Saturday, June 5, 2010

Bungalow Motel, Harrison’s Lake

We're in heaven again. Laura and I and Gilbert drove in at 11 pm last night. Our Bungalow Motel hostess, notified of our expected late arrival, had left the keys in the cabin and the electric fireplace warming the interior. It was deliciously cozy as we climbed into bed leaving the cares of the world and city behind us to sleep with the angels of the country.

It had been a long hard work week in the city. Burned out brain cells littered the office corridors. The 4x4 Ford Ranger escape was fraught with freeway traffic, HST Taxes, CIA conspiracies, teenage murders and terrorists attacking from the sky. Fire spewing dragons figured prominently. I was twitchy on the pedal with road rage as my partner held me back from sharing what little mind I had left with the other humans escaping the zombie infested city. I had to breech Fort Knox storage locker security to rescue my canoe. I hauled my 4 hp Yamaha outboard off the transom of my yacht and carried it up the dock to the truck. Where was Spock and a teletransporter when I needed one, "Beam me up, Scottie!"

The Canadian Tire in Maple Ridge stayed open till 9 pm just to accommodate my last minute need for a cable and lock. These tireless souls are always there to serve. It's gadget wonderland and manly men's playland.

Then the Superstore in Mission open till 10 pm was so well stocked with every food and household item that by the time I was ready for check out I was completely equipped for the Mars expedition. They even had new doggy toys but expected me to bag my own groceries. I felt like President George Bush did when years after their invention he was shocked at the grocery scanner, indicating to all of America that George never did do his own shopping. I on the other hand live on city markets and 7-11's where they don't trust me to bag my own groceries.

These Superstores in Suburbia are a wonder to the modern world. It would take a week or two at least just to explore one. I was back on the highway with the truck filled with goodies feeling increasingly better as I distanced myself from the flesh eating disease of government and administration.

Now I'm here in paradise onto my second coffee. The dog was so exhausted last night that he slept through till 9 am. He's usually waking me at 5 am but he even took a break from his torture schedule to enjoy the country air. I woke him and he was mildly annoyed at being disturbed in his sleep. Developmentally, he knows nothing of the golden rule or karma. He yawned and deigned to go outside for a walk around the little lake with me.

It was glorious. Canada Geese were shitting all over the lawns. The sun was shining. Blue sky. Bright coloured flowers and Gilbert pooped in nature and peed on rocks. "Good boy, Isn't that better than carpet?" I said. He literally pranced and danced only to be fascinated by the lapping of the lake water. He was equally entertained by dandelion fluff. A lear jet would have been wasted on him. Even a Rolls or Lexus wouldn't be as endearing as the goose poop that I kept him from rolling in.

After that Gilbert loved the secluded Rendall Park and beach in front of the Bungalow Motel. Some twisted part of his puppy brain makes him think his nose is part of a bull dozer assembly. Either that or he's a plow. I followed in the sand furrows he created wondering if I was supposed to plant seeds. We walked by the swimming pool where Laura loved to sun bath in her bikini another year

Laura is making bacon and eggs right now. The aroma is enchanting. I'm expecting that the rest of this weekend will be as glorious as all the other weekends I've spent in the rustic cabins of Bungalow Motel at Harrison Hot Springs. They're reminiscent of the New England retreats which were all the rage for the industrial gentry in the 30's. For me they hearken back to my youth when the great railway hotels were the height of luxury. I read then that artists like the Group of Seven and Emily Carr, when they weren't in tents. were staying in lovely little cabins like this. They're just perfect in their simplicity and individual uniqueness.

Later I'll sit on the veranda and complain about the lack of a wooden rocking chair. I can always find something to complain about even if it takes a little extra effort. If things get really rough I'll mozy up the street to the Harrison Hot Springs pool and take the baths. My main intention now is to have this fabulous breakfast created by the cute little blond still in her satin nightgown bustling about being merry. After that I expect Gilbert to drag the canoe and motor down to the beach so we can go fishing for those tasty little underwater creatures. Life in the city always makes me want to eat something I killed myself. Even attacking blueberries would be refreshing after fax machines and telephones. Gilbert and I are genetically related`. It's apparent in the joy he shows when he has bunny squeaky toy between his teeth.


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