I an very grateful for rest. It took only a much needed nap for me to put my day in perspective. Things had gone enjoyably as I had only one work assignment today, a meeting that went very well. My afternoon session was cancelled and I still get paid for it. And the weather was suddenly something wonderful. I could hang out with my sketchbook in my favourite coffee shop, then walk and wander outside through this beautiful spring day to my heart's content.
While in the coffee shop, the sister of the owner was on duty, a woman near my own age who is very pleasant and friendly. I made progress on my drawing and said hi to a friendly patron. Then I felt tired. I did have just a little bit under my needed quota of seven hours of sleep last night and sometimes I get by well on just over six. But today I must have needed a bit more, and I'm not getting younger. A friend who is also of a certain age advised me recently that I have to accept as a feature of aging the need for more rest.
It was still a mostly enjoyable walk. It was warmer, sunny and the flowers of spring spectacular. I practiced my Spanish throughout on my phone and I seem to be doing rather well. Then, came the first fly in the ointment. A young idiot male decided to take his very large pit bull for an off leash romp through a local park. This is not an off leash zone and I have at times been dangerously harassed in public parks by off leash dogs. I called city hall and was told that someone would be sent over to talk with the young man.
When I arrived at Sixteenth and Granville I just missed the bus. Knowing how late they can be, I cursed my fate, not wanting to have to stand and wait for another half hour for the next bus that ought, but sometimes doesn't arrive in under ten minutes. So, I continued to walk. Seven blocks later, at Broadway, there were still no buses. I continued to walk, an extra mile altogether, as far as the Granville Bridge, where a number four bus was just turning towards me. Had I simply stayed at the first stop, there is no telling how much longer I would have waited, perhaps a half hour or worse.
I noticed a message on my voicemail from the animal control guy, who wanted to know details about the off leash pit bull in the park that the woman from city hall should have given him. Or perhaps he wasn't listening the first time. Or maybe he's scared of pit bulls. Who isn't? I would already be too late to call him back, since I had placed the call a half hour earlier and was already boarding an incredibly crowded bus where I would have to stand. Perhaps the young idiot with the loose dog never got spoken to. Oh, well....
I arrived home with a letter waiting for me, news about my Canada Pension. It turns out that I will be receiving around twelve dollars less every month than what I was originally told. This will not have a catastrophic impact, but, following standing room only on an extremely crowded bus that I had to walk a mile to get on, that was the breaking point and I found myself feeling miserable and feeling very sorry for myself about the absolutely crappy treatment that this country reserves for its senior citizens.
A light quick lunch of Breton crackers and cheese (domestic Gouda, cheap, rather nice) helped replenish my blood sugar and already my mood began to improve. I made a pot of cocoa, relaxed with my sketchbook in my recliner chair while listening to the Mozart Requiem, followed by the Charpentier Te Deum. I drifted off and remained where I was for over an hour. I am heating leftovers for dinner now, and feeling a lot better.
Of course the treatment of seniors, especially those of us who have been working poor all our lives and have contributed to this country in so many ways, is scandalous and certainly violates some very reasonable human rights expectations. A lot of us don't have the good fortune of subsidized housing and have to subsist on tiny pensions while paying market rents. I know that I will be okay. I am resolved to stay where I'm living, which is certainly better than ending up in a low barrier shelter. I also know that when I turn sixty-five, which will occur in exactly ten months, four days, six hours and eight minutes I will also qualify for Old Age Security and Guaranteed Income Supplement, topping everything up to a more or less liveable cipher, but liveable only because I will be paying only thirty percent of my monthly income for housing.
I am going to suffer from survival guilt. I already do. When many people in situations similar to mine were kicked off of social assistance and onto the streets in 2002 I had already become safely and securely housed in my subsidized apartment. Not many have enjoyed my good fortune. I have worked hard over the intervening years to raise people's and our governments' awareness about the plight of the homeless and the housing vulnerable. I expect to continue doing this as well as adding seniors' advocacy to my rant sheet.
In the meantime, I remain grateful, for all the good things that are happening, and have happened in my life. And for the gift of rest, which soothes the owie and helps me readjust my sense of proportion.
No comments:
Post a Comment