Some of you might remember that last spring, Karen and her trusty sidekick Buckminster K. Beaver travelled to London for a (far too short) visit with Wendy.
We crammed more sights and activities into that trip than most people manage in a month, including but not limited to:
- A memorable visit to Marx’s tomb, where we had to out-wait the steady stream of mourners to allow Bucky a brief moment for a photo op (how were we supposed to know it was the anniversary of Marx’s death?);
- A visit to Kensington Palace, where astonished courtiers remarked on the fact that Bucky stored his beret in an unmentionable place;
- A lunch-time stop at Covent Gardens, where Bucky grew a little too fond of the wooden soldier outside a cigar shop;
- A West End production of Spamalot, where Bucky discovered that he could bring his wine right into the theatre…leading to a slightly tipsy but very happy beaver.
And now for something completely different
But that was last year.
This year, we’re heading out to Whistler, B.C. Unless you’re Canadian, a ski bum, or both, you’ll be scowling into your computer monitor right now, thinking, “Where the hey-nonny is that?”
Whistler is one of Canada’s premier ski resorts, located north of Vancouver. And what, pray tell, would we be doing there? Ah, good question, Grasshoppers. Allow us to explain.
While staying in a stunningly beautiful mountain resort during prime spring skiing season, we’ll be…sorting through photographs.
Yeah, we know, Yawnsville. But bear with us. For one thing these aren’t just any photographs. These are photos, some dating back to the mid-1800s, that we salvaged from our parents’ basement after our mother died 12 years ago.
At that time, none of us could face going through multiple trunks full of family photos and memorabilia, so we packed the lot into Wendy’s car, and she drove it to her condo at Whistler, where it’s been languishing in a storage locker ever since.
This past Christmas holiday, she finally cracked open one of the boxes and started exploring…and that’s when she realized what a treasure we had on our hands. We decided that we needed to tackle the project of sorting, cataloguing, scanning, and labelling the photos…and that’s when Rachel, Karen’s daughter, put her hand up.
“I can do that!” she said. And it’s true. She’s got some mad skills in that direction. Plus, she only met our parents a few times as a very young kid, so she’s eager to get to know them a bit better, if only through the visual record they left behind.
As for our fourth companion, how could we possibly leave Bucky behind? Granted, he and Wendy parted on rather stiff terms last year (he kept upstaging her in our photos and blog posts), and for some reason Rachel developed an immediate and profound antipathy the moment she met him. The words “creepy” and “get that thing away from me” did come up.
But tough noogies. Bucky is a ramblin’, gamblin’ kind of beaver, who loves to travel to new places, meet new people, and mortify them with his beret storage habits. He will not be left out.
By the time you read this, Wendy will be in Vancouver; and Karen, Rachel, and Bucky will be boarding a plane later this morning.
Catch you on the flip side, cats and kittens!
Karen, Wendy, Rachel…and Bucky