Noon tomorrow we hit the road for our annual trek to Dee's family cottage. This will mark twenty-something annual pilgrimages I've made to the modest little spot on Georgian Bay near Parry Sound. But I've come to be pretty ambivalent about the experience.
It's an idyllic enough place - quiet, isloated, lovely little beachfront, accessible only to those with a boat and a map. But, for me, there's only so much fishing, swimming, sitting in the outhouse, or reading by the dock that I can seriously take. But when you're there, you're there. Weather permitting, it's a good hour into town: boat to marina, marina to car, car to town. Heading out to a movie theater or restaurant - doing anything remotely spontaneous and urban - is not really in the cards.
So I always make the best of it. Since the place is 40+ years old there are always repairs that need attention. Lots of repairs. And I read a lot. And I swim with the kids. And then I read some more. And then I fix something else.
There's no Internet service there, of course. And I'm told that the satellite TV service may not yet be turned on. So I have a lot of books and DVDs ready to go. I've loaded the iPod with more hours of podcasts than I could possibly consume. A few bottles of Red are sitting in the loading area. And I have my eye on someone's DS.
The weather is looking reasonable for sitting outside. This is good because, you know, I'm going to be reading a lot and trying to recall what indoor plumbing and The Internet are all about.