Mmm... Fresca

Crazy Lutsen Mountains, where the chairlifts without safety bars careen across the road and parking lots. Last year it was so warm when we were there that we were skiing on slush by early afternoon. This year we had a day and a half of perfect weather before it began pouring rain, soaking us in our ski jackets, turning the runs into slides.

We were rather grumpy in Lutsen two weekends ago, despite our great room, lovely indoor-outdoor pool, and good ski conditions, Patrick upset that he was about to turn forty, me upset because he was upset and snapping at the kids about wanting to play video games all day. The book I was reading, "Shutter Island", didn't help my mood. Now I'm reading "The Lovely Bones" - much more cheerful.

Did I mention that I've lost a ridiculous amount of weight for no apparent reason since the fall? I eat continuously and hardly exercise. Right now I feel overly full from chicken wings and rice and peas and salad, as well as a few bites of beans and three crackers with cream cheese and papaya-flavored red pepper jelly, and half a grapefruit and a Fresca, my cocktail of the day: pink grapefruit segments, brown sugar, vodka and lemonade. I may do some sit-ups. I may do some jumping jacks. Or I may just search for passion fruit syrup online... I'm hoping to find a few more exotic ingredients this weekend in Thunder Bay, possibly at Maltese, a great Italian grocery store. Also I'm hoping the liquor store there carries Chambord. It sounded like a basic to me, so I checked in Atikokan, but was told it's too expensive to sell here. Nobody but broke rednecks in this town, apparently.

I think I just discovered, via Facebook, that my best friend from grade one to grade eight has moved from Manitoba to Tofino, where she works as a nurse. I have yet to clarify that impression - but if it's true, that means I've had yet another dream predicting the future, and possibly means that we should move to the Pacific Rim as well, where the surfing is amazing, the lakes and mountains unbelievably beautiful, dark swaths of trees plunging down to green water. As we drove past Sproat Lake last summer on the way to my cousin's wedding, I thought - why aren't we living here? It's perfect. At the dawn of the world, in the race for spots to set up shelter, wouldn't everyone rush to this one? There are houses for sale here now - why wouldn't I buy one and perch on this lakeshore for the rest of my life? And then I discovered surfing, the key to bonding with the ocean properly, the missing link! To hell with sailing, swimming, kayaking; they are nothing compared with cutting through the waves on a surf board, turning yourself around, and catching the tide back to shore - in, and on, and up, and down, the ocean in your throat, and doing it again, syncing your rhythm with the rhythm of the earth. After two hours I can't say I achieved that epiphany, exactly, but I was close, I could taste it in all its salty glory. I wanted to rearrange my life around it.

So we've been lusting after Vancouver Island again. In my dream, Nadine and I lived and worked in a big old house filled with invalids, on a hill above the sea. We would walk to the grocery store in the evening; it was dark and dangerous, crossing the train tracks, carrying our bags; it was a rough town. The store was rich with specialty goods, though, catering to tourists. I was excited to be there, figuring things out. I get so restless sometimes, living in just one place week after week, month after month.

That being said, we do have a great house in a beautiful spot, and work here is good, and I should just settle down and read a book and maybe put in hardwoods, paint, change things without throwing them apart completely, for once in my life.