On Saturday we hopped in Lorenzo's boat (aka - The Shameless Polluter) and took the kids and one of their friends to see  the fireworks. It was pretty cool seeing the display from the waters of English Bay...

It was the final night and Italy filled the sky with amazing pyrotechnics. While we were waiting for the show to begin, the kids debated whether or not a swim would be a good idea. Three teenage boys - looking very buff and manly - stood on the deck, staring down into the inky depths.  The conversation went something like this:

"Maybe it's cold."
"Probably..."
"I keep thinking a shark might grab my leg."
"There's no sharks...jelly fish maybe..."
"Seriously? That's sick." 
"You go."
"You first."
"I'll go if he goes."
"Dude, just go!"
"On the count of three."
"Whose counting?"
"I don't know...who wants to count?"

My daughter, exasperated, pushes though the group and does a flying leap into the water. Not to be outdone by this pint-sized dare devil, the boys followed suit. It was very funny. And yes, the water was cold.

Anyhow, the show lasted a half hour and then we headed back.

The ride coming home was...well,  rather terrifying. For me, not anyone else. The swells were very big and were coming up over the bow...or is it the stern?  Whatever - the front of the boat.
And there were a variety of smaller crafts driven by reckless louts who seemed to have little clue how to navigate according to the rules. It was pitch black and I found myself staring at the massive tankers in our periphery - dark and menacing - that seemed to be closing in on us.
Like vipers.

Boating in the middle of a sunny day is scary enough. At night, it is no activity for the faint-hearted. I guess I've turned into a nerd. Or maybe it's all the "disasters at sea" stories I've read over the years. I imagined us hitting a big rock (an ice-berg!) all of us flung in six directions, a drunken nitwit happily mowing us down in his seadoo-speadster...

While all these thoughts of peril were circling my brain, my daughter was stretched out - calm as a cucumber, munching on a bag of popcorn twists. The boys in the back were hooting with delight.  I was white-knuckling it the whole way home,  lamenting my lost saints who used to give me so much comfort...

The next day, I caught Marcello in one of my planter boxes. I guess the tasty flowers were a pleasant change from his usual diet. Just look at that face! (enlarge this picture!)

After we planted our dwarf crab apple trees, I threw down some wildflower seeds around the bases. They have grown as tall as the trunks...

Planted some butterfly and bumble-bee seeds in the front yard that are doing nicely as well. Loads of butterflies and bees and lady bugs...

I just finished reading such a wonderful book - "Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont" by Elizabeth Taylor. (the writer, not the actress). I commend Virago, and Persephone Books, for dusting off hundreds of manuscripts penned by women that were left to moulder into obscurity. Elizabeth Taylor is one of my favourite writers - there is only one novel left for me to read, which is terribly sad.

As you can tell, there is no news about the cottage. Lorenzo is planning to head over on Wednesday and continue on with the endless slog... With the weather being so hot, I really regretted that we weren't able to be there. There is nothing lovelier than walking the beach with the dog, watching the kids skim rocks or look for crabs, breathing in that pungent salty air, looking forward to curling up with a good book in front of the fire... The Buddhists say that all of our desires bring us pain. It is so true. If you desire nothing, you will never be disappointed. If you desire a cottage, you will suffer the pains of renovation hell, monetary depletion, physical and mental stress, and constant separation. Is it worth it?

YES.

A hundred times yes...

Lorenzo and the boys - coming back from Georgison Island