My four-day-long Nova Scotia holiday glow disappeared fast on my flight back to Toronto. There was an adult a few rows back who insisted on playing a video game on their tablet involving laughing and screaming characters and annoying music. They played the game at full volume–without headphones.
I would’ve offered them mine, if I’d remembered to bring them along.
Then there was a child seated across from me who insisted on asking her grandmother absurd questions: Why are we moving. Why are we moving now? How fast is this plane going? What time is it? Are we there yet? Are you awake?
Grandma wasn’t awake. She managed to fall asleep. I had a few questions of my own: Hey kid; why is your voice so high-pitched? Why are you yelling in that voice? And how can you be so restless when your grandma literally opened a family size bag of Lay’s potato chips and put them in front of you? I could destroy that bag.
I had a glass of white wine instead, and began to wonder how I would get my eye glasses repaired in the 18 hours I had before I had to read a teleprompter.
Breaking my spectacles wasn’t a concern in Nova Scotia where I was visiting Erinn. I just wore my prescription sunglasses inside and outdoors for a day and a half. Our days were jam-packed at the cottage with sunbathing and swimming in Chance Harbour, where we could see PEI across the way.
There was also a caftan photo shoot on a boat.
Evening were less vigourous: after dinner, we worked on a puzzle of a Venetian landscape.
The first night Erinn and her mom worked on it without me because I told them I wasn’t much of a puzzle person. I read my book on the couch nearby. But the next morning, with our coffees in hand, I thought: Maybe I am a puzzle person? We finished the night before we headed back to Truro.
That’s where I got to see the home where Erinn grew up. We’ve shared so many stories of our childhood with each other that I had a picture in my head of what it would look like. It was more enchanting than I’d imagined, especially the garden that Erinn planted for her parents in the backyard. That’s Satchmo with Erinn. And just beyond the garden is her grandfather’s house.
Inside was something out of a storybook. The rooms looked like a bed and breakfast.
I didn’t grow up in a house like this. The house I grew up in was sold over 15 years ago. I don’t miss the house itself. But I miss the time we spent, when the four of us still lived under one roof. The memory of it sent a pang to my heart.
I did, however, grow up eating dinner in front of the television. So that night I was felt right at home: We ordered fish and chips from Shillelagh House.
Then we watched Netflix with the fish and chips and glasses of prosecco in front of us, on TV tables.
The fish and chips were might fine. It was a perfect night–and, besides my glasses snapping in two–a perfect mini summer vacation.
Meanwhile, in Toronto, the Beast fended for himself. He ordered a sushi dinner for two the first night, a half-chicken dinner with extra fries from Swiss Chalet after that, a large pepperoni pizza next, and on the last night, he decided on a healthy dinner: instead of two cheeseburgers from Aris, he got one cheeseburger and a club sandwich on white.
He also spent all his free time from work improving our home: cleaning out closets, vacuuming, throwing shit out and moving all his clothes into the Ikea “Pax” closets we assembled the day before I left. He was very excited for me to come home and see the progress he’d made. I was very excited about dinner.
This weekend, we finished all our home improvement chores. I moved my crap into the Pax closet, we installed a new medicine cabinet in the washroom and a new metal shelving system in the kitchen for our pots and pans. I’m especially pleased with the bedroom. It almost looks like a room in which real adults might live in.
We didn’t have one fight. Maybe it was on account of the Ikea closets being called “Pax,” which, if memory serves correct, means “peace” in Latin.
That, or the sparkling taint.