Happy Halloween, Boo-ys and Ghouls.

Down to the wire, just before the buzzer and all those other tried-and-true clichés. Happy Halloween! Here's hoping your carriage doesn't turn into a pumpkin at midnight because my feeling is that, by the time this night is through, there will be seeds and distorted jack-o'-lantern faces, smeared like an Edvard Munch painting, all over the road. Or at least dotting the landscape like orange Smarties.

Wait a second. Smarties? I'm feeling the shaft -- no candy for me. Sigh. Happy Halloween everyone; I hope it has been a safe one.

J'ai un Soupcon.

Yes, I have a suspicion: this technology thing just might work out. All the while providing endless hours of entertainment. Digital photography offers so many possibilities to amateur photographers. Heck, it even makes some hacks like me seem rather competent. To the right is my first foray into fd's Flickr tools thanks to some inspiration from Sushimoto. Sort of makes the dish look chipped like a hockey player's ivories. And yet, the soup doesn't spill all over the counter. Swell. Put away the Burly paper towels.

How's that for throwback -- you take a digital photo so that you can "shake it like a Polaroid picture" (Hey Ya', Outkast). Except no shaking. Well, maybe I'll shimmy, just a bit. But now I want soup.

Curious?

Intellectual curiosity is such an incredible thing. Really, where would we be if people didn't consistently question, then punish, the status quo? The cogs of today's world have become so dependent on our minds serving as the belt that pushes the agenda of discovery forward. Not to be technologically determinist of course, but the world has changed so much over the last five years, ten years, twenty years. I can hardly imagine living without many advancements borne upon the world during my lifetime, far less those my grandparents -- and even parents -- did without.

Which sort of leads me to ask what the greatest invention of modern history really is (discounting fire, the wheel and perhaps even the printing press). An automotive history class I took had put into gear the theory that the automobile altered urban geography, city planning and modern transportation, not to mention business on a grand scale. Welcome to Ford's assembly line processes. All true. Some might argue air travel has opened the world to a previously unheard of degree. No, computers. Really, it has to be. The power a small microchip has to alter a broad range of technologies, to enhance global communication, to accelerate development, change the ways we do business and, in fact, the ways in which we approach the world. Of course, this is not to say that all these changes have been good.

I am surrounded by these sorts of people on a daily basis. People pushing the envelope of discovery. Questioning the status quo -- but backing up their claims, too. I am inspired by seeing a researcher's eye light up in excitement when he or she starts to talk -- often animatedly -- about their work. About the promise of a world with cures, new technologies, new ways of looking at things. About looking at the past in a different manner and the future, in a better way. Passion still exists. And out world is better for it.

Which is, in the end, all the more reason to be fearful that North Korea, led by someone known less for intellectual curiosity than for than intellectual anomalies, has acquired nuclear capabilities. Welcome to one of the downsides.

Back on Track.

Yes, a week elapsed between posts as I decided to devote my computer time to taking that leap of technological faith by switching over to the new Blogger Beta. Oooh, sooo daring am I. The learning curve continues. While the beta seems to be much more user-friendly, particularly for luddites, I think I had actually become accustomed to having to manipulate the HTML. Who'd a thunk? Anyway, the transition has taken some time as I didn't really want to lose any bells and whistles I had integrated (such as they are) and it took me some time to figure out how to include them in the new version. At least Blogger gives you the option of returning to your previous template at any point (which I did, time and time again, until I was able to integrate all of the desired elements.)

As for new features, I believe the click-and-drag option will make things easier, particularly when trying to manipulate the template (which, previously, was HTML-only). The new drop-down menus for previous posts are also more user friendly, especially if you're looking for a particular post. The option that really made me switch, though, is the ability to tag posts and then surf according to said tags. Blogger had been a bit behind on that one, compared to other software. And for good measure, the photo in this post was my first attempt at publishing directly from Flickr.

Not sure what happened, but twenty per cent of my all-time blog hits came over the past two days (120 or so). Not sure why. But, all down the eastern seaboard of the Americas and western Europe lit up my little tracking map like a Christmas tree. Um, thanks? Danke. Merci.

To Market, To Market, To Buy a Fat Hog.

It was a gorgeous, fall day for a stroll to the market. Leaves, crisp as the air. The bustle of bundled people and the smell of coffee hanging languidly in the air. Soon, the odours of home fires, crackling, will make everyone outside envious. Have I mentioned just how much I love the fall? And wandering through markets, looking for tiny treasures. And meats and cheeses. And doing that wandering, hand-in hand? I had missed that. My paws had been lonely.

I love this time of year; it conjures many fine memories, like a faded photograph that lingers in my mind. And in my senses, etched indelibly.

Sure, it snowed a couple of days ago -- and that feeling remained in the air -- but it was sunny. And people were upbeat, though sporting scarves and extra layers. A gorgeous day for a stroll, past old houses we could imagine buying. And remodeling. Though I don't really have the capacity to do either right now.

So it was off to the market, which always brings with it its own distinct sounds, smells and sights. Though it was relatively quiet today, the market offered its usual assortment of meats, cheeses, prepared foods, flowers and gift items, like the vases above. It was nice to get out and forget about the complexities of life for a while. And tenderly caress the pastries.

Charlie-in-the-Box.

Walking into the kitchen last night, we came across the just-purchased, yet suddenly furrier-than-expected blue box. Had it grown ears? And a fluffy tail? Seems Sir Charlie had discovered a new spot for repose. "Um, I'm en-vi-ron-men-tally- (that's a tough word for a cat missing its front teeth) friendly cat-thing," he said. "And I thought you might've stashed the treats in there." At least he didn't use it as a litter box.

I had heard of the Cat in The Hat (and regrettably, the movie version, too), but never Cat-in-the-Box. Timely, though, as The University of Western Ontario is giving away a Jack-in-the-box featuring one of its football players this weekend, following up on last year's bobblehead gimmick. And the featured player is quick as a cat. Ah, it's all coming together now: Charlie, a marketing wizard.

"Um, yeah, those ears belonged to me. What were you expecting? And no, these walls are not padded. But I like the blue; it accents my coat, don't you think? I wonder what Candice Olsen could do to this place on Divine Design?"

A Licky Boom Boom Down.

Snow. And I'm not talking about the infamous, Vanilla-Ice wannabe from the bowl-cut years of my youth, either. October 12, and snow. Not that I'm complaining. No, instead, I jumped around in excitement like a wee lad and made a beeline through the office to inform everyone not-so-blessed with a window that the first snow of the season was upon us. Undoubtedly, not the last.

Of course, nobody believed me. Then -- almost in unison -- came the crunching sound of blinds being pulled open like Christmas presents and the sight of people rubbing their eyes in disbelief like groundhogs in spring. Shnow, light and fluffy. Really. The first flash of flurries lasted about ten minutes and stuck to leaves and grass before the sun came out and buried them in the ground. Winds, wailing like Joe Cocker. Then the temperature dropped even more and, at writing, the ground is now covered like the distinguished salt-and-pepper hair of an aging actor. Just not in a bowl cut.

Tomat-O'-Lantern.

Thanksgiving over, I suppose it's time to turn our thoughts to the next holiday. With its built-in excuse to devour succulent, succulent, miniature chocolate bars (really, they may be smaller, but eating the whole box sort of negates the reduction in calories this provides), I welcome Halloween with open arms. And an open pillow case.

Which brings me to the freakiest-looking tomato I have ever seen. Yes, that is a tomato. And it's already got its game face on. Ever the green thumb, SCS may have cultivated the first Halloween-ready fruit.

The tomato had grown into cracks between the bricks at the side of the house, resulting in its disfiguration (or figuration?) Really, no pesticides. Not the result of a science experiment gone extremely awry. It was a little sensitive about having been called 'pear-shaped' as a child. And having been called a Franken-fruit hurt him right to his seeds. But clearly, two eyes, a large nose and even a mouth. eBay? Can we say it looks like some religious disciple? The Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese woman was able to get $28,000 for a burnt sandwich. And then had it tattood on herself. Surely we can come up with a bald celebrity look-alike who might look a little green after a late night partying. Howie Mandel? Deal or no deal? If not, I have it on good authority that tomato soup goes well with a grilled cheese sandwich.

Interesting little note from Wikipedia about tomatoes, which I had always been told were fruits. This touches on the great fruit/vegetable debate. And introduces them as berries! No wonder the one above is having an identity crisis.

Fruit or vegetable?
Botanically speaking, a tomato is the ovary, together with its seeds, of a flowering plant, that is a fruit or, more precisely, a berry. However, from a culinary perspective, the tomato is not as sweet as those foodstuffs usually called fruits; and it is typically served as part of a main course of a meal, as are other vegetables, rather than at dessert. As noted above, the term "vegetable" has no botanical meaning and is purely a culinary term.

While the Tomato can be classified as a fruit, it is officially categorized as a definite vegetable in the United States. The USDA also considers the tomato a vegetable.

But due to the scientific definition of a fruit and a vegetable, the tomato still remains a fruit when not dealing with tariffs. Nor is it the only culinary vegetable that is a botanical fruit: eggplants, cucumbers, and squashes of all kinds (including zucchini and pumpkins) share the same ambiguity.

Happy Turkey Day.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I'm particularly thankful to many of you for your support over the past year -- certainly a trying one for me. And to others of you, I'm thankful for ongoing support over the years despite my not always picking up the phone as often as I should.

Really, no matter which way life turns, we are still surrounded by plenty of things for which we can, or should, be thankful. Little things. Big things. Or at least I am. The way someone looks at you with a glint in their eyes. Friendship. Family. The laughter of children. And their neck hugs. The ever-changing beauty of the world. And of new experience. Freedom to think, write and believe what you want. And to act silly. Health, to whatever degree. That it could always be worse. Warmth in winter. Cool in summer. Fall leaves and spring flowers. Memory. Pictures to assist it. A soft touch. Words: good, new and intriguing. Caring for someone. Being cared about. Having encountered many people who don't necessarily realize the extent to which they have impacted your life. And trying to pare down that list by letting them know. A pet's whisper. Trust. Overcoming obstacles. Not being able to list everything for which you are thankful.

Happy thanksgiving. Be safe. Enjoy your families, football, pie and irrational amounts of turkey. Then be thankful that the aching in your stomachs will indeed go away. Eventually. But maybe only after a smidge more stuffing. With gravy.

Rental Service Skills (RSS).

Rant, on. Having become a bit of a car-renting maven of late, given that my driveway currently sports only transport of the two-wheeled variety, I was struck by the recent spate of poor experiences I've had with car rental places. I've been double-billed twice. I've had reservations lost. I've been told there was a quarter tank of gas when there was only an eighth. And my past couple of days with Enterprise, also sometimes known as e-cars, deserved a report card of, well, E. Not quite an F, given some of the efforts to placate me, but mighty close.

With a slogan like "We pick you up", you'd think that they'd, well, you know, pick you up. Now, I'm not talking from Tuktoyaktak or anything here. Merely a three-to-four-minute drive farther than my house, but down the same road. There I am, trying to squeeze in getting the rental between appointments and calling from my father's office downtown. The manager answered the phone and told me they were too understaffed to send anyone. And that I should have contacted the downtown location if I wanted to be picked up there. After going back and forth to explain that I was really only a smidge farther than where they usually pick me up. I don't usually like to complain, but I told her that I would try to find a car rental downtown or maybe make it up to her location by closing time at six (it was around 4:30). She said that she might be able to do a pick-up around 5:30 but, frustrated by this point, I explained that if I was going to have to walk up to her location, I'd have to start now. Nothing like stress to make you a bit melodramatic.

Then the fun started. She offered to send a cab, saying it would be there at five. At 5:10, my father pulled out his phone and called the cab company. Interesting -- no car even ordered. When he called Enterprise and spoke to the manager, she tried to insinuate that the car had been ordered, but kind of knew the gig was up when my father continued the questioning (he is a police officer). A car was soon sent and we were upgraded to a monster of a vehicle -- a Dodge Durango. (Grunt, grunt, hear me roar.) Upon seeing us, she tried to explain it away by saying there had been a misunderstanding in communication. Just stick to honesty, please. I was late where I was going, but was now riding in style.

As if that weren't enough, the manager happened the next day -- of all days, places and times -- to go into the one of three insurance offices my mother works in to toot Enterprise's metaphorical horn. She didn't know what she had coming. When my mother wouldn't have it and explained that she wasn't happy with the service, the e-cars manager backtracked a little bit, trying to pawn off the poor service on another of her staff. But she offered to comp. the Durango for the two days. And gave a free one-day rental to be used another time. Saved from an F.

One small, last detail when I returned the vehicle: the manager welcomed me back with a tentative, and likely false, smile, apologized for the misunderstanding and said that her staff person would explain the rules for pick-ups to me so that we didn't have it again. Teetering toward an E-minus again. He explained to me that there's a road past which their location doesn't pick up. Of course, where I was downtown was about two blocks BEFORE that road. "Well, it's still downtown -- next time, just let me know and I'll have one of the other locations pick you up." Funny enough, when arguing about it in the first place, this was never an option presented to me. No, that would have solved the problem. Rant, off.

Not the Brightest Lights.

Having formerly trained people for job interviews, and having even endured a couple of less-than-stellar performances myself, it was nice to be on the other side of the interview table today, slinging questions like a barkeep slings foamy beverages. After enduring -- and yes, I have chosen that word very carefully -- a couple of the applicants, though, I could have used one of said beverages. Or two. I grant you that job interviews can be about as pleasant as having your toenails surgically removed, but having people come in when they're either unprepared, unlistening or generally oblivious is like having the entire toe gnawed off by a rabid beaver. While perhaps not dim bulbs, a couple were certainly not luminaries. Watt the heck? It was as though they could have used reading Interviews for Dummies, rather than their own books: Interviews BY Dummies.

So, being car-less (not to be confused with being Carlos, Carla or Carlee) myself, I again found myself at the car rental place bright and early this morning. A recurring theme of late. A Chrysler. A wannabe Chevy Cobalt (oh, a wee yearning for Kobe the Cobalt, which carried me to Alabama!). But no automatic locks. Not even cruise control. And they said there was a quarter of a tank of gas. But really, there was only an eighth and I was in too much of hurry to notice until I ran low in Woodstock. Grr. At least there was a CD player. A poor man's Cobalt, I'd say. I didn't know they even still made cars without such features standard. It wasn't even a Ford. What is this, the Fred Flintstone car? Yabba Dabba Don't.

Off to Steeltown: Hamilton, ON. And a ride down the escarpment -- hey, more fall leaves! Anyway, the interviews were interesting, and even resulted in a couple of good candidates. That said, there were also a couple of cringe-worthy moments. One potential candidate not only arrived ten minutes late, he offered no explanation or apology for having done so. "The dog ate my watch" would have got him the job. Or not. Then, given an out at the end of the interview when asked if he had run into traffic, he simply replied, "No. I just missed my exit." Pre-plan and do a drive-by (no, not that kind of drive-by) beforehand, kids. No remorse. Not that I would advocate lying, but this just might be a time to creatively bend the truth like Gumby. At least take the out provided. Really, is a job interview the time you really want to advertise that you're disorganized? Well, he did look a little like he could be a made-man in a local disorganized-crime family.

He was already treading in a murky pool of skepticism as it was since his resume was punctuated with spelling errors and oversights resulting from poor copy-and-paste skills. Mmm, fond memories of kindergarten: UHU sticks and safety scissors. The landscape of his work history, planted with duplicated and misplaced words. Weeds. Spread over a two-and-a-half page cover letter. Succinct? Um, no. Ah, and I haven't yet even informed you this was for a communications job where editing and precision are key (not to mention touted skills, misspelled in his resume). He didn't even put the position's correct title into his cover letter (it had been all the way down in the third line of the job advertisement, after all). No, instead, he chose to include the abbreviations for each of the seven words in the title (including repeating 'Office' and its abbrev., "Off."). Proofread, people. Puh-lease.

The position reports to a project run by four universities (and involves another three). One candidate "only had time to review one" of the universities' sites. Another pointed out that he had been taught how to use Microsoft Excel by a colleague, but "I forgot it after 2-3 days, and read the manuals to learn some of it again -- it can be used to make colour graphs and things." Um, thanks? You go-getter, you. Get 'em tiger. When asking about knowledge of university research successes, we were provided with a great example. About a competitor not involved in the consortium. What? Remember, there are seven -- count 'em, seven -- main institutions from which he could have provided an example without offending any sensibilities. Seven. Nope, let's go with the competitor because it's easier. Well, I guess the media often seems to work that way, too.

Don't be too beancounter-like. Another thing: don't confuse "lead" with "led". Saying, "Of course, they liked me so much they signed me on full-time," "Gosh, there's been so many examples of my learning quickly" or "I was the maestro," might be true. But they might also just smack of being a tad too boastful. Not suggested. Not wise. It's a fine line that exists between your tooting your own horn and sounding like a flatulent elephant. Show some humility, folks. "I was fortunate that my skills were recognized as providing value and they signed me on full-time," maybe? And when we ask about new skills you've had to adopt, you might not really want bring up the time you tried to install cedar floorboards and had to spend an hour-and-a-half in the hospital with wood in your eye. Unless it resulted in your teaching yourself eye surgery while on the stretcher. And please do your homework. The Internet is an amazing tool if you know how to use it critically. It's full of, like, information and stuff, you know? First and foremost, though: listen and answer the questions you are asked. Just a suggestion: answer them and be quiet before you end up using your oversized feet as the sandwich filling between your lips. If we want more, we'll ask. One interviewee took 25 minutes to regurgitate his resume (and it wasn't that tasty), rather than answer the question: "Tell us a little bit about yourself and why you are interested in this job". Oddly, I still haven't heard an answer as to why he wanted to work with us (and that's a pretty basic -- not to mention common -- first question in an interview). But I could tell you plenty about a former job he seemed to pine over like a lost, jilted lover.

Be yourself. Unless you happen to be a sociopath. Or the fourth guy we saw today. Be honest. And remember that we're just people, too, and we're (really) not there to give you the gears. Again, really. We just want to find a good fit and can see through the nervousness to the essential you. If you let us. Is it you? Great -- help us see it so that we can get on our way, pay you lots of money and stop wondering why people still don't proofread.

Nonetheless, I was quite happy to be a part of the hiring process for a new colleague. Who will make more money than me. Despite falling lower on the food chain. No jealousy, there. Really. Actually, the chosen candidate (insert appropriate theme song here) reminded me a lot of, well, me. And I mean that in a good way. Congratulations -- I look forward to working with you and helping you navigate the miasma. Oh, we didn't mention that? Whoops. My bad.

275kms and far less patience.

Exchange of the (long) day, though:

INTERVIEWEE: "Oh, so you don't have the financial resources to hire a consultant to help me with the communications strategy?" (Which we would be hired to develop.)

ME: "YOU would be the consultant." (Actually, there's not a hope you'll be hired anyway, so don't worry about it, fool.)

COLLEAGUE: "You'd be the consultant -- that's why it's good to talk to yourself." Muttering, "You know, that OTHER voice in your head." (A little harsh, yes, but it still flew right past him.)

Throwback road music: Fugazi: Steady Diet of Nothing; REM: Up; The Joel Plaskett Emergency: Truthfully, Truthfully; Pearl Jam: Yield; Elastica: S/T; Liz Phair: S/T

Signs O' the Times.

Without question, the Redundant Sign of the Day. One you'd almost more expect at a 20-buck-an-hour joint just off the Sunset Strip, with blinking neon lights leering like smeared lipstick against the backdrop of an eyeshadow sky. Which is it, people? If there are no apartments for rent, then perhaps you might just want to simply take down your 99-cent sign. Then, you can use the blank spot for its prescribed use: contact information. I'm just sayin'.

This sign, in Kingston, has an entertaining business name and also made me chuckle, particularly as it is followed by something along the lines of "Specializing in Fine Meats and Cheeses". Mmm, meats and cheeses.

A delicatessen. Wouldn't have been my first guess when I saw the sign. Really, written as a short play, I can just picture how this one would go:

CANDACE: "Hey ma, like I'm sooo like geeked and stuff -- I got a job today" (flicking her recently bleached blonde hair back, catching it momentarily on the ubiquitous lip ring of rebellious youth). "Now I'm going to be able to get that Juicy Couture purse!" (Because she's really a conformist at heart.)

MOTHER: "That's great, honey -- where?" (Thinking, 'excellent, now maybe you'll move out soon, and will dump that no-good beatnik of a boyfriend of yours. What's his name again?')

CANDACE: "Like, um, the Hind Quarter! Oh, I love all the sausages! What a meat market."

Mother faints.

Fin.

Blogger is Annoying Me.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION. Dammit.

So, I have been royally peeved with Blogger over the past twenty-four hours as it seems to be under as much construction as local area roads. And filled with just as many potholes. Hitting publish didn't result in publishing (instead choosing to hang at 0%). Then it resulted in publishing, many times over, even though it had screamed at me that it was unsuccessful. Refresh afterward to make sure nothing was there, and -- good -- there wasn't. Go back five minutes later, however, different story. Repeated, old posts. Want to make a small adjustment to something? Go through the process all over again. Taxing. Anyway, below is the original content of this post. It appears as though things are ticking along now. Grr.

There actually is a first part of the post about the trip to Hull, but I have been having troubles getting it to post. Actually, it was there, but the obsessive-compulsive part of me wanted to tweak a couple of things to get them to line up better. Now, I cannot get it to publish. Grr. It is forthcoming, though. Promise. Waiting with baited breath, I am sure.

To Hull and Back.

Yes, this might be the world's longest post. For me, anyway. But I guess that's what happens after a week of no posting. Blert. (Actually, following a world of hurt from Blogger, I have now started anew and split the post -- ed.) I won't even start with the overweight, middle-aged woman milling about the produce section of the grocery store in a t-shirt advertising a local 'gentlemen's establishment' last night. And no, she wouldn't have been confused with someone who had just aged somewhat less than gracefully. Cringe. No, tempting as that might be, I instead just returned from a weekend in the Gatineaus. And they were real purty. So was the company.

SCS and I left on Friday following a morning of classes and she and I edited some work until we reached Kingston, weaving in-and-out of both traffic and subordinate clauses. Then, of course, we needed to find a (free) Internet connection to send the report to the requisite people. People who do not necessarily read their email. Our first stop, a somewhat sleazy-looking motel, only briefly gave us a connection (after all, we weren't surfing for porn), so it was on to Queen's. An hour and a very helpful employee at the university who happened to be headed to Tanzania (from which SCS has just returned) later, and we were free to dine at the Sleepless Goat. Yes, the Sleepless Goat (who knew?). I didn't dare ask about the origin of the name. After this, it would be two days where the only Internet connection we would have would be like that found in the photo above. No email. No blogging. No stress (well, we'll get to that later).

On to the Gatineau hills and Les Trois Erables Bed and Breakfast in gorgeous Wakefield, QC. What a gorgeous spot. And a 110-year-old Victorian home. The decor was nice despite a couple of eyebrow-raising knick knacks interspersed. Service and the breakfast were tremendous. And a couple of great nights of sleep were had by all.

The view from the room defied beauty, conventional or otherwise. Overlooking the lake and the hills, trees shed their verdant skin for tones more suited to fall. Ablaze. A steam train also brings in tourists to take postcard pictures. And a covered bridge spans the water. No word if the waters are troubled.

Fall. How I love the fall. And in this case, even the tripping. Really, Wakefield is a quaint little spot. And I mean that in a good way. So relaxed.


Quebec, home to Ontario's underage drinkers and apparently, also home to the 'stubby' as a wine bottle as opposed to the traditional beer (Bob and Doug, anyone?) And a screw-top, too. God love the screw-top swill, er, wine. Not quite a Tetra Pak, but still. I likely should have known when it came in a non-descript paper bag, crumpled like my brain after drinking it. Alcohol in the depanneur -- got to love it. I guess.

The wedding was on Saturday at one of the local churches and one of the highlights (besides, of course, the nuptials -- duh) was one of the members of the wedding party getting up and singing Josh Grobin's You Raise Me Up. Better than Josh Grobin. Tears, flowing all around. And then, the awkward pause and silence at the end because, being in a church, nobody knew how to react. Then the eruption. Would have thought we were in a Baptist baptist church for a moment, except that this was, well, Wakefield. Hallelujahs all around. It was beautiful. The bride and groom, too, said their vows in the other's native language, which was a nice touch. The reception was at Wakefield's old mill, which also provided a spectacular backdrop. A recurring theme, yes. A waterfall. More fashionable leaves. And SCS was glad to finally have some chocolate

More Hullabalooza.

A number of great signs pointed us, cajoled us, pleaded us and directed us throughout the weekend. This one, in Wakefield, made me chuckle. I also want to "Attain Joyful Fluency". As opposed to the painful bilingualism I grace now. "Master tense situations"? Doesn't matter what language, that's a great skill to have in your back pocket ("I'm a teepee, I'm a wigwam"; "No, you're too tense"). Another sign I found to be quintessentially Quebecois advertised condominiums. In French, it pointed out that Gatineau was only 25 kilometres away. And in English, it blared out that Ottawa was only 30 away. Well, it is always said that you need to "Know your audience". But it was still funny to me. The sign of the weekend, however, must go to the store along the road (alas, no photo) that sells "Second-hand candles". I'm not kidding. Really, are they in bulk? Are they still liquid, or still smoking (somebody might be)? Are the colours all molded together in one gelatinous blob? Are wicks included? Tough to wax poetic about that one. By the way, a quick Google search for "second-hand candles" results in 1,280,000 hits. And strangely, for the Internet, no porn. Or ear candling.

During a peaceful walk gone amok on Saturday, SCS lost her wallet after the reception, but prior to the evening party. A wee panic ensued. Luckily enough, a retired police officer found it and tried to track her down, visiting local restaurants and businesses. He even called her parents. I'm guessing he worded it carefully, rather than say "Hey, I found your daughter's wallet along the railroad tracks beside the lake...but there's no sign of her". Not good. They told him that we had rented a car from Enterprise, which I had happened to park nose first (showing the logo sticker on the back) after heading to the mill in my new role as Sherlock Holmes. As he came to the door at the Bed and Breakfast, his phone rang. SCS had gone into the Pot au Feu restaurant (free plug because of your kindness) and one of the staff passed her a piece of paper. On it, her name and a phone number to call. I'd have been jealous and all, but you know. I am sure it is strange to see your name in a random and unexpected situation like that.

Anyway, it all worked out and we headed to the 'Bal en Blanc', where we were to wear all white, hence the name. A little skeptical at first, but it really worked out. Even after Labour Day. Neat. Even the decor was white, with sheets hung. And I can no longer say I've never had a man sporting a fluffy, black boa jump into my arms. No, I'm not going to post the picture. All in all, a good time, for sure.

Sunday, we had a little more time for relaxing and went hiking in the hills and over to the covered bridge. It was an absolutely spectacular morning, with blue sky and fluffy clouds. Air crisp like a potato chip. It just smelled and tasted good. Tickling the skin and tempting the nose. Along the way, we saw a flash of red fly by and saw a woodpecker take up in one of the trees nearby (above right). I hadn't seen such a big pecker before. Oh, let's re-write that one. Quite a weekend for birds as I had also seen my first wild bald eagle on Friday, flying gracefully over the Thames river.

All in all, it was a really good trip. I love hitting the road and seeing new things and new places. It didn't hurt that we were in a very pretty spot in which I could actually picture myself living if only there were appropriate work there. Oh, that work thing. Details, details. On the way back, we also hit the Hershey's factory in Smith's Falls (what, no damaged peanut butter cups in bulk? Shame, shame!) and Ikea in Burlington. We've kind of been jonesing for Ikea for a while and really, it's tough to come out of there without having bought something. Fall-smelly candles and tea light holder (oooh, that just reeks of manliness, doesn't it!) and some brushed steel tins (that's better) for me. The great book case dilemma for SCS, though she also couldn't resist coming away with some goods. Whoever says money doesn't help obviously doesn't have any. It makes the world go around, unfortunately.

Sunday night was spent in Toronto. A shout-out is in order to Connor, who hosted us (his parents might temper that a bit). He is, afterall, in the vernacular of SCS, "Fresh Human". And an adorable one at that.

1,470 total kms. Yawn.

The ever-so-imporant road trip music: Cat Power: The Greatest;Swing Kids OST; Great Lake Swimmers: Great Lake Swimmers; Sarah Harmer: You are Here; Band of Horses: Everything All the Time; Coldplay: Live 2003; Hayden: Elk Lake Serenade; Midlake: The Trials of Van Occupanther; Emily Haines: Kives Don't Have Your Back; Acid House Kings: Sing Along with the Acid House Kings; Voxtrot: Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives; Sarah McLachlan: Fumbling Toward Ecstacy; Sarah Harmer: I am a Mountain; Kathleen Edwards: Failer; REM: Green; The Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs; REM: Out of Time.