Hazards of living in Victoria

I'm headed for the pharmacy, when a motorized wheelchair wheelchair whizzes by, on my left.

I can't help myself.

"Oooh!" I gasp, softly - I think.

The gentleman glides to a stop, and waits for me to catch up.

"Did I startle you?"
"Yes, a little."
"Well, they say I should used my horn."
"But that would startle me even more!  You can't win!"
"That's right!"
"You could call out, 'Good Morning'" I suggest.
"Or, 'Coming up on your left!'"
"Even better!"

We both wish each other good day, and he zips off.

Imagine this happening in Hades.  I can't.

Corn fed

A lively gentleman with dark skin and an American accent has been enjoying various conversations with friendly strangers while sitting on the cushioned bench that lines the outside of the patio at Moka House. By the time he's winding up his third conversation, this one with an older gentleman at the table next to mine, he's negotiating for Silver Rill corn, to be delivered to him at the outdoor piano at Oak Bay. (You can't get Silver Rill corn in a store, you have to head out to Central Saanich.)

Still rhapsodizing about Peaches and Cream corn, he spots me dissolving into giggles, and pushes his palms up on each side: "Can you believe this?"

I can.

One for overnight - five for a week: the movie

Photo by Nathan Philps

I plop my pile of DVDs on the counter.
"One for overnight; five for a week."
"One for overnight; five for a week," the fellow behind the counter echoes, then we pause and look at each other.

"That sounds like a great movie title," I say with an air of faux dreaminess.
"I'll write the screenplay and give you the option," he offers.
"Great idea!"

He's gazing at my account. "I want to give her this one for free," he says to his coworker. Apparently, I'm within a few check-outs of a free rental, but not quite.

My mind drifts back twenty-three years to an evening shortly after we had taken up residence in our house on the edge of Fairfield. Elder daughter was five months old and I was drunk with exhilaration.
We live here. We actually live here.
I had strolled down to Pic-a-Flic to change the phone number on my account, explaining we had moved into a house a few blocks away. A mischievous grin spread across the face of the fellow who was behind the counter then.

"Party!" he stage-whispered. "Party at Persephone's!"

Back in the present, I collect the half-dozen DVDs, thinking ruefully of our eventual return to Hades, where the last two video-rental stores closed this past spring.

Get up stand up

I get my first true lungful of sea air streaming north on Cook Street as I trot south in the early morning sunshine, jet-lag having given me a jump-start on my first full day in Victoria.  After my ritual coffee at Moka House at my favourite table on the veranda, I give in to the siren smell of the ocean and make my way through South Fairfield.  Not my favourite part of Fairfield -- it's always a bit ghost-towny, as if nobody actually spends much time in their well-kept vintage houses -- but I spy neighbours perched on their respective porches, having a chat across the front of their semi-detached, and I feel compelled to wish every dog-walker and stroller a good morning, unless they beat me to it - this is Victoria, after all.

When elder daughter was a pre-toddler, I used to nip in for a newspaper at a downtown news-stand on the corner of Fort and Douglas Streets.  One day, I glanced down into the stroller and noticed my infant child had a bag of nuts clutched in each tiny fist.  I wheeled around and returned to confess that my daughter was a nascent shoplifter.

This morning, after a desperate search for an operational bank machine that dispenses more than sixty dollars, I dart into the same shop to purchase a newspaper in order to break a twenty so I can pay my art instructor that afternoon.  (I'm spending some of my brief and heady freedom on water-colour lessons, because --- when will the opportunity ever arise again?)

A Caribbean gentleman is regaling the the reserved Asian teenager at the till with an expressive tale, but I've entered too late to get the gist, although I am in time to hear the gentleman launch into the chorus of "Get Up Stand Up".

He turns to grin at me and apologizes, but I say, "Not at all! I always enjoy a bit of Bob Marley!"

He roars his approval.

"Smart gel!! I was teaching some respect to some people who were showing some attitude.  I made them listen!"
"That's not an easy thing to do," I observe.

He flashes a brilliant smile as he saunters out.
"You have yourself a great day, gel!!"

This never happens in Ottawa.