Arriving home

The security guard at the Vancouver airport stared down at my purple plastic tub full of camping gear and ordered me to strip the tape off. Tape I had spent 20 minutes applying back at Michael's place. But the woman was adamant. My tub could contain -- horror of horrors -- a camping stove. So, I complied without complaint.

As she made me unravel the mouldy towels, the utensil bag, the camping pots and the binoculars, I couldn't help but reflect on our trip.

I think it's the "now-ness" of vacations that make them so restorative. There you are, traveling through a foreign land, marveling at the differences, awed by the sites. There's no time to worry about what your neighbour thinks of you, the deadline you might miss at work, all those 'to-do's on your list of 'to do' lists.

When placed in a different place with so much to discover, it's hard not to live in the now. Very zen. I began to wonder why I can't live here more often. Why, when traveling to work on the Queen car or eyeing the eggplants at the grocery store, I can't let all that stuff go? Isn't the world around us a wonderful place? I become complacent. The trees seem to disappear as if they didn't exist, or are replaced by the honking of horns and glares of angry TTC riders.

But why?

After the inspection and re-taping of my purple tub, Cathe and I survived the red-eye, 4-hour plane ride. My cats were still alive (and thriving, actually).

I feel lucky to have the entire weekend to myself. I don't want to go out of town for at least another month.

As I roast a chicken on my barbecue on a Saturday night, this blog comes to an end.

Thanks to all of you (for there seem to be quite a few) for coming along for the ride. It's been a slice.