Baby Steps in the Big City

"Well, that’s a new technique," he said after I showed him my poor knee. "Haven’t heard that one before. So, you hurled yourself touchdown-style in the middle of a crosswalk in downtown Vancouver hoping, maybe, that prince charming might come to your rescue, on Valentine’s Day, no less. A bit desperate don't ya think?"

Some women get chocolates. Some get roses. Some get, well, you know, but me, I prefer to lay, splayed on concrete, shocked and dazed.

I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I just tripped; one of those spectacular, I think I can recover falls that has you moving even faster, almost parallel to the sidewalk, in a hopeless attempt at recovery. It would have been better if I’d just let go and fallen down, immediately.  

I was wearing the new boots I’d bought with the 3 inch wedge. They weren't purple but they were suede.  And, just as one must acclimatize to rural living  and learning how to dress down when, say, you move to Salt Spring, when you move back to the city you have to learn how to ramp it back up. That means you have to trade hiking boots and comfortable, flat black shoes or flip flops for something with heels.  

When it comes to jobs, some people focus on salary, benefits, vacation but one of my greatest priorities seems to have become, Can I dress in a way that lets me still feel like me? Can I wear jeans?

I started a month-long job thanks to "all employment eminates from Karen McD" and I was rushing, on Valentine’s Day, to the bank to deposit what seemed like pretty easy money. Then, at the corner of Howe and Pender, the rubber on the bottom of my boot got momentarily stuck and set in motion a maneuvering toward my spectacular spill.  If the traffic light hadn’t been in my favour, I might have been run right over or broken my nose on the side of a passing BMW.

It always happens so fast. One minute you’re upright, the next you’re sprawled almost licking the pavement, the world a blur of sneakers, boots and legs moving dreamlike past your head. 

"Are you okay?"  I heard a voice from above. 

I didn't even answer. Moving not yet possible. Arms reached down to help me up. Some nice young guy. I limped back to the sidewalk with his help, more shocked than embarrassed, keenly aware that I would have been laughing hysterically had I witnessed myself as the passengers in the cars a few feet away waiting at the light on this one-way street surely had. 

I leaned up against the side of the building housing INGDirect. Just stood there for a while, while dizziness rushed slowly into my head.  I touched my knee. Gauged the chance of passing out. Clutched my wallet and looked, well,  probably very strange, to those who hadn’t seen what had just transpired.  Standing there, just staring, leaning against the bank, I’m sure I looked as if I might have amnesia or dementia, confused about which direction to head next. Maybe she forgot where her office was I could hear their thoughts.

"Somebody is sure to have it on video," he said as he took another swig of his beer.  "You should put a sign up on one of the poles near there." It could just say, Spectacular fall happened here on Valentines Day. Anybody catch it on your cell? Post on Facebook. Tag me.”  

"Very funny," I said, snidely. 

An even bigger surprise? i didn't break anything or skin my chin. So, these do have a purpose, I thought, looking down at my chest. Thank god for cushioning. 

The only damage to my right knee, scraped and bloody.  A small price to pay, I suppose, in exchange for learning how to get up early again, get out and get dressed to pretend you fit - yes you do - in the big city. 


PS: That is not me, above! :-)

Ode to the Writing Compulsion

There is a lot of writing to sort out these days. There's the SFU Writer's Studio writing which is really THE writing that matters to me right now, and will for at least the next year.

Then there are the ideas and queries to write that are a constant swirl in my head, driving me to distraction, to the point that I have started Mindmapping out the ideas and which magazines might make sense to target in a never ending attempt to make some money from freelance writing.

Then, there's this Blog which, isn't important, just my reprieve and my indulgence as you may have noticed.

Oh, and then there's everything else: Life.

I feel that I should write a Dear John letter to my friends for the year ahead because nothing is more important to me this year than trying to finish some writing that I want to do (and complete).  So, I forgive you for not understanding because I know some of you are wondering why I don't just get a job and be happy. Have money. Plan vacations. Get back on track after a departure that began with Salt Spring and seems to have turned a mid-life detour into a round the world excursion that's created a full-blown 9-5 refugee.

How can I explain? I can't really. But I'll put it this way. Writing is a bit like the state that you enter right before you fall asleep and right before you wake up. Even though, to an outsider, you may look like you're there, you're not. You're still back on the last paragraph of the thing you wrote. You're still wondering if in that query letter you should have put the first sentence of the second paragraph as the lead sentence or if the first sentence is alright afterall. So, if I look at you blankly when you've just asked a question or I say Yes and it makes no sense as the answer to your question, it may be because I'm not actually with you yet. I'm still with me. In my head. Again.

Am I having the kind of time we've all had at 17 about to scare the hell out of ourselves on the roller coaster at the PNE, screaming like a banshee (whatever those are) right before the 95 year old box on wheels heads down the rickety tracks full speed ahead. Wheeeeeee! No.

Am I experiencing the pleasure of being 20-something again, necking on the rocks at Lighthouse park with a cute boy and the sun warming everything on a brilliant August day? Not even close. I'm not having that kind of time and at the same time, I don't want to be anywhere else. Where I am feels where I'm supposed to be. So, please forgive me. Show some mercy.

Think of it this way. In the same way I have been known to look at each one of you at some point in time and wondered how you could put up with so much, asking myself like a detective trying to solve some British Murder Mystery why the hell you don't just stop, I'm asking you to recognize that for me, my compulsion, my vocation, is my writing; a pre-destined friend, the kind who chose me.

So, I'm asking you to indulge me in the same way I begrudgingly accept those things I see in your own lives that make me crazy and then maybe you'll  understand.  It's just me, at 50, knowing it's now or never to do what has mattered forever for reasons I've never really understood ever since I was born.

So, thanks. In advance. For your patience. Or not.

A Lawyer, the Beaver Lake Cree and the Tar Sands

I spent the weekend pretty much glued to my computer finishing a story I was working on for Canadian Lawyer Magazine. 

The first time I met this lawyer in person, I was at the Fall Fair last September with my camera in hand. I just happened to run into him and his wife. I had been doing some Tweeting and Facebook updates for the Harbour House Hotel which they just happen to own. 

When I spotted Jack Woodward and his wife Glenda at the Fall Fair, introduced myself, and asked if I could take his photo (for the hotel's FaceBook page) his reaction has to be one of the best reactions I've ever received from someone I had never met before.  He said in a really excited voice, Are you Gayle Mavor? He's about 6'6 inches tall and he proceeded to give me this huge bear hug. "I love you," he said referring not to me of course but to my then Twitter feeds on behalf of the hotel. He obviously liked the humour in them at that time.

His wife was standing right there and his greeting just seemed so spontaneous and open and child-like. Definitely not what you'd expect from a lawyer. I honestly can't recall a warmer greeting from someone I'd never met and really didn't know. I knew he was a lawyer in Victoria. He had something to do with Aboriginal Law. I knew he owned the hotel. That's it. 

After that meeting, sometimes I'd see him the hotel restaurant. Once I saw him out back in the beautiful organic garden that he and his wife were committed to developing. I saw him in his beekeeping suit, like a big Sasquatch all in crinkly white, delicately moving the bee boxes around  at the very back of the Harbour House organic garden which I would spend quite a bit of time wandering through taking photos for Facebook.

Then, just this past December he received a Queen's Counsel award which is mainly an honourary designation but only 7% of lawyers will ever receive that designation. Lightbulb went on. I thought, Hey, I could make some cash off of that lawyer. Now that's a switch!  I could pitch a story to Canadian Lawyer Magazine.  So I did on January 2. On January 3, I heard back from the editor. Yes. My timing was lucky. She was needing a profile for February. 

So, I began to research Jack's background and much to my surprise, it turns out, he's not just another lawyer,he's one of the founding fathers of aboriginal law in Canada. He started practicing aboriginal law in the late 1970s after graduating from the inaugural law class at the University of Victoria when aboriginal law was considered a fringe practice. He was involved in entrenching aboriginal rights into the Canaadian constitution. He had a hand in the Meares Island 1985 Injunction against logging that still stands. He's represented hundreds of cases using Constitutionally-entrench Treaty rights as arguments against environment and habitat destruction.  He's now using those rights to try and fight against Tar Sands expansion on behalf of a small Cree nation in Alberta called The Beaver Lake Cree Nation.  

And, as I learned more about him and what he's done and how he's using historical treaty rights that the Government of Canada and Alberta are disrespecting by their allowance of total exploitation of lands where the Cree traded thousands of kilometres of land and in return they were to receive $5.00 per head every year (an easy promise to keep, which has been kept) and more importantly the continued opportunity to meaningfully hunt and fish on their land via Treaty 6 which, because of the degradation of the land as a result of the Tar Sands, is no longer possible.

So, I'm writing this blog post, not about Jack Woodward really, but about the fact that if you're like me, before I interviewed him, I'd hear the word Tar Sands and it meant so little. It would be like images of sand dunes would appear in my head. It was Alberta's problem. Bad Albertans! That's how ignorant I was. But, then, I read what I read and I watched this video. And now, I'm totally shocked at my ignorance and I have been consumed by this issue and wondering what we are going to do as Canadians.

So, when you make the time, you must watch these two videos. One is Jack lecturing in a very clear, interesting and understandable manner about the aboriginal rights related to the Tar Sands and the other is a video called The Tipping Point that is 91 minutes long. 

They are both excellent and you must watch them. It's your duty as a Canadian to be informed about how we're destroying the planet, adding to climate change in a way that is completely irresponsible. Okay. Got that? Education. Right here. 

Jack Woodward on Beaver Lake Cree First Nation and the Tar Sands - The Context, Law and Treaty Rights from IPSMO - Indig Ppls Sol Mvmt Ott on Vimeo.

Please pass these videos on when you can.