A big exhale

Posted on July 12, 2023 by doradueck

I woke shortly after 5 this morning and felt that what I had embarked on was crazy. However, nothing to be done for it but get up, have a cup of motel-room coffee, and head back on the road. It was a beautiful morning, and once again there was the grandeur of mountain and valley. IMG_2415 (1)

I need to say that I very much enjoy residing where I do, in the most southerly and westerly corner of the B.C. mainland, but, growing up on and living so much of my life on the prairies, the mountains of B.C., spectacular as they are, are not just a geographical barrier but a psychological one for me as well. So when I emerged, after several hours, into the plains of Alberta (Pincher Creek area) it was like a big inner exhale. The light both paler and brighter, the horizon visible, and there no obstacle to get over and around. Muted tones of brown, gold, green. Ah-h-h-

My “listen” today was the intro and chapter one of Rachel Held Evans’ Inspired, and then the 10-episode series, The RFK Tapes, described as “a trip down a rabbit hole surrounding the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy.” I remember that event of 1968 but had no idea there were so many fascinating aspects to the story. After a while I felt it was veering into conspiracy theory but in the end the host backed firmly away.

I’m staying this evening and night in Swift Current with my lovely niece Tori, a midwife, and her dog Charlotte.

On the road with Sweet Bobby

Posted on July 11, 2023 by doradueck

I left Tsawwassen close to 7 this morning and now, 7 in the evening, I’ve got my legs stretched out on a bed in a room at the Shimmerhorn Inn in Creston. Nothing luxurious but it’s a bed and the place is rather pretty in blue and white, and I’m very grateful indeed to have the first day of my road trip to Winnipeg behind me. I plan to attend a Mennonite history conference, visit some friends and relatives, and then double back through Saskatchewan for a week’s writing retreat at St. Peter’s Abbey in Muenster. More about all that later if I find time and energy to keep up a bit of a blog-diary.

I decided to take the #3 out of B.C. On the map that highway looks like an earthworm wiggling along the border. No end of curves, that’s for sure, and no end either of up and down, but it’s magnificent country in so many ways, the mountains and trees and valleys and rivers, and in Keremeos and Osoyoos, vineyards and orchards and bustling fruit markets. Traffic was relatively light and road conditions were good.

Before setting out, I downloaded several books and podcasts to help the hours along. Today I listened to the last four episodes of a six-episode podcast I’d started at home called Sweet Bobby. It’s a harrowing true tale about some complicated catfishing, which is not, I learned, the action of catching catfish but “a deceptive activity in which a person creates a fictional persona or fake identity on a social networking service, usually targeting a specific victim.”

Here’s the description of the series.

Kirat is a successful radio presenter. On Facebook she meets Bobby, a handsome cardiologist. He’s a catch. Soon, they get tangled up in a love affair full of lies and manipulation. Then… Kirat discovers a deception of almost unimaginable proportions.

I like podcasts that tell a true story, and are journalistic in style. (Recommendations welcome.) I also listened to an hour of Writers & Co. Although Eleanor Wachtel, one of the best interviewers ever, has just retired after 33 years of doing the show, some of her favourites are being aired throughout the summer.

Day one nearly done then. My body still feels like it’s in motion, but I’ll go for a walk and then, hopefully sleep well, and be ready to drive again tomorrow. A few more mountains to get over or around.

In the human library

Posted on April 26, 2023 by doradueck

Yesterday afternoon I was part of a “human library” at my granddaughters’ school. In two sessions of 15 minutes each, the Grade 11 students assigned to me — I’ll call them Emily and Rose — asked me questions and then took my “portrait” (a.k.a cell phone photo).

The girls were lovely. Not surprisingly, both wanted to know about being a writer — how did it happen and where did the stories come from? Emily also asked if I had a piece of advice or what I might say to a younger me. I told her about moving provinces and changing schools for Grade 12 and how homesick I’d been for my previous school and how lonely and self-conscious I was at first. What complicated that circumstance was that since two schools had amalgamated that summer, the students in each half knew each other and, I suppose, assumed I belonged to the other group. I told her I remember walking the hallway between classes by myself, thinking everyone must notice and consider me a loser (or whatever the term was then) for having no friends. Since I know better today, I said, my advice would be that people don’t notice as much as you think they do, but I would also say to that younger me, “It will all work out.” Which it did; eventually I made some friends.

Rose asked about a present challenge. Learning to live alone again, I said. My specific story this time was as recent as the day before, when I took the ferry to Vancouver Island. Simple enough, yes, but I’d never done it myself. New driving situations make me nervous. First, I couldn’t find my lane, and went to the going-to-Nanaimo section instead of going-to-Schwartz Bay. I anxiously circled about until I got to where I was supposed to be. Then when we arrived and I went down to the vehicle deck, I was disoriented in that field of tightly packed vehicles and couldn’t find my car anywhere. Until I finally did. IPhone Maps directed me to my destination on the Island and I had a wonderful visit with friends. On my return, I knew better what to do at the ferry. Small things perhaps, I told my sweet interlocutor, but we never stop learning. And when we stretch ourselves in spite of fear and the stretch is successful, it boosts our confidence.

As for my younger self, I’d mused to Emily that I would love to meet her. Back home, Human Library done, I thought further about such an encounter, not just Older Me looking at Younger Me but her seeing who she would become. Would she be surprised? Would we be satisfied with one another? Though we were slightly wary at first, it was strangely joyous to imagine our conversation.