I said I wanted to go to Nova Scotia, and you said how wonderful but be advised it is much farther away than you think it is, and I said hmmmmmmmm.
Based upon that discussion Steve and I decided that we would fly to Halifax, rent a car, drive around for a bit and then head off to Vermont for our usual August week. I read all of your suggestions and made copious plans and even booked a hotel in Cape Breton before Steve said something like, my sweet treasure, you have, of course, made sure that we can rent a car in Canada but return it in the States? And I said, hmmmmmmmmm.
Do you know what it turns out you cannot actually do? That.
I mean you could because one car place (not Hertz or Enterprise... Avis maybe?) was willing to tell us how much it would cost and I am only exaggerating very slightly when I say it would have been cheaper to buy a used car in Canada and abandon it in Vermont; including whatever fines I assume the proud descendents of Ethan Allen associate with that sort of profligate behavior.
So that was not going to happen.
But I really wanted to go so I thought about it some more and finally said, "Road Trip!" meaning we would drive our own car to Nova Scotia through Montreal and Quebec and then scoot around The Maritimes before hitting Maine and Vermont.
Steve said he would see me in hell first. So we compromised on Halifax.
So tomorrow bright! and early! the children and I will be getting into the car and I will be driving us to Nova Scotia. Not all at once, of course, but gradually, over stages, no doubt stopping along the way to solve mysteries and soak up all that Canadian goodness. Oh and for the love of maple leaves would someone please tell me the name of that creamery restaurant on the Trans-Canada highway (who gently rebuked me all those years ago for calling it the Trans-Canadian; it makes me giggle) in Ontario. I think it was Ontario. It had the best blue cheese dressing I have ever tasted in my life and when we stopped there when Caroline and Edward were two (two? we must've been insane) one of the customers got up and went into the bus hole to get us some crayons, just because.
I will check in tomorrow night but in the meantime it occurred to me that I can also try Twitter. I got an account when we to the Grand Prix in June because I wanted to better follow le racing but I was going to close it because - quite frankly - I have never heard of a single person and or thing Twitter keeps urging me to follow (right now, hand to my heart, it is suggesting Mascotas Nutrecan which appears to be a dog food that advertises solely in Spanish, a language I do not speak. also, I don't have a dog) and on the flip side I honestly don't think I could write Happy Birthday Grandma in less than 140 words.
But - look how optimistic I am; in stark contrast to the UPS guy who greeted the news that I was driving the kids to Nova Scotia with a blank "Why on earth would you do that?" - I expect there will be all sorts of wonderful and amusing things that will happen tomorrow, on the nine hour drive, through Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula, and then the next day with another delightful nine hours but this time through the vast expanse that is southern Ontario... why, it'll be like you're right there in the car with us, enjoying the uncluttered view, listening to Caroline and Edward as they struggle to smack each other from the confines of their booster seats, reveling in Patrick's thirteen year old ennui.
I am @juliahippogriff and why I didn't put an s on the end when there is an s everywhere else I have no idea. I expect I will find myself inspired to explain, among other things, how we figured out that the phantom of the rest area was really just Old Man McGillicuddy trying to scare tourists away from secret poppy fields and I expect I will have to use Patrick as my scribe; seeing as how my hands will be firmly clenched at 4 and 8.
And speaking of Patrick, he returned from camp today looking bronzed and fit. Actually it was an engineering program so he returned looking pale and slightly pompous but the point is that he returned. I asked him what his favorite tour was (they were taken to a number of different places; including a guided tour by boat around the pilings of a partially constructed bridge) and he said he liked the creamery. So I said, oh, do you think you might be interested in going into food science and he said, "No, I have decided that I am going to grow up to become an ice cream cone."
He's in that sort of post-camp mood. He also said, "I think individually we were all smart enough but collectively we were idiots."
And when I asked what he meant he explained that out of the thirty of them there were three really tall guys and three really short guys and they invented a game called Titan which involved the tall guys shouting, "Suit up!" whereupon the short guys would hop onto their backs and then they would race toward each other.
"And then?" I asked, not really wanting to know.
"Well, and then they would try to kick each other in the nuts."
"Like I said, idiots."
I think he had a GREAT time.