I thought I might be blown away at the beginning of this week. Literally. The wind on the waterfront was so intense that it felt like it might carry you off somewhere. And this picture hardly does justice to the beating this sailboat took…first one in the water at the marina south of the dog park. It bobbed and rolled but held strong while waves crashed higher than its mast along the break walls.
I read somewhere once that people who live near water are happier than those who don’t, possibly because our survival as a species has largely been tied to this resource–we need it to drink and to grow food, we used to need it to travel and explore. While I love the mountains, there is something about the water that suggests possibility, as if you could just pick up and leave for other parts of the world. And this little boat, tossing in the waves, would take you there.
Mike brought this home at the beginning of the week. Aside from being a delicious beer, it has a great label. I love the Muskoka Brewery. They make great beer and they always have something seasonal and interesting. This seems to be the only way we’ve really bought into the concept of “buying local.” We like beer from Amsterdam Brewery (just down the street), Mill Street (just across town), and Muskoka Brewery (just up the 400). Just doing our part to support the local economy…
It wouldn’t be my week unless there was at least one picture of Cooper. He’s become more and more affectionate as he’s grown older, which is probably connected to his becoming more and more spoiled (although we’ll consider it a chicken and egg situation). He likes to curl up next to us on the couch and give us the big eyes–first he climbs up, then circles, then drops down with his face on the pillows or on your lap and heaves the biggest woe-is-me sigh. Which, of course, gets him all the attention he wants. Because it’s true, you just can’t say no to those puppy dog eyes…and our Cooper dog knows it.
I had a whole glorious day to spend on the internets this week doing non-work-related things on the home iMac. I had forgotten how amazing the internet can be on a real computer, having gotten so used to using my iPhone because my laptop is lousy and Mike Last Photo likes to monopolize this glorious piece of technology. Like he bought it or something. Anyway, I finally managed to set up some things I’ve been contemplating for a while and I will look forward to introducing them in the next few weeks. Of course, I was also reminded how easy it is to waste a whole day when you have the internet on a computer. Catch-22, my friends.
Mike and I went to see “West Wind: the Vision of Tom Thomson” on Friday night, which left me longing for an adventure in the wilderness. I had a conversation with someone not so long ago about how people our age will never own cottages in the way that our parents or grandparents did (unless, of course, they’re passed down through the family) because it’s just too expensive now to buy lakefront property. Unless you go at least three hours outside of Toronto, which is too far for a weekend getaway for most of us.
Of course, farmland and a country house might still be accessible but, for anyone who grew up at a cottage on a lake, it isn’t the same. There is something about being able to run off the end of the dock and jump into the (usually cold) lake or pick up your paddle and head off on an adventure. There is a reason the Canadian identity is so tied to the canoe and the water and the woods.
In an effort to help Cooper shed some excess pounds while still making him feel full enough that he won’t destroy my belongings, we’ve added a bunch of vegetables to his meals only to discover that he doesn’t like spinach. In fact, I took this picture too early because 10 minutes later there were no carrots, no celery, nothing else left but the spinach, which he ate around or pulled out of the bowl and left on the hallway floor.
Clearly we’ve had different upbringings because at my house growing up you ate what was on your plate. In fact, so much so that when my parents recently purchased some composting worms (ew) and my mother chopped up some sort of orange or lemon peel to give them, my sister just about had a heart attack when my father stopped her with “THEY DON’T LIKE CITRUS, DEBBIE.” Apparently, these worms are picky eaters, much like the aforementioned sister who was totally taken aback because when we were growing up no one gave a shit whether or not we liked what was for dinner. Further proof that the world is going to the dogs. Or the worms.
And that’s how I saw the world this week. How was your week?