‘My Summer Vacation’Let’s face facts. We don’t take vacations just to get away from it all or to have “no surprises” as one hotel chain presumes. We want a change, just not too much of one. This summer, after Richmond Hill finally declared itself sister city to Atlantis, I decided that a holiday was in order. The choice was obvious: either get out of town or grow gills. We headed north. Not to the Real North where the idle rich seek out novel life experiences on the tundra, we’re not idle enough. But to the Working North were the wardrobe staple is denim jeans and a plaid woolen jacket. En route, we noticed numerous apiaries and dairy farms hinting that we may have discovered the land of mild and honey. In spirit perhaps, but to us this territory has been affectionately dubbed, “the Land of Chips and Gravy”. An unpretentious stretch of rocky terrain dotted with road signs assuring, “Good Food, Cigs, Ice and Worms.” Oddly enough I managed to on weight. Our holiday began with an overnight stay at a bed and breakfast facility. I say facility because, surprise number one, this particular home also doubles as a retirement residence. This unexpected commercial quality struck us as curious but certainly not worthy of concern. That was until I realized that when the owner of this establishment offered “a cot for the children for an extra $7.00” she meant exactly what she said – a cot – ONE cot for TWO children. You may consider this surprise number two. I eagerly wanted to give this woman my best lecture on fair play, ethics, and fraudulent misrepresentation and remind her of the penalty for theft under fifty. Instead, we paid the extra $7.00 but held firm when we turned down her offer to purchase some of her knick-knacks and left early the next morning. Our parting words, as I remember them were thanks and goodbye. Now that’s telling her. Sales people, and here I speak from experience, look upon such incidents not as problems but as opportunities. I’ve had my share and perhaps even, my fill of opportunities. Somehow I’ve managed to see them through with at least a hesitant smile. After all, who was it that taught half a plane load of Caribbean vacationers to play charades when we found ourselves rained out for the second day in a row? And I didn’t even know how to play. Thank heavens I didn’t need to teach them how to drink Pina Coladas. Thank heavens. It seems that every holiday we have encountered new challenges which have caused us to become better prepared. We now pack, as a matter of course, eardrops, clove oil for toothaches, a propane stove, candles, sewing kit, a corkscrew and tea bags – our philosophy being that when the going gets tough, the tough take tea. I might add that this list applies to any trip exceeding six city blocks. The demands of this summer, however, exceeded even this veteran experience. We were shot at, yes, with a gun. Not once but twice in one day while anchored in one of Ontario’s picturesque bays. Yours to discover. Next year we may have to issue mandatory flak jackets. Enough already. Somewhere, shoe how, there has to be a peaceful corner of the world where we can sunbathe, swim, dine on real food and cozy up to an evening fire. Vaguely I remember mumbling something like money is no object. I found it. A world class, southern Ontario lodge complete with your own private cabin on restricted grounds for only $300. a day, meals included. Upon arrival, we discover half the building is under construction; expanding their facilities in a constant, competitive bid to capture that hard earned but generously disposed of vacation dollar. No problem. Next year I plan to offer inner city folk the opportunity
to experience real life in the suburbs. I’m putting up gingham
curtains in the garage and I figure at $200. a day… |