A Few Other Recent Photos
Friday, March 06, 2009
Thursday, March 05, 2009
More Cross Border Thoughts
Although we are probably more similar than different, I have been reminded of another difference between Americans and Canadians if the two versions of the Idol shows are anything indication; and, I'm the first to admit that they may not be. Still, permit me to make my little observation, and please stop rolling your eyes at my Idol mention, for this post is not about Idol but a thought that I began to consider while I was watching the program this week. I'll put it out there and see if any might either agree or disagree with me.
At least one person was criticized for her inadequate clothing sense, and at least one was complimented for the reverse. Notice, I said, "At least," for it may have been more; I simply wasn't paying strict and close attention at the time. My point is that it's certainly not an uncommon critique offered by the judges. I thought to myself, "That [critiquing clothing] doesn't happen on Canadian Idol." Frankly, if the American judges could see how many Canadian contestants garbed themselves, they would be almost certain to ... I dunno ... at least gasp or shudder, I suppose.
Beyond clothing, lies the appearance aspect in general. Canadian Idol contestants seems to come in all shapes and sizes, some not terribly pretty. But as I looked at all 36 American contestants that were assembled on stage on Wednesday night, what I saw looking back at me were three dozen, pretty good-looking kids. While I might not be the best equipped to rate the guys, let me tell you that a great many of the ladies were extremely attractive with flawless hair, sparkling eyes and teeth, and slim, appealing bodies. In other words and for the most part, American Idol tends (please note the qualifier) to choose the kids who seem to be groomed (so to speak) for the star part. While I realize there are some exceptions from time to time, I would argue that those exceptions prove the rule.
Let's face it, generally speaking, one does have to look pretty good to make it on the American music scene. In fact, I tend to believe that the look must usually precede the talent. Have a gander at almost any young musical artist and then tell me it isn't true. So, I suppose American Idol is doing the right thing in a way by being conscious of appearance. I'm not saying that Americans do it wrong or that we Canadians do it right. All I'm saying is that we seem to do it a bit differently. I am suggesting that in some way, the two shows reveal a difference between the values of the two cultures, which, I hasten to add, on a world scale are more alike than different.
At least one person was criticized for her inadequate clothing sense, and at least one was complimented for the reverse. Notice, I said, "At least," for it may have been more; I simply wasn't paying strict and close attention at the time. My point is that it's certainly not an uncommon critique offered by the judges. I thought to myself, "That [critiquing clothing] doesn't happen on Canadian Idol." Frankly, if the American judges could see how many Canadian contestants garbed themselves, they would be almost certain to ... I dunno ... at least gasp or shudder, I suppose.
Beyond clothing, lies the appearance aspect in general. Canadian Idol contestants seems to come in all shapes and sizes, some not terribly pretty. But as I looked at all 36 American contestants that were assembled on stage on Wednesday night, what I saw looking back at me were three dozen, pretty good-looking kids. While I might not be the best equipped to rate the guys, let me tell you that a great many of the ladies were extremely attractive with flawless hair, sparkling eyes and teeth, and slim, appealing bodies. In other words and for the most part, American Idol tends (please note the qualifier) to choose the kids who seem to be groomed (so to speak) for the star part. While I realize there are some exceptions from time to time, I would argue that those exceptions prove the rule.
Let's face it, generally speaking, one does have to look pretty good to make it on the American music scene. In fact, I tend to believe that the look must usually precede the talent. Have a gander at almost any young musical artist and then tell me it isn't true. So, I suppose American Idol is doing the right thing in a way by being conscious of appearance. I'm not saying that Americans do it wrong or that we Canadians do it right. All I'm saying is that we seem to do it a bit differently. I am suggesting that in some way, the two shows reveal a difference between the values of the two cultures, which, I hasten to add, on a world scale are more alike than different.
Yankees and Canuckleheads
Let's face it, Americans are very good at many things; count selling or merchandising among them.
Last week I visited two big computer-electronic stores: Future Shop and Best Buy. The two stores stand almost side-by-side, but I walked into Best Buy first. There was a door-greeter who told me where to go — in a very nice way — and as we meandered about, we were also helped twice by salespeople on the floor. It wasn't difficult to get their attention; Cuppa didn't even have to bat her eyelashes. However, when I couldn't find exactly what I wanted, we headed over to Future Shop where there was no door-greeter; neither was there anyone who felt urge to help us as we wandered about aimlessly. We soon departed — more than somewhat ticked off.
One strange thing about it is that, supposedly, Future Shop employees work off sales commissions, but Best Buy's people don't. Wouldn't one, therefore, expect those on commission to try harder? Another strange thing is that both stores are owned by the same company. At least they now are. The difference, in this writer's most humble opinion, is that Future Shop began as a Canadian company, and Best Buy has always been an American company. Therefore, they have different cultures, the American store emphasizing service and the originally Canadian one being more stand-offishly Canadian.
I remember Dale mentioning something similar when he was building a deck (I think that's what it was). He tried his best to do business with the Canadian, Rona, but was unable to make much headway. Rona simply wasn't as friendly, accommodating or competitive as the American, Home Depot. To be fair, Dale also rails against the American-style management of his former employer; no system is perfect, eh?
This isn't exactly a newly minted coin, for almost two centuries ago, Canadian author, Thomas Chandler Haliburton, created a character called Sam Slick. As his name at least partially suggests, Sam was a slick, door-to-door salesman: a Yankee salesman who preyed on humble Nova Scotians. To be sure, Haliburton was satirizing both Americans and Canadians in his short stories. Nevertheless, the American knew how to sell; he could even appear friendly ion order to accomplish this.
We used to live in a border town and were able to cross over fairly easily to Port Huron on the American side. I can recall the friendliness and helpfulness that I was offered in the American shops totally taking me aback — in a good way — although anything can be overdone, and sometimes one just likes to browse unimpeded. That was awhile ago, and since then, I have noticed that Canadian retaillers have generally improved customer service. However, in some cases at least, it appears that they/we still have a long way to go. Meanwhile, however, as in Sam Slick's era, Yankees can still teach Canuckleheads a thing or two about relating to their customers.
Last week I visited two big computer-electronic stores: Future Shop and Best Buy. The two stores stand almost side-by-side, but I walked into Best Buy first. There was a door-greeter who told me where to go — in a very nice way — and as we meandered about, we were also helped twice by salespeople on the floor. It wasn't difficult to get their attention; Cuppa didn't even have to bat her eyelashes. However, when I couldn't find exactly what I wanted, we headed over to Future Shop where there was no door-greeter; neither was there anyone who felt urge to help us as we wandered about aimlessly. We soon departed — more than somewhat ticked off.
One strange thing about it is that, supposedly, Future Shop employees work off sales commissions, but Best Buy's people don't. Wouldn't one, therefore, expect those on commission to try harder? Another strange thing is that both stores are owned by the same company. At least they now are. The difference, in this writer's most humble opinion, is that Future Shop began as a Canadian company, and Best Buy has always been an American company. Therefore, they have different cultures, the American store emphasizing service and the originally Canadian one being more stand-offishly Canadian.
I remember Dale mentioning something similar when he was building a deck (I think that's what it was). He tried his best to do business with the Canadian, Rona, but was unable to make much headway. Rona simply wasn't as friendly, accommodating or competitive as the American, Home Depot. To be fair, Dale also rails against the American-style management of his former employer; no system is perfect, eh?
This isn't exactly a newly minted coin, for almost two centuries ago, Canadian author, Thomas Chandler Haliburton, created a character called Sam Slick. As his name at least partially suggests, Sam was a slick, door-to-door salesman: a Yankee salesman who preyed on humble Nova Scotians. To be sure, Haliburton was satirizing both Americans and Canadians in his short stories. Nevertheless, the American knew how to sell; he could even appear friendly ion order to accomplish this.
We used to live in a border town and were able to cross over fairly easily to Port Huron on the American side. I can recall the friendliness and helpfulness that I was offered in the American shops totally taking me aback — in a good way — although anything can be overdone, and sometimes one just likes to browse unimpeded. That was awhile ago, and since then, I have noticed that Canadian retaillers have generally improved customer service. However, in some cases at least, it appears that they/we still have a long way to go. Meanwhile, however, as in Sam Slick's era, Yankees can still teach Canuckleheads a thing or two about relating to their customers.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Silly Camping
(2. Slept under the stars ... not quite ... part 5 ... The Finale!)
Two years after Eastward Aye, we embarked on our next and, doubtless, final camping trip. After having travelled through some of Northern Ontario on our Westward Ho several years previously, Cuppa and I had wanted to drive the beautiful North of Superior route once again. At the same time, our Althegal had decided to hop on her old, beater bicycle and begin pedaling home from northern Saskatchewan. While Althegal had designs to go a long way in this fashion, Cuppa and I realized, from having previously driven the roads of the Canadian Shield in Northern Ontario, that cycling would be problematic. Ergo, we decided to kill two birds with one stone — visit up there once again and also pick up daughter at some undefined spot, possibly Thunder Bay.
As it turned out, after braving Prairie winds and rain but, nevertheless, making it through Saskatchewan, Althegal decided throw herself, her bicycle and the bike-trailer that she had been pulling into the bus after she crossed the border into Manitoba. When she found the Manitoba roads to be less bicycle-friendly than the Saskatchewan roads, she decided that, after one week, she had pedalled quite enough, thank you very much. Wisdom prevailed, and she took the bus into Winnipeg.
So it was that Cuppa and I decided to hurry along to Winnipeg. It was further than we had intended to go and took us two, long days of travel from where we had spent a night in Sault Ste Marie. However, we didn't really mind because we had seen a bit of the city several years previously (on our Westward Ho) and rather liked it — possibly because we had stayed in a motel, eaten in restaurants, and rested from travelling and camping.
After meeting up with Althegal and spending two nights in Winnipeg, we decided to go camping. Unfortunately, this was not destined to be one of our better camping experiences — to put it mildly. Fortunately, we had purchased a waterproof tent since our previous, Eastward Aye, trip: fortunate indeed, for it rained — a lot! We should have known what was to come when a local mentioned that they had been enduring a drought out there. I think it started to drizzle, lightly, almost the very moment the declaration was made, and, once we pitched the tent, it hardly stopped.
It rained in Manitoba's, Whiteshell Provincial Park; it rained on our drive from Whiteshell to Sioux Narrows, and it rained for most of the three days we spent at Sioux Narrows Provincial Park. One day, while camping at Sioux Narrows, we took a side trip to, appropriately enough, Rainy River, a very small town on the Ontario-Michigan (also near Minnesota) border. It rained most of that day too. Eventually, we left Sioux Narrows a day early, hoping to dry out in Thunder Bay for a night before heading to Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Yes, we still intended to camp because, surely, the rain would soon abate (hah!). In order have any chance of packing the car in the rain, we drove our stuff over to the pavillion where we sorted it before stuffing it in. How happy and warm we look (below — we have spread our stuff onto four tables and probably some that weren't in the camera frame — Cuppa and I tend not to travel light).
Of course, it rained almost all the way on our day long drive to Thunder Bay. Although it wasn't raining in the photo (taken form the travelling car), it gives you an idea of what we faced on that drive.
Well, we did get to Thunder Bay, and we did dry both ourselves and our stuff out, by spreading it all over the hotel room. However, the morning's forecast was still bleak, so we cancelled our plans to stay at Sleeping Giant and began the trip home: day one to Sault Ste Marie, and day two to Sarnia, through Michigan.
At least, Cuppa and I had remained dry in our new tent (I'm backtracking a little now), and although Althegal wasn't as fortunate in hers, she did have a lovely spot at Sioux Narrows on a little peninsula jutting out into the lake (see photo below). That night (after that photo), however, the flood in her tent reduced her appreciation of the site just a tad, for the storm blew in off the lake like a runaway freight train. I kid you not, I've never heard the like. It lasted for about ten minutes, and when it abated (although the rain didn't stop) I shouted out to see if my daughter was still there or washed away (I'm actually being serious — I was that concerned. She yelled back that she was fine ... although she was forced to spend much to the night baling water as it continued to pour.
It was on the next chilly morning between rain showers as we shivered and shook over a cold camp breakfast that Althegal came up with the memorable line that will endure in family history when she, through chattering teeth, exclaimed, "This is silly camping."
It's too bad because it was absolutely beautiful up there on Lake of the Woods as the small panorama below should indicate. Please note the cloud however, even though we were in another brief precipitation interval.
Now, you can relax and rejoice, for AC is done with his camping recollections. Hmmm ... must have some baby pictures lying about ...
Two years after Eastward Aye, we embarked on our next and, doubtless, final camping trip. After having travelled through some of Northern Ontario on our Westward Ho several years previously, Cuppa and I had wanted to drive the beautiful North of Superior route once again. At the same time, our Althegal had decided to hop on her old, beater bicycle and begin pedaling home from northern Saskatchewan. While Althegal had designs to go a long way in this fashion, Cuppa and I realized, from having previously driven the roads of the Canadian Shield in Northern Ontario, that cycling would be problematic. Ergo, we decided to kill two birds with one stone — visit up there once again and also pick up daughter at some undefined spot, possibly Thunder Bay.
As it turned out, after braving Prairie winds and rain but, nevertheless, making it through Saskatchewan, Althegal decided throw herself, her bicycle and the bike-trailer that she had been pulling into the bus after she crossed the border into Manitoba. When she found the Manitoba roads to be less bicycle-friendly than the Saskatchewan roads, she decided that, after one week, she had pedalled quite enough, thank you very much. Wisdom prevailed, and she took the bus into Winnipeg.
So it was that Cuppa and I decided to hurry along to Winnipeg. It was further than we had intended to go and took us two, long days of travel from where we had spent a night in Sault Ste Marie. However, we didn't really mind because we had seen a bit of the city several years previously (on our Westward Ho) and rather liked it — possibly because we had stayed in a motel, eaten in restaurants, and rested from travelling and camping.
After meeting up with Althegal and spending two nights in Winnipeg, we decided to go camping. Unfortunately, this was not destined to be one of our better camping experiences — to put it mildly. Fortunately, we had purchased a waterproof tent since our previous, Eastward Aye, trip: fortunate indeed, for it rained — a lot! We should have known what was to come when a local mentioned that they had been enduring a drought out there. I think it started to drizzle, lightly, almost the very moment the declaration was made, and, once we pitched the tent, it hardly stopped.
It rained in Manitoba's, Whiteshell Provincial Park; it rained on our drive from Whiteshell to Sioux Narrows, and it rained for most of the three days we spent at Sioux Narrows Provincial Park. One day, while camping at Sioux Narrows, we took a side trip to, appropriately enough, Rainy River, a very small town on the Ontario-Michigan (also near Minnesota) border. It rained most of that day too. Eventually, we left Sioux Narrows a day early, hoping to dry out in Thunder Bay for a night before heading to Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. Yes, we still intended to camp because, surely, the rain would soon abate (hah!). In order have any chance of packing the car in the rain, we drove our stuff over to the pavillion where we sorted it before stuffing it in. How happy and warm we look (below — we have spread our stuff onto four tables and probably some that weren't in the camera frame — Cuppa and I tend not to travel light).
Of course, it rained almost all the way on our day long drive to Thunder Bay. Although it wasn't raining in the photo (taken form the travelling car), it gives you an idea of what we faced on that drive.
Well, we did get to Thunder Bay, and we did dry both ourselves and our stuff out, by spreading it all over the hotel room. However, the morning's forecast was still bleak, so we cancelled our plans to stay at Sleeping Giant and began the trip home: day one to Sault Ste Marie, and day two to Sarnia, through Michigan.
At least, Cuppa and I had remained dry in our new tent (I'm backtracking a little now), and although Althegal wasn't as fortunate in hers, she did have a lovely spot at Sioux Narrows on a little peninsula jutting out into the lake (see photo below). That night (after that photo), however, the flood in her tent reduced her appreciation of the site just a tad, for the storm blew in off the lake like a runaway freight train. I kid you not, I've never heard the like. It lasted for about ten minutes, and when it abated (although the rain didn't stop) I shouted out to see if my daughter was still there or washed away (I'm actually being serious — I was that concerned. She yelled back that she was fine ... although she was forced to spend much to the night baling water as it continued to pour.
It was on the next chilly morning between rain showers as we shivered and shook over a cold camp breakfast that Althegal came up with the memorable line that will endure in family history when she, through chattering teeth, exclaimed, "This is silly camping."
It's too bad because it was absolutely beautiful up there on Lake of the Woods as the small panorama below should indicate. Please note the cloud however, even though we were in another brief precipitation interval.
Now, you can relax and rejoice, for AC is done with his camping recollections. Hmmm ... must have some baby pictures lying about ...
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Our Eastward Aye
(2. Slept under the stars ... not quite ... part 4)
The year after Westward Ho, we headed in the opposite direction on our Eastward Aye adventure, which I also turned into a web page. By then, I knew a little bit more about constructing web pages but still not a lot. However, I think it looks passable, even after these many years.
On our previous trip, we had at least set foot in all of the western provinces: Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and British Columbia. Now, it was time to visit the Maritimes: New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Nova Scotia. After this trip, we had visited all provinces except Newfoundland. Fortunately, east is a lot closer to Ontario than west, and after stopping in Ottawa (from Sarnia) for a night, we were able to reach New Brunswick fairly easily within a day.
While the west was large and magnificent, especially the Rocky Mountains, which thrilled me to pieces, I found the east to be charming and pleasant with ocean everywhere. We camped in New Brunswick's Bay of Fundy National Park, saw the tide come in and walked on the ocean floor at Hopewell Rocks. Then, we moved onto Prince Edward Island where we managed to pitch our tent right on a spider nest in PEI National Park. I swam in the ocean for the first time in my life, (not bad considering it was getting on in September and I was the only fool in the water that day) and visited Anne's (of Green Gables) Land.
Finally, we headed off to Cape Breton Highlands National Park in Nova Scotia. We drove the Cabot Trail (several times), whale-watched, enjoyed a Sunday afternoon of fiddling at the Red Shoe Pub, and visited the old French fortress at Louisbourg. The camping went fairly well on this trip until we did encounter some rain towards the end. However, we had erected a canopy over the tent (see blue tarp in photo below), just in case; in retrospect it turned out to be a very good idea: better idea than we knew at the time.
For we didn't know that the tent was poorly designed and leaky. However, when we got back to Ontario, we headed to the cottage where we often slept in the tent right by the river rather than stay inside. It rained there too, but without a canopy the tent took in quite a bit of water. Fortunately, we had the house to revert to, so it was not a real problem.
But it did cause us to purchase a better tent, which turned out to be a very good thing ... in the following year.
Meanwhile, I am pasting in one entry from the Eastward Aye journal of our trip around the Cabot Trail.
Before I continue with my experiences almost under the stars, I include this side note for those who have been following the mouse tales. Also at the cottage, I had two encounters with the mice while driving the car. Oh yeah; it's true. Cuppa found the blog where she described those incidents. I'm sure you'll enjoy another good laugh at poor old AC.
The year after Westward Ho, we headed in the opposite direction on our Eastward Aye adventure, which I also turned into a web page. By then, I knew a little bit more about constructing web pages but still not a lot. However, I think it looks passable, even after these many years.
On our previous trip, we had at least set foot in all of the western provinces: Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and British Columbia. Now, it was time to visit the Maritimes: New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Nova Scotia. After this trip, we had visited all provinces except Newfoundland. Fortunately, east is a lot closer to Ontario than west, and after stopping in Ottawa (from Sarnia) for a night, we were able to reach New Brunswick fairly easily within a day.
While the west was large and magnificent, especially the Rocky Mountains, which thrilled me to pieces, I found the east to be charming and pleasant with ocean everywhere. We camped in New Brunswick's Bay of Fundy National Park, saw the tide come in and walked on the ocean floor at Hopewell Rocks. Then, we moved onto Prince Edward Island where we managed to pitch our tent right on a spider nest in PEI National Park. I swam in the ocean for the first time in my life, (not bad considering it was getting on in September and I was the only fool in the water that day) and visited Anne's (of Green Gables) Land.
Finally, we headed off to Cape Breton Highlands National Park in Nova Scotia. We drove the Cabot Trail (several times), whale-watched, enjoyed a Sunday afternoon of fiddling at the Red Shoe Pub, and visited the old French fortress at Louisbourg. The camping went fairly well on this trip until we did encounter some rain towards the end. However, we had erected a canopy over the tent (see blue tarp in photo below), just in case; in retrospect it turned out to be a very good idea: better idea than we knew at the time.
For we didn't know that the tent was poorly designed and leaky. However, when we got back to Ontario, we headed to the cottage where we often slept in the tent right by the river rather than stay inside. It rained there too, but without a canopy the tent took in quite a bit of water. Fortunately, we had the house to revert to, so it was not a real problem.
But it did cause us to purchase a better tent, which turned out to be a very good thing ... in the following year.
Meanwhile, I am pasting in one entry from the Eastward Aye journal of our trip around the Cabot Trail.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Our Westward Ho
(2. Slept under the stars ... not quite ... part 3)
This is one reason why I don't do well with memes. This is the third post on the second point of one hundred on the list. Can you imagine me attempting the whole meme? All one is supposed to do is to make bold the items on the list that you have completed. But, oh no, I have to do it my way.
I was a geography who didn't get to travel much, but nine years ago, we took our tiny, old Corolla thousands of miles out west. It was to be a long vacation, so one had to mind one's expenses; therefore, we did a lot of camping. We camped on the Canadian Shield and on the Prairies on the way out, and we camped in the Rocky Mountains for about a week while we were out in Alberta.
I kept a journal and later, before the era of blogs, or at least before I knew about them, I turned my journal into my first website, Westward Ho, which, warts and all, is still online here. I didn't know what I was doing at the time, so it's not a great website, but what the heck, ite still works for the most part although better in Internet Explorer than Firefox.
I absolutely loved the trip, camping and all. In fact, camping was a large part of the experience. I'm almost a decade older now and am pretty sure that I wouldn't do it again, especially having a not-so-good experience since then, but it was super back then. It's rather amazing in a way when I contemplate it now, that a couple in their fifties would pack up an old little Corolla like we did and push it to the extreme, but we did it, and it was great.
Here is one entry cut and pasted from the website: nothing special, in fact badly written we a ton of "we dids" and "we wents" etc" — just what we did and saw on one particular day.
This is one reason why I don't do well with memes. This is the third post on the second point of one hundred on the list. Can you imagine me attempting the whole meme? All one is supposed to do is to make bold the items on the list that you have completed. But, oh no, I have to do it my way.
I was a geography who didn't get to travel much, but nine years ago, we took our tiny, old Corolla thousands of miles out west. It was to be a long vacation, so one had to mind one's expenses; therefore, we did a lot of camping. We camped on the Canadian Shield and on the Prairies on the way out, and we camped in the Rocky Mountains for about a week while we were out in Alberta.
I kept a journal and later, before the era of blogs, or at least before I knew about them, I turned my journal into my first website, Westward Ho, which, warts and all, is still online here. I didn't know what I was doing at the time, so it's not a great website, but what the heck, ite still works for the most part although better in Internet Explorer than Firefox.
I absolutely loved the trip, camping and all. In fact, camping was a large part of the experience. I'm almost a decade older now and am pretty sure that I wouldn't do it again, especially having a not-so-good experience since then, but it was super back then. It's rather amazing in a way when I contemplate it now, that a couple in their fifties would pack up an old little Corolla like we did and push it to the extreme, but we did it, and it was great.
Here is one entry cut and pasted from the website: nothing special, in fact badly written we a ton of "we dids" and "we wents" etc" — just what we did and saw on one particular day.
August 1: Camping at Lake Louise
.... I have now finished my cookie, moved into the sunshine, and it is still cool enough for me to pull on a sweatshirt. Except, as soon as I write that, the breeze dissipates, and I become a trifle warm. Regardless — back to the journal.
Since we had left the car packed for the most part after getting back t
With time on our hands, we decided to visit Yoho again. We found the Natural Bridge on the Kicking Horse River. It is simply a place where the torrent has pounded its way through the rock, but left and overhanging rock bridge (and semi-waterfall), and will, someday, become just a gorge or chasm.
Moraine Lake turned out to be very blue rather than the familiar turquoise of mountain lakes because it, for the most part, does not originate from glacial meltwater. The blues kept shifting, depending on the directness of the sunlight. What with all of the shifting and all of the damnable tourists, it was difficult to get any decent photos, but we tried.
After shopping for a bit, we drove back to our campsite and made more sandwiches. Of course, we had cookies and fudge too and a tin of mandarin oranges, which tasted pretty fantastic.
I almost forgot a pretty significant event that we only witnessed on tape. While we were touring in the afternoon, 
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Tenting to Escape the Mice
(2. Slept under the stars ... not quite ... part 2)
In continuing my version of the meme that I started in my previous post, I have another tenting experience to relate. I have to say "tenting" because it wasn't camping as such. It occurred more than twenty-five years ago, about a year after my close encounters with the mice, and, once again, it put me close to being under the stars. As with the previous post about camping in Algonquin Park, I thought that I had blogged about this before, but, once again, I can't find it. However, Cuppa related much of the hilarious background story in full detail in Mouse in the House.
My condensed version: mice were always a problem in Cuppa's parents cottage, which really should be called a cabin ... or shack. It was a primitive place with no plumbing. We'd go into town, which wasn't a town at all but just a tiny hamlet, with jugs to obtain drinking water, and we'd wash up in creek water, which was pretty clean but not potable. Both we and the kids were young, and we had a great time roughing it. But, as I said, the mice were always lurking ... which was okay as long as they left us alone. Well, I shouldn't say, "Okay," but we tolerated the situation in order to enjoy the general setting of a cabin in the forest by a lovely creek with a wonderful, little waterfall.
However, on one fateful night, I awoke to something crawling around in my pajamas, whereupon I leapt out of bed, slammed my legs against the door jamb on my wildly hysterical exit from the bedroom while rending my pajama top in a frenzy of terror. (You really should read Cuppa's full narrative.) My feelings for the place were never quite the same after that incident, but we did return the following summer — with our trusty tent this time.
You see, it was still a great spot, but none of us (meaning me, the chicken-livered one to whom they were most attracted) really wanted to share our beds with the mice, so we slept in the tent. We'd use the cottage/cabin during the day and do all of the holiday-ey, cottagy things that one does on vacation: basically laze, swim, read, and eat. However, come bedtime, the four of us would head out to our rodent-free tent and sleep blissfully, once again almost under the stars.
I slept much better not having to worry about trespassers in my jamies.
In continuing my version of the meme that I started in my previous post, I have another tenting experience to relate. I have to say "tenting" because it wasn't camping as such. It occurred more than twenty-five years ago, about a year after my close encounters with the mice, and, once again, it put me close to being under the stars. As with the previous post about camping in Algonquin Park, I thought that I had blogged about this before, but, once again, I can't find it. However, Cuppa related much of the hilarious background story in full detail in Mouse in the House.
My condensed version: mice were always a problem in Cuppa's parents cottage, which really should be called a cabin ... or shack. It was a primitive place with no plumbing. We'd go into town, which wasn't a town at all but just a tiny hamlet, with jugs to obtain drinking water, and we'd wash up in creek water, which was pretty clean but not potable. Both we and the kids were young, and we had a great time roughing it. But, as I said, the mice were always lurking ... which was okay as long as they left us alone. Well, I shouldn't say, "Okay," but we tolerated the situation in order to enjoy the general setting of a cabin in the forest by a lovely creek with a wonderful, little waterfall.
However, on one fateful night, I awoke to something crawling around in my pajamas, whereupon I leapt out of bed, slammed my legs against the door jamb on my wildly hysterical exit from the bedroom while rending my pajama top in a frenzy of terror. (You really should read Cuppa's full narrative.) My feelings for the place were never quite the same after that incident, but we did return the following summer — with our trusty tent this time.
You see, it was still a great spot, but none of us (meaning me, the chicken-livered one to whom they were most attracted) really wanted to share our beds with the mice, so we slept in the tent. We'd use the cottage/cabin during the day and do all of the holiday-ey, cottagy things that one does on vacation: basically laze, swim, read, and eat. However, come bedtime, the four of us would head out to our rodent-free tent and sleep blissfully, once again almost under the stars.
I slept much better not having to worry about trespassers in my jamies.
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