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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Sunday, JR's back - better (was he ever sick?), keen to work hard from 11:00 until 2:00 when he's off to catch his Ferry. In 2 weeks he's worked almost 3 hours, he's trying to prove his worth to his parents.
I'm not making this up.
The evening, slow, a very few tables but I have some regulars, preposterous tippers, that make up for the shortfall. 40% tippers. This is ridiculous.
One, a writer, author of a soon to be published spiritual autobiography, chatting to me at the bar, he's just having the final draft checked for it's "field of consciousness" rating.
"Clayton?" I ask, referring to the owner of a particular machine that beams consciousness into the world, whom I've referred to abundantly before. A major Nelson employer.
And, small world, so it is.
***
Monday morning, volunteering at the thrift shop. Get it done. After which lunch, the library, thrift shops, a few errands. Listen to the ambulances come and check on the homeless people in a stairwell, underpass, fire trucks, the weather, so-so.
Tuesday, up early, coffee, then Dentist. And this is the first time the hygiene tech completes the cleaning. The electric toothbrush, it's gotta be doing something.
Then, again, library, tacos, library again. Then to the Gym. This is the last of my punch pass, I've used it all up, musclebound and 2 weeks early. Now to buy another.
Treat myself with a trip to DQ.
***
The Car is proving a disaster. It's needing every fluid - gas (of course, they all do), oil, transmission fluid, power steering fluid, antifreeze, the fucking thing is leaky as a sieve, and there's no prospect (apart from my lottery ticket) of my buying another. Live with it.
These fluids need topping up every tank of gas. Not that I buy full tanks anymore, half-tanks only. But it's a snowball of debt just keeping it marginally on the road.
***
Wednesday morning, A* in the kitchen wants me to take her rock hounding. A few places, old haunts, we collect some garnets, fluorite, quartz crystals and silver specimens.
I'm sitting on a gold mine if only I had a place to upcycle it. A toolshed. An apartment. Anywhere, really. But, as it is it just weighs down the car.
I'm feeling the need for a place to live, but I have to wait until I've slain a few more debts...
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And I've been doing the math, this homelessness, it's gotten a bit much. Even when I have a vehicle to stay in the expenses mount. No place to cook means all meals are taken out. A couple hundred bucks per week. Coffee. Another hundred. Gas, and the revolving expense of a perpetually broken/breaking down vehicle. The inability to entertain, or sit up late on the computer and write, or get at a few overdue rock & art projects.
It's costing me far more to not have a place than it would if I did have a place.
Out of pocket costs and Opportunity costs mount.
So, time to resolve things in my head, it's not forever but it's time to start looking for a place to call home...
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So, shortly after the last post I get the call from the Mechanic.
I need a new transaxle. This is hopeful, until I look up transaxle and discover that it's mechanic speak for transmission.
I've left a lot of cars for less, but - it's still early in the season. Find me a transmission. Life seems to require I purchase a transmission, there's no getting 'round it, 2 years ago, condemned the white jeep for the same reason - but - a new vehicle, same problem, it seems there's no avoiding fate.
And it's going to need a clutch. "I mean" he explains - "Might as well while we have it all apart....". Sure.
No charge for this summary evaluation, having paid XX$$$ for coffee and breakfast at the Bluebell is probably money enough spent for today, they have to be in league with the mechanics...
Driving back to Nelson in 3rd gear, enjoying the throwing it into neutral on the mountainsides down, my only attempts at speed, when finally comes the rattle of the muffler. Pull over, it's now completely off, throw it into the passenger seat.
Transmission, Clutch, Muffler.
There's no escaping fate. That said, I do have a lottery ticket I haven't checked...
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Wake, drive to Kaslo for the mechanic.
Waiting now for the diagnosis, then wait for the part to be ordered and the scheduled repair.
Yesterday, after my beach-comb, the weather turned to rain and sleet. This morning, rain and snow. Waiting, outside, nothing open in Kaslo, finally 8:30 and the Bluebell Bistro is open, someplace to warm up and grab a coffee while they do their thing.
When they're done, back to Balfour to scrounge for more flakes the weather may have turned up (I need to rake the ground so that the rain exposes fresh finds), then onward to Nelson and meet the daughter...
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Sunday, Morning at the Gym. You know.
Then to work, a bit early, scour the beach for flakes and arrowheads, some good finds:
from top, left to right: large flake/blade, center - knapped on all edges - tool, right - piece of flint core, bottom - flakes.
***
Chuffed by my success, back to work. A ho-hum Sunday, busy in the day, quiet at night. Of interest in the day, a woman reading a book, I enquire as to the book: Manly P. Hall's "The Secret Teaching of All Ages". She offers to lend it to me after (no, thanks, that's a keeper), she's highlighting relevant passages, she came to this rabbit-hole via Mark Passio, someone I've never heard of...
I shouldn't be surprised, if he was being read anywhere it would be out here, still, it's a rarity to see anyone reading - rarer still anything of intelligence, let alone Manly P. Hall. If I weren't working I'm sure we'd have a good chat.
***