Flying down the 401 in the hot Sunday sun, makes me think of Bridget Jones, of all characters. When she and Daniel Cleaver take their “mini-break” and naturally runs into Mark Darcy, her whole life sort of crashes into what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. That’s kind of what life is like at my cottage. It’s wonderful and beautiful and even a bit magical, to spend even a minimum of 26 hours away from the city is a treat, and you always feel like you’ve had a vacation.
But it’s also family property, which I love, because it means that there are always all kinds of people crashing into my weekend. This time it was the first boy I ever kissed, and I see him at least once a year, but it’s always funny to see people you’ve known all your lives. They seem to understand you so well, despite not seeing you on a regular basis, well, ever any more.
All in all, I’m exhausted, but in a good way. The RRBF’s family will be heading up north with us for the long weekend, and I made sure my grandmother’s cottage was immaculate, with new bedding, all vacuumed, and completely tidy. Funny thing is, someone else could crash into next week and all the hard work would be ruined. Oddly, if that happened at home, I would probably peak, but because it’s the cottage, it’s just something I’m used to.