It was lovely living on Ferndale at first if a bit of a challenge. I had to do everything myself since this was an old house on a piece of land. There were only thirty amps of power and the coffee maker would be enough to blow a fuse if the toaster also happened to be on, or a space heater. As I mentioned, the fuse box was outside in the front of the house above one of the bedroom windows. In all kinds of weather day or night I would find myself climbing a ladder to change the fuse. I "religiously" did a block walk twice a day, in the early morning and in the evening, despite the vicious dogs. I never got bitten, but it was nonetheless terrifying.
I woke early every morning at dawn, to the music of crowing roosters. I would lie awake before getting up listening to them and to some of the local songbirds singing antiphonally. It was rather like being audience to a weird bird oratorio.
The house itself was rather small and the rooms were cramped. Altogether it was around seven hundred fifty square feet: there was a spacious dining area, kitchen, living room and four (potential) bedrooms. I had never had so much space to myself. I felt rich and privileged. I ignored the horrible neighbours and revelled in wandering the trails of the labyrinth I'd made in the birch and salal forest. Getting to work every day was a bit of a commute. I took one bus over two bridges and indulged in discreet people watching.
I washed my clothes in one of the local laundromats and took long walks, often including the two neighbourhoods where I grew up. It felt odd but very good to be living so close to where I spent my childhood. It was a kind of coming home in order to leave home.
One day in January I took a long walk of some four or five miles on the dike as far as Steveston. I was pleasantly surprised by an elegant Great White Egret in the canal, the first and only such bird I have ever seen here and on such a chilly day. He must have straggled north on a strong wind.
On February 29 1988 I turned thirty-two. It was my eighth real birthday, given that I'm a Leap Year baby. My long divorced parents took me to a fancy restaurant for dinner, joined by my somewhat dotty paternal grandmother, already well in her eighties. Naturally my brother wasn't present. It was the first time my mother actually seemed to enjoy being with her ex-mother-in-law and I was moved by the care and affection between the two women.
Just a few days later my mother phoned me to tell me she had lung cancer. Thus began the ordeal.
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