There are times when three days can seem like an eternity. When you’re waiting for the results of a biopsy, let’s say, or maybe that’s how long it takes you to find food whilst foraging in the wilderness.
At other times, three days will fly by and you’ll come out the other end wondering why these wormholes keep happening to you all while those same wormholes wonder why you keep happening to them.
Way back at the beginning of July, Wes and I scheduled a getaway weekend to Victoria, BC. This was to be our first trip away from Aidan and, as such, we decided to make it three days. Three days sounded like enough time to relax while not enough time to reduce me to pitiful, babyless tears. We scheduled. We waited. And then we left.
Now that I’m back, I laugh at the Erika and Wes of a month and a half ago. Fools! Three days is a pittance! You guys can go away for longer than that! Three days will whiz by and by the time you get back your kid will have decided he likes his grandma better anyway so just stay an extra day! You might as well!
My son’s betrayal aside, we had a marvelous time. Canadians really are the nicest people. Maybe that’s just because the ones we talked to were in the service/hospitality business and were paid to be nice, but I don’t think so. My verdict is in: I like Canadians.
One of the things we did was a wine tour of the Cowichan Valley. If you like white wines, the Cowichan Valley is the Promised Land for you. All the Pinot Gris your liver can stand, and not a few other kinds as well you’re unlikely to find at a grocery store (which is where I normally buy my wine).
An added bonus of doing a wine tour is a byproduct of having little class. You see, you’re supposed to spit your wine out at the tastings into these little buckets they provide. Because it’d be déclassé to get a buzz going at a wine tasting. But no one spits out the wine, and by the end of the tour everyone’s having a real good time. Except the driver. Because drunk driving isn’t fun for anyone.
For me, though, the highlight of our trip was riding mopeds around the city. I have a lingering mistrust of motorcycles and Wes reckoned the time was nigh for me to just get over it already. We rented two mopeds, I realized I had no idea how to turn when I was halfway across an intersection, I almost got run over by an inattentive elderly woman, and we somehow made it all throughout the city in one piece.
We even did that thing where we sat next to each other at a red light and chatted. Do you ever see motorcycle drivers do that? Don’t you ever wish you knew what they were talking about?
I have a pretty good guess. They’re probably talking about how much their butts hurt after riding on juddering motorcycles for a few hours.
Now that this trip is in the past, we have no plans from here to forever. That means I’m back to regular blogging, back to editing and revising my novel, and, as soon as this accursed boot is off my foot, back to exercising!
Diversions are fun, but now I’m rested and ready to dive back in. With exceptionally long blog posts, apparently. And a pantry full of wine!