Although neither of us works for a living we nonetheless embrace a Statutory Holiday as eagerly as the next chap.  Today is Good Friday.  Upon awakening we were instantly in the festive mood particularly as the sun was shining, the air was warm and the sky was blue. We know of course that most commercial establishments are closed so our loose agenda was formulated accordingly.

The day’s adventure began with the first of our Springtime bike rides, our modest concession to athleticism. Primarily for the purpose of putting air in the bicycle tyres we determined to head for Concession Road 11A which is near a gasoline station housing an air pump.  The ride is besides a pleasant one.  Concession 11A is a dead-end road into the country, bordering a municipally owned Alvar.  At the end of the road lives a young couple in a century-old stone house with two babies (a boy and a girl) and two dogs, Trudeau (a young black Labrador) and Jemma (an old chocolate Labrador). Trudeau greeted us with his customary bark when we rolled into sight on the crest of the approaching hill.  I am certain he remembers us from previous visits even though we haven’t laid eyes on him for about six months.  There followed the usual head patting, tail wagging, and “what-a-good-dog” declarations.

Our ride homeward was steady and tranquil. Although not early in the morning, the geography was yet fairly deserted on this holiday morn. Occasionally we passed others rejoicing in the sunshine, couples walking together, some with a dog, children batting a ball, a lone runner.  We wove our way through nearby residential subdivisions, around the Anglican Church where the cars of the faithful lined the narrow road, then into the bright sunshine along Bridge and Perth Streets to home.

After connecting on the telephone with family we drove to my mother’s place. But first we collected some Vietnamese soup and spring rolls which we subsequently laid out on my mother’s kitchen table for lunch.  My mother protested she wanted nothing to eat, but as usual ate everything in her soup plate.  She said she had to prepare a frozen lemon pie for dessert for lunch on Sunday with her granddaughter.  We took the opportunity to excuse ourselves and pointed the nose of the car in the direction of home.

However on our way back we diverted ourselves to White Lake on the off-chance that the corner restaurant was open for what we imagined would be the expected tourist trade.  It was.  And to our delight there was homemade apple pie à la mode which we promptly ordered along with a large glass of milk.  Our Good Friday was complete!