Reading: Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit

In the midst of: Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

Not yet given up on: John Milton, Paradise Lost;

On deck: Don Quijote

Moving: clambering on rocks

House:

Garden:

12 May 2002: Whytecliff again

We returned to Whytecliff Park in Horseshoe Bay in North Vancouver to spend the day on right half of the west egg. I told RDC about Jessie's recently saying she was unable to sit still. My perfect ability to do just that is perhaps a little too strong.

But not here. We had water and books; we watched herons and seals and oystercatchers and eagles and boats of all sizes, from barges for the paper mill to single kayaks, with lots of sailboats and yachts in between; we soaked up sun and salt and air; we feasted our eyes.

We did also bring our swimsuits, because I baby-bath-water-tested the surf with my elbow the day before and it was totally doable. The scuba divers wore dry suits, but I wasn't planning to stay in, let alone under, for too long.

Except I didn't really bring my suit, because I am an idiot. RDC had brought his trunks, because if I was going to swim, he'd consider coming with me. I borrowed his trunks, snaking them on under my skirt, and I was wearing a slouchy bra that you might mistake for a bikini top if you were were nearly blind and not too bright. But I did manage to get in.

Afterward we went to Stanley Park and ogled at gardens and rainforest trees, and then it was time for me to go to bed. I had a 6:30 flight on Monday morning.