I am thinking back to late last summer.  I am sure it was late August, and how I was driving, alone, in my car.  It was not an accident that I was alone …  And dangerously so, since the time was at the night when evidence is easily lost.  But I was not thinking of criminals accosting me just as the lucky innocent one.  I was lost in thought of the day I had spent just three hours north of Toronto at a lake-front cottage.  The fact that I was also dangerously close to the limit of blood alcohol allowed while operating a motor vehicle, did not occupy my mind or my thoughts.  I actually did not feel intoxicated.

Well, I am sure it had passed midnight.  Just before I got into my car to drive off, I could hear the crickets.  The lake gave off a warm breeze, and the smell of fresh water, as it carried a fleeting scent of wood ash from our open fire just on the shore.  We were lingering on the lawn, talking, refusing to let go of the perfect day that had miraculously been made to happen.  A lot of slow words, sudden laughs, smiles, and shifting weight, back and forth, as the group of us lingered.  We were tiring, but let the energy of sun, drink, food, and fire keep us going.

The radio was tuned to Public Radio….  The talk was long over with, and now, the music of musicians, daring and experimenting, and creating the sound, the phrasing, the pause, the surprise, of some of the jazz-like instruments used for finding musical pleasure….  Well, that was what was on the radio.  I wouldn’t know if the musicians were in fact intoxicated….  But it sounded like it.

As I remember, and mention again, I was alone in my car.  It was comfortable, having been heated by the sun all day long, the interior was now cooling in the cool wind blowing from the speed of the car on the highway.  I kept looking at the speedometer even though I kept an even pressure on the gas pedal.  It was accompanied by my gaze along the highway.  There were not, few cars, but there were in fact, quite a few cars out with me.  There were many, many trucks, out when there was less congestion.  These were the things that frightened me.  The size of the trucks, the sound of their working engines, and the fact that passing a truck felt like King Kong brushing up against me.

I was in this state, probably at three in the morning.  I did not have any pressing engagements the next morning….  And, being on vacation, I was looking forward to quiet and relaxation.  I thought I would catch up with reading, with music, with friends, and with a few new recipes that I could try in the space of a few hours.  I was thinking these thoughts, again.  The first time and the last time I had thought and reviewed my list of vacation activities was the week beforehand when I was in my office at work.  Then, I was full of hope and optimism at the coming time and I was congratulating myself on organizing myself so well so as to have everything I was planning, working out well.

I would be home in an hour.  And I was feeling relaxed, which, coincidentally, was allowing me to stay awake at this unusual hour.  As I got closer to the city, there were fewer cars on the road.  Since the highway is smoother and there is more space, I began to become brave, and stepped on the gas pedal a little deeper to rush home.  I was feeling the lateness and the more than almost twenty-four hours since I last slept.  I did note to myself that I could very well pay a speeding fine of half the cost of the food and drink spent during the day, but I also thought that I would like to be at home soon.  So, foot on gas pedal, radio on loud, and a racing heart accompanied me down the last stretch of highway towards home.

The day was great.  I loved being close to earth.  Thinking about it now, six months later, I will mortgage my home three times over, and, even, if all there is left on that lake is a piece of rock, I will buy that piece of rock, and build my cottage on it!