Last year, the Year of Shittery if you remember, we spent too much time stressing, talking, angsting, planning, moving, and then acclimatizing to appreciate the world still turning underneath our feet. I had enough adventure finding new tenants, convincing landlords to rent to us unseen, packing all of our belongings for the second time in a year, and then trekking across the country with a cat under my arm – for the second time. This year, however, is the first year in several in which our household is staying in one place. This means, I get to find my excitement elsewhere. Summer in Edmonton is a unique experience. It lasts but sixty days, give or take. I drooled over the thought of a break from the uninhabitable temperatures for months before they arrived. I glare at anyone who utters a negative word about the heat. It won’t last, I say. Devour it while you can. Meanwhile, I have a life list to brush off. It’s yellowed a bit, torn around the edges from being flattened out and then crammed back into my pocket so many times. It is a little late, July 8 already, but I have projects in the works, trails to attempt, tents to sleep in. I am my father’s daughter, after all. If I am not doing a new thing, I am seeking the next one out. I have eaten sea urchin roe, zip-lined through the Nova Scotian forest, kissed the Blarney Stone, and worn a bikini in public. It is time for a new challenge. And I know just the thing.