Of mice and....mice

First stop on our annual not-quite-camping vacation  took us to a little cabin tucked away in a New York state forest.  Truth be told, it was away from many things, but that suited us. The cabin had seen better days, true, but then, so have a great many other cabins.  This one had three bedrooms, a kitchenette, a nice little porch table to eat at.  

It also had a few mouse traps.  Dave had arrived first, and had been told that the kids from the last family that stayed there, left the door open and it was possible a mouse had gotten inside.  They apologized,  but since they weren't certain, Dave said okay.  

We cooked supper, did the dishes, went to bed.  In the morning, we were readying to do breakfast dishes, when Dave opened the cupboard door under the sink and found the remains of the critter who had not been there the night before. 

As unsettling as that was, we were glad that we didn't have to worry about the mouse anymore. 

That evening however, as we three were settled in for a quiet evening after a very full day adventuring, it became clear that there wasn't just one mouse.  Our initial gasp sent it scurrying away again, through a hole in the wall that went into the room that I had slept in the night before.  While the guys were in there trying to find it, another mouse crossed the room.  He went right to the mousetrap, moved it several inches, and ... honestly, I don't remember what happened to him after that. 

Except that it wasn't THAT.  Not yet. 

The guys put a wine cork in a hole in the floor right under the bed I had slept in.  They put a water bottle in the wall where he had gone through.   Nonetheless, I was not going to sleep in that room again.  No, I laid claim to the top bunk in the other room.  Even then, it took a while to quit imagining that I was hearing scurrying sounds.   I'm not actually sure that I was imagining,  but it was the only way I was going to be able to sleep, so let's just leave it at that. 

Those imagined sounds may have been preferable to the loud whack we all heard an hour or so later.  Being dutiful men, the guys went out to check and sure enough, THAT had happened.  Two mice down. 

In the morning, I walked to the office and quietly complained.  I explained that they didn't have one mouse, they had a mouse infestation.  We knew of at least three.  I explained about the hole in the floor, the thought that they were coming in under the kitchen sink, the unfortunate task the guys had of removing not one, but two mice.  I suggested that they give Dave a significant refund. 

After explaining that they'd had an appointment with an exterminator who didn't show up, that they really thought there was only one (and a few other excuses that I really wasn't letting her get away with), the manager asked me what I thought would be reasonable. 

"Look", I said, "I'm a fifty-year old woman who spent the night on the top bunk for pete's sake.  FREE sounds good to me, but since we did use your linens I'll leave it to your sense of honour." 

It's only because she completely refunded us for the two nights that I am not saying where that cabin is. She did her best to make it right, she promised not to rent the cabin again until the problem was fixed.  They don't deserve the negative publicity. 

But they don't deserve positive publicity either.   

In fact, I'd just like to forget about them altogether. 

The castle called again

It's become a bit of a pilgrimage.  Long-time friends, newer friends, and friends-yet-to-be await me at the castle.  Each June we gather, tell stories, invent characters, laugh at our follies, learn from our mentors.

This year was the same, but better. God breathes life into the sandstone sculptures around the castle, dances with them in the morning light, sharpens them during the brightness of the midday sun and when evening comes, softens them with clouds bogging goodnight.

Every year, Angie--sweet, humble, gentle, precise Angie--cries because her heart is so full.  She teaches honestly and without apology.  She is a gem of a woman, and this year I grew to love her more.

Every year, Nancy--lovely, funny and oh so wise Nancy--stands up and provides backup to the theme song for the year.  She wanted to be a backup singer for the Supremes in another life.  She is fearless. She intentionally spends time with people, engaged and focused.  It isn't easy, and she does it with grace.

And every year, Kathy--quiet, nature loving, hike the hills Kathy--speaks from her heart the profound truths she learns on her walks.   She gives of herself in 20 minute bursts of brilliance.  Everyone who spends this one-on-one time with her walks away with something they can apply to their writing immediately.  She grasps concepts and story lines with astonishing speed.   She zeros in on weaknesses and strengths, and she does it all with such humility and kindness.

There are others, of course.  Mark who was my mentor this year.   Sue, who first invited me there.  Lee, who made me smile just by walking in the room.  Amy and her mom.  Kay and Loretta.  These are my people,  my friends.

I almost didn't go this year.  I literally decided to at the last minute.  For me, it was the best year yet.  I've learned that I belong at this place, with these people, learning these things, sharing these dreams and hurts and challenges.   The last thing we do as a group is sing "You are important to me.  I need you to survive".  We hug, we cry, we say "see you next time."   I am inspired and encouraged.  I am blessed.


As I was preparing this post yesterday, a fire broke out in Colorado Springs.  Our beloved castle has been evacuated, and I am so grateful that everyone is safe.  The fire though--2500 acres, zero containment--seeks to devour more.  One of the saddest things for me to read on twitter last night was "deer and other wildlife running in a panic through the forest".

I am praying for the people of Colorado today, and especially for my Glen Eyrie.  You are important to me. I need you to survive.

Eight years, day four

It is kind of sad to be leaving our getaway place.  I am not about to give up one last go in the massage tub, so I start my day with a glorious hour there. To my surprise (but not to Martin's) I actually fall asleep!   As I am drying my hair, Martin comes to get me.

"Hurry or you'll miss them", he says so I come out with hair all askew and he takes me to the balcony and points across the lake.  Two deer are crossing the ice and it is breathtakingly beautiful.  I care not that my hair is every which way and that it's probably not going to get a lot prettier than that.  I grab my camera and watch.

They are tentative, slipping here and there.  Sometimes, I hear a loud cracking sound, and I realize that it is the ice responding to them.  It has been warmer than usual, and the ice is not very thick.  We comment that we hope they will not fall in.   One tentatively gets a few feet ahead of the other, and then returns to make sure his buddy is okay.  It is still early; the fog had lifted just an hour before so everything was in silhouette.  Step. Stumble.  Crack. Pray. Check.

We watch them for the better part of a half hour.  Reaching the bank, they bound over a shrub and disappear as though nothing of importance has just happened.

***************

Two weeks have passed since that day.  I watch the video, look at the pictures.  They are grainy because of the low light, a bit blurry because I didn't use a tripod.  They certainly wouldn't factor in any photography contest.

As a life lesson though, they couldn't be more perfect.

Step.  Stumble.  Crack.  Pray.  Check.

Eight years, day three

There was much for me to be excited about for day three.  Ever since I was small, I have loved sleigh rides (even though once, for my birthday I was chasing after it and tripped in a hoof print and smashed my nose on the wagon).  I had wanted one for our wedding, but we just couldn't make it work, and in the end it was just as well because the temperature with the wind chill had been in the -40C area.

Brilliant Julien (from the hotel) helped me find a place for the ride, and we chose Ferme Duquette near Val-David.   Martin asked what we were doing, and I tossed out that we were zip-lining, but I am not sure he heard me say that I was totally lying, so I suspect he was a wee bit nervous as I made him drive 45 minutes away from the hotel.   The weather could not have been more perfect but I made sure that we had warm (if somewhat mismatched) clothes.

The two horses were gorgeous (Belgians I think), and oh how beautifully they were trained!  A click or a whisper from the driver was all it took for them to do his bidding.   Bundled up in the back, we drove right past the amusing WOAH sign, and into the forest.  The horses were so familiar with the 5 km sleigh-only trail and seemed to know instinctively when to speed up in order to crest the hill.   Consequently, the ride was smooth as  chocolate mousse. The swoosh of the runners was accompanied by the delicate clicks and trills of chickadees.  The gang of flirty woodpeckers were a surprise because I always thought they were solitary birds.   It was bright and crisp, but we were warm enough under the blankets.  We smiled, the whole way.

We got a bit lost on the drive home because the instructions I printed from google for the back roads had street names that didn't match, and the GPS couldn't pick up a signal.  It was all part of the adventure, but that is when I started to get cold.  With only a half tank of gas, in a rural area of Quebec where it can be a bit more difficult to understand the colloquial French, we did not want to get truly lost.    So we backtracked a bit, picked up the highway again and returned to the hotel.  It didn't take long to get warmed through with the massage tub and the fireplace!  We followed that up by more reading out loud (get that book, please).

A more perfect day cannot be imagined!

Eight years, day two

It was cloudy and grey on our anniversary.  We awoke to ice fog on the lake, and a chill in the room since the fire had gone out.  This was quickly remedied by a hot shower followed by a leisurely coffee in the restaurant.   The continental breakfast that greeted us did so with baskets of croissants and chocolatines-that-had-absolutely-no-calories-or-guilt-attached,  colourful bowls of berries, and plates of salty, sharp or creamy cheeses.  House granola and thick yogurt rounded out the buffet table but we could also order from the menu.  My buckwheat crepes were beautifully presented with a confetti of finely diced fruit salad and a shiny drizzle of honey.  It was a lovely way to begin the day.  We talked about what it was like, 8 years ago:  how people in our church adopted us and made it special, how bitterly cold it had been, how much fun it was to have Amy and Brodie as the flower girl and ring bearer.  We talked too about what we would do to celebrate our 25th and our 50th.  Dreaming, appreciating, loving the moment.

The cabriolet took us to the top of the mountain afterwards, making it easy to poke through stores as we meandered back down.  It was too foggy to go to the summit, but we did enjoy watching the skiers come down in lyrical fashion  (I never had that kind of grace when I tried to ski.  I was the girl who forgot that you're supposed to swerve left, swerve right on the way down.  True to form, I chose the most direct approach straight down the hill, with less than desirable results).

The stores at Mt. Tremblant are expensive, but there are some lovely things to look at.  We however, limited our purchases to the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Company, where we indulged in chocolate covered strawberries.  Quite accidentally, they have become another anniversary tradition and we took a half dozen to go.

We   I decided that we were going to indulge in one of the spa services that the hotel offers.  We  I chose a couples massage, right in front of our fireplace in the room.   We  I chose the music (The 6 Suites for Solo Cello, Antonio Janigro) and we  I loved every single moment.  There is nothing so wonderful, in our my opinions as a person who really understands muscles and tension, and more importantly, how to relieve them.  We I gave in and relaxed as many muscles as would give their permission. ***

Afterwards we sat in front of the fire, each of us reading.  There is something comforting about experiencing each other's quiet and being okay with  it.

Every year for our anniversary we enjoy a tasting menu so of course we knew that there was a great meal to look forward to.   We were surprised however to be taken through the kitchen into a small round room. Our dinner was going to be completely private, lit by candles in each of the windows while we looked out on snowy paths warmed by lanterns and white lit trees.  We listened to familiar jazz melodies sung beautifully in French, and our meal was delightful.  We started with stuffed mushrooms, a salmon tartar sushi-style roll, and a perfect scallop with the most whimsical presentation.  It was followed with a barley risotto, then grilled fish on grilled salad.  The dessert was a Neapolitan Trio:  mini chocolate lava cake, strawberry sorbet, a white chocolate stick and a smear of caramel.

It was a quiet day.  I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.


***it is entirely possible that HE did not enjoy it as much as SHE did.  

Eight years, day one

I find myself quite surprised that it is already the end of January (okay, it's February, but it WAS January when I wrote this, honest).  How did that happen?  Eight years have gone by since our wedding, and often I wonder how that happened too.  It was my year to plan the surprise, and Martin seems to be quite pleased.  Last year, he completely spoiled me with an abundance of spa services but he really doesn't enjoy much of that sort of thing.  My goal then was to find something to appeal to him.

My first plan was to take us someplace warm where he could enjoy MacWorld.  I'd been working on that idea for two years, but had to let it go.  Instead I looked for a lake, a fireplace, someplace to walk to and an awesome dinner.  I have to say that it worked out brilliantly, and everything I wanted to be a surprise was.

We drove to Mt. Tremblant and stayed at the marvellous Quintessence.  We were greeted warmly at the door by Eric, who quickly took our luggage and ushered us inside.  Julien, who helped me plan the week, met us and we were checked in within moments.   I never expected the hotel room to be so lovely, and particularly to have so much room since space on the ski hill is at a premium, and that is reflected in the sizes of, well, everything. Restaurants might only seat twenty, hotel rooms are typically the type where you will surely stub your toe because everything is so cramped.  Eric lit the fire while we explored it all. We had both a patio door and a window overlooking the lake, and it was quiet and serene in spite of the many people on the ski hill itself.   Our room featured a huge massage tub, and a massive shower and I couldn't wait to try out either one.

A half hour or so after our arrival, we were presented with two welcoming plates.  The first was an assortment of fine Quebec cheeses, fruit and crostini.  The second held the largest prawns I'd ever seen, as well as house smoked trout and crab claws. It didn't take us long at all to settle in front of the fire and thoroughly enjoy it all.

The mild weather this year was a pleasant surprise, since all the other years it has been bitterly cold.   The moment I said that out loud, however, Martin warned me to be quiet in case I jinxed it.  Not ten minutes later, we were met with freezing rain and I think that is actually colder than -30C.  Then the wind picked up, and we were grateful thate only had a block or so to travel to find restaurant choices for dinner.  The pizza place won out, mostly because it was the closest.

It wouldn't have mattered if we had found any food at all.  We had found a peaceful place to just be together for awhile.  There were no demands on either of us, and it could not have been more perfect.

Just ahead of Irene

We went on our mostly-annual camping trip with Dave a few weeks ago, venturing to Lake Champlain, Vermont and then to the North Conway area in New Hampshire.  We left the area the day they evacuated our campground in preparation for hurricane Irene.

It was a week of beauty and reflection, and one of the things that I loved was watching my husband.  I am a big challenge, and one of the challenges that I brought with me was a best-guy friend.  What I love about them both is that they found a way to become friends to each other, in ways that have little to do with me.  So, in addition to beauty and reflection, I was outnumbered and we did guy-things, like take the clog train up a mountain.  Great view, freezing cold because of the driving wind, two men interested in how-things-work, and me tagging along.

We hiked one day to Ripley Falls. Let me just say that this was not a hike we should have been on, but not a one of us wanted to quit.  We just weren't prepared for the rocks and the twigs and the crazy ways
the path twisted.  I should clarify too that I am not really a hiker.  True hiking requires stamina and flexibility and endurance that I didn't have that week.  The guys didn't either, but I haven't yet heard them admit it.  They would just chalk it up to women being "weaker".  I'll let them.   Still the reward at the top was so pretty.  Worth every stupid obstacle.

The area surrounding North Conway is moose territory.  Yeah right.  There were road signs promising moose sightings (didn't you know that thousands were hit every year by unsuspecting motorists?).  There is even a tour company offering a 97% moose-sighting guarantee.  In a week's time, we saw...one.  The husband has finally seen a moose that isn't in a zoo.  Success!

We camped by a swift moving river, the Saco.  I had expected to see more wildlife by the river, I admit.  However, it was only about the third day or so that I realized there were campsites lining both banks.  Not a lot of room for deer.  But then, not a lot of deer either.  We did however see signs of a raccoon who had come to drink out of our bucket.

One of the best days happened by complete surprise.  We stopped just to see a pond for moment, en route to get some of the best ice cream ever.  Thorne's Pond is a tranquil spot, and as we walked around we realized that there was a group of otter fishing.   I'd never seen them in the wild before and they were just the light hearted fun we needed.  They are quite the acrobats, and even a little bit cheeky.  One of them stood up and barked at me when he realized I was taking his picture without permission.  We liked them so much that we stopped again the next day.


There was a very sweet moment for me on this trip.  They guys were doing the dishes and I walked down to the river, wanting to watch the sun set.  I thought that I would be there alone, but it seems that half the campground was there--all buddies who dragged down their lawn chairs and formed the "sunset club".  These are, I think, people who spend their summers in their motor homes, something that my mom wanted to do in her retirement.  They formed a semicircle, chatted with each other and watched the sun close out the day.  Then they walked up the hill with their chairs, promising to do it again tomorrow. It was a lovely thing to witness.

I have come to believe that traditions are important, and this week-a-year is one of ours.  It's the only time we play kuuduk, and it is the best time to talk.    There's only one thing we'll change for next year...I'm making the grilled cheese.