Tag Archives: Staycation

Crisis and opportunity

photo by gayle mavor

Liminal space. A latin word for threshold. In between, on the precipice of something new and yet unknown.

It was a lovely conversation between the CBC broadcaster Shelagh Rogers, (also the Chancellor of the University of Victoria), and the poet Lorna Crozier that led my attention to focus on this word and that’s how writing begins.

Something that resonates, grabbing hold, pushing me to open my laptop, turn it on and feel the necessity of putting words together, getting something down.

A sentence captured. A scene. An emotion. The way the light hits a pair of old curtains at a certain time of day and shadows the folds of the fabric. A memory jarred. About how so much of life, including life itself, is a liminal space, a time of waiting or being in an emotional state in between another emotional state that was less or more, or just different than the one we’re currently in.

I have lived my life as if everything is a liminal space and to my detriment, I think. I have rarely felt permanence, not since I’ve been my own person with what little control we have over our own lives.  

I think about what it must feel like to be in a relationship that we know is permanent, someone there, for better and worse, such a strong love that we know the other is it to us as we are to them.

Life gets easier when someone is in our corner and we know they are at home waiting. And what must it be like for those who thought they had that permanence, and it gets taken through the death of their person, through betrayal, through the loss of feelings, especially unanticipated, that force us to consider what next? The fear rising because we know a liminal space and messiness awaits if we make a choice we never imagined we’d have to make.

I have always been drawn more to the liminal spaces than to permanence all the while recognizing the illusion of permanence. Permanence, in the past, has felt like the jailor. Liminal is just over there, the greener grass, the other side of an escape that must be made.

And in this time of staying close to home, the anticipation of the threshold of new scenery, new faces, new ideas has been challenged. And that unsettles me. The summer, usually a time of anticipation, is filling me, no matter how much I don’t want such a feeling to rise, with dread.

There will be no festivals. No Moss street Paint In. No Powell Street Festival. No Harmony Arts Festival. There will be no plans of big escapes on an airplane to exciting foreign locales, landscapes of new beauty  and new chance encounters with strangers I’d have never met otherwise.

In a way it’s a return to a childhood in a working class family where the neighborhood was all there was. The park. The close by. The down the street and around the corner. The next door neighbours. The best friend. The family contained. The scenes played out at a dinner table. Every newly introduced guest was a curiosity then.  That’s what my childhood felt like.

There was, at times, hopelessness as well, a hopelessness that came from that small seemingly endless world of permanence. And in that realization, perhaps those past feelings of hopelessness that are attached to my childhood permanence hold the key to the appeal in the liminal for me.

How will I fill this summer? How will I rethink staying put? Every day and year more precious the older we get, not wanting anything to take any of our precious moments and dictate that, for a time, especially a time that we can’t predict, things will have to be less. And the even greater fear that less will be the new norm. Recognizing how less can be good — for other species, for ecology — and yet not wanting to accept less as an imposed way of being in daily human existence.

I’m left with the question of how to make this summer meaningful as this pandemic stretches on. What will I find and choose to look forward to? How will I figure out the best way to rethink the here and now in a way that works for me?

I have not been sick. Friends have not been sick.  I still have a pay cheque being deposited into my bank account. The impact on time and space are the least of the impacts for us lucky ones right now, and yet still challenging.

I guess I will really have to explore inside to redefine Liminal as possibility, to redefine how to create a pandemic summer of staying close to home that doesn’t depress the hell out of me.

I guess the challenge is to perceive of this upcoming summer as that Chinese symbol, the one with the double meaning – crisis and opportunity.

***

This idea for this post came from a conversation between Shelgah Rogers and Lorna Crozier in a new show called Good Company. 

 

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.