Cross that bridge when you come to it
The continental breakfast in the chain motel world is really a way to ensure weight loss. Yogurt with chemisty. Bad black coffee. A bagel that did not withstand the hardening step (some refer to it as toasting lightly). A newspaper from another province. Enough already! Next time, reduce the room cost by two bits and let me choose a resto after my own tastes. Please.
With that out of the way, the drive from Moncton to the Island was without incident. Except for the car behind us that kept weaving across the road. And the car ahead of us that kept weaving, etc. Like some sort of warped convoy. When they weaved off to another part of the world, collective sighs of relief were in order.
On the bridge, I did like when we stopped. Some sort of work team, with six guys watching and one guy lifting a manhole cover. I would have jumped out of the car to join the watching team, but the dog dislikes unexpected departures of those he is shepherding. And so I stayed on board (as close to a boat idea as I can raise, at this hour). The hills of dirt in Borden are looking better, now that the grass has taken root.
Another visit to the house store, where we met with the guy that actually sets things up. Some good ideas, for when we actually sit down to fill in the menu choices. I still want a basement, even if the slab on the lawn idea is faster. I’ve got time.
My “first choice” for lunch involved vegetables, with a side of corned beef. The photo on FB has already gathered nine likes, not counting mine. Dessert: frozen yogurt is a come back again (and again) kind of deal.
