Road trip 1

Marcie Laking and I are driving to Montreal. There are empty dog crates in back. There are orange and white flashing lights on the roof. There is a logo on the side of the van which says: Toronto Humane Society Rescue.

Marcie is driving. She tells me she likes driving which is good because I don't.

The radio is on, Marcie flipping the stations. She seems to know every song and the lyrics of every song but favours rock and roll. Marcie was born in the Eighties, grew up in the Nineties but her father had the music on all the time at home and he preferred rock so that's what she grew up with.

Marcie just got laid off from her job. She says this'll give her more time to do volunteering. She says the few hours last week she spent volunteering again at the homeless shelter was the most satisfying thing she'd done in a long time. For a while there, she'd been too busy to go. Full time job, heavy involvement with the parent council of the aboriginal school her daughter is enrolled in, president of the Toronto Humane Society.

None of this life was planned. Marcie doesn't lead much of a planned life.

She opens her hand bag and pulls out a foil package of something. "My daughter asked me if I had a snack for my trip and then she put a Pop Tart in my purse."

Our talk is random. Marcie in sound bites:

I'm at the park and there's little girls with bras on. It's all those chemicals in meat making eight year olds grow tits. Kids getting sexed up way too young. It's like when I was twelve, if I saw a penis I'd be calling the cops. "Hey, cops, there's a penis outside." The only time I got the sex talk from my dad was some advice about dating: "If a guy tells you he loves you while he's trying to undo your pants, he's not telling the truth." Don't take any pictures of me walking out of a shelter bawling my eyes out.

This ain't over but I'm only writing as we go when I have a moment so bear with me. We're on this trip for the next four days.