the Creative Non-Fiction Collective hooray!

Friday was the start of the Creative Non-fiction Collective's conference at UBC. I went out early, so I could go first to the Museum of Anthropology nearby. Its stunning building houses a moving, beautifully presented collection of First Nation's artifacts, but also a collection of indigenous work from around the world. Not to be missed.

Totem poles, bentwood boxes, canoes -

 And - be still my beating heart - the most gorgeous baskets, hundreds of them. On my fondest wish list is a basket like this. Dream on, sister.

The museum continues with a long house and more poles outside.

Thence to the conference. After registration, there was an hour to kill before drinks and dinner, so John Barton, my friend from last year's conference, and I went for a walk. Discovered the staircase down to Vancouver's famous Wreck Beach, the nude beach, and decided to see it. It's quite the hike.

403 stairs, someone told us. But worth it - no naked people but a lovely beach in the sun. Getting back up took some doing.

The conference started with a dinner and cabaret - many writers reading short excerpts from their work, a huge diversity - and continued all day today, from 9 a.m. to nearly 5.30. There was an informal dinner tonight I was going to attend but was just too tired after a full day of talks and talking, meeting fascinating new people and thinking about words. I have made notes and will write about what the day brought forth, but not right now. It was a fantastic conference and a marvel to spend time with my peeps - declared non-fiction writers, a great bunch of people. Love them. And exciting news: next year's conference is in Toronto. May 4-6. Mark your calendars. See you there.

I am sitting in Bruce's chair, have just had leftover pizza (brought from Tofino!) and wine and am gazing at the sunset, the sky orange and grey-blue, the ocean rippling blue-black, eleven vast tankers motionless in English Bay with their lights glittering. It's quiet and I am drained. Tomorrow, my last day, will actually be sunny, and Chris and I will do something. And then, Monday morning, I go home. This spring's peregrinations are over. Paris, Gordes, Montpellier, Nice, London, Vancouver, and Chesterman Beach ... much to digest, much to remember, everything to be grateful for.

champagne with Chris

Home - not to Toronto, but to Bruce's nest in the clouds, seven stories above the ocean. I'd almost finished a draft of the memoir at 10.30 a.m. yesterday, forced myself out of bed to clean up, pack and have a last walk on the beach. Of course the sun was just preparing to emerge for the first time since I arrived. Even so, what a treat my two days were. Expensive - if I'd really calculated how much it cost, I would not have gone. But luckily I just heedlessly went ahead, to lie in bed for two days thinking, writing, reading. This is known as me time, much needed in our hectic world. And now I've had some.

Had to leave by 11 a.m., bidding a grateful farewell to Todd and Lynda who run the place and have created such a sanctuary of peace. I'll have to come back again and try for some sun.

 The view outside the window 6 a.m. Thursday morning - nothing but white mist.

 The view of the kitchen from the bed, where I spent most of my time.

Stopped to take a look at Long Beach, but drove on.

I drove fast, because that afternoon, a big thunderstorm with hail was predicted - did not want to take a floatplane in a storm! So I made record time to Nanaimo, zipping through the most glorious scenery, shimmering mountain lakes and cedar forests ... next time. My chariot awaited.

 The chariot.

Back to the big city and Stanley Park. What a sight!

Of course, Vancouver was hot, no storm at all, though it did rain overnight. After unpacking and getting myself organized I went to Chris's where he regaled me with champagne, his drink of choice - and then we went to his favourite French bistro on Davie Street for dinner. He said after reading me complain about not going out for dinner in Europe, he had to make sure I had one nice dinner here. And it was plenty nice, the freshest halibut in a bath of ratatouille, divine. My friend who has been having such trouble speaking and moving has no trouble when he's with old friends, and we're pretty old, BFF's since 1975. So we jabber a lot. Much to discuss. That's what old friends are for.

Today it was grey, and I worked all morning finishing the draft and emailing it to Rosemary Shipton, the master editor, who has agreed to read it. A relief, and new trepidation. Now there's a bit of blue on the horizon, and I'm about to head off to UBC for the first evening of the Creative Non-fiction Collective's annual conference, which is why I'm here. Oh yes, THAT's why I'm here. Almost forgot.

bed rest/seaview cure continues

It poured all yesterday, all night, much of today. Now, at 3 p.m., it's grey, windy, and drizzling but not heavy rain. I lay in bed all morning, working, reading, computing, imbibing coffee, cereal and peanut butter toast. Finally, at noon, ran out of food, so had to get dressed - dressed! - and out the door in the rain, to find Red Can Catering someone here told me about, with, she said, "gourmet takeout." Really? I thought, in my snobbish Toronto way. Gourmet takeout - in Tofino?

I came back with a hot gourmet pizza - artichoke hearts, fresh tomatoes, caramelized onions and roasted garlic - and with seafood chowder and a salad with fresh baguette for supper. The pizza was so good, I had to have a glass of wine with it. Gourmet takeout indeed! And then putting on many layers I went for a walk on the crowded beach. There were at least five people and several surfers, the whole length of Chesterman Beach.

Now I'm back in bed, working, looking forward to my chowder. I cannot recommend this more highly - a day or two in bed with a computer. The thing is, though, that you need a view of cold grey skies and wet trees. That makes bed SO much better.

The view from my window

 The room with its heavenly fire

Lunch

 The crowded beach at low tide

Just off the beach is Frank Island, which is private property. There's a house on there - can you see it?  What an amazing place, surely with no electricity or plumbing, though you never know.

Multicoloured starfish waiting for the sea to come back in

 Anemones? I have no idea what these beautiful emerald things are.

My very own deck, with a table I'd use if there were sun. Love how they've accommodated the tree.

Tomorrow, of course, it's meant to be sunny, so I hope to be up early and have another walk on the beach. Perhaps I won't manage a hike through the ancient cedar forests this time. Have to leave this gorgeous place by 11 a.m. and get back to Nanaimo. Will go first to Red Can Catering and get a sandwich for the trip.

Silence, except for the distant roar of wind and sea. No one here, no one to talk to. I love it. Especially because you are there to write to, email is there, the phone. I am alone and not alone, feeling better, safe and warm in the trees with pizza, chowder, the ocean. Grateful for every moment.

the ocean-view cure

Where is she now, you ask, the footloose one? I'm in a big bed with four huge pillows in front of a fire stove burning hot. There's a little kitchen stocked with supplies I brought with me - cheese, wine, nuts, even a little baggie of peanut butter. And outside the window I can see Chesterman Beach on the west coast of Vancouver Island, being pounded by the Pacific Ocean in the driving rain. Could I be cosier? Absolutely not.

Patsy and I came here to Chesterman Beach B and B last year, to a lovely little cabin, but this time I booked "The Lookout" as a solitary treat for myself, a tranquil work space and think place. (And I will certainly be looking out - at the freezing wet wind-swept beach where I will not be walking anytime soon.) I almost cancelled this little jaunt, was feeling so shaky. But I'd prepaid so had to go - luckily. Which involved taking a float plane to Nanaimo, where I met old friend Patsy, then renting a car and driving 3 hours across the island on winding mountain roads.

First I had to get from Bruce's to the harbour airport, which is complicated on transit at rush hour, so last night I called Black Top Cabs and booked a cab for 9 a.m. This morning I called to reconfirm and change the time to 8.55. At 8.50 I was outside waiting; at 9 I called the company. A cab hadn't even been dispatched to my address, she said, and she had no idea when one would be. When I hit the roof, she said, ma'am, it's rush hour.

Lesson: do not EVER get Black Top Cabs in Vancouver.

I ran up to Davie Street, managed eventually to find a cab and got to Harbour Air on time. The 20 minute flight over the water was wonderful, the sun actually shone for a bit, and dear Patsy had taken the ferry from Gabriola Island and was waiting for me, for a quick coffee. She had brought a care package, the nicest I've ever received - lemon tea and a lemon and clementines, chocolate truffles, a little pot of honey, other goodies ... and a poem, because she is a very fine poet, my friend.

And then I got into the little blue car and drove. It started to pour partway through the trip, of course. What a relief to get here in good time, to be installed in this aerie. I connected to the internet and got into bed.

I am now sipping a Chilean Malbec from a very large wineglass and eating a local Brie with melba toast. In bed. This is called the Chesterman Cure, and it will work, I just know it, I'm feeling better already.

Cheers.

distant memory - heat

Brucie just sent me this picture of our hike around St. Jean Cap Ferrat. It was hot; the sun was relentless. Nearly a month later on the other side of the world, the sky is grey, it's chilly and pouring with rain, and I'm in Bruce's bed feeling terrible. I'd rather be the woman in the picture. Sigh.