Life As Performance Art 69

I am going to write about my day yesterday, Gentle Reader. Not because it was particularly interesting, it wasn't really, but just to get and express a sense and perhaps sketch a quick self-portrait for you here. Yesterday was almost preternaturally hot, given that we are still in early June. But in the last couple of days, summer seems to have arrived with a punch. A good left hook, anyway. And I spent a lot of time yesterday walking in the heat, taking abundant advantage of the copious shade provided by the many trees that grow in my city. I did have a good early start, getting up just after 4 am, almost fully slept. I spent the early morning on breakfast (cheese omelette, two slices homemade wholewheat, peanut butter, rosehip jam and coffee, a blend of French-Colombian decaf, and dark Cuban fair trade organic. I spent a lot of time on yesterday's blog-post. And on the hummingbird drawing that I finished last night. I also spent some time working on an art project for a future art class I will be co-facilitating at work, though no one knows when we will be allowed to restart our art program, given that our bosses don't seem to quite get the value of art for our clients' purposes of rehab and recovery. Shortly before nine, I ventured out and walked in the already hot morning sun, through downtown, and over the doomed Georgia Viaduct and through the gentrified heritage neighbourhood of Strathcona, where the refurbished Victorian era houses are festooned now with leafy trees and gardens spilling over with flowers. On the way I said hi to a couple of strangers. I still do this practice, every day, greeting a minimum of two strangers I see in passing. They almost always respond well. And it keeps me from getting too focussed on myself and my own small needs and tiny problems. I stopped in the leafy neighbourhood around Commercial Drive where my new client now lives in a nursing home, and with some help from his case manager we got started on a disastrous walk where several times he nearly fell. While waiting with him for a cab at a table in front of a cafe I saw a radiant and beautiful man barefoot, dressed in a bedsheet, his blond hair up in a man-bun. He smiled at us and waved in a gesture of benediction. The cab finally arrived (for which we had to wait for an hour) and took us back to his care facility. The Sikh driver, perhaps forty, was kind and helpful, given what a short ride it was. The staff there expected my client, who along with his many disabilities and challenges is also on a low income, to pay for the cab out of his own pocket. I paid for it myself, then, disgusted with their mean spiritedness, presented the receipt to staff, who without daring to argue with me, reimbursed me from their petty cash. During my proceeding walks I gave three dollars to one panhandler with his dog, then another two dollars to another panhandler who walks with a cane (the cab fare that was reimbursed to me was for five dollars, so do the math) It wasn't even noon, and my engagement for the afternoon had been cancelled (the client doesn't want us interfering too much in his life, and this is something I always respect, Gentle Reader!). So, being able to bill for the cancelled hours, I could enjoy some paid time off. I sat for nearly an hour in a cafe on Commercial Drive, where I did some more work on my drawing, following a short walk around the park on Salisbury Drive, passing a group of older unemployed men, possibly homeless, likely having a cocktail party al fresco. Then I walked, where I gave money to the first panhandler, and over to Tenth Avenue, pausing to pick up a Spanish language newspaper in front of a store on Commercial. From there, I walked west on Tenth Ave., enjoying vintage old houses and shady trees soft and brilliant green in the pre-summer splendour. In front of some particularly beautifully painted restored Victorian houses I chatted briefly with a woman walking her big black labradoodle and we talked about how incredibly sensitive are the noses of dogs. Then I remembered that I was running low on eggs, re-encountered the woman with the dog, said hi again and mentioned about the eggs. At the No-Frills on Broadway, I picked up eggs, dark brown sugar, and coconut flavoured yogurt, then stopped at the Book Warehouse, where there was nothing I quite wanted to buy or read just yet. Around this area I encountered tha man with the cane to whom I gave the remaining two dollars, then continued walking on the Fairview Slope till I caught a bus at the entrance to the Granville Bridge. When I got off the bus, I stopped in the local Shoppers Drug Mart to buy a big jug of milk. At home, I did paperwork, made cocoa, answered emails from friends and supervisors and bosses, talked with supervisors on the phone, about clients, being available for people who speak only Spanish, and talking about a pay raise, very late in coming. I spent most of another hour working on the art course material. I must have walked a good eight miles or so that day, in a state of quiet enjoyment and contemplation, sometimes feeling the pain from walking uphill a lot. I enjoyed most of the cocoa chilled over ice, Mexican style. I worked on the drawing, made and ate dinner, then finished the drawing, worked on a short story I have been developing and saw some videos in Spanish, and was in bed and asleep before ten after reading three books on my night table, a novel in Spanish, a book by CS Lewis, and a Swedish thriller translated in Spanish. This, Gentle Reader, was for me, a very typical day.