I’m back in Stratford recombobulating after a stressful but rewarding week in Ottawa with Brother Andrew, SIL No. 1, and Jeff the super-realtor. The drive across southern Ontario doesn’t get easier with practice; I felt beaten with sticks when I clambered out of the car at supper-time yesterday.

The hard part is the long haul around Toronto, non-stop from the east side of Peterborough to the Cambridge North services plaza on Highway 401. The confluence of the comparatively empty (because expensive) 407 toll road with the jam-packed 401 is always difficult to navigate, not only because of the stop-and-go traffic but also because my bum bones hurt like the dickens and I would dearly like a chance to pee. Yesterday was Sunday, so the 401 was not as choked as it could be, but it was still an advanced-class challenge.

I always expect to find at least a couple of arseholes on the 401, but they weren’t in the crowd at the choke point. Driver after driver gracefully made way for others changing lanes to avoid a sub-compact sedan that had rear-ended a dead-heading truck cab (the tractor part of a tractor-trailer combination). Nobody was moving faster than 40 kph, and I’m sure everyone else was as tired and exasperated as I was, but the traffic stream flowed smoothly around the wreckage like creek water around a rock. Nobody honked.

The cat-visitor must have done a good job while I was gone. When I came in the front door, Watson and Isobel were curled up together in the comfy chair. They looked up and blinked at me as if I had been out half an hour, not a week.

SIL 1 put up a big travelling lunch for me with dried sausage, boiled eggs, cheese, nuts, cut-up veg and a salad kit for supper — perfect for a low-carb diet. I ate only about half of it yesterday, which is a good thing because the supermarkets are closed today for the Lammastide statutory holiday (not called that but the timing is unmistakable). I’m not ready to face the world again anyway; I need a day of feline company and orchestral music on the radio.