Simon has been sick all week. Fever. We think it’s the 3 huge molars that are pushing through his gums. Gotta hurt. It doesn’t help that it’s also hot outside. I made the mistake of wearing jeans today. Panini on a patio on Sparks Street was decidedly unpleasant, aside from sandwich, the company (JD) and the yummy kidney bean side salad. Suzy and I both awoke this morning eager to talk about our intermittent nocturnal nightmares. Intermittent because Simon kept waking up. Nightmarish? You decide. Suzy dreamed she had to pee so badly that she did so in a public place, only to discover mid-squat that a surveillance camera was…

Tooth brushing escalated to a full-blown water fight with Jasper the other night. I just couldn’t resist tossing a cupful of cold water at his belly as he was struggling to pull his t-shirt over his head. I loved his reaction: Utter shock, followed by the most amazing laugh, and then a thirst for revenge. Within minutes the bathroom was soaked. Then Suzy arrived with little Simon. The Monk wanted in. Water flew everywhere, even out in the hall as the theatre of battle expanded. What can you do to top “soaked?” Apparently Suzy thought wet wasn’t good enough. Just as I thought the waterfight was winding down, she dumped…

Lush is a great word. Alcoholic implications aside, it implies air thick with lilac, and long wet grass. I love May and June best of all months, but I also feel I do a lot of jumping around missing things like the peak of the peonies. And that’s not conducive to deep meditative lung breathing or soaking up the dew. And writing in the Blog? As you can see, it falls down the priority list somewhere below plucking the crabgrass from between the walkway tiles. That said, I love writing. I don’t do it enough. It’s one of those things my psychiatrist used to say I should just give to…

The cabin and cottage are open for the season, and another family week in PEI is behind us. It was a great time. We were in swimming, even Simon, and had some delicious seafood treats. I’m a bit tired now, largely because of the work involved in managing two properties in a different province, but also because the transition from PEI to Ottawa always takes a few days. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to spend a longer period of time at either Walden or Plover Dunes, or between them. There’s something more real there, something hard to describe. I guess it could just be the…

The photo at right was taken in late May of 1995. That’s my mom and cousin at the top of my hill here at Walden. They were planting the chestnut tree that Mom and Rod had given me for Christmas in 1994. I’d asked for trees that year because I had just bought the clearcut that would be Walden, and I thought it was my job to reforest it. It was my personal mission. I couldn’t imagine how a piece of land that had been so abused could regenerate and heal on its own. Silly me. Ten years later, I’d like to share some important lessons from the land: 1)…

Jasper’s in his element here at the cabin. He has Megan (7) across the road, 10 acres of trees, a wood stove and no official bedtime. He also has about a dozen black fly bites along his hairline, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s Megan he loves. And she seems to feel the same. It’s wonderful to see two kids having so much fun — running down the long red lane to the brook, tossing stones and occasionally holding hands. Megan’s not too impressed with Jasper’s generous exuberant mooning, his little stick legs and butt bared above sweat pants bunched up over rubber boots. She’s got two years on…

“I did not have sex with your father.” The conversation had started innocently enough. I was at the cash paying for gas and a Globe at the Hunter River Irving, when a woman next to me commented on the evil eye stare of Karla Homolka on page 1. “I wouldn’t even rent one of my cottages to that one,” she said. When I turned to reply, she cut me off. “You’re Hickox, right?” She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Or maybe it was the lingering Homolka effect. I knew who she was immediately. “You’re Linda, aren’t you? You dated my dad before he married mom.” “That’s right. We were…

It can happen without warning, like on a Thursday morning on the way to work. The only sign is a slight tightness in the leg, then sudden release. It happened to me this week, twice. CHF — Catastrophic Hem Failure. Two pairs of pants let me down on successive days. The tailor on the ground floor of my office building’s got it coming. If this happens to you — actually, not if but when — there’s a quick solution: Staple along the seam. Turn the stapler so the claw side of the staple faces out, and click along the seam of the pant leg. Then lift a dry erase marker…