Wednesday, 28 October 2015

Places Where I've Lived: Basement Suite 1

I moved into this one bedroom basement apartment in East Vancouver November 1980.  Wow! That seems like a long time ago now.  Thirty-five years!  It was a rough start.  I had a dysfunctional roommate who quickly headed for the street and morphed into a drug-addicted transvestite hooker.  I in the meantime got on with it and did the best I could in my job as a home support worker while doing everything I could to keep my life in order.  I was twenty-four, soon to turn twenty-five.  The wild boy that I'd been had slowed, grown, become heavy, with already thinning hair.  I embraced to my surprise a quiet home life, long walks and intimate dinners with friends.

I was tired.  Work was demanding.  I was cleaning up the most unspeakable messes after incontinent clients, abusive clients, tragically helpless and vulnerable clients.  I was already doing palliative care.  I was attending a different church, Four-Square Pentecostal and enjoyed being part of a new community.

My neighbour upstairs was a single mother in her thirties with a noisy energetic toddler.  It wasn't always quiet in my apartment but generally it was very peaceful.  I collected and dried herbs, principally fennel for its seeds (it grew wild in my neighbourhood), mint, chamomile and rosehips.  I began to make batiks.  The big parks nearby were an added boon: Clark Park across the street with its huge trees, and Trout Lake nearby.  Every morning before breakfast and every evening after dinner I went for a walk involving both parks, walked around the lake and returned home.

I worked, took care of people, prayed, read, rested, listened to classical music, walked, devoted time to my friends.  It was a simple, quiet and very introspective life.  I was determined to squeeze as much from this quiet time as I could, knowing that it wasn't going to last.

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