Sunny Saturday...what better day to take to the open road for a little Jeep therapy. You know the sort of therapy I speak of, right? You put yourself in your vehicle with a big cuppa brown holy water to go, a mitt of cash for those yummy lil provisions found along the way, all your favourite tunes loaded on your ipod ready for the blasting sound you'll sing along with and you head out to wherever a full tank of gas might take you...no plan, no real destination; just drive.
I have been craving a day like this. A day with only myself. A day to free myself; to run away. To process. To see. To wander. To cry.
I had a great day with Daisy, that's my Jeep, and let me tell ya: she's one trusty girlfriend. We tucked in tightly behind a convoy of muddy Jeeps and tagged along as long as we could, wishing silently we could venture to trails unknown with them. But, a "city Jeep" like Daisy isn't ready for a day of mud just yet...she needs to be toughened up a little...so we tooted, flipped the jeepers sign to the nation and flew on past when they pulled off. I'm pretty sure I heard her whisper "Let's find the ocean" on a break between Johnny Cash songs, so I set my sights on The Bay of Fundy.
Many years ago Mr. PurpleBoots took me to Halls Harbour. A magical little village where the 20 foot Fundy tides leave the boats sitting high and dry; the shoreline is stunning. It's a totally different shoreline than the granite one outside my door. A twisty road that seems to drop off into an abyss as you descend around that last sharp corner where you see "it": that spot that drops your jaw no matter how many times you've seen it before. That tiny little harbour. So. Freaking. Beautiful.
And the beach.
Tetley, my first springy thing, loved it here. A garden of rocks just for her delight. She adored rocks, and in fact, died at age 13 with hardly a tooth in her wee head from chewing and dragging them around for all her years.
The day was sunny and bright but the cold wind howled so my time on the beach was limited...stupid Reynauds Disease. My hands lost circulation in no time flat even in their heavy mitts. I did though drag up a few nice pieces of driftwood, found one piece of seaglass, fell without injuring myself too badly and heard the symphony of melting icicles echo in the wee cave. (um...MAGICAL!!...just sayin')
Daisy clearly had great plans for my therapy. A trip to my favourite bakery yielded the days provisions and treats for my boys at home, a quick pop in to my besties home near Kentville got me a refill of hot water in my Davids tea mug, a pee break and a much needed hug, and of course there was a not-so-quick stop at...you guessed it...Avonport Discount Fabrics.
I know, I know. Try not to wet your pants. I'm still shocked too. I picked up the fabrics for that commissioned T-shirt quilt I've been avoiding and some much needed machine needles. Sensible choices, right?
Um...but then there were all those nice bolts of Kona and I needed some of those in staple shades so I grabbed 4 cuts. And somehow a stack of bolts wound up on my cart that mistakenly got placed on the cutting table and BAM! Before I knew it I had a stack of delicious lil fat quarters handed to me.
Therapy comes in all forms.
People, I have had one helluva month! I stood beside my father who was ravaged with cancer while he died and buried him. I came home "unable to breathe" and barely functioning yet jumped straight back into my work with 12 hour days in a desperate attempt to get caught up. I was absolutely blindsided when I had to unexpectedly bury my uncle/godfather who lived next door to me just one short week later. I have been fretting over Not-So-Little PurpleBoots and his rotting big toe (ugh). Sleep is difficult; concentration harder still. Grief comes like roque waves...out of nowhere and larger than life when it breaks.
So..."F*CK the Stashpocalypse!"
Lucky it was only fat quarters.
Could've been crack.