Top 10 reasons I love Buck Lake.

In no particular order, since I think that would require too much trickiness.

1. Just the sweetest, prettiest kitties. There is something special about these sisters, don’t know why, but they are just real peaceful and quiet and remind you about what really matters in life.

2. It was the first time this year I had to wear sunscreen! 🙂

3. A personal chef that loves food, and allows you to love food unabashedly and without complication.

4. The open window over your bed, cool clean crisp white sheets, and the soft breeze rustling through the huge trees.

5. Reading a whole novel from cover to cover over two days.

6. Neighbours that feel like part of the landscape, that are generous, and genuine.

7. No tv, no internet.

8. Shopping in little towns where time stands still.

9. The drive up is almost as pretty as where you end up: horses, cattle, sheep, flowers, lilacs for miles.

10. The kind of company that you’ll reflect on at death, and understand how privileged you were to experience it.

Solo Hike at Pink Lake

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So, as every young woman who has read Wild by Cheryl Strayed, I now feel the meaning of my life will come to me through hiking. So much so, I apporached the situation as any male would, and bought the $$ gear $$ before I had ever attempted a hike. All I knew is that I wanted Merrells, and I got them, and they’ve been sitting in a shoebox in my pseudo-closet for much too long.

Sunday afternoon rolls around and I figure hey, I’m alone and lonely, what better thing to do than commune with nature and feel as one with something larger than myself. I Google Map an area called Stony Swamp, drive south, and begin my walk. Wildflowers, check. Tall grasses check. Zillions of dogs…WTF. I had managed to go to Conroy Pit, which is 100% a dog park. Without a canine companion, I feel quite naked and strange, and am losing my confidence quickly. A red dog senses my weakness (as redheads are wont to do) and proceeds to maul me down one side as her owner chats with another dog owner about their precious companions, oblivious (as dog owners as wont to do).

So I boogie on out of there, dusting off my arms and wounded pride, and proceed to search for dog-less trails. This is hard to do in Ontario, so I end up going for Pink Lake, in Gatineau Park, which is one of the places I had been told to visit anyhow, so it was sort of destiny. As soon as I am on the trail, I see a little dog bum waddling up the hill. Dear Lord. As a perpetual rule-follower, I was agitated by the dog-walkers who had so clearly ignored the information I had relied on. I ended up right behind these two women with their dogs and to make matters worse, this fat old Bull Terrier couldn’t manage the stairs that were being asked of him. I was on a dog-free trail, seeking meaning in my existence, and was forced to slow, wait and stare at a struggling little dog bum.

This is heart-breaking as a dog owner of yesteryear. Seeing a little munchkin be asked by his selfish owner to climb one flight of stairs is one thing, but this was only the beginning of the trail, and there were many many more trails to be seen. She finally picked up the trembling little thing and started to carry him. I thought, this can’t be the plan, but it seemed to be until a park ranger came by and told them that dogs weren’t allowed on the trail. My hero! My rule-enforcing hero. I was able to sneak around the dog blockade and come to find the sweet spot on the path where I could pretend to be absolutely alone in the forest. It was very quiet and lush and still and green. I snapped many a photo, including ma piece de resistance, the turtle under the water. He practically posed for me on a rock.

All in all, very successful first hike.

New York City. FABULOUS!

Shamefully I haven’t posted anything in a month’s time. I guess I haven’t been feeling completely like myself for the last month. I am starting to turn around, tho, so back on board. I was in NYC this time last month, I guess that’s what triggered the ol’ noggin. In a place as exciting and glamourous as NYC, with all those fabulous people dashing around to thrilling places, why would I dare to write a blog about my own experiences?

I felt pretty teeny-tiny coming home to my little city and my little desk in the suburbs.

It got me thinking about how one might inject a little glamour into their everyday lives. I mean, obviously I don’t want to pack up and move to NYC, I love my life here and everything happens for a reason, but sometimes I do wish I could feel a little more cosmopolitan than I do. DP, bless his heart, isn’t always the most … debonair, and with the cottage now, all things city and cultural seem to fall completely beyond his radar. To my benefit, spending time with all of our Francophone neighbours means my confidence in my second language has skyrocketed, so that’s kind of ooh-la-la. In a Quebec kind of way.

It’s hard sometimes not to get caught up in the road less travelled. In Erik Eriksen’s 8 stages of development, the last stage is a conflict between integrity and despair. At the end of the road, you look back over your life. If you find lots of regret, you fill with despair, but if you find satisfaction, you know you lived your life with integrity and you can pass away peacefully.

Like, holy shit. I’m not sure I’ve felt satisfied ever in my life.

How in today’s world with all the choices we’re faced with, all the places we can visit and all the access and wealth we are offered, would we EVER, ever be able to tell what is the right path? I don’t know if a day goes by where I’m not, on some level, second-guessing everything. A peaceful brain, I have not. I suppose at the end of the day it’s not to make sure that we make the right choices, but to have faith in the choices we do make, since every journey is the journey, … etc. etc.

At the same time, I can’t help feeling I would have made a totally kick-ass Lindsay Lohan and that stupid woman threw it all away. Fame and stardom, here I come!!

Cabane a Sucre, Au Pied de Cochon.

We had the pleasure of being invited to Martin Picard’s Cabane a Sucre this weekend. This resto is very exclusive and people can wait years to secure a spot. I don’t know exactly how it works, but we were fortunate enough to go this past weekend and we were very excited. Not only were we going to a fancy brunch, but we were going to spend the afternoon with 4 lovely friends. We drove up to Mirabel, Quebec, full of wide-eyed anticipation. Some members of our party had a better sense what they were in for than the rest of us. Looking back, I suppose I should have had a better idea considering the man is famous for his use of the WHOLE animal, but I still only imagined that to be meat-related parts. This was not the case.

The server came to our table and explained we were to begin with dessert, then 4 apps, the 2 mains, and conclude with dessert. Would we like to begin with the special Sugar Shack beverages? Whiskey maple soda, yes please. Pitcher of red for me and DP, sure thing! Towering …. tower of fancy maple desserts, holy shit!! IPhones were flashing everywhere, pretty funny. There was maple cotton candy, maple doughnuts, sponge toffee, almond croissants, maple creme caramel, maple jack daniels shots…wow. We couldn’t stop eating and drinking, we felt like we were in Willy Wonka’s Maple Factory! We were already scheming how to get in again next year. Ther server returned to let us know about an extra course, a meat pie, with extras on it, foie gras, pulled pork, cheese! Would we like to shell out and get the extra? Why not, we said, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience!

How little did we know how true that was.

Next came the appetizers: a pancake, an omelette, an endive salad, some salmon. Pretty traditional sugar shack dishes, n’est-ce pas? What if I told you the pancake was covered in perfickkly HUGE pieces of foie and cottage cheese, the omelette was covered in veal brain, and the salad was full of gizzards and covered in pork rinds?

It was suddenly very warm in the dining hall. Some of our party had to walk around outside and get some air. I tried everything, because I said I would try everything, but the texture and flavour of brain just wasn’t sitting with me. I ate a couple hearts to ingest their power but the portions were so huge! I never could have eaten it all. Others took parts home; DP and I passed. I filled up on beer. DP related this course to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

Next the third course: a whole ham and half a rabbit, stuffed with lobster and foie. These mains were delicious, and recognizeable to the common person. It was difficult to continue eating at this point, we were so full and the smells were so heady and the air so warm, but we marched on. The resto was very thoughtful and brought around several to go dishes for all the tables, they knew what we were up against.

And finally dessert. Maple syrup taffy lay frozen on homemade ice cream. So delicious, so fanciful and reminiscent of being a child. Doesn’t get much better than this. This part of the dessert outshone the angel food cake chilled under glass with dry ice. This server took off the cover before anyone could get their IPhones ready: are you mad? Have you any idea what kind of cultre we live in? Even if we don’t enjoy everything we still need to brag about it?!

Afterwards, satiated to the point of bursting, we drove home, where we napped. I chose to spend my Saturday evening on the treadmill to combat the enormity of the first world experience I had just had. And what happened to that extra pie, you might ask? It went directly into a doggie bag, with promises the 6 of us will enjoy it a later date. I hope that time will come soon, or maybe never come at all, I still haven’t decided. All I know is that when it does come, dear God, someone bring a salad.

North Bay.

I’ve fallen terribly behind in my postings, and I’m somewhat disappointed in myself, but on the flip side, I’m still doing it so that’s a shock unto itself. I went to North Bay over a month ago and have planned to post it time and time again. Truth of the matter is I’ve had a few weeks of not being myself and so to post regularly would have been dull for the reader and weak as the writer. Since this blog is supposed to be about searching for meaning and self-improvement, it would be somewhat off-target and repetitive to write about partying and not going to the gym. That’s awesome. Anyhow, def starting to feel back on track so thought it would be nice to revisit a really lovely long weekend in February, back when we thought it was the end of winter and so we ought to enjoy it. Now we know better, but hindsight 20/20.

And yes, I had to post every picture of me catching a fish, because if you have ever caught a fish it is the most exhilarating feeling in the whole goddamn world. Every single time. And so every single picture is its own crowning moment in a series of crowning moments.

My mother was telling my grandfather (husband of the inspiration for this blog) about my ice fishing escapades and apparently he was super-impressed with my adventurism. I like scoring points with him because usually he is more excited about that fact that DP works with HIS hands, so it’s good to show him that I can work with MY hands too. He hadn’t seen the size of the fish I was catching when he first heard about it, though, so I’m sure the fact that we had to throw them back doesn’t bolster my reputation as a true outdoorsman. However, we do intend to do some serious fishing this summer up on the lakes around the cottage and I intend to kick some ass. My largest obstacle will be the sun, and my inability to be in the sun for long periods of time… maybe I’ll just wear a giant bedsheet around my shoulders.

Mont Tremblant.

This past weekend I went to Mont Tremblant in Quebec with 5 lovely friends. I planned the trip myself, I was interested in trying something new! I had never skiied before, and thought it would be a good healthy new activity to try. As Canadians, we need to find ways to enjoy the winter weather, since it comes, without fail, every year. Mont Tremblant had some decent deals so we decided to try it there. Little did I know that a Mont, in this case, truly means a mountain, a mother-f-ing mountain!!

I had a lesson on the Satuday morning, thank goodness. I was praying for a man with a mustache as my teacher, since some of the other instructors were young and fresh-faced and zippy. Not interested. I wanted a stereotypical man that meant business, and I lucked out with Brent. He has a mustache, but he didn’t mean business, though he was a great instructor. The first thing he said was that skiing was play for adults, and to never take it TOO seriously. Perfectionist that I am, I was grateful for permission to relax and have fun. I was the only Canadian in my group! We had people from Spain, Brazil, New York and Los Angeles. The morning passed quickly, I did fairly well, able to ski from the top to the bottom of the baby hill several times over. Hooray!

In the afternoon, we went on the mountain. My instructor had told me a specific run to use, and to take the chairlift up. My friends insisted we could access the same trail from the top of the mountain using the gondola. Sure, I said. Unbeknownst to us, the visibility was zero, the fog was thick and there was a literal traffic jam of bodies up there, all clamoring for their turn. Immediately, I was smoked by a snowboarder right across the noggin. Ouch! I probably fell every foot from there on in. I sent my friends up ahead, reticient of an audience, but DP stayed behind, as promised.

I tried and tried to ski at least a small expanse of mountain but struggled all the way. Getting up from having fallen down is an art unto itself! DP was very kind and patient, though I grew increasingly frustrated. At first I thought my tantrum was only maybe 10 minutes, but once I saw how long it took for us to get down the mountain, I realized it was probably much much longer than that. But, if you’ve ever been angry, you know you can only stay angry for a certain period of time, and soon I was laughing and fooling around, even though I continued to fall.

About half way down, we came across several signs that all said “WELCOME BEGINNERS!” and “SLOW DOWN!”. This was where my instructor had told me to start from the chairlift! What a relief. From there on in I was so so much better. I still fell, obviously, as a beginner, but I could tackle long stretches and practice my turns, and snowplow with a bit more strength and conviction. I skiied right out the end of that trail, no problem stopping at the end, no more crashes.

All in all, a great weekend. It sucks to suck at something but I guess it happens to everyone, although rarely to me (haha). I would like to go again and this time maybe not bite off more than I can chew and do the beginner portion of the run a few times, and build up my confidence. That’s the story of my first time skiing, but I am happy to report I do not expect it will be the last!

Montreal.

Had an incredible visit with my cousin and her son, and then later with some of my best friends. Saw some sights, had some delicious food and wine and champagne, to toast our group’s successes. The weather was surprisingly springlike, which was a real treat on top of everything else.

I hope everyone has the opportunity to visit |Montreal several, several times.