I am currently sitting in a hotel in St. John, New Brunswick, Canada, waiting for my father to finish his morning routine so that I can start mine. I don't have my contacts in, so please know I can't tell if I'm using proper spelling on everything. Work with me.
Yesterday morning, we flew out of the Philly airport for Bangor, Maine. The last time I was in the Bangor airport, I was in college and it was -20 on the tarmac -- for whcih I am not exaggerating. I love how small Bangor's airport is. If all airports were as managable as Bangor's flying might be okay.
As it was, back in the Philly airport, I had anxiety all over the place. Well, not a full-on attack. One of mom's friends said that I should take the break-through anxiety pill before I even got to the airport. My colonial "Let's muscle through and fight this on our own" spirit took over. As we boarded the plane, after feeling woozy and faint a couple of times, I took the other anti-anxiety pill, warning Dad I might act a bit drunk. All was good and we landed in Bangor, found our car in the rental lot and took off north.
It's colder here. LIke in the 70's. Last night I wished I had my fleece on. Yesterday as we stopped to look out on the Atlantic, I wound up putting on my fleece. It's perfect autumn weather wihtout any of the allergies that accompany autumn. In short -- I love it here. Ocean, and the smell of ocean -- unlike how it was in DE when I couldn't smell the brine. Perfectly cool weather, which I have to remind myself will be brutal come October/November.
Today we toodle north some more and end in Charlottestown, Prince Edward Island. Part of me really does wonder -- does one's Pennsylvania social work license transfer up here? Because I have always adored some of Canada's policies -- once I learned the truth about them.
Must start the morning routine. Must head north -- stopping in Sackville to wander down some natural trails. I told Dad yesterday that whenever I've been reading about Sackville and all it has to offer it makes me think of Biblo's comment about how awful the Sackville-Baggins' were about wanting his house and possessions before he was even dead. So, I read "Sackville" and in my head, I add, "Baggins" to the end of it. Dad's comment was that the teenagers in the area must love to make up comments about their town Sackville.
I guess it's better to live in Sackville, than to live in a town I discovered looking at a map of Newfoundland, a town named Dildo. One can only imagine what the teenagers in that town do with their town name.
