a peek inside the fishbowl

I finally uploaded a few pics from the BlogHer 10 conference I attended in NYC. As I was uploading them I realized it looked like I didn’t attend any sessions, or really even talk to anyone while I was there. This is not true. :) Most other BlogHer pics are about the people and the parties but this one is all about the architecture. But that’s just me.

You can view the set here.

“Mum, you are so pretty.”
“Thank you honey…”
“You’re even pretty with your bushy hair. You look like Nature Woman!”
“…”

I think I might get the words “Nature Woman” printed on a t-shirt. Also, this little exchange should give you a good indication why I do not appear in a single one of the photos I’m posting online for you to view. :)

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This year we opted to return to Charleston Lake. I think this was our fourth time on this site. This place is ideal for young families, so if you’re thinking of trying out car camping and you live in this part of Ontario I highly recommend it. It has some pretty sites and it’s near the water for easy swimming, fishing and canoeing. As a bonus there is a great children’s program and there are some lovely little hikes, the water is potable and the facilities are clean.  

The place is manna for the eyeballs. It’s near Gananoque, and if you’re familiar with that area at all you’ll know that it’s woodsy and watery and there’s lots of sky.

In a phrase: superpretty.

We had a great time, as we always do. See?

1. first dip, 2. Sarah at the beach, 3. clay, 4. a popular pastime, 5. Sarah, 6. Emma, 7. sarah’s catch, 8. the “big” beach, 9. Huge dragonfly, 10. Banana Boats, 11. toasty feet, 12. Sparklers!, 13. Baby garter snake, 14. exploring, 15. the small beach, 16. wee frog

In our experience the campsites within the sphere of Ontario Parks can be really good or really terrible, well, let rephrase that. There are a lot of sites I’d rate as medium-good, but the ones that are bad are really bad and the ones that are great are fantastic. We have a site we return to, which, for us, is a good distance away from major roads, garbage drop-offs and outhouses, but close enough to the beach and the comfort station to make it manageable. (In fact I counted the number of steps to the comfort station a.k.a flush toilets and hot water. The magic number? 228. This meant I learned very early on to stop drinking beer at 8:30 p.m.)

It was fine place to be except for one incident we had near the end of our stay. There was something of a family reunion happening over 3 or 4 sites across the road from us. It was a big group, around 30 people, and they were fairly noisy in the late hours (but never past 11, which I could live with). On our last night we were coming back from the beach when we realized they’d set up a HUGE screen and projector and were all gathered around watching a show. This was around dinner time. The show eventually turned into a movie, the name of which we were able to determine by the distinctive music: Indiana Jones. By 10:30 we were sick and tired of the movie soundtrack drowning out the cheery crackle of our campfire and the chorus of peepers and crickets in the forest.

I acknowledge that camping means different things to different people. For some people it means a canoe, some dried food and a week in the back woods of Canada, for others it’s a fully-loaded RV with all the comforts of home. For some it’s about hot dogs and marshmallows and for others it’s about roasted peppers and artisanal cheeses, but I draw the line at pulling out the projector and subjecting half the campground with blaring entertainment.

Rant over.

ANYWAY, the weather was pretty good. We had one solid rainstorm on our first full day there, but it landed squarely in the few hours between lunch and dinner. I had a nap, everyone else read, and I was happy that we managed to get in three hot meals. Otherwise it was very pleasant for outdoor living; not too hot, not too cold.

The bugs were bad-ish, but not in the usual way. We are used to dealing with hoards of mosquitoes in July but were wholly unprepared for everything else. There actually weren’t too many mosquitoes, but the ones that were there were particularly savage. I don’t think it was my imagination. The five or six who make their living on our campsite all managed to find my ankles and gorge themselves. So. Itchy. I alternated calamine socks with something we later discovered … the astonishingly calming effects of a layer of Charleston Lake Clay. The girls coated our legs as a joke and it turned out to be a soothing remedy for our bites. That stuff should be bottled and sold! No joke.

Other bugs:

1) Wasps.
There were plenty of those. This is the time of year they are out in full force, lookin’ for sweet stuff. They sniff out food and swarm dinner plates and crash our picnics. Wasps don’t actually bother me too much. If you had to quantify “fear of stinging” on a scale of 1 – 10 (1 being totally unafraid and 10 being terrified) I’d be about a 5. I did however, have my worst encounter with a wasp to date. I was enjoying a bottle of beer by the fireside, lad di dah, staring alternately into the fire and into the great outdoors when I took a big swig and suddenly felt something, er, WALKING AROUND IN MY MOUTH. I spit it out on the ground only to see a wiggling wasp. Gadzooks. I still can’t believe I didn’t get stung. 

2) Caterpillars.
They were everywhere: on our tent in the mornings (inside and out), on our beach towels, almost everywhere we looked. One day I was walking around the campsite and I felt something tickle the back of my neck (I bet you know where this story is going), and without even thinking about it, reached up to scratch and instead grabbed a furry guy that must have fallen from a tree. In one swift motion – propelled as much by disgust as it was by total revulsion –  I flung it to the ground in one big swoop. Ew.

On a more positive note, there were no horse or deer flies!

(As a sidenote: I find my lack of sympathy for the insect world interesting, if only when I weigh it against the sorry feelings I had for the worms we chopped and sacrificed for our fishing adventures.)

Anyway, click here to view my complete set of camping pics on Flickr. I am in the process of putting additional descriptions/explanations over with each photo instead of doing it here.

It is good to be home, except we haven’t really been home… just using it as a place to dump our dirty laundry and regroup. I have a crick in my neck and feel very much like a zombie this morning. Technically we’re still on holiday too. So don’t expect too much. :)

p.s. I wanted to say thank you to the guest posters who held down the fort last week. Didn’t they do a great job? In case you missed them, here’s Kaitlin’s, Dave’s, Emma’s, and Rebecca’s posts. Thanks again. You guys rock.

I had the pleasure of being one of this lovely lady’s subjects for her 100 Strangers project, which you can read about here. (If you know me at all you will know how much I love this idea.)

Kimusan has a wonderful vibe about her, a sweet grace and style I really admire, and if it wasn’t too Anne Shirley to call her a kindred spirit I would. All this to say, this is what 38 looks like.

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Awhile ago I asked my 70-years young mother-in-law what she thought was her “best” age. I know, it’s a vague kind of question (“best” in terms of what; health, strength, hair, happiness?) but it didn’t take her long to come up with an answer: late thirties.

I’m interpreting that to mean 38. So according to her, I am entering my very best years. This deserves some attention, and it’s something I need to think about a bit more, but the fact remains that I have to be mindful so I don’t miss it.

So this is my mantra for 2010: 38 is great.

And it is, really. I can’t think of a better age to be. But I didn’t really have to ask my MIL.

I used to think that 26 was the ideal age, but I’m revising it now. 38 is miles better. 38 is confidence and self-assurance. I feel taller than I ever have before. Sure, it might mean a few wrinkles here and there, some stretch marks which will always look like battle scars, some jiggly bits as well, but it’s a small price to pay for a don’t-mess-with-me-attitude I am really savouring right now.

A 26-year old may cower or over-apologize or gush or feel reams of hurt for small reasons, but my 38- year old self has a thicker skin, and feels comfortable with herself and the choices she has made. It is much easier to give people the finger when you’re 38 – and I mean that literally and figuratively. I stand by me.

I turned 38 yesterday, and I hate to say it, but despite the awesomeness of the year to come it didn’t exactly start with a bang. We spent the day packing (we’ve been away camping… more about that to come) and on the road back to Ottawa. I also spent much of the day clutching my gut – which has been punished by a marked lack of fibre and vegetables and an overabundance of chip-like substances. (Poor guts. You were better when you were 26.)

Mark bought me a holster for my iPhone so I can continue my Couch-to-5K with ease. The girls bought me jewels for my Kameleon necklace. And there was chocolate. And sushi for dinner. And a lemon tart from Three Tarts which was TO DIE FOR. And then I fell asleep on the couch.

So today is day one of 38. I think I will start it off by jumping in the pool. A baptism of sorts.