We're considering a summer road trip and I keep adding things to check before we choose a destination. Driving hours, places to stop, what happens if one of our shifts moves. My wife wants to decide where we'd actually enjoy being first. That is reasonable, although a pleasant lake doesn't negotiate hospital rosters. I've put two possible weeks on the calendar and left the route blank. My son has suggested somewhere with a hotel pool, making the entire landscape of western Canada secondary to a rectangle of warm water. I can work with that. At least it's a clear requirement, and one we might all enjoy.

My wife said she'd kept an evening free because I had said I wasn't taking callouts, and I heard myself answer that dispatch might still be short. She didn't argue, just looked at me, which was worse. I was annoyed at being pinned down and knew perfectly well I had made the promise myself. Later, sitting through dinner without the work phone beside my plate, I was glad I'd stuck to it. Also kept wondering who had gone out instead. I don't especially like admitting that part. Our son told a long story about a school game, and I missed the beginning because I was still mentally assigning a crew to a job I hadn't taken.

Skated a few laps after helping the kids collect pucks and remembered how good it feels not to stop every six feet to explain something. The pull through my legs was even, shoulders loose, cold air reaching the top of my shirt as I picked up a little speed. My son tried to catch me, so I slowed down enough to make it interesting without announcing it. Off the ice, my feet felt wide and warm coming out of the skates. No particular ache, just pleasantly used. I stood talking in the parking lot longer than planned and only noticed the cold once the heat from skating had worn off.