I have to salute the farsighted people who did a rather decent job of photographing this area over the last eighty years. Not complete coverage, but close. When we decided to purchase our property, we could “see” what we were getting, from a historical perspective. And now I wonder…
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This morning, my house key was returned. That marks the completion of our long project, downstairs, although such projects are never really complete, are they? But for the record, my afternoons of relative silence will return. No more saw sounds. No more power nailer sound. No more holding the doors while materials move from the loading dock to the worksite (my best way of explaining that the garage served to allow oversize materials to come in).
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My camera is electric. Let me rephrase that. My camera runs on a battery. Rechargeable. And after an incident, close to a decade ago, when I went on a road trip with a dead battery (lasted for about five pictures), I decided to get better equipped. I now have two batteries (at least). Both fit in the camera body, via a bolt on attachment, and if I EVER get in a situation where both are dead, simultaneously, the fault will be entirely mine.
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The things we remember… on social media, a group were recalling their days of glory, at a local skating arena. I was there, before the ice. That is, I spent two weeks, almost five decades ago, fastening the layers of mesh, piping and insulation that have to be there before the big pour (concrete). When you are young, an indoor summer job is worth your time, even if it means calluses. I’m happy that other people have enjoyed my efforts (sic). Maybe, someday, I’ll lace up the blades and go for a victory lap. Or probably not. A half century will be the point where the city builds something better, and this place will be a footnote in recreational history.
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Although I haven’t watched it, yet, I’m attracted by a movie title from a half century ago: “What Did You Do In The War, Daddy?” The reviews have convinced me that there’s something to be learned here, for that eventual question: “What did you do in the pandemic?”
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Perhaps I lack a key element in my personal culture: I never played for a team. Behind us, historically, the team sport has a place of reverence. And cheering for your favourites isn’t the same thing as actually getting out on the field (or the ice; Canadian culture…)
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One of my preferred social media sites has a goldmine of old photos, from the town where I attended high school. I’m fortunate enough to remember lots of details from that era. BC (before children). Anyhow, when we were impressionable teens, we knew that there was a famous recording artist from the area. And, according to scuttlebutt, his girlfriend when he was younger (as in, our age) was none other than our teacher. I mean, before she was a teacher. Younger. You know what I mean.
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History, without focus, is the core of our myths. But, when you take a particular incident, and you attach a date and names, then you move into a more personal space. My ancestors, at least some of them, came to this area about two and a half centuries ago. I have the dates, and the names, and the ship (the Alexander) and the tales, due to substantial effort by a local history group.
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Just over a kilometer from my kitchen window to the shore. I take great comfort (and pride) in that number, because my long term plan involves staying here. Far enough inland to be safe from rogue waves, yet close enough to hear the sound. At least, when the wind is blowing the right way.
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Sometimes, things just make sense. We had some new snow, last night. It covered up my green paths from yesterday. And in the logical conclusion, the local sled squad returned this afternoon. And made more paths. I’m sure the novelty will wear off, but ’21 is starting off to be all downhill.
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