It's All Performance Art 21

We are moving towards late November soon, and already it is looking more like winter and less like fall, though the temperatures remain tolerable, at around ten or eleven degrees.  It is raining a lot and there is flooding in some of the streets.  A lot of people hate this weather, and generally this time of year in Vancouver.  Even I sometimes think of November and the following winter months as a dreary and hard period that has to be somehow endured till we arrive at spring and the promise and then the fulness of new life and new life so abundant.

There is beauty in this season.  It isn't just the remaining coloured leaves that still hang on rapidly denuding tree branches.  There is a beauty in the desolation of November.  I cannot define or identify it, but just yesterday the stark beauty of the first naked trees struck me with a fresh gentle force.  Here's an idea, Gentle Reader:



Many people here, especially those who move to the Coast from drier climates, have trouble adjusting to November and the following winter months here.  They complain that even if it was thirty below in Edmonton, at least it was sunny.  Point taken.  One who is not already used to this climate must work hard to embrace the dark, wet and barren reality that is November in this part of the world. 

It can be especially hard if you are already homeless.  If you already have the comfort of a home to live in where you can feel snug, smug and cozy with your hot cup of whatever and your lovely book, netflix or smartphone to divert you from a comfy sofa or armchair, especially if you have a fire roaring in the fireplace, or even a fireplace that fire can roar in, then of course this weather can feel cozy and even romantic.  But if you are living on the street, in an emergency shelter, or couchsurfing between sympathetic and patient friends, then it becomes something rather different.

I remember, just after Christmas, when I was one of the hidden homeless, staying with various people, and how hard it was.  It was raining, very hard, and the Christian friends who invited me to stay in their shared house with them capitulated when their roommate, the lease holder, turned vile and bitter against me.  Even though there were thousands of dollars worth of my paintings in that house, the nasty idiot insisted that he didn't want a near-stranger alone in the house where he also had his expensive photography equipment.  I was told that despite the ugly weather, I would have to fend for myself through the day, even if I couldn't afford to sit in a coffee shop (fortunately I did have a little pocket change).  I will never forget or forgive this cruelty, even though long ago I forgave the people who mistreated me.  But of course, we are no longer friends, and likely never will be.

Today we will do what we can to enjoy and celebrate the cool dark rainy weather and the barren and leafless trees, but we will do so from our place of privilege and dry clothes and dry feet, and maybe we can at least offer a thought and a prayer and something even better for the many who have no shelter on a dark, cold and wet day of November.