I woke up early this morning and my spouse was gone. The partly furled duvet folded neatly like a fancy napkin suggested she left hurriedly yet quietly. How respectful. She left no note, no explanatory nudge, not even a plate of toast crumbs to budge. My head hit the pillow hard late last night. And before I had the chance to breathe, she was gone. That's right, she's a commuter.Every morning she passes our brilliant monolith in the dim light, heading south to the big city in her car pool. And every morning I worry that one of the thousands of strategically-placed pylons might not be positioned precisely right and the helpful Jack Bell Ride-Share-mobile will be guided directly over the edge and into the drink.And with daylight shrinking shorter the drive home is becoming even more treacherous. If you're the return convoy's brave leader, you're heading into a bleak void with no tail lights to guide along the snake. Pylons and reflectors are but timid fairies attracting strained eyes through labyrinthine concrete trails that are definitely not singletrack, despite what they may appear.Yes, I worry. But to tell you the truth, it's the extra chores that really get my goat. Please excuse my well-thought-out formula: Squamish to Vancouver during rush hour multiplied by two equals about I don't know, never done it. I'm not crazy. The point is that it takes valuable time out of a person's day. Time that could be spent picking up groceries and/or (notice the forward slash) cleaning the home. But see, the commuters are indeed weary pilgrims. And it's up to us well-grounded spouses to sympathize and pick up the slack without sowing spite. Sure, they may revel in the busy buzz and bring home exotic foods, wines and tall tales of city life now and again. But that just doesn't fill the cart, does it? My trip to and from work takes five to 10 minutes - that leaves ample time to wash dishes, prepare dinner and chase the bear off the driveway. Meanwhile, my commuter returns home fatigued every evening after putting a full day at the office and at least a couple hours of unpaid highway overtime.And yet, I'm beginning to see that what she has might be a precious gift. After all, leaving town is a great way to avoid taking Squamish for granted. Every return to the Howe Sound kick starts the mind to all the possibilities provided by the mountains, waters, and trails that can otherwise be clouded over if grown accustomed to. Perhaps that long run, ride or paddle is much sweeter after spending the week in a concrete jungle.But I don't know for sure - never done it. I'm not crazy.
