I was chatting on the phone the other day to my ex-husband in Vancouver about our granddaughter. Having just returned from Asia recently, my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter Vera, age 4, are staying with Grandpa for a short while.
My son and his wife do not go out often but they like to get away to do some grocery shopping for a couple of hours without Vera tagging along.
Grandpa’s not happy about this because he is the one who is left to babysit. It is not that he doesn’t like looking after Vera, but the problem is he has a habit of nodding off throughout the day and doesn’t feel that he is a responsible baby-sitter any more. In fact, it was really worrying him that he is not able to look after his beloved granddaughter to the best of his ability.
Grandpa now feels that this practice has to stop; a decision that weighed heavily after a recent half hour trip to the store by my son. As our son was going out of the door he turned back and reminded Vera that she had to keep an eye on Grandpa and make sure that he is awake. If he goes to sleep, then she must wake him up. Vera responded that she was quite capable of looking after her Grandpa.
Who, is minding whom, I ask?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
AN INVITATION
Have you ever wanted to write a story, perhaps a book, perhaps a mystery? If you want to write why not give it a try. I have a fun project on the go and I invite you to help me out.
If you go to http://susanlancaster.blogspot.com you will find another blog of mine that starts off with the opening few pages of a mystery novel. It would be great to get other people involved in writing a continuation of the book as it stands at the moment.
You don’t have to be an expert in grammar, the champion of a spelling bee, or a punctuation king or queen. It is simply a matter of writing whatever you like and using your imagination as to how you would like the story to develop. You can introduce a new line of thinking, new characters, new situations, new plots or sub-plots, but just write.
While talking about adding to the novel, I would also like to extend an invitation for you to write for this blog if you wish. If you have a short story, an experience you want to share, a humorous situation or whatever you like, please write about it (approximately 400-500 words) and send it to me at sanden39@shaw.ca.
Again, don’t worry about the grammar or spelling etc. I always edit content before posting and I will come back to you if there is a problem. Likewise, you article will only be posted after your OK.
Join me in these writing adventures and if you would like further explanations or information, please write to me at the above e-mail address.
Look forward to hearing from you.
The Old Biddy
If you go to http://susanlancaster.blogspot.com you will find another blog of mine that starts off with the opening few pages of a mystery novel. It would be great to get other people involved in writing a continuation of the book as it stands at the moment.
You don’t have to be an expert in grammar, the champion of a spelling bee, or a punctuation king or queen. It is simply a matter of writing whatever you like and using your imagination as to how you would like the story to develop. You can introduce a new line of thinking, new characters, new situations, new plots or sub-plots, but just write.
While talking about adding to the novel, I would also like to extend an invitation for you to write for this blog if you wish. If you have a short story, an experience you want to share, a humorous situation or whatever you like, please write about it (approximately 400-500 words) and send it to me at sanden39@shaw.ca.
Again, don’t worry about the grammar or spelling etc. I always edit content before posting and I will come back to you if there is a problem. Likewise, you article will only be posted after your OK.
Join me in these writing adventures and if you would like further explanations or information, please write to me at the above e-mail address.
Look forward to hearing from you.
The Old Biddy
Friday, November 20, 2009
BOOK REVIEW
This book is a must read. As one reviewer put it, ‘I’m a 54 year old who has not been a teen for 35 years. This is an incredible read’.
THE BOOK THIEF
by Markus Zusak, reviewed by Gloria Novak.
The book is a real tour de force. Its success is the combination of sympathetic characters, a web of simple stories and a masterful use of vocabulary.
This book may be written for the Young Adult crowd but trust me, the vast majority of adults will love this book. Yes, the story is one we have read before - coming of age during WWII, hiding a Jew in the basement, petty thieving among adolescents - but the writing and the consistently clever way with words is fantastic.
Death is the narrator and is working overtime now that the war is in full swing, and every once in a while, he/she has to stop and look around as an antidote for the pain of his job. Liesel Meminger provides some of that respite.
On her way to a foster home to live with Rosa and Hans Hubermann he sees her steal a book. There she painstakingly learns to read and begins her love affair with words.
Death uses words and the placement of those words on the page to paint pictures for the reader that, while about the horror of the war, are evocative but don't get to the point where the book is distasteful. Intense, but still beautiful writing.
You want to keep reading to hear the words in your head; to see what Liesel does or thinks next, to hear Hans and Rosa together, to keep anticipating a kiss between Liesel and Rudy, to see whether Max Vanddenburg (the Jew hiding in the basement) is caught, to read Max's book for Liesel and to wonder at the private pain of the mayor's wife as she silently listens to Liesel read.
These words of mine do not do this book justice. Read it for yourself and then try to describe it - I dare you.
THE BOOK THIEF
by Markus Zusak, reviewed by Gloria Novak.
The book is a real tour de force. Its success is the combination of sympathetic characters, a web of simple stories and a masterful use of vocabulary.
This book may be written for the Young Adult crowd but trust me, the vast majority of adults will love this book. Yes, the story is one we have read before - coming of age during WWII, hiding a Jew in the basement, petty thieving among adolescents - but the writing and the consistently clever way with words is fantastic.
Death is the narrator and is working overtime now that the war is in full swing, and every once in a while, he/she has to stop and look around as an antidote for the pain of his job. Liesel Meminger provides some of that respite.
On her way to a foster home to live with Rosa and Hans Hubermann he sees her steal a book. There she painstakingly learns to read and begins her love affair with words.
Death uses words and the placement of those words on the page to paint pictures for the reader that, while about the horror of the war, are evocative but don't get to the point where the book is distasteful. Intense, but still beautiful writing.
You want to keep reading to hear the words in your head; to see what Liesel does or thinks next, to hear Hans and Rosa together, to keep anticipating a kiss between Liesel and Rudy, to see whether Max Vanddenburg (the Jew hiding in the basement) is caught, to read Max's book for Liesel and to wonder at the private pain of the mayor's wife as she silently listens to Liesel read.
These words of mine do not do this book justice. Read it for yourself and then try to describe it - I dare you.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
THE WALKING TENT
As we grow older there is a tendency to shrug off any concerns we may have about how we look and how we feel. Many of us have reconciled ourselves, either consciously or subconsciously to the state of ‘what you see is what you get’ and we simply don’t worry any more. On the other hand, there are people who do care how they look and how they feel, but they hide this concern very well.
Speaking for myself, I am definitely of the ‘what you see is what you get’ variety, except for one thing – weight. That is something I do care about, very much and it drives me mad. When I retired I was delighted to assume the mantle of “The Walking Tent”. For me, the incentive to be a specimen of the perfect woman disappeared immediately when I no longer had to go out to work.
So, I now get up in the morning and throw on The Walking Tent, a loose garment that hides a multitude of sins, or a pair of jeans and top two sizes too big for me, which fools me into thinking that I’ve lost weight. A feeling that persists until I get on the scales and then all hell breaks out.
Make-up, what’s that? I’d almost forgotten to mention that. Who is left to impress. I think my husband regards me as part of the furniture, so I don’t invest in the effort to ‘tart’ myself up – who cares?
Being on the latter side of sixty tends to encourage us to cocoon, perhaps even more so if the scales are governing our lives. If, because of our somewhat large frames, we suffer from pangs of lack of self-confidence, remaining at home provides us with a marvelous reason to enjoy our solitude and become thoroughly antisocial.
Perhaps in the end, we tend to view our physical selves as something resembling bean bags, or soufflés on the verge of collapse. We make sure that the number of mirrors in the house are receding in size and quantity but are grateful that our bodies continue to serve us well. Some of us take an occasional peek into the remaining mirror and have seen the drooping boobs, the slightly wrinkled face and the sagging muscles on various parts of ourselves. We see and accept these facts, but we don’t worry about them because why should we? No matter what anyone will tell you, we still feel the same as we felt in our twenties and the bikini days are long past worrying about.
Perhaps the other side of the argument is that we should care – for a variety of reasons. Caring about ourselves engenders an interest in caring about other people. Caring about other people prohibits us from becoming selfish and antisocial. Caring what we look like gives us confidence in ourselves and maybe a new interest in improving our ho-hum routine. But, possibly, I just can’t be bothered; you get like that, you know.
Perhaps we should cater to those who ‘care’ in another blog spot.
Speaking for myself, I am definitely of the ‘what you see is what you get’ variety, except for one thing – weight. That is something I do care about, very much and it drives me mad. When I retired I was delighted to assume the mantle of “The Walking Tent”. For me, the incentive to be a specimen of the perfect woman disappeared immediately when I no longer had to go out to work.
So, I now get up in the morning and throw on The Walking Tent, a loose garment that hides a multitude of sins, or a pair of jeans and top two sizes too big for me, which fools me into thinking that I’ve lost weight. A feeling that persists until I get on the scales and then all hell breaks out.
Make-up, what’s that? I’d almost forgotten to mention that. Who is left to impress. I think my husband regards me as part of the furniture, so I don’t invest in the effort to ‘tart’ myself up – who cares?
Being on the latter side of sixty tends to encourage us to cocoon, perhaps even more so if the scales are governing our lives. If, because of our somewhat large frames, we suffer from pangs of lack of self-confidence, remaining at home provides us with a marvelous reason to enjoy our solitude and become thoroughly antisocial.
Perhaps in the end, we tend to view our physical selves as something resembling bean bags, or soufflés on the verge of collapse. We make sure that the number of mirrors in the house are receding in size and quantity but are grateful that our bodies continue to serve us well. Some of us take an occasional peek into the remaining mirror and have seen the drooping boobs, the slightly wrinkled face and the sagging muscles on various parts of ourselves. We see and accept these facts, but we don’t worry about them because why should we? No matter what anyone will tell you, we still feel the same as we felt in our twenties and the bikini days are long past worrying about.
Perhaps the other side of the argument is that we should care – for a variety of reasons. Caring about ourselves engenders an interest in caring about other people. Caring about other people prohibits us from becoming selfish and antisocial. Caring what we look like gives us confidence in ourselves and maybe a new interest in improving our ho-hum routine. But, possibly, I just can’t be bothered; you get like that, you know.
Perhaps we should cater to those who ‘care’ in another blog spot.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
GARDEN SNAKES CAN BE DANGEROUS...
This arrived in my e-mail the other day and I just couldn’t resist it. There are many metaphors describing the way Murphy’s Law works in my life. This is with thanks to its originator.
Snakes also known as Garter Snakes (Thamnophissirtalis) can be dangerous. Yes, grass snakes, not rattlesnakes. Here's why.
A couple in Sweetwater, Texas, had a many potted plants. During a recent cold spell the wife was bringing a lot of them indoors to protect them from a possible freeze.
It turned out that a little green garden grass snake was hidden in one of the plants. When it had warmed up, it slithered out and the wife saw it go under the sofa.
She let out a very loud scream.
The husband (who was taking a shower) ran out into the living room naked to see what the problem was. She told him there was a snake under the sofa.
He got down on the floor on his hands and knees to look for it. About that time the family dog came and cold-nosed him on the behind. He thought the snake had bitten him, so he screamed and fell over on the floor.
His wife thought he had had a heart attack, so she covered him up, told him to lie still and called an ambulance.
The attendants rushed in, would not listen to his protests, loaded him on the stretcher, and started carrying him out.
About that time, the snake came out from under the sofa and the Emergency Medical Technician saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher. That's when the man broke his leg and why he is still in the hospital.
The wife still had the problem of the snake in the house, so she called on a neighbour who volunteered to capture the snake. He armed himself with a rolled-up newspaper and began poking under the couch. Soon he decided it was gone and told the woman, who sat down on the sofa in relief.
But while relaxing, her hand dangled in between the cushions, where she felt the snake wriggling around. She screamed and fainted, the snake rushed back under the sofa.
The neighbour man, seeing her lying there passed out, tried to use CPR to revive her.
The neighbour's wife, who had just returned from shopping at the grocery store, saw her husband's mouth on the woman's mouth and slammed her husband in the back of the head with a bag of canned goods, knocking him out and cutting his scalp to a point where it needed stitches.
The noise woke the woman from her dead faint and she saw her neighbor lying on the floor with his wife bending over him, so she assumed that the snake had bitten him. She went to the kitchen and got a small bottle of whiskey, and began pouring it down the man's throat.
By now, the police had arrived.
They saw the unconscious man, smelled the whiskey, and assumed that a drunken fight had occurred. They were about to arrest them all, when the women tried to explain how it all happened over a little garden snake!
The police called an ambulance, which took away the neighbour and his sobbing wife.
Now, the little snake again crawled out from under the sofa and one of the policemen drew his gun and fired at it. He missed the snake and hit the leg of the end table. The table fell over, the lamp on it shattered and, as the bulb broke, it started a fire in the drapes.
The other policeman tried to beat out the flames, and fell through the window into the yard on top of the family dog who, startled, jumped out and raced into the street, where an oncoming car swerved to avoid it and smashed into the parked police car.
Meanwhile, neighbours saw the burning drapes and called in the fire department. The firemen had started raising the fire ladder when they were halfway down the street. The rising ladder tore out the overhead wires, put out the power, and disconnected the telephones in a ten-square city block area (but they did get the house fire out).
Time passed! Both men were discharged from the hospital, the house was repaired, the dog came home, the police acquired a new car and all was right with their world.
A while later they were watching TV and the weatherman announced a cold snap for that night. The wife asked her husband if he thought they should bring in their plants for the night.
And that's when he shot her.
Snakes also known as Garter Snakes (Thamnophissirtalis) can be dangerous. Yes, grass snakes, not rattlesnakes. Here's why.
A couple in Sweetwater, Texas, had a many potted plants. During a recent cold spell the wife was bringing a lot of them indoors to protect them from a possible freeze.
It turned out that a little green garden grass snake was hidden in one of the plants. When it had warmed up, it slithered out and the wife saw it go under the sofa.
She let out a very loud scream.
The husband (who was taking a shower) ran out into the living room naked to see what the problem was. She told him there was a snake under the sofa.
He got down on the floor on his hands and knees to look for it. About that time the family dog came and cold-nosed him on the behind. He thought the snake had bitten him, so he screamed and fell over on the floor.
His wife thought he had had a heart attack, so she covered him up, told him to lie still and called an ambulance.
The attendants rushed in, would not listen to his protests, loaded him on the stretcher, and started carrying him out.
About that time, the snake came out from under the sofa and the Emergency Medical Technician saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher. That's when the man broke his leg and why he is still in the hospital.
The wife still had the problem of the snake in the house, so she called on a neighbour who volunteered to capture the snake. He armed himself with a rolled-up newspaper and began poking under the couch. Soon he decided it was gone and told the woman, who sat down on the sofa in relief.
But while relaxing, her hand dangled in between the cushions, where she felt the snake wriggling around. She screamed and fainted, the snake rushed back under the sofa.
The neighbour man, seeing her lying there passed out, tried to use CPR to revive her.
The neighbour's wife, who had just returned from shopping at the grocery store, saw her husband's mouth on the woman's mouth and slammed her husband in the back of the head with a bag of canned goods, knocking him out and cutting his scalp to a point where it needed stitches.
The noise woke the woman from her dead faint and she saw her neighbor lying on the floor with his wife bending over him, so she assumed that the snake had bitten him. She went to the kitchen and got a small bottle of whiskey, and began pouring it down the man's throat.
By now, the police had arrived.
They saw the unconscious man, smelled the whiskey, and assumed that a drunken fight had occurred. They were about to arrest them all, when the women tried to explain how it all happened over a little garden snake!
The police called an ambulance, which took away the neighbour and his sobbing wife.
Now, the little snake again crawled out from under the sofa and one of the policemen drew his gun and fired at it. He missed the snake and hit the leg of the end table. The table fell over, the lamp on it shattered and, as the bulb broke, it started a fire in the drapes.
The other policeman tried to beat out the flames, and fell through the window into the yard on top of the family dog who, startled, jumped out and raced into the street, where an oncoming car swerved to avoid it and smashed into the parked police car.
Meanwhile, neighbours saw the burning drapes and called in the fire department. The firemen had started raising the fire ladder when they were halfway down the street. The rising ladder tore out the overhead wires, put out the power, and disconnected the telephones in a ten-square city block area (but they did get the house fire out).
Time passed! Both men were discharged from the hospital, the house was repaired, the dog came home, the police acquired a new car and all was right with their world.
A while later they were watching TV and the weatherman announced a cold snap for that night. The wife asked her husband if he thought they should bring in their plants for the night.
And that's when he shot her.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Broken Dish
About a month ago, I was cooking the Sunday lunch. The roast was in a casserole dish that had been in the family for years and years. There was nothing special about this dish. It was a rather drab brown, stoneware rectangular dish with gently sloping sides of about two inches in depth. It was not a particularly attractive dish to look at. It was just there, and it was used for everything that was going into the oven. It seemed to be just the right size for all the dishes I cooked, and I rarely used another cooking utensil except for turkeys and large roasts.
During this Sunday lunch preparation, I removed the tin foil lining and picked up the dish to put it in the sink. Because it had been sitting on top of the stove for sometime, I thought it would be quite cool and so didn’t bother to put on the oven mitt. It was not cool. It was hot, hot, hot. It was off the oven top, over the floor and on the way to the sink before I realized that my fingers were burning. I dropped it with a shriek of pain. Upon making contact with the floor, my beloved casserole dish broke into a thousand pieces.
My shriek of pain, turned to tears of anger, and then painful tears of anguish because I had lost a piece of family history. Crowded thoughts of many years suddenly appeared in my head, particularly of my parents and two sisters. This dish had reminded me of the love and warmth we enjoyed as a family, together with the heartaches and tears (not too often) which were not enjoyed.
It reminded me of a quieter and much more serene life many years ago; a time when families interacted and entertained themselves instead of relying on television. A time when life was much gentler and certainly less complicated. I suppose I could go on, but what is the point The casserole dish is no more and neither is our youth. I guess that was the reason for my tears.
During this Sunday lunch preparation, I removed the tin foil lining and picked up the dish to put it in the sink. Because it had been sitting on top of the stove for sometime, I thought it would be quite cool and so didn’t bother to put on the oven mitt. It was not cool. It was hot, hot, hot. It was off the oven top, over the floor and on the way to the sink before I realized that my fingers were burning. I dropped it with a shriek of pain. Upon making contact with the floor, my beloved casserole dish broke into a thousand pieces.
My shriek of pain, turned to tears of anger, and then painful tears of anguish because I had lost a piece of family history. Crowded thoughts of many years suddenly appeared in my head, particularly of my parents and two sisters. This dish had reminded me of the love and warmth we enjoyed as a family, together with the heartaches and tears (not too often) which were not enjoyed.
It reminded me of a quieter and much more serene life many years ago; a time when families interacted and entertained themselves instead of relying on television. A time when life was much gentler and certainly less complicated. I suppose I could go on, but what is the point The casserole dish is no more and neither is our youth. I guess that was the reason for my tears.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
H1N1 and the Media
This is just a short blog about a controversial topic that has been blown out of all proportion by our friends, the media.
This pandemic has offered another frenzied feeding to the media. They have had a wonderful time tracking every little variation of H1N1, both good and bad, predominantly bad. The result of their reporting has been responsible in the large part for the public chaos over vaccinations for H1N1.
They have whipped the population into a state of nervous confusion, especially people with children. This has resulted in huge lineups at clinics because of jammed telephone lines by people trying to get information from the local authorities. A debate in parliament followed, with the intention, so it would appear, of trying to find a culprit to which the blame can be attached. If ever there was a time when co-operation is needed between parties, this is it with a hope that cooperation will find a solution to the mess.
Personally, I don’t think anyone is to specifically blame. There has been a huge rush to create a vaccine, get it on the market and provide for people who may be ‘at risk’ of getting N1H1. It has been a combination of all these factors, plus the media, which have contributed to the current state of affairs. Also, when there is media frenzy like this, you get hundreds of people who are not in the ‘at risk’ category, managing to get the shot before anyone else and this makes for debatable headlines, too.
As I’ve mentioned before, the media does a lot of good, but they don’t achieve anything when instilling fear and despondency among people.
This pandemic has offered another frenzied feeding to the media. They have had a wonderful time tracking every little variation of H1N1, both good and bad, predominantly bad. The result of their reporting has been responsible in the large part for the public chaos over vaccinations for H1N1.
They have whipped the population into a state of nervous confusion, especially people with children. This has resulted in huge lineups at clinics because of jammed telephone lines by people trying to get information from the local authorities. A debate in parliament followed, with the intention, so it would appear, of trying to find a culprit to which the blame can be attached. If ever there was a time when co-operation is needed between parties, this is it with a hope that cooperation will find a solution to the mess.
Personally, I don’t think anyone is to specifically blame. There has been a huge rush to create a vaccine, get it on the market and provide for people who may be ‘at risk’ of getting N1H1. It has been a combination of all these factors, plus the media, which have contributed to the current state of affairs. Also, when there is media frenzy like this, you get hundreds of people who are not in the ‘at risk’ category, managing to get the shot before anyone else and this makes for debatable headlines, too.
As I’ve mentioned before, the media does a lot of good, but they don’t achieve anything when instilling fear and despondency among people.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
TO CHILKO AND BACK continued...............
The following morning was bright and sunny, an invitation for us to head out to Chilko Lake (all 80 miles of it), a further 15 kilometers on from the River Lodge. When we reached the lake, a dire warning about bears being frequent visitors to the area greeted us at the entrance of the park. In accordance with the instructions posted, I insisted that wherever we were going to fish, the Jeep could not be far away. We smiled and both of us suddenly realized that while we were at home, the thought of encountering bears in the wild caused apprehension and we even enquired about bear spray! However, we arrived in the wild without bear spray and while fishing in bear country, neither one of us was at all concerned or worried.
The bears didn’t put in an appearance and we spent a marvelous 3-4 hours, the sole occupants of the Park, Denis fishing and me learning to fish – casting, that is. Actually, in retrospect, I was quite pleased with my efforts by the end of the day. We didn’t catch any fish, but that was beside the point. It was a joy just to be out there. The sun, the sky with tiny cotton wool clouds moved gently by a slight breeze, the gorgeous colours of the lake itself stretching out before us, predominantly ice blue and white as a result of the winter melt and run off; the huge snow-capped peaks towering above us and of course the endless trees – just as it all had been for thousands of years. It was spring (early June) and the entire panorama seemed to be coming alive in anticipation of summer.
We returned to the Lodge, tired out but invigorated, without fish! Unfortunately, for the rest of the holiday it was the weather, not us, that dictated the holiday activities. Denis did get some more fishing in and actually went out on the lake with Mike, the resident fishing guide. Alas, I cannot report any success.
My activity apart from writing was one afternoon of horseback riding. This was wonderful, although some of my riding skills taught so many years ago were a bit rusty. Silver, my horse, and he was a big horse (he had to be to carry me) was a dream. I thoroughly enjoyed myself just ambling behind our host in the late day’s sunshine, with Bandit, the border collie running ahead of us to ensure that we wouldn’t come upon any wildlife unexpectedly!
The holiday was so neat; we decided to stay an extra day before heading back on the long drive home. We returned the way we’d come until we got to Cache Creek where we decided to head out and investigate a new route and which, according to the map, was a gravel road. The owner of the gift shop at Cache Creek assured us that the road was recently leveled and that it would not produce any difficulties for us, particularly since we had a Jeep. So off we went into Downing Provincial Park and then up what appeared to be an unassailable mountainside. Actually, it wasn’t, but it was very steep and I was just a little concerned as the ground seemed to drop away more steeply than ever round each bend!
Coming down on the other side was much gentler and the country spread out before us, mountain after mountain, some with snow, some without, bathed in the afternoon sunshine. It was absolutely vast, breathtaking and unbelievable. On the lookout for wildlife, we saw only one black bear, but unfortunately the noise of the Jeep frightened him and he took himself off at a high speed before I could get the window down to take a picture. As we descended the road passed through some private land and we witnessed ranchers herding cattle and roping calves – fascinating – long live the Wild West.
By the time we got to Lillooet it was getting late, but we decided to press on. We followed route 99 through some steep, precipitous mountains rising on both sides from the highway which produced a strange feeling of claustrophobia. The road was good but fraught with twists and bends so you had to be on guard all the time. Finally, at about 8:00 p.m. we reached Whistler and booked in at the Holiday Inn (the first hotel we came to). We went from the sublime to the ridiculous – rustic but very comfortable living to state of the art hotel conveniences, which included a Jacuzzi; just what was needed after a long day’s journey.
The following day we got up early to finish the journey to the Ferries at Horseshoe Bay and then home to Nanaimo. It was great to see home again, but we were both sad that we couldn’t have stayed longer at Chilko.
Keywords: horse, River Lodge, bears, bear spray, Chilko Lake, Williams Lake, barbecue, crossword books, Jacuzzi, Holiday Inn, Lillooet, fishing, horseback riding
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