I hope those of you living in Southern Ontario got to go outdoors and enjoy a bit of the first spring-like weather we’ve had. What a glorious day it was. Got two loads of washing on the line outside … I’m old-fashioned that way but more environmentally friendly, don’t you agree? And if the neighbours don’t like seeing my undies on the line, well, I wonder what they’d think about about my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER! Talk about airing dirty laundry LOL! As for those who haven’t read it, well, you won’t find much of it in this section where I tell you about my honeymoon. Oh, you were hoping this part would be like “50 Shades of Gray”? Sorry! Just not my style. What’s below is more “me”, and I hope you like it. Do let me know by leaving your comments below. Much appreciated. Thanks!
CHAPTER 2: THE HONEYMOON
“So, how do you like the idea of roughing it?”
“I don’t … much … ”
We were discussing honeymoon plans over breakfast at our tiny cluttered table/desk. As teachers, we had the long summer break ahead of us.
“But it’ll be fun,” John persisted. His eyes twinkled with excitement at the possibilities of seeing places never yet seen. “We have time to travel Canada as far East as Newfoundland. By camping, we can afford to do what neither of us has ever done: see a good deal of this country. Quebec has some wonderful old buildings. We can visit Ottawa and see the parliament buildings. Then we head for the Atlantic provinces…all the way to the rugged coastline, maybe even into the US for a bit at Maine. It’ll be amazing. And all the photos I can take! What do you think?”
I didn’t think much of the idea at all. It was hardly the honeymoon I had in mind. I would have preferred what Rico (whose heart I’d broken) had suggested to me years ago: a honeymoon in Italy, gliding in a gondola in Venice, throwing coins into the Trevi Fountain…so much more romantic than camping in a pup tent in mosquito infested woods and bathing in cold Canadian lakes. Nothing romantic about driving thousands of miles day after day, pitching a tent, and cooking canned beans over a campfire!
“But it’ll be fun!” John persisted. “A lot more fun than flying to one location, staying in some fancy, over-priced hotel, paying a fortune for every meal, and only seeing one place instead of hundreds. What don’t you like about it? Let’s face it: we don’t have much money. If we run out, we can turn around and head home. I’m just being practical…”
Yes, there it was. If John was anything, as I was learning quickly, he was practical. Even well before the wedding, on my birthday, he’d given me a gift in a huge box. Excited, I’d opened it to find a large wall clock! I was speechless. A wall clock? As nice as its diamond-shaped brown and gold frame was, what kind of birthday gift was that for a guy to give his girlfriend of a few months?
“I’m just being practical,” he’d said. “I figured since we were going to get married one day, this would be more useful than some silly, little meaningless gift. Don’t you agree this makes more sense?”
I looked at his handsome face and sensed his delight in giving me such a practical gift, but in my insecurity and shock, I’d merely mumbled, “It’s very…er…nice. Thanks!”
And as much as he was practical, he was also frugal, very frugal. His practical frugality caused one of our first disagreements right after we finally vacated the bed the day after the wedding to do some badly needed grocery shopping. As we pushed the buggy down the dairy aisle of the local supermarket, he’d reached for a tub of the cheapest margarine on the shelf at the same time that I grabbed a pound of the delicious, but expensive Lactantia butter.
“We don’t need that, do we?” He asked in surprise, eying the butter in my hand. “It’s so expensive!”
“But I’ve never eaten margarine!” I countered. The very idea disgusted me. My mother only ever used butter. “That margarine you’re holding is horrible stuff!”
“What’s wrong with it?” John looked indignant, even slightly offended. “My mother used margarine all the time. All three kids were raised on it and we’re all healthy. And it costs one hell of a lot less than butter! It’s just good sense to use something more economical to do the same thing, isn’t it? I’m just being practical, love.”
Reluctantly, even somewhat resentful, I put the Lactantia back on the shelf. So this was how it was going to be, I thought to myself. I’d just left a home where a man had ruled my every thought, action and decision for nearly 24 years. Was another man now going to tell me what to do for the rest of my life? I fought the tiny wave of anger niggling at me. I wanted that butter! I’d gag eating margarine! John sensed my hesitation and smiled at me. I wanted to stay mad but I couldn’t. Oh what the heck! It was only a little thing, and yes, I suppose it made sense to save pennies where we could. Since my father had insisted I don’t touch the vacation pay they needed for the upcoming mortgage payment, we only had John’s pay to live off. Margarine made sense.
So did a camping honeymoon I decided as I got up to clear the breakfast dishes off the table.
“Okay,” I agreed with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Camping it is!”
Want to know what we did on our honeymoon? SUBSCRIBE BELOW to find out next week!