Sunday

This man, who drives a spectacular vintage
Rolls Royce, was walking his Macaw on
Granville Island.

This self indulgent old fart bought himself
a Missoni sweater today. His ex, Steve, got
him hooked on Missoni designs.

I went to see the Arts Club's Les Miz today and WOW! It is a spectacular production, and I wept and Warren's magnificent portrayal of Javert. And there was a young man playing Marius who is going to  be an incredible star. He is Sayer Roberts. 

I always thought poetry was the second dumbest form of writing—right behind curatorial exposition. But as I aged, poems I studied in school gained resonance with my life experience. Gerard Manly Hopkins gives a wondrous voice to how I feel about nature; his Pied Beauty and Spring and Fall to a Young Child chill me with their power and beauty.

It is the plight man was born for

It is Margaret you mourn for.

Those lines ache in me, from the end of Spring and Fall.

But perhaps the lines that have come to mind the most in my life are these from T. S. Eliot's Little Gidding:

We shall not cease from exploration


And the end of all our exploring 


Will be to arrive where we started 


And know the place for the first time.

Here’s how I see it: Adapt to the buildings going up and loss of ocean view or adapt to a new location and adapting to a new location involves moving, maybe twice, considerable expense and inconvenience and, in all likelihood, further distance from Stanley Park and its seawall. So I now feel disinclined to move.