So, a few days ago, I think I had the perfect day.
Well, my perfect day, anyway.
You could argue that because I’m on holidays, all the days are pretty darn amazing, and I wouldn’t disagree. But this was one for the record books.
Can I tell you about it?
I’m currently staying in a tiny little cottage on the shore of Georgian Bay, a tiny little cottage that is utterly rustic and completely delightful but which is not air conditioned and which had gradually over the past few days become hot enough to roast a turkey. So the first sign that it was going to be a perfect day was when I woke up and the oppressive heat that had flattened me for the previous week had magically and miraculously lifted overnight when a cold front blew through. (You know when you’re at the dentist and they put that heavy lead apron on your chest while they take the X-rays? The oppressive heat of the past week had sort of felt like that to me, only if the lead apron was say, a Toyota. That’s the kind of relief I felt when the heat wave broke. Look, I love summer as much as the next guy, but the reality is: I am mostly Irish. My people don’t do the sun and heat so well. On the plus side, we’re really good at whiskey. And, you know, poetry.)
Anyway, when my perfect day dawned, the wind was cold and sweet and was churning up white caps all across the bay and into The Gap, which is what they call the spot where Georgian Bay meets Lake Huron and which I can almost see from the deck of my tiny little cottage.
With a spring in my step from the cool, fresh air, I took Gavin for his walk, shook off the night’s stiffness and then came back and wrote for three hours, pausing only long enough to make myself a bacon sandwich because I’m at the cottage dammit and that’s what you have for breakfast when you’re at the cottage, it’s a rule, please let’s not talk about my cholesterol right now.
It was a perfect day, so the writing went well – or really the rewriting because I’ve just gone back to insert a new plot through chapters five, six and seven of the new book and it’s taking some weaving in and out but I hummed along, my fingers tap tap tapping away, my mind full of Olivia and Julia and Nana and Stafford Falls.
Sailboats slid across the water while I wrote and sometimes I stopped, took off my glasses and just watched them.
In the afternoon of my perfect day, I talked on the phone to my partner, who is still in the city working hard and we talked about all the fun we’re going to have when she comes and how we’re going to kayak every day if we can and just how much barbecuing we can do before we’re sick of it. (Spoiler: quite a bit.)
Of course, Gavin barked at the dogs next door, but slightly less than other days so that was an improvement.
Then I got a text from a friend wishing me a good holiday and happy writing (or maybe it was a happy holiday and good writing) and saying she couldn’t wait to have a peak at what I scribbled down over the summer, which is of course the best thing you can possibly say to a writer.
And then I sat on the deck (wearing SPF 50 sunblock, see above: mostly Irish,) read a Bill Bryson book and laughed loud enough to wake the dog up several times.
Then, because it was the perfect day, I had a nap. Just because I could.
Later, my mom came for dinner and I grilled us up some steaks and asparagus and we ate and talked about where we could get some really good strawberries for dessert on Sunday, when she’s coming for dinner with our lovely friend, Betty. I don’t get to see my mom in person very often because I live so far away and so it’s actually kind of special to get to have a meal together and debate the relative merits of the local produce stands.
After my mom left, Gavin and I sat on the deck and watched the waves slam into the shore, we saw the lighthouse on Brébeuf Island light up and then there was an astonishingly beautiful sunset, the one in the photo above.
Do you see what I mean? Perfect, start to finish.
I don’t tell you this to make you envious – although I would totally understand if you were. I mainly wanted to record it here because days like this are rare gems – days without traffic and noise and to do lists and tiny tragedies and disappointments and frustrations.
I tell you this because I am so very grateful.
P.
P.S. I wish you a perfect day, whatever that is for you.