Staycation II: Revisiting close to home

breakfast

I’ve relocated back to the float home for July. For the second year, it’s Staycation Central thanks to owners Pat and Janna who have made their annual migration back to their ocean-side home near Bonavista, Newfoundland.

As with every place we inhabit,  I have found my favorite place inside their home. It’s not, as you might expect, on the top deck, although that is especially nice on a sunny afternoon when the wind is minimal and the bees dip and settle.

For me, there is nothing better than Sunday mornings on the second level where, with coffee and fresh raspberries and yogurt, I can settle into the corner of the comfy velveteen couch, The Globe & Mail and The New York Times plucked from the old tin mailbox outside and now resting on the side table. This perfect cocoon on the comfy couch, offers a comfortable positioning to write longhand which, itself, such a rarity, feels deliciously decadent.

Couch

I can write my morning papers by hand with my favourite pen. My hand moves across the page of the large, hard covered Writer’s Way book I found for a steal ($2.50) at a recent flea market at the Westminster Quay. I can let go of all weekday worries of shoulds, musts, and ever-present wondering about redesigning my life and just relax into the moment, to feel gratitude, to just be.

From that little corner, I can scope out the entire room with all its marine-themed artifacts and allow daydreams to hover.  The olive-green river on an overcast day, like today, flows continuously past, movement as reminder of the fleeting realities we all face. The reflections of the trees off the far bank and the texture from smooth to linear, circles of tidal movement, seem like the varying thickness of paint on a canvas of abstract imagery. A fantastic creative retreat this does make. I feel a renewal of inspiration here the way you’re supposed to when you leave your familiar for viva la difference.

shells

A tugboat chugged by yesterday. I love tugboats. No matter how large, I imagine plucking them from the river and floating them in the tub.  The blue heron squawked by its legs outstretched behind it prehistoric. The eagle, I can’t see, calls out to me with that tell-tale, identifying high-pitched staccato piping.  The swan, alone this time, floated by the other morning. I wonder like last year if I’ll see them just once? I hope not.

beachglass

My return was christened yesterday. I dropped my keys into the river as I went to lock the door. I watched with horror as they succumbed to the green liquid just for a few seconds and were gone. Sucked under. As far as accidents go, a minor mishap. A walk, a bus ride, a Skytrain trip back to my apartment where, uncharacteristically,  I had copies of all of them. They were easily replaced, although I will miss my Roots lanyard key chain.

The familiarity of return. The anticipation of new finds. It’s good to be back even if it’s close to home.

Floathome Staycation Rocks but Gently

dawnontheriver

It’s been a fantastic Staycation on the river and now, boo hoo,  it is over.

earlymorningriver

As I write this, Pat is on a plane somewhere over Canada mulling over her own summer memories of Newfoundland and her other neighborhood.  She’s high above some place in this beautiful country that I’ve never seen or maybe never even heard about. Far beneath the big plane, sleepy inhabitants, like me, are waking up, making coffee, getting ready to enjoy whatever plans they have for their weekends.

outside

I’m up early, ready to wash all the sheets and towels and try to put everything back to the state of perfection I found it in minus the Purdy’s Haystacks. Sorry Pat. I’ll get you some. Trying to test me? I failed! But, you knew I would.

So many visitors commented on how tastefully this place was decorated. A real nautical theme but not overdone.

fish

porthole

It has been so wonderful to be here. I’ve had a lot of guests over for dinner. I’ve become familiar with a neighborhood that I’ve almost never visited prior to staying even though it’s a mere 20 minute drive from my own place. I’ve enjoyed walking down the road, a mix of light industrial and hodge podge residential and on Thursday, I finally saw a real live Canadian beaver, on the bank in front of the house. How do you know it’s Canadian? my manager asked me when I told him.  “It’s here isn’t it?”  The swans visited only twice. The blue herons at dusk.

My friends and family said to me, “You look like you belong here.”

mantle

Mostly, I’ve loved seeing what goes by on a river that has such great significance to B.C. and the history of our province. My impressions of the Fraser have been forever changed, at least in terms of how people use the part that winds through New Westminster, Queensborough, and Richmond.

sailboats

I never imagined that people kayaked it and two nights ago I even saw some guy, standing on one of those flat board, in the pouring rain, exploring. Can you believe it? Don’t fall in, buddy!  It could get messy. Contrast that with some of the yachts that have glided by and even a few yahoos speeding past, purposely making waves so the float homes will rock. And all the little whatever they are called, those tiny boats with one guy steering the motor from the back, just dodging to this bank and that log boom and having fun on a summer evening. Men fish off the banks under the bridge. There’s a lot going on. The brown river with the amazing history attracts life, human and wild and industry.

shells

I’ve bonded with Norman. Pretty much turned him into the most spoiled little kitty who thinks whining works. They’re going to hate me. Yes, sorry, I do have a habit of getting up really early and Norman just LOVES that. Don’t plan on sleeping in! Of course, Norman’s up, eats and then it’s nap time again.

Norman

I’ve enjoyed the luxury of having a built in washer and dryer and Netflix and a deck and living somewhere that people want to come and check out. It’s amazing how social life can be when you live somewhere that people WANT to see.

pulley

It’s been great to come home to a place that made me happy to just stay put.  Gratitude.  Thank you Pat and Janna.

Float-home Memories

floathome memories

I have only three distinct memories of the women whose float-home I am house-sitting on the Fraser River this summer while they have gone to their other home on the other coast, the east coast, and Newfoundland.

Not a river there right at their backdoor nor two red Adirondack chairs to sit and watch the tugboats from, but a white two-storey house, I imagine, or perhaps I saw a photo they showed me before they left. It has long grass in front  and a square porch that they look past on cloudy days; grass sloping down toward a white-capped cove they have now claimed as their own, not legally, but in attachment,  and little white rowboats all topsy turvy hopscotching around buoys.

Thinking back to another summer so long ago. 1993. Pat, hunched over her desk, always there, busy, scanning information like a reading machine.  Editor. I worked for her, on-call,  right out of journalism school. Occasionally, her humour would lift off through a comment in response to some letter to the editor, a ridiculous request from the faceless all-knowing, know nothing public. Her sarcasm and amazement sprinkling out over the cubicles that sectioned the dingy room like the marks of a surgeon on a stomach before surgery.

It seems as if the next time I saw them, in person, was after he’d killed himself. We were there, inside his float-home, further south along this same river. That abode, run down and wretched and the silence after a death filled the room, and me not able to contain the emotion I’d been pushing down. “No wonder he killed himself. Look at this place.”  The only words that came. And, Pat, bless her heart, responding, “It’s not so bad,” as if that would help. As if anything could make better what could never be made better.  It seems strange now that they were there, except they’d dropped by the neighbours’ place, his friends, and I’m not sure why we were all inside that tiny living room at all.

And, then, fast-forward to happier times. Salt Spring. They’d come for a weekend get-away and thanks to the connections of Facebook, Pat messaged me to ask if I’d like to have breakfast at the Treehouse on a sunny Sunday morning in spring. It had been years since I’d seen them in person. It was a taffy-coloured morning  and  their surprise visit that went so well made everything that much better.

So, you see, I barely know them at all really and yet here I am, in one of their homes. They are getting married today, or was it yesterday? I’m not even sure and it might seem like just another wedding until you read what Pat  wrote on her Facebook page, after she left the West Coast, to marry Janna, the woman she’s shared her life with for 31 years.

Here’s part of what she shared…

“…For those who know me, I’m a pretty private person, and the thought of exchanging vows – or anything in public – is not my idea of fun. But, I marched in protests in the late ’70s just to get job protection for gay and lesbians – and yes, I was fired from a job for being gay (although, granted, I was also crappy at that job!… not in journalism), and while not a fan of the whole marriage institution (don’t get me going) it seems like the right thing to do at this time for a whole lot of reasons.

I must confess, while marching with my protest sign in my stylish suede blazer and Gloria Steinem glasses, I would never have envisioned a time when we would have the right to marry. Basic equal rights at that time seemed an impossible quest. Even trying to get equal pay as a woman required legal threats and action.

So, lastly, I want to thank all of my (our) friends and allies (and there have been many!) who have stood with us (and I mean that in a personal and much wider sense) as we have fought the hard battles. We couldn’t have done it without you!
And, in a very real way, you’ll all be standing with us on the shores of Blackhead Bay, when we say our vows and do whatever it is we’re supposed to do with those darn rings … rings, oh yah, better remember to bring those!!!…”

Congratulations to you both.  I trust your wedding was completed in a style that only you two could pull off. Tears and cake. And, more cake.

And for me, in your floathome, another distinct and very happy memory.