Memoir akin to therapy

Writing a memoir is a bit like therapy, except you have to decipher the meanings of experiences and thoughts and feelings all by yourself.

Just like in life when you wake up one day and think, MMM? I'm not so sure this is working and you take the leap to try therapy, it can be the same for memoir writing. You write stuff down, and then it's best to let it sit a day or two and you go back to it and then think, no, that's not what I meant to say. That sounds strange. There's more there. Try again. In the end, there may not be enough time in your lifetime to get it onto the page how you ultimately and ideally wished for. But it's the process that matters.

I'm not claiming I managed to finally get at the core of it in my soon to be released memoir about my time on Salt Spring, At One with an Island: Salt Spring Revisited, but towards the end, I was feeling as if I was getting a sense of that peeling the layers of an onion experience to a much greater degree than when I started.

Instead of just retelling an experience from Point A to Point B, there was a lot more questioning about the journey. Like why is Salt Spring so important to me? Why is Ruckle Park so significant to me? What about consistency of place now matters to me and why? 

I know that some say to write an interesting memoir, you have to touch upon the universal within your particular story. That may be one of the biggest challenges. Why should anyone care about your story at all? Well, they won't. Unless you can find a way to attach to something they might also be experiencing or have experienced, to unearth some nugget of universal truth; to provide some insight.

For the longest time, I used to hang on every word that successful writers shared about their writing process. In the past few years I've stopped doing that. 

It makes sense to just accept that you are truly on your own unique journey, no matter how many hangers-on you may or may not have along for the ride. Their journey is not yours. Other writers will undoubtedly have some nuggets of wisdom to share, but in the end, it's that unique understanding of your own inner world and your own personal history, finding courage, and exploiting the version that is yours and yours alone that you must get at to tell your own story.

And then, let the consequences fall where they may.

Love and Hate and Geography

I left Salt Spring a little more than a year ago. I packed up my stuff and left behind the panic that was rising inside me as another winter of being in a 450 sq. ft. cabin, alone, as the rain dropped ceaselessly, and the quiet closed in even more densely than the grey-white fog, descended.

I appreciated all that I'd learned from negotiating being on my own. But then again, I was always pretty good at that, I thought, until I reached the limit on Salt Spring, last year, at the end of October. I couldn't wait to get off the island. It wouldn't have mattered one bit to me if someone had screamed, "Don't let the ferry guardrail bump your bum on the way off" when I left more than ready.

If you live on an island, you probably have your own experience of how a confined geography can shape psychological space as well.

So, now, a little more than a year later, as I think about a friend who feels the same way and can't wait to leave an island that is her home, I can't help but think about how that's the way life is: cyclical. What attracts, repels, sometimes creeping up on us by surprise. And, when it strikes, somehow we're both surprised and have been expecting it.  If we listen to our feelings, regardless of how ugly they may be, we will eventually find our way back to what attracted us if we were truly in love in the first place.

I'm about to visit Salt Spring for a week-long visit next week, and now, I can't wait to return for a short visit.

I will visit Ruckle Park to make sure that I get the feelings right about that place as I'm about to write about it. That park is the reason I fell in love with the island so many years ago. I fell in love with the forest, the beach, the owls in the trees, the ewes and the turkeys, the light that bathes everything golden on an August morning, the auburn tree bark, the Ruckle Barn and heritage houses and the stillness of a full moon glimmering across the blue-black waves.

And, when I say that I think, well, isn't life just like that. The things we love, we can sometimes no longer bear. We do love our partner, really we do, but sometimes we can't bear them even one more minute, being in their presence, watching them chew their food.

We do love our job but we are sick to death of having to get up every morning and have to go to it and be around people that we have to because that's why they call it work, it comes with confines.

We do love our kids but sometimes, there's no way around it, they are a pain in the butt.

We do love our friends but sometimes we must keep them at arms-length for a while until the magic that first happened can, hopefully, be found again. Abracadabra.

And, when I find myself in that space, I always hear one of my favourite sayings: When the boat reaches the pier, everything will go straight.

Do you have a place that you consider your touchstone? If so, why?

Salt Spring's Newest B&B: Thistle Dew Guest Cottage

IT'S A GIVEN. When you live in a beautiful place, people like to come and visit. And, that's a good thing. It's especially good if you happen to own a palatial mansion to put them up in. Or, come to think of it, that could actually be a bad thing because then the hoards would descend and keep on descending throughout the entire Spring, Summer and Fall. I recall meeting one islander who specifically created a guest cottage so tiny and minimalist, not to mention separate from the main house, that only two people at a time could be accommodated. Sorry, love, we're full!

When, however, you live in a small space with no extra bed, then you need to have some really reliable recommendations about where all those visitors might consider staying, unless that is, they don't mind roughing it. Got a tent?

I mentioned a lovely step back in time a couple of blog posts ago called The Cottage Resort. There's also the Wisteria Guest House. which is super comfortable with unparalleled breakfasts and lovely hosts. And,here's another: Thistle Dew Guest Cottage owned by Pauline MacDonald. If cottages could write, this one would be in the running for the Stephen Leacock Humour Award full of contentious stories to tell about what it took for it to get built. But, it's done, finally, and it's brand spanking new. Maybe when Pauline named it, she was actually thinking of the work ethic of too many pseudo carpenters on the island as in "Ack, Blimey, Sweet Jesus, This'll do!"  The name is a double entendre that I really like. Thistle Dew or This'll do?

The week I was packing up to leave the island, Pauline was generous enough to let me spend 4 nights acting as if I owned the place. It was such a wonderful thing for her to do. Pure relief descended as the chaos in my own tiny space ramped up. So, let me just say, having stayed there, I do have some "cred" when it comes to describing the experience, although, it wasn't the full on guest treatment scenario since, can you believe it, she neglected to serve me a home-baked organic breakfast, deliver a glass of Port on a tray at the end of the day, or draw my bubble bath. (I'm kidding, of course!) Just so you know, she won't draw your bubble bath either. 

As the web site says, the location is really perfect. If you like to golf, you can race the deer across the street to the fairway. It's about a 4 minute drive to a liquor store (an important criteria) and the grocery store is right in the same location although drive a bit farther and visit the liquor store on island with the best BC Wine selection and staff/owners who actually know what they're talking about at The Local.  A beach is about a 5 minute drive down Baker Road, totally walkable. The iconic and charming Fritz theater named after a now deceased cat, (just ignore the no personality owner who isn't even friendly when you buy a ticket)  is about a 10 minute walk. Heck, if someone, God forbid, should die there's even a cemetary out back.

Attention to detail is what sets Thistle Dew, and let's face it, every other quality establishment, apart.Thick duvet covers. Soft, smooth sheets. Velvety sumptuous robes and socks to match. Wood furniture with a history. Stained glass windows with leaded glass snug above the doorways between rooms. Dainty, romantic bejeweled handmade curtains. A heated floor in the bathroom and a chandelier above.  A washer/dryer. Ornamental birds perches decoratively on a window sill or a ledge. And, these interesting stairs up to the loft which are awaiting installation of a handmade  iron banister.

Pauline's soothing colour palette brings an instant sigh of relief as soon as you set foot in the little getaway which can accommodate up to six people. Yes, it can do romance. Can you? But, it's also really perfect for a girls' getaway  in the winter where even  a full-on downpour  won't prevent the ability to order in a massage, attend a yoga class, take in a concert at Art Spring or while away the day doing studio tours.If only there was a Limo on island to do the touring with the bubbles in your champagne glass being your main concern.

Above the french doors is a Georgia O'Keeffe styled skull.  

If you've been out all day, maybe you've stopped in at Bruces Kitchen to pick up a casual dinner or spent the afternoon compiling ingredients for your evening meal from the island's three wineries. Add cheese, bread, farm fresh veggies and perhaps some island lamb to take back to the small kitchen if you're keen to showcase your gourmet creativity. That last sentence is directed at a man or whichever partner doesn't normally cook. It's a getaway. She ain't going to want to cook you dinner, silly! Like she hasn't done THAT before. So be discriminating. If you've never cooked in your life, do the smart thing, if you're interested in getting what you want later in the evening, and take her (depending on budget) to Hastings House or Harbour House.

A cute and functional kitchen

I just love this chair and the mirror tucked into a corner of the downstairs bedroom

So, there. When you've packed more into a single day than you normally would in three, it's time to collapse into this bed (photo by Pauline) and have yourself a few sweet, sweet Thistle Dew Dreams. There is this queen bed in private room, a window seat that sleeps one and a pullout trundle under the window seat that sleeps one, two foam chairs that make into two single beds in the loft - and one rollaway bed in the closet that would fit - tightly - in the living room.

PS: On the off season (Oct. 15 - March 15), the nightly rate is up for some negotiation but typically runs around $115.  And, I got it all for nothin! Lucky me. 

Salt Spring's Fernwood Dock as Rural Water Cooler

More often than not when I stroll down to the Fernwood Dock on the north end of Salt Spring Island where I live, I'll meet someone there to chat with.  I like to think of it as the water cooler of the North End, although that description is a stupendous stretch from the reality of what might take place around an office water cooler. To be honest, however, I don't recall ever really having a conversation around an office water cooler. Do you? The photocopier on the other hand, now that's a hotbed of social activity!

The weekend before, I met some new landed immigrants from Korea who were using chicken thighs as bait inside crab traps to catch small, bright red rock crabs that honestly, must have about as much meat in them as a sparrow's leg.

On  this beautiful Thanksgiving day, I met Elena Johnson and Joe Nagy from Vancouver. Initially they were talking to other Salt Spring residents also out for a stroll on a sparkling Thanksgiving Sunday. When the others moved on, I continued talking with them.

They were here from Vancouver and staying at The Harbour House Hotel. Elena is a poet. She relocated from a little village in New Brunswick of 222 people (221 when she left) when she was accepted into the MFA Creative Writing program at UBC a few years back.  Of course I was interested. She has had great personal success in the past couple of months getting her poems published in various literary journals in Canada including: the Literary Review of Canada; Dandelion; Arc; and This Magazine; as well as being included in RockSalt: An Anthology published from MotherTongue Publishing run by Mona Fertig here on island.

Joe has been in his chair for 13 years after a forestry accident and together they have this wonderful energy about them which I think comes through in the photo (above).

Tuesday, I dropped in at Bruce's Kitchen as I usually do to touch base and they showed up right behind me. We all had lunch together and we were speaking about writing programs and various other things about Salt Spring (which for the record they found to be really, really friendly) when a woman sitting next to us interrupted us and asked if we would like to hear one of her own poems. Of course, we agreed and she proceeded to recite this...

LOST IN THE MOMENT

by Laura L. Lang

Lost in the moment
Fear rises to the surface
Like the head in your glass of beer...

You blow it away
Choosing not to drink it
Becoming part of the haze

VIctory for a moment
But fleeting it would seem
For fear that has not been dealt with
Will crawl back on its knees..

And when you think you've beaten it
Fear rises to the occassion
You've only second guessed it
Now it is part of the equation..

All you are and ever would be
Are lost in the the fears we refuse to see
In order for your dreams to take shape and form
You must face your fears, by riding out the storm.

You may or may not know that Chef Bruce Wood loves poetry. One of his favourite poems is by Pablo Neruda, it's called Your Feet.

Meanwhile, Elena is working on a book of poetry and it will be good to look for that when it gets published. Always nice to meet the visitors who are drawn to the island for some R&R.

Daytripping Mayne Island

There are few things I like better than a spontaneous decision to go somewhere or do something that I've been wanting to do. Usually, what happens is that one day I wake up, the wind is blowing in the right direction or who knows what, and voila, I know it's the day to do it, Mary Poppins-style.

That happened on Sunday. I have been wanting to get over to Mayne Island for a while now and after almost 3 years on Salt Spring you wouldn't think it would be a difficult to get to another Gulf Island but it has been.  I'm always at the market on Saturday and the inter-island ferry schedules are, surprisingly, not the greatest for daytripping in terms of the scheduling and the amount of time you're left with to explore if you plan on returning the same day.

So, I packed a knapsack, threw in a toothbrush and some toothpaste, added my flipflops, an apple, a nectarine and my camera and off I went. It wasn't until I was walking to pay for boarding that I realized, hey, just a minute, if  I leave the car at Long Harbour, I have to come back for the car. I can't just come back via Swartz Bay at a time when the bus no longer runs on Salt Spring and the buses don't run later than 7pm here. But, by that time, my intention was set and come hell or high water I was going to Mayne Island even if it meant I had to sleep under a Garry Oak in a meadow. (Yeah, right!).

And, let me just say, doing the walk-on inter-island option has to be one of the best travel deals in B.C. It cost a whopping $5.70 each way.

It was a spectacular August day. I got off the ferry and felt like walking. In fact, by the end of the day, it was like I'd become the female version of the fictional Forrest Gump; as if my car-dependent lifestyle on Salt Spring had reached its zenith and my body told me you just keep moving there you little slug. So, I just kept walking. I walked from the ferry to Miner's Bay where there's a little village, a bookstore, a bakery, a real-estate office, a General Store and a pub.

From there I decided it really wasn't that far to walk to Georgina Point Lighthouse. I enjoyed the slow pace looking at the scenery that I'm very familiar with from jaunts in past years, albeit I'd typically be cycling. I sampled a few blackberries to see if they were ripe, I stopped in at a garage sale and there's nothing better than perusing someone else's stuff with all the weirdness of it. I enjoyed the aromas of dry golden grass and nature's sweetness and scenes of long meadows of yellow grass with the occasional Garry Oak breaking the flatness. I saw empty shacks and rusted cars fantastic for photographing and an old rowboat behind the lighthouse building. I talked a bit with a man out for a walk with his son.

While I was at Georgina Point, I decided  that I really didn't want to to get back on a ferry in 3 hours so I called the Mayne Inn and found a room for the night. I pictured the beautiful old white house that was on the point near Bennett Bay. I was feeling really happy.  I know it's weird but sometimes just exploring on my own makes me really, really happy. Not that I don't like good company but when I'm in the right mood, solo, day-time meandering is just something that I absolutely love to do. As long as I have my camera, I'm good.

I walked back towards the Springwater Lodge and had lunch on the deck which has to be one of the best decks in all the Gulf Islands (although the food there could be better).  The food is edible but it's not Bruce's Kitchen.

After lunch, I poked around, got some fruit, a bag of nachos and a beer for later and walked towards Bennett Bay. When I arrived, I was shocked to see that the old white Mayne Inn and the charming country style room that I was fantasizing about, was gone. In its place, I had actually booked myself into one of those time-share style condo-things that had replaced it. The view out the deck was spectacular except my room was right above the restaurant deck which meant I'd be staring down at people while they were eating. But, the restaurant, or at least the deck, wasn't that busy and they cleared out by around 7:30 so it was no big deal.

I took myself out to Bennett Bay and explored that whole area. I had no idea there was a park there and walked among the gnarly Arbutus to the end of Campbell point with a spectacular view of Mount Baker. As I left the complex, I ran into this woman, whom I'm guessing may be in her 80s, riding the coolest electric bike she bought from a place in Kitsilano. She just struck me as the definition of "cool" with her clothes and her helmet and her bike and the fact that as an elderly person she was still rockin' it.

My room was small but clean. Unfortunately, the toilet seemed to have a problem in that it would be silent for a long time and then suddenly, inconsistently, it would spring to life, runing and ending with gurgling sounds. I awoke at 3:00 am to gurgling sounds and in my semi-conscious state, I imagined the toilet blowing the ceiling off the place wondering if they'd built upon a natural spring or something like Old Geyser.

I awoke to a very grey and rainy Monday. I got dressed and walked to a designated Car Share sign and stuck out my thumb. I was picked up by two older men who were going to the island's coffee-shop hub in the village. There were lots of regulars and part-time islanders with tourists sprinkled in. It's a great little bakery/coffee-shop/breakfast and lunch spot and it was good to just drop in to an environment that was completely foreign and watch all the interactions.

It's good to get off one island and go to another where nobody knows you and none of the faces are familiar.

The moral of this story? Do something you've been wanting to do. Just do it. You'll feel better afterwards regardless of how small an "adventure" it is.

Yellow Point Area another Vancouver Island Gem

  Gwen was visiting and we made a day trip over to the Yellow Point Area on Vancouver Island. Wow. It`s so beautiful there. Our ulterior mission was to visit the Crow and Gate Pub in Cedar, BC, but after the short 20-minute trip from Salt Spring to Crofton on the Vesuvius Ferry we took the turn onto Yellow Point Road that follows the coast. First stop the iconic Yellow Point Lodge. It`s a relic from the 1940s (1939 to be exact)  but the setting is spectacular. I felt like I`d stepped back into some 1950s movie about summer camp.

The small, rustic cabins right on the ocean are so retro. Loved them. The problem is, it`s so popular and has such a faithful following that it`s next to impossible to get a reservation because longstanding visitors book for the next year as soon as they have finished their annual getaway. They have a 14-day cancellation policy so at some point, through persistence, you`re sure to luck out.

 After we finished wandering around and checking out the old fashioned wooden swinging chairs (see below) and admiring the amazingly long wooden tables set up in front of the barbecue area, we carried on.

 Just a short distance down the road, we came upon Blue Heron Park, the kind of beach you could spend a long time exploring with tide pools and flat rocks and a grassy area to picnic on. The only thing that seemed to be missing were the outhouses. At one point I came across a bunch of fish heads scattered along the beach and I wondered if some bear had been having a feast the night before.

There`s another beach lookout, all flat rocks and higher up from the water with about a 10 minute walk through the rainforest before you get to it. It`s called Robert`s Memorial but we didn`t think it was as nice as Blue Heron Park.

The drive is beautiful with a narrow, winding road that motorcyclists and cyclists seem to love. There were packs of cyclists doing laps on Sunday.

We didn`t know that the Cedar Market takes place every Sunday from 10:00 am - 2:00 pm until Oct. 2 when the theme is Harvest. It`s a really great little country market in the grass area before you get to the Crow and Gate. I liked the fact that it was almost entirely food. There were stalls of popping fresh raspberries and amber fennel honey and home-made sausage, lamb, pork, freshly picked lavendar, and plump breads. Because it was more accessible and a lot less crowded, it seemed more relaxing and quaint than the Salt Spring market. I realize how wonderful it is to have a market restricted to food products, dare I say that.

After a quick browse, we managed to find a shared picnic table at the Crow and Gate and in my usual fashion, (although I can`t take full credit since Gwen was there as well), we ended up sitting beside quite the character before we even knew he was sitting there since he was ordering his drink as we sat down. He was a Canadian with a Scottish accent who had been a commercial diver in the North Sea and then went and worked in S.E. Asia for 26 years based in Singapore. He ended up in a Singaporean prison for 9 years as a result of a lot of Cannabis being discovered (without his knowledge, he claims not very convincingly) in the room in his house he was letting out to some 20 year old acquaintance. Go figure.

We listened very aptly for about 50 minutes to that and references to various motorcycle accidents at which point I was getting a little annoyed, wondering if it would ever occur to him to ask us just one teeny weeny question about our lives even though clearly neither qualifies as script material for a James Bond movie like his does. I didn`t think he would and lo and behold he didn`t ask.  No point in deviating from the well rehearsed life story that must be told and retold to all.  I had to excuse myself for a walk around the garden and this beauty washed away the anxiety building as a result of enduring his life's monologue.

 All in all, it was a beautiful day; the kind of summer day where time stands still!

Salt Spring: 'You Gotta Serve Somebody'

 My sister, June, came to visit and as a result I took the opportunity to eat out on Salt Spring during this busiest month of tourist season. It was very interesting.  When I first arrived on island, I was always eating out but that was almost 3 years ago now. This past year, I really haven’t eaten out much at all and it's usually just coffee or lunch. Now, after a really nice visit of eating out a lot, I noticed some things about service. While it isn`t brain surgery, I know for certain that it's way harder than it looks from the receiving side of the table and yet if you have to serve somebody, you might as well get it right.

 

Help me figure out how to behave when I grace your doorstep. Is it okay to sit down? Should I take that table over there even though it’s huge but it’s the only one left? Am I supposed to wait at the door? Why is there no sign telling me what to do? How come nobody is coming up to meet me even though I’m wandering through the restaurant? It’s so much more comfortable for patrons when they are clear on what to do as soon as they arrive.

Acknowledge my existence. I’m not saying that I need a dedicated greeter. I don’t need to feel like I’ve just entered WalMart, but you know, if I wanted to be invisible, I’d stay home. If I’m going to give you money, I want you to pretend to care. 

Menus should be enticing. Maybe it’s the writer in me. I don’t want to just know what it is. Otherwise, menus could just say hunk of meat, piece of lettuce, some kind of root vegetable.  I want you to make me want it by using descriptive language that helps me imagine it. Here’s the difference. 1. Chicken. Chef’s daily potato. Seasonal vegetables  or 2. A Juniper & rosemary-brined breast with a Tuscan heirloom tomato bread salad and roast fingerling potatoes.” Which one do you think you’re going to order?  

Let me read it for a moment, already! If you’re a server and you just handed me the drink menu, unless I eat at your establishment weekly, I might actually have to look at the wine list which will take me longer than 5 seconds. Give me a couple of minutes to examine it without hovering and awaiting my decision.

Ask me what I think.  One of the restaurants handed us a survey with the bill. They asked the question, "What is one thing we could do differently?" That’s a great question. More restaurants/coffee shops on Salt Spring should have comment cards or dedicate one month to specifically giving out very short (no more than 5 questions) surveys. They could offer a chance to win one free dinner as the prize for filling out the survey.

This tip is for patrons in choosing a place to eat. If you go to a restaurant that has a communal lay-out where everyone eats at the same table, don’t sit down across from me with your newspaper and your crossword puzzle and not even acknowledge me. Work with "the concept. At the very least, say Hello. I mean, really, if you want to be alone, get take-out or sit outside. Maybe you're just pathologically shy but if I wanted to sit across from someone doing a crossword or reading the paper while I’m eating at a communal table, I could choose to put myself in that situation; sometimes they call it marriage. 

Everybody deserves a second chance. It’s easy to pigeon-hole restaurants based on one bad experience and decide forevermore that a particular place is crap. It’s the death knell of restaurants, especially on a tiny little island. People have bad days. So do businesses. I was surprised when we ate at one place (chosen for its deck) that I’d pretty much written off a few years ago as not having good food or service. Lo and behold, they changed my mind.

Bon Appetit!

Food and Travel the Ingredients to an Adventurous Life

I've started doing some Tweeting for a restaurant here owned by chef/owner/teacher/radio personality Bruce Wood of Bruce's Kitchen or @bruceskitchen on Twitter.  Now, in spite of the fact that I love to eat, my own expertise with food preparation and menu planning and anything related to hosting others for a meal has grown even slimmer in the past few years than it used to be as a result of being completely out of practise.

With the intent of picking up some ideas for Tweets,  I've been tagging Bruce a bit like I'm some kind of groupie (which, for the record, I'm not, not that he's not interesting.)  I really enjoy listening to his local radio show (Thursdays 2-3pm) on Salt Spring's radio station CFSI-FM. 

In a stream of consciousness delivery, he'll  talk for an hour about what he's going to be doing for his Friday night communal dinners (for max. 18)  and other cooking tips. Sometimes he makes reference, in French, to ingredients that I've never even heard of. I really love to hear him describe sauces and what to do with all the fresh produce not to mention his love affair with goat cheese. I've discovered that his favourite word is stunning! The whirled peas are stunning. The risotto is stunning. The salmon in fig leaf then smoked is stunning. And, you know, they are.  

 Bruce's Kitchen is based on a communal dining concept and you just never know who you might sit beside. One day, a woman who had worked for the American embassy in Paris for 10 years came in with her father and we enjoyed our soup together. Strangely enough it was the morning I had been doing some Google research on where a friend might possibly stay on her upcoming trip with her husband and daughter on a wonderful month-long journey to Paris, Normandy, Brittany, Scotland, Wales and London.

These two events - my Tweeting for Bruce's Kitchen and also enjoying the smallest bit of research for my friend's upcoming trip - combined to  take me down my own memory lane. Ten years ago, I backpacked through London then over to Paris for 5 days, then back to London and on to Oxford, into The Cotswolds, York, Bath, Edinburgh, Stirling, Oban,  the Isle of Mull and full circle back to London over a 5-week period.

Are you Tapping Abundance or Scarcity?

Today I met a man on the ferry who began to talk to me as soon as I was seated on the top deck of the small Bowen Queen. I thought he was a little different when he first began speaking to me but I couldn't really put my finger on why I thought that. When I have that thought come up with strangers, I try to acknowledge it internally and keep with the conversation. I want to see where it might go; see if my intuition is accurate.

He began talking to me about a course he had taken in Atlanta, Georgia that had to do with requesting things from others.  You apparently get sequestered for two weeks with others and then on the third week they let you loose on the unsuspecting public.  In this course,there were three pages of things that the participants were required to request; things that you almost always have to pay for. 

At the beginning of this course, they take away your wallet, your credit cards and cash and in exchange they give you a couple of small books which are your only currency.  The first time he took the course, he said he made about $3.00 a day. The second time he took the course he made enough to feed himself. The third time, he made more than enough to live on. (Read that last sentence again and think about that!)

This particular twist in the conversation started because I said I liked the boots he was wearing. They were a nice pair of shiny, black ankle-high leather boots with a square toe. He proceeded to tell me that he got them at Nordstroms. They had other boots on sale but he didn't want those. He wanted these boots and he wanted 10% off so he asked for the manager. The manager, a happy earnest young guy, said,  "What can I do for you?" The man said he wanted these boots and he'd like 10% off. The young manager looked at him and said he couldn't do that. They weren't on sale. "You can't just come into a store [in North America] and ask for 10% off," said the young guy who had no idea when he woke up that morning what kind of interpersonal mindtorture was coming down the pipe.

The young guy told this man  that he should look at the other boots that were on sale and choose one of those and then he just turned and walked away. But, this man, persisted, always remaining completely polite and calm and he continued to persist because he said it was only 10% and really there was no legitimate reason why it didn't make sense for the manager to give in. So, after 2 hours of this, the young manager finally relented.  "Really," I said, my right eyebrow pretty much raised as high as it could go thinking how much I'd hate to have him for a partner, imagining myself slinking into the woodwork on most public outings.

He then gave me another example. He told me about walking into a chain grocery store and having to get something off the shelves without paying for it. He asked for the manager. Now this particular manager began to ask him a lot of questions almost as if she was interviewing him. At the end of her questioning, which lasted about 20 minutes, she said she wanted to hire him. He said he didn't want a job but he had a friend outside and she needed $100 and could work for 3 days. After speaking with this man, the manager hired his friend on the spot just because of his request. She then turned to him and told him to take what he wanted off the shelves.

Finally, he told me about his experience of walking into a restaurant and asking for a free meal. Of course, the waiter had to call the manager and the manager was another young guy.They were going back and forth and finally in exasperation when the manager said he really didn't know what to do, the man took this opportunity to tell him: Get me a cheeseburger, some fries and a coke." He got it.

"People want to help you," he said. "We don't know how to ask for help," he said, at which point I thought he might just be a messenger from God.

Now, regardless of what you think of his approach, the lessons behind this story are interesting ones. Too often we think that things are impossible when all we have to do is ask for what we want.You know those people you meet who think just because things are a certain way they can't change even though take a look around, the rules are really quite arbitrary for the most part.

The other interesting thing to note is that I honestly believe it's probably true that you'd only ever end up having such a conversation (or maybe I'd only end up having such a conversation) on a ferry heading towards Salt Spring where individualists unite!

Rage Against the Plague of Conformity

A long time ago now, I was involved with a man who lived on a floating home on a river.  He and his neighbours were real characters. One of them was the well-known maven of Wreck Beach, Judy Williams.  When he was still alive, his neighbours used to be annoyed by the fact that he lived in such a run-down floating home without the means or motivation to fix it up. Between his place and The Cricket Lady's place, oh my, what eyesores the neighbours were assaulted by daily. Or so they thought. 

Then, he died and his place was drydocked and perhaps sold. I actually never learned what happened to the little floathome.  When that happened, I have no doubt that his neighbours (who are lovely people) missed the little two storey float home in the way you might think back and miss that crazy boy (usually a boy) in elementary school who did the stupidest, most outrageous things or the poet who glued those plastic magnet letters all over her Volkswagon Beetle (was it Susan Musgrave?) or anyone you've ever met who is just a little different or outrageous, yet lovable.

  

Where four retail shops used to be: Acoustic Planet Music, Windflower Moon, Admiral's Specialty Foods and Salt Spring Soap Works were housed in small shops here. Soap works will relocate into the new space. Marks Work Wearhouse is expanding slightly and taking over the space which displeased some people. The most fascinating thing with the excavation was the discovery of 6 skeletal remains which meant under the Heritage Conservation Act  that all digging had to cease immediately so that the RCMP, the architect, three archeologists from Millenia Research in Victoria, 12 First Nations' Bands, (one bone reader?) and the property owner could negotiate the proper relocation and burial ceremony. That took a month which, considering the number of stakeholders, seems pretty good to me.

 The Shell Station now closed, allegedly put out of business by a new Co-op Gas undercutting their gas prices, but really, the most awkward place for a gas station to exist so any future development has to be an improvement but I liked the funky old design. It was just in the wrong spot.  You can still get your car fixed by them and I was always pleased with the service. They relocated the shop to Alders Road.

As I stand at the Saturday Market, with my back (thankfully) to the eyesore of two empty lots on the main Fulford-Ganges road surrounded by wire fencing,  I can't help but think of the reasons that drew me and so many others here, first as tourists, then as residents. It was of course, first and foremost,the natural beauty but it was also the charm and uniqueness of the small shops selling crystals and patchouli and music or whatever. It was a way of life that enough people romanticized enough to want to grab a piece of,  if just for a weekend excursion to a Gulf Island.  And, it still exists at The Saturday Market to a certain degree.

But, I can't help but wonder,  if I was to set foot on Salt Spring for the first time experiencing it now in terms of the overall look and the shops that currently exist, would I come back? Would it be appealing enough to be the kind of place that left a lasting memory the way it did for me some 20 years ago?

I have no problem with redevelopment if it's done with a big picture vision and sensitivity  to what makes a place unique and desirable in the first place, but when I look around Ganges, I just don't get it. The opportunity to create something beautiful and imaginative and a little out there exists doesn't it?

We need only turn to Chemainus and its murals to see how an immersion in local history can be the fuel for an economy. Think of Anne of Green Gables on PEI and in a completely different way, Steveston or Vancouver's Coal Harbour, a model of  community planning that has led to an enviable (albeit exhorbitantly expensive) yet non car dependent lifestyle with accessibility to all local amenities and to nature.  I lived within 5 minutes of Coal Harbour as a renter in the West End and I have to say, it was a pretty darn sweet place to live.

It's hard to fathom why a community as creative as Salt Spring has been stuck with architecture that is so run of the mill, common-place, ordinary in most of its retail spaces.

Salt Spring What Ales You?

Think beer and you're bound to think guys. Men's men. Then, you begin to visualize the less than sexy end result of too much beer: beer guts. Hold the cans, please. Rough. Loud. Endless television advertising drowning out conversations in a pub. Sporting events. Those are the stereotypes. But, is it the entire picture?

My friend Gwen loves beer. I would definitely call her a beer aficionado. Raspberry Wheat Ale. Chocolate beer. Amber Ales. IPAs. The more unusual and different, the more intriguing.

Unless you live on Salt Spring and you're a beer drinker, you might not even know that the island has its very own  brewery called Salt Spring Ales. I love their tagline: "Drink Beers with Nature." I'm not totally clear on what that means. I suppose they couldn't very well say Drink Beers in Nature because those of us who live here (and especially the RCMP) know that happens way too frequently and it would be irresponsible to suggest such a thing in a corporate tag line. I tend to like Beer au Naturelle. Just my personal opinion. No need to get defensive. It covers the natural aspect of their 100% organic beer and the fact that nudists have been known to drink it down at Blackburn Lake on the dock. Not that I'd know for certain.

Have beer, be happy smiles Dee

Anyway, Salt Spring Ales make a really wonderful Porter. Their Golden Ale is good. In fact, I have to say, I really like their beers and I like their labelling. I see they have brewery tours on request. Next time Gwen comes to visit, I'll have to set that up.

As I was perusing their site, reading about the fact that they grow their own hops, honey and use the Heather from Butchart Gardens, I couldn't help but notice that they had links to two sites for women interested in beer. 

The first one is Pink Boots Society and in Vancouver there's a chapter of the cleverly named Barley's Angels.

When I read the descriptions of these organizations, I wholeheartedly believe that I may have accidentally stumbled (and I'm not even drinking) on Gwen's next career move.   That definitely calls for a pint!

'Numbers, dreams and the fog'

I started to read Brian Brett's book, Trauma Farm, A Rebel History of Rural Life, and on page seven I was struck by a sentence that read..."History, real history needs to run with all of it  - numbers, dreams and the fog."

When I read that sentence, I stopped. I read it again. I mulled it over. 

Earlier in the day I had returned from a visit with "the ninja healer" and I had been sharing with him the fact that I'm approaching a milestone birthday and how when your life has not fit into the box because you haven't been married, you haven't had children, and you really haven't accumulated much of anything except experiences, some good friends and insights then approaching 50 can be really thought-provoking and not in a fantastic way.

 "History, real history needs to run with all of it...numbers, dreams and the fog."

 In his usual insightful manner he just said to me that I needed to go into and accept every thing about myself and every experience I've ever had. Accept. Look upon them with curiosity.  Be kind to yourself. Try to approach every issue with a "playful spirit", not judging, just wondering why, wondering about options, remaining curious and playful in your approach not blaming, feeling guilty or judging. 

I recently watched the new version of the new release of Karate Kid and I feel like this person is my Jackie Chan. He's my spiritual master and just the act of speaking with him and being in his presence allows me to remain on track, much more focused, as if for the first time in my life the word "discpline" has a positive meaning or any meaning at all. Having "discipline" is really about commitment to oneself and one's goals. A form of self love. Deprivation has nothing to do with discpline.

Now, that's not exactly an earthshattering way of thinking that I've never heard before but something about the way he has of knowing what to say to address current fears makes them seem so irrelevant, manageable, conquerable. Almost silly and obscure.

He's not a counsellor. I don't think of him that way.  I don't want a counsellor. Everything I need is inside of me and I have learned that well. He's trained in Capoeira and Qi Gong and has had a spiritual practice for a long time. We talk about spiritual matters in a way that helps me stay on a path that I need to get serious about; a path that won't allow me to make any more excuses for goals not achieved.  It's fantastic. I feel he could make a lot of money doing what he does with me and turn it into his life's work.

I recently signed up for an online workshop by The Renegade Writer and she sent us an audio of a talk by another writer Sage Cohen whose book, The Productive Writer, I've been reading. This books is all about getting serious. Staying on track. Systems and processes for doing, not dreaming. No time to waste.

So regardless of where you're at in your life, and what has or has not happened, ugly words you've spoken, beautiful words you've not heard enough, places you have or haven't seen, just remind yourself, You're still here! There's probably a reason for that. Embrace the beauty of the uniqueness of your path- the good, the bad and the ugly (judgements that you can choose to let go of right now).

Embrace every challenge you have overcome and every hope for a dream that you have yet to make true. Accept and forgive every person and situation you have ever encountered who has made you who you are today - uniquely you and undoubtedly wiser.

Embrace your own history, accept it, so most importantly, you can move forward lightly: "numbers, dreams and the fog..."

The Dude, Lane 31 and a Crane for the Fir Tree

  If you're in the city, sit down somewhere really quiet, listen to your breath and imagine a full moon dropping silver dust across the grass, spotlighting the potholes in the gravel lane and freeze framing the steeley rippling ocean as if you've been dropped into an Edward Hopper painting.

That's what it's like driving along Walker's Hook Road where I live. The narrow, windy asphalt creeps and winds just above the water's edge on the North End of the island. I must keep my eyes on the road to avoid the ditch even though I have taken lately to driving smack down the middle of the yellow line. A car is rather a rare sight in the evening.

With one hand on the steering wheel, I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the moon and the purple and pink haze of streaky quotation marks around the otherworldly translucent orb. It's my happiest moment of the day. It brings me back to the luck and beauty of  being alive.
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Salt Spring Island is a quiet place in the winter. Maybe that's true of every small place. What to do? Read more.Local authors. Brian Brett's Trauma Farm is ready to be cracked open. I just devoured George Sipos's Geography of Arrival. Movies. More movies.  I catch up on watching movies that most other "normal" North Americans have already seen because, let's face it, I'm a bit of a pop culture alien. Understatement.

Last night I watched The Big Lebowski by the Coen Brothers. How could I not have seen this movie? The Dude characterization gave me all sorts of ideas. I"m surrounded by The Dude in various incarnations and as worthy on a daily basis in my job. Maybe I should invite the Coen brothers up for a visit on a little "recky" mission.

As for tonight it's a bloody  miracle I'm not on my knees out in the back yard howling at the moon in frustration related to problems with the creation of a new website for myself. It's never simple. Even when it should be. Especially when an insurmountable problem arises and you turn into an obsessive-compulsive, wimpering, temper-tantruming desperate piece of quivering and totally-stumped brain matter attached to a set of 10 fingers tapping madly at the keyboard all to no avail.

Maybe a dip in the pool and a little weekly Deep Water Aquafit will relieve my angst. Being January, the class is packed with women and one guy who merely, by his presence, I admire immensely. He's cute and he's  a film maker and of course he plays in a band. We discuss it in the hot tub. They're called Lane 31. I'm not crazy about that name. It's the Lane islanders must get into when they return from Victoria and line up for the Fulford Ferry. So?

I'm listening to their MySpace downloads and wow, my first impression wasn't fair. I have listened to this song, Shari's song, about 25 times while I'm writing this. Love it. Love the lyrics. Love the guy's voice.

The evening gets capped off with a long call from Pauline to report in on the latest Monty Python skit of how not to build a cottage.

Turns out that a huge fir tree smack dab up against the new little cottage must come down.

"What?" "You never noticed this before?" I ask stupidly before I think, "Shut up Gayle."

 "It will require a crane," they say. Call your insurance provider they tell her. Check your coverage. Does it cover Acts of God? Freaks of Nature?
Never seen anything like it, they say.
"I couldn't sleep last night," she said. I kept seeing two people -  city slickers -  sleeping peacefully in the new B&B crushed to death by the tree. I imagined hearing the crack and waking up just in time to see the towering inferno of branches devouring the roof.
I'd lose everything. They'd die. Their relatives would sue. Gone. All gone. (Blessing in disguise I think to myself but wisely refrain from saying.)
"It's a miracle that thing hasn't dropped before," said the arborist.
"Is he really an arborist?" I ask. "Like, a real arborist?"
"He has 30 years," she says. "With trees though?" I ask again.

I only ask because everybody here, on this crazy little island, is something whether they are or not if you know what I mean. It's a bit like Hollywood in that way, I imagine. I should ask to see my doctor's degrees just in case.

"Call me when they're ready to hoist it outta there," I say to her about the Giant Evergreen.
"Doesn't matter where I am or what time of day. I want to see this."

But for now, enough already. I lay me down to rest.

What's a Lama Doing in a Place Like This?

Mural of a typical immigrant family from the past

In the window of Dr. Sun Yat Sen Gardens

Serene reflection on garden wall

It's not every day that a Lama from Darjeeling, India walks through the door of our employment centre on this little island and smiles the whitest, widest smile. I was a little confused. "Are you looking for work?," I asked, stupidly. No. He was merely accompanying someone. His robe was maroon and straight to the floor narrow. He had a bright yellow toque on his head. Just a wee day trip they were on. Down from Mount Tuam in the four wheel drive. His white teeth brightened the darkness from the drizzle outside. I didn't have my camera. I wish I could take a photo of every person who walks in the door. Every face is amazing. I can't. Confidentiality. So, instead of Salt Spring, just a few photos from Vancouver's Chinatown taken over my recent break away. 

Is Santa a Volunteer Firefighter?

Like Santa’s elves I got up really early one morning last week – 4:45 am – because I had thoughts of what I needed to get done and I couldn't sleep.  Now, that's truly ridiculous because I don’t host a big family dinner and I don’t have cute little sugar plum kiddies to please beyond their wildest dreams. All I really have to do is enjoy myself and other people's company.

At no other time of year than Christmas am I more thankful for the fact that I do not have traditional female responsibilities. The average wife/mom/maid probably puts in a 200 hour week as a result of Christmas instead of her regular 90-100 hours.  Welcome to “The Holiday Season” ladies!

Salt Spring, like everywhere, begins to whip itself into a frenzy around December 17^th.

The firemen decorate the No. 1 fire hall in the middle of Ganges. It's a really old place with a bell tower similar to the one in that Steve Martin movie, Roxanne, that was filmed in Nelson, B.C.   I’ve overheard in passing, "What else do those firemen have to do  except buy shiny new equipment?  You better just hope Santa doesn't set your chimney on fire with that comment. Following that (flawed?) line of thinking, I guess they have loads of time to decorate as well. And, so they do.

They hang Santa’s bottom half out of their bell tower (above) which makes it look as if he’s about to dive into it, backwards. They decorate with wooden cutouts of sheep instead of reindeer (afterall this is Salt Spring). They blast Christmas songs too loudly in the 12 days leading up to the big day so no matter where you are in their vicinity it's impossible to forget the time of year.

Parking, just like in “The Big Smoke," becomes impossible to find. Everyone floods into Ganges village to do their shopping. The line-up at the post office (because there are only 2 post offices on the island) grew to 45 minutes the other day. Someone tweeted it on Twitter. Someone else at the back of the line was offering a home made roast beef dinner to trade places with the person at the front.

The local grocery stores are packed. Once you've lived here a while, doing shopping is a marathon event given the number of people you end up seeing to say Hi to or chat with. In Ganges, add on at least 20 minutes to every shopping visit as a result of social chit chat.  Yesterday I ran into Harry Burton, Apple King, and he said something that I thought was really true. "Well, at least on  Salt Spring," he said, "you can go to the thrift store, buy someone a present and they'll still really like it." And, that's true. In fact, I'd probably like it more! We love our thrift stores because they have cool stuff at absolutely the right price.

The other place with massive line-ups, of course, is the food bank. Yes, Salt Spring, like everywhere, has a food bank. There are some heart-wrenching realities and the closer the big day gets it’s as if every day is a full moon. (And, this year, that's almost a fact!)

I’m trying to maintain my own questionable sanity by going to deep water Aquafit at the pool twice a week. The fact that I can float without a belt in the deep end is a little worrying. This is, afterall, pre-shortbread, pre-eggnog, pre-Nanaimo bar, pre-Baileys in coffee, pre-turkey, pre-gorge fest.  Plant the sprouts for the New Year's crash diet.

There are a million concerts, sing-a-longs, and what else? Craft sales. Turns out you CAN have too much of a good thing. I’m beginning to think about crafts in the same way I think about IKEA merchandise. Just as I have never been able to figure out how it's possible to need an infinite supply of bathmats in a single lifetime from IKEA, I'm not sure why some people have a black hole of an inbox for jewellery, candles, and art work but thankfully, for Gulf Islands craftspeople (including me) they just seem to.

So, that's it.  I'm off to Vancouver. That ferry better be workin! 

Stay in the moment. Stay safe. Stay alive.  Find the beauty wherever you can. Chill!