I felt a need to guard myself in his presence. So I didn't invite him to Thanksgiving dinner even though he will be in town. My Toronto friend said, "I think we've already done our part."

Breaks

This morning, I made breakfast and lunch for The Boy, had my breakfast, read the news, watched the latest Tina Fey-Sarah Palin spoof several times, planned out the meals I will be making in the next two weeks, drew up a shopping list for this week, talked briefly to The Man, exchanged a few e-mails, and made lunch. I have yet to shower and dress. Most mornings are pretty much like this.

That's why I go away. My routine is completely different when I am not home. This weekend for example. I woke up and immediately got washed and dressed. I went into the eating area of the B&B for breakfast. I didn't have to cook or clean up. It was literally a eat-and-run. By 9 AM, we are out of the B&B, ready for a day of physical stimulation and mental expansion.

We negotiated our way past road signs looking for turns and exits. We strolled along to look at shops. We picked up the pace to hike trails. I talked to everyone I saw and sometimes called out to people who didn't see me to find out what they were doing. We ate whatever we had in the car.

My friend backed into a car parked in the middle of the street. The couple who owned the car said, "We shouldn't have been parked there. It's just a scratch. Let's not fuss about it." We said okay.

I went into a store to see if I left my eyeglasses behind. I found them sitting on the counter. When I picked them up, one of the arms fell off. I looked around for the missing screw. The store owner asked what I was looking for. When I explained I had come to retrieve my glasses to discover one of the arms had come off, he said, "Come, I can give you something for that." He took an eyeglass repair kit off his shelves and gave it to me. "You can just have that. No need to pay for it," he said. "Oh no," I said, "I am buying this water so I will pay for both." "No," he said, "I'll charge you for the water, but not the repair kit. You have a good day."

I went to the harbour and saw about 30 ducks swimming. I walked to the edge of the dock and called out, "Hey guys, what's up?" All the ducks swarmed to me and swam alongside as I walked along the dock. I wasn't even feeding them.

These things don't happen in the city. That's why I go away.

The Importance Of Proper Footwear

I turned the furnace on this week. Can you believe it? It's only the beginning of October. The temperature inside our house was 17C. That's why my hands were cold and my body shivered, despite wearing a sweater with the hoodie on. I bet if I had a few more layers of fat insulation, I wouldn't have felt the cold.

Regardless, the crisp Fall air beckoned. A friend and I went up to the Bruce Peninsular to get in some nature. In Tobermory, we happened on the Outdoor Festival. What's the Outdoor Festival? Guides from the Bruce Peninsula National Park lead you to do outdoor things, like hikes along the Bruce Trail, exploring caves in the park, visiting bats in one of the bays. You have to register for the events, which were all full for the Saturday we were there. So we did our own outdoor activity. Our goal on this trip was to go for a long, long hike.

I remember the first time I hiked the park years ago. By the time we walked from the parking lot to the head of trails, I was exhausted. The real trail hadn't even begun. I remember thinking, surely no one can walk farther than this in one go. But this weekend, I was energetic and in top form.

The guide book suggested we take the 2.5 hour 3-km hike with varying levels of difficulty on the Georgian Trail to the Grotto, to the Overhang, along Marr Lake, then back to the parking lot. We set off on an easy hike to the Grotto. I have never been to the Grotto without hordes of people around. The water this weekend was blue, clear, and cold. You can see right to the bottom of the lake. We swam there each summer when the Boy was small.

One summer, we swam there before July. It was the coldest water I had ever been in. When we jumped in, we never warmed up. One friend insisted her lungs shrank from the cold and never opened up again even when she stood in the sun. I thought at the time, if I can do this, I can do the New Year's Eve polar bear swim. I now always measure the coldness of a swim against that water.

After the Grotto, we climbed rocks and boulders cross the Georgian Bay shore to the Overhang, which looked over a cliff down into the bay. That's when I found out my friend was afraid of heights. Just like when I found out The Man was afraid of heights when we were at the Grand Canyon. She stayed behind and leaned back into the trees each time I leaned forward to look over the cliff, as if her lean and weight would provide the balance that prevents me from plummeting over the edge into the chasm below.

The trek along Marr Lake was rocky and hilly, requiring sure footing and intentional abdominal bracing on my part. It was a crisp quick walk. No bugs, no crying kids on the trail, just a little bit of sweat from our brisk strides.

But what made the walk enjoyable were my hiking boots. I pulled mine out from under the basement stairs. I don't know why I don't always use them for hikes but I was glad to have remembered them this weekend. There were many smooth rocks on this hike where I felt I should have slipped. But my boots gripped on and prevented me from wedging my foot between rocks. We completed this walk in two hours.

Buoyed by the success of this walk and my comfortable boots, we stopped for lunch back in the parking lot, then set off on the second leg of our hike. This time, the hike was 5 km on a groomed trail around Cyprus Lake. Estimated time for completion was also 2.5 hours. We walked it in 1 hour 40 minutes.

In two weeks, we head into Algonquin Park to tackle a 12 km hike. I can't wait.

Indulge

In the grand scheme of things, being 10 or 50 pounds overweight is not a huge deal. So you take up eight more inches on the couch or an extra seat on the bus, so you need more fabric to make your clothes, so you bang into door frames more often than other people. Maybe people look at you in disgust and you may even die a few years before your friends do.

But you know, your body is not you. My body is merely a vehicle my soul uses to gather experience. When I die, it becomes a carcass fated to decompose.