We’re over Monday. <big sigh> And Tuesday is really close to meeting its demise.
But Friday is still sooooooo far away.
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Our oldest son returned to his Canadian homeland several years ago. Sunday evening we were treated to a phone call and several pics from around Port Credit. I wanted to share.
Ain’t it pretty?
Barry has recently become a proud, independently living young man. He’s moved into a new apartment, away from his mother’s home. Go Barre!
My first visit to Toronto Barry was my companion for a full day of sight-seeing. I was driving Bob’s Blazer around the city, me, from a small city in the south, navigating the streets of a major city with a map and a teenager. We failed to call for help, get lost, or drive into the lake.
I loved Toronto. The city is vibrant and culturally eclectic. Shopping is outstanding. Its history is an old one. Absurdly enough the downtown cemetery offers a window into the age of the city with graves marked and dating back to the 1600’s.
I imagine the unmarked graves are ancient.
I imagine the footsteps of Native Americans echoing on the Escarpment. I imagine the many who found their way to the sacred grounds around Eureka Springs, here in Arkansas. I imagine that we are all connected by energy and time to those who have gone before us.
I imagine.
Quebec is on my bucket list. Bob has visited. I haven’t. He was forced to complete a portion of his immigration interview in Montreal. I have the coolest frog from that trip.
Meet Jacques le Frog.
There are many spots in Canada I would like to visit. Perhaps one day we will have the opportunity to travel coast to coast through Canada, from Nova Scotia to BC and coast to coast through the states as well. Bob refuses to visit the northern-most territories, something about it being cold.
Duh! Summer? Oh. Cold all year.
I reckon we need to set aside a chunk of change and a bit of time to accomplish that travel experience, particularly since we have to tour Britain and Romania as well. And maybe a cruise of the Mediterranean and a trip to Costa Rica and a few weeks traveling by train across Europe and Amsterdam is a must. I figure when I’m old and gray and it doesn’t matter anymore, I can try out a few varieties of pot and find my fave in Amsterdam.
Wonder how many folks are gonna wonder if I’m serious about that.
