Shiela Stops in at the Laundromat

Shiela and Frank taking a well deserved break

Laundry day at the laundromat makes me feel like a student again. I toss sheets, towels, gotchies and other assorted apparel into the washer, throw in the detergent and take off for one of any the 6 cafés within the radius of the block (though there weren't' such an assortment anywhere to choose from in the '70's). Today I worked on my Spanish homework but last week, that was a different story.

I don't usually like hanging around laundromats. You're uncomfortably crammed into the spare chairs butted arm to arm against each other, so close that you invade another's space no matter how hard you try and make yourself small…and I'm 4'10" tall and around 100 lbs.

People talk to themselves.

OK.

Sometimes it's me, though I try to be mindful.

Though talking to one's self is perfectly normal when done in the confines of one's own home, one comes across as just plain weird when you engage yourself in conversation in public. I know. I give "those" people a wide berth.

People who frequent laundromats come from all walks of life.

Some, like us, are renting places with inadequate laundry facilities - meaning amongst other priorities they are lacking a full service café nearby.

Many laundromatophiles in Victoria are travellers passing through who barely speak or read English. And since no 2 types of washers or dryers operate the same way anywhere I thank God for universal body language which I've used to demonstrate: how much change is needed and what it looks like, where the laundry detergent/liquid goes and the very precise sweet spot to whack with one's fist in order to spur some of the washers into action.

And then there are the dishevelled types like Frank who look like they came out from under a rock. I tend to avoid those too. To be precise, Frank could have come out from under a bush in Beacon Hill Park at 7 a.m. that morning (Here's a little known fact - people are allowed to camp from 7p.m. to 7a.m. in Beacon Hill Park but they have to pack up camp during the day leaving no trace of their presence).

I know this because his dog introduced me to him.

Seven year old, German Shepherd, Shiela lay on a comfy mat placed by the all to close chairs, keeping an eye on Frank as he sorted his laundry. The cluster of chairs was pretty crowded so off to the café I was heading when I came across Frank's gear and asked him to tell me his story.

Franks walks his bike with Shiela at his side

Basically he's walking to make Shiela known for being the first dog to walk across Canada to prove that anyone can achieve their goals no matter what the challenge and if he dies before she does his hope is that her fame will land her a loving home.

Frank has prostate cancer.

Rather than endure chemo and ingest medications he's chosen to walk with her and be supported by the grace of God and the kindness of strangers.

Read about his amazing story here - WALKING THE DOG ACROSS CANADA - (CFJC News) where you will also see how to support Shiela's journey and Frank's dream and you'll access his blog - Shiela's Cross Country Trip. If you can't access his blog from this link, copy the link from the article WALKING THE DOG ACROSS CANADA and paste it into your browser as I had difficulty accessing it any other way.

As a dreamer myself I can't help but support Frank and Shiela's dream. Blessings to you Frank and all the best to you and Shiela on your journey may God go with you.

Life Lines

© Nance Thacker 1984
click on image to enlarge

The weekend has found me in a reflective mode. In my ongoing quest to de-clutter and simplify my life I've been going through my "stuff". Actually, not really my stuff, rather memories of the lives of others recorded in letters from family and friends that I'd received during my early years in Victoria.

I've carried boxes, filled with these letters from the '70's and 80's back and forth across the country and I think it's time to let them go, but not before reading them once more.

My sister-in-law, Di, and I were talking via g-mail phone the other day, marvelling at how technology keeps us connected in so many ways. Today there's: g-mail phone, i-phone favourites that allow fee free calling, Face Book, Skype, Face Time, texting, What's App, Tweeting, e-mailing and I'm sure there's a whack of stuff out there I've never even heard of. Communication is immediate and, for the most part, glitch free.

I don't buy that technology is isolating us. Face Book is where the Dream Team (my peers from dream teacher training I and II living all over the world) meet, share our dreams, inspire and further each other's education in dreams. Technology is my life line to friends and family living afar.

Back then though "snail" mail was pretty much all that we had that was affordable. Daily, I'd look for word from "home". Every letter received was like a big hug.

While I was out here living the life of a struggling artist/yogi, my friends' lives were moving through major transitions: marriages, home ownership, "real" jobs and careers, births, raising children, illness, deaths, and all the financial and family responsibility that goes with the territory. Others were studying and or travelling abroad: hiking, bike trekking and living with "friends" they'd made along the way - to be honest, I envied them the most.

Though our lives were so different, family and friends were supportive of my aspirations; often asking how the cartooning was doing. My younger sister, in letters from the mid '80's told of meeting 2 women in the Maritimes who knew of, and followed, my work in Monday Magazine - that thrilled me!

It got me looking through my cartoons and this one popped out as it pretty much summarized my life experiences at that time. No, I didn't have a meat cleaver thrown at me, but the crazed cook (and inspiration for the "chef" in the cartoon - he made Gordon Ramsay look like a pussy cat) at the Fat Cat Café a 24hr diner on lower Yates Street did threaten me with a knife while I was on duty once. Yup, life was different back then.

Anyway, that's another story…

What will I do with the letters? I'm mailing them back to the authors with a letter of appreciation and thanks for all their love and support over the years. They have no real idea how wonderful it felt for me, living on my own in my own world, to receive these life lines from home. But they are filled with their memories so, maybe when they read what their younger selves recorded they can reflect and appreciate their life's journey too.

Island Girl's A1 Tour

Christmas holidays were a wonderful whirlwind filled with family, food, friends and fun so I'm starting the year feeling particularly blessed.

We got a chance to play tour guides for our friends escaping the sub zero temperatures and snow of Montreal. They wanted to chill…they came to the right place. Most evenings were spent vegging in front of the TV after a day exploring downtown Victoria and surrounding areas. The weather was with us so we got a chance to show them Victoria at its winter best; moderately damp, filled with vibrant hues of greens and lush landscapes. A day of rain in the middle of their visit allowed us all to kick back at home, a welcome break in an otherwise packed schedule.

We wanted to give our guests a sampling of the best this area has to offer; an overview of life on the island. The last day of 2013 we motored up to Jordan River, with a stop at French Beach where we witnessed these California Seals playing in the ocean. This was such a gift bearing future memories for all of us.

We planned to eat at the restaurant across the road from the beach at Jordan River which would afford an unobstructed view, only to find the restaurant closed for the season. So we back tracked to Point No Point which was open for business and offered warming soups on the menu. Our taste buds were delighted and stomachs soothed as we gazed out upon the stormy sea far below. Kathy was so taken by this place that she claimed it as her own with plans to stay there on their next visit.

The view from our table at Point No Point Resort's dining room

Point No Point delighted her almost as much as the houseboat community down by the Wharf in Victoria. "People REALLY live here?" she kept asking. It was something out of a children's book she said, amazed that people could really live this kind of life.

The house boat community, scene from earlier visit as I didn't have my camera with me  this time

A perfect sun-filled day allowed us to show them the view from the Malahat on our way to Cowichan Bay and one of my favourite bakeries, True Grain Bread, where we snacked on pastries of our choice and a hot, aromatic coffee. Cowichan Bay is bigger than it looks. It's worth peeking into nooks and crannies and following the signs that point down to the water's edge. Below the street level shops there exists an active artisan community comprised of studios and shops. Kathy and I enjoyed talking with the owner/artist/painting teacher of Tangerine Dream Gallery and Studio and learning about the artists behind the works displayed within.

A typical, lightly drizzly day, though colder than usual didn't deter us from showing them the Kinsol Trestle. The hike was longer than I remembered from my first visit. As I approached the trestle I realize that we'd come at it from the other end before and that the trail extends 4 km in one direction, 15 in the other (Note to self: perfect for biking on milder days) and is part of an extensive trail system.

The tour was complete when this most spectacular sunset graced us as we drove along Dallas Road after viewing the city, the island, the strait, islands and mountains beyond from a perch on Mt Douglas. The perfect end to a perfect day…

The Love Affair Continues…

Since reading about the Pacific Marine Circle Route published in the latest edition (winter 2013) of the BCAA magazine WESTWORLD, the road had been calling us. Last Tuesday morning we were greeted by sun and warmth; a spectacular day for goin' down the road.

Rod and I had both, on separate occasions, traveled the rugged, unpaved logging inland roads of southern Vancouver Island in the '70's. Back then one needed either a 4 wheel drive or a substantial suspension. Lacking those, an intrepid driver with excellent reflexes and nerves of steel was needed to maneuver all the obstacles along the way. It wasn't about getting anywhere in particular but about the thrill of the drive.

The article promised a paved road through the interior (completed in 2009) linking Port Renfrew on the west coast with Cowichan Bay on the east, winter storm waves, and "some of the biggest and oldest trees on the planet". As if I needed further enticement, I knew that baked goods awaited at TRUE GRAIN in Cowichan Bay, yum!

I packed some snacks and water for the trip. We jumped into the car and took off at 9a.m.

There was so much to see along the 255km loop that we had to choose what to pass by and save for another day or our day trip would become an overnighter, the kitties would be ticked off and there would be poo. I looked longingly as we passed: Sooke potholes, Sandcut Beach, French Beach, the Deja vu café at Jordan River overlooking the ocean, and Sombrio Beach.

2 lone surfers hanging out in calm waters at China Beach

We stopped to stretch our legs and hiked down a well groomed trail so I could revisit China Beach. In contrast to my last visit here in the late '70's when I came to watch the surfers (surfing in Canada!) no bushwhacking was required to get to the beach.

mood lighting at China Beach

We stopped in at TOMI'S HOME COOKIN' in Port Renfrew. I thoroughly enjoyed a bowl of some of the best ever coconut curry chicken soup with home made bread while Rod chowed down on a burger and Cesar salad. When I commented on the picture on the wall of the Red Creek Fir the world's largest Douglas Fir and talked of my intention to visit it (actually hug it,  though I didn't say it in so many words) and the San Juan Sitka Spruce (Canada's largest Sitka Spruce tree) our host pulled out a map of the area detailing the Tall Tree Tour in Port Renfrew area, the many notable giant trees that could be found, and how to get to them. She gave us a timeline and further directions.

We realized that this quest would require a trip of its own. Oh, well just another excuse to come back and have more soup along the way.

Just down the road from the restaurant and a short walk through a forest, unlike any I've seen on the island before, are Botanical Beach and Botany Bay separated by an outcropping of rock. These have got to be the prettiest, most magical little beaches I've ever seen. We hit them at high tide so few tide pools were available to explore but I could have stayed all day just watching the surf roll in.

Botanical Beach

At Botany Bay a sociable, pot-smoking, former hippy/logger/surfer dude showed up and struck up a conversation with us. How wonderful it is out here especially on a beauty of a sunny winter day when there is no one else around. How blessed are we to be living here. His sentiments hinted that he too was an import from another place; true. He assured me that the growth of the area was natural. Due to the lay of the land and the prevailing winds, little pockets of micro climates are created throughout the island, each with their own distinctive flora and terrain.

He told us, "It's either pissing rain or sunny up here while down in Victoria you have more consistently good weather mixed in with drippy, dull days. If you don't like what the weather's doing where you are just hop in your car and drive to where it's better." I'll keep this in mind.

Huge Heron swooped in to sit for a spell

Sensing that he was eager to strip off and soak in the sun in privacy we said our goodbyes. The sun would be set before we got to Cowichan Bay and there was still much to take in.

Logged areas scar the landscape of the interior but this wasn't the unbroken desolated moonscape that stretched for miles and miles, as far as I could see, that I'd remembered from my past travels here. Signs are scattered along the coastal route noting dates of reforestation. Most of those forests are younger than I and much taller than I would expect, beautiful and lush with a wildness and density due to the effects of the western rainforest climate. And so it is in the interior. Fortunately stands of old growth still remain and I pray this will always be so. My hope is that this route will expose people to the majesty of these ancient beings; in their presence reverence is born.

Just a side note: Another excursion to undertake is to walk amongst the old ones at Cathedral Grove as we did on our trip to Tofino. You'll come away intoxicated and rejuvenated by the smells of cedar and fir which will linger in your hair as you drop into bed assuring a delicious night's sleep.

An island fit for fairies in Ferry Lake

Ferry Lake was a Zen-like magical little stop along the way; another excuse to return for further exploration.

We emerged at Cowichan Bay shortly after the sun had fallen and grabbed a bite at COWICHAN BAY SEAFOOD - a rich, hearty smoked salmon pasta for me and loaded fish chowder, turkey sandwich with a small salad for Rod. While Rod waited for the food to come I trotted over to TRUE GRAIN just under the wire (they close at 6 p.m.) and I stocked up on bread, shortbread cookies and carrot raisin & pumpkin seed spelt cookies.

We enjoyed our leisurely meal before hitting the road again and rolled in about 8 p.m. and were greeted by two starving, vocal kitties but… no poo!

Is it possible to love a place as you would a person because I swear that I'm in love with this island.

GOBSMACKED

Yup, this appropriately describes how I feel about this island and its beauty.

Last week we went "up island" to Tofino for a few days to participate in a local past time; storm watching. This time of year the winds blow pelting rain in all directions and the waves roar, tossing tree trunk sized logs onto the beach like matchsticks. This storm day is relatively benign yet the shore tells another story of crashing waves heaving heavy loads into the tree line rimming the sand and I'm awed by the untamed, fearsome beauty of nature.

The first night we walked MacKenzie Beach and were blessed with this magnificent sunset. I sat under the cloudless evening skies that graced our nights, watching shooting stars dance above as I played my drum to dream the dream forward.

Wickaninnish Interpretive Centre aka Kwisitis Visitor Centre at Wickaninnish Beach, Tofino - the centre is being redesigned to reflect the area's cultural and natural landscape. I could spend hours digging into the visible storage and interactive displays. There's still more to see but I'll save that for another visit. The restaurant offers a place to sit by the fire to dry off because you'll be drenched from your beach walk. You can enjoy light fare, warm drinks and treats, like we did, from a window seat - the perfect vantage point for storm watching.

This glistening, lovely totem welcomed us as we walked through the woods along the well-manicured trail leading to the beach, a short distance from the centre. Bear eats salmon as killer whale dives into his head and eagle just sits atop it all.

One of the many coves that dot the way.

Here's our vantage point from dog and family friendly Ocean Village Resort on MacKenzie Beach. The perfect location -  a 5 min drive into Tofino and a short drive the best surfing beaches on the island. The little kitchenette; cozy, well laid out space and most comfy bed ever makes one feel right at home! We headed out later in the day so that we could lounge around in the belly of our cedar cocoon, reading while listening to the waves, the rain on the roof and the wind. From our 2nd level perch we could see the beach and ocean beyond. A solitary swim interspersed with dips in the hot tub was my reward upon our return from the beach walk. Ah, the capping of a perfect day!

Another beautiful sunset lights our easy as we head home after visiting family in Campbell River.

Sea lions barking & fresh bread baking

SUITCASE DIARIES
Tues Nov 5 - Wed Nov 6th

We're off to my friends' place in Maple Bay on the east coast of Vancouver Island, about 90 minutes from Victoria. Though this isn't a huge distance to cover, we have to go "over the Malahat" a very scenic and often treacherous part of Hwy #1. You don't want to drive this stretch in inclement weather or the dark of night, so we are staying over night at their place. The last few times we've passed through it's been shrouded in fog but, when the sun shines its stunning scenic views are revealed and one feels blessed to be alive.

Our gracious hosts take us on a round trip boat tour from Maple Bay to Crofton. Midway we drop anchor in a sheltered bay to enjoy a picnic lunch onboard and watch porpoises and a pair of sea lions as they pass by. Though our hosts have navigated these waters for 10 years and the other guest has lived here for 16, these sightings still excite. We jump up and herd from window to window to witness their passage, spilling wine in the process. I swear I can hear the male sea lion snorting each time he breaks the surface of the water as they undulate with surprising speed and grace.

Our captain takes us to Crofton where sea lions hang out on the docks, log booms or anything else they choose. Their barks greet me when I step out on the deck.

These guys walk on the logs in the water like they're going for a stroll.
Logs are being loaded for transport and milling in China.
I was told that 10% of logs used to be shipped over but it has risen to about 30%
causing the closing of many local mills.

The "cloud factories" of Crofton.

Back at our friends' place, salt-sea-air refreshed, renewed and relaxed, we sit by the fire with our wine and share stories of our lives. All of us are transplants from Ontario; grateful to be able to experience the riches and magic of this place.

The next day Rod and I go to Cowichan Bay on our way back to Victoria. Our hosts told us, most enthusiastically, "You must go there. TRUE GRAINS the best bakery in the area. They use B.C. grown grain and you can watch them mill the flour onsite while you have your coffee and treat." So we did. Melt in your mouth shortbread for me, a pastry (the inspired creation of the day) for Rod and a bag full of bread, scones and cookies for our pantry.

Cowichan Bay is a little community of unique, independently owned shops which picturesquely frame the ocean and take you back to simpler times. In fact "in 2009 Cowichan Bay became North America's first Cittaslow community. Cittaslow communities are characterized by people who: take time to build community relationships, celebrate the community's unique history and traditions, promote craftsmanship and environmental stewardship, maintain the community's distinct character, and engage residents and visitors by sharing in high quality living."*

Fortunately for anyone travelling up island, this place, just off Hwy#1, is on the way.

*this info from Cittaslow Cowichan link found on True Grains website

MARE-ZEE-DOATS

On Saturday I was reading through letters and short stories I'd written in the '70's and '80's and came across a piece called MOVING DAY in which I recounted launching into an unforeseen two and a half year venture as a house-sitter.

A synchronic event compels me to post this part of the story and here's why…

Yesterday I checked in to see what's been going on at AMAIA DREAMS' DREAM BOARDS as I'd been absent for quite a few months now. One of the members had started a new category called MAGICAL MOMENTS wherein she suggested we would, "have an ongoing thread where we could share positive things, like a moment of gratitude or delight over something or a little magical moment that made us smile."

I glanced through the comments on the first page and this one jumped out at me, "Mares eat oats, and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy." These are lyrics from the song Mairzy Doats written in 1944 and much loved by my Mom.

As I was reading my story I wondered whether it was worth posting in my blog.

And then I read the comment in MAGICAL MOMENTS so here is an excerpt.

*       *       *

THE SET UP a summary -

A friend had helped me move out of the co-op house and took me to the house-sit. The owners were  out for the evening so we just dropped my belongings, stuffed into garbage bags, by the front door and headed out for dinner. When Sheib dropped me off, the house was in darkness and I had no idea where anything was. Basically I end up stumbling around, knocking things askew and swearing under my breath.

THE STORY from here -

"Shit!" I hop on my right foot, aiming all the while to grasp my left big toe with my left hand; the bags jostle on my back with a crinkling of plastic. The otherwise silent, still night is disturbed by the thumping of my feet and swearing. And then, giggling wafts down the hallway.

They're laughing at me. They're laying there in bed laughing at me, I am embarrassed by my clumsiness and lack of foresight to study the lay of the land before I'd headed out. No, they're not really laughing at me. They probably didn't even hear me come in. They're most likely having sex, sharing some sort of lovers' intimacy.

I'm just about to call out for some help with lighting when I trip over something at the bottom of the flight of stairs. As I try to keep from falling my hand hits a switch, turning on the light at the top of the stairway, welcoming me with its warm glow.

I trundle up the wooden stairs that creak with every footfall and make my way to "my" room.

Dropping the bags at the foot of the bed, fully clothed, I fall into its downy cushiness, falling into sleep moments later.

"Buckety coo, buckety coo…" the sounds of pigeons in the rafters above my head and the morning light streaming in wake me. I lay there, thrown back in time by the sound.

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do. They sound exactly like that." And in a soft melodic voice my mother mimics, "Buckety coo, buckety coo. You just have to listen sometime. You'll hear it." She was telling me about her own childhood experience visiting an eccentric uncle who'd kept and trained carrier pigeons. Their chatter would waken her as she slept in a bedroom under the rafters of his home.

I thought she was pulling my leg. After all wasn't this the same woman who would sing, "Mare-zee-doats 'n doe-zee-doats 'n li'l lam-zee-die-vee. Kid-sel e-die-vee too woodn'-chew."

What the hell did that mean?

I think she sang it just to torment me until the day my ears finally deciphered, "Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy. Kids will eat ivy too. Wouldn't you?" and I smiled, delighted by the playfulness of words.

Laying here now, my ears confirm "buckety coo" as the official language of pigeon.

THE STORY CONTINUES ON FROM HERE

I had hoped to write a book (and make my fortune in the process) about my house-sitting misadventures; this was the opening chapter. Life happens while you're making other plans.