Pender Island

Pender island was a wild and crazy time with two families in one house and two darling dogs demanding much attention. Trouble seemed to loom our first night when after a 4 hour ferry ride and an arrival at 11pm at the cabin after a very meandering road; that traversing on every subsequent trip was a revelation - how on earth did we find the place that first night? (I memorized the map and the little silver jetta is a great sleuth), the septic sewer system smell overwhelmed us all. It was so horrific on the pool table/ table tennis floor that the three darling boys were driven out of their beds and forced to sandwich together on the futon couch in the next room. It took a day to beat the smell into submission amongst much theorizing with Brent and much anxiety by me.
Once the smell was under control the fun began. Multiple pool tournaments, ping pong,and beach excursions. Brent and Joop were super diligent each morning and hiked the mountain on the island. Caroline and Marlee and I translated our energy into daily coffee and shopping excursions. Each were equally exhausting. Our attempts to beach it were satisfying on the collecting front and the witnessing front. One of the highlights of the trip was being at a beach when a pod of at least 20 killer whales swam past blowing and breaching. It was spectacular. Aiden, Marlee, Kyran and I found amazing sea glass and sea pottery. Massive amounts. It was very satisfying. Aiden thought he could translate it into a money making business, but his potential buyers were also competitive collectors unwilling to spend. The ocean turned out to be too cold for most. I eventually managed to get in and enjoy it even though the circumference of my head really ached with the cold but I had absolutely no tolerance for the jelly fish. Millions it seemed but probably in reality just in the double digits. They were the very large lions mane type. As Caroline said - unbelievably ugly with their ugly red beached bodies. No amount of research could reassure me about their numbers. Is this what the ocean is coming to? Or is it just a seasonal, current variation? I am very nervous because even with extreme vigilance I sustained multiple stings. Kyran was badly stung just sitting on the beach when some tentacles washed up over his foot. I literally couldn't think of it and any time we went to any beach I obsessively scanned the ocean. I was probably very boring with my obsession. One day coming back from the beach I spotted incredible flowers at a farmside stand. Joop nearly burnt out his clutch reversing back to the farm. It was an honor system and the bouquet of flowers was unbelievable so I stuffed money in the little can. How trusting are people? The flowers were an boon to recovering Caroline and lent a beautiful fragrance to the rest of our stay.
After wonderful meals each night we would sit on the veranda staring at the ocean or engage in Karaoke competitions. We canoed a beautiful bay our last night together and managed to canoe up to a mother seal and her baby on an island. She seemed very complacent about our interest and just lounged on her side cuddling her baby to her it seemed with her flipper. The 3 boys had their own canoe and filled the bay with their exhuberant singing and wildly competitive shouts of "stroke!"
A number of our excursions were to the south island and one of Brent's favorite memories is having all of the kids in the truck with him driving, the ipod blaring, and the getting "air" as the truck sailed over the bumpy road. Mico managed to read 4 novels in the middle of all of the activities. Marlee managed to complete many beautiful paintings, Aiden independently pulled an all nighter that seemed to stretch on for days if you are a friend of his on facebook. Caroline managed to survive a dreadful illness but somehow not affect her activity level. Kyran and Joop and I just managed the dogs and took inspiration from the Meige-Moffat clan. I was mesmorized by the Moffat childrens' style. Even at a cabin on an isolated island the boys managed to appear each morning in well coordinated outfits with freshly ironed shirts, Marlee in different hat, high waisted skirt ensembles. I wondered where they got it from. Brent vociferously denied any influence. Caroline just batted her style maven eyelashes and pranced off with once again another scarf/hat ensemble. The night that the adults went to the resort for evening cocktails while the kids swam in the pool it was assumed that she was part of the fashion show!

The last day on the island was very quiet for the 3 of us plus dogs. We were even too tired to kayak. Although when one of the guides did not seem amply horrified by the jellies or didn't even notice the plethora of their numbers I was reluctant to trust myself to their tutelage. Joop took Kyr and I out for a lovely supper at the resort. It was a lovely last evening to a hectic holiday.

Skidmore

Everyday I walk to town. Sometimes more than once. During the walk there are many moments of felicity, walking past all of the homes with lush vegetation, listening to my ipod on shuffle, thinking only of writing : the intricacies of craft, learning to translate all the salient details of any incident, the wealth of subjects. I pay special attention to all of the plants. What grows here? What do people like? It is colder here than Nelson. No rhododendrons, azaleas. Lots of hostas and hydrangeas. Hostas might be the floral emblem for the county of Saratoga. And then looking at the earth, does everyone have the same gardener? Even the less affluent homes have the earth mounded up just so with the same type of mulch everywhere and very few weeds. I feel very pathetic on the gardening front. I even have dreams where the secret is revealed to me and it is fertilizer.

Just as I leave campus there is a beautiful pine on the corner of the path. One afternoon the sun was shining, there was no wind, and at about 3:30pm the beautiful pine split and ½ of it fell onto the path that I walk on. It was very tragic. No one was there, but I did contemplate that with the ipod on I probably would not have heard the preemptory crack had I been walking by. Just like the guy in Cranbrook where the helicopter fell on him. I examined the split on the trunk carefully and you could see it had been a very gradual process with dirt and pine leaves accumulating in the wedge as the two sides gradually pulled apart. The ½ remaining is being cut down today. I was sad but knew that it was inevitable as the trunk seemed to have too narrow a waist where the missing part detached to support the rest of the tree.

I’m starting to understand why the program has so many returning students. I adore being immersed in the world of writing. As students there is no real expectation of each other. People rise at varied times with no embarrassment, no excuses. There is a collective understanding that the process of writing is so individual there is no need to adhere to a prescribed time frame. We meet as a class from 1-4pm M,W,F. Tuesday and Thurday afternoons are optional question periods with various visiting writers. Every evening are readings from visiting writers – almost all Pulitzer prize winners with an even balance of fiction writers and poets. Then after the readings are socials with fruit and cheese in order to mingle with students and visiting writers. I try to attend everything. You never know where you are going to get your next tidbit of information. I have noticed with admiration the regular attendance of a poet – Frank Bidart. I don’t know if he is on staff. But he is older and still attends and listens with great intensity. You have to admire that. The official head of program and his beautiful poet/teacher wife are also in attendance. I am quite intrigued by her because she always is smiling. I think that she has trained her face in that way, I don’t think it could have naturally fallen in that way. I enjoyed the week with Margot. I have a new appreciation for craft and also an intense interest. I used to think writers taught at these creative writing schools because they needed the money. Now I am able to see that it could be that they are just in love the mechanics of craft. It is sort of like having an intuitive knowledge of your native tongue and then being exposed to grammar and realizing that it is like a giant puzzle. A number of students in the class found Margot’s style of teaching very alienating. They believed she disliked, or in the words of one classmate ‘hated’ them. I found that she seemed to not like my comments but I was able to overlook it and in fact found myself freed by her ‘dislike’ – there was no need to impress her. Our new teacher is almost too funny. I find it difficult to concentrate on the subject because I’m laughing too uproariously at his comments. Unfortunately he will not let me have the class criticize my newly revised novel because he has put too much work into my older version. Oh, well.
Aside from attending classes or lectures I just walk around town. I have photographed many of the beautiful homes and I am interested to see if people can spot the new victorins vs. the old. Some of them have required much scrutiny by me and even then I’m not 100%. I usually ere on the side of thinking them reproductions if I am questioning.
On one of my rambles I encountered the taxi driver from the first day. He raced his taxi up to me at an intersection and said “Hey remember me.” I said of course, my first day in Saratoga. He quizzed me how I was liking it and I waxed on about the loveliness of it all. “Move here,” he demanded again. I hestitated, I can’t. Its lovely but… “Marry me.”
I just laughed. “I’m off Monday and Tuesday”. Oh, those are my most intense class days.
“When are you leaving?” He was prepared to drive me to the airport in his own car, but I felt a cab was better. So now I am to request him specifically and book ahead. Mark Buffo? I’m not sure about the last name. I didn’t think I’d forget it so fast. But I’m sure the story of a 44 yr old former horse trainer with a Brooklyn accent will be interesting.

Saratoga

I am too old to choose the physical deprivations associated with living in dorms. That is probably the biggest drawback to the Saratoga experience. However, I am starting to like the fact that you never need to worry about housekeeping staff . I find that worrying about when housekeeping will show is a subliminal stress that somewhat mars a hotel experience. Whereas here in the dorms you never see any cleaning people ever. I do wish they would sometimes appear and clean the communal bathroom though. Aside from the hard, exceptionally hard plastic coated mattress, the biggest drawback is that communal bathroom – one per 5 suites. One night in the middle of the night I found myself sitting on a seat wet with urine - incredibly disconcerting and upsetting. So now I furtively shield my Clorox wipe underneath my handtowel as I hustle to the bathroom. Now the bathroom has a wonderful residual odour of cleaning fragrance. And now I have taken to debating with myself at great lengths – do I really need to go to the bathroom – probably a prequel to a bladder retention disorder.

Saratoga is pretty town at least that of which still remains. It has been encroached upon by urban sprawl so that it is now at least 5 interconnecting towns. One of the drawbacks of this is that it is no longer a place that you can walk around with any kind of purpose. All of the stores that used to be small and local are now extinct and big box stores have taken over their function. It is almost impossible to reach these box stores on foot as they are behind the interconnecting highways and are after long tracks of undeveloped green space with no sidewalks to be found. So the romantic inclination is to see lovely Saratoga with all of its Victorian splendor as a wonderful time capsule of a small town. I have seen many posters celebrating the Saratoga porches – massive wrap around verandas decorated impeccably. But in fact you can’t begin to live as though it is a small town because all of your shopping necessities are car rides away. It is quite tragic really, it makes me really value the compactness and completeness of dear old Nelson.

I can’t believe the magnitude of the Victorian homes surrounding the campus. I have rarely seen so many huge homes together. There are even some new indistinguishable Victorian mansions. That in itself screams money as I can’t imagine duplicating them in this day and age. The campus is a very pretty maze. It sort of reminds me of the Banff fine arts center – same age and purpose. The tuition here is $36 000 for instate residents with a population of approx 2400 students. Rather dear. The cafeteria is very amazing. One of my young poet friends was very disparaging about the money that has gone into the aesthetics of the cafeteria – she thought the money better spent on scholarships. I disagree. It is a fantastic place to eat – soaring ceilings, beautiful beams and all restaurants in a circle. It is wonderful to just free range eating from all sorts of exotic restaurants. I just keep putting away my used plate and going with a new plate to a new station. There is a vegetarian , asian, Italian etc.. It almost makes up for the horridness of the dorms. Why weren’t cafeterias like that when I was in University?

I am settling into the routine of the campus. I think I am the only one brave or foolish enough to go free ranging into Saratoga. My poet friend has a GPS unit that has a woman’s voice that actually tells her exactly where to go. I think she could function and never get an aerial view of the place. My aerial view was hard won, almost at the cost of my sanity. Based on a tourist map happily given out by hotels etc, I tried to navigate to Walmart. I cleverly (I thought) googled Walmart and got the address and tried to visualize on the map they gave compared to my tourist version. Walmart is 840 Old Gick road. On my map Gick road had a traffic light superimposed on the Old part (or so I deduced), the road curled around and then was cut off, finally showing as Old Gick further to the side. So I merrily set out on the hot humid day, knowing that I couldn’t check into Skidmore until 3 pm. I walked and walked along Gick road – quite terrifying as no sidewalk, cars were driving as though it was a highway, and the landscape completely treed except for the occasional house. Houses along Gick road don’t believe in house numbers. The dogs that came out barking and growling at me were the first disconcerting sign that perhaps no one walks along this road. Almost 1½ hours had passed when I finally saw that I was only at 100. I was too far along to turn back. I was feeling frantic and dehydrated when I finally spotted a sports field in the middle of the deciduous wildnerness. There was a soccer tournament for the region taking place. Despite the throngs of people there was absolutely no concession stand or phone. There was a pop machine that wouldn’t take my ten dollar bill. I ended up buying some dollars – $6 from a woman for my $10. And then to add insult to injury she ended up needing my change which I willingly handed over to help her make $1.25 for her pop purchase. I stupidly handed it over before seeing if I had enough for myself, all the while tears pouring behind my sunglasses. I luckily had enough change to buy a pop. Somewhat fortified I went in search of a phone. A lovely teenage girl offered to let me use her cell phone. She had to phone information for a taxi number. At first the taxi wasn’t willing to drive out to get me because I didn’t have a phone myself. I thought I might lie down and cry. He finally relented. When the taxi came, it turned out I was in a different town and nowhere near Old Gick road only on Gick that leads to nowhere or hell which ever you want.
It became clear to me that I needed phone in this new world in order to navigate. So armed with my purchases from Target (where I had the cab drop me off) I called another cab. Things are very weird here. Taxis are not metered – some guy at central office just arbitrarily says some amount - and then you drive around while the cab driver waits and tries to pick up other passengers. This takes so long that you get to know the cab drivers a bit too well to the point they are insistent that you move here. I was a little taken aback and said vaguely yes it is a pretty place but….that didn’t dissuade him and then he had to unburden his tragic life story of losing his only daughter at 12 and his marriage disintegrating. It was all too much for me, once again crying behind my sunglasses and afraid to take a cab again.

I am trying to immerse myself in the world of writing – that is attending lectures by visiting writers and not making any attempts to do anything but read and write. My social life is a bit slim pickings. Occasionally I chat with people in other classes. My own class seems to be made up of reserved disparate personalities. I’m okay with it; it sort of reminds me of my vet class – well known throughout the years as being the class with no camaraderie. To invest myself too much socially would maybe detract too much from the solitary study I need to do. Although I do notice without dinner companions and any access to a nice glass of wine I have turned rather greedy and am hopefully scanning the cafeteria for more delectable items. I don’t think this will ultimately hurt me as I somehow manage to miss at least one meal a day and I have a natural penchant for vegetables.

As Margot Livesey’s literary stalker I have yet to make any personal contact with her. I wouldn’t mind a stalker such as myself – holding her in great esteem but content to just observe and listen

Portland Oregon

Portland is a great city. Great in the way that almost everyone you meet has been drawn here from all other big cities in the states for the ‘lifestyle’. It is uncertain what that lifestyle is but there is evidence about what it is not. Portland seems to be lacking an air of conspicuous industriousness. In the thick of downtown there is absolutely no one rushing about with a corporate agenda. In fact the thing you notice is people perched outside on ledges, in parks on sidewalks reading paperbacks. It is uncertain whether these too are homeless (a huge very prevalent homeless population with their strollers of plastic bags and bottles) or whether they are just your average residents with nothing better to do on these beautiful (although we are told very rare) sunny days.
Although the economic downturn has supposedly really affected this city, especially its population of young people, there are not the visible empty retail spots that you see in other cities. I was shocked to see the young age of the people lined up outside a church food bank. This is paradoxically more evidence of the great lifestyle draw – it lures in inordinate number of young unemployed people who are only too willing to talk
about how they came here bravely without a job to ‘escape’ the pressures of New York, LA, Texas – you name it. The whole thing intrigues me and I have explored the topic with anyone who wants to talk, and there are many of them, which I also find fascinating. People simply want to talk. Unusually friendly.
It is also hard to find a poor spot to eat. The food so far (although one tiny questionable Indian restaurant that may be responsible for my 3 day stomach flu) has been so tasty: innovative, loyal to the attempts to be local, and wonderful white wines and locally brewed beers. In fact the one restaurant that we were compelled to leave was only because their wine list had no Oregon wines on the menu and being our last night I wanted one final glass of the wonderful white wines. Elk cove makes a beautiful Pinot Gris. I had to try and justify my palate to this particular restaurant and exclaim how I don’t like European wines I only like Oregon. (I failed to mention Okanagon as I knew this would go way over their heads.)
Shopping is very exciting here especially for someone like me. They have the most amazing book store, supposedly the largest in the States, where they mix up all of the new and used. It enabled me to whirl in – just visit the A and B sections - and wind up with almost 20 novels from Alice Adams and Anita Brookner – all unread by me before. How wonderful is that? The whole spotting and shopping experience took 5 minutes. I can’t even begin to gush about the plethora of vintage clothing stores – all museum quality with wonderful nic nacs strewn about. I purchased a beautiful black velvet chapeau with a huge ostrich feather from the early 1900’s, sooo beautiful. At the same time a very unusual green glass egg from 1920’s Prague whose inside is outfitted to serve some weird liquers (perhaps Absinthe?) The colour of the glass is unimaginably beautiful. Joop is prancing around in a 70’s Spanish leather coat for the unbeatable price of $30. I am still torn about this antique german doll with a kid body in perfect condition.
Then there are the leather purchases – the size and weight of which necessitated another suitcase purchase.
The leather shop was found in the old area of downtown – supposedly China town although we only found signs of a large gate – nothing else. There was the most peculiar odour in that region of town – quite horrific – and one we have occasioned upon in different areas since. It seems like a foul, concentrated urine smell. Maybe because of the huge homeless population? It is a weird problem. I haven’t noticed it in other large cities before.
Although it is entertaining enough to just remain downtown we have forced ourselves on other excursions – namely to the infamous coast. Enroute we drove through the most beautiful pastoral loveliness. Who knew Oregon was so agrarian? Just to the north west of Portland on the way to Cannon Beach is just lovely undulating pastured and treed hills. As you get more in towards the coast it becomes more heavily treed and all of the farms seem to be financially struggling, not quite as lovely.
I liked the coast but failed to see its huge draw. True it is nothing but expanses of sand and waves and wind, but you would have to be beyond brave or insane to venture in, particularly this time of year (there were a few), and there is nothing to find. Absolutely no beach combing, nothing visible from the outside of the ocean ( ie no spots for little sea creatures to collect and be seen), no boating. Just waves and wind buffeting you around as you walk endlessly. Perhaps good for the psyche as there were many doing this very activity. Despite the walkers there is a huge sense of loneliness where all you hear is waves, the lonely stacatto sound of sand being pelleted against empty crab shells and very rarely a seagull.
The coastal town of Newport does have a bay and a harbour populated with very loud sea lions and a lot of hopeful fishing boats. Once again you are forced to question – does anyone still catch anything? The whole ocean fishing thing is very regional and questionable. It is hard to get a sense if a particular area is suffering.
Driving back from the coast and in areas along the coast you pass through many farming areas interspersed with forested and clear cut areas. Clear cuts are random and aggressive looking and it makes you wonder if Oregon is the clearcut capital of the States. In amongst that ecological horror there is also pernicious sight of that invasive yellow broom type plant. Its flowers are the most beautiful yellow but once you know its stealthy quest to subsume all other flora you are unable to look at it. It is like a bright yellow blight. So there are periods of driving when you can’t almost look outside the car for fear of being confronted with ecological nightmares and even smell nightmares. For some reason certain areas are ripe with the smell of manure and this can go on for miles. All in all the countryside must be navigated carefully to try and avoid despair. That makes it sound awful because the truth is that pastoral loveliness abounds as well. It is just that juxtaposition that keeps you on your toes and nips in some fantasies of moving to Oregon and living on a farm.
This is our last morning here, Joop has gone off in pursuit of his lost camera. Let us pray that he finds it. It is unlikely after the Amsterdam loss that he should be lucky enough the have it returned to him by a miraculous path again.
In the couple of hours remaining I have to decide which illustrious purchases I will allow myself. I am committed to the crystal ball purchase but the rest I am still undecided. Our dollar has climbed enough to justify more than less.

The Unbearable Sadness of Leaving

It is so sad to be leaving - tonight at midnight - so today we will try and keep the day as routine as possible in order to not have the feeling of hawaii end too prematurely. The feeling of hawaii is a gradual encroachment, so gradual you don't even see it happening until you think back to what awaits at home - mostly just responsibility - and then you realize that you have been operating in days where the most taxing responsibility has been making sandwiches for lunch and when to leave the house for starbucks and the beach. And the biggest worry is always the quality of the water - how big are the waves, is the water clear? I think for the true health benefits to be had one should stay in this mode for a month, maybe to tempt fate - long enough so that the routine is boring. Wouldn't that be great? I wonder how long it would take before I found snorkeling boring? Each day is so new and exciting.
Yesterday we were guests of Harmen and Donna at the beach at Mauna Kea. Normally there is public access but it is very sparse and hard to come by unless you are there at 9am. The water was great for snorkeling which was such a relief because all week the ocean has be tumultuous and it is sometimes too wild to go out and because of all the tumult definitely too cloudy. But yesterday in the good conditions I managed to see an octopus. It was very darling and terrified. It crouched in a rock crevice looking so frightened every time we dove down to see him. You could just feel the intelligence radiating from his dear little body. In fact if I had to grade them you could sense they were more intelligent then our beloved sea turtles.
We were unable to fulfill my goal of snorkeling at captain cook. The day we tried the waves were so ferocious that the intrepid (or stupid) people that had gone out were having a very difficult time disembarking their kayaks. We witnessed one double kayak that sidled up to the cement pier and just when the helpful guys leaned down to give them a hand up the 3 foot cement drop to the ocean, a giant wave came and the one being lifted was flailing in the air getting knocked on the cement and the other poor sucker was almost tossed out of the kayak. Even in the world's most perfect conditions that disembarking is too difficult for me, I can't hoist myself up in a wobbly kayak with nothing to hold on to and somehow manage to leap to the pier. Last time one of the helpful guys leapt into the kayak and paddled me around to a beach. That beach was under too much wave action to even dare approach it on the day we contemplated a trip. My only consolation was that I was able to buy much beautiful Hawaiian fabric at a store coming home from Captain Cook. Now I need a new suitcase.
We managed to rouse ourselves for the botanical gardens and we took many beautiful shots of the exotic flora. The only consolation of the rough oceans has been the boogie boarding has been good for the boys. On the day of the picture I wasn't even able to go into the water the waves were so high. Kyr says that they were often boarding in 10 foot waves. It was terrifying to watch for the mother.
Farewell from Hawaii and pray we don't have too much difficulty getting home to snow bound BC.

Happy New Year

Hawaii has to be the fireworks capital of the world. When we were driving home after the tennis party(those tennisers really need a how to through a convivial party tip) Waimea was thickly covered in smoke so thick that we could barely see to drive, as though it was a thick fog. And it was simply the smoke from local fireworks. Our neighbors were so intense that they started their continuous fireworks by 5pm and by midnight they were so fast and furious they must have had 3 people doing nothing but lighting them. It was quite a neighborhood competition, one you realize that they take very seriously. I will declare our immediate neighbors that we can see from the lanai the winners compared to those that surrounded us simply because of the intensity of the post midnight display and the longevity. I worked out that inbetween the big huge fireworks it was important to have those little noisy ones firing the most intently in the neighborhood, and then just when you think the others have given up or their little ones are fading, you shoot a big huger into the sky. But the other neighbors surrounding are also very sly and they also have saved a big huger to try and dominate. But I would have to say that our lanai neighbors appear to be the slyest (and richest presumably) so that they ultimately had the last big fireworks. So really the most interesting part of the 5 hour fireworks display is that time after midnight when all the competitors are trying to achieve dominance. I wonder how they greet each other the next day? Do you think there is any overt acknowledgment of the winner or is it just one of those things where they carry the knowledge smugly inside them and only let it out months later at an opportune moment? In the few days leading up to New years the grocery stores sometimes have up to 8 aisles devoted only to fireworks. Not the kind of island for dogs like the Tobes.
Snorkeling and boogie boarding continue at a fast pace as we try to outrun the cloud cover that is supposed to descend tomorrow and not leave until our vacation is over. If that is the case we will still try and be intrepid and beach it in the clouds, and sometimes that is okay. It is really the water conditions that dictate the success of the expeditions and those don't seem to be linked to whether it is sunny or cloudy.