From my Laxdale notebook

(con't from "One of those days" 11 January):
I suppose I should be grateful for the elusiveness of that day now. When father suggested, from under his bushy grey brow, that we take a walk in the woods, I knew that it was more than a suggestion. When he gave me that surly, ashen look it meant that I would not only benefit from exercise and fresh air, but immediately and duly be rewarded. Another initiation into one of his secrets places was forthcoming. Father takes great pride in his familiarity with virgin forests and all their magic glades, moist mires, and plentiful pantries full of berries and edible mushrooms. These are the kinds of secrets that are meant to make poor people feel rich.

His grey-green high rubber boots make his feet seem oversized, add a funny footing to his slight build. The volume of his boots, coupled with the vision of his bulky handknit Norwegian sweater and down hunting vest, give him the semblance of a varsity team player. I wonder what he would make of my association today. His fur-lined earflap cap is a queer helmet that shadows his brow and softens his mien, as if to say ‘I am content, because you want to understand the secrets of the forest, your most intimate birthright.”
Under the staircase were various and sundry shoes and boots. I pulled out a couple of pairs for R to try on. They fit and she seemed delighted.