“Sometimes in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a reverie, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sang around…”

(Henry David Thoreau. Walden)

Jasper and I are back from the cabin in PEI. Watch for pictures soon.

A few days in the woods is good for the soul. We rebuilt the bath house step, raked, and cleared out the spring. Friends brought us casserole with elbow macaroni in Pyrex. On Saturday afternoon we were in the side yard by the stream when I asked Jasper (4) if he’d like me to bring out the radio.

“Why, Daddy?”

“So we could listen to music.”

“The birds give us music, Dad.”

We left the radio inside.

I had a powerful dream about Kellogg’s Mini Wheat cereal last night, something I didn’t even remember until I found myself hugging a box in mid-aisle in Loblaws this afternoon. Simple joys. Simple joys.

I also dreamed I was sent by The Globe and Mail to be a photo journalist in Baghdad, and bullets were whizzing past my head. I didn’t tell my shrink about this. Guns, dreams, you know… I blame the dream on the Queen of Hearts-style nightmare we all witnessed yesterday.

We have three laundry baskets full of unmatched socks in this house. It’s mostly my fault. In an attempt to counter a lifetime of obsessive tendancies, over the past few years whenever I needed clean socks I just bought more. They’re cheap now. So I guess I should blame Brian Mulroney and free trade.

Anyway, last week Suzy decided to match the socks while Jasper and I were in PEI. It took her three days to match about a hundred pairs, and there were still two piles left, separated by colour. Suzy decided to bleach the white ones (not sure why), so for another day there was a soggy, chlorined layer on the bottom of the bath tub.

Yesterday I’d had enough, so I scooped them up in a garbage bag and put them on the curb with the garbage. When my wife found out, she couldn’t believe it. So I dragged the heavy Glad bag back into the house and washed the socks, which were already hot from a morning in the sun.

Now we have another basket of clean but unmatched socks. And I still have work to do on my obsessive nature.