Seeking the elusive parkie
Our new neighbours remind me of the backup cast for an episode of Desperate Housewives, right down to the Porsche SUV and the wine in huge plastic goblets. Since the chatter continued until well after the witching hour last night, I may begin to miss the bamboo windchime that they’ve replaced. Camping by the ocean, with the sound of the surf blanketed by tales of brave Ulysses (I think that was his name); the true test of our mettle.
Anyhow, rain began during the night, enough that we waited for a relatively dry moment for the morning libations. In fact, we skipped our coffee ritual and went straight to town, where for a fee our friends at Smitty’s provided the usual big, hot mugs of Java. Along with bacon, eggs, potatoes and other solid foundations for the day, so that we could enjoy our first visit to the city since the start of vacation. Town, city; synonyms for the existential part of Island life.
Others may enjoy hunting for wild game; here in the capital we hunt for parking. Especially on a rainy, summer afternoon, where almost all of the spaces for rent are taken, because we passed two near the top of Queen Street, which left us as watchers. We followed a city police car down the street, safe from poachers, and down near the bottom of Queen Street we spotted the wonderful white tail of a car in reverse. Out. In. Put the dollar in the slot and relax for two more hours.
There’s abundant free wireless in the Confederation Centre library, along with librarians armed with the necessary WEP key on printed slips. A chance to catch up on posts, check mail, make sure that the bank is not yet empty of pennies and try some trivia. The Plazes flag shows that others have passed this way, and a library has an atmosphere that recalls the fine moments of academia. If only the university campus would offer a similar service (hint, hint).
