Four grown kids, five delightful grandchildren, constant, long-time partner. A newly retired academic, I read, knit, run, garden, and more on a very small (Canadian) West Coast island. The other foot (pied à terre, indeed) is in the city, where I shop, visit museums and galleries, go to the opera. . .
I'm having a tough time right now and wasn't going to post at all, but then I couldn't resist taking these photos on the Seawall Run I pushed myself out to this morning.
We were supposed to go to a house concert last night featuring a wonderful piano-soprano duo, but by the time I put in a morning at work, caught the 95-minute ferry, waited through North Shore-Lions Gate traffic (you can see the top of the Lions Gate just peeking through the fog, above), I realized I had no reserve at all. Instead, Paul picked up some sushi; I ate my share and went to bed at 7 p.m., sleeping through 'til 7 this morning.
We're going to give my mom her dinner and spend the night to help her with meds, etc., and from the e-mails I've been exchanging with my siblings, I'm trying to ready myself for a big change since we last saw her, only 3 weeks ago, just before her diagnosis. And I'm hoping that I've got most of the tears out of the way (and believe me, the last day or two have seen plenty) because those won't help her at all. Poor wee valiant thing . . .
There are all kinds of things I could say about sunshine and fog, as featured in these photos, but I must admit that anything I could pronounce at the moment would sound forced or, worse, banal. I may be light on posting here, and I apologize that I'm not keeping up with comments on your blogs. But I do think of you, and I want to say that I find much sustenance in this community, virtual though it may be.