Ross - Cottage Daze 2-Book Bundle: Cottage Daze/Still in a Daze at the Cottage

• The Opening

  Opening Checklist

  Start the Day

  Of Mice and Men

  Hello, World!

  The Rescue

  Flying Piranha

  Game of Tapes and Ladders

  Forever Young

  The Breakdown and the Brat

  Whats Eating You?

  Natures Guardians

  Farewell to a Cottage Friend

  Boat Launch

  The Robin

  The Nesting Box

  Time Moves On

• Leave It to Beaver

  First Job

  The Perfect Storm

  Holding the Fort

  Death of a Dog

  First Ski

  Life Is a Game

  Cottage Guests

  The Food Chain

  Island Kingdom

  Puppy Love

  Lost in Translation

  The Handyman

  The Cottage Duel

  A Gathering of Loons

  The Sting

  Who Has Seen the Wind?

  Pirates of Muskoka

  Are You Afraid of the Dark?

  Bonfire

  That 70s Show

  Its a Dogs Life

  Cottage Renovations

  Our Garden Patch

  Chirpys Diner

  Hunting for Hidden Treasure

  In a Fog

  Natures Stage

• Back to School

  Im a Lumberjack

  Inspector Gadget

  Splitting Wood

  Seasons Change

  Three Men on a Dock

  Autumns Spell

  To Fetch a Pail of Water

  The Closing

• Cottage Country Christmas

  Gone Skiing

  In Stitches

  The End of Claus

  Winter Journey

  The Cottage Rink

  Cottage Dreaming

My wife will never understand the life of a writer.

Sure, she works hard. She heads off to her restaurant every day, where she slaves over the grill, settles staff issues, and deals with the demands of spoiled customers. She helps bring in the money necessary to support our family of six. I will give her that. But I work hard, too she just doesnt always see it that way.

She comes home early from work today to find me relaxing on the back deck, sprawled out in a lounger in the sunshine. A good book lies open on my lap. A frosty beer sits on a side table, along with a pen and an empty notebook. Dark shades hide my eyes, which are shut. Many would be convinced I am sleeping, but I am simply meditating, dreaming cottage thoughts, and thinking about the summer days at the lake that will soon come.

I have filled up the kiddie pool and have it placed just off the deck beyond my bare feet. In what I thought was an inspired touch, I have taken my wifes beautiful carved wooden loon from its prestigious perch atop the fireplace mantel and have it bobbing around in the sparkling pool water.

What are you doing? my wife shouts, rudely awakening me from my slumbers. I try to spring to my feet, but instead, in my half-dazed state, I jump on the foot of the lounge chair. The lounger, in turn, tilts forward and springs me off the deck and into the pool with a splash. I pretend this graceful dip was my intention all along, sitting in the little wading pool splashing water over my upper torso.

If you have ever wondered what an incredulous expression looks like, all you have to do is witness the look my darling wife is giving me at this very instant. I must be a very funny sight, a big guy like me sitting in this little pool with sunglasses askew, but my spouse does not even smile. She does not even chuckle when I jump back with a little yelp, having seen a headless wooden loon swimming towards me.

What are you doing? she repeats, speaking very slowly and succinctly, making me for the first time realize the dangerous predicament I am now in.

Why, Im working, I say. Her expression of incredulity sharpens.

Research, I try. Writing is all about mindset. (Im not entirely sure she is buying it.) Her hands stay fixed on her hips. I cant help but notice the colour rising, the fists clenching.

I was suffering from a tiny bit of writers block and I need to have a Cottage Daze column in tomorrow. I needed to get into the mood.

I sense Im making some headway finally. I notice her head nodding slightly.

Ah, yes, of course then perhaps I can help, she offers graciously.

My accommodating wife quickly fetches me a gallon of deck stain and a brush. Pretend it is the cottage porch, she says, pointing to our oversized cedar patio deck.

Later, while she has me chopping firewood, trimming trees, and raking well into the twilight hour, she bustles about in the rickety garden shed. I must admit, my wife has quite the imagination when she applies herself. With a little bit of a rustic touch, she soon has that clapboard shack looking much like an old cottage bunkhouse, complete with mice, spiders, and a thin little lumpy mattress and scratchy wool blanket for me.

Good night, she says. Hope this helps get you in the mood. She wanders off to our comfortable house. I light the oil lamp she has kindly provided, grab my notebook, and put pen to paper.

Yes, writing is all about mindset. Perhaps my wife understands the life of a writer, after all.

Part 1

Springtime: Back to the Cottage

The Opening

It is an annual ritual that takes place once the snow has receded not disappeared completely, but at least retreated to the protected shade of the trees. Once the thick lake ice has magically transformed itself, first on a mild spring night into an infinite number of tiny ice capsules before disappearing completely the following afternoon, and once that first sunny weekend is promised in April or May it is time. It is an event as much anticipated by the family as Christmas morning, and is often full of as many surprises. It is the opening of the cottage.

The children are loaded into the SUV, along with the dog and enough provisions to last a year. The boat and trailer, fresh out of winter hibernation, are hooked behind. Off you go, down the highway and along the twisting, winding road to the lake. The children get carsick, the dog makes smells (or at least nobly accepts the blame), Mom snoozes, and Dad yells at the kids and chastises the pooch. Not long into the trip the first How much farther? and Are we there yet? are uttered from the back seats.

The ruckus gets louder, the dog sleeps and drools, the wife sleeps and only occasionally drools, and the dad hoarsely begs the children to quiet down. You are almost there, and the children argue over who has seen the lake first, the dog wakes up and pants out the window, the wifes eyes remain closed, and Dads mouth lifts into a slight smile his voice is gone. Then you arrive, in our case at the landing, which looks out at the lake and our island cottage. The dog runs in circles, the children run on the dock, and the wife wakes up and states, That didnt take very long.

Back at the cottage life is good.

The rain starts, the wind picks up, and the water gets choppy. With everything loaded you head across the lake wondering what surprises you will find at the cabin this year.

Thankfully, the old birch, the one that you meant to cut down in the fall, has fallen on its own but only slightly clipped the porch roof the roof you wanted to replace this summer anyway. Worse, the ancient cedar that has stood regally for so long at the back of the privy has snapped and twisted, and is held up ever so gently in the limbs of a spindly pine, inches above the outhouse. You have to use this building, but are afraid to do so until the cedar is cleaned up, lest the branches of the pine give out while you are seated and you become always remembered on the lake as the fellow who died in this peculiar and awful fashion.