You know when spring finally arrives and that last snowbank finally melts and you find the leather glove you dropped, or the granola bar box that blew out of the blue bin, or your insurance pink slip the fell out of the car and you yelled at your kid for losing?
This year when that last blob of snow goes, you will find me lying in the sodden grass with a footprint across my arse and a Nutty Buddy wrapper stuck to my face.
I have been busy. All in a good way, but there is not time for all the things I would like to do, like blog every day to scream at the world for messing up so much, to cheer for people who get it right, to have little quiet moments because we all need them, and sometimes, just to find out how regular people are absorbing all the things that are going on.
I hopped off a snowmobile and landed at the Toronto Autoshow. From there I headed to Quebec City to tear around in a brand new spanky red Explorer. Quebec City is gorgeous. Just, gorgeous. Explorer was not so bad either. Heh. You can just yell a thousand voice commands at it. No, you can't say that at it. I tried. You knew I would.
We live in a beautiful country. I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it. I love it from top to bottom, side to side, and in all seasons. Two hours north, and I'm barreling along spectacular trails and gasping at the beauty of the French River; downtown Toronto on a glittery Thursday night, and I'm hopping in a cab to go to a howdy doody dress up car event - the cab is to save me from my 5" heels. In Quebec City, I'm wearing longjohns, a hat with ear flaps*, and my sensible boots stuffed with hotshots as we cluster in the Ice Hotel, sipping vodka from a tumbler made from solid ice.
I'm aware it's not usual to do all of these things in one week, but the point is that we can all do some of them, at some point. Ontario is right here. Quebec is right next door. Every province is worth the trek. Not always long plane rides, especially if you love road trips, plenty close to home and most of the fun is reasonable. All the adventure you could want, all right here. Wow. Look at that. I'm getting all nostalgic for a place I haven't left, but nor have I finished discovering it.
When you are grabbing your news in snippets (yeah, Twitter may have a purpose), it's not until you get home and to a proper paper or computer that you realize what you've missed. Our world has changed more in the past two weeks then in the two years before that, I swear.
Back to Word. That's a computer joke. I am bursting at the seams with work, which means my day will be 100% chance of laundry with the likelihood of columns, followed by a severe squall later this afternoon when I head to the TV studios to tape Behind the Story with Richard Landau. And then of course, more writing and editing as I tell my sons it may be Friday night for them, but I'll be busy poring over photos and thinking 'did I really do all of this in the last ten days?'
*You know those furry hats with the ear flaps? Well, around here we call them something else. In the movie Christmas Vacation (stop lying; everyone has seen it) Randy Quaid's character shows up in a battered old motorhome and is dumping the tanks into the city sewer. He's wearing one of those hats, flaps proudly flapping as a cigar hangs out of his mouth. When Clark Griswold looks at him, he indicates the steam rising from the hose (we call it a thunder hose when we RV, because of the noise it makes) and says 'the sh*tter was full'. It's a stellar moment in cinematic history. And ever since, we have called those hats 'sh*tter hats'. It is rude. But, there you have it.