It starts off innocently enough, “Good weekend?”
“Yeah thanks. You?”
“Not bad, watchya get up to?”
and you stand there vacant as a sixties flowerchild – mind scrabbling for a trace, a scrap, a glistening nugget of memory that will bring the two-day void back into focus ‘What did we do?’
This weekend was nothing anyone would call special, a mish-mash of the usual family life stuff – stuff squeezed in between dates on the calendar that reflects real life way more than any scheduled event or FB status.
All the kids were off last week with a mild fluey bug they managed to share with us before the week was out. J was particularly upset – tears, no kidding – unable at the last minute to compete in the first cross-country meet of the season. So I made her favourite cherry scones to cheer her up.
The weather was unexpectedly warm (I thought I must be still feverish but the thermostat read 25 degrees), so K cut the grass – possibly for the last time this year – while T and S amused themselves riding circles around the car, and J and I read on the porch. Then it was time to grocery shop.
It was Heritage Day so the main downtown drag was closed to traffic as folks meandered among stalls of seasonal vegetables and demonstrations of pioneer crafts and weaponry. A miniature train took small children for rides up and down the side streets.
There’s something about shopping that makes you hungry (or is it just our kids who announce this as soon as they step inside the automatic doors?), so afterwards we went for fish’n’chips at the truckers cafe. There the meaty, milk-colored chunks of halibut, cod and haddock (which the waitress pronounces ‘had-ock’, stressing the second syllable Forest Gump style), in their golden batter jackets are the closest to English we’ve found to date.
Plus it’s my only chance to catch up with current events in the trucking world…
The golden hour beckoned – we’d watched the sun sinking lower in the sky from the window of the truck stop – so we made for the lakeshore, parking the Jeep at Thickson’s Woods, the last remnant of old-growth white pines on the north shore of Lake Ontario. Once reserved for making the masts of the British Royal Navy’s sailing ships, the towering pines are now a haven for migrating songbirds each spring and autumn.
‘Roamin’ in the gloamin’ we ambled up to Thickson’s Point, taking in the fall colours in the blessed evening cool.
Sunday morning dawned and K was groggy from a night of sleepless coughing so I offered to make pancakes. “Are you sure? I can do it,” he mumbled, maneuvering himself at a glacial pace to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Then, with a cheeky sideways glance, “I doubt they’ll be as good as mine.”
“They’ll be even better than yours.” The words were out before I could stop them; complete bravado with no basis in reality. K’s been the pancake king in this house for four years now, taking over my crown when we moved continents and went from English style to American.
Amazingly I produced a plateful that extracted both praise and admiration (though he doesn’t reckon I can replicate my success, “beginner’s luck” he smirked), light and fluffy, even without the buttermilk and four flour siftings (yes, FOUR!) that are an integral part of his method.
The kids amused themselves while K and I embarked upon the long overdue task of sorting and filing his expenses, attacking a mountain of receipts stretching back to April *sigh* and wrestling them into compliance via an Excel spreadsheet. The things we do for those we love, eh…
So that was our weekend. How was yours?
Linking up with snowingindoors.com for Point&Shoot