Rain in Roseau

Hello and welcome to a determinedly rainy Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac by way of Roseau. Today is September 26th.

It's not often I get my butt beyond my geographic comfort zone on a Saturday morning to explore other hamlets of Wannaskaland, but a text last night, letting me know I'd forgotten my exercise bands in a friend's bag (she lives in Roseau), spurred me to make the trek.

The morning kicked off with stepping on the scale. After a week of super healthy eating, yoga, a sauna, nature walks, and other meditative practices layered in between intense sessions devoted to deep dives in creating a business plan in one week, I was certain that all that effort would result in at least a couple pounds dropped. No such luck. Said friend with my exercise bands reported a similar result when she stepped on her scale.

This was followed by feeding the cats. Even though they have food aplenty in the "shack in the back" aka the Cat House (the renovated shed meant to be repurposed as a playhouse or an outdoor writing space for me but ended up being the cats' winter lodgings), they greeted me with a forlorn look that insisted they were starving. Since I'd been gone for a week, I really wasn't in a position to confirm or deny their sorry stares. The guilt was too much to ignore, so I set out some wet cat food and fresh water. I concluded they must have been pretty hungry because they tolerated each other well enough to eat out of the bowl, side by side, at the same time.

And then my daughter, readying herself for morning swim practice, emerged asking for breakfast. "We had to take care of ourselves all week," she wailed last night, big tears breaking her dam of resignation that had held her together all week. When I asked what they had eaten this past week, the kids lamented in unison, "Meat, bread, and onions." To be fair, I spoke with my husband this morning, and he assured me that he provided ample fare to get their nutrition needs met. "Yes...and the 'meat in the bucket' doesn't look all that appetizing."

To salve her soul and stomach, I fried eggs, toasted some bread, and slapped them together with some marble jack cheese in a breakfast sandwich. I saw her spirits lift. She talked about each of her classes. She's reading The Odyssey, which, of course, especially caught my ear and attention. She's getting stuck on who's who and their various names, i.e., Zeus is Jupiter, Neptune is Poseidon. I suggested we watch the Percy Jackson movies as a fun way to create a sort of cheat sheet.

At 8am, I dropped her off at the high school for swim practice and was finally on my way to Roseau. Driving west, I noted the morning light shining richly in my sideview mirror and on the trees and ditches lining the highway - the result a glorious illumination of greens, golds, and turning-fall reds and yellows, especially vibrant against the backdrop of vast gray skies on the western horizon. An early morning treat, like a good piece of chocolate, gifted by nature. 

Roseau came all too soon, ending the pleasant drive with the purpose of my trip: Get the bands. But first, coffee. 

I couldn't decide between a yummy coffee-chocolate protein shake from Up North, or a hot, freshly brewed coffee and a breakfast treat from Dahlia's. And then it occurred to me: I could have both!

The uplift from relaxing chatter with the Up North proprietress was swiftly dashed by the sprinkly promise of a bigger rain to come. Yet, still cheerful, I headed over to Dahlia's and made my second morning order of a drip coffee with milk, egg bites, and a blueberry scone. The rain's patter evolved into a steady beat of water pounding the pavement with a resolute "Listen, lady, I'm gonna be here awhile," from the sky. I've been cozying at Dahlia's since.

Breakfast is consumed (a delicious two-thumbs-up recommendation for both places), urgent business - check-in with said friend, check-in with my husband, who's currently en route home in Pennsylvania, and a consult on which sleeping bag the Youngest should take on his overnight birthday party - is taken care of.

Roseau might be wet outside, but inside, it's dry and peaceful. There's a relaxed, Saturday vibe among the other patrons. There's a guy behind me, also sitting at a computer, typing away while poring over a draft of something, a big paragraph circled in black ink. A weathered paperback lies open next to him; relaxed pages as the writer-reader refers/cites/scrutinizes its text. I might ask him about it. I think I overheard him say his name was Dean. He also mentioned he's from the Cities. He looks familiar. I consider whether it would be rude to google him. I decide it is. It just occurred to me that he might be occasionally glancing over his shoulder back at me while I type on my computer, scrutinizing the meaning of today's rain.

The only thing left to do before heading back to my little corner of Wannaskaland is to pick up those exercise bands. I think I'll wait a few more minutes, though, to enjoy the rain in Roseau.