Strawberry Suppers

The ride out to Mush-a-Mush and learning of the ways of the cottage, even as the quarantine plans there have now fallen by the wayside.  The eve between the churches at Fisherman's Daughter, amidst a Jays win and the Walrus article on immigration.  

Then quite the Saturday all told, imagining a wholly other life.  Eli's (RIP, sadly) coffee and meeting with the twirling mustache.  The drive to Keji and the Groocock tour.  Dreams of fireside readings, Valley of the Kings and Moose-themed rooms, Stargates, and the distance to Alf's Melmac.  Wonderful to have had the opportunity to make the decision for yourself, but based on the need to keep firing wood into the furnace twice a day, Project Something seems just that bit too remote at the moment.  Perhaps the closing will not proceed on Friday and the chance opens again?  Or you can drive past some year hence and wonder what if... 

For now, though, Operation Permanent Move (14) takes precedence.  Bas on the POD just noted that we will "get through this phase and onto the better times."  DM says, "We are still allowed to go outside."  Allowed is the word.  Recalls the maxim that 'Whatever is not Prohibited is Permitted' and so follow that through to its logical conclusion to achieve the necessary ends.  Collection of gifts back from the cottage.  Cleaning.  Groceries.  Lightbulbs.  Buddy pass to TO on a Friday.  Early morning greeting, quarantine hotel, and then the Nova Scotia gauntlet after (hopefully) yet another negative test.  

Having been through the Signature Health full analysis and cardiogram (Cholesterol too high, Vitamin D too low, but 98th percentile on the 7 minute exercises, who knew?) and just now the neck popping by Dr. Wiggins before another round of the seemingly interminable yet complexly lucrative B U T U file.  Some things change, some don't.

What a difference a week can make.  Will you be in the air again inside of 48 hours?  Odds on.  All to close the 11,343 km gap.  An momentous update to follow next.  You see as straight as anyone I know, texts Todd A.  See it through, (once again) roll that hard six and, as Berwick's man just said, "go scotch that snake."