This morning, they announced that the Victoria Day Parade is being cancelled. For the first time ever.
Yesterday, younger daughter and I were on our way to our last art lesson for heaven knows when. (Two students elected not to come, and the three remaining discussed why we had taken the risk. Mostly because we feel we must do things while it's still allowed.) Word had come through my Facebook feed that there will be fewer buses, due to the lack of ridership, and I wondered if our scheduled bus would show up. It did, with a flashing "Free Bus" on the front, and a scrawled sign telling us to board at the back. When we reached Oak Bay Avenue, a young woman tore her attention from her phone, and stood for a few seconds, wondering why the driver wouldn't open the front door. When she boarded by the back, one of our four fellow passengers snarled: "Can't you read?"
And the day before that, I arrived at my favourite coffee shop to find the patio table-less and chair-less. I stood for a few seconds in the doorway, surveying the bare floor, as it sunk in that there would be take-out only. I turned and left. I might get the courage to go back, but I go to a coffee house for a table to journal on, not to sip coffee from cardboard.
Pic-a-Flic is still open, but the small restaurant where younger daughter and I have our Friday lunch before picking out our weekly DVDs has closed indefinitely. Younger daughter and I made the pilgrimage anyway, past the blossoming magnolias on Linden Avenue, up to Fort Street, where a sidewalk-chalk-philosopher had been at work.
Younger daughter and I paused to absorb the message, then walked on, giving our handful of fellow pedestrians wide berth.
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