One of the many nice things about having a client like White Point Beach Resort is I get to go there. Not only do they treat me like a princess (okay, a dowager Queen) but I actually feel like I've been somewhere far, far away... because it is so damn relaxing. That
could have something to do with the infused hot pepper vodka they use to make their Bloody Caesars, but let's say it's the lullaby of the crashing waves.
I've been doing the ads for White Point since I was very, very pregnant. Jack is now 13 and has size 12 feet, so that's a really long relationship. Over the years, we have seen gas prices, exchange rates, ferries, weather, wars and election years (George Bush) play havoc with tourism and visitors from the States. Through it all, White Point has maintained a loyal staff, loyal clientele and a really pleasant demeanor. That speaks volumes.
I do believe, you are either a White Point person, or you are not. White Point people don't care if there's sand on the porch or up their crack. They don't notice the bunny poop on the paths, or little kids playing happily in the corner of the dining room while Mommy and Daddy have another glass of wine and their first adult conversation in months. White Point people have favourite cottages, and a favourite waiter. White Point people like bird watching, golf, naps, and a good round of horsehoes by the lake. White Point people actually look for those scratchy wool blankets that the Housekeeping staff tuck away in bedroom bureaus. (The new duvets are nice, but the scratchy wool blankets are better than Valium.) And White Point people love to gather in Founders Lounge for after-dinner sing-alongs that last long after my window is cranked open and the wool is tucked under my chin. Who would have thought "Puff the Magic Dragon" would remain so popular after so many years!? (Maybe it's that vodka?!)
Vodka aside, here is the perfect example of why I am, and will always be a White Point person. Last June, I took Jack and our beloved 13-year old Lab Hooey to White Point, for what I knew would be Hooey's last visit. Hooey had been there numerous times over the years, and we all have fond memories of him waiting patiently for a breakfast sausage outside the Lodge door, or hopelessly trying to catch a resident rabbit. He was a well-respected guest. After dinner, on our last evening, I asked our waiter if he would please wrap up some pork roast scraps from the buffet "to go" (for the dog, not me). Moments later, the Chef came out of the kitchen, kneeled down next to me and asked, "How would your dog like his steak done?"
"Rare", I said.
We are heading to White Point after school today, without Hooey, but with a couple of Jack's hockey buddies. With pals in tow, my prowess for cannonballs into the deep end will no longer be needed – nor will it be necessary to muster enthusiasm for endless rounds of horseshoes, karaoke, Chinese checkers, bunny chasing, rock painting, ping pong and shuffleboard – or pretend to love the taste of 23 burnt marshmallows while playing our 7th game of chess by the fire. Everything else, thank heaven, will be the same.
Rare, indeed.
halifaxbroad@gmail.com
ps. If you're bored, come on down! I'll be the one reading by the fire.
Hail, Caesar!WP waves photo: Norman Whynot, Contractor extraordinaire, Mahone Bay
