Bruce and Caryn Day

The UN International Panel on Climate Change released a paper that in no way whatsoever is surprising. It’s grimly fatalistic. But people like Rachel Fucking Notley (and Doug Ford, Trump and too many others) play politics with climate legislation…. And no one ever mentions regulating family size. 

We live in a “me first” world full of little Trumps and collectively we create ”me first” nations that form “us first” economic agreements.

And the Clintons, the world’s most famous unemployed people in the world, are coming to Vancouver to speak. Oh wait—that’s their job—Self Aggrandizement speechifying and capital gain.

Nero is fiddling and the Clintons warble. 

And speaking of warbling: Taylor Swift became political yesterday, Tweeting her support for a Democratic candidate and encouraging people to vote. Outcome: 65,000 new voter registrations in one day. Now that’s something!

•

I heard from my realtor. It seems I sold my condo at precisely the right time. I sold just as prices started slipping apparently; I was his last “over asking price” sale. 

It’s kind of spooky how lucky I’ve been with real estate. That luck facilitated this move to paradise. But I’ve never been strategically involved with real estate; it’s always been life experiences—being evicted as a tenant; meeting Steve; Steve leaving—that have driven my buys and sells.

•

Perhaps it’s because the house is colder at night now. I don’t know, but I now sleep in the most ungodly positions to accommodate all my animals on my bed at night. Both cats now sleep with Sheba and I; Sheba’s been a bed mate every night since she became capable of jumping up on it (perhaps six months). I should close my bedroom door and leave them to the rest of the house, but I’m pathetic. I take their desire to be there personally. Why not? Take it where you can get it.

•

Bruce and Caryn are coming for lunch, a walk in Drumbeg and a visit to the Petroglyphs. Sheba is going to be thrilled to have two walks. I serving the soup I made, fabulous fresh bread from the local bakery, salad and a pasta dish I like to make that everyone loves.

I bake a pound of beets, peel them, crush them and then add them to six tablespoons of browned butter to which I add a tablespoon of poppy seeds once the butter has browned. The smell was absolutely divine. I lovethe smell of browned butter and poppy seeds.

I make Farrow pasta and toss it with the beet/butter/poppy mixture and serve it with a big dollop of goat cheese and I go to heaven.

And tonight I get to watch Andrei on The Great Canadian Baking Show.And oh … by the fire.

Thanksgiving.

Tom Hanks

Saturday was a beautiful day. Thanksgiving weekend is the end of the season here. People with summer places come to winterize their cabins and to take in the open studio tour. 

After our walk early morning walk on Saturday, I went to the last Farmers’ Market and then Sheba and I went to Drumbeg. I’ve never seen it so populated. There were lots of tourists taking photographs and many many dogs.

I did errands in the afternoon knowing that Sunday would be wet. I got several big pieces of wood for the fire and settled in for the evening. (I’m still astounded that I’ve become a person who thrives in solitude and listens to opera and choral music.)

•

Sunday, as promised, was wet. Sheba wore her new raincoat for the first time when we went on the community dog walk—there was even another dog in the same outfit. We’re stylin’, my dog and me—well, not me!

I made some squash soup. And at about 5:30, Connie and Ranza arrived for champagne and potato chips by the fire at Happy Hour. Then, my favourite: Sunday night with soup, a fire, Anne with an “E,” Endeavor,and The Durrells.

•

Today Sheba and walked with our dog-walking group is real rain. I got soaked through my coat but my feet stayed dry and that’s what matters most. I can’t believe I go walking in the rain. I’m such a pussy about discomfort, but I’m very glad for both of us that we walk every morning together.

I realize I will be fine this winter—with neither visitors nor projects—thanks to the walks. I come home to a lovely warm cabin and all its amenities, especially the fire. I love having a fireplace.

Today: I bake.

One Year!

I took this photo not long after moving here.

I moved here one year ago today. 

I saw this house for sale online on the evening of September 4^th, 2017. I called my realtor the next day, listed my condo four days after that and it sold in a week. Then I spent three intense weeks packing up all my stuff, getting rid of things I didn’t want to take with me and buying all the furnishings and equipment I needed to get this place —a half-are and three buildings—up and running.

I’m a city “boy.” My lifetime of work was mostly with my head, not my hands. It was a big change of lifestyle moving from a condo in the downtown core of Vancouver to the rural semi-isolation of Gabriola. 

I bought my home from a bank: I received neither information about how to manage any of the equipment that came with the property—the well, cistern, stove and the hot tub. Nor did I receive any advice about how to live here, semi-off grid and where services are provided much differently than they were in the city. I get my water from a well and heat with wood.

My home sat proudly on a huge naked lot: A log home with a huge deck and distant neighbours. This is what I’ve done in one year of residency:

1. Built a verylong wood fence around the back half of my half-acre lot.
2. I got myself three pets: One puppy and two unrelated kittens.
3. Gutted and completely rebuilt the interior of the eight hundred square foot building that became my studio.
4. Built a large screened porch off my dining room so that cats can be safely outdoors.
5. Gathered and had removed, two dump trucks full of crap left here by the previous owner—some of which were heavy old engine parts.
6. Built (and I mean, “built,” because there is no soil here) several flower gardens.
7. Created a courtyard with paving stones, unifying my home with the shed and my studio.
8. Laid a rubber floor in my shed wherein I park my car and do wet/dirty work.
9. Bought and stacked eleven cords of wood! 
10. Laid eighteen yards of topsoil to create a new front lawn and seeded it.
11. Built a one thousand square foot fenced raised-bed vegetable garden.

I’ve done many things this year that I’ve never done before. I’m terribly proud that I fixed a toilet, saving hundreds of dollars by replacing a cheap plastic part. I’m truly stoked that I swam in the sea and felt like a kid again.

My triumphant decision was to get Sheba, Fred and Ethel; they are my most intimate and fulfilling relationships. I also enjoy my wild avian menagerie that is attracted to the birdseed I put in my two birdhouses every morning.

My most astute move was hiring handyman Darrell. I initially hired him just to build my fence but his ethics and skills convinced me he was perfect to do all the work listed as my accomplishments above. I could not be prouder of a relationship than I am with ours. 

Sheba, at six weeks old.

There have been absolutely no regrets—not even when, not long after I moved here, the power failures started and I had to learn how to use and live with a gasoline generator (without which there was no water pumped into the house from the well and the toilets could not be flushed).

I live as rich an intellectual and emotional life here as I did in the city. I joined and use the library. (I never did so in the city.) I’ve do a lot of volunteering for the Arts Council and I walk with a dog-walking group four mornings a week. Life’s emotional highs come from the natural beauty of the island and the surrounding sea. I feel proud and lucky to live here.

Gardening thrills me, as does the forest, the eternal silence and the overwhelming and total blackness of the night sky—and the clarity of the air makes starlight and moonlight shine, turning night into a magic landscape. And the sounds! The Ravens, the wind in the trees, waves breaking—all I see, smell and soothes me. 

I take as much joy in every ride in my car as I do in achieving my trip’s purpose. 

I have lived one year in Paradise. 

Now I have a front lawn.

My courtyard and the studio in the background.

Fred and Ethel.

Open Studio Weekend

Friday began with a community dog walk. I go on one every morning except Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and yesterday there was talk of organizing walks for Tuesday and Thursday mornings. 

After the walk, I left Sheba at home and went into the village to join the library. I had no idea how to look up books but the librarians are wonderful and welcoming and they showed me how. I came home and went online and reserved a book!

Ranza is the librarian who helped me. She and our mutual friend Connie are going to come to my place for champagne after they take in some of the open studios; this weekend is Gabriola’s annual “Studio Tour” organized by the Arts Council.

I went to the Arts Council gallery yesterday, too, because every artist with a studio open this weekend has an item in the gallery. But not a single piece on display interested me—yet I love hand-made things. However, from information in the brochure, I’ve chosen some studios to visit.

•

I’ve been locked out of my Vancity bank account since Wednesday. My card works at cash machines but I can’t pay bills, see my balance or transfer money. Vancity is in software Hell right now.

The stars are stunning this morning. It’s going to be a gorgeous day and I have lots to do. I have guests coming to visit on Tuesday for whom I have to have lunch ready. So I’m going to prepare some dishes and bake something. Yes! 

I’ve not missed the sweets to which I was addicted since I stopped eating them, but I’m looking forward to having some with my guests. (When I decided to clean up my act, I did so knowing I’d allow myself indulgences when guests visit.)

I also want to do some yard work today—clean out some of the detritus left from dying annuals and empty the fountain of water for the winter so water doesn’t freeze in it.

•

I’ve found a purpose for my ladies.

The Arts Council had a plan to stage a chocolate event to raise some cash. When the E.D. told me, I was immediately resistant. It’s a lot of work to organize and stage an event, and the net gain is often disappointing. I see far, far greater benefit by producing a series instead of a single event—it takes only slightly more effort to sell a series. So I’ve proposed a “Ladies’ Night” series: Four evenings of entertainment that I plan to market to women (and the men who love them).

I’ve given them five suggestions for events to consider. One of them involves using my ladies as part of a dinner event. I’ve done two series as fundraisers in the past and they’ve both done well. I love producing, particularly when I’m not alone and under a non-profit umbrella.

I’m not going to convince the Arts Council to do this. I am just developing the idea and flushing out details for them to consider. There’s no “go ahead” yet.

•

Tomorrow is my first anniversary so I’m having a party. Not! Fred, Ethel, Sheba and I will pass a normal day with a warm fire and then I’ll bliss out watching The Durrells on Corfu.

I’m celebrating by being “on top” of everything here; there’s nothing needing doing. I’m wasting not a molecule of energy on procrastination—except for some sewing I have to do. But I ordered a whack of spools of thread and pre-loaded bobbins from Amazon this morning so that I can get even that done.

And here are some photos from our walk this morning.

The most wonderful dog in the world (and her partner)

love the meadows along the trail.

The 707 Park is land donated to the people of the island
after it was logged so it is mostly Deciduous trees.

This is a large meadow we pass that is covered is grass
that grows very tall and is really strong and dense.

Whenever her partner stops to take a photo, the most
wonderful dog in the world stops and waits.

Another meadow 

There are signs and all the trails are named in the 707
Park so you don't get lost. 

All over the island, the homes with open studios this
weekend have large white flags out front.

Freddie! (Not my cat.)

I oiled all my wood furniture and it makes the house interior shine. 

I also “fixed” the earwig hotel. The wooden latch on my gate that I use a lot becomes an earwig hotel at night. Each morning, when I lift it, thirty-to-forty earwigs scatter. The earwigs are not the problem. The hinge that holds the latch to the gate has never worked so yesterday I fixed it.

And the meeting with the Arts Council E.D. went excellently. She was totally up for all my recommendations. Because—and I’m not surprised to learn this—the Council is operating on a line of credit. I came home and wrote up a storyline for a campaign and did a timeline. Today, I’ll refine the campaign copy. 

The E.D. loves my plan, my enthusiasm for fundraising and my optimism. I’m rebranding the organization and I’ll start going to board meetings as a consultant; I’m very happy to be doing something I’m good at for such a delightful woman and such a worthy society. 

Drumbeg was lovely in the afternoon. We met Molly, a seven-month old puppy with whom Sheba ran a marathon. She came home exhausted and I was elated. I celebrated with a nice long session in the spa.

•

When I went to Tanzania to spend fifteen days in a truck, I booked a week in a hotel on the island of Zanzibar for R&R afterwards. 

All I saw as I landed and all my first impressions during the drive to the hotel had me convinced I’d made a dreadful mistake. I liked my hotel very much, but nothing else and life on the street was challenging. However, after checking in and checking out the hotel, I took myself out for a walk.

The first joy of discovery I had was an English bookstore that had an extraordinary and vast collection of books by African writers plus books by authors from all over the world about Africa. I knew I’d be fine after that.

I bought some books and continued my walkabout and my second immense jolt of joy came from happening on the childhood home of Freddie Mercury.

I loved Freddie. I loved otherworldly talent and showmanship; his interest in music was so all encompassing. If you ever want to hear something lovely, listen to Monserrat Cabalé talk about Freddie. (You can hear their collaboration Barcelona, here.) And my love was somehow deepened by his death. It broke my heart that he died of AIDS. 

I stood in the street in Zanzibar and read the plaque about Freddie and wept. From then on, everything that happened on Zanzibar was wonderful.

Yesterday I watched a bunch of videos about the making of Bohemian Rhapsody,  the biopic about Freddie (and Queen) starring a rather remarkable actor named Rami Malek. The man’s performance as Freddie is completely believable. It, too, makes me weep.

The movie comes out in November.

•

Since my computer problem, I’ve been using Apple’s Mojave  operating system. It’s been an almost seamless transition except that I could not use Photoshop. It crashed every time I opened a document and I dreaded another remote technical session with Apple. But instead of the stress of that, I solved the problem on my own—thanks to Google and an article published on the MacWorld  website.

I’m very relieved inasmuch as I’m about to start designing stuff for the Arts Council.