Tuesday, July 28

Positively NOT Pollyana (or: My Husband Could Have a Street Named After Him in Quebec)

So. Last week James and I went to Quebec for a little holiday. We drove there all day Monday, spent Tues-Thurs there, and drove home Friday. It was lovely. Quebec City is gorgeous, and one could walk for hours down the quaint and picturesque streets admiring the beautiful buildings and stores packed with expensive pretty things. We had three days in which to do this, which is not long. The problem is, you can only do so much walking without becoming exhausted, especially when pregnant and prone to bad headaches which are aggravated by bright/hot sun which July seems to offer (albeit very infrequently, this July).

Now. I used to think, when I was a teenager, that I could handle any affliction. I had naive visions of being diagnosed with a fatal illness, and with my incredible combination of positivity and reliance on God, I would wow the world with my upbeat attitude and strength through what would obviously have been an incredibly trying experience (likely ending in death, which would've made them all that much sadder, because I had been such a picture of grace throughout the experience).

A few years later, having watched some loved ones experience hardship, with a better understanding of myself (believe it or not, I am not perfect - although this was hard to come to grips with), and having walked around Quebec city in the sun, I can tell you I am not actually all that gracious when I am in discomfort. In fact, I am down right awful.

Tuesday morning we got up, hit the road, wandered through the Plains of Abraham, Chateau Frontenac, and some ruins of the basement of a castle that burnt down. And then it was noonish. And we hadn't decided where to go for lunch. And I needed to eat 20 minutes ago. And I had a headache. And I was becoming increasingly irritable...And obviously we dropped everything and got to a restaurant, pronto.

Wednesday we slept in, which I felt guilty about, but in retrospect was a good choice, and we didn't really get out to do much until early afternoon, which was also good, 'cause who can really walk for that long and still enjoy all the pretty things? Apparently not me. (Plus, it rained until like, 3:00 anyway). Wednesday was a good day, because of my newfound awareness for needing to plan meals ahead of time, and our lack of packing the day too full.

Thursday. Ah Thursday. We started slow again, as we had felt that Wednesday was a successful mix of rest and sight-seeing. And then, I...I don't know what. Something happened to me. I couldn't seem to motivate myself to move. I didn't know what to do. I was laughing and crying at the same time (at my ridiculousness), and my poor husband was lost for words). Eventually (like, very eventually - maybe 1:00?) we decided we would drive the 30 minutes to check out St. Anne's Canyon. The website said they had a restaurant, so we decided we would have our big meal there for lunch, then wander around the canyon, then come back for a quick bite before the Cirque du Soleil show we had scheduled for the evening.

So we drove to St. Anne-de-Beupres. I slept the whole time, after sleeping the whole morning. We found the Canyon, after first going to the ski hill. We parked, I tried to wake up (of course, feeling kinda nauseous and headachy). We walked to the "restaurant." We discovered pre-made yucky looking sandwiches, offered with an old pot of soup. I had another meltdown. We left looking for a decent restaurant. We went to 3 greasy burger joints before finding a beautiful gourmet sandwich cafe. We ate delicious sandwiches on a lovely patio. It was too late to return to St. Anne's Canyon, so we drove back to Quebec. I effectively ruined a whole day (after driving James nuts earlier in the week telling him we must use every moment wisely 'cause we're only here for THREE days!).

And this is where we get to the topic of street naming in Quebec. Almost every street is Rue Saint Someone-or-Other. I'm not sure it is really possible to have that many saints, but, seeing as the title seems to be given out so freely, I'd like to nominate my husband. Somewhere in Quebec city, near where I had one of my "I need to eat half-an-hour ago!" whiny ridiculous meltdowns, there should be a Rue Saint James. I was no picnic to travel with, and he was incredibly patient and gracious, and aside from one very calm conversation in which he told me I was being frustrating, you'd think I was the perfect travel partner by the ways he responded to me. I wasn't, trust me. He, on the other hand, may just be a saint.

3 comments:

  1. Well, I don't think I'm in need of a street named after me, or the title of Saint. I just try not to live in regret. Can't change the situation we're in, let's just make the best of it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. gotta love me I'm the momJuly 29, 2009 at 6:33 p.m.

    I like the name St. James. I think it suits you!.

    Love you guys.

    Mom

    ReplyDelete

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