Well, if you were the visitor a few days ago, well, you missed out big time. Not because there was anything new then, but because there is something new now.
Since my last post… Power Craft Operator Certificate. Marine VHF license. First Aid (OFA 1 at least.) and a bunch of time operating power-craft whose gas bills alone I couldn’t finance. All for volunteering at Jericho Sailing Centre, and giving up a bit of rowing time. ;(
More details, tomorrow from work, hoping to get in to the habit of writing. Want some tools? I managed to donate several thousand dollars worth of stuff to a Vancouver School Board teacher, not themselves resident in Vancouver, but definitely teaching in Vancouver. And a person known to me, coincidentally, through two other people. Remember, don’t bad mouth somebody, they might become your brother in law. Oh, let’s rethink that.
“Keep writing,” she said, and I try, but the words only really flow when I’m sitting and thinking about the possibilities a short rope and a long drop offer. And I know the worse the feeling gets the easier and faster the words come. But someone says ‘write about rowing’ and it becomes a chore, both the writing and the rowing, loaded with the expectations that I feel responsible for. 😦
It’s all crap.
The expectations are all mine – other people only give me a place to hang my insecurities – they like me, love me, abhor me, deny me without regard for what I do. It’s what I don’t do. The things left undone in a life; travel is supposed to be wonderful for the soul, going places is reputed to cause enlightenment, but only if the traveler is open to the experience. And, when I look around here, around where I live, there is much to learn right here. And all I have to do is open my mind to it.
Hawaii, Malaysia, Rome. What about Skidegate, Bella Coola, Nanaimo?
And they’re closer. There are cultural affinities that seem more closely related to my own, yet different in ways that challenge my assumptions about me rather than some far-away ‘other.’
And the poor will always be with us. Hell, in this time and place, a citizen of a G7 country I qualify as a ‘poor’ person. Not poverty stricken, not denied health-care, not lacking drinking water, not living on the sidewalk, but poor.
And looking at that rope – real or metaphorical.