Day 17a

Here's my dad's messy office. It seems that clutter propensity is highly communicative, either genetically or by early exposure. Now, keep in mind that I didn't grow up with my dad and yet I still share the same penchant for messy messes with the messness. Growing up with my dad was summer and winter vacations up to British Columbia.
Don't feel sorry for me, but it seems to be a trend that I spend less and less time visiting every time that I'm up here. Two years ago it was for less than a week and this time only a day. A quick personal note about my relationship with my dad. I have recently realized that it's futile to be mad at him. That it's futile as well as try to explain why I'm mad or expect any type of sympathy/empathy/generosity. I don't think that he's survived with his sense of humor intact by being "soft" or open and generous. That said he's still my dad and I love him. I'll just be keeping him at arm's length for the time being.

That's my dad's Porsche as I set off on my 30 min short cut to a different US/CA boarder to save 20 minutes from going through the main boarder. It could be that I did save some headache too as the more obscure boarder I went to was manned by an elderly gentleman. There must be some kind of interesting thing on my passport as I was stopped on the way out too. The bespectacled and gray haired old man told me to open my trunk, ruffled through my suitcase and did who knows what else poking through my trunk. He did let me go after a few minutes of remedial searching. A dedicated smuggler would have been relieved at his cursory job. Thank goodness I'm clean as a whistle.

The shortcut did send me past a tiny park. I had to stop and go for a little walk. The way was paved and I saw an elderly couple making their way back to their car with their little dog in tow. There were many signs warning people not to leave valuables in their cars. I didn't get a crime vibe from the place.

Mushroom, mushroom, mushroom! The trick to getting into the mushroom groove is to walk until you feel like stopping, go off the trail a few yards into the forest, drop to a squat and look. They'll pop out quickly. The teeny tiny brown ones, the orange slimy ones with vertical gills, the tall thin white ones being chomped on by a slug. They're all down there. Each time I did that the ability stuck. I saw the little guys everywhere. That little gray circle next to a leaf, those scale-like shelves growing out of a felled trunk. Oh, yeah, don't eat them unless you know exactly what they are and you're really only in trouble if you swallow several grams. If it tastes nasty then spit it out. This is not intended to be medical advice, but you'd do best by following it.

I like maps. Here's the park map from the pictures above.

Lunch time = taco time. Fish taco time, if you know what I mean. This was technically over State side.

And I don't remember exactly where this one was, but I wanted to include it and remind you kids not to take pictures while you're driving. No one appreciates your swerving and slowness as you wrestle with your obstinate cell phone camera. So, stop it.

Cloverdale, Canada