With the blues having kicked in, I take a trip down memory lane right to the Rideau, where I spent many a summer at my uncles' hotel. As a kid, you would find me hiding behind the counter at the bar, for fear that some inspector would walk in to check IDs. I used to love watching those waitresses walking back and forth, balancing a tray on one hand, while shoving past some drunk with the other. It was like being at the circus.
Trying to figure out who was who in that small town, while Ruth filled me in on all the juicy gossip, was more entertaining than watching the Young & the Restless. There's a certain magic to a small, country town. Everybody knows who you are. You lose all the anonymousity you may have conquered in the big city. Walking down Main Street was like carrying a big sign on your back saying "Joe's niece". I guess that why I ended up living in the country. It makes me feel more like I'm a somebody. I'm somebody's mom, somebody's wife, somebody's neighbour.
I'm more than certain that the summers spent in this small town inspired my dreams of picket fences, vegetable gardens and rose bushes.
Top of oriel windows and fourth floor terraced windows
Eye brackets, dentils and frieze of the Rideau Hotel