GOING ON

Years ago, when Shirley and I lived in Quebec, we regularly took a few days off during the winter to stay at a country inn in the Laurentians, north of Montreal. It was run by a German family, and the hearty food—schnitzel and kartoffelklöße—was a big part of the attraction. So was the cross-country skiing. We could ski out of the front door of our house in Hemmingford, but it was quite flat so hilly terrain was more fun. The trails were long and the area was quite wild. One day we went out, and after several hours I had to admit that we were quite lost. It was the end of the afternoon and getting cold. We soldiered on. At one point I felt very tired and just wanted to lie down and rest. Just for a short time, I said. Shirley would have none of it. She scolded me, and made me get up. We finally made it back to the inn at nightfall; I think they were about to send out a search party.