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champagne with Chris

Home – not to Toronto, but to Bruce’s nest in the clouds, seven stories above the ocean. I’d almost finished a draft of the memoir at 10.30 a.m. yesterday, forced myself out of bed to clean up, pack and have a last walk on the beach. Of course the sun was just preparing to emerge for the first time since I arrived. Even so, what a treat my two days were. Expensive – if I’d really calculated how much it cost, I would not have gone. But luckily I just heedlessly went ahead, to lie in bed for two days thinking, writing, reading. This is known as me time, much needed in our hectic world. And now I’ve had some.

Had to leave by 11 a.m., bidding a grateful farewell to Todd and Lynda who run the place and have created such a sanctuary of peace. I’ll have to come back again and try for some sun.

 The view outside the window 6 a.m. Thursday morning – nothing but white mist.

 The view of the kitchen from the bed, where I spent most of my time.

Stopped to take a look at Long Beach, but drove on.

I drove fast, because that afternoon, a big thunderstorm with hail was predicted – did not want to take a floatplane in a storm! So I made record time to Nanaimo, zipping through the most glorious scenery, shimmering mountain lakes and cedar forests … next time. My chariot awaited.

 The chariot.

Back to the big city and Stanley Park. What a sight!

Of course, Vancouver was hot, no storm at all, though it did rain overnight. After unpacking and getting myself organized I went to Chris’s where he regaled me with champagne, his drink of choice – and then we went to his favourite French bistro on Davie Street for dinner. He said after reading me complain about not going out for dinner in Europe, he had to make sure I had one nice dinner here. And it was plenty nice, the freshest halibut in a bath of ratatouille, divine. My friend who has been having such trouble speaking and moving has no trouble when he’s with old friends, and we’re pretty old, BFF’s since 1975. So we jabber a lot. Much to discuss. That’s what old friends are for.

Today it was grey, and I worked all morning finishing the draft and emailing it to Rosemary Shipton, the master editor, who has agreed to read it. A relief, and new trepidation. Now there’s a bit of blue on the horizon, and I’m about to head off to UBC for the first evening of the Creative Non-fiction Collective’s annual conference, which is why I’m here. Oh yes, THAT’s why I’m here. Almost forgot.



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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