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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Driving back from work, 9:00 PM, and someone flags me down - middle of the highway, orange safety vest, manically waving a flashlight. I pull over, Was there an accident?!! What's up!!!? Nope.
None of the above, it's Nick, from further up a road I used to live on in Balfour. Nick, brother of ..... son of ...., Nick, who used to work at the ... ... ...., Nick has to get to town, it's an emergency, just drive quick thank you very much. He lets himself in the car as soon as I pull over, no questions, it's a novel presumption this, that I'm somehow sharing his desperation, his mission, sense of urgency; that we can do this together...
The whole family from ..... road are wing-nuts, poorly socialized, inbred, they'd probably be diagnosed "Autistic" but - really, how could you, there's so much going on up there.
Nuts breeds nuts. So just drive and listen to Nick calm himself, he's saved, he's going to get to Nelson, he's 2 backpacks with him, he's got to see an old friend who's in town, up in Fairmount, I can drop him anywhere.
So we chat the rest of the drive, or rather, he largely chats and I listen, I've met almost everyone in the family, all of them nuts, bonkers, I've only not met the mother, probably because by some Hassidic tradition she's not allowed out of the house, (they're members of one of the many cults of "Kootenay Jews", which seem to only require "identifying with", and they're all allowed to get away with it because we don't have enough real Jews to protest. I'm not sure there are any Jews at all out here, because it's not polite to ask, it's a little challenging, and so you have to take everyone at their word.)
And come Nelson get him out of the car and he's all confused again, why would I want him out? But he's got to see his old friend, remember? And he's confused and blinking his light around my jeep to make sure he's not forgotten anything, and I'm wanting him out because there's something about crazy that I'm starting to lose patience with...
Find my parking spot down by the airport, usually quiet but tonight a group of high school students - 4 cars in total, have taken up drag racing on the strip. Now I know why the police are always down here, only they're not down here tonight - one of the kids must have a cop as a father....
In the morning, up, still sore in every limb, the hip-abductor, which has doubtless greatly improved my child-birthing skills has also greatly impeded my ability to walk, and while I should be going to the gym I'm instead sitting around and wondering if this can be postponed yet another day...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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At the fishbowl cafe, early, always, get warm, filled with other get-warmers, typically the homeless just setting out to kill an 18 hour day. Conversing with the young female baristas, at tones loud enough for the entire cafe to hear, about Dodge Trucks and how much gas they use and he'd never be able to pedal the gas for fear it would run out, and - you know, he'd never be able to pedal the gas because he'd never acquire a license to drive, never raise enough on the street to buy a truck, let alone the tank of gas, and so this conversation, entirely irrelevant, but the barista's bearing it with an admirable stoicism.
Next up is K***y, a wreck I see every day, gaunt, bearded, he travels all over town with his bags filled with (???), not unhoused, he's maybe in his 70's, severely disabled, but he's got the tricks, he stands beside me and shuffles the three dimes in his hand, trying to get together enough for a coffee, it's impossible, he knows, and so he rolls his eyes imploringly at me...
He'd done this to me yesterday, I'm an easy mark, clearly he is one of the least fortunate, least capable of Nelson's homeless contingent, and I don't even think he's homeless, he's got a place somewhere, institution, but he's capable enough he's given free reign over his days and spends them on the bus to Balfour or Nelson and all points in between....
Once he's secured funding for his coffee he begins in his halted, peculiar tones to discuss the impeachment of Trump, and I need really to find another café to warm up in these first few hours before the library opens...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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So, something to look forward later in the week, Wednesday night, a date.
And the best of intentions - as too often is the case, are derailed by Jr. popping into town on Tuesday night and wanting to tie one on. Which we do, hitting half a dozen bars and ordering doubles at every one becoming in gradual and quick increments every shade of possible annoying. This doesn't particularly matter as few of these bars are worth hanging out in, and I'm not a "bar" guy, but by the last one we're barred from having drinks (reasonably enough). Eventually I pack him into a taxi and send him off.
Phew.
I did not need that.
Wednesday day is devoted to recovery; and so finding myself a nice park bench across from Oso to enjoy the sun and lie down for a long nap to recover. A long nap. A few hours, the sun is perfect, hot, I even manage a sunburn. Slowly I'm recombobulating.
Wednesday night, 8:00 PM, date shows, she's a beautiful elegant European, we drink sparkling water and chat and I'm impressed, and she's laughing a charming laugh and pulls out her phone and she happened to be out for a walk today and took this picture and isn't it funny and .... there I am, on the bench, out like a light.
And I realize that I've taken this celibacy thing a little bit far, doubled down on it, made my bed as it were and I should have left myself an opening, allowed for the possibility that I might change my mind....
Drink your sparkling water, chat (as well as I am able, which is not so...), and that's that and it has become painfully apparent that it's time I do some serious reforming of my lifestyle...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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And - restaurant opening deferred until tomorrow, so this evening it's the member's show at the museum.
I bought/renewed my membership for this. It should be good.
I was right, it didn't disappoint. A very mixed bag of art - watercolor, acrylic, oil, encaustic, mixed, some "flowers" done in the acrylic pouring style that inspired me - these were what the technique was designed for, and they're realized perfectly. All of the art shows talent, perfection of technique, but there are only a few pieces that grab me. A few, simply the execution - not the subject (landscapes, local architecture, mountain scenes). There's a fine picture of Gimli peak, very moody, but unfortunately printed onto canvas - I hate this. Photography is an art form that shouldn't be printed on canvas - it's an attempt to make it - well, something it's not. It doesn't improve it.
Some sculptural pieces, I need to learn to weld. Actually, I don't really, I need to find a place to work. This lack of studio/think space is killing me.
And on and on, the gallery - small, crowded, they're selling wine and have canapes out, and there's a few people from the community I recognize and a lot more that I don't.
I find M***'s piece, M*** from the thrift shop, and it's good, mixed media on canvas, abstracted to the point you wouldn't recognize it as a person - merely textures and colors, but that was his point. He arrived to much greater effect at what he was trying to do as I would attempting to do a figurative self-portrait spending hours looking into the mirror.
...I'm impressed, it's good, will probably sell, it's decorative, pretty, people like this. And I'm a little closer to understanding him, "his art" - always hinting - never giving anything away, but that's his charm...
Visit, but the gallery is crowded, only the smaller half of the gallery is open and it's a milling ground for people to chat and catch up, "Society" as it were, and had I dressed a little better, or taken the time to get a piece into the show (how? I need a place to work...) I might have - should have - taken the leisure to socialize, grab a glass of wine and "hob-nob", but it was a bit crowded...
But - again - 5 Stars, local talent overflows and there's abundant inspiration and something to work towards next year...I'm curious how much of this sells, prices vary from a few hundred to close to ten grand, very curious indeed...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Sitting at the Kootenay Bakery, watching the passers by on Baker.
Daniel Boon, late 50's, in a 'coonskin cap, lumberjack-plaid shirt, a long beard...
A stocky but tall Alan Moore with Wizard's robe and staff...
Both of the above appear careless in their appearance, but, look closer, not at all, not at all...
A beatnik, reflective glasses, tilted flat Gatsby cap, plaid sports jacket, clean shaven...
The artist or writer, a-la Dudley Moore, Long curly hair, oversized beige-green cable knit sweater, khaki-beige trousers, Doc Martens, a blue scarf around his neck and tucked into his sweater, khaki canvas messenger bag over his shoulder, this one, he cultivates a certain air of aloofness,
The DJ, horn-rimmed glasses, a neck tattoo, buzzcut left a little longer on top, a goatee under his chin, fashionable...
Skinny guy with long dreads down to his waist, bundled under a Rasta-cap, long wispy moustache and goatee, sauntering jauntily....
There are some new buskers out living the dream, new faces, a newly welcomed "guitar" guy got a shout out in the local "hugs & slugs" for livening somebodies day, have seen him around, long black trench coat,...
and this is how you know that summer's coming, all the absurd new characters that pop-up in their spiritual pilgrimage to Nelson...