a drink by the sea

At some point in the Seventies, I camped with a couple of guys on Chesterman Beach. I remember it only vaguely - was one of them my boyfriend? I have no idea, but it was a hippy adventure. No one camps there now, but tonight, as Patsy and I walked there at dusk, at one end was a crowd of about 30 surfers, black spots flailing about in the waves.

She and I walked on to famous, luxurious Wickaninnish Inn to have a glass of wine in the beachside cafe. In April 1981 - exactly 35 years ago - I was 8 months pregnant, and Edgar and I came from Vancouver to a little cabin near Long Beach for a last holiday, a few days alone before our lives changed forever. We had a cup of tea in the Inn and I stole an ashtray, which I still have. This time - a drink, a view, pleasure. And that baby has produced two babies, and my second baby is on vacation in Barbados. All's well that ends well.

The bar - an incredible piece of maple driftwood they had to remove a bit of wall to get inside. A picture for my bartender son.

Good fortune - a dear friend who helped me celebrate my 20th birthday in our shared house by the sea in Halifax, time together with ocean and woods, just like we enjoyed on the Atlantic coast. The rain has stopped, tomorrow will be sunny, though unfortunately we're going our separate ways. And now, after a lot of walking in the wind today, a hot bath.