don't listen to the door; it thinks it is a pilot

Even my refrigerator mocks me about my frozen travel plans.

Yesterday, while I was still in covid jail, I opened the refrigerator door only to discover that the Coke bottles had arranged themselves to spell out a country where I could not go without flying. And in my then-condition, I could not get a clearance to fly there.

Of course, with the exception of Montgomery Burns, I may be the only person on the planet who thinks that is still the name of the country to the east of Cambodia.

It is a sign of these mixed-up days that I almost referred to the television program as "The Symptoms." That would be wrong for many reason. But, the most important, for me, is that I have had no symptoms during my self-imposed internal exile. None. Zippo. Cero.

And I am not complaining. Even the mild cold or flu symptoms described by my fellows amongst The Infected and Unclean were not how I wanted to spend the better part of a week. Instead, I started making travel plans for when I escaped the slammer.

And out I am. Early this morning I received a clean bill of health to return to the Land of the People Who Have Had The Virus and Those That are Yet to Get It.

But this is the sardonic twist of life. For all of that free time I had, I still did not conjure up my next trip. However, I have a clue.

I ran into a fellow-walker while I was out on my stroll this morning. He told me that he and his wife are signing up for The Island Walk on Prince Edward Island later this year. The entire walk is just over 400 miles and can easily be done in a month. Think of it as a secular Camino de Santiago with less incense and more rain.

My people (or, at least, part of them on my mother's side) entered Canada through Prince Edward Island following the tyrannical highland clearances (as my grandfather had it). I have long wanted to visit the island. I can now do it with a hiking twist.

My experience is that taking travel advice from a neighbor is usually far better for mental hygiene than taking it from kitchen appliances.

Usually. I now wish I had listened to the warnings my microwave gave me about Enron.