Sunday: Around Burnaby Lake

Bruce called. When I saw his name on my phone screen, I knew we would be talking about my anger—not with him, but evident in my language—that he noticed at our bar date this past Saturday night.  

I was not sure I welcomed a talk about my behavior. I thought: Will I be defensive? What about his behavior? Will we talk about that? And what about the entitlement I felt to my anger issues? I earned my anger.

Friends wisely ask: Why not concentrate on my successes? I hear that question another way: Why not become someone else? I think losing my anger is about as likely as me turning straight. I’d like to lose it, but I may be able to keep it in check more for the sake of those around me.

Meanwhile, on the superficial plane…. Sunday’s walk was like no other. I did not enjoy it.

It was a glorious day and I was with a good friend, Tim, who set a brisk pace as we walked around Burnaby Lake, but I was not into it. I have never felt that way about a walk—ever. And, in spite of proving just how hip I am by going to bed at 8:15 on Saturday night and sleeping for the longest time in a decade, I was pooped by the end of the walk.

Worse: When we went for lunch after our walk, both my hands were numb because of a slightly pinched nerve in my neck where I had surgery many years ago. And so I went to bed at eight—that’s two nights in a row of the longest sleeps that I can ever remember.

Amidst the browns of Fall, this lovely green path of whisky
grasses looked like a setting from a lovely short story.

We don't have a lot of Birch on the West Coast. There
can be beautiful pale hues of colour in the bark, and its
whiteness can look so glorious against the blue sky.

With the sun low in the sky as we approach the winter solstice,
and with the sun low in the sky in late afternoon the already
stunning colours of Fall take on an even more dramatic look.