[lit-ideas] Re: Hereabouts
- From: profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sat, 7 Dec 2019 21:36:58 -0800
It was one of those moments when you stop to take stock. Having skipped the
parade of boats with Christmas lights the previous evening, we were
witnessing the parade of eighteen wheelers with Christmas lights at what I'd
call ideal pipe band distance, which is to say viewed across the Victoria
harbor waters. The trucks were attempting music by coordinated blaring of
horns. Our attention was on a heron, silhouetted in the near distance, and
so we both saw an otter leave the water, run across the strand and take
shelter, possibly for the night, underneath the folk art, a memorial to
someone, composed of painted and piled driftwood. It's not often you seen an
otter who favors art.
A father and daughter, we were adventuring before she gets married next year.
We spent the day getting a family ring remade for the occasion, and shopping
for dresses. Also meeting someone who went to the same school I did. She now
owns a cidery and lives close to the water. I was assessing whether retirement
hereabouts might be attractive. If we had millions, it might; the Victoria I
recall has been transformed by an influx of money and the passage of time. The
beer is better and I'm no longer impatient with the speed of traffic. But
otter or no, I doubt moving here is an option.
It has been a slightly complicated trip. E. had work commitments and so she
took one route and I another. Before setting off I looked at our fleet of
twentieth century cars and decided to rent. The agent explained that a Corolla
was an upgrade on the " Focus or similar," I had reserved. Had I had time I
could have engaged in debate about small distinctions, or upgraded to a Volvo,
but there was a ferry to catch, so I hied me north without taking time to learn
about radio or cruise controls. As I motored on, I couldn't get the latter to
work. What did work was electronic nagging. After a couple of hours an image
of a steaming coffee cup appeared in view. "Wouldn't you like to take a
break?" I explained to the car that I had a ferry to catch. It was not
satisfied. Every now and then the dashboard would ding to call my attention to
the steaming cup. I ignored the nagging and made it to the ferry nine minutes
before they had the right to give away my reserved spot. It's not much of a
system the Blackball line has: you pay to reserve a spot but you still have to
arrive an hour before departure. Then they give you a ticket. You drive
forward thirty feet...and they come to collect the ticket.
Don't they remember what role a black ball played in "Treasure Island"?
In Canada I found E's designated meeting spot. Neither of us had cell phone
service. I also found the only meter in Victoria that doesn't like credit
cards. I think the Siemens parking ticket machine was probably in electronic
dialog with the Corolla.
"Did he drink coffee when you told him too?"
"Nope."
"Well then, we'll see how he parks without a card."
We had dinner. E. drove us back, parked in the driveway of our air B and B.
We gathered up all our jackets and so on, closed the doors, locked them with
the loud electronic noise cars now make, looked for the side gate...found we
were in someone else's driveway. Ours was an identical house, three along.
We looked to see if the curtains were twitching, bundled all goods and
ourselves back into the car, drove on.
The next day we met the jewelry woman and her parents. My job was to not
mention politics to her father, who is from Alberta and apparently not of a
Liberal bent. We got along fine, and the jeweler was a hoot.
Had a great Japanese curry, saw a head dress made of chickens' feet. In the
Militaria shop I didn't buy a sword. Well done, eh?
We didn't find a wedding dress, but E. got an Inuit felt coat and I bought a
copy of a book called, "The Climax." It's a novel about singing. I don't
yet know quite what its appeal may be.
No chickens in chapter one.
David Ritchie,
Victoria, B.C.
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