Last night I slept in my own bed. It was the first time since April 23rd.
The 24th Annual Stupid Cycle Tour was a great success and I cycled home from the Vancouver train station just before midnight. Kevin was in Kelowna and only just wheeled his suitcase in the door a few hours ago.
So now we’re here. Living in Vancouver. Just like that. No more France. No more cycling trip. Nada. Back to great coffee…and piles of paper and emails.
But! The laundry is close to done, the clothes that were put away for the renter have been brought up from storage, hell, I even dusted a couple of surfaces. Life is slowly being ticked and checked and tucked away into its organizational slots. I’m booking appointments, adding lunches and dinners to my daytimer and watching the summer days fill up before they even arrive.
There’s always lots of time to reflect and think while riding a bike and this past week found me remembering all the wonderful places I’ve been. I realize that in less than a year I’ve woke up in a lot of different places: Wales, England, U.S. (Montana), Mexico (San Miguel & Baja California), India, France, U.S.(Oregon, Washington).
In fact, I think I might just add up the number of nights away versus home…though part of me is almost afraid to do it.
But you know what?
It just never seems to grow old. I love putting my key in the lock on a new inn, resort, hotel, B&B, ashram, motel, gite or hostel.
When I was a kid, our summer holidays consisted of touring lots of hot and dusty areas of British Columbia. My dad would go talk to the mill guys, set up deals to buy their cedar shakes and shingles while Mom tried to keep control of me and my two older sisters in the cooking car. The tin of homemade peanut butter cookies helped and the horrible smell of the manky wash cloth in a plastic bag was enough threat to keep all of us in line.
But the subsequent stay in the nearby cheap motel made it all worth it to me. I loved collecting the Barbie-doll sized soaps. I remember ones with colourful totem poles on the wrapper & boomerang-shaped turquoise logos on others. By the time I was 12, I’d amassed quite a basketful…all of them associated with our homes away from home.
I still bring back the soaps, and sometimes, the little shampoo bottles too. Each one releases its own little scented genie of memory and I smile, and then smile some more as I reminsce about all the moments that add up to make my life. Not all of them are good. But all of them are mine and are the exact combination that has resulted in my life thus far.
And it’s a pretty good life. In fact, it’s very fine.
I am so blessed and so very, very thankful.