I found out yesterday that a storm surge on the north shore of PEI moved the bunkhouse at my cottage by four inches. Here’s a pic of the shore, taken last week from the front porch. The bunk house is on blocks just over the bank on the shore in front of my cottage (Plover Dunes). Another few inches and the building would have been swept away. Storm surge. Not quite tsunami, but fascinating all the same. PEI is moving north; the south shore is being eaten away at up to 5′ per year, while north shore dunes creep toward the Magdalene Islands. In a thousand years, Canada will face…

Spring’s fabulous. I complain a lot about winter — the dark, the cold, the slush — but on a morning like this one, with a glorious and confident sun, I am glad for the perspective of evil January. Thank God the Earth tilts on its axis. I bask and stretch toward the heavens from my ninth-floor urban perch.

Don’t forget that next weekend the clocks spring forward. It’s a great time to change the porch light to a compact fluorescent bulb — and cut air pollution! See our project site for more information: www.onechange.org “I thought the other day, How we enjoy a warm and pleasant day at this season! We dance like gnats in the sun.” – Henry David Thoreau. March 25, 1859 “Man, there’s nothing like sipping a creamy latté in the sun on the front step.” – Stuart Hickox. March 25, 2005 Happy Easter!

Like it or not, the same sex marriage bill is going to pass in the House of Commons. This week my neighbours from the farm across the road from Walden came to visit. The MacPhees are wonderful people. Allan is a beef farmer and a lay minister at the Hartsville Presbyterian Church, a mile as the crow flies from the cabin. I’m going to be buried in the little cemetery there. Myrtle is a psychiatric nurse in Charlottetown, and their four kids (Shawn (15), Lindsay (14), Christie (9) and Megan (6) are super — well-balanced and fun-loving kids. Yesterday I took them to Parliament Hill to meet their MP, former…

A client apologized today. This is almost unheard of. She said she was sorry for being “prickly.” She should have said thorny. Her name is Rose. A fellow writer told me yesterday that my idea for a story about aggressive wild turkeys just revealed me as a “city slicker.” “Stuart, folks in the country are used to wild turkeys.” Really? I’d say my ignorance is more a result of my origins than my slickness. In PEI, we only had to worry about aggressive skunks. Once when I was about 10 my mother accidentally let one into the house and then screamed when she saw it. The skunk was not amused,…

Just a quick morning note today — I’m running late. My triceps are sore from snowboarding. Not from falling down, although that was a factor, but from holding Jasper up. We were at the very top of Fortune yesterday, 90 minutes into his first time, and my second, of snowboarding, when he started squirming and yelling, “Just let me go, Dad! Let me GO!” I was about at my wits end, trying to stand up and hold him up and slide down the hill at the same time. I just kept thinking: “I have nothing to offer you here” So finally I just let him go. He turned and looked…

“Head to toe camo is a must when hunting sharp-eyed gobblers.” There’s an aggressive wild turkey loose in the suburbs just outside of Ottawa. I was just about to lose my cool on a writing consultant who was late for a meeting, but when he called to say he was trapped in his house by aggressive foul, I forgave him. I asked if he had a shotgun in his house, to which he replied, “I don’t think we even have sharp knives.” O Canada! Meanwhile, see how the Americans deal with wild turkey.

“I catch myself philosophizing most abstractly when first returning to consciousness in the night or morning. I make the truest observations and distinctions then, when the will is yet wholly asleep and the mind works like a machine without friction.” – Henry David Thoreau, March 17, 1852. “Where are my rubber boots when I need them!” – Stuart Hickox, March 17, 2005

Web logs. Original? Just the medium. Read daily updates from Henry David Thoreau, the guy who got it all started and inspired a little cabin in the woods of PEI. From March 15, 1852: “This afternoon I throw off my outside coat. A mild spring day. I must hie to the Great Meadows. The air is full of bluebirds. The ground almost entirely bare. The villagers are out in the sun, and every man is happy whose work takes him outdoors.”

Someone stole Frosty yesterday, and I have to admit I had it coming. The front garden looked different when I got home from work, and it wasn’t just the receding snow line. A few steps from the sidewalk, flanked by brown stalks of dead coneflower, all that was left of Jasper’s plastic snowman was a round indent in the snow and a frayed electrical cord. I guess you take your chances with passing teens if you leave Christmas decorations out until March. But I had no choice! Frosty’s cord was frozen in ice. And this fact makes his sudden disappearance more shocking. To abduct our three-foot friend, he had to…

Jasper’s on spring break. He’s four, in full-time French school. Yesterday he spent all day playing and romping with his cousins Calum and Rowan — lots of skateboarding in the basement, video games, lego everywhere. He was going to sleep over at Aunt JD’s house, but he called us at 10 pm, crying, wanting to come home. Which was fine, because I really missed him. We’re both big suckers for hugs. When I arrived to pick him up, he was watching Ferris Bueler’s Day Off (1986). Oh Yeah. The movie is now listed under Nostalgia at Amazon.com. This morning is sunny and warm. The Globe has a picture of Mt.…

Thirty seven is one of those in-between birthdays. Thirty five marks the turning point to 40, 39 is the precipice. 37 has no particular relevance, and is therefore a perfect occasion for quiet reflection. On Friday the office staff gathered to present me with a hilariously humiliating Little Stuart card, an adapted poster from the Stuart Little movie, with my face superimposed on the mouse’s head. The head shot was taken at the staff Christmas party, long after we ran out of wine, but before all the Blue was consumed. I also got a huge Sponge Bob cake, complete with bubbles. George Bush and the religious right would have blushed.…

Suzy just posted a selection of photos from the past few weeks. Check ’em out! The outdoor ones of me show how you look the day the flu sets in – ashen and blah. But Suzy says, “You look great!” So much for self-awareness.

Spent the last 3 days in bed. Flu. So much for the shot. Pounding headache, burning eyes, plugged ears and nose, and a dry knife-to-the-throat cough. Rotten. Spending so much time in bed really changes your perspective on things. Like work. It just rolled along without me. Makes me wonder why I care. And strange other thoughts drift in and out of the mind. Like wondering if Nutella goes bad, or which shoulder to throw salt over if you knock over the shaker. At one point yesterday morning I called to Suzy and realized I was yelling, “Mom! Mommmm!” I did manage to read the Da Vinci Code, and about…

Suzy and I had dinner at Le Café on Friday night. It’s only the second time we’ve been out together, alone, since Simon was born 9 months ago. By the time we got there, seated by the window overlooking skating on the Canal, we were both exhausted. But the jazz trio was good, and so was the food. They have a $20 table d’hote. We were headed to the sugar bush for some tire yesterday when Simon decided to cry, so we went to a park instead. Something wasn’t right. I had a wicked headache, which has now morphed into a bad head cold. Spent 3 hours in bed this…