Our Fifteenth Anniversary in Toronto

Anyone who reads these blogs from time to time probably knows that we take our kids everywhere. If I think back to before Ana and I had children I am pretty sure we expected to do what most others do and take short "sanity breaks" from time to time away from the kids, banking on somebody to take care of them so that we could have some time on our own. But once we had kids, we didn’t really do that, and I don't remember us ever having a discussion and making a conscious decision on this topic. On the rare occasion that we found ourselves together without the kids we really missed them, especially as the kids got older, and it didn't seem right that they were missing out as members of the family. It also worked out easier for us not having to find and pay for babysitters!

Now I do realize that we are really in the minority here, and I completely understand the reasons for doing trips without the kids – it's cheaper, it's easier, it is definitely more relaxing, but also it allows the kids to develop independence. These are all good reasons. But we've simply never been comfortable with it. And as a result our kids might be a little less independent than others who have spent more time away from their parents, but on balance we've always felt the benefits greatly outweigh this.

So as our fifteenth anniversary approached we decided to take a short trip away without the kids. We have been leaving them on their own more in the past year since they are now old enough to be at home by themselves, so both parties are getting a little more used to spending time apart. We asked the kids what they thought about this and Stella was pretty sure we should be celebrating our anniversary as a team, but I suspect Magnus may have spoken to her later and convinced her that we should be allowed out on our own.

So on Friday after work I drove over to Glenhyrst to pick up Ana. As she was still finishing up a few things I had a chat with her colleague Yvonne.

"So what are you guys going to do all weekend?" she asked.

"Well, we're going to a Toronto FC soccer game on Saturday, besides that we have no plans so will just wander around and see what happens. Although on the way over I realized I forgot to grab a jacket so I might have to pick one up," I replied.

"Oh, so you'll be doing some shopping?"

"Shopping?? Hell no, we're way too cheap to spend money on frivolous clothing. Ana will probably just steal a jacket from some homeless guy in Toronto that looks about my size. I'll shake off the dirt and grime and it should be fine."

With that we took off, made a quick stop to say hi to the kids and Ana's folks, and were soon on the 403 highway heading for Toronto. After a deadly serious 30 second discussion about the wardrobe situation, we took the next Brantford exit and went straight to Value Village to pop some tags and get properly geared up for the weekend. Now normally I refuse to go into any retail store – especially clothing stores – but in this case I considered it an excellent surprise start to our weekend adventure so I marched in there, went right to the men's section and started trying on jackets, as I sang that awesome Macklemore song out loud, over and over again (I wear your granddad's clothes, I look incredible). I have never enjoyed a Value Village visit as much as I did in that moment. But my joy was short lived as Ana too decided she might like a weekend jacket so we spent the next half an hour going through each and ever ladies coat they had, in an agonizing search for a perfect one. She did eventually find one she liked but it was missing a belt so she sent me gathering all the belts I could find (on the sly). I found it was easier to actually crawl on my hands and knees down the isle because then I could see which jackets had belts hanging off them. I removed each one, walked it over to Ana, presented it to her, got the nay, and then returned it. After a dozen or so I finally found one that was a suitable match, so I dusted off my knees, we paid for our jackets and were on our way.

The drive into Toronto was reasonably non-congested, but since we weren't in a rush the traffic we did hit was less irritating then normal. We found our hotel – a Holiday Inn near the intersection of Carlton and Yonge Streets – and squeezed the car into the underground parking, checked-in and then continued up to our room, which was small but very cozy. I had packed a cooler of drinks so we enjoyed a round of happy hour bevvies while we discussed our plan for the evening. We went with our default plan that comes into effect anytime we aren't sure what do to – start walking and keep on walking until we find something interesting to do.

This moment was the one I had been most looking forward to. Our visits to Toronto are typically day trips, characterized by an endless search for parking spots, manoeuvring our van through narrow streets congested with vehicles, bikes, streetcars and pedestrians, watching the clock to make sure we leave in time to beat the highway traffic, and a generally blistering, frantic pace. What we never get to do is have the time for leisurely exploring, so that is what we did. We slowly walked the streets, checking out some shops, listening to the plethora of languages we heard being spoken by the people we passed who originated from a hundred different countries, and smelling all the big city smells. Some were nice - frying food, perfume and cologne, leather, e-cig vapour, and others not so nice like car exhaust, the ever lurking smell of sewage and the updraft of oil, grease and mechanical smells as we walked over the giant grates beneath which the ferocious, speeding subway trains passed. We saw many young people, primed, beautiful, and looking for a party. We saw middle aged couples and groups of couples enjoying meals and drinks on the outdoor patios. We passed homeless people, and their faithful dogs, sitting together in small nooks between buildings, covered with blankets, sticking to themselves. We passed glamorous couples, looking the part. We noticed tourists, with their maps, and thick glasses, looking around mesmerized, perhaps lost. The sounds of the city were excellent - the screeching of streetcar steel wheels on steel tracks, jazz music, rock music, people laughing, the howling sirens of emergency vehicles, the idling of cars stopped at traffic lights, and the muffled conversations of people inside those cars, the honking horns of impatient taxi drivers, girlie show hawkers enticing young men to come in and enjoy the views, patio waiters taking orders, and their customers telling loud stories to their friends. Everywhere we looked lights punished the darkness. Store lights, billboard lights, headlights, streetlights, traffic lights, and the ever present glow from the ever present smart phones.

We passed many restaurants that appealed to us, but decided on a sushi place, and at 11 we were their last customers for the evening. The staff was all Japanese and spoke little English. I ordered a Sapporo and Ana, a lemon water. Our plate of sushi arrived and it looked and tasted magnificent. The waiters and cooks gathered at a table beside us, to enjoy their own meal at the end of an undoubtedly long shift. They devoured a giant pot of noodles, flavoured with several bowls of different coloured sauces, and ate greedily, spoke little, and appeared very tired. Ana and I talked about things, I can't remember what. But I do know that even after fifteen years of being around each other nearly all the time, we never run out of topics to discuss. There are always ideas to consider, events to be discussed, viewpoints to be presented, decisions to be thrashed out, memories to be celebrated, and plans to deliberate. We talk a lot about our kids, and we love talking about our future, and what it may hold.

After paying the exceptionally modest bill for the fine meal, we turned ourselves back towards the hotel and walked until we arrived there. We were tempted to stop for a nightcap along the way, but decided against it, as a sense of tiredness was creeping in after a long week and a long walk, so we returned to our room and enjoyed a lovely night's sleep in an enormous hotel bed.

Saturday arrived and I switched on the television to see what we've been missing in the cable world. Turn out…not much. I flipped through 50 channels of garbage, and then flipped through them once or twice more hoping something good would appear but it did not. So I finally settled on MuchMusic and watched lame pop videos while Ana went through her morning routine of beautification.

Once we were ready for the day, we left the hotel, looked across the street and saw two breakfast joints – a Cora's and a Golden Griddle. I have been to Cora's on a few occasions and really didn't care for it too much as the amply supplied fruit tends to overwhelm the meaty and doughy aspects of the breakfast, so we decided on the Golden Griddle and got exactly what we were expecting. We were seated beside the window so could watch the city coming to life outside. A group of girls walked by and one of them had somehow gotten part of her shorts tucked into her shirt and half of her ass was exposed to the day. Perhaps party goers from last night?

Directly beside our hotel was the old Maple Leaf gardens hockey stadium that had been retired many years earlier. The rink was still there but is now the Ryerson University's athletic centre while the other half of the building had been converted to a flagship Loblaws grocery store. We went for a walk through Loblaws and it was an impressive store indeed, and huge. We noted that they had a breakfast counter there where you could get breakfast sandwiches and fresh coffee so we marked that as a possible option for the next morning.

Ana's retail radar had been pinging off something big to the west of us and sure enough we found a massive Winners store there. Ana dove into the deals while I had a cursory look for pants, but I followed my usual routine of giving up if I don't find something in the first 90 seconds of looking and then went outside to watch the city. The city was now fully woken up and there were many people on the streets and cars on the road. A group of cyclists pedalled by and they were all wearing helmets with skewers protruding out of the top and sides, and upon each of these skewers was impaled a single marshmallow. I figured this was probably a big city biker gang, maybe called Satan's Shmallows?

We walked up Yonge Street and passed a Nerdery that sold Magic the Gathering cards -  Magnus's latest obsession. If you have never heard of a Nerdery, here's how it works. Remember when you used to play Dungeons and Dragons in your mom's basement back when you were 11 years old? And how you had a massive collection of Star Wars cards that you spent every penny on and fawned over for hours? And how you used to collect figurines and paint them and set them up and pretend they were battling? And how you used to collect superhero comic books and guard them with your life? Well, it turns out you are not required to ever grow out of that. It's called Nerd Culture and they are taking over the world. These little Nerdery shops exist everywhere and are a gathering place for proud, self-proclaimed Nerds who revel in the land of the imaginary. We were the first customers of the morning and the dude who unlocked the front door and let us in was happy to show us the latest and greatest in his inventory of Magic the Gathering card sets. We picked up a set for him, and were tempted to buy an 18 inch tall Wonder Woman action figure for Anna's colleague Yvonne, but when I saw the price tag of over $200 I axed that deal.

We continued up Yonge Street all the way to the main branch of the Toronto public library. Libraries have always fascinated me and since I have never been to a library in Toronto I just had to see it. We stepped through the doors and into a magnificent, multi levelled chamber complete with a glass elevator, book store, fish pond, hundreds of public computer terminals and who knows how many thousands of sweet, juicy books, journals, newspapers and magazines. We noticed there was a free cartography exhibit featured in the gallery so we began there and found an incredible collection of old maps (many of which were of Iceland) that were handsomely displayed and painstakingly annotated.

From here we took the elevator up to the level which housed the library's awesome collection of vinyl records. With the help of the super friendly staff I checked out an old Miles Davis album and we sat down at a listening station, plugged in our headphones, and listened to some fine jazz music. From here we wandered the floor for a while, enjoying the view offered by the wide open central galleria to the levels below. The entire building was so artfully designed, angular, inviting and functional. Another interesting feature was the glassed-in, sound proofed study bubbles, which were futuristic capsules dotted throughout the library, and available by reservation. I was tempted to tap on the glass to see if I could get the attention of the student creatures inside, but I remembered getting into trouble for doing that one time in a pet store, so I restrained myself.

From here we continued to Yorkville, one of the more expensive areas of the city and home to a number of ritzy art galleries. One of these is called Hefels and is also an art auction house and Ana had to speak to somebody there about slogging off some Glenhyrst art they didn't want anymore. As I am unable to participate in art speak without breaking into rude laughter, I excused myself from the conversation and browsed the gallery while Ana did her negotiations with the art ladies. After I had enjoyed all the paintings I slipped outside to admire the Joe Fafard sculpture just in front of the building. It features Emily Carr slouching in front of a dog who is sitting under the legs of a big horse being ridden by a monkey that is not paying attention. The surfaces are all sloppy and creamy and the whole presentation is rather strange, but I loved it. I was to learn many weeks later from my father that Joe Fafard is actually a Saskatchewan boy and specializes in sculpting giant horses, cows, pigs and bison. Just as I was about to hop up on the horse to sit with the monkey, Ana came out so I played it real cool and pretended like I was handling the boredom well.

We continue our walk through Yorkville, and then past the University of Toronto and then found another gallery with a lot of old religious art and stopped in to check it out. The owner was there and tried his best to sell us a hideous ancient painting for fifteen grand but he must have mistaken us for something other than thrifty window shoppers.

We decided to take the subway to Bloor West village, which was new for me as I'd never taken the Toronto subway before. It wasn't as bad as I was expecting as I'm used to hearing the traffic reports on CBC Toronto every morning, and every morning seems to be a disaster on the subway, but I guess it helped that we were traveling on the weekend. I was just happy that we were not in a car fighting the traffic and struggling to find parking. Being on a subway always reminds me of the years I lived in London, England and the many, many hours I spent on public transport there, and really never feeling the need for a car.

We got off at the Jane station and immediately found a Thai restaurant for lunch. As it was already close to 3pm we were the only lunch patrons and were extremely well taken care of by the attentive staff. I ordered up a Singha beer and Ana went for an ice water and we made a toast to a lovely day in such a remarkable city. After a full load of green curry, pad thai and spring rolls we continued on our walk and explored the many shops along Bloor. I didn't actually explore any shops, instead I like to stand just outside the shop and watch the people and cars go by while Ana hunts for deals and squares off with the merchants. She picked up a fancy water bottle for Stella that had this misting feature where you could spray your face – apparently a hot item with the grade five crowd these days. The afternoon had heated up nicely so we found a gritty little pub on the sunny side of the street just in front of a giant intersection. I ordered up a big pint of cheap Moosehead and inhaled that while we inhaled the car exhaust from the hundreds of vehicles passing by. It made me think about how nice it will be when we are all driving electric, emission-free vehicles and can sit and enjoy a beer in a big city without smelling and tasting the spewn remnants of burnt diesel and gasoline. At times like this, I wonder why we get all wound up about battling climate change, trying to convince people it's the morally right thing to do. Instead, why not just stop burning filthy carbon products because it's bloody disgusting and makes a mess out of the places we live?

We jumped back on the subway and returned to Dufferin where we got into the queue to catch a bus to BMO field for the soccer game. As we waited I learned a nifty trick from a homeless guy sitting on the sidewalk right in the midst of the bus queue. He had a plastic donation cup and he slid it out right in the path of the pedestrians who already had limited space to pass by all the people waiting for the bus. Naturally, every third person accidentally kicked over the cup, scattering the meagre collection of coins across the sidewalk. About half of them would stop and help him collect the coins and then drop some of their own money into the cup, feeling guilty. The other half would scoff at the huckster, knowing damn well what he was up to, and they would continue walking. Too bad the homeless dude couldn't apply his initiative and creativity to an actual job, I think he would do well.

A bus finally arrived and we were drawn into a crush of people jamming into it. Once it was packed to capacity the driver lurched forward and we were on our way. To put it simply, the bus was hot, smelly, and extremely slow due to all the construction delays. At one point, when we were a mile or two from the stadium, and had been at a standstill for ten minutes, a guy on the bus lost it and yelled at the driver to open the door so he could get out and walk. Turns out, it was the best idea of the day and practically every person on the bus followed buddy's lead and hit the pavement to march the remaining distance. As we were halfway there the ear piercing roar of a fighter jet pierced through the sky, but we couldn't see where it was coming from. One of the other walkers yelled, "We're under attack!" and pretended to hit the deck. We would find out later that the day's game was dedicated to the veterans, and the CF-18 fighter jets were there to salute our war heroes.

There is really nothing that compares to the energy of a professional sports game. Toronto FC is a relatively new team to the city, and one that has been having an excellent season and is shooting for the championship. We found our seats, which were high up mid field and offered an excellent view over the entire pitch. Toronto was playing Philadelphia and the game was good, but what was even better was watching the insane supporters behind Philadelphia's goal. Every so often somebody there would ignite a smoke bomb that would first blind the choke the goal keeper with a blanket of thick red smoke, and then spread out and gas the entire stadium. It was quite hilarious.

In the end TFC managed a 2 – 2 tie which was…better than a loss. Ana really loves soccer and she went wild every time FC scored. The game was great fun, especially towards the end when the crazy FC end zone supporters pulled out a giant drum and let the crowd in an "Icelandic Viking Clap", made famous by those crazy Icelanders and their magnificent team during this year's Euro cup. When the game was over, the crowd spilled out into the parking lot and started moving en masse through the exhibition grounds. We walked and walked for a very long time and Ana and I talked and enjoyed being outside and not stuck in a giant traffic jam. As night fell we reached King Street and jumped on a streetcar all the way up to John Street. The streetcars in Toronto are a real pain in the ass when you are a driver - as you often get stuck behind them - but as a passenger they are great fun and almost take you back in time as there don't seem to be a lot of electric streetcar systems still in use in cities. Maybe that's because the last time Toronto did any transportation infrastructure upgrades was back in the roaring 20's.

We walked up John, leisurely checking out the many restaurants and their menus and eventually settled on one which didn't even have a sign, but the patio was loaded with people – always a good indication, unless it's a Hard Rock Café, Hooters or Rain Forest Café. The server crammed us into a small table and served us up some beers from their expansive drink menu. There was a big table of Quebeccers beside us who were loud and funny and effortlessly switched back and forth between English and French all night. Ana and I ordered fancy salads and enjoyed our meal as we talked, watched the many patrons coming and going and also the tourists and locals passing by on the sidewalk. It was a beautifully warm September evening and such a great time to be able to enjoy the city at a leisurely pace, on our own terms, in our own way. I felt very much in love with my wife at that particular moment.

We finished up our meal and, though it was getting on in the night, we weren't ready to call it yet so we walked over to the Cineplex cinema and bought tickets to Star Trek! This particular cinema actually served beer so I dished out twelve bucks for a Stella tall can and enjoyed that while Ana munched her popcorn and diet Coke. The movie was mediocre at best, leading me to believe it's time to put this particular Star Trek reincarnation to rest. But I did mange to stay awake…I think.

By the end of the movie, we were finally done for the day so we jumped on a bus which took us back to the hotel. We considered walking but since Ana's phone was reporting that we had already walked over 20 kilometres during the day, we decided that more exercise was not required.

The next day arrived and after packing up and checking out of the hotel we returned to the Loblaws for coffee and breakfast sandwiches and were not disappointed. Here we discussed our plan for the day. I originally wanted to visit the AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario) or maybe the new Aga Khan Museum but Ana instead talked me into going bra shopping with her. That sounded like a lot of fun. But it really wasn't because she didn't involve me at all. I thought maybe I could help with measurement, cup analysis, closeness of fit, lift judging, handling and ease of removal, but she didn't even let me stay in the bra department after she saw me pick one up and sniff it. So I just waited by the front door and tried to look cool.

By this time we were missing our kiddies so decided to head for home, but we had one last stop to make. We pulled up to Nosso Talho, which in Portuguese I assume means "cheap pork". This is the ultimate Portuguese supermarket and they sell all that weird food I have come to love so much – octopus, pork feet, pork ears, blood sausage, salted cod, little frozen mackerel, and smelly cheeses of all cuts, colours and eye-watering odours. We picked up a few of these goodies, but our main purchase was four huge pork legs with which we would make the winter supply of chorizo sausages with Ana's folks. I had brought along our Yeti cooler but could only fit a single pork leg in there so we laid the rest out in the trunk of the car on plastic bags and I felt like quite the serial killer as I closed the trunk on all that raw flesh and sped away.

Our drive home was fast and smooth and soon we were back in Brantford at John and Maria's house delivering Magic cards, water bottles, pig legs and cod bags and all were overjoyed with their gifts. Although we were only gone for two nights it seemed much longer and we were very happy to see the kids and tell them all about our adventures.

And thus ends the weekend of our 15th wedding anniversary.

The Saskatchewan Experience

During our recent week long trip back to Saskatchewan I simply did not make time for writing. One reason is because I usually only blog when on vacation, and going home to visit doesn’t feel like a regular vacation. A second reason is that there was simply no alone time during this trip as we were constantly surrounded by family and friends, which is a very good thing, but makes it difficult to devote any time or energy to the literary arts. Most of my time was focused on the culinary arts (shucking and then eating delicious fresh corn) or the beverage arts (drinking Saskatchewan beer) or the hunter/gatherer arts (shooting guns, catching fish, raiding gardens).
 
It had been five years since our last visit to Saskatchewan so Stella really didn't have any memories of it and Magnus had only a few. I was quite excited for the kids to spend some time there to get in touch with their "Saskatchewan roots" and believe me, Saskatchewan is a very different place than where we live in southern Ontario. In fact, it's been so long since we've been there that I too had forgotten much. When we lived in Calgary over ten years ago we used to visit Saskatchewan frequently, so it did feel like our second home, especially since we owned a cottage there. But at that time the kids were infants, and the trips back home were usually characterized by excruciatingly long and boring car trips, episodes of vomiting (the kids, not me.), sleepless nights taking care of babies, busy and chaotic days as we worked tirelessly fixing our cabin, and only rare moments when we could relax, visit and take it easy.
 
Well, this time all we did during the entire trip was relax, explore, visit and basically just goof around, which made it a whole different experience. We spent the first few days at my Mom's place in Clavet, Saskatchewan which is located just ten miles from Saskatoon. The last time we visited my mom and Rick they were at the peak of their tomato and herb farming career – they had five giant greenhouses, worked 15 hours per day and grew thousands and thousands of pounds of vegetables, selling them to local restaurants and at farmers markets for highly inflated hipster-friendly prices. At some point they must have realized they were working themselves into the ground (not to mention getting tired of tomato and cucumber sandwiches), so they sold the business and equipment, and are now back to an easier pace of life.

When we arrived at Mom's (it happened to be Magnus's birthday) we were surprised to find my aunt Tammy and her kids there, as well my aunt and uncle from Regina, my aunt and uncle from Saskatoon, and my grandma. So we had a great birthday party and did some long overdue visiting. My brother Curtis and his kids were also there, and would end up spending almost the entire week with us, so the cousins kept very, very busy.

Saskatoon has changed a lot since I lived there. For one thing, it has grown like mad. There are new subdivisions all over the place, new office buildings, traffic everywhere and so many visible minorities. When I was in high school, there was a single black family and a small group of Salvadorians that kicked everybody's ass at soccer. That was about as exotic as things got – everybody else in the school basically looked and acted like regular Saskatchewan urban cowboys. Now, arriving at the Saskatoon airport was hardly any different than arriving in Toronto – a colourful and vibrant collection of saris, hijabs, turbans, shalwar kameez and people of all races. It was quite honestly mind-blowing for Ana and I to see such diversity in my old hometown. It seems Saskatchewan has finally been discovered.

The highlight of our time in Saskatoon for me was the day we went to the beach. "Beach?" you may ask. Yes, there's a beach; actually, several of them. We packed up Mom's giant motorhome early one morning (this thing is longer than our boat, maybe longer than our house) and she drove us battle tank style down fifteen miles of exceedingly dusty gravel roads with soft shoulders and space for 1.5 vehicles at the widest. We arrived at the Fred Heal canoe launch and squeezed our magnificent vessel tight into the shrubberies on the outside ring of the roundabout that we barely fit around. We unpacked all of our gear (and Rick and my mom have more gear than anybody I know) and carried it down a short pathway through the trees and onto the expansive, clean, marvellous beach on the banks of the South Saskatchewan River. We were simply amazed to find such a lovely beach so close to the city, and before long the people started streaming in and claiming their own plots of beachside real estate.

We had a terrific day.  Curt brought his paddleboard and we all took turns going for rides, even all the kids, who seemed to have no trouble at all keeping their balance and paddling up and down the river. Of course we had soccer balls and Frisbees for the land entertainment, and a nice Bose speaker with fine tunes pumping all day. The water was a little chilly (maybe just for us as we're used to balmy 29 degree water in Lake Erie) but very clean and the current was not too strong. At midday a colourful platoon of paddleboarders appeared upstream and arrived en masse to the beach – there was probably close to a hundred people in the group. We learned they had left Lake Diefenbaker two days previous to this and were paddling all the way to Saskatoon, something like a 120 kilometre run. Funny how we never though of doing something fun and adventurous like that when I was in high school. Back then, our standard idea of adventure was walking drunk down the train bridge in the middle of the night, clutching bottles of rye and hoping to run into a gang of horny females with shockingly low standards…which never happened. Not even once.

owards the end of the day we went back up to the parking area to survey the possibilities of getting our massive RV out of there, and the possibility was zero as there were vehicles jammed in everywhere, on both sides of the road, and in places they shouldn't have been. So we returned to the beach for a couple of hours longer, hoping it would clear out. Eventually we were left with what looked like a possible path out, but it would rely on some clever manoeuvring of our land based airplane carrier. I had offered to be the designated driver (it's always good to try new things) so I sized up the available space between the idiot who had parked his car right on the roadway and the car across from him and there seemed to be sufficient room. I was feeling pretty confident, maybe a little overconfident. We all piled into the motorhome, I fired her up, and with spotters looking out the windows on both sides, we slowly creeped forward. It was all going great until I started turning the beast and the back end, which hung about 15 feet past the rear tires swung over and creamed the front corner and bumper of the poorly parked patron. Shit!!! After surveying the damage to the car, and finding nothing but a small scratch on our behemoth, we managed to squeeze the beast through the rest of the cars on the narrow gravel road and got her parked safely near the entrance, and then walked back and left a note on the smashed car with our information. The note read: "Hey dummy, you shouldn't park your car in the middle of the road in front of a giant motorhome. Signed, Count Chocula, 555-1212".

One evening we went to my aunt Maxine and uncle Ron's place and met my cousin Jason there. Now Jason and I were attached at the hip for most of our childhood and even into early adulthood too, but these days we don't get to see each other too often. He and his wife Nicole have twin daughters who are the cutest and goofiest little girls you can imagine. While we visited with the adults, Magnus and Stella played with the girls and when it was time to leave those little girls followed them right out the building and wanted to go home with them! Jason had to peel them off the kids and physically restrain them while we made our getaway.

On the Wednesday we packed up and drove out to Fishing Lake where my Dad and step mom Loretta live. It was Stella's birthday that day so they had arranged a huge birthday lunch for her, complete with balloons and presents so she was very happy. Fishing Lake is very close to Foam Lake, 250 kilometres south-east of Saskatoon, and is where both of my parents grew up. As kids we spent every summer at the family cottage with our cousins and friends and the days were filled with golfing, swimming, fishing, wandering from cabin to cabin looking for sugary treats, and spending an awful lot of time on the bunk beds reading Archie comics. Those truly were some of the best days of my childhood. When Ana and I lived in Calgary we decided to buy our own place at Fishing Lake so we purchased a lot and also a house about 150 kilometres away which we had moved onto the lot. This resulted in a massive amount of work, such as building a foundation, getting permits, rewiring the house, repairing all the plaster walls that cracked during the move, repainting, fixing windows, landscaping and furnishing the entire place. So the time we spent out at the lake during those years were the opposite of carefree. Our typical trip to the lake was making the 9 hour drive from Calgary with an SUV and Uhaul trailer jammed full of crap and baby Magnus barfing in the back seat, and then once we arrived we would work 12 hours a day fixing the cabin. Just as we got the cabin into reasonably liveable condition we decided to move to Ontario, so then used it as a rental for several years. So these years of lake visits bring back many memories, but none of carefree and fun variety.

This trip was different as we had no cabin to fix, no work to do, and Dad and Loretta had arranged for meals and had the family cabin all ready to go for us. It was glorious! We spent the days doing things we used to do and simply had so much fun. Curtis and the boys were out there the entire time so we got to spend many hours with my nephews and the cousins had so much fun together, especially when they were ripping around on my Dad's quad. Ana and I saw old friends out there that we hadn't seen in many years and enjoyed some nice long walks, many hours sitting on the beach, an afternoon session on the legendary "Ford diving board", and some evening campfires. We caught many, many fish so one afternoon we had a giant fish fry and the aromas from the deep fryer attracted all sorts of people to stop by for a snack.

In the lead-up to the trip Dad had promised the kids that he would take them out shooting, so one afternoon he gathered up a few guns and a pile of ammo and we took the kids out to a field to blast the hell out of some targets. We set up some cans and bottles with a giant hay bale as a backdrop and the kids let loose. Now this is why I love the prairies – regular rules just don't seem to apply. Magnus even got to fire a shotgun!

The time went quickly and soon we were in Saskatoon spending our last day and night at my brother Curt's place. They arranged for a final get together with a bunch of family and we enjoyed a last meal together and plenty of laughs. We flew out Monday morning and on the way to the airport the kids were already asking when we would be able to visit again. I am hoping that sometime soon the kids will be ready to do a trip on their own and we can send them out to Saskatoon for a longer visit during their summer vacation.

Saturday, July 23rd – Exploring our backyard

Stella and I started our day early at 12:45 am. We sent Ana and Magnus to bed for some well-deserved rest and then spent a long time together out there in the dark looking at constellations, talking, and scanning the horizon for boat lights. Stella is so inquisitive, always asking questions, always wanting to know how things work, and is never short on words. Usually the night watch is a quiet, contemplative affair, but with Stella it was a never-ending conversation. She eventually got tired and jumped back into bed, and just minutes after that Ana joined me in the cockpit with a blanket and pillow as she wasn’t able to sleep well in the vberth. After Ana fell asleep I grabbed the laptop and caught up on several days’ worth of journals as the wind pushed us closer and closer to Long Point. I soon got tired of writing so just kept watch for a few hours, probably dozing off a bit here and there, but didn’t see a single boat besides a big freighter far in the distance moving up the US coastline. We eventually creeped up on Long Point and slowly rounded it, turning north for the direct run to Port Dover. The wind slipped in strength and was soon completely gone so I wound up the sails and let the motor power us all the way back to Dover, arriving in the marina at 7am, making it a 21 hour trip from Loraine. When we were 30 seconds from our slip Stella’s head popped up from down below and as she was having a wide look around a huge smile stretched over her face, obviously happy to be home. We had a flawless docking (felt like the first of the trip), reported in by phone to customs and were all cleared and officially back in Canada. The best part was that it was only Saturday morning so we still had the weekend ahead of us

I immediately went to bed while Ana and the kids went for a drive into Port Dover. Four hours later I was up, groggy as hell, but awake. Most of our friends were out on the lake as it was another scorcher, but we'd had enough of the boat for a while so instead we jumped in the van and went for a drive with no particular destination in mind. That's the beauty of living in south-western Ontario; there so damn much stuff to see and do that you can just get in your vehicle, start driving and you are bound to find something cool every time. We took the lakeshore road all the way to Port Rowan, a town we've never really explored, and were happy we did because we found some groovy little shops, including a Thousand Villages, an old fashioned candy shop, a menswear store with great deals and probably the best antique store we've ever been to. Along the way we stopped at two wineries and a great unmanned roadside vegetable stall where the farmer simply puts out his produce and a price list and you take what veggies you want and put your money in a box. Yes, the honour system still lives in some places. So we loaded up on corn, berries and new potatoes for dinner.

We returned to the boat just in time to notice a strange electrical smell that I first thought was coming from the diesel engine after all the hard work it did last night, but then realized it was coming from the shore power outlet.  The cord was extremely hot so I pulled out and found that the end had melted and so had the housing inside the electrical outlet on the boat itself. I suspect a loose connection had caused the problem, as we'd had issues with this plug in the past, so I had actually bought a replacement, but just hadn't installed it yet. So I got to work digging out all the burnt components while Ana started dinner. Our friends Geoff, Sherry and their gorgeous baby girl Victoria stopped by for a visit so I had Geoff help me troubleshoot the electrical issue while the ladies kept watch on Victoria doing laps around the cockpit. Shortly before the meal we got a call from Tony and Angela saying they were stopping by in their boat for a drink. We helped them get docked, ate a quick meal, and then returned to their boat for happy hour. We left the whole dinner mess for the kids to clean up, as sort of a challenge, but hey, we'd been cooking and cleaning all week so it was definitely their turn.

Tony and Angela had their friends John and Caroline with them and were on their way back from having dinner at Hoover's Marina – about 7 miles east of Port Dover. We call this the home of the "hundred dollar hamburger" because by the time you power up your boat and crank up those twin 350's to get you there for lunch, you've already burned a hundred bucks in gas. We were halfway through our first beer when a dude pulled up in a Sea Doo and kicked us out of his slip, which we thought was empty. So they moved the boat to an empty slip on the next dock over, right beside our buddy Jimmy. Remember that old Kim Mitchell song "I Am a Wild Party"? Well that song was written about Jimmy after he took Kim out to the Norfolk Tavern one night back in 1989. Kim woke up the next morning face down on the beach with two black eyes, a tattoo of Speedy Gonzales on his ass, a broken toe and was wearing only a ladies bra and one sock. The first thing he saw with his one eye that could open was Jimmy sitting on the deck of the beachside restaurant drinking a vodka martini, giving him an eighteen tooth smile and a rousing thumbs up. Kim thought to himself, man that guy is a wild party and the rest is history.

We visited for two beers and then Tony and gang took off, probably scared of what would happen if they stayed too long next to the Wild Party. We wandered back to our boat and found that our children had washed all the dishes and put them away, wrapped up the leftovers, washed the table and hung up the dish towels. That bought them a whole lot of parental goodwill, I can assure you of that.

It was now fully dark outside and there was plenty of noise coming from dock two so we went over to join the Doerr boys and friends for a couple of Yeti-cold beers and told them all about our sailing trip and heard of their nice day on the water at Turkey Point. After an hour or so I went back to the boat to grab a drink and noticed Ana's phone flashing so I looked at it and saw a message from Angela saying they had experience a double engine failure and were being towed back in by the Coast Guard! We ran back over to the slip they were in beside Jimmy just as they were arriving. Jimmy, his girl Kristi and his buddy Steve were there doing shots out of a gallon jug of Jack Daniels and had the country music blaring, but they put the party on hold to help get the disabled vessel docked. We got Tony's boat tied up and then offered him the keys to our shit hot mini-van to get them back to their cabin at Turkey Point. Now I knew that Tony had never driven such a sexy vehicle with so much raw power and intense masculinity, so I had to give him a detailed briefing on how to best handle our sweet ride.

So we said goodbye to the Henriques for the third time this week (it doesn't get any easier), had a final drink with the remnants of the partiers on dock two and returned to the boat for a very good night's sleep.

And thus ends the Olson summer sailing trip for 2016.