Today I spent a little time in Vancouver for the first time since late November. I had to pick up my daughters from the Airport. I parked our hideous pickup at Scott Road Station and took the SkyTrain downtown, aiming to find my way to YVR.
This was easy to do because I like walking.
And when you really like something, it's hard to see why people think it's so weird. My students in Hope laughed at me when I'd walk the five blocks to downtown Hope for groceries; my fellow teachers raised an eyebrow when I told them that I regularly walked five kilometers from my home to the Mall of Arabia in 6 October City; when I told party-goers last weekend that I walked an hour and 10 minutes to the party, they looked at me like I must be hiding something. But I'm not. I enjoy my walking time. I really do.
But back to my story. I made it downtown and meandered a little.
And I got back on the SkyTrain to YVR. When I met my daughters and mother-in-law at Arrivals, they wanted to go get some food with some other in-law members of the family. They chose the Cactus Club in Richmond. They didn't have room in their car, so they offered to send someone else to come out and pick me up. And I said "No." I wanted to ride the SkyTrain and walk.
And by the time I was finished my SkyTrain ride to Richmond, which only took 20 minutes or so, I'd written this rant:
I'm the #WalkingSnob. Unless #WalkSnob is better. How would I know?
I don't know how to hashtag.
CBC Radio One's program "This is That" features one of my favorite radio segments of all time; I like to trick my students into thinking it's real every year. Click on the image below and it will take you to the site.
I even incorporate this episode into my everyday school life.
So, in the spirit of political correctness, "It's winter."
A few posts ago, I concluded that I needed to re-read some Rilke. When I wrote it, I had wanted to post Phyllis Webb's poem about Rilke, but I wasn't at home and couldn't find it online. Here it is, although I admit I'm posting this without permission:
I reluctantly took this photo from a textbook, not one of my many Phyllis Webb books (see below). Unfortunately, the disorder of my life is clearly reflected in the disorder of my home, and I cannot access her books at the moment. "Rilke" by Phyllis Webb in 15 Canadian Poets x3, ed. Gary Geddes. Toronto: Oxford. 2001. 144.
My last entry, titled "Needs," highlighted my continuing efforts to identify my own needs after years of self-denial in the name of religion. I've been slowly working my way through this workshop about Marshall Rosenberg's NonViolent Communication method. This morning, when I started the video while doing the laundry, he talked a little about needs, and I listened.
Starting at 1:41:50:
The crazy thing is, however, that it still makes very little sense to me. I feel like I've been psychologically gypped (slurbedamned) out of an essential life skill. I am annoyed.
A few days ago, this image appeared on my RSS Feed. It took less than a moment to recognize its location. That line of mountain crests put me exactly where the photo was taken: Harrison Mills, British Columbia. I immediately thought to myself, "Sigh, I have to drive for another 45 or 50 minutes or so before I get home."
My father hadn't even moved to this general area when this photo was taken, but, of course the mountains stay the same. It seems pretty obvious, eh? Nonetheless, 10 time zones and 66 years away from this photo, it felt refreshingly familiar to see those mountains.
The Internet Archive
YouTube: ephemeral ideas