First outing(s) of the year.

Goddamn this late winter.

That being said, this has been a pretty darn decent Easter weekend.  I had the day off on Friday, so I got to chill out around the house with the children and the Well-Travelled One.  Since he and my youngest were busy tearing down and rebuilding a computer (He guided her through the rebuild after which she was apparently able to install Linux on her own. I'm not particularly techie, but that sounds pretty impressive to me), I spent some extra quality time with the eldest.  

I engaged her in a vaguely uncomfortable talk about various "grown-up" topics (read: sex, birth control, consent), which although she was hesitant to open up, I hope she thanks me for later.  This basically came about because I finished reading Jessica Valenti's "The Purity Myth" and some of the chapters on abstinence-only sex Ed made me curious about what the schools are teaching the kids.

Not much, apparently.  It could also be my daughter's selective memory combined with a strong desire not to have this conversation with her mother, but it sounds like they pretty much touch on the basic logistics and cover a little bit about birth control, but not much else.  I guess it's not as bad as the "Just Don't Ever Unless You Are Ensconced In A Fully Procreative Heteronormative Marriage" approach that the abstinence-only programs in the U.S. seem to use, but it leaves a lot of gaps to fill for us parents who wish their kids to be fully informed on such subjects, including but not limited to sexual identity, pregnancy and STIs and consent.

But anyway, that's a post for another day.  Back to my weekend, after making my daughter cringe at least 27 times in the span of an hour, I let her off the hook, and suggested we take a walk around the block and discuss lighter topics (such as the Comicon that she was going to the following day). Usually the eldest is loathe to do much that involved physical activity so I was quite surprised and pleased when she joined me with little to no heavy sighing or eye-rolling, and we had a lovely walk around our neighborhood.

Upon our return, The Well-Travelled One and my youngest were off on their own walk to get a coffee and a treat for successful completion of the computer project, so T and I went to her room to move the wardrobe that had until now been used for storage in the basement into her bedroom, as the girl is getting older and her clothes take up more space and my poor house sorely lacks closet space.

The girls were to go to their dad's house this weekend, so after dropping them off, we decided to head up north for a bit of a drive and to scout out some locations for hiking and checking out waterfalls this spring and summer.  The idea is to try and hit some of these places while they are still at their spring high-water mark, as by part-way through the summer, they often dry up somewhat losing some of their majesty. We walked down to the canoe launch at McRae lake, which was challenging as there was still a lot of snow and walking in half-melted snow can be a lot like walking in sand, only more slippery.  My calves and ankles, even with decent footwear, were not liking me much.

With the cancer and the surgery this year, I have backslid quite a bit from the fitness level I was at two years ago, or even last year (even though last year my energy levels were already deteriorating).  For a while I was able to walk or hike fair distances but now, depending on how I've been eating and drinking, a walk from work to the bank can be exhausting.

Taking baby steps, we're trying to revisit some of the less challenging trails and taking shorter walks so I can build back up to the fitness level I was at.  It's going to take some work.

At any rate, we made it over to White's Falls where even dammed, the water was in full force, and then over to Big Chute, where I got to revisit the fun that is peeing outdoors since a great need for hydration also means I have to pee a lot more, in places where bathrooms are not readily available.

White's Falls

Me, back-lit. Later in the summer I can sit on the rocks about 3 feet to my right here.

Saturday was more of the same, after the laundry was done.  We drove as far north as Huntsville, before taking some fun sketchy roads back towards home.  We made a couple of stops, once again at McRae Lake and another stop on the Sequin Trail, which lies atop an old rail bed.  Because, I am told, trains do not like going up and down hills, these rail-bed trails are handy for me because I too, do not like going up and down hills.

View of the rail-bridge from the bank of the Seguin River

Sequin Trail.  Newish foot bridge.  The giant concrete pillar signifies where the rail bridge would have existed.

Seguin River

Stand clear.

I am sore today.  Mind you, after we got home I forced myself, against social anxiety and general exhaustion, to go out to my friend Lori's 40th birthday.  My attempts at dancing after tromping around bush and rocks two days straight were probably not the greatest idea, but I had a good time and was glad I made myself go.  But I am paying for it today.  I know this is part of getting myself back to the shape I was in, so it's worth it, but ow.

My boyfriend scares me sometimes.

This post is a short preamble to the longer post with pictures that I have planned, that i may or may not get around to writing, of our adventures in the Bruce Peninsula.  Now that Blogger's iPad page has an actual editor, I may get around to posting more.  Also, it's my birthday today, so feel free to fawn accordingly in the comments.

So, this weekend The Guy For Whom I Have Not Come Up With A Good Blog Alias™ who for the purposes of this post, I shall refer to as My Navigator and I took a trip up to Tobermory, Ontario.  One of the stops was to the Bruce Caves, just outside of Wiarton, Ontario.  This conversation happened.

Approximately 1.5 hours before getting to Wiarton, we're looking at the map.  Navigator claims he has never been to these caves before. I'm a little skeptical, since he is one who has Been Many Places, but he insists so I believe him.

Navigator:  So, we have to turn onto Grey Road 1, but since it's in town, it'll probably be called something different.  I dunno, something like "Frank Street".
Me:  It'd be funny if it was actually called Frank Street.

1.5 hours later, we are in Wiarton, driving around getting gas, food and Tim Hortons coffee.  We turn onto a side street.  It's Frank Street.

Me: Whoa, there actually is a Frank street here.
Navigator: weird.
Me:  Heh.  I wonder if that's the road we have to take? That'd be freaky.

We go get coffee and he goes to check the directions to Grey Road one.  He gets back in the car.

Navigator: Okay, so we have to take a right out of the parking lot and another right at the lights. 

So, following his instructions, I take a right out of the parking lot, and a right at the lights.  The street we turn onto, which we have been told is Grey Road 1, looks familiar.

Navigator:  Look.
Me:  Holy shit.  Frank Street? 

Navigator: yup.
Me:  *blinks*  You're fucking scary.

700km, an off-roading PT Cruiser and the faint sound of banjos part 2 (NOW WITH PICTURES!)

Wow. I'm really sucking out at this regular-blogging thing. Looking at part two of my mini-road trip post and it's been two weeks already.

I've been trying like hell to get some stuff done today and it's just not happening so I figure I'll blog a bit and completely unapologetic in my utter laziness today and then stress later when I don't have shit for time to get stuff done.

Sound like a plan? Thought so.

So after leaving Musky Bay, we got back in the car and headed for Egan Chute, which is a collection of falls in an inactive provincial park surrounded with old mines and quarries.

The area is known for a wide array of mineral deposits and the Rock Jamboree is a big thing every year. Funnily enough, tourist sites encourage rock collectors to the area but The parks department really really don't want you to do that, because of the eventual degradation of the area from people chipping away at the cliffs and caves and whatnot. It's not cool.

Oh, here's the road we had to go down to get to the chute.  Original 100 series highway.. this is proof positive that 'Paved Road' and 'Sketchy as Fuck Road' are not mutually exclusive.

"Do you hear banjos? I hear banjos."

I had made previous allusions to my vague fear of heights. I can stand at the top of the CN Tower and look straight down withougt blinking an eye, but I'm not so hot with climbing.. Especially climbing DOWN stuff. So Guy For Whom I Have Not Come Up With A Good Blog Alias™ got to be witness to me having a full on panic attack trying to scale down a loose dirt path with a steep drop on one side after stupidly trying to follow after he says "I'm going down here, you don't have to follow me.".

Because, you know, I'm a sport.

Harrowing, but totally worth it.  This is me getting my heart rate back to normal.

Got down eventually, with much whimpering and crying and shaking. Thankfully, the scenery was well worth my sheer terror and the climb back up after looking around was much easier an quicker. At the end of the chute was a pond and a small sandy beach so I was inclined to get the kit off and go for a swim. It was glorious, although I decided to come in when it was pointed out that the current was still strong enough to carry me off my path. The sand in the water was flecked with bits of what may have been fools gold but it sparkled amazingly when you stirred up the dirt.

Glittery.

We made a few attempts to locate some of the old mines in the area, but since we were losing light and the bugs were coming out (after I pulled about six dead deer flies from my hair) it was time to press on and find somewhere to sleep for the night. Somewhere came in the form of a Tim Horton's parking lot in Madoc. We had originally stopped for coffee in Kaladar but the only coffee we found was a gas station Country Style with a self serve carafe that looked a safe bet to have been sitting there since morning. So on to Madoc we went, drinking coffee and discussing the best part of the parking lot set Petey for for the night while we slept in the back, unnoticed by passers-by.

700km, an off-roading PT Cruiser and the faint sound of banjos., part 1

Greetings, y'all.

So computator seems to be pooched again, which means I am back to blogging via iPad. Which is ALL SORTS OF FUN what with the typing by touchscreen, having to manually enter all HTML formatting and complete inability to add pictures unless I go into work early and upload pictures after the fact.

Have I mentioned the meddefluerking auto-correct? ALL SORTS OF FUN

So the lack of pictures means this post about weekend road trip that Guy For Whom I Have Not Come Up With A Good Blog Alias™ (yeah, about that.. I really should come up with something because that takes way too long to type) embarked upon is going to be a "use your imagination" type thing.

at least until I can add some pictures.

Basically, the agenda consisted of leaving early morning with a tank of gas, a tent and a cooler of road-snacks and heading east towards the haliburton highlands, exploring various trails and towns, and looping back next day with a stop in Peterborough for breakfast. Easy peasy. The tent was actually a backup plan since the actual plan was to sleep in the car, something I've found convenient on past long trips. I'm pretty sure he might have preferred the ground.

(aside from a stop in Orillia for groceries and gas) our first stop was Bancroft, a town I spent a lot of time in as a kid when my maternal grandparents had there house there. I had two goals here.. Buy Chelsea Buns from the local bakery, because ohmigord YUM, and seek out the Musky Bay Resort, a seasonal trailer camp that had been owned by my aunt Shirley and Uncle Stan years ago, and where I would spend two weeks with my grandparents every summer, fishing and boating and hanging out with my cousin Jaime, the only cousin my age I ever got to see with any regularity. The campground had been sold years ago, after Stan passed away. We had looked the place up and between some sketchy satellite imagery and my own fuzzy memories were able to find the place, not without overshooting the entrance at least once. I wandered in and introduced myself to a lovely Eastern European woman named Yvonna, one of the new owners who had just recently taken over. I got the impression that the previous owner had let the place go quite a bit. The grass grew wild around a number of empty trailers and around the main house. The store where Stan and Shirley sold bait and penny candy was empty. But here and there were signs of improvement... Two new docks sat at the shoreline, and Yvonna showed where they were renovating the three old rental cabins that sat at the shore adding bathrooms where previously there was only one communal shower/toilet for all three cabins.

As we walked, i pointed out where my grandparents trailer sat and where we held horseshoe tournaments and family reunions at the front of the main building. As bittersweet as it was to see the place in a state of disrepair, I felt a good deal of gratitude towards this quiet polite woman and her family for keeping the place open, and their efforts in reviving it. It's funny though. Musky Bay had the distinction of being one of the last old-fashioned, mom-and-pop run family campgrounds and as much as it pained me to see the place deteriorated, it would have pained me as much, if not more, to see it turned into some kind of posh yuppie resort.

at any rate, I thanked Yvonna for showing me around and pledge to return and see how they were coming along with the place. We got back into the car and headed back toward Bancroft and onto our next destination, Egan Chutes Provincial Park.

My own childhood bullying tale - or - I'm not fucked up because of how my parents raised me, but how other parents raised theirs.

Today I felt like crying.

No, no.  I'm okay.  Nothing to worry about.  Just feeling bittersweet.  Accent on the bitter, I guess?  

It started with a Facebook group.  *shakes fist in Mark Zuckerberg's general direction*  A group called I GREW UP IN AURORA.

I did, you know.  Grow up in Aurora, I mean.  Aurora, Ontario.  Some of those closest to me may be familiar with the sneer of derision that usually comes with mention of the place.

I'm not actually a member of this group (update: I totally lied.  I am).  My mom is, because she did too. Grow up there.  That may be too simplistic.  I think my mom merely lived there.  It'd be safe to say her actual growing up was done in the neighbouring town of Newmarket, which according to the stories of adolescence I have been regaled with over the years, was a far more rad place than it's neighbour to the south.

A friend of mine who lived in the area for roughly the same period of time (although we didn't meet until years and years later) once remarked that in Aurora, you'd drive down streets where people had paid tens of thousands of dollars on landscaping, only to find nothing but junk inside.

At the time it seemed an apt metaphor.

Gosh, I sound pretty bitter, don't I?  Why all the hate, you may ask?

Interesting question, that.  I'll get to that.

So yeah, because the Mighty Zuck seems to think everyone needs to see everything that everyone does, I caught a link through this group to a photoblog which had, amongst its many posts, photos of the school I attended from grade 1 to 3, which was shut down a few short years back.

It's a tremendous and beautiful building, having first served as a high school (where my grandfather attended) and later used as a primary school for grades 1 through 6.

Seeing the photos was a bit of a head-trip.  I, myself, have not stepped foot inside in over 20 years.  When they closed Wells Street, there was an open house to commemorate it's 100 year history.  The few photos in this woman's blog brought forth a rush of emotion - first, the visceral reaction I generally get when presented with classical architecture.  I'll be the first to admit, I have a bit of an obsession with older buildings.

Second was a flood of memories of the relatively brief but formative time I attended Wells Street Public School.

I was a painfully shy, and oddly intelligent child.  A little awkward, a little chubby.  More interested in the planets and ocean creatures than Barbies and My Little Ponies.  Eager to please, eager for others to like me.  A prime target for bullies.

Third grade was when the two 'popular' girls in my class decided that that year was the year I would have no friends, no fun, no joy whatsoever.  They began to taunt me, promising friendship then ripping it away, with mocking laughter and cruel, cutting, remarks.  They made it well known to all that I was social poison.  Not only would they not be my friend, but anyone who did befriend me would also be outcast.

Two of my best friends would whisper when no one was looking that yes, they were still my friend, even if they put up the act of shunning me as well.

I could hardly blame them.  I had already saw the devastation these two popular girls had wreaked in my own world.  I couldn't let that happen to my friends as well.   My third friend managed to escape the social stigma of being my friend simply by benefit of being a boy.  The threat of expulsion to loser-land was lost on the boys in my class... they were just happy to join in on the fun.

In the evenings, I would cry inexplicably.  I was always crying.  My parents would ask how my day was, what was wrong.  In a quiet voice I'd insist that my day was fine.  Nothing happened.  I was okay.  In tears, but okay.  My sister knew what was going on.. She wrote me letters from the exchange house in Germany where she was staying that winter, telling me she loved me and making empty but appreciated threats to beat the 'little bitches'.  My parents continued to wonder why I was upset all the time but refused to open up to them.

I guess that has just never been my way.

I have no recollection, perhaps I've blocked it out, but I've been told that it got to the point where I was skipping school.  This was how my parents found out about these girls and how they had been tormenting me for most of the school year.  The one girl lived down the street from us, with her grandparents and her mother who was single and worked full-time, relatively unheard of in 1980's Aurora.  Her mother was devastated and truly remorseful that her daughter was capable of treating another kid this way, and blamed herself.  The other child's mother, who had attended high school with my own mother, simply sneered.  She had taught her daughter to be tough.. it wasn't her problem if I was "such a fucking wimp."

I see these pictures of the school and I remember not just its immense empty halls, but I remember walking them, sad, and scared and angry.  The staircase in the second photo from the bottom is the same staircase where I would sit after being sent in the hall.   Heeding the advice of "ignore it and it will go away", I would close my ears to the whispered taunts until finally I would lash out in anger and frustration, only to be scolded and sent to the hall for causing a disturbance.  I'd sit out there and cry and wait until I was sure my face was no longer red and my breathing had returned to normal.

Even then, I had a tendency towards 'The Ugly Cry'.  Oh, look.  There it goes again.

I was lucky enough to change schools the next year after being screened for the region's gifted program.  My problems didn't end there, by any means, but they subsided for a good while.  However, by the time we moved from Aurora to the Midland area, I was good and ready to get the fuck out of there.  I never really felt like I belonged there.  I don't think my family did either.

You know, a lot of this seems trivial in retrospect.  So what?  Everybody had bullshit to deal with as a kid.  But it kind of fucked with me for a long time.  For years I had a difficult time making friend without falling prey to the suspicion that I was being taken for a fool, that I was being set up as part of some grand, Carrie-esque prank and I'd be the girl covered in pig-blood, only instead of wreaking my vengeance all I would be able to do is cry and hate myself a little.  I missed out on what could have been some wonderful friendships because I couldn't bring myself to trust.  That said, I'm thankful for the few long-standing friendships was able to forge over the years.

I'm not going to lie, I've let these memories color my memories of Aurora with a very dark brush.  I think sometimes that I would still like to go back.  To fight my way down Yonge Street where everything is so built up now that you can no longer tell there was ever any bordering area between Newmarket and Aurora.  I'd like to park at my uncle's house (which was the house where we lived) and walk the neighbourhood as I did when I was a kid - my parents were the free-range kid type.

There are still places I have fond memories of..

Quick dream recap from last night

It's around twilight sometime in the spring and I'm walking up the big hill on hIghway 93. My feet are bare and there are broken beer bottles all along the dirt shoulder. As I walk I can occasionally feel tiny bits of glass dig into my feet. I keep thinking I should dig my phone out of my bag and post on Twitter in regards to the shitty walking conditions.

"Broken glass everywhere. People are assholes."

For some reason I don't get around to it, in spite of the fact that the two sentences are swimming through my head. Instead I press on, up the hill.

Out in front of Smiles Per Hour I spot another phone on the ground. Picking it up, I examine it a bit and eventually decide to toss it away. I continue walking but I find it more and more difficult to avoid the glass that has become increasingly noticeable and irritating. I worry a little that I may seriously cut myself to the point that I cannot walk any longer and decide to cross the road to the other side where there is a sidewalk.

Next stop, buy some shoes.

I reach the mall and my youngest daughter is there, sobbing that she had found a phone and tried to call me but she couldn't figure out how to use it. I reassure her and we go into a restaurant. Upon entering it appears there is some kind of raucous party going on. I quickly find myself shoved into a corner near a dark, wide staircase.

Suddenly four guys carrying a fifth guy in a wheelchair start pushing their way through the crowd towards the dark staircase. I have to do some fancy footwork to avoid being shoved into the abyss as they crowd past. I mumble apologies but stop, because suddenly I'm a little pissed off that these guys don't seem to have any regard for their surroundings. Just because they have to carry their friend in his wheelchair it doesn't mean that they get to be jerks about it.

Jacques Cartier, right this way...

So last Friday I booked the day off,  booked and hotel for the girls and I, and embarked on the roughly 1000km road from our little dollhouse to Quebec City.  The girls had gotten the bug after I had told them of the trip I took out there a few years ago.  At the time I had taken five days with plans to hit Ottawa, Montreal and if time allowed, Quebec City.  My itinerary was pretty loose, in fact, I really didn't know where I was staying each night until I got there.  I guess it sounded like a pretty fun adventure, so they got on a thing about going to Quebec City as well, and I had said maybe this summer, if we can find the time and the money.

It so happened I had one last vacation day left for this year, and the ex-hub's current wife was going to be laid up due to surgery, so instead of trying to scramble for daycare for two days I figured I'd get daycare for the one day and book the friday off.  It then dawned on me that this was the Friday before Labour day so there was our 'time'.   Still didn't *really* have the money but I DID have the available credit.

I'm usually loathe to put ANYTHING on my credit cards, but with saving for a house I've been scrimping and saving to death and sometimes it feels like I'm missing out on a lot with the kids because I'm always having to say no.

So I said yes (well, actually I probably said "fuck it!") and we were off.

The basic plan was this:

• Drive to Ottawa Friday.  Stay with friends.  Visit Ottawa either Friday night upon arrival, or Saturday morning before pushing on to Quebec
• Stay two nights in Quebec city, having the full day Sunday to explore the city.
• Get up stupidly early Monday morning and book it all the way home in time for dinner.

You'll note that I didn't leave room to visit Montreal.  That is because I don't care much for Montreal.  As someone rather directionally challenged, the roundabouts and one-way streets disagreed with me.

Anyway, a few days beforehand I contacted a friend of mine in Ottawa who I hadn't seen in some time and asked if they would be around.  In an ironic twist of fate, her response was "No, we're not home that night and I really hope you're not telling me you're going to be in Ottawa because we're going to be in the Harbour.  I was going to come see you."

I am the QUEEN of lousy timing.

So via the Facebook, I put out word that the kiddies and I were seeking accomodations for the night in the Ottawa area.  A friend and former co-worker extended an invitation for us to stay with her and her boyfriend so that was set.  I booked a room at a Super 8 in QC (a pretty cool family suite with bunk beds for the kids, and an XBox 360 in-room that we never ended up using) and we were off.

On the way, we stopped in this awesome hippie store in Sebright, ON.  I just spent about fifteen minutes trying to find out what the place is called, with no luck.

There was a giant Betty Boop statue out front and the front doors and windows were covered with tons of pro-choice, pro-gay, pro-pagan, left-wing slogans and bumper stickers.  An old-fashioned triangle hung near the wooden screen door.

Inside was even cooler though.  They sold imported and old-fashion type pop in glass bottles.  The ceiling was covered in old vintage LP covers, and there was a wall dedicated to practical jokes and novelty items.  The front counter was a display of homemade cheeses and meats.

After spending a good 25 minutes looking around, we moved on, stopping in Bancroft.  My grandparents had retired to Bancroft so I spent many summers there before my grandmother eventually sold their house and moved to Orillia to be closer to family.  We visited Nanny and Grandpa's old house and I was a little sad and nostalgic to see that the current owners have kind of let it go.  The gardens out front have been allowed to grow wild only to eventually starve themselves.  I wanted to take some pictures but I saw a curtain move in an upstairs window and felt that perhaps we were being watched.

There's an amazing lookout in Bancroft called the Eagles Nest where you can look out over the entire town.  When I was a kid I used to write scary stores about ghosts that lived the graveyard beneath the Eagles nest.

Yes, we did interrupt some couple having a moment.

We got to Tasha's about 8pm, so really not much time to explore Ottawa once we got there.  Tash left the company where I work to pursue her dream of running a dog kennel, which means that at any given time, they have a good amount of dogs on the property.  During our stay there were about five in the house.  Given that I am not much of a dog person (I respect their right to exist, and don't wish harm upon them but otherwise, leave me alone) I thought this had the potential to be pretty interesting, but considering the number of them, they were well trained and well behaved, and I almost kind of sort of started to like one of them (god help me if I can remember her name though).

This one.

Saturday morning we took the dogs out for a run on the property and Tasha's boyfriend Dave took both the girls on an ATV ride which they enjoyed immensely.  I was really glad she had extended the invite, because I had a really nice time visiting with them, and they were both good hosts.  Thanks again if you're reading this :-)

After saying our goodbyes, we backtracked to Ottawa proper and visited the Museum of Civilization and the Parliament buildings.  It was ridiculously hot that day so after visiting Parliament and getting some ice cream it was unanimously decided that the best option was to get back on the road and try to get to Quebec City before night fall.  Basically it's about six hours to Ottawa, and another four or five to Quebec.

We reached our hotel about 8:30pm and decided to go for a swim and settle for the night, as we would have the entire day to look around.  The Super 8 hot tub could better be described as a 'kinda-warm tub' but at least I didn't feel bad staying in longer than the required fifteen minutes.

Next morning we woke up and it was raining, which put a bit of a damper on plans to park downtown and explore the walled in area that is Old Quebec.  So we had some breakfast, had another swim and got in the car to brave the rain.

Driving down Wilfrid Laurier Boulevard we kept seeing groups of pirates on the sidewalks, waiting in bus shelters.  As we passed the entrance to Laval University I came to the conclusion that this must be some kind of Frosh week activity.

Upon finding ourselves downtown, I tried to find parking and somehow managed to get ourselves on to the Autoroute 40 by taking a wrong turn.  Know what happened then?

You guessed it, we got horribly, horribly lost.

And those Google maps that you print out when you get directions somewhere, don't do shit when it comes to navigation, since they only name about four roads.  Oh yeah.

EVENTUALLY I made it back downtown and found a place for us to park.  We came upon an outdoor Zumba display and looked in a few stores while we looked for a place to eat lunch that wasn't ridiculously expensive, and wasn't McDonalds.  Because yes, even Old Quebec has a McDonalds.  It's a neat looking McDonalds in an old stone building with wood shutters on the upper levels, and possibly even turrets, but it's still a McDonalds nonetheless.

One place got vetoed because the hostess wouldn't let me in with my coffee even though I made it clear we were definitely buying food.  For all three of us.  So congratulations, pub-whose-name-escapes-me, you lost out on what would have probably been a 40 dollar meal, easy.

Eventually we stopped at a place called Buffet D'Antiquiare, which was a neat kind of place with exposed brick, dark wood, framed black and white prints, and large menus written in vibrantly colored chalk.  The waitress met my helpless shrug and inquiry as to whether she spoke English with a bit of impatience.  I had been holding my own okay up until then, very stiltedly making efforts to communicate in French whenever possible, but at that point, the thought of having to order three breakfasts in french was overwhelming so for that little amount of time, I gave up.

After lunch, we continued on foot.  I was trying to get us to the boardwalk that runs between the Chateau Frontenac and the St. Lawrence River.  I had spotted what I thought was the Frontenac's green-copper roof and told the girls to follow it.  However as we drew closer, it because evident that this building was NOT near a boardwalk OR water.

Not the Chateau Frontenac

This, however is. (from 2005)

I approached a young woman and in my stilted French I gestured towards the building and asked "C'est la Chateau Frontenac?"  to which the woman responded by saying no and pointing to a tall peaked roof well off in the distance to which I responded by swearing in English, saying "merci" and saying to the girls "Okay, so remember how I said my sense of direction is better on foot than by car?  It's better, but not by much."  I pointed out the same roof and said "See that roof? That's where we need to be."

Have I mentioned Quebec is a city of many many steep inclines?  Oh yes.  We wandered through the little shops of lower town and took Le Funicular which is kind of like a Wonka-esque Great Glass Elevator that takes you up the hill to the Upper Town where the Frontenac and the boardwalk is located.
While wandering the boardwalk, we spotted another flight of stairs that appeared to go up another level of town.  After walking up these damn stairs for a good 20 minutes or so, I asked another tourist couple "Umm.. where are we?"

Where, was apparently the top of the Citadelle, which are some of the military fortifications that were built in the mid-1700s for the protection of the city.  It's pretty freaking high up.  Funnily enough, where it took about 20 minutes to walk up the 8 million stairs to get to the top, there's a trail on the other side that brings you back downtown in oh.. say 10 minutes.  Yessir.  well, 25 if you have an eight year old child who leaves her sweater at the top of the Citadelle and doesn't realize until you are halfway back to downtown.  And of COURSE it's the really nice sweater that she really likes and that I really like that her Great Grandmother got her for CHRISTMAS so of course we can't just leave it and call it a loss.  I went up the hill just to the point where I could see the lookout where she left, collapsed on the grass and said "Okay, go get it and come back here."  So with eye peeking over the arm I had flung over my face, I saw the little yellow t-shirt sprint across the wide green field, disappear for a few moments and reappear as a yellow and purple blur bobbing and weaving back across the field.

We made our way back to the car (with the kids naysaying my ability to actually navigate us back to the car.. but I made it there!) and we had dinner at the Chinese buffet next to the hotel.  Next morning we got up at six, we're on the road by 7:20 and did a straight out burn down Autoroute 40 to Highway 401, making small stops for gas and to pee, and managed to make it home around 6pm, in time to get ready for school the next day.

Some random pics of Quebec:

View from the Funiculaire

Dirty old man table art

Lower Town

Probably my favourite shot from the whole trip.

Funny story about that last picture.  I saw the guy in the wheel chair kind of struggling to get up the hill, before I saw him turn around and head back down.  A few minutes later, two kids go zooming past, each hanging onto a handle bar, just motoring this guy up the hill.  I think they were his kids.  They were yelling stuff as they shot past, and the three of them just looked like they were having a lot of fun.

"Mom, this was the best day ever."

I've lived a lot longer than my seven-year-old, so I have a longer frame of reference, so I could possibly argue that.  But who wants to argue with a happy-seven-year old?  Besides, it was still a pretty darn good day.

We saw family.
We saw more family.
We saw friends.
We stood at the top of the world and looked down into the clouds.
We ate ice cream.
We splashed in puddles.
We listened to old mixed CD's in the car and got excited to hears songs we hadn't listened to in years and sang at the top of our lungs.
We explored the city in the rain.
We ate pizza from a mediterranian restaurant.
We played I Spy and tried to trick each other.

My youngest has fallen in love with the city.  The lights, the buildings, the people.  Her excitement brings a smile to my face, but saddens me as well, because part of me knows as soon as she's old enough she'll want to leave our little town for bigger things.  She marches to her own beat and I fear small town life will not hold her for long.

My oldest is much more cautious, much more leery to try new things.  She likes routine, doesn't like risk. But like a trooper, she stood on the glass floor, and even bounced a little.  And, as she proudly told me later, she 'didn't puke.'  There was never any doubt, babydoll.

They really are something, these girls of mine.

Fire, Fire, Fire. Fire in my Brain.

I woke up this morning with no alarm.  Thankfully I startled myself awake about ten minutes before I usually get up.  I showered and when I returned to my room, I was confronted with the unmistakable odor of a feline that had decided to declare something as 'His'.

My winter coat that, in a moment of sheer and utter laziness, I had dropped on the floor just behind my bedroom door upon entering the house the previous evening.  Lovely.  That will teach me to be more fastidious.

The fire alarm went off while at work today.  I promptly evacuated, and to clarify I mean that I left the building, not that I shat my pants.  Thanks, Vicky, for making sure I am more careful about that particular word in the future.

As I left I glanced at my wallet on my desk but decided to leave it.  I did grab my coat, as why escape a potentially burning building, only to die of exposure to the cold.  This is Canada, after all.  Always thinking.

As I stood in the parking lot with three out of my roughly 15 to 20 co-workers, along with a handful of Tim Horton's employees, I wondered what all of our elementary school teachers would think of this gross lack of respect for the fire bell.  In the time it took our staff to wander their way out, half of us could have been dead.

Source

I entertained the fantasy that if the building was indeed about to burn to the ground with my wallet and all identification within, I could jump in my car and assume a new identity in a new place.  I could be a dancer, or a surly truckstop waitress, or join a carnival.  I could buy a farm and grow tomatoes and sell pie at the side of the road.  I'd send for the children and they could join me.  We'd live in relative obscurity, off the grid.  Maybe open a small restaurant.  The cats would be left the little dollhouse, free to leave their smellieness where-ever they please.

Like Edward Norton's character in the 25th hour, just drive.  "Nothing at all for miles around"  Like Monty Brogan in that fantastic ending, that ending that you are never quite sure is the actual ending or just a work of Monty's imagination.  Like that, but without all the drug charges and such.

There was no fire.  I returned to my desk.  My wallet was there, my identity safely tucked inside each of the little slits meant to hold licenses, credit cards, rewards cards.  Life goes on as usual.

Sometimes, my mind wanders.

Well, I’m out like a cheap plaid leisure suit...

I'm taking the kiddies and heading for the wilds of nothern ontario (and minnesota, Wisconsin, and upper peninsula Michigan) off to see meliss, my best bud in the world.

I have my iPod packed up with all the fantasticness I could fit onto 2 lousy Gigs... that should get me most of the way there, I hope.

I'm hoping my little Betty's trunk can fit all the crazy crap that I have had to pack for this journey.

Eating some cereal, having a coffee, gonna make me a buttload of sammiches (I have a goal to actually stop to eat no more than once... that being said, I've bought a stupid amount of food for the cooler.

Happy Trails all... I'll return in a week!

I'll miss ya, you know who you are.

Blogitty blog blog blog.

I'm working again, fulltime, for the first time in nearly four years (three years of school, plus one year of mat leave). That job my sister got me that was supposed to be a one week temp job got parlayed into a fulltime summer job. I hate job-hunting with a passion, so this works well for me. I spend 8 hours a day looking up addresses for lab supply manufacturers and dealers and listen to music.

Tomorrow is my Tierneys' birthday, she's gonna be a big six years old. Happy birthday sweetheart.

Trying to get my passport info together for the summer trip to cali. Been working with wendy, one of sammis other bridesmaids about dresses. It's a tough call because we'll all pretty different body shapes, but she's got one in mind that might just work for everyone.

Speaking of weddings, I'm about to become a sister-in-law again. My sister and her man have decided to get married next june, sO i'm lined up to be a bridesmaid, and the girls as flower girls. I didn't get to be in her last wedding, I was too broke to afford a dress, so I opted to be her videographer instead. So, I look at it this way, I didn't waste my presences on the last wedding :-P The poor girl seems to think I'm not happy for her. Not the case, I'm very happy for her, just not the girly 'squealing-and-jumping-up-and-down type'

Still smoke free, rapidly approaching the three month mark. Also down 14 and a half lbs. New clothes, new hairdo, feeling pretty damn sexy.

My graduation ceremony is on wednesday, with a formal dinner and dance afterwards. Looking forward to that, a chance to get all dressed up and prettyful. Dan, who I have managed to finagle into accompanying me called today to tell me he's gotten a suit -- what a sweetheart, I'm glad he's coming. It's sure to be fun.

Started playing baseball two weeks ago, in a ladies slow-pitch league, which has been fun. Last week I managed to hit the ball into fair territory, and I also caught a ball in play, so it was a productive game for me. We may have even won, I'm not sure though. My friend kaylee signed up as well, and is on my team, so that's cool.

My migratory instincts have been kicking in again. I'm in severe need of a roadtrip.... somewhere close enough that the gas costs and the need for time off work won't cripple me financially, but far enough that I feel like I've been somewhere. Unfortunately, for the time being, this leaves Fort Frances out of the running, which is a shame because I miss the hell out of melissa, as well as eric and my awesome little goddaughter sydney. The time off is a big factor in that one, as it takes two days to get to her place if it's just me driving, and then I usually want to stick around two or three nights... so that's like a weeks vacation. I'm hoping I *might* be able to do it in the fall, but let's face it, I'm unable to commit to it any time soon. Depends on how my savings are doing, and where I am working at that point.

I'm hoping I can take a weekend trip somewhere, over a long weekend perhaps. I've already got the Cali trip, which is fantastic as far as seeing new things goes, but I don't know if air travel is gonna hold the same satisfaction for me as the open road. I've had metric on my mp3 player and I flash back to quebec last year, and I want it again, me and the highway. I think I was perhaps destined to be a truck driver, but somehow things got fouled up in the main offices of providence. *sigh* Perhaps it's better this way. As much I love road travel, I don't know how I would do in an 18wheeler. Probably more machine than I could handle.

Ramble ramble ramble. in any case, that's me lately. Not much to say that can't be done in a bi-weekly to monthly update. Cheers, all.