We passed a blissful week at the Driftwood Inn.

Our last night in Spruce Haven cottage was a humdinger. A major storm was brewing and waves of excitement rippled through our little colony. Dave boarded up doors and windows as most of the guests ran for their cars, fleeing to the mainland. But not us. We couldn’t wait for the mother of all storms to hit. Dad said that the Nor’Easter is one hell of a storm that usually comes in winter. Mum went on and on about storms she’s lived through in northern Quebec and in the Maritimes. In short: BRING IT ON!  

In the end it turned out to be a big build-up, but not such a big deal. Sure we awakened to crashing surf, but it was no national disaster.

It was also the time to leave our cozy cottage and the grounds of the Driftwood Inn. Pictures were taken, goodbyes said, and we pulled out of the parking area to head for the mainland.

It was raining and it was windy but, as the road wound its way along the western side of the islands, the bays actually looked quite peaceful.

Once we reached the mainland there wasn’t much of a storm. Or, actually, the storm became interpersonal. In a huff, Mum and Dad ditched the naval town house on Mariners Landing.

They deserved better and they got better. Presenting themselves to Morton’s Real Estate on a holiday Monday, they were immediately taken by the hand of dapper Paul Clark (the third) and guided to a most appropriate townhouse.

We had finally found a semi-permanent resting place. Dad brought the marital bed out of U Haul storage and we were back to our old routine.

I sleep on the floor.